#and i am just . the chapter is detailing about how change in oneself is not easy and it's certainly not easy for therapists to provide | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

20moonchild21 · 4 years ago

Text

𝗦𝗲𝗵𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵𝘁 [𝗯𝘁𝘀]

⇉ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 3

[Pairing]

Jungkook x female!oc, bunny!JK x human!oc

[Warnings]

mentiones of abuse, abuse, traumatized JK, humiliating, breakdowns, past sexual harassment, mentiones of violence, violence

[Words]

4.6k

[author]

Here is the next chapter. I really hope you like it. It is so fun writing new chapters and creating a new story.

Check out my recommendation below this chapter! My personal favorite is Inferiority Complex by @starlightauroras-writes. It‘s well written and so exciting to read. Make sure to leave her a lot of likes and comments! She deserves it so much!

Also, leave a like or comment, if you like this story. This makes me happy!

Stay safe and healthy!

Mꨄ

[chapter 2 ||| chapter 4]

It had been six days, since the girl had found him inside the dark alley way. Six days since she had taken him in with her, and six days since his world had been turned upside down.

Everything he had ever learned in his life, from which he thought they were right and normal, suddenly seemed to be so wrong and cruel. He wasn’t stupid. Of course, in his past he also had wondered if there was a life for him, in which could just be him.

Bred in a laboratory near Seoul, the capital of South Korea, he was soon adopted by a rich couple from New York who were looking for a rare bunny Hybrid. His younger him was so excited to finally be adopted and have a family, instead of some scary people in white coats.

God, had he been wrong.

He was nothing more than a pet for their pleasure. In every way.

A shiver ran down his spine, when he thought about the times the man had run his hands over his sensitive ears, pressing and twisting them. Or when his hands had gone down over his back and into his pants, so he could pull the soft fur of the boy’s fluffy tail. Sometimes, his hands had gone even further down, pinching or slapping his butt cheeks.

The boy felt his cheeks redden at this memory.

At first, he had thought it was an accident. He had made sure to leave some space between the man and him, or wriggle himself out of the man’s grip. Little had he known that he had made things worse by that.

He had gotten many punishments. Some of them were okay for him. They would made him clean the house or the laundry, and sometimes they had would lock him up in the small chamber next to kitchen without some food or drinks for several hours.

This had been some of the harmless punishments.

If he had been really bad, they would made him take of all his clothes, serving either them or their friends as they were over. Other days, they would punched him with this heavy belt or with a bat.

His eyes swelled with tears at this memories. He had always thought that he deserved all of this. He thought it was normal for Hybrids to be subordinated to human. He thought that every time he got a punishment, it had been his fault because he was such a bad Hybrid.

How could he had been so wrong?

Since the girl had taken him in with her, there had been no point where he had felt the urged to hide himself from her. Not even when he accidently dropped the whole package of flour over himself and the floor, while trying to put it up into the top shelf.

The kitchen had stayed silence for a few seconds, before she broke out into the most beautiful laugher he had ever heard. It was not played or evil or meant to hurt him. It was a real, clear laugher, about a funny situation.

He felt himself warming more and more up with every day, getting more and more comfortable while being around the human girl. He also loved the apartment she lived in.

It definitely wasn’t as big as the former house he had lived in. The apartment was small, but he loved anything about it. He loved the soft sofa that was placed in the middle of the living room that was so soft and warms with all its cushions and blankets to wrap oneself in.

He loved the small kitchen that would send out the mouth-watering smell of food every evening.

He loved the white hallway with the photo framed wall that he loved to look at when he was bored, because every time he discovered a new detail of them. Like two day ago, when he looked at the picture of Hope and the older women and suddenly realized that they actually have exactly the same smile.

He loved his own room with the big, soft bed in the middle, on which he loved to lay and read a book when Hope was busy. He had often wondered when she knocked on the door, but she had told him that this room was his private territory, and no one was allowed to enter if he didn’t want to.

Together, him and Hope even had created some kind of a daily routine.

In the mornings after he would wake up around 7.30 am. he would wait for Hope to be done showering. When she was done, she would leave the bathroom for him to go his routine, while starting to prepare the breakfast.

In the bathroom, he would take a quick shower, brush his teeth and hair and change into some new clothes.

Then, he and Hope had some breakfast together, before they both made the dished and he helped her to clean the table. After the dishes were done, Hope would sit down on the same kitchen table, writing something into her laptop, which she said was very important for her university graduation.

He often was a little bit sad that they couldn’t talk to each other while she was working on her essay, but he still tried to be as quiet as possible.

He then would either try to read one of the books standing in her bookshelf, try to sleep or he would watch some TV with the minimum of volume. But yesterday, he had found something more interesting to occupy himself with.

In the corner of the living room, he had spotted Hope’s old guitar. He was so curious that he had carefully asked her about it, and she immediately showed him how to use it. She said that she hadn’t played it in years, because she was too busy with university. But when she had pulled some strings of the wooden instrument, she created such a beautiful melody and Jungkook thought that it sounded absolutely amazing.

She even said, that him practicing the guitar, would not be bothering her while she wrote her terms. So, he tried to play the instrument while she worked. She had showed him how to google for tutorials on YouTube. At first, he was sceptical when the human in the TV screen began to talk to him, but soon, he had realized that he wasn’t actually talking to him, but for everyone who clicked on the video.

Sometimes, he would catch himself how he watched the girl working at the table. He would just stare at how she cringed her nose while her fingers slide over the keyboard, how she chewed on her lips as she read through the thick book, or how her tongue would stick out of her mouth when she was concentration really hard.

Beside the wife of his owner, he had never seen a human girl before. He only had seen some visitors of his owner, with all their make-up, pushed up breasts, heavy perfume and fake laughers. He never had thought at one of them to be beautiful, but Hope was.

He found out that she actually was a year younger than him, but her personality seemed to be much older than his. She never wore too revealing clothes or heavy make-up, nor did she ever covered her scent with perfume.

When he noticed how creepy he would stare at her, deeply absorbed in his thoughts, he would turn his attention back to whatever he had been doing before spacing out.

Once she would be done, usually around noon, they would both go into the kitchen and bake a cake together, that would be eaten in the afternoon. While waiting for the cake to be done in the oven, they would sit on the soft couch and talk about random things.

Jungkook had to admit that talking to the girl was one of his favourite things to do each day. Not only because she was a really funny person, or because her voice was so smooth and soft, but also because she actually talked and listened to him.

In the beginning, he sometimes had hesitated, not wanting to speak too much. But by now, he wasn’t afraid of talking too much and being punished for it. He just could talk as much as he wanted without being stopped.

Hope had told him some stories from her childhood and live. He listened to every detail carefully, wanting to give her the same attention she giving him all the time. She would tell him stories about different items in the house, and she even explained him the photos on the wall next to his room when he had asked about them.

Now he knew that the older women was her mom, who had sadly died a few year ago during a car accident. He felt sorry for her when he saw a tear leaving her eye and for a short moment, he had thought about hugging her. But only for a second. The pain and fear were still bounded too deep onto his bones.

The younger people next to her were her best friend from High School. He didn’t miss the sad tone, as she told him that they hadn’t had talked recently, because every one of them was busy with university and their own lives.

She had also told him about her college life. From what she told him, he assumed that she must be really smart.

But he was even more amazed when she told him about her future plans. Hope wanted to be a lawyer for Hybrid rights, because she thought that they deserve more rights than they have now. She thought that they should be equal to human and that she wanted to give them a voice by standing up for their rights.

He couldn’t believe that she actually was fighting for Hybrids to have all the same rights than human have.

He imagined himself and how he would leave the house to go to work every morning, like every human did each day. He imagines himself and how he would go shopping all by himself, or how he would just walk around the park whenever he wanted to. It must be great to fell that free.

When they would be done eating their cake in the afternoon, Hope would always clean up the apartment a little bit. She said that she didn’t want the house to be sterile, but she wanted it to be tidy. She would use the vacuum to clean up the floor in every room, while Jungkook cleaned up the kitchen from when they had baked.

In the evenings, they would both prepare their diner, before eating it together, making the dishes and watch some more TV, until they both were tired. They would brush their teeth again, before changing into a pair of pyjamas and then go to sleep.

“Jungkoooook! Can you come here for a second, pleeeaaaasee!”

The Hybrid’s ears shot up high in the ear when he heard the girl’s voice coming from the living room. He quickly closed the book he was reading on his bed and laid it onto his nightstand. Slowly and a little bit scared that he had done something wrong, he walked out of his room. He carefully peeked his head around the corner, looking into the living room.

“Hey Jungkook.” The girl waved at him when she saw him standing in the hallway.

The boy gulped. Hope didn’t look mad or angry, so he assumed that he didn’t do anything wrong. Rather than mad, she looked really excited and happy as she made her way over to the couch where the boy suddenly spotted something big.

He curiously made a step further into the living room, slowly making his way up towards her. His mind was filled with questions when he saw the girl walking up to the big, brown box next to the sofa. It was much higher than the small girl, almost his hight, and printed with many different signs and…warnings?

Don’t shake. Caution, heavy package! Lift with care.

“Don’t look so scared, Jungkook.” The girl smiled at him when she saw how he hesitated to come near her. “I have a surprise for you.”

He watched as she pulled a small pocket knife out of the pocket of her jeans. She stepped closer to the package and quickly slide the sharp blade of the knife over the plastic strings that were wrapped around the big box.

“A Surprise?” He whispered in disbelieve. “For me?”

“Yes, for you, silly.” She smiled again, as she cut the last string, leaving only the tape wrapped around the box. “Now come over here. I need your help with this.”

He made two big steps until he had reached the girl and the package. Hope was already pulling at the tape trying to rip it off. He lifted his arms up to the top of the box, pulling the tape that was placed there.

His mind was still filled with questions. Never in his life had someone bought him a present, not even on his birthday. He wondered why she had decided to buy him something this big and heavy, after all, she already shared her apartment with him, and this was more than he could ever ask for. He wondered what was hiding inside the brown cardboard, but he knew that whatever it was, he would love it.

He ripped the last piece of tape off, throwing it onto the pile on the ground. The girl was already holding her knife, slicing open the brown cardboard of the box. When she was done, she laid the piece of metal onto the dining table, before turning around. Her eyes were flickering between the Hybrid and the still closed package.

“Come on. It’s for you.” She said after a few seconds of silence. “Open it.”

He was still looking at the girl with wide eyes, before he snapped out of his trance, and just pulled the brown cardboard away carefully.

He gasped and took a step back. Now standing in the middle of the living room, was a big, red sack. It was round and about his height, with a big metal chain on the top, along with some red, big gloves. He didn’t know what this was supposed to be. Never in his life had he seen something strange like this.

“Do you like it?” The girl squeaked excitedly while jumping up and down.

Did he like it? He didn’t even know what this things was used for. What was he supposed to answer? She looked so excited and happy, and the last things he wanted was to hurt her feelings.

“I – ehm…” He hesitated for a moment. “I like it?”

His answer sounded more like a question, and the girl didn’t miss that.

“You don’t know what this is, do you?” She pulled her left eyebrow up, while she watched in amusement as the boy struggled to find an answer. He was too adorable. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I will show you.”

She walked up to the red sack, standing onto her tippy-toes to reach the red gloves from the top. She pushed them into his arms and gestured for the boy to pull them over his hands.

“This is a punching bag.” She said as she walked behind the so called punching bag. “You can punch and kick it to get stronger, or when you are angry. I just thought – you once said that you think of yourself being too thin, and since you can’t go out, I thought that you would like something like that. We can hang it up in your room if you, but if you don’t want it it’s okay, then I will send it back. Come on, punch it.”

The boy stared at the red gloved that were now covering his hands, before looking up at the girl, checking whether she was serious or not. When their eyes met, she smiled and nodded at him to go on.

He carefully lifted his left hand in the air and pushed it forward. His punch was weakly, as if he was scared to hurt the bag.

The girl encouraged him to hit the bag harder this time. Insuring him that he was not hurting someone.

Jungkook lifted both of his hands this time, like he was actually preparing to fight someone. He threw another punch at the bag, which was much harder this time. Then he threw another one with the other hand.

Something inside him had just been woken up, and he was surprises by the power behind his punches. Before he had come to Hope, he was thin and weak, almost too weak to hold himself on his own legs.

Though he had gained some more weight over the last 7 days, he still was not happy with is body statue. He didn’t want to seem weak anymore. He wanted to be strong and powerful, so he could protect himself so he would never had to fear some human ever again in his life.

Being roommate with the small girl, he had recently developed the primal urge to also want to protect the female from all intruders and dangers coming from outside. So this punching bag could be a good chance to actually gain some muscles.

Over and over again, he punched the bag harder and harder, until the girl, who was still steadying the heavy sack, stooped him.

“Okay, okay!” She laughed, and immediately, Jungkook stopped. “I think it is better to hang it up in your room, or else you will punch me around the room. Come on, help me carrying it.”

Together, they carried the bag into the Hybrid’s room. The girl also brought a hammer and a hook for hanging up the punching bag onto the ceiling. The boy watched in amazement, as she climbed up onto a chair and bringing the hook into the ceiling all by herself.

When she was done, he helped her to lift up the bag and hang it up onto the hook. Proudly, she stepped off of the chair and rubbed her hands.

“Do you like it?” She asked again, this time more referring to the position they had hung up the red bag.

“Yes. I like it very much.” He just whispered, not knowing how to thank her appropriated. “Thank you…Hope. Thank you so much.”

They looked for another seconds at each other, before she said that she had to do some more work. She was about to leave, when she suddenly turned back.

“I forgot something.” She spoke more to herself, as she ran out of the room, leaving the confused boy behind. She came back a few minutes later, holding something black in her hands. “I actually have another surprise for you. Well…it’s not actually a surprise but more like a recommendation from me to you.”

She walked back inside the room, making her way up towards his bed. She asked him if she could sat down and he nodded, taking a seat next to her. Jungkook could sense her racing heartbeat and her nervousness. She lifted the black object and placed it on his lap carefully.

“This is a notebook. I – I know that you have been through some tough times, and it’s okay that you don’t want to talk about it with me. But if you ever feel like you need to get something off of you mind, you can just write it in here. Believe me, it helps very much to organized one’s mind into a notebook. I used one for myself when I was younger and didn’t want to talk to someone. So – here.”

Carefully, she lifted her hand and laid it on his for a moment. She knew that he was still afraid when it came to physical affection, but she just needed him to know that she cared.

Jungkook just stared at the notebook and then at her hand that was covering his. His cheeks blushed slightly when he realized that they were actually touching. But somehow, he didn’t feel the urge to pull away.

“The Simpsons, again?” The girl groaned and threw her head backwards, closing her eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

When she opened her eyes again, she immediately was confronted with those big, brown orbs staring into hers. How could she say no? She sighed loudly, while pressing the right button onto the remote.

“Your play wasn’t fair.” She muttered, as she bent over and snatched the bowl of popcorn out of the Hybrid’s hands.

This day had been more then exhausting for the girl, but also a day of many happy occasion. First of all, she had finally finished the majority of her paper terms. It wasn’t perfect yet, but being done so early she had plenty of time for working on the details.

Jungkook wasn’t so pleased when she had worked twice as long for finishing her terms, meaning that he had to bridge twice as much time alone. He had tried a few times to convince her stop working for today, but when he realized that she wouldn’t go after his demand, he just pouted and went to his own room.

Hope had noticed the process Jungkook had made over the past two weeks which made her extremely proud.

Not only mentally, he became much more confident, but also physically. Since the day she bought him his punching back, he had been practicing almost every day. She would hear the dull tones of his gloves hitting the bag, while she would sit in front of her laptop in the dining room.

His skin and body looked much healthier, now. With his cheeks red and more plump, and with his shoulder and arms that seemed to get much and much broader every day, there was nothing left from the shy, injured boy from two weeks ago.

She had also noticed, that he actually wasn’t too averse to physical affection as she had thought. She thought that she had crossed a border when she touched his hands without his permission a few day before, but since then, he only seemed to trust her more.

He wouldn’t pull his hands away anymore, when their hands accidently touched. He also wouldn’t sit on the couch as far away from her as possible, instead, he even agreed to share the same blanket two nights ago.

He also had taken in her recommendation when she had given him the notebook. She sometimes watched him as he was bent over the small book, writing something in with fast and hectic movements. Sometimes, she wondered if he was actually writing, or if he was just sketching some pictures or signs. But then, he could read, so she assumed that he had learned how to write, too.

When he was done, he would just lay his pen aside, and stare at the book for several minutes, completely spaced out. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, but decided to not go for it. He should always have the chance to organize his thoughts without her bothering him.

The second exciting thing that had happened this day, was Jungkook accompanying her towards the grocery store. It wasn’t planned at all, but lately he had asked her more often if there was a chance that he could leave the apartment. At least one time.

Lucky for him, he had a short fluffy tail that was normal hidden by his shorts, and his ears could be easily covered by a beanie. He had looked like a normal, healthy and happy young man, when he had strolled behind her through the hallways of shelves.

It made her even more sat that he indeed was a normal boy. He had never asked to be bred in a laboratory. He had never asked to be threatened like a slave in his own home, and he especially deserved nothing mor than to feel normal. One day – One day he would get the chance to feel normal. She would to anything in her power to give him that chance.

“We can also watch something else if – if you want.” Jungkook ripped her out of her thoughts.

He had curled up under the blanket beside her, nudging his head into the soft pillow behind him. His ears were sprawled out to one side and all over the soft cushion, as well as his deep brown hair. The day in the supermarket had really worked him out.

The boy was so focused on the TV playing his favourite cartoon, that he didn’t notice how the girl took a quick picture of his being curled up on the couch. She looked at the taken picture for a few seconds, before closing her phone and throwing into onto the couch.

A sudden idea came into her head. The boy’s birthday was coming up soon, and she was still thinking of a nice surprise for. She knew he loved all of the photos that were placed all around the apartment. He loved to look at them every morning while she worked, and he loved even more when she told him the story behind every single photo, even if she had told them to him for several times.

What if he would wake up on his birthday, leaving his room and seeing a photo of him framed and hung up onto the wall? She actually like that idea.

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked for her phone. Why did she had to throw it away so far from her? She groaned. If she wanted to memo her idea, she needed to move now. She pushed the blanket away and bent over to reach her phone.

While doing so, she accidentally pushed her hand onto the remote, that laid next to her. The TV screen went black for a moment, before popping up with a new picture.

In the middle of the screen was now a news reporter talking. Hope didn’t pay him any attention. She was still occupied with her phone, when suddenly the Hybrid next to her shot up from his lying position.

He sat straight up, his mouth slightly open and his ears high up in the ear. Like paralyzed, his wide open eyes were fixed on the screen where the report was still talking about something the girl hadn’t caught yet.

“Jungkook?” She asked quietly, but he didn’t’ move an inch. “Jungkook, are you –“

“Shhhhh!” He didn’t even looked at her, as he shushed her shut, pointing his finger wildly onto the TV screen.

“…Unfortunately, the police had not been arriving in time. Witnessers though spotted some of the rarest breeds under the illegal participant Hybrids. Among them were Asiatic lions, some Azawakh dog and even an Amur Leopard. All of these Hybrids belong to the rarest breeds of the world. Dealing or participating them in illegal fighting clubs is highly is highly punished…”

Bullshit. None of those people will ever be arrested, and this guy in the TV knew it. If illegal dealers or ZCM’s, so called ‘Zoo Club Members’ or owners who send their Hybrids to illegal fighting clubs, were caught, there was neither someone who wanted to defend the Hybrids in front of the judge, nor no one even cared to actually bring the case in front of a judge.

She turned her head over to the hybrid sitting on her couch, but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. When he had jumped up from the couch, she thought that he got scared because of the sudden change of the TV channel, but what she saw broke her heart.

The bunny Hybrid had laid his ears flat against his head, while big tears were spilling out of his eyes. Between short sobs and gasps he whispered two words all over again.

“Jin Hyung.”

[inspirations | recommendations] ⇉ 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀!

@wishesunderthestars

@agustdakasuga

@ditttiii

@angelicyoongie

@starlightauroras-writes

193 notes · View notes

5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

Text

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written)

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

I’ve been picking at this particular request since early December as the person who requested it had a lot of details they wanted put in making the writing process a bit more challenging. As a disclaimer, note that the chapter is split between present time and the past; with Logan recalling things in his past in an attempt to make the details requested for the story flow better. I received this request from AO3.

General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck

Experimental Socialization

Summary: Logan was raised by the government to be nothing more than an experiment and a weapon, utilizing his unique abilities as a mutant. When he finally escapes things are much different than he imagined they’d be but thankfully finds others like him willing to help guide him right where he needs to be.(Happy Ending)

Warnings: allusions to abuse, physical punishment and human experimentation, tw for weapons and fire, panic attack. If there are more please let me know

Prompt; Not Used To Freedom (requested by AngstyEmoGal on AO3)

Ships: Intrulogical, Logan x Remus

WC: 3432

“You just gotta breathe, Logan. In four, hold seven, out eight remember? You’re doing great, just keep going.”

Logan felt himself slowly coming back to reality as his breathing evening out, the raw panic that had gripped his chest easing slightly as Virgili continued coaxing him through the exercise. He felt the other slowly rub up and down his arm in a slow, steady beat that helped ground him further in reality and he smiled up at his friend gratefully and nodded to let xem know he was okay. Gripping his knees as Virgil’s voice trailed off he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and let out one last calming breath.

“Thank you, Virgil. I-” He struggled to find words, gesturing flippantly in the air making Virgil grin.

“It’s okay. Take your time, L.”

Logan puffed his cheeks out in frustration, thoughts swirling too quickly for him to comprehend anything but the apprehensive fear he held for the plans Remus had made for them later that evening. “I am- not used to being outside. Given my history and the threat I pose as a potential compromise to our place of hiding I fail to understand Remus’ reasoning for going out when we could just as easily celebrate our relationship here.”

“Hm.” Virgil leaned back on xyr hands and looked up at the low ceiling of their underground paradise. “Can’t really see the stars from here, no matter how many stickers Princey finds and puts up it can't really be compared to the real thing.”

Logan had made the mistake of going on a tirade of space facts a few months into his stay in the hideout, Remus patiently listening to the extensive infodump of constellation facts and space physics and planetary rotation. Having a limited amount of books to entertain oneself with for extended periods of time meant memorizing entire books on one subject, which Logan had used all too happily as a figurative escape from his situation in the past until he had actually managed to escape when he was 16. Hearing Logan speak so passionately about the subject had apparently made his mind up that he was taking Logan outside for their first “official” date to view the stars, which had then landed Logan in his current state of panic as he realized that date was today and he was decidedly not ready for what might lay in store outside of safety of the hideout.

“I can stay close by if you want. I won’t spy or anything and Remus won’t have to know.” Logan looked over as his thoughts were interrupted by the offer, Virgil turning invisible and reappearing a couple seconds later to emphasize xyr point. Smiling Logan shook his head, knowing the other derived as much joy from going outside as Logan felt about going himself.

