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pseudowho · 11 months ago

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Reader Comes Home Drunk

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Nanami Kento manages his drunk fiancée, you, like an absolute champ.

A sequel to Kento Comes Home Drunk (link here).

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, bondage, mutual masturbation, throat fucking, thigh fucking, m!receiving oral, f!use of toys, stripteasing, BDSM

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"And one more twirl for luck..." Kento sang to you, pinching your pointed fingers above your head as you laughed, twirling obediently, feeling dolled up in your little black dress, building up for your evening with Shoko. Winding down, and drinking you in with lovesick eyes, Kento leaned down to press a long, slow kiss to your hairline, fingers grazing your jaw longingly, careful not to smudge your make-up.

"I love you," you said in unison, laughing with light apologies tumbling over one another. You held your finger to Kento's lips, biting your lip as he took your finger between his teeth, licking and teasing. You crooned at him to stop, I'm going to miss my taxi, and he sighed, stepping back with glinting eyes, still pinching your fingers between his.

"Be safe," he implored, "and call me when you're ready for pick-up."

"You don't have to pick me up--"

"I want to pick you up--"

"But Shoko can't go home alo--"

"Gosh, I wonder if someone will drop her home too--"

"Kento, I really mean i--" A curt finger pressed to your lips. Your heart fluttered as Kento leaned down, his amber eyes narrow and flicking between your eyes and lips, hungry and determined.

"I really mean it," he pressed, leaving no room for argument, "I'll get you both home safely." Rolling your eyes affectionately, you blew Kento a kiss, and he felt a pang of disappointment for being denied your cherry-red lips. Winking at you as you skipped through the doorway, he settled in for a night in his own company.

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Kento had spent a slow night, preoccupied by the anticipation of your call. His mind had wandered to your little black dress, the soft curves of your legs and arse, the barely-there underwear he knew you had paired with it. At points, he was distractingly half-hard at the thought of your painted lips on his skin, trailing down his belly, wrapped around hi--

Kento's screen lit up, a glimmer of gold in his vision as your name and face popped up. Unlocking it, Kento snorted at the blurry selfie of you accepting a sloppy-lipped kiss on the cheek from Shoko, accompanied by a message; "Readyyy!"

Grabbing his keys, and kicking into some slippers, Kento locked up as he stepped into the crisp night air, heading down to the car.

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"Christ, what have you been drinking?" Kento huffed, hauling a warm and floppy Shoko onto his back as you teetered along behind them, laughing, waving goodbye to your new best friends (two women whose names you didn't know that you had met in the club bathroom that night).

Delicately bending down to open the car doors, he placed Shoko onto the back seat, tutting at her as she moved to slump sideways, sitting her up and buckling her in instead. You had flopped, chatting about your night, into the front seat and Kento smirked as you and Shoko laughed uncontrollably at a joke he didn't understand. Dutifully, Kento had been a graceful designated driver, and carried Shoko to her door, not leaving until she was safely inside.

In the car again, Kento stared determinedly ahead as he felt your gaze across his body, wanton and sultry. He was used to you, drunk, and horny beyond belief. He would manage you with the same sexless affection he always did--

Kento felt your toes, suddenly un-shoed, glide across his lap; you were sideways in your seat now, your legs bent with the supple flexibility afforded to drunk women. Kento smiled indulgently, otherwise outwardly unaffected, as your toes glided up and down his crotch, catching occasionally at his zipper.

Your head was warm and fizzling with the unbridled confidence of intoxication. You were not so drunk that you didn't feel Kento's cock twitch under your toes. Your eyes glimmered, arousal thudding and deepening at Kento's feigned disinterest-- a challenge. Kento grasped your foot, moving it firmly off his lap as he stopped at traffic lights.

"Sit forwards," he commanded, "and behave yourself."

"I am behaving," you whined, sweet and breathless and completely ignoring his instructions.

A twang of annoyance glanced across Kento's vision as he grabbed your foot again, hardened to your drunken advances and stubbornly not participating in them. Kento frowned, tense, irritated by how his own body betrayed him; there you were, draped in his car like a silk chemise, liquid and malleable, your legs parted just enough for Kento to see your translucent underwear, flush and damp against your pussy, your thighs plush and full and--

Kento coughed once as his cock swelled, twitching in its uncomfortably tight confines. You knew, your drunken arousal like a heat-seeking missile. You smirked, goading and taunting Kento, your foot squirming out of his hand and rubbing softly against his hardening length pressed to his thigh. Kento gritted his teeth, focusing stubbornly on driving.

With a flash of alarm, Kento could barely keep his eyes on the road as you sighed, biting your lip, coy and seductive as you let your dress slip down just enough for your pebbled nipples to peek over. Kento didn't realise his jaw had dropped until you leaned to him, slipping two fingers into his mouth, and bringing your newly wet fingers to your nipples, rolling them, lubricating them with Kento's saliva as you keened, mewling at him, another hand slipping between your legs.

"You-- you are unbelievable," Kento rumbled, disbelieving and furious with himself for being so mesmerised by your performance. He gulped, spit thickening as you rubbed your pussy with two fingers, still coating your nipples with his spit. You moaned, high-pitched and airy as you masturbated in the seat beside him, shamelessly provocative.

"My fingers aren't as good as yours...Kento...they're not-- want you inside me, please," you begged, fingers slipping under your sheer panties to find your clit, shuddering as the alcohol turned every touch into a buzzing pleasure.

"Fuck, you're-- don't do that, how the fuck am I supposed to-- to--, " he breathed, white-knuckled on the steering wheel as you rocked your hips into your own hand, eyes half-open as you viewed him like pornography; cock twitching beneath your toes, Adams apple bobbing, veins pulsing in his neck and temples as he scowled at the road, angry with you for forcing him into this moral quandary.

His anger thrilled you, your orgasm building as Kento denied you and himself, feeling his thread snap fibre by fibre as the slick wet sounds of you pleasuring yourself filled his car.

As your moans increased in urgency, with your fingers quickening, Kento somehow managed to park smoothly in the driveway. Pulling up the handbrake and clicking out of his seatbelt, Kento shunted over to you, caging you in. His anger hit you like a sandstorm as he glowered down at you, jaw clenched and twitching.

Slowly, maintaining eye contact, he removed your hands from your breasts and pussy, raising your fingers to your lips. He pressed them into your mouth, pre-cum dampening his boxers as you licked your fingers clean, giggling.

"Clean yourself up," he forced through gritted teeth, "before bed." You hummed, nose rubbing against his neck, sinking your teeth into the taut skin of his throat.

"Bed?" You asked, sweet, suggestive. Kento's scowl deepened, reaching down to unclip your belt, reaching past you to throw open your door.

"Bed." Your lips puckered in disappointment, chastised and mulish. Trailing down Kento's shirt buttons until you reached his groin, you squeezed Kento's cock through the thin trouser fabric, and he groaned in anguish and shock, his elbows almost buckling beneath him. Kento snatched your hand away and left the car, stalking round to your door, hauling you out.

You teetered barefoot, and Kento sneered, throwing you briskly over his shoulder.

"You make it fucking hard to be moral, young lady," Kento fumed, kicking the car door shut and landing a bruising slap to your arse, and you squirmed against his jaw as you squealed at the sharp tang of pain.

You giggled again, still wiggling as he carried you through the front door, slamming it shut. You moaned theatrically and felt his forearms tense around you, the aphrodisiac smell of your arousal on your underwear and dress making Kento feel faint with want.

"Harder, Daddy--" Kento slapped your arse again, much harder this time, and tears stung in your eyes as you cried out, snapped out of your teasing. You pouted, nose pricking as you whined at Kento; "You promised."

Kento tensed, rendered immobile. There was a brief pause as he dropped you into a dining chair--

"I promised you nothing. Go and get ready for bed." You glared up at him, both of you knowing he was lying, both of you remembering the night you had given in to his drunk begging until he came in your hand in the shower, shaking and moaning your name. Kento turned to walk away, corded shoulders bunched with unfulfilled need.

"Make me." Kento stopped, silent. You gulped, arousal still thumping through you, and as Kento turned back, leaning down slowly, he trapped you with his massive hands squeezing the arms of your chair.

"Is that what you want?" He asked, low and dangerous, nose-to-nose. You gulped, your mouth suddenly dry as Kento smirked, humourless and wolfish.

"Any lesser man would fuck you, drunk and sloppy like this," he mocked, mean and sharp, fingering the edges of your dress, "but I doubt he'd be able to fuck the entitlement out of you like I could."

You trembled, feeling a trickle of arousal seep through your panties and onto your dress. As Kento brought his mouth to yours, your breath mingling, you parted your lips to kiss him-- and he pulled away, jaw clenched, denying you again as he walked to your bedroom. You felt bitter disappointment and humiliation trickle down the back of your throat.

"Coward."

You heard Kento go rigid with fury. Drawers snapped shut. His shadow edged in the doorway.

"What was that?"

You couldn't stop yourself, stupid with inebriation; "Perhaps you are that lesser man who couldn't fuck the entitlement out of me," you taunted, terror rushing through you as you heard heavy footsteps slamming towards you, "and you're too much of a coward to find o--"

Your words caught in your throat as one thick hand clenched around your neck, your taunting reduced to a squeak.

"I'm a coward, am I?" Kento clicked his tongue, words deceptively light, "I suppose anyone would look like a coward compared to how fucking brave you're being right now." Kento let go of your neck and lifted the whole chair, frighteningly effortlessly, and began to move you towards your bedroom.

"'Make me'," he mocked, dropping your chair and you to the bedroom floor, slamming the door shut behind him, "As you wish. I'll make you go to bed, and fuck the attitude out of you along the way."

Kento caged you into the chair again, his lips hot and dominating as they crashed into yours, his tongue plunging into your mouth as you whimpered into him. Your hands grabbed his tie to hold him to you, and you heard him rummaging blindly in the drawers beside you.

As they snapped shut, Kento dropped to his knees in front of you, placing his hands under your thighs as he yanked you forwards to the edge of your seat.

"Why-- what are you going to do to me?" You begged for answers, equal parts thrumming with desire and dread. Kento regarded you coolly, hooking your panties down your legs. You shivered with anticipation, feeling the cool air hit your folds. Kento raised your underwear to his face, ghosting the fabric against his lips and nose, breathing in deeply, and out with a low, shaking moan.

"Only what a woman as beautiful and determined as you deserves." Kento reached behind you, grabbing a bundle of items in his long-fingered hand. Your stomach leapt, face flushing with embarrassment as Kento held your dildo and rabbit vibrator, usually hidden, reserved for when he was away. You stuttered, opening your mouth to explain yourself as he wiggled it at you, thin eyebrows raised in an unimpressed grimace.

"Eventually, anyway," he goaded, "first we'll see if we can teach you a little patience." Spitting on the dildo, licking and coating it with lubrication, Kento forced your thighs apart with his elbows, groaning at the sight before him.

"God, what I wouldn't give to take you right now," he groaned, drinking in your desperate little mewls as he kissed and licked at your sensitive soft inner thigh, his breath fanning over your core, and you involuntarily bucked towards his face. Kento chuckled, smooth and mirthless.

Silently, Kento uncoiled three ties from his other hand, his lovely brown eyes darkening as he tied your arms and legs methodically to the arms and legs of the chair; his own spotted tie, the last to be unravelled, formed the final bond. Your hands clasped and unclasped against the arms of the chair, lips parted and glistening as your chest heaved in the low light.

"Because you really are..." Kento held your trembling thighs open as he slid the dildo into your quivering pussy, tantalisingly slow, thrusting a few times, captivated by your white creamy arousal coating it as it slid deeper and deeper into you, "...spectacular," he breathed, shaky with restraint.

Kento played with you, his neglected cock throbbing in his trousers; he thrust the dildo in and out of you, some long, gentle strokes, some harsh and fast, and his hips bucked upwards into nothing, imagining fucking you to the pace of his ministrations. You trembled and cried out, pleasure building uncontrollably at the irregular pace.

Kento seemed to forget you were even there, mesmerised by the bouncing resistance in his hand as the dildo pumped insistently against your cervix. Kento pushed against the resistance slowly, firmly, licking his lips and releasing a gravelly moan as you tried to chase your hips away up the chair, whimpering with the overwhelming stimulation.

"Kento, please-- please--" Your cries rolled off Kento's back, uninterested unless you used your safe word, grimly determined to give you exactly what you wanted.

"Don't give me that shit," he scoffed, tugging the front of your dress down so that your half-exposed breasts bounced free, pressed up by the tightly stretched cups of your bra.

"Stroking yourself in the car just to the thought of me, trying to make me cum with your foot while I drive..." Kento cupped your breast in one large hand, squeezing with restrained biting indignation, flicking your nipple in his work-roughened fingers while fucking you with your own 'secret' toy. Your head spun, gasping, wrists and legs straining against your restraints.

"All because I had the audacity to be a good man?" His voice was soft and threatening in your ear, his feathered breath sending shivers through you, and he rumbled a humourless laugh, "Well...I tried to be a good man. Sit back and be a good little cock sleeve, darling. I'm still not sure if you even deserve me." He thrust the dildo into you sharply, and you squealed, begging him for release, your orgasm trapped deep in your belly.

You were so distracted by his voice in your ear, that you didn't notice his hand at your pussy slowing...before turning the vibrator on, immediately positioning the base of the dildo so your pussy was full and your clit felt the blessed relief of stimulation so powerfully that you almost sobbed.

Kento stood, stepping back slowly as he watched you twist and pant in the chair. With trembling hands, holding your gaze intently, Kento began to stroke himself, his own hands caressing the thick muscle of his neck and shoulders, down his chest, fingers teasing at his buttons, with a wolfish grin. You bit into your lip with a guttural groan, head swimming with tequila and frustration, so desperate to see more of him, jealous that he could touch himself where your hands usually roamed.

Kento was glorious in his striptease; the peaks and planes of his mountainous body illuminated by sharp light and deep shadow. He panted with self-deprivation as you leaned eagerly forwards in your chair, breathless as one deft hand began to undo his shirt buttons, and the other stroked his V-line, palm flat as his fingers plunged under his belt. His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk as a trickle of your creamy arousal ran out of you and onto the chair, your thighs trembling with need.

"You're such a fucking mess," he spat, laughing at you as you blushed, humiliation pulsing through your cheeks and pussy, "and you're in way over your head."

When Kento's wandering hands reached his zipper, he teased you, stretching the fabric over the outline of his throbbing cock, a patch of pre-cum soaking through and darkening the beige fabric. Walking back to you, one hand running through his hair, the other unzipped himself, and Kento reached through to grasp his cock, wet with pre-cum.

Your mouth watered, lips parting involuntarily as he sunk his fingers into your hair, gripping harshly at the roots to bring your mouth down, pumping himself firmly, holding your mouth not quite close enough to wrap around his red, angry cockhead. Whining, your tongue darted out, and Kento hissed as it swiped against his slit, a spurt of pre-cum dripping out in response.

"Let's put that tight little mouth of yours to good use, hmm?" With one hand tangled in your hair, Kento stood behind you and tilted your chair back onto two legs, as you gasped, your head tipped backwards and neck outstretched, mouth pulled open in shock at the sudden weightlessness.

Kento stroked languidly from your throat to your breasts, and back up, before gripping your hair again.

"I think...I'll make you clean me up, seeing as that mouth is so filthy already." Kento teased his cock against your lips, glossing them with pre-cum, gulping and shuddering as your tongue swiped out to suck him in. Tilting your chair back further so your throat was parallel to the floor, Kento pressed his cock along your tongue and cheeks, holding you still as he hit the back of your throat, fucking it slowly, feeling every ridge and wet suck of your mouth around him, seeing stars.

"Fffuuuuuck," Kento moaned, cock twitching in your throat as you swallowed and gagged. Kento moved slowly as you whimpered around him, taking intermittent wet deep breaths, "More tongue...more-- aaaahhh-- that's it, good girl, behaving so nicely for me now."

Your thighs shook, and Kento stroked your throat tenderly as your hands clasped and unclasped the arms of the chair. A painfully hard orgasm built in you, your muscles aching with the effort of carrying you to completion. Your pussy clenched around the dildo, wet and slippery, the buzz against your clit curling your toes.

As Kento squeezed the sides of your throat, feeling his cock moving smoothly inside it, your breath caught and you bucked, spasming violently as your orgasm surged through you. Your lips gasped open, lights flashing in your eyes, and you cried out silently as Kento pressed into you, squeezing your throat with a raggedy groan, sweat dripping to his collar with the effort of delaying his own orgasm.

Pulling out of you, gripping his cock at the base as pleasure threatened to rip through him, Kento stepped back, panting, to enjoy the show. Now carried into wild overstimulation past your orgasm, you twitched and juddered-- "I can't, s'too much-- Kento please please please--" -- and Kento hissed his restraint, cracking his neck from side to side as he almost came in his hand. He refused to waste his seed like that, never letting on how thrilling he found it to cum inside you, wondering at the glorious image of your belly, swollen with him.

Another orgasm ripped through you and you humped the dildo with fervour, thighs desperate to clamp closed around it, head tossed back and sobbing with overwhelming, uncontrollable ecstasy.

Kento's eyes bored through you, smug and drunk on dominating you. His hand pumped along his wet length, continuing to edge himself to the sight of you. He left you this way for a few more minutes, shaking and desperate, pussy soaking wet and clenching on the chair; he swallowed thickly as you shuddered and mewled, unable to tell where one orgasm ended and another began.

