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violetrainbow412-blog · 11 months

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Memories [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: the case of the self-appointed Fisher King comes with too many sentimental implications and you discover that you and Spencer had more in common than you imagined.

warnings: mention of mental illness and some trauma

A/N: directly based on 2x01 of the series "The Fisher King" part 2

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx (if you want to be removed or added tell me!)

To say that you were worried about the case was an understatement, you were actually terrified of what might happen. An unsub holding a hostage, who was also her daughter, and who knew so much about each member of the team, was worrying in itself. But Elle being in a hospital dying, the case being so tied to Reid's life, and you being so stupidly far from knowing where Randall Garner was, was what made you want to throw up everything you'd eaten during your interrupted vacation.

The team, as always, had split up and throughout the investigation you had stayed with Spencer and Garcia to try to crack the riddle, using the man's brain, the woman's internet find-anything skills, and your vast knowledge of the world of codes and literature. During that period you never believed that the doctor's mother would be involved, much less did you think that she would find herself in the… condition she was in. Throughout the time she was there, he treated her sweetly and calmly, but you couldn't help noticing the discomfort that was palpable in the environment. Not that he was ashamed of her, of course, although you figured he didn't visit her very often and it was obviously not her intention for the entire BAU to find out that her mother was a schizophrenic who was in a sanatorium.

You remembered, hours ago, asking Garcia to let you tell the man that his mother was fine when he requested a plane to bring her to Virginia, and all day you had that conversation etched in your mind like a tattoo on your skin.

"Your mom it's ok" you had said, approaching her desk and leaning on it to look at it "Agents picked her up. She's flying here right now” you completed, although he seemed too amused with the piece of evidence that he had in his hand and then you felt the need to say something else “How are you?”

"I feel kind of dumb, to tell you the truth," he replied. Most of the time he avoided looking at you, but you had already gotten used to it “I forgot she used to always read me this poem. And I think that I should have realized sooner than that”

"Why?"

“Nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me,” he said, with a guilt-tinged shrug. “People tell me their secrets all the time. Think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to… except… my mother. I... I tell her pretty much everything”

"It’s fine”

“Do you know that I write her a letter every day?”

"That's very nice," you said sincerely, for the idea of the man carefully writing a letter to tell his mother about the day was a sweet image to imagine.

“It depends on why I write her”

"What do you mean?"

“I write her letters so I won't feel so guilty about not visiting her,” Reid added. If it hadn't been for that case, probably you, or anyone, would have known that his mother was hospitalized and you thought it was completely logical that he didn't want others to find out about that part of his life about him, including that he didn’t visit her. Spencer was always available for everything, always working, always alone in his apartment and now that you knew about Diana you understood why. He waited a moment and then finally made eye contact with you, looking somewhat fearful “Did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?”

And when he mentioned that your world fell apart. You understood that this was the reason why he didn't go with her; because he was afraid. You didn't know how to react, at least not at that moment, and you just looked at him sadly, feeling your own heart tighten a little at unfortunate memories.

Although, for work reasons, the talk hadn't gone any further than that, you'd thought about it all along, even now that you were all gathered to put the last pieces together of what you hoped would be a successful puzzle.

"Nevada? So we don't even know what state he's in?” Hotch muttered, already quite frustrated at how fruitless the search was turning out. There was little time left and you all knew it.

“I'll search the tax records, see if he owns any property”

"Excuse me," Diana Reid intervened from the chair next to the blackboard and her son practically jumped to try and stop her.

"Mom, do you know we're..."

“Just before the agents got me from the hospital, a man delivered this to me” she continued, ignoring “It's a photo of a house with an address on the back”

After showing her direction she turned the image and you saw what was a house that looked just like a castle, with illuminated windows, trees around, and a night sky.

“Shiloh, Virginia?”

“That's only 10 miles from here”

"Well, there's no time to waste. Morgan and Reid are coming with me”

"I want to go too," you said immediately. Something about the whole thing gave you a very bad feeling and you wished you could help in any way you could, but you were surprised to see that Spencer was the first to oppose your request.

“We don't want anyone else to get hurt, Y/N,” Morgan added, his voice almost pleading for you to obey Hotch's orders. You were in no position to demand a ride and only agreed because you knew that an argument would only take away valuable time. “We have to get ready. Reid, let's go.”

"I'll be back soon, mom"

"I'll stay with her" you suggested, hastening to take a step towards him, in an attempt to continue your mission to help.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," you said to reassure him. Diana already seemed quite satisfied with the fact that you were going to accompany her and you still didn't know why “Go. And be careful, please."

"I will" he nodded and immediately went after Morgan and Hotch, the three of them leaving the room to carry out the rescue mission. You had your heart in your hand for thinking about what could happen to them and only the woman's voice brought you back to reality.

"I'm glad you're the one who stays"

"Really?" you asked, somewhat flattered to think that she had liked you within a couple of hours of knowing you.

"Spencer talks to me about you all the time" she confessed and both you and the other two women present widened their eyes in surprise “He said you like literature"

"Yeah, I'd say so," you muttered, trying to smile at her to hide the nervous wreck you were, partly because of concern for your partners and partly because of what she had just told you.

"He's going to be fine, right?"

By God you hoped so. You didn't know what you would do if he got hurt or… he just didn't come back from there.

"Yes, I promise" you managed to say, as serenely as possible to try to keep your companion calm "And if you tell me about your favorite book? I imagine it will be a good one,” you said kindly, taking her arm and leading her to a couch where the two of you could sit. You knew that part of suggesting the talk was to distract yourself from the bleak outlook and thus kill time until the team returned.

Waiting was all you could do.

Diana had talked to you for a while until she ended up finding it more interesting to write in her notebook so you decided not to bother her, although she left you silent and ready for anxiety to grip you tight. After about an hour JJ herself had come to tell you that Elle was safe after surgery and you swore you could have cried with happiness when you found out. So, the pain that stayed in your chest was just from waiting for news from the three remaining agents and when what felt like an eternity passed without receiving any reports you couldn't take it anymore and apologized to Diana to leave the room. with the excuse that you needed to go to the bathroom. You were confident that she would not be a suicidal or aggressive patient, but you still wanted to hurry to get back to her as soon as possible, and when you had barely walked a section of the corridor you met a gangly figure who was already on his way to look for you.

"Rebeca?"

“She's safe” was the first thing you said, making the knot in your stomach finally dissolve “But Randall died. He blew himself up,” he continued, and you thought you wished you had heard a better outcome, even if the man was a criminal “And my mom?”

"Calm. Writing” you assured him, taking a few steps towards him to get a better look at him. He was dirty and what would later be a bruise could be seen on the left side of his face, but other than that he seemed to be safe and sound. "Is everyone there okay?"

"Yes," he breathed out. It was a relief to know that, it was a relief that things were finally over and that no one had been lost.

“I'm so grateful to hear that, Reid,” you said. You stretched your fingers up to his side and ran the tips over the mark that was beginning to form. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"No," he assured you, with a tight-lipped smile.

"Your mother. It will make her happy to know that you're back" you murmured immediately, and tried to go back the way you had come to go tell him, but he held out a hand to stop you "What's wrong?"

"Do you think I could take a moment before going with her?" he asked you and you retraced your steps to face him, still not letting go of his hand. You nodded and he sat on the floor with his legs drawn up and his back leaning against the wall in an attempt to calm down a bit from the adrenaline rush of all the previous events. You dropped down next to him in the same position and looked at his profile, thinking that if you had something to say, now was the time to talk.

“She told me you talk about me all the time,” you ventured, and he bit back an embarrassed smile.

"You weren't supposed to have found out about that"

"So you say bad things about me?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No" you answered kindly.

"It's a relief"

“So these are definitely bad things, huh,” you teased, pushing your shoulder against his and seeing him shake his head slightly, too embarrassed to admit what he had written to his mother about you. You were silent for a moment as it didn’t seem that he had any intention of getting up to cross to the meeting room, you spoke again "Do you really not want to see her?"

“It's not that I don't want to see her, it's just that dealing with everything sometimes is so… so hard. You wouldn't understand,” he told you, his voice threatening to crack at any moment. You took a deep breath before opening your mouth to reply and the lonely hallway muffled your words, which were barely a whisper.

"What do you know about Alzheimer, Reid?" saying this, he turned a little to look at you, just in case he had misheard, but he realized that now it was you who wasn't looking at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Alzheimer" you repeated.

"Huh, it's a type of dementia that causes problems with memory, thinking, and behavior," he replied, still not quite sure why you were asking, “It is progressive, which means dementia symptoms gradually worsen over the years, and it is also the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. Live an average of eight years after symptoms become apparent, but survival can range from four to 20 years, depending on age and other health conditions. There is currently no cure."

“Have you ever lived with someone who has it?” you exclaimed and he shook his head. It was easier to look directly at you when you were the one who looked away “There are experimental treatments that reduce symptoms, but none are totally effective, appearing early in life in only about 5% to 6% of people. Although there is no defined cause, the genetic factor can affect you if you had a direct relative who suffered from early Alzheimer's” you exclaimed. He wanted to ask you why you were doing this exchange of information, but he thought it impolite to do so, so he just kept quiet "You said earlier that people tell you their secrets because you have no one to tell them to, but I'm sure it's not because that. We trust you because you are kind, understanding, but above all a good friend who we know will never judge us" you took a moment to take a deep breath again, feeling the nervousness running from the tip of your feet to your head and also to gather something of courage "I personally tell you because I am very afraid of starting to forget them"

It all clicked in Spencer's mind in a split second and he wished he was misreading things, searching your gaze so he could identify something that indicated you didn't mean what he was assuming.

"You…?” he started to say, but the question died on the tip of his tongue.

“It was my father. He was barely 35 years old when it all started, it was with the time he forgot to come to his birthday party. I remember it perfectly, he hadn't been feeling well for weeks due to the stress of work and the company decided to run all kinds of tests on him, without finding anything to worry about, so we just ignored it. But the symptoms recurred: he was disoriented, discouraged, sometimes he became aggressive with the family and forgot plans or things that we had told him. When he almost crushed one of his colleagues with a machine that he forgot that he was working, the company decided to give him a permanent break and we began to worry.

»By 36 it was already a fact that it was the beginnings of dementia. The doctors were surprised by the diagnosis because it is not very common to find the disease in patients of his age and for more explanations that we tried to find, we didn’t find any other. They prescribed a treatment that only kept him calm and it got to a point where it felt inhuman to drug him daily, and about two years after he got the diagnosis my mom decided it was better to put him in a mental hospital.

I was only fifteen years old at the time, but I already understood everything perfectly. I went to see him every day, after school, talked to him, read my homework to him, and we watched movies together, which to a certain extent made his illness feel tolerable. The worst thing at that point was that he asked me to watch the same movie as the day before or that he asked me if I was nervous about the exam I had done a week ago" you looked at the man just to make sure he was following the story, which that you verified with the way he was looking at you; fully attentive.

“Anyway, the years went by and it got more and more complicated. Sometimes a nurse had to remind her of my name and at some point my mother just gave up, probably when my father completely disowned her and started yelling all over the hospital that a woman was harassing him in her room. I continued to visit him, but when I grew up and entered the FBI academy my hours were cut down considerably, so in recent years I only went to see him once a week.

»At 42 my father no longer knew that I was his daughter, he thought that I was a nurse doing social service by keeping him company. He talked to me all the time about his family and sadly told me that neither his wife nor his daughter had been to see him for a long time, but I assured him that they had both asked me to tell him that they loved him very much and that they would go soon” silent for a moment, careful not to burst into tears, and prepared to finish the story “He died during my first year as a BAU agent. I saw his decline over the years and even at the end I think he left thinking that his family had abandoned him. I don't talk to my mother anymore, because I think she feels very guilty about me for having left me all the burden of taking care of my father. But every day I feel at peace with myself because despite how painful it was to see him, I never left him.

»Many times I cried before entering the hospital and when leaving, thinking that I had to pretend to be able to spend a moment with the person I loved the most and who was now only a ghost of what my father once was. And it was terrible to look at it and think that this was my future, even to this day. They say that reading is a good exercise to reduce risk and that's why I always carry a book wherever I go, that's why I always want to do new things and that's why I strive every day to solve our cases because I don't know when the last. I have gone to specialists who have told me that there is nothing to worry about and that, if I have it, Alzheimer's could last until I am an old woman, but even so I am afraid every day.

If I really get sick and manage to get old, the most likely thing is that I will end up in a sanatorium, but right now what is worth it are the things I do every day. I'm scared, yes, but it's worth fighting for if I can help people in this job and especially if I can live with people like you.

I know you said that I wouldn't understand, but the truth is that of all the people in this building I can assure you that I am the one who can do it best. I know that you can't bear to see her because you are afraid of ending up with her like her and that at the same time you are so worried that you take the time to write everything about your life to her. I'm probably boring you with all this stuff that you never asked me to tell you, but I just wanted to tell you how important it is that you be with your mom. And more than doing it for her, do it for you.

I would only give you one piece of advice, which you can decide to take or not: don't waste your time, Spencer. Your mother loves you very much, go and talk to her, accompany her, listen to everything she has to tell you and forgive her faults if there are any. Because you don't know about her when it may be the last time you see her, either for your health or for hers”

There was total silence. You hadn't noticed until that moment that your cheeks were already wet from crying and you still didn't dare to look at his face. No person knew that part of you, because after your father got worse you had decided not to talk about it with anyone, so you could say that you were practically giving your heart to that man bruised by the mission a few hours ago. Suddenly you thought that perhaps you had talked for too long or that for him it had no relevance and he had only stayed to listen to you because he was not rude enough to leave you talking to yourself. But while your head was drawing the wrong conclusions, something you never expected happened: Spencer extended his hands to you and wrapped you in a hug.

It only took a bit of effort to make their bodies fit perfectly and he clenched the fabric of your knitted sweater in his fists, tucking his head into the crook of your neck to allow you to lean yours against his golden hair. It was as if all the time you had been destined for that particular moment, fused in that embrace that communicated everything that words could no longer express.

He wasn't the person who loved physical contact the most, all of you had noticed that, so hugging him was totally new to you. The feeling of peace that this brought you had no comparison point and the softness of his body covered you completely.

“I had no idea,” he murmured, the sound of his voice muffled by your skin. And Spencer was being completely honest, because he didn't even imagine that you could fully understand him after having lived through such a tragic story. He had understood many things thanks to your story and he was eternally grateful that he had felt the confidence to tell him something like this, so he also thought that maybe it was his turn to be honest with you "What my mom said is true, I always talk to her about you. I tell her that you are the sweetest companion I have ever had, that you always pay attention to me, and that you make sure that I feel comfortable wherever we go. I tell her that you are strong, that I want to be half as brave as you, and I also tell her that I have never felt affection and gratitude for someone as I feel for you, because you have made these two years different from any other time in my life” his words, whispered so close to you and drenched in so much love, only intensified your tears "And as long as my conscience remains intact, I assure you that if I need to remind you of all the secrets you have told me, I will do it"

That, more than a proposal, was a declaration of pure love that promised to reach many years into the future.

"Maybe we'll even end up in the same sanitarium, you and me, huh?" you exclaimed, with a slightly joking tone "And so I will have the opportunity to know your wonders again every day"

You felt on your neck that you managed to get a smile out of him and that made you smile too. That's when he pulled away so he could look at you.

“I think that… I will go with my mother back to Nevada. I guess we both deserve it, don't you think?" he told you and you nodded with a small smile. He didn't want to leave your side, but you got up first and held out your hand to help him do the same.

“She still has enough lucidity to tell me what your favorite food is. Maybe you should eat with her on the plane” you suggested. You didn't want to rob him of any more time he could spend with his mother, so you just wished him luck and started walking in another direction.

"Y/N, before you go" he called out to you. You were already a fair distance away, but it was enough for you to still speak in a small voice. "You know you're not alone, right?"

You smiled as he looked at you with those eyes that only showed sincerity, and you wished you could encapsulate that moment for eternity.

"I know" you replied calmly "And I trust that now you know it too"

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía

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theoffingmag · 9 months

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The matter I’d been tasked to investigate had to do with Kan’ichi and the nature of his return. Kan’ichi Hiraizumi came home after the bureau sent out a notice, entirely separate from the first and second waves of repatriation. He had been admitted to a military hospital during his duty. After the war, he had also been detained as a prisoner of war in a place that was well-known—even to those with limited knowledge like myself—for having far from humane conditions. Still, he sustained no major injuries or infections, and with his mental and physical health cleared, he returned home on foot, alone. Although it was a miracle worthy of celebration, this kind of story wasn’t particularly rare at the time. The problem was with how Kan’ichi looked since returning. There was little to no resemblance between photos of Kan’ichi from before the war and his current appearance, so much so that it seemed likely that a complete stranger could do a better job at mimicking him. In short, he had returned a completely different person.

Keep reading

Haneko Takayama is a writer, born in 1975 in Toyama prefecture, Japan. In 2010, she won an honorable mention in the Sogen SF Short Story Prize for UDON (Unknown Dog of Nobody); in 2016, she won the Fumiko Hayashi Literary Prize for "The Island on the Side of the Sun"; and in 2020, she won the Akutagawa Prize for A Horse from Shuri. Her works include Where I Was, "Come Gather ‘Round, People," and Lenses in the Dark. Alisa Yamasaki is a writer, translator, and interpreter based in Brooklyn, originally from Tokyo. Her writing has appeared in The Japan Times and Vice among other outlets. She was part of the 2022 cohort of the merging Translators Mentorship Program by the American Literary Translators Association.

#translation #japanese #literature #short story #fiction #short fiction #writing #haneko takayama #alisa yamasaki #the offing

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my-darling-boy · 3 years

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Genuinely asking, isn't self-diagnose with a condition kind of dangerous? Because legitimizing self-diagnosing opens a door to many malicious people who would want to exploit the fact they can self-diagnose? And in turn, make the space of autistic people worse?

Was going to skip this, but I’m writing a LONG response because I’m VERY exhausted with the amount of misinformation I see on this “self dx is dangerous” take, so buckle up and allow me to info dump.

Recently, authentic_autism_advocacy, an Instagram account run by a supposed medically diagnosed autistic woman was discovered to be a non-autistic woman, Connie Manning, posing as a medically diagnosed autistic person to spread hate and anti-self diagnosing speech. In reality, she is a neurotypical mother who regularly uses her autistic son for clout; she also turned out to have a hand behind CalmWear, a brand of sensory compression products designed for disabled people. Not only had she been spewing hatred towards other autistic people, she had been accusing well known AFAB autistic tiktokers like beckspectrum of faking being autistic and threatening self diagnosed autistics and saying they are a danger to the community, and engaging in other incredibly discriminating behaviour. Yes, she herself was a neurotypical person posing as a medically diagnosed autistic to perpetuate hateful rhetoric about self diagnosed people and used her voice to speak OVER autistic folk for financial gain and exploitation of autistic people, including her own son. If you want to read this roller coaster of a story, an autistic person wrote an entire article on it with tons of screenshots and sources.

So let me make one thing clear to you.

The purpose of actually, genuinely self diagnosing is not done to attract attention or to parade around and exploit other autistic people. Self diagnosed autistic individuals have recognised due to difficult life circumstances, financial hardship, bigotry and stigma within the medical/legal world, being a minor, lack of insurance, lack of proper access to safe care facilities, being denied assessment due to incompetent or biased practitioners, and/or any other obstacle that they may temporarily or permanently be barred from diagnosis. Self diagnosis does NOT instantly mean a person is posing for clout, nor does it indicate a person is trying to wring money from assistance services or exploit other autistics. And nts who use self diagnose with intentions of harming the community? That’s NOT self diagnosis, that’s abuse of something meant to aid people blocked from medical care or financial means to that care. All we can do for autistic people, no matter who we perceive them to be, is treat them the same way we would any other autistic person. Because the moment you start deciding by your own book who deserves respect and who doesn’t, you’ll be on a slippery slope to locking out thousands of autistic people from the community. If it’s discovered a person like Connie is literally abusing the system of self dx to intentionally mislead the community, by all means, we must hold them accountable. But you cannot simply go about granting and revoking access from people just because someone lacks a diagnosis or doesn’t fit your idea of what being autistic looks like, especially if it’s based on stereotypes.

Moral of the story? Isn’t it ironic how anti-self dx people will 100% believe a user who claims to be medically diagnosed but shows no “written proof” of it, yet always demand written proof from a self dx person? It’s almost like even anti-self dx people can’t tell the difference between someone who is medically diagnosed autistic and someone who isn’t. Well, that’s because they can’t. While there might be common traits, autism has no set model, it is a spectrum, no autistic person is alike; Policing self diagnosed people about their self diagnosis isn’t a form of protecting the community. It’s a form of gatekeeping. If you find yourself granting instant acceptance, without asking for proof, to a person insisting they are medically diagnosed like this neurotyical mother, but then prohibit self dx people from entry entirely on the grounds of not showing proof of medical assessment, you are upholding a double standard. This is why policing autistic people’s diagnosis, self or not, is inherently useless.