“Thank you for the offer though, you’re very kind.” Letting his thoughts drift again he idly wondered when Virgil had discovered xe could disappear and reappear at will and if xyr parents had tried to hide it before the government had found out. His own parents-

-----

“Logan?” A very small Logan turned at his mother’s voice, losing his concentration which made the hidden jar of Crofters fall from its suspended place in the air and smash to the floor. His parents hadn’t known he possessed any sort of powers, and even as small as he was he still understood the position he’d put them in if they ever found out. Fearfully his hands dropped to his sides as his mother covered her mouth in shock, tears rolling down her cheeks as she took a step back.

Men in suits and long coats were there just a few hours later, speaking in hushed voices while both of his parents cried and he was ushered out the door and into an unmarked car, quiet as he understood yelling and crying would do him no good now. What’s done was done, all he could do was be compliant and hope to be treated gently.

-----

The room suddenly brightening with a flickering light brought him back out of his thoughts, Roman entering with his signature bright flame held proudly in his hand. The image of him in his rather scrapped together Princely outfit posing subconsciously in the doorway was almost enough to make Logan roll his eyes but he didn’t want Virgil to think it was because of xem so he managed to restrain himself.

“My dearest brother has been pacing in the same spot for two hours now and I haven't been able to calm him down soooo I thought to check on our resident nerd.” Roman declared with his usual flare. Logan actually did roll his eyes this time but Virgil did as well so he figured it was fine.

“The ‘resident nerd’ is doing fine, Roman. Though it's concerning to hear Remus is nervous as well considering he’s the one who suggested the date.”

Roman waved his hand at Logan dismissively. “He’s just a sap- moreso than me surprisingly. He doesn’t want to do anything to put you in danger but he wants to do something nice, so he’s worried that’s all. Remus is an idiot but I trust him with my life; believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about except his terrible sense of humor.”

Logan merely hummed in response, staring at the way the flame moved around as Roman gestured with his words.

-----

He panted as he rolled out of the way of another flamethrower, singeing the tips of his hair in the process but he couldn’t afford to slow down enough to worry about that. Years of training with different fighting styles had earned him incredibly fast reflexes but a good portion of his accuracy in knowing where to step and when was owed to him working even harder to focus his powers. Thoughts from others constantly surrounded him on a regular basis, getting more and more prevalent the older he grew. Learning to block out the constant string of stimuli was a useful skill to keep him sane but learning to hone in on specific thoughts to predict actions was what had kept him alive.

He ducked below another bullet and brought up his leg in the same motion, kicking a throwing knife to the side and sending it to clatter harmlessly between one of his assailants feet. A twirl to the side and a tilt of the head let another bought of flame boil the air beside him while another knife just barely brushed his ear. The constant bang of bullets and roar of flames and whistling of knives was overwhelming and made the air so thick he could barely draw a breath and it was becoming a struggle to concentrate the way he needed to and-

A high pitched alarm sounded one, twice, three times- a blaring flash accompanying it that left him blinking painfully. His shoulders slumped as the barrage finally ended, another successful training day completed. He watched as everyone began putting their weapons away, laughing and congratulating each other, clapping themselves on the back and discussing whatever they had planned after this. No one even spared the thing they had been firing at seconds before a spare glance, save for the director of the branch, who took long steps forward to stand in front of him only to snap his fingers and motion forward no doubt to see him back to his room until dinner. Absorbing the sounds around him he drank in as much praise as he could that wasn’t his and would never be for him; people rarely congratulated weapons after all.

-----

“Is this where we all decided to hide today?” Logan looked up to see Patton sitting cross legged on one one of the beams in the ceiling, grinning happily down at them even as their fluffy ears twitched nervously and even fluffier tail whipped back and forth in agitation. They must have come back from trying to calm Remus as well, Logan mused; Patton had never done well being in the same room as Remus who tended to voice his thoughts abruptly and without much care to how they might sound to others which always managed to set Patton on edge no matter how hard they tried not to show it.

Patton was a rare mutant in that as opposed to being born with abnormal traits or abilities they had been a science experiment from the start- an effort to create super soldiers rather than stealing them away from families and training them. Even rarer was the fact that the DNA splicing had taken extraordinarily well by pure chance as Patton was born with a mutation that left their DNA incredibly malleable- a mutation that never would have been discovered had cellular manipulation not been the reason for them being in the experimental branch that they were. They had tried cloning Patton at first to see if their power could be duplicated but when that failed to work they began trying to combine them with different animals to see if desirable traits would come forward. By manipulating them on a physical and anatomical level they were able to change some parts of them to be more cat like, intending, Patton had guessed, to turn them into a kind of stealth soldier but they got away before they completed it, leaving them with heightened agility and surgically coaxed cat ears and a tail. They were only a child when the lab had done this but somehow they were never bitter, simply preferring to leave their past alone and embrace whatever future they could make- a trait Logan greatly admired them for even if their unending optimism could be somewhat grating at times.

“Did Janus brush your tail out Pat? It looks fluffier today.” Patton preened at Virgil's compliment, their tail beginning to wave in a more relaxed manner as their mind was distracted from whatever it was Remus had been ranting about.

“He did! He found a cat brush and got it for me so I could finally get the undercoat out!” Jumping down and landing lightly on their feet they posed a little and flashed another wide grin.

“Beautiful as always, Patton.” Roman said genuinely as he lowered his hand into a barrel to light up the paper scraps and wood in it for the night, the dim sunlight that had filtered through the grated having long since died. The home was a modified branch of a sewer system, thankfully the part most removed from the city where it flowed without the stench and was sealed off inconspicuously enough that in the ten years Janus and Remus had been using it no worker had ever found it.

-----

It had been Janus and Remus who had found him, beaten and bloody from an escape attempt he had made just days before his real one. He had made a weak attempt to coax the scientists into a false sense of security, holding back the full scoop of his powers during training for a year in anticipation for his final escape. He had punished severely but had simply thrown him in his regular cell, assuming he wasn’t strong enough to do any more damage than they had seen him do already and trusting that they had beaten him down enough that it would be a while before he tried again- if he ever did. Not six days later the mangled metal of the front of his cell was tossed into a group of guards, walls torn apart in a straight line to the exit and the huge buzzing gates leading to the outside world thrown open wide and stuck there with varying amounts of heavy debris.

The outside world, as it turns out, was a lot bigger and louder and downright terrifying when you weren’t being sent out as a personal assassin or field missions or training sessions- all controlled on some level to keep him from being killed and compromised. Without the begrudged protection from the labs and moreover having to hide from said lab was another story entirely. The times they searched for him and how closely they came to his spots were random and made it incredibly hard for him to pick out their thoughts from anyone else’s in the city and figure out how close they were. On more than one occasion they passed right by him crouched under piles of garbage or laying low under a hedge, his breath held as he tried desperately to keep himself as still and quiet as possible, thoughts of what they would to him once they found him pounding against his head and making him squeeze his eyes shut to keep his terrified tears from falling.

That was how Remus had found him. It had been dark and hours had passed since the searchers had left that park he had been hiding in. He had still been hiccuping down his sobs as he rolled out from under the hedge that he hadn’t bothered to scope the area for anyone’s close by thoughts, having shut out as much as he could after they had left to try and block out any other hate fueled thoughts that may send him spiraling again. His heart had leapt in his throat so high his breath caught painfully, immediately shifting to offense as he tensed, ready to fight as long and hard as he could. He couldn’t go back- he wouldn’t. No matter what they did or promised him or punished him with; he’d go down fighting or not at all.

But Remus had only raised his hands in the air in a motion of peace, eyes widening as he locked onto the government issued bracelet that marked him as an experimental mutant. He had grinned impossibly wide then Logan remembered, briefly disappearing from his sight and reappearing a moment later, setting him even more on edge but curious nonetheless.

“I’m like you.” Remus had said quietly. “Basically I run real fast and the government hasn’t figured out how to get me yet.”

Logan had watched as he jiggled his wrists a bit for emphasis, bare save for colored chords that he assumed didn’t associate him with any government branch since they didn’t look official.

“Are you okay?” Remus had asked next and mutely Logan nodded, unsure of how to react to this fellow mutant who had never been caught by any sort of lab, apparently living as free as one could when you were as different as they were. He stepped back as another man appeared behind him, Janus he later learned.

“Liar.” Janus had hissed, making Remus reach around and smack the back of his head.

“It was a polite thing to ask that he tried to dismiss Jan. Let the adults speak for a second.”

Logan had noted the faint pout on Janus’ face though he was still trying very hard to look intimidating. And then all at once his eyes had turned cold as his attention was once again focused on Logan, glaring menacingly from beneath a black bowler hat. “I’m younger than you and yet I’m the one that has to put my foot down. He’s being chased clearly; we are not bringing him back with us.”

Remus has turned, Logan seemingly forgotten for the moment. “That’s not how it works! He needs help and we’re not leaving him to starve or be found in the middle of a park! What would Patton say?”

“Patton is a soft fool who needs to figure out where their morals stand. I myself am choosing not to compromise our place of hiding and three other people that you know those power hungry idiots would love nothing more than to get their hands on!”

Remus rolled his eyes so hard his head had lolled with it, face going pale as he watched something in the sky. It was then that Logan heard the telling sound of a helicopter flying low and getting closer but he had barely tensed before he found himself gripped around the middle and held vertically with the ground flying underneath him. They stopped abruptly and he was set down, blinking in rapid confusion as Remus grinned sheepishly at him.

“Welcome to the hideout?”

Logan’s eyes had widened and his breath had caught yet again, chest tightening as he shook his head vehemently. “You can’t- I need to go back! They’ll do anything to get me back-!”

He was stopped from going forward with a finger to his chest, his blue eyes locking with beautiful brown as Remus held his gaze. “And we will do everything to keep you safe.”

Safe. With that one word Logan was his. He hadn’t known why and he still didn’t quite understand it but he had trusted Remus with everything he had- and he still did. Even as Janus had stalked off grumbling and Virgil and Roman had kept their distance at first Remus had kept him close and showed him how much better his life could be, even if they were living in a modified sewer system.

Back in the present he looked up as a hand was thrust under his chin, smiling softly as he took Remus’ hand and let himself be led away from the others’ idle chatter. He counted himself extremely lucky in the end that Janus had eventually come around to him, seeing how happy he made Remus and how Remus made Logan feel it had been him to finally talk to Logan about it and get the two to officially talk about how they felt, going on about the being “hopeless gay idiots” when they had finally started to date officially. Logan wasn’t sure what he’d do without Remus at this point, just a year later and he was so attached to their small group of hideaways he wouldn’t trade for the world.

They approached the exit to the sewers, Remus swinging their hands between them. Logan held his breath right before they crossed the threshold, closing his eyes and letting it out slowly as his feet met grass and he opened his eyes to the darkened field. There were a few tunnels that lead out to different places depending on where they needed to go and this, Remus had told him, was his favorite because of how empty it was. The city lay far in the distance so there was almost no light pollution to block out the sky. Soft grass and flowers brushed his ankles as he scanned the area carefully, seeing nothing but trees lining the far end of the field with a road so far away he could barely, make it out in the darkness. Remus tugged his hand softly to get his attention, searching his eyes for any hint of discomfort.

“Is this okay?’

Logan took another breath and let it out, the last of his nerves fading away as he took in the quiet. “It’s perfect Remus.”

The other grinned and tugged a little harder this time, walking fast to the middle of the field where he stopped suddenly and raised Logan’s arm up to lead him into an impromptu twirl. Logan laughed quietly and then louder as he was dipped, secure in Remus’ strong hold as he reached up to grip the back of his neck. He was safe. He was free and safe and happy finally with someone who truly loved and cared for him. His breath caught in his throat again but this time in awe, Remus chuckling as he was laid down carefully tucked into his side, till with his arms around his neck.

The stars shone bright and winked lazily while swirls of color dusted faintly behind them. The moon was waning, a barely there light that let the beauty behind it show fully as the wind whisked away any clouds that dared to try and cover it. It was everything Logan had ever hoped it would be and more, excitement thrumming through him as he squeezed Remus tightly in an attempt to convey it. He felt Remus grin against his scalp where his face was buried in his hair.

“It’s beautiful isn't it?”

Logan looked back at him, light from the stars reflected in his eyes and wild brown hair framing his face. He leaned up slightly and kissed him, a faint brush of their lips that left them both grinning like the idiots they were. Placing a hand on Remus’ cheek Logan smiled at him, thumb brushing over his cheek in adoration.

“Absolutely stunning.”

This work and others are also available on AO3!

If you like this, please consider reblogging, as sharing a creator’s work is very encouraging to us and helps our creations reach more people!

74 notes · View notes

confusedgoldenflower · 3 years ago

Text

There is No Glorious Purpose Chap. 2

Hello, you beautiful Tesseract-loving bastards!

I've been meaning for a long time to update but I've been having a really bad time with the whole motivation thing, and what I had first thought of doing with this fic got thrown in a wood-chipper and sunk with the Titanic... so, I'm trying to pick up the pieces and decide where I want to go with this. I also wanted to do it episodically: Chapter One aligned with Episode One and so on. That has not worked partly due to the issues of the above so, well, I guess we'll find out together!

So sorry for any grammar issues, I did my best to look it over but got too sick of staring at it over and over again in my drafts.

Small Thor cameo!

Chapter Two: You Oafs

“Yeah, well, you’re a mischievous scamp--or at least, the other you is. Been killing our minutemen and stealing our reset charges. Been happening for quite a long time….” Mobius whistled lowly. Loki nodded slowly.

“If you know me or us as well as you say, what need have you of my help?”

“Like I said, mischievous scamp. And I know what makes a Loki tick, sure, but even Sherlock needed Watson sometimes--you do know about them, right? Really fun stories with a super smart detective and his below average side-kick--.”

Loki ignored the rambling, “I agree.” Perhaps then… after… peace? “Just tell me, please… is it true that I directly led to my mother’s death?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, definitely. Thor was pissed and then he dragged you along to Svart--Svartle… anyway, the planet of the Dark Elves with Jane because she absorbed the Aether. Then you faked your death, again . There’s that ‘doing a horrible thing then getting away,’ again. But Thor totally gets you back on Sakaar with those Obedience Disks. Yeah, yeah… oh, right, you don’t know--and won’t. He slaps one of ‘em on you when you betray him again, then dials it up all the way while he returns to Asguard. For a god, you get put down a lot .” Mobius chuckled.

Loki sucked in a shuddering breath, reverently laid the Tesseract down and stood, “let us catch this scoundrel then.” He faked a smile for the agent.

“Ok,” Mobius clapped and rubbed his hands together, “what a therapy session!”

Loki had a fleeting thought of, “he must be some Midguardian fool, possibly in some relation to Thor,” before he remembered that the all powerful Time Keepers had created the oaf in front of him.

“Ya know, for the record, maybe ‘undying fidelity,’ wasn’t the right thing to say to Thanos. Just saying. But this is good! We’re gonna be a great team.”

~~~@%*^*%@~~~

“Loki,” the orange clock whined on his ‘gifted’ desk. Though still somewhat transparent, Miss Minutes was a fairly good illusion.

“Yes?” He replied pleasantly, blue hand turning the page of a magazine. His slack-clad legs were propped on the desk, fine business shoes not too far from where she stood on a rather large book. The suit replacement of the prison wear wasn’t bad, he, of course, would have done better had he access to his seidr. But it was fine for the time being.

“Are you paying attention?” The angry little clock motioned to the old Midguardian computer screen which read in that same horrible orange color:

LET’S SEE WHAT YA KNOW!

Q2. Thanos has two apples. He eats both but realizes he wants more. He goes back in time 20 minutes and eats the apples again. Does this mean the apples will not have existed in the timeline he left?

No, because time is constantly happening

The question doesn’t matter because a branch cannot change another time branch

Thanos would’ve been hungry prior because the Grandfather paradox already accounted for the change in matter before it’s move.

TVA FILE EDIT VIEW MODE HELP

Of course he was paying attention, and of course he chose not to amuse them! One order after another; feeding off of each other even. He may have bowed to Thanos but he had never kneeled. Not truly. And he clung to that remaining dignity.

“Naturally,” he returned pleasantly. She sighed.

“What happens when a nexus event branches past red line?”

“Ragnarok.”

“Come on, Loki. What is it?... Loki!”

“It is when the TVA can no longer reset a nexus event. Are you satisfied?’

“Right. And that would lead to the destruction of the timeline and the collapse of reality as we know it.” He lowered the magazine lower into his lap and took his feet off the desk.

“Yes, indeed. Are you alive or a recording? Clearly, you can hear me.”

Her big cartoonish eyes moved around, “uh… sorta both?”

“So not an illusion or projection?” He swiped at her with the rolled up magazine.

“Ah!” A small smirk ghosted his face and he went after her again.

“Watch it! Where are your manners? Oh! Hey! Quit it! That is not nice, ya jerk!” She floated and then fazed back into the computer. He gave that ugly thing a few whacks as well. She pouted on the other side of the screen.

“Trainin’ going wel--is that my jet ski magazine? Put it down, Blue-Raz.” Mobius ripped the magazine from him, swivelled to his desk then swiveled again to flop a jacket in front of Loki.

“Gear up, there’s been an attack. Let’s go.” The agent commanded. Loki picked up the jacket. It unfolded from the collar, back facing him. “VARIANT” was emblazoned across it.

“Ah,” was all he commented as he moved to slip it on before his handler got any ideas while he was led down hallways. Norns knew the agent would have plenty of examples in his own life up to that point, much less his future or other variants.

“Good. Yeah. Smart.” Mobius commented with his fists in a move reminiscent of excited warriors as said human stopped to look back at his charge and the newly bestowed article of clothing. B-15 gave her usual droll stare. Her minutemen stood around her in a group.

“ C-20 and her team went dark shortly after they jumped into the 1985 branch. All signs point to another ambush. We've grabbed enough temporal aura to know it's our Loki Variant.”

The “actually dangerous” sort, Loki groused silently. Then Mobius opened his mouth.

“Here's the deal. When we get out on the branch, we're not just looking for a Time Criminal. We're looking for a Loki. A variation of this guy. A type we should all be very familiar with, because the TVA has pruned a lotta these guys, almost more than any other Variant. And no two are alike. Slight differences in appearances, or not so slight. Different powers, although, powers generally include shape-shifting, illusion-projection, and my favorite... Duplication-casting. Illusion-Projection.”

Mobius gestured to him when applicable in his little speech, also projecting other variations of Loki with his TemPad--all assumedly pruned likewise. Variation 8: L6792 looked exactly like he would now had he’d been afforded the luxury of keeping his clothes, but also with slight differences that led Loki to think that that variant must have been favored royally in some way he was rejected.

Variation 8: L1247 looked like a Midguardian sportsman happily holding a trophy of some kind. Variation 8: L6792 was an atrocity of him and the Hulk combined. Variation 8: L8914 was more strongly built with more prominent hair curls in their longer hair. They stood like dignitary with their hands behind them. Variation 8: L7803 looked like an oaf. A full, half-face helmet emblazoned with the horns in the wrong direction and even a piece of turf over the shoulder like a cape. Oh, dear….

“No.”

“...Huh?”

“Those two powers are completely different, although, I am unsurprised you cannot comprehend it.”

“Loki, what are you talking about--look, I’ve dealt with more of you than you’ve dealt with yourself.”

“The truth remains that those powers are not the same.”

“Then, please, Loki, tell me.”

Loki smiled easily and supplicatingly at the contempt and patronization, just like talking to anyone in Asguard.

“ Illusion-projection involves depicting a detailed image from outside oneself, which is perceptible in the external world, whereas duplication-casting entails recreating an exact facsimile of one's own body in its present circumstance, which acts as a true holographic mirror of its molecular structure.”

“Ok, take a breath. Noted. We’re gonna break into two teams, including myself and Professor Loki here”

B-15 still looked unamused and dubious.

“Whoever the Variant is, we haven’t been able to find them so I’m the Sherlock and he’s my Watson. Look, this’ll work.” Mobius said to her. She side-eyed Loki, Loki who had nothing but a branded jacket to protect himself with.

“And so my agency in this is to… tell you how brilliant you are.”

“Go outside, maybe touch some grass.” Mobius returned with a tilted smile under his twisted nose.

“Ah. I shall protect myself with your wit, then, should this superior being choose me as a next target.”

Mobius chuckled and mimed “talky-talky” again.

He passed through the portal B-15 had summoned, closed in on both ends by TVA agents. Immediately, he could feel his seidr swell within him again and redonned his Aesir glamor. The choker chafed as he glanced around, and he found himself much preferring the biting metal of the chains he was usually imprisoned in. The place they passed into was a celebration of old Midguardian times, further back than what the TVA modeled itself after, in direct juxtaposition of the modern technology with the humans held in their hands, and had used to both get to the location and create their sometimes elaborate costumes.

“Apex of nexus signature located, ma'am,” a minuteman said as they walked.

“Allow me to ask you this, why do we not travel to the moments prior to the Variant’s attack, to when they arrive.” Loki asked as the tent grew ever nearer.

“Nexus events destabilize the time flow. This branch is still changing and growing, so you gotta show up in real time. Did you watch any of the training videos you were supposed to?”

The minutemen twisted their batons, the ends glowing a shade that seemed to haunt the TVA as they neared.

Loki chuckled a laugh that was never and would never be heartfelt, “my dear Sherlock, you should know I am quite the scholar. But these ‘reset charges,’ they ‘prune’ a branched timeline which ‘allows time to heal all wounds.’”

Mobius made an odd gesture towards him, “he’s on it.”

Within the dark, torch-lit tent, limp minutemen laid about the displays which held real weapons and a large, stepped seating construct. Their bodies were splayed out in obvious struggle. Unactivated batons laid around as well, a few clenched in hands. A helmet bearing “C-20” laid, discarded within the scene. Loki hovered a hand over one display as he passed and they grouped around the scene.

“So he's taking hostages now?” B-15 spat.

“The Variant's never taken a hostage before,” Mobus returned.

“Maybe he's upping his game.”

“Or he pruned her,” a minuteman remarked.

“A Loki couldn't have gotten the jump on C-20.” B-15 returned.

“Fan out and search for her. And hurry up, we're at three units until red line.” B-15 ordered, her minutemen immediately moving to obey.

“Let's go. She's right.” A peon echoed.

Mobius concurred, “Come on.”

“Wait….” Loki said, brow knit as he studied the scene.

“What do you see?” Mobius asked as he stepped away from the entrance.

“I see wolf’s teeth.”

“Yeah, ok,” Mobius motioned for him to hurry and Loki got brief satisfaction that the human had no idea what he was talking about.

“‘Where there are wolf’s ears, there are wolf’s teeth,’” Loki echoed one of many sayings he heard during his childhood, especially before bed. He swallowed down the thought of a certain story about blue, darkly lined and vicious monsters.

“Ridiculous, really,” he laughed hallowly, “my people are gullible fools by nature. You remind me of them; the Time Variance Authority and the great gods of Asgard. One and the same. Drunk with power, blinded to the truth. Those you underestimate will devour you, and we’ve just walked into a wolf’s mouth.” He raked his eyes across his audience as he spoke, kneeling down in front of the helmet and stroking his hand in the grassy turf. The minutemen seemed to falter ever so slightly, B-15 rolled her eyes, and Mobius stared.

A TemPad beeped, “two units, he’s wasting our time.”

“No, step outside this tent and my other Variant will devour you,” Loki stated plainly. It was easy, nearly in a terrifying way, how he fell into the usual routine he had had with his oaf of a brother and his lackeys, who, similarly, never headed his words.

“We need to look for C-20.” B-15 repeated.

“Come on, Loki, we don’t have time for your lies.”

“Oh, I am not lying, and out of curiosity, when you find them, will you prune us both seeing as you will not have any need of me?”

Mobius sighed and gesticulated like a frustrated middle-aged Midguardian, “he’s lying.”

Loki’s head turned to the side minutely, in a ghost of a head shake. His stomach turned the way it usually did when he knew things were about to--.

“Aghr!” A minuteman had exited and had been consequently slaughtered. A brawl broke out just outside the small entrance. Innocent event-goers made exclamations outside as well. Batons revved, and B-15 and Mobius stalked to the opening. Loki walked behind them.

“The charge!” Someone yelled. The fight continued. A cloaked figure with amazing skill in combat fought them all while a crowd of civilians formed around them. There were a few smiles and jeers, no doubt thinking it was all a show.

“On behalf of t-... the Time Va-...Variance Authority, I hereby-... arrest you for-... for crimes against the… Sacred Timeline, V-… Variant!” B-15 huffed between blows.

“Ergh!” A minuteman got pruned. Loki’s cloaked variant said nothing, only continued fighting. He backed back into the tent, took aloft a jousting lance, broke it half and reemerged. For all their combined ability, the TVA was losing. The glow of pruning swung around arbitrarily. He dipped into the fight and caught his counterpart’s cutlass in the cross the two ends of the lance made.

“Pardon me, I mean no intrusion,” he said calmly to his other self, noticing a similar collar of metal that had adorned his own garments. He could feel the other’s tension as they reclaimed their sword and focused solely on him. It proved more of a poor decision than anticipated and he found himself holding his breath in pain more than he’d wanted. The wood was also useless and even though both it and he put up a valiant fight, his other self had taken hold of a baton along the line. His weapons were useless as they continued to share blows. He lowered the stubs of wood and opened his arms. The glowing end came close.

Then it wasn’t.

The grunting that followed was B-15 and Mobius disarming the variant of the baton and nearly restraining them.

“About to redline!” A remaining minuteman nearly yelled. B-15 and Mobius shared a look. A door was opened and Loki found the cloaked figure disappearing into a flurry of gold.

“What in the Rolling Stones was that, Blue-Raz?!” Mobius had him hard by the shoulder of both his jacket and dress shirt.

Loki blinked once then made eye contact with Mobius, “what ever do you mean?”

“He was about to kill you!”

“Prune,” Loki politely corrected. Mobius gawked.

“I kno--what were you thinking?!”

“Your only use of me is to capture me, I was assisting in that.”

“By letting you be killed by yourself?!”

“A mere distraction to the larger goal, Mobius.”

“And it almost worked,” B-15 piped from somewhere beside them. Her voice had dropped a tone or two.

“Yeah… almost had ‘im too.” Mobius admitted, letting Loki go. “But seriously, man, what was that?”

“Nearly fulfilling my role, as you yourself stated.” Loki replied pleasantly.

“We also barely pruned it in time and got outta there with our lives.” B-15 stated.

“Yeah…” Mobius rubbed the back of his head with his other hand on his hip as he stared at the floor. I was not lying, Loki wanted to say. To push. To scream. But he instead focused on the ache in his back. It should be fine in a matter of a few more hours given the time he had for recovery before the Tesseract opened the portal in New York and he was knocked from the Mind Stone’s, and thus Thanos’, direct influence.