"Have you had enough yet?" Kento sneered, continuing to pump his throbbing length, grasping your chin and jaw harshly in his big hand. He squashed your cheeks together like this, your wet lips plush and cutely pouted; with a surge of cute-aggression, he gave your cheeks a shake and gentle slap, smirking down at your squished, tear-stained face. He planted a hard, nipping kiss to your squashed lips, moaning against you, and laughing heartily as you shook your head urgently in response to his question.

"Is this what you want?" Kento hummed against your jaw, and you continued to nod frantically, sniffling, weeping, mascara streaking down your cheeks, lipstick smeared to the side, your glossy eyes needy and begging.

"Then ask nicely," he growled, cock weeping with anticipation for you to beg for him. You continued shaking your head, sniffling and babbling nonsense, no longer able to string a sentence together as electricity rattled every nerve and fibre of you, mewling again as Kento gripped your hair, tipping your head back to look at him.

"Then you get nothing," Kento snapped, glaring down as you as his pace increased on his cock, his hand squeezing and twisting at the top. He tilted your head thoughtfully from side to side, examining you;

"Where do you want me to cum?" He panted, his impending orgasm threatening ruin after edging himself for so long, "Your tits? Your mouth? Your pussy's already so wet, after all." You cried out in disdain, clenching pussy neglected, desperate to feel Kento inside you. Kento laughed richly again, verging on cruel.

"Come on, my love," he crooned, suddenly soft and loving, giving you whiplash, "beg."

Desperate, you forced the words out, shaking like a leaf; "Please Kento-- you promised you would-- I helped you--" You jumped, as Kento reached down between your legs, pulling the dildo out, the sudden loss of stimulation and exhaustion making you feel heavy and loose, still whirring as alcohol bounded through you.

"You are right, of course," he cooed, stroking tears off your messy cheeks, "I was only playing with you." You sobbed an appalled, indignant sound as Kento grinned down at you again, wicked and hungry. Making quick work with clever fingers, he completely released you from the chair, throwing your ankle ties over his shoulder, but keeping the wrist ties attached to you, he helped you to stand, like a baby deer on wobbling legs, offering you one sincere, brisk smile.

You felt like you were falling through space as Kento lobbed you face down onto the bed, flat on your belly, with Kento kneeling over you and undoing his belt as he chased you up to the headboard. As your hands grasped above the pillows to pull yourself up, Kento's hand pressed the back of your head so you were face down, muffled against the pillows.

"Stay down," he growled, and you sniffled, obedient as he stretched your arms out, tying them to the headboard, then tied your knees together so your pussy was clamped, tight and wet between the soft fat of your thighs. You lay prone, arched upwards by your outstretched arms, bound.

You quivered as you heard the clinking of Kento's belt, and you felt his throbbing cockhead brush against the arousal-soaked plush of your clamped thighs. Kento was flush to you as he whispered in your ear; "Is this what you wanted? Out of control, fucked, pathetic and wet for me on our bed?" You nodded, dumbly overstimulated, eager for more, to be fucked so hard that you couldn't remember your own name.

Kento hummed, groaning with shaking relief as he slipped between your thighs, gripped by your hot, wet plush. You felt Kento slowly fuck your thighs, jolting as the length of him stroked between your folds, catching your bruisingly overstimulated clit. Kento sighed, biting the back of your shoulder, lost in your wiggles and the press of your curvy arse against his hips. He reached up, gripping his fingers into your bum, placing a single harsh slap there as you cried out, before rubbing the area with soothing hushes.

"Just fuck me already Ken--" You cut off with a strangled gasp; Kento's last fibre of restraint snapped and he rammed his cock into your clenched pussy, bottoming out in an instant, slamming against your spongy deep walls. Leaning on his thick forearms he hammered into you with total abandon, tired of denying you, eyelids heavy and teeth sunk into the back of your neck. Divine ecstasy ravaged through him like wildfire.

Your muffled cries into the pillow spurred Kento on, his shirt soaked with sweat and sticking to his back as he fucked you to delirium and back again. Low, jolting grows rumbled through him in interrupted streams, his heady warm voice alternating with the strength of his thrusts. Kento's cock ached with bittersweet need, finding your wet friction so delicious, and he reached up to your bound hands, squeezing one affectionately to ground himself and you.

Kento's orgasm approached, seeping down his spine towards his cock, hot and urgent.

"My name," he growled into your ear, biting it as you whimpered, pussy fluttering weakly in bliss around him, and you mumbled. Kento punished you, hammering into you as you squealed, "Louder. My name."

"Kento," you sobbed, "Kento Kento Kento-- aaaahhhh!"

Kento came with a bark, legs failing him as he crushed your hips to the bed under his weight, splashes of hot cum spurting through your cervix, leaving Kento as drunk and intoxicated as you, ruinous pleasure tumbling through him.

He shook above you, his vision coming back to him in patches as he released his ties from your hands. Grasping your hips, he rolled you sideways with him, keeping his cock deep inside you, a glint of hope skipping through his mind, picturing you, full and round, his own captive goddess.

Humming, he nuzzled into your neck; "Too much?" He mumbled, droopy-eyed and concerned.

"More than enough, thank you," you reassured him, sated and dropping into a hazy sleep. Kento gave you a little shake.

"I'm not finished with you," he scolded, "We need to have words about your frankly dangerous behaviour in the car--"

"Custard," you cried, "custard, custard, custard--"

"-- don't try to safeword me while I'm telling you off, you absolute terror."

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Phew

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kazumist · 5 months ago

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WHY DON'T WE FALL IN LOVE TONIGHT ?

✩ — in which you found yourself executing a ruse with the known duke of meropide, wriothesley. what could possibly go wrong? (many things, apparently.)

✩ — prompt: panache — you agree to a fake courtship with another. (for @xianyoon's "a night to remember" event (event two hehehe))

✩ — includes: wriothesley x f!reader. royalty!au. fluff, angst if you squint, hurt/comfort if you also squint, comedy squeezed in just a teensy bit. cw: alcohol consumption (reader ends up taking a shot or two) one crazy scene in the garden but it's nothing too explicit i swear they just get a little carried away OOPS. wc: 8001 yes you read that fucking right (i went insane). fake dating trope went a bit overboard my bad (heavily based by bridgerton season 1 minus the explicit scenes LMAO). one pride and prejudice and meme reference line sneaked in (if u get my reference then ilysm i need to kiss u). other fontaine characters make a cameo yipee!! full fic of this silly post i made back then but i changed things up. kinda

✩ — please reblog !! it wld help me tons :,)

love at first sight was a frivolous belief for a man like wriothesley.

romance, in general, was a frivolous belief for him in the first place. as much as his father pushes him into the marriage market for all of the women in the kingdom of fontaine, he would always find his way out of it. but he does admit—the nagging could get quite... overbearing sometimes. romance almost never crosses wriothesley’s mind. he shuns every vigorous mother that presents their daughter towards him in hopes that he’ll take an interest in them (which he never does; wriothesley believes that marriage is too big of a responsibility for him).

a ball is never uncommon in society at this age. and certainly it isn’t uncommon for his father to urge him to grace these balls with his presence on behalf of his former duke of a father. and tonight wasn’t so different from the other balls he previously attended. wriothesley holds back the urge to roll his eyes after he excuses himself (for the nth time, he thinks) from another mother who tried to offer her daughter up for his hand in marriage. it was exhausting, to say the least. wriothesley wants nothing more than to leave at the moment. however, to his dismay, the ball had just begun not too long ago.

it’s another long night for him.

sharing some conversations with queen furina’s royal advisor, neuvillette, wasn’t a bad way to pass the time. and it certainly was effective because people were far too nervous to approach him with the queen nearby. the friendship he shared with the royal advisor wasn’t new knowledge to society. almost everyone and their mothers had heard about the tale of the current duke meropide and the queen’s royal advisor being close friends during their early days of childhood and onwards. though wriothesley sometimes admits—he surely misses his youthful days.

it’s not like he's that old now. he’s currently thriving at the young age of twenty-five! not too young, not too old either. “and just how long are you going to stand by my side tonight, wriothesley?” neuvillette asks, his eyes focused on the crowd below him. there were pairs dancing gracefully in the middle of the venue as the quintet orchestra played by the side. wriothesley doesn’t glance at him as he answers. “just a bit longer, i suppose. i could still feel their eyes boring holes into me.” he mumbles the last part, leaning closer only for neuvillette to hear, as he refers to the mothers that attempted to make their advances on him earlier. neuvillette simply chuckles at his remark.

“still refusing marriage, i see?” he replies.

“i’m confident that you’re well aware of what my answer to that is going to be, neuvillette.”

wriothesley feels comfortable like this. but he’s aware that he couldn’t spend all of his time by his friend’s side. soon after, wriothesley decides to take his leave after making sure his coast is clear. he then exited nearby and found himself wandering into the garden. surely, the workers at the house of hearth had done a splendid job maintaining this garden. he reminds himself to commend duke arlecchino for this if he ever gets the chance.

the wind tonight was quite cold, yet it’s nothing wriothesley couldn’t handle. he stumbles upon what seemed to be the center of the garden, surprised to see a fountain there. the moonlight shines brightly in this area—but what actually made wriothesley curious was who was sitting by the fountain? he steadily approaches, careful not to make the wrong move and sits by the fountain as well. there was still some distance between the two of you—a lot of it. it would be indecent of him to burst into a woman’s personal space. his father did not raise him to be that sort of man.

“what brings you here tonight?” he suddenly finds himself asking. it was a poor attempt at small talk, he thinks (he could do much better than that, he swears). wriothesley doesn’t even dare steal a glance at you, as much as he wanted to. you hesitated before answering him, still sinking in the fact that you suddenly have company in this garden now. “avoiding society as usual, especially the members of society who cannot give up offering their hand of marriage towards me, i suppose,” he hears you sigh. huh, how ironic. did wriothesley just bump into someone who suffers from the same problem as him?

the answer was most definitely yes.

“oh, what a coincidence—i suffer from such a predicament as well.” he chuckles bitterly in reply—too bitter for his liking. he didn’t want to suddenly ruin the mood now; the conversation had barely even started. “is that so? i’m delighted to know that i’m not alone in this boat then.” the tone of your chuckle was different from the chuckle you got from wriothesley. a comfortable silence was then enveloped over the both of you, enjoying the scenery around. he takes this as his chance to steal a glance, and he quickly takes it back. yet he finds himself glancing again.

and again

and again.

he doesn’t quite understand it himself. however, there was something about you that had this alluring effect on him of some sort. he just couldn’t tear his eyes off of you for some reason. “enjoying the view much, duke?” you asked, meeting his gaze. wriothesley then turns away suddenly, embarrassed that he was caught red handed in the act of practically ogling at you. his father did not raise him to be like this at all. he did not spend his childhood and teenage years training how to be a proper gentleman for his debut in society just to be ogling at a lady he just met at a ball. he needs to snap out of it.

“my apologies, but how could i resist putting my attention on a stunning lady like you?” he tries to play it cool. (keyword: tries.) it was a strategy that he learned to adapt every since he made his debut into society. playing it cool always works for him—surely his old trick wouldn’t fail at him now of all times, right? but wriothesley soon snapped out of his thoughts, and he then asked another question. “wait, you know who i am?”

you were taken aback by his words. is he seriously asking you that? “who wouldn’t know you? you’re quite famous with the other ladies.” you asked him back. he simply replies with a short “fair point.” and silence takes over once again. but this time, it was a bit awkward. you decided to introduce yourself to him, stating your name and title. he nods in acknowledgement of your introduction. he has heard of you before, of course. your family has quite a reputation in society, making you get quite a bit of attention at formal parties as well.

wriothesley doesn’t dare steal a glance at you again, as he has seemed to learn his lesson from what happened earlier. you, on the other hand, took this as your chance to take your leave. “although your company has been quite interesting, duke meropide, i’m afraid that i must take my leave first. i seem to have forgotten that i excused myself from lord jackson earlier.” you got up from your seat, already walking away from the fountain—that is, until wriothesley speaks.

“lord jackson? you mean the lord jackson who’s known for his… awful history in relationships?”

“i don’t believe there’s any other lord jackson in this society, duke meropide.” you turn around to face him.

“what business do you have with him?” why am i even asking? he thinks.

“he’s simply another one of the men who my mother had decided to set me up with for marriage. i was told to accompany him for tonight but you see, his company isn’t really... the best.” you replied, choosing your word carefully. despite you not liking lord jackson at all, it would be informal for you to speak ill of him when he could be the man you’ll actually marry.

actually, scratch that. as if you’ll ever allow yourself to marry a man like him. lord jackson was a creep, to say the least. you were aware of the talk that goes around him. but your dear mother is still kept in the dark about these stories, and she decided to set you up with him without your prior knowledge. so by technicality, you really had no choice. “you can’t marry him.” the man in front of you suddenly says.

“i beg your pardon?” you asked, afraid that you misheard him the first time. “you... you can’t marry him.” he repeats and then he continues. “i mean, surely you have heard the news about him—his temper makes him vicious. your marriage with him wouldn’t prosper at all.” you held back the urge to scoff at him. “i appreciate your concern, my duke, but our society works in an unfair way at this age. i cannot just declare that i do not wish to marry, unlike you. that is a privilege that i cannot simply afford.” you shot back at him.

wriothesley suddenly feels like a light bulb in his head has switched on.

“we could pretend to form an attachment.” he then says. you were getting more baffled by the second this conversation held on longer. “whatever do you mean?” you weren’t stupid. but you refused to believe that what he’s hinting at is also the one you foolishly thought. “with you in my arm, people would think that i have finally found my duchess. as for you, your mother would raise her standards and find more suitable candidates for your hand in marriage. because although i could be wrong, but have you ever told your mother what traits you find in a man?” he replies, a small smile slowly tugging on his lips. he clearly enjoys this idea.

“i… i suppose not.” he got you there. “but this is an absurd idea.” you protested.

“i find it quite brilliant, if i do say so myself.”

“you do know the risks of what you’re proposing right now, am i correct?”

“i do. but you do not wish to marry me, and i do not wish to marry you, so whatever should you have to lose?” he’s insisting. he’s insisting like this plan would work perfectly fine for the both of your benefits (well, if you were to be completely honest, there is a chance for it to be successful. but you grew up to believe that you shouldn’t expect for things to go so smoothly in your life). “i…” a lost of words. that’s what you are. too many possibilities are running through your head at the moment.

however, the duke did have one hell of a good point.

“fine. you got yourself a deal.”

and that’s how you got roped into the situation you have now. with an arm interlocked with the duke meropide’s, all eyes were bound to set upon you both. wriothesley could see the amusement in neuvillette’s expression; the same goes for the hint of amusement in queen furina’s eyes as she spots them in the crowd. wriothesley slowly guides you towards the dance floor, just in time for another dance to begin. gracefully, you took his hand as you step onto the dance floor with him. a familiar song started to play, one that you remember memorizing as dance class was mandatory for being a debutante in society.

“are you bothered?” he then asks in a whisper as he twirls you around. “whatever for?” you ask him back. “the staring. i could feel all of them looking at us right now, honestly,” he chuckles lowly. “hm, i’m trying not to mind it that much. but i suppose you’re probably enjoying all of this attention now, aren’t you?” a simple tease on your part, and wriothesley smiled at that. “my, are we on casual terms now?”

“chemistry should be a major factor that we should have in this plan, yes? so we might as well start by being more casual with one another.”

“indeed. glad to know that you’re quick to pick up on things.” he says. “of course i am. what do you take me for, duke meropide?” you asked him, a slight pout forming on your lips. and wriothesley smiled at that again before replying. “nothing offensive, that i can assure you.”

“i’m delighted to know that the ever-so-famous duke of meropide doesn’t harbor any sour feelings towards me then.”

it was a bit suffocating, all of the staring. yet at the same time, you understood why they’re staring in the first place. wriothesley, the current duke of meropide, is suddenly on the dance floor with a young woman. and he seems to be quite interested in her as well. people would assume you’re the reason why the duke has rejected so many marriage offers up until now—because he already had you in the first place.

the other unwanted attention you’d get from that assumption alone was enough to make you distracted to the point where you almost stepped on wriothesley’s foot. “i—my apologies, duke.” you stammered. “it’s alright. just look at me,” he says. you scrunched your eyebrows at him in confusion. “pardon?”

“just look at me; don’t focus on anyone else. it will help ease your mind.”

with hesitance, you followed what he said and locked your eyes with his. the duke’s eyes were a fine shade of grey. a unique color, if you do say so yourself. and surely he was correct. shifting your focus and thoughts to him did ease you from all of the other eyes that are locked onto both of your figures that’s moving along with the music.

time felt like it had stopped, as it also felt like you were the only ones present in the room.

to wriothesley’s surprise, the night passed by faster when he was with you. because before he knew it, he was already accompanying you back to your carriage. a lot of things had happened in the span of just a few hours. but wriothesley does not regret a single second of it, now that he recalls everything again. he wonders why—was it because he encountered you in the garden tonight?

maybe. that’s where it all started anyway.

he quickly snapped out of his trail of thoughts as he heard you speak. “i suppose i’ll see you soon then?” you asked him. “mhm, i suppose so. safe travels, m’lady.” he bids you his farewell by gently grabbing ahold of your hand and pressing a soft kiss onto your knuckle, refusing to break his eye contact with you as the footman closed your carriage’s door.

“safe travels as well, my duke.”