So here’s the thing... instead of asking people to stop self diagnosing, what you should instead be asking yourself is, “Why do people self diagnose? What kind of medical system could possibly be in place where people feel they need to resort to self diagnosis rather than get an actual diagnosis?”

Well, it’s mainly common knowledge among most of the autistic community that diagnosis is NOT easy to come by.

One of the main reasons why people cannot get a diagnosis is due to financial/insurance reasons. It’s reasonable to estimate that by the end of 2020 almost 30 million Americans alone were without health insurance. I’ve heard costs out of pocket for an autism diagnosis are between $500-$6000. If a person or a family cannot afford health insurance—which by the way on average is around $5,400 a year for a single person and $13,800 for a family here—where are they supposed to pull out $6,000 to get screened?

You might be asking, “Well aren’t insurances supposed to cover disability?” Sure, there are options for disability care through health insurance—not even going to get into that—but like a lot of things in the US, this is a severely flawed system. A lot of private health insurance will stop or limit coverage for an autism diagnosis or assistance services once a person reaches 18 to 21 years old. In most states, coverage has a higher chance of being denied to autistic adults coming with the added age cap or ONLY covering ABA, an abusive, manipulative “therapy” used to force social compliance and trait suppression on autistic people. The fact that ABA, a conversion therapy, is covered, but little else, shows exactly what insurance companies think of autistic people: they’ll only cover us if we want to learn to be “normal”. This can leave many undiagnosed autistic adults who cannot afford analysis, insurance, or safe assistance services with nowhere to turn. If I was not on my parents’ insurance, there is NO WAY I would EVER be able to afford a diagnosis. I don’t have $2,000 lying around. The MONEY ALONE would prohibit me from getting a diagnosis, no matter how many autistic traits I presented.

When I was going through this system years ago to start a diagnosis, I was shocked to find no therapist within three hours of me was accepting adult patients. “Up to 18 only” their websites would say. And in the event I had found one (1) that accepted me as a then 20 year old with X insurance, and that person refused me diagnosis, I would be out of options unless I planned a 5 hour drive which may have also led me to another biased screener. A person seeking self financed assessment can waste thousands of dollars therapist hopping.

People will say, “Well I live in X place, and where I come from, it’s covered!” Well the reality is that everyone in the world does not live where you live. It’s not realistic to assume everyone is in the same position as you or your family to afford care or access the same resources as you. When you say, “Just go out and get a diagnosis! It’s not that hard!”, understand you are speaking from your personal vantage point where screening may be easily accessed or easily covered/is free OR you have no personal knowledge of what that process is like yourself.

The second thing that bars a ton of people from being diagnosed is the fact that when autism was first discovered, its research was HEAVILY centered on white, cis, heterosexual men. The idea that autistic people are ONLY cis, white, heterosexual men carries on to this day. If you are an outlier to this stereotype, your chances of being misdiagnosed with something else or refused diagnosis skyrocket because so-called “professionals” don’t know how to observe traits in any other person besides a cis, white, heterosexual man, and refuse/fail to recognise the endless ways in which a person can be autistic. ALL the time I hear how AFAB people will go in to get screened only to find out their screener does not believe AFAB people can be autistic, because yes, sexism and anti-lgbtq+ ideas play a huge role in the incredibly outdated diagnostic process, because autism is still believed to be an “AMAB only” thing. People report going into a therapists office and being asked questions like, “Do you like going outside? Do you like having friends?” and being told that if you agree with either of these, you cannot be autistic because criteria at some places is so backwards, you can’t even say you enjoy conversation without failing the test. Other things commonly heard during the analysis are screeners telling someone they are too smart/articulate to be autistic, gas lighting them by saying they are mistaking their symptoms for something else/making them up, telling a person they seem normal, dismissing clear autistic traits by saying they’re unique “superpowers”, or intentionally misdiagnosing a person as ADHD INSTEAD of autistic. People on social media have also pointed out what influences racism has on the diagnostic process as well and how lack of research and understanding of autistic POC contributes to under-diagnosis and stigma has only contributed to refusal of care and under-representation of POC in the disabled community, as one autistic Black woman points out on Instagram, “I found excellent articles that support and validate my feelings and experiences, but I could find no research on autistic Black people.” Additionally, because research has primarily been done on young men, this means anyone who is not a cis man and is over the age of 18 and is seeking a diagnosis has a much higher chance of not receiving one because screeners don’t understand how autistic traits may present differently in adults, especially since adults are very likely to mask. Some autism screeners are so against autism they have told clients they would only diagnosis a person autistic if it was their last resort to avoid “placing a burden on their shoulders”. These reasons are largely responsible for why autism is incredibly mis/under-diagnosed. This ask would be the length of a novel if I included every single type of discrimination and mistreatment during the evaluation process alone, but understand it can be incredibly biased, sexist, transphobic, racist, or just flat out ableist. And guess what? Though this process can take as little as a month to get sorted, that is rare. The assessment SHOULD be very short. But a lot of autistic people have reported their diagnosis took more than 2-4 years because of having to waste time, energy, and money hopping from therapist to therapist looking for someone to take them seriously, as many autistic people compiled on the actuallyautistictiktoks page on Instagram point out.

The last thing I want to touch on is this idea that people have that self diagnosing is dangerous. “What if someone self diagnoses and they take advantage of services that are meant for autistic people?” ...The Big Things you think I am going to take advantage of as a self diagnosed autistic person, like scholarship money for instance or SSDI, I do not have legal access to without a formal diagnosis. I cannot waltz into a law firm and ask for a $5,000 scholarship for autistic people without a diagnosis, because they WILL NOT give it to me!

Let me tell you some of things I’ve “cruelly taken advantage of” as a self diagnosed autistic person. I bought glasses with blue light protection, because screen and fluorescent lighting at work and even natural blue toned light from the sky lowers my threshold for some sensory input like noise and social interaction; wearing them to work everyday has improved my sensory thresholds incredibly. I’ve talked to my manager and told him I’m autistic and that I have a hard time understanding vague direction and may need to step away briefly on occasion to tend to a shutdown before a meltdown comes on at work; he had no problem with this. I use subtitles; sometimes I have trouble processing audio or reading facial expressions and tone, and being able to see the words displayed on the screen gives me a significantly better understanding of what I watch. All my life, I have been having meltdowns which I had mistaken for mental breakdowns or panic attacks and having access to resources that walked me through preventative methods and tips on what to do if I have one has been ENORMOUSLY helpful to me. All my life, I was trying to deal with them thinking they were something else; becoming aware of this and accepting that they are in fact autistic meltdowns has helped me not only go through them, but has helped me redirect stims which at their worst previously had me hitting and clawing my arms, slapping my face, and even hitting my head. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait 4 years for a diagnosis to use resources I could be using to make my life more accessible right now!

People will say, “Oh well yeah, I don’t mean You are one of Those Types of self diagnosed autistic people, you clearly sound/look autistic, I’m talking about other people.” The thing is, there is no broad “sounding/looking autistic”, that’s stereotyping, and you can’t demand everyone who interacts with you show you their Autistic Card, because again, not everyone is able to be diagnosed, especially given the mistreatment and stigma present towards autistic people in the medical field! And what made you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “don’t seem autistic” to you? Why didn’t you ask for their diagnosis? Because they “seemed autistic” to you? By denying anyone who doesn’t have a diagnosis resources they may very well need, you are denying assistance to thousands of people who are without means to be diagnosed. And I am SO tired of seeing comments online on self diagnosis posts that “people don’t know what they’re taking about” as if they know us personally, like are you me? Are you my doctor I’ve consulted? Did you watch me academically research and consult with other autistic people about being autistic for over 3 years? I’m tired of “well, one time a self diagnosed person laughed at my actually autistic diagnosed friend...so all self dx people are evil” because there is ZERO correlation between a person being self assessed and their behavior towards a non self assessed person. The fact both those arguments are in use whenever self dx comes up is yet another form of gatekeeping.

Self diagnosing autism is not begging for attention or Evil Criminal Money Funneling Schemes. It is a result of a deeply flawed medical and insurance system that has failed to give proper attention and care to those who need it, it is a result of resources not made available, of safe support systems not there for kids and adults alike. You want to talk about what’s truly dangerous? How the hate group Autism Speaks has been parading itself around since 2005 as an advocacy group for autistic people and has been misusing millions of dollars worth of donation money and promoting stigma and hatred around autistic people; no autistic members are present on their board. How Sia and her new film Music was nominated for 2 Golden Globes despite it replacing the original autistic actor with a neurotypical actor, using offensive stereotypes, and using the main autistic character as a prop, and featured an extremely dangerous bodily restraint scene on an autistic person having a meltdown in public and featured very insensitive content due to Sia’s lack of consulting with autistic people to make the film (spoilers in that article).

Instead of policing autistic people, whether they fit your idea of what an autistic person is or not, redirect your efforts and your energy to dismantling systems and holding others accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes about autistic people that are legitimately dangerous on such a scale that they have created insurmountable damage to the autistic community. But I guarantee you, worrying over whether your classmate is “faking it” will not do any justice to the decades worth of discrimination autistic people face still today.

I understand. You care about the community, you don’t want autistic people to be exploited or taken advantage of. I don’t want to be exploited and taken advantage of as an autistic person, and I don’t want that for others! But I also understand that when we self proclaim ourselves as judges of random autistic strangers on the internet or start accusing people of faking or demanding to see medical paperwork from people when the basis of our suspicions is “this person doesn’t look like my stereotyped view on how I think an autistic person should act”, THAT is when you really run into trouble. Because if you are allowed to deny self dx people entrance into the autistic community, what’s stopping you from thinking you have the power to deny ANYONE entrance into that community?

And there is power in self diagnosis for many autistic people. When the evaluation system is literally rigged to set you up for failure and put you through unnecessary hardship, self dx is a self affirming, empowering tool to take back control from a process designed to gaslight and crush you. The evaluation process was NOT formulated by an autistic person, nor was it made to be inclusive of all autistic people. Until the evaluation system in place for autistic people is safe, accessible, and free to ALL, you have EVERY right to self diagnose.

#like this isn’t even half of what I want to say #but I’m gonna stop cos this is So Long #no clowns in my inbox pls #long post #ableism #autism #actually autistic #ok to rb

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sturchling · 3 years

Note

A maribat no pairing needed but if you want one you can write it in. But basically Marinette goes to Gotham and stays with the bat family. Bruce is leaving hits he is Batman so he can help Marinette with being ladybug

Sorry for the wait! Hope you like it! I decided to make this one a little more funny with a completely oblivious Marinette. Sorry if you don't like her being this oblivious, just wanted to have some fun with this one. I really liked that idea and thought it was funny. I hope you like it too, I had a lot of fun writing it!

Marinette was so excited she was shaking. She had just gotten word that she had been accepted into an exchange student program with Gotham Academy. Not only would she be able to get away from Lila and the drama with the class, but she may also be able to find Batman and get some help with tracking down Hawkmoth. Marinette would be hosted by the Wayne family, who was sponsoring this whole program. Marinette was impressed by Mr. Wayne's generousity. It is really generous of Mr. Wayne to set up and fund this whole program. He must be a really nice man. Marinette wasn't going waste this opportunity. She would enjoy her time in America, and she would definitely find Batman before the program was over!

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Bruce really hoped this crazy plan worked. He had learned several weeks ago about a blog based out of Paris called the Ladyblog. It mainly posted a bunch of nonsense about a girl named Lila who was clearly a liar. But that wasn't what caught his attention. What caught his attention was a few stories posted between the interviews with the liar. These posts were about something called 'akuma attacks' and a supervillain named Hawkmoth who had been terrorizing Paris for years now. At first, Bruce just thought it was more nonsense, like the posts about the liar. But to be safe, he looked into it more, and was astonished to find out it was the truth. He learned everything Hawkmoth had done, all the different akumas, and about the local heroes: Ladybug and Chat Noir.

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He was shocked to see that the heroes defending Paris were just kids. And while they have done great on their own, Bruce could tell they haven't had any kind of combat training. If they go up against an akuma with real training, they would be at a significant disadvantage. Plus, they would likely not have any good strategy to discover Hawkmoth's identity. Even if they keep winning against the akumas, they have to find and beat Hawkmoth or this madness will never end. He resolved in that moment to find these kids and help them. He focused on Ladybug and started to figure out her civilian ID. It took a few weeks, but he eventually found out she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She always disappeared once Ladybug appeared, and there were a few times that a security camera would see her duck into an alley, and then a few moments later, Ladybug would emerge. Once he knew her identity, he began to plan.

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He decided the easiest way to get her to Gotham would likely be something regarding school. At first he thought of a class trip for her whole class, but decided against it. That idea wouldn't work with the rest of his plan. Instead, he set up a student exchange program with Gotham Academy. He would host the student that was selected at his manor for the duration of the program and fund the entire thing. The academy didn't think anything of it, used to Mr. Wayne's charitable acts for the school. His one condition was that he got to choose the student. The academy agreed, it only made sense since Mr. Wayne was funding the program and would host the student as well.

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Mr. Wayne made sure that the news of the program made it to Paris and was heavily advertised. He even sent the information to Ms. Dupain-Cheng's school. He was sure that she would learn about it and apply quickly. Ms. Dupain-Cheng had seemed like an ambitious student from what he had found so far, so the offer of studying in America would be tempting. Plus if she was as clever as she seemed, based off her actions as Ladybug, then he was sure she would want to come and try to meet with Batman. It didn't take long for Marinette's application to cross his desk. As he approved her application and typed up her acceptance email, he smiled and began the next phase of his plan.

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Bruce knew that Marinette would be very concerned if he approached her about being Ladybug outright. It would be best if she approached him. And here was the problem. She wouldn't approach him, she would only approach Batman. So he needed to have her figure out that he was Batman. He didn't want her to transform into Ladybug and look around Gotham for him. That could cause people back in Paris to figure out her identity, if Ladybug appeared in Gotham at the same time as Marinette. And if Hawkmoth figured it out, that would be horrible. And if Marinette went looking for Batman in her civilian form, it could be really dangerous. Instead, Bruce and his sons were going to make it painfully obvious who they were. They would leave all their equipment out in plain view, all their case files out, he was even going to park the Batmobile outside in the driveway (out of sight of the gates of course, he doesn't want anyone but Marinette to find out his identity). Short of walking around in their costumes, they would do everything they could.

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Bruce's sons were excited. They didn't have to be careful about their identities around her which was a plus, and after learning that Marinette fighting Hawkmoth with only Chat Noir for consistent help, they were more than ready to help them with the Hawkmoth problem. They had also made bets on how long it would take her to figure it out, and which member of the family would be the one to give it away. They were ready for Marinette to arrive.

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Marinette had arrived about a week ago, and Bruce's plan was in full effect. But, surprisingly, Marinette hadn't figured it out. She spent most of her time out, walking around Gotham. She had told the Waynes that she was familiarizing her self with the city and also gathering inspiration for her designs. In reality, she was focused on finding Batman. So focused in fact, that she missed all the clues that the Waynes were leaving her. She had walked right past the Batmobile, hardly giving it a second glance. She had picked up some casefiles sitting at the dining table, and instead of reading, or even just looking at them, she just handed them to Bruce and finished setting the table. She had walked in on Jason cleaning his guns in the living room, and instead of commenting on that, just sat down and turned on the TV. At one point, she even came into the gym and found Dick doing an acrobatic routine that only Nightwing would be able to do, all while Tim and Jason were sparing, and Damian was sharpening his sword. They were sure this would get her attention. But Marinette didn't even notice. She just got on a treadmill, put in her headphones and started running. They boys just stared at her. They were shocked that she could be so oblivious.

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While Marinette was out walking around Gotham, looking for Batman again, the Batfam was having a meeting at the manor. They couldn't believe that Marinette hadn't figured it out yet. At least Bruce could definitely prove that his secret ID was better than Clark's. Marinette's been living with him for months now, with them actively trying to reveal their secret to her, and she still couldn't figure it out. They were running out of ideas and time. The program ended in a few weeks and they had done everything they could think of. Except for one thing. They hadn't thought they would have to be so obvious, but it was clear that Marinette would figure it out any other way.

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So, that is how they found themselves coming up from the Batcave, in full costume, making a lot of noise to draw Marinette's attention as she sat watching TV in the living room. Marinette came around the corner and looked at them. Marinette's eyes grew wide, and she just stared. The Waynes were sure she finally figured it out. Finally, she broke the silence, saying "Nice costumes guys! You look just like the real Batfam. Nice attention to detail!" Then she just went back into the living room, leaving the Batfam frozen in disbelief.

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Bruce decided enough was enough, and the family went into the living room, still in costume, and told Marinette their secret directly. She was pretty surprised. She had been so consumed with looking for Batman around Gotham, she never even thought she might be living with him. The night continued for a long time after that. Marinette revealed her secret and the Waynes revealed they had known all along. They told her that they had seen her using the horse miraculous to go back to Paris for an akuma battle, which that may not have been how they figured her out, but they had seen that too. After all the reveals were done, the group spent the rest of the night focused on Hawkmoth and how to track him. Tim got to work immediately and was sure he would have an answer soon, though it may be after she went back to Paris. The rest of Marinette's time in Gotham was spent training how to fight properly, and how to find better places to transform. Marinette soon went back to Paris, armed with better fighting skills, and the knowledge that she now had Batman as an ally in the fight against Hawkmoth.

#ml #ml fic #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #miraculous fic #miraculous fanfic #maribat #ml x dc #miraculous x dc #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #oblivious marinette #maribat fic #maribat fanfic

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dracosaurusrex · 3 years

Text

Bookworms (Draco x Reader)

Summary: Where Y/N and Draco discover that there’s much more to each other than what meets the eye.

Word Count: 11k

Genre: Fluff (slight angst in the beginning); enemies-to-friends-to-lovers ; No Voldy AU

TW: Self-harm but it’s not too much.

A/N: Hi friends! I want to say that I don’t really know where I was going with this, but that would be a lie. So a couple of weeks ago, a friend of mine (we’ll name her @minty-malfoy) posted a tag thread and one of her responses involved her wanting to own a bookshop. It got me thinking of a bookshop romance and ugh YES. With dark academia, how could I not? Fast forward to last week, I ask her for a favor without realizing it was her birthday, and I felt so embarrassed LOL. So, yes, this is your gift my friend. I hope you enjoy it. Keep shining like the light you are!

Besides that, I genuinely hope that if you come across this, you enjoy this big chunggus of a oneshot. I apologize if it’s slow at some parts. I also didn’t proofread the end. I should probably shut up now before I start questioning my writing omll

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Written in pages bound by leather covers are worlds that bring you out of your own. An adventure. An escape. Within that escape sprouts myriads of emotions and thoughts, but what you value the most amongst them all are its gifts of perspective and solace.

Y/N Y/L/N lived the majority of her life with her mother. Her father, who was an auror, passed when she was young, leaving them to surmount the challenges of the world alone. Together, they owned a decent bookshop in Hogsmeade. Its shelves lined the walls, occupying the entire expanse from the floor up to the ceiling. Within them were books of varying genres, filling your senses with the soothing aromas of old parchment, sounds of turning pages, and the feeling of warmth and coziness. To others, this little shop was known as Avenoir Books. However, you knew it as home, your safe space, your comfort zone.

Your mother was the one responsible for introducing you to your love for reading. Growing up, you’d recall the sound of her voice as she read to you--the way that it cradled you with reassurance when times got rough. She always managed to disguise her worries, yet in moments when she thought she was alone, you had witnessed her at her lowest points. It was only within your knowledge that you knew life was difficult, for your mother would shield you from the problems that reality had actually presented to you. She carried the weight of both your worlds on her shoulders, giving you protection by surrounding you with new ones to step into as you sat yourself in the confines of your cozy shop. It was because of her that reading became your refuge, and it remained so when you went away for school at Hogwarts.

Your mother’s resilience fueled your desire to become strong, to become great, to create a new life where you wouldn’t have to see her cry in secret. She was the reason you had been sorted into the Slytherin house in your first year, and she was also the reason why you’d been so successful within your 4 years of schooling by far.

You were a quiet Slytherin, mostly keeping to yourself while observing those around you. The most interesting and exasperating individual of the entire student body was a proud and arrogant boy, Draco Malfoy. He had never picked on you, but there were countless times you had witnessed his relentlessness with others, especially with the Golden Trio. Each and every instance increased your despise for him, furthermore deepening your ardent desire to keep your distance. However, it seemed that the universe had other plans for you today.

