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bubonickitten · 4 years ago

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

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 14 full text & content warnings below the cut.

Note: There are text messages in this one. The AO3 posting uses a custom work skin to format them. I’m going to upload them as images for the Tumblr post. Might be easiest to read on AO3, though. (Particularly if you use a screen reader or have difficulty reading white text on green backgrounds and need to highlight those portions of text.)

Content warnings for Chapter 14: Buried-typical elements (claustrophobia, inability to breathe/move, etc.); mention of past suicidal ideation; some anxiety/panic symptoms; brief description of a past depressive episode; relatively mild blood/injury; swears; some Unsettling Spider Trivia (personally I think it’s fascinating but if you don’t like spiders maybe just skip a bit ahead when you get to that part). SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 14: Up and Out

Much like the ebb and flow of the Buried, that sensation of being pulled vacillates. A few times now, it’s disappeared almost entirely, leaving Jon disorientated and suddenly doubting whether he’s headed in the right direction despite being certain only moments before. It always comes back before long, but each time it’s happened, he’s had to pause to fight down the knee-jerk influx panic.

Right this moment, he’s stopped – both because that sensation is dwindling again and because he’s simply winded. They’ve been in a particularly tight squeeze for quite some time now, and he’s aching and exhausted from the struggle.

“Jon?” Daisy prompts, panting even more heavily than he is. Nearly eight months of muscular atrophy and restricted lung capacity haven’t done any favors for her stamina. “A-are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just – just taking a break. Getting my bearings.”

“Anchor f-fading again?” He has a feeling she was aiming for casual, but the trepidation creeps into her voice anyway.

“Yes. But don’t worry, I’ll find it again. I just need to catch my breath.”

Daisy laughs. It comes out as some combination of a wheeze and a whimper.

“I d-don’t think I’ve been able to catch my breath in… I – I don’t know how long.”

“You will soon,” he promises, rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

“I – I c-can barely remember what that’s like. F-feels like I’ll never know it again –”

“I know,” he says gently, “I know. I – I know it’s worse for you – you’ve been here longer – but I do remember that feeling. I promise I’ll get us out of here.”

“And – and then what?” she says in a near-whisper. “The – the Hunt, it – it’s going to come back, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. But – but you’ll still be you, and I’ll still be me, and we’ll – we’ll both fight to keep it that way.”

“I – I never thought about it, b-but – I’m prey too, aren’t I?” Daisy makes a noise that straddles the line somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “It – it’ll always chase me down, and it’s – stronger, f-faster –”

“Maybe, but I think you might be more stubborn.” Daisy gives a weak chuckle. “We all are, aren’t we?” Jon continues, emboldened by her reaction and intent on distracting her from her burgeoning panic. “Wonder if it’s somewhere in the job requirements: must be stubborn, curious, and preternaturally unlucky.”

This time, Daisy actually does laugh – clipped and wet with barely-contained tears, but a laugh all the same. For a minute she’s quiet, before sniffling once and clearing her throat.

“Can you tell me what happened last time? Did I – was I able to…”

“You fought it, yes,” he says slowly. “The call of the blood was always in the background. Distractions helped to take the edge off, sometimes. You spent most of your time with Basira. You and I spent a lot of time together, too. Tried to listen to the quiet. Both of us.”

“It sounds like there’s a ‘but.’”

“There is,” he admits.

“It caught up to me,” Daisy guesses, sounding resigned.

“It did. But… you refused it right up until the point where it was your last resort. The Institute was under attack, and Martin was in danger, and the two of you stayed behind to deal with the threat to buy me time enough to find him. A pair of Hunters cornered you. Basira couldn't take them both, and you… were too weakened from resisting the Hunt to stand a chance against either of them. You let the Hunt back in because it was the only way you could protect Basira. You made her promise to find you and kill you when it was over, and you told her to run.”

“Do you – do you think if not for that, I would have kept resisting? Or was I just – using that as an excuse to give in?”

“I don’t know,” Jon says truthfully. He hesitates, attempting to balance honesty with tact. “You were wasting away. We all thought that refusing to feed the Hunt might kill you eventually. But whenever the subject came up, you said you were willing to die rather than let it back in. You were – adamant. And I… think you would have followed through on it. Resisting, I mean. Even if it meant dying.”

“I see,” she murmurs.

“Actually, it’s – probably morbid to say, but I envied your resolve. You didn’t want to be a predator again. You thought death was preferable to being lost to the blood. Right up until the end.” He shakes his head. “But – but maybe we can find a – a different way. Me coming back has already changed some things that I thought were inevitable. Just – don’t give up hope?”

Daisy makes a noise of acknowledgement, but Jon can’t glean anything else from it.

“I know it sounds bleak, and – and maybe it is. But for what it’s worth, I’ll be right there with you. I’m not taking live statements this time around, and it – has similar effects on me that refusing the Hunt does for you. Reading old statements takes the edge off, sometimes, but based on past experience, it… won’t be sustainable, and I’ll – have to cross that bridge when I get to it, I suppose. It’s not exactly the same, obviously – our patrons operate in different ways – but it did… help, last time, having someone nearby who knew what it was like.”

“You… know things now, right?”

“It’s… complicated. There are a lot of constraints and” – he huffs – “I don’t have as much control over it as everyone wishes I did, but… yes.”

“Any educated guesses on our chances?”

“None,” Jon says with a grim half-smile. “The Beholding tends to be uncooperative when it comes to concepts like escape and recovery. I won’t lie – marks don’t fade, and as far as I can tell, once someone is fully an Avatar, there’s no undoing it. You embrace it, or you wither away. You feed it, or it feeds on you.”

“Sounds about right.”

“But,” Jon says emphatically, “you should also know that no one had ever escaped the Buried before we did. And we’re about to do it again. So… who knows. Maybe there’s a third option and we just haven’t found it yet. I can’t promise there’s another way, but if there is… we’ll find it.”

“Or die trying?” Daisy replies, a wry edge to her tone now.

“Suppose so. But not without making a nuisance of ourselves first. I still don’t Know if the Fears are sentient, but on the off chance they are, I find that spite is a decent motivator.”

“Naturally.” Daisy snorts. “I wonder what annoys the Hunt?”

“Don’t know. Fraternizing with someone who was marked as prey, maybe. You told me once that on bad days, my blood was the loudest thing in the Archives. We theorized the Hunt wasn’t too keen on you letting me go.”

“You… weren’t you afraid I’d turn on you?”

“No.”

“Is that because you were suicidal, or because you honestly thought I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I wasn’t –” Jon sighs. “My mental state aside, I trusted you. You were as stubborn as I was. Maybe more. Even if we weren’t friends, I imagine you’d have snubbed the Hunt anyway, just on principle.”

Before Daisy can reply, the earth around them begins to shake again, soil coming loose and raining down on them from above. They both hold their breath, waiting for the impending crush – but it doesn’t come, and after a few seconds, they exhale simultaneously. Jon’s comes out as something of a cough, jolted out of him by the now-familiar sensation of an insistent upward pull.

“Anchor’s back,” he gasps out. “Ready to move?”

As they move forward – up, Jon assures himself, we’re making progress – the perpetual squeeze begins to open up into a narrow passageway. Sometimes they need to dig to bypass blockages and widen their tunnel, but the closer they draw to the surface, the hard-packed earth gradually gives way to looser soil.

Between one moment and the next, Jon’s fingertips – already raw and bleeding from burrowing through the debris – scrape against something much harder and rougher than packed earth. Solid rock, hidden by a few inches of soil. He hisses as he feels another layer of skin peel away at the abrasive texture, but he brightens at the memory of the stone steps and walls at the entrance to the Buried.

“We’re getting close, Daisy,” he says excitedly, tugging on her hand. “We’re almost there –”

The Buried compresses in a blink, crushing them up against one another.

“Shit,” Jon hisses. “Shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

“Jon?” Daisy says, her voice pitched higher than usual, shot through with barely concealed panic.

“It’s okay, Daisy. This happened the last time, too. Just” – the earth contracts further, forcing a whine out of him – “wringing one last bit of t-terror out of us before we leave.”