— — — — — — — —

word spread fast about you and the duke of meropide. your mother was shocked at the news—yet happy that you finally became “independent on finding your match” as per her words. you had no specific agenda for the day, so, as you usually do whenever you are free, you decided to visit the modiste—where your good friend chiori resides.

the sound of the bell chiming as the door opened made chiori perk up to see who would possibly need help making a new dress. but when her eyes met yours, she just knew you weren’t here to ask for a new dress. “i heard about the commotion last night.” she says, setting down a cup of tea for you as she takes a sip from her own cup, waiting for your response. “commotion is a vulgar term for it, chiori. i prefer to call it a memorable event.”

“i suppose it’s memorable for you to enter with your arm wrapped around the duke meropide just like that. how did it even happen? i vividly recall you telling me that you had no intention of marriage.”

“it’s… a long story,” you sighed, taking a sip from your own cup of tea. “oh? are you implying that there’s more to this than meets the eye, then?”

“i guess you could say that.”

“well, then tell me all about it.”

“i… i can't. my apologies, chiori.” it's not like you didn't trust her. in fact, there are more secrets that are held within this fine modiste’s place than one could ever imagine. but it was a silent and automatic agreement between you and the duke that no one must know of your plan. (although you already hinted to chiori that there's more to it than meets the eye.) besides, chiori is a smart woman who has known you before she could even have her place built.

she doesn't need to be a genius to find out that there's something up. she'll pick up on it sooner or later.

“it's alright. there’s no need to feel pressure to tell me now, but do promise me one thing: you're not doing anything against the law, right?”

you couldn't help but burst out in laughter at her question. “chiori! do you take me as a criminal? of course, i’m not!” you replied, laughing in a fit of giggles in between your words. “thank goodness. well, how was i supposed to know? you almost never stop by so we rarely have the chance to catch up. every bit of news i hear from you is usually from the other ladies who sometimes talk about you.”

“don’t worry, my friend. i’ll stop by more often from now on, but seriously, are you still eavesdropping on your customers? i thought we were past that.”

“it isn't my fault some of them whisper way too loudly for my liking,” chiori scoffs.

as you two have a few more conversations, it is about time for you to take your leave, as the time has reached for the hour when chiori would usually have customers. “it was truly a pleasure to catch up with you, chiori.” you said as she escorted you to the door. “a pleasure indeed. do drop by more often, alright? it can get quite lonely here, you know.” a giggle leaves your lips at her response. “will do. i believe i might need a new dress soon for the upcoming firestone ball?” you say and you notice how chiori’s had some sort of sparkle at your mention of needing a new dress. she had always loved making dresses for you.

“is that so? i promise to suggest some designs that you might like once you return.”

— — — — — — — —

the fountain of lucine was a famous spot for a walk in the park type of day. every day, you’d see different individuals make their wish upon the fountain. whether that is a prosperous marriage, being blessed with a beloved child, or even gaining wealth, everyone wishes for all sorts of desires towards the fountain. but you never found yourself doing the same. it’s most probably because you've already been content with your life up until now. you never had any struggles when it came to growing up.

but again, that is up until now.

you took a step further towards the fountain, silently stating your wish and threw the coin into the fountain’s small pool of water. “penny for your wish?” you heard someone say beside you. quickly turning your head to the direction of the voice, you were surprised to see the duke there. “duke meropide! i—i didn’t expect that you were going to be here today.”

“i decided to go out for a stroll; the weather is quite nice today, is it not?”

“ah, yes, i suppose it is,” you replied, looking around. the weather was indeed nice today. perfect for a quick stroll around the area. “would you mind taking a stroll with me today? it would be a shame to waste this fine weather talking in the same spot.” he says, offering his arm for you to take. “i’d be delighted to.” your arm gets hooked on his.

“how are you faring lately? it has been quite a while since our last meeting,” wriothesley starts. he personally prefers his attempt at small talk today to his attempt at small talk the night he met you. it has been a few days since the ball held by the house of hearth. and within those few days, you haven’t spoken to the duke since. though, your house suddenly has suitors calling for you during your calling hour. all hopeful to gain your interest in them instead of the duke.

(however, you all shut them down politely. you found yourself repeating your apologies to the lords that have called upon you during those times.)

“i’ve been well. certainly, the stunt that we pulled during the ball held in the house of hearth did not go unnoticed. my social energy has been drained because of the suitors who called me.” a sigh leaves your lips. “oh? i apologize for that then. i hope that your social energy isn't at it’s lowest right now,” he chuckles. you gave him a playful glare at his remark. “are you making fun of my previous predicament, duke?”

“oh, heavens no. my apologies, did that offend you?” he says, holding back a smile at his words. he was definitely not apologetic. “you’re not that sorry for it, aren’t you?”

“perchance.”

“you cannot just say perchance!”

a laugh erupts from wriothesley at your response. it was the first time you heard him laugh like that. and in the public eye, you two would seem like a joyful couple spending some quality time walking around the fountain of lucine as a pastime. well, that was technically the goal. to show the public that you and the duke of meropide are madly in love with one another. what could possibly go wrong?

— — — — — — — —

by the time the firestone ball had taken place (which is nearly just a week after the ball from the house of hearth), you and the duke were on the dance floor once again.

“i believe we have yet to discuss our other terms and agreement for our plan, your grace.” you said, following his lead in the waltz. “ah, you’re right. well then, why don’t you start? ladies first.” he says. “i was hoping that you’d have some ideas on what terms we should have; after all, this was your idea, if i may remind you.”

you continue speaking as wriothesley continues to lead you through the dance. “i am starting to be convinced that this will be more than just a simple game of pretend just so we could fool the members of society, or my mother, or the women you have wanted to get away from every time you step foot in public. a life is at stake here, your grace, my life, and i just simply cannot have this go wrong. so if you are not in agreement with that, then you should tell me now.” the duke never broke his eye contact with you as you spoke.

“i shall agree… on one condition.”

“your grace, i believe that you do not understa—”

“you must call me wriothesley.”

there’s only one word to describe you at the moment: speechless. and wriothesley takes your silence as a chance to continue his words. “if we are truly to be courting, and if we are truly to prove that this is a match like no other, then you should call me by my name. after all, weren’t you the one who suggested that we should be more... casual with one another?”

he was right, and he had yet again another one hell of a good point. you mentally sighed, “very well then… wriothesley.” a laugh dares to escape your throat but this does not go unnoticed by the man who has his hand held in his at the moment. “is there something funny about my name?” he asks you, raising an eyebrow at your reaction. “no, no. it is a perfectly fine name. it is also quite unique, if i may add.” you replied, calming yourself down. laughing loudly while you’re in the middle of the dance floor would raise questions, after all.

“oh, perfectly fine? very well then… (name).” wriothesley’s voice seemed to have lowered itself an octave lower as he said your name with a slight rasp. your eyes looked away from his as you shifted your gaze to his collar instead. both of you went silent, yet you were still moving to the rhythm of the music.

wriothesley’s hand, that was supposedly at your waist, trailed upwards. just below the nape of your neck and also before your spine starts. your breath hitched at the contact of his cold finger tips there.

“i do hope that this plan will be successful.” you said, gaining your composure.

“have faith in us.”

— — — — — — — —

meetings with the duke of meropide became more frequent than you expected. whether that may be a coincidental meeting or a planned one—no one could really pinpoint it, much to their dismay.

it started off with a simple meal. then another walk. then an official invitation to accompany him to a ball or two. or three; in fact, he has invited you for a lot of them now. you haven’t thought much about the future as of late, always focusing on the present, where you’re definitely by wriothesley’s side. there was never a dull moment with the man. it was always entertaining to be with him. whenever another man (a man whose appeal is not to take interest in a sense) would approach you, wriothesley would pull some sort of stunt that’s connected to his “wild jealousy” of some sort. it’s a bit hard to hold back a laugh whenever this happens. there are times when he would talk to you about the other nobles present in the party and how he’s acquainted with them, and you’d admire the fact that he has many connections (something that a duke like him should have; he’s doing well in his duties, you’d note).

there are also times when you two will find yourselves alone, secluding yourselves from the crowd. these were, personally, your favorites. with the moonlight shining brightly upon you both once again, you’d always be reminded of the night you met. at these moments, this is when you and the duke would share… more personal things with one another. things that neither of you had expected to share with anyone else. like how he avoids marriage because of the huge responsibility that comes with it. or like how you doubt that others, especially men (minus the duke), would understand your struggles as a woman in this society.

wriothesley might have a lot of connections, but he was just the same as you. both of you kept your circle quite small (and by small, you both have only one person you truly trust to confide in). but even if you both wouldn’t admit it out loud, trust had also bloomed between the two of you.

(yet is trust the only thing that has actually bloomed?)

tonight, you found yourselves in yet another garden. “have you ever heard of why a flower wilts, wriothesley?” you decided to start this time. “hm? i suppose it’s because nothing good actually lasts long in life.”

“how… pessimistic of you to say.” you sweatdropped at his response. he chuckles yet again, you noticed that he always chuckles apologetically while looking away before he actually says his apologies. a habit of his, perhaps. “my apologies; i must repeat myself. the less a person sees of me, the happier their life is.”

“why so? i enjoy your company quite well.”

“oh? and are you sure those words aren’t forced because you’re stuck with me with this little ruse we have ongoing?” he asks back. these exchanges became frequent. one would ask a question, and the other would ask another in return. “i’m being quite honest, wriothesley. i really do enjoy your company quite well.”

“the feeling is likewise, (name).” there’s something satisfying about how your name rolls off of his tongue. he pronounces it the same as everyone else does yet how does it feel different when he says it? it’s baffling, that’s one thing for sure. “is it awful that i’m actually quite enjoying this?”

“you mean my wild jealousy?” he asks, playfully offended.

“fooling society.” you corrected. “there are some in the crowd who secretly know everything about everyone. yet we have them utterly convinced that we are mad for one another.”

“we are awfully clever then.” he says in amusement. “indeed we are.” you chuckled at his reply.

if there’s one thing you would always notice between the two of you, it would always be how you were glued to one another. like there’s some magnetic pull that automatically drags the other to their side.

this moment is no different because you could feel his knuckles grazing against yours ever so lightly. it starts with the hook of your pinkies, then slowly turns into you grabbing a hold of his other fingers. wriothesley could feel his heart beating fast at the contact. he glances at you, admiring your features underneath the moonlight once again. you glance at him as well. was he already this close to you when you started walking in this garden? because you swear your faces are inching even closer to each other. wriothesley’s other hand gently grabs your nape, guiding you as he gently pulls you in for a kiss.

his lips were soft against yours, something you didn’t expect from him. he kisses you like you were delicate (to which you were, delicate to him, at least), eyes closing themselves as he enjoys the sensation of your lips against his. you kiss him back in the same way, not really knowing what to do next—but you kiss him back. that’s all that matters. his lips leave yours as wriothesley latches his lips onto your neck, continuing the light kisses against it.

you let out a gasp at the contact as you lean your head back so you can give him more access. he intertwined his other hand with yours; it was quite scandalous. having a moment like this on someone else’s property. you extracted him from your neck, pulling him in for another kiss. this time it was a bit more rough—desperate, even.

well, that was until he pulled away from you abruptly. you looked at him in a daze yet you were confused. “we must return; we’ve been out long enough,” he says, letting go of your hand in the process as he fixes himself. he tries to catch his breath, processing what has just happened. did he really just kiss you? he supposes (or, in other terms, hopes) that it’s normal. ultimately, this should’ve been part of your agreement in the first place, right?

“i… you’re right. my mother could be looking for me any moment now.” what could possibly go wrong, you ask? well, apparently, many things could go wrong.

but if there’s one thing that got stitched into your mind tonight, it’s only one thing:

the duke of meropide is one good kisser.

however, what will become of your relationship now?

— — — — — — — —

you found yourself going to chiori again. the familiar sound of the bell chiming against the door notified chiori of someone entering her place. and once she saw you, she could just feel the distress radiating off of your body.

“what happened this time? i haven’t heard any good news about you two from last night’s party.” she says, pouring you a cup of tea. “good news? more like insane occurrences,” you sighed, watching the tea leave the teapot as it transfers onto your teacup. “ insane occurrences? what happened to ‘memorable event’?” she asked, confused with your choice of words.

you let out another sigh, finally revealing everything to chiori. luckily, today was her day off. with another ball just held last night, she would get at least a day or two of good rest before she opens up again. chiori takes in every detail of your story well, surprised that this is what you’ve been up to.

as soon as you were done talking, you decided to take a sip of your tea. “so you’re worried that you almost slept with the duke of meropide?” chiori states. and you choked on your drink once you heard her. “you didn’t have to word it like that! have some decency!” you exclaimed, embarrassment surging through you.

“i don’t get it, though. what are you so worried about? it’s almost as if… wait.” she pauses.

“it’s almost as if what, chiori?”

“do you love him?”

“huh? love who?”

“don’t play dumb with me, (name). do you or do you not love the duke of meropide?”

this time, it was your turn to pause. do you? well, certainly, he is nice company. and he treats you well despite neither of you having the wish to marry each other. he is also a good kisser (something that you don’t really feel like counting but it’s still a fact). recalling everything that has happened now, the only things that come into mind are the things you’ve noticed about wriothesley. how his eyes are the most remarkable shade of grey, his scar below his right eye. the feeling of the callouses on his hands as you held them on the dance floor.

it can’t be. there’s just no way. he’s a duke of all people—he’s out of your league in so many ways. he’s too far for you to reach. and besides, this is all just a game of pretend, is it not? surely that kiss would’ve meant nothing to him.

fuck.

“i do.” you replied to her in a whisper

“i’m glad that you’re not dense.” chiori says, flicking your forehead. you yelped in pain at the contact.

yes, you do love the duke of meropide.

and you stand by that.

meanwhile, on the other side of the coin, wriothesley had a crisis himself. “you’re quite lucky today, to ask for my presence while queen furina is occupied with duke arlecchino with her. so what assistance can i offer for you today, wriothesley?” neuvillette states, pulling his chair so he could take a seat before the man in front of him. wriothesley leans back on his seat, an elbow propped on top of the chair’s arm rest as his index finger is rested upon his lips.

wriothesley sighs. before spilling everything to neuvillette. his friend’s expression grew more amused as he continued on with the story, finding every detail unexpected for a man like his friend. “i see. so that’s how it is. well, let me ask you a simple question then, my friend.”

“shoot.”

“do you love her?”

wriothesley pauses. neuvillette’s questions echo repeatedly in his mind. do i love her? he then asks himself. he was not stupid. wriothesley did not need to become some sort of genius to find the answer to that question—because the answer is no. he doesn’t love you. yes, he has grown to trust you with things he would never even dare tell anyone else. but he’s scared. wriothesley is scared because he has never thought of commitment in this way before. romance was just a frivolous belief to him, after all. so surely, this would all just mean nothing.

he ponders about it for a few more moments. he’s too scarred—too damaged—to be loved by someone like you. he feels undeserving of it. he knows there’s another man out there who could be the man you want to be. someone who will make you happier than he does. someone who is willing to commit himself to you. someone who could love you with nothing holding him back.

“i don’t.” wriothesley firmly says.

no, wriothesley cannot be in love with you.

(neuvillette gives his friend a sigh as his friend takes his leave. he returns back to the room where queen furina is currently spending time with duke arlecchino. the duke had a habit of bringing the queen sweets from their travels abroad. the queen has excitement written all over her eyes as she makes eye contact with the pastries set in front of her.)

— — — — — — — —

it wasn’t hard to put two and two together to realize that wriothesley has been avoiding you.

it has been a few months since you decided to start your ruse. although he still accompanies you, once it’s quite crowded, he will deliberately avoid your presence like a plague, and you have no idea why. you first thought that may be he was just feeling unwell but it has occurred more frequent now and it just stings, really. it stings because you thought that you two had formed quite the bond over the past few months.

“wriothesley, is something wrong? you know you could always talk to me, right?” you asked him, finally cornering him as he had successfully avoided you for the past two hours ever since the party started. “it’s nothing of your concern,” was all he said before leaving you again. but that answer wasn’t enough—hell, it wasn’t even a proper answer for you. so you decided to follow him.

“where are you going?” you asked him. speeding your pace up to catch up to him. wriothesley doesn’t answer and just continues on walking. he ends up going into a secluded room, not even bothering to close the door. you followed him in and shut the door behind you as you faced him. he had his back facing you as you heard him take a deep breath. “wriothesley, what’s wrong? and don’t even dare say that it’s none of my concern because it is.”

wriothesley could feel himself going mad. he can’t do this tonight. what even caused him to behave this way?

ah, he remembers. it was that unbearable sight of you interacting with marquess lyney. he should’ve been happy that you finally seem interested in someone else because all you two have to do now is plan how you should end things. but that thought made wriothesley realize two things. one, he cannot bear the sight of you with another man (but why? it’s not like you’re actually his in the first place). and two, he doesn’t want things to end between the both of you. whether it's a ruse that feels too real for his own liking or whatnot, he doesn’t want to lose you in his life.

he loosens the buttons on his top so that he can breathe more properly. you got closer to him, but only if you knew that was a dangerous move on your part. you grabbed his arm in hopes of getting a view of wriothesley’s expression at the moment.

he then faces you, his eyes searching for something in yours but you just can’t find out what. it was silent; neither of you dared to speak a word. and wriothesley finds himself pulling you for a kiss. it was a bit rough how his lips crashed against yours. he then pulls away, his eyes widening at what he just did. “i… my most sincere apologies.”

and he leaves. just like that.

the familiar door to the modiste is presented at you as you knocked. it was late at night. the party you attended earlier with wriothesley was long over. but you knew your dear friend would still be up even at this late hour.

