#and grace cannot be earned

[wellofdean]

I've been reading lots of commentary on my dash about Dean's apology to Cas in The Trap that is, in a sense, re-litigating who is most to blame for their rupture, and who should be apologising.

On the one side, Cas, whose drive to protect and save the ones he loves leads him to go it alone and keep vital information from them, and on the other, Dean, whose anger, however justified, makes him cold, hard and uncompromising. Cas, who left, or Dean, who didn't ask him to stay. And, I think: can't they both be in error and standing in need of compassion? Is love a thing to be earned and deserved, or is it like grace, which is free and unmerited and complete forgiveness?

For me, these are two characters who are under tremendous pressure and in repeated dire circumstances, and who have given each other that kind of grace over and over and over again for years, and who have chosen each other every time a choice was there to be made. In the The Rupture, Dean is too angry to make talking about it viable (and I am not blaming him, he has his perfectly valid reasons! But, that's a fact) and Cas is too offended, hurt, and too proud to stay and bear Dean's anger, so he leaves.

A few episodes later, in Golden Time, Cas is told Chuck is back and is reminded of what they are fighting for, and who they are fighting against, and realises that his place is in that fight, at their side, whatever Dean's feelings, and that he has to go back. But, the tension remains -- Dean is angry, Cas is aloof. They go to hell. Rowena says "fix it" and reminds them that they don't have time to waste on grievances, and then Michael says "Since when do we get what we deserve?" And looks them both in the eye. Then, they go to Purgatory.

What happens in The Trap, for me, is that Dean, thinking he has lost Cas, looks into his own heart knows that his anger kept them apart, and he gives Cas grace and forgivenes, because he loves Cas too much not to and it doesn't matter if Dean has a right to his anger, or what anyone deserves, because the apology is to satisfy his own soul, and his own need to be better. I don't think it matters who is right and who is wrong. I think they are both right, and they are both wrong. Cas did apologise, and Dean was too angry to let him, Cas coming back to bear that anger and help is a capitulation and an effort to do what is right.

I love that Dean forgives Cas before Cas can earn it with his 'win', and don't think it's a matter of anyone deserving anything. Dean's very nature is love and goodness, and the constant striving to act on it; his anger works against those things. There is no basis for them to talk about what ails them if he can't let it go. Dean knows it's doing him damage, and he apologises for it. His conscience demands it, and grace cannot be a thing that is owed.

I love that scene, I love that Jensen acts his heart out in that scene, and I think that scene is about Dean's heart, and not about anyone's culpability. Both of them are so broken down by their losses and have such brutal histories of trauma, and that's why they are both falling back on habits that don't serve them. Cas came back, Dean gave up his anger. Do the problems still exist? Absolutely. But nothing is served by being apart and angry.

[pinestripe37]

This is so true! :')

We cannot earn the love of Christ.

We can never do anything to deserve a Love so gracious and pure.

And yet He gives it freely, extending grace to us even at the cost of His Life.

Purely a Gift by God's Grace.

We need only embrace it in grateful acceptance.

Jesus loves you <3 and all you have to do is accept it to be held safe in His Hands through everything.

He gives it by Grace we accept it through Faith, and by His Love we're forever Saved.

[arilevenatz]

Royally Bound

Pairing: Prince!Seonghwa x reader

Genre: Arranged marriage au, fluff (omg so much of it)

Word count: 10k

Warnings: none :)

AN: Get ready to be bombarded with the most gentleman of gentleman Seonghwa. Omg he is so sweet to mc. I wrote this solely because I had a thought of ONE scene from this and I wrote an entire fic based on it. And don't forget to like and reblog pls it motivates me to write more!!!

Masterlist

In the heart of the flourishing kingdom of Eryndor stood a grand castle, its towering spires reaching toward the heavens as if to touch the very stars. Within its walls resided the royal family: King Park, a wise and benevolent ruler; Queen Park, a graceful and compassionate woman; and their only son, Crown Prince Park Seonghwa.

Prince Seonghwa was the embodiment of strength and discipline. His cold, straightforward demeanor had earned him a reputation as a strict and unyielding leader. While some whispered of his severity, the majority of Eryndor’s people revered him. For though his words were sharp and his judgments firm, his actions always spoke of his deep love for the kingdom.

Each morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the castle windows, Seonghwa would rise, his mind already set on the day’s duties. From overseeing military drills to attending council meetings, his meticulous nature allowed no room for error. He walked the castle halls with a commanding presence, his dark eyes scanning every corner, every detail, ensuring that everything was in its rightful place.

Despite his stern exterior, Seonghwa’s heart was one of quiet devotion. He spent hours in the castle library studying the histories of past kings and queens, seeking wisdom to guide his future rule. He visited the kingdom's towns and villages, speaking to the people not with flowery words but with a genuine desire to understand their struggles.

Even in the grand halls of the castle, where the kingdom’s most influential figures gathered for meetings and important events, Crown Prince Seonghwa was a figure of quiet authority. Draped in royal attire that reflected his status, he sat at the long, ornate table, his posture impeccable, his expression unreadable.

Unlike many who sought to fill the air with their voices, Seonghwa remained silent, his sharp eyes observing every gesture, every word exchanged. He spoke only when addressed directly, and even then, his responses were concise and precise, like arrows hitting their mark.

At times, his silence unnerved those around him. Ministers and advisors would glance at him nervously, uncertain of what he might be thinking. Yet, when he did speak, his words carried such weight and clarity that they often silenced the entire room.

During a particularly heated council meeting, where arguments about the kingdom’s trade policies had reached a crescendo, Seonghwa had remained still, his gaze shifting between the quarreling parties. Finally, when the king himself turned to him for his opinion, Seonghwa’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Trade benefits the kingdom only when it is fair and sustainable,” he stated coldly. “If you cannot negotiate terms that protect Eryndor’s interests while maintaining alliances, then perhaps someone more capable should handle the matter.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone present. Though his tone was devoid of anger, his bluntness left no room for misinterpretation. The advisors exchanged uneasy glances, while the king nodded, a faint smile of approval gracing his lips.

At royal banquets and celebrations, Seonghwa’s presence was equally commanding, even though he rarely indulged in pleasantries. While others mingled and exchanged smiles, he stood by the sidelines, his watchful eyes scanning the room for anything amiss. When addressed, he responded with the same measured calm, his words carrying a sense of purpose that few could match.

The people of Eryndor often whispered about his reserved nature, some calling it aloofness, others seeing it as strength. But whether feared or admired, there was no denying that Crown Prince Park Seonghwa was a man of unwavering discipline and control, a leader who valued action over words and results over empty promises.

The grand dining hall of the castle was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, its high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of Eryndor’s storied history. The royal family dined in silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound until Queen Park, with her ever-graceful demeanor, broke the silence.

“Seonghwa,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “your father and I have been discussing a matter of great importance.”

The Crown Prince, seated at the head of the table, set his goblet down with practiced precision. His dark eyes lifted to meet hers, his expression as composed as ever. “Pray, speak your mind, Mother.”

The queen exchanged a brief glance with the king before continuing. “It is time, my son, for you to consider a union. The kingdom requires a future queen, someone to stand by your side and share the burdens of rule.”

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, his posture unyielding as his gaze shifted between his parents. “Is that so?” His tone was measured, devoid of enthusiasm. “I was under the impression that my duties as Crown Prince were quite sufficient without the added endeavor of courtship.”

King Park sighed, his deep voice resonating through the room. “It is not merely about duty, Seonghwa. A union strengthens alliances, fortifies the kingdom’s position, and, dare I say, may bring you some measure of solace in the years to come.”

“Solace,” Seonghwa repeated, a faint trace of irony in his voice. “How poetic. Yet I see no such necessity. The kingdom flourishes, the council obeys, and the people prosper. What more is required?”

Queen Park’s serene expression faltered ever so slightly. “A ruler cannot stand alone forever. You may not see the need now, but in time, you will.”

For days thereafter, the subject lingered like an unwelcome guest, the queen and king broaching the topic at every opportunity. Seonghwa, however, remained steadfast in his reluctance, deflecting their attempts with a mastery born of his disciplined nature.

But even the most resolute walls crumble under relentless tides. On the morning of the seventh day, Seonghwa finally relented, though his disinterest was plain for all to see.

“Very well,” he said, his voice as cold as the winter wind. “If it shall grant me relief from your incessant nagging, I shall meet this woman you have selected. But let it be known, I do this not out of desire, but out of obligation.”

Queen Park’s face lit up with a hopeful smile, though she knew better than to voice her triumph aloud. “You shall not regret it, my son. We have known the Hwang household for a while now.”

Seonghwa rose from his chair, his movements deliberate and measured. “We shall see, Mother,” he replied, his tone carrying the faintest edge of skepticism. “Though I pray you do not expect me to feign interest where there is none.”

With that, he left the room, his long cloak trailing behind him, the echo of his boots fading into the distance. The queen sighed, her heart a mixture of relief and concern. For while her son had agreed, his heart remained as untouchable as ever.

The Hwang household was one of great renown in the kingdom, its name carrying a legacy of loyalty and service to the royal family. Your grandfather, Hwang Taejin, had been the closest confidant of King Park when he ascended the throne, forging a bond that still tied the two families together.

As the youngest daughter, you were the quiet shadow amidst your lively siblings. Your eldest sister, Hwang Seoyoon, was the pride of the family—a graceful woman of charm and poise, admired by many. Your brothers, Hwang Jinhyuk, Hwang Minseok, and Hwang Daehyun, were no less impressive: boisterous, ambitious, and ever eager to showcase the family’s brilliance to the world.

And then there was you.

While Seoyoon spent hours selecting gowns and jewels, and your brothers busied themselves with their social engagements, you preferred the solace of your room or the quiet corners of the garden. Your straightforward nature often set you apart; you had no patience for flowery words or pointless chatter. When spoken to, you answered with blunt honesty, a trait that earned you both admiration and exasperation in equal measure.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless,” Seoyoon often sighed, fussing over her reflection in a gilded mirror. “How can you expect to make a good match if you refuse to step outside?”

“Who says I expect to make a match at all?” you would reply, your tone calm but unyielding.

Jinhyuk, the eldest of your brothers, was no less persistent. “You’re the youngest. People expect you to be lively and charming, not... whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely in your direction.

“Then people are fools for expecting anything at all,” you would counter, much to his chagrin.

Minseok and Daehyun, the middle brothers, often tried to coax you out of the house with promises of excitement. “Come, little sister,” Minseok would say, his grin infectious. “There’s a festival in the town square. You’ll love it!”

“No,” you replied curtly, not even glancing up from your book.

“Just once,” Daehyun chimed in, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re wasting your youth locked away in here.”

“Better to waste it in peace than to squander it in nonsense,” you retorted.

Your parents, while loving, were equally puzzled by your reluctance to engage in the vibrant social life your family cherished. “You are a Hwang,” your mother reminded you one evening. “With that name comes responsibility. You cannot hide away forever.”

But you didn’t see it as hiding. To you, the world beyond your home was a noisy, chaotic place, and you found no joy in it. The garden, the library, the quiet evenings by the fire—these were your treasures, and you saw no reason to trade them for the fleeting pleasures your siblings pursued.

Unbeknownst to you, however, your life was about to be entangled with the royal family in a way you could never have anticipated.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the windows of your room as you sat in your favorite corner, a thick book resting in your lap. The quiet rustle of pages was soothing, a rare moment of peace in a household that was anything but.

Your eldest sister, Seoyoon, had made herself comfortable on the chaise near the window. She was in the midst of a long-winded tale about the latest fashions in court, her voice animated and full of excitement. You, however, barely glanced up, too engrossed in the intricate story unfolding in your book.

“And then Lady Eunhwa had the audacity to wear the same gown twice in one week!” Seoyoon exclaimed, placing a dramatic hand on her chest. When you failed to respond, she huffed, her voice turning teasing. “Are you even listening? Or is that book more interesting than my tales?”

“Far more interesting,” you replied bluntly, not looking up.

She clicked her tongue in exasperation but continued regardless. “Oh, by the way, two of the king’s guards came by today.”

At that, your eyes flickered up from the page, though only briefly. It wasn’t unusual for members of the royal household to visit. After all, the king favored your father greatly, treating him almost like a younger brother. The king, slightly younger than your late grandfather, had become close to your family over the years, especially as your father had grown into a trusted confidant.

“It’s hardly news, unnie,” you said, turning a page. “The king’s guards have been here countless times before.”

“Yes, but they don’t usually come with such a formal air,” she replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I overheard Father speaking with them. It seems they were delivering a message about... well, something rather important.”

You raised an eyebrow, finally giving her your full attention. “Important how?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil the mystery,” she said coyly, though you could tell she was itching to share. “But I will say this—it has something to do with Prince Seonghwa.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, you frowned. “Why would anything involving him concern us?”

Seoyoon leaned closer, lowering her voice as if she were sharing a secret. “The relationships are a bit tangled, don’t you think? The king was close to Grandfather, but he had Prince Seonghwa later in life. Meanwhile, Father had us all when he was still quite young. It makes the royal family feel less like distant rulers and more like... well, extended relatives.”

“Relatives who happen to rule the kingdom,” you muttered, shutting your book with a quiet thud. “What exactly are you trying to say, unnie?”

She smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “I’m saying, little sister, that perhaps this visit wasn’t as routine as it seemed. Perhaps you should start paying more attention to the world outside your books. You never know what might be coming your way.”

You stared at her for a moment, trying to decipher her meaning. But when she simply rose from her seat with a graceful shrug and left the room, you couldn’t help but feel a nagging sense of unease. Whatever the king’s guards had come for, you had a sinking feeling it would disrupt the quiet life you so fiercely cherished.

When Crown Prince Seonghwa learned of the arrangements his parents had made, he stood in the vast study of the royal palace, his arms crossed behind his back as he gazed out of the towering windows. The distant sound of the bustling kingdom below barely registered in his mind.

“So, it is the youngest daughter of the Hwang household,” he said aloud, his tone carefully neutral, though there was a faint trace of hesitation in his voice.

Queen Park, seated gracefully by the hearth, nodded with a small smile. “Indeed. Youngest of Hwang. A quiet young lady, from what I have gathered. She is much unlike her siblings, preferring solitude to society. A curious match, I admit, but one worth considering.”

Seonghwa turned to face his mother, his expression calm but his thoughts clearly at war. “The connections between our families are... unusual, to put it plainly,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Her grandfather, as you know, he and Father shared a bond that went beyond mere loyalty. But then there’s her father—he’s younger than father, yet he married and had children before he did. My father married late and had me even later. That’s a strange difference in timing and position, don’t you think?”