“Th-that’s – greedy of it,” she rasps with a nervous chuckle.

“I find that – a-all the Powers tend to be – like that. Needy, spiteful things, all – all of them.”

So do their Avatars, for that matter. He thinks of how Helen couldn’t resist frightening him one last time before parting ways at Hill Top Road; of how Jude Perry knew she was going to die and chose to spend her last moments pulling him down to her level; of how Manuela Dominguez knew she had failed, but still wanted to take someone out with her; of how Peter Lukas couldn’t lose a bet gracefully, how he dragged Martin into the Lonely and tried to trap Jon there as well; of how Jonah wasn’t content to just have Jon read out his ritual, but had to hijack Jon’s voice to monologue first.

And Jon himself isn’t all that different, is he? Didn’t he force himself to confront Jonah in the Panopticon, even though he knew it would have no impact on anything? Doesn’t he regularly provoke the Eye with small acts of rebellion? How many times has he mouthed off to an assailant threatening his life? He just said it himself: spite can be a decent motivator. Failing that, sometimes it just feels satisfying.

“It’ll – let up,” Jon says, for himself as much as Daisy. “J-just – give it a minute.”

As if to be contrary, it actually takes several minutes before the pressure begins to withdraw. Slowly, so very slowly, the collapsed tunnel begins to expand again, releasing another downpour of dirt in the process. The passage is still tight and they have to squirm through in small increments, but after some of the squeezes they passed through on their way, even a few extra centimeters of wiggle room feels like a luxury.

That said, Daisy’s breathing is increasingly labored, punctuated by soft whimpers.

“You doing alright, Daisy?”

“Y-yeah, ‘m fine.” Her breath catches and comes out as a pained groan. “Chest hurts,” she says brusquely, before Jon can express concern.

“Your lungs aren’t accustomed to having this much room to expand,” he says instead, striving for a bland tone.

“W-well, they’ll just h-have to – get used to it.”

“They will, but – take it slow? Last time, you had a fair amount of bruising. A few cracked ribs as well. We both did.”

In fact, he thinks they might just be the exact same ribs he injured last time, if the pain is anything to go by.

“Listen,” he says, “I – I think we’re coming up on the exit soon.”

“Soon soon?”

“Fairly certain, yes. Before we leave, I should tell you – Elias doesn’t know that I’m from the future, doesn’t know how much we know, and I’d prefer to keep it that way as long as possible. He can’t See us while we’re in here, but as soon as we’re out – the only safe place is the tunnels, like before.”

“Got it.”

“And also, I…” Not much for it, he tells himself. Make your peace with it now. “I might lose my voice again as soon as we’re out. Maybe – maybe even before then.”

“Again?”

“I – I mean, I’ll be able to talk, just – not in my own words.” Jon tries to wet his lips and immediately regrets it, succeeding only in drawing more dirt into his mouth. He grimaces and sputters a bit, to no avail.

“Jon?”

“Y-yeah, sorry. I, ah – remember what I said, about – about the Archive? I’ve – outside of here, I’ve only been able to speak using the statements in my… library, I suppose.”

He says the last part with distaste, all but spitting the words out as if they’re poison.

“Huh.”

“It started partway through the apocalypse, and it followed me when I came back. Being in the Buried’s domain has cut me off from the Archive for now, but once the Eye can reach me again, I – there’s a chance it’ll take over again.” He sighs. “More than a chance, it’s – probably more of a certainty. I just wanted to let you know now, I – I’m still me, it’s just – the Archive puts limits on how I communicate, and it can be – off-putting. And annoying. And… abhorrent.”

“Abhorrent?”

“I mean… appropriating other people’s trauma any time I want to speak? It’s…”

There’s no succinct way to capture just how – how perverse it is, exploiting the words of the people who lived through the horrors retold in the statements. Some of them, Jon himself victimized. More than some, if he considers the billions he condemned in his future. Claiming their terror for his own use doesn’t feel all that different from actually taking statements: dehumanizing, objectifying, degrading. It’s all on the same ghoulish spectrum of monstrosity, just… slightly different shades of wrong.

All he says aloud, though, is the last part: “It’s wrong.”

And yet, you do it anyway, he thinks, disgusted with himself.

“Like going from one hell to another, isn’t it?” Daisy says after a pause. “Getting out of here, only for the Eye and – and the Hunt to be waiting on the other side.”

“Yeah. As much as I want to get out of here, I’m… not looking forward going back to – to that.” He sighs, then rallies himself. “But fresh air and a drink of water do sound nice, don’t they?”

“And a bath,” Daisy says, as if it’s the most beautiful word in the world. Jon laughs quietly.

“The Institute only has the one shower, I’m afraid. No tub, terrible water pressure, occasionally –”

“– occasionally runs cold without warning mid-shower,” Daisy finishes, an audible grin in her tone. “I recall. You won’t hear me complaining, though.”

“Nor me. Not for the next couple weeks, anyway.”

“Mm. Yeah, I’m sure you’ll hear me swearing up a storm at four in the morning about water temperature at some point.”

“Assuming that trivial detail hasn’t changed since I was last here, yes, I will,” Jon says with an amused chuff. He readjusts his grip on her hand and tugs gently. “Come on, we’re getting closer.”

Martin sits in his office, head in his hands and the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes.

Eight days. It’s been eight days since Jon went into the Coffin, there have been no signs of when – if – he’ll return, and there’s nothing Martin can do to reach him.

Stupid, he thinks fiercely, to think that sitting there and talking to a – a box of dirt would do anything.

Keeping vigil at Jon’s bedside at the hospital for months had done nothing to bring him back. Why would this be any different? When Martin’s predictions panned out, he felt almost vindicated that he was right – comforted by the confirmation that he is still all alone in the world, relieved by the reassurance that nothing will disturb his solitude after all.

There’s a part of him that still has the decency to feel ashamed at that impulse, but it’s small and distant and shrinking by the day. And yet… it’s still there, withered though it may be: a sentimental sliver of attachment that stubbornly refuses to die, both to his dismay and – to a lesser but nonetheless undeniable extent – his relief. No matter how pessimistic his outlook has become these days, he had still hoped against all the odds that reaching out to Jon would have some sort of effect.

It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. That sort of hopeless romanticism is for fairytales. Sure, given the existence of extradimensional fear entities, it isn’t inconceivable that some sort of… long distance psychic bond, or link, or – or whatever could exist. But Martin has yet to see any evidence pointing to the existence of powers like hope and love to balance out the existence of Smirke’s Fourteen.

That admission alone is enough to whittle away at that stubborn sentimentality of his just a little further.

And that’s for the best, he tells himself.

He can feel a bitter smile flicker at the corner of his mouth. The Lonely’s really got its hold on him, hasn’t it?

But no matter how well-suited he is to the Lonely, no matter how resigned he is to the idea that he’s destined to be alone, and that that’s exactly as it should be… Martin still cares for Jon. His emotions feel dulled most days, as if they’re happening to someone else, but the act of caring… he doesn’t have to feel in order to go through the motions. It takes effort and thought, certainly, but the impulse is second nature.

Peter tells him that he’ll be free of it before long. Martin doesn’t know how he feels about that. Nothing, usually, or something adjacent to it.

Apparently he hadn’t cauterized his feelings as much as he’d thought, though. For the past week, the sense of detachment he’s built up over months of practice and resignation and goal-oriented focus has been interrupted. The calm and quiet that have become so comfortable to him have been punctuated by windows of raw, wild emotion and sensory overload and sharp, racing thoughts, and it’s too much – especially all at once – after months of fog and cold and single-minded resolve.

He still doesn’t know what he feels, but it’s something rather than nothing, and it hurts.

“Brooding, are we?” comes a voice from right behind Martin, sending an icy chill through him.

“Peter!” Martin nearly snarls, glaring over his shoulder at him. “I told you to stop doing that –”

“So, Martin,” Peter continues, smoothly overriding Martin’s complaints, “I can’t help but notice you’ve been quite… distracted recently.”