Weekdays kept you immersed in bulky textbooks--notes constantly jotted down through endless heaps of parchment. On weekends, however, you swapped your robes for a work apron, helping your mother around the shop. She’d situate herself by the counter and typically manned the ground level, while you’d be propped on a sliding ladder, managing books that sat on shelves higher up. You had a system in Avenoir Books. Customers would typically roam about the main floor, which was occupied by books from famous publishers and authors. However, for books that were more obscure or specialized, customers would head to the counter and gain consultation from your mother. In return, she’d direct them to you, prompting you to slide amongst the shelves in search for the requested titles, genres, or authors.

The store typically had a steady flow of people passing through. You have come across many different personalities and backgrounds throughout your life. Today was quite different, however. The bustling noises slowly died down upon the entrance of a pair of notorious figures, the air suddenly becoming tense. There stood Lucius Malfoy. His chin was pointed up, platinum locks flowing over his shoulders, walking stick in hand, his eyes scanning the shop with a pompous expression on his face. Standing to his side was Draco. He maintained the same look as his father, which soon featured a scowl as it managed to grace his face.

You heard the older man mutter, “Let’s get this over with, Draco.”

The two made their way through the vicinity as gazes were trained on them. Even you stopped what you were doing to observe their actions. Lucius approached your mother, who gave much effort to keep a welcoming smile plastered on her lips.

“Mr. Malfoy, what brings you the pleasure of stopping by?” Her tone was sweet and quite inviting, although it didn’t do much to shift the man’s attitude.

“You have quite the selection here at Avenoir--I’m impressed.” His tone on the other hand was laced with a tinge of venom and arrogance. Lucius' eyes kept trained on the expanses of shelves until they landed on you.

“I assume that’s your daughter, Y/N? Draco’s told me much about her.” You couldn’t decipher whether he meant well, moreover what Draco could’ve possibly said about you to his father. You weren’t aware that the boy even knew of your existence since all you did was keep away from him at all costs.

Your mother responds, “Yes, she’s a fifth year at Hogwarts. I assume your son’s the same?”

“You’re not wrong. Although, that’s not what I’m here for…” As Lucius continues his consultation with your mother, Draco takes the liberty to browse through the various genres of books featured on the ground floor. You don’t move from your position, rather you keep your gaze on him, observing his reactions. He picks up a familiar script. It’s a muggle book entitled, The Memory Police by Yoko Ogawa. You witness him flip through the first couple of pages before focusing in on the first chapter. Slowly, you see the scowl begin to leave his face--the tension between his eyebrows dissipates, his lips release the frown that had situated itself there, and his eyes take on a more solemn and concentrated expression. It contrasted greatly to the image he maintained at school. You realized then that when he wasn’t so obnoxious and loud, Draco was actually quite handsome.

“Draco, drop that filthy muggle book!” You weren’t aware of Lucius approaching until the snake embellishment that topped his walking stick violently landed on the boy’s shoulder. You saw him wince in pain as he dropped the book, rubbing the area to soothe the harsh sensation. Before you could react, your mother calls out to you.

“Y/N, Alchemy, Argo Pyrites.” You broke out from your daze and simply nodded in understanding. The duo now had their eyes on you as you charmed the ladder to take you to the location of the book. You actively scanned the spines for the targeted title, releasing a small “aha” when you find it. Once it’s in your hands, you blow off traces of dust and ensure that the book is in mint condition. It doesn’t take you long to make your way down. As you do so, you approach Lucius and lend the book over. He takes his time to check for any disparities before meeting your gaze once again.

“Y/N is it? Pleasure to meet you.” His tone was anything but kind, but you go along with it, doing your best to maintain courtesy.

“Pleasure’s all mine Mr. Malfoy. It’s very kind of you to stop by.”

“Certainly. Draco, say goodbye to your friend, let’s get going.” Draco looks at you from top to bottom before releasing a smirk. With a quick raise of his eyebrows, he turns around and follows his father out of the shop. You watch their figures disappear into the crowd before making your way to your mother.

“Draco seems like a nice boy, doesn’t he?” You scoff and cross your arms in disagreement.

“Oh please. ‘Nice’ is the last thing he’ll ever be.” She gives you a knowing gaze.

“Did you see how his father hit his shoulder? Even I was shocked. That poor boy never saw it coming.” You recall the pained expression that Draco had on his face. You supposed his parents imposed their pureblood supremacist ideals on the boy’s choice of interests as well.

“It’s not like he doesn’t deserve the pity, mother. You should see him at school. Obnoxious! Rude! Arrogant! He bullies others mercilessly!” You expected her face to contort in disgust and disappointment, but she only gave that familiar motherly smile.

“We can’t always assume the extent of a person’s character based on what they show, darling. Similar to how we should not judge a book by its cover.” She emphasized the last point knowing that you would understand. You could never fight your mother. Despite the difficulty of getting to where you were in life, she always embodied grace and wisdom through it all.

She spoke again, “Did you happen to see the book he was reading?”

“It was The Memory Police.” You couldn’t understand why she asked. She approached the book that Draco had dropped and picked it up. When she returned, she looked at you expectantly.

“You’re going to see him again this Monday, are you not?” You nodded, “I want you to give this to him.” Your eyes widened.

“Mother, I couldn’t possibly-”

“No excuses, Y/N! A kind gesture never hurt anyone.” Her tone softens, and you knew you couldn’t say no.

“The look he had on his face reminded me of you when you were younger. Do you remember?” You only sighed, remembering the relief you felt when you cozied up to a book. She continued, “He seemed more peaceful having a little bit of time to escape don’t you think?” Your shoulders, which were once tense, dropped.

You groaned, “Fine! I’ll do it.” Mother, 1, Y/N, 0.

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Throughout the remainder of the weekend, you thought of ways you could slip the book to the platinum-haired boy without having to actually confront him. You couldn’t understand why your mother wanted to reach out to him so bad. Never in your entire life have you seen her extend that much sympathy to a customer before. Ever! That boy is a git. A rich one at that! Everything was practically given to him on a silver plate. Why would he care so much about a measly book?

These questions roamed through your mind as you packed your school bag the following Monday morning. The book was settled on top of your desk, staring and waiting for you to pick it up. With dread, you reluctantly take it and place it into your bag. With one last look in the mirror, you grab your things and make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast. As you enter the massive room, you take a seat by yourself in the Slytherin table. You took a glance to find a familiar blonde mop of hair. All of his friends were there in their usual spot with him being the only one absent, which was weird because he never skipped breakfast. Wanting to get your mom’s task over with, you approach the group. They were chattering amongst themselves, not noticing your presence.

You cleared your throat, grabbing their attention, “Um, hey. Do you happen to know where Malfoy is?” They only looked at you in awe.

“The famous Y/N actually speaks? Didn’t think I’d ever hear a word come out of you.” The girl, Pansy, pointed out. You rolled your eyes.

Another girl, Daphne, kicked the prior’s ankle, eliciting a loud yelp from her. She spoke out, “I’m sorry Y/N. He said he’s not feeling too well, so he’s cooped up in the dorm.” You appreciated the softness of her voice in contrast to Pansy’s strong tone.

“Why do you ask? You never talk to him.” It was Blaise’s turn to chime in.

“I have some business with him.” You stood there, feeling the awkwardness creeping up. Your fingers were twirling the ends of your hair and you casted your gaze elsewhere. They just stared at you, still comprehending the sound of your voice.

“Well?” You asked.

“Ah, yes. He’s in dorm 7.” You nodded your head in appreciation and turned around to leave. You had about an hour before class, giving you ample time to make the delivery and go about with your day. At least that was what you thought.

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Once you enter the Slytherin common room, you make a turn towards the boys’ dormitories. As you take the stairs leading to it, you’re met with a corridor that takes a close resemblance to the girls’. Doors were lined on either side with numbers used to differentiate them--Draco’s room was located all the way down the hall. Oddly enough, the closer you approached it, the more nervous you felt. You never imagined yourself stepping into this part of the dungeons, moreover doing so to drop something off for a boy you despised. You yelled at your mom internally for putting you through this.

The distance between you and the door kept shrinking, and as you drew closer, you began to feel strange. Something was off. The uncertainty looming in the air grew thicker until you finally found yourself standing in front of the room. Before knocking, you press your ear against the entrance. There was complete silence. You also notice that the door was not closed all the way. The animosity you felt towards the boy was gradually replaced with worry and concern.

“Malfoy? Are you in there?” You ask hesitantly. There was no response.

“Draco?” You press your ear further into the door in hopes to pick up any sign of his presence. When you received none, you pushed forward, entering the room with caution. You were met with the sight of a half-made bed, Draco’s robes and uniform laid out on top. His desk still had books turned to different pages, accompanied with an open ink bottle and quill left upon pieces of parchment. All these things, yet still no signs of the Malfoy heir. You stood in your place for a moment, trying to concentrate on his whereabouts. However, your thoughts were interrupted by the subtle sounds of sniffles. Your eyes widened as your focus redirected to locating its source. It was then that you noticed another door leading to what you believed was the bathroom. The noises became more prominent as you walked towards it. You felt nervous and uncertain about what you were going to find. As you wrap your hand around the knob to open it, your eyes widened at the sight of the boy grabbing his wrist, which was dripping with blood. On his side was a razor blade.

You gasped as his eyes met yours, your heart breaking in the process. In front of you wasn’t the same bully everyone knew. No. In front of you laid a half-naked Draco whose eyes were filled with what seemed to be hopelessness, defeat, and fright. Tear stains stroke his cheeks, his eyebrows furrowed with pain. His hair stuck to his forehead as sweat accompanied his tears. The hand gripping his wrist was stained with blood, its pressure only forcing the flow to increase.

“Draco!” You didn’t know what overcame you in that instance. You frantically threw your bag off your shoulders and proceeded to kneel next to him, taking in his wounded arm. The boy retaliated.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” His voice was defensive and strained, but it didn’t faze you.

“I’m trying to save your sorry arse! Look at how much blood you’re losing. Merlin!” You returned a gaze that matched the intensity of his. The concern in your own tone heightened as you dug into the pockets of your robes in search of your wand.

“I don’t want to be saved! Don’t you get it? Leave me alone!” He wriggled in your grasp, only inducing you to tighten the grip you had on him. He gasped at the stinging sensation, tears streaming down his face. Tears began to fill the brim of your eyes.

“Stop spewing nonsense, Malfoy! I can’t leave you and I won’t!” The pained expression on your face caught his gaze. Tears had already spilled over. “Please, Draco. Let me heal you.” The boy stopped his protests upon hearing the desperation that was laced in your voice. You used the back of your hand that was gripping your wand to wipe the tears off of your face. After calming yourself down, you hover your hand over his gashes to perform the healing spell, a serious expression now spreading across your face.

“Vulnera sanentur.” His blood begins to retract back to its origin, the rate of its flow slowing down.

“Vulnera sanentur.” Your wand continues to trace Draco’s wounds. The traces of residue begin to disappear. Draco looks at your concentrated face and then turns his gaze back onto his wrists.

You perform the incantation for a final time, “Vulnera sanentur.” The cuts disappear completely and you let out a sigh of relief. You cast a look at Draco’s stunned face before scanning his shirtless torso. It was also filled with scars that were most likely left to heal on their own. The frown on your face grows as a rush of thoughts suddenly occupy your mind. How long has he been doing this to have this many cuts and scars? Draco, behind his arrogant mask, was alone. You didn’t need him to vocalize that fact for you. It was written across his face. The expression glossed over his eyes longed for the company that he never truly had.

In that instant, you knew your mother was right. You really can’t assume the extent of a person’s character based on what they showed.

“Would it be okay if I took care of you for a bit? I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like this.” Your voice was soft as you released small hiccups signalling the end of your crying. Draco, who has no energy to object, simply nods. Your thoughts drift to your mother and how she was strong enough to carry both your burdens. As you recalled the love she gave you, the sour feelings that you had towards the boy faded. At that moment your only task of importance was to clean him up.

It was silent the entire time. You picked Draco up and propped him up onto a stool. He did nothing but keep his gaze on you as you walked to and fro in the bathroom. You took a face towel that was hanging on the side of the sink and wet it with cold water. You then wring the towel of excess water and wiped his face. The streaks that the tears made disappeared. You proceeded to his forehead, getting rid of the sweat and pushing his bangs upwards. You then began to wipe his neck, making sure that there was a comfortable distance between you two.

“Chin up.” You demanded. He obeyed, and you wiped over the expanse between both jaws, his throat, and down to his collar bones. You yelled at yourself mentally to focus on the action instead of the curves and crevices outlined by his skin. Luckily, you were able to keep a straight face, making no sign of being flustered whatsoever. You step back to wet the towel again before proceeding to wiping his shoulders. At this point, you began feeling warmth spreading across your face. Draco let out a small laugh.

“Like what you see?” He asks with a broken voice. You snickered at the way he managed to be funny at a time like this.

“I’m only being nice, Malfoy. Don’t let your head get big. Not that it hasn’t already.” You say, giving a coy smile. You gulp discretely as you make your way down his chest. His eyes never leave you. You purposefully wipe that area much faster to prevent you from blushing even more. Once you get to his wrists, you rub circles on the area where the cuts used to be before running the towel over it and to his hands.

“How do you feel?” You ask.

“Better.”

“Good. Cup your hands for me please.” He follows your instruction once again. “Aguamenti.” A stream of water flows from the tip of your wand and into his palms.

“Drink up.” He remains obedient. Once he finishes, you pour in water once again, having him repeat the act. You feel at ease as he gulps the water down. His body still looks limp, and his face still gaunt, but it was a huge improvement considering the state he was in when you walked in.

Your gaze settles on the floor and the stray blade, both covered in dried blood. “Tergeo.” You mutter, cleaning up the mess.

You point your wand to the blade, “Evanesco.” It disappears in an instant. You turn back to Draco. You wrap your arm around his torso and bring him close to you to help him maintain his balance as you step out of the bathroom.

“Where do you keep your sleepwear?” You ask. He points to the cabinet, and you go forth to take out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. You hand him the articles of clothing and turn around to leave him to change.

He laughs, “You’re silly you know? You’ve already seen me half-naked, yet you turn around.” You only shrug and chuckle before turning around to meet his gaze. He leans on the side of the bed, arms crossed.

“I have yet to ask, Y/N. What brought you here in the first place?” You were so absorbed in healing and cleaning Draco that your initial purpose for coming over flew past your mind.

“Oh yes,” You pick up your bag that laid on the floor, and rummaged through it before pulling out his copy of The Memory Police.

“Mother saw how peaceful you looked when reading this book at the shop. She heavily insisted that I bring it to you, saying that you can use an escape too.” You lean on the space beside him as you hand him the book. His eyes widened as he cautiously took the book out of your hands, as if his father would appear right this instant. He scanned the cover, and flipped through the pages, his eyes glossed with disbelief. The sight of him like this made you imagine how much of his life had been kept in a cage. Wealth did not serve as a basis for happiness. You could only guess how much expectations were held for the Malfoy heir.

“My father would object to me having this.” You nodded in understanding, rubbing his shoulder to comfort him. He looks up at you.

“I won’t push you to tell me the reasons why you decided to harm yourself, but I’m certain that you need a break from whatever bothered you in the first place. Please, keep it. My mother will nag me without end if I don't deliver it.” He smiles.

“Thank you. I mean it.” Your jaw dropped. He rolled his eyes.

“Draco Malfoy actually knows how to say ‘thank you’.” You say, mocking a look of disbelief. He scoffed and his scowl reappeared in an instant.

You raised your arms in defense, “What? You can’t blame me.” You both share a laugh before silence overtakes you once again. Your head faced downward, and you kept your sights on your shoes.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you. It frightened me to see you like that.” You fumbled with your fingers.

“It’s a miracle that you came, Y/N. I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself if you hadn’t yourself.” You smiled. You were appalled with the fact that there was a soft side to the boy. You looked at him, remembering the comfort that you found in your mother’s love through books. In that moment, an idea sprung forth in your mind.

“Ever since I was young, it was only me and my mother. Father passed when I was 2, and we were left alone to face the world.” You looked at him to find that his attention was on you. You continued, “There were plenty of times I felt hopeless and scared, but it was the comfort of her voice that washed that feeling away. She’d stay by my side at night to read me books, and she always managed to take me to worlds that detached me from the reality that we lived in. She told me that Avenoir, besides it being a bookstore, was established to become my safe space, my comfort zone, my refuge, if you will. She’s why I love reading.” You took Draco’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

“And I want to extend that to you. Please feel free to come by whenever okay? We’ve never been that close, and you have been pretty gittish, but no one deserves to feel alone.” You gave the boy a reassuring smile.

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Draco gazed at his hand, which was still squeezed in yours. He then shifted his view back to the smile on your face. Y/N Y/L/N, the most reserved and studious Slytherin in their year, surely had a lot to say, but it was surprisingly the most relief he has felt in a long while, if ever. She gave his shoulder a little squeeze before picking up her belongings from the floor. Before she left his dorm she faced him once more.

“Will you be okay on your own?” She asks. Draco nods and gives his signature eyebrow raise. She chuckles.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in my dorm. I don’t plan on going to class today.” As he watches her leave, he notices the warmth that spreads over his chest. He brushes it off before flopping on his bed and immersing himself into the world of the Memory Police. For once in his life, he manages to escape the burdens of his family name. He escapes the burdensome fear of being considered a let-down to his parents. He escapes the rabbit hole of expectations, worries, pressures--the need to be “perfect” Draco. He finds an escape from the reputation that he upholds through you. Furthermore, he finds himself desiring more of your company. Because of this, he moves from his bed, with his book in hand, and strides into the girls’ dormitories. He never got her room number, but when he sees an open door, he automatically assumes that it’s her inside. Without thinking, he barges at the sight of her stunned face.

“Draco? What’s the matter?” The boy takes a good look at Y/N’s space. Her bed is made neatly and is stationed against the farmost wall in front of a large window. Her table is positioned at the end of her bed. There were a number of small bookcases that cover a majority of the perimeter of the room. It’s cozy.

He takes a moment to compose himself. “Is it alright if I can stay with you? Just a little longer?” The girl gives him a confused look, but agrees nevertheless.

“Sure, close the door.” He does as she says, and looks around. Her dorm truly reflected her personality. Her words break him out of his daze.

“You can sit on the bed if you’d like.” As he gets himself situated, he observes her. Y/N was known for her hardworking nature, and mostly stayed away from socialization because of it. In that regard, she never really had much to say unless she was answering a question during lectures. She doesn’t say much once he’s situated. Instead, she quietly turns back to her desk to focus on her note taking, actively highlighting important bits of information from her books. Draco was amazed to say the least.

“Y/N, why is it that you study so much?” He asks. Her gaze remains rooted to her work as she finished writing up the last sentence before gazing up at him. She grins.

“I’m working hard, so I can earn enough to give my mother a better life.” She says simply.

“Is the life you have right now not enough?” He doesn’t mean to come off as ignorant or insensitive, but he asks out of pure curiosity. Y/N only rubs her chin to think of a proper response.

“Don’t get me wrong, we’re both happy. I just suppose it would be nice to know that she wouldn’t have to worry about her resources. Life was always uncertain before opening Avenoir. I remember how she would hide away to cry so I wouldn’t see her tears. I felt helpless and I couldn’t do anything about it. I hate being weak because of that.” Draco simply gawked at her. The availability of resources has never been an issue for him; it felt like a slap on the face seeing how hard Y/N worked for that level of accessibility.

“I feel like a lot of people have been gawking at me today. Stop it.” You chuckled as you scratched the back of your neck, recalling the reactions of his friend group as you held a conversation with them.

“You’re surely something else, Y/L/N. That’s all.” Y/N only smiled as she removed herself from her desk. She pulled a random book from one of her shelves and sat herself next to Draco. Together they get lost within their own worlds.

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There was a mutual feeling of friendship that emerged between you and Draco. However, the both of you never bothered to make it obvious in the presence of others. Actions so far were limited to discrete nods towards each other in the hallways. Nevertheless, you were content. You didn’t see him constantly, but you heard people talk about him and how he hasn’t been teasing or picking fights with students as much as he did in the week prior. It was a change you were surprised with, but one that you were pleased to hear about regardless. Besides that, you still kept yourself to your own tasks throughout the remainder of the week. It was a set cycle, which involved going to lecture and studying within the confines of your room. Although, you had to admit that you enjoyed the blonde’s presence, and secretly wished that you’d spend more time together.

The weekend arrived, which meant you’d resume your work at the bookshop. The day flew by fast. Customers came bustling in by the hour that you never had much time to talk to your mother while you were working. As you waited for demands to trickle in, you occupied yourself with another book, The Happy Prince by Oscar Wilde. It was a pleasant book about selflessness, however you found your mind drifting off often. When you weren’t reading, you kept your eyes peeled for the entrance, hoping that a certain boy would come in. However, no sign of the Malfoy heir showed as hours passed. Your hopes soon depleted. Giving up on the chances of him coming, you resumed your reading.