He sighed, pacing slowly as he spoke, his thoughts almost unraveling as he considered the oddities of the situation. “The generations between us are not just tangled—they’re almost mismatched. It’s a contrast of decisions, timing, and expectations that’s hard to ignore.”

He glanced at his mother, the faintest trace of doubt in his eyes. “I understand the deep affection for the Hwang family, especially given the history with my father and her grandfather. But I wonder if that admiration has made him overlook how strange these connections really are. It’s a lot to consider in something as important as marriage.”

The queen chuckled softly, though her gaze was steady. “You speak as though this is of great consequence. The ties between our families have always been strong. Surely you understand why your father holds them in such high regard.”

Seonghwa exhaled, his brow furrowing slightly. He did understand. The Hwang family had been pillars of loyalty and wisdom for decades, their contributions to the crown invaluable. The late Hwang Taejin had been more than a counselor to King Park—he had been a brother in spirit, if not in blood. And even now, the king's fondness for the Hwang household was evident in every interaction.

Still, the prince could not shake his reservations. “I do not question their loyalty or merit,” he replied, his voice calm but firm. “But I see little reason to entangle myself in such matters simply because of sentiment.”

“You agreed to meet her, Seonghwa,” the queen reminded him gently. “It would do you well to approach this with an open mind. Who knows? Perhaps you will find her company agreeable.”

Seonghwa gave a faint, almost imperceptible scoff. “Agreeable,” he echoed. “I have little need for agreeable company, Mother. What I require is a partner of intellect, strength, and understanding. If she possesses these qualities, then perhaps this meeting will not be entirely futile.”

“Fate has a way of surprising us,” the queen said softly, rising to her feet. She placed a hand on her son’s arm, her expression a mixture of hope and fondness. “Give her a chance, Seonghwa. That is all we ask of you.”

The prince nodded curtly, though his mind remained conflicted. He was no stranger to duty, but this arrangement felt... complicated. And yet, as much as he might resist, he could not entirely ignore the deep respect his father held for the Hwang family. If nothing else, he owed it to the king to see this through.

As he returned to his chambers later that evening, Seonghwa allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. Her name lingered in his thoughts, an enigma wrapped in his family’s history. He resolved to meet her with the same quiet strength and scrutiny he approached all things—but he would not let sentiment cloud his judgment.

For a man as steadfast as Seonghwa, the prospect of meeting someone new, especially under such circumstances, was a challenge. But little did he know, the meeting would test him in ways he had never anticipated.

The soft afternoon light filtered through the window beside you, casting warm patterns on the wooden floor. You were curled up in a small nook by the window, a quiet corner of the house that you had claimed as your own. The garden beyond the glass was lush and vibrant, its blooms swaying gently in the breeze. It was a peaceful sight, one you often sought solace in.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence, and you sighed quietly, already bracing yourself for the disruption. Moments later, Seoyoon and Minseok burst into the room, their faces alight with a mixture of excitement and intrigue.

“Y/N,” Seoyoon began, her voice sing-song as she made her way toward you. “Have you heard what Father’s been planning?”

You didn’t look up from your book, your tone flat as you replied, “I’m sure you’ll tell me regardless of whether I have or not.”

Minseok laughed, plopping down onto a nearby chair. “She’s as blunt as ever,” he said, shaking his head. “But you’ll want to hear this, little sister. It’s about the royal family.”

That caught your attention, though you didn’t let it show. Keeping your eyes on the page, you said evenly, “What about them?”

Seoyoon perched herself on the edge of the table, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Apparently, Father has been talking with the king. And do you know what they’ve decided?”

You glanced up at her, your expression unreadable. “I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

“They’re planning for you to meet the Crown Prince,” she said, her voice dripping with glee.

You blinked, the words hanging in the air for a moment before you set your book down. “Why?”

Minseok leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? The king and Father have always been close. And with the prince needing a bride, it seems Father thinks you might be a good match.”

Your gaze shifted between your siblings, your mind working to process this sudden revelation. “And no one thought to ask me what I think about this?”

Seoyoon laughed, a melodic sound that made your irritation spike. “Oh, Y/N, you always act as though you have a choice in these matters. This is about duty, about family. You should feel honored.”

“Honored,” you echoed, your tone dry. “To be paraded in front of a man I’ve never met, all for the sake of politics? Forgive me if I fail to see the appeal.”

Minseok held up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re just the messengers, little sister. If you have complaints, take them to Father. But I doubt it’ll change anything.”

You turned your gaze back to the garden, your thoughts swirling. The idea of meeting the Crown Prince—a man whose reputation for coldness preceded him—was far from appealing. But you knew your father well enough to know that his mind was likely already made up.

“Lovely,” you muttered under your breath, picking up your book once more. “This is exactly how I wanted to spend my time.”

Seoyoon grinned, patting your shoulder as she stood. “Cheer up, Y/N. Who knows? Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”

As Seoyoon leaned in closer, her grin widening, you sighed and finally closed your book, resting it on your lap. You turned to her, your tone as dry as ever. “Aren’t you married, Seoyoon? Why are you here, meddling in things that don’t concern you? Shouldn’t you be at your own home, managing your household?”

Seoyoon gasped, placing a hand over her chest as though you’d struck her. “How cruel, Y/N! Is this how you speak to your poor elder sister who only wants the best for you?”

“You’re hardly poor, and your meddling is far from helpful,” you retorted, arching an eyebrow. “Go home, Seoyoon. Surely your husband must be wondering where you’ve disappeared to.”

Seoyoon pouted theatrically, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “For your information,” she said, drawing herself up with mock dignity, “my work at home is complete. Everything is running perfectly, and my husband is away on business for a while. So, I’ve decided to grace this house with my presence for a couple of weeks.”

You groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Wonderful,” you muttered under your breath. “Just what we all needed.”

Minseok laughed from his seat, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “You should be glad, Y/N. Seoyoon’s here to keep you company. Isn’t that nice?”

“Thrilling,” you deadpanned, leaning back against the nook. “Exactly what I wanted—unsolicited company and unsolicited plans for my life.”

Seoyoon reached out and ruffled your hair in a way that only an older sibling could get away with. “Oh, come now, Y/N. You’ll thank me someday for my wisdom and guidance. Just wait and see.”

You swatted her hand away, glaring at her half-heartedly. “I highly doubt that.”

As she and Minseok shared another laugh, you sighed and picked up your book again, silently bracing yourself for the chaos her extended stay would undoubtedly bring.

The warm glow of the evening lanterns filled the dining hall as your family gathered for the evening meal. The atmosphere was lively, with Seoyoon chatting away about her plans for the week, Minseok teasing her, and your other brothers laughing at their antics. You sat quietly at your usual spot, focused on your plate, letting the noise of the room wash over you.

As the meal was nearing its end, your father cleared his throat, a sure sign that he had something important to say. The room quieted almost instantly, everyone turning their attention to him.

“I have news to share,” he began, his tone steady but carrying a weight that made your stomach sink slightly. “The king and queen, along with the Crown Prince, will be visiting our household in three days’ time.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before they fully registered. Your siblings exchanged surprised glances, and Seoyoon’s face lit up with excitement. You, however, frowned, your grip tightening on your utensils.

“To what purpose?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with suspicion.

Your father met your gaze, his expression firm yet warm. “They are coming to formally meet you, Y/N, and to discuss the arrangements for your marriage to the Crown Prince.”

The room erupted in chatter—your brothers asking further questions, Seoyoon clapping her hands in delight—but you felt as though the ground had shifted beneath you.

“Marriage?” you repeated, your tone sharper now. “And when, exactly, were you planning to inform me of this?”

Your mother, who had been quiet until now, placed a gentle hand on your father’s arm and smiled at you. “Y/N, we knew you’d react this way, and we didn’t want to burden you with unnecessary worries before everything was set.”

“Unnecessary worries?” you echoed incredulously, setting down your utensils with a clatter. “You’re discussing my marriage—my future—and you didn’t think I should have a say in the matter? Or even be informed before decisions were made?”

Your father waved a hand dismissively, his tone remaining calm but final. “This is not something for you to worry about, Y/N. The king himself has chosen you, and this is a great honor for our family. Everything has been decided with the best intentions for you and for us all.”

“But—” you tried to protest, only for Seoyoon to cut in, her voice bright and eager.

“Oh, Y/N, stop being so dramatic! It’s the Crown Prince we’re talking about! What more could you possibly want?”

You shot her a glare but bit back your retort, knowing it would be futile. Looking back at your father, you tried one last time. “I only wish I had been told sooner. Surely I deserve that much.”

“Y/N,” your father said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are my daughter, and as part of this family, you must trust that we have made the right choice for you. The matter is settled.”

You sank back in your chair, the weight of their words pressing down on you. Around you, the conversation quickly shifted to the preparations for the royal visit, your family buzzing with excitement. But you couldn’t shake the frustration and unease bubbling within you.

You sat quietly, your appetite gone, staring down at your untouched plate as their voices grew distant in your mind. The life you cherished—the quiet, predictable solitude—was slipping away, and no one seemed to care.

The day the royals arrived, the Hwang household was bustling with activity. The servants had been working tirelessly to prepare the house, and your family was dressed in their finest attire. You stood near the back of the receiving room, watching as your parents greeted the king, queen, and the Crown Prince with warm smiles and formal bows.

When they entered, Prince Seonghwa's presence was immediately commanding. Dressed in a perfectly tailored royal suit, his sharp features and cold demeanor matched everything you had heard about him. He was polite but distant, exchanging pleasantries with your father and siblings, his tone measured and precise.

You, however, remained quiet, answering only when directly addressed, and even then, your responses were curt and to the point. The rest of your family, particularly Seoyoon, made up for your lack of enthusiasm with their excitement and chatter.

After a lengthy discussion between your father and the king about the arrangements, your mother approached you with a pointed look and said softly, “Y/N, why don’t you and the prince have a private conversation? Get to know each other.”

You wanted to protest, but before you could, Seoyoon nudged you forward with a teasing smile. Reluctantly, you followed the prince to the garden, where the air was cooler, and the faint scent of blooming flowers lingered.

Seonghwa walked a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back. When you reached the center of the garden, he turned to face you, his dark eyes scanning your face for a moment before he spoke.

“I trust you find this arrangement agreeable?” he asked, his tone formal and detached.

You gave a polite nod. “If it pleases my family, then it pleases me.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “That is... an expected answer. You speak of duty rather than choice.”

“It seems choice was never part of the discussion,” you replied evenly, your gaze meeting his without flinching.

For a moment, there was silence between you, the distant hum of conversation from the house filling the space. Seonghwa tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “I speak when there’s something worth saying.”

A faint flicker of amusement crossed his face, so brief you almost missed it. “An admirable philosophy,” he said. “Though it makes conversations rather... challenging.”

“That depends on who I’m speaking to,” you replied, your tone calm but not unkind.

He seemed to consider your words, his expression softening just slightly. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I suppose I am not accustomed to people who value silence over unnecessary chatter.”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence stretch between you. The weight of his gaze was palpable, but you refused to shrink under it. Finally, you said, “I’m sure the prince has little need for idle conversation, either.”

This time, his lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile. “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “But I find myself curious about you, Miss Hwang. You are... different.”

You inclined your head slightly. “Different isn’t always favorable, Your Highness.”

“Not always,” he agreed, his voice thoughtful. “But sometimes it is necessary.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the quiet garden suddenly feeling more intimate than before. You couldn’t quite read the prince, his every word and movement calculated, but there was a strange sense of understanding in his tone.

Before either of you could say more, a servant appeared in the garden, bowing deeply. “Your Highness, the king has requested your presence.”

Seonghwa nodded once, then turned back to you. “Until next time, Miss Hwang.”

You offered a polite nod in return. “Your Highness.”

As he walked away, you exhaled softly, unsure of what to make of the exchange. Something about the prince unsettled you—not in an unpleasant way, but in a way that left you wondering.

It had been a week since the royals left, and life at the Hwang household had returned to its usual rhythm—at least on the surface. Beneath the calm, preparations for your upcoming marriage were already in full swing, much to your quiet displeasure. You found solace in your little routines, but even that was short-lived.

One crisp morning, as you sat in your usual nook by the window with a book in hand, a servant hurried in with a message. “Miss, the Crown Prince has arrived. He wishes to take you on an outing.”

You froze, the words sinking in. Closing the book slowly, you looked up. “Did he say why?”

The servant hesitated. “No, miss. But your father has already given his approval.”

Of course, you thought grimly. Rising reluctantly, you made your way to the front of the house, where the prince stood waiting. He was dressed impeccably, as always, and his expression was as composed as you remembered.

“Miss Hwang,” he greeted with a slight bow.

“Your Highness,” you replied, offering a polite nod.

“I trust you are ready?” he asked, though his tone made it clear that readiness was not optional.

With no room to argue, you stepped forward, and the two of you were soon seated in a carriage heading toward the nearby town. The ride was silent, save for the occasional creak of the wheels. You glanced out of the window, unsure of what to say—or if you should say anything at all.

Finally, Seonghwa broke the silence. “I take it this arrangement was not your idea either.”

You turned to him, surprised by his bluntness. “No, it wasn’t. But I assume it wasn’t yours, either.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You assume correctly. It seems our families are quite determined to ensure we... bond.”

“Bonding is difficult when both parties are here against their will,” you said, your tone matter-of-fact.

His smirk grew just slightly. “Indeed. Though I must admit, it is refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t mask their opinions with pleasantries.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. “I could say the same, Your Highness. Most people would not dare admit to disliking an arrangement like this.”

“Most people are not in my position,” he replied simply.

The carriage came to a stop, and the footman opened the door. Seonghwa stepped out first, offering you his hand. Reluctantly, you took it, allowing him to help you down. The two of you stood at the entrance to the bustling town square, the lively atmosphere a stark contrast to the tense silence between you.

“This town is known for its markets,” Seonghwa said, gesturing to the colorful stalls ahead. “I thought it might be... suitable for an outing.”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Was that your idea, or your family’s?”

He paused, his gaze steady. “Does it matter?”

You didn’t answer, instead turning your attention to the market. The two of you walked side by side, the chatter and laughter of the townsfolk filling the air. Occasionally, Seonghwa would point out a stall or comment on a vendor’s goods, but your responses were short and polite.

At one point, he stopped in front of a flower vendor, his eyes scanning the vibrant array of blooms. “Do you have a favorite flower, Miss Hwang?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Not particularly.”

He picked up a small bouquet of white lilies, studying them for a moment before handing them to the vendor. “Then allow me to choose,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

You accepted the bouquet hesitantly, unsure of what to say. The gesture felt oddly personal, and you couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or annoyed.

