#and she has no way to justify it without stepping on other people | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

steddieas-shegoes · 11 months

Note

sort of a fantasy/ angst scenario i’ve been thinking about… (I love your writing so much - maybe this is something?)

When Steve goes through a misunderstanding and breakup that has him socially exiled, everyone is mad, and feels justified when he disappears - they assume the worst of him and that he just up and left without telling anyone.

Years later - on the tail end of a series of unexplained natural disasters around the world stopping miraculously, he shows up - surrounded by a small group of people with a similar haunted look in their eyes and littered with more scars, maybe a hand that too metallic to be real.

Aka Steve is visited by a group of strangers, claiming he’s some sort of prodigal son of a Prophecy - disappears to end the apocalypse and shows up, years and a full hero's journey later, changed - and the others have the grapple with the fact that they’ve been wrong the entire time.

Or bonus - he never ends up showing up at all - a stranger shows up at their door during a party family gathering, battleworn, letter in hand about a burial taking place at the edge of town at dusk.

This was an INSANELY GOOD request. Like this could easily be a 100k fic, so I hope you're okay with me having very little backstory. I want someone to run with this ASAP. I didn't do the bonus part, but I stuck with a lot of the first part of it. Again, this was so hard to keep short, so I do hope someone makes this AU really deep and really solid. I don't know if you took ideas from a bunch of different fantasy novels or what but man this is gooooood shit. I hope I was able to do at least some of this justice! - Mickala ❤️

-----------------------------------------------------

Steve Harrington did not give up. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Which is why he was leading his battleworn group back home.

It’s been years since he stepped foot in Hawkins, years of war, disaster, and pain. But walking through the gates of Hawkins was the scariest and bravest thing he’d done in five years.

Dustin limped along next to him, his leg hurt, but not broken. Max was on his other side, left eye blind and left arm broken, but in good spirits overall.

Lucas and Erica fell behind him, both physically fine, but mourning the loss of their parents in the latest earthquake.

Steve had given them an extra day before making the journey back, made sure they had a way to lay their parents to rest despite the chaos surrounding them.

Robin had gone ahead of them to announce his entrance, wanted to make sure that the town was prepared.

When Steve left five years ago, the only people who knew were the people currently with him. They followed him, without question, the moment he said he had to go. They were children when they left, could barely offer anything but their support at first, but over the years grew into the type of soldiers anyone would be lucky to have on their side.

He broke Nancy's heart, he broke his promise to his parents to stay in Hawkins until he turned 21, and the world broke around him.

He made a choice that day, a difficult one, but one he hoped gained him the respect of the people he left behind.

“How are you feeling, Steve?” Dustin asked quietly as they approached the outskirts of town.

“Could be better.”

“Could be worse,” Max added.

That was their answer to everything.

“Steve, wait!”

Robin was running towards them, nearly tripping and falling on her face every few steps. She had incredible aim when it came to shooting and throwing, but ask her to take more than five consecutive steps without tripping or otherwise hurting herself and you would be shit out of luck.

“What is it?”

“You have to wait. It’s bad. It’s real bad.”

She was out of breath, which was odd since she was in surprisingly good shape for someone who couldn’t run.

Steve looked past her, watching as a small group of people on horseback approached.

She turned to see them, then turned back around and let her head fall.

“Shit. Okay. So your parents are dead. Everyone who was ever in power before? Dead. Hopper? Dead.”

Hearing this should have been more upsetting, but Steve was used to losing people. He was used to losing nearly everyone. And to hear that his parents were gone was more a relief than anything else.

He could hear the people talking in the distance, could feel the ground shaking with the efforts of their horses.

There weren’t many, maybe only six or seven, but enough to keep Steve feeling a bit protective of his group.

They were tired. They’d been through enough.

He didn’t want to fight, but he would if he had to.

“Who are they?”

“Soldiers. Everyone that’s left are soldiers or farmers.”

“Steve Harrington! It’s been a while!”

He knew that voice. Not well, and obviously it’s been five years since he’s heard it, but he knew it.

Who was it?

“Interesting that you choose now to show your face again! We survived the worst of everything without you, I’m not sure why you expect us to welcome you with open arms.”

Eddie Munson.

Steve would know those long, curly locks anywhere.

Steve didn’t recognize anyone else with him, but that was probably for the best.

Eddie got up close to his group, but didn’t pull any weapons.

He didn’t want a fight either. Interesting.

Steve lost his hearing in his left ear nearly three years ago, at the same time he lost most of his left arm. He tried not to let it show as a weakness, especially to people who could be a threat, but he was having trouble hearing over the wind blowing.

“I’m sorry for coming somewhat unannounced. We ran out of supplies to write over a month ago, and money to send a messenger even further back.”

That wasn’t entirely true.

They had money. Not much, but enough to get by. Certainly enough for a messenger if needed. Steve just didn’t want them to know that, not if they were desperate for things like he suspected.

He wanted to help, not give away everything he had.

“If I let you in town, you’ll be dead by morning.”

“Why’s that?”

“Everyone blames you for everything. You left and we had a flash flood the next day that took out half our crops. A week later, half the town fell ill with an unknown plague that killed almost everyone who caught it. The earthquakes took what little we had left and that was before the looting from surrounding towns attacked us for months on end. You were nowhere to be found. Our “golden child” couldn’t bother to come help us. Forgive me for being hesitant to want you around now,” Eddie snarled.

Steve could see the way everyone behind him reacted to Eddie’s words, could feel the worry coming from his own group.

They didn’t deserve this.

“All I ask is you allow my soldiers here back to their families. I’ll be on my way by morning and won’t use any resources. Lucas and Erica lost their parents and will be staying with Dustin.”

Eddie looked them all over, frown on his face.

“Dustin? Henderson?”

“That’s me,” Dustin piped up, always braver than people expected him to be.

“Claudia’s son? She thought you died.”

Steve could hear the emotion in his voice, like he’d had to say that too often, like it was true too often.

“I almost did many times, but I’m here.”

“She’ll be pleased to see you,” Eddie said, though his voice sounded different, a bit more emotion behind the words. “And you?” He turned to Max.

“Only her mom is alive as far as we know,” Steve supplied the bare minimum.

They heard a lot of things, but didn’t know how old the news was by the time it reached them.

“Mayfield?” A man from behind Eddie asked. “I recognize the hair. Your mom’s been workin’ at the pub. Serves beer to the soldiers at the end of their shifts.”

“Sounds like her.”

Max wasn’t all that fond of her mom, never had been, but she still wanted to be reunited with her, even if only temporarily.

Steve had been telling the truth about only staying until everyone in his group had found their home. He knew even before coming that he didn’t want to go back to his own.

“Robin wishes to find work here, settle away from her own home. It’s not safe for her there. She’s a fantastic shot and knows many languages, could be useful as a soldier or a teacher,” Steve hadn’t let Robin know ahead of time that he didn’t plan on staying. She was under the impression before now that they would settle here together, maybe find wives and share a farm. “All I ask is that she gets a fresh start and is not associated with my name.”

“Why do you think you’re in any position to ask for favors?”

“I’m not. I realize that asking for any favors is asking too much. I’m just doing what I can to help the people who have helped me for years.”

Steve watched as Eddie considered, clearly taking into consideration the fact that everyone surrounding Steve had someone waiting for them in town, whether they knew it or not.

“You’ll all come with us. Including you, Steve. But you will stay with me for the night so that no harm comes to you. Many people in this town wish you dead.”

“Including you?”

“To be determined.”

Eddie turned on his horse, and the rest of his group followed.

Steve nudged everyone forward, hoping that by putting them first, he could avoid questions from them.

But that was easier said than done.

“You didn’t say you were only planning to stay one night!” Dustin whisper yelled.

“You were going to leave us?” Erica asked, arms crossed over her chest.

“What if something bad happened when you left?” Lucas added.

Robin was busy helping Max along the rocky path, but she kept sending glares at him over her shoulder.

“I knew I wouldn’t be welcome here. You all deserve to be here with your family and friends. I can find a new place.”

“What about us?”

He ignored the question.

They would be fine, and he would be…well, probably not fine, but alive.

They followed Eddie and his group in silence after that.

When they got closer to the main road, Eddie stopped and hopped off his horse.

“The guys will take the rest of you into town. Steve will need to sneak in. This is not up for discussion and if you don’t agree, you can leave.”

Steve gave everyone a look that said if they tried to argue, he would cut their arms off. He wouldn’t, but the look must have been convincing because no one said a thing.

“You all can come to my house tomorrow to say goodbye to Steve. The guys will tell you where it is. Do not come together and do not bring anything with you. Understood?”

Everyone nodded, giving Steve quick nods before they were led away.

“Hop up,” Eddie said from right in front of him.

When did he get that close?

“I’m sorry?”

“It’ll be less suspicious if you look like a guard. She’ll lead you to my home and I’ll walk a bit behind. If you run for it, we’ll find you.”

“I’m not dressed like a guard.”

“Everyone is off duty sometimes. But you’ll wear my cape to cover your clothes. You look like you lost a few fights.”

“I did.”

Eddie grimaced.

“I think we all have.”

Steve didn’t push, didn’t want to test how far Eddie’s patience and kindness would go.

He hopped up onto Eddie’s horse, settling into the saddle quickly.

Eddie didn’t give him much of a chance to get acquainted with the beautiful horse he was on before he touched her neck and she was off. Eddie laughed at Steve’s shocked face.

He hadn’t ridden a horse since he lived in Hawkins.

It was freeing.

He arrived at Eddie’s cottage much faster than he thought he would, surprised to see that Eddie lived along the outskirts of town, just past the first few rows of trees in the woods. It was solitary but still had easy access to the main road.

And it was cozy.

Steve could tell Eddie liked his quiet time to himself, just from the entrance to the cottage.

A small shelf held his weapons, though probably not all of them, and a table that looked hand carved held letters and drawings.

Steve made his way further inside, trying not to be nosy, but needing to know more about Eddie before he arrived.

The cottage was small, almost entirely all one large room. No couch, only a single rocking chair in the corner and a small stack of pillows next to a bookcase filled with books. The kitchen area was just enough to get by, only a small table and two chairs to sit at.

He walked into the only bedroom of the house, where the only bed was messily made, and clothing was strewn across the floor.

If he intended to keep Steve here all night, was he expecting him to sleep on the floor?

Steve had slept worse places, he supposed.

“Have you gotten all the information you need from snooping or shall I come back later?”

Steve jumped. He hadn’t been snooping, just looking, but Eddie snuck up on his left side and he hadn’t heard a single hint that he arrived.

When he turned, Eddie did look slightly apologetic, but didn’t say so.

“I managed to snag some fresh bread for us to have with the soup I made last night. It’s not very flavorful, but it’ll do,” Eddie said as he took off his boots and threw them into the corner of the bedroom.

“I won’t eat your food. I told you I wouldn’t use any resources,” Steve reminded him.

“You look like you’re one missed meal away from collapsing. You need food. I have food. You’ll eat.”

Eddie walked out of the bedroom and Steve had no choice but to follow.

They ate in silence. Steve didn’t even feel like he should be sitting at the same table as Eddie, but he didn’t have much choice when Eddie set a bowl of soup down and gestured for him to sit.

Steve didn’t know what to make of him.

—--------------------------------

Steve cleaned up, insisted on doing that much to show his appreciation. Eddie decided not to argue, told him he was going to change and wash his face in the bucket of water he had in the bedroom.

Steve waited for him to be done.

“Are you tired?” Eddie yelled from the room.

“A bit.”

That was an understatement.

Steve hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours at a time for five years. His body was constantly exhausted, and now that he was in an actual house, he could feel his body giving up.

Safety usually did that.

But he couldn’t really know for sure that he was safe, couldn’t know that this wasn’t a trap.

“I have something you can change into for bed. It’s not quite clean, but it’s not dirty either. Come change, I’ll get the fireplace going.”

He’d almost forgotten that the night would be much cooler, that without a fire, he would likely have caught a cold or spent the entire night shivering.

Another reason to be grateful for Eddie.

He didn’t want to be in this position though, owing someone. Especially not someone who could ruin his life or those he loved.

He seemed like a higher ranked soldier, like someone most people listened to and liked, and one order from him could end Steve’s life.

Steve was good at defending himself, but he was tired.

He changed, ignored the way Eddie was staring at him as he did so, not wanting to answer any questions about his arm or the scars littering his body.

He was willing to repay Eddie in some way, but not with answers.

“I’ll take this side,” Eddie mumbled as he started moving the blanket on the side of the bed closest to the door.

“Um.”

“The bed’s big enough, just get in.”

Steve watched as Eddie got on his side, moving around until he was comfortable.

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“Steve. Get in the bed before I send you to the stable.”

Steve wouldn’t have really minded that, maybe even preferred that, but he decided to listen to Eddie.

He got in on the other side of the bed, laying on his side facing the wall, taking up as little space as he could.

“Steve, just get comfortable.”

So, he tried. And surprisingly, he found a very comfortable position on his stomach. He used to sleep that way as a child, never having to worry about if someone would sneak up on him in the woods.

He figured the only person who would try to kill him probably already would have tried by now. Maybe he could actually get some sleep.

He sighed into the pillow, drifting off before he heard Eddie turn over and face him.

—-------------------------

Steve woke up slowly, his body warm and not sore for the first time in years.

He’d forgotten what it was like.

And then he started to take inventory of his surroundings.

He was cuddled into Eddie’s side, his face buried against Eddie’s stomach and hand wrapped around his waist. Eddie’s hand was in his hair, not moving, just holding the strands.

Steve was stuck like this.

Surely, Eddie would wake up and push him away and then he would be sent away as planned.

Surely, Eddie didn’t know this happened in their sleep.

He felt Eddie’s legs shift, then his hand.

A groan.

Steve tried to pretend he was shifting away in his sleep. He closed his eyes and started to turn away.

The hand in his hair gripped harder, kept him where he was.

“You ‘wake?” Eddie whispered.

Steve had two options: pretend to be asleep or say he was awake and possibly die.

So he stayed quiet, let his breathing stay slow despite his nerves. He kept his eyes closed in hopes that Eddie wouldn’t think he’d been awake at all.

“Good.” Eddie whispered. The hand in his hair gently carded through his fingers. “Sleep as long as you want. You need it.”

Steve couldn’t cry like this, it would give him away, but the softness of Eddie’s voice, the gentle way he was holding him, it was all too much.

He bit back the tears, and adjusted himself slightly so he could hopefully fall back asleep.

—-------------------------------------------

When he woke up screaming, Eddie was holding him, rocking him back and forth to calm him down.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re okay,” Eddie was saying quietly against the top of his head.

He was shaking, and crying, and had to get away from Eddie. He couldn’t show any more weakness.

He tried pulling away, but Eddie wouldn’t let him go.

“Steve, wait. Calm down first, okay? You’re barely breathing.”

He knew that. But he needed to get out.

“Air.”

“Okay,” Eddie said.

And then Steve was in Eddie’s arms as he got up and walked over to the window.

Steve knew he wasn’t as big as he should be, often only ate what was absolutely required to stay alive. But Eddie lifted him like he was lifting a small bag of food, and put no effort into carrying him across the room.

He adjusted Steve in his arms, until Steve was wrapping his legs around his waist and one of Eddie’s arms supported him. His other arm worked open the window, and he let out a small grunt when it got stuck about halfway.

Steve was too busy crying to worry about anything else that was happening.

Eddie held him next to the window, the cool air slowly filtering through the room and into his lungs, waking him up all the way and helping him focus.

But once he could focus, he realized where he was. He realized what he was doing.

He started to drop his legs down, but Eddie didn’t let him.

“Darling, you need to relax. Take some more deep breaths.”

Darling.

Steve looked at Eddie.

Eddie Munson had called him darling before.

”Steven! Come say goodbye to Wayne!”

Steve made his way downstairs to say goodbye to his family’s personal guard. Once a year, he left for two weeks to visit with his cousins in a town nearly a day’s travel away. The second in command usually covered for him, but this year would be Wayne’s nephew, Eddie’s, first time taking his place.

He was the best of the best, and not just according to Wayne.

And he was only two years older than Steve.

Steve loved Wayne, had considered him to be more of a dad than his own dad most of the time.

He crashed into Wayne, face buried in his chest.

