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shmaptainwrites · 3 days

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𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐀𝐈𝐑, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 [𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS – Violet Bridgerton x fem!Gardener!Reader

SUMMARY — Violet gets her garden tended to, both literally and figuratively.

WORD COUNT — 7.1K

WARNINGS — 18+ NSFW MDNI, just lots of longing and touch straved themes

NOTE — This fic I think may be one of my favourite things I've ever written. I don't want to say too much about it, but I hope it makes all you feel the same things it made me feel as I was writing it. A special thank you to @mystic-writings for beta'ing and cheering me on and @loveindiravarma for providing the video for the middle GIF

Violet never liked when she had to let go of staff, but sometimes it just had to be done. Anthony was tremendously busy (with his impending wedding to the elder Miss Sharma) and so in the end, the responsibility fell on Violet.

She had to say although the whole ordeal was rather unpleasant, she somehow seemed to be graced with an easy decision when it came to filling the position of gardener.

Violet would admit she was a little surprised by how it all played out. First, she wasn’t expecting a woman to come and speak with her about the job, but every single quality she was looking for in an applicant was met. She didn’t waste her time in making a decision and decided to hire on the spot.

She found herself more willing to go out into the garden, to explore while work was being done, unafraid to get in the way or be curious because she never felt like she was imposing. She did know it was technically her family’s home, but there was something about watching someone while they worked that just seemed rather intrusive and she usually avoided it.

“Lady Bridgerton,” your voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked up at you with a smile. “I just started pruning and was going to come and ask you a question about how you wanted the bushes. You seem to have saved me some leg work.”

“I’m much obliged, miss. How can I be of assistance?” she asked, coming closer to you and the bush of flowers you were working on.

“I was thinking perhaps to pick a few peonies to put inside the house in vases and then trim down the size a bit so it isn’t overtaking the garden quite so much, what are your thoughts?”

Violet pressed her lips together and gazed at the bush for a moment. The peonies did seem to be in such a bloom, reaching out on every side almost running completely wild. She supposed that was part of the reason she got a new gardener in the first place.

“Trim it,” she nodded. “They do seem like they need to be…controlled.”

You chuckled a little and clipped one of the flowers, handing it to her.

“If I may, my Lady, I don’t think controlled is quite the right word,” you said. “Moreso…guided, manicured, taken care of.”

Violet smiled at what you said, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips, “Yes, quite right,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my Lady. Your company is always welcome.”

She pressed her lips together and wished you a good day before continuing to walk through the gardens.

As the day passed, Violet found herself carrying the peony you had given her to everything she did around the house, playing with the stem, feeling the petals between her fingers until in the evening she sat in her chambers, alone and dressed for bed the flower sitting on her vanity staring back at her.

After staring at it for what seemed like hours she finally picked it up and brought it to her nose, inhaling its scent and perfume, closing her eyes and just letting her mind wander along with the intoxicating scent, feeling a warmth grow in her core, causing her breath to hitch and for her to abruptly open her eyes.

She took in a couple of shakier breaths, placing the flower back down on the vanity and standing up, turning away from it, unable to justify her own thoughts in her head.

She moved to the pitcher of water that sat next to a bowl and poured some of it inside, gently splashing her face with the water, before resting her hands on the table and leaning over the bowl, letting small droplets drip from her nose and chin back into the bowl.

A pressure began to build up in her chest and all of a sudden she was taking deeper, more laboured breaths until she grabbed the towel and wiped her face clean with a certain roughness and frustration before letting her arms drop to her side while her back leaned against the table.

She looked over again at the peony and licked her lips, her hand moving to her chest, rubbing back and forth to try and rid herself of some of this ache, or rather distract from it.

It wasn’t much use, so instead she closed her eyes and took in a deep, shaky breath, discarding the towel on the table and moving towards her bed, slipping underneath the covers and begging for sleep to wash over her.

—

“Mama, when are we going to join Anthony and Kate at Aubrey Hall?” Hyacinth asked one morning over breakfast.

“Soon, dearest,” she assured her youngest daughter. “Lady Danbury will be joining us there, I just have a few more things I have to arrange for before we can leave.”

“I do not want to go to the country,” Gregory pouted. “We’ve been there three times already this year.”

“The country air will do us all some good,” Violet told her children. “We will go spend time with your brother and his wife as a family and we will all enjoy it. Understood?” she gave Gregory one of her looks that wasn’t so much threatening as it was lovingly stern.

“Yes mama,” Gregory nodded and looked back at his food with a sigh making his other siblings chuckle.

Violet finished up her breakfast and excused herself from the table, going to take care of things with the staff who would be left at the house in their absence and going out for an appointment with the modiste, unable to do her own alterations at the same time as her daughters.

When she returned she had one thing on her list to complete before finalizing all of the packing to be ready to leave tomorrow.

She made her way to the garden and saw you diligently working away at pulling some weeds from the soil around the rose bushes and while she was busy admiring your work, you caught her gaze and welcomed her with a smile on your face.

“Lady Bridgerton,” you stood up and bowed your head, removing your working gloves and tossing them to the side. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes actually there is,” she nodded. “As you know the family and I are going to join Anthony at Aubrey Hall tomorrow and I was wondering if you might join us to help tend to the gardens there.”

You looked a little surprised at her proposition, but nodded your head.

“I would love to, my Lady, but may I ask a question?”

“Of course,” she pressed you to go on.

“I thought there was a gardener who took care of Aubrey Hall, it was my understanding that my responsibilities would not extend past Bridgerton House.”

“Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t,” Violet agreed with your sentiment. “It is just that our other gardener has, like my son, recently gotten married and Anthony was in a generous mood and gave him time to spend with his new wife so the gardens there have not been tended to in some time. I feel as though the plants here could surely survive a while longer in your absence, especially since you have done so much work with them already.”

“I see,” you smiled. “In that case I would be more than happy to join you at Aubrey Hall, my Lady.”

“Splendid,” she let out a small relieved breath. “I have arranged for you to come in a carriage with my maid Mrs.Wilson. There are quarters for a gardener on the far end of the property that you will be most welcome to stay in during your time in the country. It hasn’t been used for quite some time as Mr. Henry lives in the village and walks to Aubrey Hall every day.”

“Wonderful, I shall finish with these weeds then begin packing,” you motioned to the soil below you and Violet nodded her head with a smile before wishing you a good rest of your day and heading back inside to arrange some packing of her own (and make sure Gregory and Hyacinth in particular were doing the same…and come to think of it Eloise, Benedict, and Colin as well).

She was content that evening to be stressing over her impending travels instead of allowing herself to drift into madness like she felt she had been doing so often these past few days. As she lay in bed, the blanket pulled up to her chin as she curled underneath the covers, she really did hope that the country air might provide her even with a moment's respite.

—

“I never knew you to be interested in gardening, mama.”

Violet turned her head upwards at Eloise’s voice as she had caught sight of her staring out of the window at you while you took out some potted plants and re-planted them into the soil.

“Oh, yes,” Violet nodded her head. “Gardening, it’s very…” her voice trailed off and she didn’t even attempt to finish her sentence, her eyes still closely watching you.

Eloise gave her mother a look of confusion, trying to gather what was going on, but clearly not understanding the situation at all.

“It’s very what?” she asked, pulling her mother out of her thoughts once more.

“It’s an art,” Violet ended up saying, turning her head to face Eloise, a polite, albeit slightly strained, smile on her face. “To tend to a garden takes knowledge, care, and an eye for a certain…”

“Je ne sais quoi?” Eloise offered and Violet nodded her head.

“Exactly.”

Eloise watched you with her mother for a moment before leaving her to her own devices so she could go read for a bit before playing pall mall with her siblings and new sister-in-law.

Violet thought a little more to herself about what it took to take care of a garden. It was true that it required knowledge and care, but gardens also flourished with love and tenderness, with touch and air and sunlight.

Just as she thought of the sun, it peeked out from behind the clouds, just for a moment shining in through the window and Violet allowed herself to bask in its warmth. Shutting her eyes and letting each golden ray envelop her and touch her skin and set it aglow. She took in a deep breath and let out a soft sigh, relishing that feeling of something against her body, some warmth.

“Lady Bridgerton?”

“Hmm,” Violet bore a soft smile on her face, her eyes still closed for a moment before she turned her head and opened them, seeing her friend standing before her. “Oh, Lady Danbury. You must excuse me I was just-”

“Basking?” she asked with a raised brow, leaning on her cane.

Violet chuckled a little sheepishly.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Would you care to join me?”

“I think I would,” she said as Violet moved over slightly so that she could join her on the small couch that faced the window. “Miss Eloise has told me that you’ve been observing the gardening that is happening.”

“Yes,” Violet nodded again, she didn’t have many words to say as her eyes fell on you again, watching your every movement.

“Or perhaps there is a gardener that has caught your eye?”

“Yes-Wait Agatha!” Violet turned her head as soon as she’d realized how she’d answered, shocked her friend could even suggest such a thing.

Lady Danbury’s face was not one of shock or even intrigue, she just let her hands simply rest on the head of her cane and continued to look out of the window.

Violet was so flustered she could feel her cheeks growing more red by the second as she figured out what she was going to try and say to cover up her answer.

Before she could think of something, Lady Danbury spoke again.

“I suppose a gardener has many admirable qualities,” she began. “They are very meticulous, they know how to…tend to things.”

Violet pressed her lips together, she didn’t dare look over at her, instead just focusing on her hands in her lap.

“You wouldn't tell anyone, would you?” Violet asked quietly.

“What is there to tell,” Lady Danbury shrugged. “You are simply a Lady who enjoys her garden.”

Violet smiled a little to herself and looked out of the window ahead into the field, placing a hand on her friend’s which still rested on the head of her cane.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Lady Danbury nodded her head.

“There is no harm in looking, Violet.”

She continued to press her lips together, there may not have been a harm in looking, but what about when that fuelled some sort of desire she did not know how to control.

Violet removed her hand from Lady Danbury’s and smoothed out her dress, standing up.

“I should go. I think I can hear Hyacinth and Gregory arguing. Probably about something pointless.”

Lady Danbury gave Violet a compassionate smile which she returned, but it left her face as soon as she turned away and headed towards the voice of her children. If she couldn’t seem to control her staring when you were around then perhaps she’d just have to make sure she wasn’t around you.

—

When Violet was in the country and she found herself needing to clear her head she often sat on the bench next to her husband’s grave. She was usually better prepared, bringing flowers and maybe something special to leave there, but she didn’t have the wherewithal today to do anything other than sit.

Her children would all make their rounds eventually, especially the older ones, but often they liked to do it alone, taking the quiet moment as one of reflection, or perhaps they took the silence as an opportunity to talk with their father.

Violet preferred to reminisce.

To close her eyes and play through scenes in her head, a memory, a feeling until often she stopped herself before tears could stream down her cheeks.

Today she felt her eyes flutter shut as the wind blew against her face, her breath was caught in her throat as she swore she could feel her late husband’s arms wrap around her. Ten years and she could still remember how his hands would mould to her sides, how his chin would rest against her shoulder from behind, the feeling of his breath like a gentle warm breeze against her cheek.

She heard the crunch of twigs off to the side and she opened her eyes to see what had made the sound.

She saw you with your back turned to her and she frowned out of confusion for a moment before calling your name, encouraging you to turn around and face her.

“I apologize, my Lady. I didn’t realize you were here,” you said quietly. “I just noticed there weren’t any flowers so I thought I might bring some by. The staff has told me you normally bring hyacinths.”

Violet felt her lips pull into a sad soft smile as she nodded her head.

“Yes…I was just a little preoccupied today,” she admitted.

You tested the waters and came a little closer, and then a little closer until you could rest the flowers down by the large headstone.

Violet watched as your hands moved to adjust a few things, not moving from your position until the flowers were perfect.

When you stood up, you didn’t take the time to admire your work like you normally did and moved away to give Violet her privacy, and despite all that she had told herself a few days ago, she found herself speaking before her mind could catch up.

“You could stay for a moment, if you’d like.”

You paused and looked over at the Viscountess, she didn’t necessarily meet your gaze, her eyes still on the flowers you had brought.

“I could stay if you’d like me to,” you said softly, not wanting to overstep her politeness.

She nodded her head, her eyes still on the flowers and placed a hand on the empty spot next to her on the bench.

You pursed your lips and clasped your hands behind your back as you walked towards the bench, lowering yourself down next to her and moving your hands to your lap.

You didn’t say anything, simply watching Violet and waiting for her to make the move, to start a conversation if that’s what she wished, but perhaps she just wanted someone to sit in silence with her to offer a hand of comfort and before you realized what you were doing your hand had inched over towards hers that was still resting on the bench next to you.

When Violet felt the warm touch of your hand against hers she had to keep her head turned for a moment, not expecting you to do such a thing.

Confused by her reaction, you quickly retracted your hand in case you had overstepped, but as soon as the contact was lost, Violet turned her head back to you.

“Is everything alright, my Lady?” you asked.

She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak and instead looking straight ahead out into the field. She closed her eyes only for a moment, simply feeling the warmth radiate off your skin only for it to be blown away by the cool breeze.

When she opened her eyes she noticed your hand in front of her, holding a handkerchief. She moved her own hand to her cheeks feeling the wet streaks against her skin.

She took the handkerchief from you, with one hand, but then reached out with the other before you could pull away. You carefully brought your other hand and clasped hers between them. She could feel every callous along your palm, a rough exterior for such a gentle and caring touch.

She sniffled and moved her free hand over her mouth, her fingers curled as if in contemplation.

You stayed like that until you could hear the thunder rumble in the distance. You removed your hands from around hers, noticing how she almost shivered at the loss of warmth.

“We should go before we get caught in the rain,” you said quietly.