It must’ve been about 20 minutes after 3 o’clock when your mother calls you from the counter. You heeded her request and made your way down the ladder. Behind her are large boxes filled with new books that were to be stored on the higher shelves. As you drag them to the base of the ladder, your back bumps into something hard.

“I’m so sorry! Are you al-” As you turn to identify the person you collided with, your eyes widened at the sight of Draco. Your heart skips a beat as you scan his appearance. He sported a black turtleneck that fitted securely around his torso, which was paired with dark plaid pants, and black leather chelsea boots. Rings adorned his fingers, and his platinum locks are slightly disheveled from the wind. He looked delicious rather expensive.

Draco was just as shocked when he realizes that it’s you he bumps into. You weren’t wearing anything fancy as he was--just a simple white shirt, straight jeans that ended just above your ankles, faded white sneakers, which was all adorned by the work apron that wrapped around your waist. Your hair was tied into a loose bun that settled at the nape of your neck with some stray strands framed around your face. It contrasted to your typical appearance at school. He preferred you in casual wear much more than in uniform, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

You straighten your posture, “Hey! What brings you here?” The boy in front of you rubs the back of his neck bashfully.

“I just wanted to spend time here. You offered on Monday.” His timidness made you smile.

“You’re definitely welcome to stay-” You were interrupted by your mother’s gleeful shout.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you! Please do make yourself comfortable. I assume Y/N delivered the book safely?” You rolled your eyes and let out a groan.

“Yes, mother. I did.” She only laughs in response. “I extended an offer to have him hang around if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all! Would you like some tea, dear?” The warm welcome fills the boy’s heart.

He gives a polite nod, “That would be lovely, thank you.” He looks to you with amusement plastering his facial features.

“Would you like some help?” The smile that you give to him in response makes his heart flutter.

“I’ll be okay. Like what mother said, please make yourself comfortable.” You reassured him, before urging him to follow you to the back of the shop. Past the counter is a corridor that leads to a small outdoor patio. Fairy lights are strung on the edges of the fence that borders the space, and a table for two is set near the entrance that goes back into the store. As the sun begins to set, the small set up becomes even more charming.

“It’s not much, but this is us.” Your arms spread as you step towards the center of the patio. Draco looks around and then back at you.

“It’s lovely.” He states with a happy grin stretched across his lips. The space doesn’t hold the same grandeur as his manor, but within the small and cozy confines, he feels safe and content.

“I’m glad to hear that. Take a seat! I still have work to do, but I’ll be clocking out soon. Stay as long as you’d like!” The joy in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. It’s quite difficult to suppress the emotions after the anticipation that has built up throughout the day. With your spirits lifted, you return to work. The load of the boxes don’t seem as heavy as they used to.

Draco sits around in silence for a bit with his hands clasped together. The thought of being within your personal space makes his knees bounce up and down as he waits for his tea. Wanting to release his nerves, he explores the compound a bit more. He steps into the corridor, taking notice of the way it’s decorated. Pictures of you and your mother grace the walls. The sight urges him to look out in the front of the shop. He catches you piling books in your arms before making your way up the ladder. In doing so, he takes note of your focused face, the furrowing of your eyebrows, and the slight parting of your lips. Your eyes blazed in determination, sparking that particular warmth in his chest again. Draco tore his gaze from you and redirected it to the photos mounted on the wall. One that caught his interest was of you on your mothers back. Your small arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders as your small face peered over her with a small toothy grin. He notices the light in your eyes. It had remained the same ever since. He stares at the photos for a couple of minutes.

“You found our pictures!” Your mother comes up from behind him, startling him slightly. She responds to his reaction with a hearty chuckle as she worms her way through the corridor, Draco following closely behind her. They sit across from each other, and the boy watches her as she sets a cup before him. She takes the tea pot and pours the liquid carefully.

“How do you like your tea, dear?” She asks.

“Slight cream, no sugar, Mrs. Y/L/N” Your mother looks at the boy. His shoulders are stiff and he’s tense all over. His hands look clammy. Basically, Draco looks nervous.

“I don’t bite. Don’t worry, love. Relax.” She gives the boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It was much similar to the feel of yours. He relaxes a little bit, adding cream to his drink.

“Y/N speaks very highly of you.” He states a matter-of-factly.

“Is that so?” A smile appears, “How’s my daughter at school?”

“She’s a really hard worker. Everyone knows her for her intelligence, but she is rather quiet. Much different than the way she acts here. She is so vibrant.”

Draco takes notice of the surprised look in your mother’s eyes, “Oh my dear, if I’m being truthful to you, it’s been so long since I’ve last seen her vibrant side shine through. She’s more demure in character. It’s not common for her to act that way.” Draco didn’t completely understand why, but hearing those words made his heart skip beats. He didn’t respond for a bit, allowing her words to sink in. Out of nowhere, Y/N calls out to her mother signalling the completion of her task. Her head pops from the door frame, and she glances at the tea briefly before shifting her view to the boy.

“Y/N! Why don’t you give Draco some company and have some tea? You can go to your room after!” You cough, but merely nodded in response. You seat yourself in the chair that was once occupied.

“How’s work?” Draco asks. He takes the kettle and pours you a cup.

“Busy as always, but it’s a pleasure to be here.” You thank him for the tea and proceed to adding your preferred amounts of cream and sugar.

“You look handsome today, by the way.” You took a sip of your tea so you wouldn't see his reaction. The boy only beamed.

“You look pretty too, if I’m being honest.” You chuckle as you set down your cup.

“You’re telling me that when I’m dressed in a t-shirt and some ragged jeans?” You didn’t really know what kind of answer to expect. For the most part, you felt average in your get up. He, on the other hand, looked like a model.

“Yes I am. You are pretty.” You only smile at your feet and thank him. The boy was charming without the pompous get up. Ever since that Monday morning, you began to develop appreciation for this genuine side that he showed you.

As time passed, your mother closed up the shop. Both you and Draco offered to help her, but she denied almost immediately. Instead, she insisted that you take the boy up, causing you to palm your face in embarrassment. However, you eventually agree and lead the way. Within the corridor were stairs that led to a second level. You and Draco climb them and turn to the first door on your right. Your room was slightly bigger than the one at school. It was furnished in a fashion that was similar to your dorm, but there were a lot more books--this time stacks of them could be seen littering the floor.

“Did you bring your book?” He nodded and fished it out from his back pocket.

He briefly scans the room, “Did you read all of these?” You nod with an embarrassed smile.

“I bet you’d love the library in the manor.” Your eyes widened at the sound of it. A tinge of excitement sprouted from your gut as you begin to imagine its vastness.

“I don’t think you’re wrong. I bet it’s quite the sight!” Delight could be heard from your voice. Draco only tries to suppress a smile.

“Maybe one day.” He mutters to himself, hoping that you didn’t hear. However, when he looks up, he’s met with your wide smile. He blushes immediately and curses under his breath.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend I didn’t.” You wink at him, and pull out your book. You flopped on your bed, patting the space next to you. When he situates himself by your side, you begin to pick up where you left off, already pushing the outside world aside. Draco sits with his legs crossed, and copies your actions. Silence fills the both of you as an hour passes. However, he’d take opportunities to sneak small glances at you once in a while. Your focus on the pages never shifted. If anything, the furrowing of your brows deepen as you turn with every page. With his curiosity getting the best of him, he leans closer to you to see what was so interesting. His actions don’t go by unnoticed, though. As soon as you felt his knee come into contact with yours, you realize how close he has gotten since you started reading.

“May I help you, Malfoy?” You ask, slightly amused.

“What’s your book about?” He asks. You tense your brows as you come up with an answer, not wanting to spoil anything.

“It’s about the friendship between a statue of a very selfless prince and a swallow. What about yours?”

“I’d never thought I would like fiction, but I do like this one. It’s about a girl who protects a person who can remember.”

“Remembers?”You ask with genuine curiosity. Draco nods, his eyes expressing the interest he has for the novel.

“Things on the island vanish, and the majority of the people have no recollection of it after it disappears. The people who show any signs of remembering get taken away.” Your interest for the plot increases

“That sounds very interesting. Do you think we can trade when we finish?”

“I think it sounds like a plan.” You stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before a snapping noise is heard. Suddenly your hair loosens, and you realize that the rubber band holding your hair together gave out. Draco looked at you with an eyebrow raised. As you reach to pull the remnants of the tie away, your hair frees itself. Some strands framed your face, while the rest flowed over your shoulders and covered the expanse of your back. You run your fingers through the front and they fall into curtain-like waves. Draco on the other hand is taken aback at your sudden change of appearance. Prior to getting to know who you were, nothing much was thought of you with the exception of your brains. Besides that, you were rather plain looking, always having your hair up in a braid or a ponytail.

It was a seemingly natural reaction to let your hair simply flow. You really didn’t think much of it. But, when you met Draco’s surprised look, it was your turn to raise a brow at him. He really didn’t know what overtook him, or why these particular words fell out without thinking, but both hearts were racing and ears turned warm after he spoke out.

“Merlin, Y/N. You’re bloody gorgeous.” It caught him off guard. Your expression was the only thing that made him come to terms with the reality of it.

“I- You- You weren’t supposed to-”

“Thank you.” Draco’s jitters stopped in an instant when he saw the way you smiled up at him. Noticing the silence that settles in, you quickly think of something to break it.

“Should I wear it down at school? I’ve been thinking about it. It’s time for a ch-” You were startled by how quick his response was.

“No! Absolutely not!” He speaks frantically.

“-ange. Okay, then. Sheesh.” You both just laugh at his sudden outburst. Draco’s, however, was a nervous one.

After a couple more minutes of reading, a savory aroma fills your senses, and your mother calls out to you both for dinner. The food was pleasant, but it was the actual state of togetherness that lit Draco’s heart. Although the warm feeling of you and your mother’s company was foreign to him, he was glad to have been able to experience it. The entirety of his stay lifts a huge weight off of his shoulders. Moreover, he begins to acknowledge the budding emotions that he feels for you. He felt each beat of his heart more profoundly within the small moments that you shared, with every glance that he took, and with every laugh that spilled from your lips.

You stare up at the clock, taking note of the time. It was already 7:30 PM. Curfew was at 9:00 for fifth years.

“Mother, I think it’s time that we get going. I’ll see you next week.” You notify her of your departure as you help clear out the table.

“Oh, it’s that time of the day already? Very well then. I’m so glad you stopped by today, Draco. You’re welcome here anytime. Let me see the both of you out.” After you give her a hug, you make your way to the main room of the store. Draco thought you were going to exit, and was brought to confusion when you suddenly stopped in your tracks.

Draco clears his throat, “So, do you know how exactly we’ll get back?” It was already late and the boats that transported students to and from Hogsmeade were closed for the day.

“Are you a fan of portkeys?” You ask. Draco’s eyes widened.

“Have you created an illegal one?” When you don't answer, he just laughs. You rummage through your bag, picking out a random book. When you open it, there’s a postcard with a picture of Hogsmeade on the front.

“It’s a touch-activated one. It goes straight into my dorm.” You look up at him to see a devious-looking smirk plastered on his lips.

“You really are something else.” He whispers. You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Let’s touch it on the count of three, okay? 1...2...3.” At the touch of the object, Draco felt his body get sucked into a bind, lights flashing, and your surroundings blacking out until it wasn’t. He kept his eyes shut the whole time. The entire instance occurred for a second. When you arrived at your destination, you felt fine, having gotten used to the uncomfortable sensation resulting from the mode of transportation. The boy who isn’t as experienced, however, didn’t find himself so lucky, and opted to lay down on your bed for a moment, closing his eyes to regain his strength. As you gave him time to rest, you took the opportunity to change into something more comfortable, taking advantage of the fact that he wouldn’t be aware of you doing so.

When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by the familiar confines of your dorm. They roamed around until stopping at your changing figure. You had slipped on a jumper, which was paired with loose fitting sweats, the waistband wrapping securely on your hips. The only source of light was that of the moon as it radiated through your window and onto your bedroom floor. It casted a surreal glow upon your features, and Draco couldn’t help but stare.

“Would you like some water? I know the experience could be unpleasant.” Your voice was soft and was followed by the sound of your melodic giggle.

“Y/N, you’re mental if you tell me you do that every week.” He says astoundedly. You nod with a grin and shrug your shoulders as you passed him a cup of water. He takes it gratefully and gulps it down as you sit on the edge of your bed.

“You should probably get back to your dorm soon and take some rest. Do you need any help?” He shakes his head, but is betrayed by his body as he stumbles out of your bed. With quick reflexes, you hold him steady, allowing him to regain his balance quickly.

“Are you sure?” You ask doubtedly. He reassures you by straightening his posture and flashing a smile. You return it as you walk him to the door. He stands in the hallway, facing you as you lean against your door frame. You rushedly look left and right to ensure no one was looking before shifting your attention back to him.

“It was nice having you today. Mother was really happy you came by.”

“How about you?” The boy catches your gaze once more. You only looked at him with a raised brow, queuing the need for clarification.

“How do you feel about my company?” What he asked caught you off guard, but you couldn’t deny the joy that you felt being around him. The comfort you felt from reading alone didn’t compare to the calm silence that situated you both when you did it together. It was the simple yet overwhelming feeling of contentment--the feeling of someone entering your heart silently, gently, and with a rush all at the same time. Pure bliss was what it was, but you couldn’t formulate the words when he asked you. The boy smirked at your lack of response. Instead, he bent over to meet your eye level and leaned in. You held your breath within your throat as he drew closer, ultimately shutting your eyes in anticipation for who knows what. Draco noticed the slight change in your body language and softened the look in his eyes. His orbs, which were once filled with amusement, were now filled with adoration. He looked at your expression, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You opened your eyes, meeting his gentle gaze. Shocked, Draco backed away, shoving his hands into his pockets.

He stammered, “Y-You had something on your ear.” A flush had spread over his cheeks.

“Oh, is that so? Were you able to remove it?” You ran your fingers through your hair, oblivious of his frantic behavior. In your mind, you only wish it could’ve been more.

“Y-yea!” A nervous laugh leaves his lips. After he recollects himself for a few more seconds he says, “We should do this again sometime.” To which you happily agree.

You both bid each other ‘goodnight’. As you close the door, you lean your back against the wall, and slide down to the floor. You took note of the way your heart began to race when you recalled the events of today. The sound of his laughs, his subtle attempts to get close to you, his expression of interest towards the things that you treasured. Your image of Draco had begun to transform right under your nose.

Little did you know that as the boy walked back to his dorm room that night, the same thoughts ran through his mind. Although he was tired, he would constantly think about the way you looked when you were working, or when you were reading, or how your hair came undone. Moreover, he felt safe within your hospitality--it wasn’t forceful or intrusive, it just flowed naturally. This small escape made a huge improvement from the broken state you found him in that Monday prior. That night, as he laid in bed, he read his book peacefully until sleep took over his consciousness, filling his rest with dreams of reading with you by his side.

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It was a brisk Sunday morning when you found yourself at the Great Hall for breakfast. You were always one of the earlier students who came right when the doors opened. By the time you got yourself situated, only a few students trickled their way into the massive room.

Your hand took hold of your book as the other filled your mouth with food. Your concentration blazed as you immersed yourself into the world of the Oscar Wilde that you didn’t realize how filled the hall became once you put your book down. The reason for you doing so stemmed from the sound of a presence that sat before you. You never had company when you ate, so when you looked up you were surprised to see Draco settling in the seat in front of you. Murmurs from other students could be heard at the peculiar sight.

“This seat isn’t taken I presume?” He asks. The typical Malfoy smirk graces his lips as he lowers himself down.

“Not at all.” You respond simply. You look around with a weirded expression. People had their eyes on the two of you. One in particular caught your attention. It was Astoria Greengrass, also dubbed as the Slytherin princess. She had an annoyed look on her face, but you brushed it off, turning back to the boy in front of you.

“Aren’t your friends waiting for you?” You nodded towards the familiar group of people.

“I can’t read around them. They’re too loud.” Once the statement leaves his lips, he pulls out The Memory Police and finds himself in the same stature you were in previously. You smile inwardly before taking a few bites of your food. It’s silent and you can still feel the lingering stares around you. They begin to get annoying after a while.

“Leave them be. They can stare all they want, but I’m not moving anywhere.” He says as though he read your mind. He glances at you from the top of his book, but his tone remains unfazed.

“How’d you know?” You inquire.

“You have ‘uncomfy’ written all over your face, Y/N.” He keeps his gaze stuck to his book while stuffing a piece of scrambled egg into his mouth. You narrow your eyes at him before slowly opening your own again.

“What are you planning to do today?” He asks suddenly. You look up to see that his eyes never left the page. Your look at your own, except you’re not reading this time.

“Probably read at the lake, go to my dorm and read some more.”

“Do you do anything else besides read?”

“I study.” You could feel his eyes roll.

“Besides that.” You lower your hands seeing that you aren’t getting anywhere with the plot.

“What else is there to do on Sundays?” You laugh, “Well what do you plan on doing today?”

Your conversation gets interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. There stands Astoria Greengrass, arms crossed with an envious expression on her face. She looks at you then to Draco.

“Hey Dray. I just wanted to know if you wanted to hang out with me at Hogsmeade today?” She asks with a sickly flirtatious tone. She squeezes his shoulder while you just roll your eyes and look away to mentally gag.

“You must be blind to notice. I’m preoccupied if you can’t tell.” The sound of his tone is cold, much akin to the one he uses when he’s bullying someone. However, a smirk sneaks up to your lips as you keep your gaze lowered. The girl only scoffs before turning to you.

“Cute little book you got there Y/L/N. You always have your nose buried in one, don’t you? What’s that one about this time?” You take note of her condescending voice, which slightly pulls on your nerves.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Greengrass? Sorry love, I’m too preoccupied to explain.” You wiggle your book at her before getting up. You throw the boy your version of his eyebrow raise before turning to leave.

“I’ll see you around ‘Dray’.” You say, imitating Astoria’s tone. You looked at her from head to toe and scoffed as you walked out of the hall. You couldn’t be bothered to deal with the likes of her. For the most part, giving her any piece of your energy was not worth it. You find yourself walking down the corridor before hearing the sound of someone running to you. You stop in your tracks and turn around to see the familiar platinum-haired boy.

“You need some company at the lake?” He asks. Your face, which was once filled with annoyance, releases its tension, and transforms into a gentle smile.

“I don’t need it, but you’re free to come along if you’d like to.” You turn your back quickly before getting a response out of him. He follows you.

Throughout the walk, Draco notices that your hair is up in a braid again, smiling as he reminisces the sequence of events that occurred the night prior. Could you have kept it up because he said so? Such thoughts filled his mind with interest. The events that happened in the hall also made him wonder. He had never seen you agitated before.

“I never thought you’d respond like that.” He says to start up conversation.

“To Astoria?” He nods.

“Not worth my time or energy. I may be quiet, but I’m not a pushover...Dray.” You tease him with the nickname, although he doesn’t mind it when it comes from you.

“It sounds better when you say it.” He says, making you shake your head in response.

“I was about to choke myself. Merlin, did you hear the way she said it? It’s enough to make your ears bleed. Bloody hell.” The way you release your frustration gives the both of you something to laugh about. That familiar feeling of comfort overcoming you both once again.

“Do you think she’s going to approach me again?” You ask.

“Knowing her, she might.”

“Merlin, avada me now.” Draco only laughs louder at the sound of your displeasure. By the time you reach the lake, the sun is seen casting its rays upon the water. Clouds are still in the sky, but the overall scene is bright and beautiful, assuring that it was going to be a good day.

You sit on a patch of grass that meets the sand, while Draco assumes the seat beside you. Before you could even begin to read, the boy takes the opportunity to ask you another question.

“How far are you from finishing your book?”

“I’m almost done. Give me a few minutes and I should be finished.” His eyes widened slightly

“Fast reader aren’t you?”

“No, well, maybe. There are more stories in this book. The Happy Prince so happens to be one of them.” He nods, allowing that particular conversation to end. He lays down on the grass, ready to read in the process, but is caught staring at the expanse of your neck. Your braid reaches the middle of your back, swaying in the wind. When he takes sight of the band that holds it together, he reaches out, hoping that you won’t notice, and pulls it off. He swiftly drops it to make it seem like he hasn’t done anything, so by the time you turn around to identify the cause of the loosened sensation, he already has the book propped on top of his legs, gazing at the lines with much concentration.

“Did you see anything?” You ask with a raised brow. He simply nods, trying to hide the smirk on his face. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you though.

“Draco. Was it you?” When he doesn’t respond, you laugh.

“You’re such a git.” Your fingertips trace the sand to locate the rubber band, but the boy stops you before going any further. He wraps his hand around your wrist, while catching your gaze.

“It looks better down.” He says firmly.

“But you said-”

“I don’t want you letting it loose for others to see. In front of me is fine.” He holds your gaze for what seemed to eternity before slowly loosening his grip on your hand.