“(name)? what brings you here at this hour?” chiori asks, opening the door wider so you could enter.

“i need a goddamn drink.” you said.

— — — — — — — —

“so you’re telling me that he just… kissed you again, and then he left the party? just like that?” chiori repeats. you take another shot of the alcohol chiori provided for the both of you. “hey, calm down. this one is actually pretty strong, you idiot.” chiori warns you.

you lean back, slamming the shot glass against the table. “just like that, chiori. like what is wrong with him? is he perhaps sick in the head?”

“i honestly don’t know if i should be at least grateful that he apologized.” she says, taking a shot as well. you glare at her remark and she raises her hands in return. you sighed this time, “are men always this… complicated?”

“hm, i don’t think so. maybe it’s just the duke.”

“you’re not helping!”

“you never said you wanted help in the first place.”

— — — — — — — —

seven days.

seven days since you last spoke to wriothesley. seven days since you last heard of him. it has been seven days yet he hasn’t made any attempts to contact you since.

just what was up with him? he was fine before. did you do something wrong? did you accidentally say something that was offensive to him? everything has changed now. wriothesley is treating you like he treated you before he actually met you—cold.

your mother has decided to throw a ball this time—something about her not wanting to fall behind the other mothers. you complied, having to accept that society is nothing but competition against one another. and on the day of the ball, you found yourself lonely. if only chiori wasn’t busy with her other orders, then maybe this night would’ve been more entertaining.

wriothesley has yet to make his appearance (or perhaps he is already here yet he has decided to avoid you again). but you have decided on one thing tonight: you will talk things out with that stubborn man no matter what it takes. because you cannot just bear to stand idly by when wriothesley could be struggling alone. you once heard from your mother that love makes you do the craziest things and tonight was the night you realized that she was right. but isn’t it worth it if it’s all in the name of love?

the outdoor area of your home was also used for the ball, and decorations are displayed here and there to make the area look more eyecatching. to your family’s dismay, it has begun to rain. making all of the guests head inside to continue the festivities. but as you made your way to follow the crowd, you spotted someone too familiar—it was the man you’ve been looking for all evening, wriothesley.

looking around his surroundings, wriothesley spots you getting drenched in the rain. his eyes widen as he quickly makes his way towards you, removing his coat to drape it over you instead. “are you insane? you’re getting drenched!” he exclaims in worry. you scoff in return, pushing yourself away from his coat and allowing yourself to get wet by the rain.

“am i insane? i should be the one asking you that!” you said, glaring at him. “how… how could you? do you know how worried i have been because of you? you avoided me, then kissed me, then avoided me even more! i had no idea if you were okay because you didn’t even dare speak with me while i was here stuck waiting for you. why? because i didn’t want to pressure you into telling me what’s wrong!”

wriothesley is at a loss for words at your outburst. he just stares at you in return, guilt written all over him. he deserved your anger. but he didn’t mean for things to go this far, yet he also didn’t know how to handle things. you continued speaking, “wriothesley, i have no idea what’s clouding over your heart but i do know one thing: you musn’t keep it to yourself.”

“(name)...” he softly says—hesitantly, even. like he’s scared to even say your name in the first place. you take a step forward, both of your hands reaching out to hold his face. your touch was gentle on his skin, making sure you weren't making him uncomfortable. “tell me what’s wrong, wriothesley. i’ll listen.”

and tell you, he does. he voice shakes at first yet he begins to steady it as he unravels to you everything that has been bothering him up until now. his jealousy, his inner turmoil, and his insecurities. and you listen to him, understanding every word that escapes his lips as your hand never leaves his face, your fingers gently brushing over his scar below his right eye. and once he’s finished, you choose your next words carefully.

“there’s something that i realized in life that i believe you should know. just because something is not perfect does not make it any less worthy of love. you made yourself believe otherwise. you made yourself believe that you had to be without fault just so you could be loved but you’re wrong, wriothesley. should you need any proof of the matter, then look just here.” you weakly laugh at the last sentence, and wriothesley just stares at you. you couldn’t find out what’s going on in his head but you know that he’s listening.

your voice shakes as you continue. “i am tired of this sick game of pretending. i am tired of pretending—of acting as if i do not love you, because i do. i love you more than you could ever imagine. every scar, every flaw, every imperfection—i love all of you. you may think you’re too damaged or too scarred to allow yourself of happiness but you can choose differently, wriothesley. you can choose to love me as much as i love you. that should not be up to anyone else—that cannot be up to anyone else.”

“it can only be up to you.”

he was still silent as you slowly let go of his face but wriothesley was quick to catch them. he grabs ahold of your hands, and with his slight shaking, he takes a deep breath. he realizes something when you profess your love for him. he puts two things together: commitment and you. and the conclusion he draws from that is that he doesn’t mind commitment, as long as he’s committing himself to you. that’s how much of an impact you have on him. yes, he’s scared. and yes, this might not go like he hopes it will. but that doesn’t matter to him because he knows it will all be worth it for you. wriothesley is a coward when it comes to love and the like—that, he admits. but he isn’t allowing himself to be a coward for the rest of his life. why deprive himself of the serene type of happiness that he could only achieve when he has you by his side?

he kept his eyes on the hands he’s holding now as he began to speak. “i.. i do not wish to be alone. i know that now. but what i do not know is how to be the man you wish for me to be—the man you truly deserve. i do not know how to do any of this, but i do know another thing: i love you too. i love you. most ardently.” he then meets your eyes as he notices one thing in them. love.

“you stay. you stay and we’ll get through this. together. that’s where we’ll start. we have all the time in the world.”

“may i… kiss you?” he hesitates to ask. but you give him a nod of approval before you’re met with the familiar pleasure of his lips on yours. he relishes every second of the kiss, taking this as a chance to ground himself into reality—refusing to believe that this is some sick dream that his mind decided to play in his head. a hand slithers its way to the nape of his neck and wriothesley groans at the feeling as his hand grabs your waist tighter. wriothesley thanked his lucky stars for the night he met you because this wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for them.

love at first sight was a frivolous belief for a man like wriothesley.

but he knew otherwise the moment he laid his eyes upon you that night in the garden.

#( writings )#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley #x reader

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actiniumwrites · 2 years ago

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BLURRED LINES

synopsis: the defining moment that changed the course of your relationship with them from being enemies to that of lovers

characters: kaeya, yelan, scaramouche, ayato, cyno, dottore, and alhaitham x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, injuries, blood, fighting, harassment (not from any of them), not proofread

notes: idk man i just wanted to write some enemies to lovers scenarios. each of these get longer as they go, so uh, sorry if you wanted some of the first ones to be longer cause i don’t really know what happened 😭 enjoy <3

Kaeya watched how you laughed so loudly, so confidently at him as you fought somewhere behind him. It was as loud and recognizable as usual. He felt his heart beat faster — flushed, annoyed, and fed up with your constant need to one up him, laugh at him for no reason, and point out each and every small mistake he makes. As the Cavalry Captain racked his brain for a comeback, anything to take you off your high horse, his ears began to hurt as your laughter faded into that of dreadful screams. Blue eyes caught yours in an instant, turned so fast that his body almost gave him whiplash. No. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not when he hadn’t realized his hatred for you was nothing more than a guise for his buried love.

Yelan’s faint laughs scared the people on the harbor. Such an intimidating women, softly — yet arrogantly — laughing to herself was certainly an odd sight to see. She had bested you once again, and you hadn’t even known it yet. And Archons she couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you realized it. Her laughter quickly subsided at the faint sounds of desperation and begging, coming from somewhere within a nearby alleyway. Nearly walking past it out of the need to be in other places, Yelan stopped in her trail when the whimpering cries turned into your voice. Fury festered throughout her body in an instant. Nobody was allowed to mess with you, not unless it was her. Maybe she hadn’t realized it yet, but she would do anything to protect you — even if it meant giving her life.

When Scaramouche fell limp out of the robot, falling from great heights as he plummeted to the ground, he held no beliefs he would be caught — no less by the hands of you, his sworn enemy. Yet, there you were, arms wrapped tightly around him as the traveler and Paimon stared at you in shock. Something about the way your heart felt the moment you saw him fall was deeply painful, like weeds growing around your heart. Though, the strong heat from your love was enough to burn those weeds, enough to propel yourself forward without thought and save the man you had unknowingly come to love. And as Nahida watched the scene play out in front of her, a knowing smile crossed her face.

Ayato loved nothing more than to argue and debate with you. It came as a package deal alongside the fact that you were from the Tenryou Commission and he was from the Yashiro commission. Because god you were so smart and always had the perfect comebacks, even though it was infuriating when you would win. What he didn’t like, however, was when he would watch you argue with someone else. Especially when you lost to them. Ironic, right? He hated watching his enemy lose? So when his eyes spotted you around the corner of Ritou, backed up against a wall as a rude man berated you, his eyes filled with fury and his heart was racing. No one was allowed to treat you like that. So he took care of them for you, even though he knew you were fully capable. And as you stormed away from him, he was left with a single question: if you were supposed to be his enemy, then why the hell did he care so much about you?

The moment Cyno saw you fall backwards, he scoffed. Honestly, when were you actually going to beat him while sparring? But then you didn’t get up. Cyno swore he felt his heart fall out of his chest. And oh archons, the moment he saw blood, the weapon fell out of his hand and his feet propelled him forward. His knees scraped against the rugged bricks of the floor as his arms wrapped themselves around your torso and hoisted it against him. But then your eyes opened and the laugh he always thought was so beautiful fell from your lips. Stopping when your eyes met his serious expression, you joked, “What? Don’t tell me you were actually worried about me?” Cyno’s eyes pierced through yours, a serious, yet genuine, expression painted across his face, “Don’t scare me like that, it’s not funny…I thought I lost you for a second.”

Dottore felt annoyed the moment he heard you knock on the door. So he ignored it, knowing only you would be stupid enough to get hurt and go to him at such late hours of the night. You could’ve seen another doctor, but he knew you loved to annoy him more than anything else. But then the knocks came again, weaker and more fragile this time. Sighing, he opened his door, only to find you. Your eyes were kept on the floor, but he could see the tears that pooled in them. Blood adorned most of your body, and your clothes were all tattered and torn. The arm that was holding you up against the door gave out and you collapsed, but not before Dottore caught you in his arms. You were mumbling, shaking, and absolutely terrified as you leaned against him. And yet, for some reason, Dottore couldn’t help but feel a small feeling of warmth spreading in his cold heart at the thought of you coming to him when you were most vulnerable. Though, it wasn’t enough to stop the anger he felt for the person that hurt you.

Alhaitham sighed for what felt like the thousandth time that day as he spotted you in the library late at night. Shouldn’t you have already gone home? Or were you just trying to get ahead him again? Perhaps aiming to steal his position at the Akademiya this time? He never knew with you, but at least the competition kept things a little more entertaining each day. So, he made another sarcastic comment toward you on his way out. He couldn’t see your face from the way you were sitting, but your silence stopped him in his tracks. No rebuttal? No comeback? Not even an annoyed sigh? And then your shoulders started to shake, and small whimpers fell from your lips. Shit. Alhaitham didn’t know what to do in situations like this. But even so, he stopped and walked toward you. Sat down next to you and stayed quiet, only offering a few tissues and some water he had on him — which you hesitantly, but gratefully took. Maybe you were his “enemy” and maybe he didn’t know how to deal with people crying, but for some reason it felt natural with you and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave you alone.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #kaeya x reader #yelan x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #ayato x reader #cyno x reader #dottore x reader #alhaitham x reader

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witchezandwonderz · 22 days ago

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The Dragon's Empress

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Female reader

Word Count: 2,661

Summary: Aegon, initially indifferent to his arranged marriage, becomes captivated by his intelligent and strong wife, Y/N. As their bond grows, he respects her intellect and strength, while Y/N navigates her own plans, ultimately becoming a powerful influence in his reign.

Part 2 available here

The day Aegon was told he was to marry was a day like any other. Aegon simply did not care, as his arrogance and ignorance led him to believe that any woman he married, regardless of her house, name, or legacy, would naturally be an idiot. Consequently, he sought no information about his bride-to-be. His mother, Alicent, had attempted to sit with him and have an actual conversation about the matter, but she was always dismissed by her son, who would sometimes make up an excuse or, more often, outright express how little he cared. On one occasion, he even said, “I would prefer if she were somewhat attractive; if not, I can just close my eyes,” before erupting into laughter and drowning his thoughts in wine once again.

Y/N Y/L/N was the last person Aegon expected to marry. Though he knew little of her, her power was undeniable. Despite coming from a relatively low-born family, Y/N was a highly intelligent woman. Alicent Hightower initially arranged the marriage to secure an heir to the throne, as her son’s lifestyle demanded one sooner rather than later. Alicent deliberately chose a lady of modest birth, expecting a woman who would “shut up and do what she was told”—a belief rooted in her own ignorance. Alicent had never considered that a woman of lesser means might be highly intelligent—how could she be?

Aegon could never forget the moment he first laid eyes on his new wife. On the day of their wedding, he waited impatiently within the grand hall of the Red Keep, eager to get it over with so he could go drink with his companions, as he did daily. The doors opened, Y/N’s name was announced, and all heads, including Aegon’s, turned towards the door in anticipation. In that moment, a raven-haired beauty entered the room. She stood tall, her gaze sweeping over the gathered lords and ladies before settling on him. Aegon found himself spellbound by her striking green eyes, which held a mysterious allure—a blend of confidence and intensity that seemed to pierce straight through him.

Her raven hair flowed over her shoulders like silk, half pulled back in an intricate braid woven with emerald pins that mirrored the colour of her eyes. Aegon’s gaze travelled over her, his usual guarded expression slipping into something softer, almost awestruck. The rich emerald gown she wore clung to her curves with elegant precision, enhancing her beauty. She was both queenly and alluring—a vision of strength and beauty that made Aegon’s heart pound in a way he hadn’t anticipated. However, her presence had the opposite effect on Alicent, who, though an intelligent woman, found herself somewhat displeased.

Aegon had seen many beautiful women at court, but there was something about Y/N that captivated him. As she approached, her gaze steady and unwavering, he found he could not look away. His mouth stretched into a grin, his confidence and arrogance emboldening him to display his obvious pleasure.

When she reached the altar, her eyes locked onto his, and Aegon, always composed, felt himself falter. There was a flicker of amusement in her gaze, a slight curve of her lips, as though she were aware of the effect she had on him. It was a boldness he hadn’t expected, and it stirred something deep within him.

He stared at her as she curtseyed before him, bowing her head gracefully as she said, “Your grace.”

Aegon licked his lips in response, admiring her beauty. “A beauty,” he stated, extending his hand for her to take. Y/N stood tall once again, reaching out to take his hand into hers.

“Thank you, your grace,” she replied, her gaze fixed on his as she smirked. Aegon smirked back, secretly thanking his mother in his thoughts.

Y/N had heard stories of Aegon—stories of his wicked and impulsive ways. She knew she ought to be frightened, but as a woman, she understood that most men, regardless of their actions, were naturally wicked and impulsive creatures. Although she had not anticipated Aegon’s visibly pleased reaction, she knew it might not last once he discovered her interest in Westerosi politics and her level of education.

Otto Hightower spent the first month of their marriage trying to convince Aegon that Y/N had ulterior motives. He disliked the way Y/N articulated herself, her knowledge of battle, tactics, and politics, and most of all, her ability to captivate the council’s attention, as they hung onto her every word.

Aegon initially agreed, choosing to watch her carefully instead of confronting her. But the more he observed her, the more impressed he became. Y/N consistently presented ideas that would benefit Aegon, not just herself. He realised this more deeply as he continued to watch her.

Alone, he often found himself thinking of her—replaying her words and actions in his mind. One evening, he realized he wasn’t thinking of her policies but of her. He wanted to know her more—as a wife, not just as a queen. His thoughts were interrupted when his mother, Alicent, entered the room with a harsh look.

“That woman has been speaking out of turn again,” Alicent stated, her tone laced with frustration. Aegon looked up, barely able to see her in the dim candlelight.

“By ‘that woman,’ I assume you mean my wife,” he replied, already amused by Y/N’s effect on his mother. Alicent scoffed.

“Your wife? Please do not act as though you see her as anything more than an object.”

Aegon did not like that.

“Y/N is my wife, mother, not an object. You will do well to respect your Queen,” he retorted coldly, standing from his chair. Aegon had grown to respect Y/N as his queen and perhaps even as an equal—something he’d never thought possible.

Alicent was taken aback by her son’s change of character.

“I do respect the Queen, my lord, but I do not believe the council or you should trust her as of yet,” she replied more calmly, hoping to avoid angering him. Aegon gestured dismissively toward the door.

“That will be all, mother,” he insisted. Alicent tried to argue but fell silent at his insistent gesture. Huffing, she did as she was told.

Once alone, Aegon decided to visit his wife’s chambers. The couple had not spent a night together yet, and he felt compelled to know her beyond politics.

Arriving at Y/N’s chambers, he gestured for her guard to leave and knocked loudly. There was no response, so he knocked again. When he heard her call out, “Who is it?” he couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s your husband,” he called back, pleased with the term. He entered the room, greeting her with a broad smile.

