#before I move on to continue writing and ignoring the parts of canon I don’t like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dottores · 1 year ago

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader gets a bit hurt in this chapter but only briefly.

notes: y'all we are officially 50k words in omg what a milestone. we are almost there--they are going to meet soon... but technically.... well you'll see. there are THREE special cameos in this chapter

A WARM WELCOME

“Now is not the time, doctor.”

Pantalone didn’t even raise his head to look at Dottore as he scribbled away at whatever parchment he was writing on. Dottore pressed his lips together, eyes cold beneath his mask as he watched Pantalone, unmoving. The windows of his office creaked against the winds outside, fireplace crackling to keep the room warm but other than that, silence rang loudly between the two of them.

Finally, when Dottore made no move to leave, Pantalone looked up. “What is it? I have a week to prepare for the induction of the Eleventh. I don’t have time for petty complaints.”

Dottore should be insulted, he could feel his irritation rising at the man’s comment but he forced himself to push it away. He had more important things to deal with, notably, his soulmate and as much as he hated to admit it, Pantalone’s resources were necessary if he wanted to find her before someone else did… before she got herself and by extension, him, hurt.

“You offered me resources a few years ago,” Dottore finally said, watching Pantalone carefully for a reaction. “I would like them now.”

The Regrator was a sharp man. Dottore did not have to go into detail for purple eyes to flicker down to his thumb, where the red thread connected him to his soulmate. He watched as Pantalone’s brows furrowed, as he tried to figure out why the sudden change after years of Dottore denying her very existence to him.

“You have terrible timing, doctor,” Pantalone murmured, pushing the parchments aside as he leaned back in his seat to look up at Dottore. “My resources have been all but expended between the upcoming event and trying to track down that menace to the east who has been slaughtering our underlings.

Dottore’s lips twisted. “It is not my timing that is terrible,” he said coolly, Pantalone raised his eyebrows and Dottore exhaled. “It’s hers. I believe she is here. In Snezhnaya.”

Pantalone exhaled, turning his head to the side to look out the window. “That’s not good,” he murmured.

“I know that,” Dottore said shortly.

“Why not send one of your segments?” Pantalone asked after a moment, pen tapping against the wood of his desk in an unsteady manner that had Dottore’s eye twitching in annoyance.

“They’re busy,” Dottore answered tensely.

A lie. Both Epsilon and Rho were back in Snezhnaya City with nothing to do until Dottore decided what research he wanted them to continue on after finishing a round of successful experiments in Archon residue down in southern Liyue. Dottore just didn’t want to send them after her.

Epsilon was Epsilon. He could not trust that the segment wouldn’t do something foolish driven by the emotions that the rest of them did not have or were not capable of understanding. He was the one that Dottore worried about the most ever since the thread appeared, fearing that he would do something that would irreparably strengthen the bond… like forcing Dottore to meet her because he thought it would be best for them.

And Rho had been the one most vocal about at least letting the kids meet her and if the kids met her, he knew it would inevitably lead to Dottore meeting her and that was the last thing he wanted.

He had a feeling that Pantalone could read right through the excuse if the unimpressed look on his face had anything to say about it but Dottore did not waver, raising his chin and staring down at where the man was sitting.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to look for her right now,” Pantalone finally said, shaking his head and scooching his chair back to ruffle through one of the drawers of his desk. “If you can send one of your segments to take out the threat in the east, I might be able to conjure some up and have them keep an eye out but right now my hands are tied.”

“Fine,” Dottore said sharply. “Give me the information you’ve gathered. I’ll send a segment to track him down and kill him.”

Pantalone raised his eyebrows again, this time not even bothering to ask the question that Dottore knew was dancing through his mind: I thought your segments were busy, he could hear the mocking words just through the man’s expression.

Instead, Pantalone just slid a thick folder across the desk to give to Dottore. He snatched it and tucked it under his arm, intent on passing it off to Rho before he returned to his labs, waiting for Pantalone to confirm that he would look for her.

“We don’t want him dead. We want him captured,” Pantalone warned. “Pierro wants information from him… then I’ll convince him to pass him off to you. Another test subject, you’re welcome.”

Dottore only smiled thinly. “And the girl?” he pressed.

“I’ll do what I can,” Pantalone said. “What do you know about where she is? Western or Eastern Snezhnaya? The border? I need to be able to narrow down the search, I can’t send men all across Snezhnaya with the upcoming event. I need them in the city to prepare for the arrivals of the aristocrats.”

��I know that she is in Snezhnaya,” Dottore told him. Maybe he would know more if he would swallow his pride and reach out to her, but that simply was not an option.

Pantalone stared at him, irritation thinly veiled behind his purple eyes. “You do not like making things easy, do you?” the corners of Pantalone’s eyes crinkled in annoyance at Dottore’s words before he finally sighed, shaking his head.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally repeated, “but with nothing to go on, I can make no promises that I’ll find her before someone else does… so, for all of our sakes, I suggest you try to narrow that down.”

It was cold.

You knew that was something you should have expected and you thought you prepared adequately for it but now, you thought that no amount of preparation could have made you ready to face this. As soon as you had crossed over into Snezhnaya, the temperature had plummeted, the sheer cold was beyond anything you had ever felt before--cold enough to crack the stones of the buildings in the small villages littered throughout the countryside, cold enough to freeze you from the inside out.

Traveling during the night simply wasn’t feasible, as soon as the sun crossed the horizon, the already bone-chilling temperatures plunged further. You had been lucky the first night when you were traveling down the main road deeper into the northlands--you had bumped into an older man traveling back to his home from the one of the villages, he had ushered you back to his place and he and his wife had looked after you, warning you that you wouldn’t live through the night without shelter in Snezhnaya.

Since then, it’d been a game of survival. The deeper you got into Snezhnaya, the more winding and confusing the roads became, the harder it became to track down villages to find inns to stay at and the more nervous it made you about finding shelter for the night. You thought that Snezhnaya was a trap laid out for foreigners, only those who were born and raised there knew how to navigate the lands without meeting an untimely end.

The tundra of the east appeared endless, a daunting venture you dared not make, and the forests of the west were dark and maze-like with dangerous creatures prowling about and the threat of getting lost and not making it to an inn before night fell was high… but the forest was the only way through to the mountain range south of the Snezhnayan capital city. If you wanted to get to the heart of the Fatui, you would have to trek through the forest and pray you stumbled upon one of the villages before the sunset.

You exhaled, leaning back in your seat at the bar of the inn you were staying at as you swirled your empty glass between your fingers. You had reached the end of the main road, the only way further into Snezhnaya was through the forest now but the thought of entering it made you anxious. A part of you thought you might be better off heading back home.

“Another?” the bartender questioned as he walked by you but you only shook your head, thanking him quietly as you remained lost in your own thoughts.

You couldn’t turn back. Not now, not yet. You had promised yourself and your father that you wouldn’t return home until you had ample evidence to bring this to court… unless you died trying to get it.

Your grandfather didn’t want you going north. He thought that no amount of evidence would be worth you risking your life for but you disagreed. You didn’t think there was any world in which you’d be able to live with yourself knowing you didn’t even try.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed that he was looking at you again--the man sitting at a table in the corner of the room. You couldn’t see his face, there was a hood masking it from view but you could feel his eyes on you, he’d been watching you for nearly thirty minutes now. A part of you wanted to confront him, grab your stuff and head over to his table and demand to know why he kept staring at you but… the more logical part of you knew you shouldn’t. You didn’t know why he was staring at you and all of the worst possibilities were running through your head:

Does he know what you’re here for?

Is he Fatui?

Is he planning on attacking you?

Your vision vibrated from where it was hidden beneath your cloak, warning you to prepare for a battle but you were not the battle type. You had never learned how to wield your vision in a combat manner and you didn’t know if he had a vision or not, you only knew that he had a large claymore set down on the seat next to him and all you had was a small blade that couldn’t even be called a sword. You had only learned to use your vision in the way your father and grandfather taught you when you were younger and it was not something you enjoyed doing to people.

Finally, you forced yourself to stand up. Your gaze caught the window on the far end of the room as you rose to your feet--it was dark already, night had fallen and the hazard of the cold had become even more real.

With a sharp inhale, you turned on your heel to make your way over to the table the man was sitting at. You watched as his head turned to follow you as you approached him and you watched as his body tensed, gloved fingers gripping the edge of the table tight as you slid onto the bench across from him.

“Is there a reason you keep staring at me?” you finally asked. You leaned back against the wall that the bench was placed against, feigning ease, but your legs were tense, ready to move at the first sign of an attack.

“You’re not from here,” the man said after a moment of silence, you caught a glimpse of red beneath the hood he wore. His accent was foreign--unlike the Snezhnayan dialect you’d become used to throughout your travels.

“Neither are you,” you retorted. He shifted back in his seat, the lighting of the inn revealing equally red hair hanging in his eyes, cold and empty with something dark thinly veiled behind them that made your skin crawl--eyes that had witnessed massacre, eyes that promised vengeance. Vengeance for what? You didn’t know. You weren’t sure you wanted to know, you knew it would lead to nothing good.

You suddenly felt as if you had made a mistake.

“There aren’t many foreigners this deep in Snezhnaya,” he noted cooly. “Just merchants… are you a merchant?”

Somehow, you felt as if ‘yes’ was the wrong answer.

He was accusing you of something, you could feel it in your bones but you didn’t know what he was accusing you of. Being a spy? Was he Fatui?

“I’m not a merchant,” you said, taking in a small puff of air when you caught the blood smeared across the man’s chin and neck as the hanging lights in the middle of the tavern swayed a bit. His lips pressed together subtly at your words and your vision was becoming even more erratic--danger, danger, danger, it warned you.

Somehow, you knew now that ‘no’ had been the wrong answer too.

“It’s hard traveling through Snezhnaya without knowing what paths to take, you can get lost easily… all of the paths on the old maps have been snowed out,” he responded. “How’d you make do?”

“An older couple living off the main road pointed me in the right direction,” you told him. “How about you? Are you a merchant?”

You knew he wasn’t. No merchant traveled with blood staining their faces and a weapon the size of the average person. He had no goods that he had arrived with, he’d shown up at the inn a little after you had with only his sword in tow and his eyes were unfriendly and glacial, unlike the faux charisma that painted the expressions of merchants as they tried to get you to buy their products.

The man stared at you for a moment and then he said, “No,” with no further explanation.

The Fatui usually traveled in groups or as pairs. He had a foreign accent. He wore no mask or sigil that affiliated him with the organization as they usually did. Who the hell was he?

And then you remembered the hushed whispers of the elderly couple you had stayed with--warning you that the Fatui had become more active in their area because of a belligerent wreaking havoc throughout central Snezhnaya who had been spotted at a nearby inn. They told you to take care because they didn’t think that the Fatui would take kindly to any outsider in the area so long as the hostile remained terrorizing their strongholds but…

Was this…?

You watched him carefully, trying to figure it out without having to ask. You were several miles from where you had been staying with them now and it had been two and a half days. Traveling through Snezhnaya was slow and arduous, the wind fought you with every step and half of the time you were dragging yourself through snow that reached your knees.

If this was him, then maybe…

You didn’t even have a chance to finish the thought, head snapping to the side as the door to the inn slammed open and cold air rushed through the tavern at the entrance, blowing out half of the candles keeping the room lit up. Your stomach churned uncomfortably and from the corner of your eye, you watched as the man you were sitting with reached for his weapon.

Who the hell was traveling in the dead of night?

Your throat felt tight as you watched another hooded figure step into the inn. You couldn’t make out his features in the dim lighting, you couldn’t even tell if he was armed or not but there was an odd vial that glowed blue even in the dark hanging from his right ear.

The bartender had paused in making a drink for one of the other patrons of the tavern, a wary look visible on his face that you caught as the chandelier swung dangerously beneath a harsh wind. You let out a shaky breath, the cold from outside was already creeping beneath your cloak and freezing your skin. You wondered why no one was shouting at him to close the damn door like they did to other people who arrived until the bartender finally spoke up, voice shaky:

“Lord Harbinger,” he breathed out. “How can I-”

The man’s head turned in your direction--no, you realized, not your direction, his--and that was the only warning you got before the world around you exploded.

The entire right side of his body felt like it was on fire. Dottore let out a spew of curses as his hand spasm and he dropped the vial he had been studying right to the ground, watching as the glass shattered and the silvery liquid splattered all over the floor, dissolving the tiles and eating through the ground.

Dottore exhaled, briefly shutting his eyes before looking down at the mess on the floor. His lips twisted in annoyance as he realized he was going to have to restart what he had been testing but the annoyance very quickly faded, instead shifting into confusion as the pain persisted. His gaze drew over to his arm--nothing was wrong with it on the surface level but it was a blinding type of pain that had him gritting his teeth, like a jagged blade was tearing through his bicep.

It was…

He hadn’t felt anything from her in nearly two weeks. No anxiety, no fear, no anger or sadness and certainly not any pain. He stared down at his arm, where the pain was coming from, and not for the first time since the accursed thread showed up, Dottore had no idea what to do. He thought that he should reach out to her, figure out what was going on and get a general idea of where she was so he could send one of his segments to find her. The pain was more than anything he had ever experienced through her and he wasn’t sure if it was just because she had a low pain tolerance and he was feeling what she was, or if it was because the pain was actually that bad.