Martin looks away, clenches his teeth, and says nothing.

“Oh, I’m not upset, Martin. I’m simply curious to know where we stand. To gauge the magnitude of this… little setback.”

“Setback?” Martin whips back around, incensed. “You really think I care about – about my progress right now?”

“Judging by your tone, I imagine not.” Peter smiles, that customary aloof smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not very reassuring, but I thank you for your honesty. It shows that we do still have our work cut out for us.”

Martin should keep his composure. He should keep his mouth shut. He should feign indifference and continue playing the long game to which he’s committed himself, but he can feel his heart hammering in his chest and he can hear his blood rushing in his ears and all the words he cannot – should not – has to say are brimming in his throat and –

He almost doesn’t recognize his own voice when the outburst claws its way out.

“I don’t care, Peter. You promised –”

“That I would protect your coworkers from external threats,” Peter says mildly.

“You don’t think one of the Circus’s monsters just – waltzing unnoticed into the Archives hauling a bloody gateway to the – the literal manifestation of claustrophobia counts as an external threat –”

“By the time the intruder’s presence came to my attention, it had already been dealt with. Quite handily, in fact. As for the Coffin itself, our agreement did not extend to saving a self-destructive Archivist from his own foolhardiness. There’s only so much that I can do.”

“Then apparently I need to pick up your slack.”

Once again, Peter ignores him and steers the conversation to his liking.

“I will say, I was pleased to see that the Coffin’s call has no effect on you. It shows that your connection to the Forsaken is still intact.” Peter begins to pace slowly, hands folded behind his back. “I am interested to know why you’ve been spending so much time so close to it in the first place. Why you were… speaking to it.”

Martin huffs irritably. “I thought it might help.”

“I wonder where you got that idea.” When Martin doesn’t reply, Peter stops his pacing and sighs. “I don’t mean to be invasive” – Martin snorts derisively; Peter continues without pause – “but I notice you’ve spoken to that – woman quite a few times.”

“She’s no one,” Martin says hurriedly, hoping that Peter doesn’t notice his momentary nervous flinch.

“Is that so?” Peter gives a contemplative hum. “If she’s trespassing on Institute property and interfering with day-to-day operations, perhaps I should have her… removed.”

All at once, the world around Martin rushes into focus: clearer, sharper, brighter, louder, more real – every sensation more immediate, every thought more acute. He feels his spine go rigid as he sits up straight and locks eyes with Peter.

“Peter,” he says, balanced on a razor’s edge between firm and furious, “we talked about that. You agreed to let me handle –”

“Workplace disputes and employee conduct,” Peter says. “Not interlopers.”

‘Interlopers’? Martin thinks. Really, Peter?

“Here I thought you might be glad to have someone like her around,” he says, forcing calm back into his voice. “Give me some practice pushing people away.”

“Perhaps. But if she’s posing a distraction in the workplace –”

“Like the Archives aren’t a distraction all on their own,” Martin seethes, his impassivity quickly teetering into agitation again, “what with the – the spooky murder tunnels, and monster attacks, and clandestine coffin deliveries, and the watching –”

“You know what I meant. If she’s distracting you from your work –”

“When have I ever left any administrative tasks unfinished, hmm?”

“Martin.”

“Yes?” Martin says, meeting Peter’s eyes with a level stare. There’s a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly in the other man’s jaw. It’s not easy to provoke that sort of response from Peter, and Martin would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel just a bit gratified.

Peter takes a breath and when he speaks again, he’s regained his usual mild manner �� but Martin can still detect just a hint of tension underneath.

“As I have told you before, you are the only one who can do this. The plan –”

“Which you have yet to explain –”

“– requires a servant of the Eye, imbued with the power of the Lonely. And the cultivation of that power depends on your voluntary isolation. I can’t force you to cooperate, Martin. I can only tell you of the consequences should the Extinction emerge – and if it emerges because you choose not to act, then, well…” Peter shrugs. “You can’t keep anyone safe from that sort of power, and that includes the Archivist.”

“You still haven’t convinced me that your theories regarding the Extinction are true.”

If anything, Martin is less convinced than ever. Jon didn’t exactly elaborate on what he knows, but he seems certain that the Extinction isn’t a threat. If that’s the case, the only other reason for Martin to cooperate with Peter is to keep Jon safe – or, barring that, to at least keep Peter away from him. And if Jon is gone, then… what’s the point of any of this?

Peter takes a step closer and slides a folder onto Martin’s desk. Judging by how thin it is, Martin doubts there’s much follow-up or supplementary material within.

“Then you’d best get reading,” Peter says amiably, backing away again.

“Peter,” Martin says, stopping him before he can take his leave.

“Hm?”

“If she disappears,” he continues, mirroring Peter’s faux-pleasant tone, “you can count on my non-cooperation going forward.”

“Come now, Martin. We both know you wouldn’t allow the Extinction to emerge over a single life.”

Martin lifts his chin defiantly and gives Peter a hard look.

“I’d do it for Jon.”

“And he’s gone.” There is an almost hungry glint in Peter’s pale eyes. The temperature plummets a few degrees as thin tendrils of fog begin to unfurl from around his feet. “You’re alone.”

“Exactly.” Peter’s smug expression wavers at Martin’s non-reaction. “You’re a gambler. Shouldn’t you recognize when you’ve shown your hand?” Martin shakes his head with a thin, humorless smile. The mist creeps closer: wispy eddies and grasping coils stretching across the floor to pool at Martin’s feet. “If Jon’s gone, you’ve lost your best bargaining chip. I’ve nothing left to lose. At this point, you really should be thankful for whatever leverage you can find.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

Peter simply chuckles, but Martin can detect the faint uncertainty laced through it.

“I mean it. If my work performance is unsatisfactory, just feed me to your patron now if you can’t resist. Seems a waste to do it before you’ve gotten what you need from me, but it makes no difference to me; I’m Forsaken either way.” He leans back in his chair. “The only one who stands to lose anything is you.”

“And the entire world, should the Extinction evolve unchecked.”

“In that case, let her – let everyone connected with the Archives be. And don’t disappear any more staff, either.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds: “Or statement givers.”

There is a long silence in which Martin stares into Peter’s eyes, willing himself not to blink or falter. Eventually, the fog recedes and Peter’s fake, plastered-on smile reappears.

“Well, I think I’ve kept you from your work long enough.” Peter nods at the statement folder. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The moment the telltale static of Peter’s departure fades, Martin lets out a heavy exhale and rests his head in his arms on his desk. Every encounter with Peter tends to leave him feeling drained, but that one was more intense than usual.

“Prick,” Martin mutters to the empty office.

It takes a few minutes for him to register the low whirring coming from underneath his desk.

“Were you listening the whole time, then?” Martin scoops up the tape recorder from the floor. “Or,” he sighs, his eyes flicking to the waiting statement, “are you just hungry?”

Martin still doesn’t know what to make of the recorders. On the one hand, supernatural artefacts never bode well. There’s no telling what’s they are, what’s listening on the other end, what controls their spontaneous appearance or why. Eavesdropping and surveillance are on brand for the Eye, but Jon had a point when he said that the Beholding would have no need to use tape recorders to listen in, especially within its own temple. They weren’t Elias’s doing – apparently all of his spying is done through eyes. The Web, maybe? But to what end?

On the other hand, Martin has grown so accustomed to their presence that he was actually unsettled by their absence while Jon was – away. When they started manifesting again, Martin was… relieved, almost. It isn’t the same as having Jon nearby, but it feels like having a connection to him all the same. They’ve almost become a welcoming, comforting sight – at least for the first few seconds after their appearance, before they start making their usual demands.

Sometimes, Martin wonders whether Jon might be subconsciously manifesting them himself. Even before his paranoid episode, he seemed keen to document and catalog the world around him, as if it was the only way for him to make sense of it all. It made Martin's heart ache, how Jon could never seem to relax, to let himself just be in the moment. His hypervigilance was exhausting by proxy, and it’s only gotten worse as time goes on.