As the outing continued, the initial stiffness between you began to ease—just slightly. By the time the sun began to set, the carriage ride back was not as silent as before. Though your exchanges were still brief, there was a newfound understanding between you, however faint it might have been.

When you arrived back at the Hwang household, Seonghwa escorted you to the door, his expression as composed as ever. “Thank you for indulging this outing, Miss Hwang. I hope it was not entirely unpleasant.”

You glanced at him, clutching the bouquet of lilies. “It was... tolerable,” you said, a hint of dry humor in your tone.

He inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. “I shall take that as a success. Until next time.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving you standing at the door with the flowers in hand. As you watched the carriage disappear down the path, you couldn’t help but wonder what the next “arranged” meeting would bring.

You retreated to your room, eager for solitude. You placed the bouquet of white lilies on a small table near the window, their subtle fragrance filling the air as you sat on the edge of your bed.

Moments later, your door creaked open without so much as a knock. Seoyoon stepped in, her eyes immediately landing on the bouquet. A mischievous grin spread across her face.

“Well, well,” she began, closing the door behind her. “It seems the Crown Prince is quite the gentleman, isn’t he?”

You didn’t look up, reaching for the book on your bedside table. “If you’re here to tease me, save your breath. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, come now,” she said, flopping onto the chair near the window and picking up one of the lilies. “A prince gives you flowers, and you sit here sulking as if it were some great tragedy. Most girls would be over the moon!”

“You’re welcome to them if you’re so envious,” you replied dryly, flipping a page.

Seoyoon gasped theatrically, holding the lily to her chest. “How heartless! And here I thought you might finally soften up a little. Tell me, how did it go? Did he say anything romantic? Or was it all as cold and stiff as you?”

You shot her a glare over the top of your book. “It was... fine. He talked. I listened. That’s all there is to it.”

“‘Fine,’” she echoed, rolling her eyes. “You’re impossible, you know that? Most people would kill for a chance to speak with him, let alone be courted by him.”

“I’m not ‘most people,’” you replied, your voice flat.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You didn’t thank him for the flowers, did you?”

Your silence was enough.

Seoyoon groaned, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re hopeless, truly. The least you could do is try to show some interest. He’s the Crown Prince, for goodness’ sake!”

Closing your book with a snap, you fixed her with a level stare. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Seoyoon. I didn’t ask for the flowers, the outing, or the marriage. If he wants to court someone, he can find someone who actually cares.”

Seoyoon sighed, her teasing demeanor softening slightly. “I know you didn’t ask for this, Y/N. But it’s happening, whether you like it or not. You could at least give him a chance. Who knows? He might surprise you.”

You, staring at the lilies with a faint frown, replied bluntly, “He looks like he doesn’t enjoy company himself. This whole arrangement is just as forced on him as it is on me.” You paused, your voice lowering. “I’ve been a burden to all of you long enough. Now, I’ll just be a burden to the royal family instead.”

Her brows knit together, and she crossed her arms, stepping closer to you. “Y/N, don’t say that. You’re not a burden.”

You let out a humorless laugh, finally looking up at her. “Am I not? Everyone in this house pushes me to be someone I’m not. To go out, to socialize, to act the part. And now, I’m being married off to a prince who probably thinks I’m as much of a nuisance as I think this whole situation is.”

Seoyoon crouched slightly so she could look directly into your eyes, her expression unusually serious. “You’re not a nuisance, and you’re not a burden. You’re just... different. And that’s not a bad thing.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it? I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for Father, for the family, for appearances. Isn’t that all I’ve ever done?”

Seoyoon’s lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but no words came out. She knew you were right, at least in part. Finally, she placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I won’t pretend to understand how you feel, but I do know this—whatever the reason for this marriage, it’s not because you’re a burden. You’re marrying a prince, Y/N. That means, whether you like it or not, someone sees your worth.”

You scoffed, but your gaze softened slightly. “Or they just see what’s convenient.”

Seoyoon straightened up and shook her head with a faint smile. “You’ll see, Y/N. Maybe he doesn’t look like the warmest person, but I doubt he’s as indifferent as you think. People like him don’t show their cards right away.”

“Or ever,” you muttered under your breath.

“Give him a chance,” she urged one last time, heading for the door. “And give yourself one too.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, you turned back to the lilies, their delicate beauty contrasting sharply with the heaviness in your chest. A burden or not, the path before you had been set. All that remained now was to walk it, whether you liked it or not.

The royal wedding was a grand affair, filled with splendor and elegance that you could hardly process. The intricate decorations, the endless sea of nobles in fine clothing, and the constant hum of polite conversation all blurred together in your mind. Through it all, you remained stoic, performing each ritual with quiet precision.

Seonghwa, as expected, was composed and regal throughout, his every action calculated and perfect. Yet there was something in his demeanor—something almost... softer than you’d expected.

When the final ritual was completed, and the two of you were officially declared husband and wife, the grand hall erupted into applause. You stood there, holding his hand lightly as tradition demanded, your expression unreadable.

It wasn’t until the two of you were seated at the head of the banquet table that Seonghwa’s façade shifted ever so slightly. Leaning closer, he asked in a low voice, “Are you comfortable, Miss Hwang?”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “It’s Lady Park now,” you replied, your tone calm.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Ah, yes. My apologies. Are you comfortable... Lady Park?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I am fine, Your Highness.”

He glanced at the feast before you, his voice quiet but insistent. “And the food? Is it to your liking?”

“It’s... more than sufficient,” you replied, unsure how else to respond.

For a moment, silence hung between you as you both turned your attention to the crowd of nobles mingling below. Then, out of nowhere, Seonghwa leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours. “See that man in the green coat near the pillar?” he whispered, his tone conspiratorial.

Your eyes followed his gaze to a portly man with a large mustache. “Yes?”

“That’s Lord Baek. He prides himself on his wine collection, yet he can’t tell the difference between a rare vintage and a common bottle of grape juice. It’s quite the running joke among the court.”

You glanced at him, unsure whether to laugh or remain indifferent. “And you’re telling me this because...?”

“Because,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “you’ll hear him mention his wine at least three times tonight. Consider it a test of your patience.”

Despite yourself, a small smile ghosted across your lips. “Noted.”

He nodded, his expression still unreadable but his tone oddly warm. “And over there, by the orchestra—that’s Lady Seo. She once petitioned the court to create a holiday celebrating her dog’s birthday.”

This time, you couldn’t suppress a quiet chuckle. “You’re joking.”

“I assure you, I am not,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smile. “The petition was, of course, denied.”

As the evening progressed, Seonghwa continued his whispered commentary, pointing out various nobles and sharing tidbits about them. His tone remained calm and steady, but there was a subtle playfulness in his words that made it feel almost like a private game between the two of you.

For the first time, the weight of the occasion felt a little less suffocating. While you remained stoic, you couldn’t deny that his unexpected warmth and attentiveness were... surprising.

When the banquet finally began to wind down, he leaned closer once more, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “I know this is overwhelming, Lady Park, but if it is any consolation, you’ve handled it with grace.”

You turned to him, meeting his steady gaze. “Thank you, Your Highness. Though I suspect you’ve handled it far more times than I ever will.”

He inclined his head slightly, his faint smile returning. “Perhaps. But it seems we’ll be handling it together now.”

The weight of his words lingered as the evening drew to a close, leaving you with an unexpected sense of companionship—however fragile it might have been.

The grand festivities had finally come to an end, and the palace halls grew quiet as the guests dispersed. Servants had escorted you and Seonghwa to the newly prepared royal chamber, its luxurious décor only adding to the weight of the day.

The large room was lit softly by golden sconces and candles, the warmth of the light contrasting with the coolness of your nerves. You stood in the center of the room, unsure what to do or say, your hands fidgeting slightly with the heavy jewelry draped over you.

Seonghwa, ever composed, closed the door behind him. For a moment, he stood silently, observing you with his usual unreadable expression. Then, stepping closer, he spoke in a tone that was softer than you expected.

“May I help you?”

You looked at him, startled. “With...?”

He gestured toward the intricate outer layers of your wedding dress and the heavy ornaments adorning your neck and wrists. “With this. I imagine it has been a long day for you.”

You hesitated, unsure whether to agree, but the weight of the jewelry was becoming unbearable. Finally, you gave him a small nod. “If you wish, Your Highness.”

A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he stepped behind you. “Turn around,” he instructed gently.

You complied, feeling his presence close behind you as his hands moved to unclasp the elaborate necklace around your neck. His movements were careful, precise, as though he feared hurting you.

“This must be heavier than it looks,” he murmured, setting the necklace aside on a nearby table.

“It is,” you replied quietly, your voice barely audible.

He moved to the bracelets next, unfastening them with ease. “I imagine it wasn’t easy to wear all this through the day.”

“It wasn’t, but I managed,” you said, your tone as stoic as ever.

“Of course you did,” he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

Next, his hands reached for the ties of your outer gown, his fingers working deftly to loosen them. You felt the fabric lighten as he removed the outer layer, draping it neatly over a chair.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, stepping back slightly. “It felt inappropriate to summon a maid for this.”

You turned to face him, surprised by his consideration. “It’s fine,” you said softly, meeting his gaze briefly before looking away.

He inclined his head slightly, his dark eyes studying you for a moment. “You must be tired. You should rest.”

“And you, Your Highness?” you asked, your tone polite but distant.

He smiled faintly, the expression barely reaching his eyes. “I’ll manage, as I always do.”

With that, he stepped away, giving you space to prepare for bed. Though the room was large and luxurious, the atmosphere between you was quiet, almost delicate. As you finally lay down, your mind swirled with thoughts of the day, of the marriage, and of the man who had, against your expectations, shown you an unexpected gentleness.

When Seonghwa finally settled into the space beside you, he didn’t say a word. Yet, the calmness in his demeanor seemed to ease some of the tension in the room. And though you still felt like strangers, for the first time, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

The room was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. You lay on the grand bed, staring at the ornate canopy above, trying to will yourself to sleep. The day had been exhausting, yet your mind refused to settle. Beside you, Seonghwa’s steady breathing suggested he was equally restless.

Minutes passed in silence before his voice broke through the stillness, low and steady. “You’re not asleep either, are you?”

You turned your head slightly, catching the faint outline of his face in the dim light. “No,” you admitted. “Too much on my mind.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Understandable. Today was... a lot, even by royal standards.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it clearly. “Do you ever get used to it? The expectations, the attention, the... weight of it all?”

“Not entirely,” he replied honestly. “But you learn to carry it differently over time.”

There was a pause, and then he added, “Though I imagine this is harder for you. You didn’t grow up with it.”

You let out a soft sigh, your voice quieter now. “It’s overwhelming. I feel like I don’t belong here.”

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. “You’ll find your place. It may take time, but you will.”

You turned to face him, his face now more visible in the faint glow of the firelight. “Why are you being so gentle with me?” you asked, your tone a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

His lips curved into the faintest smile, one corner quirking up. “I’m introverted, not heartless.”

The unexpected honesty in his reply caught you off guard, and for the first time that day, a small, genuine smile tugged at your lips. “Fair point.”

He lay back down, his voice softer now. “I don’t see the point in making this harder than it has to be. We’re both here because of duty, not choice. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to make it bearable.”

You considered his words, the tension in your chest easing just slightly. “I suppose that makes sense.”

After you murmured your agreement, Seonghwa shifted slightly, turning onto his side to face you. His dark eyes, steady and calm, met yours in the dim light.

“You should sleep,” he said softly, his tone carrying a hint of finality. “It’s been a long day, and tomorrow will bring its own demands.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the subtle warmth in his voice despite his usual reserved demeanor. “I could say the same to you,” you replied, your tone quieter now.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, barely visible in the low light. “I’ll sleep when you do. Consider it... a gesture of fairness.”

You didn’t argue, though you couldn’t quite bring yourself to look away from him. The firelight cast faint shadows on his face, softening the sharpness of his features. For a moment, you wondered if the man who had seemed so cold and distant all day might have more to him than you had assumed.

“Goodnight, Lady Park,” he said, his voice low and steady, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat longer than necessary before he closed them.

You hesitated, then finally replied, “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Turning onto your back, you stared up at the canopy once more. But this time, the weight of the day felt a little lighter, and though your thoughts still swirled, the warmth of his words lingered, eventually lulling you into a restless, yet strangely comforting sleep.

The soft light of morning filtered through the curtains as you rose, the events of the previous day still weighing on your mind. After breakfast, you were introduced to your lady-in-waiting, a young woman named Eunji. She was polite and cheerful, eager to assist as she began organizing your dresses and jewelry in the royal wardrobe.

As she carefully laid out a selection of necklaces, her eyes lingered on one in particular—a delicate piece adorned with shimmering pearls and intricate goldwork.

“This one is especially beautiful,” she said softly, almost as though she hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts aloud.

You glanced at the necklace, then at her. “Do you like it?”

Her cheeks flushed as she quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, My Lady. It’s not my place to—”

You cut her off gently. “If you like it, you can keep it.”

Eunji froze, her eyes wide. “What? No, My Lady, I couldn’t possibly—His Highness would be furious if he found out—”

“He won’t,” you interrupted, your tone calm but firm. “And even if he does, I’ll deal with him.”

She hesitated, wringing her hands as she looked from you to the necklace. “But it’s too valuable... it wouldn’t be right.”

You sighed lightly, picking up the necklace and placing it in her hands. “Eunji, if I say it’s yours, then it’s yours. Consider it a gift.”

Her eyes filled with hesitation, but also gratitude. “My Lady, you’re too kind...”

“I insist,” you said, giving her a faint smile. “Besides, what’s the point of having all of this if it can’t bring someone a little happiness?”

After a moment of silence, she finally nodded, her fingers curling around the necklace. “Thank you, My Lady. I’ll treasure it.”

You gave her a small nod and returned to sorting through the rest of the items. Though you didn’t say it aloud, her joy over something so simple felt strangely fulfilling, a brief reprieve from the unfamiliar world you now found yourself navigating.

Later that afternoon, Seonghwa approached you as you sat in the study, quietly reading through a book. His footsteps were soft, but his presence was impossible to miss. Without preamble, he spoke, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of curiosity.

“I see you’ve gifted something to one of the servants.”

You looked up from your book, meeting his gaze. His face, as usual, betrayed little emotion, but there was no trace of anger there. “Yes,” you admitted evenly. “Are you mad?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “It’s your belongings. Do whatever you wish with them.”

His words were simple, yet they carried an air of reassurance that you hadn’t expected.

He paused briefly, glancing toward the window before continuing. “By the way, I noticed you’ve organized your belongings in my room quite efficiently. Impressive.”

You blinked, your calm exterior faltering just slightly. “Should I... remove them?” you asked hesitantly, unsure if he found the arrangement intrusive.

