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pullupinarari · 2 months ago

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The Secret of Us [LH]

I. Mistaken for Strangers

summary: a 5 chapter miniseries in which Lewis chooses you to coordinate one of his new projects, but the instant spark flicking between the two of you makes the professional lines grow a little blurry. do the both of you feel the same?

author's note: first chapter of this plot that has literally been living in my mind rent free for MONTHS. I am so excited to finally work on it and I had so much fun writing it! hope you girls enjoy it 🩷

• masterlist

wc: 9228 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

Wednesday, 9:42 am. The sound of your heels clicking on the floor fills the space as you walk through the large corridors of the building, rushing to enter the meeting that was supposed to have started 12 minutes ago.

Losing yourself in time, you got carried away in pressing ‘snooze’ on your phone, and the crazy traffic that seemed to swallow you in between the never-ending lines of cars didn’t help your case either.

Your brain questions what this encounter is about - you just got a call from your boss yesterday, telling about how “a very important client” has demanded a meeting with you - refusing to give you any more details about it. Great, the only thing you know is that it’s a very important client, and you are starting off amazingly by showing up late.

Slowly swallowing the coffee that you’re holding in your hands, you take a deep breath as if to calm down your thoughts, before your fingers push the door open.

Your eyes scan the room briefly, already apologizing for being late as you start shaking hands with everyone at the office. There’s a familiar face in the middle of the group, one that stays behind everyone else, as if he is trying to adapt to the environment surrounding him.

You know who he is, it would be hard not to. Even if you don’t pay much attention to sports, he is so much more than just a sportsman - Lewis Hamilton, the seven time formula 1 champion, is right in front of you.

Your gazes meet for a moment, while your hands connect in a professional hand shake. As soon as you get closer to him, feeling his touch in yours, it’s almost impossible for you to not grow a bit nervous - still trying to process the person that’s right in front of you.

Lewis knew what to expect when the door swung open. With a new project in hand, his team searched for the best of the best in the field, trying to find the most suitable person to be in charge to coordinate this investment.

And that’s how you came along: in a stack of four resumes sitting on his desk, Lewis opened your file, carefully analyzing your entire career path, the types of projects you are used to working on, and the topics that excite you the most.

Looking for someone who has similar values as him, he quickly realized that you were the one: you are determined, have a successful professional path, and you seem to share the same vision as him. That, and the fact that the picture on your resume has enticed him from the first second, not even reading the rest of the files on his desk - after all, he had found the person he was looking forward to working with the most.

It feels like time has stopped when you stand in front of each other. Suddenly, the room went silent, like no one else was around you, leaving it to be just the two of you. But maybe, you stared at each other a second too long, maybe your hands felt the other’s warmth for longer than it was supposed to, until someone is clearing their throat, making you distance yourself from the man, occupying your seat at the table.

Keeping your posture while you take a deep breath to regain your senses, you focus on your boss, who's now rushing so the meeting can finally start, not wanting to keep the client and his team waiting any further.

Lewis’ team is quick to explain more about the reason why they wanted to meet you. This is a special project for the man: a new clothing line, whose profits will be donated to charities that Lewis cares for - a project that reflects most of Lewis’ personality, with his taste and passion for fashion, and his will to help others.

It’s easy for you to identify all the common points that you have with the main idea for this job, so you slowly start growing excited to get your hands on this project. But, at the same time, you can’t stop feeling that something is startling you, making you lose your focus from time to time.

Maybe it’s the way Lewis’ gaze lands on you from across the table, how his eyes seem to burn the insides of your soul, making you shift your attention between him and the presentation of the project.

When it’s finally time for him to speak, he gets up from his seat, ready to explain his motivation behind this idea and his expectations for it. But while he does so, his eyes never leave you, his words being directed only at you, forgetting about your boss or anyone else that’s also in the room with the two of you.

You feel your cheeks growing warmer by the minute, your hands slightly sweaty, your heartbeat accelerated, almost hypnotized by his intensity, his gaze being strong enough to set you ablaze.

He’s wearing a long, bright, orange blazer, his braids tied in a bun, enhancing his chocolate eyes that are totally focused on you, trying to record every single detail of your face in his mind, so he won’t forget about it.

You’re pretty sure that everyone else can notice the way you keep looking at each other, even if they act oblivious to it, and that’s enough to almost make you die out of embarrassment, even if you’re giving your best to pretend like you are not bothered by his presence right in front of you.

Finally, the meeting comes to an end, having sorted out the main ideas you are going to start working on already, and you can’t help but notice the heavy weight that seems to lift from your shoulders once you shake his hand for the final time today.

It’s almost as if you can breathe correctly again, without feeling so self-conscious from being shamelessly stared at by someone like Lewis Hamilton. Still, the way he said ‘goodbye’ to you, with a slight wink and a smirk plastered on his face, left your insides rumbling, this weird feeling growing inside of you.

You knew you were done from the first second you walked inside that meeting. The seven time Formula 1 world champion is obviously a very important client for your company, and your boss is making sure that he has everything he wants and needs. That’s why he was quick to inform you: Sir Hamilton will have a weekly meeting with you. Every Wednesday, at 9:30 am. Don’t be late.

Great, a weekly reason to make you wish you would be buried seven feet under. Your boss even made sure to tell you to clear your schedule every Wednesday morning, so the meetings for Lewis’ project wouldn’t have to be rushed.

This is a very important opportunity for you inside your company, but you’re not that pleased about this, due to the way you had felt this morning, feeling as if the driver was analyzing every inch of your face, reading every bit of your facial expressions.

The only thing you can do now is focus on your job, and not think about seeing him again until next week - and maybe even pray that these intense reactions from him could be just a 'first impression' type of thing, hoping he will show you a more calm side of his personality in the following meetings.

“Lewis Hamilton is a problem for next week, Y/N” - at least, that was what you thought. The next day, you were peacefully enjoying your dinner at home, when your phone started ringing a crazy amount of times, the ringing sounding muffled in between the sofa pillows, but still annoying you, praying it would stop.

A loud sigh escapes your lips when you look at the screen, your eyebrows furrowing when you check the countless messages from the man himself - Lewis, texting you a bunch of different pictures of ideas and inspirations he has for the project, wanting your opinion on them.

You immediately groan, hating the fact that your boss asked you to give him your personal number instead of just the professional one, so he could ‘reach out directly to you whenever he needs’ since he’s ‘such an important client’.

Opening the conversation, you notice his messages don’t stop coming, asking you questions and sending you different pictures of what he’s envisioning for this assignment. Tired of hearing your texts’ ring, you decide to dial his number, calling him in hopes he would just tell you everything that’s going through his mind while you are having dinner, interrupting the little time you have away from the office.

After the second ring, the man picks up your call.

- What can I do for you on this fine evening, Y/N? Can I get you sparkling water as cold as this typical rainy London night? Maybe a medium rare steak? - his voice sounds deep, yet light and you just can’t not notice the cheeky tone of his words, like he’s having so much fun while terrorizing your time away from work.

Silently rolling your eyes at his attitude, you’re ready to answer him back with the same wit.

- Well, office hours are over, and I hope you will keep that in mind the next time you think about clogging my phone with endless messages, Sir Hamilton. - using your most sultry tone, you smirk to yourself as you hear him humming on the other side of the line. If he wants to mess with you, he better beware that two can play this game. - Noted, Miss Y/N. I’m sorry for taking your time outside of your office to bother you with work related topics. But maybe our interactions after your office hours can be rearranged, no? Maybe we can change the subject of our conversations? - pushing your buttons, he’s clearly smiling at his phone, enjoying the way you joined his banter, just as much as he enjoyed hearing the words Sir Hamilton leaving your lips, leaving him to dream about it all night.

Fucker. His provocative words leave you speechless, struggling to have a reaction, your brain running to say something, so he will stop feeding his ego off the embarrassed silence that he got you in, now.

Clearing your throat, you decide to change the topic of the conversation.

- So, enlighten me a bit more about the ideas you sent me for the design? That’s why you contacted me in the first place, right? - you try to keep your composure. He’s a client like every other, Y/N. Breathe, in and out, and forget about what he said. Be. Professional.

On the other side of the line, a chuckle leaves the man’s throat.

- Office hours are over, Y/N. We will have plenty of time to discuss our ideas and different… positions on this project. Have a nice night. - The cheeky attitude makes your face feel hot again. He’s clearly smiling on the other side of the phone call, oblivious to the way your insides are trembling with his innuendo, in the same way that you have no idea how he can’t stop thinking about you, the way your baby blue suit would hug your figure perfectly, how your soft voice seems to enter his ears and travel through his veins, making him feel something that he has never felt before - but something that he definitely wants to chase.

Tonight feels particularly hard for you to fall asleep. Your brain is trying to process everything that happened for the past two days, and every time you replay his words, your insides grow nervous.

It’s like you’re already fighting an internal battle with yourself, conflicted between the way you feel and how wrong it is for you to feel this way, how you should remain professional.

Either way, no man is worth losing your job over. So, with a final deep breath, you try to forget about him and his antics, reminding yourself that you have other projects, other things to focus and to work on.

And, surprisingly, during the following days, the man grows silent. Doesn’t call, doesn't text, almost as if he was giving you a break from all the things he could say or do, letting you focus on your work and your inner peace.

Still, his damn words would continuously hover in the back of your mind, even making you suppress a smile sometimes, thinking that you will end up going insane just by the amount of times that your head brings this back.

Soon enough, a new week arrives, and before you can notice, it’s Wednesday again. It’s 9:20 am when you walk inside your company's building, reaching for the door handle of your office, when your eyes scan Lewis’ figure sitting on the couch at the waiting area.

Sharing a soft smile with you, he gets up once you open the door, noticing how the man just allows himself to walk inside your workplace without your permission, getting comfortable in one of the chairs in front of your desk, while you’re left dumbfounded at the door, analyzing his attitude.

After a second, you sit on your chair, only to be met with Hamilton’s sharp tongue again.

- It's amazing to see that you can actually show up on time for once - he ironizes, suppressing his own laugh when he notices your eyebrows lifting, looking straight at him.

You can’t believe his smart mouth, how he feels so comfortable to push your buttons even before knowing anything about you. Still, you push your hair out of your face and straighten your posture before replying:

- Is acting like a prick your favourite hobby or something? - your snap back with an ironic smile on your face, hearing Lewis laughing loud at your question, lightening the mood between the two of you.

Almost as a peace offer, he finally puts a cup of coffee that he was holding in his hand, on your desk, moving it closer to you. You raise an eyebrow at him, looking at the cup in front of you that has your name written on the lid.

- A hot blonde vanilla latte with oat milk. Did I get it right? - the man asks with a nervous smile on his face, showing you his fingers crossed in hopes that he didn’t ruin the order that he made sure to get you.

A surprised chuckle leaves your lips, sincerely smiling at him, now.

- Yup. That’s correct. How the hell did you find out what my usual coffee order is? - your furrowed eyebrows dominate your facial expression, trying to figure out how he discovered something so small yet so specific about you. - I noticed the coffee cup you were holding on our first meeting. If you don’t want people to know what you’re drinking, maybe you shouldn’t walk around with the sticker of your entire order glued to the cup - Lewis giggles at you, seeing the way your lips suppress a laugh that soon you let free as well. - Damn you, Starbucks! A girl can’t have her mysterious latte without some prick finding out about it - his eyes look small on his face when he hears your words, smiling widely at the light banter that revolves around you two now.

Still, you take the cup in your hands, sipping on the latte, realizing that it really tastes just like every other you usually order - he didn’t miss a detail about it.

- Thank you, Sir Hamilton. This is a very nice gesture from you - you say, giving him an honest smile while your eyes dance with his in an intense, yet brief, stare, before turning your attention to your computer.

There’s a moment of silence, the typing on your keyboard being the only sound filling the room, while Lewis’ mind is loud inside his skull. As if he keeps fighting himself to continue the banter, to tease you about the whole ‘Sir Hamilton’ thing, or to make another snarky remark just to push your buttons again. But instead, he just takes a breath, trying to ease some of the tension on his shoulders, due to all the pressure that he keeps putting himself under whenever he sees you.

- Please, you can call me Lewis. - is all he says. With a soft tone, with shiny eyes, looking up at you as you turn your face in the same direction as his voice, your gazes meeting again.

You gulp. Okay, Lewis. Not Sir, not Mr. Hamilton. Just Lewis. Nodding your head, you find the courage to speak through the intensity surrounding your bodies right now, as if your figures are speaking for yourselves, leaving little room for actual words to leave your mouth.

While the air grows thicker around you, Lewis’ deadly stare is still on you, almost defying you to reciprocate it, noticing the way he props his elbows on the table, moving his body closer to you, even if there’s an entire desk distancing you two - something that you aren’t sure if you should be thankful for or not, your mind wondering as your eyes travel through the man’s shape.

Taking his jacket off, his body gives you a show of what’s underneath the fabric covering his skin. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt today, one that hugs his toned body perfectly, showing his biceps on full display for you right now, making you feel flustered, making it impossible for you to deny how good he looks.

He notices it. He feels it. Your eyes travelling through his frame, admiring his toned arms, the tattoos strategically positioned to adorn his skin, your cheeks turning a slight shade of pink that makes a sly smile play on his lips, loving the way your gaze seems to not be able to leave him, addicted to having your attention.