At 16, Steve was too old to act like this, but Wayne didn’t believe that anyone was ever too old to give or get a good hug.

“Alright now, it’s alright. It’s just two weeks, son.”

Steve hadn’t noticed that Eddie was standing to the side, serious face to represent his very serious job.

“I’ll miss you,” Steve said.

“You know I’ll miss ya too. But Eddie will take care of you all just fine.”

Steve looked over at Eddie and then back at Wayne.

“He won’t bring me a cup of mead after my parents go to bed, though.”

Wayne laughed and looked over at Eddie, who was refusing to look at them.

“I’ll be sure to bring you two when I get back.”

And then he was gone.

Steve’s parents left the same day for a trip to visit the farms up north.

Steve was alone in the house except for the help and guards. And Eddie.

He hated being alone.

He woke up from a nightmare that first night, shivering and crying silently.

There was a knock on his door, and he felt like he might still be in the nightmare.

But Eddie peeked around the door and Steve relaxed slightly.

“I brought you mead,” Eddie said as he came into the room holding a mug. He paused when he saw the state Steve was in. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Eddie was next to him in a heartbeat, setting the mug on the table by his bed. His hands were cupping Steve’s face, checking him for injury.

“Just a nightmare,” Steve breathed out, still trying to center himself.

“Darling, you’re barely breathing.”

Steve’s eyes looked up at Eddie’s, searching for something, anything that would tell him why he just called him darling.

“I’m okay,” Steve finally said.

Eddie’s hands were gone, but the concern on his face remained.

“Do you need anything?”

“Could you stay?”

Steve hated asking, he hated being vulnerable with anyone. But he hated being alone more.

“I’ll stay, darling.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” Steve couldn’t help asking.

Eddie hadn’t been unkind before, but he certainly hadn’t made it seem like he wanted to be friendly.

“Because I know you don’t deserve to be treated poorly.”

Steve watched as Eddie contemplated what he was going to say.

“I know about the prophecy. Your parents told me when you left. They sat me and Wayne down, explained how important it was to find you, to keep you here so that our town and the world wouldn’t suffer. I didn’t believe it, but then the flood happened, and everything happened, and we’ve spent years just trying to survive. And the only thing that made sense was that you left and this started.”

“They didn’t tell you the part of the prophecy that I knew, though.”

“I figured it out though. I learned the part they didn’t tell anyone. That if you stayed in Hawkins, Hawkins would be safe, but the rest of the country would burn. But if you left, you had a chance at saving everyone.”

Steve nodded.

“Darling, you’re so good.” Eddie cupped his jaw and smiled sadly at him. “You went out into the world to save it, risked your life to help all of us. It came at a cost, but so does everything.”

Steve was crying again.

“What happened to your arm?”

“I lost it when I lost the hearing in my left ear,” Steve started, but paused when Eddie’s finger started tracing along his left ear. “We were stuck in a town that wasn’t prepared for anything. I could feel an earthquake coming, it’s just the way the ground feels under my feet. I tried to warn everyone, some people listened, but. There was a little girl. She was alone in a shop. I couldn’t leave her there. I misjudged how far off the earthquake was, misjudged how bad it would be. Managed to push her out of a window before the building collapsed. I got stuck under a counter that fell on my head, knocked me out cold, then more beams fell on my arm. By the time Robin and Max got to me, they had to cut it off or leave me there.”

“And the prosthetic?”

“Got it about a year ago. Helped a family escape from a tornado, managed to save most of their possessions even, and one of them was the prototype for this. The man had it built in a week for me. It isn’t perfect, but it does what I need it to do.”

“You can’t hear anything out of your left ear?”

“No.”

“That’s why I scared you earlier.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry that you’ve had to do this, darling.”

Steve shrugged.

“No, you should have never had to do this. I don’t know what changed in your mind to make you leave, and I’m glad you were able to help, but it should’ve never fallen on you.”

“I broke up with Nancy. I just had a moment when we were together, I realized she didn’t even know I liked having mead in bed. We were together for nearly a year, planned to marry, and she didn’t even know I liked drinking mead. It sounds stupid, but it just. It reminded me that on the first night you had to protect me, you brought me mead because you overheard me tell Wayne about it.”

Eddie looked at him with something like awe on his face.

“So you left because you broke up with her?”

“Yes and no. I broke up with her because I needed to for a lot of reasons, but I left because she was the only thing keeping me here. I knew I couldn’t ignore what my future was, and ignoring it would only make it worse for everyone outside of Hawkins.”

“But it was a suicide mission.”

“I had help.”

“The children?!”

Steve smirked and patted his cheek.

“Every single one of those children can outwit and outmatch you any day of the week. I guarantee it.”

“Whatever,” Eddie blushed. “So you’ve been out there for five years, basically alone, saving the country?”

Steve nodded.

“I-” Eddie shook his head. “And the nightmares, those are memories?”

“Mostly. Some of them take it a bit too far and go from memories to worst case scenarios.”

“You have them often?”

“Pretty often. Robin usually wakes me before they get too bad.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what was happening until you were already screaming and crying.”

“It’s okay. Next time.”

“Next time?” Eddie smiled.

“If you’d like. I’m not in a rush to go. I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

“You seemed pretty set on leaving tomorrow.”

“I didn’t exactly feel welcome.”

Eddie kissed his forehead softly, letting his lips linger for a moment before he whispered.

“Do you feel welcome now?”

“I suppose with a cup of mead, I might.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #the party #robin buckley #fantasy au #hurt/comfort #sort of enemies to lovers #anon request #ficlet

189 notes · View notes

terrence-silver · 5 months

Note

Hello 🖤 I love seeing your blog pop up in my feed, simply exquisite 🖤

I have a request. What would older Terry Silver do with an adult student who is rather boisterous in class, she listens but only when she wants, she's a smarty pants. Terry so wishes to teach her a lesson after many months of class passing, learning her mannerisms, learning HER. Ever the voyeur, finding her home, seeing what lies within when she's not home, Terry plans a little 'private lesson,' specifically for her at his home dojo. Ending with his gi sloppy on him, his hair a mess like the slut he is with his student underneath him with no mercy being shown. His student definitely listens to HIS wants and desires, eager to please.

Breaking Stone.

(Terry Silver x Reader)

---

-"How safe is this, Sensei? I mean, it’s solid rock."-

Your voice speaks up from the gathered crowd and Terry Silver, he knew you’d have something to say without having to turn his back towards the mass of students keenly eyeing his demonstration in silence, standing jam packed in a circle around the erected board with a concrete block fastened to the center of the scaffolding propped up on iron legs, following his every word like a mantra only for him predict that your mouth will eventually move to utter something and dare interrupt him. Class fifty eight. A lesson on Brick Breaking. Tools necessary; pretty straightforward. A slab of rock and a fist. Additional spices; your usual commentary in the midst of it all. Happened almost daily. Happened to the degree it was a constant he could count on. -"We’ll break our hands on that."- You add with a sense of urgency and worry once the entirety of the exercise’s participants turn their eyes towards you, scrutinizing, weighing and accessing what you just blurted out and you tended to blurt out stuff frequently. Terry joins them in their quiet staring, finding a twitch of satisfaction stir through him once he realized you were jittery and stuttering, made self aware through the fact you were the sudden center of attention. Needing to justify yourself for placing the spotlight unto yourself, you blurt out some more bullshit. Nerves, was it? You deserved that. Deserved much worse for stepping out of line. -"What do we do in case we tear our ligaments punching the board?"- You ask, scratching the back of your head. Ligaments? Were you frightened of getting a boo-boo? At that point, Terry allows himself to turn his entire body towards you, taking his time, slowly --- painfully slowly --- looking straight ahead, towards you. You shift, from one bare foot on the mat to the other, like the stillness of everything around you gave you a sense of discomfort.

Stew in it. He hoped you'd stew in it.

-"Seems a bit extreme. Sorry."-

You chuckle, apologizing, looking down. Then back up.

Terry has to chuckle with you, neatly folding his hands in front of him.

A bit extreme? It was meant to be extreme.

-"Our student here thinks our methods are strange, but these classes aren’t mandatory."-

He simply shrugs matter-of-factly, addressing the people around him, all eyes leave you and pinning themselves in his direction instead, encircling him like a tightly closed ring, listening attentively, leaving you even more isolated in your folly. The great mother hen and the ducklings. The one, solitary ugly black duck that talked too much. -"Nobody’s here by force."- He explains, and contrary to popular belief, everyone here gave their signature of consent on a written contract. Terms. Conditions. Price rates. Health insurances. They showed up to daily classes because they wanted to, giving their hard earned money out of their own volition. He didn't go kidnapping people off of the streets of LA and harassing them into black Gi, in spite of what the likes of Larusso tried to accuse him of, same way not even Larusso himself was harassed into this, decades ago. -"Or are you all here by force?"- Terry purses his lips, looking around, enjoying this far too much to stop. In unison, they all speak up, one voice, stemming from one collective lung. -"No, Sensei!"- The dojo resonates with their shout. He tries again, spreading his arms, envisioning himself like Pontius Pilate about to wash his hands clean of you and let the crowds make their decisions. -"Why are you here for then?"- He inquires, raising his voice, encouraging them. Spurring them on. -"To learn, Sensei!"- Obeying, they repeat the motion, letting out a united cry and content, Terry squeezes his fingers into a fist once they all fall silent, all but an echo remaining, his other free hand caressing the concrete block in front of him, never taking his eyes off of you. At this point, with a mouth standing agape, forgetting you should've joined everyone in their jubilant war cry, you were as pale as a ghost. Not quite so chatty or smart anymore.

Perfect.

-"The lesson is —"- He begins. -"A true artist of the craft spends years, even decades just hitting things. Sand. Wood. Stone. Metal. Flesh."-

Terry coos, confessing, that he did, on occasion, imagine hitting you.

The sweetest thing he'd ever strike. Purely to shut you up, get you the way you were right now; As quiet as the dead; all gulps and anxious little eyes darting left and right. Preferably having you bent over his knee like an unruly child and taking the bamboo stick to you bare buttocks until they were rendered crimson red with punishment. After it was all done, he'd have you thanking him for the honor too. He smiles, just at the notion; an expression he doesn't bother hiding.

-"Having been broken so many times, it makes their bones so dense that when it comes in contact with solid rock, the rock breaks first."-

Terry digs his teeth into his lower lip, taking his stance and lunging forward suddenly, knuckles breaking through the barrier of the rock and crumbling, his fingers pushing through the crack he made on the other side. It was as simple as that. -"Asaa!"- He bellows and if the dojo was collectively holding it's breath, once he's done, the remains of sharp jagged tiny pebbles spilling on the mat under around his feet like so many rolling marbles, he senses an equally collective exhale. He can swear you weren't blinking at that point. What were you shocked by? The fact that he just smashed through a brick that weighed ten pounds like it was nothing or the implication he's broken his hand by choice so many times that he could pull shit like this in the first place? Maybe it wasn't smart to backtalk or question the methods of a person who could crush your windpipes in with merely just his thumbs. -"So, you see — breaking our fists, it’s part of the curriculum."- He shakes his head, staring you down, taking a couple of steps forward, until it was undeniable he was addressing you in particular; his infuriatingly Doubting Thomas, ignoring the students that wordlessly volunteered to clean up, scooting down to pick up the unfortunate remains of the rock slab, chirping away at the remains like a handful of chicks. -"This is part of what you signed up for when you came to this dojo. When you came to Cobra Kai."- He assesses firmly. -"You came to break with the old so the new and the improved could take its place."- He adds. Eventually, you'd have to bruise and break in those pretty little hands much like everyone else would and if you didn't have the guts to do that, you'd advance nowhere and your here would become fairly obsolete. Someone might as well tell you that upfront.

Even though, he confessed. The idea of a piece of rock breaking your hands?

Something shoots through him, like a radioactive phantasm of jealousy.

He wanted to do the breaking instead.

Not leave it up to an inanimate piece of training gear.

-"And if you can't imagine yourself doing that, you can always take up a knitting class."-

He adds, finally, earning himself a couple of amused chuckles.

Blood rushes into your cheeks.

Were you angry? Ashamed? Humiliated? Good.

—

Looking through your files was child's game after that.

He pretty much had everything he needed to know about you, printed in black and white in his own two hands, on the very exact form you filled the day you signed up for adulted classes six months ago; your home address, bank statement, contact number, email, age, place of employment, blood type in case an accident took place mid-training and a transfusion was needed on short notice. And yes, he's broken into your home before. Terry did it the first time you ever ran your mouth to backtalk him, asking if doing fifty consecutive push ups as warm was a smart decision because it was bound to leave everyone too exhausted to hold proper form and too distracted with tiredness to properly follow the class. He checked every drawer, every shelf, every nook, every cranny, supposing he wanted to find something he could spit on in indignation and discovering nothing more fitting but what he could only deduce was your framed graduation photograph, pursuing his lips and letting the saliva build up right before he hurled the spittle out of his mouth and right unto the glass inside of the frame, watching it trickle down your face, smearing it with his finger in retaliation, deciding the gesture was fitting punishment. If only he had a chance to do it with your actual face next. Spit in your mouth too, for refusing to shut up as it did. Spit in your mouth for missing three of your classes this week, like that was a thing you were allowed to do when you weren't. Did he tear into you verbally too hard last time? Was that it? Undoubtedly, but that still didn't give you permission to leave. He wanted you to come back so he could harass you some more, like you deserved to be harassed.

He knocks on your door, freshly having concluded this week's teaching.

Still in his Gi, jacket slung over his shoulders.

He did that on purpose, to make it seem like him coming here wasn't premeditated or something he tactically prepared for in advance, but rather, like a last minute decision he made in the utmost rush to the degree he didn't even have time to change out of his training attire, forgetful, overworked old man that he is. -"Who’s there!?"- Your concerned, slightly confused voice calls from the other end and he hears the keyhole clicking, only for your uncertain face to show up in the precipice of the doorframe illuminated by the warm light of your apartment's foyer looming like a halo behind you, brows practically jumping once you recognized him, appearing relieved. -"Sensei Silver!?"- You state in surprise, opening the door entirely, letting him step over the threshold, moving out of the way to usher him inside from the corridor. He tries not to seem too familiar with the territory, pretending not to know exactly where to stand; next to the shoe rack or the coat hanger. -"God. I’m so sorry. Got scared halfway to death!"- You place your hand over your chest, exhaling and smiling. Way too fidgety for someone who took Tang Soo Do classes. What were you afraid of? Of someone barging in and subduing you? -"What do I owe the honor of the visit! I didn’t expect anyone."- You shake your head, all charm. Of course he prepared an excuse for him being here and it comes in a form of a sleek pamphlet he produces from inside of his jacket, handing it to you. He had it printed, in bulk and giving out to everyone at the dojo solely so he could have a reason to give you one to you as well. -"The curriculum. For our future classes. I thought you might wanna look through it. Freshly printed."- Terry explains. He hoped you would've continued showing up, smart mouth you always were, but there you went, disappearing. If Muhammad wouldn't come to the mountain, the mountain would have to come to Muhammad.

-"You missed the last session so I brought it over personally. Where'd you go?"-

Terry feigns concern. He knew where you went. You were pegged down a notch.

Proceeded retreating with your tail behind your legs.

That's what you get for questioning him.

But, he didn't expect you to retreat quite so definitely.

Who'd you ask if you can do that? Did you ask anyone? Him?

You eyelashes flutter, like you were about to come up with an excuse.