Violet nodded her head and watched as you wished her a good rest of her day before leaving and she sat there a while longer, looking down at her hands in her lap, the handkerchief still wet with tears, and she imagined that this wasn’t the last time this cloth, this piece of fabric would be witness to her sorrows.

—

Violet was never one to sneak around, but when the house was filled with her family and their staff on occasion she would find herself waiting for a moment where she could be away and for no one to know where she was.

It was practically impossible to slip out unnoticed during the day, so she went through her usual evening routine with her maids, but sat at her vanity, waiting until the sun had just set and everyone was fast asleep to open the door of her room and peek down the hallway, stepping into it and making her way to the doors that led outside.

The air nipped at her skin, making the hair on her arm stand on its end, despite the cover from her robe which she now wrapped tighter around her as she walked down the stairs and through the garden. She didn’t really think about what she was doing or where she was going, perhaps it was just simply away.

Darkness fell upon the country and she appreciated the privacy it gave, but clearly it could only give so much.

It seemed as though she had walked all the way to the edge of the property where the gardener’s quarters were and there was still a shadow of a figure outside bent over what looked like potted plants.

She watched curiously as she got closer and possibly hearing the squish of her feet against the wet soil, you looked up and saw her. It was safe to say you were a little confused at the sight before you and quickly dusted your hands off on a towel.

“Lady Bridgerton is that you?” you called, squinting into the darkness, trying to get a better look.

“Yes,” she called back. “What on earth are you doing gardening at night?”

“I suppose I might ask the same of you and your promenade, my Lady,” you said. “These flowers bloom at night, I was just coming to take a look at them.”

You beckoned her to come closer and take a look at what you were observing. As she came towards you, you noticed similarly to yourself she was dressed in a nightgown, only she had a robe pulled over top of her as well.

It was interesting to see her in this light, or perhaps this darkness, her hair falling into loose curls on either side of her shoulders. There was no rouge on her cheeks, but the cold air seemed to do the trick regardless, welcoming a rosy colour on her skin.

She bent down to examine the flowers you spoke of, gently touching the petals and smiling seeing how they reached up towards the moonlight.

Before either of you could speak you were interrupted by the rumble of thunder and a trickle of rain which quickly turned into a downpour.

You opened the door to the small cabin and ushered Violet inside, slipping in after her, lucky you were close by and did not get caught in the worst of it.

“I’m not sure it will be a good idea for you to go back, my Lady,” you looked outside. “It’s pouring, you’d catch a cold.”

You looked back over at her and she was wiping a few drops of rain from her face, but after seeing how hard the downpour was she came to the same conclusion.

“I know it’s hardly as glamorous as what you have in Aubrey Hall, but you can take my bed,” you said. “I have a mat I can use to sleep on the floor.”

“Are you quite sure?” Violet asked. “I know you did not plan on having a guest tonight, I do not mean to intrude.”

“It’s not an intrusion, my Lady. Simply unconventional company,” you shrugged, pulling the mat out from where it was kept and laying a sheet overtop of it along with a blanket and a pillow. “Your family won’t worry about you out here?”

“They don’t know I’m here,” she said. “I’ll be fine for one evening.”

You nodded your head and sat down on the mat, watching as she followed your lead with the bed.

The fire flickered a soft warm light into the room and you sighed, wrapping your hands around your legs.

“Goodnight, my Lady.”

“Goodnight,” she whispered and turned to lay back down on the bed and you allowed yourself to do the same.

You tried to close your eyes and fall asleep, after a hard day of working outside usually you didn’t have much trouble. You stayed still with your eyes closed for what felt like hours before you really began to give up and open your eyes.

When you did, you looked over at the bed and saw Violet seemingly in a similar predicament, tossing until she landed on her back, staring up at the ceiling, not noticing your gaze on her.

It felt wrong to watch her, especially when she must have assumed you were fast asleep, but there was something that forced you to stare, to not turn your eyes away.

You saw her hand reach out to touch her neck, like she was trying to remember a feeling. One hand rested just below her breast while the other hovered for a moment, hesitating to come down, but when it did, both hands wrapped themselves around her midsection as she turned back onto her side, facing the wall.

You bit your lip and wondered how many nights she’d spent like this since her husband had passed away.

Alone.

Aching.

Lady Violet Bridgerton was a woman who the ton saw as constantly surrounded by others, but in the times you had seen her, you’d seen past the crowds of family and friends that encompassed her. You saw a woman who longed for something she didn’t feel she had the right to ask for.

You turned onto your back and closed your eyes again, the sound of the rain crashing down on the house drowning out any further thoughts you might have, and as the smell of fresh soil, grass, and newly potted plants filled your nostrils, you closed your eyes and hoped that Violet would find whatever it was she was looking for.

—

Violet stared up at the intricate design of her four poster bed frame. A kaleidoscope of shapes, diamonds and triangles carved into wood, dizzying in their patterns.

She felt her hands move from where they rested against her chest, tracing along her skin before moving overtop of fabric, down her chest, towards her stomach where the fabric of her nightgown was already bunched up, having fallen from her knees down to her hips.

She let her eyes flutter closed as she began to put pressure at the base of her stomach, gathering the courage to let her hands go lower.

Just as her hand was about to slip past the point of fabric, to touch skin again, she felt someone gently grasp her hand.

She opened both her eyes and her mouth to let out a gasp of surprise, but a finger came to her lips, quieting her.

“Shh, shh,” it was a gentle hush, her mouth unable to shut as she saw you lean over top of her, the shapes and patterns surrounding you from above sending her into a spiral. “Let me take care of that for you.”

Violet could feel her bottom lip begin to tremble against your finger as she felt your other hand start its path from her ankle, moving up her shin, past her knee, and onto her thigh.

She let out a light gasp as your fingers reached closer to her core, her own hand pressing against her stomach in some attempt to steady herself.

She knew she had to do something while she still had her wits about her, so she lifted her other hand to wrap around the back of your neck, holding the side of your face, bringing you down so your forehead was pressed against hers, your noses touching as your fingers slipped inside her.

She gasped with each movement, pulling you closer, her eyes closed, her nose scrunched, her mouth unable to shut, her breathing and quiet moans the only sound that filled the room.

Violet couldn’t gather her senses, teetering towards the edge of something a long groan caught in the back of her throat.

Violet opened her eyes, taking in a gulp of air and quickly pushing herself up in her bed.

She looked around her room, it was dark and empty. She looked up to her bedframe, the shapes causing her mind to spin as your face flashed before her.

Her skin was sticky with sweat, the fabric of her nightgown clinging onto her as she covered her face with her hands for a moment, steadying her breathing before running her hands through her hair and pulling her knees to her chest, trying to ignore that pit of need in her stomach.

She rested one arm across her knees, the elbow of her other arm using it as a rest while she ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at it, hoping the pain might pull her away from her thoughts.

Moving on to pinch the bridge of her nose, she fell back onto the mattress, staring at the wall, too afraid to look up and be reminded of her dream, too afraid to close her eyes and let her subconscious gain control once more.

So she stayed like that, in bed, staring at the wall until the sun leaked into the room telling her she was finally safe, or so at least she thought.

—

A few days had passed and Violet had barely left her room. She told her family she was feeling unwell and needed to rest, but in reality, she spent most of her time still dressed in a nightgown, sitting on the chaise lounge, looking out at the clouds that loomed overhead.

When she opened the window to allow for some fresh air to enter the room, she could smell the rain in the air, the clouds making their way towards Aubrey Hall seemed to match her suspicions and she knew that evening she wouldn’t confine herself to her room any longer.

Across the property, you had the Sunday off and used the time to enjoy the clear skies while they lasted, finding company in yourself, bouncing between a book and cooking a few things for yourself to eat while you mentally planned how the rest of your week would look like, assigning areas of the property based on priority and need.

Gardening was hard work, there was no question about it. But the results were always worth it, every single time without fail. Looking at the finished product and being able to see beauty and order in something so wild and free.

As the evening rolled in, and the grey sky was replaced by the deep navy that visited every night, you made your way back inside, boiling the pot of water for a cup of tea while you heard the rain begin to patter outside, drop by drop until it was continuous and loud against the roof of your cabin.

You didn’t expect to do much else aside from sit and enjoy your drink, perhaps read a few more chapters of your book when you heard a knock at your door.

Not knowing who was on the other side, you grabbed your robe and wrapped it around yourself before going to the door and opening it.

Your hand immediately flew to your mouth, “Lady Bridgerton…” your voice trailed off as you took in her appearance, in nothing but a nightgown, completely soaked, mud lining the bottom of it, her hair stringy and stuck to the sides of her face. You quickly opened the door wider and pulled her inside and out of the cold, closing the door behind you. “What happened?”

“Mistimed my evening promenade,” she said quietly. “I-I was closer to here than the hall…”

You nodded your head and moved her over towards the stool in front of the fire, sitting her down and moving away to rummage through your things to find a towel, bringing it to her and wrapping it around her shoulders.

She looked up at you, her lashes still dripping with water and you bent down next to her, tucking her hair behind her ears so it didn’t stick to her face, lifting the towel slightly to help wipe away some of the water that was still dripping down her face.

You didn’t even think twice about the familiarity, unable to bring yourself to just leave her alone like that. And perhaps you didn’t think twice because she didn’t so much as flinch with your touch, if anything she leaned into your hand.

“My Lady, you risk catching a cold in such weather,” you said softly.

“I know,” she whispered. “I should be more careful.”

“Does your family not know you have come outside?” you asked and she nodded her head.

“I just needed a moment alone.”

“According to your daughter, moments alone are all you’ve had these past few days,” you said. “Miss Eloise said you were unwell.”

“I-I was,” Violet nodded. “What I meant is that I needed some fresh air after being in my chambers for so long.”

You nodded your head and respected her answer, standing up from beside her and bringing her the cup of tea you had made for yourself in hopes that it would speed up the process of warming her up as the towel and fire helped to dry her off.

When you saw her finally begin to get back to her normal temperature you realized there was no way she could stay in her current clothes, the bottom of her dress now caked with dry mud.

You stood up again and went to the dresser, looking through a few things before finding what it was you wanted and bringing it to her in exchange for the empty cup. It was a nightgown, left in the cabin perhaps by a previous gardener’s wife, but it looked like it would fit Violet and it could do the trick for the night.

She took it from your hands and slowly stood up, removing the towel from her shoulders before going into the small washroom to get changed.

You hung the towel to dry by the fire while you waited and just as she exited the washroom with her dirtied nightgown in hand she saw you reaching for the mat you had slept on last time.

“Why don’t you stay with me on the bed,” Violet said. “I could not impose on your kindness more than once.”

You pressed your lips together and looked down at the mat in your hands.

“I insist. It is big enough for both of us.”

“Just barely, my Lady,” you looked at her just to make sure that she was absolutely certain.

“Either we both sleep on the bed or I shall take the mat this time,” she said. “You’ve already done a lot for me tonight, I cannot possibly take your place of rest as well.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek and let go of the mat, sliding it back into its place between the bookcase and the wall.

You motioned for her to take her spot on the bed, and she did so after folding her gown and placing it off to the side, sliding underneath the covers and moving to the side next to the wall. When she was settled you came in next to her, turning your back to hers, staring out the window at the rain pouring down on the property.

The sound brought you back to that previous evening, under similar circumstances.

You recalled the way she wrapped her arms around herself, how she tossed and turned and it made you think about tonight, how incredibly still she was lying, how she had melted into your touch.

You felt your mouth begin to open and before you could stop yourself you asked,

“My Lady, why were you outside tonight?”

“I-I told you I wanted some fresh air,” she repeated her response from before.

“What I mean to say…is why were you really outside?”

You could hear Violet swallow thickly.

She fumbled over an excuse, her mind unable to give her a good enough lie to cover up.

You turned so that you were on your back, now staring at the ceiling.

“You must have known it was going to rain tonight,” you said quietly. “You saw the clouds and you still came out…”

Your tone was not accusatory, but instead more of a query, like you were trying to figure out her logic, how this all worked out in her mind.

Violet went silent at your comment, the only sound in the room was that of the rain coming down outside over the cabin.

You are now turned fully, facing her back, the quiet intimacy of the moment giving you all the courage you needed to ask.

“Why are you here? What is it you want, Lady Bridgerton?”

When she did not respond to you, you whispered again,

“Violet…What are you-”

“Touch me…please.”

Her voice was so quiet and strained, it was the most desperate plea you’d ever heard.

Violet lay there, curled so tightly, the silence following her request so deafening, but anything was better than sitting like that for one more moment trying to figure out what to do with herself. She would rather sit in utter mortification than go another second with that fire burning in the pit of her stomach.

And just as she thought nothing would come, she felt a brush against her neck, moving her hair back, over her shoulder, tracing a line that burned like hot metal on her skin.

The hand moved back over her shoulder towards her chest, tracing a path that was so familiar, following every movement she had once done herself, from below her breast, across her ribcage until she felt a wall of warmth all across her back.

Her breathing grew shakier with each prolonged touch, as an arm slipped under her waist, wrapping around her fully until she was held, until she could no longer feel that ache in her bones, that clenching in her heart.

She focused on your hands, how they held her, how your body pressed against hers felt like sunlight.

Your hand stayed where it was for a few moments, but before long, Violet felt it move from where it was draped over her waist and across her stomach, coming to her hip, your fingers gently grabbing the fabric and tugging upwards.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four times.

Four times was when the hem of the gown was finally between your fingers, when you could slide your hand between skin and fabric, making Violet shudder as you followed the curve of her body upwards, higher and higher until her breast was cupped in your hand and she turned her head towards you as much as she could, her breathing coming in heavier, needier.

Your chin rested in the crook of her shoulder, your breath against her face felt like air.