Once you realize that you have been staring for too long, you pull yourself back from the trance he got you in, clearing your throat as you sip on your coffee again - doubting that filling your system with caffeine is a wise decision, right now.

- Well, thank you for the coffee, Lewis - you enhance the way his name sounds on your lips, getting a simple, yet knowing, smile from the man.

Shifting in your seat, you try to regain your focus, hoping the drink might at least help you with that.

- So, about the project… - you change the topic, looking back at your computer, as you try to start discussing some ideas with the driver, who is ready to listen to them, and to everything that you want to tell him, really.

Time passes by faster while you’re in each other’s presence, even if, deep in your bones, it feels like every second burns on your skin, passing by excruciatingly slowly, feeling every breath in your body, every stare, every word sinking in your soul.

And while both of you are trying your absolute best to remain focused, it’s hard. Lewis can’t stop noticing every detail of your presence, the way your hair gets in front of your face when you’re writing down the topics you need to work on next, forcing you to always keep the strands behind your ear, how you bounce your leg almost absently whenever he talks, biting down the skin of your lips as a way to distract you from the anxiety travelling through your blood - silently letting him know that he’s not indifferent to you, that he causes your body to react on its own.

Showing him your ideas, you turn your computer screen to the side, so the man can see everything you had planned already, how you picture the final result. But instead of staying in his place, he gets up, walking over to you, his frame leaning over yours as you two look at the screen in front of you.

- It’s just easier this way, no? So we can both look at things from the same perspective - his hoarse voice tells you, suddenly speaking lower, his lips closer to your ear as he directs his eyes to the projects in front of him.

As soon as his figure got closer, you could immediately notice the scent of his perfume, the delicate yet strong aroma hitting your nostrils, feeling so pleasant yet so present, just like him.

Looking up at him, you just give him a smile - one that’s not completely innocent, one that could make Lewis lose everything right here and now, only if he had a bit more confidence with you to take you in his arms, so he could lay your body on this desk, showing you how crazy the hours by your side are making him.

And looking down at you, he smirks. Moving to touch the mouse, his hand lands on yours softly, dominating your movements.

- What if we change this part of the event? Would it make sense to launch it this way? I want something different - you can barely make any sense of his words, sounding sultry as his hand continues to hold yours, and you can only thank yourself for not taking off your jacket this morning, covering the visible goosebumps that have found their home in your skin, now.

There it is. The sparks showing up again, the heat radiating from both of your bodies, making it hard for each other to breathe. Lewis’ face gets dangerously close to yours, taking in your features, his lips so close for you to take in yours, his arm almost embracing your side as he continues leaning on your chair.

You never felt so close to giving in to something capable of igniting your insides in a matter of seconds. And God, how badly you wish you could. But you can’t shush the little voice in the back of your head, telling you how he is a work client, after all. How you are just here to coordinate his project, and especially how your boss won’t be happy if he finds out about the slightest thing happening between you and one of the most important clients of this company.

Unfortunately, you let that voice win. Clearing your throat once again, you take your hand from under Lewis’, getting up from your seat to go grab a glass of water, desperately needing to put out the fire that continuously threatens to consume your mind and body.

- So, you were saying you want something different for the launch? What’s on your mind? Maybe if you explain it to me, I can make it come true - you ask from the middle of the room now, leaving the man to hold himself up on an empty chair, trying to regain his breath and mentality as well, now.

He doesn’t have a single doubt that you could make all his dreams come true, even the most breathtaking ones that he keeps having every night, dreaming of the way his name leaves your lips, how your touch feels soft against his own, ever since the first time he got to shake your hand.

But maybe this is pointless. Maybe you two just really need to calm down, and Lewis needs to rethink his next steps at your meetings. So, looking down at his watch, he sighs.

- I have to go, I’m sorry Y/N. I’ll just email you my ideas, okay? Not out of your office hours, of course. - he shows you a small smile, trying to pretend like he isn’t just chickening out because you keep driving him wild, eating away all his sanity.

- It’s always a pleasure, Miss. I’ll see you next week - shaking your hand, he shoots a wink in your direction, making you smile gently, watching him leave your office, and almost leaving behind this emptiness that now surrounds the space around you.

Sitting down on your chair again, you sigh. Feeling helpless, and almost a bit sad to see him go, you look at the clock on your computer, realizing that you have only spent an hour together, thinking of the way you cleared your entire morning, planning on having a longer meeting with him. But maybe this is for the better, so neither of you ends up doing something crazy that you might regret later.

Dumb ass, Lewis mutters under his breath, entering his car, only to stay still in his seat, sighing frustratedly as he stares at the horizon. I have to go? Where the fuck do you have to go, dumb ass? You two had the entire morning only to yourselves and you just left? Lewis, get your fucking shit together - the man says out loud, calling himself out at the ridiculous decision he just made, leaving you alone at your office, only because he decided that he wasn’t capable of dealing with the powerful feelings emanating between your bodies.

To tell the truth, he just doesn’t want to ruin it. He doesn't want to make you feel like he is rushing something, even if he can feel that you share the exact same feelings and sensations as him.

Disappointed and angry at himself, he decides to drive home. Going back to knock on your office door would just make him look even more stupid. What would you even say to her? Oh, turns out I don’t have to leave? That would just make you look even more ridiculous - he continues to argue with himself, sighing exasperatedly as he distances himself from your company building, from the place he could find you in, spending the entire morning alone with you, just as he has been dreaming for the past days.

And yet again, Lewis goes home thinking about you. About your eyes, that seem capable of sending bullets straight to his heart, your slender legs that looked so perfectly hugged by the skirt you were wearing today. His mind wanders through every new detail that he keeps learning about you, wishing he could become the pen that slowly touches your plump lips while you put your brain to work, organizing your train of thought before writing down your ideas.

Behind the door to your office, you still have your entire morning free, and you could use it to go have a nice breakfast at your favorite bakery, you could work on all projects you have on your hands right now. But no. Instead, you continuously refresh your email, waiting for the ideas that Lewis said he would send you.

You lock and unlock your phone a bunch of times, hoping he would say something, even if he would just clog your entire phone with pictures of what he wants to do for this investment. You just want to hear from him, to get something more from him, craving his presence since you almost got a taste of him this morning.

This isn’t right. You shouldn’t feel like this, you shouldn’t act like this at your workplace. You shouldn’t feel like a void has taken care of you just because he left. He’s just a client, you are just going to coordinate this project for him, and that’s it. Once all of this is done, you probably won’t even see him again. And now, you need to wait an entire week for him to show up once more.

Or maybe not. Tossing and turning in his bed that night, Lewis is feeling the desperation hitting his body, wishing you were lying by his side, so he could touch your smooth skin, smell your perfume, recording the scent on his pillow so he could feel you close to him whenever he would miss you.

He doesn’t want to explore your perspective on this project only, he wants to explore your perspective in life, maybe while you’re wrapped in between the sheets with him. The fact that he has never felt this way before, makes his knees buckle every time he thinks about you, about the way you make him burn with desire, with curiosity to discover you, so your bodies can finally meet.

But he can’t deny how powerless you make him feel, even if he tries to play it cool and use his strong mask, acting all tough around you, you could make him crumble in seconds just with your eyes, let alone with your touch on his body.

He needs to see you again, he wants to see you again. It’s like his brain can’t even process other information that’s not related to you, not even thinking twice before sending you a quick text at 4:39 am. 'Can we please have an emergency meeting tomorrow morning? We are having some issues with the plans for the line.' And with a heavy breath leaving his body, he presses send, hoping you will reply back with a ‘yes’.

Startled by your phone ringing in the middle of your slumber, you try to read the message you received, even if your eyes are almost fully closed. Seeing Lewis’ name on the screen is enough to make you rub your face, trying to wake up faster so you can find out the reason as to why he is texting you in the middle of the night.

Furrowing your eyebrows, a groan escapes your lips. Great, more work problems, as if your week isn’t chaotic enough already. Looking at it from the bright side, you will see Lewis again, even if it’s in the middle of solving problems, of getting some work done, maybe without that much time to banter as you usually do, but just seeing him again will be enough for you.

I can make some time after my first meeting of the day. 10:45 am in my office? - you reply back, lying on your pillow again, trying to go back to sleep when your phone rings one last time with a simple 'Perfect. Thank you, Y/N.'

You would be lying if you said that the thought of having him inside your office again tomorrow morning isn’t making some butterflies appear in your stomach, making it hard for you to fall asleep. But above all, you need to keep your focus, even if he is a very pleasant sight to look at, that’s all he is. Nothing more.

There’s a smile plastered on Lewis’ face once he reads your answer to his prayer. You said yes. You will make time to see him, to allow him to look at your gorgeous features again, to hear your voice shushing away all his intrusive thoughts.

He knows there’s not a problem with anything yet for you to fix, but he will make sure to figure something out, just looking for an excuse to see you again as soon as possible, without having to wait an entire week - wanting to redeem himself for his stupid attitude that he gave you this morning, when he walked away from your meeting.

Thursday, 10:35 am. Lewis is already waiting for you to be freed from your current meeting so he can see you. Wearing a navy blue jacket, his hands hold two coffees, and a small bag that has some scones inside of it, in the hopes of making your stressful morning a little more sweet with his presence, and the small cakes.

Your meeting runs a little late, and it’s already 10:57 am when you’re able to call his name, asking him to please follow you to your office. Opening the door, you encourage him to walk inside, noticing how he doesn’t seem as confident to erupt through your space again as he did yesterday.

Still, he sits down, putting the coffees and the small bag of pastries on your desk as he waits for you to join him. He has a soft smile on his features, almost as if he is feeling nervous, and he is. This morning, you have some music playing at a low volume in your office, and the man is quick to search for it while you are still at the door, talking to your secretary.

Thanking God for the power of technology, he finds out that you are listening to Daniel Caesar's ‘best part’ before you notice that he is actually shazamming the song.

He sips on his own coffee slowly, listening to the melody and the lyrics of the track, realizing how fitting it feels for this moment. Seeing you this morning is definitely the best part of his entire day.

You sit down in front of him, smiling at the cup of coffee waiting for you.

- I already had coffee this morning, Lewis. But thank you - you politely say, putting the cup to the side, saving some sips for later. - Oh no. A bit more caffeine won’t hurt, will it? - he jokes, making you shake your head at his antics. - I also brought some scones, maybe they’ll make your morning a bit more sweet. - Do you want me to go crazy with the amount of caffeine you want me to put in my body, Mr. Prick?! - you joke, laughing in unison with him. - I’ll take the scones though, I am really in need of something that will lighten up my day. - you explain, taking a bite out of one pastry.

Something to lighten up your day? That’s me, Y/N. - Lewis thinks to himself, feeling his heart racing in his chest at the sight of you, looking so beautiful, so bright and bubbly as ever.

Even if the carnal desires erupting from your bodies are evident, the man is starting to realize that it’s so, so much more than just that. Yes, he wants to hold your body close to his, bringing you to the edge of pleasure, seeing you roll your eyes to the back of your brain as you moan his name, but he also wants to hug you, to kiss your cheeks softly, to taste your lips that he’s positive that are sweeter than a scone, he wants you to caress his scalp, he wants to share a coffee and pastries with you more and more, hearing your ideas, your life perspectives, studying the way your amazing brain works.

He’s been thinking about it for some days now. Realizing that, whenever he thinks of you, he just doesn’t think of sex only, he thinks of nice encounters at your favourite bakery, he thinks of getting you flowers in the morning, just to see your adorable smile in your sleepy face, to the sight of your favourite flowers in his hand. And maybe that’s why he’s feeling softer, today. The tough guy façade will soon fade away, the more you grow on him, the more he dreams about you, wishing he could spend more days and moments by your side.

- Daniel Caesar is already a nice vibe for a stressful day - he tells you, his head slowly moving to the tune playing in the background, making you realize that you still have music playing on your computer, feeling way too overwhelmed to remember it. - Oh! Sorry. I like to listen to music when I’m alone, especially if I’m stressed. But I forgot it was playing - you quickly reply, turning it down immediately. - Why did you turn it down? I thought it was fitting for our meeting. Seeing you might be the best part of my stressful day as well - there. You said it, Lewis. You shouldn’t have said it, but you did, and now she’s not replying. She’s blushing, but she’s not replying. She’s definitely smiling at your words, but she’s not saying anything back. But God, she looks so cute when she gets shy.

It’s an internal battle with himself, hating the fact that he couldn’t hold his words inside, but loving the effect they had on you, making your cheeks turn into his favourite shade of pink, the cutest smile on your lips as you share a scone with him, silently agreeing with him. And that’s enough to make his heart flutter.

- So, what’s wrong? - you break the mood once again, focusing on the reason why he woke you up at 4 am. - Huh? - the man says while biting down his scone, lost in his thoughts. - What’s wrong? What happened for you to text me at 4 am and schedule an emergency meeting today? - you ask again, noticing the man’s lost face expression.

Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to see you. No, you can’t say that, you idiot. She’s at work, she’ll think you don’t take her job seriously enough to schedule pointless meetings while she has her hands full of projects she should be focusing on, instead of wasting her time having scones with you.