“Y/N, how are you?” he asked genuinely. Y/N chuckled. “Y/N? Wow, your grace, that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name.”

He smiled back, “There is no need for formalities, so please call me Aegon.”

Y/N moved closer, responding, “Ok, then, Aegon.”

The two shared stories, laughter, and lighthearted moments, both visibly more comfortable in each other’s presence.

Neither of them realized how late it had become, both needing to rise early the next morning for their duties. Aegon stood up, preparing to say goodbye. Y/N stood as well, thinking it respectful to rise with him. They gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity.

Aegon stepped forward, his pulse quickening, and reached for her, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His fingertips lingered as he traced the line of her jaw, his gaze drifting over her face as if seeing her for the first time. He had never respected a woman in this way; he typically saw them as disposable. But not Y/N. Her green eyes softened, inviting him closer, and in that moment, the distance between them vanished. His hand slid to the back of her neck as he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a tentative kiss that grew deeper, filled with a quiet intensity neither had expected.

Y/N responded, her hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingers. There was no rush, only a gradual surrender as they lost themselves in each other’s touch, their kiss growing more passionate, each moment revealing a new layer of longing that had simmered beneath the surface for too long. Aegon’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, marveling at the way she fit against him—strong yet soft, fierce yet tender.

For the first time, Aegon felt himself let go of the weight of the crown and the world outside their door, focusing solely on her—this woman who had challenged and captivated him from the start. Y/N moaned as she felt his fingers explore places that had never been touched before. Aegon smirked, pleased with the power he held over her, and perhaps even more, with the power she’d held over him since he first saw her. He continued, ensuring that despite her reactions, he never broke their kiss.

Their gentle, passionate kiss quickly turned into a different kind of passion—a hunger.

These nights continued, and the couple soon decided to reside in the same chamber. Aegon no longer had use for the whores he had once spent his nights with, as he had now found his true love.

One day in particular would cement Aegon’s trust and love for Y/N.

Y/N had arrived late to the council meeting that morning. The gathered lords and ladies had already begun discussing matters of state when Y/N finally entered the room, offering hurried apologies for her tardiness, explaining that she’d been delayed with other pressing matters.

“And what matters could be so urgent that you kept the king waiting?” Alicent questioned sharply, a hint of displeasure in her voice as she sipped her wine. Aegon opened his mouth, ready to defend Y/N, but she raised a hand, signaling that she could speak for herself.

“Please, my love. I may speak for myself,” she said, casting him a warm look that melted any lingering irritation in him. Then, she turned back to Alicent, her expression hardening as she replied, “Royal matters, which do not concern you, my lady.” Y/N mirrored Alicent’s motion and took a measured sip of her own wine.

Aegon let out a loud chuckle, clearly pleased with his wife’s boldness. He settled back into his seat, brimming with pride as she held her ground.

“It has come to our attention, my lord,” began Otto Hightower, the king’s Hand, clearing his throat to regain the room’s focus, “that there are whispers of betrayal within the kingdom.” Aegon nodded as Otto spoke, giving him his full attention, though Y/N listened more intently than she showed.

“It is said there are rebels among the commoners who seek your death,” Otto continued gravely.

As the council deliberated on possible responses, each suggestion seemed more futile and extreme than the last. The lords’ plans were all rash, aimed more at silencing rumors than solving the root problem, and Y/N knew each proposal would only stoke the fires of unrest. Though several of the council members exchanged uneasy glances, noting her uncharacteristic silence, none dared question her outright.

Aegon, too, was surprised by Y/N’s unresponsiveness; she was usually one of the first to offer counsel. But as he gazed at her, his mind drifted back to the passion they’d shared the previous night, smirking at the memory. He suspected she might still be distracted by the effect he’d had on her.

Y/N, however, was deep in thought. While remnants of the night before lingered in her mind, she was more focused on a plan—one that, she knew, would not sit well with the king.

----

A/N- I really enjoyed writing this one!

Part 2 available here

Please like, reblog and comment if you enjoyed:)

My requests are open!

#aegon x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x you

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yannaryartside · 7 months ago

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CARMY NEVER WANTED TO CREATE A MENU WITH SYD.

AND WHY THAT IS THE CORE THEME OF THE SHOW

PART 1: THE LIE THAT CARMY BELIEVES

So, one of the bases of creating an efficient character arc is to give the character something they want, and something they need. In the pursuit of getting what they want, the theme of the show and obstacles will show them what they need. Most of the time, they need healing from an emotional wound that prevents them from growing into the ultimate version of themselves, capable of winning the challenges of the story. I will try to explore Carmy's wound and, more importantly, the lie that created that wound.

In 'The negative trait thesaurus" by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi, it reads:

"Wounds are often kept secret from others because embedded within them is the lie-an untruth that the character believes about himself."

When I started therapy (disclaimer: this is not professional advice; I am just talking from how I interpreted all of this), I was introduced to the concept of "limiting beliefs:" lies we have told ourselves about our own nature or the nature of the world. The most difficult beliefs to leave behind are those established in our early childhoods, and we told ourselves those lies to make sense of the world, to make peace with realities we were not equipped to comprehend yet.

Some examples of lies people belive:

"I am too stupid to learn anything; my teacher said so" "It was my fault that I was molested." "I am a bad person for wanting a different life."

When people believe these lies, they will act accordingly, maybe attracting situations that hurt them but keeping the lie active in their lives. They may self-sabotage or create bonds with people who also believe the lie, even if it doesn't seem this way.

In some cases, people may develop complete personalities or behaviors to prove the lie wrong, but deep down, they still believe in the lie. Carmy falls into this last category. This is where we find the most contradictory parts of his personality, how he can act shy and insecure in some instances and appear confident and even aggressive in others.

Long post underneath.

THE RESENT OF A MOTHER:

We can only assume here because I think Storer is gonna let us know more about this soon, but I think I got an idea of this wound when I saw the only moment Carmy was alone with Donna on "Fishes."

I have a lot of things to say about Donna herself, but let's begin with the obvious: the conversation in this scene had little to do with the dinner itself. This was a woman stating that she felt alone and not valued, probably due to being abandoned by her husband and having to overwork herself at the beef to support her 3 kids, all while being a single mother. We don't know if this feeling of abandonment is something she has carried since childhood, but in the state of current womanhood, it wouldn't be uncommon. The work of women (especially mothers), particularly the emotional labor, is rather invisible and not valued at all.

But again, this is something she has used as fuel to resent her kids, who, at the end of the day, didn't ask to be here. Her anger has to go somewhere since she cannot direct it toward the people that ctually caused it. To get to the point:

THE BEARZATTO SYBLING DYNAMIC

Carmy said, "You are not alone; I am here with you." (This kind of comes back to telling Syd she was not alone at the end of the season.) This scene is about a kid trying to communicate to his mother that he loves her and trying desperately to connect with her, to get her to express her affection for him as well.

It tells me that growing up, he felt like he had to "earn" her affection. Donna likes to make her kids feel guilty about her unhappiness, so the kids feel that they are constantly walking on shells because they think their mother hates them, or at least that she resents them and that it is their responsibility to fix it.

In the scene, Carmy asked,

"What is so hard, Mom?"

I think what he was actually asking is, "What is so hard about being with us, to love us? What did we do to you that made you resent us this way?" He is asking because he wants to know, to finally understand. Why do you drink, Mom? Why do you yell? Why do you say such hurtful things?

When she answers, "Nobody makes things beautiful for me," you can see in his face the disconnection. He knows he can't do anything about that.

Then, a crucial part in the scene occurs when Donna calls him "Michael, " which indicates that the only one of her children who could make her feel happy was Michael, or at least that is how the other two kids felt. You can see the hurt in Carmy's eyes in the scene because this answer dismisses his effort to connect to his mother in his own right. She asks him to just leave. He offers to wait to connect with her. Then, it comes to the most chilling moment on the scene, the "we have a problem" using his full name, with resentment in every word. She hugs him while crying, kisses him, and then slaps him.

This is rejection. There is a book called "The Five Wounds of the Soul": wich are Rejection, Abandonment, Humiliation, Betrayal, and Injustice. I think Carmy's wound is rejection, for never earning his mother's love, particularly comparing himself to Michael.

Michael took responsibility for the Beef, finally giving their mom a break. It was Michael's job to make sure everyone was having a good time, to compensate for the discomfort that caused being in Donna's presence, to make sure all of them stayed as a family, which was Donna's intention, so Michael thought he had to make that happen for her. Therefore, Michael is the only one of her kids who succeeds and makes her happy. We know Donna rejects Natalie and Carmy. About Natalie, we can write another whole essay.

THE LIE THAT CARMY BELIVES

According to this scene, I think Carmy thinks that her mother didn't love him because he is not Michael; in fact, he is the most "not like Michael" someone could be. He was shy and stuttered and didn't have friends or girlfriends, comparable to Michael's ability to control every room he was in. Carmy was sensible and no macho alfa as Michael presented himself to be. Carmy left home and the family business, and both Michael and Donna expressed that they feel like he thinks he is better than them. Michael admitted later to admiring Carmy's work in Copenhagen, but Donna never did. carmy grew up having to live with the crumbles of Donna's attention that Michael left behind, wondering every day what was so wrong with him that made her reject him, and wondering what he could do to change that.

The lie that Carmy belives, could be sumarize this way:

I need to earn people's love. I need to always go the extra mile, doing the most possible at all times to earn people's love.

This all goes back to his trauma with Michael. It goes back to his career as a chef and how he became the best. He didn't need to succeed on a larger scale in the culinary industry to earn Michael's respect and love; he needed to be the best in the world, so he did that. He judges his own social abilities, comparing them to Miachae's. He left that promising career only because of Michae's death. He got the girlfriend Michael wanted for him (not saying it was the only reason, but it was there).

PART 2: WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS HAD TO DO WITH SYDNEY?

Well, what does a person who feels they always need to do the most? They do the most. I want to bring you back to the moments Carmy had to develop menu ideas with Syd on s1 and s2.

When Syd suggested items for the menu in s1, he gave her an inconclusive, not enthusiastic "maybe."

When she had to actually cook the thing for him to approve, he tried to make her feel small about it. He felt the need to remind her that she was "impatient and green," according to her previous bosses. He commented about her possibly ruining the flow by using time to cook her recipe. Yikes all around, but the core here is that he was treating her like an enemy, like competition, while she was trying to save the restaurant with what they had on hand to use the most efficient solution.

Then, when Carmy tries the dish and feels stunned by it, he has to make an ambiguous excuse on the fly and just finishes every chance of them using the recipe by saying, "is not ready yet"

And what does he do next? He goes to show the crew a recipe that is extremely complicated for the level they are operating at currently—they said so themselves. I think the recipe is a variation of Donna's butter chicken recipe. To put a nail on that coffin of his intentions to earn her love and approval at the end of it all.

But why does he do all this? Because he needs to be the hero, subconsciously, he is still that small kid begging for acceptance and love; he must go the extra mile. He cannot accept Sydney's help and partnership, because that will take away from him earning what he wants on his own merit.

In S2, he seems unenthusiastic about starting the menu in the first place. Then Claire comes along, and he tries to make it work with Syd and the menu, but I think he subconsciously thanks the universe for not having to go to his core wound. That is what self-sabotage is. That is why he bailed on the food tour with Syd, using such a stupid excuse as helping somebody else move out and never mentioning it again. He never asked her what she liked or what ideas she thought of. For most of the creative process, Syd is alone, working on her own creative crisis. The menu ends up being like two recipes they made in collaboration and then all of his family's traditional recipes. It is two of Syd's recipes and the rest of Carmy's. Then, desserts Marcus did on his own. The collaboration was superficial at best.

All of this creates the core theme of the show. The Bear was once a chaotic place (like their childhood home) that needs to evolve into an efficient, peaceful place built on love, support, and mutual collaboration like a functional family should be. Sydney is the member of this found family that forces Carmy to confront his core wound and learn he can actually be good enough while still accepting help. Therapy probably will play an important part in this theme, alongside with Carmy learning there was nothing wrong with him in the first place, that earning your parent's love is not something a kid can do.

Thankyou for reading. Gif and images are not mine.

#sydcarmy #the bear meta #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #the bear #sydney x carmy #carmy the bear #carmy x sydney #the bear hulu #donna berzatto #michael berzatto #natalie berzatto

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redbleedingrose · 3 months ago

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Rhys absolutely LOVES hip dips. Am I saying this because I have very prominent hip dips with thick thighs… yes…

I just want Rhys. That it’s.

Listen.... Do I have a firm belief that Illyrian males love their women chubby??? Yes. One thousand percent yes. NSFW 18+ in the last paragraph

Rhysand x Reader

Okay so listen, growing up... it was really hard to accept what you looked like. Your parents, particularly your mother, was always on top of you about your weight, harrassing you about the curves and extra chub on the side of your hips and arms. She always had something to say, and it really impacted the way you looked at yourself, the way you felt about yourself, and your confidence.

It took years to build up that confidence, and a lot of that is because of your extremely handsome mate if you know what I mean ;)

You were taught from a young age that males who look like Rhysand would never take a second glance at you, let alone even care enough to take a good enough first glance. But Rhys???

The first night he saw you, he couldn't tear his eyes away. He could feel his entire body alight with desire and need. The way your hair perfectly framed your full cheeks, your dress accentuating all of your curves, the plump of your breasts and the softness of your belly. The way your full hips swayed so alluringly to the music of the Starfall festival's different entertainers in the streets of Velaris. He just knew.

He knew everything and nothing all at once. Your pretty eyes locking with his darkened amythests. You couldn't believe you caught your high lords gaze. You couldn't even fathom you kept his gaze. You kept looking away, thinking he would have moved on to a prettier female, a thinner female. But there he was. Standing on the balcony of one of the famed restaurants of the Rainbow, looking down at you like you are the first and only star he has ever seen in a sky of darkness.

Every time you looked back, his eyes were on you. Only you. All over you, consuming you like a starved male. It was overwhelming to say the least, the most powerful high lord fixated so clearly on you. You did the only thing you could think, try to disappear within the crowd, to run home and hide away. It is what you have been taught to do all your life, make yourself small and hide away. Rhys didn't let you get too far though. Winnowing silently into a pace right next to you as you passed through the empty alley using a shortcut down to your little apartment on the Sidra, murmuring in a husk, "Leaving so soon, my pretty little peach?"

And you nearly tripped over, yelping from the heart attack he gave you. Your knees locked before you after frantically stepping back a foot, halting you from moving any further as you turned to face him, death incarnate, standing before you, a whole head a half taller than you with the darkness of the night seemingly rolling off his shoulders. The people of Velaris adore their high lord, night triumphant a common nickname for the male standing before you used by his commonwealth. But you can't help the anxiety that strikes your heart that begins to beat hard and fast enough, that you are nearly sure he can hear it with how he eases his hands up in surrender, violet eyes twinkling with the star of mischief eyeing at where your hand presses against your heaving chest. "My apologies dream, I didn't mean to startle you," an almost sheepish grin gracing his beautiful face, "You left in a hurry, and I wanted to make sure you were alright... safe."

Your shoulders drop a bit as you let out a sigh of relief, "I am fine, thank you Lord Rhysand, I was just --" "Rhys," he chimes softly, "Please call me Rhys."

You raise a brow at him, crossing your arms over your chest, making your cleavage even more tantalizing to the male before you. "Uh huh. Anyway, Lord Rhysand, as I was saying, I was just headed home. I've had a long night." The high lord chuckled at your sass, broad shoulders shaking as mirth filling his entire being as he shook at his head. His pretty little peach dream is fierce, Mother help him. "Let me walk you home," titling his head to the side as he shoved his tattooed hands into his pockets, trying to make himself appear less intimidating than the high lord he is.

Skepticism was clear on your face while you shifted on your feet, "Pardon, but don't you have better, more pressing things to do? You know, as high lord?" The handsome male shook his head again, this time, more firmly as he replied with conviction, "Not at all peach." You eyed him up and down again, trying to drink in aura standing before you, trying to analyze him for any hesitation on his part, and you couldn't see any. Letting your arms fall with a sigh, you nodded before continuing your walk silently.

And the rest was history.

It took years for you to give him your trust, your friendship, and even longer to give him your love. It wasn't that you didn't want to, but the fact that you just couldn't come to terms that someone like him, someone who looked as strikingly beautiful as him would want to spend time with you, would want to love you. And all throughout, you couldn't come to terms that the high lord found you attractive. It was an insecurity that raged like a fire constant and deep, a fire that couldn't be put out until decades into your relationship.

And in all that time, Rhys spent every second loving all of you. Even the parts that you hated, he couldn't get enough of. Your curves, specifically your hips, gods those hip dips, and your tummy. Your body made him feral inside. It was a drive he had, a natural instinctual drive, to make you his. Your body was that of a goddess, and he knew it. And he wanted to make sure you knew it too.

It started with small compliments here and there, about your hair, how it flowed perfectly and framed your face. Then, he moved to your face; how it glowed under the light of the stars, how your full cheeks looked beautiful when you smiled. He cautiously moved to your body. Adoring how you fit in your dresses, the way your hips would sway and the pudge of your thighs, how they made perfectly good cushions for his head to rest on while he whined about the difficulties of running the court. How your tummy was perfect in every way, how it made him feel so proud, that his girl was healthy and never had to worry about being hungry. He often thought about things like your tummy growing with his babes. How your breasts were so full and soft. He often thought that your tits would hold the best milk for his babes when he pumps you full of them.