Seonghwa turned his gaze back to you, his dark eyes steady and unreadable. “No,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. “This room, this house—they’re yours now. You can do whatever you want here.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He wasn’t just giving you permission to arrange your belongings; he was offering you a sense of ownership, of belonging, in a world that still felt foreign to you.

You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. “Thank you,” you murmured, returning your attention to your book, though your thoughts now lingered on his unexpected generosity.

Seonghwa didn’t say anything more. He simply gave a faint nod and walked away, leaving you with a strange sense of comfort and the quiet realization that, perhaps, this new life wouldn’t be as lonely as you had feared.

The days in the palace continued, a quiet routine settling between you and Seonghwa, interrupted only by the occasional royal event or meeting. You had grown accustomed to the rhythms of royal life, though the sense of unfamiliarity still lingered in the corners of your mind. The grand halls, the soft whispers of servants, the unspoken expectations—they all seemed so far removed from the life you had once known.

One afternoon, as you sorted through your tasks, you hesitated for a moment before turning to Seonghwa, who was seated at his desk, reading through a pile of royal documents.

“Seonghwa,” you began, your voice tentative, “I was wondering if I could have a little money. I need it for... something.”

He glanced up from his papers, his gaze sharp as always, but this time, there was a trace of something softer behind his eyes. He studied you for a moment, and then, it hit him—the realization that you still seemed uncertain, still hesitant when it came to making decisions, even small ones.

He set down his papers, his voice quieter, almost gentle as he addressed you.

“You still ask for permission, don’t you?” he said, a subtle sadness creeping into his words.

You froze, not quite understanding what he meant. “I... I just don’t want to overstep.”

Seonghwa shook his head, standing up from his desk. “This is your house now. It’s your life, your choices. And,” he paused, walking over to you with a soft expression, “my money is your money. You don’t need permission for anything.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight of sincerity, as though he were explaining something basic to a child. And for a brief moment, you felt a warmth in your chest—a quiet understanding that perhaps, in his own way, Seonghwa was offering you a sense of freedom, something you had never truly known in this new world.

“You can do whatever you want,” he continued, his voice softer now. “The money, the house, everything. It’s yours. Don’t ask for permission again.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his tone, the genuine care that laced his words. Slowly, you nodded, the nervous tension in your shoulders easing. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still held a certain warmth. “You don’t need to thank me for that. I’m just reminding you of something you’ve already earned.”

You felt a strange comfort in his words, the weight of them sinking into your heart. It was a small moment, a simple exchange, but somehow it made this life, this strange new world you were trying to navigate, feel just a little more like home.

For the first time since childhood, since stepping into the palace and the unfamiliar life it held, you felt something you hadn’t realized you were missing: importance. You were no longer just a piece in someone else’s game, a mere addition to a royal family that was bound by duty and expectation. Seonghwa’s words—his reminder that this house, this life, was as much yours as it was his—had cracked open something inside you.

Without thinking, your arms moved instinctively, wrapping tightly around him. His presence, his warmth, and the unexpected kindness of his words had unraveled something deep inside you, something you hadn’t let yourself feel before: a sense of belonging.

Seonghwa froze for a moment, clearly startled by the sudden embrace. His body stiffened, unsure of how to react to the closeness, the softness in your hold. You could feel his breath catch slightly, his posture rigid as though he were trying to figure out whether to push you away or to let the moment pass. But you held on, the need to feel this sense of connection overwhelming any reservations you had.

“I... I’m sorry,” you muttered, realizing only then that you were clinging to him, your face pressed against his chest.

For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt thick, as though both of you were holding your breath. Then, slowly, you felt Seonghwa’s arms move around you—hesitant at first, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the warmth of your embrace. But when he did finally wrap his arms around you, the touch was gentle, almost tender, as though he was grounding himself in this unspoken moment.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he murmured quietly into your hair, his voice low and steady. There was an unfamiliar softness in it, a rare vulnerability that he seldom allowed to show. “You’re not a burden, you know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the knot in your chest loosening. His words, so simple yet so profound, made your heart flutter. You had been carrying the weight of so many expectations for so long, always trying to be what was needed, always trying to do what was right. But here, in his arms, you felt for the first time like you mattered—not for what you could offer, but for who you were.

“I just... I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper, as though you were afraid to speak the truth out loud. “I don’t know how to navigate this life. It feels... so different.”

Seonghwa’s grip on you tightened slightly, not out of necessity but of understanding. “You’re not alone in this, you know. I’m here. I’ll help you find your way.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and comforting. You didn’t need to say anything more. You simply held on, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade. There were no royal expectations, no duty or obligations weighing down on you. There was just Seonghwa, just the feeling of being held, of being seen.

When he finally pulled back, his hands lingered at your sides, a hesitant gesture as if he weren’t ready to completely release the closeness you had just shared. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes—a flicker of care, an unspoken connection between the two of you that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

“You’re important,” he said softly, his voice unwavering. “More than you know.”

And in that moment, you loved this feeling, you believed him.

[yoiisa]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

true form! sukuna, vaginal sex, dirty talk, toxic feminization, concubine! reader turned "wife", praise, dirty talk, mentions of injury (non-sex related)

genuinely cannot explain how this started, but for the past month i've had the worst crush on ryomen sukuna ever oml!!

no because like genuinely picture this: heian era, true form sukuna, living in a home where concubines are always coming and going. some of them he kills, some of them just run away when his violence becomes too much. he can hardly keep track of them all.

then one day, he's walking through the courtyard when he spots you, kneeling next to a tiny pond, feeding the koi some of your food. your hair falling in front of your face, your kimono sleeves brushing up against the water and getting wet. however, the main thing that attracts sukuna's attention is the tiny smile you have on his face. it appears when you catch him staring at you, and is accompanied by a deep bow.

he's a violent man, so he's practically never been met with any kind of grace such as yourself. just like that though, you've earned his favor. it only grows the more time he spends with you. you are soft and gentle, you bloom under his attention like a flower in the sun, and you're so eager to please. he brings you more often to his chambers where he takes his fill of your every night, imagining you as his wife.

"yes, fuck, yes," he groans, tossing his head back as you bounce on his length. "feel it? deep inside of you?" he slaps his other cock on your ass as you ride him magnificently.

"yes my lord!" you gasp, digging indents into his shoulders. "ah~! 'ts so deep!!"

the night after he firsts claims you, he requests that uraume move all of your personal belongings into his room, and he gives you direct orders to live and sleep in his rooms from now on. of course you oblige, being the obedient thing that you are.

he's a prince to you. where he is crass and cruel to the other concubines, he is silent and soft with you. his hands are gentle as they pat you when you pour him tea, or pull you into his side as he eats his meals.

there's one time when an attack on his home starts, and rioting villagers set the building on fire. sukuna disposes of the men as quickly as they come and he's relatively unconcerned with the damage done to any of the other women there, but that all changes the minute he notices you're missing.

the rage that ensues is enough to the put the fire of the rioters to shame. he slaughters women by the dozen, screaming at them for their lack of accountability.

"how could you not keep track of one of your own?! Oh, no, she's not one of you pathetic whores! FIND HER NOW!"

eventually uraume appears, carrying you on his back. he sets you down at sukuna's feet, your body injured and covered in soot. sukuna shuts himself up in his new room with you for a week, refusing anyone but uraume to come in to tend to you and him.

"my flower, can you hear me?" he asks, feeding medicine to you in a tiny cup. when you nod, he breathes a sigh of relief. he kisses your forehead and rests you down on the futon to get some sleep. "my brave girl. do not fret. whoever caused this shall pay ten fold."

eventually his favor with you grows to be so powerful that he completely neglects all his other concubines. he has you why would he need them? they trickle out of his house one by one in search of another man, but he does not care in the slightest.

he barely even notices their absence because every night, he finds himself buried deep inside your heat, pounding into you like there's no tomorrow. his four hands splaying across your flesh, groping your breasts, pulling your hair, and squeezing your hips. his stomach tongue licking the salty sweat from your skin, relishing in a sensation that's so uniquely you.

"m-my lord," you whine as he pulls your chest flush against his.

"ryomen, my flower," he corrects. he growls, his hips snapping into yours. "fuck- this pussy . . . how can you be so tight still, even after i've plucked every petal from your innocence?"

you writhe in his arms, the pleasure mounting. "I . . . I . . . mmmmm, haaaahhh~"

"my little wife is close, isn't she?" he chuckles as you nod vigorously to his question. "then come."

you explode, your back arching as his lips trail across your collarbone and neck.

a/n: what can I say? A girl must goon every now and again

[monstersholygrail]

Long ago you had gotten into some trouble with the gods, being the mischievous little Cat Hybrid you are. You had actually managed to trick one of the Gods in a deal. A deal where you ended up earn everything and they ended up looking like a fool. At the time you were astonished and quite prideful. To trick a God was no small feat. But that quickly came to regret your trickery, even if you couldn’t help it.

The Gods decided that the best course of action was to punish you, of course. They couldn’t let you walk free, spreading word you had humiliated one of their own. So they made sure you could only trick mortals by trapping you within the confines of a ‘Hero’s Trial’ that once entered cannot be left. There you’d live for eternity using your wits to mislead heroes intent on proving themselves.

Eventually you lost count of the years you had been stuck within the trail. You were bored and restless. While it was fun tricking silly humans they always ended up dying. So your job became a little bit of a downer. Until he appeared. You didn’t pay him any mind at first. You thought he’d die like all the others. While he intrigued you with his own wit and cleverness, you didn’t have high hopes. The odds not in his favor.

That is until a year later when he returns at the start of your trial. You immediately perk up on the stone gate you rest upon, remembering him immediately. He made enough of an impression for that. You look him over, noticing his weakened stated. Armor torn and barely a weapon in sight. Yet he was returning to do the trial again.

“Why have you returned?” You ask, your tone demanding the truth. The air was knocked out of you as he smiles at you weakly, barely standing from the extent of his injuries. Yet his eyes glittered with adoration.

“To see you, of course,” he replies simply but you find your cheeks still turning red.

The rest of the exchange is a flurry of back-and-forth. The banter and ease in which you two talk is beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. You tricked a damn God! How could a mere human ever manage to keep up with you. But… he did. And as he walked back into the trial you can feel your heart breaking. A deep longing filling you to the brim. With his injuries and lack of protection you’re sure this time he’ll perish. There’s no way, right?

Another year passes with no hope and so much hurt. But butterflies burst in your belly when the day comes that he appears back at the start of your trial. He had somehow survived. He actually did it! With none of the grace your cat hybrid nature demands, you jump off the gate. Your human meets you just past the entrance where you two crash into each other in a fierce embrace.

“You have returned,” you breathe out with relief, your claws digging into his skin in your excitement. It’s then you realize he now has even less armor on than before.

“I’ve come to see you,” your human croaks, his voice tired but just as relieved as your own.

You lean back enough to look at his face, eyes flickering over his rugged features. He looks back at you as if you are the sun and he is the moon destined to forever remain in your orbit. You can’t explain the wave of emotions that wash over you in that moment as he confirms he’s come back to you all over again. You don’t know where to begin explaining how much it means to you. So you stop trying to explain.

As if one mind and one heart, you and your human move in at the same time, your mouths meeting in a passionate kiss. Your hands roaming along each other’s bodies with a familiarity that shouldn’t be there for two people who are only now touching for the first time. Yet it feels as if you’ve done this with him a million times. And you two share a night of passion and ecstasy before he continues off in the trial.

Years pass, one after the other, and every year your human returns to you. Proving to you time and time again the lengths and depths of his devotion to you, a sly Cat Hybrid. You count the years that pass now, not only remaining aware but keenly so. As each time your human returns with a little less armor, a weak weapon he must’ve found somewhere or none at all, his skin a little more wounded, and his mortal body a little older.

As time goes on, you grow more insistent, begging him to stop returning to the start, and still never fully understanding why he’s returned just to see you. Not when it hurts him so. Not when it hurts you to see him struggling while you have no possible way of helping him. You’re trapped to remain at the start, never allowed to go behind or beyond its entrance.

“Please, you must stop this,” you beg one night as the two of you lay under the stars, bare bodies tangled up in each other.

Your hand caresses his chest, right over his heart and his gaze softens. It’s an argument you’ve had time and time again but his patience and understanding with you remains.

“I cannot. How else will I see you?” He asks softly, lifting a hand to brush some of your hair back. You instinctively lean into his hand, nuzzling into him as you begin to purr.

Your eyes flutter shut as his words seep into you. An ache settling over your heart. The weight of his words has you shaking your head. A part of you wanting to be selfish, to keep him with you for as long as possible. But your love for him quickly overpowers it.

“Indeed you cannot. For if you see me again you will surely perish,” you whisper tearfully, your claws lifting to softly caress the forming lines on his face that begin to show his age.

Something akin to heartbreak flashes across his features. But just as soon as it comes it leaves, replaced with his usual understanding. A glimmer in his eye shows he’s close to tears as well. Needing your touch he takes your wandering hand in his, kissing it tenderly.

“Fine… If that is what you wish. Just don’t cry, my love,” he whispers, voice breaking as he speaks.

The two of you move as one, leaning in to fitting your lips together in a searing kiss. Losing yourselves to a needed final night of love and passion. Treasuring each other and the time you’d had. Knowing this will be his last time through the trial.

Another year passes at a snails pace. Never realizing how lonely you had been before meeting your lover. His love and utterly endless devotion changing you to your very core. For the first time in your very long life, the punishment the Gods had given you felt exactly like that… a punishment.

Eventually the leaves begin to turn orange and brown once more. The flicker of excitement inside your chest at the idea your lover would be here soon quickly flutters and dies to a lonely ember. Remembering once again that he was never to come back.

So when you see a strangely familiar form through your blurry tear-filled vision, you swear you must be seeing things or simply dreaming. But a quick swipe to your eyes has reality crashing down on you.

A gasp escaping from your throat to see your love stumbling toward you, clutching his stomach with his hand outlined in red against his tunic. He’s silent for a moment before something gurgles in his throat and he begins to choke.

You scramble off your perch, landing on the ground with a sickening thud. Your heart lies still in your stomach, unable to beat as you try to stand. The two of you rush toward each other just past the entryway to the trial. A strangled cry leaves him as he collapses in your arms and the two of you instantly crumble onto the ground, the leaves scattering around you.

“What are you doing here?!” You scream through broken sobs, frantically wiping away tears so that you may better see him. A rattling wheeze leaves him as he lifts a hand to softly brush the tears from your cheeks.

“I’m here to see you… one… last… time,” he rasps, cupping your cheek and bringing your forehead down to rest against his. The difference between his cold and your warmth is chilling. Unbearable. You can’t take it, you’re very being threatening to fall a part as you feel his final breath ghost across your face. His eyes never once leaving yours.