- Oh, yeah. About that… There’s a problem with the fabric suppliers, apparently they won’t be able to deliver all the materials necessary in time for the date we want to launch the clothing line. - his brain is fast to make up an excuse, finding something that can count as an issue that sounds bad enough for him to come to your office outside your weekly meetings.

However, now you’re the one feeling lost in the subject. Your eyebrows are furrowed, trying to decipher what’s going on.

- That sucks Lewis, but I am not the one that can solve that problem. I am coordinating the project, meaning I only get to intervene once the clothes are done, so we can prepare the launching, the charity side of the line and all that. You’re the one who can do something about it, you need to speak to the suppliers directly, or send someone else to do it for you - you are quick to explain, seeing the way his face falls, as if that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.

Shit. Does this mean that this meeting is over? We have nothing more to talk about? Not a problem in sight to solve? I have to go? Now that the coffee and the scones were tasting so delicious at the sight of the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on? She’s looking at her watch, she must be in a hurry, she must have more important things to do. You shouldn’t be selfish to the point of wanting her all to yourself while she’s buried in work, but unfortunately you are. Think, Lewis. Use your brain for once and fucking come up with something.

- Oh, can’t you be the one talking to them instead? - that’s all you can come up with? No wonder she thinks you’re a prick. You’re asking this woman to talk to a supplier who hasn’t done anything wrong, are you fucking stupid? Don’t answer that, brain - I’m good.

The way your eyebrows are quick to fly up your face, tells him how weird that idea was.

- Me? I don’t think that’s a good idea - you chuckle, sipping on the coffee the man brought you. - Well, why not? Maybe if you call them pricks like you do to me, they’ll get the job done. You’re the boss of this project, after all. I’m just dropping my ideas from time to time - he shows you a cheeky smile, one that makes you shake your head at his words, with a laugh escaping your lips. You’re the boss of my mind, at least.

You get up from your seat, a silent way of telling him that it’s time for him to go - even if you don’t want him to go, even if you would rather hear his jokes all day, making you forget all the problems at work.

- Maybe you can try and solve it yourself, and then give me some feedback, alright? - you tell him with a smile. - I guess Mr. Prick will see what he can do - Lewis replied, taking his coffee cup with him as he leaves your office. - See you on Wednesday, Y/N.

23 minutes. That’s all you got from an emergency meeting that you didn’t even plan correctly so you could have some more time with her. In between the scones and the music, you got 23 minutes of what your insides hoped to be the rest of the day, the entire night, tomorrow, all your hours dedicated to her.

At least, you got to look into her eyes once again, Lewis. You made her laugh, helped release some tension from her shoulders with the scones. Gotta give you that, it could be worse.

But it also could be a lot better. That’s why Lewis goes back home with this feeling itching in his chest. He just wants to spend more and more time by your side, so why can’t he?

He already has the weekly meeting with you, every Wednesday morning. And as the weeks pass by, the driver stops chickening out, spending all morning in between the four walls of your office, sharing his ideas, mixing them with your own for the project, sometimes focusing on work, other times paying more attention to the way your hands softly touch when you’re passing on papers to the other, how your figures meet when you’re side by side, organizing design visuals at your desk, how you lose yourselves in the other’s eyes.

But a weekly meeting doesn’t seem enough, doesn’t feel enough. So the man starts ruining small things here and there, causing inoffensive problems that are good enough to justify another emergency meeting with you - to which he would always show up with your favourite coffee and scones, almost creating this chaotic yet pleasant tradition, finding peace when he’s with you, even while dealing with the chaos of the little problems he created.

You can’t deny that you find it weird that every week, emergency meetings with Lewis seem to have become something mandatory on your schedule - sometimes over the smallest things that definitely didn’t require a meeting to be solved.

But as the banter, the laughs, the soft conversations and touches kept growing, the air around you two got more comfortable as well - or maybe, you’re the one who got used to breathing in between the flames he causes to erupt on your body.

Every night feels lonely while you dream of him, your head lying on the pillow where you’ve whispered his name already - without even having touched him yet, addicted to his perfume that seems to get attached to your clothes once you started hugging each other, instead of just shaking hands. Every time you get to feel just a small ounce of his touch, you swear you could get lost in it, in him, and never wanting to come back to reality.

However, as much as you might feel this way towards him, you’re not sure if Lewis feels the same way, or if this is just a fun game to him. And even if he might, in a parallel reality, share the same emotions as you, you’re pretty sure that he will never make a move, and you definitely can’t even equationate doing it, because your job is on the line. And that’s why the desire for him is the only thing lulling you to sleep every night.

Lewis has been getting lost in his own thoughts and fantasies as well, picturing every single thing he would do to you, imagining how different his days would be if you were by his side, completely hooked on you - dying a little more every week, as the will to hold you, to touch you, grows at an insane pace, only for him to have to fight it, using all the power in himself to restrain his movements around you, so he won’t lose it.

He has never been so sure of his feelings, and that’s why it kills him to see your dynamic when you’re together, the girl of his dreams right in front of him, falling in love with you the more he gets to know you, the more time he spends with you.

When he got to hug you for the first time, sensing your hand on his shoulder softly as you got ready to say goodbye after another meeting, your bodies got closer than usual, and he invited you for a first hug, to which you happily complied.

God, he could lose it right then and there. Chanting victory in his head just because he got to hug you once, celebrating the small wins you give him from time to time, the man was ready to confess his love for you in that second, when your noses almost touched once you broke the hug.

He wants to see you outside of work - that’s the thing he wants the most right now, and he would give up on anything for it to become true. But, as he continuously messes up with your work schedule, requiring more and more meetings outside of his weekly hour, the more you roll your eyes at his antics, the more you call him a ‘prick’.

It was fun seeing your reaction at first, laughing every time you would call him that, while the banter was light and meaningless. But now, Lewis can’t sleep, wondering if you are growing tired of him, feeling annoyed every time the man shows up at your office with another problem, making you work extra hours on those days, due to the amount of times you have to change your schedule to fit his ‘emergencies’.

Would you possibly say no, if he would gain the courage to ask you out? That thought haunts him every night, every week, at every meeting, every time he looks you in the eyes, every time you smile at him - so sweet, so innocent, but with the power of breaking his entire heart in half.

Besides that, he knows how you’re focused on your job, and he doesn’t want you to lose your position at the company because of him. He knows how this is important for you and your career, how you always remain professional, even when he might say something a bit more cheeky, trying to get you to loosen up a bit more. So maybe that’s another valid reason that would make you say no.

But once again, he needs to be selfish. He can’t wait so many months until the project is finally done, waiting for the time when you two are no longer business partners, when all the professional meetings will come to an end, to finally ask you out.

After all, he doesn’t want to lose contact with you. He doesn’t want you to stop working with him either. But he can’t continue to feel like this, every meeting feeling like absolute torture that he needs to endure on his body, restraining from touching the goddess in front of him, never allowing his dreams to become reality.

It’s been five weeks since the first time you saw each other, and it’s been around ten times that he has been inside your office, ten times you two had to keep from giving in to temptation, resisting to what your bodies so desperately beg the two of you.

And to tell the truth, you’re both growing tired of it. Lewis reads between the lines every time you give in just a little, always focusing on how professional you must remain at all times. So he knows that this one must be on him.

After weeks of debating with himself whether he should do it or not, he weighs the pros and cons of gaining the courage to finally asking you out: you can say yes, and that would be the most perfect scenario he can picture in his head, finally allowing him to see you outside of work, exploring you further away from the suits and the office you’re safely kept in; or you could say no, leaving him to deal with a broken heart, crushing all his expectations and dreams that you’re in.

With a deep breath, he makes a decision: he will ask you out, and if you say yes: perfect. If you say no, he feels like he has no choice rather than to choose someone else to work on this project with, not feeling like he would be able to deal with seeing you every week after being rejected by the only person that he has ever desired this much.

Wednesday, 9:24 am. As always, Lewis is already waiting for you at the small sofa near your office door, admiring your figure as you arrive to open the door for the man.

You stopped buying your own coffees every Wednesday, knowing that Lewis will already be waiting for you with two cups of coffee and scones in his hand, like the little tradition you started in your office.

Walking inside, both of you quickly make yourselves comfortable, getting used to your meetings, to each other’s presence. This morning, you feel all the stress of this week on your shoulders - having to deal with extremely tight deadlines, getting little to no sleep for the last couple of nights.

Lewis can feel your heavy energy, trying to lighten up the mood with a joke here and there, only to notice how you crack very little this time. You’re not joking back, your smile is smaller than it has been in the other weeks. He’s not a quitter, but for now, he just decides to tone down his snarky replies, listening attentively to your professional speech, stepping up to talk about the project with you.

When you ask him to check some visuals with you on the computer screen, he does what he has been doing since the first meeting - gets up, meeting you on your side of the desk, to lean his body over yours, feeding the both of you with some soft yet intense touch of the moment your bodies meet for some minutes.

You are too overwhelmed with work and information to even pay that much attention to his body reaching so close to you today, so you continue to complain about how neither of the designs seem to fit the ideas that you two came up with, how you need to ask the designers to work on something new and different, how this will delay the launching of the clothing line even more, how this is all a tragedy.

He’s looking down at you with a soft smile on his features, finding you adorable while stressing over something so trivial like colors and lines of a design, as if it’s the end of the world. You’re speaking fast, barely catching any air in your lungs as you are now venting about how stressed you feel today - your eyes focused on the computer screen in front of you, not even daring to look at the man’s face right now.

If he could, he would cup your face in his hands, reaching slowly so your lips could meet in a loving kiss, shushing away all your worries, grounding you again so you could breathe through his lungs, bringing all the oxygen back to your body, to your mind. But, in the situation you’re currently in, he can’t. And that kills him so much that he decides to leave all his fears behind as well, gaining the courage to interrupt your train of complaints.

- Wouldn’t you rather rant over a nice dinner? I think you once mentioned you like Italian food? - he says cheeky, even if his insides are trembling with anxiety, afraid of your reaction. Please say yes, please say yes. Please.

You stop talking, finally turning your head to him, your features meeting his soft ones - the smile that you love seeing on his face so much, so close to you once again, almost making it impossible for you to keep your impulses to yourself.

- What? - a nervous chuckle leaves your throat, as if you’re not quite understanding what he’s telling you. You heard me. - For dinner, Y/N. Italian? Indian? Mexican? I don’t know, what do you prefer? - he insists, his arms still resting on your chair and your desk as before, but somehow making you feel as if you are trapped now.

Soon enough, realization washes over you - he’s really making a move, one that you never thought he would be capable of making. In a matter of seconds, a knowing smile paints your lips as well.

- You want to take me out for dinner? What if I say no? - it’s your turn to defy him now, expectant to hear his reply. I don’t think you want to say no. - That’s not an option - the man is quick to say, his confidence growing inside of him as he reads your facial expressions, learning how to decipher you throughout the time. - Oh? - you say surprised, with an eyebrow raised. - That’s not an option? Then I guess I have no options - you inform him, shrugging before you leave your seat on the chair, walking over to the opposite side of the desk, trying to physically escape the hold he has on you. Don’t run away from me when you feel the same way as I do. - Your only option is to say yes and to let me take you on a date. It’s been time, now - he confesses, sincerity splattered all over his eyes, even when the typical smirk threatens to steal all the attention. - You’re ambitious - that’s all you say, feeling all the weight coming back to lay on your shoulders, your heart racing in a way that it hasn’t in a long time, now. - You should’ve known that by now. I never stop fighting until I get what I want. - he states confidently. And I want you. So insanely bad. You’re everything I can think about on a daily basis. You’re driving me mad.

A moment of silence fills the space between you two - and it’s not the comfortable type. It’s the heavy, dark, uncomfortable type of silence, the one that nobody enjoys.

Please, say something. Don’t grow silent on me, not after everything I just said, after the touches we shared, the glances, the coffees, the jokes, the silly conversations. Please.

Lewis grows nervous to the point of being scared that you might leave the room, not knowing what to expect from you right now. But even if you do, he’s positive that he will beg you on his knees for you to stay, to not turn your back to him.

Your mind starts spiralling, questioning if this should really happen or not, feeling divided between your heart and your mind, each one having a different opinion, almost like the angel and the devil that are fighting a battle on your shoulders.

You never thought Lewis would have the courage to really make this move, startling your senses a bit at his audacity. If you’re being honest with yourself, there’s nothing you want more than to finally go out with him, to discover all the other sides of the driver besides what you get to see inside your office.

But unfortunately, when weighing the pros and cons, there are more important things on the line here, things that you can’t allow yourself to lose. So, maybe, you truly are left without an option, having only one possible answer to give him - preparing yourself to deal with the consequences that this might bring you.

#the secret of us series #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton oneshot #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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burntoutdaydreamer · 1 year ago

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3 Steps to Improve Your Characters and Make Them Three-Dimensional

So I don’t have a process for creating/developing characters (to me the process is intuitive to the point where I wouldn’t even know how to explain it), but I do have a process for revising characters that just… fall flat, for whatever reason.

I like to get to know my characters by throwing them into a bunch of different situations and seeing how they react, but sometimes that’s not enough. In these cases I need to go back to the drawing board and figure out how to make them not feel like a cardboard caricature of the role I need them to fill. Here’s the process I use, and it involves three key questions to understand what makes your character tick.

1) What is this character’s fundamental belief- either about the world or themself?