Your other hand, still wrapped around her, took advantage now that her nightgown was lifted so high, sliding lower, across the skin of her abdomen, under the fabric of her underwear, her breathing coming in anticipatory gasps until you finally reached where she was expecting, a moan escaping past her lips.

Your touch felt like care, like water on the dry soil of a dying plant.

You moved your hand in such a way that you could run your fingers along her before gently sliding them into her, you looked up at her, pushing yourself up, putting more pressure against her breast, her mouth open but nothing leaving but pants and sighs.

You continued to move your fingers in and out, a slow rhythmic pace at first, watching with each movement how her chest heaved, how she moaned and whimpered when she wanted more.

Your touch satisfied that hungry need in the pit of her stomach, but it also soothed the ache in her heart as you didn’t loom over her or sit next to her.

You held her, her back pressed into your chest in a hold so familiar yet different it felt dizzying, especially when your thumb brushed against a sensitive spot as you moved your fingers prompting Violet to let out a loud gasp of surprise just as you moved your thumb back to continue its movement and pressure against her.

Violet tried to find words, but none came out of her mouth, the only thing escaping was breathless want.

Seeing her as she was, you could only think of the flowers you tended to, reared from mere bulbs into bright, colourful, plentiful bushes. How each year you would wait patiently until there was that one tipping point and the flower would open and from there it would bloom without bound.

Here Violet was, in that delicate stage, at that tipping point and you were ready to see the finished product.

You pressed onwards, giving her more, listening as her moans and whimpers that she desperately tried to hold back came out needily, higher and higher until her eyes screwed shut, her nose scrunched, her mouth open as it let out one last sharp sigh before the waves of pleasure had finished washing over her and her face relaxed, her eyes still closed, lips still parted.

You carefully removed your fingers, conscious of how sensitive she was, taking your hand out from underneath her, while the other gently let go of her breast, slipping out from underneath her nightgown to come and turn her face back upwards, towards you.

Your hand was gentle in its caress, in its guidance, and Violet felt her eyes fluttering open as her head was turned.

The fire crackled in the background, but its sound was drowned out by the rain, its light shining over Violet’s skin in a golden hue, every freckle illumined and sparking. The light that struck her eyes hit her irises in a certain way, giving warmth and life to their cool blue colour.

You leaned down a little closer, admiring all these small things about the Lady that was lying in front of you. You leaned down until your forehead rested against hers and her eyes fluttered shut again, as did yours, her lips still parted, her breathing still heavy.

You guided her chin up a little more, closing the gap with your own lips, pressing against hers so faintly. Everything about the kiss felt cautious whereas every other touch felt assured, that was until Violet lifted her head more, fully pressing her lips against yours, relying on your hand to hold her, to keep her steady until she could reach out with her own arms holding your neck, your waist, feeling the shape of you against her hand, her fingers.

There may have been no harm in looking, but surely touching was much better.

As your lips parted and you moved away only slightly to look at her once more, your hand brushing aside some hair that had come to cover her face. She moved her own hand to hold yours that was against her face, turning her head to kiss it.

You moved to lower yourself next to her on the bed and she made the effort to turn and face you. From there it was easy for her to be wrapped up in your arms and to wrap her arms around someone other than herself.

A few months ago Violet had hired a gardener, but little did she know that gardener would eventually tend to her.

#mimi's forbidden bookshelf #<- reminder to minors to please block this tag #violet bridgerton #violet bridgerton x reader #violet bridgerton x you #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #violet bridgerton fanfiction #violet bridgerton fanfic #ruth gemmell

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laurorne · 11 hours

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Hi, can u write Daemon Targaryen x reader where she’s daemon second wife. He married her on the Valyrian way so Viserys had to acknowledge their marriage. Rhea Royce came to the capital because even hating daemon he’s her husband and humiliated her. A meeting between daemon and his wives ahahah

༊*·˚ WITH EACH LOVE YOU CUT LOOSE | daemon targaryen x niece!reader

summary: a beheading is the only punishment fit for a loose tongue directed at the crown princess.

content: targaryen typical incest (uncle x niece), blood, mutual infliction of wounds, cheating on daemon's behalf, fluff, daemon is a softy, reader is catty towards rhea but feels sorry, possibly innacurate valyrian wedding?, murder!! no beta i'm so sorry

word count: 3.1k

a/n: tadaaa! sorry it took so long hun, i've been flat out with exams but i honestly loved this concept. i wasn't sure about the relationship dynamic you wanted so i assumed you meant for reader to be viserys' daughter, i hope you enjoy tho!!

The cold steel meets your lip in kind, Daemon's pointer and thumb pinching your chin in place so you don't slip from his grasp as he drags it across the soft flesh. Your nose scrunches for not even a second before you're pushing the pain back down. Your eyes meeting those of the man before you as he stares so lovingly at you, your heart hurts in its cage. Your pulse is wild and skittering as you take a deep breath.

His brow pinches slightly as a smile plays on his lips, something akin to hope and possibly admiration settling in those lilac iris'. Oh, ever-sweet Daemon, back from war and he's already offering his mind, body and soul to you in their entirety. It seems being back home, after the Stepstones had lifted a weight that'd been on his shoulders since he was sent away by his brother, your father.

His hair is fluttering along with the night breeze that cocoons Dragonstone on its spring eves. The scent of the lit candles invades your nose as you allow the wind to pull the curtain of your hair along its path.

A droplet of blood begins beading on the curve of your lip, Daemon traces his rough fingers down the edges of it, coaxing more blood to rush from the slit as he blows air onto it, perhaps comforting or enjoying the way your lashes flutter as he does so.

He seems to think the blood enough, as he swipes the pad of his thumb over the beads of blood that bloomed from the cut and he marks the Valyrian rune -fire- upon your forehead. The hand with the knife of dragon-glass upon your outstretched palm, willing you with the dip of his head to do the same he had just done.

Your hand isn't as steady as you bring it to grace upon his lip -you're far too flustered, after all these years of praying to whatever higher power would listen for him to come back to you safely. Utter infatuation and eagerness on your behalf made your cut slightly off but the dragon-glass was sharp and ensured a clean cut that allowed hot blood to pool on the bow of his lower lip nearly immediately.

Another breeze seems to coax you forward as you brush your own thumb along the trail of blood that began oozing its way towards his chin. He tilts himself forward so you can reach him with ease, his hair gathering around his face as it shields you both from the onlooking eyes of the maester and your witnesses. His eyes ever delicate as they trace the way a ringlet of hair dances along your cheek. You catch the droplet of red before it can begin its descent and mark his forehead with 'blood'.

A lingering emotion rolls over his face as your heart skitters to keep up with what's happening, not even a moon ago had he sent a letter pleading for you to greet him on Dragonstone before he returned and here you were, willing to wed this man without so much as a thought about the consequences or the rage your father would berate you with upon your return to Kings Landing. A part of your mind whispering that it was worth it, that you deserved to be loved by a man who didn't only want you for a birth claim of dragons or those pale Valyrian features of snow white hair.

Daemon's hand clasps over your smaller one as he brings the dark edge to the open planes of his palm, pushing down onto it as he guides you through the ceremony with little care of the proper way to do this.

He's waited far too long for this, and he cannot bear another second of not being able to have you as his. His flame, his soon to be wife.

He eases the blade from your fingers as he brings it down upon your own palm, it makes your breath come in shallow bursts at how oh-sp close you are to kissing him. To having him by your side, on the plush bed in the royal apartments of Dragonstone, as your husband and twin soul. Blood of the dragon mingling, like how it was supposed too.

Your tongue rolls over your top lip, licking away the coppery liquid that begins smearing across the entirety of your mouth as part your lips and watch him so delicately hold your wrist and split the warm skin in the cradle of your hand. His thumb brushes across the pulse point of your wrist as he presses your bloody, weeping hands together.

Not even the maester speaking can pull your eyes away from the deep lilac of Daemon's gaze, his pupils are dilated, round and dark as he stares into your own. You can nearly see the way he thinks, can feel what he does with the way he tightens his grasp on your hand.

"Hen lantoti ānogar." Blood of two.

The maesters cold hands brush across both of yours as he begins wrapping the reddened silk around the only point you and Daemon are touching as thick blood mixes and drips to the cup he holds beneath.

"Va sȳndroti vāedroma," Joined as one.

Your shoulders rise and fall as you breath in the salty brine of the ocean, but you cannot escape the man you love dearly as you catch a huff of him. Heady and warm and everything you crave.

"Mēro perzot gīhoti." Ghostly flame

He pushes the cup into your hand and your stomach churns as you bring it to your lips, the intricate headpiece you wear making your neck tilt as you stare deeply into his eyes over the rim as you drain half the cup, licking your lips as the rich blood smothers out anything else you could possibly feel.

Elēdroma iārza sīr. And song of shadows.

He looks down so proudly as you lick the crimson away from your teeth, tongue peeking out for a split second as you capture a stray droplet at the corner of your lip. He had preached when you were but a young girl, that dragons weren't afraid of blood, and you'd be damned by the gods now if you didn't live up to that.

Izulī ampā perzī. Two hearts as embers.

You bring the goblet away from the seam of your lips as you offer it to him between your bodies.

Pūmī lanti sēteksi. Forged in fourteen fires.

He glances down at it with a straight face before looking back up to you, hand wrapping around yours as he moves to take the cup. Warmth spreads from the contact as your lids flutter.

Hen jenȳ māzīlarion. A future promised in glass.

Daemon drags the cup to his lips with a look that burns you down to the core like one of the wicks that struggle against the winds, he lights a fire in the pit of your stomach that you're sure won't be extinguished for years to come. He stares you down, the cup idly held between you as you grasp his hand just the bit harder, eager. He downs what you couldn't in a mouthful, holding eye contact as his adams apple bobs with the swallow.

Qēlossa ozūndesi. The stars stand witness.

He shoves the cup in the maester direction, and the old frail man takes the cup with a trembling hand.

Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo. The vows spoken through time.

Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi. Of darkness and light.

He cards a hand through the strands of loose hair, tucking it behind your ear as his eyes skate across every feature and dip and slope of your face. Years apart had not changed the way he watched you, the way he took in everything about you without so much as a thought about what he would gain from marrying you, aside from your presence as his wife.

Your heart beats wildly against the cage of your ribs as you place a hand on his cheek, stroking the skin there as you lean up to him, lashes fluttering in anticipation.

His hand cradles your neck as he drags you the rest of the way in, eyes closed as his lips press against yours. Blood is smeared between you both, the cuts weeping anew with the ferocity and want that he kisses you with. Your breath is stolen from you as he bites at your lip, breathing your air as he all but devours you.

Your arrival to Kings Landing after three months of hiding upon Dragonstone with your insatiable, newly wed husband had been rather... quiet. There had not been an entourage of royal maids or knights or even the High Council. It was simply Otto Hightower, accompanied by your fiery younger sister in her riding gear who looked less than pleased as you dismounted your darling dragon alongside Daemon and Caraxes. The Hand to the King had simply said that your grandsire was waiting patiently in Maegors Holdfast, and that, should you say anything, ensure it is an apology.

It was eerily silent as Viserys sat across from you in his chambers, deep within his cups as he regarded you with what you could only consider contempt. Your sister had been no less the same, you had married the man she was pining after, afterall. But you had no qualms about the dissatisfaction of your father or sister, it was your choice, and your life. You'd left your grandsire's chambers in a flurry of fabric as he had regarded you as a child throwing a tantrum, and that you would soon realize that you would come to regret this.

Afterall, Daemon was still married to the lady Rhea Royce in Runestone and that he wouldn't be willing to annul the marriage.

You think that perhaps Daemon had spoken to your father -his brother- because no less than a moon later King Viserys had sent out letters to invite the lords to a tournament in the honour of his eldest daughters marriage. 'To officially announce this bountiful marriage', as Viserys had put it.

So here you were, four moons after your marriage to Daemon, being regarded by your husband as you sat at the vanity in nothing but a shift.

"I feel that today won't be held together well." You allow your eyes to drift from the task of brushing your hair, Daemon is sat against the bed in his attire for today. Dark fabrics that fit him well, staying in Kings Landing for the past month had perhaps tamed him. Or maybe he was laying in wait for the moment he could prove his brother right about his marriage.

"Perhaps. Though I trust you will remain civil." You all but say back, fingers weaving through loose strands as you pull it into a long plait.

"If any lords are to look at you with so much as a lewd face, I may have to pull Dark Sister from their chests."

You hum, hand drifting to your swollen stomach automatically as one of your handmaids steps in to tie the braid off, her fingers not as gentle on your snow white hair as Daemon's were.

"Oh how you make me swoon, husband."

He huffs a breath as he stands from the softness of your bed, hand sitting upon the pommel of his sword. He wanders toward your seated form as he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, hand smoothing over your bare shoulder as it moves past your breast and to your bump. Thumb stroking circles on the fabric above it as he presses a final kiss to your temple.

"I'll let your maids dress you today, send for me when you're ready to join the festivities."

You lean up to plant a final kiss to the corner of his lips before you allow his hand to fall away. His scent stays with you for a moment and so does his warmth, before he pulls away fully. Leaving the room in careful strides as the maids swarm you nearly immediately.

Being apart of the Royal family meant that you had the responsibility of greeting every longwinded lord who walked into the Great Hall, with a gentle smile and a soft greeting and a monotonous non-heartfelt 'thank you for making the journey for today'.

It's as if the King knew that you hated such things, that you loathed the frequent meetings of the High Council and the repetitive greetings. The only thing that got you through such affairs was the soothing presence of Daemon at your side, his occasional mocking words and dubious glances when a lord with eyes to big for his cock made a compliment to close to inappropriate.