-"I think you're right, Sensei. I mean, the whole Cobra Kai dojo scene, ---"-

You begin, looking away from him, vehemently staring at the pattern on the corridor carpet, holding the flyer with a sense of unease, like you weren't certain what to do with it. If you crumpled it up, he'd make you eat it. -"It ain't for me. I'm not cut out for it."- You confess, finally meeting his gaze, appearing a bit shy at the notion. He knew a tangent was incoming. Decides to let you have it. And knowing you, you wouldn't shut up any time soon in the next five minutes. -"I can't do any of those things you demonstrated last week. Break my bones on purpose? Smash through rocks? Ignore pain? I know when I'm out of my depth and there's no shame in admitting something ain't for me and gracefully moving on. What you said the last time --- you helped me see that. You really did."- You utter, in one solitary breath, and it takes everything within Terry not to laugh at you. So, humiliating in front of the whole class for interrupting him for the umpteenth time with some inane observation, you thought it was for your own good and that it made you see things more clearly? What? Was that why you left his dojo like it was a bus station? Did you really take up knitting as a hobby in the meantime as well? -"I had a great time studying these past few months under you, but I just can't continue."- You visibly gulp once he says nothing and you feel incentivized to further explain. You never had a problem with that before. Go ahead. He was giving you center stage to speak. So speak. -"I talk back. I interrupt. I question. I worry. I'm so sorry. I can't just let go and do it. Do what I'm supposed to do on the mat."- You add, your eyes widening, perhaps in anxiety, pupils dilating, looking back and forth between the surrounding furniture and the wall --- anywhere but at him. Why should he let you go? When it was so fun pushing your buttons? In fact, he decides you could use some more of that.

-"Do you like me?'-

He asks, bluntly. You take a step back, stammering.

-"Excuse me, sir?"-

-"I said, do you like me?"- He repeats himself, firmer.

Your mouth wordlessly forms a shape, but no sound comes forth.

You weren't certain what to say.

Finally.

You were speechless for once. That was a welcoming novelty.

-"Because, if you like me, you won't leave me here stranded, with one student less and waltz out impulsively, on such a short notice. That's not how things work. There's a price for that."-

He winds you up, deciding to stoke a fire and then immediately extinguish it, intending to fluster you for thinking what he led you to think, watching the abject shame settle into your expression like a newly formed wrinkle just because for a mere second, you thought this was a confession of something more than it was instead of a cleverly phrased and deliberately misguiding segway intended to put you on the spot and make you feel like an idiot with no listening comprehension. -"I'll pay everything I still own and ---"- You practically stumble over your words, clutching the pamphlet to your chest vigorously, like a shield, referencing unpaid lesson, trying to regain what little balance you had, visibly sweating bullets. Stoke the fire. Extinguish the fire. Stoke the fire. Extinguish the fire. Terry steps forward, shutting you up. Commanding you to stay silent. -"Don't talk."- He orders, flatly, putting up his hand alongside his finger as a warning and then coming closer still, until the tip of it is practically pushing against your mouth. You appeared flaggerbasted. Like you weren't sure what was going on, too shocked to actually move. This was why confusing people into a state of paralytic awkwardness was paramount in verbal warfare. He pushed his index finger between your lips and you still didn't move, letting him get away with it, too stunned for words. -"For once, listen. Don't speak."- He murmurs, staring at your mouth, pushing his nail inside, feeling your wetness and finding your tongue, frozen stiff, clasping it with his thumb and index finger and holding it, pulling on it, until you groaned, trying to mutely gibber and failing. -"This is the thing that always talked back. Can't talk back anymore, can it?"- He taunts and you shake your head with an expression that would place deer in headlights to shame, shivering vigorously.

You've seen what his hands could do. What his fists could do.

He could rip your tongue out of your skull and it would pose little issue.

He felt you knew that right about now.

Practically dangled by the tip of your mouth's organ. Your head slumping back.

Unable to release yourself, you slowly lower yourself, to your knees.

-"That's good."- Terry coos, pleased, watching you drool all over his hand.

-"Open that pretty little mouth of yours and use it for something really valuable for a change."-

He purrs, even as his fingers go fidgeting, lower his Gi's trousers, loosening the obi around his waist, pulling his cock out of his briefs, showcasing it to you so the state of the situation would settle in. He'd hatefuck your mouth. He was already hard. Already dripping precum. Almost like the very act of coming here and pestering you served to do it for him as he, without much deliberation, pushed himself inside of your lips, taking in the sloppy, receptive moisture, enjoying the symbolism of the flyer he's given you falling next to you on the floorboard until you were practically kneeling atop of it. -"Perfect."- He hums, praising. -"You've been badgering and badgering and I can't tell you how many times I thought about interrupting class and just giving it to you, in front of everyone, right there, in the middle of the dojo. Let them all see what happens when someone questions Terry Silver and his methods."- Now it was his turn to make some confessions, fingers tangling into your hair, coiling into a fist, making you look at him with your watering, teary eyes. He amps up his pace, bobbing your head back and forth for you, using your tresses as reins. Look how you've infected him. Now he was the one rambling and loving it. -"But, I wanted the occasion to be something special. Someplace I could really savor it --- and what better place than right under your very own roof."- He closes his eyes, smiling, enjoying the sensation of tense pleasure building up in his gut, right before looking down at you with your brows furrowed. You were just now realizing this was premeditated. Poor you. -"Oh, don't look at me like that. Don't think I haven't been in here before. Been here a thousand times."- He chuckles into his own chin, moaning. Of course he's desecrated something miniscule every time you talked back as an elaborate form of revenge and violation, like wiping his cock on the curtain after masturbating on your bed. Nothing was for free. Disrespect certainly wasn't.

-"And you'll be seeing a lot more of me just yet. Don't think this is over. Don't think you can disassociating with Cobra Kai and me on a whim. You can't."-

He flat out threatens, his hips rutting vigorously against your head.

You thought this was a game?

You sign up to his dojo for like six months and call it quits when things get hard?

Cobra Kai was a brotherhood. A society. Not an extracurricular pastime or a hobby.

That's what people weren't getting. He didn't want them to just yet.

But you? He'd was breaking the news to you hard and fast in the flesh.

-"You belonged to me from the moment you met me and put on the Gi and you'll belong to me until your dying breath."-

He grits his teeth, shaking, seething, feeling his tresses slide out of his ponytail and unto his forehead in an unruly mess, satisfaction coiling in his groin imaging you returning to the dojo on Monday, dressed in your uniform, all neat and proper, your attitude curbed and kept only for special occasions, releasing suddenly, just at the thought that he owned you, hearing you gurgle from the floor, droplets of his cum trickling down your chin and leaking unto the Cobra Kai pamphlet on the parquet in front of you. No, no. That wouldn't do. Not a single ounce wasted. -"Swallow."- Terry orders, catching his breath, scrutinizing you as you did so, still holding your hair, yanking forward suddenly, his cock falling out of your mouth, giving you leeway to breathe again and you do, gasping with sharp inhales of breath, a bubble of saliva popping between your lips as you rolled back to sob and cough. Pathetic. Eager to serve. So you were capable of shutting the fuck up, letting go and getting lost in an action after all? You were teachable. He knew you would be. Much like the rock slab on the training dummy, though, you needed to be broken in first. Terry slides his hand across the top of his head, slicking loose hair strands back, lifting up his finger to threaten and warn once again. Remind, in case you've forgotten. Had your brains scrambled in all sorts of awkward and unlikely directions. -"So, you better not miss out on any of my classes ever again or I'll have a reason to hold a very, very big grudge. Especially if you don't show up and break that stone like I've taught everyone to do. Understood?"-

-"Yes, Sensei."- You manage desperately, drooling, nodding your head.

#terry silver #old man terry #kk3 #cobra kai #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #tw; dubious consent #tw; teacher and student #tw; facefucking #tw; hatefucking #tw; stalking #tw; manipulating #tw; mind games #tw; all the warnings

83 notes · View notes

sepublic · 1 year

Text

So we have a young and older person... Both want to indulge in their fantasies, with one (low key non-binary) preferring an idealized world where they can play with and befriend everyone, while another wants to be feared by the enemies he ruthlessly conquers, and has the power of the Titan at his disposal.

You can say this applies to Luz and King... But it also applies to the Collector and Belos, now that you think of it?

And because the ages are reversed with these roles, with the one who wants to destroy his enemies being the ‘mentor’ of sorts, that plays a part in Belos and the Collector being so much more disastrous. Something something, restorative justice VS retributive justice, and how blindly pursuing either without regards to others can be dangerous. But at least with restorative justice, you want people to get better and be happy, not dead; The Collector’s reign lasts much less than Belos’, but we can see how their policies lead to less carnage.

It’s interesting that Luz and King are primarily paired with their ‘compliment’ on the antagonistic side, so to speak, even dressing up in their clothes; King with the Collector, who tries so hard to be Luz. Luz with Belos, who claims to speak on behalf of the Titan. And we see Luz get to reach out with her more ‘direct’ parallel in the Collector, although alas King never really gets to interact with Belos... It’s mostly in spirit, as I’ve said, with Belos acting in the name of his father, justifying his atrocities with the Titan in a way that convinces King he doesn’t want to be seen as a monster, as he later discusses with Steve. And there’s at least the fact that King kills Belos at the end of the story, too...

Luz and King are still a lot alike, as are Belos and the Collector; So of course this is going to apply between Luz and Belos, and King and the Collector. Luz is haunted by who she could’ve been by Belos, and feels trapped by this, whereas King feels obligated to help the self he recognizes in the Collector; It helps that King is playing more of a guiding role out of sympathy, whereas Belos is deliberately seizing power to gaslight Luz, insisting on these comparisons.

Luz and King are trapped in a twisted version of an early relationship, which is made explicit with King and the Collector, while Belos sees himself as the older person trying to rein in the younger, steer them from the less destructive path. And because the Collector wants to befriend others, they’re actually open when Luz steps in; Whereas when King steps in for Belos, it’s literally, as in he steps on Belos and stomps him to death, because that man would rather die than change and boy did everyone take him up on that claim.

I kind of get the sense that another reason things went wrong with the Collector and Belos is that they didn’t have their own Eda, an older mentor figure who could help temper and guide them! The Collector could’ve had that with the Titan, but the potential mentor succumbed to passion and lashed out at the kid for something the Archivists did. Likewise, Belos might’ve had that with Caleb and Evelyn... But the potential learner rejected both, killed the former even! And Caleb and Evelyn are Eda’s ancestors, no less; Just as the Titan and Eda are parents to King, and teach Luz magic!

By the end of the day, it really is down to the person themselves to get better, to decide to change; Look at Belos! But an older person providing guidance really can make a world of difference, when we look at the Collector and how they received that at a more impressionable age.

#the owl house #luz noceda #king clawthorne #the owl house collector #emperor belos #philip wittebane #parallels #foils

204 notes · View notes

buckyispunk · 7 months

Text

Chance Encounter

Joel Miller x F!College student!Reader Series, No outbreak/Pre-outbreak AU

Part one, read part two here! Masterlist here!

Summary: When a night out with friends takes a turn for the worse, you find every girls’ nightmare may soon be a reality for you. Enter: Joel Miller, your savior.

A/N: I plan on making this a series if it gets a decent amount of notes!

Warnings: sexual assault (unwanted touching), drinking, protective joel, fist fight/violence (dw Joel wins ofc), spilt coffee (oops), age gap (reader is 23, Joel is in his late 40s), eventual smut (none in this chapter)

Word Count: 4.8k

You take one last look in the mirror, adjusting the straps on your little black club dress. You strap on your favorite pair of heels and grab your purse before heading out your apartment door, locking it behind you.

As you walk out to the front of your apartment building you check your phone to see unread messages from your two best friends.

We’re here. Waiting out front.

Come on, dude! We want to go get drunk!!

Oh my god, if you don’t get out here in the next two minutes we’re leaving without you.

You let out an annoyed sigh as you step outside.

They hadn’t even been waiting for five minutes, they could be so impatient sometimes.

You look around before seeing them in the back seat of an Uber. You climb into the back seat with them.

“Oh my god! Babe!” your one friend, Taylor, practically screeches, “You look drop dead gorgeous.”

“You definitley need to wear that dress more often,” Lily agrees, eyeing the low cut neckline that shows off the swell of your breasts.

You thank them and return their compliments as the Uber pulls away from the curb and takes off, heading to the new bar downtown.

It’s a short car ride from your apartment - full of the three of you hyping each other up. You pull up in front of the club. You can tell just from the long line leading up to the door that it’s going to be a long night.

You and your friends thank the Uber driver and you carefully step out onto the sidewalk in front of the club, not wanting to trip over your heels and embarrass yourself so early in the night.

The three of you make your way to the end of the line. Dance music from inside and overlapping conversations fill your ears.

“This better be worth it, Lily,” Taylor shoots Lily an irritated look.

You share Taylor’s irritation, regretting letting Lily talk you into coming here. You would be satisfied with a little dive bar at this point, you just need to get drunk and release some of built up tension work and school had caused this week.

“It will be! Everyone has been raving about this place since it opened,” she justifies.

“Whatever,” you say, “I just hope this line moves quick.”

After a surprisingly short wait, you make your way to the front of the line. You hand the bouncer, a middle aged bald man, your ID first. He takes it, but not before taking an obvious, and long, look at your cleavage and giving you a sleazy grin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets you.

You give an uncomfortable smile back, “Hi.”

After deciding your ID checks out, he lets you pass through the doors. You step into the building and scan the huge crowd of people inside. About half the patrons appear to be college students, like you. Your friends follow not far behind you, dragging you straight to the bar.

The three of you order drinks and from the bartender, a pretty young woman who compliments your outfits, and you lean against the bar as you wait. After you get your drinks, you follow Taylor and Lily to the dance floor. The three of you share a grin as Live Your Life starts.

You down a long sip of your drink, knowing you’re going to need a buzz if you’re going to be dancing.

You start dancing with your friends and before you know it, your drinks are gone and Taylor is leaving to get more. You and Lily leave the dance floor and manage to find some empty chairs, taking a minute to catch your breath, while you wait for Taylor to get back with the drinks.

“She’s taking too long,” Lily complains, “I’m going back out there.”

“Okay, babe,” you reply, waving goodbye to her as she stands and slips back into the crowd of young, drunk, sweaty people.

Taylor eventually makes her way over to you and hands you a full drink. You thank her and point her in the direction Lily disappeared, explaining you’re gonna sit out for another minute. You quickly down your second drink, finally starting to feel tipsy.

You hear the intro to Somebody Told Me and stand, making your way into the sea of people. After a few seconds of trying and failing to find your friends, you give up and start dancing, wanting to enjoy the song and the buzz you’re feeling.

You let loose and sing along to the song and before you know it, a boy is in front of you, dancing with you.

He’s handsome. Tall, blonde, and has a lean, muscular build.

You meet his eyes and give him a smile, which he returns as he leans down to introduce himself.

Mike? Mark? It was something with an M, but you couldn’t make it out over the booming bass surrounding you.

You shout your own name back at him and he nods at you then takes a swig of his beer. He notices your empty hand and leans down again.

By some miracle you’re able to make out what he says this time, “What’s a pretty girl like you diong without a drink in her hand?”

He places a hand on your lower back and guides you over to the bar before asking what you want. He orders you a drink and gets another beer for himself. You thank him and grab his arm, dragging him back to the dance floor.

The two of you dance together and after a couple songs, he makes his way behind you. You feel the denim of his jeans rubbing into your thighs where your dress ends. You take a small step forward, only for him follow right behind you, filling the space you had made. You turn around to face him and continue dancing.

You follow his eyeline to your breasts, noticing the hungry look in his eyes. He places his hand that isn’t holding his beer on your hip, quickly lowering it to your ass and squeezing. You grab his hand and shove it back toward him.

His expression quickly turns into a mixture of anger and offense. He shouts something that you can’t hear over the loud music, but you know it wasn’t nice.

You hadn’t noticed your friends walking up to you until you turn around to leave whatever his name was. By the confused looks on their faces, they had witnessed the interaction and they sandwich you between them. They lead you over to the chairs and you sit down, explaining to them what happened.

“He bought me a drink and then started getting too handsy when we were dancing. I tried to get him off me, but he wasn’t taking the hint.”

“I’m sorry,” Taylor says, giving you a sympathetic look.

“Men are such assholes sometimes,” Lily responds angrily, “Do you want me to go find him and slap him? I can throw the rest of my drink on his face.”

Lily’s words cheer you up a little bit and you stand, “I’m fine guys, it wasn’t a big deal. We came here to have fun!”

Lily and Taylor give you a skeptical look but follow you as you head back to the dance floor. The three of you start dancing together, moving your hips and grinding against each other. You laugh at each other as you scream-sing along to Pitbull.

After several more rounds of drinks, the aching in your feet gets to be too uncomfortable to continue dancing. You knew wearing the heels was a bad idea, you just look so damn good in them.

You get Taylor and Lily’s attention, “Hey guys, I think I’m gonna call it a night. My feet are killing me. Plus, I know I’ll regret it in the morning if I have anything else to drink.”