2) Where does this belief come from?

3) How does this belief hinder them, and are they capable of growing past it?

Alright, here’s what the process looks like in action.

Let’s say I have a character I need to flesh out for my story.

Character A is a middle aged coffee shop owner and the protagonist of her story. The central conflict of the story revolves around trying to save the family run coffee shop she inherited from her father when he passed away, which has recently fallen on hard times.

What is this character's fundamental belief?

Character A believes that the world is an inherently good and fair place. She believes that good is always rewarded and bad is always punished, even if the timing isn't always perfect. As such, she strives to live a virtuous life, putting as much good into the world as she possibly can. While she understands that even good people can face hard times, she believes that in the long term, if things don't work out, it'll be because she didn't put in the work needed to turn things around.

Where does this belief come from?

Character A grew up in a solidly middle class household with good parents that treated her well- rewarding her for good work, and fairly punishing her for misdeeds. Her parents gave her everything she needed, but also expected her to work hard for the things she wanted. She also had the experience of watching her father build a successful business through hard work and by building strong connections with the people in town. If we want to push this further, we could also say that this belief was reaffirmed by watching her brother ruin his own life, squandering all his money and goodwill with those around him on failed get-rich-quick-schemes and outright scams that landed him in jail.

How does this belief hinder them, and are they capable of growing past it?

Let's say that Character A recently hired a barista who seems perfect for the job. Strapped for help, she gets him started right away before getting the results of his background check. When the results come in, she finds out that he is on probation and was recently released from jail for a violent crime. Shocked, she fires him. Believing that people who end up in jail always deserve it, she can't see past her initial prejudices. As a result, her coffee shop suffers from the loss of her new star barista.

Some time goes on, and Character A encounters the barista again, and learns more about the circumstances that landed him in jail (maybe he was falsely convicted, maybe he was battling psychosis, maybe the violent act was done to prevent a loved one- anything that makes her question her initial assumptions). He then confesses that he is struggling to provide for himself and his family because no one will hire him because of his criminal record. Character A comes to realize that her belief isn't completely true, and that the world isn't entirely fair. Though it takes a lot of inner work to do so, including coming to terms with her privilege, she eventually accepts this, and revises her beliefs. She decides that even though the world isn't fair, people have the responsibility to make it fair.

She decides to re-hire the barista she fired. After doing everything she can to make things right with him, she proposes an idea she wants his help with. Together, they transform her family business into a joint coffee shop and community rehabilitation center. In addition to selling coffee, they also launch a program to provide resources to recently incarcerated individuals looking to reenter society. They'll host weekly events on job interview coaching, alcoholics anonymous, motivational speeches, group therapy, opportunities to connect with open-minded employers, and more. Their promotion of this new program enables them to secure funding from local patrons and public grants, and customers are willing to pay for more expensive coffee with the knowledge that that money will be put to good use.

Additionally, if we want to go with the brother in jail backstory, we could have this ending be an opportunity for her to reconnect with him and maybe even repair their relationship as she gets to see him in a new light.

Main Takeaways

And there you have it!

You can use this process on any character- protagonist, antagonist, side character, etc. By grounding your character's motivations and development in their beliefs, you can easily introduce depth and internal conflict while keeping everything connected to the themes and plot driving your story.

Depending on your character's role or your story's plot, the belief can be wide reaching and complex (such as a philosophy or ideology), or specific and personal (such as having to do with their self-esteem). Either way, it should always be tied to their personal experiences or observations. This doesn't necessarily mean a tragic backstory. It could be, but I encourage you not to make this your default way of creating character depth. A mundane but grounded and sincere motivation will always be more compelling than cheap, dark shock factor.

Generally, protagonists with happy endings and villains with successful redemption arcs are capable of moving past their beliefs, while tragic heroes and antagonists aren't, and this failure is usually the source of their downfall. Keep in mind that even if characters do move past their old beliefs, it will always be a difficult thing to do. It will require them to confront their own mistakes, biases, and emotional wounds, and require both internal and external work in order to fix whatever their old beliefs have damaged.

Hopefully this guide will help you approach your characters from a different perspective. Feel free to share any insights.

Happy writing y'all!

#creative writing #writing #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #novel writing #writerscommunity #writing advice #writing problems #on writing #writing characters #character development #writing help #fiction writing #writing tips #writing thoughts #long post #really long post

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shoujo-wizard · 4 months ago

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Hallmark movie AU steddie A/B/O ft kitchenwitch!Steve im calling it "Bewitched by Yuletide"

A!Eddie O!Steve

@lexirosewrites this has turned into a drabble oops

Eddie ends up making it big time with the corroded coffin guys, except after nine albums together they're not getting along very well. it all comes to a head during a long flight out of Europe back to the US, and when their private plane landed, the band had agreed there was no more band. they gave a final concert in the US. so eddie finds himself at a crossroads. he still had his money, he still had his fame, and he still had the connections of a rock star. he could launch a solo career, get writing a debut solo album, make the right calls to people with the right taste, he could be very successful for at least one album. except as eddie thought it through more and more, he just felt tired. he didnt want to write anything, he didnt want to play another electric guitar solo, and he didn't want to go through the promotion process. he didn't want to attend award shows, not even to host. the spotlight was fantastic, but on the flight back to the US Felix had pose them all a question

"do we really want to do this for the rest of our lives?"

eddie didn't want to. he felt adrift, not sure what he really wanted to do for the rest of his life, with all the money they'd made. then he gets a call from his Uncle Wayne; he'd fallen and was in the hospital for the last 2 days. he emphasizes he's fine, just ended up hitting his head hard. a friend is taking care of him till the worst of the concussion symptoms resolve. he tells Eddie his door is always open to him. so eddie books a flight and is in the small town of Hawkins by the next morning.

wayne gives him directions that are of little help, but he writes them down just in case. he pulls into the driveway of Wayne's farmhouse, and the old man is sitting on his front porch in a wicker rocking chair. he hands Eddie a coffee mug & motions to the other chair then the thermos sitting on the small table. so eddie sits to fill his mug instead of doing anything reasonable like turn off his car or at least close the driverside door. It has gotten to late autumn now. halloween is approaching. eddie drinks a mug of coffee in silence before he starts a conversation.

"do I want to do this for the rest of my life?" eddie watches the wind move through the fir trees.

"whatever you want to do, son, just know you'll always have a place in my life." is what wayne hums back.

Wayne is situated inside comfortable on the couch. his uncle lets him know that his friend will be coming by after he finishes work to bring him dinner. Eddie says to let this 'Harrington' know tht he'd like to be added to the dinner guest list. wayne just chuckles like he knows something Eddie doesn't.

even later when the sky is turning dark a new car pulls up outside the farmhouse. Wayne hollers that it's "steve and robin" right before the front door is bursting open to let in the cold air, and two people eddie's never met before. eddie wants to ask them to sit down, but then a broad shouldered Adonis with his neck wrapped in a pink scarf is moving around him to the kitchen as if he does so everyday. an alpha woman with a choppy bob is completely disinterested in him, instead she's sitting with Wayne engaging him patiently in conversation while the noises in the kitchen continue to grow.

eddie expects a lot of things when he walks into his uncle's kitchen. None of them could've prepared him to walk into a room permeated with the scent of apples. to see the adonis from the doorway without his pink scarf or coat. his hair is a cresting wave, and he moves assuredly around the space. he's unpacking several canvas picnic bags, which makes Eddie pause because he's sure that the omega in the kitchen had only entered with a large dutch oven in his hands.

they have a short conversation that ends with Eddie offering his help with dinner. Steve declines politely, but Eddie doesn't leave the kitchen exactly. he sits down at the breakfast nook within the room, and engages Steve in conversation. steve asks about the acoustic guitar case among his things at the bottom of the stairs. eddie blinks because he can't remember if he brought his things inside or not. ultimately deciding he must have. eddie admitting his band had broken up, and that he's staying with Wayne for the moment.

the four of them sit down to dinner, and then before Eddie knows it he's in the kitchen cleaning up with Robin. when they get near done steve walks in and starts the coffee maker. then wayne is shuffling cards, and they're eating dessert while sipping at coffee. then before Eddie feels like he can blink Steve and Robin r driving back to Hawkins proper.

Eddie couldn't stop thinking about apples the entire night.

[there's definitely more to say about this AU..... but i think this is a good little set up tht kinda shows the set up]

[I might write more to this but i won't make promises. you'll likely all have to wait till the next Slick Sunday i choose to participate in]

#shoujo says #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #bewitched by yuletide #is the working title #i kinda... wanna make this have a part 2?#they aren't hallmark actors they're just hitting all the hallmark movie plot points #i think if i do a part 2 we'll hear a little more about steve in this AU

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crguang · 4 months ago

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violinist kafka x her pianist accompaniment reader, courtesy of my 🎹 anon and @shalomniscient’s beautiful brain <3 we’ve been going crazy over this AU since i received the ask today.

R and kafka are childhood best friends who have been playing together since their respective instructors discovered their potential and made them work together on a piece, very much young prodigies in the making who do nothing but hone their skills with the dream of becoming the best in their field. one day, when they’re around 16 years old, R moves away. this bus ride is the last memory kafka holds of them together and she remembers it viscerally whenever she brings an especially complex composition to life, which eventually becomes the source of her recognition and success. this is a goodbye she only understands once she’s lost them.

607. i miss you.

You held her hand that early evening on the way to the bus stop on the corner street four minutes from the music academy; your pinky finger loosely looped with hers and in the chill of February, she could feel the rough material of your knitted glove against her own, the one gifted to you by an aunt she doesn’t remember the name of. Fingertips linked like an implicit promise, she spared you a questioning glance at the unusual gesture and you avoided her gaze, making a show of scrolling through a playlist on your MP3 player with your free hand. She thinks of it as holding hands now, because despite your palms not touching at the time, your bodies were connected through that fragile bridge between your fingers and your hands swayed in the air with your unhurried steps. Each of her exhales were made visible by the cold while you kept yours within the confines of the scarf around your neck, you always despised the drop in temperature. Even with the bottom half of your head hidden by the soft fabric, she could read the reservation on the lines of your face. You were keeping something in and it was obvious to her who had known you since that Wednesday you sat in her every-day rehearsal room, patiently waiting with her violin instructor and a faraway look in your eyes. Back then, it had been eight years. Perhaps that isn’t accurate, she has known you a total of eight years up to the present day. That is the only constant between you, whoever you are today she does not know.

Kafka chuckles lowly to herself, a self-deprecating sound. After all this time, she still needs this moment of reminiscence before she dares put the bow to her violin’s sacred strings. If this is what puts her in the state of mind necessary to perform this composition flawlessly, so be it. She inhales long and slow, then exhales quietly through her mouth. She raises her right hand and in one controlled motion, slides the bow over the first note of her instrument.

The 607 bus was half empty when you stepped on it first. You paid the bus fare and she followed you to the back after doing the same. You took the seat next to a window tainted with water streaks and silently took the violin case from her hands to lay part of it on your thigh, the other half rested on her leg the entire ride home, its small weight shared like the rest of your burdens. She took the earphone you handed her and pressed a little closer to you to see what you were showing her on your MP3. The bus started moving a second later.

“I don’t want something too loud this time,” you said, scrolling down the music app where you’d created playlists for each other a year prior.

“Lame.”

“You chose the playlist yesterday, you don’t get to complain. This one is nice.”

You pressed play on a slow song and lifted your head to meet her eyes expectantly as the first melodies reached her ear. She conceded with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. You smiled, a soft edge to it, and didn’t tear your gaze from hers for a moment that Kafka now wonders if it lasted seconds or minutes. You looked into her eyes, searching for something she didn’t have the guts to confess, and she looked back at you with the words on her lips. They were often there, sitting just past her lips like they’d fly out of her mouth the instant she opened it, but she found that they were anchored to her tongue and had no plan to leave the warmth of their comfort zone. Her eyebrows twitched in question for the second time that hour, an unsure smile on her face in response to your stare.

“What?”

Her attempt to glimpse into your mind broke the suspended moment. You shook your head somewhat ruefully.

“Nothing.”

You lowered your MP3 and followed the movement with your eyes, avoiding hers once again. She could see something brewing inside of you since that morning, guilt you couldn’t admit to her, maybe, but she didn’t push thinking you would speak up eventually. Instead, she playfully nudged your side with an elbow.

“Practice used up your last brain cells or what?”

“Ha, ha. Like you weren’t the one struggling to keep up with the tempo.”

“Try again, maybe the next lie will be more convincing.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot Kafka The Prodigy could never make a mistake, ever. I’m only the accompaniment, what would I know?”

“That’s more like it.”

You lifted your eyes to the sky, but the smile that replaced the weird one you were previously giving her was much more brilliant. You glanced at her, then turned your head to the window. An older couple were quietly chatting to themselves a few rows to the left in front of you, their heads leaning against each other, and she spent a minute looking at them while the next song played in your earphones. With the music, it was impossible to catch what one was saying to the other, but that didn’t matter. Their bodies were pressed together like yours with hers, as if huddling for warmth, and the woman was talking with her hands the way you would when you were passionate about a new album you just discovered. She didn’t notice it then, that she was looking for you in others even as you sat next to her. Her world was so small; you and music, music and you, and those hours where the two were one and the same.