~~~@%*^*%@~~~

Loki subconsciously touched his hideously blue palm as he waited outside of the judge’s office for his handler. The doors were decorated with sandglasses. How quaint .

Mobius finally emerged, stalking right past him. Loki fell in step behind him. He realized such only after he’d done it.

An angry finger wagged in front of him as they walked, “one thing, Loki, that’s all I asked.”

“The ‘talk’ from earlier.”

“No! Catching the superior version of yourself. We lost guys out there today-- good guys!” Good, yes, ‘good guys’ who also happened to have erased who knows how many people from existence.

“There would have been a lot more had I not been there and, likewise, a lot less had I been heeded.”

“And there you go again. That narcissism! Do you ever stop? Get tired of yourself?”

Loki didn’t respond as Mobius stopped and whirled on him, only gave him his schooled expression.

“I’m on thin ice ‘cause of you. I saved you, remember that? Didn’t that mean anything to your Asguardian standards or personal morals or anything?”

“If you recall, I was about to meet that fate regardless as I helped you bring in my Variant. I also have little doubt you will delete me if I survive assisting you in their arrest either way.”

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy? Ok. Well that other you is worse, remember that. He’s killed a lot of people--more than you. You’re just a little blue ice runt, crying in the cold.”

Loki chuckled and didn’t even need to bite back the urge to correct this “Loki expert.”

“Ever get tired of playing this same old part?” Mobius continued bitterly, “I’m getting sick of your constant need for sympathy, Loki!”

“Mobius?” He asked after allowing a few minutes to pass.

“What?” Mobius mumbled.