Your friends seem to have heard at least the majority of what you said.

“Aww man,” Lily says, a pout forming on her face, “That’s so lame. It’s only like midnight.”

You check the time on your phone before responding, “Lily, it’s almost 2 o’clock. Listen, you guys should stay,” you say, not wanting to ruin put an early end to their fun night.

Taylor leans over to your ear, “Let us at least walk you out and wait for your Uber with you.”

“No way,” you dismiss her offer, “I wouldn’t want you guys to have to wait in that line again.”

“You sure? We don’t mind,” Lily pushes.

“Really, guys,” you smile at them, “I’ll be fine.”

You hug your friends goodbye and head outside to order your Uber. You lean up against the brick wall of the building for stability and pull your phone out of your bag. You order an Uber.

Tristan will be here in 11 minutes.

You go to put your phone back in your bag, but you miss and your phone lands on the concrete.

You bend down on unsteady legs to retrieve your phone, but someone elses hand reaches it first. You stand back up and lay eyes on the figure in front of you.

The bouncer from earlier.

“Hey, beautiful.”

He puts his yellow teeth on display as he steps closer to you. He lays one hand on your hip, backing you up against the brick wall. With his other hand, he offers you your phone. You take your phone back with shaky hands.

“My shift just ended,” he says, voice dark, “How about you come back home with me for a drink? Can’t let a pretty little lady like you leave here alone.”

His hand is creeping lower and lower, getting close to your ass.

“Um,” you want to kick yourself for how small your voice sounds, “no, thanks. My boyfriend will be here soon to pick me up.”

You do your best to look unbothered, trying to sell your lie.

“That so, baby?” he questions, sneer never leaving his face, “I’ll wait here with you then.”

His hand reaches your ass and you cringe. You raise your hands and use all the strength you can muster to shove him in the chest. The stocky man in front of you doesn’t budge.

You begin to panic even more, realizing what’s about to happen to you. Your brain freezes and you open your mouth to yell but only a squeak comes out when you meet the malicious gaze of your assaulter.

“That wasn’t very nice, baby,” He growls, “Someone needs to learn some manners.”

Before you have a chance to respond or make any other attempts at escape, you hear a shout from behind the bouncer.

“Hey, asshole! Get off of her!”

The bouncer is blocking your view so you can’t see whoever the voice belongs to, but even in your drunken state, you notice the southern drawl.

The bouncer looks over his shoulder, muttering a quiet “fuck off” and reverting his vile glare back to you.

Before you know what’s happening, the bouncer is ripped off of you. He stumbles backward, almost toppling over. Now that your view isn’t blocked you’re able to see the man responsible.

He’s tall. At least half a foot taller than the bouncer. His broad shoulders and back make you wonder how his flannel shirt hasn’t ripped. His graying hair and the wrinkles across his forehead make it clear he’s older than you. Quite a bit older, you’d guess.

You collapse to the ground, trying to calm your panicked breathing.

The man takes his eyes off the bouncer to look over at you with a worried expression.

“Are you o-” before he has a chance to finish his sentence, the bouncer has tackled him into the ground.

The bouncer gets in only one good shot before the man manages to wrestle the bouncer underneath him. He grabs the bouncer’s shirt and lands begins punching him repeatedly.

You squeeze your eyes shut and clutch your legs into your chest, unable to believe the scene unfolding in front of you. You hear a crack and a scream. You look up and are thankful to see that the scream came from the bouncer, not the man who had saved you. You feel tears welling in your eyes.

The man climbs off the bouncer, who now lays covering his bloody face, and stands over him.

“Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind about letting you go,” he scowls.

The bouncer stands up, muttering and groaning before stumbling away from you and the man who had just bloodied him.

With the threat gone, your savior returns his attention to you.

He steps over to where you sit crumpled on the ground. He kneels down in front of you and you cower away, covering your face with your hands.

“Whoa, hey,” his voice sounds much softer now than it had just seconds ago when he was talking to your assaulter, “my names Joel. I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart.”

The man backs away from you, but stays in a kneeling position.

You look up to him, face covered in tears and running makeup. His big, brown eyes are filled with apprehension and worry. He has a cut on his cheek from where he got hit, a small drop of blood trickling down his face.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you, darlin’?” he questions, concerned.

“Oh,” you sniffle, using your hand to wipe mascara and tears off your face, “yeah, I’m alright. He didn’t hurt me. I’m just shaken up, I think.”

You grab your purse off the ground where you had dropped it and go to stand up.

Joel makes his way to his feet quickly and hesitantly stretches his hand out to you. You look up at him and give him a small nod. You’re not quite sure why, but you trust him. Even though you had just watched him beat the shit out of someone.

He gently puts his hand on your arm and keeps you balances as you stand, making sure you don’t topple over in your inebriated state. You feel goosebumps form on your skin at Joel’s touch.

The way he touches you feel so different than the bouncer. Different than the boy you had been dancing with. They had touched you with greed and roughness. The way Joel gently holds your arm is a stark contrast to his coarse, calloused hands.

Once you’re on your feet, he lets you go. As he pulls his hand away, you notice the drying blood across his knuckles and wince.

“Thank you for getting him off of me. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t been here,” you give Joel a grateful smile, “Are you okay?”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” he says gruffly, “I just did what any man should’ve. I wasn’t gonna walk past n’ let that piece of shit do god-knows-what to you.”

He sheepishly looks down at his work boots, shifting from foot to foot.

“My ride will be here in just a couple minutes, you don’t need to wait with me,” you say, attempting to fill the awkward silence.

“Don’t even start,” Joel looks back up at you, “‘m not leavin’ you here alone, I’ll wait here with you.”

Inwardly, you let out a little sigh of relief, feeling safer with him.

“Have your boyfriend gets you some water when you get home. He should stay up for a little while and make sure you don’t roll over onto your back in your sleep,” Joel says, leaning against the wall with you, although he leaves a polite amount of space between the two of you.

“What?” you look over to him, brows furrowing.

“You told that guy your boyfriend was coming to pick you up. I overheard a little bit of the conversation as I was coming over to help you.”

“Ohh,” you start, remembering the lie you had told the bouncer, trying to get rid of him, “I just said that to scare him off. Clearly it didn’t work,” you explain, blush spreading over your cheeks. “I don’t actually have a boyfriend. My Uber’s on its way.”

Joel hums in response, an expression on his face that you can’t quite read.

“Well, in that case,” his deep voice speaks softly, “make sure you drink plenty of water when you get home. And try to stay on your side.”

“Is your face gonna be okay?” you ask him, pointing to the cut on his cheekbone. You can’t help but let your eyes trail over his jawline and his thick neck.

Joel furrows his eyebrows and reaches up to where you’re pointing.

“Oh,” he says, pulling his hand back eyeing his own blood on his fingers, as if he hadn’t even noticed the cut, “this ain’t nothin’,” he mutters. “Fucker musta had a ring on.”

You raise your eyebrows, surprised by his nonchalance. He keeps his eyes forward. You let yourself admire his side profile - the curve of his nose, his beard and moustache, his salt and pepper hair.

“Is that your ride?” he asks you, pointing to a car that just pulled up, breaking your trance.

You pull out your phone to check.

“Yeah,” you nod, putting your phone back away, “it is.”

Joel makes his way over to the Uber with you and opens the back door for you, making sure you get in the car okay.

“Be safe, please,” his soft brown eyes make meet your gaze, “Go get some sleep.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you give him a genuine smile, holding eye contact.

Joel gently closes the car door and steps back.

You watch him through the window until you get too far away, then you train your eyes on the seat in front of you. Thankfully, Tristan doesn’t try to make small talk with you, leaving you to replay tonight’s events in your mind, trying to make sense of it all.

As soon as you pull up to your apartment building, you’re climbing out of the car and heading to unlock the door - ready to take these damn heels off and get in bed.

Once inside your apartment, you take off your heels, clean your face with a makeup wipe, change out of your dress, and get in bed. You fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You wake up to a throbbing in your head. You squeeze your eyes shut and roll over in bed. You pull the covers up, trying your best to fall back asleep. After several minutes of tossing and turning, you come to terms with that fact that you’re up for the day.

You grab your phone off the nightstand and check the time - 7:37. Too damn early. You respond to Lily and Taylor’s texts asking if you got home okay with a simple yes, not feeling like explaining everything.

You roll out of bed and hop in the shower. You wash your hair and body, trying to scrub off the mess that was last night.

Your thoughts drift back to Joel. The way he touched you so gingerly when he helped you up. You remember the way you felt so safe around Joel, not worried for a second that he would try anything. The way he was willing to get into a fight for you - you’re pretty sure he broke the bouncer’s nose. How he casually brushed off his injuries in favor of making you feel comfortable.

You feel much better when you step out of the shower. More fresh. You pick out denim cutoffs and a cropped tee for the day, dressing for the early September Texas heat.

Your head is still throbbing, though, so you take some medicine. You go to make yourself a cup of coffee in hopes that caffeine will help you feel less like a zombie, but you’re fresh out.

Of fucking course.

You put your phone and your wallet in your pocket, and leave your apartment to walk to your favorite little cafe. Your walk is quiet, most people still asleep this early on a Saturday. You pass the occasional person going for a morning run.

You arrive at the cafe and open the door, walking inside. You look up at the chalkboard menu as you walk in. As you’re reading their new seasonal drinks, you collide with something hard and solid. It only takes you a second to realize that something is a person.

You watch a cup of coffee fall to the floor, knocked out of the person’s hold by you.

You feel your heart drop and a blush form on your face, “Oh my god, I’m so so sorry.”

You look up to see the unfortunate victim of your clumsiness.

Joel. The same man who had saved you last night. The same man who you hadn’t been able to get off your mind all morning.

“Oh,” you say, looking like a deer in headlights, “Joel. I’ll buy you a new drink. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Good morning,” Joel grunts. He quickly looks you up and down before eyeing his now empty coffee cup laying on the floor.

You quickly bend down to grab the empty paper cup, tossing it in the trash can and grabbing a stack of napkins. You go to kneel down to start wiping up the mess, but a soft hand on your arm stops you.

“I got it,” Joel takes the napkins from your hand and begins cleaning up the spill.

You grab more napkins and join Joel in wiping up the mess.

“Really, I can clean it. It’s my fault. I walked into you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Joel answers, “You didn’t mean to. Accidents happen.” His eyes look up and you meet his gaze, “You’re not still drunk are you?” Joel teases, lightly chuckling.

“No. Hungover, though,” you manage a small smile through your embarrassment.

The two of you stand and throw away the napkins, the mess on the floor cleaned as best as you could get it.

“What kind of coffee do you want?” you ask Joel, heading for the line to order.

“I can get it myself. You didn’t mean to spill it,” Joel argues.

“Joel. What kind of coffee do you want?” you repeat yourself, not leaving any room for discussion.

“Dark roast, black,” he gives in, the corner of his mouth turning up in a slight smile.

The two of you wait in line together - side by side. He stands far enough away from you that you’re not touching, but close enough that you can smell his cologne - bourbon and oak.

“You never told me your name last night,” he points out.

“Oh, shit. You’re right,” you tell him your name, “You’ll have to forgive my bad manners.”

“That’s alright, you had a lot going on. S’a pretty name.”

“Thank you.”

“Glad to see you made it home safe,” he says, looking down at you.

You look up into his soft, brown eyes “Thanks to you.”

The cut on his cheek is more of a scratch now. It wasn’t very deep.

“Your face looks better,” you tell him, quickly backtracking once you realize how that sounded, “I- uh I mean because of the cut. It looks like the cut is healing well. Your face never looked bad. It looked good last night and it looks good now,” you start rambling, not wanting him to get the wrong idea.

Joel looks down at you, an amused grin spreading across his face. Smile lines form at the corners of his mouth. “Good, huh?”

You know your face is as red as a tomato. Thank god you’re at the front of the line.

The barista speaks, saving you from the conversation you were having with Joel, “Good morning, how can I help you two today?”

You place your order and after a minute you get your coffees. You hand Joel’s to him. Your fingertips brush his as you hand him the cup, his large hand dwarfing the cup. You look up at him to find his eyes already on yours. You quickly look back down.

Your eyes dart around the cafe, unsure what to do next.

As if reading your mind, Joel speaks, “Want to grab a table?” he asks unsurely.

“Oh” you look at him, noting the hestitance in his tone, “you don’t have to. I’m sure you’re sick of me after last night and this morning.”

Joel holds eye contact with you, “I want to. I’d love for you to keep me company while I drink my coffee,” he says more confidently this time, “If you want to, that is.”

“Okay, sure,” you grin up at him as you make your way over to an empty table.

Joel pulls out your chair for you before sitting across from you.

“Surprised you’re up this early,” Joel says after taking a sip of his coffee, “You should still be asleep after your late night.”

“I should be, but my head had other plans.”

Joel hums and gives you a knowing look.

“What about you?” you counter, “Why are you up so early on a Saturday?”

“Got a job today. Me and my brother have a contracting business. Gotta be at the site in an hour.”

“Why were you out so late last night? Were you at that club?” you ask, curious.

“Went out with some of the guys after work. I was walking home from a different bar when I noticed that douchebag feelin’ up on ya.”

Conversation flows easily between you and Joel as you two finish your coffees. Before either of you notice, 45 minutes have passed.

“Oh, shit,” Joel grumbles as he notices the time on his watch, “I should get goin’ or else I’ll be late. Tommy would never let me hear the end of that.”

The two of you stand and make your way outside to find that it had started raining. You stand under the awning, trying to stay dry.

“Shit,” you mumble, not having thought to check the weather before you decided to walk here.

“What’s wrong?” Joel asks, a frown on his face.

“I- uh, I walked here.”

“Can I drive you home?” Joel offers without missing a beat.

“You don’t need to. I don’t want to make you late.”

“I want to, darlin. Can’t let you walk home in this,” he raises his arms in gesture to the pouring rain.

“If you really don’t mind,” you tell him.

Joel nods his head in the direction of his truck, leading the two of you over to it in quick walk. He opens the passenger side door for you, offering you his hand to help you climb in. Once you’re fully seated, he closes the door for you and runs around to the driver’s side and steps up into his own seat.

You give Joel directions to your apartment. The drive only takes a couple minutes.

When Joel pulls up outside your apartment complex, he keeps his eyes forward, “Can I have your phone number? I would love to pay you back for the coffee sometime,” you note what sounds like uncertainty in his voice as he asks.

“You don’t owe me anything, Joel. But, yes, I’d be happy to give you my number.”

Joel lets out a little sigh of relief and hands you his phone, letting you put in your number.

When you finish typing it in, you hand the phone back to him and open the door.

“Thanks for the ride,” you smile over your shoulder at him as you hop down from the truck.

“Bye,” Joel returns your smile before you shut the door.

Joel’s truck doesn’t pull away until you’re safely inside your apartment.

The coffee seemed to help your headache subside. You curl up on your couch and turn the TV on, putting on one of your favorite comfort movies.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket and pull it out.

Thanks for the coffee, sweetheart. Good luck with your hangover.

You type a quick reply.

Have a good day at work, Joel :)

You close your eyes and let yourself fall asleep, movie playing in the background.

#fanfic #fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #joel x reader #protective joel #protective joel miller #joel miller x college student reader

116 notes · View notes

tocomplainfriend · 5 months

Text

Please, there is no way Viv finished Bojack Horseman

youtube

This and many other moments in Bojack are supposed to tell you to your face that he is horrible! You can not keep excusing your characters like that. This whole thing about writing horrible people because they are in hell is bullshit, when the writing takes every step to forgive the characters.

youtube

The final episode does not justify Bojack by having him be alive. The episode before that was giving the "Do something bad the world it's going to give it back to you", all of BJ problems catching up to him. The next episode is to keep the realism of "In the real world, there is no cosmic justice", Even they make the joke than in the industry-everyone in public (or celebrities) already left what BJ did in the dark. All the characters act like real people, Princess Caroline did the decision to keep BJ in her life, for example. It does not justify BJ at all. He sucks, and you can create characters that are awful people without justifying their shit behind sad lives and sad childhoods. Let your characters be bad people. I think Katie Killjoy in HH works because she was so openly a bad person, such open homophobia and just being a bitch-without giving her sympathy. Was it easier to write a female character being an awful?