Neither boded well for her.

But if he reached out to her, if she was fighting someone, it could distract her.

Dottore’s teeth grit together. He didn’t know what would happen to him or the segments if she died. He didn’t know how it would affect them. Logically, he thought it shouldn’t affect them at all. They hadn’t met her yet and if the bond worked anything like how they believed it did, it shouldn’t take effect until after they met, which wasn’t going to happen… but after two weeks of silence, Dottore was unsure. Every day that passed, an odd, unfamiliar feeling expanded through his chest. He didn’t know how to describe it besides overwhelming and unwelcome but he knew it was because of her silence and the lack of communication through the bond. It caused an emptiness that made him question everything they had learned about the bond.

And if mere silence could cause that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk knowing what her death would cause.

Are you okay?

He asked it before he could decide against it, taking a seat back down at the lab table he had been working at as he waited for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, he could hear the silver liquid still eating through the ground below, sizzling and cracking as the floor dissolved wherever it touched the substance.

He wondered if she would just ignore him like he did to her for years on end.

But then, his forearm stung--a familiar feeling that he hadn’t experienced in two weeks now. He hated how that empty feeling he hadn’t been able to get rid of since he had pushed her away immediately disappeared. It made him feel weak… as if he had no control over his own emotions like a puppet on a string being commanded by a stranger. He glanced down at his arm, red eyes flying over the words that had appeared.

Does it feel like I’m okay?

At once, he rolled his eyes, regretting reaching out to her. He rose to his feet again, pacing across the room to get the tools he needed to clean the mess of his mistake but before he even got halfway there, the pain tripled and a creeping fear began to spread through his chest. He grimaced as he leaned on a nearby counter, trying to regain control over himself but he found that he couldn’t--her fear and pain was simply too intense.

What happened?

He slid down against the counter he was leaning on until he was sat on the floor. He watched the silvery liquid from the corner of his eye, watching as it ate through the ground closer and closer to him as he waited for a response from her. He despised how he couldn’t compartmentalize her feelings. He had learned how to separate them from his and the other segments but he had never figured out how to store them away and convert them into something that was easier for him to process.

Attacked.

Dottore felt cold. His gaze drew over to the window on the opposite wall of his lab--it was dark out, the sun had long set and the wind was harsh. He wondered if the coldness was a result of the damning realization that she was in trouble or if it was because she was outside. Either way, Dottore needed to act--if she was still being attacked, he had to get one of the segments there and if she was stuck in the cold running after being attacked, she would die to nature.

Dottore tried to push away the rising anger--the fury that never failed to appear whenever he was put into an impossible situation because of this bond, whenever he felt like the gods were looking down at him and laughing as he played right into their sick games.

Who attacked you? Where are you?

He shot out questions to her at a rapid speed, the pain was getting worse on his end. He could feel a light-headedness and a fuzzy feeling beginning to seep through his body and mind. She had to be losing blood and too much of it. If she passed out, that would be the end. She’d be killed by the attacker or she’d be killed by the cold, there was no other fate that awaited her.

Don’t know. An inn at -------

Dottore stared at the indecipherable words branded onto his forearm--he wasn’t sure if they were scribbles or an ancient language that he just couldn’t understand, another way for the gods to laugh at him by dangling the answer wants right in front of his face but making it so that he couldn’t understand it.

What do you mean you don’t know? Figure it out.

Dottore wondered if she could sense his irritation at her response. He didn’t really care if she could, maybe it would make her think harder.

Fatui, finally scrawled itself on his forearm and Dottore thought he might want to throw something because he had called it the moment that he had realized she might be coming north, he knew that between her being a foreigner and their subordinates being anxious over the masked hostile running through their camps that something would happen. They called him Lord Harbinger.

Dottore stared at the words trying to piece together what was going on. Lord Harbinger? Pulcinella and Pantalone were rarely, if ever, sent on missions that would end in combat. As far as he was aware, Brighella was at Zapolyarny Palace working with Pierro on something. Capitano was traveling north from Natlan for the initiation of the new Harbinger in a few days, he’d be on a boat traveling the western sea. Scaramouche? It could-

He had a blue earring, it was bright.

A blue earring, he was acutely aware of the one hanging from his own ear, mind racing as he tried to remember where each of the segments were. Lambda and Theta were in Sumeru. Zeta was in Mondstadt. Delta and Iota were on the Fontaine border. Gamma, Epsilon and Kappa were all hanging around his labs.

Rho, it dawned on Dottore suddenly. He had sent the segment south to track down the belligerent because their subordinates had proved incapable. He had mentioned that he was closing in on the man. Had she gotten caught in the crossfire? Was she traveling with him?

No, that wasn’t possible. All reports had claimed that the hostile was traveling alone.

Rho, Dottore spit out, reopening the connection with the segment, intent on having him find the girl and drag her back across the border into Fontaine. Where are you?

Not now, Rho responded, voice cold and angry. It took a lot to anger Rho, he had tight control over his temper unlike the Theta and Delta segments. Dottore could feel something stinging his cheek, a cut--he wondered if the hostile had actually managed to land a blow on him, no matter how small. It would explain why he was so angry.

Get back to where you came from. Now.

Now? Rho demanded, livid. I’m on him.

She was there. At the inn. The reaction was instantaneous as Rho’s resolve wavered. If she dies because of you, you won’t even get the relief of deactivation.

Dottore rose to his feet again once he was certain that Rho had turned back, pacing across the length of his lab, careful to step over the melted ground where the substance had fallen.

Once he found her, this would all be over. He’d have Rho bring her back to Fontaine whether she liked it or not, and once he knew where she lived, he’d make sure to send one of the other segments to keep an eye on her so something like this would never happen again.

Finally, he would have some semblance of control over the bond for the first time since it appeared. He’d no longer be hanging onto her whims, he’d no longer have to stress about her getting herself hurt or killed and how it would affect him, he’d no longer be bound to this mess and he’d never have to worry about accidentally running into her because the segment would keep her confined to the city and he would stay far from it.

He’d send the Zeta segment. He couldn’t send Theta because he didn’t trust him not to do something rash. He couldn’t send Delta, Rho or Epsilon because the younger segments were attached to them at the hip and they would press to meet her. Lambda was an option if he could ensure that the segment wouldn’t try to ‘handle her’ as he threatened to already.

Relief began to inch its way through him—too soon.

He had jinxed himself.

She’s not here, he heard Rho tell him. I don’t know-

Dottore closed the connection, biting back vile curses as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of the nose and tried to think.

Where could she have gone? It had only been a few minutes. She was hurt. She couldn’t have gotten far.

Where are you? He finally decided to ask her and he waited, and waited, and waited for a response but was only met with the empty silence he had become accustomed to the past two weeks.

“Where am I?”

Your eyes followed the cloaked figure carefully, trying to keep your breath steady as the pain coursing through your arm gradually subsided. Your gaze flickered to the side, watching as the red, bubbling skin of your right arm began to smooth and clear beneath whatever substance that had been smeared over the burns.

“What is this stuff?”

You had a lot of experience with using elemental energy to heal wounds. Fontaine City had some of the best medics throughout Teyvat--Wriothesley’s family’s special trait could call upon hydro energy to heal even the most fatal and grievous of wounds. He had never been able to wield it the way his family wanted him to but his grandfather was the best of the best, he had helped you when you had broken your arm and leg ten years ago after falling down the steps of the clocktower when exploring with Wrio.

This was not elemental energy. It was odd and cool, like gelatin, but it worked as fast as any medic--in no time, the pain was gone and the burns had vanished, leaving the skin of your arm unblemished again.

“Old magics,” the person responded. Their voice was low, androgynous. You couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman.

“Why did you help me?” you asked. “Who are you?”

You didn’t know where you were now--it was a dark room, a stone building with a fireplace on the opposite wall. The last you remembered, you had been in the snow. You had started to lose consciousness, the cold and the pain too much for your body to bear. You could barely even remember what had happened: you could picture the hooded man who you had been sitting with brandishing his claymore and the man that they had called Lord Harbinger meeting him blade for blade, pale fire coating his weapon and eating away at the wood of the inn, burning through your cloak down to the skin. You could hear the screams of the other patrons of the inn as they got caught in the crossfire of the battle between the two men.

And then you were here, in this room… with this person.

“Who are you?” you demanded, more insistently this time when you didn’t get a response.

Finally, a reaction from them. The flames flickered across their face as they turned to face you and finally, you got a glimpse beneath the hood… but it was not a human face that stared back at you. It was a mask, dark with a spade-like pattern around the eyes, a smile painted onto the plastic.

“No one,” they replied, “just a trouper.”

What? You thought to yourself, confused. Your nose wrinkled and your brows furrowed as you mulled over the word. A trouper? Like the entertainers at the Grand Theater?

“Why did you help me?” you tried again, raising your chin to meet the two voids in the eyeholes of the mask. They hadn’t tried to bind you or restrict your movement, they hadn’t even taken your weapon--just a bit of concentration and you could put yourself in control of the situation.

They tilted their head to the side, you couldn’t see their eyes or expression but you knew they were smiling, “Is that how you treat someone who saved you?”

You hadn’t even moved, you stared at them, unmoving, forcing your body to relax. How had they known what you were thinking? You weren’t a person that was easy to read--if you were, you would’ve been put on trial for treason a long time ago.

“Why did you save me?” you asked slowly, not letting them get out of answering the question.

“Because I want to help you.”

Yet again, they evaded the question. Your lips twisted in frustration, “Why?”

“Because I think we can help each other.”

There it was, you recognized, taking in a sharp breath. They wanted something from you. The air around you suddenly felt cold, as if the fire across the room had been snuffed out even though it was still burning bright. They were eerily still, almost like a statue as they watched you, waiting for a reaction.

“Why do you think that?” you asked carefully.

“Do you really think you can infiltrate the Fatui on your own?”

You were on your feet in an instant, reaching for the blade sheathed at your side but your eyes widened when you realized it wasn’t there. You only had half of a second to react before you found yourself backed up against the wall, a forearm pressed to your throat and the tip of your own blade pressed to your side, threatening to puncture the skin.

It had just been on you. How did they get it?

“Well?”

Well what? You wanted to scream, mind panicked and racing as you tried to force yourself to calm down and think but it was hard to concentrate with your air being half-restricted and a blade pressed to your ribcage.

They wanted you to answer their question, you realized, about infiltrating the Fatui.

“Yes,” you said but you weren’t even sure you believed it yourself. You kept telling yourself that you would figure out a plan once you got to the city and had a scope of the area and more information available to you but you had a feeling that nothing would change even once there. Zapolyarny Palace would be impenetrable.

“How?” they murmured, not letting up on you. You wanted to turn your face away, unnerved by the proximity of the mask, but you thought that would show you as weak and you couldn’t afford to show weakness, not right now. “Do you plan to storm the palace? Face the Harbingers and demand retribution for your father? Do you think you will fly under the radar of the Knave’s webs of spiders? That you can simply walk past the automatons of the Marionette prowling the streets of the capital city? You will find yourself a victim of the Doctor’s twisted experiments or the Friar’s sick games before you even hope to find the evidence you seek.”

You couldn’t mask your expression, not after hearing that. You stared at them, lips parting as if to speak but no words left them. You felt like a fish out of water--for the first time in a long time, you were fumbling for words, your tongue felt twisted and heavy.

How were you going to do it? The question laid atop you like a crown of thorns, tearing through your skin and scarring your face. You didn’t know. You didn’t know how you were going to do it. You used not being in the city as an excuse, convinced yourself that it was the only reason you haven’t thought up a plan yet but the truth was branded right on your face as you stared at the masked person: you simply didn’t know.

“I can help you,” they whispered, leaning in impossibly closer. “I can give you your in, the chance you need to find the proof.”

“How do you know all of this?” you finally asked and you hated how your voice cracked over your words but you were scared because if this person knew all of this then it could spell your end, just like that. All they had to do was send word to the Fatui and you’d have hell bearing down on your doors.

And if they knew about this…

“I know a lot,” they said cryptically. “Would you like me to help you?”

… did they know about your soulmate?

You let out another shaky breath, staring ahead. You didn’t know what to do. If you didn’t accept their help, would they sell you out to the Fatui? Or would they laugh and watch as you fumbled your way through Snezhnayan courts and fail to acquire what you had traveled all this way for? You could feel the pain ricocheting through your head, you could barely even think straight, much less come up with an answer.

If you did accept, you finally forced your head back on track, what did they want in return? That was what you needed to know.

“What would you want in return?”

“We don’t know yet,” they said quietly but their tone was not hesitant--if anything, it was amused. Finally, they released you, taking a step back to watch you. The eyes staring down at you were empty, like looking into an abyss.

A dangerous, dangerous gamble. It gave them too much power.

“No, I want to know what you want in return.”

We. You suddenly recognized how they referred to themself--we, not I, they were not working alone. You felt all the more suffocated at the realization.

