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violettduchess · 2 years

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Hi Violet! I just now remembered that I was going to send in this ask. 😮‍💨🥴 Thank you for taking this request!

I would love some Princely headcanons for an insecure plus sized fem!Reader/MC. She just isn't feeling herself at the moment and doesn't feel like she's beautiful enough for her Prince. How would the princes react/comfort her?

Thanks so much, my dear! I already adore what you've shown me, I can't wait to see what you might add. 🥺❤

A/N: Thank you for the ask, L. Who doesn't need to feel loved? I hope I could do this justice.

TW: the f!reader is filled with feelings of self-loathing about her weight

Suitors: @randonauticrap 's favorite princes: Jin, Sariel and of course, Chevalier

WC: 1568

Due to the content, the writing is after the break.

Jin Grandet

You stand in front of the mirror, gold frames and plane glass warping into a blurry vision of smeared gold and streaked silver as you blink against the hot tears filling your eyes. You reach up with heavy hands, pulling on either side of the corseted dress for the upteenth time, struggling to make the ends meet. Again, they don’t and again that feeling churns inside you, like frothy foam on an ocean of self-loathing. The beautiful material falls from your fingers. You don’t deserve to even touch it. It's not meant for women who look like you.

At that moment, Jin steps into the bedroom you share, chattering something about Clavis and chili peppers and ice cream, but he stops short when he sees you, the inward slope of your shoulder, the way you turn your face away from him, the dark purple jeweled satin abandoned, now pooled at your feet. The flow of words stops abruptly, your body language as clear as a hand violently clamping over his mouth.

He approaches you from behind, garnet eyes smoldering with emotion as he reaches out, his large hands resting on your shoulders for a moment. They slide down the soft skin of your upper arms and you force yourself to remain still, to resist the urge to pull away. One strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you tenderly against the hard planes of his body. The other hand rises to capture your chin, urging you to lift your face. He murmurs your name, his dusky voice entreating you to look up and into the mirror.

You raise your eyes to look into the glass. He asks you what you see. Your voice is silenced by a mace of antipathy slamming into you and you almost choke on the spikes. You whisper something about a dress that won’t close and a body not worthy of anyone’s gaze, let alone his touch.

Jin glances down at the dress and with one foot, casually kicks it away from both of you, sending it sliding off into exile under the settee. His voice isn’t entreating anymore when he tells you, commands you, to meet his gaze in the mirror again.

Instructing you to never take your eyes off of him, he bends his long body around you from behind, his lips touching your cheek, still tracked with tears. His hands move over your skin, over and under the linen shift you wear. With his body, his whispered words and heated mouth, his gentle but demanding hands, he touches all of you, gilding you with his love, his desire, his need for you and only you. The ocean inside churns not with loathing but lust, not distaste but desire. The seas part and you rise, resplendent, buffeted by the winds of his devotion.

Sariel Noir

He finds you curled up in bed, heavy velvet curtains drawn against the moonlight, against a full moon no less. Normally you would be snuggled up in the window seat, book in hand, allowing the argent light to pour over you, to bathe you in its glow.

The brevity of the few exchanged words as he enters, the monotone of your answers, the way you fight to disappear. He sighs heavily. This is not new to him. These demons are always within you, more often than not dormant…but sometimes, like now, they escape, clawing their way to the forefront of your mind, laughing maniacally in the face of your paper-thin self confidence.

It takes a demon to defeat other demons. Sariel prepares for battle, removing his clothing piece by piece. Austere jacket, dark pants, undershirt. He folds them all meticulously. Lastly, he lays his glasses on the nightstand before sliding under the blankets. Only you know the corded muscle that lies underneath the buttons and fixtures of his clothing. His skin is cool, familiar. An immediate balm to all the inflammatory thoughts rolling around inside your mind.

He pulls you against him, his body curling around yours. One knowing hand reaches to hold you around the waist and automatically the demons in your mind try to push him away. He shouldn’t touch you, not when you feel like this, unwieldy and unattractive, uncomfortable in your own skin. But Sariel is not one to be deterred from anything he wants. His arm wraps around you, like a band of iron, and pulls you even closer. His midnight voice pours words into your ear, how you belong to him, how you can never, ever escape because he will never, ever allow it. How all of you, every single pillowy curve, every handful of flesh, is his to hold, his to claim, his to worship.

You have no choice but to relent, your body bending to his will, to the pull of his palms and the insistence of his fingers. His touch scours the planes of your body, chasing demons, crushing them under the weight of his will and his love for you.

And when you roll over in the circle of his arms, your expression is clear. All he sees is the moonlight in your eyes that counters his own dark shadows. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then lower, kissing your mouth. He parts your lips and you melt against him, your mind and body wholly and completely his.