“This other Variant is after reset charges, why not supervise another ‘pruning’ in case we find the correct branch they target. How many happen in a day, usually?”

~~~@%*^*%@~~~

Loki almost choked when they entered into an Aguardian hall. The was beautiful and towering and held stones and architecture he could rewrite the books about. For one blissful second, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of his homeland--or the place he was raised. His glamor fell over him unconsciously.

Then he had to play follow-the-leader with the TVA peons. He rounded a large corner and immediately knew how many steps it would take to get to his room, his mother’s and Thor’s.

“Loki?” A familiar voice boomed. Loki tensed. Mobius cast him a “good luck” glance and mumbled, “I’ll be back for ya, Blue-Raz”

Loki had the urge to run him through followed by his brother who should not—it didn’t matter, the timeline would be reset. The Thor bounding up behind him would be pruned with everything else… why did that hurt? He turned to face his adopted sibling.

“Loki, it is you? Isn’t it? I mean you look horrendous in that getup, but it’s you!” Thor held his hands out in what could only be described as reverence. But the esteemed Asguardian Prince was wearing dirty Midguardian clothes and had a beer gut to match. How? Barely any time had elapsed between that moment and when they were facing down in New York.

“It is me but what happened to you, brother?”

A shadow came over Thor’s face. His hands lowered and he reached out to Loki.

“Tell me the truth,” he whispered, “did you just escape the dungeons?”

Loki held his gaze for a few long moments. The timeline will be reset. There is no harm in it.

“No, Thor, I never—this me never went to the dungeons. Never came back to Asguard.”

Thor hissed an inhalation of breath as his eyes widened.

“Thor what happened to you? Why do you have mismatched eyes? Where is your armor? Or Mjolnir?”

“Oh, Loki! Loki. Loki. Loki.” Thor’s voice trembled with false laughter and an emotion Loki didn’t know, “what--you look horrendous. What in the Nine Realms are you wearing?”

“Thor, it is good to see you, but I’m afraid I don’t have the time for a chat.” Loki returned, clipped. Redline grew ever nearer.

Thor’s face fell again, “Loki… just tell me you’re alive. That I didn’t fail you on the Statesmen--Thanos is dead now, I-I killed him! I-... I killed him… I avenged you.”

“Oh, Thor,” Loki found himself saying as Thor’s eyes shined and tears spilled onto his cheeks. He allowed himself to be squeezed in the other’s arms… and found it to be the best hug he’d ever received… or the only hug….

“Thor… Thor, are you listening?” Thor only sobbed into his shoulder, holding Loki up against his beer gut and off of the actual floor.

“Y-yes?”

“Very soon, this timeline will be reset which means you will have never seen me here. So tell me, what happened to you?”

Thor whined in the back of his throat and plopped Loki back down, it was just hard enough to make pain spike up his nearly healed spine.

“I--You--Thanos--.”

Loki laid his arms on Thor’s biceps, squeezing gently, Thor shuttered then took a breath and smiled fondly at him. Fondly. Thor never did that. What sort of--how is he not the Variation?

“So after Ragnarok, Thanos… had all the Stones and killed half of what was left of Asguard including you. I wasn’t able to--I’m sorry.”

“Just tell me, Thor, I am right here.”

“Then I was found by the space morons and went to Nidevelir to forge Storm Breaker because Hela broke Mjolnir before Sakaar--Ragnarok happened because of her. Then we battled with the Avengers in Wakanda and… I didn’t go for the head! How could I have not gone for the head?! Thanos snapped and…. It was horrible, brother. Absolutely horrible. The whole universe. And so many extinctions followed and more tragedies. I-....” He hung his head. “I tried to drown my worries like the ‘oaf’ I am….”

“I thought your annoying little group was the ‘Avengers’ not the ‘Alcoholics.’”

“... Ha!” Thor slapped him on the back. The statement seemed to have brought about the intended reaction.

“Yes! Of course! So five years later, we found him and I slayed him! But Tony and Scott found a way to move through time to get the stones to undo it all, and so we did, and we succeeded! But still, Thanos haunted us and we had a final battle--which we won!” Thor seemed to have noticed himself that he was about to go into one of his long winded stories of victory, and cut it short.

Then his smile abated and his beard fell, “Loki, Steve and Tony lost the Tesseract in 2012 to you…?”

“Yes, yes, that would be me, brother.”

A gasp of breath as Thor readied himself for the most bone crushing hug in the universe was all that was afforded to Loki.

“Thor,” he wheezed slightly, “I know I was not kindest to you but must you kill me prematurely?”

“Oh, Loki! I never threw you off the Bifrost, and I-!”

“Charge is set, we gotta boogie!” Mobius interrupted, jogging over.

Thor allowed the interruption if only to interrogate him, “and who are you? How and why do you command my brother? If you are with Tha-!”

To Loki’s astonishment, a few electrical charges emanate off of his brother.

“No, time to talk. Put Loki down We gotta get outta Dodge.”

Thor’s grip tightened, “Thor, just do it!” Loki groused. Thor did. Mobius opened the portal.

“Sorry, big guy, big fan but I need your Buddy. You ever think of trying Old Spice?”

“Ah--I just--Loki just returned to me as he always does and you expect me to just give up?!”

“Thor, do not follow us, I would rather not see you get deleted.”

Heavy feet crossed through the yellow threshold and left 2023 Thor in 2014 with a gaping mouth and tear stained cheeks.

“So no Loki!” Mobius announced as he clapped his hands together, “that means we gotta get to work!” He went on to walk at a brisk pace. Loki trailed after, blinking back the stinging in his now red eyes.

“I was of the understanding that is what we were doing,” he put a hand over his throat while he cleared it.

“I need you to go over each and every one of this Variant's case files, and then, give me your... How do I put it?... Your unique Loki perspective. And who knows? Maybe there's something that we missed.”

Seeing as how you are so hypocritical, I would be surprised if you had not missed anything. Honestly, “all you Lokis are the same” yet in the same breath, “no Loki variant is exactly alike.” I think as I do.

“You are the expert, I trust your judgement” Loki said instead.

“That's why I'm lucky I got ya for a little bit longer. Let me park ya at this desk. And don't be afraid to really lean into this work. Here's a good trick for you: pretend your life depends on it. I'm gonna get a snack.”

For all his countless hours spent in not only the Grand Library, but others around Asguard and the other Realms, he found himself having little interest in sifting through all the instances in which that other version of him overcame the great TVA and triggered more animosity against themselves--and all other Lokis.

“Any motive, Sherlock?” He asked dryly.

“That’s what you’re for!” The agent chuckled, poked at his chest and walked away.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the agent walk away then turned his attention to the paperwork. The pattern was known to begin with but became… inane the more pages he flipped through: nexus event, dispensed TVA agents, the team goes silent, they’re found dead and without the reset charge, Mobius, the expert, is called in for investigation and then the branch is reset before redline.

One Loki… only one to best their happy little teams. I was bested, but I also have extenuating circumstances of the past year. Without Thanos’ interruption, could I have?... Yes, I fought alongside Thor and his foolish troup of warriors, I would have been able to exact my own damage. For a ‘timeline protection force,’ how are they schooled in combat?

“Pardon me,” he tapped the librarian’s bell. She turned to him with a nonplussed expression.

“Could you show me to the combat regimens of our dear agents?”

“No.”

“Infographics?”

“No.”

“Battle end-games?”

“No.”

“Well, you have been very helpful, thank you.” It was still a library after all and he more than knew his way around one seidr or not; his mind was still intact--somewhat intact and that had always been his greatest weapon.

So he sat back down at the table to form a plan of action, so to speak, of how he could find the files he wanted in the fastest and most assured way. But, he still had all the paperwork of this other Loki, dripping in red. Oozing. Gushing. Like Thor’s cape as yet more enemies were put to ruin under his brother’s sheer might. He never envied that red; never thought he could own it or have it become him… yet this other version had jumped--leapt into that pool of blood and ended all who stood in their way. Incapacitation would have sufficed. Has sufficed in innumerable cases. He’d both saved lives of his comrades and stupid brother, and saw the end goal in such a way.

He gasped and leapt up, running along the railing of the library.

“Mobius--.”

“No, I said, ‘don’t bother me until you’ve read all the files,’ and I know you don’t read that fast.” Mobius set his Js\osta down with a hard thonk .

“I have, but unimportant--.” Loki slid into the seat across from the agent in the cafeteria.

“No, read every file pertaining to the Variant.”

“The answer does not lie in the files, it lies on the timeline!” Mobius gave him a dangerous look at the slight raising of his voice. Loki took a breath.

“Look,” Loki began again with his arms fanning over the table, “they’re hiding in apocalypses.”

“Which one? There’s, like, a million?”

“Take Ragnarok, I assume you are familiar?”

“Yeah, total destruction of your weird coin planet and most of its people because of your sister Hela. I’m sorry.”

Sister? Hela? Thor mentioned her--unimportant now.

“Yes, well, that recent visit with Thor got me thinking…?”

Mobius regarded him but eventually sighed and sat back, making a small gesture, “yeah, sure, ok.”

“Nexus events happen when someone does something that is not meant to happen--.”

“A bit more complicated but yeah.”

“These can culminate into entire other timelines--.”

“Chaotic alterations of a predetermined outcome.” Loki did his best to ignore the interruptions. He forced animation into his movements as if trying to explain it to Thor. That was best, pretend he was explaining something that now seemed so basic to the warrior.

“Alright! So this is Asgard,” he plundered the agent’s salad bowl. Said agent gave sad push back. Loki continued.

“I could travel back to Asgard preceding Ragnarok and do whatever I wished; switch crowns, resoil linens, topple some columns. I could destroy the Rainbow Bridge.” He grabbed the small salt shaker and started pouring some in. Mobius mourned his food. Loki was not fed.

“None of this would matter. Not if I set fire to the courtyard. Or even killed the Allfather!”

“Why--Lo--God, Loki!”

“Excuse me,” Loki greeted Casey kindly at an adjacent table, “are you finished with this?”

Casey, who had his bunched napkin thrown on his plate in clear sign of being finished looked from his crumpled juice box to Loki, “you!”

“Yes, very nice to see you again,” Loki took the drink container and poured it into the salad, secretly relishing how the agent utterly deflated.

“Due to Surtur!” Loki finished.

Mobius rubbed his hand down his face, “what am I lookin’ at?”

“Apocalypses, Holmes.”

“Loki, you just apocalypse my lunch, I wanted to eat that!”

“You want my other Variant.”

Mobius leaned onto the table, “cut to the chase.”

“That is how they have escaped you for so long; no matter what happens, an apocalypse negates anything that would otherwise summon the TVA.”

“Oh, not bad. Not Bad. Hey, so, how do you weigh over five hundred pounds?”

That was a “jackknife”--as Midgaurdians may say--that he did not expect.

Mobius raised his hands, “hey, I’m not judging, just curious.”

“Focus, Mobius, please.”

“Ok, ok. My salad. Destroyed.” Another despondent hand waved at the bowl.

“I can show you my theory is true.”

Mobius laughed, “I’m not letting you go.”

“You come with me, naturally,” Loki pushed.

“Well, I’ve had enough of your troublemaking for one day.”

“No one has to know unless I am correct--which I am.”

“TVA agents can’t just go running around anyway. Waltzing into the White House would be a Nexus event.”

You are not listening!

“Pompeii, for instance, you Midguardians like talking about that catastrophe, we could go there!”

“Pompeii?”

“Pompeii. Everyone died and that town was not even the worst hit of the eruption of Vesuvius.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talk, talk, talk. Oh, you’re so smart!” Mobius sneered and wiped his mouth with his napkin despite not having spilled anything much less eaten enough to make a mess of his face. No food for either of them it seemed.

“If I go along with this and you stab me in the back, you’re getting erased. Capische?”

“Understood,” I am fully expecting that regardless.

#loki #loki series #loki show #Loki Show Rewrite #loki series rewrite project #loki series rewrite fanfic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #cannon non-compliant #gentle reminder that just because a character says something doesn't make it true

2 notes · View notes

bubonickitten · 4 years ago

Link

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 13 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 13: all the usual Buried-related warnings apply (claustrophobia, inability to breathe, etc.); panic/anxiety symptoms; just a smidgen of internalized aphobia; brief mention of past passive suicidal ideation; internalized victim blaming; canon-typical trauma (including discussion of victims targeted by the Fears as children).SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 13: Center

The darkness and overwhelming pressure of the Buried make it nigh impossible to orient oneself. The only conceivable directions are forward, down, into, deeper. Jon’s only choice, when he has one at all, is to keep moving – and so he does, digging and clawing his way through the muck, making a transient pathway for himself as best he can.

“Daisy?” It comes out as a rasp. He tries to swallow, but succeeds only in upsetting his already-sore throat. It feels as though the dirt and debris have taken up permanent residence there, clogging his airway just enough to leave him chronically short of breath without cutting off his oxygen supply entirely. “Daisy, can you reach me?”

“Jon,” comes the weak reply, “I’m – I don’t know where – I c-can’t – can’t see –”

“I hear you,” Jon says. “I’m here, I’m coming to you. Just – keep talking, and –”

As he talks, he inhales a cloud of dust, dissolving into wracking coughs.

“Jon? Jon, are you still there?” For a long moment, Jon cannot speak. Daisy’s next words are steeped in panic. “Where are you? I can’t… p-please be there, please –”

“I’m still here,” Jon forces out hoarsely, stretching his arm forward as far as it will go. “I’m not going anywhere. Follow my voice, I – I think I’m almost –”

Chill fingertips brush against his, and he throws his weight forward as much as possible. He hooks her fingers in his and pulls, and with a burst of energy he manages to clasp her clammy hand in his.

“There you are,” he says, smiling weakly.

“You’re real,” Daisy says in disbelief, crushing his hand in a bruising grip. “You’re real.”

“I am.” He intertwines their fingers, as grateful as she is for a hand to hold. “I’m here, Daisy.”

“Daisy,” she says dreamily. “Yeah. Daisy. That’s me.” A pause. “Just – just me.”

Jon closes his eyes with a relieved sigh. There are no signs that the Hunt still has its claws in her. He had no reason to think that reaching her a couple weeks earlier than before would change anything, but there was still that nagging doubt.

“J-just me,” she says again, but this time there’s a waver in her voice. “Just – alone –”

“No,” Jon says hurriedly, squeezing her hand several times in quick succession, “not – not alone. Not anymore.”

“Yeah.” She grasps his hand even more tightly, as if to reassure herself.

“I’m here.”

“Yeah,” she says again, and this time it sounds like she’s starting to believe it.

“How – how are you?” Jon cringes. It’s as stupid a question now as it was the last time. Moreso, seeing as he’s already heard the answer. “S-sorry. That’s – probably obvious.”

Daisy answers anyway, likely glad of the chance to talk to someone else after so long in isolation.

“I – I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t…” She trails off, hesitating. “But it’s… it’s quiet here? I can’t…”

She seems to be struggling to find the words.

“You can’t feel the blood,” he supplies.

“Y-yeah. How did you…”

“I can’t feel the Eye, either. It’s… it’s just me. All me.”

“Where are we?”

“In the Coffin. The Buried. It’s… the powers don’t have much sway within one another’s domains. The Hunt, the Eye – they can’t reach us here.”

“The Hunt,” she echoes.

“Yes. You’re a Hunter.”

“I… I guess I was. But – not here.”

No, not here. But once they leave here…

Stop, he tells himself. One thing at a time. Escape the Buried, then worry about the Hunt.

“Come on.” He tugs on her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Can’t – can’t move, and – and even if I could, there’s no way out –”

“No, I – I can get us out. I have a plan.”

“Is this like all your other plans?”

Jon chuckles, but it comes out as a wheeze.

“Yes and no. But – but don’t worry, it’s – I can do this. I just – need to – to find it.”

But when he closes his eyes and concentrates, there’s… nothing there.

“Come on,” he says under his breath, keeping his voice deliberately calm. “Come on, where are you?”

There’s nothing there. Why is there nothing there?

“Just need to… need to focus. Just – focus, think of…”

Think of Martin. Martin is your anchor. Clever, brave, loyal, compassionate Martin.

He was kind to you even when you didn’t deserve it; he cared for you even though you did everything you could to push him away. He reached out to you through the Lonely when you were at your most monstrous to remind you of the humanity you’d thought you lost. He made you want to do better, to be the person that he saw when he looked at you.

You followed him into the Lonely because you love him and because he deserved to know it. You need to return to him now, because this version of him doesn’t yet know that he is loved. If you don’t get back to him, if you don’t reach out to him – he’ll get lost, and he –

Jon’s breath hitches. The fear is starting to move in as inexorably as the earth surrounding them, settling cold and heavy in his gut.

Stop that, he tells himself. Just think about Martin, not the worst case scenario.

Everyone underestimates him, because he spent his entire life striving for the perfect balance between useful and unobtrusive. But he’s not helpless; he’s not a pushover. He took master manipulator Jonah Magnus by surprise; he fooled Peter Lukas for months. Sometimes, you think that Martin Blackwood could outmaneuver the Web if he cared to. If anyone could, it would be him. You don’t think you’ll ever fully forgive yourself for taking so long to notice.

No, Jon tells himself once more, recognizing the warning signs of a guilt spiral. That won’t help. Redirect.

In those early days after the ritual, you briefly defaulted to your old habits, withdrawing and shutting him out. He stood up to your brooding, gave your self-loathing no refuge in which to thrive, because he saw right through your sharp tongue to the vulnerable parts of you that it was meant to hide.

He is intuitive, stubborn, and patient in the best of ways.

You have a tendency to stare. You always have; you typically don’t notice you’re doing it. After you became the Archivist, it went from being an awkward habit to evidence of your inhumanity: all eyes, always watching, always demanding more, more, more until every secret is exposed and any semblance of privacy has been demolished.

But it was never just the Eye urging you to record things. You know from experience that nothing lasts forever, that anyone and anything can disappear without a moment’s notice – sometimes leaving no trace, no memory that they ever existed. It only makes sense that you would develop a compulsion to document everything for posterity. The tape recorders were only the most recent manifestation of that preexisting obsession. Before that, you made lists, you took pictures, you wrote on your hands – and, of course, you stared.

During your first few days together at the safehouse, Martin called attention to the staring. You were mortified, launched into a rambling apology – but he shut it down, reassured you that he was only teasing, that he didn’t mind it, that it was… endearing, in a way. And once you were given permission, you began to consciously catalog every little detail.

He has thirty-six freckles on his face, seventeen on his hands, and constellations of them besides: on his back, on his shoulders, on his arms, on his belly. He blushes easily, and you love it, because you’ve never been good at reading body language, and you can always use a hint. His hair is soft, and the way he leans into it when you run your fingers through it – you think he would purr if he could. You were hesitant, at first, to spend too long looking at his eyes – but unlike most people, he showed no signs that he found eye contact with you unsettling.

You gave him permission to stare, too. And he did. He never shied away from your scars. He liked looking at you – and you knew he was genuine when he said so, even though you didn’t understand it.

Martin is self-conscious about his size, painfully aware of how others see him. He rarely stands to his full height, tending to curl his shoulders in, maintain a curve to his spine, keep his arms pulled tight to his body: anything to avoid towering over others, anything to take up as little space as possible. He saw his stretch marks as flaws to be tolerated; spent most of his life assuming that his weight and soft edges made him unattractive.

There are so many things he hates about himself. It broke your heart a little, to see how difficult it was for him to believe that you like looking at him, that your boundaries regarding physical intimacy weren’t a comment on his desirability. (Though he never voiced that last concern, never wanted his own insecurities to make you feel self-conscious about that part of you. Never made you feel guilty or lacking or… or broken.)

You regularly stole his jumpers; the first time you did it, he went speechless and flustered at the casual domesticity of it all. You took turns ambushing one another with affirmations and small acts of affection like that. It became something of a challenge, a game: springing a pet name on one another here, placing a soft kiss on a hand there, delighting in the reactions it got. It’s strange how easily you settled into that routine, how natural it felt to let down your guard.

At night, he would curl around you like he belonged there, like there was no place he’d rather be – and it made you feel like you belong, too. The first time he held you in his arms, you realized that you’d never truly known what it was to feel safe until that moment – and isn’t that its own special kind of vulnerability, isn’t it such a cliché? You still had nightmares, still jolted awake several times throughout the night frantic and disoriented – as did he – but it felt so much more endurable with someone to coax you back to reality.

When you first led him out of the Lonely, it was still clinging to him. He couldn’t understand what you saw in him, any more than you could understand what he saw in you. You made it your mission to make him understand. And eventually, he did. It wasn’t the first time you told him you loved him, but one morning when you said it, he looked at you and his lips parted ever so slightly, and you could practically see the epiphany dawn in his eyes, and he whispered that he believed you.

You still haven’t found a word that accurately describes what you felt then. You kissed him, and hoped that it would say what words could not.

You never gave up on each other, even when you’d given up on your own selves. He never stopped caring for you, even when you were at your most fearsome and fearful. Despite everything, you communicated, you compromised, you comforted one another. You never stopped loving one another.

You lost him once before. You cannot lose him again. You need to find him. Why – why can’t you find him? Why can’t you feel him?

Jon feels his breath quickening, terror needling at the edges of his mind. He jumps slightly when Daisy speaks.

“Jon?”

“It’s – it’s okay,” he says, his voice shaky. “I’ve – I’ve done this once before. I can do this.”

There’s no rule saying he can only have one anchor, right?

He thinks of Georgie.

She took you in when you had nowhere else to go, even though you hadn’t spoken in years, even though you hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Staying with her felt more like home than you’d experienced in… you don’t know how long. It made you realize how much you missed her – her humor, her ingenuity, her confidence, her tenacity, her generosity, and, yes, even her perceptiveness, daunting though it may be at times. She speaks her mind and you can take her at her word. You can appreciate that, as someone who has always had trouble parsing the implicit and unspoken aspects of social life.

You trust her judgment, and she believes in you, and it makes you want to believe in yourself. You want to be there for her in the same way that she’s chosen to be there for you.

He thinks of Melanie.

You disliked one another at first meeting, even though – or perhaps because – you have so much in common. Over the years, you saw more sides to her. She’s brave and resolute, not just when it comes to fighting back, but when it comes to making the conscious decision to heal. She’s capable of kindness to those who are receptive to it. You’ve seen how she is with Georgie, how her hard edges relax, how her devotion is as fierce as her anger can be – perhaps moreso.

You know that she never deserved to suffer like she has. You know she deserves a happy ending. You want to try to reconcile with her. In your future, she went so far as to suggest that you could be friends. You think you would like that.

He thinks of Basira.

She’s had no one but herself to rely on for months. She feels trapped and alone; she hasn’t had a moment to grieve; she’s forced herself to compartmentalize and detach because if she breaks down, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to put herself back together again. She’s told herself that her own comfort and wellbeing don’t matter. She has a job to do and she’s the only one left who is willing and able to do it. The only solid thing left in her life, the only thing giving her purpose is the mission. The mission is her anchor, because she’s lost everything else.

When she found out that Daisy was alive, she was almost angry with you for making her dare to hope. You promised that you would bring Daisy home to her, and you mean to keep that promise.

And Jon has a job to do, too, doesn’t he?

You need to stop Jonah Magnus, you need to –

His stomach clenches as the dread grips him.

Okay, no. Don’t – don’t think of Jonah. Not helpful, not helpful, not –

He reaches further. He tries to think of Naomi, of the Admiral, of –

The faraway rumbling starts up again.

“Jon,” Daisy says again, urgently, perched on the edge of panic right along with him.

This is forever deep below creation, some self-sabotaging part of his brain reminds him. Where the weight of existence bears down. This is the Buried, and we are alive. There isn’t even an up –

“I just – I just – I just need to calm down,” he stammers. He can feel his pulse beating in his throat; would be hyperventilating if he could breathe at all. “I – I can’t think straight, and I just need to…”

He thinks back to the physical details of the world just outside the Coffin.

The arrangement of the tapes –

…CASE #0160919 sits 34.2 centimeters west of the Coffin, turned at a 45-degree angle. Approximately 20.6 centimeters south-southwest is CASE #0172904; the casing of its recorder is slightly cracked at the lower left corner. 2.4 centimeters to its right is CASE #0171302; the rewind button on the recorder housing it tends to stick…

– on the floor of his office –

…where fingernail scratches are still visible in the northwest corner of the room, left there by Enrique MacMillan on 4 November, 2003, after he gave his statement regarding his encounter with a Buried-touched Leitner…

– and the tape he left on his desk –

…on top of a softcover Moleskine notebook – black, 12.7 by 21 centimeters, ruled – belonging to Martin Blackwood; the Archivist knows every word written thus far on the 68 used out of 192 total pages within…

– and on that tape are pleas that went unanswered for far too long, laced with desperation and grief and rapidly dwindling hope –

…We really need you, Jon. We – I need you …

– but Jon cannot hear it anymore.

His mind wanders to the single folded sheet of paper tucked away in the top drawer of his desk. A second message for Martin, to be read only in the event that Jon doesn’t return. A transcript, to be precise.

On their way to the Panopticon, they had been separated when they traversed the Lonely’s domain. Jon had searched frantically, resisting the urge to simply Know because he had promised. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t feel right forcing Martin to See him the way he did before. It was Martin’s domain, and he had the right to decide for himself whether to leave it behind. Even if Jon had wanted to, though, he suspected that he wouldn’t have been able to actually find Martin this time unless he wanted to be found. And in the end, he did.

Just before Jon found him, he managed to catch the tail end of Martin’s statement. Naturally, the Archive memorized every word and dutifully filed it away without any conscious effort or consent on Jon’s part.

…I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not Lonely anymore; I am not Lonely anymore. I want to have friends. I – no, I have friends. I’m in love. I am in love, and I will not forget that; I will not forget…

Before he entered the Coffin, Jon copied it down and left it behind. Just in case. Just in case something goes wrong. If he goes missing in action for too long, he trusts that eventually someone will clear out his desk, find it, and hopefully pass it along to its intended recipient.

It was a last-ditch effort to impart the truth: that a future exists wherein Martin isn’t Lonely; that he can be and is and deserves to be cared for; that it isn’t just an unattainable fantasy. And, most importantly, Jon is not the only one who can provide that, nor is Jon alone enough to fulfill that need. In the end, Martin chose to turn his back on the Lonely. He can do it again.

There’s every chance that it was a meaningless gesture, but Jon doesn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t at least try – and if he does get lost down here, he’ll be forced to live with himself for as long as the Buried itself exists.

But Jon doesn’t want to leave Martin alone with that inexplicable scrap of statement, hoping that it’s enough to get the point across. Jon has to get home. He has to; there’s no other choice –

“Jon?” Daisy says again. “You sound like you’re… what – what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I’m – I’m just… I can’t – I can’t feel my anchor.”

“Anchor?”

“Y-yeah. Something to ground me, help me feel the way out. It’s – there’s a void where it should be, and…” His short exhale shudders on the way out. “I think – I think we might be here for awhile longer.”

“N-not alone, though,” Daisy says, almost questioningly.