“Then I guess we have no deal,” they said with a sigh, making a move to leave the room the two of you were in. Your heart leapt to your throat. “I cannot tell you what we do not know. Take the deal as is or fail, you will not succeed without help. You have no way of getting into Zapolyarny Palace. It is impenetrable.”

You should take that as a challenge, tell them fuck off and make them watch as you succeeded. Your blood boiled at the condescending tone and it took all of your willpower to not snap at them.

This was not the time for pride. You had to abandon all vices and virtues if you were to get the evidence to condemn your stepfather, if you were to bring justice to your father… and if this person were to offer you the chance you desperately needed… then maybe it was worth whatever price they wanted you to pay in the long run.

Committing injustices in the name of justice, the thought rang through your head loud. Wrio would love the irony.

“You can get me into Zapolyarny?” you finally questioned, hiding the way your hands were shaking behind you as you sealed your fate.

They hummed in agreement, “You will be on your own once you’re in there. Take care not to anger the wrong people… or draw too much attention to yourself.”

You could do that, you told yourself. Once you got in, you needed to find a place. Weasel your way in as an attendant so you could search for the evidence you needed.

“Okay,” you finally agreed. The air suddenly felt heavy and oppressive, you thought that if you looked up, you would see the blade of a guillotine dropping on your neck. “Okay, we have a deal.”

You didn’t have to see their face to know that they were smiling, the voids staring down at you glimmered cruelly, you swore you saw red deep within the eyeholes of the mask.

“Welcome to the game, spadille.”

rbs appreciated!!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x you

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 11 months ago

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The Perfect Christmas Setting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader)

Summary: It's officially your first Christmas with your boyfriend - long time coming - so you'll need an appropriately decorated house.

AN: I took part in a Secret Santa fic swap run by @bunnyreaper and my Secret Santa is @piratesfromspace! Hope you enjoy this fic that ignores MW3 to write my own canon and was kinda inspired by “Me and My Husband”.

Content warnings: 2nd person, some hurt/comfort, mostly domestic festivity

Masterlist

You had never invested so much of your paycheck into decorations. Tinsel, baubles, Santa statuettes, all in clashing colours and combinations, the Christmas paraphernalia were contained by several bags and sat now in your sitting room, brimming with as much cheer as you were with pride.

Johnny was teeming in the corner, arranging lights around the blue spruce you’d chosen as the main event in your household. Several photos of Johnny hauling it into his truck filled your phone, plus a video of him grumbling about how “the prickly bastard” kept poking him in the face, dangerously close to taking an eye out. You’d only known you were getting a tree for a few hours at that point. Johnny had woken you up early – the morning after his arrival from a lengthy excursion with work. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he told you about his old traditions, showing you a few old photos his sister had dug out of a family album. Then he proposed his idea for the rest of his leave: forging your own Christmas traditions for your first holiday together.

The transient nature of his job meant he’d seldom celebrated in his own home in the last decade. It wasn’t your first year as a couple either; unfortunately, your history with Christmas had been one of separation of many thousands of miles. Maybe, if you were lucky enough, you’d get a quick call with Johnny. But this year, you were your own family unit and able to celebrate Christmas on the actual date. That meant you could do whatever you wanted together, and what Johnny wanted was the full shebang.

Warm lights (the icy ones would be saved for decorating the house) displayed their varieties of settings whilst Johnny fidgeted with the dial, switching back and forth between flashing and . Meanwhile, you unpacked the tree trimmings, ranging from traditional red and golden orbs that reflected a cartoonish version of yourself in the glitter and glass, to a Colin the Caterpillar bauble that Johnny spied and subsequently adopted on your behalf.

You started hanging them up, humming along to the Christmas tunes, thankful that you’d talked Johnny out of going carolling. Meanwhile, he was squinting at the lights before he tugged at your sleeve.

“You don’t think there’s a weird gap here?” His hand waved vaguely around the torso of the tree.

“It’s grand,” You reassured him, rubbing between his shoulder blades as he bent in half to double check the spread of decorations up close. Attempting to match his focus was impossible but it was helping you ignore how he could be called away at any moment. That was the other hidden reason for going all out on the Christmas decorations: Johnny wanted this place to be as cosy and as Christmassy as it could be, like it would comfort you in the instance he wasn’t here. Part of you wished that his job could be as predictable as the so-called most wonderful time of the year. However, the rest of you accepted that it wasn’t and let you continue untangling the endless yards of tinsel to wrap around the banisters later.

Eventually, Johnny tired of peering at the lights and joined in organising where each bauble should go. You suppressed a few giggles whenever he moved a few around so that there was an even (ish) spread, no two decorations put near one another like divorced parents at a family reunion.

“D’you think we should’ve gone with the silver and blue set? Might’ve looked more together, more on theme,” Johnny placed his hands on his hips, clearly conjuring up a variety of variations of what your sitting room could’ve been.

Instead of replying, you finished hanging up the red ceramic heart near the top. Then, from your back pocket, you withdrew and fixed a slightly-too-large Santa hat on his head, adjusting it by the snow white fur trim around his furrowed brow.

“You’d make one hell of a Sexy Santa,” You said when you were pleased with the outcome.

Johnny’s absorption in the festivities broke up in a smile, “Not got the beard for it yet.” And, to prove it, he wrapped his arm around you and forced you to endure his stubbled chin rubbed against your forehead. “Now answer my question please.”

“It looks great,” You insisted, “More personal, less IKEA showroom.”

“Don’t act like you don’t pretend to live in every showroom we come across.”

“That’s all pretend though. This is real, our first real Christmas.”

He kissed you, very sweetly, which didn’t prevent you snorting against his loving lips as you realised his suggestion of silver and blue decorations might have rendered your home appearing more Scottish that him. It struck you as quickly as your next train of thought, your body leaping out of Johnny’s embrace at the eureka moment.

“Oh! We haven’t even-” You and your voice faded down the hallway, words too muffled for even Johnny’s keen ears to decipher. He waited patiently for your return and was rewarded for his patience with you carrying the rest of the bags you just remembered existed, dragging them into the sitting room to complete the claustrophobic crowd of Christmas content.

“Darling, we said we’d wait until we finished the tree first!” Johnny said with no real exasperation in his voice.

“I can’t wait! Don’t make me!” You pleaded, as if you weren’t already opening the little reindeer statues to line up on the window sill. Johnny couldn’t deny you, not with how your face lit up brighter than any collection of bulbs covering your tree – like when he suggested ordering a twerking musical Santa toy. You clapped eagerly at his assent and began humming the opening to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" whilst placing down each respective model along the ledge.

Just as you were placing Rudolph at the helm, the music came to a halt and the sound of a ringtone took over the speakers, accompanied by Johnny’s phone buzzing on the couch arm. Balancing on one leg as he reached over, his face went stiff and he began to make his way out of the room.

“One sec,” He said, bending down to bestow a kiss on your head as he went past.

Instantly, you connected your own phone to the speaker and turned up the music, knowing Johnny would go straight to his office for the duration of the call as to not be disturbed. But the nature of the call was already disturbing your fragile peace. Your stomach was swirling and promoting a greasy queasiness. Already clumsy enough, the circumstances made it harder for your hands to wedge the batteries into the glowing sleigh.

Trying to tune in to the next song was impossible when there was a lull between the two songs. Your brewing panic took advantage of it and accelerated your noisy thoughts, hitting a crescendo with the footsteps returning to you in ominous timing with your sinking heartbeats.

At least you might have time to put the star on top of the tree together before he went.

“Everything ok?” It came out strained, and the first syllable caught in your throat.

As you looked to see Johnny nodding, you noted there was no bittersweetness hiding on his face.

“Yeah, Price just approved my annual leave. So no more work calls.” A flick of the wrist landed his phone squarely down the back of the couch cushion and retrieved from behind his back - “Ta-da!” – a vermilion and forest green elf hat that he arranged it upon your head before he took your tense body up and spun you to face the mirror over the fireplace.

“What do you think?” He spread his arms out as wide as his grin, glowing over your shoulder with his efforts (and also the ugly jumper he insisted on wearing), both of your reflections surrounded by countless bits of yuletide tat that you’d unpacked but not yet organised circling the half decorated tree. This elf hat likely wasn’t hard to hide a secret purchase amongst all of that. Bells tinkled softly by your ears as you tilted your head.

Effects of emotional whiplash took hold of you and the glowing sleigh dropped from your hands, spewing the three AAA batteries under the couch and into the tinsel pile. You locked yourself around Johnny’s middle with all the strength you could muster. Hard muscles beneath the gentle woollen caress of his jumper were solid enough to ground you back in your holiday paradise, his firm squeezes slowing your heart rate until it was at a regular pace again, his subtle cinnamon cologne (bought special for this time of year) thawing your fears in the hearth of his love for you. You only drew back to bop him on the nose with the bobble from his Santa hat and deliver your answer.

With his rosy cheeks close enough to warm your own, you whispered with teary eyes, “It’s perfect.”

#johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap fanfic #johnny mactavish fanfic #cod x reader #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #my writing #r: gn #r: fem #wc: >1k

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oathkeeperoxas · 1 year ago

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TOP GUN / Icemav fic recs part 5

Good morning aviators, this is your Captain speaking - and I bring you more icemav fic recs to enjoy 💖

Rec list 1 here

Rec list 2 here

Rec list 3 here

Rec list 4 here

Bodies in Motion by @elwenyere

It takes Maverick a while to notice Ice is always moving.

As always, Elwen has hit it out of the park with a character and relationship study that says so much in so little, and also happens to be very hot too.

all the waves and the tides by Cristinuke

After a summer's day of playing dogfight football with the dagger squad, Ice and Mav come home to take a bath, relax, and continue their teasing conversation.

Slice of life fic and domestic fluff is just everything that I ever want, and this fic delivers in spades. Old man loving is written so perfectly as well 💖

Kissed By The Sun by @wordsonamission

After the volleyball game, Maverick is left with a nasty sunburn across his shoulders. He tries to ignore it until it fades, but the pain of the burn is starting to get to him. The guys at Top Gun give him a rough time about leaving the game early to meet up with Charlie but Ice notices that the source of Maverick's frustration isn't so much his failed dated as the tender state of his skin. Ice lets Maverick borrow a bottle of aloe and is even nice enough to help him apply it where Maverick can't reach . . . alternatively: Fellas, is it gay to smear aloe on your crush's body in the locker room after hours while making intense eye contact in the mirror?

The lengths gone to excuse slathering aloe all over your crush in this are simply epic. Men will use any reason to touch each other. Fic is well written and you can feel the summer heat radiating from it!

smoke signals by @qin-ling

Maverick figures it out on the Enterprise, sweat-soaked and high on adrenaline. Their skin brushes and it's fire in his veins, like sunlight, like a beacon in the night, and every neon sign points to— Iceman figures it out much earlier than that. Or; Maverick and Iceman are soulmates. They work it out.

Soulmate AUs in this fandom are always so crunchy, and this one does NOT disappoint! Very hot, emotionally fulfilling with excellent writing!

Bleed Out by @betanoiz

As soon as they're back from the mission Maverick goes to the hospital where Iceman is still in a coma. Things with Bradley are better, almost good, so the only thing left on his mind is the man fighting for his life - post-canon icemav looking at their history and the bits they've missed

aaaaughhhh angst my beloved... This is written with so much yearning and love and goes straight to the heart 🥺

everything's all by the way by Cristinuke

Ice and Mav have an enlightening conversation after Ice's divorce goes through.

Exes to friends to lovers is the best configuration of icemav, you can't change my mind. Very glad to have found this fic, which does the trope excellently!

twenty dollars verse by alecjbi

"Alright, the bet is $20. You have to have carnal knowledge-- of a lady this time-- on the premises." This is the story of the other time.

The back and forth between Mav and Ice here is great - love the backstory for Ice that the author crafted, and how it plays into the icemav relationship and how they approach their relationship.

your fingerprints on my skin by @saengak

Everyone calls them soulmarks—the flush of peachy red that appears on your skin whenever your soulmate touches you. It's supposed to be romantic, how the evidence of your soulmate's little affections linger. The brush of their hand. A kiss. "Don’t touch me," Ice had snapped in his face, just before the soulmark had painted itself on Pete’s skin.

Another soulmate AU, we are truly eating well. While it takes a while to get there, the end result is very worth it - and the banter and teasing at the end is so very good.

This One's For You! by ReapersOrchid

The other boys started to laugh, Slider almost choking on his spit in the process, while Ice just facepalmed slowly, hiding his face in his hands. "Oh, my god...." "Are you sure that this is the one you want, Ice?" Asked Sundown and laughed. "Unfortunately.....yes."

Short and sweet and cute, love this for Ice and Mav XD

A Shared Cup by @susiecarter

It was only a training exercise. It was only supposed to be a training exercise.

This author makes me insane I swear - this fic is so excellent, with so much ground covered in the rivals to lovers, the emotions are so thick and well earned, and the set up and worldbuilding is amazing too. Highly recommend!!