In any case, ever since Jon’s coma – half-death? – proved that the recorders’ existence is dependent on his, Martin has started to see their regular appearances as decent indicators as to whether Jon is alive at any given moment. And here they are, still showing up. Which means… what? Martin already knew that Jon is still alive. The Coffin doesn’t let its victims die; death would be a release, and it's incompatible with a realm predicated on unending pressure, on the experience of being trapped with no hope of escape. But if Jon was entirely cut off from the world, lost and unreachable, wouldn’t his connection with the recorders be severed as well? So, if they’re still here, does that mean Jon isn’t gone yet? That there’s still a lifeline tethering him to the surface?

If so, it’s a useless lifeline, isn’t it? The tapes always make their way to Jon in time, but what good does that do in this situation? It’s not like they’re two-way radios; Martin can’t communicate with Jon in real time.

Unless…

No. No unless. It’s not even a long shot, it’s just – daft.

But hasn’t he already been treating them as stand-ins for Jon for the last few weeks? And is it really any more foolish than talking to a coffin?

Martin sighs as he eyes the tape recorder, its reels still insistently spinning. It isn’t going to leave until it gets a statement. He waits it out for another minute or so, but in the end he gives in, just like it knew he would.

“Hi again, Jon,” he starts, picking at his cuticles as uncertainly as he picks through his words. “I doubt you can hear me. At least not right now. But I know you listen to all the tapes eventually. Don’t know if you’ll ever get to hear this one, though. If not, I suppose this is rather pointless, isn’t it? You’re always so diligent about listening to them, too.” Martin huffs. “Well, if you want this one, you’ll have to come back and get it. I’m very cross with you, and I’d prefer to tell you in pers-”

Shut up, shut up, what are you saying?

The recorder lets out a short burst of static, as if protesting the break in his confession.

“Oh, shut it,” he grumbles. “Not – not you, Jon. Sorry. I mean, not like you’re hearing this anyway, right? Whatever, just – you’re needed here, alright? It’s been too long. It’s time to come home.” Martin shakes his head and smiles weakly. “Funny, I – I remember when I used to have to nag you to go home at night. The more things change, the more they stay the same, right? Don’t know what good a persuasive argument does in this case, though. It’s not like you need convincing –”

Martin stops short, a sudden thought crystallizing cold and heavy in the front of his mind. For all he knows, Jon’s gotten it into his head that he needs to stay in there to keep the rest of the world safe. It sounds like the sort of conclusion Jon would reach.

“I mean, I – I – I hope you’re not willingly staying down there out of some misguided belief that it’s – safer, for everyone? Jon?” Martin laughs nervously, on the edge of hysteria. “I – I don’t know why I’m talking like I’ll get a response. Anyway, it’s – it’s probably more likely that you want to come back and you can’t, right?” He chuckles again, and realizes too late how teary it sounds. “I don’t even – I don’t know which of those options is worse, but – but it’s not like there’s anything I can do in either case, so – what’s the point of this, of any of this?”

Martin clamps both hands over his mouth to stifle his abrupt, stuttering intake of breath – the precursor to sobbing, if he isn’t careful. He takes a long moment to compose himself, swallowing back tears and slowing his breathing.

“W-well, in case you do need to hear it… things are not better with you gone, okay?” His voice still sounds thick with emotion. In an attempt to steady it, he ends up overcorrecting, his next words coming out far more vehemently than he had intended. “They aren’t. And I don’t know how to make you believe that, but – but – if you don’t come back, you’ll never get a chance to learn, and it’s not like you to pass up a chance to learn something, right, so – so just get back here, will you?”

He stops again. After months of suffocating, deadening quiet, raising his voice even slightly feels like shouting. He finds himself leaning closer towards the tape recorder, as if he’s sharing a secret. Despite the conscious effort to lower his volume, it does nothing to temper the intensity of his speech.

“Jon, you’re late, and everyone’s waiting. Georgie’s worried. Basira spends most of the day camped out in front of your office, just… listening for any change. I – I don’t think she’s been sleeping much. And Melanie, she –” Martin flounders. He hasn’t spoken to Melanie in weeks, but he has no reason to assume her feelings towards Jon have changed. “Well, she – she’ll be angry if you break a promise to Georgie, yeah? And I’m – I…”

Martin doesn’t know what he is.

“Look, Jon, you – you need to come back now,” he says, more softly. More like a prayer than a demand. “Come home, and we’ll… we’ll figure things out.”

He wracks his brain for more, but comes up speechless. There was a time when he could have spoken volumes about what Jon means to him, and the words would flow from him easily. Now, anything he could possibly say feels shallow and jumbled and meaningless. Absolutely useless. But since when did words make any difference anyway? Jon has always been resistant to an outstretched hand. He rarely accepted any offers of help or invitations to talk; could barely handle a kind word or comforting gesture some days. He seemed to be opening up in the weeks prior to the Unknowing, but then –

Martin lets out a sigh and shuts the tape recorder off. Almost immediately, it clicks back on.

“Seriously?” He stares daggers at the thing. “That wasn’t enough for you?”

He depresses the button again, perhaps a little harder than necessary. The moment he removes his finger, the reels resume winding.

“Can’t you just – piss off and let me have some quiet for five minutes?”

It can’t, apparently. After several more foiled attempts to stop its droning, Martin gives an aggravated groan. As tempting as it is to hurl it at a wall, all the archival staff know from experience that the recorders are practically unbreakable, taking only superficial damage regardless of the attempted means to destroy them. Martin could toss it into a bonfire and at most it would come out a bit worse for wear; the casing would never melt or warp so badly as to render the buttons entirely nonfunctional.

More than once, Martin has caught himself wondering whether they get their durability from Jon. It’s a morbid thought and Martin is always quick to shut it down, but, well – there it is again.

At least Jon’s persistence is – charming. Martin glares at the tape recorder some more. Unlike –

The recorder crackles with another impatient uptick of static.

“Fine!” He flips open the folder on his desk, seizes the statement roughly, and gives himself a papercut in the process. Another hiss erupts from the recorder when he swears. “Yeah? Well, I don’t care if personal commentary is unprofessional,” he snaps at it. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

When he finally turns his attention back to the statement in his hands, he makes no effort to hide his foul mood.

“Yet another statement about – I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s bleak and horrifying, or else it wouldn’t be so keen for me to read it. Recording by Martin Blackwood, Assistant to Peter Lukas, Head of the Magnus Institute…”

Daisy draws in a sharp breath and stops short.

“Daisy?” Jon tugs lightly on her hand. “You alright?”

“Jon, I – I feel something, like a – like a pull, I –” Daisy laughs breathlessly. “There’s an up.”

“What,” Jon says, grinning to himself, “didn’t you believe me?”

But Daisy isn’t listening to him, instead continuing in an awestruck tone: “I’m – I – I’ll get to – to see Basira again.”

Her voice pitches up ever so slightly towards the end, making the statement sound almost like a question – as if she didn’t believe until this moment that seeing Basira again was even a possibility, as if she still doesn’t quite dare to believe it.

Jon has repeated the same promise dozens of times now along their trek to the surface. Once more can’t hurt: “She’s waiting for you.”

“I know,” Daisy whispers, almost reverently. Then, louder, her mounting anticipation crowding out the remnants of disbelief: “I can feel it.”

So can Jon. For quite some time now, that feeling of being pulled along – almost like he’s an anchor being reeled in, oddly – has been relatively consistent. The strength of the sensation still fluctuates from time to time, but it’s been awhile since it last disappeared entirely.

Of course, now it’s also shot through with a far more unwelcome pull. He swears he can feel the Archive drawing closer the more they near the exit. Maybe it’s simply his imagination, increasingly overactive as his dread intensifies, but the outcome is the same either way: the Eye will have him again, and soon.

“Come on, then,” Jon says, suppressing the grim edge threatening to creep into his tone. There’s no point in worrying Daisy just when she’s started to feel hopeful. “Almost home.”