And also why did the story just disregard Glitz and Glam so quickly? Fast to make Blitz call any woman a whore than call out Stolas being predatory, because you want to write your power imbalance fan fiction? Like they get crushed by a rock, LMAO? Glitz and Glam where mean about a competition, but I need to be all out for Stolas and Blitz? Like, you can make a point about them two saying the Fugly imp thing as discrimination? (I think the writers didn't think fast enough of a fish cunt joke for Blitz to do back tho) But Stolas has constantly called Blitz Imp based nicknames, and has imp working for him that he mistreats still?

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #vivziepop critical #bojack horseman #Youtube

66 notes · View notes

mimymomo · 5 months

Text

It’s truly astounding how the people belittling Fearne’s feelings and growth the most are Fearne fans themselves.

Fearne/Ashley made it explicitly clear that she didn’t want the shard. She stated that it multiple times and went even further to explain that it scared her and TOLD ASHTON that she believed they should take it. They willingly went along with Ashton’s plan because she believed it was the right thing to do but as time went on, she grew more and more concerned but still believed in Ashton who kept telling her it it would be okay, downplayed the consequences (saying his death would be a funny story to tell and that’s all as if them dying wouldn’t be horrible and affect Fearne/the others because they genuinely can’t believe that his life is worth that pain) and said that she promised him.

Fearne said multiple times that Ashton didn’t manipulate her. Ashton wasn’t hiding their intentions from her — he told her the plan, they knew (some of) the risks and Fearne said she went aligns to hit because she thought it was the right move. You’d think Ashton had a gun to her head by the way the fandom is talking about the whole thing!

Yes Ashton was pushing and they never should have kept Fearne from telling the group the truth but she made her choice and it was a bad one out of love and care (and no Ashton did not manipulate her feelings/attraction to them to convince her: Ashton did not and still does not know the full extent of what Fearne felt towards them and when he kissed her, she had already agreed to the ritual and the kiss only made her really second guess).

Now am I saying that she’s equally culpable as Ashton? NO!

Am I saying she owes Ashton an apology? GOD NO! And thank god Ashton told her she didn’t owe them anything, he put her in such a bad situation and that was 95% on them. THEY FUCKED UP BAD AND DESERVED ALL THE TONGUE LASHINGS THEY GOT!

But the way the fandom presents the issue is as if Ashton was this maniacal, evil manipulator who preyed on Fearne solely because she was too good to say no instead of viewing the whole situation as it really is: a man who is fucked up asking someone they trust to join in on their stupidity without fully realizing how much danger, trauma and suffering he is going to put her through.

We can acknowledge that Fearne made a mistake by being complicit and used Ashton plans with the shard to justify (run from) her not having to take it due to her own personal beliefs and fears and use that acknowledgment to further show her growth as a person who will never let herself get thrusted back into that position again. That she can’t blindly trust and follow someone’s self destructive path if it’s gonna lead to her being hurt. This is a good thing! Let Fearne learn and grow from this! That’s what the whole Chetney discussion is about: no one’s blaming her, Ashley’s not dodging anything or protecting Taliesin/Ashton — this is Fearne being honest, taking agency, calling out her actions and growing.

Fearne messed up and was complicit in going along with the plan AND she has every right to be upset with Ashton for what they did and she deserved her apology are two statements that can (and should) coexist!

I’m so tired of people vilifying Ashton and making him come off as this terrible and evil individual when that’s not what this was. They aren’t. And then saying that he was throwing a pity party when in reality they’re coming to the realization that his behavior is his own fault and they can’t keep running and blaming others for the actions he takes and then apologizing and taking responsibility and ownership for what happened and saying they want to be better in the future.

The same fandom that worships the ground Percy steps on despite all the bs he put VM through, actually tried to argue that Essek — a character who due to his own hubris stole a priceless and ancient artifact that was essential to his country’s religious identity and nearly started a whole ass war — wasn’t a war criminal because the Geneva Conventions didn’t exist in Exandria (yes this actually happened to me at one point), seems to be unable to handle Ashton without any sort of empathy or understanding. A character who has been mentioned to be broken (physically mentally and emotionally) with crippling self worth issues who needs to be better in not only how they show they care, but in loving and caring for himself.

These past 2 episodes were so good but gosh some of the reactions have been aggravating

(Maybe I would accept people saying Ashton was manipulative more if they weren’t demonizing him in the same breath and acting as if they’re only only questionable bad egg in Bells Hells…)

#critical role #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway #I’ve been holding back this rant all night and being on twitter was only making it worse #I love Fearne! pls don’t think I don’t #but the way ppl are talking about Ashton and saying that they manipulated her is grinding my gears #this fandom can not handle characters that are the slightest shade darker of the lightest morally grey

116 notes · View notes

hyperactivewhore · 8 months

Note

It’s honestly so weird to me how many KC, CK, and KH stans jump through hoops to justify their “Klaus loves x girl more than Hope” arguments. As if their ship isn’t valid unless they can prove Klaus loved their fave over his own child. Do they not feel a bit odd trying to compete with a infant/toddler/teenage girl for Klaus ROMANTIC/SEXUAL affection??? They act as if Hope herself gave af about who Klaus was dating/actively went out of her way to sabotage any of his ships.

Because while the writing for Klope is very (and I mean VERY) iffy, the one thing that remained constant for all 5 seasons was that there’s no one he would choose over Hope. Joseph said it, the writers said it, Klaus said it, and even multiple characters in the show (Cami and Hayley included) said it.

They're the same people who excuse his or any Mikaelson's behavior, so I'm not surprised.

I'll start with saying that there is no one Klaus could ever love more than his daughter, no one: not Caroline, not Cami and certainly not Hayley. If you don't agree you're just delusional and haven't watched the show, because The Originals is constantly throwing in your face how Hope was the only thing and person Klaus couldn't live without.

Granted, they had no time together at all but Klaus adored her. Saying any woman would come before her is stupid, and while Klaus is impulsive and has done things that could have prevented them from being together (him dying for Cami in season 2 aka giving his own life for her, biting Elijah when Hayley was pregnant aka putting his unborn child in danger, and etc) she has always been his first priority.

"My daughter, my heir, you're my heart" "Because you've helped me feel something that I never thought was possible: unconditional love" "She's my heart and soul" "You are all that matters to me" "Because you are my peace. And I regret a lot of things, but I don't regret a single moment I spent with you. I love you so much" Klaus said all those things to Hope and yet people believe she was second in his life??? Like, what.

Hayley and Cami were definitely important persons in his life, but they would never be as important as Hope. Klaus "allowed" every single thing that Hayley did because she was the mother of his child and he couldn't harm her, not only because Hope would hate him but also because his family wouldn't allow it. I mean, even the episode of her wedding is more about Klaus and Hope that is about Hayley herself. He was terrified of anyone other than him being Hope's father, and Elijah noticed.

"Elijah: Just listen to yourself! Fueled by your delusions of persecution! Think, Niklaus-- if you kill Jackson, the wolves will descend into chaos. You're acting out of fear, terrified that Jackson might be a better father to Hope.

Klaus: Do not bring the child into this.

Elijah: Your child arrived here today, her security strengthened by those wolves that would defend her, and you would jeopardize that alliance? Niklaus, you yourself have mentioned that had you been raised by Ansel, you might have been a better man. Now, perhaps, a better man has entered Hope's life, and having seen that, you are shaken to your core."

And then he proceeded to get jealous about Elijah spending time with Cami. Like, all of season two is Klaus not wanting Hayley to marry Jackson because he knew he was a better man than he could ever be and he could be an even better step father to Hope, of course Klaus didn't want that to happen. And he eventually agreed, because his love and need to be with his daughter was bigger than his fear and etc. And it's something Hayley agreed on: she married Jack because she wanted to, but mainly because her kid could be back home.

Or in 2x12, his whole fight with Jackson was basically him whining and being jealous because he got to met Ansel, his biological father aka the man Klaus had always wanted in his life. And his argument/fight with Hayley just proves my point:

"Klaus: Well, allow me to make this simple for you-- under no circumstances will you divulge any family secrets, especially none that would endanger our child!

Hayley: Except it's not that simple, Klaus. You saw what Finn did. He's growing more powerful by the day. Right now he controls over half of the wolves. This marriage could change that.

Klaus: The outcome of your strategy is not worth the risk it imposes on our daughter."

"Hayley: Klaus, think. We could have a whole army of super-wolves who could protect Hope as one of their own.

Klaus: Hope doesn't need a wolf army! I'll protect her myself! And an easier time I'll have of it, too, without you running off sharing secrets with every motley member of your werewolf brethren.

Hayley: Damnit, Klaus! This is our chance! We can bring her home. We have to at least consider this!

Klaus: I have considered it, and I have deemed it absurd. And in this matter, there is no one above my decree, not even you."

It took three seasons for them to be able to even stand each other, not to talk about the fact that Klaus was cosplaying as a single father for months demanding Hayley came to apologize to him, knowing she was in potential danger. And well, he was in fact flirting with Caroline while being aware Hayley was kidnapped and suffering, so let's not lmao.

It's the same thing with Cami: she was well aware she wasn't Klaus's light and yet she asked him in her deathbed to be the light for Hope and stuff, to let go of his anger and he swore to always carry her with him and etc, and it was clear he did but Hope was still his main priority and the one he loved the most. And Camille loved Hope a lot, Klaus and Hayley and actually all the Mikaelson siblings knew her and were aware about the impact she had on Nik.

Klaus and Caroline are something like a wtf, because when it comes to them the writing for both characters just disappears. But well, Klaus did some decent things for her but he never actually changed until Hope was born (he was forced to tho, but that's another conversation) and Caroline was aware of that. She trusted him with her twins and Klaus with his daughter, and they had a mutual respect in The Originals because they had grown in their own personal ways.

Caroline, Cami and Hayley are all very different women who managed to leave a mark on Klaus, but they weren't even in the top of three persons he loved the most. Hope was the first one, Rebekah the second and Elijah or perhaps himself is the third, not his love interests.

People need to stop being mad about the fact that a daughter is the most important person to a father 💀

#klaus mikaelson #hope mikaelson #caroline forbes #camille o'connell #hayley marshall #klamille #klayley #klaroline #klope #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvd #to #elijah mikaelson

100 notes · View notes

zafirosreverie · 1 year

Text

Little furry friend (Bruno x F!Reader) part 2

For @hectic-hector (ily 💕)

Part 1

-----------------

"Julieta!! Do something about your sister!!"

The healer sighed and rolled her eyes fondly before turning to see Pepa effortlessly carrying Bruno into the kitchen. She knew that her brother justified that with the weight loss he had while living in the walls, but the three of them knew that Pepa had always had incredible strength and that she could lift both of them on each arm without breaking a sweat.

"Julieta!! Tell your brother to stop being a crybaby!!"

"I'm not a crybaby!"

"Yes you are!"

"Julieta!!"

"Okay, that's enough" the older one said, trying not to laugh at Bruno's pout when Pepa sat him down in a chair "what's going on?"

"Your sister is a nightmare"

"Your brother is an airhead"

"...okay, something else I don't already know?"

"HEY!!"

Julieta laughed at her siblings’ expressions and rolled her eyes again. Sometimes it was exhausting mediating their fights, but she truly loved them with all of her being and wouldn't have them any other way, no matter how many gray hairs they gave her in a day (definitely more than the six grandchildren combined).

"And you're supposed to be the good triplet?" Pepa crossed her arms with a pout.

"I always said that we should be careful with her, she has a mischievous glint in her eyes" Bruno whispered to the redhead

"So it's against me now?" the older one said, putting her hands on her hips "two seconds ago you were arguing for god knows what"

"oh yeah! You're right"

"Oh no, did you have to remind her?"

Bruno growled when a rainbow invaded the kitchen and Pepa got a little closer to her older sister, taking her by the hand like an excited child. It was always funny how Pepa could change her mood so quickly, especially when she was with her siblings, when she felt safe from being judged. But it wasn't as funny when he was the victim of her plans.

"Let's invite Y/N to dinner!"

"What?"

"We are NOT going to invite her to dinner, Pepa!"

"Why not? You already spend all day with her anyway, Bruno"

"It's different!"

"Why?!"

"Because you are not there to try anything"

"Excuse me?!" the redhead thundered "well sorry but someone has to take the next step if you're not going to do it yourself"

"There is no next step, Pepa, we are just friends!"

Julieta sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose as her siblings returned to a heated discussion that must have started long before they entered the kitchen. She could understand Bruno's anger or concern, and would usually agree with him that things should happen on their own.

The thing was, this time, she was on Pepa's side. It had been months since you showed up at the house with Bruno's rat in your hand and the whole family had been surprised at how well you got along with him. She had to admit that like her sister, she felt quite betrayed that he hadn't told them about you sooner, but she understood that he had a right to his privacy as well.

And if she was honest with herself, she was relieved at how well you treated her little brother. It wasn't common for townspeople to associate with him of their own free will, even after the candle fiasco, but you didn't seem to have any problem, you were kind to him, you treated him as an equal, and you were even one of the few people he felt comfortable enough about physical contact with.

Of course, the nervous mess he was when you were around him, or the blush that would always come over his face when you smiled at him, or the goofy smile he had all the time when you talked to him, didn't go unnoticed either. Dolores even confirmed that his heart raced every time he saw you or someone said your name. It was obvious to everyone that Bruno Madrigal was completely in love with Y/N Y/L/N, and would be cute, if it wasn't for him refusing to do anything about it.

Her brother was already exhausting the family's patience and even Casita had tried to intervene (which is why Bruno chose to go to your house instead of having you visit them). Julieta was really beginning to consider that they would have to take that step for him.

She snapped out of her thoughts when Pepa's thunder began to get louder. The kitchen began to be filled with black clouds and if she didn’t intervene soon, all her effort would be wasted due to the rain. However, she did not have time to do something when you popped your head through the window, with a small rat on your shoulder.

"Hi Juli!" You said, always smiling "What are you doing?"

Months ago, it would not even have occurred to you to be so open with her, but after the kind reception that the whole family had made, you could not help but feeling comfortable and happy every time you approached Casita.

"These two, always fighting" she returned the smile

"For the last arepa again?"

"No" she laughed, remembering the time Pepa almost threw a knife to Bruno when he took the last arepa, although she quickly calmed down when she saw that he had taken it for you "for something that Pepa wants Bruno to do"

"Ohhhh" you said, with curiosity in your eyes "What thing?"

She was about to answer when Antonio suddenly entered the kitchen. The boy smiled widely as soon as he saw you and ran to greet you. After Bruno, Madrigal's youngest son was the one who more time spent with you.

"Hello Y/N!"

"Hey Buddy!" You answered "Long time no seeing you"

"Yes, you didn't come for three days!" he pouted

"I'm sorry, I had things to do in the carpentry" you apologized

You did not even notice that the black clouds had disappeared, or that the Madrigal triplets were looking at you with curiosity, kindness and nervousness.

"It's okay" Antonio smiled at you "is just that the animals began to ask me where Uncle Bruno's girlfriend was" he shrugged

You felt your cheeks turning red, and you quickly looked where the seer was, a few steps behind his nephew. He did not look better than you, on the contrary, he looked pale and two seconds of fainting, while his sisters smirked and tried to hide their laughs behind their hands, although the rainbow that filled the room betrayed the redhead.

If you were honest, the idea itself was not bad. Actually, you had long accepted your feelings for the younger triplet, even if you didn’t plan to do something about it because you did not think the man returned your feelings. But now, seeing him so red and nervous, you committed to question it.

"S-she’s not my g-girlfriend" Bruno stuttered, resisting the impulse to hide with the hood of his Ruana

"She's not?" Antonio asked innocently

"No, I'm not" you replied

For a moment that seemed frozen in time, you could feel the eyes of the three adults on you, Pepa seemed disappointed, Julieta contained her breath and Bruno looked really defeated. That was what made you take a risk.

"Toñito, your uncle and I share Sebastián, remember?" you said gently

"Yeah?"

"That means we have a child together" you smiled with malice when you heard the triplets gasps "I am not his girlfriend, I am his wife"

"W-what?!"

Pepa and Julieta laughed at their brother's complete shock, and you couldn't help noticing how adorable it was. But then, as if he was a statue, he fell backwards, harshly hitting against the ground.