Chevalier Michel

You hear him come into the suite you share, the measured footsteps following the sound of the door closing. He calls your name and you swallow hard, forcing the thorny ball of self-hate down, down, down, down to the depths from whence it came. It leaves deep scratches in its wake, a pain that is at once shocking and terrifyingly familiar.

Bodily you sink further down into the large, claw-footed bathtub. You had poured a generous amount of the pink liquid into the water, birthing hundreds of soft bath bubbles not because they smelled good (although they did, like summer roses) but to hide your body from view. You didn’t want to get a glimpse of yourself even under the glassy, undulating cover of water. He calls for you again and you clear your throat, sweep away the ashes of loathing, before calling out that you are in the bath.

He steps into the room of white tile and gold trimming, looking as regal in this setting as he does in his office or in the throne room. You force your lips to move, to lift into a smile, hoping he is too tired from his meetings, from the heavy lifting of running a country to look too closely. Hope has a snowball's chance in hell because Chevalier Michel misses nothing, especially when it comes to the woman who captured his heart.

“What’s wrong?”

Those words are your undoing. Burying your face in your hands, water and bubbles sluicing down your arms, you release the poisonous thoughts that have been corroding your mind. You are not beautiful enough for a man like him. You know people wonder what he sees in you. How could he be with someone who looks like that? How could a man as perfect as chiseled marble even want a woman whose body is soft, a body that spills out of clothing, that folds and bends and ripples like water. He deserves better. He deserves perfection. You are far from that.

Your words spill out of you, falling from your lips like teardrops. They feel slippery on the tongue. They sting like jellyfish tentacles. Chevalier does not interrupt. He does not offer words of comfort. He stands in his beautifully pressed clothing, pristine as angel song, and he listens.

Eventually you run out of things to say. Your hands still cover your face, your breath warm, the air sickeningly sweet with the scent of rose-colored bubbles. The bathroom is quiet until you hear the susurrus of clothing falling to the floor. Your hands fall down as well, splashing into the water in surprise as a very naked Chevalier Michel lowers himself into the bathtub. Normally the disparity between the foamy bubbles and his serious visage would spark a laugh, but right now no spark stands a chance against the damp curtain of sadness hanging over your heart.

He leans back, arms resting on the rim of the porcelain tub, his head tilted as he regards you. And then he speaks, his tone rocksteady, as he reminds you that he accepts nothing but the best. That in no aspect of his life would he ever settle. Especially when it comes to where he places his trust. The person he chooses to love. He reminds you that once he commanded you to love him, an order from the king. Absolute. Only a simpleton would believe that the reverse wouldn’t be true. He loves you too. Absolutely.

“Come here.” He makes a motion with his hand and as with everything, the force of his will is undeniable. You slide forward, water displacing in gentle waves, and take his hand as he turns you and then pulls you against him, settling your back to his chest.

His time, his words, his touch, his resolute declaration of love are the antidote you needed. Tension finally seeps from your muscles into the warm water as you settle back against him. His arms are your castle. Here you will always be safe and loved.

Exactly as you are.

💜

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing

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penguinsledder · 2 months

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these have been some of the worst fucking weeks of my life i don't know how to make it end

#tw: self hate #i guess #idk it's not pleasant

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biographydivider · 1 year

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Fuck me. I was just messaging my friend about birthday plans, mentioned something another person we invited said, and she replied with

‘it’s okay, we’ve been messaging.’

And literally my first instinct was to uninvite myself in case they didn’t want me there.

From my own birthday drinks.

Make that make sense, please.

#personal #tw: self hate

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itspixthecrazybitch · 8 months

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I’m sorry to my FP and everyone else who loves me for worrying you and burdening you with my stupid problems, I know I could hide them and make it easier for you, but I’m too lazy, too weak. I just want to be comforted and reassured but I know I don’t deserve that and I need to stop being selfish.

#tw: vent #vent #vent post #negative self talk #tw: negative self talk #self hate #tw: self hate #bpd #actually bpd #splitting

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nevereclipse · 2 years

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Okay though but it MAKES SENSE that Steven hates Marc at first.

NOT ONLY did Marc’s sudden appearances and deal with Khonshu uproot Stevens entire life Steven himself was also created by Marc.

Okay, here me out.

Marc hates himself, right? Here absolutely DESPISES himself. In his mind, no good man that was worthy of love (cough, worthy of Layla, cough) and respect, would like Marc Spector. Steven is his hero, he is all that Marc thinks is good

And to Marc, what GOOD MAN wouldn’t hate Marc Spector?