And then he moves forward with making you feel more comfortable with yourself. Showing you that he can handle all of you, that he wants to handle all of you. He forces you to sit on his lap no matter where you are, whether it is at the dining table with the other inner circle members or out drinking in Rita's or conferencing with other high lords. Your throne is his lap. He also cherishes the way the chub of your hips feel under his hands, he handles them constantly. If he needs you to shift to the side or moves behind you, he will move you over using your love handles with a gentle tap to your ass and a kiss to the cheek.

The male is just needy for you.

He wants to grip at the meat on your thighs with his rough hands while you bounce on his large cock. He needs to see your soft tits and tummy giggle while he spears in and out of you. He wants to spread you out on the dining table and eat you out like you were his last meal. He wants to bury his face in your tits, suckling on your rock hard nipple while he pinches and rolls the other. He wants to leave marks all over the fat that sits above your hips, on your chubby thighs, on your neck and shoulders. He wants everyone to know and see who you belong to.

Anyway, yeah he is an utter slut for hip dips and for you.

(The other Bat boys and Vanserra Bros also love their females chubby)

Masterlist

#rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar #rhys x reader #rhysand headcanon #rhys fanfic #rhys acotar #rhysand #rhys headcanons #rose writes #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfic #rhysand smut #rhys x you #a court of thorns and roses

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siriuslyobsessedwithfiction · 2 months ago

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Alina Starkov - the most inconsistent main character. A tragedy of not wanting to have an identity.

The main character in Shadow and Bone trilogy, a prime example of "she deserved better". A.k.a. soldier, Sun Summoner, Sun Saint. In reality, a false saint and a false hero, who has less personality, goals, spine and consistency than her three love interests. How did this happen? Short answer - bad writing. Long answer? Here we go.

Her character at the beginning - a blank slate.

Physically small and weak, sickly, fragile, with a sour face and sourer attitude. Grew up in an orphanage funded by a Duke, who they were taught to basically worship while looking down on religion and beliefs in saints. Children in the orphanage were beaten if they misbehaved or didn't do chores, but were given education and fine food, which means they were faring better than peasants and farmers. Alina had not many, but several options in her life. She could learn a trade that would not require physical labour, like sewing. Or, she could marry and hope her husband was gracious enough to buy a donkey instead of making her carry heavy sacks of salt on her back, as we see a random man do to his wife. But Alina had no hobbies, interests, aspirations or ambitions in her life. Except her childhood friend Mal. Mal gets a mandatory draft in the First Army, and of course Alina follows, and settles for being a mediocre cartographer. Mal thrives in the army, showing off muscles and hooking up with women, while Alina dutifully waits for him saints know why. She doesn't have other genuine friends, she doesn't like people, she doesn't like anything. This is not a bad start in a sense that there is much room for growth and improvement.

Refusing to belong

Alina discovers she's a long awaited sun summoner, who can vanquish the Fold and unite Ravka. She doesn't want to be special, but not for the reasons you might think. Instead of fearing the burden of such an important task or genuinely becoming paranoid of being assassinated (she gets over those in five minutes), she just...doesn't want the responsibility of actually being useful for something. She'd rather not have powers at all, and go back to being in a constantly sickly state. She'd rather be tailing Mal like a mouse. Which doesn't make any sense for following reasons:

Alina's insecurities in SaB:

Not being pretty and talented

2. Not being as pretty and talented as Grisha

3. Being an orphan, being unwanted.

Being a Grisha actually solves all those problems for her. She gets prettier and healthier once she stops repressing her powers, has a unique cool power, and a community that cares for her. Plus, the support from important figures in Ravka. In time, she could have a family.

Instead, she refuses to acknowledge she's one of them, doesn't train properly, preferring to cling to her prejudices and make digs at Grisha. She'd rather complain that they're prettier, confident and pampered than acknowledge they are serfs, nothing but glorified servants with no basic human rights. Instead of her superstitions and prejudices being shattered when she starts living with them and realizing what Grisha have to go through, becoming rightfully enraged that her people are being treated this way, she still doesn't feel any empathy. In fact, she still doesn't see the General as a HUMAN BEING WHO MIGHT HAVE FEELINGS, even though he makes time in his busy schedule of running an army to make sure she's comfortable, jokes along with her, listens to her fears and reassures her, etc. Why would he go through the trouble if he was heartless? He's the General of the Second Army, by the King's law, she's his soldier. She is obligated to obey him regardless.

The narrative supports her delusions.

I get missing her friend, I get struggling to adjust, but it's more than that. Alina is getting dragged along from a plot point to a plot point kicking and screaming, as if she has anything better to do. She doesn't have a life, why is she so against of getting one? Once she finally somewhat adjusts to her life in the Little Palace, it turns out Darkling has had malicious intents towards her powers all along! Aha, you were right to be prejudiced, Alina! Now abandon your people, your country, and run!

“He … he said that Darklings are born without souls. That only something truly evil could have created the Shadow Fold.”

Imagine telling a person who saved your life that he was a soulless abomination, even though you do not know him, and he is still kind to you and reveals as much about him as he can. There is no grooming and manipulation here, it's just called not being a bitch. Darkling tells Alina he's over 120 years old, Alina is an adult, and the damned kiss was consensual. Of course he didn't tell her everything. Even regular people don't reveal their life-long ambitions and deepest childhood trauma to their crush after several conversations. It took Alina months to stop being in denial about being a Grisha, still didn't like being one, you're telling me if Darkling set her down and explained the complex political situation and his plan to overthrow the corrupt monarchy and bring an end to the war, Alina wouldn't jump out of the window?

Alina running away, not confronting the problem, and straight up deciding Darkling was evil incarnate with no evidence snowballed into Darkling deciding she couldn't be trusted and taking more drastic measures. Liberation of his people was on the line and one pesky girl screwed up a carefully planned coup because she couldn't handle her feelings.

False badassery

Throughout the whole three books, every time Alina makes a decision, it's immediately followed by self-doubt, shame and scorn. But no actual objective criticism. We often see variations of "It was foolish, but I didn't care", "I knew it was reckless but I couldn't bring myself to care", but never her actually analyzing why, or deciding not to do something like that again. Her small victories are immediately followed by thoughts on how would others feel about it, even though the person in question isn't even there and couldn't give less of a shit: "Never is it to be said that Ana Kuya didn't teach us manners", "A cheap trick, but a good one. Nikolai would be proud". Ana Kuya was an abusive mother figure, Nikolai was using Alina's status to get the throne. Sure, it's good that Alina is capable of learning useful things from every kinds of people, but she doesn't think "That was smart of me. I learnt that. I'm proud of myself for an accomplishment". She thinks "Is it good? Would they like it? They like things like that, right?". She attaches herself to people that fit her view of "deserving" and helps them, even though it might not be for the best. Extreme lack of self-worth, combined with entitlement.

When Alina hears a rumour Darkling ordered his heartrenders to sew a traitor's mouth shut, she's horrified. Even though that's hardly the worst punishment for a traitor in an army. But when some pilgrims insult Genya, she orders to have their tongues cut out after they're given only one warning. When Alina commits violence at slightest provocation, it's baddass. But when Darkling commits a controlled necessary military act to stop enemies from overrunning the country, it's madness and is falsely labeled genocide. Look up the definition, genocide is what was happening to Grisha.

The Darkling never kidnapped children and put them in the war zone. He only lied to Alina that he did, a clever strategy with no bloodshed. Meanwhile, Alina let her cult fight for her, whose members were brainwashed children, some only twelve years old.

When Alina faces a dilemma or a tense military situation, her go-to strategy is suicide. That is not martyrdom, nor it is badass.

Darkling became a bad person out of good intentions and desperation, Alina is just a bad selfish person.

Desperate people are the ones capable of the worst acts. Darkling didn't go nearly as crazy as he could, and frankly had a right to on behalf of his people.

"Aleksander had marched south with the king’s soldiers, and when they’d faced the Shu in the field, he’d unleashed darkness upon their opponents, blinding them where they stood. Ravka’s forces had won the day. But when Yevgeni had offered Aleksander his reward, he had refused the king’s gold. “There are others like me, Grisha, living in hiding. Give me leave to offer them sanctuary here and I will build you an army the likes of which the world has never seen.”

It doesn't matter how much genocide, prejudice, abuse and dehumanization the Grisha suffered through for centuries all around the world, Alina never bothers to look at the big picture. Her help is only for those who she deems worthy of it.

She attaches herself to people who fit her narrow-minded view of "worthy". She immediately believes Baghra's rather flimsy expose of Darkling, even though the old woman has been nothing but unhelpful to her, only insulting her and beating her. But Alina associates her with her only mother figure, Ana Kuya, another old hag she had a toxic relationship with. And even though Baghra is an immensely powerful Grisha who refuses to help or even lift a finger, or just spit out vital information, Alina coddles her and provides protection. Instead of telling her to fess up the useful information and save her unhelpful comments, Alina looks up to her as a mentor.

When Genya tells her story, Alina feels bad for her, but not bad enough to see things her perspective. She only becomes protective of Genya once she gets mutilated, out of pity. If it was genuine compassion, she would've forgiven and understood her from the start.

Every Grisha has been hunted and shamed for merely existing, almost every Grisha has lost a loved one to war. But Alina pointedly ignores it, because she doesn't personally know and care for those people. Therefore, she doesn't feel empathetic. Because if she feels empathetic, she might start feeling guilty about how she runs away from her responsibilities at every given opportunity. Just look at this passage:

“You know what he plans to do, Ivan.” “He plans to bring us peace.” “At what price?” I asked desperately. “You know this is madness.” “Did you know I had two brothers?” Ivan asked abruptly. The familiar smirk was gone from his handsome face. “Of course not. They weren’t born Grisha. They were soldiers, and they both died fighting the King’s wars. So did my father. So did my uncle.” “I’m sorry.” “Yes, everyone is sorry. The King is sorry. The Queen is sorry. I’m sorry. But only the Darkling will do something about it.”

The Darkling never wanted power for selfish reasons. He didn't want to take over other countries or lift Grisha above regular people. He wanted his kind to have basic human rights. Centuries of diplomacy and servitude only gave him enough power to make a school for Grisha children and save adults from slavery and getting slaughtered by serving nobles. He wanted to use the Fold as a border, to stop enemies from invading whenever they pleased, so he would have the time to save Ravka from collapsing. What has Alina done? Started a civil war, destroyed the Second army and helped put a morally dubious man with no claim on the throne to continue an outdated absolute monarchy tradition.

Alina Starkov was meant to be the sun, but turned out to be a trick of the light.

Every time it felt like Alina was emerging from her cocoon as a beautiful butterfly, embracing her true self, she went back to the toxic situationship and the toxic mindset. The narrative also always struck her down. Every book begins and ends with her being sickly, fragile, missing an essential part of herself. It would be good if it was written differently and showed themes of being disabled or having a chronic illness accurately, but it's not. It started out well. Alina was removed from an abusive environment, found a purpose in life, started loving her newfound powers, outgrew the stupid crush who she was way too dependent on, but it all went downhill from there. And then some. This constant vicious cycle does not fit the theme of growth and improvement, and neither does the ending, where Alina loses her powers and goes back to the orphanage. Once again, she's frail and strange, servants (who she now employs) don't respect her, sneer and make fun of her, while her now husband Mal turns a blind eye. Everything is back to the way it was: Mal thrives, Alina is...there. The ending is supposed to be bittersweet, a couple who survived a war building a new life together, but I don't see the sweet part.

Trick of the light - definition: something appearing different from what actually is as a result of the quality of light.

Darkling wanted her to be a strong Grisha, his equal and balance. Grisha wanted her to be a capable leader, Bataar twins wanted a living saint they could worship, Nikolai wanted a wife interested in Ravka and politics. Alina tried to be all of that, but never really wanted to be any of those, so she half-assed it. Mal wanted the version of Alina who was small and insignificant, because anything more made him insecure, and he got his wish.

Illusion, mirage, spectre.

No matter how much the author tries to tell us that Alina's every problem is Darkling's fault, her thought process and actions paint a different picture. Alina was never mentally healthy and she never addressed or resolved her problems. Growing up in a controlled and abusive environment affected her more than anyone, including herself, wants to admit. I am not a licensed psychiatrist, so I will refrain from officially diagnosing Alina, even though she's a fictional character. I am NOT saying I know for certain that Alina has these, if any, mental problems, but she does have some alarming symptoms. It seems like depersonalization. While her symptoms don't fit into one particular mental disorder, I am reminded of psychiatric infantilism, but it is not a mental illness with symptoms. Psychiatric infantilism doesn't necessarily mean the person acts outwardly childishly. To explain very roughly and simply, it means the psych is not as developed as it should be (even if the person is very smart and clever). It shows in avoiding responsibility or not feeling it at all, problems with social connections, not seeing the big picture and taking it seriously, etc. When Harshaw tells the story of his brother getting brutally murdered by people who hate Grisha, even brash Zoya is appalled and expresses her condolences. While all Alina thinks about is that Harshaw might base his hope of having a better life on her now.

Alina also might have Dependent Personality Disorder, but it's hard to say, since we are never shown her being on her own long enough to see whether or not she can take actually care of herself. But her relationship with Mal, Darkling and Baghra (after she no longer objectively needs them) is weird, to say the least.

She never gains the sense of self or an identity, she refuses to become something, then delivers an inner monologue of accepting her fate and five minutes later goes back on her words. Her willingness to sacrifice her life is never out of thinking of the greater good and future, justice, or patriotism. She just doesn't want to live, especially without Mal, who has been doing nothing but shitting on her. Her titles are slapped on her, and she peels them off. Her personality never really changes. Everything she went through feels like a really bad exchange program she was in for a year, and from which she has learnt nothing.

P.S. I don't hate Alina's character, I just mourn her lost potential.

If you have made it to the end, I salute you, congratulations and thank you. 😊 🙏 ❤️

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doumadono · 1 year ago

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Upper Moons & Muzan & blind s/o - headcanons

Warnings: blind fem!reader Requested by: anonymous

MASTERLIST

Muzan

Initially, he dismisses you as someone unworthy of his attention. He sees your disability as a weakness, something that only hinders your existence. This disdainful attitude stems from his belief in power and dominance, where strength is synonymous with worth. As Muzan observes you navigating the world with remarkable resilience and adaptability, a small flicker of curiosity sparks within him. Your ability to face adversity head-on, overcoming obstacles that would have left others paralyzed, commands his respect. He is fascinated by your sheer willpower and the strength you exhibit despite your visual impairment.

Kokushibo

At first, Kokushibo maintains his stoic demeanor, but as he observes you, a flicker of curiosity sparks within him. He is intrigued by the your ability to navigate the world without relying on sight. Secretly, he admires your resilience and resourcefulness, seeing it as a testament to the power of human adaptability. Kokushibo deeply admires the strength you possess, recognizing the immense challenges of living and navigating life without vision.

Akaza

Akaza, with his fierce and protective nature, feels a strong sense of responsibility towards you. He becomes your steadfast guardian, always ensuring your safety and offering unwavering support. Despite his own frustrations and inner turmoil, witnessing your unwavering determination inspires him to overcome his own obstacles. Driven by his deep respect for women, he wholeheartedly dedicates himself to providing you with unwavering care and assistance. He sees it as his personal mission to ensure your well-being, going above and beyond to support you in every possible way.

Douma

At first, Douma finds amusement in the fact that you are blind. He has never encountered someone like you before, whose heightened senses compensate for the lack of sight. Your unique perspective and abilities intrigue him, adding an element of novelty to your interactions. However, as he spends more time with you, he begins to unravel a newfound empathy within himself. He realizes that your lack of sight accentuates your other senses, making them acutely perceptive and sensitive. In a rare display of vulnerability, Douma becomes your confidant, offering solace and a listening ear, understanding that sometimes, the most profound connections are forged in darkness.

Sekido

Sekido, with his straightforward and practical nature, struggles to comprehend your blindness. Sekido's frustration simmers beneath the surface when you get lost easily or face moments of doubt due to your blindness. It's difficult for him to find the right words to console you, as his anger clouds his ability to express empathy. He approaches the situation with a mix of confusion and frustration, finding it difficult to relate to your experiences. However, as he witnesses your unwavering determination and unwavering spirit, he gains a newfound appreciation for your resilience. Slowly, he learns to adapt his straightforward ways to offer support in practical ways, becoming your dependable ally in a sightless world.

Urogi

Urogi, with his carefree and whimsical personality, takes an immediate liking to you. He sees your lack of sight as an opportunity to introduce you to a different perspective on life. Urogi becomes your guide, using vivid descriptions and tactile experiences to paint a vivid picture of the world around you. Urogi, in his playful nature, frequently explores the heightened sensitivity of your other senses, particularly touch. Sometimes, without any warning, he runs his talons gently up and down your back, causing you to let out an unexpected yelp of surprise.

Karaku

Karaku is initially uncertain how to approach you. He chooses to observe from the sidelines, quietly noting your interactions with others. Karaku, known for his mischievous nature, approaches the situation with a lighthearted demeanor. He teases you about being blind, using humor as a way to cope with the circumstances. While his jests may sometimes border on insensitivity, his intention is to bring levity and laughter into your life. He sees it as an opportunity to foster resilience and self-empowerment, encouraging you to rise above the limitations and find strength within yourself. Inspired by your perceptive nature, Karaku finds solace in your presence, learning that sometimes, silence speaks louder than any visual spectacle.