Not long thereafter, the passage widens again. They still have to walk single file with their shoulders angled, forced to sidle through a few tight spots sideways, but the soil has finally transitioned entirely to solid stone walls and there is a noticeable upward slant to their path. All the while, Jon doesn’t let go of Daisy’s hand.

He grits his teeth against the lancing pain surging through his leg with every step as the incline grows steeper. From the sounds of Daisy’s labored breathing behind him, she’s having a far worse time of it. He’s just about to reassure her again that they’re almost there when his foot connects with something and he stumbles, pitching forward and nearly pulling Daisy down with him. His free hand flails in front of him to break his fall, and that’s when he recognizes –

“Stairs,” he whispers, feeling the shape of them, their flat surfaces and angles.

“What?”

“Stairs, Daisy.” After pushing himself to his feet, he places his free hand against the wall as a guide. It’s still pitch dark, and it will be until they manage to lift the Coffin’s lid. “Not much further now. Watch your step, and go slowly. They’re uneven.”

Despite an abundance of caution, they both end up tripping several times on the way up. The steps are all different heights and depths: some short and wide shelves, some steep and narrow ledges nearing two feet high – which may seem negligible were they both not so weakened, winded, and wounded. Occasionally, a step that felt solid moments before would crumble underneath them, giving way like gravel; a few times, Jon could swear a step disappeared entirely just before he put his foot down.

He’s so focused on keeping his footing that he forgets to be wary of his head. When he places a foot on one particularly sheer step and propels himself upward with the other leg, his head collides violently with something just above him. The pain races through his skull, his neck, his spine, and he nearly topples backward in the momentary daze of the impact. He has just enough presence of mind to throw his weight forward so that when he loses balance, he collapses against the stairs instead of tumbling down them.

For a few seconds, all he knows is a high-pitched ringing in his ears and fireworks in his vision. He’s dimly aware of Daisy’s hands patting at him blindly, frantically; her voice is muffled, but he can detect the urgency there.

“‘M’fine,” he slurs. He tries to tell her to just give him a minute, that he recovers quickly from this sort of thing, but he’s pretty sure it comes out something more like gim’nit.

When he finally starts to come around, Daisy’s words, once fuzzy and indistinct, start to break through the haze: “Jon? Jon, are you alright?”

“Will be,” he groans. He pushes himself up with one hand and reaches up with the other, groping blindly. Either it’s closer than he thought or he put too much force into the gesture in his disorientation, but his knuckles collide with rough wood and he hisses when he catches a splinter.

“Jon?”

“Lid’s right above us,” he says unnecessarily. “Watch your head.”

Daisy snorts. “Noted.”

“I – I might need some help lifting it,” he says, his vertigo gradually fading. He places both palms flat on the underside of the lid. “Last time, it was a lot heavier on the way out than it was going in.”

“Got it.” Daisy crawls up a few steps to kneel next to Jon, and he can feel her hands brush against his as she reaches up to find a grip.

“Feel it?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Ready?”

“On three. One – two – three –”

As expected, it offers more resistance than it should, as if a force is pressing down from the other side. For a terrifying few seconds, it refuses to budge. Then, with a prolonged creak of protest, it starts to give. Even just the dim light of Jon’s office filtering through that first tiny crack is enough to hurt. Judging from the startled yelp next to him, Jon assumes Daisy is shutting her eyes as well.

Jon can hear the low chatter of the tapes he left behind, as well as something louder and clearer cutting through the white noise.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this on my own.” Basira’s voice, overlaid with the crackle of radio static. “I’m here, Daisy. I need you to be here, too. I need –”

As soon as the opening is wide enough to stick a hand through, the pressure lets up all at once and the lid swings up the rest of the way. Jon scrambles over the side and grabs both of Daisy’s hands, dragging her up and out. He winces sympathetically when she cries out – she hasn’t properly stretched those muscles in months, and it must be agony.

The moment she’s completely cleared the lip of the Coffin, Jon drops her hands and eases her to a kneeling position on the floor. Rising unsteadily to his feet with a pained groan, he takes hold of the lid and drags it back into place. He stumbles the short distance to his desk for the key and hastens to replace the chains and reaffix the padlock. On the way, he kicks a tape recorder and it goes sliding across the floor; an instant later, the knowledge comes to him: Not a tape recorder. A two-way radio.

His hands are shaking so badly that he fumbles the key four times before he manages to fit it into the lock. He’s so absorbed in that simple, seemingly insurmountable task that he barely notices the swearing and clattering coming from just outside the office as someone on the other side goes through the exact same struggle to unlock the door. Just as Jon turns the key, the office door swings open to reveal Basira, panting and wide-eyed, the radio in her hand dropping to the floor as her eyes rest on Daisy, shivering and gasping for air.

“You’re back,” Basira murmurs, frozen in place.

“Hi,” Daisy says with short, almost giddy laugh, before promptly collapsing forward onto the floor. It’s enough to spur Basira into action, lurching forward and going to her knees next to her.

“Daisy,” she says urgently, shaking her shoulder. “Daisy, please –”

“She’s – she’s alright,” Jon says breathlessly, on hands and knees in front of the Coffin, gulping for air to fill his screaming lungs. “Just – needs to –”

He freezes.

“Jon,” Basira says, disbelieving. “Your voice?”

“I – I – I thought I would – I would lose it again,” he stammers. He begins to move his hand up to his throat, but stops when his other arm trembles violently, unable to hold up his weight on its own. “I don’t – I don’t know, I – I might still, it – it –”

The thought turns to static and the words dissolve on his tongue.

“…it barely even sounded human as it – as it spoke in a strange monotone –”

Jon shakes his head frantically, bringing the lingering pain from his earlier head injury back into the forefront.

“…it was then that I became aware of them – hundreds of glossy dead eyes staring at me from all directions –”

“– a tremendous eye – turning to focus upon me –”

“– staring into me, acutely scrutinizing my reaction –”

“Jon!” He stops and looks up at Basira, suddenly realizing that she’s been repeating his name for several seconds now. “You’re hyperventilating. Just – breathe?”

He latches onto Basira’s voice, forcing himself to breathe – oh, god, he can breathe again –

“Good,” she says after a few moments, calm and steady. “Okay. Can you try talking again? No, Jon, listen – look at me,” she says when he shuts his eyes and starts shaking his head again. “Try talking again.”

“…but my inability to speak –”

“Humor me.”

“…it’s still there, still watching me. There’s nowhere I can go, a place I can hide that it doesn’t keep looking at me – I can’t sleep because they’re watching me – those unseen eyes that hover everywhere and won’t let me rest –”

“– I’m sorry – it won’t let me say the words –”

“Yes, you can,” she says. Firm, but not cruel. Authoritative, self-assured, decisive – a solid presence to fixate on. “You’re just – too in your own head. Focus on me and try again.”

“I –” he begins, then stops short. Not the Archive. He gives Basira an uncertain, panicked look.

“Keep going. Try – try something simple. Tell me your name.”

“My name is…” His voice quivers as he forces the words out one syllable at a time.

“Go on. Who are you?”

“The Arch –”

The Archive, he almost says, before a fearful part of him remembers that Jonah might be listening. Besides, right now it would be inaccurate, wouldn’t it. The Eye does not typically dispense outright falsehoods, and its Archive has no use for fictions. Deception is for the Stranger, for the Spiral, for the Web –

“Try again,” Basira says patiently, drawing his attention back to her. “Who are you?”

“The Archivi –”

“No. Who, not what.”

There is a long pause in which he cannot parse the instruction.

“Full name.”

“Jon,” he says slowly. The sound feels strange on his tongue. “Jonathan Sims. The Archivist.”

“Could’ve done without that last bit, but good enough.” Basira relaxes her posture. “You alright?”

“I – I don’t understand.” Lightheaded and trembling, Jon releases a shuddering breath and leans back on his heels, slightly hunched over with his hands on his knees. “How did you know that would work?”

“I didn’t. But you were spiraling, and I imagine that’s exactly what the Eye wants.”

“R-right. I, ah –” Jon runs a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know how long it will stay away, the Buried severed the connection temporarily, but now it –”

“Don’t dwell on it.” At his blank stare, Basira sighs. “Yes, I realize that’s not quite your speed, but try anyway.”