#icemav #top gun #fic recs #needed to do this to clear out my work history augh trying to complete my comment bingo and sort through everything #but there is simply. so many fics. so so many. this ship truly popped off I love that for us #rec list #maverick #iceman #tg

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exceedinglygayotter · 1 year ago

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Before TotK came out I was thinking about how many people were probably going to write the logical continuation of all those “the champions came back to life after BotW” fics by writing fics where they’re around for the events of TotK, but after having beaten the game I’m honestly not sure how that would even work, narratively speaking. Nearly every part of Breath of the Wild is intrinsically connected to the Champions, while TotK is so totally disconnected from them. TotK was so dead-set on moving on from the Champions that combining the two just feels unnecessary and contrived, even for a fanfic.

The Divine Beasts aren’t just gone, they’re completely absent, without even a hint as to why they’re missing. If it weren’t for Symin mentioning them during the history lesson you could almost argue that they’d been retconned. Mipha’s mentioned by name a few times, Urbosa only in Riju’s diary, Revali only on the sign for Revali’s Landing, and I don’t think Daruk’s name is said once. Daruk’s Protection is also just missing despite Yunobo having it in the last game, as is the scrap of Daruk’s Champion cloth he wore around his neck.

And from a narrative standpoint, the new Sages make the Champions mostly redundant. That’s kind of the point of them, they’re the successors to the Champions -- even their mechanics are echoes of how the Champions worked in BotW. If you tried to have them both be in the story of TotK you’d end up with Link having four companion characters, and then another four companion characters who do basically the same things. It’s not impossible to still give all of them distinct and interesting narrative roles, but I feel like most people who try to write something like this would just make half of them stay behind and not do anything while the other half sticks with Link. Which, y’know, works, but it’s not really a great solution.

The only ways I can think of to really make this idea work well are to totally rewrite the plot of TotK, or write Age of Calamity fanfic where the Upheaval in that continuity happens a century before it does in canon (which would still require rewriting most of the plot of TotK due to almost none of the same characters being around and Hyrule not being ruined yet.)

I guess you could lean into how out of place they are, how the entire world kind of moved on and left them behind a century in the past, but that only works if they get resurrected after TotK happens or right before it, since if they come back right after BotW then they’ve already been adjusting to that world for several years by the time of the Upheaval.

Honestly I’m probably just going to be writing fic that ignores TotK entirely. I can’t really imagine any stories I want to tell with these characters that would be improved with the addition of the events of TotK.

I might just be unimaginative and a bad writer though, who knows. There’s probably going to be a load of people who will have a go at the idea and do it really well, and I look forward to seeing those.

#fanfic #breath of the wild #loz botw #loz #tears of the kingdom #loz totk #totk #botw #legend of zelda #the legend of zelda #revali #urbosa #daruk #mipha #botw champions

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immeasurable-depths · 1 year ago

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Sooo I had to write something when Laura made it canon that Imogen has seen Jester’s bug. This is pretty bleak in the beginning but Laudna makes everything better in the second part I promise 🖤

Suddenly she isn’t lying on the couch staring at her fingers - her mind explodes into the memory of standing beneath the darkened canopy of the stable eaves, magic bursting purple and white out of her fingertips in a terrible flash. With a wave of revulsion, Imogen feels the ripple of energy coursing through her fingertips, illuminating those lightning streaks into iridescent purple as they glow and lightning erupts from her. The bright light puts the silhouettes of the townsfolk into stark contrast with the rapidly sinking sun behind them, suspicion and anger etched on their hardened faces. Another flash: she sees the look of pain and resignation plastered across her father’s face, feels the wave of disappointment, of hurt. The suffocating thoughts of history repeating billow off him like storm clouds, battering Imogen’s consciousness with their intensity and anguish, threatening to bowl her over. Another flash, and in her mind’s eye, she sees him shake his head slowly. Another flash, and he turns his back, disappearing into the night to trudge back through the fields towards the empty farmhouse. Defeated. Alone.

And through it all, Imogen’s fingers shine with that spectral purple glow.

She jolts back to consciousness with a quiet whimper. That damned sofa is still scraping against her skin as she draws in a shaky breath.

Must have fallen asleep again, Imogen thinks to herself. She tries to ignore the tears that slide silently from between her clenched eyelids, hot and wet and stinging as they spill over the bridge of her nose and splash into the scratchy fabric below her.

Need to stop doing that. Drifting off.

Still.

What else is there to do?

She isn’t sure which is worse, at the moment. The disturbing dreams of red dust that sneak in at night; the feeling of panic and loss of control as the wind picks up and threatens to whisk her away. Or the crippling, yawning numbness she feels during the day - especially when Laudna is away.

Imogen is pulled unceremoniously back into her body by a faint tickle across her forehead. She is torn from her dark reverie with a jolt: her eyelid flinches instinctively, and she realises the tickling is caused by the legs of a tiny insect across her cheek. She swats at it half-heartedly, too slow to catch it but stirring the air enough that it takes flight. The buzz of tiny wings permeates the air and Imogen flinches again, irritated. Her eyes track its flight path from where she still lies, horizontal, to where it lands on the dilapidated staircase a few feet away. Iridescent wings fold neatly on its back and it begins its trek, skirting along the grain of the partially rotted wood. Imogen realises it is carrying something on its back: a crumb of bread from the meagre meal they’d had the night before, clenched precariously between two microscopic front legs. It clambers along the horizontal before pausing, readjusting its vice grip before hauling itself vertically up the step. It continues, painfully slowly, but relentless.

Imogen stares, unable to take her eyes off it. The crumb is bigger than the length of its body, but it persists, heaving it up and along and up and along.

What are you doing? You’ve got wings, you dumbass. Why don’t you just fly up?

It takes Imogen a moment to register that she’s reached out instinctively with her mind. Blearily, she realises it doesn’t have enough of a consciousness to answer her.

Oh. I’m talkin’ to a bug.

Great.

She drifts.

———

The happy part is on AO3 ☺️

#critical role #imodna #imogen temult #laudna #laura bailey #marisha ray #imodna fic #whumptober #I guess #hurt/comfort

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adenei · 1 year ago

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Blank Space

3rd Submission for @cruelsummer-ficfest

Era #2 / Album: 1989

Ship: Romione

Song: Blank Space

Summary: Even their darkest moments, Ron will always defend Hermione. HBP Missing Moment, Canon-Compliant.

TW: language and some crude/underage insinuations

Read on AO3

So it’s gonna be forever

Or it’s gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it’s over, mmm

If the high was worth the pain

—

‘Cause we’re young and we’re reckless

We’ll take this way too far

It’ll leave you breathless, mmm

Or with a nasty scar

—

Boys only want love if it’s torture

Don’t say I didn’t, say I didn’t warn ya

“Oh, my god, look at your face,” Dean comments when Ron walks into the sixth-year dorm. Seamus and Neville crane their necks around their respective four poster beds to get a look.

“She’s fucking mental, mate!” Ron heads straight for the mirror to get a better look at the damage. He aims his wand at the various marks across his face and mutters incantations under his breath until something works to ease the pain.

Seamus curves his hand around his mouth and leans back with wide eyes. “Damn. I knew Lav had an easy streak, but that looks like some kinky shit. Someone’s a beast on and off the pitch.”

“What’d you two do, Weasley?” Dean asks, part teasing, part genuine curiosity.

Ron pauses and swivels around to face his dorm-mates. “You think Lav did this to me? Like what, with her nails or—ew, that’s fucking gross. Nevermind, forget I asked.”

He shudders and turns back to the mirror but Neville interrupts him again.

“You mean Lav didn’t do that to you? Then what happened?”

“Yeah,” Seamus adds. “Did you get in a fight with one of the armored suits? They hit you with some shrapnel or something?”

“Very funny.” But there’s no humor in his voice.

The boys wait for Ron to elaborate and when he doesn’t, Seamus prods him further. “Let’s see…if it wasn’t Lav, who could have done it?”

“Forget it, Seamus. It doesn’t matter.”

Despite the pain and physical damage that’s been done to his face, Ron refuses to give up the name of his assailant, which strikes all three boys as curious. And while Seamus and Dean are a bit slower on the uptake, Neville solves the puzzle almost immediately. There are few people Ron would protect above anything, and only one has the potential to destroy someone’s face. She’s done it before, and she’ll do it again, apparently.

“It was Hermione, wasn’t it?”

Both Seamus and Dean smack their foreheads and let out a prolonged ‘ohhhh’ in unison.

“Fuck off, Neville.”

“Oi, Ron, you can’t seriously be defending her right now? She messed your face up! I mean, at least it doesn’t say ‘sneak’ on it. What, was she trying to carve out ‘cheat’ instead?” Seamus cracks himself up at his own joke.

Ron holds up a crude gesture and continues to ignore them, but the boys aren’t done prying for information.

Dean presses first. “How did she do it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ron growls.

“I think the better question is what made her do it?” Seamus asks, but doesn’t wait for anyone else to chip in a response. “Oh, wait! Is Granger jealous?”

Nobody’s noticed that Neville has quietly bowed out of the conversation, choosing to lurk instead. He’s not dumb enough to test Ron’s temper.

“Of course, she’s jealous!” Dean agrees. “She’s had him to herself for five years and now other girls are interested. Probably didn’t take too kindly to Lav making a move.”

Seamus sniggers. “Yeah, like anyone would choose Granger anyway. I don’t know why you and Potter keep her around. It can’t just be for the grades, can it?”

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Wonder if she’s got an opening on her short list now. Think she’ll write my name on the blank space you’ve lef—”

But Seamus is cut short by the sound of Ron’s fist colliding with his jaw. “Fuck off!”

Neville scrambles off the bed to pull Ron away before he can do more damage as Dean restrains Seamus, who looks ready to return the punch.

“You’re insane, Weasley.”

“Fuck you, Finnigan, you asked for it.”

Seamus wrenches himself free of Dean’s grasp and rubs his jaw. “Didn’t realize you couldn’t take the piss.”

“You weren’t taking the piss and you know it.”

“Whatever. I’m going to bed.” Seamus crosses the room and flops on the mattress of his four-poster, then yanks the curtains shut around him.

Ron glances at Dean and Neville, waiting to see if they have anything to add. When neither speaks up, he goes back to tending the cuts on his face.

So much for celebrating Gryffindor’s victory with the rest of the team. Now, he’s stuck on the receiving end of his former best friend’s rage, and left with a girlfriend he’s not even sure he wants.

But what he doesn’t realize is it’s only going to get more insane from here.

Cherry lips, crystal skies

I could show you incredible things

Stolen kisses, pretty lies

You’re the King, baby, I’m your Queen

Find out what you want

Be that girl for a month

Wait, the worst is yet to come, oh no

#romione #also some ronlav #sorry #ron weasley #hermione granger #hbp missing moment #hp fanfic #ron x hermione #tw: language

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thelocalmuffin · 1 year ago

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Asoryu kissing them awake!!

Hello anon, sorry this took me a moment. I'm having some IRL conflicts that have really chipped into my writing. I hope you like this snippet.

Title: Future

Tags: Minor DGS spoilers, flash fiction, post canon, fluff, cuddling

Summary: Kazuma wakes up after a restless night. Realising what time it is, he decides to wake up Ryunosuke for work. About 500 words.

It’s another weekday, the sun rising to let Kazuma know that it is yet another morning. Yet, he tries to ignore it, trying to cling unto any precious sleep he can get. Though, eventually, the natural sunlight forces him to finally open his eyes after a restless night. He rubs his eyes, trying to process his surroundings. Around him, his adolescence room is the same he left it last night. Before he left for London.

Though there’s one change. A very welcomed one.

Someone else is in his bed, exactly right where he should be. Ryunosuke’s head is buried into Kazuma’s chest, his body has cocooned into a comfortable position on top of Kazuma’s whole frame.

Kazuma had offhandedly mentioned it once that it would be nice to have Ryunosuke lay on top of him since he actually is a stickler for physical touch…

Now he's here, it's perfect.

Ryunosuke had decided to stay the night at the Mikotobas after dinner. Though they have a guest room he could have stayed in, the two had spent the night talking about their future. They both must have dozed off when they got comfortable.

Their future. Not his. Not Ryunosuke’s, but their shared path.

If it weren’t for the fact Ryunosuke had to get to work early, they probably would have set up the move in plans for their shared spaced. It won’t be happening soon, after all, they still have a lot to unpack emotionally, but Ryunosuke said last night he wanted to be part of Kazuma’s future…

Though as the sun creeps over the horizon, Kazuma knows he needs to focus on the present. Speaking of someone who probably does as well…

Kazuma is about to shake him off, but decides to test if a little peck will awaken him. He leans down, pressing his lips to his forehead. He is still pretty warm, but it’s not an alarming heat. Ryunosuke does stir, but only nuzzles his head in with a faint smile.

“You got work.” Kazuma reminds him.

Ryunosuke groans in protest.

“Come, how are we both supposed to save up for our own place if we snuggle all day?” Kazuma whispers.

Ryunosuke pouts, then mumbles in his groggy tone. “Always straight to the point with you…”

“I’ll be back when you’re done.”

Ryunosuke dramatically groans in his chest, then nods. “I guess I’d be letting Susato-san down if I don’t go in as well.