To this day, you are the music she plays. Your harmonious smiles and dulcet voice, they are all within the melodies she borrows from other composers and in a sense, you are always on stage next to her during a performance. In the practice room, Kafka furrows her brows. She feels it mounting in her, that feeling that makes her great, akin to a pulsing heart ascending to her throat until it lodges itself between her vocal chords and she lets the violin speak for her. The climax approaches steadily, she knows that part like the back of her hand.

She lost interest in the talking couple. You were still looking outside the window at the swaying tree branches and passing cars, and she wondered what was so interesting out there that you couldn’t look at her. She watched your eyelids droop, though you stayed awake and kept staring at the world beyond the two of you. The song in her ear had a bass that followed her heartbeat. It wasn't sad, but you were. Streetlights had come on to balance out the rapidly vanishing sunlight and each one illuminated your features in fleeting rays of yellow, your eyes were hazy and your lips no longer smiling for her, and strands of hair brushed your temple whenever you adjusted your head on the glass. She followed the smooth lines of your brows down to the bridge of your nose, then to the curve of your upper lip. On her lap, her fingers twitched and curled into a loose fist. Her gaze went unnoticed, you were entirely enticed by the world beyond her reach and she was enthralled by the sadness on your face that added years to your current age of merely sixteen. You knew something she didn’t, she was sure of it, but no sound came out of her mouth after she parted her lips to ask. You swallowed, and her eyes flitted to the lump in your throat before settling back on your fluttering lashes. She suddenly perceived a distance between you that made her deeply uncomfortable and that feeling sat on her chest until your bus stop approached and you finally straightened up to look back at her. You smiled weakly, and Kafka spent years regretting not saying anything as you hesitantly patted her closed fist and placed the violin case on her thighs so you could prepare to stand, ringing the bell to announce your stop. She searched your eyes and found nothing but apologies.

“Playing with you makes me so happy,” you said out of the blue, holding up her stare intently. “You’re really great.”

“I know,” she replied lamely, half-jokingly, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound weak and breathless. It made her smile nonetheless.

“You’re gonna be so great, and I’m gonna be great, and we’re gonna be great together. We’ll perform on stage just like we talked about, and in ten years, we’ll be the best in our field.”

“It’ll take me less than ten years. But I’ll wait for you to catch up.”

You gazed at her for the half minute it took for the bus to pull over, searing her playful cockiness into your mind, then you stood and she moved her legs out of the way for you to reach the aisle.

“Bye, Kafka.”

“See you M…” Her goodbye was interrupted by the soft press of your lips on her cheek, a quick gesture before you rapidly turned away from her and walked out of the bus. “...Monday,” she muttered in confusion.

She turned to the window as the bus started up again and you waved at her with enthusiasm that felt out of place. Still, she made a disgusted face that made you smile wider, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue like she was going to puke from the uncharacteristic display of affection. Your figure got smaller and smaller, and she lifted a hand to her cheek to wipe the skin where your lips had been.

The piece is coming to an end. The hardest part has passed and all that is left is a clean finish that Kafka executes perfectly. The final note rings out in the empty room. Her head hangs low for a moment, eyes shut and exhaling slowly through her mouth. She is great and she’ll perform on stage in two weeks. She is not the best, not yet, she’s missing the soothing notes of piano keys to accompany her violin. Kafka chuckles to herself, the irony of this thought is laughable. She smiles, raises her head, and starts the piece from the top.

#sat babbles #kafka x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #violinist au

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haytan · 1 month ago

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FROST MELODY | G.A

I really enjoyed writing this, it's something simple and cute. I listened to tiwfl on loop and some vintage classics while writing, like the cranberries, in case you want something that matches the vibe...

𓍼 WORD COUNT: 2626

𓍼 SUMMARY: you and gracie spending time in the studio producing cedar

𓍼 WARNINGS: fluff

the sky is partly cloudy as you walk through crowded streets of new york. the ground is covered in dry leaves thanks to autumn, and you might even hear them crunching underfoot if it weren’t for the blaring car horns around you.

your destination is the a train line, which connects harlem to your neighborhood. you walk slowly, watching people come and go, soaking in the calm of a saturday afternoon. along the way, a few men in suits talk rapidly on their phones, looking rushed as they pass by— a typical east side sight.

the station isn’t far, and the distant sound of the subway blends with the city’s constant noise. you reach the entrance to the platform, glancing at the tracks that will soon fill up, but you don’t go in. the plan is simple: pick up your girlfriend and head back to the studio.

after the huge success of your last album, you managed to save up enough money to buy a space to produce your music somewhere other than your bedroom.

and to make things even better, recently, both you and gracie received an offer to compose music for screen projects. so, although the studio was mostly an excuse to spend more intimate time with gracie, today would be different.

you're pulled from your thoughts when you see a long-haired woman climbing the stairs, looking around in confusion.

"hey," you say as she approaches, not even noticing you there.

"you scared me," gracie says with a shy smile. "i didn’t even see you."

"i noticed," you smile softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. the taste of cherry lipstick mixed with her own never fails to be perfect.

"we need to talk about you walking around new york like this—it’s dangerous," you tease as you pull away, and she intertwines her fingers with yours.

"hm, no, we really don’t." her cheeks are slightly flushed, and you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the kiss. the two of you start walking back the way you came—autumn leaves, car horns, hurried men. "i have you, i don’t need anything else."

your own cheeks warm slightly. even though your relationship isn’t new, gracie always manages to catch you off guard.

"a little too dependent, don’t you think?"

"i call it love."

a soft giggle escapes your lips, a melody only abrams gets to hear. "you’re impossible."

…

after almost eight minutes of walking, you arrive at the studio—or at least what you insist on calling a studio. in reality, it’s a small apartment on 59th street near central park, but it has everything you need: good equipment, a comfortable couch, and it's right next to the best donut shop on the east side.

gracie takes off her coat and hangs it on the rack by the door. she throws herself onto the large couch against the wall with a sigh of relief. the soft evening light filters through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. "so, i was thinking we could help each other," She says in her usual calm voice.

"hm?" you murmur, still focused on turning on the computer, adjusting the mixer, and setting the air conditioning.

"help each other," she crosses her legs on the couch, her expression light, almost playful

you slowly turn in your swivel chair, now paying attention to her. "i thought we were already going to do that."

"yeah, i mean, we are." she sits up, a little more serious now. "but i was thinking we could do more—like… you could do backing vocals for my song, and i could do the same for yours. if you want, of course."

your expression turns thoughtful for a moment, gaze softening as you weigh the idea. "I like it, but are you sure? That means a lot of paperwork, credits, and stuff."

gracie nods, her expression gentle and reassuring. she always has this way of calming you down with a simple gesture. "i'm ready to deal with that."

you smile, feeling lighter, and nod before turning back to the equipment. the space feels comfortable, like a secret garden, and her presence makes it even more welcoming.

later, daylight fades into shadows, making it necessary to turn on the led strip in the corner of the studio. gracie sits at the keyboard, playing the same notes repeatedly, experimenting with small variations.

she plays a progression, then hums softly, testing. her voice fills the space with a melancholic sweetness.

"it's impossible to acclimate

every time we talk, we understate…”

a familiar shiver runs up your arms. it’s always like this when gracie sings—there’s something in her voice that cuts deep, like light rain on a cold day, mixed with the warmth of blankets.

she stops, frowning. "the chorus still doesn't fit. i want the melody to be different from the first one, something that builds up emotion for the second verse."

you lean back in your chair, reaching for the guitar beside you, letting your fingers glide over the strings slowly, repeating the intro melody. "how about this?" then, start a slightly faster rhythm, capturing the tension of the lyrics.

gracie watches you, then mirrors the melody on the keyboard, adjusting it to her tone. "this… this could work," she murmurs, focused. her eyes shine the way they always do when she finds something that musically makes sense. "can you do it again? but with the rest of the lyrics?"

a subtle smile forms on your lips, a quiet sense of pride settling in. "of course." you place her journal in front of the monitor, strumming the guitar again, this time accompanied by gracie on the keyboard.

"it's impossible to acclimate

every time we talk, we understate

how we know we both could die, we both could die

but you told me that you felt the same

when i told you how i needed space

but i think it was a lie, it was a lie…”

as soon as you finish, you glance at her, feeling a little nervous about her reaction. You’ve spent countless nights on calls writing silly songs together, most of which end up discarded, but this is the first time you actually change something of hers.

"okay, that was good," she says, her smile widening.

you chuckle softly, tilting your head to the side out of habit. "i think we’ve got something."

"i love doing this with you." eyes warm, the kind that crinkle just slightly at the corners.

"me too, babe."

the next few hours pass in silence, filled with experiments, note adjustments, and timing tweaks. despite working together, both of you are used to creating alone—there’s no denying that.

when it’s no longer possible to stay inside your own head, the recording begins. gracie steps into the booth, separated from the production room by a large glass panel. from your side, among the equipment, you watch her position herself in front of the microphone.

gracie sings, you record. she sings again, you re-record. when she misses a note, she laughs, and you just throw your head back, laughing with her. adjustments are made—a section cut here, another repeated there. the cycle continues, unhurried, until you’re both satisfied.

"okay, just one more time," she says, snapping her fingers as if that might somehow improve her performance.

"love, i’m not saying this just because i’m your girlfriend, but you already sound incredible," you speak into the microphone, holding the button that activates it.

"y/n."

"you’re the boss."

when you can finally say the song is almost ready, you both pause. you stretch your arms above your head while gracie massages her face.

"want to come take a look?"

"definitely."

she steps out of the booth excited, and without hesitation sits on your lap. you wrap your arms around her and press a light kiss to her shoulder. when gracie hits play, the song named Cedar begins to play.

first the keyboard. something calm, classical. then, her voice emerges. the introduction is delicate, the chorus melancholic, and, as intended, the bridge brings tension and anxiety—an intense mix of instruments. her head moves subtly to the rhythm, and fingers mimicking the keys, as if the music is flowing through her.

"fuck," she whispers when the bridge falls perfectly into the third verse.

the song ends, leaving you both in silence. but it only lasts a few seconds before gracie lets out a long sigh.

"it’s good," she says, almost as if convincing herself.

"good?" you raise an eyebrow.

she shifts in your lap, still looking at the screen, analyzing every second of the song on the software’s timeline. "i don’t know… maybe the bridge needs something more. like, a soft choir in the background? something to build it up a bit?"

you press your lips together, thoughtful, and rewind a few seconds. the bridge plays again, and now you try to listen more carefully, searching for empty spaces.

"maybe some subtle vocals, just to add texture." she says, now looking at you, waiting for consent.

"that’s exactly what i was going to say."

gracie gives a satisfied smile and gets up from your lap, stretching her arms. "okay, last thing for the night, i promise."

"empty promises, abrams."

she giggles and heads back into the booth, adjusting her headphones. "i’ll do a few layers, and then you tell me which works best."

her voice fills the studio once again, now in soft fragments. melodic whispers, discreet harmonies layering until the sound gains more depth. you adjust the volumes, test combinations, and when you finally find the right balance, you look at gracie through the glass.

"now we got it," she says, satisfied.

you hit play once more. the bridge now has new depth, and the transition into the third verse feels more intense, almost cinematic.

gracie leans against the glass, resting her forehead on it, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

"now we got it," you repeat, this time with more conviction.

noticing how tired she is, you take off your headphones and stand up, crossing the room to where she is. "why don’t you sit on the couch for a bit? i’ll order something from that donut place, and we can listen a few more times to make sure it’s how we want it."

she sighs and moves away from the glass, but instead of heading straight for the couch, she walks toward you. gracie wraps her arms around you, burying her face in your neck. "i love you, you know?"

you chuckle softly, sliding your hands down her back. "i love you too, baby."

and that’s that. gracie throws herself onto the couch, resting her legs over your lap while you pick the flavors. in the end, you settle on a deal: two savory donuts, two sweet, matcha for her and black coffee for you.

when you return with the food, she’s listening to the song again—not a surprise. gracie always revisits everything a thousand times before considering it done.

"fresh food," you announce, balancing the bags in your hands.

she looks up intrigued, a small smile playing on her lips. "hmm, smells good." then, she gets comfortable on the couch, ready to eat.

you settle in together, gracie resting her head on your shoulder while you gaze out the window. from your building you can see the famous wollman rink among the trees of central park. however, it is not yet an ice rink, but rather a large space under assembly, covered in scaffolding and trolleys.

as you devour the donuts in silence, you remember something—a bit of news you’ve been meaning to share with your girlfriend. after all, whenever she had good gossip, you were always the first to know. "you know towa?"

"your guitarist friend? the one who looks like conan?"

you snicker, shaking your head. "yeah, her." your arm stretches to grab your coffee. "so, guess who she’s been involved with?"

gracie pauses, furrowing her brows in thought. "who?"

"reneé."

she pulls away from your shoulder, looking at you, confused. "reneé? our reneé?"

you nod, confirming, and take a sip of your coffee. "yep, reneé herself told me."

"you’re serious? them?"

"uh-huh."

abrams’ eyes widen as she stares at you for a few seconds, processing the information. "omg… they have been kinda glued together lately, huh?" she says with a mischievous little laugh.

"right? that’s what i said, but she just kept denying it."

"now that you mention it, it makes sense. they were always together, but i just thought it was a friend thing, you know?"