“But –”

“We’re dealing with things that feed on fear and can rewrite reality as they please, right? You said yourself that the feeling is all they care about. Maybe feeding it your fear just makes it easier for it to write your reality – in which case, accepting a hypothetical bad outcome as an inevitability is just creating a self-fulfilling prophecy for yourself.”

“That’s… certainly a theory,” he says cagily.

But it’s a theory that Basira must be invested in, because she leans forward, her eyes as bright and interested as when she’s engrossed in a good book or pouring over some compelling research.

“Yes, it is, but I don’t think it’s too far-fetched. Georgie and I have been pooling ideas, and – I don’t think ‘mind over matter’ is a panacea, but mental state does seem to factor in. I was studying the statements you left for me, the ones involving anchors, and – I’m still not sure about the exact mechanics, but would an anchor help someone survive one of the Fears if state of mind wasn’t a key variable? It might not be the most important aspect, but it does seem significant enough to affect the outcome. Not all the time – not even most of the time – but in some cases, at least. Under the right circumstances.”

“And the Fears wouldn’t even exist without minds to experience them,” Jon says, brow furrowed. It’s uncanny, hearing some of the same ideas he bounced off of Daisy to pass the time in the Buried parroted back at him by Basira now.

“Exactly,” she says excitedly, then closes her mouth just as she’s taking a breath to start on her next thought. She clears her throat, looking slightly self-conscious. “I’m getting sidetracked. We can talk more about it later. For now – priorities.” Her expression turns sharp and focused again. “What should we do with the Coffin?”

“Artefact Storage. Tell them – tell them about the compulsion, make sure they take special precautions. Maximum security. No interaction or hands-on research.” He forces the words out rapid-fire, still expecting the Archive to take over any moment. “Store the key separately, same restrictions. No public cross-referencing, keep the link between the two on a need-to-know basis, preferably restricted to the head of the department. In – in fact, refer them to case number 9982211. Joshua Gillespie had a rather – creative way of containing the key. Simple, but” – Jon laughs, shaking his head – “incredibly effective.”

“That’s…”

“The best we can do without –” Jon huffs. “Well, burying it. Sealing it in concrete.”

“Not a bad idea,” Basira says thoughtfully. She raises an eyebrow when Jon doesn’t reply. “Is it?”

“I – I don’t know. We got out, and it seems – wrong, to completely eliminate that possibility for all the other people trapped in there.”

“You think you can help them?”

“I… I doubt it,” he admits, voice dripping with guilt.

He could try, but he suspects he was only able to reach Daisy because he had a personal connection to her, plus the recording of her voice to help him navigate. Finding anyone else in there would mean wandering around aimlessly until he eventually crossed paths with someone by chance, hoping he could reach them before the Buried whisked him away again.

“But if someone else does make it this far,” he says, “I – I don’t want to be the one responsible for the moment they try to lift the lid and find it cemented shut. The chains will still be there, but at least there’s a chance of someone hearing them, helping them? Probably not, but – sealing it off entirely feels… I don’t know, final? Like we would be condemning them personally.”

“Yeah, okay.” Basira sighs heavily, absentmindedly stroking Daisy’s hair. “Point taken. Can you stand?”

“Not yet. Give me a few minutes. I’ll – I’ll be fine here, though, if you want to move Daisy. Put some distance between her and the Coffin. It’s a good idea.”

“Don’t read my mind, Jon.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I don’t feel right leaving you alone after…”

Jon meets her eyes again, tilting his head to the side slightly. Last time, she had no qualms about ushering Daisy away from the Coffin the moment she got a chance. She didn’t leave him alone for long – she wasn’t cruel – but still, he was undeniably a lower priority. He clears his throat and tries to look less stunned.

“I’ll be alright, I promise. Go ahead.”

Basira watches him shrewdly, frowning as she considers her options. Eventually, her shoulders slump and she relents.

“If you’re sure. I won’t be gone long.”

“Careful moving her,” Jon says. “Sorry, that – probably goes without saying? But just – mind her left side. She has cracked ribs on both sides, but two on the left are broken.”

A flash of sympathetic pain and vicarious anger crosses Basira’s expression.

“Thanks for the heads up.” Her voice is clipped, but not unkind. She’s simply trying to keep a tight rein on her emotions: deal with the situation at hand first, break down later – in privacy – if at all. “As soon as I have her settled, I’ll come back and – and help you move.”

He nods tiredly.

“Jon.” Basira waits until he looks back up at her. “Thank you – for… I really thought I’d never – I…”

“Basira, it’s okay,” he says as she fumbles for words. “I understand.”

“You know, or you Know?”

“Oh, uh…” Jon grimaces. “Maybe both? I’m sorry –”

Basira snorts and begins to gently position Daisy to be moved. “I was teasing, Jon.”

“O-oh. Right.” He shifts awkwardly. “Still, though, I – I apologize. I realize the Knowing can be – invasive, and – I don’t have as much control over it as I would like, but I should –”

“Jon, it’s fine.” Basira says it with an air of finality, but she doesn’t sound angry. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Sure,” he says, not quite knowing what to do with her lenience. “Thank you. I’ll just – I’ll just wait here.”

“Yes, you will. You’ve met your self-sacrifice quota for the month. No more pocket dimensions. In fact –” She stands and swipes Jon’s phone off his desk where he left it, handing it down to him. “Call Georgie, let her know you’re home. Keep you occupied until I get back.”

As Basira leaves with Daisy, Jon does exactly that. Georgie picks up on the first ring.

“Jon? Jon, is that you?”

Jon closes his eyes and smiles at the sound of her voice.

“Yeah, Georgie. It’s me. I’m back.”

“You got your voice back?”

“Seems so,” he says tentatively. “For now, anyway.”

Something about the tone of Georgie’s sigh tells him that she’s rolling her eyes at him.

“Why are you such a pessimist?”

“I’m not, I’m a –”

“Don’t you dare say ‘realist.’” He keeps his mouth shut. “Does Basira know you’re back?”

“Yes –”

“Are you hurt?”

“No – well, I mean, yes, but – nothing too serious. Nothing unexpected. I’m alright.”

“Okay. Did you find Daisy?”

“Yes. She’s with Basira now.”

“Good.” Georgie breathes a sigh of relief. “I was worried, Jon. Do you know how long you were gone?”

“I –” Jon pauses as the knowledge comes to him. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m – I’m sorry, Georgie, I really didn’t expect it to take – and it’s impossible to tell time in there, so –”

“It’s – it’s alright, I’m just – glad you’re back. Did you let Martin know?”

“Not – not yet, I – I’m not sure how he would feel about me contacting him.” Jon bites his lip. “Do you think I should?”

“Don’t know. He doesn’t seem to know what he wants. But I’ve spoken to him a few times now, and he seems to be – I don’t know. Thawing, I guess? Seems less cold. Easier to get through to him than it was that first time. Or – easier to get a rise out of him, at least. He’s actually got some fire in his eyes now.”

Jon smiles to himself again.

“Georgie Barker, are you annoying him out of the Lonely?”

“I –” She pauses, considers, and then chuckles. “You know – maybe? In my defense, it’s not difficult to do. He’s very moody.”

“O-oh. That’s…”

“Not necessarily a bad thing, Jon. I mean, it can’t be comfortable for him, but – at least he’s feeling something, interacting with the world around him? It’s like – well, he sort of reminds me of…”

“What?”

“Me, at certain points in my life? I think I’ve told you before, but – the lowest low of a depressive episode for me has always been when nothing can reach me. Feeling nothing, wanting nothing, being unable to envision any sort of future at all and not even caring about it.”

“You did, yes. I – don’t think I fully understood then, but now, I – I think I have an idea.”

“Well, when I start to get better, it can look like I’m getting worse to other people, because they can see the hurt, where before it was – quiet, subdued. All the things I couldn’t feel before, they all come out at once, and it’s – overwhelming, after so much nothingness. But it’s part of the healing. At some point, you have to let yourself feel again, even if it hurts. I know it’s not a perfect analogy, but – this might not be a bad sign, is what I’m saying. Sometimes recovery is messy. It helps to have someone to lean on for support.”