*Dies*

#marc spector #marc spector needs a hug #tw: therapy #steven grant #steven grant also needs a hug #tw: self hate #moonknight #moonknight spoilers #I #I love this show so much #Never rambles #I CAN'T WITH THESE BOYS #THEY ARE SO HOPELESS #MARC BBY I LOVE YOU #YOU DESERVE LOVE

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dyingroses · 2 years

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'And yet you should regret more, all that has come out of your mouth than all you have put in it,' I say to myself. In truth I should leave regret behind, build a little tower of her stones and move on. For she is a load that only pains, not strengthens.

Practice Positive Self-Talk

#quotes #poetry #Poems #regret #mental health #body image #tw: self hate #self-hatred #positive self talk #self esteem #post

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sylviareviar · 4 months

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Fun fact, bad people don't care about being good. Even if you think you fall short, rest assured that caring about that shows that deep down you are a good person.

"That... might be true for some. But honestly, even if that applied to me, too, I still couldn't dare to think that about myself. If I suddenly start calling myself a good person, rather than saying I'm doing my best to be a good person, that makes me cocky and selfish. It means I think well of myself, when I need to stay humble and small. I need to remind myself that I'm not all that; that there's always room for me to grow, and I should be critical of myself for my whole life. I'm not allowed to have an opinion about myself, unless that opinion is negative. It's simply the way I've been taught. I'm not the only one who thinks this way, either; this is simply the Russian way. Your priority can never be yourself; it must always be your family and the people around you. Thus, even if it costs me my life, I will continue giving myself away to others. It is the least I can do as thanks for being born in the first place."

She was adamant about this way of thinking. It seems there may be no reasoning with her. Still, not once has she raised her voice. She simply spoke to the stranger as if explaining an important concept, keeping her tone of voice neutral and matter-of-fact.

"If others decide that I am worth keeping alive, and that I am a good person, then so be it. But I can't be allowed to believe it myself. If I do, I will become arrogant and shallow. Therefore, I'll continue preaching to myself: I am selfish, I am wrong, I am a bad person, and I must make amends. Even if I'm lying to myself, I don't care. I'll say it over and over until I've convinced myself it's true, because it is. This is the best way I can show gratitude for being alive."

#🌸 ~ in character ~ 🌸#🌸 ~ persona 5 verse ~ 🌸#🌸 ~ anon asks ~ 🌸#tw: self deprecation #tw: depression #tw: self hate #anon you're so nice :')#i'm sorry she can't be reasoned with #this is what a truly distorted heart looks like #where emotions win even if you're smart enough to be rational about it #being intelligent does not make you immune to the darkness in your heart #that's why having support groups is so important

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starlightseraph · 3 months

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house md will always be remebered as the most insane thing ever broadcast because of how unabashedly feral everyone involved was.

a short collection of things that happen on the show, just off the top of my head, not even scratching the surface:

- house shoots a random dead body in the morgue and then sticks him in an mri machine, which pulls the bullet out of the dead guy’s head and destroys the machine, costing the hospital millions

- foreman gets bitten by a person with rabies

- chase kills an african dictator

- cameron steals drugs from a patient after possibly getting hiv from said patient

- house induces a migraine and then takes a drug made by his arch nemesis (who he’s been stalking for 25 years) to get the drug taken off the market. he then takes lsd (in the hospital, in the middle of a case) to cure the migraine.

- chase goes into anaphylaxis after doing body shots

- house stops an elevator so he can perform a cavity (vaginal) search on a teenage heart transplant patient who’s in cardiorespiratory arrest

- they give a neurosurgeon mushrooms to cure his food poisoning, then they stick him in an operating room. the neurosurgeon strips in front of a health board assessor.

- kutner dies for gay marriage

- house sets an autopsy room on fire while trying to juggle flaming bottles

- house gets recruited by the cia

- taub gets held at gun point after diagnosing a stripper with skin cancer

- in almost every single episode, the team breaks into multiple houses

- house fakes terminal brain cancer so he can get drugs implanted directly into the pleasure centre of his brain

- house cons us immigration to get his fake wife a green card. he also uses his fake wife’s ukrainian food truck to spy on people

- house tries to get wilson, his closet case boybestfriend, into bed every few episodes. every other sentence out of house’s mouth is about wanting to rail wilson.

- taub has a kid with his ex-wife, after they divorce, at the same time he has a kid with his 25 yo side piece. the kids’ names are sophie and sophia.

- house and wilson have a bet on who can hide a chicken in the hospital the longest without anyone finding out

- house tries to kill himself like 6 times and always fails (insulin shock, overdoses, electrocution, jumping off a building, cutting, etc)

- house fakes his death to get out of a prison sentence after violating his parole so he can live out his bi love story with his gay best friend who has 5 months to live

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