“I was going to bring that up next.” Kazuma hums, running his hair through Ryunosuke’s hair. “If it’s not me who gets you to work, she’ll drag you there.”

“I know, I know. Just a minute. It’s just a nice moment.”

"Alright, but I'll keep you to that." Kazuma continues. "It’s a shame life goes on, but we can pick up where we left off tonight.”

“Promise?”

“Of course, Partner.”

This time, Kazuma wholeheartedly means it.

#anon #asoryuu #kazuma asogi #ryunosuke naruhodo #dgs 2 spoilers #muffin writes

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crimsonnsstuff · 8 months ago

Note

So in love with your Kent stories and I’m so happy to be able to connect with someone that adores him as much as I do. It’s so hard finding Kent fans out here.

Could you please write a Kent x fem reader “new boy next door” story that’s just a little smutty but more fluff and Kent’s both wholesome and a little sassy/snarky but the fem reader is sassy back? The way that dynamic just kills me every time. And maybe Tyler could be the fem reader’s brother (we’re ignoring the canon and giving them a normal home life. lol.) because Tyler is my other favorite character.

You can also pick what you want from that and totally freeform. I’m just excited to see what you create. 💜

Sure!! I hope you don’t mind I do a little twist onto that.

——————————-

New boy next door

Kentxreader

WARNINGS : smutty… reader has sh scars AND STRETCH MARKS!! JUST KEEPING IT REAL. Fem reader. Short actual smut part (sorry) dom Kent. Overstimulating.

Summary: your parents make you go to dinner with the new people who moved in next door.

You were sitting on your bed under your blanket scrolling on your phone. You look over at your clock on your bedside table. 7:19. You hear your phone go off. You look back at your phone. It was a Snapchat notification from your best friend , Wednesday. She was asking if you wanted to go house hunting with her. You texted back yes. You hear a knock on my door.

“Come in!” You shout still looking at your phone. You look up from your phone and see your mom standing there. “What do you need?” You ask.

“You know the new neighbors?” My mom asks. You give her a confused look. “The ones that moved in yesterday? Yeah, why?” You ask her. “Well..” you could tell she didn’t want to say what she was going to say. “Well, dad talked with them yesterday and we learned that they have a son-“ you cut her off. “Okay? What are you getting at here?”

She sighs before continuing. “Well, since you guys are the same age we thought that you two could be friends, since you don’t really have any-“ your Mom knew you had a hard time making friends. “Mom! I have Wednesday!” You shout at her.

Suddenly your brother Tyler comes into your room. “What about Wednesday?” He questions. “Get out of my room, Tyler! And stop being so obsessed over Wednesday! She doesn’t want you!” He rolls his eyes and walks out.

“Okay, well, get ready because we are having dinner with them!” Your eyes widen. “Mom!” You shout. “No! Don’t argue with me! We are gonna be nice neighbors and that is final!” You slouch down in your bed. You guys just stand there and look at each other for a minute. Right when she goes to walk out you stop her. “What’s his name?” You ask her. She stops in her tracks. “Kent.”

You stare at her for a second. “Kent?” You ask her. She nods. “Okay.” She walks out of your room and closes the door behind her. You rub your eyes. You really didn’t want to get out of bed and your sweatpants. You put on a cute outfit.

You look into the mirror at your outfit. You smile as you see how you look. You see the dark scars engraved into your inner thighs. You sigh and pull your skirt down a bit just to cover your thighs.

“Y/n!! Let’s go!!”your mom yells from downstairs.

——————————————

You guys go into your neighbors house. They weren’t done cooking yet so you had to help them. “Y/n, right?” A girl with blue eyes asked. “Uhm..yeah. What’s your name?” The girl smiled at you “I’m divinia.” She said softly. “Your really pretty..” you said looking at her in awe. “Thank you. Uhm, can you go stir the pasta, please?” She asks. You nod your head. You go into the kitchen to stir it.

You bump into somebody. It must’ve been Kent. He looks at you. He had long hair, for a boy, and it was brown. He had ocean blue eyes. He was really pretty. You lock eyes. “Your y/n..right?” He asks. “I-uhm-y-yeah..” you say, nervously.

“Your k..Kent, right?” You ask him. He gives you a warm smile and nods. “I better get to stirring..!” You say awkwardly. “Oh, okay!” He says before going upstairs into his room.

You quickly go stir the dinner. After the dinner was done you all sit down at the table. The adults and divinia have been talking but me and Kent have been staying silent. You and him have been locking eyes. You guys are sitting right across from each other. You feel his leg on yours. You drop your fork on the table.

Everyone goes quiet. “Are you okay, dear?” Kent’s mother asks you. “Uhm..yeah sorry..I just..stubbed my toe..” she nods. You look back over to Kent who is trying to hide a smile on his face.

You give him an angry look. ‘You know you like it’ he mouths as his leg moves up to more intimate areas. You hands start to shake. You try your best to not drop your fork. Your hand were shaking.

After the dinner your parents start to get up. “Uhm, mom?” You say. “Yes dear?” “Do you think I could stay and hang out with Kent for a bit?” She smiles at us. “As long as his parents are okay with it.” She looks at his parents for permission. “Yeah, that’s fine. Divinia and us were just about to head out to go to sams club anyways. We will probably be gone for a while, if that’s okay with you.” His mom says. “Yup! Sounds good!”

After they leave we run upstairs. As soon as you get into his room he grabs your waist and closes the door with his foot. He leans in for a kiss. As your lips connect his hands explore your hair. You moan a bit. After a while he pulls away. You guys were forehead to forehead.

“More..please..” you moan softly. He lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get more” he says before going to kiss your neck. You guys back up towards the bed. “Lay down..” you lay down slowly. He then crawls up to your face. He leans in for a kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. He pulls away and you whine at the loss of his mouth on yours.

He kisses down your neck. When he gets to your collar bone he just sucks on it for a little. You let out a soft moan. You feel him smile against your skin. “Sit up, baby” he says in a low soft voice. You sit up slowly. He takes your shirt off then your bra. He smiles as he sees your tits. He take some in his left hand and another in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around your bud. He pulls away with a popping sound.

He crawls down to in between your legs. He looks up at you in awe. “Do you mind if I take these off?” He asks, pawing at your pants. “No..” he slowly pulls down your pants and underwear at the same time. As the cold air hits your core you close your legs. “Hey, it’s okay” he says before looking up at you and giving you a warm smile. It was more reassuring tho.

As his mouth connects with your core you moan softly at the new feeling. He groans against you. You moan loudly at the vibrations. He slowly starts to suck on your sensitive bud. You try to push his head away as it is to much. He just holds you down. Your legs were now shaking and your legs were closing. He grabs your legs and cranks them back open. “Kent!” You moan out. “I’m gonna cum…” he smiles against you. “Do it, cum on my tongue”

You release on his tongue. He licks up every last drop. He crawls up to your face. “Was I to rough?” He asks. “No..it was perfect” you say still panting. He hugs you tightly. God, you could stay like this forever.

Bonus Oliver pic!!

Also I’m sorry I took so long to post this😭 I’ve not really had the motivation recently. IM ALSO REALLY SORRY THAT THE ACTUAL SMUT IS SO SHORT. Also, if you guys have any story reccomendations just tell me and I will try my best to write them. Also I’m gonna pick a random song off my playlist and put it at the end of everyone of my stories✌️✌️

Hope you guys like this one!!

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whumpbby · 1 year ago

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Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve never used an anti tag before and I’m not sure why they’re so determined to protect that tag that they try and tell people off from using it wrong as opposed to just blocking and moving on. I’ve blocked most of them, a new one always seems to pop out of the woodwork every once in a while, but I can’t help but think it would be more fun to make content they like then bitch about content they don’t. They’re now saying the Jiujiuween event is meant to drown out WWX’s bday as if there won’t be a hundred other fan things going on on that day. They want to spam it and I’m so tired of people just not staying in their lane.

It's only ever about attention.

If they made their own tag, like 'bitching about jc' then people would block the tag and continue to use the app as usual.

But they need to be a pain in someone's ass, because if JC enjoyers don't get pissed and interact with them, then what other excuses do they have to keep writing their essays about how bad he is?? Writing for a group of like-minded antis doesn't have the same endorphin kick as being "right" against the "enemy". How will they feed their presecution complex if the worst people do is ignore them??

And, like, it's an actually an easy mechanism to grasp looking from the outside - kids do it all the time, being assholes for attention. And adults too - it's the Elderly Conservative Relative effect as I call itxD If no one mentions a controversial subject they have things to say about during a family meeting, goshdarnit, they will start the conversation themselves and keep it up until everyone else is uncomfortable and wants to leave! Someone will argue back at some point and, by god, they have their arguments locked and loaded!!

But at least they get attention and engagement! It's much easier to keep vomiting the same tired arguments and rewrite canon time and time again to support them. It so much easier to be performatively angry at fictional characters and to make up wild insinuations about strangers. It's the internet, after all.

It's easier than, say, making art or writing fic of some quality. Or even coming up with fun headcanons or ideas more interesting than "Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian wuv each other so so so much!!!" repeated ad nausea, because their poor little conservative brains cannot step outside of the idea their OTP has to perfect and moral and good to be at all enjoyable. Hehe, sometimes they even have, gasp, sex!>.<

It's easier than writing actual researched meta that looks at all characters and multiple povs, takes cultural and medium tropes into consideration to provide an actual worthwhile critique.

When your main lense of interacting with a work of art is through hating it's integral parts, it's telling, imho.

That is to say, they are simple people. The modern equivalent to an evangelist shouting at the people at a street corner. Not interested in anyone's opinion but their own.

#jiang cheng #character antis are forever funny to me #and forever kinda pathetic #same level than the hardcore game bros exist at

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coolcataetheryte · 6 months ago

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Say You Love Me series (1, 2, 3, 4)

Pairing: ThancredxJoker(mWoL)

Tags: angst, separation, a lot of crying

Note: Mild spoilers for post-ARR Takes place right before Heavensward actually begins. When everyone has to split up. Just felt like exploring how Joker would have acted based on how I imagine his character plus the AU elements.

Background info: This is a series of snippets of Joker’s life with Thancred and G’raha in my Magical Heroes AU, during any part of the entirety of the game. The AU elements may not be entirely prominent in all stories, but know that they do take place in an AU, and so some things may be different from canon. Not every part will be in chronological order. I’ll just be writing them as they come to me. I’ll always give a bit of context of when it takes place. It isn’t necessary to read the previous ones, but they may help with understanding some things, such as specific gestures, or phrases they do/say to each other.

Word count: 788

“Thancred and I will hold them off.”

Joker's heart sank at Y’shtola’s words. He couldn’t breathe and everything was muffled in his ears. He didn’t catch any of the next words exchanged between Minfilia and the others. It was only when he felt Thancred’s hand on his cheek that he came back to himself.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Joker said, holding Thancred’s hand to his cheek. “I’m not going to do that.”

“You have to,” Thancred urged. “You and Minfilia have to make it out.”

“Then promise me you’ll make it out, too,” Joker was nearly crying, desperately trying to hold himself together.

Thancred moved his hand from Joker's cheek to hold the long braid hanging by Joker’s shoulder, then stroked his fingers down its length, gently brushing over the ribbon tied around it before placing a kiss against the end. With the other hand, he tangled his fingers into the shorter locks of soft blue hair. He pressed their foreheads together, ignoring Joker’s circlet digging into his skull.

“Say you love me?,” he said, calling back to the saying that accidentally became so special to them not long ago.

“Thancred, promise me,” Joker demanded.

“You need to hurry,” Y’shtola rushed. “They’re almost upon us.”

“I want those to be the last words I hear from you,” Thancred said.

Joker bit his lip hard enough to bleed, willing the tears not to fall. He managed to choke it out. “I love you.”

Thancred kissed him passionately, pressing their bodies fully together. He briefly tasted Joker’s blood as their last connection, then shoved him along. “Go.”

Joker did as he was told. Running as fast as he could with Minfilia at his side.

It wasn’t long before she, too, bade him to continue without her. He could only grit his teeth and watch as she transformed into her magical warrior garb, something she so rarely did. He knew there was no point in arguing with her if she had deemed she must transform, and no time. He reluctantly moved on.

From there it was a blur, and he hardly registered his place on their savior’s carriage. He was too focused on keeping his emotions in check. Alphinaud was distraught enough as it was. He was the last pillar of strength for his young friend.

Keep it together. Keep it inside. Don’t cry. Don’t think about him. Don’t cry! Damn.

As soon as his last moment with Thancred flashed through his mind, there was no stopping the tears. He could feel the dried blood on his lips. He could still feel Thancred pressing them together in that nearly bruising kiss in his attempt to pour every ounce of love into him before they parted. The feeling of Thancred’s hands stroking through his short hair and gently tugging the braid lingered. The ache from Thancred shoving him away..

He wasn’t sobbing. It was quiet, and his face showed very little, but the tears were a steady stream. His body was tense, long ears pinned almost flat against his head. He felt Alphinaud slump further into his hands beside him. Damn.

He was on autopilot. He didn’t even know when he’d de-transformed. He was in his banquet attire once more. He barely heard Cid speak when they met with him, if he’d commented on his appearance, Joker didn’t notice or respond. He wasn't aware of their destination.