You throw your head back, letting out a cry mournful enough that it shakes the heavens. You can sense their leering eyes peering down on you. Oh, how they must be relishing in their revenge. Your tongue cannot be stopped as you spout endless curses at them.

Despising them as they must despise you, their punishment finding affect even now. For even if you didn’t mislead and trick your lover within the trial itself. You always tricked him into coming back. You must’ve. Somehow. His devotion too pure, his love too endless to be anything but the result of a trick. It couldn’t be real.

You couldn’t handle losing anything that real.

[gaza-giving-tree]

Imagine being forced to choose between feeding your starving children or putting a roof over their heads.

Images: Hossam Al-Qazzaz and his family live atop the ruins of their beloved home in Gaza, which was destroyed by the conflict.

@hanon-qazaz

@hanoon-gaza

Written by @visionsofaselfmademan (new blog @rumiandroses )

This is cruel reality for the Al-Qazzaz family in Gaza: Hossam, his wife Hanan, their four young children (Bashar, age 9; Hani, age 8; Diana, age 4; and Habiba, just 4 months old), and Hossam’s elderly parents (both in their seventies, one of whom was badly burned and requires constant care). Their lives were forever changed when their home was destroyed by war. Now, they live amidst the rubble of their former life, sheltered only by a flimsy tent that fails to protect them from roaming wild animals and the ever-present threat of violence. The winter rains soak their makeshift shelter, leaving them all cold and vulnerable.

Images: (Left) Baby Habiba cries from hunger, as the family cannot afford milk or even disposable diapers. (Right) Little Bashar has been bitten by rats that invaded the family's tent in the night.

The Al-Qazzaz family once dreamed of escaping Gaza to rebuild their lives in safety, but the costs of evacuation—estimated at €5,000 per person—are insurmountable. So far, their GoFundMe fundraiser hasn't raised even enough to get one of them to safety, let alone all eight.

Realizing that escape was out of reach for the moment, they shifted their focus to building a modest room amidst the ruins of their home. But even that small hope has proven unattainable. With donations coming in too slowly to make any substantial change to their living situation, and prices for food and basic necessities skyrocketing to astronomical heights, the donations to their GoFundMe campaign must now go toward survival, leaving no resources for rebuilding or dreaming of a safer future.

My name is Bethany Grace. (Though some of you might also know me as "Liam.") I am the founder of The Gaza Giving Tree. I have encountered so many amazing people since I began this project, but the Al-Qazzaz family's humility and selflessness, despite overwhelming hardship, have earned my deepest respect. They ask for nothing beyond the bare essentials—food, shelter, and safety for their children.

This second campaign was not their idea (though I DID get their blessing to create it!). This precious family was fully prepared to patiently struggle on their own, and use their GoFundMe donations to merely survive.

NO FAMILY should have to endure this. NO PARENT should have to decide between feeding their child or giving them a safe place to sleep. The Al-Qazzaz family deserves more than this relentless struggle for survival. They deserve a chance to rebuild their lives, to live with dignity, and to dream of a future free from fear.

That’s why I have created a separate Chuffed campaign for them, dedicated solely to raising enough money to either help them evacuate to safety, or rebuild a secure home. This gives the Al-Qazzaz family a designated fund to help save for their future, while allowing them to continue to survive on the GoFundMe campaign in the interim.

Every donation, no matter how small, moves the Al-Qazzaz family closer to the stability and peace they so desperately need. If you cannot donate, sharing their story can make an enormous difference, as it can help their story reach people who can assist financially.

Let’s show the Al-Qazzaz family that they are not alone in their struggle. Let’s give them the chance to dream, to rebuild, and to live with the dignity that EVERY HUMAN BEING DESERVES.

Thank you for reading, caring, and keeping their voices alive. Together, we can make a difference.

You can donate to the Al-Qazzaz family's Chuffed campaign [HERE].

You can also donate to the Al-Quzzaz family's original GoFundMe campaign [HERE].

This campaign has been vetted by @gazavetters and is (#287) on their list of verified campaigns.

[sturniclos]

Early bird gets the worm!

Pairing: Kyoya Ootori x reader Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut with fluff, creampie, morning sex, hints of overstimulation, praise.

It had been known upon Kyoya's friends and family that he was not, by any means, an early riser. Whenever bothered in the early morning, or any time before he had wanted to wake up (even if it's 4pm in the afternoon), Kyoya was always grouchy. Spouting cynical and rude comments, glowering and mumbling at whoever even thought of disturbing his sleep. Everyone had taken note to never bother him in bed.

However, in his second year of college, something started to shift.

Mori and Haruhi had taken note of it first- Kyoya had gotten progressively more polite. You could even go as far to say he had become an early bird, his second semester of classes mainly consisted of 8 or 9 am lectures compared to his 2 to 3 pm classes.

Kyoya had claimed it was because of the length of the classes- and it was better to go to one long class in the morning twice a week rather than five short ones in the afternoon. It had convinced most of the group- knowing he always had an efficient strategy in order to maximize anything for his benefit. In typical Ootori fashion, Kyoya had a logical reason for everything.

Tamaki had wondered what it was. A newfound maturity? He started going to bed earlier maybe. What if he started to become an insomniac and was actually never sleeping in the first place, and he started becoming kind as a result of his delirium?

Haruhi had crossed off the last option, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous assumption. She didn't really care why, but Tamaki never leaves things alone. Rejecting Tamaki's idea of watching his every move, Haruhi had opted to just ask Kyoya in order to settle Tamaki's nerves.

"Kyoya-kun, I've noticed you've been more of an early riser, is there any reason as to why?"

Kyoya tilts his head, looking up in contemplation before smiling to the side. "I've had more to look forward to in the mornings than I did before." His gaze follows you, observing your face as you animatedly tell the twins a story. Your eyes meet his for a split second, smiling sweetly at him before turning your attention back to the twins.

Haruhi immediately understands and looks at Kyoya as he admires you softly, a small smile gracing his lips as you laugh at the twins' responses. Tamaki, however, cannot accept the answer, and can't help but press more.

"What could've possibly transformed your nasty attitude into such a morning person?"

Kyoya pushes his adjusts his glasses before looking to the side, pausing as he stirs his tea to think about the answer. There were a couple of reasons, really.

You had started small. Giving him sleepy teas at around 8 pm, offering him a massage or inviting him to watch a movie with you. Goading him into sleeping earlier in the night. Slowly helping him loosen his tie and removing his shirt as he typed away at his laptop, peppering kisses along his neck. He could feel you practically smirk as his typing slows, more and more typos progressively pop up on his screen before he finally shuts the laptop shut to give you his full attention.

You'd tire him out before he could open his computer again, panting heavily against him as you bounced on his lap, his hands digging into the plush of your ass as he slightly guided you back and forth. A filthy combination of your slick and his pre making a mess on his lap, the lewd sound of skin slapping echoing in his room every time you sank further on his cock.

"m' close," He whispers, gripping you harder as he moves you faster. His lips latch onto your neck, his left hand moving to circle your clit in tight circles, earning a pathetic whimper from you in return.

"Come on, pretty girl, I know you have one more in you."

"Kyo- I can't, s'too much-" Your hips stutter against his, head falling into his neck as you try catching your breath. Kyoya is unrelenting, however, quickly speeding up his work on your clit while thrusting up into you as you gasp in pleasure. The heat in your gut turning into a tight coil as you spasm around him, kissing him through the overstimulation of him thrusting into you through your orgasm.

Kyoya returns the kiss deeply, his hands now gently rubbing your sides as he cums inside of you. His thumbs circle your hips, soft lips muttering praise as you both come down from your high. You groan slightly in response, glancing to the side to see a bright green "9:51" back at you, smiling softly before turning back to him.

"You have me beat. Let's take a shower in the morning together, yeah?"

Kyoya can't help but agree as he cleans you up with a warm rag, fighting the fatigue so that he can savor the moment of you in his arms before nodding off.

You'd work your magic until he'd slowly, but surely, started waking up earlier and earlier. His mood, however, had yet to change. A snappy mumble and slight glare still ever present as you slightly shook him awake.

Mornings were a lot slower, instead of shaking him awake, you'd started to wake up slightly earlier, lightly massaging his head to ease him out of sleep before getting up to start your own routine. You brush your teeth and get dressed and cook a simple breakfast, bringing the plate back to his room before resuming his head massage, sweetly cooing at him to wake up.

"Kyoya, it's time to get up. I made you breakfast."

His brows furrow before shaking his head slightly, pulling up the covers to his chin before turning towards his pillow.

You roll your eyes, leaning down to kiss his cheek, 1, 2, 3. The smile on his face slowly grows for every smooch you pepper on his face. How could he be mad when his sweet girlfriend is waking him up so kindly?

The blanket suddenly shifts, his bare torso revealed as he gets up to kiss you back. He rubs his nose against yours affectionately as he looks you in the eye.

"I know what you're trying to do."

You don't seem to feel guilty, instead landing another kiss on his lips with a dramatic "mwah!". A teasing smile on your face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Kyoya indulges nonetheless, and now he finds himself waking up earlier than you do. Admiring your figure in the soft morning sunlight as your chest rises and falls with your breathing. His arm lazily hands around your waist as he caresses your back, appreciating the glow that highlights the tip of your eyelashes to the cupids bow of your lips.

When you do wake up, you cling closer to Kyoya, muttering a soft "g'morning." as you kiss his shoulder, slowly trailing down his torso to his briefs. You lightly palm his bulge before affectionately leaning on it, hot breath ghosting over the fabric, making his breath hitch as he lightly grasps the sheets.

Nimble fingers yank the band of his briefs down as you kiss the tip affectionately, looking up at him as you kitten lick his shaft before taking him in your mouth.

Kyoya sighs, hand finding purchase in your hair as you bob your head along his length, slowly going up before slamming your head down. His tip bruising the back of your sensitive through as your tongue flattens against the vein on the underside of his dick.

He's whiny in the morning, you note. Slight sleepiness making him more sensitive to your touch. His breathe hitches and small moans escaping through his praise as he throws his head back in pleasure.

"Fuck, feel so good around me. Love waking up like this." His hand in your hair grips tighter as he quickens the pace, reveling in the way you gag around his length. His harsh pace was a stark contrast to his hand on your shoulder, gently rubbing your shoulder as he roughly fucks your face.

You moan around him as you play with your tits, one hand pinching your nipple as you look back up at him, his normally icy glare gazing at you with adoration. His cock twitches at the eye contact before his spills into your mouth. You take it all, swallowing before disconnecting with a small "Pop!", a string of saliva connecting from his tip to your mouth.

His breathing is heavy before he brings your face to his, gently kissing you as he catches his breath between kisses. He pays you back, gently fucking you from behind in the shower. Goosebumps scatter your skin as he presses you harshly against the cold glass, watching as the water splashes around his hips with each thrust.

One would think it's greed. His never-ending greed to have you prettily whimpering in his room every time he wakes up, face buried against the base of his cock, or when he slowly cuddle fucks you as you whine against his soft satin pillows (a purchase he made just for you). He can't help it- it's hard to resist when you look so gorgeous in the early mornings. He feels rejuvenated after seeing you breathless and panting with his cum seeping out of you, whining at the loss of feeling full.

Soon enough, you'd successfully gotten Kyoya's sleep schedule on track. A healthy balance of cardio and rest, and Kyoya had never worked so efficiently. He almost wonders how he was able to acheive so much without you there.

The specific reason was far too intimate to share- especially to someone as dramatic as Tamaki. So instead, he shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

"I got a better alarm clock."

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

can you do a Tom Blyth x reader fic wherein they're doing a wired autocomplete interview?

Answering the Web’s Most Searched Questions || Tom Blyth x Actress!Reader

A/n: this was so much fun to make! I apologies for this taking a bit to make hahahaha. Keep the Tom Blyth x reader requests coming 🙏

Warnings: nothing but reader n tom being such a wholesome couple

Wc:

Divider by @pommecita

“Hi I’m Tom Blyth!” You smile at the camera. “And I’m Y/n Y/l/n” Tom waves to the camera as you both hold in your laughter but fail miserably. “And this is the wired autocomplete interview,” Tom clicks his tongue pointing to the camera.

“Who should go first?” You look to Tom as you see a glint of mischief in his eyes, “let’s paper scissor rock it?” He asks as you turn your body slightly to him. The next sped up montage was of the two of you playing paper scissors rock and not surprise that you won earning a groan from Tom as you are passed your board.

“Okay first one, who is y/n y/l/n……. dating?” You read it as you and Tom chuckle. “Who are you dating, Y/n?” Tom jokes as he looks at you quizzically. “It’s actually a secret,” You shrug, “Do I know this person?” Tom continues, “Yes actually, you are very familiar with this person,”

“Hmm, interesting,” Your boyfriend pretended to think about it as you wink to the camera, discreetly pointing to Tom beside you. “Moving on, Does Y/n Y/l/n have…… a pet?” “Yes I do actually, his name is tchai and he’s a spoodle. I bring him to set all the time and he just comes along and chills with us.” You say as an instagram post of yours pops up on the screen.

y/n_y/l/n

Liked by tomblyth, hunterschaffer, rachelzegler, and 3,837,202 others

My boys 💗

tagged: @tomblyth

“Next one, can y/n y/l/n….. sing and act?” You laugh at this one as Tom does the same, leaning his head against yours. “Unfortunately I cannot sing and act. That’s not me in the tbosas film, that’s actually my stunt double that looks identical to me and it’s actually Tom that sings all of the songs” You give a thumbs up as Tom and the crew start laughing.

“Does y/n y/l/n have any tattoos? Yes! I actually have a matching tattoo with my boyfriend, it’s on my pinky and it’s half of a heart and he has the other half.” You put your hand up and point to it as Tom quickly puts his beside your pinky, his other half connecting with yours.

“Oh my god, Tom has the exact same one. What a coincidence!” You giggle, “Such a coincidence right?” He shakes his head. “What does….. y/n y/l/n look like? Well if you guys didn’t know, I look like this” You point to yourself as Tom places his palm under your chin with a grin.

“What was y/n y/l/n’s…… first acting role? My first acting role was in Billy the Kid that came out in 2022 and Tom here is actually plays the main character Billy.” You nudge his arm as he gives a thumbs up, “And I play Dulcinea which is Billy’s lover at one point.“ You answer before you start to peel off the last one.

“Does y/n y/l/n have… a child?!” Your jaw drops open as Tom laughs out loud. “Do I have a child? No! I’m still very young but I do plan on having children in the future. I do have a younger sister who is 4 so I think people mistake her for my daughter,” You let out a chuckle.