Dinner had been served long ago, the rich oily meats sat across the tables made your stomach churn and the berry juices in your cup seem less than appetizing. So you opted for something savory, the lemon cakes and loaves of bread and soup.

Midway through a bite of a warm lemoncake, there was a voice you hadn't heard tonight, someone that had Daemon leaning further back in his chair as he took a deep swill of his goblet, a taunting look on his face as he glared the woman who stepped towards the table that sat before the Iron Throne with the entire Royal family.

"Thank you for inviting me to the events, my King." Her short brown curls were tied back as best as could be managed, she was dressed up in bronzy fabrics that rippled in the light of the braziers that lined the walls. She was... beautiful. Roynish in her appearance and the hardness of her features, a Northern Beauty for lack of better words.

Your Grandsire grinned widely as he greeted her back, "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to make it Lady Royce, I trust you found your travel to Kings Landing well?"

Oh. So this was the Rhea Royce? The... Bronze Bitch? As Daemon had so lightly put it in all his letters.

"It was a long ride, your grace. But worth it to join the festivities. And to see... my husband after so long apart."

The glare that's thrown towards your left is surely meant for Daemon. This situation was becoming more hilarious the longer you waited for her to greet him, and you by proxy. Oh, you had to greet her first.

"Lady Royce." You smile saccharinely, lips pulling back as you rise to greet her from across the table, hand evidently on your growing bump as you bow your head. "I've heard much of your conquests in the Vale. Tell me, how did you deal with those savages from the forests?"

You can see the tick in her jaw as she bows towards you, forced too by your position on the hierarchy and the keen eyes of the other guests here tonight.

"With a steady hand and decisive mind, princess."

You laugh, a true sort of thing as you look back to your husband, he huffs out a breath at that. He knows what you're doing, and he's keen on helping play this falsity of niceties.

"Husband," Rhea says suddenly, it's harsh and possessive as she watches you hold your husbands hand. "It has been a long few years, has it not? I missed your letters so."

She looks like a scorned wife -she is, but she cannot act upon it in the presence of her King, your father. Your smile falters as your fingers tighten around Daemon's scarred ones.

"Husband? You're not married anymore." You withhold any of the ill will you feel for her as her lip curls.

"Oh, my princess. But we are. The King hasn't annulled Prince Daemon and I's marriage. He is rightfully wed to me."

The hand you had on Daemon is swiftly pulled from his grasp, the hand you had on your stomach is twitching as you glare her down, you stand taller than her both figuratively and literally.

"Lady Royce, I would be mindful of your tone. Speaking to the Crown Princess with such speech could find your lands without a Lord." You all but laugh, you can feel the mirth that Daemon holds for her and it only doubles your hatred for this insolent petulant woman.

"I only speak the truth, princess."

"Was there not a rumour that your marriage was not consummated?"

Your grandsire snaps into action at that, a bit off call of your name as you bristle at his intrusion on your conversation. "Father. It's true is it not? There was never proof that Daemon bedded her, her womb is barren and I find that mine is not the same. Would you call me a liar and fraud when she couldn't even produce an heir?"

"You have embarrassed me! I've been dishonoured and cast aside after how many years or marriage? My own husband will not speak while his mistress dares to speak on his behalf. What have you to say, husband?"

You stand with a hand over your stomach and a lip curled up in disgust at the woman stood before you with a flushed face. If this is how your father thought he would turn you against Daemon, he was deftly wrong as he often is.

"You dishonour my wife by simply being here, Rhea." Oh and how the brown haired woman seems to crumble at that. Daemon had always been a man of few words, but he made each one count all the same.

“I dishonour your wife? She is nothing but a platinum haired husband stealing whore!”

The Bronze Bitch all but snarls and picks up a plate of tarts to throw in your direction but Daemon is swift in his movements. Standing before you and taking the metal dish to his chest without thought.

The plate clatters onto the stone floor with such a loud reverberation that Rhea seems to snap out of her rage as she realises that she had indeed just insulted a royal family member, and that she may not leave this Great Hall with her life.

There's a telltale sign as a sword is unsheathed and the whoosh of a blade through air. And then deathly silence as the entire hall settles into silence, as the body of the woman steps once backwards before it crumples and her neck hinges, a spray of blood decorating the table before you as Rhea Royce becomes but a corpse for the Silent Sisters to prepare for burial.

Grandsire stands from his chair in a swift move, shouting at Daemon for such insolence and killing a guest of the King.

Daemon ignores his brother in favour of wiping the blood from Dark Sister and stares out at the full hall. "Insult to the Crown Princess is punishable by death, you will all do well to remember it as such."

Rhaenyra is tensed in her seat and your father yells at him, something pertaining to another banishment and you are left to stand in awe of the gruesome acts your uncle is willing to commit in your honour.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x you #targaryen incest #targaryen!reader #daemon is a baddie #trust guys #daemon targaryen x niece!reader #possibly innacurate valyrian wedding

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strawtebby · 1 day

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Hypno-Pop Fem!Branch AU

Two AUs in one! I was thinking about the Hypno Pop AU by @djmurphy and listening to Britney Spears and I was like... "Huh. Theses two fit really well together." And then I starting thinking about the Idol industry and I was like. "Ok I have to make something." So here it is! I plan on writing a fic too, but so far I have a rough idea of how this goes

Fem!Branch Hypno-Pop AU

Branch - Queen B, Mega popstar and savior of the pop trolls alongside Poppy

Poppy - Branch’s SDBFFFL (Super Duper Best Friend Forever For Life - acronym by Poppy) savior of the pop trolls alongside Branch

Creek - Branch’s Manager and Boyfriend (wanna clarify he's just a slob, the last picture isn't trying to imply anything violent)

(it's eventual Broppy, throw in some Peppy bashing, brotherly kismet, and supportive snack pack)

After the escape from the Troll Tree, King Peppy uses the power of the string to basically brainwash Branch, she becomes Poppy’s best friend and continues to perform as Bitty B until she gets older and Creek becomes her manager after they start dating (yes he pursued her with that in mind).

Creek decides most of her outfits and while she’s allowed to write her own music it has to be approved by Peppy and Creek first so most of her lyrics are watered down or double meanings. She has to go to Peppy pretty much everyday to get a re-up on the string’s power otherwise the negative emotions being dulled by its effects start to creep in and her colors dull.

Creek suggests she rebrand to something a little more mature, to try and perform as a woman instead of a girl while keeping up her friendly persona. It was a difficult tightrope to work but with Creek’s help she does it subtly over time with her dress and lyrics becoming more mature, culminating in her rebrand as Queen B. This happened on the 20th Anniversary of the Trollstice and the chef, thinking she was Poppy since the crowd was calling her Queen, took her and a few others, Creek included.

Trolls 1 follows a similar flow but Creek does not get outed as a traitor, instead giving up cowbell up when the Chef threatens to eat Branch, because this was to save someone Poppy loves she understands it more and while very upset, her colors come back after Bridget saves everyone and the bergens realize they can be happy without the Trolls. Branch does not regain her colors at this time.

In this AU World Tour happens later, and instead Branch's brothers are together. JD went back to the Troll Tree like in the movie and finds no one but after he left he a few years later found the Putt Putt course by pure coincidence and reconnects with Clay. JD is grey when they meet and even though Clay has issues with his brother he doesn't want to see him like that so they decide to find the others. They track Floyd and realize he left too and Branch might be alone so they get Bruce and try to look for her. They eventually find Pop Village and find a show is being put on by some pop queen named "Queen Bee" and she's... singing a cover of their song??

(Alt lyrics for perfect)

Da-da, da-da-da

Da-da-da, da-da-da

Da-da, da-da-da (Queen B)

Da-da-da, da-da-da

Well, there she goes

On the floor, let's do this, no more talkin' (no more talkin'), huh-uh

Did anybody notice?

The energy just shifted when I dropped in

Ooh, let it drop in (let it drop in), ooh

I don't flex, but I might

Groove about to take flight

'Cause the night is young and the music's on

You’ll fall in love on sight

The sky was the limit

Now, the stars where I’m livin'

It's the vibe and I’m in it

And I’ll blow your mind

I’m so perfect, perfect, perfect

A hundred percent

Put us together you know what you'll get

Yeah, I’m so perfect, perfect, perfect

Harmony's so cold

And you'll never, ever wanna let me go

Ooh

They keep on watchin' me, watchin' me

I don't pay them no mind (She don't pay them no mind, no mind, no mind)

There ain't no stoppin', no stoppin' me

I ain't pressin' rewind (rewind, rewind)

And the sky was the limit

Now, the stars where I’m livin'

It's the vibe when I’m in it

And I’ll blow your mind

I’m so perfect, perfect, perfect

A hundred percent

Put us together you know what you'll get

Yeah, I’m so perfect, perfect, perfect

Harmony's so cold

And you'll never, ever wanna let me go

Won't let me go

I don't flex but I might

Groove about to take flight

'Cause the night is young and the music's on

And you fell in love on sight

Yeah, I don't flex but I will

I ain't lack the skills

'Cause when I do my dance, you put up your hands

Yeah, you can buy these thrills

And I’m so perfect, perfect, perfect

A hundred percent

Put us together you know what you'll get

Yeah, I’m so perfect, perfect, perfect

Harmony's so cold

And you'll never, ever wanna let me go (go)

Ooh

Perfect, perfect, perfect

#hypno pop au #grey branch #fem!branch #brozone #trolls #trolls fanart

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a-court-of-fics-and-errors · 2 hours

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Keep Moving Forwards, Part 32

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3.4K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

You walked over to the edge of the balcony, bracing your hands on the cool stone railing. Your dress fluttered gently in the breeze, the chill of early fall whispering up your skin and raising goosebumps beneath the fabric. You took a few deep, uneven breaths, your eyes squeezing shut as you fought to regain control.

Behind you, you heard Azriel’s footsteps, the soft, measured tread growing nearer until he was beside you. His presence was a comforting shadow in the moonlight. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, gentle but probing. You didn’t turn to face him, keeping your eyes closed as you tried to still the trembling in your hands.

“What happened out there?” he asked softly.

The question hung in the air, mingling with the distant sounds of laughter and music filtering through the glass doors. You rocked back and forth on your heels, the rough stone biting slightly into your palms as you gripped the railing tighter. Your breath hitched, and you forced yourself to take another deep breath, though it felt like a gasp torn from your chest. “He just—” you began, but the words choked off in your throat. You took another ragged breath, trying to speak past the lump of fear and anger lodged there.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Azriel’s expression tighten, a mix of concern and restrained fury. His jaw clenched, and his eyes flickered with an intensity that mirrored the storm brewing inside you.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, leaning over the railing as if the cold air might wash away the memory of Philip’s touch. Your lips parted in a silent gasp, the night air filling your lungs in sharp, uneven bursts.

Azriel’s hand found its way to your back, resting gently between your shoulder blades. The contact was meant to be soothing, but you flinched away, hissing softly at the touch. This time, the instinct to pull away was stronger than the comfort his touch usually brought. You stepped back hastily, your heel catching on the train of your dress. You stumbled slightly, a breathless gasp escaping you as you fought to keep your balance.

“Whore.” The voice of your mate hissed into your mind, as sharp and venomous as a snakebite. You had fought so hard to keep that wall intact, the barrier between his toxic influence and your fragile sense of self. You had felt his constant scratching, the insidious attempts to claw his way back into your consciousness, but your resolve had held firm—until now.

As you heard the malevolent whisper, you gasped, hands flying to your temples. Your eyes shot open, wild and panicked, scanning the surroundings without truly seeing anything. Azriel's voice reached out to you, but his words were lost in the maelstrom.

“You’re moving on quickly,” Caelum's voice purred, dripping with cruel amusement.

“Stop it, Caelum! Get the fuck out of my head!” you screamed, your voice echoing against the stone walls of the balcony.

“Seems like I shouldn’t feel too bad about how quickly you moved on from me to that little boy. You’re doing pretty well even after he bled out.” His words were a caustic taunt, a knife twisting deeper into your wound.

“Get out!” The scream tore from your throat, raw and desperate.

“Have you already let this one fuck you?” His sneer was almost tangible, a cold hand gripping your heart and squeezing.

A whimper escaped your lips as you slid down to your knees, the fabric of your dress pooling around you like a wilted flower. The cold stone pressed against your shins.

“Just leave me alone,” you whispered through a sob.

“It seems like you’ve already made your mind up about this one. You just better hope he’s stronger than the last one.” The derision in his tone was palpable, each syllable a taunt meant to tear you apart.

“Shut up!” you screeched, your voice breaking under the strain. It echoed into the night, a fractured plea.

“You’re so quick to open your legs, my love. And yet it seems like I had to force you to fuck me every time.” His voice was a poisonous whisper, corrosive and relentless.

Tears burned hot trails down your cheeks, your vision blurring as you shook your head violently, trying to dislodge the venomous words. Your hands gripped at your hair, desperate to build that wall back up, to block him out.

Strong hands cupped your face, trying to lift you, to connect with you, but you felt pinned, suffocated under the weight of Caelum’s voice.

“Glad to know you’re so like your mother. Apparently, you even look enough like her that someone would think you’re willing to sell your body.”

Azriel's hands grew more urgent, his thumbs rubbing tenderly against your cheeks, a muted voice calling out to you, trying to break through the fog of insults and mental knives.

“She’d be so proud of you. To know you’re fucking your way up the social ladder.”

“Why do you hate me?!” you screamed, your voice a ragged wail, and the hands around your face dropped in stunned silence.

“I am your mate.”

“You fucking hate me!” Your throat felt like it was being shredded from the inside out, each word a raw, hoarse accusation.

“I cannot hate my mate. But I can say you disgust me right now. You are a filthy whore. A slut.”