“No. No, not alone. And – and I can still get us out, I think,” he adds hurriedly. “I just – I need to… I need to come down from the panic, and it’s hard to do that when I can’t – I can’t breathe –“

His breath catches and he closes his eyes. Stop, he tells himself, you’re – you’re spiraling, talking yourself into a panic. Just… listen – listen to the quiet.

“Jon?”

“Still – still here,” he says, squeezing her hand again. “I’m not going anywhere without you, I promise.”

“Do you – if you need a break from – from whatever you’re doing…” She falters for a moment before blurting out: “C-can we… can we talk? I haven’t – I just want someone to hear me.”

“Of course. I’m listening.” When Daisy doesn’t reply, he offers a gentle prompting. “Daisy?”

“I’m – it’s difficult. I can’t find the words.”

“Would it help if I… ask?” The last time, it did help her get her thoughts out.

“Y-yeah,” she says with only a slight delay. “Do your… thing.”

“Right,” he says. For a moment, he worries that he’ll have difficulty concentrating long enough to compel an answer, but his mind clears almost as soon as he opens his mouth. Of course. “How are you feeling?”

The question buzzes like static on his tongue on its way out.

“S-scared. I – I’m – I’m s-scared…”

Daisy’s words do not deviate from the last time he was here, but he does not interrupt her as she speaks. He latches onto her voice, focuses all of his attention on her story, and tries to ground himself in the present.

“Y-you know what I thought, when I woke up here? I thought this was hell. I – I was dead, and I was in hell. And I - I knew I deserved it.” Daisy stifles a sob as she nears the end of her statement. “I don’t want t-to b-be a s-sadistic predator again. I – I don’t want to hobble around like some – pathetic wounded prey here. I don’t know which would be worse. But I’m scared now – that I won’t ever get the choice.”

One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice, he told her last time. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.

Now, though, he’s not so sure. Or, rather, now he thinks it isn’t quite that simple.

“It’s… complicated,” Jon starts slowly. “Choice, I mean. We all have choices, but – but when all the alternatives are unendurable, or impossible to achieve, or – or even conceptualize, then… well, it’s not a fair choice, is it? Sometimes because that’s just – how it is, and sometimes by design. There – there are people, and – and things out there that will abuse their power to deceive you, keep you ignorant about things that would affect your decisions. Or – or convince you that you have no options, no autonomy – or even that you can’t trust your own judgment, your own senses. Some choices can hardly be called choices at all.”

He begins to grind his teeth as he considers his next words, but stops as soon as he feels the grit between his molars when he bites down. There are a lot of things to hate about the Buried, but its refusal to allow him to engage in any of his usual nervous habits definitely adds insult to injury.

“You say you deserve to be here, but – do you think you deserved to be marked by the Hunt in the first place? Because one thing I’ve learned is… most people who become Avatars – we don't necessarily do anything to deserve the attention of the things that take notice of us. To be put in these positions, to be given impossible choices about – about things we have no right to decide in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems that a common thread is… well, um, I think Tim hit the nail on the head, actually? In his testament before the Unknowing, he – he said, ‘The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck. Talk to the wrong person, take the wrong train, open the wrong door, and that’s it.’”

“You remember that verbatim?”

“It’s – it’s an Archivist thing.” Well, technically. Jon can’t access the Archive right now, but some statements have looped so many times in his head that he has every word memorized by now. “But the point is that our transgressions, they… the punishment often doesn’t seem to fit the crime.”

Daisy is quiet, so Jon continues.

“Uh, Jane Prentiss, for instance – stumbled upon a wasps’ nest in her attic, and then the Corruption infested her. In her original statement, she was afraid of what was happening to her, she was asking for help, but it… it was slowly hollowing her out. Appealed to her insecurities, whispered to her that it was the only thing that could love her, that wouldn’t abandon her. Maybe eventually she embraced it on her own, but at that point, how much of her was left to make that choice?

“And – and Michael Crew. He was struck by lightning when he was eight. The Spiral never stopped stalking him after that. He spent his childhood in fear, obsessively sought out information about – lightning, and fractals, because understanding it felt like the only way to resist a thing that feeds on uncertainty.”

Jon can relate to that, can’t he? He was always curious, but his desire to know and understand things became more obsessive after he encountered his first monster – as if he could solve any problem if only he learned enough about it. But it was never enough, and that impulse never actually kept him safe. It only offered him a flimsy illusion of control, which was something he desperately needed after the Web showed him what it was like to have none. Still, an ineffective coping mechanism was better than not coping at all – or so he told himself then.

“When Mike realized that there was no escape from the supernatural once he’d been marked by it,” Jon continues, “he decided that the next best thing was choosing which Fear to submit to – to serve. Obsessively sought out Leitners until he found the Vast, and… it offered him safety. The most basic of human needs, something he hadn’t known since he was a child. The things he did to feed his patron were – indefensible, but I can’t help thinking about the person he might have been, if the Spiral hadn’t come into his life. He… he was only eight. How is a child supposed to process something that even an adult would have trouble coping with? I’m sure many children don’t even physically survive an encounter with one of the Fears, but even those that do… they never actually escape, do they?”

Daisy makes an indistinct little noise in her throat. Jon can’t Know for certain, but he imagines she’s thinking of her own first encounter with the Hunt. When enough time has passed that she doesn’t seem ready to say as much, Jon continues.

“And there’s – there’s Oliver Banks, he’s an Avatar of the End. He just started having dreams one day, became a death prophet. As far as I can tell, nothing provoked it. It just… happened. And early on, he tried to use that ability to help people, but… the powers granted us as Avatars, they aren’t for helping or saving anyone. When you realize that, after a long string of failures, you start to become… despondent – numb, even. Maybe some misstep along the way piqued the End’s interest in him, or maybe it was completely arbitrary. I don’t know. I don’t know that Oliver does, either.”

It’s difficult to speak at length here, and Jon’s speech is punctuated by frequent gasps and stops and starts, but he plows ahead. Granted, he’s always had a tendency toward intense, rapidfire speech whenever he gets invested in a topic of interest, but it’s also that he needs to cover as much ground as he can as quickly as possible. There’s no telling when the Buried will constrict again. Sometimes there are long intervals of relative peace; other times, the bouts of crushing pressure come one after the other in a barrage. The inconsistency makes the dread all the more potent: you can never predict when the walls will close in.

“And Helen,” he says, moving right along, “before she became the Distortion, she opened a door. That’s all. Most people would have probably done the same. A door that wasn’t there before, that can’t be there – of course the human mind wants to test its perceptions, make sense of the discrepancy. Which is exactly what the Distortion preys on. It let her escape its corridors, because it would make the fear that much more potent when it came for her again, when she realized that it had never actually let her go, that there was never any way to escape. It was… it was just playing with its food.”

Like with Benjamin Hatendi, Jon thinks. ‘The blanket never did anything.’

The Fears are never merciful. For an earthly predatory animal, the pain and fear of the prey are only relevant insofar as their utility in capturing it. Granted, the majority of animals may have no qualms about eating their prey alive so long as it’s incapacitated, no concept of putting their food out of its misery – but still, sustenance isn’t derived from the experience of the prey, only from its organic matter.

For the Powers, though… terror is the food source. If anything, the misery is deliberately drawn out. The suffering is primary to the meal.

“I still don’t know how much of Helen Richardson was left by the time she embraced her new existence and began feeding” – by the time she chose to stop feeling guilty, Jon notes privately – “but she never asked to be in that position to begin with. She just… opened a door.

“And you… all you did was trespass on a childhood dare, right? You and Calvin Benchley. I did hear the tape – of your interrogation with Elias. Maybe the Hunt chose the both of you, was deliberately waiting for you there. Or maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, you… you did something that most children do at one point or another, exploring out bounds – I did plenty of that myself. And – and you’d done the same thing many times in the past, there was no reason to think that things would go any differently. But that time, that time you stumbled into something that most children – most people never do.”

Jon debates whether or not to share his own initiation into this world. He never told Daisy about it last time, but he knows – and Knows – about her childhood encounter. It seems only fair to include his own.

“Actually, I… I had a similar experience, when I was eight,” he admits, pushing through his habitual reservations. “Unlike Michael Crew, though, I was an active participant in my own fate. There’s no dodging a lightning strike, but me – I… I opened a book I shouldn’t have, knocked on a door I shouldn’t have. I could’ve just… not.”

“That’s a funny double standard,” Daisy says flatly.

“P-pardon?”

“Couldn’t you just as easily say that Crew could have chosen to not stand outside during a lightning storm?”

“He – he actually wanted to go inside, but his friend pressured him to keep playing,” Jon says, almost defensively. “By the time they decided to go in, it was too late.”

“Like I pressured Calvin.”

“That’s –” Jon gives an agitated little exhale. “It’s still different.”

“How?”

“Did you have a bad feeling about the dare, or was it just like any other day? You had no reason to think that things would go wrong. I… I knew that book was wrong, and I opened it anyway.” Daisy scoffs. “What?”

“Has anyone ever pointed out to you that you’re capable of some truly infuriating mental gymnastics?”

Jon puffs out another exasperated breath before muttering, “Yes.”

In fact, she said almost the exact same thing to him the last time around. And Georgie – she used to say so all the time, especially when they were dating.

“You always do this,” she’d pointed out once during an argument, hands on her hips and a shrewd look in her eye. “Any time a conversation gets a little too uncomfortable for you, you just – throw your hands up, say it’s your fault and shut down, and nothing ever gets resolved. Why are you so eager to take the blame for things? Is it that it’s better than admitting there are some things you can’t control, or is it just easier than actually talking about your feelings?”

The answer was yes on both counts, and he had been angry with her for putting it into words. He’d already known on some level, but he studiously avoided that sort of introspection. Now that it had been verbalized, the knowledge would always be there, floating around in his mind – yet another thing to overanalyze, to obsess over, to ambush him in moments of doubt.

Since then he’s gotten better at communicating in healthy ways, but the self-blame thing… well, Martin still had to periodically call him out on it, right up until the end. It became a common refrain: “It’s still victim blaming even if you’re the victim, Jon.” The reminder did help – at least some of the time – but it wasn’t enough to undo a worldview that he’d spent his entire life internalizing.

“Y-yes,” he says again, less sullenly now, “I – I see your point.”

“Good. So – evil book?”

“A Leitner, yes. The Web.” Jon has no desire to go into all the gruesome details, not when he’s – when they’re both already being suffocated by fear. “And I only escaped through… I don’t know, some combination of mundane human cruelty and luck – or… or someone else’s misfortune, more like.” He gives a tired sigh. “Or it could have been deliberate interference by the Web, taking someone else in my place because it had other plans for me. I’ll never know the exact reason why. If there even is a reason.”

He pauses, expecting the Beholding’s characteristic objection to the idea that he should accept not knowing anything, before remembering with grim satisfaction that the Eye can’t reach him here. Nor can the Web, for that matter. A small mercy, but he’ll take it.

“But the experience led to an obsession with the supernatural. I suppose I thought that if – if I could just understand it, I could conquer the fear. It didn’t work, but an obsession like that – it persists regardless of whether it’s successful or productive or – or healthy. Eventually it led me to the Institute. Which led me… here, ultimately.” He bites his lower lip as he considers his next words. “I’m sure many of my choices along the way were mine alone, and – and I’m responsible for my actions regardless. But that first domino… it was just a restless child ignoring gut instinct, all because he needed to know.”

“Jon,” Daisy says, the hint of a warning growl underlying her tone.

“I – okay, yes, I know, I know. Double standards.” He takes a shallow breath before continuing. “My point is, most of us are just… unlucky isn’t the right word, but it’s as close as I can get. Sometimes the Fears seem to seek out victims who are already uniquely susceptible to them – people with phobias, or specific traumas. Other times it seems… arbitrary. And sometimes it seems like the difference between an average victim and those who eventually become Avatars is… compatibility, or – or in some cases, a sense of kinship, even.

“I’ve always been too curious for my own good, a natural fit for the Beholding. Jane talked about being seen as toxic, and it was the Corruption that found her. Annabelle Cane said she was well-versed in manipulation as a young child, the sort of gift that the Web favors. Jared Hopworth always had a sadistic streak, but the difference between him and any other bully is that he found The Boneturner's Tale. I… don’t really know what to make of Jude Perry. The way she told it, she always had the disposition for the Desolation. She would likely have been a nightmare with or without supernatural help, but there are plenty of people like that in the world. She just happened to be one of the few who caught the attention of the Lightless Flame.

“But – but I also don’t think preexisting compatibility is a requirement to be an Avatar. Some people really do just – stumble into it, probably. Grow into it, maybe, after enough exposure. Especially if the same Power keeps coming back.”

Jon can’t help thinking of the Distortion and its tendency to dog its victims for years. Helen said once that she couldn’t just force her victims into her corridors, that they had to open the door on their own. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Marcus MacKenzie refused to open the door every single time it appeared throughout his childhood and young adulthood. It started to take increasingly drastic measures: disguising itself as other things, at one point even opening up in the ground in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t notice until he already stepped over the ledge and gravity did its work. When that didn’t work, it took his father. And then, even after evading it for decades, Helen eventually took Marcus anyway. Choice didn’t come into it. It didn't matter how many times he walked away – it followed him wherever he went.

“Either way,” Jon continues, “whether it’s part of some grand plan or just happenstance, the Avatars… we catch the attention of something predatory, and it sinks its hooks into the vulnerabilities it finds. There are plenty of other people in the world who may have the same… flaws, or inclinations, or experiences, but most are lucky enough not to be drawn into this world. I’m not sure exactly what determines who is, but I don’t think it comes down to fairness, or deservedness, or – or some sort of cosmic punishment. I – I don’t think the universe works that way.

“And – and after we’ve been marked, maybe we can make choices along the way. But as far as I can tell, none of those choices ever lead to complete freedom from the Powers that lay claim to us. We’re still accountable for our actions; we can fight back, we can resist – but we’ll always be struggling against our natures. Sometimes it seems like there’s… there’s really no choice we can make where things actually turn out okay. Doesn’t mean we stop trying, or give up hope, but…” He pauses to gnaw on the inside of his cheek for a few seconds. “It can be hard to ignore the fear when it’s become such an intrinsic part of you, is all. When it makes its hunger your own, and hollows you out if you don’t feed it. It can make the concept of choice seem… empty.”

When he trails off, Daisy blows out a forceful exhale.

“That was… a lot.”

“Surprised the Buried let me get it all out,” Jon says, a bit sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve… had a lot of time alone to ruminate.”

“I think I can rela-”

Daisy’s words are cut short when all at once the earth crashes down around them with a vengeance, as if exacting payment for the courtesy of staying its hand for so long. An indeterminate amount of time passes, weight pressing down on them from all sides, leaving no room for breath or words or thought. Jon focuses on their hands, still linked tightly together, the only anchor to be found here in the dark.

Eventually, the walls begin to withdraw in tiny increments. The sinister, sibilant shifting of soil is a constant, unknown variable – it sounds the same whether the earth is compacting or moving away, and often there is no way to tell until it’s already too close and pressing down. Jon can feel his pulse hammering in his throat, can hear Daisy’s gasping breaths overlapping his own.

“I was gonna kill you,” she blurts out eventually, breathless and rushed. “You know that?”

“Yes.”

“I – I don’t just mean that day in the woods,” she clarifies. “Af-after the mission, I was planning on killing you.”

“I know. You – you realized I wasn’t human. That I needed to die.”

“H-how did you –”

“I’ve been here once before. And – and I should apologize for the dreams, I –”

“Jon –”

“I know it’s not an excuse, but I never meant to compel you that time – didn’t even realize at the time that that was something I could do, and –”

“Jon –”

“I didn’t realize then that the dreams were real, and – and when I finally did, I still didn’t have any control over them, but I –”

“Jon! Shut up a minute.”

His mouth snaps shut a little too quickly and he winces as he bites down on the tip of his tongue. The metallic taste of blood just barely registers on his tongue in the few seconds it takes for the cut to heal.

“Just – back up,” Daisy says, toning down the intensity this time. “That thing you said about… you’ve ‘been here once before’? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s… a long story. And difficult to believe.”

“Well, it’s –” Daisy huffs. “It’s not like we don’t have the time?”

“I suppose,” Jon sighs. He’s already told this story to the tape recorder at length, but… the idea of telling it to another person, in his own words this time, feels both terrifying and cathartic at the same time. It’s just – difficult to talk about, no matter how many times he recaps it. “Where to begin… oh, I should probably preface this with ‘time travel is real.’”

Daisy sounds far too nonchalant when she says, “Okay.”

“O-okay? That’s… that’s it?”

“Sorry if it’s not the dramatic response you expected. Encounter enough – vampires, and people made of sawdust, and – and this, here, and… I don’t know that anything would surprise me anymore.”

“R-right,” Jon replies, still a bit incredulous. “Well, I’m – I’m from the future.” He pauses again, but she doesn’t interject. “And… and I came back to stop the apocalypse.”

His inflection pitches up into a near-question on the last word, certain that this will be the point at which Daisy calls bullshit. Instead, she just gives a dry chuckle.

“And how’s that going for you?”

“Well, uh, actually…” Jon’s laugh manages to sound slightly hysterical despite its brevity. “Being stuck here actually does – put it on hold indefinitely?”

“H-how’s that?”

“Because – because it can’t go forward without the Archivist.” He takes a shallow breath. “Just like the Stranger has the Unknowing, the Eye has its own Ritual. I was – I am a part of it. I – I didn’t want to, Elias – he orchestrated the whole thing, f-forced me to –” He nearly bites his tongue again when he cuts himself off. “But that – that doesn’t change anything,” he continues, almost viciously. “I’m the one who opened the door. It wouldn’t have happened if not for me, s-so it’s as good as my fault.”

“Don’t know about that,” Daisy says.

“What?”

“Don’t think I can see you making a choice to end the world, if you had any say. Doesn’t sound like you. You – Jon, you just went on about having choices taken away.” Jon is silent, teeth clenched; Daisy jostles his hand insistently. “So – so how’d it actually happen?”

“I, ah…” Why is this still so hard to talk about? “So you know how I – I… need the statements?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I – it – my appetite only got worse as time went on. Started craving live statements, and – and hunted for them. The others intervened eventually, and I stopped, but I still needed – need – statements, or else I’d… starve, for lack of a better word. So I made do with the old statements like before, but they were – less and less filling as time went on, and – and I needed more of them, and more frequently, even though I tried to – to spread them out, ration myself. And, uh, some things happened, and Martin and I went into hiding – used your safehouse, actually –”

“Which one?”

“Scotland.”

“Ah,” Daisy says softly. “I like that one.”

“So did we,” Jon says, smiling fondly. “I – we only had a couple weeks, before… b-but the time we did have, it was…”

He clears his throat.

“An-anyway, I went – hungry, for a bit, until a box of statements could be sent to us. And the first one I read, it was – a trap, by J- Elias.” He can explain about Jonah Magnus later. If he takes that detour now, he’ll never get through the rest of this. “The heading looked – just like any other statement. Statement giver’s name, date – but as soon as I started reading, it was Elias’ words. It was a, uh, statement about – about me. About what I am. I’m not just the Archivist, Daisy, I’m the Archive.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I – when I take or – or consume a statement, I, ah – experience it like I’m there, and it – it becomes a part of me. I’m like a – like a living record, a library of – of people’s worst fears, nightmares, moments that I have no right to witness, and – doesn’t matter. Elias needed a fully realized Archive for his ritual to work, so he – he created one, and he fed it a statement. And I – I tried to stop reading, but I couldn’t, even though I – I tried, I really did, I –” He laughs nervously. “Even tried to – to blind myself, but it just – healed. Then, at the end, there was an – an incantation. To open a door that could let all the Fears into the world. And when I read it… it did.”

“Wait – all of them?”

“Yes,” Jon says quietly. “Just before she died, Gertrude figured out that a ritual to bring one of the Fears into the world could never succeed on its own. The Powers can’t exist without minds to experience them, and our minds – they’re highly associative. The experience of fear is just… far more convoluted and subjective than any artificial taxonomy can capture. The Fears have overlap, and – and some of them are defined by their opposition to the others.

“A Vast ritual would collapse without the existence of the Buried, for instance. Or – the Stranger and the Spiral, they’re both tied to unreality, to not being able to trust your perceptions – which can feed into paranoia, which the Eye and the Web also thrive on. The Hunt and the Slaughter run together, and the Flesh can tag alongside. Both the Corruption and the Desolation are equally efficient and thorough in ravaging a home or a body or – or even the general concept of safety.

“Even here – we’re too far deep below creation for the Eye or the Hunt to reach us, but there’s still more than the Buried to fear. The Dark, for instance, or being Forsaken. Even the Vast can be found down here, if you start obsessing over your own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe. The Powers are just – too interconnected, and their rituals never accounted for that.”

“So the Unknowing…”

“Would have failed even without our intervention,” Jon says bitterly. “Same goes for all of the rituals that Gertrude stopped, and all the others that have been sabotaged throughout the centuries. All of that sacrifice, and for nothing. Michael Shelley, and Jan Kilbride, and – and Tim, and you ending up here –”

“Tim?”

“He… he died during the mission,” Jon says quietly. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Daisy.

“And Basira?”

“Alive. She got out before the explosion.” He can just barely make out Daisy’s sigh of relief. “She… she told me to tell you that she’s waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Daisy says softly. “I’m s-”

Before she can say more, the Buried begins to writhe around them again, this time closing in molasses-slow. They both instinctively tighten their handhold on one another. As horrid as the crushing force is, this time it at least has the decency to press them closer together. Daisy’s free hand tentatively brushes against Jon’s free wrist. Understanding the unspoken request, Jon interlocks their fingers, and they wait.

“S-so,” Daisy wheezes when the earth finally relaxes and settles again, “about – about the rituals?”

“R-right.” Jon coughs lightly, still catching his breath. “Well, ah, Elias found out about Gertrude’s theory. Came up with a – ritual that would bring all the Powers through at once, but with the Eye ruling over the rest. It required an Archivist – Archive – directly marked by all the Powers. Elias – chose me. Made sure I’d encounter each of them, and… when I was ready, he laid one last trap and waited for me to wander in, because he knew from experience that I would.”

And it could happen again, Jon’s brain helpfully supplies.

“Huh.”

“Yeah. S-so it probably goes without saying, but if you thought I wasn’t human before, I, ah…” He gives an exhausted, humorless chuckle. “I’m definitely not now.”

Daisy is silent for a long moment before saying: “I take it you – you didn’t come here the first time.”

That wasn’t the comment that Jon had been expecting.

“No, I did.”

“Then… how –”

“I told you, there’s a way out. I just – I just have to find it. Last time I found you, and we escaped together. We can do it again.” She doesn’t respond to that, and he kneads the tops of her hands with his thumbs. “Daisy?”

“You’ve been here once before, and you escaped, and… and you came back?” She says it in such a small voice, it almost doesn’t even sound like her. “After – after seeing what it’s like, you still came back for me?”

“Yes…?”

“Why?” she whispers. “Why do that for me? I – I had a knife to your throat, I would’ve killed you if Basira hadn’t found us first, I saw the fear in your eyes and I enjoyed it – and you knew that I’d still planned on killing you the moment I got a chance, so – so why?”

“We’re –” Jon stops himself, rephrases. “In my future, we became friends.”

“What?”

“W-well, we – we were both Avatars trying to resist our darker natures. We went through this together. We just – we had a lot in common.”

Daisy offers no comment.

“I… don’t know what I would have done without you, honestly,” Jon continues, jiggling one foot nervously as best he can in the confined space. “You were… you were the only one I had, most days. The only one who knew what it was like, having the hunger consume you because you refuse to feed it. And – and you had Basira, but she… there were things she didn’t fully understand, couldn’t relate to. So you would come to me. We, uh… we helped each other. Trusted each other.” He adds, a bit timidly: “I… I’ve missed you.”

Still, Daisy says nothing. Jon is about to start rambling again – about what, he doesn’t know; he just needs to fill the awkward silence somehow – but Daisy speaks first.

“But – but what about before all that? Why did you come down here the first time around?”

“I was… in a bad place,” Jon admits. “Tim was dead, Sasha was dead, Melanie hated me, Basira saw me as a monster, Georgie wanted nothing to do with me, and Martin was… gone. I had no one, I wasn’t human anymore, I was afraid and ashamed and guilty and tired, and I… I was starting to doubt my decision to live. Not wanting to die had started to feel selfish, and I – I needed some way to justify living, some way to make myself useful.

“When we found out that you were alive, I – I just didn’t want to lose anyone else. If there was a chance of bringing you home, I had to try. And… there was nothing to lose. If I got stuck down here, it – it would be no great loss. The world would have even been safer for it – moreso than I even imagined at the time. I… honestly didn’t think that anyone would care if I didn’t come back.”

“That’s messed up,” Daisy says, a hint of wry amusement in her voice.

“Yeah,” Jon says with a self-deprecating laugh. “That’s what you said last time. Like I said, I was in a bad place. But – but in the end, we got out. I know I can get us out of here again. I promised Basira I would bring you home, and I – I – I will. I just… I need some time to find the way.”

“No pressure,” she deadpans.

Jon makes a strangled, exasperated noise in his throat.

“Seriously?”

If he could gesture at the tons of dirt pressing down on them, he would – but he can’t, because of the tons of dirt pressing down on them.

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Daisy says, just the slightest hint of a self-satisfied smirk in her voice. Jon feels one corner of his mouth quirk in spite of himself.

God, he really had missed her.

The concept of time has no meaning within the Buried. Without any real way to observe or calculate its passing, things tend to feel stagnant. One long note of boredom and desperation and restriction. If not for the unpredictable tides of the soil around them, it might even feel as if time is at a standstill. In a way, it is: there is only one time here, and it is forever – or until the End of everything, at least. To make things worse, true sleep is impossible in the Buried. Sometimes, though, there is a lull in the movements of the earth, and within that liminal space, the mind may be allowed to drift.

Jon isn’t sure how long he’s been drifting when Daisy tugs on his hand.

“Jon.”

“Hm?”

“You’re muttering again.”