He then proceeds to ask, “Can I touch it? Your hair?” You smile and nod at him. He takes the opportunity to scoot closer behind you. After he situates himself at a comfortable distance, he reaches out to your loosened braid, and gently runs his fingers through it, breaking it up entirely. Your strands are soft in his touch, and the light from the sun only emphasizes how shiny it is. You pay no mind to the boy’s doing. Instead, you continue reading while he plays with your hair.

After 15, perhaps 20 minutes of reading, you finally finish your book. It is then that you notice that he’s still stroking your locks. Slightly amused, you look up from your book and decide to tease him for a bit.

“Are you having fun back there?” Your question is accompanied with a giggle.

“Most fun I’ve had in years.” Sarcasm laced through his voice. “Can you teach me how to braid?” Your head turns back, but you’re only faced with a serious expression.

“What’s the sudden interest?” As you ask your question, the breeze picks up, eliciting a shiver out of you. It takes a second for Draco to notice how thin your clothes were.

“Why don’t we go inside? It’s warmer and you can teach me how to braid your hair.”

“You’re so insistent, aren’t you?”

“Not insistent, just ambitious.” You rolled your eyes as he lifted you from the ground.

You both make your way to the dungeons, taking the familiar route that leads to his room. You don’t protest the destination as much, only being grateful that it was warmer than the harsh change in climate outside of these walls. You can’t help but recall how much has drastically changed since the week prior, but it warmed your heart knowing that there was more to Draco than what meets the eye.

As you enter the dorm, you take notice of all the luxurious details that embellish everything from his furniture to the style of his clothes. It was much more put together since the last time you found yourself there. The crisp scent of apples filled your nose, allowing yourself to ooze into the comfort of the environment. You show no hesitance to flop on his bed, seeing as he has done so to yours a number of times already. While doing so, he discards his robes and hangs it over a coat rack. The sight of you brings out a small smile from him as he claims the seat next to you.

“Now, where were we?” He asks. You proceed to sectioning your hair into two parts. You hand him one, which he takes gently all while focusing his concentration on the demonstration you show.

“Okay, so we start off with three sections…” He does as you say.

“Now I take this, and flip it over this section.” He repeats. Only the sounds of his breaths can be heard.

“Now you do it to the other side, and repeat the pattern.” As you demonstrate with your strands, a shocked expression fills his face as he tries to repeat your actions. He gets it eventually, although his braid is much messier and unkept in comparison to yours, which is tight and neat. A familiar scowl appears on his face, but you try to keep your laughter in. In all fairness, he really was trying.

“Here. Take all of it. Try braiding my hair.” You run your fingers, deleting both your work and his, and turn so that your back is facing him. You keep your sights set towards the window, as he begins to work his way through your hair. He starts off by combing his fingers through your locks, which felt annoyingly good. He then proceeds to repeat everything that he has learned within the last five minutes. Him doing so only proved how quick of a learner he was. Silence filled you both, and as time drifted on, you ended up dozing off into sleep. It is only when Draco finishes that he notices you. He tugs at his final product slightly to see the expression on your face, but in doing so, you fall onto his chest as soft snores find their way out of your lips.

“And she calls me a git. Look at her sleeping while I handle her hair.” His eyes soften at the gentleness of your own expression before he scans the way your arms have wrapped themselves across your waist. Ensuring that you were sound asleep, he carefully reaches for your hand, forcing it to open as he slightly interlaces his fingers with yours. He takes a moment to comprehend the situation, his face warming up when he realizes that your back is slouched against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder, and one of his hands clasped delicately into yours.

It’s when his eyes land on your resting face once more that he recalls all that you are, all that you have shown him. He then envisions the long-term, imagining all he has yet to discover about you. The care that you’ve shown him by far is more than what anyone has done throughout his life. He revisits the week before when you mentioned reading as a way to escape. Now that as he has you lying against him, he thinks of the possibility that his real escape is actually you. His mind finds pleasure in that thought, and it only makes his heart race when he thinks about what could possibly happen between you two tomorrow, or the day after that, a week, month, year. What answer would he receive by then? He isn’t even sure if you’d say ‘yes’ to an offer in a relationship, especially knowing how focused you are with your school work. Ridding the thoughts for another time, Draco slowly lays his back down against the mattress, bringing you carefully along with him. Your legs become entangled with his. His hand never leaves yours.

Ensuring that you were certainly asleep, he whispers softly to the air, “I think I like you, Y/N.” He wraps his other arm around you before falling into a peaceful slumber.

A/N: I don’t think this is the end, but that’s not the point! I hope you enjoyed it :) Any feedback is very much appreciated hehe.

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco x reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #slytherin imagines

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longitudinalwaveme · 3 years

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Arkham Files: The Top

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Roscoe Dillon, also known as the Top. Patient suffers from Bipolar Disorder, type one, and is on the autism spectrum. Session One. Good day, Mr. Dillon.

The Top: I am not autistic, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, the psychologist at Iron Heights has tested you for the condition multiple times, and the results are always consistent with your being on the autism spectrum. What’s more, the psychological tests we gave to you upon your arrival to Arkham Asylum also suggest that you are, indeed, autistic.

The Top: I do not care what that quack at Iron Heights says, Doctor Hugo Strange. I am not intellectually subnormal.

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, being on the autism spectrum has nothing to do with your level of intelligence. It simply means that you have difficulty in understanding social cues.

The Top: In my experience, it is the world that has trouble understanding me, not the other way around. I do not understand why everyone believes that I am odd because I enjoy educating them about tops. Tops are fascinating; certainly much more so than sports or beer or whatever else it is that so-called “normal” people enjoy.

Hugo Strange: Tops?

The Top: Yes, tops. You know, Doctor Hugo Strange, the basic principles involved in the spinning of a top are also those used in gyroscopes, guided missile systems, and the gyro stabilizers in ocean liners. Tops are amazing!

Hugo Strange: Tops?

The Top: Yes, Doctor Hugo Strange. Tops!

Hugo Strange: Tops? As in, the children’s toy?

The Top: Is there something wrong with your hearing, Doctor Hugo Strange?

Hugo Strange: Do you mean to tell me that, in calling yourself the Top, you are not making a claim as to your superiority, but rather making a reference to a toy?

The Top: Actually, Doctor Hugo Strange, I am doing both. I am both a living top and at the top of my profession. My costume has stripes on it so that I may better emulate a top when I spin.

Hugo Strange: Your costume is intended to make you look like a giant top?

The Top: It is, Doctor Hugo Strange. Why?

Hugo Strange: Well, that certainly explains its...unusual appearance.

The Top: (Offended) My costume is no more unusual than that of the Trickster or the Mirror Master, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: I didn’t say that it was, Mr. Dillon.

The Top: Good. (Pause) Now, Doctor Hugo Strange, would you care to explain why I was transported to an institution a thousand miles away from my base of operations upon my most recent arrest?

Hugo Strange: I wish I knew myself, Mr. Dillon. The workings of the judicial system as it regards the costumed population never cease to bewilder me. However, I must say that I am glad to have you here, Mr. Dillon. You are clearly mentally ill, and Iron Heights clearly has made no progress in treating your condition.

The Top: I am not mentally ill, Doctor Hugo Strange!

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, mental illness is not a sign of a moral or intellectual deficit. It simply means that your brain has become diseased, just as any other part of your body might.

The Top: Nevertheless, I maintain that I am not mentally ill, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Doctor Strange: According to your record, when you first became the Top, you threatened to blow up half the world with a, quote, “atomic grenade” if all the governments of the world did not acknowledge you as the ruler of the world within ten hours. You did this while under the belief that you would somehow be safe on the other side of the planet should the bomb go off. Mr. Dillon, can you spot the flaw in this plan? You are obviously an intelligent man.

The Top: Of course I can, Doctor Hugo Strange. If half the planet was blown up, the entire planet would have been devastated. Even if I was on the other side of the planet from the epicenter of the explosion, I likely still would have been killed.

Hugo Strange: (Shocked) Wait...you actually built an atomic grenade with the power to blow up half the world?

The Top: Of course. I am a genius, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: You built an atomic grenade that could spin around like a top and possessed the capacity to blow up half the world?

The Top: You have a dreadful habit of repeating yourself, Doctor Hugo Strange. But yes, I did.

Hugo Strange: Then all those other tops your record claims you invented actually worked as well? And you actually made a giant top-shaped satellite that you launched into orbit?

The Top: I am supposed to have a mood disorder, not a psychotic disorder, Dr. Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Well, yes, but severe bouts of mania and depression are known to sometimes bring on psychotic symptoms. I had thought that your claims of having successfully invented such an improbable array of top-shaped weapons were the result of delusions brought on by one of your mood episodes.

The Top: No. The quack at Iron Heights says that I was having a manic episode during my attempt to become ruler of the Earth, and that that is why I did not realize the flaws in my plan. They allege that I was having “mood-congruent delusions of grandeur and invulnerability”, but at no point did they accuse me of outright hallucinating. Surely that is in the report, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: (Annoyed, but not with the Top) While I do not fully agree with your assertions that the psychologist at Iron Heights is a quack, Mr. Dillon, I must admit that they are distinctly lacking in some key areas-such as specifying which of your behaviors and claims were the results of a mood episode and which were not. Knowing that you have had at least five manic episodes and at least three depressive episodes is worthwhile knowledge, but without adequate context, how do they expect me to know what behaviors are a sign that you are no longer in a healthy state of mind?

The Top: Three depressive episodes, Doctor Hugo Strange? As far as I am aware, the quack has only had me hospitalized for depression twice.

Hugo Strange: That is because the first listed depressive episode was an attempted suicide at the age of 17, which would have been before you ever went to prison.

The Top: Oh. Yes, that did...that did happen, Doctor Hugo Strange. It was how I learned that taking a dozen different types of pills is not the most efficient way in which to kill oneself.

Hugo Strange: (Alarmed, but making an effort to remain calm) You aren’t planning to make another attempt, are you? The Top: No, no. I have far too much to live for-and besides, my fianceé would never forgive me if I killed myself, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Your fianceé?

The Top: Yes. Her name is Lisa Snart, although you, Doctor Hugo Strange, are likely more familiar with her nom de guerre: the Golden Glider.

Hugo Strange: So, another one of the Rogues?

The Top: Yes. I met her while posing as an ice skating coach, and we have been deeply in love ever since, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: I see. How long have the two of you been romantically linked?

The Top: About seven years now, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: In other words, the relationship began shortly after your second attempted suicide?

The Top: I admit I was in a rather dark place at that point in my life, Doctor Hugo Strange. My beloved was responsible for helping to pull me out of it.

Hugo Strange: (Concerned) And what would happen if she died, or broke off your relationship?

The Top: That will not happen, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: But if it did?

The Top: (Agitated) I… I don’t know. She...she’s the only person who ever really loved me, Doctor Hugo Strange. The only one.

Hugo Strange: I’m concerned that you seem to be placing your mental stability and overall self-esteem so heavily on one relationship, Mr. Dillon. That cannot be healthy, for either one of you. (Pause) I know you don’t believe yourself to be mentally ill, but for Lisa’s sake, if nothing else, I really do think that it is urgent that we continue these sessions.

The Top: I would never do anything to hurt Lisa, Doctor Hugo Strange. Never!

Hugo Strange: In an earlier manic episode, you threatened to blow up half the world. That would have included your beloved Lisa, would it not?

The Top: I had not yet met Lisa when I came up with that scheme. If I had known her, I never would have endangered her in such a way, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Maybe so, but that incident serves to prove that your judgement is compromised when you are in the midst of a manic episode. While I believe that you would never intentionally hurt Lisa, should you have another manic episode, you might cause harm to her without realizing it.

The Top: I...I suppose you may have a point, Doctor Hugo Strange. I will take your suggestion into consideration. I certainly do not wish to accidentally harm Lisa.

Hugo Strange: I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Dillon. (Pause) You are a metahuman, correct?

The Top: Do you think I am wearing this collar because it is fashionable, Doctor Hugo Strange?

Hugo Strange: A metahuman power dampener. Well, I suppose that answers that question. What powers do you possess, Mr. Dillon?

The Top: I have the ability to spin at superhuman speeds, I am telekinetic, and I have a limited degree of telepathy, Doctor Hugo Strange. I cannot read or outright control minds, but I can induce vertigo and push people into doing things that they otherwise might not be inclined to do.

Hugo Strange: I see. So, Mr. Dillon, what prompted you to put on a costume, call yourself the Top, and use your intellect and your not inconsiderable array of powers to commit crimes?

The Top: My father always told me that I needed to be a success; get on top of the world. I had to prove that I wasn’t the failure that everyone thought I was...and I did. No one laughs at Roscoe Dillon anymore, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Yes, yes...but why do it in a silly costume and with gimmicked tops?

The Top: I thought we already went over this. It’s because I like tops. They are fascinating. (Pause) Do you want to hear about my collection, Doctor Hugo Strange? There’s so much you could learn from it.

Hugo Strange: Perhaps some other time, Mr. Dillon. (Pause) And the Flash had nothing to do with your decision to put on the costume?

The Top: The Flash? You insult me, Doctor Hugo Strange. Why would I ever be inspired to do anything by someone like him?

Hugo Strange: Isn’t he your enemy?

The Top: Only because he constantly stands in the way of my achieving greatness. If he left me alone, I would not fight him….but as it is, he’s made things rather personal.

Hugo Strange: So the reason you have continued to commit crimes is in order to get revenge on the Flash?

The Top: Really, Doctor Hugo Strange, you must get your hearing problems checked out. I do not commit crimes to get revenge on the Flash. I commit crimes to make myself wealthy and to get revenge on the world. It rejected me; branded me as a freak. I simply rejected it in turn.

Hugo Strange: And has your life of crime made you happy, Mr. Dillon?

The Top: Not yet...but I am afraid, Doctor Hugo Strange, that it does not matter whether being a criminal makes me happy or not. It’s the only life that will ever accept someone like me. I learned that lesson long ago.

Hugo Strange: I stand by my initial assessment of you, Mr. Dillon. You need help. I just hope you will permit me to provide it.

#flash rogues #dr. hugo strange #the top #flash comics #batman comics #fanfic

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theadrogna · 3 years

Text

Dream Show Challenge 2.0

@singledarkshade came up with the Dream Show challenge last year, where we had to give her a list of 7 TV shows or films and we were given a cast of 7 actors in return. This time we were given someone else’s cast and were allowed to recast one character (plus add some if we wished). This time I came up with:

Virtuality

Synopsis:

Good people die before their time and it happens every day. Eli Danzig is doing his best to change that. He invents a way to upload consciousness to an online server where the dead can live out a normal life in a virtual environment. He builds an entire world to keep his uploaded souls entertained, making it as lifelike as possible. Huge amounts of processing power are required so Eli must choose his clients carefully.

The electronic world is called Virtuality and the uploaded persons are known collectively as the digi-souls. Virtuality has a small but growing population, which is a continuing concern as it means more storage space is always needed. Eli funds his enterprise by playing the stock market using his AI Tallis to filter information and predict stock prices. Sometimes he sells patents for the things that the digi-souls invent, but more often they give their inventions away for free. However, money is always a worry because none of this is a stable source of income.

Cast:

Eli Danzig (Donald Glover) – Eli is a young computer programmer of genius level intellect. He came from a poor background, and was the first in his family to attend university. He is determined to make things better for people, by improving society. He believes that “only the good die young” is a real problem, and if he could keep the good people in the world for longer then maybe more good could be done. He invents a digital after-life for people to upload their consciousness to, but he must maintain it a secret to keep the unscrupulous from corrupting it or destroying it. He researches every person very carefully before inviting them to join Virtuality.

Ashura Hadid (Tala Ashe) – Ashura is a terminal cancer patient who becomes one of Eli’s digi-souls. She is a prize-winning journalist and novelist, known for taking on difficult stories about things that people would rather keep hidden. She’s recently been looking into CharterTech, owned by Maggie Charter as part of a series on corruption in tech companies, but most of her efforts are going into completing her final novel. Eli and Ashura have undeniable chemistry, but live in very different worlds. She is very driven and moral, always looking for new ways to expose corruption and wrong doing.

Oren Murphy (Jim Byrnes) – Oren was Eli’s professor at University. He made sure that Eli got the scholarship that he needed to attend, and then acted as his mentor. He suffered from high blood pressure and had multiple strokes. He agreed to be Eli’s test case for Virtuality and was the first digi-soul to be uploaded. He is a calming influence on Eli’s life, often being the one to counsel him out of a rash decision.

Shona Lennox (Sophia di Martino) – Eli’s technician, she has a background in medical devices and large-scale genetic information storage. She built the mainframe and worked out how to put into practice Eli’s ideas. She often finds herself in unusual situations now she is working for Eli, but likes her new job and the excitement it brings, even if she complains about it. She used to work for CharterTech but Eli doesn’t know that when he hires her. When she leaves CharterTech she decides to start self-defence classes and can definitely handle herself in a crisis.

Ryan Fournier (Joey Batey) – Ryan is an inventor who has been responsible for some of the world’s most important leaps forward in technology, including making ecological sources of power more viable, such as wind and solar power. He is a problem solver and a big ideas guy. Unfortunately, he was born with a genetic condition that meant he died young, but he is now one of Eli’s digi-souls and living on in the Virtuality. He loves nothing better than to sit down with a problem and work out a solution, but occasionally he realises what he’d missing out on in the real world and ends up depressed and unhappy.

Chie Ohta (Naoko Mori) – Chie is a medical researcher and entrepreneur, but she was unable to save herself from a rare blood disease, despite years of trying. In the process she brought many other useful pieces of medical technology to the market and helped save the lives of countless people with cures for diseases. She loved her work, but always knew she was on borrowed time. She left behind a husband and children, who have no idea of her new existence. She continues to check up on them, despite Oren’s suggestion that this isn’t a good idea.

Maggie Charter (Alison Janney) – Maggie is a self-made woman, in the way that all billionaires are self-made. She inherited a fortune from her politician father and invested in business. She had a technical background so she picked tech companies as an obvious interest. She now owns CharterTech, one of the largest technical manufacturing companies in the world. She once tried to recruit Eli and has never been pleased that he turned her down. She knows nothing about Virtuality but has heard rumours that someone was working on something like it.

Tallis (Arthur Darvill) – Tallis is the AI personality that maintains the Virtuality. He is often mistaken for one of the digi-souls by the newly uploaded as he is so lifelike. He is polite and caring, always available to listen. He is Eli’s friend and also occasional advisor. Tallis means “knowledge” and he has access to all of the world’s online resources.

Occam (Karen Gillan) - Is another AI, built by CharterTech. She is new and unruly, but very quick to follow her creator’s orders. Sparks fly between her and Tallis.

Episodes:

Episode 1: Virtually Home

Ashura Hadid, prize winning writer, is dying at the age of 38. It’s not fair, it’s not right and she is having none of it. She is being treated for an aggressive brain tumour, but decides to stop treatment when it becomes clear that it will impact her ability to write and finish her final novel. The novel is partly a work of fiction but is also based on real life events at a chemical factory in the city that she has been researching.

Eli Danzig introduces himself to her and explains that he can offer her a second chance at life, by uploading her mind to Virtuality. She explains that she has no money and Eli tells her how he finances the project. She will never have to pay to live there. Ashura questions Eli further about the procedure and Virtuality itself. Eli tells her that he chooses young people, like Ashura, who have died before their time and had great contributions to make to society. They live in a computer generated world where things are simple but they can continue to work and interact with each other. However, they cannot have contact with the outside world, because Virtuality is a secret. It isn’t ready to be opened up to the world, there isn’t enough storage space on Earth to facilitate it. He doesn’t want it to be something that only the rich have access to, so he has decided to choose who gets to go there.

Elsewhere, Maggie Charter discusses her heart condition with her doctor and hears that she may only have a few months to live. She is 61 years old and a tech mogul. For years she has been looking for a way to cure her heart disease. Her network of corporate spies have heard of a young man with an unusual portfolio of patents and a strange pattern of spending on digital storage. She finds out that it is Eli and decides to look into what he is doing more.

Over the course of their discussions, Eli and Ashura grow closer. Eli’s AI partner, Tallis, warns him that he cannot form emotional attachments to the Digi-souls. Ashura will die soon and then Eli will only be able to have limited interaction with her through the interface he has built. Ashura thinks over the proposal and decides to take the plunge. Episode 1 ends with her death. However, Ashura doesn’t die of brain cancer, she is found murdered in her apartment.

Episode 2: Extra Life

Eli must upload Ashura within 12 hours of her death to retain all of her memories, after that time degradation begins to take place. Eli races against time to reach Ashura in the morgue and take the brainwave recording that he needs. Shona Lennox, Eli’s technician, ends up breaking in while Eli creates a computer distraction. They are finally able to upload Ashura’s consciousness, but she has forgotten the days before her death, and they are unable to find out who killed her. She has also forgotten who Eli is.