Sobs wracked your body, each one a violent convulsion of pain and despair. The hands that had tried to cup your face now slid around you, lifting you up with a firm but gentle grip. Your face found a resting place against something solid and warm—a refuge amidst the storm.

“No one will ever love you as much as I did. You don’t even know everything I did for you. All the sacrifices. I left my family for you. I gave up everything for you.”

The warmth against you shifted, and you realized it was Azriel. His arms enveloped you, rocking you back and forth slowly, a soothing rhythm amidst the chaos. His hand ran down the length of your hair, a tender gesture that contrasted starkly with the venomous voice still echoing in your mind.

“And all for you to go and throw it away. You think anyone will give up anything for you? You think you deserve that? You’ve killed someone because you’re being a fool. Do you think this one will be any different? Do you really believe he can protect you from everything? How long until he realizes you're nothing but trouble? Does he know how quickly you let me into your bed? How you begged for my touch? Or have you conveniently forgotten those nights?”

“Stop,” you whimpered, voice barely audible, each word a plea for respite that you knew wouldn’t come.

Azriel's arms tightened around you, his breath warm against your hair as he murmured something unintelligible to you.

But Caelum’s voice sneered in your mind, a shadowy specter of contempt. “He’ll get tired of you. He’ll see through your fragile facade, see the broken, worthless creature underneath. You’re not worth saving, Y/N.”

“No,” you gasped, shaking your head against Azriel’s chest, tears streaming down your face. “No, that’s not true.”

“It is true,” Caelum spat, his voice dripping with disdain. “You couldn’t even protect your last lover. He bled out because of you, because you’re weak and pathetic. What makes you think you deserve anything more?”

In a brief moment, one of Azriel’s murmurs broke through the onslaught, “You’re stronger than this. Just keep fighting it.”

Caelum's laughter echoed, a dark, twisted sound that felt like it was wrapping around your very soul. “Stronger? You think this pampered warrior knows you? You’re nothing but a burden, dragging him down. He’ll leave you, just like you deserve.”

“Shut up!” you cried, your voice breaking, each sob a shudder through your frame. “Just shut up!”

“You’re terrified of being alone, of facing your own inadequacies. You cling to anyone who shows you kindness because you can’t stand on your own.”

Each word was a whip across your already raw psyche. “He’ll see the real you soon enough. The damaged, worthless shell that you are. And he’ll leave, just like everyone else. Just like your mother”

“No,” you whispered, but the conviction in your voice wavered, your belief in yourself crumbling under the weight of Caelum’s relentless assault.

“You don’t deserve love, Y/N. You never did. You’re a curse, a plague on anyone foolish enough to care about you.”

But Caelum’s voice was relentless, a dark current pulling you under. “You’ll never be free of me. I am your mate, and you are bound to me, no matter how far you run. You can’t escape what you are, what you’ve done. I am your punishment. I am your retribution from the Mother for abandoning the natural way of things.”

You felt the despair tightening its grip, each word a stone dragging you deeper into the abyss. Azriel’s hand slid from your hair to your back, his touch a desperate anchor. “Focus on my voice,” he murmured. “Focus on me.”

But Caelum’s voice echoed with finality, a death knell to your hopes. “You will always be mine, Y/N. You will always be my pathetic little mate, no matter what you do. No one will ever love you like I did, no one will ever want you like I did. You’re tainted, broken beyond repair.”

You clung to Azriel, your body shaking with sobs, each one a wrenching plea for release from the nightmare that Caelum’s voice had dragged you back into.

But even as Azriel spoke, the poison of Caelum’s words lingered, a corrosive echo in your mind. “You’ll see, my love. You’ll see how quickly he’ll tire of you, how easily he’ll discard you when he realizes what you truly are.”

“Stop it! Stop it! Make it fucking stop!” You screamed out.

You felt Azriel’s grip tighten around you, his rocking growing heavier. His words, “I know, I know. Just hold on. Just fight it.” whispered into the crown of your head.

And then, in a moment of great strength, you slammed the bond shut again. You felt as if you could feel the crush of it as you slumped into Azriel’s arms. Sobbing and wailing.

Azriel shifted forward, gathering you into his lap as if you were a fragile sheet of glass about to shatter. His arms wrapped around you tightly, a desperate lifeline pulling you into the safety of his embrace. He pressed a trembling kiss to the crown of your head, rocking you back and forth, his breath hitching with each whisper. “You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. I promise,” he murmured, his voice breaking under the weight of his fear and sorrow.

Inside you, a void yawned open, a black hole threatening to consume the remnants of your spirit. It was the same abyss that had loomed after Kai's death, a dark, intoxicating pull that whispered surrender. What was the point of all this struggle, of clawing your way back to a semblance of normalcy, only to be dragged down again into the suffocating depths?

“I can’t make this stop,” you whispered, your voice quivering like a fragile leaf in a storm. “I can’t fix this. I can’t—”

Azriel pressed his face into your hair, his lips trembling against your scalp. “I know, Y/N. I know.”

“Azriel, I can’t do this. I can’t keep living with this. I can’t stand it, it’s ripping me apart from the inside out.”

“We can figure this out,” Azriel whispered, but his voice was laced with a desperation that belied his words.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I need it to stop.”

“I know.” His voice was a cracked echo, barely more than a breath against your ear.

“I can’t lose you.” You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back as if holding on for dear life.

Azriel tensed, your words hitting him like a blow. He pulled back slightly, his tear-filled eyes searching yours. “You won’t,” he said, his voice hoarse. His arms tightened around you, as though he could shield you from the darkness creeping in. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m going to hurt you,” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “I won’t let myself hurt you.”

“No, no, Y/N.” Azriel cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears with a tenderness that tore at your heart. “No, you won’t hurt me.”

“I hurt everything,” you gasped, your vision blurring. “Everything I touch burns. I can’t watch you burn.”

Azriel's hands trembled, his voice choked. “No, Y/N, you can’t do this. Don’t go back to that place. Stay here with me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, your whole body shaking. The cold night air seemed to seep into your bones.

“Don’t leave me, Y/N. Please.” His plea was raw, a desperate cry that shattered the silence of the balcony. “Don’t go back to that dark place. Don’t let him do that to you. Don’t fade away from me. Please.”

“I don’t know how to live,” you panted, each word a jagged shard of glass in your throat.

“You can live,” Azriel whispered fiercely, shifting onto his knees so he could press his forehead against yours. His breath mingled with yours, a fragile thread connecting you to the world. “We can live with this.”

“I can’t,” you hoarsely whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

“You can,” Azriel pleaded, his voice trembling, a raw whisper of desperation. “Please, don’t... don’t leave me again.” His hands cupped your face, shaking, his tears mingling with yours, falling onto your cheeks in silent agony. His eyes, dark and haunted, locked onto yours, as if sheer willpower could hold you together. “I need you to live, Y/N. I need you to choose to live.”

Azriel’s thumbs traced your tear-streaked cheeks, his breath ragged, each word a struggle. “Every single day after you left, I thought about you. Wondered where you were, what you were doing, if you were safe. Every moment, I worried. It haunted me, knowing you were out there, alone. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. You were... everything.”

He choked on his words, his tears flowing freely. “I sent shadows to watch over you. I saw you build that cabin, plant that garden. Saw you make that memorial for Anthea. You kept choosing to live, Y/N. You kept moving forward, even when everything seemed so dark.”

Azriel managed a broken smile through his sobs. “And when you went to that village, when you met Kai, and I saw that smile of yours, it nearly broke me. Seeing you with him... it hurt. But seeing you smile, seeing you live—it rebuilt me every day. Even if he made you smile... I just wanted you to find a reason to keep going.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes wild with desperation. “And then, when he took you, when Kai died, and I found you by that river, you were so lifeless, so... gone. I’ve never felt more rage, more helplessness in my life than seeing you like that, like your very soul had been stolen.”

Azriel took a shuddering breath, his voice cracking. “But even then, you kept waking up. Every damn day, you kept waking up and trying. You pushed forward, even when it felt impossible. You’re extraordinary, Y/N. You’re wonderful, forgiving, compassionate, loving. You’re funny, intelligent, everything... even with all the fucked-up things that have happened to you. You didn’t deserve any of it. Not a single bit of the pain. And yet, you kept living. You kept proving you could live through it.”

His thumbs brushed your cheeks, a tender, grounding touch. “You don’t need to be healed. You don’t need to fix everything. Just... please, live. You have to live. Whether I’m in your life or not, just... keep moving forward. Keep breathing. Keep waking up.”

Azriel's voice trembled with earnest desperation. “Even if all you can do is lie in bed, even if you feel like you can’t move... just keep living. Because I believe in you. I believe that if you keep going, you’ll find your way through this darkness. Your light is too bright to flicker out. You have to live, Y/N. You have to.”

His forehead pressed more firmly against yours, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with a depth of emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. “You have to live because you deserve to live. You deserve to find peace, to find joy, even if it feels so far away right now. Please, Y/N. Choose to live. For yourself.”

You peered into Azriel’s hazel eyes, which burned raw with emotion and fire as they met yours. Those eyes, brimming with vulnerability and unwavering intensity, seemed to reach deep into your soul, searching, longing. You looked for the parts of him that you might break, the parts that would crumble under your touch. Yet all you saw was the hand reaching out to you, desperate for you to stay, to come back from the edge. The dark void that threatened to pull you in hesitated, as if it too felt the tenderness emanating from him, a hesitant whisper of reluctance in its pull.

Azriel’s thumbs continued their gentle, soothing caress along your cheeks. The chill of the night air was forgotten, eclipsed by the warmth and solace in his eyes. “Please,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper, tremulous with hope and fear. “You have to live.”

“How can it hurt so much?” you asked, your voice breaking.

Azriel shook his head slightly, his mouth a tight line, “Because you’ve been hurt, deeply. And those wounds—they've tried to consume you, to pull you under. But you fight it like hell, Y/N. You defy it every time. And it hates that you won’t let it win.”

“I’m so tired, Azriel,” you murmured.

“I know,” he crooned, pulling you closer, his chest warm and solid against your cheek. The contact sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down your face. “I know, and you don’t have to fight alone anymore.”

A sob shuddered through you, shaking your entire body.

“I won’t let the world force you to face this alone,” he whispered, pressing another tender kiss to your forehead. “I promise. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

You turned your tear-streaked face up to Azriel’s, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. Tears glistened on his face as he looked down at you, his expression vast. You reached up, your hand trembling, and touched his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut, leaning into your palm.

His breathing slowed, a gentle, calming rhythm, and you rose onto your knees, bringing your other hand to cup his face. Your faces hovered close, the air between you thick. His eyes remained closed, trusting, vulnerable.

In a shaky breath, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. The world seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours, the gentle pressure of his touch. Your breath caught in your throat, your blood rushing with a newfound warmth.

Azriel’s hand cupped your face, his scarred fingers tenderly tracing behind your ear. His other hand found its way to the small of your back, resting gently on your skin. You kissed him again, then again, each kiss a desperate plea for connection, for the simple, unyielding need to feel alive.

Tears continued to fall from your eyes, but they no longer felt like burdens. Instead, they were released. You felt as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice, ready to dive into the unknown, but the leap felt free, almost intoxicating.

Your legs grew weak, and you clung to him, every spot where he touched you alight with sensation. His breath was soft, his scent a comforting, familiar balm that you feared to lose. You ran your fingers through the soft curls framing his face, mapping the contours of his cheeks, the light stubble on his jaw, memorizing every detail.

In that moment, there was nothing but Azriel. The world faded away, leaving only the two of you, entwined in a desperate embrace. Your heart, still heavy with despair, beats again with a renewed fervor.

Only Azriel. Only you. And in his arms, you felt your heart begin to heal, you felt the crack of the world as you chose to live.

Readers, always in my heart: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00 @caninne

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slytherinshua · 3 days

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GAMBIT

genre. assassin/spy au. implied exes to lovers. lots of tension. warnings. illegal activity (robbery, heist, etc). kissing. open ending. pairing. jihoon x fem!reader. wc. 1.4k. request. no. a/n. finally a jihoon fic based off of gambit which i've wanted to write for so long istg. for hannie, i love you so much and happy birthday!!

Years of training and months of planning had finally led up to this moment. There you were, standing 2 feet away from the diamond you had been after for quite some time. The work you had put in to get to this moment had tested not only your physical skills, but your mental resilience. You had been forced to ignore distractions and keep your mind and eyes on your original prize throughout your mission. It all would have been a walk in the park— if only he hadn’t been teasing you this entire time.

Jihoon; your top rival, and possibly the only thing you wanted more than the diamond you finally beheld with your own eyes. He knew it just as well as you did, that you’d give almost anything to get another taste of his lips. He was the only thing with the power to distract you, to cloud your brain with thoughts of only him, to make you forget what your end goal was in the first place.

Even getting to the room where the jewel was stored had taken an extreme amount of effort. You disarmed and knocked out the gallery guards, hacked the security system to shut down the video surveillance, and figured out the many codes to get into the locked room. Now that you were finally face-to-face with something so precious— a gemstone that would secure your future, you foolishly let your guard down, entirely bewitched by its beauty for no more than 15 seconds.

And that was when you heard his voice.

“Taking out the guards was just a piece of cake for you, wasn’t it? Too bad they weren’t conscious long enough to remember your pretty face.”

You sucked in a breath, goosebumps rising on your skin as you sorted through your options in your head. Either you could engage in the conversation with him, possibly risking getting caught due to time being wasted, or him stealing your precious diamond. Or you could try to knock him out and make a run for it. You didn’t like your chances on either option, nor did you trust yourself to be able to resist whatever Jihoon would offer you.

“That’s a pretty stone. Is this what you’ve been after all this time? No wonder you never accepted my invites.”