All he could do was rub the ribbon in his hair between his fingers. Thancred had given it to him. It was all he had of him now, unsure if he’d even survived. His mind was blank. The ribbon was the singular lifeline holding him to this plane of existence.

When he felt the bitter cold of the Coerthan Highlands, he finally regained some semblance of alertness. His dress shirt did absolutely nothing against the icy winds. He didn’t have the energy to transform again. The magic of his warrior glamour would have at least given him longer sleeves and enhanced endurance, but alas..

Once they were dropped into the freezing snow, he held Alphinaud close to him. He had to get it together. He’d had his moment, and now he needed to protect his friend. His tears were frozen against his cheeks.

When they reached Camp Dragonhead, he eased Alphinaud into a chair and hurried to speak with who would hopefully be their host for at least the night.

Haurchefant’s warm welcome was like sunshine. Joker couldn’t stop himself from hugging their friend tight, finally shedding tears in hope rather than despair. Haurchefant held him without hesitation, shedding a tear himself.

Joker was unsure what would lie ahead of them, but knowing he still had more friends on his side, the future felt less bleak. With Haurchefant’s optimism, even Alphinaud was able to cheer up. Joker began to feel less heavy.

#ffxiv #ffxiv wol #ffxiv viera #ffxiv fic #ffxiv fanfiction #wol x thancred #wolcred #ffxiv magical au #thancred waters #joker brambleberry

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nagirambles · 2 years ago

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Rambling about Fairies - Manga Chapter 170

Honestly, I love the wonderful and tragic implication of Lisanna being alive in Edolas. it’s great it turned out to be Lisanna and the reunion with Mira and Elf is so beautiful, but I fully understand people who don’t like it too.

There just wasn’t any meaningful buildup to that reveal before we were suddenly given whiplash at the end of the arc. It felt like a shock for the sake of shock, especially since Lisanna doesn’t do anything meaningful narratively after she returns.

I’ll say it first. I love Lisanna a lot. A LOT. But only in flashbacks and as my fan version of her. In canon, Mashima chucked her aside and sometimes I almost wished she stayed dead because I loved her as who she was in the flashback, as someone so kind and meaningful to everyone. After she came back, Mashima stopped caring about her character, and everything I once loved about Lisanna just stopped happening and was replaced by another face in the crowd. I wish she continued being a wonderful and hailed character, and Mashima should have stopped before he ruined her.

Often I wonder how it all would have been with a Lisanna that truly wasn’t ours. If this truly was Edo-Lisanna instead of Earth’s. I love how tragic the Nali story is, similarly to how I love how tragic Jude and Lucy’s story is. It just adds so much depth around Natsu’s personality and dynamics with other characters, and I feel that is a bittersweet note of growth and development for him.

This moment was a powerful climax to Lisanna’s so long buildup of existence. I just wish more was done with it in Edolas before she just returned home. Did she even need to return home? Like, even if it wasn’t to bring her home, what was the point of reintroducing her in Edolas if she wasn’t to become an important/semi-vital part of the Edolas narrative like Edo-Lucy? It would capitalize on their similarities one last time, you know?

I wish more was done with her potential in Edolas, because just look. Natsu was about to cry. Lisanna being here actually brought a genuine, emotional tear to Natsu’s eyes, and as I’ve mentioned, we don’t usually see that in the manga.

I wanted to see more of this. More of Natsu figuring out how to deal with Lisanna being alive here. I want a dilemma of him not knowing if he should care for her, if he should ignore her, if he can ignore her. Not just Natsu nonchalantly moving on to the serious issues, that makes no sense. (Even if you don’t ship Nali romantically, please, you’ve got to understand, his long-dead childhood friend showed up alive. Who just moves on like it’s nothing?) There was so much buildup to how much Lisanna meant to all of them, so Mashima not following through with it upsets me just as much as the Mystogan-Wendy situation.

Heck, not just Natsu, I want Happy to react! Natsu is strong enough to hold back, Happy is lost and confused and there’s no better opportunity for him to run to Lisanna for comfort because someone he thought was dead is alive.

So you know, I will forever despise how Mashima turned this situation comedic for no reason. It’s just so tone deaf to the buildup thus far. Even if that wasn’t their Lisanna, Natsu deserved a moment to actually be vulnerable and express his damn emotions without being thrown into a comedic light.

Like, I just want Natsu and Lisanna to interact. How ridiculous is it that they don’t ever interact? Literally Lucy and Gray gatekeeps him from it, they can’t even share a greeting before Lisanna is whisked back into being nothing, the plot captures them, and they never interact again.

This is the stupidest way to end their old friendship without any closure, and I can’t believe anyone could justify this horrible writing. Even the fucking Mystogan-Wendy reunion had more substance to it and that is also rock bottom.

#rambling about fairies #fairy tail #ch170 #edolas arc #i'm reaching #lisanna strauss #i have biases i'm sorry

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imaginedisish · 2 years ago

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Someone Great (Steve Harrington x Reader)

A/N: Hey guys! Here is my first Steve Harrington fic! I hope y'all like it. This is based on all of the “Steve talking about having kids with the reader” requests! It’s a bit angsty, and I’m just gonna say it now...SPOILERS AHEAD FOR SEASON 4 VOL 2!!! Please be careful LOL. So this one is based on Someone Great by LCD Soundsystem, but I also listened a lot to This is Me Trying by Taylor Swift while writing this. Anyway, here is some angst to fluff, enjoy y'all.

Summary: (SPOILERS AHEAD) As Steve’s best friend, you think you know everything about him. But you don’t know about his dream to have a Winnebago filled with Harringtons, and that you’re in it.

Warnings: SPOILERS INCOMING FOR SEASON 4 VOLUME 2!!!!!!! Canon divergence! I literally ignore Nancy and completely replace her in the Winnebago scene LOL. Cursing, character deaths from season 4 volume 2 mentioned below the cut so beware! Canon mentions/depictions of violence and death in general, friends to lovers. Also, probably tons of grammatical errors. Takes place the day before that “two days later”...

Word Count: 2,048...kinda short for me.

The past week, or the past few years, rather, had been far from normal. Battling inter-dimensional monsters had become somehow…commonplace. But it never got easier, and neither did losing those around you.

It was a day after you, Steve, Robin, and Nancy had narrowly escaped Vecna and the Upside Down. You knew things weren’t over yet, far from it. You knew this was just the beginning. The destruction of practically all of Hawkins, despite your attempts to destroy Vecna, was enough proof of that.

Your ears were still ringing, your heart was still pounding against the walls of your chest, and your head was still spinning. Your mind went back and forth between Eddie and Max, refusing to quit, engraving fictional images of their limp bodies in the very foremost part of your memory. It had been impossible to shake.

And you knew it always would be.

All of this would be eternally impossible to simply shake off. This was the type of shit that would continue plaguing you with nightmares thirty years down the line once you’ve settled down with a family of your own.

In search of some semblance of peace, some inkling of hope that maybe this could all get better one day, you take your bike down to Lover’s Lake.

You find your way down to the dirty dunes of the beach, and you sit down on the cool damp sand. Your eyes focus on the water in front of you, reflecting the bright blue sky and the glimmering sun above. It feels unfair, how beautiful of a day it is. You wanted the world to stop, to comprehend what the fuck had just happened. You wanted to force the universe to grieve with you, even if it was just for a brief second. Eddie and Max deserved that. You knew they deserved more than just that, but it would suffice for now.

Instead, you sat alone on the beach of the lake. You remember summer days when your parents would take you and Steve down to the lake. Your parents had met Steve’s parents when they first moved to Hawkins, and the couples clicked instantly. Still, your parents noticed how absent Steve’s parents were, and they quickly began taking Steve on your family day trips. It was here, on the beach of Lover’s Lake, that you and Steve developed your life-long friendship. It was over a stupid little sandcastle that you and Steve had pinky-sworn to always help each other, no matter what.

After demo-dogs, evil time bending wizards, and a massive Mind Flayer, it was safe to say you had each held up your ends of the bargain.

You would never admit it out loud, but you desperately wished he was here with you now. It felt selfish to need him. He was probably just as traumatized as you, after all. It doesn’t help that you’ve been pining over him for the past few years. You’ve watched him hop from girl to girl, to Nancy, and back to girl to girl again. But now, that seemed like the smallest of your problems.

You try to push your thoughts of Steve out of your head. You squeeze your eyes shut, as if you were hard resetting yourself. But all you can see is Steve in that stolen Winnebago, staring deeply into your eyes from the driver’s seat.

“You? A big family?” You questioned, dumbfounded at Steve’s confession.

“Oh yeah,” He smirks softly, briefly musing over his response before continuing. “I’m talking like a full brood of Harringtons…like five, six kids…”

You cut him off, eyes wide with shock. “Six kids?” A smile tugs softly at your lips as he glances over at you.

“Yeah, six little nuggets. Three girls, three boys…” He trails off, eyes on the road again, the corners of his mouth turned up.

The thing was, you could see it. You could see each part of Steve’s dream as he explained it. You could see him, surrounded by six children tackling him down on the sands of some beach town in California. You could see him propping up one of his daughters onto his shoulders to get the perfect view of the Grand Canyon. You could see him pitching up a tent at Yellowstone all because the kids begged to sleep outside, to actually feel like they were camping.

But most of all, and possibly worst of all, you could see yourself there with him. And God, you desperately wanted to be there with him.

You turn towards Steve. His gaze was already set on you, as if he had asked you a question and was awaiting your answer. You search his eyes as your smile widens.

“That’s beautiful, Steve,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, as if your words had gotten stuck in your throat. “Really, it sounds like a dream,” You force the words out this time, loud enough so that he knows you really mean it.

Because you did.

And you still do.

You could feel the tears welling in your eyes. All of this was becoming unbearable. You could feel yourself waking up from the shock of losing Eddie and practically losing Max. What are you even supposed to do in a situation like this? How are you supposed to go back to college in the fall? How are you even supposed to go home now? Nothing felt like home anymore, not after all this.

The only thing that felt like home was him.

Steve.

But that didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. He was still in love with Nancy, and if your friends weren’t dead yet, they were certainly still in danger.

A chill runs down your spine as the wind whips off the lake and across the sand. You shudder under the touch of the breeze. You shut your eyes, tears freeing themselves as they fall down your cheeks. You bring your legs tightly into your chest, your arms reaching around them to hold yourself in place. Your head falls against your knees, the tears becoming uncontrollable. Your sobs grow louder, the heaving of your chest growing quicker.

In the near distance, you can hear tires screeching against pavement, and a car engine suddenly turning off. You sniffle softly, ignoring the car. You didn’t care if someone saw you like this. You deserved to cry, to break down. What else were you supposed to do?

What are the options?

When someone great is gone

When someone great is gone.

You could hear someone calling out a name, and as the voice becomes closer, the name the person is calling sounds a lot like yours. Suddenly, there’s a hand on your shoulder. The touch is familiar, warm, welcoming.

Steve.

You glance up, your face wet, your eyes bloodshot. The sight of you makes his heart stutter and clench painfully. He immediately falls to your side, wrapping you in his arms.

“Hey,” He whispers into your ear. “It’s me, I’ve got you now, it’s okay.”

You heave into his chest, your sobs echoing across the lake.

“It j-just keeps coming,” You stutter. “A-all of this, it’s n-never gonna stop, it’s never gonna…” You trail off, pressing your face farther into Steve’s chest.

And it keeps coming

Till the day it stops

You’re in Steve’s lap now. His hands rub softly against your back, his fingers drawing shapes against any exposed bits of skin. He shushes you, cradling you in his arms.

“We’re gonna be okay,” He reassures as one of his hands travels up to the nape of your neck, gently combing through your hair. “We’re gonna get out of this, I promise.”

“But what if-,”

Steve immediately cuts you off. “No what if’s,” His voice is firmer now. He pulls you away from him for just a second, as if to solidify his point. His eyes stare into yours. “You’re getting out of this, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure that happens.”

You swallow harshly, his words burning into your skin. You shake your head. “But you have to get out of here, too,” You insist. “You gotta get a nice girl and your six kids and that Winnebago,” You say, your voice shaking with every syllable. Even as kids, you always put Steve’s happiness before your own. If he had a shot at leaving all of this behind, you wanted him to take it.

Steve scoffs, looking off into the distance. “A nice girl?” He questions, his hands still firmly pressed against you, caressing you.

You nod as you struggle to keep yourself together, images of Steve starting a life with Nancy flashing through your mind. “Yeah,” You say, taking a deep breath. “Someone great, like Nancy.”

Steve looks at you incredulously, and then looks back out to the lake, searching for the right thing to say.

“That thing, about the Winnebago and the kids,” He whispers, his eyes frantically taking in all your features. “I wasn’t imagining Nancy when I told you all that. I never have…” He trails off, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat.

“I imagined you.”

Those were the words that you had always wanted to hear, the words that made the sky open up, the words that made the world melt away.

Steve’s grip moves down to your waist, his fingers pressing into the exposed skin between your t-shirt and your jeans. One hand remains in your hair, pulling your face closer to his. He’s just inches away from you now. You can feel his breath tickle your nose as he parts his lips.