“Grace does very much look like you I do have to say,” Tom points out as you nod in agreement. “Yeah I have to agree with that aswell, probably why people think she is my daughter. Especially when Tom and I are taking care of her for a day, people always say what a lovely family we look,” You giggle.

~

“Finally my turn,” Tom says in excitement as he’s handed his board. “First one, How….. tall is Tom Blyth? That’s actually a good question uh-“ “For reference, I’m 5’3,” You say as Tom stands up pulling you with him. “There’s quite a height difference,” You laugh as you look up at him.

“I think I’d say around 6ft? Yeah, I’m pretty sure because Hunter is 5’10 and I’m abit taller than her. So yeah, 6ft.” “Next one, What is Tom Blyth’s…. Hidden talent?” Your eyes lock with Tom’s, “It’s not a hidden talent, but I am quite a good whistler.” “Yes! Tom is so good at it,” You nudge him, “Don’t make me do it,” He smiles, biting his lip as you give him a look.

“Do it!” “Okay, fine,” Tom then does the hunger games whistle, three fingers in the air as you watch in amazement. “I was really nervous then,” He chuckles as you laugh to yourself, agreeing.

“Does Tom Blyth…. Have a girlfriend? He says slyly as you look at the camera, “No. I do not have a girlfriend,” Hearing his words, you look at him and find him nodding his head as he says it which makes you smile at his silliness. “What a shame,” You pat his shoulder jokingly as he shakes his head, laughing.

“Lucky last, Is Tom Bltyh… a father? seriously, what is up with these questions?” He says in slight disbelief. “Are you?” You tease him, “Like Y/n, I get mistaken as her little sister’s father but no. I have no children,” “Your children would be so good looking,” You point out before you could really process it in your head.

Tom looks at you in surprise but laughs, “You think?” He maintains eye contact with you as you nod, almost in a trance as you stare into his piercing blue eyes that you could stare in all day. “Hmm, that’s good to know you think that, babe” His pet name for you slips out as your eyes slightly widen.

Tom quickly changes the topic when he realises. “Well that’s it from us today,” He says in a happy tone, “Thank you for watching this video!” “bye!” You both say in sync as you both throw the boards at the camera before it cuts off.

[harmonysanreads]

Imagine Phainon with a sweet and caring and gentle lover… Him being the famous hero and everyone in Ampho is now used to the sweet girl following him around. But they don’t know, they aren’t aware of how protective he is around his little lover. Overprotective, to be more precise. Because you are so gentle and kind! He thinks you are the purest flower that has appeared in his life.

Maybe he is controlling too…

For a hero, what he must defeat is not his bane ; what he cannot part with no matter the wager, is.

Phainon wishes so often to relive every moment he's had the fortune of sharing with you again, but the day he met you for the first time might be the most prayed for. Still unaccustomed to the customs and dazzles of the Holy City he was and a blessing you were upon him, teaching him grace anew. The events that followed and gradually molded your bond, are enough to make him blush even amidst a fierce battle.

It is a story that earns much admiration and envy ; accounts dedicated to recounting your moments on the Web, forums that fawn over and wish for the downfall of this union simultaneously are evidences of it. They speak of how you two are blessed by Mnestia, a match that'd be celebrated in the heavenly realm of Aquila and many more claims you both found humor in initially.

Sweetness attracts more than just birds and bees and at the heart of every addiction, there is sugar. When so deep in love, he allows his heart to take the lead. As such, the subtle shift from chivalry to possession did not really register in his conscious mind, or, he simply didn't care enough to worry about it. What his worries were occupied with though, was you. One phone call that extended a bit too late into the night, what was supposed to be him sleeping peacefully with dreams of you disrupted with thoughts of your safety at such a time resulted him bolting to and guarding your home all night.

It was still harmless then, something you could wave off with as ‘cute’. You have always had such a pure heart, always choosing the best in everyone — even for a man like him, one with nothing but the shattered pieces of himself as offering. You never agree with the notion of the perfection he's supposed to embody, but assure him that his every blemish, every flaw makes him perfect in your eyes already — without lethargy. A Hero must be a beacon of hope for the hopeless, a sanctuary for the weak ; but even he must have a safe heaven to return to after a tiring day. Some people say you are lucky for having Phainon, but the truth is that, to say he thinks he's undeserving of you is an understatement.

His personal feelings aside, fate still brought you two together. If he feels inferior to you, it simply means that he has to treat you in a manner that is befitting of your station, your worth. For that, it matters little if he's seen as ‘lovesick’ and ‘overprotective’, if he starts bloody carnage over a few scratches, if he's always hell-bent on having your attention on him alone. He's aware of his position and he's grateful for it, but others are not like him. He could tolerate seeing Aedes Elysiae being destroyed once again, but he cannot withstand seeing you being disrespected, mistreated.

Phainon is not the best at keeping words to himself, his lips are particularly loose around you. His transparency softens your heart, but it kills him a little each time whenever you're so understanding. Even if he's shutting down the doors in others' faces, you'll smile at him. Even if he's locking you up in one place, you'll smile at him. Even if he cries, fingers trembling as his hand hovers over your leg, each twist and crack tearing apart his sanity, you'll smile — because you have as much of a bleeding heart as him.

If you sin, he'll worship it and if he sins, he knows you'll forgive him. Even if one day you refuse to look at him, he'll be fine with it, as long as the that scintilla of light he treasures stays lit.

[a-m-e-t-h-y-s-t-r-o-s-e]

You know, what I think bothers me the most about media depictions of Christianity is how everyone thinks good actions are what get you into Heaven. From modern Simpsons episodes to Hazbin Hotel, there's this weird de-Jesusifying of Christianity where you just have to be a good person who didn't do anything bad.

In reality, you don't "earn" your way to Heaven by doing good things. Ephesians 2:8-9 is pretty clear about it; "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast."

There's a lot of minutae about how having faith and genuinely following Christ will change your behavior and faith without works is dead, yadda yadda, but you literally cannot go to Heaven EXCEPT through belief in Jesus. It's just weird when things talking about Christianity specifically get that very basic thing wrong.

[grotesquevi]

cw  # this story continues what happened in the arsonist, settled in a medieval au, feel free to read it before as you might be confused if not. 18+ mdni as it contains smut at some point, homophobia, internalized misogyny, sevika cameos.

this is just a teaser from the entire fic that will come out in a few days, also not proof-read so any mistakes? let them be — wc: 1.8k

vi dreams of coming back to winter.

craves the silence of a snowstorm even when it only causes disaster to the realm, finds herself unable to close her eyes again without recurring to the same thought: are you even affected by her like she is? do you spend countless nights under the poor illuminations of a candle slowly consuming over your nightstand? staring at the ceiling and not moving a muscle like she does — do you wish she was closer to you like she wished upon your company every night?

even when the time passes, she yearns for coming back to a weather she hates if it means you’d be there in the cabin again, trying to warm up in her arms, too loyal to her beliefs to ever fall again in your traps. it's not possible but she's distracted sometimes during the day when you're walking past her and your perfume stays in the air even when you're long gone, how you carried yourself with grace despite having to endure your mother's slowly rotting away in a gigantic bed.

"what we did," vi remembers her own words like a spell from the witch in the woods, haunts her like a childhood nightmare "it cannot happen again, my lady."

a royal is destined to a bright future, a huge impact in life meanwhile vi's stuck being a nobody, ready to die for the crown, for you. the metal on her waist yanks heavy on her belly cause she swore years ago about giving her life for the well-being of your family, die for a greater motive, something good.

"if that's your choice violet," it saddens her somehow. the fact you don't seem bothered at her words, even when vi's hearts already pounding in her chest like a horse running to meet death in war. "i'll still ask about having you in my personal guard. i think your skills are helpful in a higher rank."

"as you wish, my princess."

she doesn't want no special treatment — fuck that, vi needs to earn it. however she's bound when you're looking at her like that. bound to protect you, to serve and be nothing but a weapon in your ruling hand when swearing upon her honor, bended knee in front of your mother last rational moments. you could have her heart if it's a demand for the greater good. it's what every knight would offer, what she needs to do.

so violet's following you around in a silver armor from months now, impeccable, clean white cape on her back. your knights now on council meetings, outside your room day and night, in the hallways and it's driving her to an insanity she cannot comprehend: since the very moment you fell asleep in her arms, since you melted in her touch she cannot stay close for more than a minute. impossible to share a room when no one's around cause she gets distracted, and her work relies on keeping you alive, on answering for your well-being: can’t afford any distraction.

in her entire life, she has never felt so useless, so inebriate to someone's charm — a knight its not supposed to burn for the love of it's princess, held such feelings that went beyond her duty to serve, but she's trapped there in whatever you are, whatever you showed her outside the castle. makes sense you’d set her soul ablaze. the forever unworthy dog that's waiting outside your door despite all efforts of pushing you away, of standing still and ready for combat even when she flinches when some old man of the council has the nerve to raise his voice ever so slightly at your new ideas.

violet vanderson has now become a burden, a burden with a good name, a good place in the court and a secured future, a known knight that's attracting a lot of attention even when she would rather be showing a fist of iron to the injustice in the realm. something in her new position more than just your personal guard.

hope is a dangerous thing for somebody who has nothing, and to vi it's hard to keep her desires in check as you continued with your life holding no physical ache for her touch, not at plain sight at least cause you're so collected, so aware of yourself, of the power you carry now on your shoulders and haunts you night and day.

hope is a dangerous thing.

"i don't think my marriage is something we absolutely need right now," in the wall close to your seat vi's brows furrow in question when you're suggested by half of the council the need to join forces with noxus in an arranged marriage, already plotting for decent suitors without you knowing — "my mother's dying, and i'm going to ascend to the throne before i'm thinking about any political alliance."

"a marriage would benefit the people," at the lack of the presence of the queen you're responsible for the realm's destiny and its future, holding the weight of ruling a nation in your bare hands. "they’re cultivating fear already upon the uncertainty of the queen's destiny, afraid war's coming. we don't have the resources to protect the citizens from hunger, nor the pains of a war."

"noxus has been our declared enemy from years now," you reply, making vi’s gaze falter for a moment cause she can smell it in the air still: you’re annoyed — "any alliance with them is nothing but a lie. and i won't feed the people outside this castle with nothing but honesty. we'll make arrangements with piltover if necessary, i know the queen and they owe it to us."

"you're taking a rushed decision my princess," the title is a reminder of your level, how you're not yet a queen, a regent royal who's in control of the final decisions. makes your body stiffens and vi, even from she is, can see the tension in your muscles, the invisible threads that came out of your back and connected you to the ceiling, kept you up like a real-life-puppet. "we cannot reject their proposal this quickly, you cannot be so blind to not see the future of our nation. your mother would wish upon your marriage as soon as possible too, this- it could lead to a new war."

"despite joining forces with piltover, i'm afraid it won't be enough," another man adds, agreeing to the proposed idea, "the noxian forces hold great power, and compared to our tropes, i'm afraid we don't have the necessary."

"that's enough," much like your family, the tone you use travels across the room like a wild fox chasing its food. makes vi shiver under her armor, looking away cause she's afraid her eyes were already digging holes in back of your skull, too frightened to think about what you'd think if finding out how her chest twists at the thought of you marrying a man — "until my mother get out of bed i wont be doing no courtship. the nation of noxus is not at war with us still, and i'm intending to keep it that way gentlemen. the meeting is over."

you don't have to say anything. vi works in sync with you now, been getting used to you since the night after the cabin, knows what you're up to like your shadow. turned into your guardian as she walks beside you when you storm away from the room and it's so nice, so nice to see you mad. wrong probably on so many levels, but the thought crosses her mind a time or two when she's following you close by, far still, at a fast pace when you cross the hallway infuriated.

"marriage," you spat to the air offended, and the knight's sure you're not talking to her cause you never do. barely look her way after the night you shared with her like it embarrasses you enough to act as if it never happened "can you even believe that, knight? my mother is dying and all they care about is if i'm marrying a noxian."

it must be the sixth or seventh time you're looking back at her after months, and vi's lungs seem to fill with a different kind of oxygen when your eyes travel through her face and you're aware of the details of it, the scar on her upper lip, the tattoo on her cheek. it lingers on her for seconds, seconds the knight uses like a plant uses the sun to survive, makes her forget what she's gonna say for a second.

"you don't have to marry anyone if you don't want to" her voice is rougher than before but wishes to ignore the real motive behind it: how can a simple act from you already have her spiraling to the gates of hell? how are you so fast to speak like a friend? — "it's a decision you can only make, my princess. the council's job is to follow your rules and do nothing but advice. you don't have to follow their suggestions if they aren't fitting."

you seem stuck in the wording, on how her mouth moves to say it: my princess. she'd said it before, but it has never affected you the way vi's able to see from where she's standing, so clearly as the sun shining on a summer day.

she asked for this. haunts her when vi's the one that pushed you away in the first place, the one that's so sure of your negative opinions on her, how you should hate her since she's the reason you're back and far away from your desired freedom moons ago. you're a spine on the palm of the hand, and itch she cannot scratch not at bare fingers, not so easy anyway.

you have a royal duty. violet owns you her entire life. the money her family was now enjoying and the good position she was granted with? it was thanks to you. in her chest still rests the medal she got for taking you back to where you belonged, hanging right against her heart as a constant reminder of her victory, of how she earned a trust she wished to keep like the greatest treasure she owned.

"you're right," it's a warm feeling the one that spreads in her chest at your response. "i don't have to marry nobody, i will be the regent queen."

"you will, my princess," she continues still, arm's-length distance, almost refusing to look at you like she wanted to — "the kingdom does not follow the council's words but your own."

and vi have to repeat it to herself once again when the sun hits your face for a moment and your complex green gown gives her enough access to look at your cleavage, squished tits under a corset that only strangled you: she asked for this.

"what we did. it cannot happen again, my lady."

everyday it's the same from now on, sometimes a knight can be blatantly stupid, she knows all about it.

[iydiamartinx]

WHAT FIRE CANNOT TAME

Pairing: Maegor The Cruel x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.4k synopsis: She was bought, chained, and bloodied—but not broken. When a slave master falls by her hand, Maegor Targaryen sees more than defiance. He sees fire worth claiming. a/n: Part 2? maybe?

The air reeked of salt and sweat. Fish guts, blood, and desperation clung to the stones beneath booted feet, ground into the mud of the port’s narrow alleys. Ships docked in rows, their sails flapping in the gentle breeze. And at the edge of the marketplace, where gold changed hands and chains clinked like wind chimes, slaves were sold like cattle.

Maegor Targaryen loathed such places.