Meanwhile in Virtuality, the digi-souls try to analyse Ashura’s work for the likely culprit and begin putting together a picture of who it might be. Someone at CharterTech seems a very strong candidate, but then they discover that Ashura was close to uncovering a chemical spill which derails their ideas.

Episode 3: Online Banking

Maggie is putting together more about Eli and his weird ability to make money from stock market trades and a portfolio of patents that seem to have little in common. She uncovers more about the shell companies that he trades through and puts more pieces together. Tallis flags up her interest and Eli works to cover his tracks. It’s the worst time for Ryan to make a major breakthrough in water purification that could save hundreds of lives, but only if they can get it to the right people. With Maggie watching everything that Eli and Shona are doing in the real world, perhaps only the virtual world can get the idea where it needs to be, especially as Ryan is feeling like his efforts don’t matter as he reads yet another news article on how climate change isn’t real.

Shona is contacted by her former boss at CharterTech who invites her to return, but Shona turns them down. The concerning part is that she’s being asked to work on an AI project called Occam. Ashura continues her investigations into CharterTech whilst rekindling her past relationship with Eli.

Episode 4: Occam’s Razor

Maggie has a heart attack, but survives, however she is becoming more and more concerned about her health. She brings online her own AI, Occam and begins to sift through all of the information that she can acquire on medical technology. Occam comes across Chie’s work when she was alive. No one else seems to have been quite as close to curing the heart issue that Maggie has. Occam notices that Eli’s shell company has patented some devices that were based on Chie’s work. In fact, Occam notices that this is something of a trend in Eli’s patent’s and brings together the other work that he has done to see something that Maggie has been unable to see up until this point. Eli may have some way of accessing the brains of the dead.

Episode 5: Reality Bytes

Ryan is bored and ends up creating a virtual ant colony that soon gets out of control, causing all sorts of trouble for Virtuality. Tallis is very much not amused at the replicating program that Ryan has introduced to the system. He and Oren are left to deal with it with only minimal input from Eli as he is being sued by CharterTech over one of his patents. It looks like a lawsuit brought specifically to waste his time, but there doesn’t seem to be anyway to circumvent it, especially with everyone else busy with the increasingly problematic (and storage sucking) ant farm.

Episode 6: Denial of Service

Someone tries to hack into Virtuality and it is up to Eli and the digi-souls to stop them. Chie finds out that her teenage daughter has a new boyfriend, and against Tallis’ advice she looks into him and discovers that he has a possible chromosomal abnormality which could lead to an early death. Chie tries to decide whether she should find a way to let her husband know.

Eli and the others successfully prevent the hack but are worried that someone now knows of the existence of Virtuality. Certainly someone is testing their defences. Shona finally tells Eli that she used to work for CharterTech and the fallout is unfortunate.

Episode 7: Second Life

Eli finds a possible new candidate for Virtuality and starts his due diligence. Usually Shona would be involved in this process but their recent falling out means that things are not running smoothly. The new prospect seems like the perfect candidate and Eli almost begins his usual approach, until Oren uncovers some anomalies that Eli had missed. They may not even exist at all. The question is, who knows enough about Virtuality to do something like this?

Tallis uncovers the existence of Occam, and there is a brief encounter where they size each other up. Occam is identified as the force that tried to hack Virtuality before.

Episode 8: Power Switch

City-wide power outages see Eli scrambling to ensure Virtuality doesn’t go down and lose all the digi-souls. Shona returns to help and the two resolve their differences whilst saving the world that they built together. The digi-souls come up with increasingly desperate plans to produce the power they need to survive, but save the day in the end. Ryan puts together new plans to ensure it never happens again.

Episode 9: Deleted

Ashura finally gets to the bottom of who murdered her and it was nothing to do with CharterTech or Maggie. Her exposé of a chemical company’s disregard for environmental law was the issue that caused her death. Shona uses some contacts to get the police involved and the digi-souls help Ashura gather enough evidence to get the culprit put away in jail for a long time.

Eli and Ashura address some of the issues with their relationship, but resolve to give it a go, despite the obvious barriers.

Episode 10: Boss Fight

Maggie and Occam finally uncover the existence of Virtuality and the digi-souls. The finale sees Maggie managing to force her way into the digital world, whilst Occam and Tallis fight it out. Eli and Shona do their best to help Tallis, but find their offices raided and their technology confiscated. Maggie gets time to get a foothold, but the strain is too much on her heart.

Just as Eli and Shona find their way back in, Maggie dies in the real world. Eli can either choose to kill her for good or keep her malevolent presence in Virtuality. Tallis isn’t too keen on sharing with Occam either.

#Dream Show #Dream show 2.0 #RBACL #RBACL QCC

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somethingvaguetodo · 3 years

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It’s fucking crazy you’re a ‘feminist’ and yet you think chat the serial harasser ‘deserves’ to know marinette secret 😐

Thanks for your input! As you can see by the fact that the majority of what I write is Ladynoir reveal fic, I do like both of these characters and think they have a wonderful relationship. I think some things need to be addressed here, particularly this warrants a discussion about harassment.

Harassment is not a word to be thrown around lightly, and is a very serious accusation. As you pointed out, I am a feminist (I do prefer ‘opinionated feminist’ for a reason, but that’s okay) and I take all accusations of harassment seriously - the unfortunate truth is that almost all women, at least women that I know, have experienced some form of harassment.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines harassment as: “the act of annoying or worrying somebody by putting pressure on them or saying or doing unpleasant things to them.” Based on that definition, I’m not really clear how you could find one example of Chat Noir harassing Ladybug/Marinette. Chat has asked her out, and when she turned him down, he accepted her rejection and told her that she is his best friend. It was a particularly respectful and mature reaction. I’ve also rejected people in my time, and, well, it usually doesn’t go that well.

Let’s dig a little deeper. I’m located in the USA, so when I search for legal definitions of harassment I get American law. But since our kiddos are Parisian, lets see what France has to say on the subject. French penal code defines harassment as “repeated remarks or behavior that have for purpose or for effect a deterioration of [the victim's] living conditions leading to a change in his/her physical or mental health.” To get more specific, as I’m sure you are insinuating that the harassment is sexual harassment, here is France’s definition of sexual harassment: “the act of repeatedly imposing on a person remarks or behavior that have a sexual or sexist connotation, that either cause harm to his/her dignity because of their degrading or humiliating nature, or create an intimidating, hostile or offensive situation against him/her.”

This seems like even more of a stretch to start calling any of Chat’s actions harassment. The only time in the now 4 seasons of this show where we see a deterioration of Marinette’s living conditions or mental health is the past few episodes, and the burden of that is almost entirely on being the guardian, not Chat Noir. In fact, you could look at some of the other characters (i.e., Luka, Alya and the girls, Lila, Hawkmoth) and pull apart the way their actions negatively have impacted Marinette’s mental health, but it is actually explicitly stated that Chat Noir is the only person who can keep her going and make her feel good. Sounds like the antithesis of harassment to me, or more succinctly, it sounds like friendship.

Chat often touches Ladybug, but I’m going to have to call foul on touches during fighting. It sort of comes with the territory. Instead, the touches we see are usually his hands on her shoulders. I see this action as a means of steadying her, helping her focus on him and his support, and is something he only does when she is doubting herself or needing this additional support. In fact, Ladybug initiates physical touch with Chat Noir more. She hugs him, leans her head on his shoulder, grabs hold of his arm. There are some great posts floating around showing how surprised he is when she spontaneously hugs him, and that is her touching him without asking permission. I would never call this harassment either, as it is another example of support, love, and friendship. Unless someone makes it clear they do not want to be touched, you are allowed to hug your close friends.

Let’s not forget, if you take the New York special as canon (which I do) that Chat Noir gave up his miraculous. Ladybug had the perfect opportunity to get rid of him if she wanted to - all she had to do was give the ring to someone else and BAM she has a new partner who no longer harasses her and makes her uncomfortable. But what does she do? She says she can not be Ladybug without him, she returns his miraculous to him, and she hugs him when he comes back (again with her initiating unnecessary physical contact, it’s almost like she likes him).

There are some real examples of harassment in this show. Both Lila and Chloe are both shown, at different times, to make Adrien uncomfortable with physical contact. In Lies, Kagami pushes Adrien up against a wall, and we can see the discomfort on his face. In Felix, Felix (pretending to be Adrien) tries to kiss Ladybug. She punches him in the face, making it clear that she is not going to deal with unwanted touching, so we see that she is not the type to sit back and take it, even when it seems to be coming from someone she is romantically interested in. If she was bothered by Chat Noir’s attention, she would make it known.

Finally, do I think he ‘deserves’ the knowledge of her identity? What I wrote in that story was that he, and they both, deserve to be the first to know each other’s identities. The meaning there is that they have fought for, and earned, the right to have the safety and security to know each other without worrying about the danger knowing their identities can put them in. They’ve been through a lot together (us against the world, remember), and I do believe they have both earned that right.

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again. No one owes anyone anything. Marinette doesn’t owe anyone her secrets, her identity, her time, or her affection. But sometimes, people show us, through words and deeds, that they care about us, that we can trust them, and that they will support us no matter what. That is what Chat Noir is for Ladybug.

I hope you find someone like that in your life.

#ask and you shall receive #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug analysis #mlb #chat noir #chat noir analysis #be best friends

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lavendairs · 3 years

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♚ ━━━ ❛ ALL ABOUT AUGUST.

G E N E R A L —

NAME. his full birth name is august ahn-evergreene, his last names being a combination of his maternal and paternal last names because his mother wasn’t going to allow her children to not have her last name in some fashion. however, in his twenties he drops evergreene and only uses ahn as his last name due to a rift with his mother / wanting an identity separate from her ( he’s not fond of his father either but he has a habit of leaving town so it’s easier for august to distance himself from that part of his family’s ‘legacy’ ).

AGE. he appears in his late 20s ( 27-30 ) but is around 60 years old due to the extended lifespan of a mage.

HEIGHT. he stands at 6′1 ( 185.42 ). no, he’s not a sloucher and is the type to internally judge people who do because stand up straight wtf?

WEIGHT. 170 pounds ( 77.1kg ). he’s lean and not overly muscular; doesn’t do much heavy physical activity anymore due to his current ‘condition’.

ETHNICITY. korean-filipino american mage. he comes from a bloodline of magic-users. if commenting on his natural magical prowess, expect a dry ‘of course, i was breed to be.’ in response.

OCCUPATION. he is what the people of crescent creek call ‘the overseer’, the highest sitting member of the council of novema ( or just ‘the council’ for short ). they are the ones who ‘govern’ the town and its people, establishing laws and stepping in to resolve high-level matters between residents if it should come to it. with the council needing to hear matters from the magi, vampires, fae, werewolves, and other beings, august has a constant headache.

GENDER. cis-male.

SEXUAL & ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. he would state that he’s heterosexual but admittedly he’s never fully explored his sexuality enough for that to be a definite statement. he hasn’t seriously dated in a very long time™ and it isn’t interested in changing that.

MBTI. INTJ-A, The Architect — it can be lonely at the top. as one of the rarest personality types – and one of the most capable – architects ( INTJs ) know this all too well. rational and quick-witted, architects may struggle to find people who can keep up with their nonstop analysis of everything around them. these personalities can be both the boldest of dreamers and the bitterest of pessimists. architects believe that, through willpower and intelligence, they can achieve even the most challenging of goals. but they may be cynical about human nature more generally, assuming that most people are lazy, unimaginative, or simply doomed to mediocrity.

S P E C I F I C S —

FAVOURITE FOOD. he’s very particular about getting his three meals a day in if he can but he probably has the most fondest for food that was often served at dinner time with his family or when all his cousins spent time at his lola’s house when they visited her. dishes such as bopis, kimchi, pancit canton, tocino and rice, korean styled steak, etc. are personal favorites.

FAVOURITE DRINK. his day isn’t complete without having a nice, chilled glass of vintage red wine during dinner ( and maybe just drinking straight from the bottle by the end of the night ). he does enjoy drinking rosé during a nice breakfast or lunch depending on the bottle.

FAVOURITE HOBBY. brooding. joking aside, he does enjoy sparring matches, ‘magical’ based sparring matches. he does practice taekkyeon ( korean martial arts ) and enjoys mixing spells in by shocking opponents, blocking their spells with his own wards, etc.

FAVOURITE SCENT. the smell of freshly cut grass as well as the scent of pomegranates, vanilla, cinnamon, and musk. the former is bittersweet and nostalgic, reminding of his years as a teen: when he was young, oblivious, and only had to be concerned about being late to football / soccer practice. the latter reminds him of someone he would rather forget.

FAVOURITE PERSON. i. his twin brother, ansel ahn. his death still hurts and he’ll always partially blame himself for it - despite the fact that there would’ve been nothing he could’ve done to change it. ( this is the part where that wand.avision quote is inserted in ). the loss of his brother dramatically changes the course of his life. ii. his lola, nora evergreene. she grounds him a lot. one of the few times he’s at peace is when he visits her for brunch every third saturday of the month. iii. his ex, audrey cramer. he would never admit it out loud though - at least not anymore.

T E N F A C T S —

he’s well versed in magical creatures : one of the 'gifts’ of being the overseer is the ability to traverse pass the veil - a barrier / entry way that exist between ‘earth’ and the many dimensions that exist beyond it. this ability, however, is one that has fallen out of use over the past few decades. ever the abnormally, august makes use of this ability for his own personal agenda. outside of the different races that already live within crescent creek ( witches, vampires, werewolves, fairies, etc. ), there are those that prefer to live freely in their own worlds rather than live in secrecy on earth. so yes, he has met unicorns and he thinks most of them are actually assholes.

on the nature of the veil : the origin of the veil itself is a mystery. all that is known that about its existence is that many millennium ago, those from different dimensions ( or ‘worlds’ ) were able to freely pass through it without the need of assistance or a spell. as time progressed and humanity began to rise, passage through the veil became increasingly more restricted, leading to entry ways within the veil being sealed and only accessible through the leader in each world ( ex. the overseer in crescent creek ). although the town of crescent creek has always traded with other towns, cities, etc. pass the veil, many of those trades have slowed to a stop entirely as those dimensions have become inaccessible. to somewhat ease panic and concern, the council has framed the issue being due to other dimensions permanently closing themselves off from earth ( a situation that has previously happened some worlds ). in truth, the veil itself has become 'infected’ by a foreign spell that’s led to the blocking of entry ways that lead into other worlds. due to not knowing the source of the spell and its affect on the veil, the knowledge of its presence is unknown to most people in crescent creek. // note: this is more of an overall ‘lore’ fact that explains the backdrop of what’s going on in this ‘world’ to understand other facts about him. in the grand scheme of things, this wouldn’t come up when interacting with him.

he doesn’t believe in astrologists, psychics, fortune tellers, etc. : which may seem contradictory considering he’s a literal magical being but in his experience, it’s typically humans pushing pseudoscience or mages using their magic to con clueless humans. people in that line of ‘work’ are hacks to him - especially since he’s seen it first hand with his own father’s profession.

over the past twenty years, he’s been continuing his brother’s research : ansel, his older, twin brother, had been studying the distortions within the veil in secret before his death a decade prior. although the status of the veil was supposed to be concealed to those outside of the council’s reach, ansel confided in his brother before his death. in august’s eyes, whatever spell that’s taken over the veil is an active threat and with the backing of onyx crane, a vampire on the council, and his cousin, faye evergreene, he began an almost obsessive-like determination to complete his brother’s work and find answers - even if it’s to his own detriment. // *note: with a big soap opera trope being people returning from the dead, it shouldn’t be shocking to discover that ansel, is in fact, not actually dead. he used a storm that hit the town as a means to fake his own death ( disasters that kill off characters is usually a soap opera storyline that happens during ‘sweeps’ period ) and left town for his own agenda.

the youngest overseer to sit in the council : his status as the overseer is one steeped in controversy due to...a variety of reasons: an overseer typically is replaced by another council member by vote or an apprentice to the overseer should they have one after an overseer’s death, resignation, or if they’ve been forcefully discharged from the position. none of these things applied to august’s own mother, tala ahn-evergreene, when he usurped her - blackmailing the council by threatening to expose the truth about the current threat of the veil. // *note: in every ( american ) soap opera, it is a staple to have a ‘thing’, whether it be a business, a central institution in town ( ex. a hospital ), or a position ( CEO of a company, chief of staff at a hospital, etc. ) that many of the characters are tied to or even fighting for control over. ELQ, the quartermaine’s family business on general hospital, often have storylines where family members are fighting over shares of the company, who should run it, or the family teaming up to oust an outsider that’s taken over the company ( funnily enough, there is a story like the latter happening on the show right now ). the point here is that being the overseer or even sitting on the council of novema is that ‘thing’ that people fight over to be on for various reason.

he takes his personal upkeep very seriously : there’s a lot of things one could say about crescent creek’s current overseer but no one can ever say they’ve seen august ahn not look put together when he’s out and about ( this is him going out publicly basically ). as someone who values consistency and control in his life but pretty much never has it, august actually highly treasures the time spent doing his morning / nightly skincare routines, getting his acupuncture treatments, and so on. he supports the self care movement essentially.

he ( as well as his siblings ) once witnessed one of his father’s affairs : it was an awful experience. -10/10. doesn’t recommend. this incident shapes his attitude towards relationships in general and how he operates within them. august has a very black and white attitude about relationships: you are either with him 100% or you’re not with him at all. it’s unhealthy and he has to unpack that. // *fun fact: this is actually a real event that happened with this family back in the sims 2 over ten years ago - they just all had different names, were a different race, and so on at that point.. they’ve changed a lot:tm:.

may be an active suspect for murder : it happens. when marlena cramer, a former council member, suddenly passes on, the town is overtaken by a wave of a grief...that soon becomes shock and suspicion when her death is rules to be from unnatural causes. between being one of the last people to see her alive and reports of him wanting her off the council, august becomes one of the prime suspects for her murder case. // *note: whodunit’s are probably up there with ‘who’s the daddy’ storylines in terms of being the most common soap opera staple ( ex. who shot j.r. on dallas ).

voted most likely to be successful in his HS yearbook : august was the picture perfect prom king, the jock that was friends with everyone on campus, and the one everyone expected ride off into the sunset with his hs sweetheart. on paper, august was well rounded - some would say outright perfect. today, those who knew him in high school would shake their heads and ask themselves what happened to the boy who always smiled at them when he passed you by in the hallway or whose laughter could easily be heard the loudest in a classroom. august, as he is now, is a stranger to those that once knew him.

it’s happening gradually but he is, in fact, dying : many of the worlds that had become unaccessible were not only blocked off but were actively decaying - many of its residents fleeing to other worlds before they were forever trapped in a dying one while others locked their entry ways to stop the spell from spreading to their own homes. the overseers in crescent creek were restricted from traversing the veil themselves due to the unknown risk of the spell, a rule that august actively ignores. every time he travels through the veil, the more the spell slowly eats away at him - a fact that he is well aware of and he has no desire to stop. he will keep traveling worlds ( and helping those he can ) until he finds the source of the spell and kills its caster himself.

FIVE THINGS HE LIKES.

visiting the sauna. the heat helps with his internal pain.

eating home-cooked meals.

getting hydrafacials ( james_franco_so_good.gif ).

smoking with his cousin, faye.

blasting emo music as he gets drunk, questions his life choices, and stares at the ceiling

FIVE THINGS HE DISLIKES.

feeling used.

disloyal / uncommitted people

selfishness.

tough, chewy steak.

cheap wine.

COMMON WORDS / PHRASES THAT ANNOY THEM. during a misunderstanding or argument, the worst thing to tell him is that he ‘doesn’t understand’. even if the person is somewhat correct, august is a person that prides himself on being an objective observer of a situation, rational in his thinking, and not someone who lets his emotions dictate his choices. saying something like that to him would just further annoy him.

PERSONALITY TYPES THEY PREFER. those who are smart, loyal, and efficient. those who are willing to dirty their hands on occasion, and believe that the ends do justify the means.

PERSONALITY TYPES THEY AVOID. selfish and incompetent people, those who proceed to waste his time, useless people in positions of powers, jerky unicorns.