You heard his footsteps creeping closer to you, the scent of leather and musk enveloping your senses, his sultry voice ringing in your ears. Don’t get distracted by him now. You turned around, flashing him a fake smile while your eyes threw daggers at him.

“Fancy seeing you here. Did you follow me in?” Your mouth felt dry as your eyes took in his appearance again. How long had it been? A year since you had seen his face? You had heard his voice many times in the past months. Little voice messages or notes left to you, making you ever-aware that he was still following you, probably watching your every move.

He smiled. You hated how trustworthy his smile was, how it made you want to believe every word he said. You knew firsthand that he was far from honest. He had a dozen tricks up his sleeve, and you didn’t have a second to spare to waste on any of them.

“The trail of unconscious bodies was hard to miss.”

“What do you want, Jihoon?” You asked harshly, getting impatient and on edge from the situation. He seemed eager to waste time, while you were quickly running out of it. You needed to get the diamond and get out, otherwise the entire mission would be for nothing.

He cooed, sympathy dripping from his mouth. Fake sympathy.

“Why so tense, darling? I thought we trusted each other more than this.” He continued to tease. With each word you became more and more distracted from your task. You didn’t even flinch as he moved closer and closer to the jewel, sitting atop its velvet cushion. He picked it up, leather gloves preventing any fingerprints that would otherwise be left behind on the precious stone. You could only watch in silence, a wave of admiration for the man washing over you, though you did not want to acknowledge it.

“It is a marvelous gem, isn’t it? Just like you.” He muttered, tracing each cut of the diamond, studying its smooth surface and sharp edges, the way it gleamed in the light, its worth in the billions.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stepped closer to you, gemstone still in his gloved hand. He held it out in front of your face, watching in amusement as your eyes, filled with want, fixed on the diamond. They flickered back to his face, the same look still present in them, and the right side of his lips lifted.

To you, the gem and him were almost interchangeable. Both were too valuable for any amount of money anyone could possess, both were objects of your desire, and both were just slightly out of reach. You could never have both, but maybe you could get your hands on one of them.

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his hand down slowly, keeping eye contact. He watched you like a cat watches its prey, waiting for a slip-up, waiting until you made your next move. His face never failed to provoke you, asking you silently why you weren’t just giving in.

You know you want it. I’m within reach. Choose; me or the gemstone.

Maybe it was a moment of weakness, or maybe you had finally decided what truly was more valuable to you. All thoughts of the diamond fled your mind, replaced with only the man who stood before you. Maybe this was just another one of his tricks, another ploy to get you under his control. Or maybe he truly cared.

Finding out the consequences was a problem for your future self, though. Without another moment of hesitation, you clasped his jacket, and pulled him forward until you had what you wanted— his lips on yours.

Years later, the taste was still just as you remembered. Sweet alcohol and cherry dripping from the skin, soft and inviting. The cold leather of his glove against your cheek only encouraged you to push for more, to melt into him and let your guard down completely.

“You must be the cruelest woman I’ve ever known, leaving me without this for 2 years.” He whispered, lips still mere centimetres from yours.

You wished you could boast that you didn’t feel the same way, that there had been a day where you hadn’t thought of his lips as well, but it would be an obvious lie. So, instead, you didn’t say anything, trusting that he could deduce what you felt from your eyes, as always.

You wanted more than anything to get another taste, to make the kiss last for just a bit longer, but the distant sound of sirens alerted both of you.

“I hope you included an escape route in this mission plan.” Jihoon commented, still clutching the diamond carefully in the palm of his hand. You grabbed his wrist, dashing towards the fire escape which you had previously located as the safest way out of the building. You had made sure to install an additional ladder on the side of the building, much more hidden than the built-in escape stairs.

You ushered Jihoon down first, following closely behind him until you both reached the ground. Pulling your black mask up to cover your face, you gave a quick nod back to Jihoon, both of you making your way back to the getaway vehicle.

At ease had never been words you could attribute to yourself, but it was exactly what you felt when you took your seat beside Jihoon as he ordered one of his partners to drive back to his base. With the diamond grasped in one hand and Jihoon’s thigh under the other, you finally had the two things you had desired most, if only for a temporary moment.

You had underestimated Jihoon’s skills. His gambit had worked flawlessly on you, and now he had you exactly where he wanted. You did not know what to expect once you reached his quarters.

Could you really believe that he had forgotten all past betrayals and was going to be hospitable to you? Welcoming you into his home again as if you hadn’t been the very person to stab him in the back years ago? You could only assume that whatever was waiting for you probably resembled a cold prison cell more than a warm bed for you to rest.

But, strangely, you were at peace with the decision you had made. Whatever awaited you behind those extravagant doors to his mansion, you had chosen it willingly over the jewel. There was no one to blame but your own foolish mind.

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deathtodickens · 1 year

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A Bering & Wells Gift Exchange comic story for @lady-adventuress. Happy Palentines Day, friend! There are typos and drawos, even after my very extensive, not-at-all rushed, proof-reading, so, many advance apologies. Thank you for the ideas, I tried to stay in line with mistaken identity/long lost theme. Hope it is enjoyable!

Myka was seventeen when Emily Lake, her best friend, disappeared. Whisked away into the night by Mrs. Frederic, crying and inconsolable, cursing her father’s name. It was unreal, all of it, from first kiss to final goodbye. But whatever disbelief Myka had held onto, wide awake in her bed most of that night, shattered entirely on her walk to school the next morning.

She remembers hearing the sirens as she’d finally drifted into sleep but there were always sirens. Sirens were never unusual.

She should have known. She should have known.

Emily Lake’s house was burned to the ground. A smoldering pile of charred rubble, surrounded by crime scene tape, police vehicles, and a white Coroner's Office van.

She could only get so close but she could see all she needed to see.

She doesn't remember losing consciousness, though she supposes no one does when they come to. She remembers the spinning. She remembers the falling.

And she remembers waking up in the back of an ambulance with Mrs. Frederic by her side.

Myka sees Mrs. Frederic a lot over the years. Not by choice or chance. Not by want for that woman to be in her life. Just by the mere fact that she loves a ghost. A girl that's supposed to be dead.

Burned up in a house fire.

Buried in the ground.

They'd pulled two bodies from the rubble of Emily Lake's house, too badly burned for an open casket. Too unknown and unrelated to anyone of means to have a proper burial.

Myka went to Emily's memorial at the high school. She listened as others spoke about a girl they knew nothing about. And while she grew angry at their forced tears and fabricated associations to a dead girl they never knew, she, herself, had absolutely nothing to say about it.

Her best friend, Emily Lake, had died in a fire.

Some girl she loves, called Helena, arose from her ashes.

Myka sees Mrs. Frederic once when she's nineteen. This time she hasn't passed out. She's at a cafe on her college campus, listening to music through a set of headphones, and drawing in her sketchbook.

Mrs. Frederic sets a flyer down on the table in front of Myka and takes a seat in the chair across from her.

She doesn't wait for Myka to remove her headphones or even acknowledge her presence.

"This is not cute," the older woman tells her while gesturing down at the paper. "This is too close."

Myka eyes the flyer. It isn't hers per se but she'd been hired by someone on campus to draw it for an upcoming event. It's a very simple drawing of two women holding hands, but one of those women looks a lot like herself and the other looks a lot like someone she used to know.

"You don't like my art?" Myka sighs, turning her attention back to her sketchbook.

"She's dead," Mrs. Frederic recites, not at all for the first time.

Myka puffs out a soft laugh, glances up at Mrs. Frederic, and says, "And yet here you are. Again."

"It isn't safe yet, Myka."

Myka drops her pencil. "When will it be?"

Mrs. Frederic looks away from Myka, over her shoulder, out of a window. She says, without ever turning back, "I told you to forget her. She told you to forget her. You know the consequences of not doing that. You've seen what they're capable of."

"I don't know anything. I certainly don't know the consequences or who they are."

"And believe me when I tell you that you do not want to."

"Is it witness protection?"

"Do I look like I work for the Marshal's office, Ms. Bering? Do our interactions scream Federal Government to you?"

Myka eyes Mrs. Frederic up and down but says nothing at all. In response, she receives a huff of annoyance from the older woman across from her.

"The amount of time I have spent running interference between you and that girl is both baffling and exhausting."

That makes Myka smile. Just a little.

"Finish school, Ms. Bering. Keep your head down. Stop this," Mrs. Frederic taps the paper on the table, "and forget her." She stands and turns then adds, just over her shoulder, "I won't be repeating myself."

Myka sits back in her chair, smiles softly up at the other woman, and says, "Let's do this again sometime, hm?"

Mrs. Frederic rolls her eyes up and sighs. Then turns and walks away.

When Myka graduates college at twenty-two, she catches a glimpse of Mrs. Frederic in the hallway of the auditorium where her commencement ceremony is to take place. She is mentally and emotionally preparing herself to fend off all of that woman's criticisms, about what she should and shouldn't be drawing, about how she should and should not be living her life, about who she should and should not be remembering.

But Mrs. Frederic never approaches her. She disappears into the crowd.

Myka has always just assumed that she is being watched, that Mrs. Frederic is watching her. But Mrs. Frederic has never, before now, allowed herself to be seen in return.

Myka starts dating a boy named Sam when she is twenty-five years old. Sam doesn't remind her of Helena and it's the thing she likes most about him. It's easy. He's nice. They have fun together.

Myka doesn't see Mrs. Frederic the entire two years they are dating. And somehow, somewhere inside of her, she's a little sad about that.

Sam is killed in an accident when Myka is twenty-eight.

They had been broken up for a year at that point but they were still close. Still really good friends with a shared love of art and creating, still collaborating to make what dreams they may have into reality.

A lot of Myka's art shifts back into dark places and in those dark places comes reminders of dark histories. Of grief and sadness. Of love and loss. Of all the pain suffered and endured and, mostly, overcome when the perfect person comes along and holds your hand through it all.

For years, that had been Emily.

Helena.

They'd suffered and endured. They'd held hands through it all. Comforted each other, whenever the other needed it most. Together, they'd imagine themselves on fantastic journeys. The innumerable marks on their skin, souvenirs from their mishaps and adventures.

Myka hasn't cried in so long but she cries the night Sam dies. She cries hard and long, for hours and hours. And when she's all cried out over Sam, she starts crying all over again for Emily Lake.

For the girl named Helena whose last name she doesn't even know. She cries until she falls asleep, then wakes up and does it all over again the next day. She does this for a whole week until the day of Sam's funeral and she doesn't know who she cries for more, Sam, Helena, or herself.

It's been nearly four years since their last encounter but Myka isn't surprised when Mrs. Frederic appears. After the casket is lowered and the crowd dispersed, she steps to Myka's side and stands there just beside her for several moments in silence.

And when Mrs. Frederic has decided she's had enough of the quiet, she says, "You did try. I'll give you that."

Myka doesn't know why but this comment, a simple and useless recognition from the woman who gives almost nothing at all, makes her full belly laugh, crying tears of laughter until she can cry no more.

Myka is almost thirty when she almost dies of a heart attack. And then, immediately after that, almost dies by large-toe bludgeoning.

"I'm glad to see you attempting to move on with your life."

"Oh, fuck!" Myka drops a mixing bowl of cooke dough and the very thin, suddenly sharp lip of that bowl lands square on her big toe. When she turns to Mrs. Frederic, in her kitchen somehow, she swears that woman is smiling.

Even if just barely.

"That's a new trick." Myka growls, calming her racing heart.

"New to whom? You seem to be an expert in the field of accidental self-inflicted wounds."

"I mean you. In my kitchen. Inside of my apartment." Myka sighs. "How did you get in here?"

"Certainly not by working at the Marshal's office." Mrs. Frederic quirks a singular brow in Myka's direction.

"Certainly not." Myka mimics, lowering herself to the ground, to clean the cookie dough from tile floor. "What have I done now?"

"I've seen the draft of your very telling graphic memoir. I thought we were clear on the lines that should not be crossed."

Myka stops cleaning. "Speaking of lines that should not be crossed, I won't bother asking how you've seen something that exists solely on my computer." She stands and crosses her arms and tells Mrs. Frederic, "It doesn't mean anything to anyone except me. Nobody else would know it's her and it's not like it's going to bring her back."

"Myka."

Myka laughs softly, "Wow. First name basis? I have definitely crossed a line."

"The problem is, that is exactly what could happen. It could bring her back. Give her no choice but to return."

"She has a choice now? Because that's not what it looked like when you dragged her away."

"I did not drag her. I simply urged her to move forward, faster. You saw, with your own eyes, what the result would have been had she lingered with you. Two homes might have burned that night and your family--"

"I have a lot of respect for you, Mrs. Frederic, despite your constant intrusions. But please, do not talk about my family."

"Fair enough," Mrs. Frederic concedes after a sigh.

"You know, I thought I'd have more hope over time. That she was alive. That she'd one day come back. That I could go to her. Or that holding on to her the way I do would eventually mean something. Anything.

"But after all this time, I find myself more often grieving Emily's death. Because it's the only thing that's real in my mind, it's the only thing that happened.

"Helena is just... she's an old memory that I struggle to keep alive. Ten minutes in one night in the entirety of my life. And I don't even know if anything about those ten minutes is real. If it even means anything. If it's worth holding on to."

Mrs. Frederic watches Myka in thoughtful silence.

"I do know that I never want to forget the way she makes me feel. They way she always made me feel. As Emily, before Helena. She taught me so much. She helped me open up. She opened up to me.

"If I can't talk about her, in a book about my life, there is no book.

"She was my best friend and I loved her. I do what I love because of her and having known her and loved her, for the little time that I was able to, still impacts my life today. Every single day."