Not because he found the trade dishonourable—no, the world bent only to those strong enough to hold the leash—but because most men who trafficked in flesh were pathetic. Fat, loud, soft-fingered. Abusing what they never earned.

His horse stamped impatiently beneath him, restless from the crowd. He ignored it. His eyes had caught something.

A commotion near one of the pens.

A girl had just been sold—a new one, recently captured if the tattered foreign silks were anything to go by. She couldn’t have been older than her late teens, and already the buyer had seized her by the chin, his fat fingers bruising pale skin as he turned her face left and right like she was an animal.

Then his hand slid down.

The girl froze.

He whispered something against her cheek.

Then she moved.

Her knee drove into the man’s gut with such force that he stumbled back with a wheeze. He wasn’t prepared for the elbow that cracked into his temple a breath later. The crowd barely had time to register what was happening before she was on him—tangled hair flying, shackled hands striking, biting, fighting.

The slaver hit the ground hard, and she went with him, a snarl tearing from her throat as she sank her teeth into his shoulder. He howled. Blood stained the pale fabric of her dress, and still, she didn’t stop.

The guards lunged to pull her off. She struck without hesitation—faster than they expected—and dropped the man with a sickening crack to the jaw. Two more tried to restrain her. She broke a nose and clawed at an eye, fighting like a dragon cornered.

The man who bought her made the mistake of underestimating her. He reached to pin her arms—and she drove a jagged piece of iron into the side of his throat.

The crowd gasped.

The man collapsed, gurgling, twitching at her feet. The girl stood over him, breathing hard, crimson dripping from her fingers, her eyes locked not on the corpse—but on those around her.

Daring them.

Maegor didn’t speak. He only dismounted, his boots thudding hard against the dock.

He didn’t need to shout. The crowd watching silenced at once when they saw him approach. 

Targaryen.

Maegor knew his kin when he saw them. Even if she was a bastard born of some dishonored union, even if the records would never bear her name—she bore the blood. And it was burning.

“Stop.”

One word.

Every movement ceased.

The girl was panting, blood smeared across her lip, hands trembling with fury. She turned toward the voice that cut through the chaos and froze when she noticed him—soaked in sweat and fury, her chest rising and falling, one lock of silver-gold hair falling over her lilac eyes.

“Who is she?” Maegor asked.

The slave master—pale, limping, humiliated—managed to wheeze, “A bastard, we were told, Your Grace. From Lys. Wild bitch… you wouldn’t want her. Barely speaks—”

“She speaks well enough with her hands,” Maegor cut in coolly.

“She killed him,” the man gasped, trying and failing to stand straighter.

“He was weak,” Maegor said flatly, eyes never leaving the girl.

She stood a few feet away, flanked by two guards. The collar around her neck was iron and tight, chafing the skin raw. Her wrists were bound in rusted shackles. Blood clung to her hands—her would be master’s blood. A spatter still stained her cheek.

But her spine did not bow. Her chin did not lower. Her silver-blonde hair was tangled and damp with sweat, her tunic torn, but her violet eyes burned—untamed and unwavering. They burned right into him.

Maegor stepped forward, the clang of his boots on stone the only sound in the chamber. The guards shifted nervously. The slave master stayed silent, wisely now.

“Do you not fear punishment?” Maegor asked, voice like steel sheathed in silk.

The girl stared at him, her voice cold and clear. “I’ve already been punished. Every day of my life.”

Something flickered in his eyes—interest, perhaps. A cruel smile tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth.

“I saw what you did,” he said.

Her lip curled slightly. “He touched what didn’t belong to him.”

“And so you killed him?”

“He was warned.” Her voice did not tremble. “He didn’t listen.”

“He paid for you,” the slave master croaked.

“Seemed he paid too little,” she said, without looking at him. “So I took the rest of what he owed—with his life.”

Maegor chuckled—low, dry, almost amused. “And what is your price then?”

The girl tilted her chin up, unafraid. “There isn’t one.”

That brought him closer, until the hem of his black cloak nearly brushed her bare feet. His gaze sharpened, the weight of it near-suffocating. Yet, his voice was still curious. “You think you’re above being owned?”

“I think I’m abovemen like him,” she said, loud enough to echo. “I would rather die than be someone’s slave.”

A tense silence followed. One of the guards exhaled sharply. Another muttered under his breath, “She should be whipped.”

Maegor turned slowly toward the man who spoke. His gaze alone was enough to make the guard flinch.

He said nothing. He didn’t have to. The silence that followed thickened—clotted with tension, and something darker. Expectation. Dread. When Maegor fixed his stare like that, it meant judgment was near. And judgment from Maegor often came in blood.

The guard faltered, lowering his eyes. He stepped back without a word, his armor clinking faintly with the retreat.

He circled her once, slow, appraising. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She stood like a soldier awaiting execution. Like a dragon daring someone to try and leash it.

He stopped behind her, his rough callous fingers gently moved her pale hair off one shoulder and he watched as she tensed but she made no move to attack. His smile grew by the slightest, she was a little thing compared to him yet he could feel the tension thrumming through her body. She would attack him if he made even the slightest wrong move.

He stepped back. “Take the collar off.”

A stunned silence followed. The guards hesitated. The slave master sputtered.

The slaver sputtered. “My prince—she’s—she’s—”

“I said,” Maegor growled, “take it off.”

This time, no one questioned him. One of the guards stepped forward with trembling hands, fumbling with the bolt at her neck. It gave with a sharp clink, and the collar dropped into the dirt with a metallic thud.

She didn’t rub her neck. She didn’t touch the place that had been raw and bruised. She simply raised her chin higher, as if daring anyone to put it back.

Maegor studied her for a long moment. The blood on her dress. The still-dripping iron shard in her hand. The gash across her cheekbone that she hadn’t even noticed.

“You’ll come with me,” he said simply, already walking back to his horse.

He hadn’t even looked back to see if she was following, her eyes darted around as if debating escape but everyone’s eyes were on her, if she stayed she knew the slavers would punish her for killing her master. Maegor was her safest option for now and he knew it.

Reluctantly, she followed him, moving to his side, she barely even reached his shoulder because he was so tall.

As they approached his horse, she murmured, “You’re not worried I might run?”

“You won’t make it far,” he said without looking at her.

She believed him.

He mounted in one fluid motion, then extended a hand down to her. She hesitated. Only for a breath. Then her fingers closed around his, and he pulled her up onto the saddle with one solid tug, settling her in front of him.

His arm circled her waist to steady her. She was light, sharp-boned, and filthy, but her spine was straight as a blade.

She tilted her head just enough to meet his eye. “I could fight you.”

Maegor looked down at her then. Bloodied, breathing hard, radiant in defiance.

The slow curl of his lips chilled her blood.

“Then I’ll enjoy myself.”

[plotbunnysyndrome]

More Than Honour

Chapter 1: The Season Begins

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: The season opens with silks and secrets, smiles and schemes. You, a beloved fixture in the Bridgerton household, are meant to be just another part of the family’s rhythm. But this season? This one hums with something different. A glance held too long. A conversation that lingers. A heart you thought you knew — and one that may never be the same again. Let the season begin.

Dearest gentle reader,

As the season commences, the ton is abuzz with anticipation, for what is a London season without its fair share of speculation and scandal? The debutantes, eager and resplendent, flock to the dance floors in search of favourable matches. Mothers sharpen their sights on eligible prospects, their ambitions rivaled only by their daughters’ own hopes for love—or fortune, whichever comes first.

Yet, amidst the familiar faces that grace our society, there are those whose presence requires no introduction. The Bridgertons, ever the picture of familial prominence, return to the heart of the season with the weight of expectation upon their shoulders. And at the helm of their ranks stands none other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, whose duty-bound heart is said to seek a wife at long last.

But let us not be quick to assume that duty will be his only companion this season. A certain cherished family friend, whose presence in their lives has been as enduring as it has been unquestioned.

One wonders—will this season bring nothing more than the usual pleasantries for our dear Miss Y/N? Or shall fate see fit to stir the waters of certainty?

As always, this author will be watching.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown.

The morning sunlight spills through the large bay windows of Bridgerton House, casting golden ribbons across the polished floors. The air hums with the sounds of a household in motion—servants moving swiftly through corridors, the faint clatter of breakfast being served, and, of course, the unmistaken chatter of the Bridgerton family gathered in the dining room.

You are seated at the long table, comfortably nestled between Eloise and Benedict, both of whom are engaged in a lively debate over the merits of poetry versus painting as the superior art form. Across from you, Anthony sits with his usual composure, skimming the morning paper with an air of practiced disinterest, his attention split between the news and the occasional interjection from Colin, who is, as always, brimming with some new tale of adventure.

“You cannot possibly believe that painting is the greater art,” Eloise scoffs, stabbing her fork into a piece of fruit with dramatic flair. “Poetry captures the depths of human emotion in a way no painting ever could.”

Benedict smirks over his teacup. “And yet, a painting requires no words to move its audience. A single brushstroke can convey an entire story.”

You glance between them, amused. “And yet, a terrible painting is simply dreadful, while bad poetry is at the very least entertaining.”

Eloise beams in victory while Benedict lets out a dramatic sigh. “I should have known you would side with her,” he laments. “You always do.”

Anthony, having remained silent thus far, folds his paper with measured precision and sets it aside. “Perhaps,” he muses, his gaze flickering to you with mild amusement, “the issue lies not in the art itself, but in the interpretation of the viewer. One can appreciate both poetry and painting, and yet still prefer neither.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “And what, pray tell, do you prefer, my lord? Or are you admitting to having no artistic sensibilities at all?”

Eloise snorts into her tea. Colin chuckles. Anthony barely lifts a brow. “I prefer that my breakfast not be disrupted by fruitless debates.”

“How very poetic of you,” you quip, earning a grin from Benedict and an approving nod from Eloise.

Anthony exhales through his nose—a sound that is not quite a sigh, nor quite a laugh. It is a response you are more than familiar with; a wordless acknowledgement of the game you play with one another. Nothing unusual, nothing significant.

Just familiarity. Just friendship.

At least, that is what it has always been.

Across the table, Violet Bridgeton observes the exchange with an unreadable smile before delicately setting down her teacup. “Now that we have settled the great artistic debate of the morning,” she says with graceful finality, “perhaps we might turn our attention to the upcoming ball.”

A collective groan ripples through the younger Bridgertons.

“Must we attend?” Eloise laments. “It will be nothing but insufferable small talk and matchmaking mothers.”

“Precisely why you must attend,” Violent counters, her eyes twinkling. “And as this season marks Anthony’s search for a wife, I expect you all to be on your best behaviour.”

Anthony, having just taken a sip of his tea, nearly chokes. He sets down his cup with a bit more force than necessary. “I do not require an audience, Mother.”

“You require a miracle,” Colin mutters under his breath.

You bite back a laugh as Anthony sends his younger brother a sharp look.

Violet, ever the composed matriarch, merely pats her eldest son’s hand. “Nevertheless, you will be there, and you will be charming. That goes for all of you.”

She glances at you, warmth in her gaze. “And you, my dear, will be an invaluable help, as always.”

You incline your head, smiling. “Of course, Lady Bridgerton. I would not dream of abandoning you to such a task alone.”

Anthony exhales. “At least someone is sensible.”

You glance at him sidelong. “Oh, I have never claimed to be sensible, my lord.”

He gives you a look, but whatever retort he might have offered is lost as Violet claps her hands together. “Then it is settled. We shall all attend, and we shall all enjoy ourselves.”

Eloise slumps back in her chair with a groan. “Unlikely.”

You cannot help but agree. The season has only just begun, and already, it promises to be eventful.

And yet, for now, all remains as it has always been. Just as it should be.

Bridgerton House, Your Chambers

The late afternoon light filters through the lace curtains, casting golden warmth over the quiet sanctuary of your room. A gentle breeze drifts in from the open window, carrying the scent of wisteria and the distant hum of carriages passing beyond Bridgerton House. It is a moment of stillness, a rare pocket of peace before the grand affair of the evening.

You sit before your vanity, wrapped in the soft elegance of your dressing gown, as Violet Bridgerton stands behind you, deftly weaving your hair into an intricate style befitting the ball. Her hands move with the ease of a woman who has tended to many daughters, though there is something particularly tender in the way she fusses over you—adjusting, smoothing, ensuring perfection without a single harsh tug.

“You have such beautiful hair,” she muses, gathering a section and twisting it between her fingers. “It takes well to styling. Much better than Eloise’s—though do not tell her I said that.”

You smile at her reflection in the mirror. “Your secret is safe with me.”

She hums in amusement, securing another pin. “I must say, I am rather pleased you are joining us this evening. Balls can be so dreadfully tiresome when one attends them alone.”

You arch a brow. “Alone? You will have your entire family present.”

Violet sighs, a knowing glint in her eye. “Yes, but my sons are notoriously unhelpful when it comes to navigating such events. And my daughters—well, one would rather read, and the other would rather hide.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head just enough to make her still your movement with a gentle hand. “I do not believe Eloise is quite so terrible.”

“She is stubborn,” Violet corrects, though there is no true exasperation in her tone—only the fondness of a mother who knows her children too well. “Much like her brother.”

At that, you pause.

Anthony.

Violet’s hands do not stop their work, but you feel the shift in the air. The weight of what has not been said. “You worry for him,” you murmur. It is not a question.

Violet meets your gaze in the mirror, her expression soft but distant, as if she is looking beyond you, into a time long past. “I do,” she admits. “How could I not?”

You hesitate before speaking again, choosing your words carefully. “It is not merely a wife he seeks, is it?” Violet exhales, her fingers stilling for just a moment before continuing. “No,” she says, quieter this time. “He seeks a responsibility. A duty fulfilled. A perfect match, on paper and in practice. But love?” Her voice turns wistful, almost, almost mournful. “That, I fear, he will not allow himself to find.”

You watch her in the mirror, the way her gaze lingers not on you, but on something unseen—memories, perhaps, of a love she once had. A love Anthony lost before he ever had the chance to understand it.

“He believes love is a weakness,” you say, carefully threading the thought aloud. “Something that clouds judgement. That makes a man falter when he should stand firm.”

Violet nods, her lips pressing together. “I have tried to show him otherwise. I have tried to tell him that love is not something to be feared, but something to be embraced.” She sighs, securing the final pin. “But some lessons, I suppose, must be learned in their own time.”

You glance down at your hands in your lap, considering this. Considering him.

Anthony has always been a steady presence in your life—protective, reliable, occasionally insufferable. You have known him as the eldest Bridgerton, the viscount, the ever-responsible brother and friend. But love? That is something he has never let himself be.

Violet watches you for a moment before placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He listens to you, you know,” she says, voice warm with something unspoken. “More than he lets on.”