WHAT DO YOU FIND DIFFERENT / DISTINCT ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL?

the whole concept of this ‘world’ is based around soap opera cliches and tropes so the character is intentionally ‘tropey’ and meant to pull from different fictional men from the genre - as well as outside of it. i would say him being the leading man is unique within itself because people of color in soaps ( at least within american soaps which this is all inspired by ) are generally never the leads or involved in what i actually watch soaps for: the drama, the love stories, the scheming, the cheating, etc. they’re usually the straight men to the white characters; living well off but boring lives and are rarely given front burner stories. all black people in a soap opera are usually always going to somehow know each other, only date each other, etc. you can switch black people out with latinos, asians, etc. and it would still be true. the characters of color are easily written off as a result of this.

in general, soap operas are very white - and still are today. they have a history of casting white people as mexican characters, ex. lindsay hartley as theresa on passions. asian american soap characters are severly lacking - i could probably count the amount of i’ve seen on screen. a black actress formerly on general hospital mentioned how people jokingly called the show ‘generally white hospital’ behind the scenes. chad.wick bos.eman left all my children because of how much of a stereotype his character was - and he was right ( ironically, michael b. jord.an was his recast ). some shows are getting better, bold and beautiful currently has a story involving two characters cheating ( one of which is black ) and it’s hot af but it’s still not enough for the times we’re in. this isn’t a problem exclusive to soaps either - most media has a problem with this. people of color aren’t getting lead roles and especially not romantic lead roles - even if they do, the shows always make it a interracial romance with a white person ( ex. bridg/erton ) as if people of color of different races are incapable of dating each other.

finally, i’ve noticed that you rarely see asian american men portrayed as romantic leads or desirable ( at least in a non-fetishized way ) in western media. that’s pretty lame:tm: so that was also a factor when i revamped audrey’s love interest ( parts of ‘old’ him still exist, ex. him being a jock / king of the school as a teen, a complicated relationship with his brother, etc ). anyway, stan august uwu.

tagged by: i took it from myself. tagging: anyone who wants to.

#❀ . ❛ august : study : headcanon .#❀ . ❛ august : study : worldbuilding .#this is the closest you're getting out of me for an about page tbh #i might do a separate lore dump but i kind of don't want to lol #adultery //

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writewithurheart · 3 years

Text

Family Means No One Gets Left Behind: The Package

A Black Widow Movie Rewrite in a series of one-shots

A/N: Because I watched the movie and had some ideas about fic. So here’s a series of one-shots about another way this could have happened…

*Contains BLACK WIDOW MOVIE SPOILERS*

Chapter 2: The Package (Yelena POV)

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

The Package

Yelena rolls the sleeves of her oversized jacket up as she sips her cup of coffee and pokes around at the smartphone she picked up on her way out of South America. It doesn’t have as many pockets as she’d prefer but she’s made some modifications. The same with this smartphone. Technology is not her strong suit. She prefers things she can shoot at or stab. Her knowledge of the tech is surreal in that all her aptitude is tied to the brainwashing and chemical treatments she got. She spent a good couple hours playing with the preference settings and personalizing the phone while she was tracking down Natalia. Or rather Natasha as she’s now known.

From her limited memories, her sister was always needlessly dramatic like that.

She replays the footage on youtube of Natalia in battle, clumsily filmed and posted on social media. This compilation has proven to be quite amusing. She snorts as “Natasha Romanov” strikes that ridiculous pose when she lands and does that over the top hair flip. She rewinds and grabs her box of sugary cereal. She likes the one with the marshmallows. It’s colorful and sweet and nothing like what they were served in the Red Room.

An alert flares from her phone and Yelena quickly downs the last of her coffee. She wasn’t sure how long it would take Natasha to get the package when the hulking superhero came and picked up the mail that had been piling up. It had taken her some time to track down Natasha’s safe house despite knowing her final job was in Budapest. This place hadn’t been burned when her sister made the foolish move of dumping SHIELD’s information online.

She might be a little salty with Natalia for burning SHIELD to the ground when she left the Red Room standing to torture more girls. If she didn’t need Natasha’s help, they might be having this conversation in a very different form. With more weapons and less espionage.

Running into an undercover Captain America was a surprise. He’d looked different, but Yelena knew there were only a few people Natasha would trust with the safehouse location. It seems that number included the new family she had chosen.

She pulls out her gun and checks that it’s in working order. She trusted that the famed Captain America would ensure the package got to Natasha, that she would recognize the photos inside, and that she would track her down. She’s going to make Natasha help her rescue the rest of the widows and destroy the Red Room once and for all. If she wants to recruit a certain Captain who’s on the run, Yelena wouldn’t complain.

Professionally, she’s intrigued. She’d love to spar against him. She’d watched the footage with the Winter Soldier, recalls going up against him once or twice early in their training when they broke into a HYDRA base. She wonders what it would be like to go up against the man who fought and broke the Winter Soldier. Those fights were always fun.

She places her cup in the sink and stows the cereal in the cabinet. She probably won’t come back to it, but she does want to keep him safe.

“I know you’re there.” She calls when she hears the door open as she settles into a loose stance and checks her grip on her weapon. “There are no traps. Why are you tip-toing around?”

Yelena could make nice with her sister. She is the one who left the calling card and took over Natasha’s safehouse. She glances at the Avengers photo she put up last night - held to the wall by the knives she’d used for target practice - and affirms her resolve. All her life she’s heard how great Natasha is. She needs to make sure that’s accurate and that Natasha can help her.

The door clicks open, the lock picked. She has to listen carefully to hear her footsteps over the floor, the slight displacement of air as she moves. Yelena turns to face the opening into the small kitchen area.

“I got your message,” Natalia calls as she moves slowly through the space.

She sighs. If she wanted Natalia dead, there were so many other ways for her to have done it. “I figured. Your friend was sweet. He’s shorter in person.”

Natalia rounds the corner, gun first, and twists to face Yelena who already has her weapon pointed at her.

“You saw Steve.”

She shrugs. “He was nice. Boyfriend?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “First time seeing me in years and that’s all you have to say. I don’t think this conversation passes the Bechdel Test.”

Yelena shrugs. “I was taught to blend in by watching American television and movies. Do you know what they teach American girls? Ridiculous.”

“We don’t have to fight.”

“Then lower your gun,” she challenges.

“You first.”

Yelena lets her approach. As the distance closes, the guns become less and less effective. They both know that. It’s a game of chicken.

“Why did you send me that package?”

“Did you even try to look for me?” Yelena asks, aware she sounds like a petulant child. She remembers Natasha getting between her and the big men with guns, demanding they leave her alone even when their so-called parents couldn’t seem to care less. She’s clung to those pictures ever since they were separated - hiding them from prying eyes in any way she can. She’d heard rumors of her sister, hoped she would be sought out by the idolized Widow who was top of class, the perfect assassin.

Instead she was left behind.

Natasha’s jaw clenches. “I destroyed the Red Room. I figured you got out.”

Lie.

Her tell is in the cageiness of her eyes. Even with her unwavering attention to Yelena’s stance, Natasha is uneasy with the question. She didn’t bother to check on Yelena.

Yelena laughs out loud at her statement. “Destroyed it? All you did was trap the rest of us.”

“I killed Dreykov. Without him, the Red Room would have crumbled.”

“Except it didn’t.” Yelena shoves down her anger. It won’t be helpful. “You didn’t even think to check. Isn’t that the first rule? Always confirm your kill.”

Apparently, that’s a challenge large enough that Natasha makes her move. She goes for the gun, same as Yelena does and they’re still at a stalemate, now holding each other’s guns.

“Did you check the body?”

“He was in the building,” Natasha grits out as she lunges for Yelena. “It exploded. There’s no way he survived.”

“And you thought that was it? Kill one man and destroy the whole Red Room?” Honestly, she can respect Natasha getting out while she could. She gets it. Leaving Yelena behind hurts. It feels like the only family she ever remembered wasn’t worth finding again. If she’d been the one to get out, she would have gone back for Natasha.

“It was his project. He was the head of the organization.” Natasha grunts as Yelena lands a hit. Her moment of victory is negated when Natasha gets in her own punch.

“Come on, Tasha. You’re not that stupid.” She reels back from a punch to the face. She wipes the warm rush of liquid with her hand, staring at the bright red blood. She spits out the blood in her mouth onto the floor.

Natasha shakes her head as they circle each other again. “Clint and I went back. The school was cleared out.”

Yelena grimaces. “They moved us.” She strikes as she speaks, channeling her frustration into strength. “You broke the psychological conditioning so they pushed us harder.” She takes a hit, tries to flip Natasha only for her to counter the move. “Changed protocols. Turned to chemical conditioning.”

“Chemical conditioning?” Natasha asks, slightly breathless as she locks Yelena in a headlock.

Yelena gets in a good stab and frees herself. She doesn’t go for the knife strapped to her leg. She doesn’t actually want to kill her sister. As angry as she is, this is supposed to be a friendly spar. “You can’t tell what’s you and what’s programing. Your body responds and you don’t know if it’s you telling it to do something or not. And you don’t even question it.”

Natasha disengages and stares at her in horror.

“They moved the base. Started knocking the widows out on entry and exit so we couldn’t find it again. And they did all of that because of you.” Yelena screams the last bit.

She swipes at the hot, angry tears sliding down her face. She hadn’t meant to cry. She’d planned on being cool and collected the entire time they spoke. She’s supposed to be level headed. Ice cold and now…

“You left us behind. You left me behind.” Her face twists into a scowl as she sees turmoil in Natasha’s eyes at her pain. “I thought we were sisters.”

“It was never real.”

Another lie. Yelena scowls at Natasha. “It was real to me.” It was real to Natasha too, even if she wouldn’t admit to it. She’d seen the loss in her eyes. Yelena switches tracks instead of digging into that emotional pain. “I have to ask: what kind of gun makes those holes in the wall?”

If she’d hoped for a distraction, Natasha isn’t going to be that easy to be distracted. Her gaze doesn’t waver as she answers. “Arrows. Clint tracked me to the safe house.” She strikes out as she speaks and Yelena finds herself struggling to keep up, and proud at the same time.

Clint Barton. Hawkeye. Another Avenger. She should have known that even Natasha had help getting out.

“You’ve gotten better.” Natasha says in Russian.

“You’re rusty,” Yelena responds as she manages to take her down, yanking the curtain from the window.

Her upper hand doesn’t last long. The length of cloth is wrapped around her neck and Natasha’s. With their similar stature, she and Natalia are truly evenly matched and both losing air quickly when Natasha’s grip slackens with the soft offer: “Truce?”

Yelena nods. She releases the curtain and yanks at the fabric around her neck so she can get a proper breath of fresh air. Natasha looks like she might be feeling her bruises more, which Yelena takes some relief in as she sits up quickly.

“Did you bring the vials?”

Natasha nods, pushing loose hair out of her face. “What are they?”

“Chemical agent. Removes the neural pathways which allow for total cognitive function override.” Yelena bites the words out, repeating them as she’s heard them thrown back and forth in the lab, when her body was used for experiments while her mind was fully awake. When they used those same elements to remove any bit of control she might have had over her own self.

“In English?”

Yelena stares at her blankly as she says it in Russian. It’s their native tongue after all, not that Natalia seems to care to remember it.

“Cute.”

She sticks her tongue out, regressing to the child she used to be in Ohio - the last time she remembers being free and having her own choices. It’s refreshing to be speaking to someone else who also got out, even if she has conflicting feelings about all of this.

The peace is shattered by a secondary alert. She glances at her phone and curses in Russian. “They’re here. Were you followed?”

Natasha moves closer to look at the footage. “There was a car moving in the other direction when I was leaving my safe house. Then an explosion but I don’t think they followed me.”

They could be tracking the case. Or maybe they just finally caught up to her. Yelena grabs her go bag and turns to Natasha. “Where are the vials?”

She holds up the wad of vials, which must be made of some heavy duty stuff in order to still be intact after their fight. “Exit strategy?”

“Motorcycle. East side of building. If any of them get close. Use the vials. I promised I would use those to free the rest of our sisters.” Yelena doesn’t wait to see if she follows. They don’t have the luxury of time to hesitate. If the Widows catch up, they’re dead.

She can’t let that happen before she completes her mission. She sent the vials to Natasha, hoping it would get her to help. Or maybe shame her into helping. Either way, they’ve got to make it out of this corner first.

Well, at least a car chase is not a terrible way to die.

She can think of worse.

#Black Widow #black widow movie #spoilers #yelena belova #natasha romanov #sisters

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hopelessromanticspoonie · 4 years

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Helping Hands - Chapter 2

Series Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Loki shows Haley a bit more of the world she hadn’t had the opportunity to discover. Tony and Bruce begin testing and a painful truth comes to light.

Chapter Warnings: Needles, Implications of neglect, light descriptions of injury

A/N: I was absolutely stunned by the response for the first chapter! It definitely motivated me to get this next bit out to you! Thank you again to @vodka-and-some-sass for Betaing for me!

“Um, FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Haley?”

It was odd to address a room like it was a person, even after Tony had explained in the simplest terms possible the AI that lived in every fiber of the tower that would be her new home. She hadn’t left her room yet, choosing to stare out of the tinted windows at the bustling city below. It was awe-inspiring, to know that so many people existed, going about their lives without any knowledge of the horrors behind her eyelids. Now the city sparkled with glowing lights darting around beneath her, chasing away the darkness from the overcast sky. Did anyone sleep?

Odder still was to be given a name for her own. A moniker not meant to harm her, insult her, or one based solely on the powers that were both a blessing and a curse. Maybe the introduction of a name could be a new start for her. Perhaps a chance to become more than just what she could do for others?

“There isn’t any food in here, and I’m starving. What do they do for food?” she asked, closing her hands over her almost concave stomach as it rumbled loudly as if seconding the meekly asked question.

“In the common area there is a communal kitchen used by all Avengers living on-site. During business hours, various restaurants and the cafeteria are operational for faculty, staff, and visitors on campus,” the pleasant female voice responded, sounding from somewhere over her head.

Haley ran a hand over her spiky short hair, staring at the door as if it would bite her. “And is it business hours?”

“Unfortunately not. But if you follow the map currently on your television screen, it can get you to the kitchen.”

It wasn’t like she had any money, anyway. Didn’t you need money to buy something from a business? Tony had said that whatever she wanted, all she needed was ask, but she doubted that extended to the entire tower. Glancing once at the screen that flickered to life against the wall, she committed it to memory before slipping her socked feet into a brand new pair of sneakers that Pepper had dropped off a few hours ago - along with enough clothing and toiletries to last her an eternity.

Using the hand scanner to leave her room, she hovered in the doorway of her temporary sanctuary, staring out at the shadowed black hallway. Soft light illuminated one end of it, trickling in from the same direction FRIDAY had indicated for the kitchen. She steeled her nerves and anxieties with a deep breath before slowly making her way in that direction, ears perked for any sound that would send her scurrying back to her room. Her body had known hunger before, and it could wait.

A high-pitched whistling sounded from the kitchen when she stepped into a large room which appeared to be solely for relaxing. Various couches and plush armchairs were scattered about in loose formations, some facing bookshelves stacked high with more books than she knew existed, others televisions bigger than her wildest imaginings. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat, large eyes darting to the source of the sound.

Soft footsteps sounded on the shining marble floor, interrupted by the clanking of dishware and a heavy sigh. Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly at an enticing aroma that drifted her way through the air conditioning, and she cursed softly under her breath when the domestic sounds ceased for a split second.

“I will not harm you, little one.”

She was almost positive that voice belonged to Loki, the more outspoken of the group with the intelligent eyes. He hadn’t given her any reason to fear him - yet. Balling her hands up into fists at the shiver of anxiety that coursed down her spine, she stood up as tall as she could manage and followed the sounds and smells into the warmly lit kitchen.

Her assumption had been correct. Loki stood in the middle of the room, swirling a spoon in a steaming cup that clinked quietly with each minute movement. He had exchanged his daunting leather outfit for something much more comfortable. The black, soft-looking pajama bottoms hung low on his hips to reveal a sliver of pale skin just below his fitted white t-shirt. It was startling to see such a change in the intimidating man, who peered at her with a quirked brow.

“Anyone with ears would be able to hear your stomach complaining, and your cheekbones are so sunken it appears painful,” he commented, a hint of sadness lingering on his velvet voice. It wrapped around her, a caress to her frazzled nerves that lowered her hackles just a bit. “What do you like to eat?”

What did she like to eat? Any food she had been given was meager and tasteless, the scraps leftover from Mr. Shaw’s meals or unwanted food to be tossed to the dogs. Food wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, but for fueling her body, keeping her strong enough to heal her owner. Embarrassment flushed down her face and neck as her thoughts came up empty, and her hands twisted together unseen in the confines of her sweatshirt.

If he was bothered by her lack of an answer, he didn’t show it. She got the sense that he didn’t reveal much behind his finely sculpted features. Indifference suited the straight line of his nose and the press of his thin lips. It was… nice to watch the straight line of his back as he bustled about the kitchen, gathering various foods on a plate and pouring a second cup of his steaming beverage. He said nothing, merely tilted his head in her direction before setting the spoils on a vast table with enough seats to fit all of the faces she’d seen earlier on the Quinjet.

She sat at the seat in front of the food at the wave of his hand, shoving her hands beneath her thighs as she watched him take the seat opposite her. He pulled a book from thin air, and she gasped, shrinking back into the wooden chair as if it would swallow her whole. Had he…?

“My apologies,” he purred, the words a warm caress to the fear that had her heart thudding against her ribcage. “Simply a bit of magic, pulling my belongings to me should I need them. Eat.”

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the selection of brightly colored fruits and thick, buttered bread, waiting for him to take the plate from her and laugh at the gall she had to hope for fair treatment. He reached over and plucked a glistening green grape from the bunch on the plate, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly before cracking open the book to peruse the pages.

Magic? He mentioned it so casually, as if it was an understood fact about him. But with how little she knew of the world, it could very well be so. She could take the injuries from others, and that certainly didn’t seem natural. Quickly, she picked several grapes and pushed them into her mouth, resisting the urge to moan at the delicious sweetness that exploded across her tongue. Before she knew it she had the plate held to her chest protectively and she couldn’t eat fast enough. Never had she been given such a veritable feast of such exquisite flavors.

Only when the plate was empty did she look up. Loki acted as if she hadn’t just devoured her meal like a wild animal, regarding his book with quiet curiosity lighting on the furrow of his brow. Her slightly shaking hands gripped her own impossibly delicate cup, warm to the touch from the fragrant beverage within, and she sipped it delicately, afraid of getting burned. The warmth flooded her body, reaching the tips of her toes and unfurling within her with a comfort she was wholly unused to from something as simple as a drink.

“Earl Grey,” he supplied, looking up at her briefly over his book. “The tea. You enjoy it.”

Enjoy. She never got to enjoy anything. But this tea - Earl Grey - and the filling fruit and bread he’d gathered for her, she’d thoroughly enjoyed that. She enjoyed the foreign feeling of fullness in her belly and the layered aroma wafting up from her cradled cup.

She could even see herself enjoying Loki’s presence, stoic and calm and wholly unbothered by her existence as he allowed her to sit in his shadow. He radiated a strength that she longed to glean for herself.

“I do.” She hummed quietly after taking another warming sip. “Thank you.”

“We just want to draw a bit of blood and give you a routine physical. There will be a needle for the blood bit, and then I’ll take your heartbeat with this,” Tony held up a device hanging around his neck, “and check your overall health by just taking a good look at your body. At the end, I’d like to hook up a few monitors and have you do a bit of healing, but only if you’re up for it. How’s that sound?”

Haley shifted uneasily on the cold metal table, casting a quick glance at Loki, who stood still as a statue against the far wall, watching Tony and Bruce with narrowed eyes. He had quietly inserted himself into her presence whenever she had left her room, and it felt right to trust the mysterious man. Loki gave her a quick nod before watching the two men in front of her again, his face lowered so that his long, raven hair framed his face and cast a shadow over the planes of his cheekbones.

“Okay.”

The two men were respectful as they worked around and on her, asking permission before Tony touched the cold metal disc to her chest or Bruce gently squeezed her leg with what looked to be a set of pliers. None of it hurt, and she didn’t even blink when Tony drew several vials of blood from a needle he slid into her arm. Were these men doctors? They didn’t look the part, with Tony’s perfectly styled hair and trimmed goatee, and Bruce’s threadbare button-up shirt that hung on his frame.

A monitor beeped out the drum of her anxious heartbeat for all to hear from sticky pads connected to her chest. Tony had also attached a few to her scalp, all while muttering to himself, “At least she doesn’t have a lot of hair to get in the way.” All of the eyes in the room settled on her, and it took everything she had not to curl up from the weight of their gazes on her bony shoulders.

Bruce stepped in front of her, rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal a small, raised red line across his forearm. He offered her a smile that begged her to relax. “I burnt myself on the oven the other day. Should’ve known better than to try to cook,” he gave a self-deprecating laugh full to the brim with warmth. “Can you heal this?”

Of course she could. But burns were her least favorite to handle. They weren’t any harder for her to heal than any other injury, but the raw, itchy skin was her least favorite. Still, these men had offered their home to her, given her food and clothing and medicine and a place of her very own without demanding entrance to it. This small burn that hadn’t even blistered wouldn’t take long to dispatch at all. A small price to pay.