“But if he’s determined to be alone –”

“The thing is, I don’t think he is. But that’s something he needs to figure out for himself. I’m not saying you can’t remind him from time to time that he isn’t alone, but…” She exhales heavily. “You can’t force someone to accept help. You reached out to him. Give him the space to reach back.”

“So… don’t contact him? Because – because I want to respect his boundaries, but –”

Georgie gives an exasperated but fond-sounding sigh.

“Jon, if you want a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, I can’t help you there.”

“But – but what do you think –”

“I think it’s your call. He might not respond, but… he’s been worried, and I do think he would appreciate knowing you’re back.”

Jon makes a noncommittal noise.

“Well, you think on it,” Georgie says. “Listen, I’m walking out the door now, okay? Be there soon.”

“Oh, uh – right. I’ll – see you then, I suppose.”

“You’d better.”

When the call ends, Jon stares fixedly at a speck on the wall, debating whether or not to… what, send an email? That seems too impersonal, but a phone call might be too much. He could always text, but…

Glancing at the screen, he notices that he has several missed text messages. His thumb hovers uncertainly over the icon. It’s unlikely that any of them are from Martin, but he has an irrational need to prolong the confirmation one way or another, to put off knowing as long as –

The Eye informs him that they’re all from Naomi, and Jon heaves an agitated sigh. Not at the knowledge itself – he enjoys his interactions with Naomi, however sparse his side of the conversation tends to be these days – but at having the option of knowing removed from him. When he starts to read her messages, though, his sour mood rapidly evaporates.

“There,” he says with a private little smile. “One for each day I was gone. To start with.”

Once he sends the reply, he sets the phone aside. His mouth is dry, the taste of dirt clinging to his tongue. Luckily, he thought ahead and stored some water bottles here for when he got back, knowing it would take some time before he was ready to drag himself to the breakroom for a drink. Unluckily, he’d been so preoccupied with all his other preparations in the half-hour prior to entering the Coffin that he hadn’t had the foresight to put them within easier reach. As it is, they’re still stored in the hollow under his desk.

He’s still sore and stiff and lethargic, but the prospect of washing the grit out of his mouth is enticing enough to get him moving. Gingerly, awkwardly, he shuffles around to the other side of the desk. It’s slow going; he practically has to drag himself, and he spares a moment to be glad that no one is here to watch him.

Well. Except the Eye, he supposes. And possibly Jonah.

A noticeable chill shivers through him and his breath catches in his throat. Jon shakes his head to rid himself of the thought. He really needs to stop giving Jonah Magnus real estate in his head.

Just as Jon gets a grip on one of the bottles, his phone dings from where he left it on the floor. He bumps his head on the underside of the desk when he starts – not as hard as he did in the Coffin, but enough to send a new wave of pain coursing through him from head to toe. The phone dings several times more in quick succession.

“Okay, alright, give me a minute, Naomi,” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot at the top of his head. No blood, but there’s definitely a bump. It won’t be there for long. He should be glad for his healing abilities, he supposes, inhuman though they may be.

The text messages continue pouring in as he makes the return journey to his previous spot.

“Guess she really is sending a photo per emoji,” he says to himself. The alert goes off once more just as he reaches for it. “Or more than one.”

When he glances at the screen, it’s not Naomi’s name that he sees.

Martin is typing up the new rota that Peter requested when it happens.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a tape recorder drops onto his desk with a loud clack. Before he can think on its sudden appearance, another comes plummeting down, smashing two of his fingers against the keyboard.

“Ow! What the –”

Another collides with the top of his head, and on impulse he covers himself with both arms. Four more fall – one glancing his elbow, three clattering to the floor around him – and then there’s a lull. Cautiously, he brings his arms down and looks to the ceiling, half-expecting more to come raining down. When none do, he relaxes somewhat.

“Huh,” he says to himself, bewildered. “That’s new.”

He’s used to the tape recorders materializing, of course, but usually it’s only one or two at a time, and they don't drop from the ceiling. They just appear – sometimes within plain sight, but more often slightly hidden from view: under his chair, behind his computer, once in a potted plant in the breakroom. They always click and whir to announce their presence – as if they want to be found, as if to reassure him that they aren’t trying to spy unnoticed.

Martin rolls his eyes at himself. Why is he always anthropomorphizing them, assuming they have intentions?

In any case, being pelted with a tape recorder shower is unprecedented. He rubs his hand where the second recorder hit him, then his head. He’s bound to have bruises, and his fingers are already swelling up.

“What the hell, Jon?”

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he has his phone in his hand and he’s tapping out a text message.

He briefly contemplates taking shelter under his desk. When no more fall, he turns his attention back to his phone.

Martin leans back with a sigh, dragging one hand down his face. What is he doing? It’s not like Jon is waiting by the phone for him.

Maybe that’s exactly why he’s doing this. It certainly highlights the loneliness. He probably wouldn’t be texting Jon if there was any chance of him answering, would he?

In the span of a blink, that loneliness turns to frustration. For months, his emotions have been dulled, almost to the point of numbness. Things were quiet. It felt comfortable; it felt right; it almost felt safe, the fog blanketing the world and muffling all of its sharp edges, shielding him from all the things that used to leave him hurt and grieving and wanting.

Then Jon went and ripped that blanket off him, leaving him exposed all over again. Ever since, it's been nothing but sensory overload and raw emotion that doesn’t even have a name. All he knows is that it’s too much and it’s all at once and he has nowhere to put it, and it’s manifesting as irritability and mood swings and a pervasive, indistinct sense of hurt that he thought he’d left behind.

He feels everything after months of feeling next to nothing, as if all the things he wouldn’t allow himself to feel are being regurgitated all at once in a nebulous chaotic tangle, and he isn’t equipped to handle it –

“Alone,” he says aloud. That’s it, isn’t it? It’s too much to cope with on his own. He is alone, and for the first time in what feels like forever, that scares him.

Biting his lip until he tastes blood, he picks up his phone again.

He blinks back tears. It feels wrong, unloading all of this onto Jon, but he’ll never see it, so what does it matter? It has to go somewhere or Martin is going to shatter.

Martin stops mid-rant, mind going blank when the typing indicator pops up. For a seemingly interminable amount of time, he holds his breath, watching as it stops and starts and hesitates before finally –

And before Martin realizes it, there’s a tearful, slightly manic laugh bubbling up in his chest and out through his mouth and he’s crying, when did he start crying? He's giving himself whiplash with his own erratic mood swings, but it doesn't matter, because he can just picture how frantic Jon is right now, stumbling over his words, mussing up his hair and muttering to himself. Martin probably shouldn’t find it so endearing, but when has that ever stopped him?

Martin rubs furiously at the tears streaking down his cheeks, sniffling. He’s debating on responding to save Jon from his own self-consciousness when another few messages come through.

Martin can’t help it: he starts laughing again. Then immediately feels a bit bad about it. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before the next message comes through.

“Jon,” Martin says, shaking his head in fond amusement.

This is a side of him that Martin has always adored: how easily he gets sidetracked and carried away with his rambling, his tendency to trip over his words when he’s excited, the informational diatribes he launches into at the drop of a hat.

And now Martin’s tearing up again.

“God, what’s wrong with me,” he sniffs, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve again.

It’s the heart that does it. Martin doesn’t know why – it’s such a little thing – but that last ounce of doubt evaporates and his reticence crumbles, just like that. The transition is unexpectedly gentle: an easy slip from one state into another, like stepping into a well-worn shoe, a stark contrast to the dramatic, jarring shift he would have anticipated.

He begins typing out a response.

Martin smiles into his hand, pressed to his lips. He’s always found it cute, if a bit silly, how stilted Jon can be sometimes, even when speaking through such informal medium.

