Objectified Characters Novels & Stories

I point out with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Baby girl, what you were dragged up in, is the saddest elitist bullshit I have ever heard. You were objectified from the age of eleven and treated as a possession to elevate your husband’s family. They didn’t see you as a human, and they didn’t once stop to ask how you felt or what you needed.”

I shake him off, guts twisting. I like dressing to show myself off. I have a good body—and I work hard for it. I'm not ashamed to be young, fit, and attractive, and I refuse to tailor my outfits to someone else's idea of what's proper. Except there's something sickening about being objectified like that. I knew it might happen—criminals aren't exactly known for their progressive ideas about gender equality—but hearing it from Scar just now really hammered home how these men see me. Like I'm nothing but a pair of tits. Something to be passed around.

asks Jareth incredulous at my answer. "I am aware that I have everything against me. i am not a wealthy woman, I am not an alpha and much less, I have a strong character accompanied by a firm personality. My way of being is worthy of my category, I am an omega who is afraid to face the world and more so with the betrayals I have lived through.

I knew exactly what kind of woman Lisa was and I had let this farce play out to the point where I fell victim. But at the end of the day, Lisa was not to blame. She had played her hand and it had worked on me. I had been seduced. I had cheated on my girlfriend. I might have been in a slightly more vulnerable state, but that was no excuse. I had sex with another woman and not just any woman, but Lisa, an ambitious slut who had nothing going for her but her hot body and filthy mind. My girlfriend was everything you could ask for in a woman, but Lisa Warden... she was a self-proclaimed sex object. A gorgeous face that just screamed pure sex, long firm legs, a hot round, juicy a*s, and a pair of

"You're moving remarkably fast for a man who was just left stranded at the altar. Though I must admit, this copper-haired goddess is definitely leagues above our dear Elena..." Hearing that comparison, my brows knitted together in pure irritation. The internal Asperger's sociologist in me suddenly broke her chains and erupted. "Nevertheless, the systematic objectification of the female body in this manner, reducing it to a mere singular standard of beauty and physical perception amidst a masculine property war..." I began, ready to ignite a full-blown academic debate right there on the cobblestones, but Matteo cut my words off ruthlessly.

"Yeah me too, it feels like we still have something missing I can't put my finger exactly on it... I think it's the main characters," Jun eyed the character description pondering why these characters bothered him so much. It felt as if they lacked something substantial, they seemed... "They feel mechanical..." Iori said interrupting his thoughts, "We made a full profile for each of them, with as many details as we could think about, but, they don't feel alive I can't even picture them in my mind..." "Yes, right! That's it! I've been trying to picture them in my mind but all I see is a listless doll. I can't even relate them to the plot..."

Looking at the two maids, Maria was once again reminded of that same ojou-sama character from A Fairytale Romance. In the novel, there was a long list of villainous characters who tried to compete with the heroine to win the male lead's love. Yet there was one villainess that stood out and it wasn't because she was ruthless and vicious, but because she was an idiot, a comic relief character rather than an actual villain.

On the other hand, she felt diminished and objectified, reduced to a mere object of desire and possession. Leanda's thoughts swirled in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She yearned for a deeper connection with Alarick, one that transcended physical desires and power dynamics. She wondered if he was capable of offering her the love and respect she desired, or if she was condemned to forever be entangled in a cycle of fleeting passion and temporary possession.

All of them were there—except Kavian. A frown immediately formed on my face. I could already hear what they wanted to say without them opening their mouths. I was sure they had come to complain again—about how I was depriving them of what they called their right to my body, about how only Kavian was allowed to touch me. The way they objectified me made my stomach turn. They didn’t care to understand how deeply their actions—and their inaction—had wounded me. All they cared about was satisfying their selfish desires. In that moment, I felt like Pearl in the story—sold out by her own family for a handful of coins. In their case for their father's approval.