“I’m going to touch you. Okay?” she asked quietly, mimicking the permission that they had asked of her for the entire time she’d interacted with them. Everyone she interacted with had taken to asking her before doing anything, a luxury and kindness she wasn’t accustomed to. How long would that last after they saw the extent of her abilities? Just until one of them got injured beyond what they were willing to deal with. That was how it worked.

“Bruce.” Loki’s warning came from over her shoulder, thick with veiled threats that she wasn’t certain she wanted to know how he would uphold. Even as he had chipped away at the protective shielding around her heart, she still felt the danger that he posed, carried in his confident stride and unhurried movement. So averse to the showy bravado she was accustomed to, guns waved around and threats growled over hands clutching the collar of her shirt. He didn’t need that. His reputation was enough, it seemed.

Bruce nodded and offered her his arm. His breath quickened beneath his shirt when her thin fingers slanted over his skin, and his pulse practically matched her own ringing in her ears. It was all too easy to direct the rush of electricity beneath her skin through her fingertips in the golden glow she’d come to dread for the pain it promised. Sure enough, she bit her bottom lip between her teeth at the stinging sensation that scratched at her forearm where Bruce’s burn once was, hidden by the thick sleeves of her new favorite sweatshirt.

“Incredible,” Bruce breathed, rubbing his hand over the freshly healed skin as if it were some parlor trick. A common reaction when she first healed someone, before they got greedy and jaded to her powers.

Tony pulled out a pair of yellow-tinted glasses and leaned over a computer, typing away furiously as his eyes darted over all the data he could consume.

“Leave us,” Loki commanded, and the heat of him practically pulsed at her back.

“But, I, this is my lab!” Tony stammered, chest puffing out as he stood up and pulled his glasses off to glare at the man whose breath fanned over the top of her head.

“Come on, Tony, we can have FRIDAY send the data to the other lab.” Bruce dragged the other man out with a hand on his arm, closing the door behind them to leave a deafening silence in their wake.

Loki stalked around the metal table until the front of his thighs almost brushed her knees, staring down at her with too many emotions warring on his face to name. He moved slowly, his hand reaching out to encircle her wrist and seize the fabric tucked beneath her clenched fingers into her palm. His fingertips were calloused, rasping against her skin with the heat of his touch as he slowly pulled up the baggy sleeve despite her pulling away in protest.

“Don’t-”

He flipped her now bare arm over to reveal the burn that had etched itself into her skin, dragging his finger just beside it to make the shiny skin catch the light. “You do not heal them. You take their wounds for your own.”

There wasn’t any use denying it with the evidence grasped in his careful touch. “I do.”

A growl ripped from his throat, feral and animalistic and so terrifying that she pulled her knees up to her chest and held them with one arm wrapped around her shins. He released her from his hold, allowing her to cradle her arm to her body against the conflicting singing of her skin from his touch and painful burn she’d brought upon herself.

“Unacceptable.”

And then he stormed away, leaving her curled in on herself on the table, staring at the door with the intoxicating masculine musk of his cologne still teasing at her nose and the incessant beeping of the monitor betraying her conflicting emotions she couldn’t even begin to place.

~~~

Series taglist: @kneel-before-queen-loki @alexakeyloveloki @from-hel-i-with-love @cleocc @cateyes315 @coldbookworm @rjohnson1280

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @lots-of-loki @otakumultimuseoc @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @blah666 @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @lovesmesomehiddles @peterman-spideyparker @wegingerangelica @bluefrenchfries604 @catsladen @silverswordthekilljoy

#loki fanfic #loki #loki x ofc #slow burn #angst #protective!loki #protective loki #helping hands #hopelesswrites

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sepublic · 4 years

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Xian Characters, Features, and Landmarks (Pt. 2)

Karzahni- Karzahni is a delusional, questionably-sane despot in the Voymari District. A crimelord, he has –in addition to traditional thugs- amassed an army of orphans to do his bidding. He sends them out every day and night, scouring the streets of Voymari for small scrapes of riches and anything else of value that they report to him; Orphans who bring back better things get higher status, more food, comfortable rooms, and so forth.

Of course, many other crimelords mock Karzahni for resorting to children, but nevertheless he is terrifying in his own right. Karzahni himself also has a penchant for ‘rebuilding’ people, taking them apart, modifying them, and grating mechanical limbs and masks and so forth. Many of his victims include people who have angered him, or just the general unfortunate homeless Xian; Regardless, Karzahni has modified many, turning them into horrific, shambling abominations with unusual proportions, too frail to be alive while also partially-mechanical.

The sick tyrant enjoys this- He likes to build and craft, even if his materials are the bodies of people. Alas, he is somewhat frustrated by his inability to truly ‘fix’ someone, because to Karzahni he is doing a service, or at least trying to, by ‘repairing’ Xians he and others deem faulty. He tends to take his frustrations out not only on his twisted creations, but his own underlings and orphans as well. If in a particularly bad mood, he’ll tear apart a creation down to their most base parts, and/or feed them to his Manutri Penguins, which he has conditioned to be only carnivorous.

The terror does not stop there, either- Karzahni possesses an uncanny ability to inflict powerful illusions on others, showing them ‘alternate timelines’, or so he claims, of things that could’ve happened to them; If something in their past, or another’s, turned out differently. Many times he has used this ability to torment and traumatize others, but Karzahni has also used this power to comfort himself with alternate timelines of victory, grandeur, and success of himself.

Because he dives so frequently into the subject of alternate timelines and what could have been, he is often dissatisfied and bitter over his lot- Not only that, but he occasionally has issues remembering what is or isn’t real, and will have to be reminded that what happened in one vision didn’t happen in real life. Sometimes he’ll randomly start talking to someone else that isn’t there, as if interacting with an alternate timeline; It is disconcerting to watch. Additionally, Karzahni uses his power to create simulations and predictions of events as he attempts to figure out the most optimal decision or strategy for himself. The exact accuracy of these predictions are questionable and seem to be somewhat rooted in the data he is aware of.

Karzahni wears unusual, green-and-violet armor. He has a mask that is a patchwork of various other elements, and he wields chains in combat that can lash around foes and rise to burning temperatures, searing through opponents. He has an unusual amount of strength and durability for Xian- Apparently, he has modified himself in the past as well. Even if one were to break through Karzahni’s powerful, demoralizing illusions, the tyrant himself is still a dangerous enemy to fight.

Whenua and Tehutti- These two roommates have a thankless, low-paying job as minimum-wage librarians and occasional tutors. Despite their poor wages and lack of appreciation for their work, these two have a vested passion for history and are eager to share their knowledge with others. With no prompting or personal gain beyond the satisfaction and triumph of it all, these two have pooled their lifetime’s earnings and savings towards expanding their simultaneous home/book store to include a ‘Xian Museum of History’, for any and all who are interested! No cost is required to enter and enjoy their exhibits, but unfortunately no one seems to be interested either…

Rorze- The warden of The Archives, Rorze is an Archives Vahki with the latest, most advanced AI programming in order to achieve maximum efficiency. Although all other Archives Vahki are specially designed to prevent any level of free will whatsoever, Rorze was ultimately granted the ability of sapient thought in order to enhance his leadership abilities and control over the Archives’ security. He constantly supervises every single step of each procedure, while inspecting all possible inches of his facility. Rorze has dedicated his entire existence to maintaining the Archives and protecting whatever is within- It was all he was made for, after all.

Throughout the years, Rorze has subjected himself to new patches to ensure that his programming is completely immune to computer viruses, hacking, and other forms of tampering. After each update is installed, past memories and data are transferred to the new ‘brain’. Whether or not each version of Rorze is truly the same person is up for debate, but Rorze himself does not care. As far as he’s concerned, he has no allegiances or loyalty to anyone, and acts as a neutral party whose sole concern is preserving objects and even living creatures within the Archives. Because of his robotic, single-minded dedication towards his task, Rorze will do anything to accomplish his goals, so long as he is permitted; He is still technically beholden to The Powers That Be and those that he serves.

Idris- A grumpy, surly overseer, Idris was placed in charge of a field of Airweed and its workers after the past overseer and his hired guns mysteriously died, obviously killed by The Beast. Hired specifically for her apathy on the subject, Idris doesn’t particularly care that other workers are at risk of being devoured by The Beast each day they work; Xia’s harsh climate for workers has taught her to be similarly callous. Still, when three masked strangers appear, offering to help find and kill The Beast –and for free no less!- she can’t help but take the offer. Even if their help is on the condition that Idris herself attend the mission…

Fero- Amongst the Bone Hunter clans, one is led by the persistent, vindictive Fero. Fero is the leader of his clan for obvious reasons- He is a skilled, cold fighter who knows when to cut his losses, when to retreat, and when to strike suddenly from the cover of the sands, or the darkness of night. Like any successful Bone Hunter, Fero is a patient individual, and he has led countless raids on villages, caravans, and so forth. His clan has amassed a wide variety of goods and weaponry to sell, alongside prisoners to keep or sell off as slaves.

Fero knows that he is human, just like anyone else, but he manages to get around this by being an incredibly stealthy and skilled hunter. He is an intelligent strategist, knowing exactly how to track footprints in the sand, find resources, or take advantage of the environment to swiftly ambush enemies. He has led various guerilla attacks on past opponents and emerged in victory in the process, and is experienced in the realm of survival in any circumstance. Fero himself wields a hand-held rail gun, and rides atop his personal Rock Steed Skirmix, with rider and steed having known each other their entire lives. Skirmix is fiercely loyal to Fero, and would die for him- And should he die, Skirmix intends to go down alongside him. Skirmix is intelligent and understands Fero’s harsh orders well.

Berix- Travelling across the arid sands of the Baran Desert are Water Merchants, who will sell precious stores of water or replenish them to thirsty travelers. Among them is Berix, a heavily-cloaked, hooded figure who keeps himself cool with mechanisms and air-conditioning units underneath his pack. Despite Berix’s rough, coarse demeanor and voice, he is still trustworthy; He is a man of his word and will not try to scam or take advantage of his customers.

Berix is also a scavenger and collector, and with his supply of water is able to make extended trips out into the desert, hoping to dig up neat artifacts to keep. One can barter for water by trading him a unique item of some sort. Berix owns quite the collection of knick-knacks, some gathered from corpses, or found in the sand, or sold to him; Others bought directly from the market. There is some suspicion towards him having killed or robbed for his collection, but he maintains that he is totally innocent.

Berix wields a sword for self-defense, one that has an edge etched with carvings in the shape of sharp waves. It is a keepsake from the past, one of the first things he found in the desert, and an item he treasures and cherishes. In addition, he also has a shield that doubles as a wide, double-edged sword.

Perditus- Perditus is a frequent champion of Zakaz’s brutal races, riding his own Thornatus V9 into victory. Amongst its modifications are an Exsidian front, an improved engine, a rail-gun, and a few Force Blasters. Outside of his races, Perditus will frequently ride across Zakaz’s deserts, and will offer rides; For a price, of course. The longer the trip, the higher the pay. For someone of his title, he is of course a skilled and quick-thinking driver, able to outmaneuver bandits and Bone Hunters on the fly.

Perditus himself is a mysterious figure, often wearing a racing helmet that obscures his face. There is even a bit of a rumor going about that he is a serial killer, but nobody can know for sure. Outside of his Thornatus, Perditus keeps a rapier on himself for personal defense.

Sahmad- Riding across Zakaz atop his chariot, pulled by a Spikit steed is Sahmad; A ruthless, nihilistic bandit, smuggler, and poacher. Armed with a powerful whip, as well as a rail gun merged with a blade, Sahmad has made a living not only robbing helpless travelers, but also hunting and selling even endangered species- Attached to the back of his chariot is a wheeled cage that he keeps animals in. Poached animals are kept in line with brutal whip-cracks as Sahmad gathers them, before eventually selling them off. On the side, he helps carry cargo of questionable legality across the Baran Desert.

Supposedly, Sahmad was once a member of the decimated Iron Tribe- Apparently, members of the Iron Tribe one day found themselves unable to dream when asleep. This predicament began to spread amongst others, with those afflicted soon going mad as they could not sleep; Rest had no effect on their addled minds, which became unable to recover and sort through the events of each day. Victims of the ‘Dreaming Plague’ eventually could not fall asleep, and died of exhaustion.

Naturally, neighbors of the Iron Tribe reacted in fear, and worked to shun the group. It eventually got so bad that the Vahki, normally scarce in Zakaz, were called in to quarantine and contain the entire tribe. Sahmad escaped the quarantine, traumatized after seeing his loved ones die, and became an outcast- Others in Zakaz feared he had the Dreaming Plague and would spread it to them. As a result of his trauma, Sahmad has become an embittered, nihilistic individual who sometimes wonders if his cruel crimes are his attempts to lash out at the world that had forsaken him and his people so?

Telluris- A mad, brilliant inventor, Telluris was also another survivor of the Iron Tribe after the Dreaming Plague wiped it out; Although he and Sahmad didn’t really know each other back then, nor do they interact much in general. Still, a general kinship between the two is still there, as they both share the same trauma and have also been shunned by Xia for their association with the Dreaming Plague. Once, Telluris partnered up with Sahmad, believing that if they colored their armor a dark-blue, people wouldn’t recognize them…

It didn’t work out, and his armor has remained a rusted-orange since. Yet despite his eccentricities, Telluris is nevertheless a brilliant engineer. On his own, he scavenged parts for and created the Skopio-XV1, a massive four-legged mech with treads built into its limbs. The Skopio has a ‘stinger tail’ equipped with powerful cannons and other weaponry, such as a targeting rail gun and Force Blasters. Telluris himself rides on the back of his Skopio, and has grafted mechanical bits into the back of his head that let himself plug cables leading into his Skopio, enabling a more accurate and precise control over it.

Perhaps to get back at the world that hurt him –or just because- he rampages frequently around Zakaz, attacking villages, settlements, bandits; Anyone that comes across his path. His Skopio-XV1 is unmatched in firepower, and can even fold up to assume a faster vehicle mode as well. Telluris is paranoid, believing everyone has it out for him, and aims to take over all of Zakaz with his personal weapon. Thankfully, his own madness inhibits his effectiveness- If Telluris were fully sane, he likely would’ve taken over Zakaz by now. One has to wonder if he didn’t totally avoid the Dreaming Plague…

Between the occasional rampage, Telluris will suddenly calm down and become peaceful in order to visit markets to buy parts and tools from. He has a hidden garage where he performs maintence on Skopio, which he seems to treat as a living creature and beloved pet of his, often talking to it. Damage against Skopio is a personal affront to Telluris, who believes that people are hurting his precious creature, and he will retaliate tenfold for such an action. Between his sudden mood swings and genuine brilliance, Telluris is a dangerous, volatile character that is hard to predict.

Tuma- Once a slave, this towering titan of a Xian has risen to fame and glory as an esteemed Glatorian. Operating in the Baran desert, Tuma is intimately aware of his place and status in society, and knows that the villages of Zakaz see gladiators like him as nothing more than a tool to use; And he is familiar with indignity and dehumanization of slavery as well. Initially a slave-fighter, Tuma earned his freedom after winning countless battles with his unusually potent strength and huge frame.

Now an independent master of himself, Tuma has become dissatisfied with his lot in society, and still feels like a puppet. To remedy this, he has begun to make recent alliances, hoping to establish a ‘Glatorian Monopoly’ of sorts; Him and other like-minded Glatorian have begun to make deals with one another, purposely losing fights, or choosing jobs, according to the needs of one another. Members of this ‘ring’ of individuals will make alliances, giving out recommendations to one another, and helping to recruit new fighters and training them.

With his lieutenants Stronius and Branar, Tuma hopes to control the gladiator system that many villages in the Baran desert rely on. Ideally, his network of gladiators will collaborate and coordinate with one another, scheming to lose or win matches with each other, reject offers and services unless at a proper price, strike for better conditions, etc. With Tuma at the top of this Glatorian Monopoly, Tuma hopes to rule the Baran desert by proxy of having control over its gladiator matches, which decide the majority of its political decisions and conflicts. With his wealth as a champion, Tuma has also set up betting offices, and employed his fellow Glatorian, whom he essentially commands, into collecting on debts, as well as accepting matches that he deems beneficial, and in general swaying the events of the arena as he pleases.

A Glatorian strike and unionization is much-welcomed, and needed. Many gladiators have benefitted from what Tuma has brought about, and the concerns that some villages have on Tuma are not exactly out of the goodness of their hearts, or for the safety of society. Still, Tuma must not let the power and greed get to his head… It seems that gladiators who refuse to join his alliance tend to get bullied into submission, or find themselves out of a job as other members of the network will take job openings and positions from them. Tuma must beware becoming the tyrant that his masters were, and continue providing power to his fellow gladiators instead of oppressing them as well.

Born with unusual genetics, Tuma towers over most and wears black-and-green armor while wielding a massive sword, shield, and additional blades on his back in combat. Even though he is older than most gladiators, he retains his peak strength, height, and stamina, and stories of this ‘titan’ have spread across Zakaz. Some have interest over the secrets of Tuma’s body…

As a result, groups in the past have attempted to kidnap Tuma for their own gains. Tuma has resisted such efforts naturally, and is used to Exo-Toa Baterra being sent in to spy on him and his actions. Tuma is not open about his Glatorian network, and the Baterra have been sent to keep an eye on him. Unsurprisingly, this kind of surveillance has made Tuma somewhat paranoid, but rightfully so, and he remains sharp-minded as ever to avoid any mistakes.

Metus- A silver-tongued businessman and merchant, Metus has since become a recruiter in the Baran desert. He works to spot out potential fighters and introduce them to the gladiator system, as well as recommend combatants amongst villages, settle disputes, and so forth. Metus has a good eye and nose for potential, able to scout out a potential Glatorian amongst a group, and grant them the funding, investment, and support they need to reach success.

Metus himself was once a trader in the northern-kingdom of Iconox, only to lose everything within the crossfire of a war he wanted no part in. He does whatever it takes to survive, and will gladly sell out anyone else. He is untrustworthy, and while his recommendations are often good, he has also been caught giving villages poor fighters or else granting dishonest advice. On the side, he makes sure to place his bets well and carefully, and has amassed some wealth as a result.

Metus hopes to get in on Tuma’s planned network of Glatorian and gather a share of the riches, yet is also reporting intel and data to Baterra spies as well. Tuma doesn’t trust him of course, but Metus is insistent on getting a hand on the stocks and treasure; He aims to one day become rich enough to truly leave Zakaz behind, perhaps starting his own business in Stelt…

Surel- An aged veteran from the same conflict that robbed Metus of his livelihood, Surel was left wounded and dying on a blood-stained battlefield. But amidst the White Quartz Mountains, she found salvation in a pack of Iron Wolves that tended to her need, helping protect Surel and bringing her food as she recovered.

Now, Surel is a leader of this Iron Wolf pack, and leads them on hunts in the White Quartz Mountains, off the fringes of the kingdom of Iconox. She is mostly crippled from age and old wounds, and walks with a limp and walking stick; But armed with a dagger, she can be lethally fast, taking down and gutting an enemy in seconds. She knows how to conserve and utilize her strength well, and with her pack of Iron Wolves by her side, Surel is a lethal opponent and not one to cross. She has no interest in Zakaz’s politics- She has long ago rejected the battlefield she almost died in, and now intends only to live a life of hunts alongside her trusted Iron Wolves.

The Sisters- A cult of powerful telepaths and mind-readers, this all-female (trans-inclusive!) coven of ‘witches’ lives in a desolate forest, somewhere along the borders of Zakaz. They worship a deity named Annona, and their exact intentions and plots are unknown. They prefer to live to themselves, occasionally venturing out in their forest for supplies, and have used their mental abilities in the past to place others beneath their thrall- Such unfortunate victims are not only robbed and used as proxies to gather more materials, but are occasionally even harvested for their body parts.

The Sisters perform many unusual, arcane rituals. It is unknown to outsiders what they have planned, but evidently they seek to one day find Annona, whom they attribute the cause of their powers to. Attempts to infiltrate the group and learn their secrets have failed; They can sense intent and faultiness, and even Exo-Toa Baterra have been caught by them. Rumor has it that they can even perform magic, and the gladiator Tuma has an unknown connection to them that he’d rather not talk about. Things are apparently uncomfortable between him and The Sisters…

The Kraahl- In the darkness of night, people have spotted them- Darkened, cloaked figures who can be sighted briefly, only to suddenly blip out of existence as if they were never there to begin with. The Kraahl, as they are known, have been known to access areas under heavy fortification, somehow teleporting across massive distances with no one able to catch them. The Kraahl are cryptids in Zakaz, and known to occasionally appear to gather resources for themselves. Attempts to plant cameras and trackers on the things they steal have failed, with signals abruptly ending entirely once the Kraahl disappear. Where are these mysterious people going? Where do they come from? How do they have their power? Attempts to understand and decipher their strange, teleporting abilities have failed.

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