Aizetsu

Aizetsu, embodying the essence of sorrow, can't help but feel a deep sadness in witnessing your lack of vision. He understands the profound impact that sight has on one's perception of the world and the emotions that arise from not being able to experience it fully. Aizetsu feels an immediate sense of protectiveness towards you. He becomes your unwavering support, offering a steady arm and a calming presence. His gentle guidance allows you to navigate the world with confidence, providing reassurance in your moments of doubt. Aizetsu, the reflection of sorrow, feels a deep connection to you. He recognizes a kindred spirit in you, as you both carry a weight of darkness within.

Zohakuten

Zohakuten, with his brash and impulsive nature, struggles to comprehend your blindness. He often finds himself frustrated by your inability to appreciate the beauty he sees in the world. However, as he witnesses your unwavering determination and strength, he begins to question his own prejudices. Zohakuten begins to admire the profound strength that emanates from deep within you, independent of your senses. He's quick to defend you when his counterparts treat you in a manner he deems unacceptable. He engages in heated arguments with them, standing up for your well-being and demanding that you be treated with the respect and care he believes you deserve.

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lowkeyerror · 7 months ago

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The Family Business Ch.11

WandaNat x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Ch. Notes: Violence, Physical assualt

Summary: Fisk is not happy with the way things turned out regarding the docks. He makes his own power play in retaliation that puts everyone on notice.

An: Sorry for not updating yesterday guys but Im planning on posting again before Monday to make it up to you

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wilson Fisk was never one to shy away from the reality of a situation. To him, living life in such a make-believe state would not propel him to the success that he craved. He had built an empire, a kingdom, but had no one to share it with. He lost his family, and with them gone, the only thing to fill the void was power.

Fisk was addicted to it. He needed it. It was only thing that made him feel good. So, though his empire was large he was acutely aware that it wasn’t the largest. The Maximoff’s presence cast a large looming shadow over his own. So, he looked to take care of that problem.

Fisk knew he would shoot Dragos Maximoff as soon as they agreed to meet in private. He assumed the Sokovian was a man of his word and would come alone. He was mistaken, and he hated making mistakes.

Knowing that the Dragos was hospitalized was good, at first. Fisk didn’t care if the man lived or died because he thought that without Dragos in the way the Maximoff’s would crumble. He was again, mistaken.

The reality of the situation was that Wilson Fisk underestimated the remaining Maximoff’s. He was foolish to believe that New York city would become his so quickly.

An oil spill was clever. It was big, messy, and destructive, but it would always go over as an accident. Fisk realizes that simply blowing up the pier wouldn’t have halted things as much. The play was high IQ.

His large fist slammed against his desk nearly snapping it in half. While the Maximoff’s were getting calls placing orders, Fisk was taking order cancelations. He was having the people he got on his side retract their support. He was losing the power, and he would not take kindly to giving up anymore.

Watching them retreat would never be enough. He wanted the Maximoff’s to crumble beneath him, to beg him for mercy. They had embarrassed him in one foul swoop and he would stop at nothing to have them burn with the same feeling.

You weren’t naïve enough to believe retaliation wouldn't be coming. It arguably was giving you anxiety. All the waiting and looking over your shoulder would've taken a larger toll on you if you were dealing with them alone.

However, you weren’t alone. In fact, contrary to your previous belief, Wanda did not forget the terms you agreed to. You spent your nights between the spy and temporary crime boss.

It became somewhat of a routine. Even if you went to your apartment after work, you’d always end up at their place soon after. It’s nice, and that's why you refuse to question it.

It helps you sleep restfull, but occupies too much of your mind when you're awake. It makes you feel like a teenager. The only person you can confide in is Kate. You tell her, but she’s not much help. Kate encourages this and pushes you to take more emotional comfort from the women.

Your feet hit the ground a little harder than normal as you run this morning. You think about the familiar, almost instinctual attraction you have for Wanda. Then your mind turns to the new undiscovered feelings you have for her wife. You found yourself craving to be in proximity with the Russian more and more.

Natasha had a warmth around her. She had no problem taking the backseat and blending in, but the moment she sensed anything was amiss she sprang into action quickly. Recently she had started making sure you had a lunch at work after Kate told her you’d usually skip it. There was no point in trying to turn down anything from the woman. Though you hadn’t known each other long it seemed like she just understood you.

You’re too occupied with your thoughts, and not paying enough attention to your surroundings. When you stop running, you go to turn around but a firm hand on your shoulder stops you. A gun is pressed firmly against your spine.

“We’re going to have a little chat. Now keep walking,” the man says guiding you with his hand.

You don’t say anything, you simply follow his instructions. Your nerves don’t fret, even as he directs you to an alley. Once you’re out of public view, he turns you to face him.

“Y/n, high ranking employee of the Maximoff Family,” he spoke, the gun now aimed at your sternum.

“Fisk,” you’re glare is unwavering.

He sizes you up, “Aren’t you a sweet little thing? Unfortunately, I’m going to have to put a dent in that pretty face you got.”

“Killing me would only hurt you in the long run,” you say to him.

He smiles, “It would, you’re absolutely right, but hurting you sends a message.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you keep your eyes on his.

He laughs, “Me? No, I don’t get my hands dirty for people like you. I’m only here to make sure you relay this to whoever’s in charge. Tell them that I won’t stop, tell them that surrender is no longer an option, and tell them they should keep an eye on the hospital.”

The last line sends you over the edge and before you know it, you’re attempting to disarm the mob boss. Your movements are fast but as soon as the gun is in your hand, you take a blow to the knees. You fall to the floor and the gun slides out of your hand.

Fisk bends down and picks up the gun, he tucks it into his coat. He looks down at you with a smile on his face, “Make sure she's recognizable boys. Until we meet again sweet thing."

You move to the closest man to you and immediately twist his neck with a satisfying snap. He drops onto the floor and before you can get to another you're on the floor with him. The men stomp you out harshly.

That’s when you notice your predicament. The alley that had once been empty was now filled with Fisk’s men. The large man himself, gets into a car at the end of the alley which drives away promptly.

The men circle around you, but you refuse to be fragile in this moment. You slowly stand and look at the men, there’s around 8 of them. It seems like time works in slow motion.

Once they’re certain they have the upper hand they begin to get more creative. They start using their fists and elbows connecting anywhere they can. The screams don't displace the pain you feel.

Your attempts to fight back only anger them further. You don’t know how long the beating continues for. You feel yourself slip in and out of consciousness a few times.

Blood coats your body in multiple places. You can’t tell when it starts or stops. You can barely breathe when they finally stop their assault.

“Send the Maximoff’s our regards,” one of the lackeys spit on you before laying a final nasty kick to your gut. He walks out of the alley with his men behind him.

Your back lay flat against the concrete as you stare up at the sky. Turning your head hurts, but you do it anyway. Carefully, you scoot yourself over to the wall and try to prop yourself up.

It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for you. You should’ve been home by now and you weren’t. Knowing Wanda and Natasha the search party would be deployed soon.

However, keeping your consciousness was becoming a task. Your breaths are shallow and labored. The pain finally starts to set in, and tears fall from your eyes. Everything hurts, so much so that you're afraid to try to stand up.

It couldn’t have been longer than half an hour when a car pulls up in the alleyway. Your head hangs heavy, and you hope to God that these people are on your side.

Pietro is the first to reach you. He can’t find any words to say as he sees you in this state. He begins to shake his head as he bends down to get a better look at you. His hand cups your face gently and it trembles.

It hurts, but you reach your hand out to hold his wrist, “Jesus Christ, Y/n.”

You hear more steps approaching, but you stay focused on the man in front of you. You’re scared for them to see you like this.

“Y/n,” There’s disbelief on her tongue as she whispers your name. She doesn’t want this to be you, but as your bloody tear-stained face raises to meet her eyes, her resolve crumbles.

Wanda can’t help the tears that immediately begin to fall out of her eyes. Your face had begun to swell, blood dripped from your nose, your lip was bleeding too. They could see the bruises beginning to form over your exposed arms and torso.

You gaze over at the other redhead who refuses to look at you. Her body posture is rigid, and her eyes are cast firmly on the ground, you can see how cloudy they are.

“We have to get her to the hospital,” Pietro says.

You nearly scream out, “NO!”

They see the alarm and panic in your face, but Natasha tries to reason with you, “Y/n, you’re hurt badly. They need to check you out or-"

“Bucky,” you cut her off, looking between Pietro and Wanda.

“Y/n, he doesn’t do that anymore and you know that” Pietro says softly.

“Try,” you counter back.

Pietro looks to his sister who nods. He reluctantly leaves his position next to you and pulls out his phone to make the call.

“Why not the hospital?”

You shake your head, but then wince, “It’s not safe.”

“Who said it wasn’t safe baby?” Wanda takes Pietro’s spot and places her hand in yours.

“Fisk, he said- he won’t stop, there’s no surrender, and that we should watch the hospital,” you attempt to struggle to your feet.

“Y/n-"

“We have to get Papa out Wanda. He’s not safe there, we have to move him, we have to,” you begin to work yourself up, the anxiety finally starts to hit you.

It's Natasha’s firm hand on your shoulder that keeps you in place, “Y/n, breathe with me.”

You go to protest, but the look of worry in her eyes causes you to pause. She takes a deep breath in, and you try to copy her, but you end up wincing.

Wanda sees this and lifts up your shirt to see your midsection badly bruised. Her touch is tender as her fingers glide over the faded cut on your side.

“You think anything they did will leave a scar like that?” You say with shallow breaths.

“If they weren't already going to die for doing this to you, I’d kill them for leaving a cut like that on you,” she says pulling your shirt back down.

Pietro walks back over to the three of you, “He said he'll do it, we just have to get her there.”

Wanda scoops you into her arms and walks you to the car. She carefully lays you down in the backseat before getting in herself. Pietro drives and Natasha takes the passenger seat. Wanda’s hand finds its way into your hair, trying to bring you any type of comfort.

“He told them to leave me recognizable, so they didn't focus too hard on my face after awhile,” you say to them.

“How many were there?” Natasha asks.

“8, 7 really, I snapped that guys neck first,” you recount.

“How did he get you?” Pietro asks next.

You frown, “I wasn’t paying enough attention when I was running. He came up behind me and put a gun to my back.”

“He pulled a gun on you?” You can feel the woman getting upset.

You take your hand and place it in hers, “I will be fine. Bucky’s going to patch me up real nice.”

Once you arrive at the former doctors house, you’re greeted by a less than enthusiastic James Buchanan Barnes or Bucky for short.

“I retired for a reason you know?” He says as he let’s you all into his home.

The sight of you in Wanda’s arms startles him a bit. Wanda asks, “Where are we putting her?”

“Upstairs second door on your right,” he finds himself quickly leading them to the room.

Wanda is careful as she lays you down. They all stand as Bucky begins to prepare for this job.

“What happened to you kid, were you hit by a bus?”

“8 on 1 attack,” Pietro explains.

“The bus might’ve been better then,” Bucky says as he begins to check the extent of your injuries.

You try not to move too much as he pokes and prods your body. Sometimes you hiss, groan, but you don’t flinch.

“So, what’s the diagnosis Buck?” Wanda has her eyes on you as she speaks.

“Luckily, I don't think anything is broken, but her ribs are severely bruised, and I think her right ankle is sprained. Besides that, I think it's just bruising and some small cuts. Her nose is fine, her lips are fine, and her head is fine. She’s going to have to keep her weight off of her leg and wrap her torso until she’s healed.”

Wanda nods, committing the words to memory, “What do I owe you?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing, anything for your family.”

Pietro smiles, “What would take for you to come back and be our family doctor. We’re going to need one soon.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “What you need a check up?”

Natasha speaks for the first time, “We’re going to war with Fisk.”

He winces, “Definitely sounds like you'll need a doctor, but I’m retired Ms.…”

“Natasha, Wanda’s wife,” she introduces herself.

“Congratulations, I hope you enjoy your marriage like I enjoy my retirement” he speaks genuinely.

“Buck, we could really use you on our side. Without Papa leading us, we need all the help we can get,” Wanda tries to sway him.

“What do you mean Dragos isn’t leading you?”

The room turns somber as Wanda begins to explain the situation to Bucky. The man keeps a neutral face through it all. He lets out a large sigh at the end of everything.

“When this is over, I'm going back into retirement understood?”

Wanda nods, “Thank you.”

After you leave Bucky’s, Pietro drops you all off at home. Wanda and Natasha help you into their apartment. They sit you on the couch with them on either side of you.

“I’ve sent some extra forces to the hospital to keep watch over Dragos. I’ve also told some of my people on the inside to take care of any of those men that did this to you,” Natasha’s jaw twitches as she speaks.

“Good,” you say flatly.

There’s a tension in the room. It’s weird considering how comfortable you’ve all been around each other. However now as you sit silently on the couch the air feels thick.

“You could’ve died in that alley,” Wanda speaks first.

You nod your head slightly, “I could’ve.”

“He could’ve shot you down right there,” she continues.

“But he didn’t,” you counter.

Wanda looks at her wife, silently asking for help. Natasha knows what Wanda wants to do and she supports it.

“Y/n, we have to talk about something, and we don’t know how it’s going to make you feel,” Natasha says taking ahold of your hand.

You nod at her words.

“And please, just listen before you say anything else,” Wanda’s nerves are present in her voice.

“Ok.”

The tension hasn’t left the room. You sit there, between the couple still slightly in pain. You hardly feel it though, all you could feel was the anxious air around you, waiting for the women to speak. It was nerve-wracking, it was stomach churning, and it was scary.

The thought of losing you terrified Wanda. The thought of losing you, without ever telling you how she felt was even more terrifying. She couldn’t wait any longer after the events of the day. It was her sign, and she was ready.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989

#lowkeyerror #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wandanat x reader #pietro maximoff #bucky barnes

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 4 months ago

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any tips would be appreciated, thanks! :)

hi, i was wondering if u could help me with writing a specific type of character? i have a character who’s a man with insecurity issues and he ends up acting weird towards the women around him (basically, he’s internalized the idea of “getting the girl makes you more of a man” without really realizing it). i want him to realize what he’s doing during the story and go thru a kind of “redemption arc” but how do i:

1. make it believable that he doesn’t realize what he’s doing/the harm he’s causing bc he grew up learning that message of toxic masculinity

2. make the “redemption arc” realistic and feel earned?

Hey there, fellow writer! Thanks so much for reaching out with such a thoughtful and complex character question. It's fantastic that you're diving into the nuances of toxic masculinity and character growth. This is a challenging but incredibly important topic to explore in fiction. Let's break this down and dive deep into crafting this character arc.

Understanding Your Character's Background

Before we get into the specifics of your questions, it's crucial to fully understand your character's background. This man's insecurity and internalized toxic masculinity didn't develop overnight. Consider factors like:

Family dynamics: What messages did he receive from his parents or guardians about masculinity and relationships?

Peer influences: How did his friends and classmates reinforce or challenge these ideas?

Media consumption: What movies, TV shows, or books shaped his view of male-female relationships?

Cultural context: How does his broader cultural background influence his beliefs about masculinity?

The more you understand about where these beliefs came from, the more believable his initial lack of self-awareness will be.

Now, let's tackle your specific questions:

Making it believable that he doesn't realize what he's doing/the harm he's causing

The key here is to show how deeply ingrained these beliefs are. Here are some strategies:

a) Normalize it in his world: Show other characters, especially male friends or family members, exhibiting similar behaviors without consequence. This reinforces the idea that it's "normal" or even expected.

b) Internal justification: When he acts in problematic ways, give him internal monologue that justifies his actions. For example, if he makes an inappropriate comment, he might think, "She'll appreciate a confident guy who speaks his mind."

c) Misinterpretation of reactions: When women react negatively to his behavior, have him misinterpret their responses. He might see discomfort as shyness or rejection as playing hard to get.

d) Positive reinforcement: Occasionally, have his behavior "work" in superficial ways. Maybe he gets a phone number or a date, reinforcing the idea that his approach is effective.

e) Backstory reveals: Gradually reveal moments from his past where these beliefs were instilled or reinforced. This could be a father figure praising him for "manning up" or friends mocking him for not being "alpha" enough. (I hate that word.)

f) Contrast with "worse" behavior: Show other characters behaving even more egregiously, making his actions seem mild in comparison.

g) Good intentions: Highlight moments where he genuinely believes he's being helpful or chivalrous, even when his actions are problematic.

h) Cognitive dissonance: When confronted with the negative impacts of his behavior, show him struggling to reconcile this with his beliefs. He might dismiss criticism as overreaction or make excuses.