“I’ve imagined being with you for as long as I could possibly remember,” He confesses, his forehead pressing against your own. “The kids, the Winnebago, the vacations, it all means nothing if I’m not doing it with you.”

His lips ghost over yours. You breathe softly against him. “Steve I-,”

He cuts you off. “And I get it if you don’t feel the same. I get it if the six kids thing sounds crazy. I don’t want to ruin our friendship and I don’t want to scare you away. It’s just that-,”

“Steve,” You cut him off this time, a smile making its way across your face. “I want that. I want you, and your brood of Harringtons,” You giggle at the last bit of your confession, your face lighting up for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

“Oh thank fucking God,” Steve mutters, somehow pulling you closer to him.

His lips press firmly against yours, capturing you, securing you, and simultaneously freeing you all at once. It feels like for just one second, not all is lost. It feels like there’s a future out there where you and Steve and the kids save Hawkins. It feels like there’s a future out there where all of these deaths and battles aren’t in vain, that they mean something. It feels like there’s a future where you and Steve make it, like there’s a future out there where your little Harringtons are fighting each other to be Steve’s first mate in the front seat of a Winnebago.

The kiss is languid and smooth. His body moves carefully against yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in front of him, as if you’ll crumble and he’ll have no way to put you back together. It’s clear, even in just this kiss, that he’s afraid that he’s going to lose you just as soon as he’s finally gotten you.

And you can’t help but feel the same.

When his lips finally part from your own, you can’t help but want more. It wasn’t enough. The cool breeze that comes off the lake whisks between the two of you, causing Steve to grip tighter onto you.

“We’re gonna get that future, I promise,” He whispers.

“Good,” You whisper back. “Because I’ve got some names in mind.” You grin widely.

“Oh yeah?” Steve grins even wider than you. “You gotta tell me then. Spill.”

You knew it wouldn’t be like this forever. But for a moment, just a moment, things seemed perfect, safe.

We're safe, for the moment

Saved for the moment…

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mermaid-trash · 2 years ago

Text

Russian Into Love - Pt 1

Pairing: Alexei x fem!reader

A/n: (pls ignore the pun title, it was meant to be just a working title but I can’t think of anything better 😭) soooo this is the first part to a slow burn fake dating/marriage thing that I’ve had in my head since watching s3 of Stranger Things, I’m gonna be playing fast and loose with canon and idek if the s4 plot will be in this buuut I’m having fun writing it :)) pls feel free to comment and tell me what you think bc I personally love this and I want you all to love it too ❤️

(All Russian translations were taken directly from google translate so pls don’t attack me, attack mr google instead)

Wordcount: 2.9k

You were certain that you were going to lose your mind. It had been days since you had really looked at the sky, watched the clouds roll by like passing trains, and you were convinced that another day spent staring at the same faded floral wallpaper would be the death of you.

“Y’know, Murray, I’ve been thinking…” You began tentatively, not raising your eyes from the gossip magazine you had been pretending to read for quite some time.

“Sounds dangerous. Try not to do it again.” Murray dismissed without even looking up from the book he was wasting away his own time with. Ignoring his quip, you continued as though uninterrupted.

“I think we should go to California with Joyce and the kids.”

The idea had been playing on your mind for days, ever since you had learned that Hopper was gone. And after 4 days hiding in a motel room with Murray and the quiet Russian scientist, you were desperate for any opportunity to get out and as far away from these four walls as possible. Murray’s head snapped up from the book he was reading in the old armchair in the corner of the room, and Alexei’s eyes left the TV playing Loony Tunes to watch the conversation in interest.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Murray asked, his voice tinged with the familiar condescension that you had come to expect from him.

“Well, first off, if we have to stay in this motel much longer I think I might snap and start killing people. Secondly,” your tone softened slightly, “I’m worried about Joyce, and I think we should try to be close by.”

As Murray pondered your words, Alexei watched you both patiently while waiting for a translation. Murray knew as well as you did that with everything that had happened in the Starcourt mall and the subterranean Russian lab, Joyce had a lot to deal with right now, and while you both knew that she was capable of looking after herself, you just couldn’t stand the idea of her moving away on her own.

“As much as I may agree with you, we can’t go anywhere until Alexei’s green card situation is resolved.” Murray argued eventually.

“в чем дело?” [What’s going on?] Alexei asked, but before Murray could respond to him, you continued.

“Yeah, well, there is an easy way to deal with that. If Alexei wants to.” You said, and Murray’s head snapped up to look at you in obvious surprise.

It wasn’t the first time the idea had been brought up; Murray had mentioned marriage as a solution to Alexei’s citizenship situation on the very first day of your captivity, but it had been dismissed quickly because finding someone to marry Alexei would prove difficult, perhaps even impossible. So, Murray had moved his attention onto finding other ways to solve the problem, whereas you had been unable to stop thinking about it; it was such a simple solution, you were willing and as long as Alexei was too, you could soon see the other side of the motel room door.

“There is. Are you volunteering?” Murray asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“If it gets us out of this room, sure.” You replied, crossing your arms across your chest determinedly and trying to ignore the nervous pounding in your chest.

Murray’s gaze fixed on your face only intensified, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you closely from behind tinted glasses.

“I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you should be. Marriage is a big deal for most people, you know.” He explained with a frustratingly soft look on his features.

Wordlessly, you stood from your spot on the garish floral bedding and crossed the room to peer through a crack in the blinds. Both men watched you as you made a show of peering from left to right across the mostly empty car park.

“Nope, just as I thought, there’s no queue of men waiting for my hand in marriage.” You sighed dramatically and flopped back down on the bed, while Murray scoffed at your dramatics.

“Murray, что она сказала?” [Murray, what did she say?] Alexei asked again, and this time Murray answered.

“она предложила выйти за тебя замуж из-за грин-карты. и она хочет переехать в Калифорнию.” [She offered to marry you for your green card. And she wants to move to California.] He explained, and Alexei’s head spun quickly to stare at you, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“если мы поженимся, я стану гражданином США?” [If we marry, I’ll be an American citizen?] Alexei spoke, his eyes never leaving you.

You toyed anxiously with a loose thread on the bedding while Murray explained your idea to him. Alexei’s approval of this plan was the only thing coming between you and your escape from this room, so while being rejected by him wouldn’t be the biggest hit your ego had ever taken, it would mean staying here for longer. With the man that had rejected you.

“да. но вы также будете женаты на ней.” [Yes. But you’ll also be married to her.] Though you didn’t understand Murray’s words, you couldn’t miss the disdainful tone at the end and so you shot him a venomous look. Alexei looked thoughtful for a moment, still staring at you.

“это было бы не так уж плохо.” [That wouldn’t be so bad.] He said finally, and Murray let out a hearty laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You asked, jaw clenched at the sigh of Murray’s glee.

“He thinks it’s a good idea.” He stated, causing your heart to leap. It had been surprisingly easy for Murray to convince him, you thought absently. “I’m not taking you to buy a wedding dress, though.”

—————————————————

So just a few days later, after what you were sure must be the fastest, most pragmatic wedding ceremony ever held in Hawkins, you, Murray, and your new husband piled into Murray’s van with what few belongings you still had, and set off for California.

You were admittedly beginning to grow nervous about your plan; once you arrived in California, you and Alexei were moving into a small home under the half-correct guise of being a newly-wed couple moving into their first home together, while Murray had found a new base for his own work somewhere nearby. The nervous pit that bubbled in your chest had nothing to do with the prospect of living with Alexei, you had been living with him in that horrid motel room for over a week at this point and despite the close quarters, he had been a wonderful roommate. Instead, your nerves were flaring up the idea of being caught in the ruse you had agreed to live in for the forseeable future. Or at least, until Alexei met someone he wanted to really marry.

But as you watched the scientist eagerly watching the scenery go with his forehead practically pressed against the windows of the van, you felt your worries fade a little. His smile was infectious, and just existing around him was easy, as natural as breathing. Not to mention the fact that his English was improving steadily; faster than your Russian, luckily.

Just then, Alexei turned towards you and caught you staring. His face split into an ecstatic grin that you couldn’t prevent your own from mirroring.

“это так…тепло.” [It’s so…warm.] He said with a small chuckle, gesturing out of the window.

Even though you didn’t understand his words, his joy was simple and genuine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning along with him. You didn’t even realise you had been staring at him until Murray coughed pointedly, drawing both of your attentions to him.

“Now, I know that this is all very exciting, but you two need to remember that to your neighbours, and friends, and coworkers, and everyone except for me and Joyce, you two are married.” Murray reminded for the hundredth time, enunciating his words with annoying precision as though you were rowdy children. He glanced past you at Alexei, and translated. “Вы должны вести себя так, как будто вы на самом деле женаты. Понять?” [You have to act like you’re actually married. Understand?]

With a glance in your direction, Alexei nodded. Murray turned his gaze on you, one eyebrow raised in that universally understood question: well? You huffed, avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, sure. Are you gonna give me strict instructions on how to do that? A list of my wifely duties or something?” You questioned snarkily, and Murray tutted in response.

“No, actually, I thought maybe California might melt that icy heart of yours and you can figure out how to be affectionate on your own.” Ignoring your indignant noise, he continued. “Look, I’m not asking you to consummate this faux marriage, just try not to act like our comrade here repulses you too much.” He explained firmly.

“He doesn’t repulse me.” You replied entirely too quickly. Embarrassed heat flared in your cheeks and you ducked your head in the hopes that Murray would not notice; the chuckle he let out told you that he did notice.

When the van finally pulled into the driveway of your new home, set against the late afternoon sky, you hopped out of the back of the van excitedly. It was a relatively small two-story house, with houses on either side that looked like the epitome of suburbia; beige buildings with pristine gardens, even complete with a white picket fence. The mundanity made you want to retch, but instead you focused on your own home and allowed yourself to pretend for a moment that it was real, that it could ever be real for you.

Suddenly, a large hand was in yours, and it raised your hand to Alexei’s lips for him to press a kiss to the back. You stared at him in utter confusion for a second, before he nodded surreptitiously behind him, in the direction of a neighbours house.

In a window at the front of that house, you could see a tanned, blonde woman peering through her curtains, watching your arrival as subtly as she could. Sending her a friendly wave and a smile that you hoped looked genuine, you scoffed lightly.

“Nosy neighbours. Fantastic.” You murmured, mostly to yourself. Alexei watched you with a faint smile, before pulling you eagerly towards your new home.

Together, though no longer holding hands, you explored the house; Alexei was simply delighted by the small pool in the backyard, and you were pleased to find the kitchen already equipped with a fridge and oven. Then you ventured up the stairs and found four doors, behind which were a linen closet, a hideously beige tiled bathroom, and thankfully, two bedrooms, both already furnished with basic double beds.

You glanced at Alexei and he met your gaze with a half smirk, both of you seemingly grateful to not have to share a bed in order to protect your newly-wed image. He entered one of the rooms wordlessly and you entered the other, one with a window overlooking the back yard, and dropped your backpack on the floor at the foot of the bed. You couldn’t help the sigh of relief that slipped past your lips; all things considered, the house was nice. Murray had really showed you some mercy with the two bedrooms, too. You had almost been expecting him to make this as uncomfortable as possible, just to spite you for being a constant thorn in his side.

“Alright, lovebirds, I’m leaving!” Murray called up the stairs, and you stepped out onto the landing to see him standing at the bottom of the staircase.

“Wait, we don’t have any groceries and I’m starving, you’re leaving me here without food on my wedding night?” You asked in faux incredulity, to which Murray rolled his eyes.

“There’s a flyer for a pizza place by the front door, will that be adequate for the blushing bride?” He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You waved off his snide comment with a dismissive scoff. “You’re coming back tomorrow though, right?”

“Yes, I’m coming back tomorrow to take you and loverboy to buy a car. Hopefully, that’ll stop you from bugging me to take you places.” Murray replied with another roll of his eyes.

Before you could respond with a quip of your own, Alexei stepped out of his bedroom and onto the landing beside you. He and Murray exchanged words in quick fire Russian, before Alexei nodded, and brushed past you with a gentle smile into the bathroom.

“I just told your dearly beloved to be ready to go at 10am tomorrow. You’d better not make me wait.” Murray explained, waving a finger at you as though you were a naughty child.

“Would I do that?” You asked as innocently as you could, fighting back a smile as Murray began to walk away.

“You would and you have, repeatedly. Don’t make me leave you behind.” His final warning, only intended half jokingly, rang out as the sound of the front door closing signalled Murray’s departure.

Breathing out a slight chuckle, you tried to ignore the ache in your chest that already missed Murray and his quick wit; although you had always argued with him and seemingly done everything within your power to irritate him, you and he both knew that it was all in good fun. After years spent alone, you both had found verbal sparring partners within each other, and the few short years you had lived with him had been the happiest that you could remember.

You remained in place on the landing, absorbed in your thoughts, until the sound of running water reminded you of Alexei’s presence in the bathroom. The realisation that he was there, just on the other side of the dark wooden door beside you, and presumably about to shower, sent a cold jolt though your veins and before you could think about it you were darting away from the bathroom door and bolting down the stairs as quickly as you could.