"like us?" you tease with a smirk.

gracie shoots you a glare and lightly smacks your thigh. "don’t be ridiculous."

"ouch, i was just kidding."

after the food break, gracie stays on the couch but gets even more comfortable. you drape a light blanket over her and turn up the heat a little to help her relax.

meanwhile, you stay at the computer, listening to the song over and over, adjusting parts, removing noise, fixing small mistakes… and when it’s already two in the morning, you glance back and find gracie sleeping like a baby.

seeing her so peaceful, you allow yourself to relax too, taking off your headphones and stretching. after saving everything, you kneel in front of her, your thumb brushing through her soft hair. "hey, baby," you whisper.

she doesn’t respond, as always, so you press a light kiss to her forehead, your hand trailing to the nape of her neck. gracie usually sleeps deeply, but luckily, you already know how to wake her up.

you’ve learned that whispering in her ear never works—it just startles her and sometimes even annoys her. so instead, you keep running your fingers gently through her hair, leaving soft kisses on her forehead, waiting for her to stir.

"hm…" she mumbles, eyes slowly fluttering open. "what time is it?"

"two twenty-seven."

gracie’s eyes widen in the most adorably startled way. "oh my god."

you chuckle. "i already packed everything and called a cab. we just need to head down."

she sighs, still groggy, but gets up. another session wrapped up.

…

back home, after a warm shower, you and gracie lay together under the blankets. her fingers draw circles on your bare chest, head resting on your arm. "thank you for today, for everything, really. you weren’t just a great friend and girlfriend, but also a producer."

one of your arms is under your neck, the other on her waist beneath her shirt. "you're welcome, my love. you know you can always count on me, for anything."

"i know," she murmurs, running her fingers up your neck, making makes you shiver. "but you put up with me being such a annoying coworker."

you let out a chuckle, then lean in to give her a small kiss on the nose. "i think being your girlfriend helped a lot."

"hey!" she scolds playfully, but you both giggle.

"i love you, like, really love you. love, love."

"hmm, seriously?" gracie moves closer, rubbing her nose against yours in an eskimo kiss. "i love you too, babe. like, love, love."

with a goofy smile, you close the distance between you, your lips meeting hers in a slow, warm kiss. the taste of mint and something citrusy blends with the soft touch, while gracie's fingers slide to your neck, gently tugging at your hair.

when you pull apart, you exchange a knowing look, and in a silent agreement to rest, she snuggles into your neck. your legs intertwine out of habit, and you plant a soft kiss on her forehead before closing your eyes to drift off to sleep.

definitely my favorite writing of all, loves that vibe of doing daily things together, showing affection with acts of service and stuff. I can write a part two recording y/n's song, so let me know if you're interested. I plan on posting more stuff this week...

thanks for reading <3

back to nav

#˚🐇⋆hayfics!!#gracie abrams fic #gracie x reader #gracie abrams x reader #gracie abrams oneshot #gracie abrams x you #fluff

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mwahmwahh · 2 months ago

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hey y'all:)

I came back with some updates on my post about a synastry between me and someone. Here's the link to the post if you havent seen it :

note: it's been like 6-7 months I believe ever since I posted it. Here are my observations so far.

12th house synastry

I've heard countless scaryyy things about this placement, and yes, it is painful. In my experience, it feels deeply karmic.

When we first met i felt this kind of familiarity in a way, aomething he did confess too just after a few days of meeting. Even after months we would sometimes talk about how our connection just seems "strange" but now in a bad way. It was like we just clicked and understood each other. On the first date he even told me a childhood trauma without realising it and I was like "wait how many people know about this?" and that's when he realised and said "oh very few..". As time went by it was like he was getting scared of the connection, then was getting scared of losing it and would do the most to keep in contact.

In my case, his Moon, Venus, and Mars fall in my 12th house, and everything about our connection has been so confusing. There was mutual appreciation and love, but for now, it just couldn't come to fruition. Why? Because he has to work through his own blockages and limiting beliefs to grow into a better version of himself (since the 12th house represents our subconscious, hidden fears/things from us in general, and in combination with the 7th house synastry that we had, which I will also talk about it later on on this blog, it's the perfect description of "mirroring each other". Keep in mind I am the one whose personal planets (Sun,Venus,Moon,Mercury) fell in his 7th house, meaning I would be the one holding that mirror)

He pursued me relentlessly—there wasn’t a single week in months where he didn’t reach out. He would call me even during emotional moments (a clear influence of his Moon), and we would comfort each other. But from my perspective, his feelings always felt somewhat hidden from me, even though he showed interest and pursued me (Mars energy). Like he was very obvious, but when i would ask why he would do certain things he would try hidding it or the next day would do something that would leave me confused and questioning idk it was like he didnt want to be seen completely? Also speaking of his mars in my 12th house, it's like he was scared to not be perceived as "successful" or "manly" enough, would be to proud to show vulnerability even tho it comes so natural for him to do so with me? (moon and Venus placement again). It’s like he never fully acknowledged the truth about our situation—not external factors, but the emotions and love (Venus) between us. Or he did admit it but for some reason he hides it.

This placement is painful, yes, but I believe it holds immense potential for growth for both individuals if they are willing to work on themselves and become their desired self if they arent scared of their own potential. These are necessary lessons for personal growth and, potentially, for a stronger connection in the future. I say this because he many times admitted his mistakes, and he did say he is going to work on those bad parts of himself (honestly when I received that message I was really happy, because he does hold a lot of potential to be a good partner [7th house placement] but its like I knew I couldn't get to excited yet as it will take time and a lot of patience. And note : I do not plan on waiting for him. He can go focus on himself, I will do my own thing, and if this was ever meant to happen, it will happen eventually but again these placements made me reallyyy tired and took a lot of my energy as I was always left in doubt. I do like him ngl and I do hope things get better, but until then I tried my best and he knowsss he could've been so much better. Again since it is with no doubt (I do tarot and my friends too so I've confirmed this through tarot as well), he will eventually get his karma (I do believe the 12th house in a way is about karma and it also represents spirituality) will realise everything bad happening in his life is linked to every poor decision made. If he was a better man and showed more interest instead of being scared to do so, I would've stayed but since he didn't, I left (in silence too cuz I tried to explain myself many times and LADIES keep in mind a man reacts to actions, not words. you can send that ogre paragraph after paragraph, he will not change until you leave or something else happens. in my case after a fight we had I just unfollowed him and took him from my followers as well, now we wait for him to notice since I did it not long ago 🙂‍↕️)

Moving onnnn,,, (sorry y'all I'm a gemini STELLIUM I can just talk and write for hours no problemo:))) )

In my case, I’ve experienced several serious, long-term relationships, while he has struggled with relationships that failed, leaving him reluctant to pursue anything serious. I truly believe we were meant to meet—not in a soulmate way, but in a karmic sense. The pain he unconsciously causes me feels like a mirror of the unresolved pain he carries, giving him an opportunity to heal and grow. Through this, I hope we can both learn from and transform through the connection.

7th house synastry:

My sun, moon, mercury, and Venus fall in his 7th house, as mentioned before. I've heard people say how the planet person feels it more than the house person but in this case I disagree. while I do see a lot of potential for this guy to be a good partner, he struggles to let me go because he feels the same way, but bcs of his planets in my 12th house, makes it confusing for him to see how he can pursue me or have me, makes his feelings clouded bcs of unresolved issues but through it all he sometimes has this lighting bulb when he wants to make things right, fix everything and meet. I do believe the influence of this house does balance a lot of aspects from the 12th house. The connection was really dreamy, since we both saw the potential to be together, we connected on many levels and had a lot in common but also a lot of difencences that ironically enough made us more attractive to one another. It's like I reflect something hopeful for him, because many times I did encourage him on a lot of things and given him support when, with his own words, doesn't even recieve this much support from family or friends. We had many deep conversations, not just about our situation, that helped him but I do believe it does help him more than it does to me. More on this house, my moon in his 7th house again explains just how natural it came for him to tell me the "unhidden" things, my sun there was lovely tbh, bcs I did feel the admiration he had for me and he would also feel more "manly" or just better when he was around me. He would always speak highly of me, would do romantic gestures like cook for me, even showing me parts of his life that were more private like his music, etc. I did feel also that he would try to copy me but not in a bad way more in a "idk what you actually like so I will just study you and show interest in the things that you like". But like guys cmon if you just like someone, go for it don't be like this man bcs that fear you have will just ruin it.

8th house synastry

Mentioning also the 8th house synastry real quick (my mars and saturn in his 8th house), yes there was a lot of attraction and sexual attraction, a lot of admiration etc but I feel like it's very obsessive from his pov. It's like he wants to be together with me but doesn't know how to and he's ego is too high (for now) to admit it until it's too late. And when he will finally realise I'm not there waiting for him to change anymore is when finally that mars placement gets activated, but in a very pursuing way and idk how it will go but mark my words bcs I will update you guys again :). What was scary was his saturn in my 2nd house. I think if I didn't have spent so many years working on myself, on my confidence and independence, I feel like this connection would've had me being the "hero" and just help him in all areas of his life while I would've become more restricted, more affect by the problems of the relationship than him. Because going more personally, yes he had a lot going on in his life, yes he knows he hasn't been the best man and did say he wants and will fix those negative parts of himself, but there is no excuse to "play" with someone's time and energy. The main problme was his lack of awarness and inmaturity, his fear. This situation was really tiring, again, and I think it is for the both of us because yes we can confront each other in a healthy way but it gets to a point it becomes really frustrating : for me not seeing process and eventually losing more interest/patience for this, and for him because he wants to change but doesn't know how to. and I tried helping him but I do not wanna keep saving people who can't be saved, especially a man HE CAN HELP HIMSELF!!!!🤩

I feel like this post was very long so sorry in advance!!! If you guys want, I can make a part 2 or if you have any questions please leave a comment, I will reply to you :) I would also appreciate if you guys have had any experience with these synastry placements, do tell cuz I'm really curious 🥸☝️

#synastry #astrology placements #stellium #synastry 7th house #synastry 8th house #synastry 12th house #12th house synastry #love #astrology #astrology synastry #synastry overlays #synastry placements #karmic relationships #karmic lessons #growth #lilith

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theartofcollapse · 3 months ago

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Behind the Screen - Casey Novak

a/n: i'm taking requests, so feel free to dm me :) summary: you meet someone online who seems to get under your skin more than you'd like. At the same time, Casey Novak does that too... pairing: Casey Novak x female reader warnings: none word count: 2K

masterlist

You didn’t know why you bothered joining the debate forum in the first place. Maybe it was boredom, or maybe you were sick of venting to the void of social media about the injustice of the legal system, only to have your posts drowned out by pictures of pets and brunch.

The forum had a fitting name: Justice Anonymous. It was a chaotic meeting ground for legal professionals, students, and justice enthusiasts, all discussing ethics, case law, and courtroom strategies. Pseudonyms kept things anonymous, which was good for you. You’d joined under the name “Justice4U,” and the forum quickly became an escape where you could blow off steam after particularly frustrating days.

But one member of the forum had a way of getting under your skin, “AmicusCuriae.” Their posts were always smug, self-assured, and irritatingly well-written. No matter the topic, they managed to counter your arguments with logic so airtight it infuriated you. It didn’t help that they seemed to enjoy needling you.

And yet, you kept coming back.

In real life, your days were plagued by someone equally infuriating. Casey Novak.

You were both Assistant District Attorneys, often working adjacent cases. She was ambitious, brilliant, and absolutely maddening. Every encounter left you seething, her sharp wit and condescending remarks burrowing under your skin.

Today was no different.

“Late again, Y/N,” Casey said, leaning against your office doorframe with her arms crossed, a smirk playing at her lips.

“Not now, Novak,” you snapped, balancing three case files and a lukewarm coffee as you tried to navigate your chaotic desk.

“You know, organization is key to success,” she added, unbothered by your glare.

“And minding your own business is key to not getting punched.”

She laughed, as if your irritation was the highlight of her day. You hated how pretty her laugh was.

That night, after yet another frustrating day of dealing with Casey, you logged onto the forum.

Justice4U: Hypothetical: A defence attorney argues that a confession obtained without an explicit waiver of rights should still stand if the suspect “implied” understanding. Thoughts?

AmicusCuriae responded almost immediately, as always.

AmicusCuriae: Oh, please. That’s hardly hypothetical. It’s lazy lawyering at best. A competent prosecutor would rip that apart in five minutes.

You rolled your eyes, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Justice4U: A competent prosecutor would recognize nuance instead of resorting to blanket dismissals. But what do I expect from someone who hides behind anonymity to sound smart?

AmicusCuriae: Nuance? Or excuses? Sounds like someone’s been on the losing side of too many cases.

Your blood boiled. But beneath the irritation, there was something thrilling about these exchanges. You hated how much you looked forward to them.

Over the next few weeks, your online conversations with AmicusCuriae grew complicated. You still argued, but the debates started feeling less antagonistic and more like sparring matches. You began sharing hypothetical scenarios, trading strategies, and even cracking jokes. It felt easy in a way that nothing else did.

Justice4U: What’s your take on prosecutors pursuing harsh sentences for first-time offenders?

AmicusCuriae: Depends. What’s the crime?

Justice4U: Let’s say possession with intent to distribute, but they’ve got no priors and a sympathetic backstory.