2. Making the "redemption arc" realistic and feel earned

This is where the real challenge lies. A believable redemption arc for this character needs to be gradual, challenging, and multifaceted. Here's how to approach it:

a) Incremental realization: Don't have him suddenly "see the light." Instead, show small moments of doubt or discomfort with his own behavior building up over time.

b) Consequences: Let him experience real, significant consequences for his actions. This could be losing a friendship, facing professional repercussions, or a moment of clear rejection that he can't misinterpret.

c) Mentor figure: Introduce a character (could be male or female) who challenges his views in a way he can't easily dismiss. This person should be someone he respects or admires.

d) Empathy building: Create situations where he's forced to see things from a woman's perspective. This could be through a role reversal, a close female friend sharing her experiences, or even him witnessing clear harassment of someone he cares about.

e) Internal conflict: Show him struggling with his changing views. He might backslide or have moments of defensiveness as he grapples with his ingrained beliefs.

f) Active learning: Have him actively seek out information and perspectives on toxic masculinity and healthy relationships. This could involve reading, attending workshops, or having difficult conversations.

g) Apologizing and making amends: Show him genuinely apologizing to people he's hurt and taking concrete actions to make amends. This shouldn't be easy or immediately accepted.

h) Ongoing process: Make it clear that this is an ongoing journey, not a destination. Even towards the end of the story, he should still be learning and growing.

i) Paying it forward: Have him start to challenge toxic behavior in others, showing that he's internalized the lessons he's learned.

j) Redefining masculinity: Show him developing a new, healthier concept of what it means to be a man. This might involve exploring traditionally "feminine" interests or expressing vulnerability.

k) Setbacks: Include moments where he falls back into old patterns, but now recognizes and corrects himself. This shows the ongoing nature of change.

Tips for Writing This Arc Effectively:

Show, don't tell: Rather than having your character explicitly state his growth, show it through changed behavior and reactions.

Avoid the "savior" trope: Be cautious about having a woman "fix" him. While female characters can play a role in his growth, the work should ultimately come from him.

Balance sympathy and accountability: While we want readers to sympathize with your character's journey, be careful not to excuse his harmful behavior.

Use multiple perspectives: If possible, show how other characters perceive his behavior and his changes. This can provide valuable context and contrast.

Intersectionality: Consider how other aspects of his identity (race, class, sexuality, etc.) might intersect with his views on masculinity.

Research, research, research: Dive into academic and personal accounts of toxic masculinity, its impacts, and paths to change. The more you understand, the more nuanced your portrayal will be.

Sensitivity readers: Consider using sensitivity readers to ensure you're handling this delicate topic respectfully and accurately.

Micro-changes: Focus on small, specific changes in behavior and thought patterns rather than broad, sweeping transformations.

Realistic timeline: Give this arc the time it needs. Real change doesn't happen overnight, so don't rush the process.

Internal and external changes: Show both how his thoughts and his actions evolve throughout the story.

Example Arc Outline:

Introduction: Establish character's problematic behavior and beliefs.

Inciting incident: An event that first makes him question his actions, even if he dismisses it.

Rising action: Accumulation of experiences that challenge his worldview.

Turning point: A major event that forces him to confront the harm he's causing.

Crisis: Internal struggle as he grapples with changing his deeply held beliefs.

Climax: A moment where he must choose between his old ways and his evolving understanding.

Falling action: Actively working to change and make amends.

Resolution: Showing his ongoing growth and new perspective, while acknowledging the journey isn't over.

Remember, writing a character like this is a delicate balance. You want to show the reality of toxic masculinity and its impacts while also offering a path to growth and change. It's challenging, but when done well, it can be incredibly powerful and thought-provoking.

Throughout this process, it's important to treat your character with empathy while not excusing his behavior. The goal is to show that change is possible, but it requires genuine effort, self-reflection, and a willingness to challenge deeply held beliefs.

Lastly, don't forget to take care of yourself while writing this arc. Exploring topics like toxic masculinity can be emotionally taxing. Take breaks when needed, engage in self-care, and remember that by thoughtfully addressing these issues in your writing, you're contributing to important conversations about gender, relationships, and personal growth.

Happy writing, 📝💖 - Rin T.

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors.

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libraincarnate · 2 years ago

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astrology notes: 6 🐉

quick note: i'm absolutely not an astrologer. these are just a collection of some observations, thoughts, theories, and personal experiences. with that being said, i'm still learning along the way & i may come back to edit this post to make corrections. above all this is just for fun. lastly, keep in mind that i’m not reading your birth chart and i know nothing about you. these are just some possibilities that may or may not apply to you. enjoy!

🗡 sag mercury: “be careful what you wish for cause you just might get it.”

🗡 @elysiansparadise had mentioned that people with sun square moon may have parents who have a strained relationship with each other or they may be very incompatible. my friend has this aspect and long before checking her parents’ synastry chart i thought they worked better as friends.

her parents were childhood friends- her mom has an aquarius venus which can be a “friends to lovers” type of placement. they have an 11th house stellium in their synastry chart.

they have been married for a long time- her dad’s venus aspects her mom’s saturn. with that being said, venus represents aphrodite, love, femininity, women, love & mars represents ares, masculinity, men, sex. her dad has venus opposite mars in his natal chart and her mom has mars square venus in her natal chart.

they’re different in the way that moon and the sun are night and day. her dad is more logical & reserved/introverted. her mom is more emotional & social/extroverted. they share the same faith but they also have some important differences regarding their religious beliefs. she’s loud, he’s quiet. etc.

🗡 how many of you with scorpio, mars, or a fire sign in the 8th house have red as your favorite color?

🗡 taurus/libra/venus in the 2nd house: these natives are so naturally beautiful & radiant. they don’t have to try hard at all. they have a personal sense of style. jewelry was made for their bodies.

🗡 libra rising: libra rising is known for having beautiful symmetrical faces. i’ve noticed some people with this placement who don’t have symmetrical faces might wonder why.

#1 you’re human so it’s normal to have an asymmetrical face, most humans do.

#2 you may have have one of your dominant planets in the 1st house. remember that different planets rule different body parts and are associated with different physical features. for example, if you’re moon dominant and it’s in the first house you may have a fuller/rounder & cherub like face. mars dominant 1st house- strong/defined face & forehead, could be androgynous, lusty eyes. saturn dominant 1st house- intimidating smaller eyes, mature face, sharp facial structure/features.

or you may have harsh aspects to your rising sign. for example venus relates to beauty so having venus opposite rising may have an influence on your appearance or how symmetrical your face is.

#3 with that being said having harsh aspects to your rising doesn’t make you unattractive. you're gorg/handsome regardless so who cares.

& if you’re not a libra rising, you can also apply this logic if you don’t have much of your rising sign’s physical traits.

🗡 neptune-venus aspects: wanting to “fix or save him/her” fall in love during the process and live happily ever after.

🗡 leo mars: might not like when people touch their hair, certain people like hairstylists may be excepted.

🗡 the house your venus is in can show what you like or love about yourself, what others like/love about you. some of your attractive traits & qualities. and what you like about others.

venus in the 1st house: you might really love your self and be an advocate for self love. others may love your personality, your perspective of life, and think you have a beautiful body. you could be attracted to confidence, the way a person carries themselves.

venus in the 10th house: you may like your work ethic, how independent & disciplined you are. others may like the way you take initiative, your ambition, your honesty. you could be attracted to those who possess fame and success.

venus in the 3rd house: you may like the way you think/your way of applying logic and processing information. others may love talking to you, how you have a way with words, your accent. you could be attracted to well kept or veiny hands, people with vehicles like luxurious cars or motorcycles.

venus in the 4th: you may love your mom a lot or think she's really beautiful. like being at home & could be into interior design. others may like your family/being around them, the idea of starting a family with you, your warm and nurturing personality. could be attracted to those who are family-oriented and possess emotional intelligence.

🗡 fixed signs in the 9th house: if religious, they take their spiritual life seriously and are a firm believer in whichever doctrine they subscribe to. very devoted individuals. consistently going to a place of worship like church, the mosque, a temple, synagogue, etc.

these aren’t fixed signs but cancer in the 9th gives me mother mary vibes lol. virgo here would probably be quite pedantic and technical regarding things like details about sacred text and spiritual practices/rituals.

🗡 having both gemini and scorpio placements in a chart can make one sneaky, stealthy, ninja, fbi son of a gun. scorpios know how to be secretive, source information, remain in the dark and disguising themselves as your shadow as they observe you. able to move around quietly. geminis are fast, agile, also able to source information, devious, double agent like, quick thinkers. they both just know things. always a step ahead.

🗡 jupiter in the 5th or positively aspecting your ascendant or inner planets in the 5th house: winning games, contests, bets, money, prizes without much effort. i remember winning bingo like 5 times in one round and people started getting annoyed lol.

if you read this until the end i hope you enjoyed it & thank you so much for reading. ♥︎♥︎♥︎, those hearts are for you.

#astrology #astro observations #astrology observations #astro notes #astrology notes #libraincarnate

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queenshelby · 1 year ago

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Daddy Issues (Part Five)

Pairing: Dominant!Cillian Murphy & Shy!Reader (& Jamie Dornan)

Warning: Smut, BDSM, Daddy Kink, 4-Somes, 3-Somes, Sugar Baby Arrangements

Summary: Through your best friend, you meet actor Cillian Murphy and come to some kind of arrangement involving intimacy in exchange for being spoiled financially.

Written with: my beautiful wife @darkshelbyfiction

As you were bustling around behind the bar, juggling drink orders with a forced smile, you noticed a familiar face through the crowd and, immediately, your heart skipped a beat.

"Shit!" you cursed internally, quickly regaining composure and turning towards the approaching figure.

Cillian, dressed impeccably in casual attire, sauntered towards you with a charming confidence that made him irresistible to most women. His perfectly chiselled features gleamed seductively under the dim lights, accentuating his naturally rugged good looks. Even as he approached, you could sense an underlying energy emanating from him that sent waves of nervous anticipation coursing through your veins.

With his tousled hair and piercing blue eyes, he was a sight that could turn any head in the room and this, clearly, included your employer Michelle who eagerly jumped in front of you to serve him.

Michelle was shamelessly batting her eyelashes in his direction, and for some reason, you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

"Oh, for God's sake," you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes at Michelle's transparent attempts to catch Cillian's attention, but he ignored her.

Noticing your displeasure, she raised an eyebrow at you questioningly. Ignoring her, you focused on serving other customers.

Cillian stepped closer, his magnetism impossible to ignore. "Can I get a drink?" he enquired politely, looking directly at you without missing a beat. There was a challenge written plainly in those piercing blue eyes of his. Feeling cornered, you hesitated slightly, uncertain whether to decline his request or oblige.

Why was he here, you wondered. Did he come specifically to find you? Or perhaps, fate had simply brought you together once more. Either way, despite your determination to remain distant, the fact that he sought you out left you flustered beyond belief. Taking a deep breath, you managed to gather your composure and, with an inner sigh, answered, "Of course! What would you like?"

As you poured his drink, you couldn't help but notice the subtle twitch of arousal running through his body.

The atmosphere thickened with pent-up lust, a heavy presence filling the empty spaces between you. And as you reached out with trembling hands to place the drink in front of him, your fingertips brushed against his, sending sparks shooting through you both. This connection was undeniable, igniting a fire that threatened to consume you both.

"So, tell me, Cill, how are you? Are you here with friends?" you asked casually, deliberately attempting to maintain some distance. Though your body language betrayed you, communicating a fierce yearning for physical intimacy, your voice remained steady and collected.

"No. I am here on my own, to see you actually," he replied easily, effortlessly sliding onto a chair across from the bar. Despite your best efforts to appear indifferent, you couldn't help but glance furtively at his handsome physique, his shoulders tapering elegantly into his waist. You took a deep breath, desperately reminding yourself not to fall prey to his mesmerizing charm.

"If this about me paying you back, I am working on it," you asserted confidently, attempting to mask your turmoil. However, Cillian's gaze never faltered from yours, and his smile held a hint of playful teasing.

"It is actually. Emma told me that you have taken extra shifts just to come up with the money. She said that you are struggling with your studies because of it, and I just wanted to make sure that you know that I do not need you to pay me back. In fact, I won't even accept the money," he murmured softly, placing his glass down gently.

There was a slight pause in the conversation as both of you processed these revelations. Your defenses weakening slightly, a small blush crept across your cheeks, causing his expression to soften slightly in response.

"I appreciate it Cillian, but I need to pay you back. It's the right thing to do. Despite, you know you could have called about this, you did not have to come here, right?" you queried tentatively, fighting hard to resist the mounting temptation to give in to his alluring appeal. You knew the risks involved yet still found yourself drawn to him, like moth to flame.

"I could have, yes," he retorted, flashing a crooked grin that set your pulse racing wildly. "But, I wanted to see you Y/N." His tone was unmistakably suggestive, conveying an unspoken promise that echoed between the two of you just as Michelle swooped in again and reminded you that you had other customers.

For a brief second, his gaze diverted to hers with an annoyed look. However, he swiftly refocused his intentions solely on you, seemingly dismissing her entirely.

"I will finish up in an hour. We will talk then, okay?" you said to Cillian who agreed with a silent nod before, throughout the evening, you served countless patrons, growing more frustrated with every passing minute. The persistent sexual undertone only heightened your desire for release.

Eventually though, your shift came to an end. Exhausted but relieved, you went straight to the restroom to change out of your uniform. Upon returning, you saw Cillian waiting patiently, sipping his beer.

Without further ado, you walked toward him and extended your hand. He looked surprised for a split second before grasping it firmly, drawing you close enough to smell the unique fragrance of his cologne. Glancing deeply into his striking blue eyes, you felt your resolve crumble away as the heat within them engulfed you wholeheartedly.

"Come with me. Lets talk somewhere more privately," you suggested impulsively, allowing yourself to finally succumb to the powerful pull of attraction. He gave you a mischievous smile, appreciative of your audacity and followed closely behind as you led him out the side entrance of the bar.

Once outside, you stumbled upon a deserted alleyway, lit sparsely by intermittent streetlights casting eerie shadows along its walls. It provided just the right amount of seclusion needed for your little talk which, much to your surprise, Cillian jumped into right away.

"You never called me," he began abruptly, bringing your thoughts back to reality. Your mouth fell open briefly before you managed to compose yourself.

"It didn't feel proper considering that I owe you money. It would have made me feel like I am repaying you with sex," you admitted honestly, causing Cillian to cock an eyerbrow.

Cillian then chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Payment in sexual favors, huh? I never even thought about that," he joked and you quickly shook your head.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you couldn't help but stammer, "I-I didn't mean to suggest that this is what you were after. I am sorry. It would just...I mean that's how I would have felt about it I suppose."

Cillian laughed, genuine amusement lighting up his face. "Relax, Y/N," I was just joking but, for what it is worth, I don't expect sex just because I paid for your car. This is not how I roll."

Letting out a relieved sigh, you nodded. "I know that. I am sorry," you murmured before making an admission. "It's just, you have a bit of reputation when it comes to women and I... I don't know..." you stammered before Cillian interrupted you.

Cillian arched an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "A reputation, huh? Well, shouldn't that be a bit more intriguing then?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the blush that crept onto your cheeks. "Perhaps, Cillian, but honestly, why me? You could literally hook up with anyone you want, like models and the like."

Cillian let out a genuine laugh, shaking his head. "Models? I haven't met many of them, but the ones I have met were either full of themselves or couldn't hold a conversation. What's the fun in that?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a mix of surprise and flattery washing over you. "You think I'm smart and attractive?"

Cillian leaned closer, his eyes locked with yours. "More than that. The fact that you're shy, innocent, and absolutely unaware of how incredibly sexy you are... it's a huge turn on for me and I realised that when you did not call," Cillian admitted and you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling a warmth spreading through your body.

"But I get it. If this goes against your moral compass or if you would rather hang out with someone your own age, then that is totally understandable. No pressure. Honestly," he then went on to say and you were torn between your desires and your reservations.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts. "Well, I don't want a relationship, but I also don't want to be second or third choice for you. Nor do I want to be just an occasional hook-up. You are rumored to sleep around a lot and it worries me," you told him honestly.

Cillian's eyes softened, and he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "These are just rumors Y/N, and you won't be second or third choice."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Which means what? That you just come to London occasionally, sleep with me, but then sleep with nobody else? Is that even enough for you?"

Cillian smirked, his voice low and filled with promise. "It would be if you're... how do I put this... if you're into what I'm into. If you allow me to take care of you, and I don't just mean financially."

Your lips curled into a mischievous smile. "So you do want to be my sugar daddy?"

Cillian laughed, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "I prefer not to put a label on it. I honestly just want to have some fun with someone I can trust. And, by doing so, money shouldn't be something you need to worry about. You could take fewer shifts, spend more nights with me."

You playfully nudged him, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Right... Well, that sounds a lot like what Jamie and Emma have going on."

Cillian shrugged, a devilish glint in his eyes. "Maybe, yes. But what does it matter?"

You couldn't help but feel a mixture of excitement and uncertainty bubbling inside you. "I suppose it doesn't."

Taking a deep breath, you met Cillian's gaze head-on. "So, if I was to agree to this, would that mean that I get to call you daddy? In bed, I mean. Like, you know... in an intimate kind of way?"

Cillian laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your heart skip a beat. "Sure, if you want to."

A mischievous glint danced in your eyes as you continued, teasingly. "And you would come to London, right? Meet me at your hotel room and make me do things? You would take charge, right?"

Cillian's gaze smoldered with desire, his voice dripping with promise. "If you want me to, then yes."

A playful smirk danced on your lips. "Well, maybe I do. And maybe we could go to your hotel room now and you can give me a little taste of what it would be like if you were in charge."

Cillian raised an eyebrow, a smoldering look in his eyes. "This is an intriguing proposition. But remember, there's no pressure. If this isn't for you, then-"

You interrupted him, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "Then this won't work. I know. But maybe it is for me. Maybe I am yet to surprise you."

You turned towards him, stealing a quick glance to gauge his reaction. His eyes burned with hunger, mirroring yours almost exactly.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, a hint of hesitation clouding his once confident demeanor.

You nodded without wavering, feeling the thrill course through your veins. You wanted this – you knew you did.

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