Since your living room was totally devoid of furniture, you elected to sit outside in the back yard beneath the late afternoon sun as it slowly dipped towards the horizon. Lying on your back on the warm ground, you kicked off your shoes and allowed your feet to dangle in the pool, relishing in the coolness of the water around your ankles as you gently kicked your feet. With your eyes closed, you allowed yourself a single moment of peace and serenity before what you were certain would be a busy week, with your new house to be fully stocked and decorated.

The only thing that signalled Alexei’s arrival by your side was the shadow that he cast over your face, the sudden darkness prompting your eyes to open. He stood, towering above you, with damp curls and that same cheery smile across his face.

For an evil genius Russian scientist, he sure does look friendly, you found yourself thinking.

“Hi,” You said, peering up at him as a smile began to unfurl across your own face.

“Hello.” He said, his accent distorting the word slightly.

Carefully, he lowered himself to sit on the ground beside you, his own feet dangling in the pool beside yours. For a moment he was silent, and you attempted to settle back into the peaceful moment you had found just before, until you were again disrupted by a gentle prod to your cheek.

You opened your eyes to see Alexei, now propped up on an elbow so that he was almost lying beside you, holding a flyer in front of your face. After some squinting, you recognised it as the pizza place flyer Murray had mentioned, for a place called Surfer Boy Pizza.

“You’re hungry?” You asked, tilting your head up towards him. He nodded.

“Da.”

“Alright,” you replied, happy with the simple exchange, and unfolded the flyer to read the menu, “let’s order something then.”

As you were reading through the topping options, Alexei leaned further down over you to point a finger at one of the pictures on the flyer, a picture of a fresh, greasy, pepperoni pizza.

“Say?” He said, looking down at you intently.

As you looked back up at Alexei, his face was cast in shadow from the late afternoon sun behind him, making his features difficult to make out clearly, but you were fairly certain that he was staring intently at your lips. You froze, fixed in place by his watchful gaze. The whole world seemed to stand still for a long moment before you regained the ability to speak.

“P-pizza?” The word came out as a question, and heat flared in your cheeks as he grinned.

“Pizza.” He repeated.

Oh. The pronunciation.

“Y-yeah, pizza.” You repeated, breathing a slight sigh of relief when he finally turned his attention away from you again. “Um. Okay.”

You rose shakily to your feet, the flyer trembling in your grip.

“I-I’m gonna, uh, just, um, go? Inside? And…order pizza? Yeah, um…okay.” And with that, you darted back into the house without a glance back at the man sitting, looking very confused, at the edge of the pool.

The cool indoor air did nothing to soothe the burning in your cheeks after your unbelievably awkward exit, though it was a relief to no longer have Alexei staring at you. The memory of his attention focused so intently on you made you want to curl up in a ball; it had been as though he was the first person to ever truly look at you, and it had made you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn’t in a long time, not even with Murray.

Before you could allow your thoughts to delve too far into what that could mean, you snatched the phone from the receiver and punched in the number with more force than strictly necessary.

#alexei x reader #alexei smirnoff x reader #stranger things x reader

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dilfdoctordoom · 3 years ago

Text

On Tom Taylor, the Current Nightwing Run & Ableism

I did mention I was gonna do a post about it, so here we are. There are some things I want to make clear before we begin: the issue exploded on Twitter on the very first day of disabled Pride month; disabled people have been discussing the ableism in Taylor’s Nightwing run since it began; nobody has blamed Taylor for what happened to Barbara in 2011. We are, however, blaming him for the way she is written in his series during 2021.

I am also going to be discussing the ableism in the fandom in this post. The reactions I have seen, from here to Twitter to TikTok, are showing not only a great misunderstanding of the situation, but a purposeful misunderstanding. The very real reasons disabled people are angry right now have been twisted to make us seem ridiculous and overly sensitive and I cannot help but feel that is very intentional.

Another quick addition: disabled people are not a monolith. Barbara Gordon spent over 20 years as a paralyzed wheelchair user. Stating (and I would like to note, never truly showing) that she is a part time cane user now is still erasing her disability. These things are not interchangeable.

So, with that out of the way, let’s begin.

Tom Taylor’s run is ableist. That is a fact of this situation. He made the active choice to include a version of Barbara Gordon that is ableist caricature. Story wise, the role that Barbara plays could have easily been filled by anyone else. There is no real season, within the narrative and outside of it, for Taylor to include this version of Barbara Gordon, who has received a decade of criticism from disabled people. It’s very well known that this iteration is problematic, to put it kindly, and Taylor is aware of that.

He made the active decision to include her, anyway, showing, at the very least, that he is passively, if not actively, ableist. Passive ableism is still ableism and disabled people are allowed to take issue with that.

That alone is reason enough for disabled people to be angry. But that’s not why things exploded on Twitter.

On July 1st, the very first day of disabled pride month, the new design for Barbara was dropped. After months of teasing Barbara’s return to a wheelchair using Oracle (see: Last Days of The DC Universe, Batgirl (2016), etc), they debuted... a new Batgirl costume that the artist has openly said draws inspiration from the Burnside suit.

There’s a lot of issues to unpack here, so let’s start small: the issue with consciously calling back to Burnside. The Burnside era of Batgirl stories was... beyond awful. The villain of the series’ first arc, was an AI based on Barbara’s brain patterns when she was disabled. It was evil because of all the rage and pain Barbara felt. The actual Barbara, on the other hand, was good -- because she was able bodied. Because her PTSD had been tossed aside. It was a horrifically ableist era that drove the idea that Barbara’s life was terrible when she was disabled; that it was some horrible, twisted secret.

Comics have kept that narrative going. Barbara is seen hiding books on chronic pain; she reacts aggressively to the mere idea that she could be in a wheelchair again, acting like it would be weakness. Whereas Barbara had once been Oracle not because of, but in spite of, her disability, who was fantastic representation for the disabled community, she now acts like it is the most shameful thing in her life.

To call back to Burnside is to call back to that ableism and make no critique of it. If anything, it’s to embrace the ideas of that era.

There is also the design itself to consider. Many people have pointed out the inclusion of a back brace, as if that saves it from ableism -- it does not. Any person who has ever worn a back brace can take one look at this design and know that they did not consult a disabled person. Hell, by how impractical that thing is, I doubt they even Googled a picture of a back brace.

It’s a superficial acknowledgement that Barbara is supposed to be disabled. Something that was apparently thrown in to appease the numerous complaints of Barbara being able bodied; something that no one working on it put any effort into.

When it comes to aids, this is not a new thing for Barbara in Infinite Frontier. She’s said to be using a cane occasionally, that we got a better look at in Batman: Urban Legends, and as any cane user can tell you... that is not a cane that could feasibly be used. It’s another pathetic attempt to acknowledge that Barbara is supposed to be disabled, without actually doing anything of importance.

[IMAGE ID: A segmented cane with a tri-pointed handle with a wrist strap. There is a stripe across the sections to connection them, labelled “solar battery charger buttons”. The text reads: “telescoping antenna doubles as cane or weapon if needed”. END ID]

Dropping this design (which we have now established to be problematic) on the very first day of disabled pride month is a sickening move. The very first day, and DC has doubled down on their disability erasure, thrown in superficial things like a back brace to act like it’s fine.

Tom Taylor is definitely involved in this, whether you like it not. No, he is not in anyway responsible for the events of the New 52 and what they did to Barbara Gordon, but that does not absolve him of blame for what is currently being done to her in his run.

When the design dropped, it started trending due to disabled fans reactions. To be clear: we were directly calling out the ableism in this design. This was Tom Taylor’s response:

[IMAGE ID: A tweet from TomTaylorMade that says: “Hey, @Bruna_Redono_F I think our new Batgirl suit is getting some attention.” He then adds a winky face emoji and tags @jesswchen and @drinkpinkkink. Attached are a screenshot showing that Batgirl is trending in the United States and a picture of the design itself. END ID]

This is him, bragging about how the disabled community reacted. Perhaps before this tweet, you could’ve made an argument that he was not ableist, but after he flaunted the fact that disabled people were rightly furious over this, like it was something to be proud of? No. If you are defending him, you are a part of the problem.

Taylor has included ableist writing in his Nightwing run, beyond the inherent ableism that comes with the current iteration of Barbara Gordon (whose inclusion, yet again, is his decision).

[IMAGE ID: A panel from Nightwing #79. Barbara and Dick are standing in his apartment. Barbara is saying: “I have some pretty new technology holding my spine together. I’m happy to do most things -- eat pizza in the park, take down low-level thugs -- but leaping from rooftops seems... unwise.” END ID]

What Barbara says in the panel above has bothered a lot of disabled people. The implication that she couldn’t “eat pizza in the park’ and “take down low-level thugs” without a spinal implant that conveniently erases her disability is... fucked up, to put it mildly. Those are both things that Barbara has done in a wheelchair. The first one is something wheelchair users can do and the implication that it’s not is beyond offensive.

But, let’s leave Barbara behind for a moment. I have previously mentioned that disabled people have been discussing the ableism present in this run long before July -- and that ableism is not only centred on Barbara. Dick is also a player in all this.

Dick Grayson was shot in the head. I don’t believe I need to retread the story, but just in case: Dick was shot in the head by KGBeast, developed amnesia from the event, and went by Ric Grayson for a long enough period in comics. If you have been active within the DC fandom for the past year or so, you know all about this controversial storyline and its fallout.

The Ric Grayson arc concluded itself the issue before Taylor became the writer for the series and ever since his tenure has begun, Taylor has completely ignored the reality of Dick being a disabled man. We understand this is comics, that things do not function the way they do in our world, but still -- it is clear that this gunshot wound to the head has affected Dick massively. We had an entire arc dedicated to how he struggled to find himself in the aftermath.

Taylor is choosing to write Dick as an able-bodied man, despite his canonical injuries and how they would impact his life.

This man is choosing to give empty gestures towards Barbara being a disabled woman (as discussed above, the completely dysfunctional back brace, etc) whilst writing her as able-bodied as possible. He writes both Dick and Barbara as able bodied as humanly possible. That is ableist. He is ableist. This is the same man that said he made a dog disabled ‘in honour of Barbara’. I do not think I need to elaborate on why that is bad.

The least he could’ve done, was get a sensitivity reader. We know that Taylor is not beyond getting people from marginalized communities to consult on his work (see: Suicide Squad), so why, when writing two characters that should be disabled, one that the disabled community have been criticising for a decade, does he not reach out to a single disabled person? A mere Google search could’ve improved the situation massively. In both the new design and the current writing, it is beyond clear that this is not just an able-bodied person writing it -- it’s an ableist person.

He could have listened to the numerous disabled fans that spoke out. Instead, he chose not only to refuse to do that, but to describe justifiable anger as ‘raging’. He treated us like we were crazy for daring to speak out about blatant ableism being parading around of us in our pride month.

Tom Taylor has failed to do the bare minimum and in doing so, he is, at very, very least, guilty of complicity. Again: passive ableism is still ableism.

The argument at hand is not just about Barbara Gordon and the continuing ableism that shines out from her current writing. The argument is about the treatment of disabled characters in his run. It has also become about the way he treats physically disabled people.

We also can’t have this conversation without acknowledging the fandom’s role in it all. I waited a day to write this up, to allow all the reactions to flood in... and I am sickened.

We have everything across the board. Able-bodied people that have actually listened to disabled people, who have supported us (which is deeply appreciated). Able-bodied people who may have had good intentions, but a skewed sense of the situation and perpetuating some of the more insidious lies being spread around (IE. that this is only about the new costume).

There are, obviously, the ableist reactions, though, that we will be discussing here. People deeming the current issues as ‘crazy’, calling disabled people ‘overly sensitive’ and ‘delusional’. Many people have completely glossed over the examples given for why Taylor, specifically, is ableist, and instead have resorted to telling disabled people that we are wrong and should be mad at DC instead.

It’s important to note that Tom Taylor is an adult man. He doesn’t need a fandom to attack disabled people for daring to call him out. He is not the victim in this situation; he has, for quite a few disabled people, been the aggressor.

I have seen claims that Infinite Frontier is a ‘slow burn’, implying that disabled people need to patient... as if we have not waited a decade for less ableist writing. There is a complete refusal from able-bodied fans to actually listen to what disabled people are saying. They would much rather rush to the defence of the (honestly rather mediocre) current Nightwing run.

Disabled fans know that comic book spaces are ableist. We know that both DC and Marvel and many of their writers are ableist. We are still allowed to be pissed as hell about it and acting like the current reaction being had right now is disabled people being ‘overdramatic’ is yet another example of how the able-bodied side of the fandom both refuses to listen to and undermine disabled people when we call out ableism.

We know it when we see it. We always do and we always will and we will always be able to recognize it far faster than an able-bodied person. If this many disabled fans are coming out and talking about an issue, calling it ableism, then it’s time for you shut up and listen.

Stop being a part of the problem and start supporting disabled fans for once.

#barbara gordon #dick grayson #nightwing #batgirl #tom taylor #tw ableism #okay to rb

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