AmicusCuriae: Ah, the classic moral dilemma. My instinct says to prosecute, but… maybe I’d offer a deal. I’m not heartless.

Justice4U: Oh, so you do have a heart. Shocking.

AmicusCuriae: Don’t spread that around. I have a reputation to uphold.

You smiled at your screen. It was strange, but you were starting to feel connected to this person. Whoever they were, they understood you in a way no one else did.

In real life, things with Casey weren’t improving. If anything, the tension between you had grown worse. The smallest disagreements escalated into full-blown arguments. Today’s fight had been over a witness’s credibility.

“You’re impossible,” Casey snapped, slamming her hand on the table during a meeting.

“Says the queen of impossibility,” you shot back, your voice rising.

“Why do you always have to fight me on everything?”

“Because you’re always wrong!”

The room went silent, the other attorneys awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

Afterward, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why did Casey get under your skin so much?

That night, you logged onto the forum, hoping for a distraction.

Justice4U: Ever deal with someone so infuriating that you can’t decide if you want to strangle them or—

You hesitated, deleting the second half of your sentence.

AmicusCuriae: Or what? Kiss them?

Your heart skipped a beat.

Justice4U: I was going to say “sue them.”

AmicusCuriae: Sure you were.

You stared at the screen, cheeks burning.

The turning point came one rainy evening. You and Casey had been assigned to work late on a joint case, combing through evidence in tense silence.

“Pass me that file,” she said, her tone clipped.

“Please,” you shot back.

She glared at you but didn’t argue.

Hours passed, and somewhere along the way, you both let your guards down. The conversation drifted away from the case, and you found yourself laughing at one of her stories about law school. For a moment, it felt easy.

But then you remembered who she was, and who you were, and the moment shattered.

Justice4U: Ever feel like you’re falling for someone you can’t stand?

AmicusCuriae: Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.

Your breath caught.

Justice4U: Do you think it’s possible to hate someone and like them at the same time?

AmicusCuriae: Hate is a strong word. Maybe you just don’t understand them.

Justice4U: What if I don’t want to understand them?

AmicusCuriae: Then why are we having this conversation?

You stared at the screen, heart pounding.

Justice4U: Who are you?

There was a long pause before the response came.

AmicusCuriae: Let’s meet and find out.

You agreed to meet at a coffee shop, your nerves fraying as you sat at a corner table, waiting. The door jingled, and you looked up, freezing as Casey Novak walked in.

She spotted you instantly, her expression shifting from surprise to realization to something unreadable.

“No way,” you said under your breath as she approached.

“Justice4U?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

“AmicusCuriae?”

You both stared at each other, the weight of your online connection crashing into the reality of your real-life animosity. And yet…

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Casey said finally, a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips.

You laughed, the sound edged with disbelief but also something else, relief.

“Of course it’s you,” you said, shaking your head.

The silence stretched between you and Casey as you sat across from her. The air was thick with tension, the kind that had always defined your interactions but this time, it felt different. Charged.

Casey was the first to break the silence, her fingers nervously toying with the sleeve of her coffee cup. “So… this is awkward.”

You huffed out a laugh, crossing your arms. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

She tilted her head, studying you with those sharp green eyes that you suddenly realized were more mesmerizing than maddening. “I can’t believe you’re Justice4U.”

“And I can’t believe you’re AmicusCuriae,” you shot back. “You’re smug online, but in person? Wow. Next level.”

Her lips twitched into a smirk, and despite everything, you felt your stomach flip.

“Okay, fair. But you’re no saint either,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been driving me insane for weeks.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

You both laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. It felt surreal, like stepping into a parallel universe where Casey Novak wasn’t the bane of your existence.

“So,” she said, her voice softer now, “what do we do about this?”

“About us?” You winced as the word left your mouth. It felt too intimate, too soon.

“About this,” she clarified, gesturing between the two of you. “About the fact that we’ve been arguing online like crazy, but somehow…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Somehow, it worked,” you finished for her.

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I mean, I still think you’re insufferable in person.”

“Right back at you.”

“But…” She hesitated, then smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your breath catch. “I think I like insufferable.”

Justice4U: Well, this is weird. How do we go back to arguing now that I know who you are?

AmicusCuriae: Who says we have to stop arguing? You love it. Admit it.

Justice4U: You’re delusional.

AmicusCuriae: You’re still talking to me.

Justice4U: Shut up.

AmicusCuriae: Charming as always.

Justice4U: Serious question: Why are you always such a pain in the ass at work?

AmicusCuriae: Serious answer: Why do you rise to the bait every time?

Justice4U: That’s not an answer.

AmicusCuriae: Fine. Maybe because you’re the only person who can keep up with me.

Justice4U: …

AmicusCuriae: Speechless? Wow. Marking this day on my calendar.

At work, the tension between you and Casey became almost unbearable. It wasn’t just the usual clashing of egos; it was the way her hand brushed yours when you reached for a file, the way her eyes lingered on you during meetings, the way she smirked when she caught you staring.

One afternoon, you ran into her in the courthouse hallway. She leaned casually against the wall, her blazer perfectly tailored, her confidence maddeningly attractive.

“Hey,” she said, her tone light but her gaze intense.

“Hey,” you replied, trying to sound unaffected.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a glint of amusement in them. “What if we tried something new?”

“Like what? Not arguing for once?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, grinning. “No, I mean dinner. You and me. No pseudonyms. No forums. Just us.”

You stared at her, your heart racing. “Are you asking me out, Novak?”

“Yeah,” she said simply, her confidence faltering just slightly. “I guess I am.”

You considered teasing her, drawing it out just to see her squirm. But the truth was, you wanted this.

“Okay,” you said, your voice steady. “Dinner. But if you start an argument over appetizers, I’m walking out.”

“No promises,” she said, her smirk widening.

Dinner was… perfect.

You met at a cozy Italian restaurant, the kind of place where the lighting was soft, and the wine flowed easily. For once, there was no case to argue over, no professional stakes, no courtroom

drama. Just you and Casey, talking like two people who had spent weeks falling for each other without realizing it.

“Okay,” you said after your second glass of wine. “Confession time. When did you figure out you liked me?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Probably around the third time you called me a pain in the ass.”

“That’s not specific enough.”

“Fine,” she said, leaning closer. “It was the night you sent me that hypothetical about sentencing. You were so passionate, so relentless in your argument, I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away. “Your turn. When did you realize?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “Honestly? Probably the same night. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Casey laughed, and the sound was warm, genuine. It wasn’t the sharp, mocking laugh you’d come to expect from her. This one was different, softer, more vulnerable.

As the night went on, the lines between the Casey Novak you’d clashed with and the AmicusCuriae you’d fallen for blurred completely.

By the time she walked you to your door, you were already thinking about the next date.

“So,” she said, her hands in her pockets, a rare hint of nervousness in her posture. “Is this the part where you slam the door in my face?”

“Not tonight,” you said, stepping closer.

“And tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” you teased, leaning in.

Her smile was the last thing you saw before her lips met yours, soft and certain.

When you pulled away, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I still think you’re insufferable.”

“Good,” she said, her eyes bright. “Because I’m not changing.”

“Neither am I,” you replied.

“Perfect,” she said, kissing you again.

And for once, you agreed.

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haru-dipthong · 2 months ago

Text

Fansub Release + Notes on the translation process for Utena ep 17

We're back! Apologies for the hiatus, Christmas and Oshōgatsu had me too busy with family stuff to stick to my usual rate of translation.

This time, instead of general translation notes, I'd like to show my working! Where do I start with a tough line, and how to I end up on the translations I settle on?

いつも私を守ってくれた

For example, this is an interesting line, and the final translation is a bit out there if you look at it without seeing the thought process. The key word here is 守る, which is often translated as “protect”, so the lowest-hanging fruit for this line would be:

She always protected me.

But it sounds weird and conspicuously like “anime-english” which I always try desperately to avoid. So I tried this instead:

She always took care of me.

This translation gets the literal meaning across better, but it has a fatal flaw. The word 守る has strong connotations with masculinity in general and throughout the series, yet “taking care of” someone makes it sound too feminine. In this line, it’s important that Juri’s masculinity is emphasised and contrasted against Shiori’s femininity. So then I thought, maybe this:

She was always protective of me.

But this is no good either. The くれた in 守ってくれた makes it clear that Shiori views the care/protection that Juri provided as a positive thing, yet this translation comes across as slightly bitter. In English I think “being protective of someone” has the nuance of restricting one's freedom, like an overbearing parent.

I felt like there were no good options for this line! Then it struck me like lightning:

She was my rock. (no orange because I didn't use an equivalent word at all)

“Being someone’s rock” is such a masculine thing! It also carries these patriarchal notions of stability (masc) vs instability (fem), which I think the series tries quite hard to weave into the story as criticisms of patriarchal gender. Juri at least in part represents women who seek success not through liberation for all women, but by becoming a patriarchal dominator herself.

Not to mention, 守る is often depicted in RGU as being something that a man does to their female lover. The “my rock” translation also carries romantic connotations, which is obviously important for how the Shiori/Juri relationship is portrayed through the dialogue.

This translation departs from the literal meaning quite heavily, but it preserves the subtextual meaning much better, which I think is more important in this case.

あの動き、まるで先輩の剣だ。

The way she moves... it's exactly like Juri. (my initial translation, which I didn’t use in the end)

The word 剣 means (literally) sword, but it can also be used metaphorically to refer to someone’s sword technique. Take this panel from Ranking of Kings:

それは王の剣じゃない！

That’s no way for a king to fight!

That’s not the “sword” of a king!

So the question is — how do you translate this when the swords are both literal AND metaphorical? When Utena says 剣 in this line, they’re talking about the technique (剣 as a metaphor). But the writers want us to make the connection that it is also literally Juri’s sword, pulled out of her heart, which in turn is a metaphor for her anger, insecurities, and angst. It's a metaphor for swordsmanship, which is meant to be interpreted as literal through dramatic irony, which literal meaning is meant to be reinterpreted as a deeper metaphor. I love Utena.

If the swordfights can be interpreted as philosophical debates, the swords can be considered the worldview that each character wields. Since the Black Rose duellists don’t use their own swords, they could be said to be tapping into, stealing, and exploiting the worldviews/swords of their respective victims, represented by their literal ripping the sword out of the victim’s 心 (heart/mind).

With no word in English that can capture the metaphorical triple meaning of 剣, I had to settle for something else:

Those moves… it’s like she stole them from Juri. (no red because I didn't use an equivalent word at all)

I think this phrasing gets across a similar feel that 剣 does. The base reading, and the one that the uninformed and naive Utena intends, is that Shiori is just imitating, “stealing”, Juri’s moves. The next level up is that she literally did steal something from Juri — the sword from her heart. Then the final level is that what she stole was not just a physical sword; she literally stole the metaphorical moves by stealing the sword, because the moves are the sword, the sword is the angst, the angst is the worldview!

Thank you to @dontbe-lasanya for your amazing edits as always!

Follow the blog if you'd like to keep up to date with new episode releases. For all episodes released so far, go here:

Rose divider taken from this post

#revolutionary girl utena #rgu #shoujo kakumei utena #sku #translation #utena fansub #japanese #japanese language #langblr #official blog post

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liketwoswansinbalance · 2 months ago

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What would you do if you knew you couldn't fall??

Did you mean "fail?" Unless you meant literally falling, I will answer as if you wrote "fail." You can correct me if that is the wrong interpretation, and I could answer the question again.

Assign first-class experts to solve the world's problems... so I wouldn't have to do it all—assuming the technicality is that I start the projects, then they probably would not fail. Would that loophole work? (Realistically, if it didn't work, I don't think I'd actually be altruistic enough to do all that...) Would I have to see the projects through to completion? That's quite a lot of work. But doing this would likely mean I will probably have a clean conscience for the rest of my life, ideally, because, I know I should if I had the power to do so.

In relation to #1, even if this is non-necessary, also assign people to figure out if there's life on other planets. I just want to know. Don't need to contact whatever is out there—I don't want anything to go wrong. I'd just want to possibly spy on them for a little while. The problem is: spying is unethical, so I'd have to convince myself that I'm either doing it for cautionary reasons or as a longitudinal, naturalistic "study." This could be a pandora's jar, so I might take it off the list.

Cure stupidity and herd mentality. (Curing all physical ailments is built into no. 1 already.) Or better yet, get someone else to do it. (At the same time, we could argue that these qualities are part of being human or flawed, and that we shouldn't tamper with our human-ness. In which case, just no. Also, we would lose part of our former connection to literature, pre-cure. For instance, we would no longer comprehend the meaning of the trope: "love causes poor judgment." So, would it be worth it? Even if the world were terraformed and otherwise reshaped in more metaphorical ways to be "perfect," I think we would still manage to invent new problems because it's what we've always done as a species. Thus, there needs to be a reasonable stopping point. And, I'm not sure what that point is, meaning several other items on this list might have to be struck out.)

Have the world's politicians be... better somehow? Ensure they are sane and moral, that they trust science, are scientifically-literate... I feel, perhaps, like we might get better results if we chose science-fiction writers, particularly those who've managed to predict our present and know how to do social commentary. They seem to be aware of and actually care about the state of humanity. (I'm not really well-informed enough to make any decisions, but I know well enough that the world needs people of varied knowledge and skillsets to continue on. So, I'm not completely, intentionally trying to valorize only what I'm interested in. I'm just biased like any other human being is.)