“Oh.” Jon clears his throat when he realizes how groggy he sounds. “Was I?”

“Care to share?”

“I’m just – I keep thinking about how Basira escaped the Unknowing,” he says, rousing himself. Out of habit, he tries to stretch, only to remember that he can barely move at all – which, of course, only intensifies the urge to fidget.

“Oh?” Daisy shakes both his hands in hers, prompting him to continue. Judging by the waver in her voice, the silence must be getting to her again. “How – how’s that?”

“She… thought her way out. Like a – an ‘I think therefore I am’ thought experiment.” Jon smiles to himself and shakes his head slightly. “She put Descartes to shame.”

“Not even a fair comparison,” Daisy scoffs.

“Agreed.”

“Were you thinking of trying that here?”

“I… don’t think it would work.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re not that level-headed.”

“That’s –” Jon’s indignation fizzles out just as quickly as it emerged. “That’s… okay, yes, that’s fair.”

Daisy snickers; Jon can’t help a small grin in return.

“But what I was actually trying to say is that it was a strategy uniquely tailored to the Stranger. The Unknowing was all about – unreality, about not being able to trust your senses, even your own identity. Basira figured out that the best way to anchor herself in that situation was to boil her entire reality down to simple logical premises: She existed. She existed in a place and time. The place was dangerous at that time, so she had to not exist in that place at that time. Places have ends, and if she kept moving, she could reach a different place.”

“Huh.”

“Straightforward. Elegant, even.”

“It’s Basira,” Daisy says, unmistakable fondness creeping into her tone. Jon snorts. “Shut up, Sims. You were saying?”

“The Buried doesn’t operate in the same way. Basira reasoned her way out of the Stranger’s domain by denying unreality. If we tried to do the same thing, we’d just be denying… well, reality. The earth, the pressure, the – the ‘too close I cannot breathe,’ it’s all real.”

“Good pep talk.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I –” Jon sighs. “I didn’t mean to sound… morose. I was just thinking about different kinds of anchors. Basira managed to center herself and use her own mind as an anchor, and I – I find that impressive, is all.”

“That’s one way to describe her,” Daisy says. “She’s… always been like that. Practical, reliable… centered.”

Wait, Jon thinks to himself, brow furrowed. What if…

“Daisy, tell me about Basira.”

“What?”

“I – she’s your anchor, right? And – and you’re hers.”

“I don’t know about –”

“She called you solid, a – a – a fixed point,” Jon says excitedly. “When you’re there, things make sense to her. You ground her. And now, without you, she’s… she has trouble knowing where she stands. She has no backup, no one to orient her. What she did during the Unknowing – it was impressive, but it isn’t sustainable over a long period of time. You can only go it alone for so long before you lose your bearings. She – she needs you. And you need her. Right?”

“She’s the fixed point,” Daisy murmurs, as if that explains everything – and maybe it does.

“Exactly, s-so – tell me about Basira. From your perspective.”

“Why?”

“Because this is the Buried, where we’re at the center and everything is weighing down on us,” Jon says, mind racing five steps ahead of him. “The dirt, the pressure, it’s all real, but – but the Fears are also about state of mind.”

Jon can feel his heart rate pick up, the way it does whenever he’s talking his way through a puzzle. If he could, he would be pacing right now, burning off that restless energy. Instead, he finds himself tapping his fingers rapidly against Daisy’s hands. She doesn’t stop him, though.

“I’m not saying that we can solve this with ‘mind over matter’ thinking, but it might – help, if we can both focus on an anchor – a different center point, that is, one outside of this place. Move from this center to that center. There’s a better chance of figuring out which way is up if we’re both feeling for the way out. We can orient each other. If we both feel a tug from the same direction, we know we’re going the right way.”

“I can’t feel anything, though,” Daisy says. “Or – I can, but it’s – it’s everywhere, pushing in one direction – pushing down –”

Jon grips her hands more tightly when he hears her breathing start to grow ragged.

“That’s why you need to tell me about Basira – until you do feel a pull. I could be way off, but it’s worth a try. And – and if nothing else, it might help clear my mind, so I can give finding the way out another shot.”

“A statement, then?” Daisy asks sardonically. “Recharge your battery?”

“I wish,” Jon says with a grim smile. “The Eye only likes horror stories. If any story would sate my appetite, I could just watch biopics any time I was feeling a bit peaky. Hell, imagine if a fictional story was enough. An episode of the Archers would be like an afternoon snack.”

“You like the Archers?” He doesn’t have to see her to know that her eyebrows are raised as high as they’ll go.

“You know, I said the exact same thing to you once. And no, I don’t, but you do, and you used to make me listen with you. We didn’t even make a dent in the back catalogue, but I’m an Avatar of terrible knowledge and the Beholding loves spoilers, so guess who Knows every episode now?” Daisy barks a laugh at that. “There are over nineteen thousand episodes, Daisy!”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Anyway,” Jon says, squeezing both of her hands in lieu of nudging her shoulder, “a story just… helps take me out of my own head sometimes. Always has. You’re humoring me, not the Eye. Besides, do you have anything better to do?”

“S’pose not.”

“I mean – you don’t have to, of course, if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to pressure you –” Jon cringes. “Bad choice of words. I –”

“Stop babbling, Sims.” He knows that tone of voice, knows that she’s rolling her eyes right now. “We only have so long before the walls close in again –”

Daisy cuts herself off with a strangled noise, which she tries to cover by clearing her throat. She was likely trying to lighten the mood again, but the inevitability of the Buried’s ebb and flow is still too real, too close.

“Do you, uh… do you want to hear a story or not?”

“Please.”

“Back again?”

Martin jolts at the sound of Georgie’s voice. He tosses a brief glare over his shoulder at her where she stands just outside the doorway to the office, a safe distance from the Coffin. Martin discovered quickly that the Coffin’s compulsion has no impact on him, likely muffled by his allegiance to the Lonely. Georgie, though, has no such protection.

Coincidentally, it also means that as long as Martin keeps close to the Coffin, Georgie has to keep her distance from him as well.

“It’s been a week,” Martin says in a quiet monotone, tearing his gaze away from her.

“Yeah.”

“He should have been back by now.”

“Well, he didn’t really give a timeframe –”

“But you said he implied that it wouldn’t take more than a week,” Martin says impatiently. “And knowing Jon, he exaggerated how long it would take, just so no one would worry if he was late.”

“I… yeah, I know,” Georgie sighs. “I was expecting him to be back by now, too.”

Martin nods in a clear ‘I told you so’ gesture – then immediately feels childish. Why is he acting vindicated by her admission?

“Does Peter know you’ve been coming down here?”

“Don’t care.”

“Oh?” Georgie says, her voice suspiciously bland – and only then does Martin register the significance of what he just said.

“I just meant – it’s –” Martin huffs. “It’s none of your business.”

“Of course.” Martin can hear the smirk in her tone.

“Why are you here?” he snaps, swiveling to look at her again.

“Same reason you are, I expect.”

Martin says nothing to that, simply turns his back on her. For a few minutes, the only sound is the low, indistinct chatter of the tape recorders, still spooling out their horror stories on a loop.

“Have you tried calling to him?” Georgie asks. Martin continues to ignore her, teeth clenched until they ache. “It could be worth a shot. He left all those tapes running – don’t know if he can hear them exactly, but they’re meant to call to him.”

Go away, Martin thinks, his hands curling into fists on his knees.

“Your voice might be better than a recording.”

Why is she so persistent?

“Just – think about it, okay?”

When Martin doesn’t respond, Georgie sighs, knocks twice on the door frame, and takes her leave. He doesn’t look back around until the sound of her footsteps fade away.

“Sure, just leave the door wide open,” he grumbles irritably, rising to his feet to remedy the issue.

He pulls the office door shut with more force than intended, practically slamming it. The lone tape recorder on Jon’s desk, previously standing on end, topples over with a light clatter. Martin exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the static buzz of nervous energy simmering inside him.

“But we need you, Jon,” the tape recorder grinds out. “Jon, please, just – please.”

“Fuck,” Martin says, voice thick and strained. He takes several deep breaths – in through his nose, out through his mouth – trying to clear his thoughts. Eventually, his shoulders slump and he sighs. “Fine. You win.”

He settles himself on the floor in front of the Coffin again, closer this time.

“Jon,” he says, then falters, unsure of what to say. “I –” He lets out an agitated breath, then follows it up with a bitter chuckle. “This is stupid. You probably can’t even hear this, can you?”

There is an uncomfortable, stinging pressure in his eyes and he reflexively tries to swallow back the tears, only to realize how dry his mouth has become. He rubs his eyes instead, digging the heels of his palms into the sockets and applying pressure.

“I – if you – if you can hear me, I… I already lost you once. I can’t do this all over again, I just – I can’t. I’m – everyone is waiting for you, and I still…” Martin sniffles and clears his throat. “Just – come home, Jon. Please.”

“I think I’d forgotten what it was like to just be… present in the moment? A – a quiet moment, anyway.” Daisy sighs. “On a hunt, you always have to think a few steps ahead, anticipate the prey’s movements so you can get out in front of it. Even when you’re present-thinking, like during a fight, it’s – it’s instinct and reflex, quick movements and jagged edges. You can never just… be.”

“I think I understand,” Jon says. “Not the Hunt aspect, but – but the intolerance of stillness.”

“But in that moment – laying back in the grass, Basira going on about the stars – I was… I was just me. I was focused on her – she gets so excited, so animated whenever she has a chance to talk about something new she’s learned, and I – I let her go on for” – Daisy laughs – “going on forty minutes, probably, about – about the Wow! signal before she looked over and saw me staring. Got all embarrassed that I let her talk so long.”

Jon can feel himself grinning.

“In her defense, the Wow! signal is a fascinating topic.”

“I thought so,” Daisy says warmly. “I mean, I must’ve, right? The whole time she was talking, I never felt the blood calling to me. Afterwards, it felt wrong, somehow – unnatural – that I’d been ignoring it. Not even resisting it, just – tuning it out altogether. I didn’t notice until then how loud it was – like for my whole life there had been teeth at my throat and I just never noticed until that moment.” She pauses. “It’s strange, but I – I think I liked it. The quiet.”

“I don’t think it’s strange at all,” Jon says softly. “I think –”

Suddenly, there’s a distinct wrenching sensation within him – like having a hook yank upwards, painless but abrupt enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

“Jon?” Daisy says warily. “What’s wrong?”

There’s something there.

“Do – do you feel that?”

“No? What – what is it?”

“It’s – wait, just let me…”

Jon concentrates, holding his breath as he waits, and –

There. Another pull, like a fish tugging at a line. And another, gentler but just as insistent.

“Daisy, I –” Jon lets out a breathless little laugh. “I think I know the way. C-come on, follow me.”

End Notes:

tbh I was tempted to split this into two chapters but it felt like it wanted to be all one thing, and also I didn't want to end on an angsty cliffhanger because:

I know I was managing a loose every-7-to-10-days-ish update schedule for awhile there, but it miiiight start looking more like an every-two-weeks schedule going forward. I've been on split shifts at work but we're supposedly going back full time soon, so that might effect how much writing time I have each day. Just wanted to give a heads up in case it takes longer than usual before the next chapter is ready.

There are several snippets of dialogue borrowed/reworked from Jon & Daisy's conversation in the Buried in MAG 132 - they're scattered throughout the chapter. (The "This is forever deep below creation..." and "One thing I've learned..." internal dialogue bits are from 132 also.) Probably goes without saying, but Martin's Lonely statement is from MAG 170 and there's also a previously cited usage of his dialogue from the S4 trailer. The Tim quote is from MAG 117. "The blanket never did anything" (still one of the creepiest lines in the podcast i s2g) is from MAG 086.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #long post

35 notes · View notes

recentanimenews · 4 years ago

Text

OPINION: How Cells at Work! Taught Me to Embrace Self-Care

CONTENT WARNING: This article contains references to mental illness as well as self-harm, eating disorders, and alcohol abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

The next chapter in the story of Cells at Work! has arrived on Crunchyroll, and with it, we can continue the story about you, your body, and your 37.2 trillion cells. This is the story of how Cells at Work! saved my life and helped me become a healthier person.

I won’t get into the nitty-gritty details of the things that have happened to me — we don’t have the luxury of time. What I will say is that my most recent psychiatric ARNP, while doing my assessment, said I had six lives’ worth of trauma packed into my 26 years. I chose unhealthy coping mechanisms. I struggled between the desire to feel everything and nothing at all, where poor circumstances bred poor decisions.

Initially while facing suffering, I was jaded. But after several abusive relationships, my feelings transformed into a helpless acceptance that I was unworthy of good things. The depression infected every instance of my life: I stopped eating; some days it took me three hours just to convince myself to shower; some days I couldn’t convince myself to shower at all. I swung between frantic insomnia and using sleep as an escape.

When I reached out to family and friends, I was met with an overwhelming tirade of toxic positivity. It felt like I was drowning beneath the riptide while they were standing on the shoreline screaming at me to learn how to swim. And so, I turned to anime. Anime has always been a part of my mental health regimen. I found that if I was able to laugh during a crisis, I was able to slowly reel myself back from devastating action. Several series have played this heroic role, and in this instance, it was Cells at Work!.

Cells at Work! was delightful, and like many, I was charmed by its cities of anthropomorphic cells: the somewhat ditzy and directionally challenged AE3803 red blood cell; the stoic and sometimes ruthless U-1146 white blood cell; the adorable platelets; the chiseled killer-T cells. It was a lovely little slice of life and comedy venture, giving me a much-needed escape from reality.

When Cells at Work! CODE BLACK started airing, I was more than eager to jump back into the quirky land and follow my cell friends for some comedy giggles, and at times, astute observations. I hadn’t read the manga, and I didn’t know this story would be one of a deteriorating body full of danger, loss, and chaos.

Suddenly, it all became real: the true consequences my actions were having on my body and the trillions of cells that are a part of it. I saw the effect downing a bottle of wine in one sitting would have on my liver cells; the demand facing my blood cells with an ever-decreasing supply of food and energy; the repercussions self-mutilation would have on my poor platelets — that doing so would be evicting cells just like AE3803 from her home, ridding her of her purpose, and ultimately denying her life.

But unlike all of the conversations I had with others before — the counselors and the well-meaning mentors and the concerned friends and family — what I felt wasn’t disgust at my previous actions. It wasn’t circles of sorrow and self-hatred, nor was it an endless cycle of guilt and shame ... I wasn’t revolted by what I had done, rather, I was determined to be better.

My cells can’t yell at me. They don’t speak English. They have no HR, no benefits package, no union. I’m their only ally and advocate, the only one who can make their world better and work easier, perhaps even more meaningful. So I have to listen or they will strike and all the lights will go off. I have to, because if I don’t, who else will?

When I thought about it less like it was my blood and my body, and more like I was the mother or caretaker to all of these little beings, I was able to do things I couldn’t before: eat, exercise, hydrate, choose healthy coping mechanisms and refrain from self-mutilation. I now had a purpose, which wasn’t so loosely defined as “self-love.” I wanted to be able to provide a safe home and a good working environment so all of my cells could do their jobs.

Slowly, I began to change.

Bit by bit, moment by moment, I took steps to try and help my cells.

I began to set an alarm to remind myself to eat. Eventually, this led to tracking those meals to see if I was getting balanced and proper nutrition, and later to meal planning to ensure the blood cells could do their jobs efficiently and without worry. I invested in some supplements to help me sleep; I stopped looking at electronics at midnight to give my brain time to wind down. I started each day by doing some simple arm motions and stretching, moving up to walking and gentle yoga routines, to finally going for a run this last week, in hopes of helping my blood circulation and increasing my blood pressure since I have severe hypotension.

I’ll admit, some days are harder than others. At times, I mess up. I don’t manage to cook a healthy meal or I can’t get out of bed. But these slips are tenfold healthier than my previous coping mechanisms and I acknowledge that I’m human. Mistakes, accidents, and blunders are bound to happen, but I can minimize the damage and I can try to prepare for those days when they come. Some days the destructive urges are there, but the key is that I don’t act on those harmful impulses. I’m able to control myself and reach for healthier alternatives because I can’t bear the thought of hurting my cells more than I already have. I have to be better for them.

So many times I have had people tell me that I have to put on my own face mask before helping someone else. While that all makes sense in theory (I can rationalize it), putting it into action and practice is an entirely different experience. It doesn’t in any way recognize that having a life and living it for oneself is a lot of pressure. The overbearing crush of expectation compounded with the unrelenting belief that I am undeserving of basic life necessities. How many of us feel unworthy?

In the face of death, severe stress, and exhaustion, NT4201 (AE3803’s junior) asks: “Even if we try our hardest, do you really believe it’ll change anything?”

How many times have I asked myself that question, unable to find an answer?

Fortunately, Cells at Work! provides one for us. Throughout the series, we see cells helping each other as they go about their daily lives. It’s not just that their tasks are their jobs and that is their sole purpose. They strive to work their hardest for the others that live there. AE3803 persists because “Everyone is trying their best. I also have to do this too.”

In Cells at Work! CODE BLACK, AA2153 has a similar experience. He asks white blood cell U-1196 if their jobs are really worth risking their lives for. She replies: “We might be working so we can find the answer to that.” The series confirms our experience — there are things we cannot control; bad things happen. Even so, there are actions we can take and people we can rely on because we’re not alone.

I couldn’t do it for myself. But I could do it for them.

Cells at Work!’s personification was the allegory I needed to commit to self-care and a healthier lifestyle. It reminded me that sometimes it’s not the big things that keep us here ... sometimes it’s something as small as a single cell working their hardest that leads to revelations and meaningful change.

I hope I can live in a way my cells can be proud of. I hope I can give them a better life.

How has anime helped you practice self-care? Which anime has encouraged you to lead a healthier life? Let me know in the comments below!

Annie is a writer for Crunchyroll Features. She hopes her platelets know how much she loves them, and she still has a mega-crush on white blood cell U-1196. She also runs Annieme, a blog committed to anime and mental health. Follow her @anniemeaddict.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Annie M

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

3 notes · View notes

geneneianmark · 4 years ago

Text

Understanding the self

Understanding the Self

Many question that in our thoughts we ask but such as who am I? What am I? Do you believe every thought you think?

Self is your sense of who you are, deep down your identity. When you let someone else know you well, you reveal your true self to them. If the subject of your thoughts is you, you're thinking about yourself.

SELF CONCEPT

How to learn oneself, in Understanding the self, chapter 1 which the is below it was told that self-concept is how you determine yourself including your behavior, attitude, and opinions that within us all.

Cognitive attitude which we stand on our belief, for the exact purpose, I believe that each one of us has a crucial role in our society in order to survive, its either good or bad. In that thought we believe that each one of us has a role, the point there is the attitude which the concept of ourselves.

Behavior component such as a creative person along the lines of an artist they are creative on what they do the uniqueness of each one of them such as myself, also you can be an artist each of us has the opportunity we just need to grab it. This actively demonstrate that creativeness is a behavior of a person\individual.

Self-concept it means the standard of someone in terms of belief, thinking, emotions, and thoughts. We are the chauffeur of ourselves its either we turn left or we turn right it’s up to us. In this video it shows what is within and outside of a person it really motivates us to know ourselves and yes its confusing sometimes why we act like this and that, we made biases to ourselves its either good or bad In that part self as learned it’s more like reflection the details is in the idea in "self as learned" it begins in our house how our parents treated us, when we grow up it changes time to time and follow the stages of human being, first, is infancy this stage I’ll consider it as a cute stage; second is that toddlerhood this stage they identify ourselves how we function on our given gender; third in this stage it is the starting of our so called “self as learned” we develop relationship to others doing what others to adopt a new peers aside from our parents. Adolescence the stage where we create things that’s accepted to our society its either bad or good we can’t tell the difference if we wanted to enjoy life no matter what we do, since this part is the transition of our adulthood which means maturity, the stage of maturity this is the time that we know that there things we do that’s not right we regret it while when we are at our childhood and adolescence it’s so fun and we learned, but in this explanation, like I said in the second sentence of this reflection we are the operator of our lives it’s up to us on how we react it’s either do it or change it. In this self as organized and self as dynamic which is how you harmonize yourself in a way you are that consistent, but we can’t deny the changes and challenges that we face every day but somehow we need to organize ourselves in that change, they say that “sometimes it takes a painful experience to make us change our ways”

To sum up everything that has been stated so far understanding the self, knowledge or understanding of one's own capabilities, character, feelings, or motivations; We started in infancy to adulthood such as we are now. -Proverbs 20:30. Our lives is like a science the curiosity is within as we are the scientist that wanted to discover ourselves by doing experiments, what I mean is that we wanted to know more about ourselves what its capable in that implementation we learned and develop ourselves.

Source of the discussion: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LF3kM8mztKY&t=769s

#educational purposes

1 note · View note

yurimother · 6 years ago

Text

Our Dreams at Dusk: Shimanami Tasogare - LGBTQ Review

Writing reviews is generally pretty simple for me. I set up the story of the work, discuss the characters and their dynamics, talk about the art, overuse the word “adorable” and then analyze about whatever romance or LGBT elements are present in it. However, Our Dreams at Dusk: Shimanami Tasogare deserves more than that. This is not some fluffy schoolyard romance, it is an honest, powerful, and stupendous work of queer literature. I spent almost a full day slowly working my way through the original volumes in preparation for the English adaptation’s release and words can hardly capture the sheer power and raw emotion contained in this series. I feel perfectly comfortable in saying that Shimanami Tasogare is the greatest manga I have ever read.

WARNING: this review contains spoilers for all four volumes of the manga

Our Dreams at Dusk: Shimanami Tasogare is written and illustrated by Yuhki Kamatani, who is a member of the LGBTQ+ community themselves and identifies as X-gender and asexual. Their illustrations are breathtaking. All the characters designs are distinct and the environments are detailed. But careful use of visual storytelling and employment of gorgeous surreal imagery is nothing short of artistic genius. These striking moments (literally) illustrate the characters’ emotions in ways far more complex and powerful than words ever could.

For example, the four pages which close the third chapter begin very minimally, with no background and only close-ups of character’s faces without words. Suddenly, it explodes into a visual representation of the protagonist's feelings, his realization, his fear, his overwhelming panic, and his confusion. Excerpts such as this are visceral, brutally effective, and hauntingly beautiful.

No matter how much praise I have to offer the remarkable illustrations, it is nothing compared to the commendations I give the story. It begins just as protagonist Tasuku Kaname stands over a bridge, contemplating jumping. People are making fun of Tasuku at school because of a rumor that he is gay and he believes his life might be over. However, he does not jump after he sees a strange girl in the distance leap from the window of a drop-in center.

Rushing over, he finds that this girl, called Someone, is the mysterious owner of the drop-in center. She tells him that the center is a gathering place for LGBTQ+ and that he can tell her anything, but that she will not listen. Soon Tasuku begins spending his summer at the center, working to fix up an old house with some of it other patrons, and learning everyone’s story. Each of the people at the center has an LGBTQ+ identity. In small arcs, which naturally cross and interweave with each other, Tasuku comes to better understand them and their identity as they work to navigate the world as a queer person.

One of the first stories told is that of Haruko Daichi and her wife Saki. Although they have not been able to get hold a ceremony, they consider themselves married. Haruko used to be guarded and quiet, lying to herself about being happy. When she finally came out and told her parents that she was a relationship, their relationship fell apart, a story far too common in the LGBT community. However, it is in this community that Haruko found solace and acceptation, thanks to participating in online forums and circles she accepted herself.

In one of these online groups she meets Saki, and they fell in love. Haruko’s greatest wish it to have a real wedding celebration so that everyone who knows her and Saki can celebrate them and their love together. Saki, however, feels differently. Although she is very much in love with Haruko, she does not want to risk starting fires by publicly coming out to her parents and relatives or holding such a brazen display of their love. This fear is held by many queer people, “how will I be seen if I come out? No one will accept me.”

Volume two of the manga follows the story of Shuufi Misora, a young child questioning their gender identity. At the center, Misora dresses as a girl, wearing dresses, makeup, and wigs, but outside they present as a boy (the gender they were assigned as at birth). They are initially somewhat hostile towards Tasuku, who is kind and compliments Misora regularly on their clothing while at the center, but one day asks to go to his house.

While there, Misora asks Tasuku some questions about being male and expresses their fear of their voice changing and getting body hair. Tasuku asks them, “do you want to be a girl?” Misora tells him that they do not know, but more than anything they feel so isolated and misunderstood. Before they can leave, Tasuku takes their hand.

After this, Tasuku encourages Misora to live as a transgender woman and eventually pushes them to go outside while presenting as feminine. The two go to a festival together and enjoy themselves. However, when someone gropes Misora’s butt, Tasuku remarks in an offhand comment that they did it because Misora looked cute. Misora, feeling angry, confused, and pushed by Tasuku explodes into a homophobic tirade, shouting at him before running away. After that, they do not return to the drop-in center.

Tasuku pushed Misora too much to come out, to take on the identity of being transgender. But, nobody can force a queer person to accept their identity or come out before they are ready and sure of their identity. Misora was still questioning themselves and Tasuku’s attempts to put them into a box and have them live a certain way was happening too quickly. I think that this is the chapter during which I broke down crying at the end, it resonated with me so deeply (it was two in the morning at this point and I had been up all day translating the Japanese text). I remember how much I struggled with my sexuality before coming out as queer. I think that the words a colleague once told me years later apply best, “ everyone comes out at the perfect time for them, there is no 'too early' or 'too late', just ‘ready’ and ‘not yet.’”

Volume three tells the story of Utsumi. He is extraordinarily kind, gentle, and charismatic. One day, while working the renovating the house with several volunteers, a woman comments that she knew him in high school, but that he presented as female back then, revealing him to be a transgender man. She asks him to attend a high school reunion, which he does and encourages him to speak at her daughter’s school. It becomes clear that she is a problematic ally, seeing queerness as a sort of illness and believes that he should work to teach everyone else about his identity.