".... ooops" you said.

#reader insert #x reader #bruno madrigal imagine #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal preferences #bruno x reader #bruno magridal #encanto preferences #encanto x reader #encanto imagine #encanto

280 notes · View notes

cactusnymph · 5 months

Note

first kisses for bloodweave or wyllstarion? 👉👈

Astarion cannot believe that he somehow ended up with two people who couldn't for the life of him seduce no matter how beautiful or enticing or alluring he makes himself. Well, to be fair, his allure is absolutely working. It's not like he's an idiot who can't tell when people find him attractive. But he's not used to people deciding to abstain from their impulses to. Be mindful of him.

It's frustrating and Astarion hates it.

He knows that Karlach wants to bend him over the next table and he can see the way Wyll swallows heavily whenever Astarion lounges half naked in the sun and yet neither of them do anything about it.

In fact, neither of them even kissed him so far.

They keep kissing each other, which Astarion doesn't care about, of course. They can do whatever they want. It's none of his business. Of course, they keep inviting him to sleep with them at night—the non-sexual, quite literal type of sleeping— and more often than not he can feel Karlach's godsdamned hard-on pressing against his ass but she never acts on it.

Sometimes she mumbles an apology and shuffles around as if she's trying to be respectful of his boundaries or some other ridiculously soft and gentle thing she has going on in her life. Astarion wants to strangle them both. He also wants to kiss them and that is new for him, because that's not what he does.

Of course he's kissed hundreds of people over the course of two hundred years, tasted their lust and their shallow adoration, but he never really wanted to do it for himself. Was never really into any of the kisses.

And now his lips burn with how much he wants it.

Astarion wants to stab the two of them. Well. Maybe he wants to kiss them first, then stab them, then shout at them and then kiss them some more before doing even more stabbing. Why in the Nine Hells must he punished with this amalgamation of feelings as if he doesn't have enough shit to deal with without any of those?

While Karlach is out with Gale, Lae'zel and Tav to find the Creche Lae'zel keeps hissing about Astarion stalks through the camp at night, feeling restless and on edge without really knowing why. Halsin is snoring loudly over in his tent and Shadowheart is fast asleep next to the fire, curled on her side with her cheek squashed against her own hand.

Astarion doesn't want to go to Wyll's tent. He doesn't.

It's simply his turn to take watch and he wants to make sure that the perimeter is clear, so he walks around camp to check on all the tents, even the empty ones. Seeing Karlach's stupid stuffed bear sitting on her empty bedroll makes something inside him pull tight and he snarls at the bear as if it is the single cause of all of Astarion's misery.

It turns out that Wyll is not, in fact, in his tent.

He's not panicking. Not at all.

And if he walks a little faster to see if he can find Wyll over by the lake, then no one has to know. It's not like anyone can see him right now anyway.

He stalks over to the shore, shoving aside the memories of going skinny dipping with Wyll and Karlach, of them holding his hands to make sure he feels safe, and looks around for Wyll. His eyes find him quickly by another fire he lit close by and all Astarion can hear right now are the crickets, the soft lapping of the water, the crackling of the fire and Wyll's feet moving through the dirt as he practices some sort of dance.

Astarion watches from the shadow for way too long to justify that he's here for the camp's safety and because that pisses him off he finally steps out into the light. His heart does not stumble when Wyll looks at him with a soft smile.

Astarion crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises an eyebrow.

"What are you doing over here?", he wants to know.

"Practicing my dance moves for my partner", Wyll says. And Astarion knows, of course he knows that Wyll is talking about Karlach.

"Oh? And who would that be?", he asks despite of himself because apparently his self-control was lost at the bottom of this fucking lake when Karlach carried him around in it bridal style with a smile on her face that rivaled the fucking sun.

"He just arrived", Wyll says and quirks his lips and Astarion feels like his stomach is dropping out of his body when Wyll holds out a hand for him and does a silly bow. Astarion should scoff and make a snarky comment about this. But his mind flashes back to silly fantasies when he was young about a handsome prince holding out his hand just like this and asking Astarion to dance and.

He swallows heavily, the casual smile wiped from his face as he stretches out his hand. It almost feels as if he's lost control over his body which is scary because it reminds him of how Cazador used to pull him around like a puppet. But this is not Cazador, this is Astarion's own stupid desire and his fucking yearning and whatever else lurks underneath his cold, dead skin.

Wyll pulls him in and it's ridiculous how easy they fall into the right steps, circling each other slowly while their hands never stop touching. Astarion wishes Wyll wasn't this handsome, that his hand touching Astarion's wouldn't feel as electric as it does.

Wyll's eye never leaves his face while they dance and Astarion's heart that stopped beating so long ago feels as if it might just burst out of his fucking ribcage.

Wyll's gaze absolutely drops down to Astarion's lips. But he doesn't do it. Doesn't lean in for the kiss, doesn't chase his desire like any other normal person would because Wyll is a goddamn knight in shining armor, a prince on a white horse, the most respectful gentleman that ever walked under Faerûn's sun.

Astarion has had enough.

He can't take it anymore.

Wyll's eye widens when Astarion grabs his face with both hands.

"You are—the most infuriating—", he hisses and then he lunges. Wyll makes a sound at the back of his throat when their lips finally, finally touch and Astarion presses closer, licks along Wyll's bottom lip before pushing it into his mouth.

Fuck, it's so good. And it's even better when Wyll kisses back, his hands gently carding through Astarion's hair, stroking down his back, carefully finding a place on Astarion's narrow hips.

Astarion doesn't even know for how long he wanted to kiss Wyll, but it must have been for a while. His whole body is on fire and fuck, he doesn't want to stop, but of course. Of course Wyll pulls back and his eye is glossed over, his lips wet from kissing and the smile he gives Astarion shouldn't make his knees weak. But gods. It does.

Astarion has to kill them both for making him feel this way.

"You dance beautifully", Wyll says, his voice hoarse. Astarion wants to laugh and cry at the same time.

He scoffs and steps back, looking away as if he's completely unbothered by what just happened.

"You could use some more practice", he answers and Wyll laughs and bows his head.

"Hm", he hums, still smiling softly. "Are you offering to teach me?"

Astarion opens his mouth because fuck, that was smooth. He doesn't know what to say.

"I—Get back to your tent!", he hisses and stomps off with his cheeks burning and his heart stumbling.

feel free to send me more of these<3

#wyllstarion #bg3 fic #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin #mi writes #bloodweave simply hasnt clicked for me (yet? who knows) so have some more of my current brainrot <33 thank you for enabling me!!!

55 notes · View notes

stardustizuku · 9 months

Text

Part 3: A Criticism on Wilfred

Okay, Wilfred is an interesting character. I would go as far as to call him “a deconstruction on the paragon of a fantasy hero”.

He’s the heir to this duchy, who by the evil doing of others has been stripped away from the right of succession.

Despite it all, he’s hardworking and with natural talent, capable of overcoming all hurdles through putting his all into it. He’s nice, he’s kind, and has a positive outlook on life that makes him great to lead big teams and unite them under him. People around him look up to him, and believe in him. In fact, when he arrives at the Academy he realizes that, despite his duchy’s position, he’s able to fight side by side with powerful Greater Duchies. In any other story, he would be the hero.

But Ascendance of a Bookworm is not his story. And while he (and his retainers) sees him as this amazing heir that’s faced nothing but problems since a young age - everyone else sees him for what he truly is.

A spoiled kid, who never learned to become an archduke.

But this is only hinted at in Part3, and doesn’t implode on itself until (again) Part5.

You see, in Part 3, Rozemyne serves as a buffer to paint him in a much better light. She applies a lot of the logic we have from our world. “He’s a kid, he shouldn’t be dealing with so much work”, “he may be lazy but he’s well meaning and wants to become a better person”, “it’s unfair to compare him to me, an adult”, and “I would make the same mistakes he has, so his situation is unfortunate”.

Because of Rozemyne’s coddling, we see Wilfred as this kid who is trying. Who deserves the position because, for one, Rozemyne would be even worse than him at it, and he really, really wants it.

But this changes in Part 4, when we meet way more nobles around their ages, and critically: We know about Charlotte.

Charlotte is so important. People who justify and try to make excuses for Wilfred, have either not read in depth Charlotte’s chapters (which granted, the most powerful one of them “A New Step Forward” comes from the Side Story Collection), or have swallowed Rozemyne’s Kool-Aid when it comes to why Wilfred is being treated unfairly.

The truth is, from another noble’s perspective, we realize that Wilfred being given his title of heir is pretty much the definition of getting spoiled rotten. In any other duchy, HELL, even Ehrenfest before Sylvester, such a thing wouldn’t fly. The succession is a competition. If you think of it that way, and see how Wilfred is behaving - you realize how badly he’s losing. There’s no way that, as he was before Rozemyne, he could have become a decent archduke.

This could have changed, if at any point, Wilfred stopped perceiving himself as the legitimate heir who had his title stolen. Because that’s not what happened. He was meant to fight with his siblings for it. But because of pure luck, he was given it without even having to prove himself. When the people around him failed to train him, that title was temporarily removed. (Emphasis on temporarily because Sylvester had every Goddamn intention to keep Wilfred as the heir)

And we don’t really see him, ever, acknowledging his siblings as any sort of threat. While on paper, he has been stripped from the title, he never has to truly internalize it. It's shameful, yes. But Melchior is straight up too young. He knows Rozemyne won’t be given the title of archduchess, that Sylvester won’t ever allow it.

And something to note about: We know why: She’s a commoner.Sylvester will never let her be Aub for that simple fact - BUT

Wilfred does not know that. He should know that Rozemyne is the “best” candidate, from early on. That’s just a fact. But Sylvester purposely shields him from that harsh truth.

Objectively, Wilfred should know that it is only through luck and Sylvester BLATANT favoritism that Rozemyne isn’t a threat. But because he does not register until FUCKING PART 5, that he is fact, inferior to Rozemyne, he gets baited by Lestilaut. He almost loses Rozemyne, because of his own ego.

And with Charlotte, my poor girl, he doesn’t even registers her as a threat. When Charlotte straight up tells him “I would have beaten you, had I been granted the same privilege you have” aka, being born a man - Wilfred never understands this as a warning or even taunt. He still thinks he’s better than Charlotte. He still thinks that, were things leveled, he would have beaten her. And that couldn’t be further from the truth.

If you haven’t caught up on it yet, Wilfred is a blatant criticism of sexism and the patriarchy.

He has a privilege he does not recognize, and because of it, he acts he’s entitled to a position in power - that anywhere else, it would be UNTHINKABLE for him to have.

He’s literally surrounded by women three or four times more competent than him, yet for the simple fact that he’s a man, and Sylvester likes him more, those women will NEVER come to have the power they deserve.

AND, when he does come the realization that, perhaps, Rozemyne truly is a better suited candidate: he lashes out.

When Lestilaut points out she would be a better archduchess than him, his first instinct is to lash out (and quite aggressively I must add) at the heir of a GREATER duchy, who he does not even get along with! Again, Hannalore and Rozemyne are close friends but Lestilaut and Wilfred are NOT.

This is the society that constantly berated Rozemyne for showing a hint of emotion. She held back even as Royalty itself threatened her most beloved Ferdinand - and Wilfred cannot even handle taunts.

He only calms down when she straight up declines. Stating that she wants to be a first wife. Lesitalut retorts that she could very much be a Dunkelferg first wife.

This sort of snaps Wilfred out of a trance. But interestingly enough, the idea confronted is no longer “Rozemyne is better than me”, but “Rozemyne may actually be a good wife candidate”. Again, the fight isn’t centered, at that point, in who’s better suited to be archduke - because Rozemyne herself smashes apart that idea.

It gets shifted to Lestilaut informing Wilfred that Rozemyne is a coveted first wife candidate, that he’s not using properly. Which is a much easier truth to swallow.

He does not come to terms with “Rozemyne is better than me”, which she objectively is, but with “she’s actually a valuable fiance”.

Sylvester, on the other hand, was very quick to realize that Rozemyne was a valuable asset. Someone who he couldn’t let go of, and adopted because of how vital she was to improving the duchy. Again, while he does care for her, he’s aware that regardless of that - she’s worth it. If she causes him headaches, it’s worth it. If she causes a problem, it’s worth it. She’s running the temple, she’s running their new main export and economy, she is rising their ranks like nowhen before.

It took Wilfred, Lestilaut literally shouting it to his face, for him to realize this. To start seeing Rozemyne as valuable, instead of troublesome. And the moment he realizes, oh, maybe she’s more than competent enough - he’s forced to confront the truth: She’s a better candidate than him. And his current title is only uphold because he’s married to her.

His lashing out in Part 5 Volume 4 is a direct result of him having to confront that he’s a nepo-baby that was only given this position because he’s a man. And instead of owning it, or making sure that despite it all he’s still deserving of the position - he throws a tantrum.

When Charlotte realized that the odds were stacked against her favor, she cried, yes. But she had to maintain appearances. She continued to smile, she continued to support her brother, and worry for the other members of the family. She even had to support Sylvester, despite the fact his obvious favoritism was constantly hurting her.

When Wilfred realized that someone else was better than him, namely Rozemyne, he lashed out. I’m mostly keping up with the Translation Light Novels, so most of his internal turmoil isn’t being shown as of yet. We see it through Charlotte, Sylvester, Rozemyne and other retainers. But suffice to say, that while Rozemyne finds it simply a teenager being a teenager - everyone point out how incredibly damaging his little outburst is.

Unlike other kids, Wilfred is set to become the Aub, and while it’s been promised to him, he still has to work for it. And unlike other kids, such a tremendous amount of power, is not something to wield freely. He is not like any other kid, and cannot be measured in those terms - precisely because of the title he’s set to have. With great power comes great responsibility. If he were to be a commoner, yeah, he wouldn’t have to deal with this. He would be allowed to be just a kid. But if he’s set to become Aub, which he WANTS, he has to play the part. Act like a noble, respect the rules. Just like Rozemyne was forced to do, just like Charlotte trained all her life to do.

He has to learn to manage his emotions, his workload, etc, just like his sisters have. Neglecting to do so, is putting the brunt of his emotional labor unto them.

Here’s where PART 5 does its job wonderfully - because by this point, we’ve seen that the kids of greater duchies, have to work their asses off to support their duchy. Things like feelings, and desires are thrown out. You do not decide who you’ll marry, you do not decide if you become aub or not, you do not decide basically anything in your life. There’s a sacrifice to be made if you want power. You have a role to play, and you either stick to it to perfection, or you get the short end of the stick.

Charlotte has grown with this mentality, she understands it. She plays her role, and does her best to support her duchy.

Wilfred, does not.

He expects everyone to want him as an Aub because, thanks to Veronica, that’s everything he’s ever been promised.

Patriarchy is poisonous because it promises men power. And when capitalism tells them they can’t have it, their first instinct is to blame women.

Much like Wilfred has done, by blaming Rozemyne. For “not being a good enough fiancé” or “for trying to steal his rightful position”.

Wilfred is, unfortunately enough, an antithesis of one of Rozemyne’s core values. Meritocracy. He’s the definition of nepotism.

And if Wilfred represent the corruption of Meritocracy, Veronica represents the corruption of Family.

Veronica corrupts it in a very interesting way that almost parallels Rozemyne.

Veronica was the daughter of a first wife, who loved her husband. Said husband, however, only loved his second wife. This caused her mother great anguish, something she had to witness. She lost her older brother, then lost her mom during childbirth. Finally, her only baby brother was taken to the temple by the second wife she hated. This leaves her with an obsession to keep her blood related family safe, and a disdain for second wives.

In a way, having her family torn from her, and wanting to protect them even from afar, to the point or bending and breaking rules to do so - is very much a Rozemyne thing.

But while Veronica did it by ignoring most of Noble's ways and via corruption, Rozemyne is constantly kept in check from doing as much.

Wilfred is a direct result of the generation trauma Gabrielle imparted. Veronica grew obsessed with making sure her bloodline was better off - at the cost of the suffering of anyone who wasn’t.

She saw everyone as an enemy, someone to subdue. Because if she let them fester, maybe they would take her baby brother away. Maybe they would hurt her kids. Maybe she would lose her mother again.