You look up, meeting her gaze in the reflection. “Does he?”

She smiles, though it holds a trace of sadness. “Oh, my dear. If only he knew it himself.”

A quiet settles between you, thick with unspoken truths. Then, with a final part to your shoulder, Violet straightens. “There. You are ready.”

You rise, letting the dressing gown slip from your shoulders as you move to step into your gown for the evening. Violet helps with the delicate fastenings, smoothing the fabric once it is in place.

“Whatever happens tonight,” she says softly, “promise me you will enjoy yourself.”

You turn, giving her a small smile. “I promise.”

But as you glance once more into the mirror, seeing not just yourself but the weight of the conversation lingering in the air, you wonder if that will truly be possible.

[youremyheaven]

The Scarcity Mindset & Repellence of Mars Influenced Individuals

I get a lot of questions about how Venus is "internally corrosive and externally pleasant" whereas the opposite is true for Mars.

Mars is "externally corrosive" and internally pleasant. What does this mean? Let's dig into it

Mars is a planet that is associated with asymmetry and ugliness.

All Mars ruled nakshatras belong to the Vaishya caste. Vaishya caste is in the middle of the caste hierarchy. They have to earn their keep in society. They don't enjoy the benefits of being upper caste like the Brahmin or Kshatriya naks and they're not outcaste or the lowest caste either, so there's no solidarity there. Being in the middle of the ladder means that you can lose your position or status in society at any time. You worked hard to get where you are and you weren't handed things on a platter like the Brahmin or Kshatriya caste naks, you don't benefit from the privilege of being born into a certain family or background.

However, unlike the Shudra or Mleccha caste naks, you haven't been "othered" by society. So you still enjoy a place *in* society but you have a deep resentment of elites and elitism and anybody above you on the ladder because you feel like they're all super fake and ignorant and you have experienced some amount of bitterness bc while you seem to fit in among people like them externally, you don't feel like you're internally sophisticated enough to be around people like them. This deep resentment and insecurity is a defining Mars trait.

Mars ruled individuals lack refinement externally and they have never known what its like to have "enough" so no matter how much wealth they accumulate or how much they achieve, they still inherently feel "less than" others. This does not prevent them from being cocky or confident or brash, their external demeanour may seem fine unless you put them in situations that specifically trigger them. i have known several Martian individuals, men and women, who are highly educated, well travelled, from families that are doing good but who still for whatever reason, never ACTED like it. I dont mean to say they were humble or modest because they weren't. But they were always a bit insecure about...really random stuff. A guy who made crores would complain about how expensive soup was and how he grew up eating rice and curry like a regular Indian guy and isn't used to all this "fancy" stuff. Mind you, he attended an uber rich private ELITE boys boarding school that several politicians and actors went to and RODE HORSES (fancy rich ppl stuff??) throughout his growing up years but he feels awkward having soup??? bc its suddenly too posh for him???

ive had another friend who once said she's never had french toast. like girl you've lived in multiple countries and have a schengen visa, why are you acting like a french toast is gonna break you 😭😭

this is what i mean when i say Martians lack refinement. they dont know how to behave normally or fit in with the rest of society. they could be MILES ahead of everyone in terms of career, success, wealth etc but they do not know how to physically act like it. it could be the way they dress, behave, carry themselves etc but they lack grace and social charisma. people look down on them because of it. they have a huge victim mindset and have never in their life gotten over ANYTHING. they hold grudges till the day they die. they're so fragile and sensitive, they will REMEMBER shit forever. they cannot LET GO or MOVE ON.

they think they're the outcast and that people can sense that about them and hence why they're treated the way they are but little do they realise that theyre stuck in these feedback loops of their own creation. THEY act weird and insecure and cause others to frown at them and they feel alienated as a result of it. They're just doing it to themselves.

Sandra Bullock, Dhanishta Moon & Mrigashira stellium

Idk how many of you have watched the Miss Congeniality movies but its a classic "ugly duckling" type of film. The unrefined, ill-mannered and socially awkward Martian woman, played by Sandra is transformed into a pageant contestant.

If you watch the film, you'll know what I mean by Martians lacking social grace. Forget manners and the way they dress, but even the things they say and how they say it is soooo crass and uncouth.

They're blunt to a fault. They do not know how to say things in a polite manner and are casually cruel in the name of being honest. Like they will be rude asf for no reason or ask really invasive questions. The sociopath guy I dated casually asked me how often I groomed myself 🤡🤡and I had known him for less than a week (yuck). Another Martian would casually ask me about my mom (who is schizophrenic and ill) despite knowing that its a deeply triggering topic for me.

Martians lack tact. And this is their biggest failing.

One of the best examples of a quintessential Martian man is Dr Gregory House from the show House, played by Mrigashira Sun & Mercury native, Hugh Laurie

Dr House is a piece of shit, a complete jackass, narcissist and extremely arrogant and rude. Arrogance is another defining trait of Martian men.

Kanye West, Mrigashira Sun

Do I really need to explain?

Kanye is known for how he lacks any and all sense of social courtesy and speaks his mind when he really probably should just stfu. Also, total narcissist

His daughter, North West, Mrigashira stellium (Sun/Jupiter/Rising) is also really blunt and straightforward even though she's just a kid.

Take a look at this clip and you'll know what I'm talking about

Sacha Baron Cohen, Chitra Sun & Mercury, Mars in Dhanishta

The kind of comedy that Cohen employs where he brutally makes fun of everyone in a way that is straight up crass, rude, insensitive and extremely offensive is very Mars coded

Usher, Chitra Sun, recently went viral for acting like a complete asshat. He made the doorman open the door for him even though he could just open it himself. One thing about Martians is that they are extremely entitled.

Martian men are also extremely "pseudo Nice Guys". They know how to ACT like a green flag and say all the right things and behave like they care about others/are feminists but they don't have a bone of decency in their system.

Justin Baldoni, Chitra Moon (he's also a Shravana Sun which explains his manipulative tendencies)

He really sold himself as the Mr Nice Guy feminist liberal before being exposed as a piece of shit

Cole Sprouse, Chitra Moon

He's another one of the pseudo nice guys, except Cole is also very pretentious, entitled and full of himself. He represents the repellence of Martian people because he's so thoroughly unlikeable.

Ashton Kutcher, Dhanishta Moon

He is friends with two known rapists (Diddy & Danny Masterson) he may have killed his ex girlfriend and covered up his crime (pls look it up, its absolutely insane). And he runs a company that is supposed to help victims of child trafficking but given the context, could potentially be a front to cover up something. The man is SHADY as hell.

Also, like I said Martians have no manners and are very unkempt, messy and squalid. They are GROSS and disgusting (obviously not everyone, so dont come for me)

His wife Mila Kunis, controversially said:

"I didn’t have hot water growing up as a child so I didn’t shower very much anyway, I wasn’t that parent that bathed my newborns, ever,”

Kutcher further said:

“If you can see the dirt on them, clean them, otherwise, there’s no point.”

Kutcher said he does wash his “armpits and my crotch daily and nothing else ever,” and has a tendency to “throw some water on my face after a workout to get all the salts out.”

NASTY if you ask me

Anderson Paak- Dhanishta Moon

Again he presents himself as a "nice guy" but he was a chronic cheater and is divorced from his wife of 13 years, Jae Lin. He even sings about it EWW

The Weeknd, Dhanishta Sun

His entire character and the whole show of The Idol is very Mars men coded (ew)

He only sings about abusing drugs and ruining relationships and its getting old but thats as Martian as it can get

Eminem- Chitra Sun, Dhanishta Moon

I mean..this is pretty self explanatory. He disses and roasts EVERYONE. He is blunt AF and will NOT hesitate.

Conan O'Brien- Dhanishta Moon

Unsurprisingly, a lot of standup comedians are Martian. I haven't heard anything problematic about Conan but the man is honest as hell

Jesse Tyler Ferguson- Chitra Sun

I absolutely adore his character on Modern Family and he's the meaner, more blunt and "honest" of the characters but he's still not a bad guy (probably bc he's a fictional character and written to be charming)

Jason Segel- Dhanishta Moon

His character on Shrinking is very Mars coded.

David Duchovny- Dhanishta Moon

His character on Californication is also peak Mars

Venusians are internally corrosive which means they can be absolutely horrible people who don't care if you live or die (extreme) or privately battling their demons but on the outside they are pleasant, gracious, a joy to be around and very likeable.

Martians are the OPPOSITE. They might save your ass and help you out when the time comes and have good intentions at heart but outwardly they COULD have disgusting mannerisms, be very crass, rude, unlikeable, unhygienic, unkempt etc. This is because of many factors, such as Mars being the soldier and them always having a survival mindset and thus unable to really indulge in or enjoy anything. It could also be because they're lower caste nakshatras, sitting at the bottom of the hierarchy and always feeling like the outcast.

To all my Martian girlies, I hope you know that you are ENOUGH as you are. You don't have to feel like you've got to save everything for a rainy day and that it's okay to indulge every once in a while.

[xoxochb]

Words cannot explain how i need you to write jason grace feeding me his cock like.... Yes sir gimme that protein shot my mouth is open lol.

(pls write it queen. gender neutral if possible ?)

thx and may you get dicked down by jason grace

yupyup manifesting it!!!!!

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

your poor rosy cheeks, so warm and flushed, reddened like strawberries during the spring.

and your lips, bruised of the same color, wrapped around jason’s cock as you suck him off, a reward well-earned for him after a long day.

his hands remain tangled in your messy locks of hair, tugging them forward in the same way his hips buck into you, pushing his fat cock deeper down your throat.

in the back of your mind, you’re sure that you should relax yourself before you choke on him. yet the front of your brain is telling you to devour him like this is the last time you’ll ever do it.

jason’s pretty blue eyes, veiled by lenses, watch you intently, from the top of your head down to your feet, taking in every inch of you beneath him.

tears pour down your roseate cheeks in copious amounts, to almost a sob you attempt to stifle as much as possible.

but your tears appear to be withholding a mind of their own.

yet, your mouth ignores this and violently, purposefully, near gags yourself on him. and you’d still do it a million times over.

your esophagus works overtime today, downing every last inch of his arousal in plethoras.

you focus on something else before you make yourself vomit.

something serene… like the sky… blue— similar to jason’s eyes. no. grass flowing in the soft wind, delicate beneath your fingertips. and the sound of seagulls and the waves crashing gently at the beach.

nothing bad about the beach, right? the water, the ocean, like the tears falling from your eyes.

it’s inevitable that every thought you conquer will lead you back to your current position.

so for now, you let yourself enjoy it.

[yan-lorkai]

For any of the empty days, can I request a yandere Headless Ghost Riddle, where the darling finds his lost head? Now, Riddle wants to repay the darling by becoming their ghost husband, without the darling's consent.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day twenty two: Headless ghost Riddle

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: started writing this as soon as I got your request and honestly, it was so fun. I hope you like it darling!

The day had started like any other. You were out exploring an old, forgotten building that had long been rumored to be haunted. No one dared go near it, but you? Curiosity always got the better of you. Inside, hidden beneath layers of dust and debris, you found an odd, heavy box. You didn’t think much of it — until you opened it.

Inside lay a human head.

Your first reaction was one of horror, but something about it felt... off. The features were too delicate, too pristine to belong to a rotting corpse. There was no decay, no stench, just a strange energy that surrounded the box. It almost felt like the head was waiting for someone to open that exact box.

It was as beautiful as a statue. Red eyes stared at you without blinking. They seemed to examine your soul. You closed the box, uncomfortable, shuddering.

Still, you took it home, not fully understanding why. Maybe to keep as a trophy, a decoration on your shelf, as morbid as that was. Maybe it was the pull of the unknown or the sense that this object was more than it seemed. Either way, you were intrigued.

You tried to search for details about that head but never found enough relevant.

Days passed with the head sitting untouched on your table, its eyes closed, peaceful in a way that unnerved you.

One evening, out of sheer curiosity, you brushed the dust away from its surface, you traced your fingers against his rosy cheeks and plump lips, imagining his story. Was he a noble of any sorts? But why has he beheaded? Why his head was hidden there?

You were curious.

But... The saying does tell that curiosity isn't always the best thing to be.

In that moment, the eyes snapped open again.

You stumbled back, heart pounding as the head came to life before your eyes, red eyes stared back at you, full of grace and amusement as his lips curled into a scary, eerie smile. A figure materialized before you — ethereal, translucent, yet there.

His head was no longer separate but part of a full, ghostly form.

"You—" His voice was eerily calm, yet there was an undeniable possessiveness beneath the surface. He regarded you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "You found me."

You blinked, not sure what to say. Fear crawled up your spine as you backed away, unsure of what you had just unleashed. "Who… who are you?"

Your pulse raced as his presence filled the room, suffocating in its intensity. “Whatever it was, I-I didn’t mean to—”

The ghost moved closer, his figure hovering just above the floor. His pale features were sharp, refined, and cold, with a kind of grace that should have been comforting but wasn’t.

"I am Riddle Rosehearts," he stated with a quiet authority. "And you, darling, have done something few have ever managed."

He cut you off with a ghostly smile, his expression soft yet chilling. “No need for apologies, dear. You’ve returned my head to me. Such a gift requires repayment, don’t you think?”

Repayment? What could he possibly mean by that?

Before you could respond, Riddle’s spectral form drew nearer, his cold, translucent hand brushing against your cheek. “I owe you a debt I cannot ignore. So, as thanks, I will stay by your side for eternity.”

“Eternity?” You barely managed to breathe the word, your voice catching in your throat. "What are you talking about?"

His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling, something hungry in his gaze. “I will be your husband, of course. You’ve earned it. After all, you found me.”

Riddle tilted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “It doesn’t matter what you asked for. You found me. You’ve bound yourself to me whether you intended to or not.” His hand lingered on your arm, and though his touch was barely there, you could feel the chill of it deep in your bones.

The room felt colder, the air heavier with his words. “Wait, I didn’t ask for that!” you exclaimed, stepping back, only for him to close the distance easily, his ghostly form flowing like mist.

Wherever you go, he'd follow.

You swallowed hard, panic rising in your chest. “I don’t want this—”

His gaze darkened, and for a moment, his true nature shone through. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. You’re mine now.” His voice was low, filled with quiet menace, but there was an undercurrent of affection, twisted as it was.

You stared at him, heart pounding, realizing that this wasn’t some nightmare you could escape from. Riddle wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going to leave you alone. Not now. Not ever.

“From now on,” he whispered, leaning in closer, his breath cold against your skin, “I will be with you. Always. No one else will have you, and I will never let you go.”

Terror gripped you, but there was no escape. Not from him. Not from this fate you had unwittingly sealed the moment you found his head.