Utsumi responds that she is reducing him to being only a trans man and that this is only one part of his identity, that he is so much more than that. Often allies want queer people to act as the voice and teacher of their identity and reduce that person to only being the token gay or token transgender person. They are not given the freedom to be their own person. This is what she is trying to do to Utsumi. However, he refuses and after that, she no longer interacts with the group.

In the fourth and final volume, the story of Tchaiko is told. He is the elderly visitor of the center and enjoys playing compositions by Tchaikovsky for everyone to listen to. He is gay, and his partner of thirty years, Agawa, is passing away. Agawa left his family, including his son to live as a gay man and be with Tchaiko. Unfortunately, he was not able to have both a child and live as who he was, and was forced to make a decision between the two.

Fortunately, Agawa’s son has begun to visit him in the hospital room, but while he is there Tchaiko stays away, as the son is not aware of their relationship. Tchaiko however, does not resent this, and loves texting Agawa and visiting while the son is not there. However, he acknowledges that, as he is not legally a member of his family, he cannot be there while Agawa dies. The legal rights of gay couples is a long source of grief for many.

I recall my friends getting ready to move to England with their two young children. They were married legally in the State that we live in (Massachusetts) but they had no federal rights and one of them was soon to be deported. Luckily for them, same-sex marriage was legalized across the country just weeks before they were to be evicted, and they were allowed to stay. The story I tell is a victorious one, but for so many people and their partners, they have so much tale. The law and discrimination keep them from experiencing every aspect of their life together.

Through Tchaiko, Tasuku learns of Someone’s past. He describes her as a person who wanted to live in isolation. In the past, before adopting the name “Someone” she tells Tchaiko and Agaway that she is most likely asexual, but that she is unable to find a place where she belongs, that whatever she does she cannot explain her identity.

The two men comment how strange it is that nobody is allowed to just live their lives in solitude, to live without having to explain, educate, and identify oneself, to just be “somebody.” It is at this moment that Somebody realizes that this is exactly what she wants. She takes the name Somebody and chooses to let go of labels and lives the way that she wants to.

I can hardly explain how much I identified with Somebody. I am not asexual, but I never found that labels worked for me, that I needed to be able to identify myself as straight or gay or fit into any of those boxes. For that reason, I do not identify my sexuality. I am queer, as a person who falls under the LGBTQ+ umbrella, but no more than that.

This final volume begins to bring about resolution to many of the conflicts and issues introduced in previous chapters but I will not go into detail about those here. Just know that I found each solution to be believable, well written, and satisfying. What I really want to talk about, is Tasuku’s journey and his relationship with Tsubaki.

Tsubaki is Tasuku’s classmate, whom he has a crush on. Tasuku struggles so greatly with coming to terms with these feelings and is helped greatly by his friends at the center. But these difficulties are exacerbated when he and Tsubaki become friends. His situation quickly takes a turn for the worse as Tsubaki starts to toy with Tasuku. Soon he begins making homophobic and transphobic remarks about the frequenters of the center. Tasuku stays silent, standing there tortured and wounded by his friend's hurtful remarks.

Things only get worse when Someone starts talking to Tsubaki about his sexuality, acknowledging that he is repressed and lashing out. Tsubaki angrily dismisses the idea. Finally, he confronts Tasuku, acknowledging that obvious fact that Tasuku is gay and verbally assaulting him and the center. And then, in what is absolutely my favorite moment from the wonderful manga, Tasuku stands up to him! He confesses his sexuality and affection for Tsubaki, tells him how much the center means to him and how much good it has done, and that what Tsubaki is doing is wrong. “I want you to know that what you’ve said has hurt me. It’s not like I want your sympathy or apology! I just don’t want you to hurt anyone else!”

My. God. YESSS!!

This is such an incredibly powerful moment, to see the struggling Tasuku stand up and tell off his friend, the person that he loves. To tell him that his actions are hurtful and wrong. This was such a triumphant moment for the character. The sheer number of people that I, that every queer person encounters in their lives that hurts us and that we want to tell off. Seeing this was cathartic and affirming for me in so many ways. Not only do we see Tasuku take this stand, but Tsubaki listens. He understands and realizes that his actions were ignorant, and hurtful, and cruel. After this, he begins to hang around the center more and become more accepting of the others and himself.

Our Dreams at Dusk: Shimanami Tasogare expresses so many realistic and relatable stories of LGBTQ+ people that are told so beautifully and fully. If you are a queer person you need to read this manga, if you are questioning you need to read this manga, if you are an ally you need to read this manga, if you are a parent you need to read this manga, if you have no idea what LGBT life is like you need to read this manga.

Yuhki Kamatani has created the most honest, emotional, and affirming portrayal of living as an LGBTQ+ person that I have ever read in a manga. My feeble attempts to analyze it and express my appreciation here are laughable. My advice, get your hands on a copy right away!

To try and quantify this work with categorical scores would be nothing but insulting so I will end with only the overall rating: 10/10

Our Dreams at Dusk: Shimanami Tasogare Volume 1 is available now in at major North American retailers digitally and in print and volumes 2-4 are available for pre-order

Support yuri and LGBTQ+ content, news, and reviews by funding YuriMother on Patreon

All images are used for review purposes only and are owned by Yuhki KAMATANi, Shogakukan, and Seven Sea’s Entertainment. Please support the manga’s official release

#reviews #our dreams at dusk #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtq+#manga #anime #yuri #yaoi #queer #wlw #mlm #trans #transgender #representation #asexual #gay #comic #comics #graphic novel #seven seas

2K notes · View notes

imagine-loki · 5 years ago

Text

Greatest Fears

TITLE: Greatest Fears CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 2 of 3 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s wife suffering a terrible nightmare and him soothing her after it. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: This is an older fic. I meant to post it here when this imagine popped up, and then completely forgot to because I am great at planning. Since I’m going through my files trying to rekindle the muse, I figured I might as well post it now, y'know? XD

Bit of violence, but well, that’s bound to happen when you piss Loki off, y'know?

________________________

Loki was on a mission. That much was plain to see both by his expression and the clear purpose in his steps. He barely even noticed as servants and nobles alike hastened to get out of his way, so focused was he; everyone knew that when the God of Mischief was angry, it was best not to find oneself in his path.

As he rounded a corner he nearly collided with Lorelei; he began to move around her before changing his mind, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him, asking with deceptive calmness, “Have you any idea where I can find your dear sister?”

The redhead looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What did she do this time?”

“Too much,” Loki replied with an edge to his voice, making Lorelei’s brow rise further.

“In that case; last I heard, she was looking for your brother, who I think is in the training grounds,” Lorelei replied with a smile.

It was no secret the temptress couldn’t stand her older sister, Amora; the two had been at odds as far back as anyone could remember, so she was more than happy to point the younger prince’s wrath in the right direction.

With vague thanks, Loki left, changing course for the training grounds and hoping Lorelei’s information was correct. He had long been at war with the Enchantress, and they had both employed highly questionable strategies against the other, but this went too far; this time she had touched upon the one thing he could not forgive or forget: His wife.

He knew it had to have been Amora who invaded Samantha’s dreams the previous night, intending to plant the seeds of distrust and fear of him in her mind. There was no-one else it could be; none of his other enemies both knew that his wife was his greatest weakness and had the means and ability to influence her slumber that way. And it would take someone blinded by unfavourable opinions of him to assume that they could harm - let alone break - the bond between them; his queen was as devoted to him as he was to her and nothing short of a personal betrayal would change that.

Finally he reached the training grounds, where he could hear the sounds of practise battles as well as the loud voices of his brother and other warriors. His eyes searched the room and found his intended target then he narrowed his eyes in hatred and began to make his way to her. The moment he was close enough, he threw a burst of energy at Amora that slammed her against the far wall strongly enough to make her cough up blood as she crumpled on her hands and knees to the floor. Sparring matches ceased as all present looked between the Enchantress and the clearly livid prince in shock.

“Loki; what is the meaning of this?” Thor asked; he was well aware of his brother’s feelings towards Amora, but he had never known him to attack her so openly and with such ferocity.

Loki ignored his brother completely, advancing on Amora and snarling, “Did you think I would not know it was you? Or were you simply foolish enough to think I would not retaliate?”

“It was not all my doing; I simply worked with what was there,” Amora spat, attempting to get to her feet.

Before she could, Loki rushed over to her, grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall harshly. “Liar!”

He conjured his dagger and went to plunge it into her stomach, as Samantha had told him happened in her nightmare, but was stopped by Thor, who rushed to his brother and pried him off the Enchantress with difficulty.

“Let me go!” Loki growled, fighting against Thor’s hold with all his strength.

“Not until you tell me what is going on,” Thor said sternly.

“She attacked my wife,” Loki replied enraged.

“She what?!” Thor asked, turning to glare at Amora, who seemed to finally realise she’d made a big mistake.

When Loki had brought Samantha to Asgard, Thor had taken an instant liking to her; not only for the kind and quick-witted person that she was, but it was clear to see her presence had a calming effect on his brother’s much-troubled mind. It was well known that he was almost as protective of his sister-in-law as her husband was.

“Thor; let. Me. Go,” Loki seethed, eyeing Amora with murder in his eyes.

Thor was actually more than a bit tempted, but in the end held back, albeit reluctantly. “No, brother.”

“Why not?” Loki spat, turning to glare at the Thunderer.

“Because Samantha would disapprove of cold-blooded murder, and you well know it,” Thor replied, trying to reason with him.

Loki bristled slightly at the mention of his wife then huffed angrily and put his dagger away, knowing that Thor was right. If he just killed Amora, Samantha would (probably) forgive him eventually, but she would certainly be upset with him for some time before that. And while they had argued in the past over mistakes either of them made, he did try to avoid giving her reason to be angry.

When Thor was sure that Loki wouldn’t try to kill Amora anymore, he let him go and the Trickster turned to him. “What do you suggest I do? Because I am not letting this go.”

“Nor would I expect you to,” Thor assured, “But this is a matter to take up with father.”

At the mention of Odin, Amora’s eyes widened; she knew the king wasn’t overly fond of her, given all the trouble she’d caused over the centuries, and he was one of the few people she genuinely feared.

Loki gave it some thought then huffed. “Fine; if we must.”

***

When Amora was brought before him flanked by a displeased Thor and a fuming Loki, Odin suppressed a sigh; wondering what discontent the Enchantress had wrought this time. As the situation was explained, the Allfather instead began to wonder how his eldest had managed to keep his brother from killing Amora at all; he knew how protective Loki was of his wife. He himself was rather fond of the young woman, even if she was at least mostly human; in many ways she reminded him of Frigga, and Loki had benefited greatly from having her in his life.

“You and Loki have been in conflict since you were barely out of childhood, but to employ such insidious spells against innocents…” Odin began, his voice carrying throughout the throne room easily, “Personal feelings for Samantha aside, she is part of the royal family; bringing harm to her in any way is a serious offence.” He let his words sink in for a moment. “Since there was no injury caused, I will be lenient: You will be bound in service to those you have wronged.”

Amora’s eyes widened. “You cannot be serious!” Odin raised an eyebrow and the Enchantress paled. “For how long?”

Odin looked thoughtful for a moment then replied, “I think a month should do.”

The look on Amora’s face alone as she was practically dragged out of the throne room made Loki think sparing her life had been the best call after all. And the knowledge that she was his to command for a month… Loki still had plenty of issue with his father, but he was no fool; he knew perfectly well that lenience was the farthest thing on Odin’s mind with that sentencing. Thor left the room next; feeling somewhat sorry for the Enchantress, knowing that his brother would see to it that she never even thought about so much as offending Samantha again, but of the opinion that she had very much brought this on herself.

Loki went to leave the room, intending to find his wife and share the wonderful news, when Odin called him back. Loki turned around and faced his father somewhat apprehensively, figuring he was about to be scolded for his attempted murder; instead he was surprised by what the king actually had to say.

“Whether you tell your wife the full details of what occurred is your choice, but this cannot happen again,” Odin said firmly.

“It will not, as long as Amora learns her lesson,” Loki replied simply.

“That is not what I meant.”

“Oh?” Loki responded, now curious.

“I understand that you love her, but do not let that devotion turn to obsession,” Odin warned, “You cannot respond to every threat towards her with murderous intent.”

Loki blinked in surprise. “Would you expect any less of me?”

“There was a time I would not have,” Odin admitted, “But that was before. I know that you are capable of more, of better; do not lose that over the actions of those who are not.”

To say that Loki was stunned would have been an understatement. Unless his mind was playing tricks on him; that was as close to praise as he had received from the Allfather in… well, most of his life. Unable to find words, he simply nodded then turned and left; wanting to find Samantha and confirm whether or not he was finally going mad.

#Loki #Lover #God of Mischief #Submitted fic #submission #greatest fears #chapter 2 #malicemanaged

31 notes · View notes

shenlongshao · 5 years ago

Text

Jam Kuradoberi: Extra Analysis

A few years ago, I made a character analysis of Jam Kuradoberi that cleared up common misconceptions about her personality. But there are some things I forgot to mention after re-reading my old post. There's still some misinformation spread about Jam, which I want to clarify so this will be a long post. First is analyzing Jam's Instant Kill called "Gasenkotsu".

Jam says "Ten! Jo! Ten! Ge! Yui! Ga! Doku! Son!"

Now I'll show the given translation to this you've likely seen on Tumblr and other places.

Tenjou Tenge Yuigadokuson (Written in Japanese is 天上天下唯我独尊 )

“In Heaven and Earth I am all that is Holy!” / “Unrivaled Self-Conceit”

Gasenkotsu= Narcissism

If you focus only on 唯我独尊(Yuigadokuson), translators(both people and computerized) will automatically give you "conceited, narcissism, ego" etc. because they dissect each word within "Yuigadokuson". Narcissism, etc. are part of the list of meanings, but these aren't the only ones; it's important to know the context. The best way to get the correct meaning is understanding this is from Buddhism, which is known to be practiced in India, China, and Japan(and probably some other countries too). Buddha said the phrase "Tenjou Tenge Yuigadokuson" after gaining enlightenment. Since this is a real cultural saying with a specific meaning, it needs to be translated as a whole rather than in pieces. The real translation of "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson" is "In Heaven and on Earth, I alone am worth of honor." Since the phrase does involve speaking about oneself and one of the meanings of honor is high respect or great esteem, it's commonly mistaken for narcissism. But the real meaning of "Yuigadokuson" is "self-esteem" and "resolve" across Japan, China, etc. This is me explaining from what I know and studied of Chinese culture by reading books like "Speaking of Chinese" by Raymond Chang and Margaret Scrogin Chang. I've spoken with and observe some Asian people when I was in school or when order out to eat, etc. way back in 1994 before the era of the internet. I still take the time to make sure I learn and understand about Chinese culture, its language(mainly focused on Mandarin), etc. Now I'm going to show reliable sources and evidence.

1. SOTOZEN.NET (https://global.sotozen-net.or.jp/eng/library/glossary/individual.html?key=shakamuni): This explains the history of Buddha's life and its founder along with the meaning of "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson". This is an Asian themed site that's translated in many languages.

2. True Buddhism (https://true-buddhism.com/teachings/yuigadokuson/): This is a Japanese only site that goes into great detail about "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson" and answers questions to common misconceptions about it. It will go into explanation about Buddha and his enlightenment, which you can just go the 1st website I linked to to understand the references. One of the things it mentions is how the saying doesn't mean "I'm the greatest in the world" or about being conceited, but about self resolve. If you don't understand Japanese and just want a quick translation, you could use Google Translate to get the general interpretation of the sites, but it(Google Translate) is very weird at times, XD. I think using a good Japanese to English dictionary would help better if you're unable to contact a good translator.

3. Naoto Matsumoto's Video ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=2&v=NQRDZF7Hy_g&feature=emb_logo): Naoto Matsumoto is a Japanese man who teaches the meanings behind both Taoism and Buddhism. You can skip to 1:19 of the video to listen to the specific part of him addressing the saying "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson". He says, "The most humble way is being like the baby Buddha who said, 'Above Heaven, below Heaven, I alone am the most respectable being.' Tenjo--Tenge--Yuigadokuson. I hope you would understand this; this is not haughty at all. He is saying everything is one." This is the most important because it's from a knowledgeable native who naturally understands about his culture, which is the best way to truly understand something from another country. A good translator who isn't native to the country he/she studied about can be equally trusted if he/she has a great understanding of the culture. You'll be surprised how many translators know about something, but not have the full understanding cause of the false generalizations they have towards other countries.

This last one I'll link to isn't technically a information resource, but it's showing how the saying "Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson" is used.

4. 雅 MIYAVI's Facebook Page(https://www.facebook.com/comyvzcrew/posts/2472543299438327/): Miyavi is a Japanese singer, songwriter, and guitarist. He has the tattoo of the saying on his body to strengthen his resolve to do what he loves, which is to keep playing music.

Jam is also using this saying to strengthen her resolve on the path she's chosen and enlightenment about herself. Also note from Jam's Instant Kill(how it was before Revelator) she's also being silly and embraces the part of her being a silly idiot, XD. Now to examine how her IK is in Revelator.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hkr-g2Z1uM4

You notice how it begins with seeing her restaurant destroyed. There's a comical shocked expression, but notice how she's using her tears for fierce determination while giving the final kick to her opponent. What she says after is random like "I passed the first interview!" or "Done and done!". All of this is about resolve, so below is the accurate translation.

Tenjo Tenge Yuigadokuson (Written in Japanese is 天上天下唯我独尊 )

"In Heaven and Earth, I alone am worthy of honor" or "Above Heaven, below Heaven, I alone am the most respectable being" / "Self Enlightenment & Resolve"

Gasenkotsu= Self-esteem

Next is addressing what I've read detractors often say about Jam. “Jam is a gold digger!” This relates to the "greedy" part, which I already covered isn't true about Jam in the character analysis post (https://shenlongshao.tumblr.com/post/151953570662/character-analysis-of-jam-kuradoberi). Let's look at the definition of "Gold Digger" according to Webster since people misusing the word. Gold Digger: 2. a person whose romantic pursuit of, relationship with, or marriage to a wealthy person is primarily or solely motivated by a desire for money. Next is comparing the top traits gold diggers have and see if Jam displays any of this behavior. TOP TRAITS OF A GOLD DIGGER ------------------------------- #1: A gold digger hates having to put hardwork or effort into what she wants. She doesn't have or even try to have her own goals or dreams because she wants to the wealthy man or one who has good income to do everything and enjoy the benefits. The only "work" she'll put in is trying to get a guy who has money and spending it lavishly. #2. When first meeting a guy on a date or in general, a gold digger won't hesitate to ask him financial related questions like "What's your job?" "How much money you make in a week/month/year?" etc. If the guy doesn't have a high or good paying job or high social status, she won't care or interested in truly getting to know him as a person. She wants extravagant dates, things, and status to boost her ego. 3#. A gold digger is never a giver, only a taker. The concept of helping out financially like paying a bill or anything about doing her part unless she gets something out of it is foreign to her. She'll either make up excuses like, "Oh, I used all my money last week" or manipulate the guy in some way(like using her looks, sex, etc.)so she doesn't have to do anything. #4. A gold digger is usually very high maintenance, spoiled, and entitled in some way cause that's the treatment she's used to having. She has the "go big or go home" mentality and doesn't appreciate the simple and small things. EVIDENCE JAM ISN'T A GOLD-DIGGER ----------------------------------- Volume 2 of Guilty Gear X Drama CD shows a hint of Jam's earlier life before her video game debut. The chapter is called "Boiler-Maker", where she used to work in a tiny restaurant as a waitress with little to no pay. Here is the link to read that section. http://gearlegacy.tripod.com/rtt/id22.html She eventually gets tired of her working situation and quits, wanting to start her own restaurant; leading into the events of Guilty Gear X(Plus). Here is the translated prologue of Jam's Story Mode. Prologue Grilling, frying, boiling, deep-frying, washing, cutting, putting in oil. A cook who mastered the 100 martial arts of China. That is Jam. In order to found her new restaurant she set out on a journey. A journey to... the devil's forest. In there were said to be ingredients unknown to man. Source: https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/ps2/536497-guilty-gear-x-plus/faqs/31309 The Prologue for Jam's story(and others) is explained through the perspective of the P.W.A.B.(Post-War Administration Bureau). She's one of the characters that have 3 different story paths depending on what you do, so I'll give a general summary. Jam finally starts her own restaurant, but an arsonist(Robo-Ky) sets her restaurant on fire. She fights him despite the heavy smoke, but Robo-Ky escapes and begins to chase after him. This leads her to initially mistake Ky Kiske to be the arsonist, but the story can branch out differently from here. Either way, it'll end with Jam needing to start over again with her restaurant. This has been an ongoing purpose for each game since so I'll show only one more official profile of hers. Jam Kuradoberi's profile from GGXRD Revelator 2: Jam Kuradoberi's Personality: Iron chef of Chinese food and master of Chinese martial arts. She is a bright and cheerful girl that has the ability to fight using her Ki force. Her dream is to open her own restaurant and have lots of people enjoy her cooking. She almost attained her dream, but was smashed down every time by unforeseen troubles. But her passion can't be stamped out, so she keeps trying. Source: https://web.archive.org/web/20180219014839/http://guiltygear.us/ggxrdr/characters/ (Note: You'll have to select Jam from the character list.) The Japanese version of the site phrases it a little differently, but it's basically the same meaning and description. From the beginning, Jam has her own goals and dreams; she's continuously worked hard for it by herself. This is the complete opposite trait a gold digger would have. Of course she would appreciate not having to financially struggle so much if with a wealthy man, but Jam is very driven and passionate about her dream. She would simply continue doing what she loves and contribute in the relationship. Her less-than-fortune upbringing and the fact of her having to work for everything in her life by herself means she has a greater appreciation for the smaller and simple things in life. Not even on her list of Likes on her profile states "money", it's only "Cooking, researching, youth, and handsome men". This should be enough proof by itself, but I see detractors labeling Jam's romantic interest in Ky to "she wants him cause he's a handsome rich guy, so she's a gold digger!" I'm laughing at this cause it's so easily refutable. I'm going to show the dialogue, quotes, etc. Jam has with Ky. They first briefly met in Guilty Gear Plus when Ky was on a journey to see Dizzy. (Below is from Ky's Story Path, but Jam's story path of their first meeting is generally the same with minor differences in dialogue.) GGX Plus Ky's Story --------------------- Ky: Excuse me, the forest ahead of here, how can I... Jam: (Aiya! What a nice looking man!) The Demon's Forest is very dangerous. You should stay away. Ky: Thank you for your concern, but it's my duty... Jam: Then I must test if you're ready for the forest! Draw! Ky: W-w-wait a second! Jam: If you lose it's washing dishes for you! Ky: Huh? Wait! Source: https://gamefaqs.gamespot.com/ps2/536497-guilty-gear-x-plus/faqs/31309 How is Jam wanting Ky do dishes if he loses being a gold digger? LOL! There’s no part of her asking him what's his job and how much money he makes. Let's look at Jam's win-quote against Ky that's been the same throughout most Guilty Gear games until Revelator(I'll get to that later). Jam's Win-quote vs Ky: “Uu... Mada shibirete ugokenai aru. Doko ka ni kata wo kashitekureru yasashii otoko wa inai aru ka?” (chira) Translation: “Ooh... I'm still shaking and can't move. Isn't there a kind man around who'll lend me his shoulder?” (glint) There's no mention about Ky's wallet in this. Pre-Battle Jam vs Ky: Uchi no mise, otoko ten'in tarinai. Anata boui yaru yoroshi. Translation: My store doesn't have enough male workers. You can work there. Once again Jam wants Ky to work for her at her restaurant, which definitely doesn't pay much in comparison to Ky's salary as an IPF(International Police Force). This isn't how a gold digger operates. Further proof is Jam's 3rd ending from Story Path 3 in Guilty Gear X2. I've referenced her dialogue with Ky in my character analysis to prove she is kind and friendly person and not a jerk. It also shows Jam is once again not a gold digger because she didn't pry about Ky's finances nor ever made it her main focus of why she pursues him. Lastly is Jam's win-quote against Ky in Revelator. Jam's win-quote against Ky: There is no finish line for cooking world. Only beginning. Same as when you find nice woman. You learn about her then find nicer woman. So...nicer woman right here, you know? By this point, Ky is a king of Illyria, another position with not only way more financial stability than Jam, but very high social status. Yet, Jam doesn’t refer to either at all. Next one! “Jam flirts with Bridget cause she told him to come back in 5 years! And says he's cute boy!” I can't believe how many people misunderstood Jam's win-quote against Bridget, which is this. Jam's Win-quote to Bridget: Ha! Kono nioi! Anata otoko no ko ne! 5 nen tattara mata kuru yoroshi! Translation: Ha! This smell! You're a boy! Come again in five years, okay? Bridget is a cute boy in a adorable way and could potentially be a pretty boy if he's ever allowed to escape the gender-bender look and feminine mannerisms. But Jam is simply complimenting him when she says him being cute. The purpose of Jam's win-quote against Bridget is to suppose to let you and other players know 2 things. The first is letting you know Bridget's a boy cause otherwise we would've assumed he's a girl. The second is to hint of his age, which is likely 13 years old cause plus 5 would be 18 years. His body hasn't fully matured yet and 18 is the age mostly likely a person's body is reasonably developed. The fact she said 5 years should be enough to let people know Jam doesn't want a little boy. The context is actually her saying she isn't interested in him romantically. Jam doesn't flirt with Bridget at all, she sees him as a friend. Time for the next detractor statement~. “Not only is Jam after Ky, she's after his son as well!” This sounds like something from soap operas, XDD. I'll address this part cause there's some basis to it. Jam's smiles when Sin tackles her during his Instant Kill and says things like "You hug me harder!" and "Hey, you come work at my restaurant!" There's her win-quote against him where she says has good basics and just needs to cook to be perfect man. And how she's willing to teach him cause she's a chef. Another part is Sin's win-quote against her is him mentioning of doing his best to hold back against her in a fight, but then becomes very nervous and saying like "get away from me!" which hints she got too close to him. But these actually are meant to be strictly humorous rather interpreted as her seriously wanting Sin. Proof is this...