Ironically, it was this unwillingness to let them grow that eventually rotted them. If she hadn’t let Bezewanst do whatever he wanted, Sylvester wouldn’t have told Ferdinand to get rid of him. If Wilfred had grown with the proper education, he wouldn’t have been as easily tricked.

Veronica and Wilfred also serve as a reminder to Rozemyne of what, even well intentioned, toxic love can do. It’s better presented when she refuses to meet Kamil, even when she absolutely could, because it isn’t safe to do as much.

To add, Rozemyne sees family entirely different from her, and Wilfred for this matter.

Family to Rozemyne isn’t something bound by blood. Her family doesn’t begin and end with that of the lower city. Her retainers from the temple, Cornellius, Charlotte, and most importantly, Ferdinand, are family to her. They deserve her unconditional protection. She cares and loves them.

Contrast it with Veronica who saw Florencia and Ferdinand as threats to her family. And said view of the world is translated to Wilfred.

He sees Detline as family. And after Ferdinand get married, he stops fully perceiving him as such. This is again, likely due to Veronica and her faction. We saw that during Rozemyne’s two year slumber he grows really close and reliant on Ferdinand.

But when the issue of worrying for either Detline or Ferdinand came up - he chose Detline.

Someone he knew almost nothing about, but has his blood and Veronica’s looks. Instead of Ferdinand, someone who supported him for more than three years.

What’s more, he stopped seeing Rozemyne as an ally in Part 5 Volume 4. He could never fully trust her because, again, she’s adopted. Yet, he did go to Charlotte for help, expecting her to help. Likely, because he sees her as actual family, and therefore in his side.

Rozemyne isn’t blood family. Therefore, expendable.

Veronica’s corruption reached him. He tainted one more of Rozemyne’s core values.

All this said, he’s not an irredeemable monster. If anything, the LNs make it clear that despite all this, he’s still a good kid, who given the time and training could become a good archduke.

(Again though, Charlotte wasn’t even offered “time and training”, she was dismissed from the title despite her qualifications for much less)

It’s actually made quite clear that he could be great. Instances of Part 4 shows just how he’s a really nice kid, capable of propping others up, conscious of his actions, asking for help when needed and a natural leader. In this case, his environment has corrupted him - yet he’s not beyond salvation.

He is not an irredeemable monster, since he’s had time to grow, change and better himself. I’m looking forward to how exactly they’ll handle his character in coming novels.

The same, however, cannot be said of Sisgwald.

PREV << MASTERLIST >> NEXT

#ascendance of a bookworm #honzuki no gekokujou #essay #AoB analysis #character analysis #analysis #AoB essay #short essay #couldn’t really find a paragon hero with blond hair from an anime #i think they’re way more common in light novel format bcs I swear I’ve seen them before

84 notes · View notes

blondelover2772 · 1 month

Text

The Book

CHAPTER 2

Larissa Weems x (adult) Wednesday Addams

WARNINGS: angst, drama, romance, comfort, fluff, Christmas, age difference, adult Wednesday, lonely Larissa, sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, sexual inexperience, love, cat and happy ending :)

WORD COUNT: 20,000+

about conscience, about forgiveness and about love

See the notes in the first chapter.

Enjoy.

Larissa, who had been sitting outside Wednesday's building for almost an hour and once again discarded the idea of calling the girl, thoughtfully looked at the gloomy sky of Jericho through the windshield of her car.

Sunday weather seemed to echo her mood. Unlike yesterday's rain, the gloomy grayness and unusual calmness fully corresponded to the woman's current condition. After spending almost the whole night reading Wednesday's book, Larissa managed to feel a whole range of emotions: from surprise and anxiety to shock and unbearable sadness, which still did not let go of the woman.

She expected different things: a fascinatingly twisted thriller with a bunch of murders, a dark fantasy about the persecution of people by monsters of all shapes and sizes, an autobiographical investigation of a narcissistic detective girl, after all. But what eventually turned out to be hidden behind the mysterious title of the book did not occur to the woman at all. Perhaps such expectations were related to the image of that Wednesday, a sixteen-year-old goth girl who never listens to anyone, but can only create problems for herself and for others.

But Wednesday has changed. Moreover, she has changed for the better: both spiritually and physically. The seductive forms of the girl appeared again in front of Larissa's eyes. They beckoned with their freshness and inaccessibility. And it's time to stop these thoughts, because the last thing she came to 221b building for was sexual fantasies about the student, thank God, already a former one, but even such a mitigating fact did not justify the woman in any way.

Pushing inappropriate thoughts to the far corners of her mind, Larissa started to think about it. What did she really come for? For a conversation? For forgiveness? The woman herself did not really understand why she was sitting next to the Wednesday’s building on Christmas morning. It would be better to decorate a Christmas tree. But Larissa has not decorated the tree for many years. She didn't see the point. For whom? For herself? Further cleaning was not worth the woman's precious time at all. The tree at Nevermore was enough for her.

Having not thought of the words she would say to Wednesday, Larissa finally got out of the car, carefully holding the bag with the precious manuscript. The only thing she knew right now was that she just needed to see the girl.

After passing through muddy puddles from yesterday's rain, the woman was ready to open the heavy door when a smiling man came around the corner of the building with a large gift bag. And then it dawned on Larissa — tomorrow is Christmas, and she goes to Wednesday without a gift. Although what kind of a gift should she bring her? They hadn't seen each other for two years, when suddenly the girl fell out of the blue with her manuscript.

Larissa was brought out of a sudden session of introspection by his initiator. The man gallantly held the door open, letting the woman inside. Rewarding the gentleman with a grateful smile, Larissa slowly went into the building in search of the coveted apartment. The whole idea of unexpectedly coming without warning seemed less and less right to her with every step. But there was no turning back. Going to the door with the faded numbers 27, Larissa adjusted the already perfectly fitting plaid dress and, taking a deep breath, knocked.

Silence.

After weary minutes of waiting the woman was already beginning to think that Wednesday was not at home at all, when suddenly indistinct sounds were heard outside the door. After a few seconds, the lock began to open uncertainly.

Out of habit, pulling on the trademark smile of the principal Weems, Larissa prepared to meet the girl, who will be definitely surprised.

But what she saw came as an absolute surprise to the woman herself.

In the dimly lit hallway of the apartment Wednesday stood in her underwear, clearly just woken up and completely unexpecting uninvited guests. The frank appearance of the girl made Larissa's heart beat at a breakneck speed. The disheveled hair falling over snow-white shoulders was not long enough to cover a short and transparent lace top, the huge pupils, like a black abyss, were too mesmerizing not to look into them, and the rounded buttocks, covered with some semblance of the same transparent underwear, were so naked that it would be a crime not to covet to touch them. It seems that Larissa just catastrophically needs to solve the problem with the absence of a woman in her life, since only the view of half-naked Wednesday launched a wave of such arousal inside her.

“Larissa?” The girl's sleepy voice was a timbre lower than usual and therefore seemed insanely sexy.

“Wednesday...” Larissa began and didn't know what to say next. The woman did not even scold the impudent girl for familiarity, because yesterday she was not going to let Wednesday call her by her first name. And now... What does it matter now? After reading the manuscript, Larissa can no longer be the principal Weems for her.

Looking at the woman in complete confusion the girl nevertheless decided to break the prolonged silence and opened the door wider silently inviting Larissa into the apartment.

The woman also entered without a word, immediately noticing her open and long-dried umbrella. Unfortunately, the hardships of life cannot be dried up so quickly.

“Living room on the left.” With these words Wednesday quickly disappeared into the room opposite the corridor, apparently to cover her inappropriate appearance for guests.

Lost in the conflicting feelings of sudden carnal attraction and such a desired spiritual release, Larissa slowly walked in the indicated direction. In the corner of the living room next to a small sofa a tall floor lamp was shining, brightening up the rainy gray day with its warm light. For a rented apartment everything looked more than nice. Vintage wallpaper was decorated with black-and-white photographs of old Jericho streets and old trees pictures, and along the wall with a dusty TV were colorful book spines of all colors and sizes.

Moving closer to the shelves the woman pulled out a book with a blue cover. Surprisingly, one of her favorite novels was hidden behind the tattered binding. The apartment’s owner knew a lot about good literature.

Putting the book back in its place, Larissa returned her thoughts to what she had read at night. Right now she wasn't sure if she should even talk about it with Wednesday. A plausible version would be quite suitable. The woman accidentally found the manuscript left in her car when she was going to go somewhere on business in the morning. And being a well-mannered person who appreciates the creative work of other people Larissa just brought it to Wednesday.

But this option is not suitable at all. After reading the manuscript it is no longer an option.

The woman was distracted by the sound of pouring water from the whirl of thoughts. Turning around Larissa found Wednesday standing with her back to her and filling an electric kettle. How could the girl have walked into the living room so silently? Thank God, she hid her defiantly indecent appearance behind a oversize black T-shirt and trousers that were too tight around her hips.

Involuntarily licking her lips, Larissa put the bag with the manuscript on the floor and, pulling a high chair closer to the bar, gracefully sat down on it.

“There is no hot chocolate,” the girl put two porcelain cups on the countertop and, avoiding Larissa's gaze, added, “there is no sugar and cream either. Just coffee.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I really like black coffee.” The woman replied as gently as possible completely not expecting such hospitality from Wednesday.

Finally, raising her black eyes to Larissa, the girl slowly surveyed her body, which caused the woman unusual discomfort.

“There are ... a lot of plants in here.” Deciding to start with the safest and most obvious topic Larissa turned her head to the narrow windowsill, completely filled with flowers of all shades and sizes.

A second later, Wednesday was already standing at this windowsill with a large bottle of water.

“The owner has a library with old books and an impressive collection of retro records. I couldn't resist.” With her usual pedantry the girl carefully watered each plant and put the bottle on the floor.

“And the flowers on the floor and walls?” The woman continued to voice unnecessary observations to anyone at the same time thinking about how to approach the slippery topic.

“I watered them yesterday morning. Succulents and aerophytes do not need daily watering.” The girl found herself back on the opposite chair and began to look at the oak countertop.

Larissa ran her hand through her perfectly styled hair in an attempt to collect her thoughts. Had she really come to Wednesday to discuss a flower watering schedule?

A nasty squeak announced the readiness of the water. The girl immediately jumped up from her chair and taking a teapot and an iron jar with the image of grains placed all the objects on the countertop. The woman watched attentively as Wednesday concentrated on pouring coffee into cups with a silver spoon, and then pouring boiling water. Larissa had never seen the girl in such a homely setting and doing such a mundane thing. And for some reason she really liked it. There was something so cozy about this simple act of caring that Larissa had been missing for a long time and that the woman did not want to admit even to herself.

“Thank you,” Larissa took the porcelain cup from the girl's hands and not wanting to pull the bull by the horns any further finally decided to move on to the true reason for her visit, “I brought the manuscript. It was lying on the seat in my car.”

The woman felt Wednesday noticeably tense up and practically gulped down half a cup of hot espresso.

Taking the manuscript out of her bag Larissa put it on the countertop and, as if copying the girl's actions yesterday, pushed it closer.

“I assume you haven't read it.” Wednesday said with obvious disappointment in her voice looking at the first page of her book.

“On the contrary,” Larissa carefully studied the girl's face, “I read it all.”

At the same moment the cup slipped out of Wednesday's hands and with a characteristic sound shattered into small porcelain pieces on the countertop pouring the remnants of coffee over the manuscript.

Larissa quickly grabbed the napkins next to her and began to diligently blot the brown sheets. Wednesday, in turn, began to wipe the coffee off the countertop, but apparently realizing the futility of such an activity threw down the wet napkin and turned away from the woman.

“Wednesday…” Larissa also threw down the napkin and began to slowly walk around the bar afraid that the girl would run away from her like some wild and frightened animal.

Wednesday stared fixedly at the floor completely unresponsive to the woman.

“Look at me.” Larissa said softly coming closer to the girl.

And Wednesday looked at the woman. What opened to her eyes literally left Larissa speechless. Her eyes, always defiant and motionless, were now filled with real tears and her compressed lips were trembling slightly. It was obvious that the girl was holding back with the last of her strength so as not to cry.

Suddenly, the first tear traitorously rolled down Wednesday's pale cheek. Then another one. The next one follows. No longer trying to hide her uncharacteristic weakness the girl just stared at Larissa until tears finally broke free and flooded Wednesday's face.

The woman, unable to look at such a sad and heartbreaking sight, came even closer to the girl and took her hand in an attempt either to calm her down, or on the contrary to give an opportunity to cry out everything that had accumulated in the wounded soul of Wednesday, who was constantly trying to seem cold and insensitive. But now Larissa knew for sure that Wednesday was not cold and insensitive at all. On the contrary, the details with which the painful experiences of the main character of her book were described can only indicate that the author himself experienced them. She has lived it deep inside herself.

“Wednesday, everything is fine.” Larissa put her hands on the girl's shoulders, which made her shudder a little. The height difference was not the same now as two years ago, but still the woman had to lower her head, and Wednesday had to raise it. For the first time being so close to the girl Larissa wanted to protect her from everything unfair and suffering in this world. Take away all the accumulated pain. Dry all the tears. On impulse, the woman hugged Wednesday and felt her heart beating unexpectedly fast, probably from the tears pouring down. Larissa's heart was beating at the same speed, but not from tears. From being so close to the girl. From the divine smell of her hair. Surprisingly, Wednesday did not smell of any incense, sandalwood or patchouli, as it used to. Now the sweet vanilla combined with an intoxicating smell of the girl's skin, exuding a fragrance unlike anything else.

“I'm sorry,” Wednesday's quiet voice finally said, “I didn't know, if I knew… I would never…”

It was obvious that it was hard for the girl to speak both morally — from the uncharacteristic turning of her soul inside out and physically — from the shortness of breath and flowing tears.

“I know,” Larissa hugged Wednesday even more tightly, slowly stroking her back, “I know, my girl.”

At the same moment, Wednesday, as if electrocuted, jumped away from Larissa at arm's length. There was something else in the tear-stained eyes that the woman couldn't recognize.

Not understanding the reason for such a sudden change in emotions Larissa came closer again.

“What’s the matter? Does it bother you when I'm close to you?” The woman didn't even want to believe it, but it was quite possible, given the psychological trauma she inflicted on Wednesday with her so-called death.

The girl ran one hand through her tousled hair and with the other she tried to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“No, it's not that,” Wednesday glanced at the woman's body again and added quietly, “everything is very complicated.”

“It can't be any other way with Wednesday Addams.” Larissa remarked with a sad smile.

The girl made an attempt to smile, which turned out to be very cute, despite the tear-stained eyes and wet cheeks.

Trying to remove at least the outward signs of tears from Wednesday's face the woman went to the sink and soaked a snow-white towel with cool water. Returning to the bar Larissa noticed again how much the girl's whole body was tense.

“I don't bite, Wednesday,” with these words Larissa touched the girl's chin and gently lifted her head up, “don't be afraid of me.”

There was so much in Wednesday's eyes that the woman had never seen before. Or she just couldn't see it two years ago. Now the pale face of the girl expressed understandable confusion and humility, but in the huge black pupils there was an unexpected emotion, similar to ... Desire? No, it can't be true. This is just a game of the sick imagination of a single woman who has not had normal sex for a long time.

Blotting the remnants of tears with the towel and gently sliding her long fingers over the pale cheek of the girl Larissa froze. Wednesday without taking her black eyes off the woman slowly licked her plump lips. The obsessive desire to kiss the girl has now become simply unbearable.

Unable to resist the temptation Larissa, like Wednesday before, abruptly retreated in the opposite direction. Hanging the towel on the handle of the oven the woman took a deep breath trying to calm the confused thoughts in her head. The main thing she has to do now is to make it clear that Wednesday is not to blame for what happened two years ago.

“I've never, you hear, never blamed you for anything that happened that terrible night,” Larissa looked out the window behind which the wind had now risen and continued, “but I've always blamed myself. I, who promised to protect the academy and every student,” at that moment Larissa turned her gaze to Wednesday, and the woman's voice trembled, "I couldn't protect you.”

The girl looked at Larissa in surprise, as if such a scenario had not occurred to her at all.