Myka gestures to Mrs. Frederic and smiles.

"You, Mrs. Frederic, are living proof of that." She pauses to laugh and adds, "Or the most prolific stalker the world has ever seen."

The older woman remains quiet, pensive. And for a second, one tiny fraction of a second, Myka thinks she's going to show some kind of emotion. Sympathy. Sadness. Contentedness. Amusement? At this point, Myka would even take her usual dose of exhaustion. But Mrs. Frederic's face remains a facade of unconvinced underwhelm and boredom.

Her words, however, belie genuine emotion.

"I have a story for you."

Myka arches a brow. "How suspicious."

"Two little girls grew up together, lived similar lives with similar fathers, who mistreated them in very similar ways. In a single night, they had the nerve to fall in love, right in front of my eyes. A youthful, foolish love that should have ended a decade ago. And yet, here I stand, an intermediary between two foolish girls who refuse to let each other go. Even as they risk their very ends.

"One of those girls is the daughter of a dangerous man who once had the power to demand ungodly things be done to the families of even more dangerous people.

"And the other girl, Ms. Bering, is you."

Myka breathes in slowly. Breathes out one long steady breath.

"I have... so much work to do. And yet, for some reason, I spend, have spent, most of my time intervening in various shenanigans between the two of you."

"Me, living my life like a normal human being, not constantly under threat by some faceless boogie man, is not shenanigans."

Mrs. Frederic ignores Myka's interjection and goes on.

"Intercepting every little whim of the heart you two decide to try and throw out into the world, in order to find each other without blatantly finding each other, when you both know, very well, that is the last thing you should be doing."

"She's... she's trying to find me?"

"Not the point," Mrs. Frederic cuts in. "The point is that she should not be. She knows that. Nor should you be and you know that. Because they could leverage you to get to her to get to her father. They have tried and they will continue to try. And I will continue exhausting myself to keep you two safe because that is what I am, unfortunately, obligated to do.

"No matter how hard you make the task. No matter how many times you want to laugh in the face of it, believe me when I say that he is not worth either of you dying."

Myka remains quiet. She stills. When Mrs. Frederic says no more, Myka takes in another steadying breath and says, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you actually care about me."

"I care to keep you alive. And her. Until such a time that I no longer have to care about keeping either of you anything for the foreseeable future."

"I do appreciate what you supposedly do, Mrs. Frederic, but in all of our time together, I have never, at any point, felt unsafe or watched by anyone but you."

"And you are welcome for that."

That, to Myka, is the most unnerving thing she has ever heard Mrs. Frederic say to her. In all of their time.

"So what, her dad was some sort of mob boss's hit man?"

"That's a close enough analogy."

"Why didn't you just tell me all of that from the beginning?"

"You were a child. You're no longer a child. I've seen what you've survived. Even if I myself don't find it amusing, I do understand why you laugh when threatened. Now, do you understand the gravity of this ongoing situation?"

Myka nods, "I do."

"I don't believe you."

Myka rolls her eyes. "I understand that I'm supposed to stop doing what I love to do most, drawing and telling stories about my own life, because you want this to end, sooner rather than later."

"No," Mrs. Frederic corrects, "because your life could end, sooner rather than later. You would not have a life to draw or tell stories about."

Myka breathes in deep.

"I am not asking you to give up your passion, Myka, I'm simply reminding you to be mindful, as your passion influences art that grows in popularity, about how much personal information you impress upon it.

"Or one day you'll turn around and it won't be me standing behind you."

Myka is thirty-two years old when Mrs. Frederic appears in a bookstore for one of Myka's book signings and, for whatever reason, that woman chooses to stand in line. Myka catches sight of her when she's at least eight people back, and after three more signings, she motions for Mrs. Frederic to come forward.

To Myka's surprise, the woman does.

Nothing about the way she looks has changed, except that she seems a little less baffled, a little less exhausted. Her visits had slowed, once more, as Myka's preoccupation with Helena's absence continued to wane over time.

"I could have waited," the woman tells Myka.

"The looming anticipation of your next threat was too much for me to handle." Myka smiles. "How is our girl?"

The older woman sighs heavily. All of that exhaustion and bafflement returning to her expression. But Myka is surprised, more than that, when Mrs. Frederic answers her genuinely.

"Insistent. Stubborn."

Myka smiles at the thought of Emily/Helena interacting with Mrs. Frederic in these little ways she occasionally interacts with Mrs. Frederic. A thing she used to think about often but doesn't think about so much anymore.

"Thank you," Myka says softly, lowering her head to face the table below and wiping away a stray tear. When she looks back up to Mrs. Frederic, she adds, "I appreciate knowing she hasn't changed one bit."

Mrs. Frederic reaches into her purse and pulls out a copy of Myka's book. She sets it on the table in front of Myka, who smiles wide.

"You bought my book."

"A birthday gift," Mrs. Frederic says, "for our very insistent friend."

Myka is thirty-four when Mrs. Frederic unexpectedly sits beside her on a park bench then holds an envelope out in front of her. And for the first time, in a long time, Myka isn't startled. She almost expects that other woman's arrival.

She says to the older woman, without ever looking at her, "I don't know what they're paying you but I'm sure it's not enough."

Myka doesn't immediately take that envelope but she can see that her name is on the front. She can see that the handwriting is Emily's. Recognizable in comparison to all of the old notes she has stashed away from high school.

Still, she straightens in her seat and asks, "We're on writing terms now?"

"Proof of life."

"Seventeen years ago, you told me she died." Myka cautiously takes the envelope. "You told me to forget about her."

"And nearly two decades later, look where that has gotten us."

"You've suggested on several occasions that I'd be murdered."

"I resisted the urge myself on many of those occasions."

"A joke?"

Mrs. Frederic arches a brow. The playfulness of that expression, Myka finds, is unnerving at best.

"You said they are dangerous people."

"They were."

"They were?"

"We're on the cusp of a resolution."

"A resolution? With very dangerous people? More dangerous than the man who committed heinous crimes against them?"

Mrs. Frederic nods and simply says, "Even dangerous people grow old."

"Then I guess I feel comforted that you haven't aged a day since we met."

Myka can see Mrs. Frederic suppressing a smile.

"You know, in all these years that I've come to know you, Mrs. Frederic, you don't strike me as the type to negotiate with, much less protect, a man who has done ungodly things to anyone. Dangerous people included."

"You refer to her father as a man, which is something I haven't done in over three decades." A pause follows a thoughtful sigh as Mrs. Frederic turns away from Myka and says. "Still, I find even calling him the monster that he is to be too generous."

Myka gives a subtle, understanding nod.

"The thing you may or may not have come to understand, without the proper context, is that some very terrible people are more valuable to when they are alive, worthless when they are dead, when the survival of many more good people depends on what they know. My employers find value in his living, so he remains alive and, by default, protected."

"And Helena? Where does she come into all of this talk of value and worth?"

"She is her father's collateral damage." Mrs. Frederic turns to Myka. "From the moment she was born, he has been using her existence to further his malintent. Without her, he would already be dead."

Myka can feel her blood rising.

"He had money. He had custody. He had power. He doesn't have any of those things now and I promise you, Myka Bering, that he is not worth the energy you will burn being angry at him."

Myka doesn't quite let the anger go. But she breathes a little steadier now.

Weeks later, Myka finds a Post-It note on her refrigerator door that she didn't place there and doesn't recall seeing the night before.

It reads: Answer the call. - F

Within the hour, Myka's cell phone rings. No name or number appears on the screen. And when she answers, it's with a tease. She says, "It only took you twenty years to realize you could threaten me over the phone instead of constantly sneaking up on me in public?"

"I told Irene," a soft, distantly familiar voice starts, "you'd tire of her appearing act sooner than most."

The voice hits her hard. Harder than the combined weight of every moment in her past that she has felt sorrow or grief or loneliness beyond measure. She has to steady her hands to not drop the phone. She has to steady her breathing to not fall to the floor.

"Helena?"

Soft breathing turns to soft laughter which turns to soft crying, on both ends of that line.

"Is that really you?"

"It really is."

Myka sits before she falls, carefully lowering herself to the kitchen floor. Clutching that phone in her hands. Her back to the cabinet doors. Her legs folded up before her.

She decides to start off small and easy.

"Hi."

And is rewarded beyond measure.

"Hello again, my love."

#bering and wells #b&w holiday gift exchange #lady-adventuress #dickens draws #sorry this is so late #i usually draw and post and then write when i post #and this writing took on a mind of its own #i wasn't even done i just cut myself off lol

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eshithepetty · 1 year

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LISTEN. I KNOWWW that the polls haven't even started, but I'm impatient, ok, I'm just putting this out there now cause I can't take it..... anyways - I've seen people do powerpoints as a way to campaign for their blorbos in the various polls that have been going on, so!! I thought I'd do one of my own for the @autismswagsummit ^^ as I simply can't pass on any chance to be brainrotted over this series, it seems...

ID under cut, as it's very long!

[ID: a powerpoint presentation campaigning for Mob from Mob Psycho 100. It's formatted in dark purples and pinks.

The first slide is the titlecard, differing from the main slides by having a pink holographic aura, like the ones from the show, as the background. The text says:

"#MOBSWEEP 2023

Aka why you should vote for Mob in the upcoming autistic swag summit. Please

(JK follow your own heart ^^ but for your consideration:)"

The second slide is titled: "Who is Mob, aka Kageyama Shigeo?" and below the text lists:

"Source: Mob Psycho 100, which is also where Reigen comes from;

The protagonist! Only with background character syndrome (which is why he’s named ‘Mob’ – it’s kinda like naming your protag ‘John Doe’ lol);

A 14 year old with the psychic strength to destroy the world. Which he’s not very happy about actually;

Cause really, he’s just a nice, gentle boy who simply wants to improve and impress his crush by getting swole :) Oh, and he also experiences the horrors. Btw."

On the right of this text, there are two images: One is a zoomed in screenshot of Mob, his face blank and confused, and the other is an official art of the show, depicting Mob in the center, aura glowing, with many of the show's other characters around him, with the show's title at the bottom of the image.

The third slide's title is "Ok but tell me more about the autism", and below, the text says:

"Gladly ^^

Ok, first off – symptoms:

Bad at reading social cues, detecting sarcasm, lies, etc.;

Struggles with recognizing/expressing emotions. Has what could be called psychic meltdowns;

Very honest and blunt, sometimes appearing ‘ruthless’ as a result;

Explicitly low empathy, in that he can’t feel what others are feeling;

Actually very compassionate, and follows a really strict moral code;"

There are no images in this or the next slide.

The fourth slide is a continuation of the previous, with the text being:

"Abnormal reaction to sensations, but instead of overreacting, he underreacts, rarely responding to physical touch and disturbing imagery. Has shown to be at times sensitive to loud sounds, however;

Prefers following a routine. One of his biggest conflicts with Reigen literally arise from the man often calling him out of the blue and making him suddenly adapt, which Mob finds really annoying/upsetting;

Struggles in school. Explicitly bad at math, japanese and PE (really passionate about the latter tho), which could be for a variety of reasons, autism related conditions (like dyscalculia/dyslexia/dyspraxia) being one of them;

Has felt like an outcast for most of his life. Even if he grew up in a pretty loving environment, he recognizes that he is different to others, and people sometimes treat him as such (in a /neg way);

His main arc is about overcoming trauma and… just masking (and how to stop doing it), pretty much, lol."

The fifth slide, in contrast, is mostly just images, placed upon a white background. The title for this one is "Alternatively, just look at him:"

The images, from top to down, and then left to right, are:

Three cropped subtitles out of screenshots of the show, which say:

"I'm sure I just got the wrong idea again. How embarrassing."

"He's detached from urban legends, fads, and other hot topics among people."

"You just can't lie, can you?"

The fourth is a cropped screenshot of Mob's explosion meter. Both in Japanese and English. Specifically, it says: "Progress towards Mob's explosion: 92%". Additionally, there is an annotation above this image, saying: "Literally has a meltdown meter ksfdks"

In-between these and the next column of images, there is also a transparent image of Mob, him standing stiffly, faced towards the camera, his standard, blank expression with a small smile on his face.

The next column of images goes like this:

A screenshot from the show, done in paint on glass, of various kids towering over Mob, who's standing in the middle of the image, small. Their expressions wary, from sneering, to frowning, to looking disgusted. The subtitles at the bottom say, with one part blocked out due to spoilers: "[spoilers] didn't treat me any differently even though I could use psychic powers."

Next two are cropped dialogues as well. They say:

"This version of him was created from being suppressed and locked away."

"Social skills like that are beyond you."

And on the right of the slide is one vertical image, showing one of Mob's books, with the subtitles translating the Japanese title of the book as "The Proper Way of Reading the Room". Next to this one, there is also an annotation, saying: "He has a book on learning social cues :’)" That's all for this slide.

The sixth slide is titled "Is he good rep though?" Text below is:

"Well, to answer the first thing relevant to this question… no, he’s not actually confirmed canon autistic. But c’mon.. it’s so obvious. This kid is not fucking allistic like c’monnnn

Of course, what people consider good and bad rep is gonna vary from person to person. But to explain why a lot of people see him as very positive rep:

"1) He’s the main character, so he gets the most spotlight, and the narrative is formed around his pov, in that we only see things that are relevant to Mob, and visually things are often represented in the way Mob sees them as well (take the body improvement club or Tsubomi, for example), which puts all viewers soundly in his shoes and makes him easy to relate to and sympathize with, and makes it clear how important his emotions and view of things really are;"

On the right of this are 3 images against a white background. The first one is a screenshot of the Body Improvement Club - 5 very buff and large dudes - standing against an explosively red and yellow background, with all of them enthusiastically flexing. The caption below that is "The body improvement club! ...they're supposed to be middle schoolers lol".