Sin's no where in that picture and the story states "man"(singular) and not "men"(plural) she's sets her sights on. Since I've already listed the quotes Jam says to Ky; compare those to what she says to Sin and other guys.

Another statement I read from detractors. “Jam forced Ky to go on a picnic with her!” Hahaha! XD Let's look at the part of Jam's 3rd ending from Story Path 3 with Jam and Ky to find this "evidence". Jam: It's such a nice day. How about we go eat somewhere? Ky: B-but, I should work... Jam: Ehhhh? Ky: I'm sorry for troubling you... let us go. Jam: Okay! Come on, cheer up! So Jam asking Ky about going on a picnic together and her saying "Ehhhhh?" in a disappointed and childlike manner when he first says he should work is forcing him? XD Ky is a mentally functional and capable adult in his late 20s who's been in many leadership roles. In fact, Ky wasn’t obligated to stay and talk to her after saving her, yet he did of his own free will. Next is another one from detractors. “Ky would be Jam's personal punching bag.” ROFL! I won't spend too much time on this cause this is clearly out of no where to claim Jam would actually abuse or use Ky as a scapegoat in any way. It's perfectly okay to not like her cause everyone has characters they like and dislike, but making things up about her that aren't true makes people who do that very illogical and have poor comprehension skills. Now for the last one I think is the most interesting. “Why Jam does wear such a short skirt where you can see her panties?! This is so hentai!” There's actually a cultural reason why Jam and other Chinese girl characters like Chun-Li, Lei-Fang, etc. who show lots of legs nearly or up to their hip bone. Believe it or not, it's not strictly about sex appeal. The short answer is Chinese girls wearing a mini-skirt or dresses that show lots of leg, even to the point of possible pantyshots is the same level as a shirtless guy. This means it isn't considered sexual in China by itself if worn on a casually, but formal and holy places would obviously be inappropriate to wear it. It's even socially okay for a 50 year old woman to wear a mini skirt. But there an important part you'll also notice, Jam and other Chinese girls normally never wear low-cut tops showing their boobs. This is also a cultural thing cause in China, women are deemed good and respectable if not showing off cleavage even though their skirts are short. Showing cleavage, especially alot and if the girl isn't a model or etc. as part of a job, then it'll be the opposite; she'll be viewed as "very naughty" a.k.a want sex. This is why in Revelator Jam says to Elphelt, "You hide boobs more! You make me nervous!" and talk about some of the other girls' clothes. When thinking about in general, it's not really too different from what you may see in other places.

I hope you enjoyed reading!^_^ My next lengthy GG related post will be when Frosty Faustings arrives to analyze Faust's new design, gameplay, etc.!

#guilty gear #kuradoberi jam #jam kuradoberi #cloudberry jam #character analysis #exposing them lies

7 notes · View notes

samesongxox · 5 years ago

Text

Savior: Chapter 2 (Falling Fast)

Summary: (Hellboy 2019) AKA Turning a New Leaf AKA Good Samaritans Need Love Too. The B.P.R.D is tasked to infiltrate a black market creature trafficking ring led by a powerful warlock. Hellboy rescues Phyrra who is found being held hostage, a slave for her magic. He must protect her as she is hunted by her master and his gang of monsters. (AU where Broom isn't dead/Abe wasn't found)

It will be rated M, it will include violence, swearing, smuttiness, all the good things in life.

I've just used an LOTR elven translator for Phyrra's language, I wanted her to start off disoriented enough to revert back to her old language and it was the simplest way I could make that happen but I won't use too much of it.

Also, for those wondering, I wrote down Phyrra into a text to speech and the way her name sounded to me was Pier-Rah, I know with phonetics PH makes the F sound, so saying it like Fear-rah, I think could also be correct.

Disclaimer: Hellboy belongs to Dark Horse Comics/Mike Mignola, I don't own anything except the AU and my OC's.

Meanwhile, in a corridor not far away…

Running full tilt down this damp, dark and fucking horrible smelling hallway, Hellboy could think of at least 10 other things he wanted to be doing right now instead. He ran round the corner, stood at the end, and waited for the big bastard who was chasing him to come around it. He had no one to blame but himself, for the situation he was in; the creature stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his target, giving Hellboy the proper momentum to swing his stone hand into the stomach of an ogre.

When dear ol’ dad had said in his usually chastising tone: 'This isn't some simple run and gun mission Hellboy! Our operatives have intelligence that says this ring holds over hundreds of different species and creatures!" He hated when his father looked at him like that, the disapproving glint in his eyes. 'We have no idea what you could find in there, this requires a lighter touch than you're used to.'

The argument had ended the usual way they did, Hellboy stomping away petulantly, ignoring the protects from Ben about his father being right, as always, blah blah blah. Sometimes he wished they never recruited the Major, sure he had chilled out considerably since the whole Nimue debacle, he even accompanied Hellboy and Alice to the local bars on occasion; he never joined in the karaoke, but he gave Hellboy a run for his money in a round of pool.

"You're gonna die today demon!" The ogre gloated, grabbing Hellboy by his jacket. Hellboy grimaced at the stench of its breath, being thrown against the wall was preferable. He crumpled to the floor, shaking off a daze. Charging towards him, Hellboy saw his advantage and swept the creature's legs, bringing it to the ground. Hellboy stood up and brought his arm down on the Ogre's head, rendering it unmobile with efficiency.

It wasn't that he didn't agree with his dad, Hellboy thought, shaking the goop left behind from the head of the Ogre. He knew he dealt better in the aggressive tactics used by B.P.R.D, there was a reason the times they needed to attend some charity function or government funded mixer, Alice accompanied the Professor. She had turned into quite the little agent his Alice Monaghan and Hellboy didn't care for any of that bureaucratic shit anyways. And since the incident, he had been trying his best to see his father's side of things more often.

Hellboy didn't want to admit to anyone he was scared.

He was still had nightmares about it, the sight of his father lying dead had been a shock to his system. For so long he had held so much anger towards the Professor, it coming to a head at the knowledge Lady Hatton had given him. It really sucked to find out your purpose in life was to bring about the apocalypse, and Hellboy was still dealing with the news being something he feared for so long, meanwhile that wasn't even the worse bit.

Still Baba Yaga's curse loomed on his shoulders, he didn't know the details of the curse, he sure as shit didn't want to go back there and ask the witch.

Professor Trevor Bruttenholm was pronounced dead, for 12 whole minutes.

Hellboy thought it was morbid when the agents that rushed in brought a defibrillator, ripping the shirt off of his father's body, placing the charges on his chest. Hellboy protested greatly, bring held back in a surprisingly strong embrace by Ben. So when his father's eyes popped open, to say Hellboy was surprised was a great understatement.

Now things were back to normal, well as normal as there dynamic had been before. Dad always there with a less than kind word with nothing but good intentions towards his 'son'.

The presence of Alice and Ben on the team had cooled them both down considerably, the workload now sectioned off between the four of them, and someone was always there to get in the middle of them and be the voice of reason.

It wasn't like they held interviews for the kind of team that they were, it just kind of happened. Alice was insistent on sticking around with her new found abilities, wishing to hone them, be able to research in the vast codex of ancient knowledge B.P.R.D possessed, but Hellboy knew that what Alice wanted more than anything was somewhere to belong again, and she did at the B.P.R.D.

Major Ben Daimo, after being caught with his curse of the Were-Jaguar, simply realized he was with much better company than M11.

Hellboy, having wiped his arm clean of the gore, took about three steps down the hallway when a "Stop!" Made him growl in exasperation. He turned and was just as surprised when they arrived at this giant fortress like building, this place just kept getting fucking weirder.

Hellboy had never seen a Centaur before, he could check this off the list. The half-man half...appeared to be …. A ram or a bison or something if the horns were any indication.

Hellboy was being charged at again, this time with a much quicker adversary. Hellboy was at a disadvantage of only having two legs as he turned tail, pun intended, and ran once again from a foe.

These were some The Shining level of creepiness hallways, Hellboy deduced, being chased by a Centaur, he called for backup but they had all conveniently split up in the warehouse; but it was hard to hear oneself think in that veritable zoo of mythical creatures. Father was not lying, this Warlock was bad news bears.

The Centaur was rapidly gaining on Hellboy, it was inevitable when he felt himself being lifted by his tail, rude pal, and tossed him into the wall. Hellboy hated being thrown around like some ragdoll, it didn't help that the Centaur obviously had more weight to his throw than the Orge, and Hellboy was left staring at the twinkling lights above him, knowing he was gonna hurt in the morning.

Rhys huffed, adrenaline breaking out into his coat in a thick sheen of sweat. He picked up the currently incapacitated creature and examined him. It seemed to be some sort of demon or other. Rhys was disgusted at the creature to see his shaved forehead where horns should be, Rhys prided himself on his own, and considered any creature that would try and hide his features like that weak and embarrassed at his own lineage.

He threw the impostor creature onto his back and took off in hurried clomps to Elias' office, needing to let his master know about this invasion. Where did this thing come from? Rhys called for Mordecai begrudgingly, but was left with a true silence that meant he was not hiding in some corner somewhere. He was most definitely already with Elias.

His suspicions were correct as he entered the masters domain, seeing the two figures speaking in a quick, long dead language Rhys didn't understand. He hated when the two of them did that, he knew he was out of the loop for a lot of things, but it wasn't like they had to rub his face in it, he was a powerful creature, stronger than both of them combined. He couldn't think like that though, even in his darkest thoughts; he was owned by Elias for the rest of his life, nothing could be done to change that.

What was worse was that Elias didn't even acknowledge Rhys had stepped in the room, or that he had dropped an intruder at the front of his desk. Almost as if he already knew.

"There are intruders in our home Rhys. Go with Mordecai to holdings and deal with them accordingly, leave this with me."

Those were the only words spoken to him, Rhys nodded gravely trotting out the door, knowing at once he had messed up allowing whoever these people were to break so easily into the property.

Elias' eyes trailed down to the pathetic looking creature at his feet, he was having the most awful deja vu. Taking in the tail, shaven horns and red skin, Elias knew who was breaking into his home. B.P.R.D. This had to be the Cambion known as Hellboy.

Elias growled, this meant serious trouble. How did he have such rotten luck, his dejected attitude continued as the beast stirred on his floor. He had to get ahold of this situation.

Hellboy regained consciousness quickly, one minute he was in a haze of pain, the next he flew up from the floor so quickly he thought he'd blackout. Hissing in a deep breath, Hellboy touched his stomach gingerly, diagnosing himself a cracked rib. Standing in front of another mythical nutcase no doubt, Hellboy took in the room.

This dude was seriously fucked in the head. He thought the Osiris Club was bad enough mounting giant heads on their walls, but this room had that one beat clean. Wall to wall the heads of creatures were hung, along with various ferocious animals were on proud display. Dead fairies and pixies beside butterflies and beetles pinned in glass coffins. He realized he was standing on the fur of a Cerberus, Hellboy gasped, stepping ungracefully away from the awful sight. Hellboy glanced at a bowl filled with what looked like mints, and gagged to see that they were teeth.

"Goblin Teeth. A little hobby of mine. As you can see, I am an extensive collector." Hellboy hated him already. The smooth, calm voice, the power he emanated even behind the desk, this was the warlock, no doubt. The owner of this little auction house.

"A demon, how quaint." Elias scoffed in the most condisenting fashion, looking the epitome of ease, fiddling with the golden staff adorned with amethyst from the dwarven royalty. A present for dealing with their little dragon problem so long ago, when species of all kinds were allowed to walk on earth. A time he sorely missed.

"Half-demon, buddy. Get your facts right." Raising his arm to bust the desk, Hellboy was unsuspecting of the staff being more than just for show, he was proven quite mistaken.

A blast of magic so focused hit him, Hellboy was thrown out the room. The magic was a tidal wave of white-hot wind that blasted multiple doors opened in the hallway, tearing wallpaper from the walls. Hellboy was stopped only by the brick at the end of the hallway. Living an indent of his body, Hellboy groaned and peeling himself off the wall. He was bleeding from his head, he realized swiping at the blood that dripped into his eye. Probably concussed.

At the door to his office stood Elias, arms crossed with the staff perched on his shoulder, he didn't have a care in the world. This demon was nothing compared to a being of magic such as himself, and it was laughable the demon got back up, as if he had a chance from this distance.

"Are you as dumb as you are strong, demon? My name is Elias, this is my home and you have most aggressively broken into it. I plan on taking the necessary steps to protect my property."

Hellboy collapsed in half real agony, gritting his teeth, listen to this asshole posture on like some sort of movie villan. Hellboy tried to shake the pain, biting his cheek to focus himself, distracting the warlock enough to grab for his weapon. He took a deep breath and with a reserve of strength he had, pulled and shot off all 6 rounds in the chamber, a special design by the eggheads in the labs, with barbed edges that exploded on contact, shredding the flesh of whatever unfortunate being was on the receiving end of his little gift.

One bullet would of incapacitated him, maybe all 6 of them was an overkill, if the gruesome sight of the warlock gasping wetly from a pile of guts. Better safe than sorry Hellboy always said. Elias attempted to speak, choking on the mess in his mouth, and his eyes slipped closed. An odd, peaceful aura enveloped the area around him, the half-demon went to investigate.

He heard the sound of agents arriving on the scene, there voices calling for him from afar. Obviously brought by the sound of his gun going off.

Hellboy just seemed to keep getting distracting in this place however, for no sooner had he begun to walk towards the body, when a lump on the floor of one of the rooms caught Hellboy's attention.

It was a girl. With a towel haphazardly wrapped around her. Hellboy turned away sharply as his eyes automatically glanced at the slight curve of her breasts peeking from the top with her slow breathing. He didn't mean to do that, it just happened, but Hellboy was left surprisingly winded. Embarrassed.

"Uh.. Alice? You out there?" He called desperately out to the woman in the hallway, distracting himself by looking at the room. It was simple, compared to the rest of the place; stone walls and wooden furniture, a large four poster bed with white sheets. Nothing caught his eye of any interest, and he felt his eyes pulling towards the girl on the floor. Aw Crap. He reasoned he just felt bad if she was injured to just keep her in this position. He gave one last attempt at an "Alice!" Before he turned completely back to the girl.

She was young, that was his first thought. She was petite but she wasn't a little girl, her body, small but obvious curves were any indication. Hellboy felt his stomach clench in horror as the towel slipped further as he came forward, as if it had a mind of its own and was torturing him for looking. Awkwardly one-handed, he knotted the front of the towel more securely as carefully as he could, if his knuckles brushed her skin, he didn't think about it.

Finally finished his difficult task, Hellboy glanced at her head, noticing the long upward slopes of the tips of her ears peeking out from her hair, an elf. She also had some of the strangest markings Hellboy had ever seen, gold swirl like tattoos covered her body, on her face all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes, in an intricate, almost tribal fashion.

Hellboy glanced up to see a large robe hanging from a hook and shot up like a rocket, grabbing for it grateful for his find; he felt very guilty for continuing to just crouch here and look at her, he felt like a real pervert.

It also occurred to him he never even tried to wake her up. Well he had to deal with the towel falling off, he reasoned with himself, he knew in her position he would be very unhappy to wake up like that. It was much easier to get the robe on her, the distraction of the towel dealt with, and Hellboy felt a kind of accomplishment tying the sash at her waist; He had never had to play caretaker to someone. The whole time she did not awaken, left in some sort of unconscious state, Hellboy gently gathered her up in his arms easily and checked the back of head, pulling the long tawny strands apart, vaguely thinking about their softness, but mostly looking for blood.

Jostling her caused the elf to groan, Hellboy was taken aback when he pushed her away to see her eyes opened. They were very pretty, Hellboy thought stupidly as she glanced around blind in his clutch, before locking her gaze on the one who held her up.

"Cin're hi na rad-nin?" Her voice was a light questioning tone, her breaths quick and pained. Hellboy didn't know how to reply to her, he was struck dumber by her being awake than when he could move about her without that icy gaze focused on him it seemed.

"Uhh...Whatever you say, sweetheart." Hellboy blatantly realized the endearment he mumbled out, but didn't give it much thought, after all it seemed they were speaking two different languages, literally. He really needed to get her out of here, if not to get her checked for a possible concussion but just because this room was creeping him out, it was too clean, to… Much like a prison cell if he was being honest with himself.

"Mui mellon Binx?" At least she wasn't freaking out in his hold, cause she's still weak from the blast, he chided himself. He stood up and was about to cross the threshold with the elf in his arms, she kept saying something: blinks? When he heard Alice down the hall, her voice getting rapidly closer.

"Were you callin' me HB? I thought I could hear-Oh!" Hellboy felt himself flustered as the medium appeared in the doorway, the girl quicker than Hellboy could react to, jumped out of his arms, only to cower behind him, further placing Hellboy in one of the most awkward situations he could recall.

The girl was obviously hurt however, as no sooner had she hid herself behind Hellboy that her clutch had weakened and Hellboy could see her going down again, barely managing to catch her by her waist, again thanking his thinking in getting her into the robe as he pulled her once again into his arms.

Alice watched the whole interaction with a little surprise and much glee, tickled positively pink by Hellboy playing prince charming it seemed, saving this damsel. Alice thanked her internal romantically inclined side, one that she rarely showed, it was hard being the only female on the team at times. She tried to have a friendship with some of the agents, but the women in the B.P.R.D were professionals through and through, not a whole lot of interest in the fun times she could get into with HB, sometimes even Ben, or Major Stick up his Arse, as Alice sometimes called him, always with affection.

"Who's this then?"

"I don't know. I was dealing with Stinky, Hairy and Moe out there and then I just found her. She's an elf." He finished lamely,

Swift as a hummingbird, a creature the same size flew into the room. The ball of light honed onto Hellboy's face, making contact with his cheek. Hellboy stumbled back and looked at the attacker. A Pixie.

Between the Ogre, the Centaur and the Warlock, he was grateful for the size of this one. The thing was speaking a quick lilting pixie speak that Hellboy never understood, they had a textbook of Fae languages back at headquarters, he just never got around to reading it.

The Pixie seemed to know the Elf, she slowly took stock of the girl before pillowing herself on the chest of the unconscious girl, glancing up at Hellboy in a wary gaze.

"I found the little thing down the hall, think she knows her?" Alice chuckled.

"Let's get her to the helicopter. None of the others were put into rooms like this, she must be important." Alice was already at the doorway when she turned around, a typical cheeky Alice expression on her face. "You handle carrying her hero?"

Hellboy snorted derisively at the comment, turning away from Alice with her intense gaze. He ignored the curious gaze of the Agents and met up with Ben in the hallway, the Major raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Don't ask." Hellboy said simply, not wishing to explain the whole crazy turn of events that transpired since they arrived here.

"You guys get that warehouse cleared out?"

"Yes they're loaded into the trucks, on there way to headquarters. It's gonna take weeks to catalogue all these species. Hope you're ready for some paperwork." Hellboy knew Ben was joking, even to the outside it seemed like no humour was coming from the man. You just had to know him enough.

"How dare you touch her!" Hellboy jumped at the screech that came from the puddle that was Elias in position on the floor of his office, he thought for sure he had died. "Unhand her demon, she is not yours!"

Hellboy didn't scare easily, but he would be lying if he said the way Elias was looking at him wasn't causing goosebumps to break out on his arm. It was half crazed, desperate. Very different from the cool, assured master he was not 10 minutes ago.

"Phyrra wake up!" That must of been her name, Phyrra. It suited her, sweet, gentle and exotic, her name sounded like the purr of a cat, Hellboy always liked cats. He didn't like the way Elias was saying it though, the ownership plain, like he was commanding her to wake up.

"So I guess I was right, eh? She important to you? Well you won't mind if we just take her for awhile do ya? Thanks mate," Alice took the warlocks sudden invalent state as an opportunity to tease.

Phyrra also took the moment as a great opportunity to wake back up, as if even in her injured state, she was conditioned to listen to Elias' demands. She glanced around in even more confusion than the first time Hellboy watched her wake up. The warlock brightened at the sight of Phyrra awake, his voice quickly turning into butter, Hellboy cringed at the way he spoke to her.

"Phyrra, pet. Come and help me."She seemed to understand her name, if nothing else. She fixed her gaze on Elias as if she didn't know him from any other stranger currently in the room. Everyone seemed to be waiting for her to make some kind of decision, why none of them could really gather, but they didn't have to wait long for a response.

Phyrra didn't listen, what she did instead was wrap her arms around Hellboy's neck and bury herself in the crook of where his neck met shoulder, refusing to look at anything else; Hellboy was left with an elven woman clinging to him. The Pixie flew displeased at losing the perch on her elf.

"Tul-nin awaui o hi near." Hellboy involuntarily shivered at the obvious plea was whispered delicately in his ear. He didn't know what she was saying, but he wanted nothing more than to get her away from Elias fiery gaze, which was getting darker by the second.

"Binx! Don't you let them take her! I'll rip your fucking wings off myself!" Everyone looked on as the Pixie flew over to the warlock, and Hellboy couldn't stop the bark of laughter as the tiny creature, now Hellboy realized what Phyrra had been saying back in her room. Binx threw herself into Elias' forehead, he grunted at the contact, then glared at the tiny thing spitting no doubt terrible insults in its language.

Elias gasped in hysteria as Hellboy began to walk away from him. Getting out a last: "You're going to regret this you devil!" Before Ben did him a service of tasing him, silencing the man before his head popped clean off in his fury.

At that moment, Rhys and about a group of 20 creatures: Goblins and Ogres mostly, crowded into the space, some climbing over the backs of others to fit into the room.

Chaos broke. Fires were shot from the various machines carried by the Agents, tearing through the creatures scrambling to reach them.

"HB, the window!" The gazes of the three main team members individually sought out the broken window to their left, Alice shooting off a quick round from her pistol, cleaning the rest of the glass from the opening, before jumping off confidently. Even in the moment, Hellboy recognized he would have to tell her how badass she'd been in that moment. Before jumping himself out the four story window.

He broke his fall with his body, hoping this was the last time he was going to hit a hard surface today, he didn't know if he could take another one. Hellboy quickly checked to make sure he also broke Phyrra fall, it would be a shame to go through all this to end up squishing her himself. The trio ran towards the helicopter, the blades whorrling signaling its readiness for take-off.

Ben was clipping off the goblins crawling out of the window they just vacated as Alice and Hellboy dealt with the new cargo. Ben jumped in the last minute, yelled to the pilot to get them the fuck out of there and into the air they ascended.

Safely in the chopper, Hellboy's arms felt rather empty after Phyrra was placed carefully into the seat beside him, Alice taking over and strapping the girl in as her head lolled in delirium, she seemed to be coming to again, but only got those glacier depths of her eyes opened before the slumped again. Alice sandwiched her in between the two of them, placing Phyrra's head against Hellboy's arm and he looked at his friend in question.

"What? You won't mind watching to make sure her head doesn't move too much, would you?"

Alice snickered in delight at the cautioning way HB looked at her in the moment, as if begging her to stop teasing him so, which only spurred her on even more he had to realize.

They didn't know anything about this girl, but Hellboy was obviously taken with her.

Alice had been with the B.P.R.D for almost a year now, she'd never seen Hellboy act this way before. Hellboy was a badass motherfucker, he drank hard and fought even harder. It wasn't irony one of his arms was made out of stone, he was tough, inside and out.

That didn't mean Alice wasn't aware of his sensitive side, he saved her as a baby, she owed HB her life. The fact he was a loyal friend was just a bonus. He loved the Professor, Alice could see that plain as day, they were father and son to her, actual parentage didn't matter. Even then, he wasn't exactly the kind of friend you had long soul searching conversations with, except those times one of them got too into their feelings, and too into a bottle of tequila.

So Alice knew HB had the capacity to love, that she was certain. But as far as she knew, Hellboy had never even attempted to go out on a date before, she saw how the female agents of B.P.R.D looked at him, he was a pure specimen of a man. Muscle and stoicism, half-demon be damned.

Alice had asked Lloyd one night, who had been working there for ten years, if Hellboy ever dated anyone or anything, she wasn't gonna discriminate. Agent Reese had asked her in reply if they were an item, on their own date of all times! Alice was annoyed and had answered the same way she always did to the inept question. Disgusting! Like if I wanted to fuck my own brother! Which was correct, but she didn't think she'd see Lloyd again. Lately she had her eye on Agent Colter, she liked men of all shapes and sizes, but it was the blondes viking types that made her weak, which Colter fit to a tee.

Alice tried to slow the matchmaker in her head, immediately writing their names together in the notebook of her mind. First the girl had to wake up.

Elias opened his eyes slowly, feeling the pain immediately. His body was twisted in a most uncomfortable position and as he looked down he realized in a daze his leg was broken. On instinct he called out for Phyrra, before the recent events came back to the front of his memory. She left him. He did nothing but care for her, dress her in the finest things, held her to the highest standard above his advisors and this was how she thanked him?

First Lazarus sends him some would be assassin, and now to have lost his most precious trophy? His Phyrra? Elias felt helpless, something he hadn't felt for many centuries, it was maddening. It simply would not do.

So in his awful, disoriented thoughts, he didn't take notice of the Vampire and the Centaur stepping towards him, one expression of dispassion, one of stunned concerns.

"Master, drink from me." Elias wild eyes swung to the undead man, not for the first time Elias was grateful towards Mordecai, his oldest companion. He sucked in the old blood in thick gulps, feeling it buzz through his system, he will heal much quicker than normal, although his old friends blood did speeden his recovery, it was Phyrra who had the most wonderful touch for mending wounds and broken bones. What to do about Phyrra? It was quite simple Elias didn't have to think for a second about it.

He would get her back.

She will learn, he would teach her, as he always did, the hard lesson he had himself long ago been made perfectly aware of, that she was born to be his pet. That her life before him, the loss, the pain, the agonizing loneliness he knew she felt was because his story began the same. He was meant to teach her everything there was to know about life, about love.

Distracted, he heard Mordecai explain the lost of his inventory, but Elias heard none of it.

Elias instead, felt himself seeth at the memory of her in the demons arm. He would take great pleasure in harming it, peeling the skin from its arms for even daring to touch his Phyrra, he wouldn't stop till he got to bone. Yes, the demon, the whole B.P.R.D, were going to pay greatly for playing with him.

fin

Translations:

1)"Cin're hi na rad-nin?" (you're here to find me?)

2)"Mui mellon Binx?" (My friend Binx?)

3) "Tul-nin awaui o hi near." (Bring me away from this place)

#second chapter #fanfiction #hellboy fanfiction #hellboy 2019 #be gentle

5 notes · View notes