“Do you think you've been the only one feeling guilty all these years?” There was no stopping the woman now. “Wednesday, what you wrote touched me to the core. And let it all seem like a stupid fiction to any reader, I know who your book is about,” Larissa smiled as she came closer, “you wrote it about yourself and about me. And I think this is the best way to talk about your thoughts and worries. And only such a talented and brilliant person as you could even think of such a thing. Now I know why you never came back to Nevermore. Now I know the whole truth.”

Wednesday's lips twitched as if she wanted to say something, but then she changed her mind.

“Talk to me. Is there anything else that's been bothering you all these years?” Larissa's eyebrow arched questioningly and her brain actively began to come up with what besides the pangs of conscience could torment the girl.

By her silence, Wednesday clearly made it clear that she was not going to answer the question. At least for now.

In an attempt to find the right words the woman's gaze began to wander around the living room in disappointment. Noticing the plate with the image of a Christmas tree a crazy idea appeared in Larissa's head.

“Why don't you come to me tomorrow? Christmas is a magical time to fulfill your most cherished desires. Let's put all the regrets and worries in the past,” the woman noticed the confusion on Wednesday's face and added uncertainly, “unless, of course, there are no one waiting for you elsewhere.”

“Do I look like a person who celebrates Christmas?” The girl looked at the woman attentively.

The spoken question instantly killed the hope that was emerging in Larissa's soul to fix everything.

“No one is waiting for me anywhere tomorrow,” Wednesday continued, without taking her gaze off the woman, “except for the director of a very mysterious academy.”

Larissa smiled broadly, pleased with this turn of events. If there is at least some opportunity to forget the past and leave in memory only pleasant memories from meeting the girl, the woman will do everything for this. She'll even get the damn Christmas tree.

Wednesday turned to the bar and looked at the manuscript, which was almost dry from the coffee spilled on it.

“I don't think it was badly damaged. You drank almost everything in one gulp. Tell me, how do you manage to drink such hot drinks?” Larissa looked at Wednesday with a smile still looking at the pages of the manuscript.

“This is one of my many talents.” The girl looked up at the woman with eyes that now radiated the usual self-confidence.

“I hope you'll tell me about the others tomorrow.”

Wednesday didn't say anything, but for the first time that day she rewarded Larissa with a real and sincere smile.

***

Wednesday slowly slid down the closed door onto the cold parquet floor, burying her head in her lap, ready to explode from disordered thoughts. In her perfectly planned scenario, everything should have been completely different: Larissa would read the confessional manuscript, finally find out about the true reasons that made the girl leave Nevermore in such a hurry, Wednesday would feel incredible relief from the long-awaited clearing her conscience and move on to the main goal of her visit to Jericho — seduction of a lonely and loveless woman. However, as the girl now understands, everything related to feelings always goes wrong. As a result, at the first opportunity to at least hint to Larissa about her not at all platonic love, Wednesday shamefully burst into tears like a small child. After such a fiasco the confidence that she would really be able to cope with the role of a fatal seductress was fading before her eyes. And we need to look at things soberly. What kind of seductress is she? The only time Wednesday had real sex was like a nightmare. Then the girl, in another attempt to erase the woman from her memory, came to the nearest bar and got so drunk that she initiated an acquaintance with some tall blond man who strongly resembles the male version of Larissa. This was followed by a awful orgy of sweaty hugs, slobbery kisses and disgusting sexual intercourse, thank God, protected, in the toilet of the bar. When the guy finally realized that he had deflowered a new acquaintance, he immediately retreated under a stupid excuse.

Can such an inexperienced girl evoke anything but pity in the experienced Larissa? Although at the moment of dangerous intimacy, it seemed to Wednesday that the woman stared at her lips intently for too long, as if she was thinking about the same thing she was thinking about — dissolving into a forbidden kiss. Of course, this is just a figment of the imagination, played out by obscenities. When Larissa hugged Wednesday to her chest and began to gently stroke her back the girl had a vision exactly the same as in the car the night before. But the passion with which everything burned inside was nothing compared. There was a real feeling that if Larissa continued to be so close the girl would simply explode with overwhelming emotions and arousal like a festive fireworks.

Finally getting up from the floor Wednesday limply trudged into the bathroom to wash her shamefully tear-stained face. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, the girl was horrified: her eyes were so red, as if burning chili peppers were poured into them, and her cheeks were so swollen, as if all Eugene's bees had suddenly decided to pay her a visit. In such a monstrous form it is difficult to be tempting for even the most insecure student, let alone Larissa.

Returning to the living room Wednesday looked sadly at her manuscript, next to which now lay the fragments of the once English porcelain cup and a pile of dirty napkins. It's very symbolic. Broken from the inside with overflowing feelings and stained with treacherous tears from the outside. The girl quickly gathered brown napkins from the countertop and, wrapped the sharp fragments in them, threw everything into the trash. Anyway, now Larissa finally knows how Wednesday felt all these years. After all, she described all her experiences in detail through the mouth of the main character of the manuscript — a detective girl. And at least that made Wednesday feel better. Like a heavy burden that has been pressing unwelcome on fragile shoulders for years, guilt slowly faded into the background, giving way to its primacy to the second unresolved problem — love for Larissa, which was not voiced either in the book or even in words.

Right now, the girl saw only two ways out of this situation: to honestly admit her feelings or pretend that she had come to Jericho only to ask for forgiveness.

She didn't like either option at all.

In the first case, Wednesday will really have to say three main words out loud. But, as the girl realized in horror today, she simply cannot do this. It was like a huge lump, out of fear of being rejected or even worse, ridiculed, firmly lodged in the vocal cords, physically blocking the ability to speak.

In the second case, there will again be a nasty understatement, which has already changed the very personality of Wednesday from an insensitive, always collected and self-confident girl to a pathetic and disgusting something, who need support from the outside and unable to connect two words.

Taking a deep breath and mentally burying her past self Wednesday climbed onto an uncomfortably high chair and her gaze immediately fell on the unfinished coffee. The thin rim of the snow-white cup was decorated with a trace of Larissa's red lipstick. How the girl would like to feel this lipstick on her lips now. In a desperate attempt to touch the woman for at least a second Wednesday slowly ran her fingers over the cup and brought her hand to her lips. The delicate lipstick smell pleasantly hit her nose. Closing her eyes the girl plunged back into painfully sweet memories. The most frightening and at the same time encouraging thing was that all of Wednesday's visions came true sooner or later. But now the girl is simply unable to imagine what actions on her part, and even more so on Larissa's part, can generally lead to such desirable consequences.

Gulping down disgustingly cold coffee, which paradoxically burned everything inside, Wednesday jumped off the chair and walked over to the silent vinyl record player on the shelf.

In the most difficult moments in her life music always helped the girl to collect her thoughts and distract herself from the unbearable events. After examining a tall pyramid of worn boxes Wednesday immediately noticed a record lying at the top, on the cover of which was a green Christmas tree with bright balls. A collection of old Christmas songs. She never liked this stupid holiday. But now it gave her a ghost of hope. What did Larissa say — Christmas is a magical time to fulfill your most cherished desires? Ridiculing her own thoughts Wednesday nevertheless pulled the record out of the box and inserted it into the player. Dean Martin's soft voice filled the living room. Unlike the words of the song the weather outside did not create a Christmas mood at all. Not a single snowflake has fallen on Jericho's wet ground yet.

The girl went to the big window and looked around. It's all gray. It's like her soul. Suddenly, a bright detail appeared in this gray picture — a smiling man was carrying a large red box with a golden bow in his hands. And then Wednesday realized that she didn't have a gift for Larissa at all. God, now she's thinking about Christmas presents. Love definitely turns people into idiots. What can you give to a person who has everything? Power, money, connections, respect, influence. The list can be continued indefinitely. Love? Only her love Wednesday is ready to give to Larissa day after day. The girl took a deep breath. How humiliating it is. Now she's turned into a snotty romantic.

Watching the slowly spinning record Wednesday had an idea. Larissa definitely looks like a person who has a vinyl record player. The whole appearance of the woman seemed to scream that she was not from this time. The hairstyle of the fifties, costumes in the spirit of Audrey Hepburn, even Larissa's perfume was definitely some kind of rare selective of the last century. Wednesday had an exceptionally fine nose, and perfumery was one of her hobbies. The girl clearly felt the notes that perfumers often used in the early twentieth century: aldehydes, natural amber and musk. Larissa should smell like this: expensive, exclusive and unlike anyone else.

Wednesday went to the pyramid of boxes and began to read the titles on the records: evening jazz, Frank Sinatra, instrumental music, Aretha Franklin, even a collection of songs about flowers. No. It's all wrong. Finally discovering the red worn box Wednesday instantly remembered Larissa's lips. Always so brightly made up with red lipstick. Now she even knows its scent. On the cover of the record the title pathetically was screaming — The best love songs. Too head-on? Too un-Christmas-like? But it’s too much from the heart. If she herself cannot tell Larissa about her feelings, let the professionals do it for her.

Placing the record on the countertop Wednesday began to look around the living room in search of something else. Of course, she compensates for the material damage to the owner. As her gaze wandered over the black-and-white paintings, green flowers, and porcelain figurines, she had another idea.

Walking over to the bookshelves Wednesday carefully began to study the colored battered spines. She need to find some special book. Since this is the only way the girl can talk to the woman, why not make the same gift? Larissa is a very smart woman and will definitely appreciate it.

This is one of the reasons why Wednesday fell in love with this woman so much. She had never felt such delight in intellectual conversations with any other person in her short life. All their talks were always saturated with sarcasm, irony and mutual banter. This brought the girl almost into ecstasy. Surprisingly, over the past two days spent in Larissa's company, their conversations can hardly be called intellectual. It is true that when a person falls in love he becomes stupid and loses any opportunity to express his thoughts habitually, but is only able to stupidly blink his eyes. Eyes. Larissa had the most beautiful eyes that Wednesday had ever seen in her life. This crystal-blue color with patches of blue like the sea was mesmerizing and hypnotizing. She wanted to endlessly drown in these bottomless blue pools.

Finding a thin book with a blue cover, on the spine of which apparently the title could not fit, the girl curiously pulled it out.

Virginia Woolf. The waves.

How symbolic. It fits perfectly under Larissa's eyes, and perfectly characterizes their relationship with her. First a lull, then a hurricane washing away everything in its path, then another lull. A light breeze. And again a furious storm.

Wednesday had never read this novel, but she had heard a lot about it. Woolf being an experimenter by the nature of a writer worked in various literary genres. The Waves were just some kind of experiment. A narrative about how different people can mentally intertwine with each other and how differently they see the same situation. She's definitely going to read it tonight. Reading always calmed the girl down. And that was just what she needed before tomorrow's meeting with Larissa.

Placing the book by the box with the record, the girl looked at the first page of her manuscript. Now coffee stains added a beautiful oldness. Suddenly, Wednesday had the craziest idea of the day. In order to bury her pride for sure and erect a monument to it the girl took out of her bag an obsidian fountain pen, given by her parents for her eighteenth birthday. Since the cards are almost open, why not to open them to the end? It's time to call a spade a spade. Although the thirteenth chapter has not yet been written, the girl knew what it would be about. She just didn't know what the reaction of the second main character, the director of a private university, would be. After a little thought, Wednesday confidently wrote the real title of her book on the long-suffering sheet. Now all the cards are definitely open.

After examining the makeshift pyramid of gifts for Larissa the girl looked at her clothes. What will she wear to her tomorrow?

Back in the bedroom Wednesday began sorting through her mini wardrobe. A dress? It's too pretentious. A skirt? Too blatantly. Trousers? Simple black skinny trousers will be the best option. Pulling them on the girl began to look for the top. A shapeless black T-shirt. A tight black T-shirt. A long black T-shirt. A black top with an open back. A simple black top with an open neckline. Deciding on the latter option Wednesday went to the mirror in the bedroom and carefully examined herself. Can such a view make Larissa's heart beat a little faster? The little goth girl. And then the girl remembered the main thing. Although she has grown noticeably since her studies at Nevermore, she is very far from the height of the woman. Rummaging through her suitcase Wednesday pulled out her tallest high-heeled shoes.

Fully dressed in tomorrow's image the girl once again looked at herself in the mirror. The hair will remain loose. It makes her look more mature and feminine. The time of teenage braids and bangs has sunk into oblivion along with past Wednesday.

Satisfied with her appearance the girl went to the bathroom. Today's shower did not cause the same sensations as yesterday. It was as if the blockage that had clogged the pipe for years had finally been cleared, and now Wednesday was washing away the remnants of doubts, worries and remorse.

When she returned to the living room to get Woolf's book she noticed that Jericho's sky was once again covered with dark clouds. The sun had long gone below the horizon, and the only light source that she never turned off was gently pouring its light into the living room.

Finally getting comfortable in bed Wednesday opened the blue book, when suddenly a short nasty squeak sounded from somewhere in her bag.

Only a few people knew her phone number: Xavier, who gave her this time-consuming device, her mother, who never writes messages, and Enid, who was now on the other side of the planet, traveling with Ajax in China. And Larissa.

Something told the girl that it wasn't Xavier.

Pulling out the black phone Wednesday saw an unfamiliar number. Her heart instantly accelerated its rhythm. Tapping on the message she was finally convinced that it wasn't Xavier.

[I'll be waiting for you at three o'clock. I think you know the address?]

Wednesday chuckled. Of course, she knew Larissa's address perfectly well. She knew how many rooms there were in the apartment, and judging by the psychological portrait of the woman, even the approximate color of the furniture.

[I'll be there at three sharp. I know the address]

It's incredible how eloquent Wednesday was in her writings, and how laconic in her messages. The phone beeped again.

[I haven't decorated the Christmas tree in years. But tomorrow we can make an exception]

The girl smiled stupidly. The idea of decorating the Christmas tree with Larissa suddenly became terribly pleasant. Despite her warm feelings, Wednesday’s message remained Wednesday’s.

[Isn't it a little too late to decorate the Christmas tree?]

After sending the message, the girl regretted her bluntness and coldness again.

[Better late than never]

Wednesday thought about it. But really. Better late than never. The phone beeped again.

[Unfortunately, I don't have any black balls. Only red ones]

The girl smiled.

[Contrary to popular belief I really like the red color]

Suddenly, another crazy thought occurred to Wednesday. Tossing her book and phone aside Wednesday reached for her suitcase. Once, while shopping with Enid, she persuaded her to buy a beautiful set of red underwear. Then the girl succumbed to persuasion just to quickly leave the ill-fated store filled with a bunch of stupid onlookers. But it's worth admitting — the underwear was really beautiful. And sexy. Packing up her things to Jericho Wednesday didn't understand why she took it with her. But now she knows for sure that she will wear it tomorrow. Maybe her vision will actually come true, and the purchase will really make sense. The girl's thoughts flowed back to Larissa's seductive body, which was touching her body today. Being an ardent opponent of carnal pleasures Wednesday still couldn't do anything about her own body and her own head. After such vivid and sexy dreams with Larissa, the girl had no choice but to engage in self-satisfaction and pacify her arousal. Orgasm after orgasm Larissa appeared in front of the girl's face with a languid look, whispering obscene words. This was the most exciting porn in the world.

Putting the underwear on a chair Wednesday went to the window and an amazing sight appeared before her eyes. It started snowing outside. The real snow. It gently wrapped the bare trees and dirty streets of Jericho in delicate white flakes. From such a sight, her soul became completely pink and snotty.

Another beep of the phone made the girl look away from contemplating the Christmas miracle.

[See you tomorrow then. And don't forget to make a wish. They say that wishes made on Christmas night always come true]

Wednesday smiled and wondered what she would like to wish for. Obviously, she wants tomorrow to set the record straight. In a good way. She wanted to be with Larissa. To be a part of her life. To love her. To protect from everything terrible and unfair. And never, ever let go. That was all she wanted more than anything in the world. Staring into the fluffy snow Wednesday imagined with all her might how her wish had already been fulfilled.

Picking up the phone the girl answered the woman.

[See you tomorrow. I hope my wish will come true]

With pleasant thoughts the girl jumped into bed and fell into reading the Waves, which with only its title alone immersed the girl in the crystal-blue eyes of the most beautiful woman in the world — Larissa Weems.

@barbarasstar

#larissa weems #gwendoline christie #wednesday addams #jenna ortega #love #fluff #cat #happy ending #christmas

23 notes · View notes