The next two, below the first one, are two screenshots of Tsubomi. The one on the left has her smiling, her eyes wide and bright, the background being pastel pinks and yellows. The one on the right, however, has her frowning, the background turned black, her eyes dark and disinterested. The caption below says: "Tsubomi :) And how her design subtly changes alongside Mob’s view of her".

The seventh slide is a continuation of the previous, with the text being:

"2) He’s a very well rounded character, with well thought out strengths, flaws, motives, and his overall story is very cohesive and satisfying; 3) His autistic traits are portrayed neutrally – in both where they help, and where they can cause conflict. It balances between him learning what things he would benefit to address and deal with, and what things he shouldn’t be trying to change at all, and as the whole message of the show emphasizes – he is no more or less special than anyone, no more or less of a person – he is simply human, and his autistic traits are just part of what makes him himself."

This one has images next to it as well. The first one is a screenshot of Reigen looking towards the camera (at an off-screen Mob), hand to his chin, eyebrow raised and smiling, some food crumbs still stuck to his face, as he says: "Today you happened to save some people that only you could have saved." Next to it is the annotation: "Reigen reassuring Mob about how his inability to read the room and feel empathy actually can be a huge benefit sometimes :)"

The next image below is a zoom in of Mob's face, his eyes shadowed by his hair, the scene's lighting dark, as he says: "I'm not being mocked, nor am I easily taken advantage of." The annotation next to this one says "Mob learning to recognize his emotions and assert himself better as the story goes on!"

And the last two images is a screenshotted dialogue, saying "You don't think changing yourself for someone you love is natural?" "I don't. At least, not when we're talking about [spoilers]" (The last bit is blocked out again).

The eight slide is also a continuation. The text says:

"4) He is loved. Loved by his friends, his family, his allies… even most villains come to take a liking to him. In fact, he’s something I haven’t seen many autistic characters be – he’s admired! So many characters, and even viewers of the show I’ve found, really admire him and want to be more like him. And not because he’s a perfect person, or super smart or anything, but because he sincerely tries his best. And I just really appreciate that, personally,, 5) And more than just loved, he is accepted – the whole main arc and the resolution of his story centers around that, around how important it is to feel accepted by the people around you, in all your entirety, no matter how strange or destructive you may feel yourself to be. And how you need to come to accept yourself in the same way as well. I just think that’s a really sweet in a story centering around a neurodivergent person :’)"

And the images next to it are as follows:

A screenshot of dialogue from the show, saying: "At first glance, Mob may seem unreliable, but his strength is undeniable." The annotation clarifies with: "The ‘strength’ in question, in this case, being Mob’s ability to reach out to people ^^";

A screenshot of Teru placed against a blindingly white background, him grinning widely, looking down, eyes shining, as he says: "I knew it, you really are amazing!". Next to him, there is a small caption of "Lol gayass /pos";

And a screenshot of Mob, in the bottom center of the image, small, as he is surrounded by various characters. Most of them are smiling encouragingly, with the ones closest to him, like Reigen, Ritsu, Dimple, Teru and Tsubomi, being bigger and placed in the front. A small caption at the top says: "He has so many friends and allies ueueeueueue.."

The ninth slide is titled "Additionally:" and the text lists:

"Psychic powers as a metaphor for being nd/othered, if that suits your fancy;

His design is iconic and versatile;

The boy has. Issues;;

There are many other characters in mp100 who can be read as autistic. Not a single neurotypical in this show /hj

Mob has more than just autism swag. I’ve seen people with bipolar disorder, ADHD, anxiety and those who are plural (etc.) also relate to him :)

He is simply the Boy ever"

Next to the last line is a small, low quality image of Mob smiling from the manga. The rest of the images, on the right, are:

The meme "I can be your angle....or yuour devil", with images of Mob instead - on the left, him smiling brightly and blushing, placed upon a colorful magenta background, and on the right, a panel from the manga: Mob in one of his explosion states, surrounded by fire, face shadowed, hair pushed back by his powers and waving in the air, and his eyes, wide and eerie, being the only features on his face that are visible.

On the right of these images, there is a smaller one, of Mob in another one of his explosion states (the one from episode 3, season 1 of the anime). He is facing to the side, aura surrounding him, hair pushed back by his powers and his eyes a glower. His pupils are red.

Below these, there are three images of, in order, Serizawa, Tome and Ritsu. Serizawa is sweating, nervous, Tome is sweating even more and yelling into a phone, and Ritsu is simply glaring towards the camera. The annotation pointing to them says: "A few of the other autistic blorbos in question :] (as I personally see them at least)".

And the last is a panel from the manga, of Mob sobbing, tears and drool dripping messily down his face, his hair waving in the air. His expression is somewhat blank despite the clear distress, and the text boxes next to him read: "His tears won't stop. It's an emotion he has never experienced before."

And the tenth, final slide, is formatted the same as the titlecard with the pink aura background, and says:

"Thank you if you got this far <3

Have good days everyones, and remember, the true win for autism is the fun we had along the way :]

Buh bye!! ^_^"

Around this text, there are various images of Mob. Counter clockwise, starting at the left corner:

A low quality screenshot of Mob flying in the air;

Mob, in his puppy hoodie, sweating in distress as he points at a vase;

Mob caught mid smear frame, his leg kicked high in the air as he jumps, his school bag swinging to the side, his expression comically flustered.

A panel from the manga. Mob's eyes are shadowed, chopsticks held to his face, as he stares to the side and says "Tch... Shut up and eat.";

A Mob in an alleyway from the anime, smiling, pointing and looking up and to the left (the center of the slide);

A photo of a Mob plushie tucked into bed;

A low quality screenshot of Mob, standing against a wire fence, facing forwards, his eyes appearing a bit angry due to his hair cowering them.

End ID.]

#autismsummit2023 #mob psycho 100 #mp100 #kageyama shigeo #autism swag summit #tumblr polls #autism #powerpoint presentation #I tried to keep this relatively spoiler free ^^ also feel free to ask me to elaborate on anything in this #trust me im ready to ramble whenever sjdfgsj (bearing in mind that im not busy at least)#though. tbh thats not That much of an excuse bearing in mind that i definitely did this in place of my real responsibilities 😳 oops #can you blame me though. its literally The Autism poll cmon #my own post #described #the id took like 3 hours to write.. ough. desperately hope theres not any mistakes in there

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dailykugisaki · 4 months

Text

Day 124 | id in alt

A little bit of a rematch and my opinion on why you never see Mai's six(seven) shooter again.

Read from left to right.

#dailykugisaki #jjk #kugisaki nobara #zenin mai #i was on that crazy shit when coloring thay in-between panel #i just wanted to make it look like it was two seconds short of being a comically fucked impact frame #we all know mai was tweaking the fuck out when her gun shattered it took her half a business day to walk up to Kugisaki and try to shake he #they hate eachother they do violence #Kugisaki had another nail in her hand but its blocked off by the thick ass borders lmao #writing for Kugisaki is like breathing air #IM FUCKING SERIOUS BTW IF I SEE ANU SLANDER ON KUGISAKI I WILL FUCKING CAST 1000 #1000 PLAUGES UPON YE I WILL NOT TOLERATE SLANDER ON MY GIRLS NAME FRRR #Plus tbh. be creative with it. Jjk fans regurgitate the same shit over and over snd most of the ones i see cant comprehend shit unless #unless its shoved down their throats and even then its like a 50/50 #anyway i just love thinking Kugisaki always just bites back shes built like that built aggressive #bear agenda Kugisaki is still hear yall trust trust #also now i low-key have a simmering animosity towards Fushiguro. some people just make me mad. its almost getting as bad as the #the hate i have for yuta. i will not explain myself and i WILL mind my own Business #i will draw yuta for other folks tho #its whatever your honor #maybe my sodium intake is catching up with me #the lizard comment low-key stems from the fact i aggressively called the queen of England a biped lizard #i dont fade into weird political theories but it was kinfa funny to me #ive been thinking about making an au where Kugisaki is a robot. trust i can make anything work #i will not elaborate

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years

Note

I can't get that library gif set you reblogged out of my head. Like sir bang me against the table in a secret library room

I can definitely imagine it now.

A/N: Language, NSFW, smut, creampie, vaginal fingering, mentions of masturbation, sex in public, all kinds of filth and brain thot rot.

You’ve been passing notes back and forth all day, needing Steve, needing him to need you. The last one seems to get his attention more than any of the rest.

~*~

Stevie…?

I have to confess that I broke one of our rules today. Couldn’t wait until we had to study for the science exam tonight. Just needed something to hold me over. I tried my own fingers again, but they weren’t as good as yours. I came though, and I decided to taste it this time. Fuck, baby, it wasn’t bad. Can’t wait for you to have your turn.

Xoxo

And you’d pressed your frosted lips to seal the enveloped spiral sheet, happily sated for the moment. It was only when Steve caught you around the elbow during sixth period, waiting for the corridor to empty before dragging you into the library, your ass ramming into the wooden table, lamps shaking from the pressure—that you realized the extent of your little love letter.

“You know how hard it was to talk about the fucking civil war with a raging boner in history class?”

“I can see it was hard.” You gulp around your observation of his bulge, nestled beneath tight denim washed jeans.

His thumb finds your chin, the pad resting just on your lower lip and pulling. He steps closer, his breath hot and smelling like his secret courtyard cigarette, the mints he pops after to cover the scent, and the glass bottle of Coke that he keeps in his locker to sip on during passing.

“Spread your legs and take off your panties.”

A sporadic thump echoes in your guts, making you gasp. “But the librarian—“

“Is eating her lunch way up front. We’re all the way back here.” He tuts at your hesitation.

“What? You couldn’t help yourself when you snuck off to touch my pussy, could you?”

“I didn’t mean-“

“Oh, I know exactly what you meant, honey,” he says, briefly breaking with a low rapped rasp in his gravelly tone. “tell me, where’d you do it at?”

“Steve…”

“I asked you—“ His mouth finds the shell of your ear, hot breath caressing the shell, stimulating your nipples beneath the cotton of your bra. “—where. did. you. do. it.?”

“In the girl’s bathroom.”

His teeth find your lobe, tugging gently. “Oh yeah? Did you ride your hand, back against the stall? Maybe you propped a foot up on the toilet seat? Or did you sit down so you could spread those legs a little more?”

You moan with a gaped mouth, reaching for his watch covered wrist and squeezing. You don’t argue anymore. He filters a hand beneath the backs of your thighs as you lift, hand tucking into the fabric of your underwear, his other hand sliding along your leg, helping part your limbs to attach to the soaked silk, assisting you in getting it off. You want to bury your face into his shoulder when the string of how much you’re turned on connects from you to the crotch of your panties. Steve rubs his fingers through it, before he pockets your garment in his jeans, stepping back into place and undoing his own pants.

“I can’t wait anymore, baby. And it’s all your fault—“ He clutches onto your hand and presses it into the table beside your left thigh, his other hand stroking along your neck. “—M’ gonna cover your mouth now, and I’m gonna fuck you, honey. And no one will know what’s going on back here but us.”

When you agree and he’s already taking himself through your wetness, the shiny slick visible in lamplight, across the table, your spare hand finds his shoulder and clenches as he pushes inside, giving you a few seconds to adjust, whispering in your ear, your stutters coming off as little bursts of air against his palm that’s hovering over your lips.

“It’s okay. I know, I know, sweetheart. Give it a second, like always.” He pulls his hand away to slide between your legs and rub at your clit, his mouth finding yours as he begins a rhythm.

It gets loud, audible even over his big hand clasped over your mouth. When you can’t take it, you’re squeezing his waist, hand pulling and running through his hair, fingers on your left side still interlocked, he starts to falter, eyes wide, forehead resting against yours. “Shit, honey. Fuck, baby. You’re soaking my cock for me, what a good fucking girl you are.”

It’ll be a mess if he pulls out, so you fall back onto your elbows, letting him hike your legs around his waist, his hands finding purchase on the table, one spreading your cunt open to rub your clit in time with the rhythmic movements and the creaking of the table. He cums seconds before you, an apologetic whimper where you have to reach out and cover his mouth, the vibrations undoing your own orgasm. He fucks you through it, palm back over your mouth until you stop trembling and can speak without whimpering. He nuzzles you, stroking your shaking thighs. “You okay?”

“So glad I passed you that note, Steve.”

“Take that as a yes then?”

When he helps you off the table and leads you out with your fingers laced and his cum warm and inside you, dangerously close to dripping down your thighs, that’s his perfect payback.

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hamable · 1 year

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Y’all ain’t talking enough about the cricket conscious. Looking for any spark of humanity in Jack Horner, losing his goddamn mind, his whole perspective in life shattering. We don’t get enough truest chaotically evil villains these days and having this one be an absolute stinker voice by John Mulaney is peak comedy to me.

…I say this and then use the tags to talk about all the other incredible things about the movie and I get it actually there’s so much good to process…

#puss in boots #I could write an essay on how instead of a few characters following a complicated plot this movie took many complex characters following a #simpler plot and the dynamics there in were so intriguing and captivating #like you follow the main protagonist with his own internal conflicts joined by a slightly antagonist mutual turned ally #along with a sympathetic family of antagonists that are fun and interesting as is but then they also go through a personal arc #a villainous side antagonist that’s just good evil fun #and a looming haunting threat of an antagonist that doesn’t overstay its welcome but never leaves your mind #just as death is for every one of us #always there in the back of your mind waiting to catch up with you #FUCK THHS MOVIE IS GOOD AND IM IN LOVE WITH GOLDI

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deliciouswastelandgoddess · 2 years

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Kinnporsche and Queer Dressing - The Genius of Kinnporsche's Wardrobe