Delegate everything I don't like doing to competent people (like cooking), and reap the benefits of the exact outcomes I'd want every time. If they were successful, I'd never have a problem with dust and no one would ever move my stacks of books and paper, which often collect dust.

Turn myself immortal and gain eternal youth. (This should probably be item no. 1 on the list, actually, to account for how long the first few tasks could potentially take.) Then use those means on others who would want it done. If it's someone I don't like, I could still let them become immortal, and would just tell them after this favor not to cross paths with me again. I would also try to convince anyone I want to keep around to stay.

No. 6 would attract too much publicity. I'd need a way to continue being relatively anonymous, except for what I would selectively want to be recognized for. (If I couldn't fail at it, I'd love to become the next "Shakespeare" or some kind of literary giant... and maybe then have the world forget about me... and be rediscovered and reinterpreted by future generations who use my original and/or revolutionary works as required reading in their syllabi. That'd be striking and cool. I'm not sure how I would stop suffering from belatedness though.)

Find a way to never sleep, never eat, never exercise, and not experience cognitive decline. I would only do the ones I like doing.

Find a way to resurrect people from the dead. (I already know this has too much margin for catastrophe, so there would have to be restrictions on what can and cannot be done. At the same time, I am also aware this would violate nature, so it might have to be removed from the list. Who am I to decree the rules?)

I haven't addressed religion yet. I'd have to find some way to alleviate my guilt, but that's more of a temporary fix and not a real solution. I'd have to find some way to remain a mostly good or at least harmless person, assuming I'm mostly one now. If there's no reason for anyone, any force, or anything to object to my existence, I would hope I would be allowed to continue on with my plans.

If there were some way to affirm what I think my personal beliefs are, that would be great. At the same time, that defeats the point of faith, and so, I'm not sure what to do about this dilemma.

Learn everything I want to learn now that I have infinite time to learn it (and infinite time to procrastinate).

Consume all the media I want to consume and also never miss new installments or works of art because I wouldn't be outlived by creators.

Become some kind of successful writer. I mentioned this before, but to specify: maybe a novelist or maybe an academic critic—why not both?! Sky's the limit!

Eventually, if I could never fail, I might wonder about whether anything could ever be a challenge or worth doing anymore. (Doubt that will happen since I have a fear of failure anyway—and being cured of it would be a wonderful reality to live in!)

And so, I could want to die eventually. (Again, highly doubt that will happen.)

In case: It's not my top priority, but: study philosophy, so I don't become corrupt, apathetic, or suicidal since I know things can happen to the human psyche after too long.

If no. 1 didn't happen, and humans were faced with climate change as well as other problems, then I would want to die before the planet were barren and ruined, so I wouldn't have to live under dystopian conditions.

Some of the above might not happen because I may procrastinate too much. That would suggest that the revised item no. 1 should be: conquer procrastination once and for all, and only then proceed in a rough order.

#my post #ask #personal post

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kingsmoot · 2 months ago

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Something I haven't seen brought up much with the ramsay vs manderly horn wood question is about Donella Hornwoods own claim to those lands. She's not a Hornwoods by blood, but by marriage, so she would only have widow's use rights (which I believe are the rights to live there and be supported). Hornwood would need to pass to the next blood claimant or revert to the crown to dispense with if one can't be found. This is why I'm especially confused as to how she can name Ramsay inheritor in a will to lands she doesn't own. (Whereas Catelyn clearly doesn't have the power to will winterfell to Arya over Jon despite being in the same position as the widowed Dowager Queen/Lady)

Instead, it's the manderlys and the bolton at odds over who owns that land, both through Donella, even though she herself doesn't seem to have actual inheritance rights to it. (As opposed to Sansa Stark, who is a blood claimant so Tyrion could legally rule winterfell through her) In any case I think the real crux of the issue, like with the forced marriage, is bigger army diplomacy. Bran mentions a bastard, but unless said bastard can raise an army or get the millitary support of a larger faction, those lands are going to the bolton or the manderlys.

I imagine there isn't a blood relative with any real millitary backing or roose and wyman wouldn't be going through all this trouble for someone who technically only has widow's use rights.

Ultimately, because armies are honestly the biggest decider of succession law in westeros (Aegon II acknowledged as king over Rhaenrya I in histories because he won the war, Maegor over Aegon the uncrowned because he won the war, even the Tyrell's claim to highgarden being a bit dodgy in terms of blood relations but backed up by the targaryen millitary power of the time etc), whether or not Donellas's marriage and contract are going to be considered valid according to history will depend on who is in power. Should the boltons be toppled, I think the new lord/lady/king/queen of the north will suddenly be hearing a lot of arguments about the legality of vows forced at sword point that no one dares take to roose bolton now.

hello anon, thank you for your thoughtful message!! the hornwood marriage and its fallout is one of my favorite subplots of the series so i'm always thrilled to talk about it.

while i agree with your final conclusion that armies are the biggest decider of succession law in westeros (i talked about this here re: lord manderly and his squatting on hornwood after donella's death), i think you're underselling donella's legal claim to hornwood as lord hornwood's widow as they apply to her lord husband.

look at lysa tully, jon arryn's widow:

agot, chapter 34, catelyn vi

you could say that lysa only has a claim to the vale because she has the men to back it. lady hornwood is alone. her son and her husband were killed, and the majority if not all of her household guard were killed as well. she is the last remnant of house hornwood.

the degree to which wives who marry into greathouses are integrated into that breathouse is variable. cat, as a notable example, calls herself a stark as often as she calls herself a tully. tyrion (and others i think) calls her a shewolf. she considers herself an outsider, a riverlander in the north, but as the series progresses and especially after ned's death she speaks about herself in her private thoughts and aloud in public as a stark of winterfell. cersei, on the other hand, would drop dead before she called herself a baratheon. and lysa falls moreso in the middle, where she is called lysa tully and after the death of her husband is often reminded of/aligned with her familial connections to house tully, but absolutely considers herself Of The Vale, even though she's spent about fourteen years in king's landing with jon serving as robert's hand. (donella, for as long as we know her, is always and by everyone referred to as lady hornwood, never donella manderly).

so one could argue that lysa tully is pointedly not an arryn, and is only holding the vale because her son is a blood claimant AND she has tully and arryn forces to support her own claim in the meantime.

but suitors are beating down lysa's door because they want the vale. and the vale would pass to them as the new head of the vale and defacto head of house arryn. i was going to use ramsay as an example but his bastard status makes this more complicated so let's pick a legitimate second son. why can't i think of anyone.

actually, let's say tyrion, since you also mentioned sansa's blood rights to winterfell.

tyrion is heir by blood to casterly rock, since jaime is a knight of the kingsguard and thus unable to inherit. let's axe that because it also makes things more complicated. jaime leaves the kingsguard as tywin wants him to do and he inherits casterly rock and becomes warden of the west. this leaves tyrion a second son with no blood claim to casterly rock (similar to the blackfish, who left house tully to go with lysa to the vale and serve house arryn. i didn't use him as an example because lysa's husband also being a tully would muddy the waters of an example that is already stretched pretty thin). so tyrion marries lysa tully. tyrion is now lord of the vale, stepfather to lord robert aryn. tyrion's first order of business would be siring a son on his new wife so that lord baby lannister-tully would become the new heir to the vale, trumping robert arryn's claim. all of this would come from lysa tully's claim to the vale, as the widow of jon arryn.

importantly, donella hornwood is considered an elligible marriage prospect by the men at winterfell, even if she is too old to have children.

Midday came and went. Maester Luwin sent Poxy Tym down to the kitchens, and they dined in the solar on cheese, capons, and brown oatbread. While tearing apart a bird with fat fingers, Lord Wyman made polite inquiry after Lady Hornwood, who was a cousin of his. “She was born a Manderly, you know. Perhaps, when her grief has run its course, she would like to be a Manderly again, eh?” He took a bite from a wing, and smiled broadly. “As it happens, I am a widower these past eight years. Past time I took another wife, don’t you agree, my lords? A man does get lonely.” Tossing the bones aside, he reached for a leg. “Or if the lady fancies a younger lad, well, my son Wendel is unwed as well. He is off south guarding Lady Catelyn, but no doubt he will wish to take a bride on his return. A valiant boy, and jolly. Just the man to teach her to laugh again, eh?” He wiped a bit of grease off his chin with the sleeve of his tunic.

acok, chapter 16, bran ii

here we see lord manderly scheming to get the hornwood lands by marriage, for either himself or his son

Bran wanted to give the lady a hundred men to defend her rights, but Ser Rodrik only said, “He may look, but should he do more I promise you there will be dire retribution. You will be safe enough, my lady … though perhaps in time, when your grief is passed, you may find it prudent to wed again.”

“I am past my childbearing years, what beauty I had long fled,” she replied with a tired half smile, “yet men come sniffing after me as they never did when I was a maid.”

“You do not look favorably on these suitors?” asked Luwin.

“I shall wed again if His Grace commands it,” Lady Hornwood replied, “but Mors Crowfood is a drunken brute, and older than my father. As for my noble cousin of Manderly, my lord’s bed is not large enough to hold one of his majesty, and I am surely too small and frail to lie beneath him.”

Bran knew that men slept on top of women when they shared a bed. Sleeping under Lord Manderly would be like sleeping under a fallen horse, he imagined. Ser Rodrik gave the widow a sympathetic nod. “You will have other suitors, my lady. We shall try and find you a prospect more to your taste.”

“Perhaps you need not look very far, ser.” After she had taken her leave, Maester Luwin smiled. “Ser Rodrik, I do believe my lady fancies you.” Ser Rodrik cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable.

acok, chapter 26, bran ii

and here we see donella both acknowledging her many suitors and flirting with ser rodrik (cute!!!)

immediately after this though we get a more pragmatic breakdown of why donella's dead husband and son cause issues politically:

“She was very sad,” said Bran.

Ser Rodrik nodded. “Sad and gentle, and not at all uncomely for a woman of her years, for all her modesty. Yet a danger to the peace of your brother’s realm nonetheless.”

“Her?” Bran said, astonished. Maester Luwin answered. “With no direct heir, there are sure to be many claimants contending for the Hornwood lands. The Tallharts, Flints, and Karstarks all have ties to House Hornwood through the female line, and the Glovers are fostering Lord Harys’s bastard at Deepwood Motte. The Dreadfort has no claim that I know, but the lands adjoin, and Roose Bolton is not one to overlook such a chance.”

Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers. “In such cases, her liege lord must find her a suitable match.”

“Why can’t you marry her?” Bran asked. “You said she was comely, and Beth would have a mother.” The old knight put a hand on Bran’s arm. “A kindly thought, my prince, but I am only a knight, and besides too old. I might hold her lands for a few years, but as soon as I died Lady Hornwood would find herself back in the same mire, and Beth’s prospects might be perilous as well.”

“Then let Lord Hornwood’s bastard be the heir,” Bran said, thinking of his half brother Jon. Ser Rodrik said, “That would please the Glovers, and perhaps Lord Hornwood’s shade as well, but I do not think Lady Hornwood would love us. The boy is not of her blood.”

“Still,” said Maester Luwin, “it must be considered. Lady Donella is past her fertile years, as she said herself. If not the bastard, who?”

“May I be excused?” Bran could hear the squires at their swordplay in the yard below, the ring of steel on steel.

acok, chapter 26, bran ii

so we're right back to the point where you and i totally agree. the only thing that REALLY decides inheritance rights in westeros is the point of a sword.

which wheels us back to my longstanding point (arrived at throughout my first reread and with the help of many friendly mutuals and anons who contributed to my understanding of the issue) that ramsay kidnapping donella hornwood and marrying her at swordpoint is unusual because he is an unrecognized illegitimate bastard when he does it, but is at the end of the day not that much more brutal or unheard of than any other run of the mill marriage in westeros.

so donella here is like a vector through which the hornwood lands would pass. lysa's situation with the vale is similar, though her claim to the keep and its lands is stronger because she has a living heir AND both tully and arryn forces to guard her claim.

ramsay banked on the dreadfort's forces to protect him from the ramifications of kidnapping raping and murdering a noblewoman AND to hold the hornwood lands. the dreadfort forces could do neither. but the marriage was not a total loss politically since as i have said, ramsay is the legal claimant to the hornwood lands, AND roose has an interest in holding those lands as well so he would back his claim if it came to it.

as with all things in westeros, whoever carries the biggest stick wins the day, regardless of written law or unwritten social custom.

so at the end of the day, i think donella's legal rights to hornwood are strong only insofar as they serve her new lord husband, who stands to inherit her land. which. actually reading over all this again i think it is accurate of you to say that donella only has widow's rights for as long as she does not remarry. but that is less to do with westerosi legal code (nonexistant) and more to do with hornwood having no military strength left AND their leige lords the starks being stretched too thin with the WoFK to lend their help before it's too late to do so.

donella can will her lands to her new husband ramsay because she would have functionally been doing to same thing if lord manderly or his son married her. or if ser rodrik married her. donella has claim over hornwood only insofar as she can give it to her lord husband.

#anon tag #ask tag #ramsay tag #seven kingdoms family law attorney

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