And the idea that an emoji is somehow more forward than an overt declaration of love is just…

Martin’s heart glitches at the reminder of what Jon must have just gone through. If he really is more receptive to help now, maybe he can be persuaded to actually rest and recover for once, but Martin doesn’t have his hopes up.

Martin can feel the flush creeping up his neck and onto his face.

“Wait,” Martin says, squinting down at his phone screen. “Is he still…”

“Unbelievable.” Martin huffs an incredulous laugh. “He is unbelievable.”

Martin groans when the three dots repeatedly disappear and reappear.

“That’s a lot of typing for just fixing a typo,” Martin says, tapping his foot impatiently. “Go on, Jon, spit it out.”

Martin rubs the back of his neck and tries to ignore the heat pooling in his cheeks, on his neck, along the tops of his ears. One good thing about the Lonely: it all but eliminated his embarrassing tendency to broadcast his emotions to the world with a blush. Or maybe it just made it so that there wasn’t much to broadcast in the first place.

“So much for that,” he mutters sheepishly.

By necessity, Martin has learned to be adaptable. If circumstances have changed this drastically, he needs to reconsider his trajectory. Steeped in some disorientating mixture of emotion – mortification, giddiness, fear, relief, regret, and so much else he still can’t put a name to – he watches the clock and quietly starts to review his options.

End Notes:

hhhhhh hopefully you’re all okay with a slow-moving plot bc I have a feeling I’m going to continue drawing out the character-focused stuff?? (I know where the story’s going but my outline is extremely loose, which means my pacing has a personality of its own.)

Citations for Jon’s Archive-speak: MAG 144; 054/020/083; 002; 060/019

re: Archive-speak – I do plan on explaining the newest development more, I just didn’t get to it in this chapter. But expect more original dialogue from Jon from here on out, with some Archive-speak mixed in.

I used this lovely guide to help me puzzle through creating an AO3 workskin so I could format the text messages properly. (On which point, I hope the texting isn’t OOC. I admittedly had a bit too much fun with it. Especially Jon’s. He said ADHD!Jon rights and I agreed.)

Fun fact: Naomi and Jon have a system wherein any cat emoji translates to “Duchess status update, please”. It’s good she takes a lot of photos, because Jon makes judicious use of the cat emoji. Having a bad time? 🐱 Can’t sleep? 🐱 Bored? 🐱 Just looking for something to distract himself from the mortifying ordeal of Knowing and being Known? 🐱 Of course, she sends a lot of photos unprompted, too, as any new Enthusiastic Cat Parent is wont to do.

#tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #tma spoilers

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schrijverr · 4 years ago

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Tight

Jonny gets pulled into a fox-hole by Bertie and Tim, who do not know he’s claustrophobic. They try to keep him calm during the attack and he confesses that he is immortal. They still love him

On AO3.

Ships: Bertie x Jonny x Tim

Warnings: claustrophobia, panick attack, war & Jonnys low self esteem. Tell me if I missed something or if you want me to tag anything!

~~~~~~~~~~~

The alarms started to blare above them, a microwave attack.

Bertie and Tim quickly looked around for a fox-hole and started to pull Jonny along, who cursed himself as he tried to get free, but the others were both taller and stronger, so his struggling was to no avail.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to survive, he’d died enough times from such an attack to know it was unpleasant, it was more that he would much rather die than go into a fox-hole. You see, Jonny was claustrophobic and being stuck in a small space for a few minutes seemed like hell.

If it were any other day he would sneak off with The Toy Soldier, claiming they would hide together, while in reality it kept watch by his corpse until he was revived.

However, The Toy Soldier had disappeared a few months back and last Jonny heard of it, it was on its way to become Field Marshall, which was good for it. But bad for Jonny, since he was now here, getting pulled into a fox-hole that was not really made for three by Tim and Bertie.

Tim and Bertie had quickly caught on to his unwillingness, so he was situated between them, while they held onto him to stop him from leaving.

“What the hell, Jonny.” Tim said, “Why would you fight? You can die out there.”

Jonny didn’t respond, instead he was trying to focus on his breathing and trying to ignore how small the space was and how easily he could suffocate. He anxiously started to drum his fingers against his leg and humming the first song that came to mind.

“Is that- is that the recruiter song?” Tim asked perplexed when it was the only response to his question.

He was at Jonnys back while Bertie was in front of him, so Tim couldn't see the panicked expression on his face in the dim alarm light of the fox-hole, but Bertie could. He asked: “Hey, are you alright, Jonny?”

Jonny gave an affirming but stressed hum, before he squeaked: “Jup, completely fine me, never better.”

Well, that was obviously a lie. The worry in the other two grew as the tapping and humming continued. Bertie remembered how Jonny had melted that one time Tim got a knot out of his hair, so he tentatively reached up and carded a hand through Jonnys hair.

Immediately the slight bouncing stopped, they hadn’t even noticed Jonny was doing it until it stopped, and the tapping slowed down.

Bertie continued petting Jonnys hair, while he asked: “It’s okay, it’s okay. Can you tell us what’s wrong? What set you off like that?”

It was silent for a moment and Tim and Bertie were just starting to think Jonny wouldn't answer at all, when he whispered: “Is so tight and small.”

“The fox-hole?” Tim asked.

They could feel the small nod against their chests as Jonny started to tremble and humming louder.

Bertie picked up the petting again while Tim tried to make Jonnys tense shoulders relax for a bit. He whispered: “It’s alright, Jonny-love, it’s okay. It’ll be over before you know it, just breathe and relax, okay. You did this before, you can-”

“No.”

“No?” Tim repeated.

“I’ve not done this before.” Jonny admitted, to hell with trying to seem normal to keep them by his side. If they really loved him as much as they said, they wouldn't mind immortality, right?

“What makes you say that, dear?” Bertie asked, “I know for a fact that this is not your first microwave attack.”

Jonny took a shaky breath and said: “Remember how I always joke I’m immortal?”

He didn’t dare to look up and see what expressions the other two wore as they told him they both remembered the jokes.

“Well, they’re not really jokes. I, uhm, I usually just die during these because it’s better than having to be locked into one of these.” Jonny explained.

It was quiet for a moment, when neither reacted Jonny got worried and started babbling: “I know I probably should have told you both and I swear I was gonna, but then I thought maybe you’d be mad at me and I don’t want you to be mad at me, but now I’m stuck in here and that’s really not good for me, because small spaces are fucking terrifying and I would rather die than deal with this, literally, it’s not like it matters if I die anyway, you kn-”

“Oh my poor dear.” Bertie breathed out, “That’s not- that’s not- oh no.”

“Wha?” Jonny was confused.

“Just let him process for a moment, Jonny-love.” Tim kissed the top of his head.

“Is he mad?” Jonny asked fearfully.

“No, of course not, he’s just coming to terms with the fact that you died painfully each time while we thought you were safe with TS, it’s not healthy to do that, darling.” Tim explained, “I’m also not entirely pleased with that fact, but I get why you did it.”

“But I get back, so it’s not an issue, right?” Jonny sounded confused, which broke Tims heart.

“Just because you get back doesn’t mean it isn’t painful, dear.” Bertie joined the conversation, “You shouldn’t let yourself be killed and get hurt, because you can take it. God, can I- can I hug you right now?”

“Please.” Jonnys voice broke a bit.

Immediately two arms were around him, it was a bit hard to maneuver since it was such a cramped space, something Jonny was trying very hard to ignore. So far the stress of being rejected and kicked out had partly overridden his claustrophobia, but with that soothed, it came back with full force.

A small sob made its way out of his throat before he could stop it and once he had started it was hard to stop.

Tim and Bertie just held him while he cried and waited for this all to be over. He wanted to be out of here, he wanted to be held and he just wanted everything to be okay again. His gasped trying to get enough air into his lungs, but it wasn’t really working.

Bertie loosened his grip and asked: “Am I holding you too tight?”

“N- no,” Jonny sniffled, “rather know it’s you than no space, you’re comfy.”

He burrowed his face into Berties chest and held on tight to the others uniform, behind him Tim was massaging his neck, his soft reassuring whispers slightly frantic.

Jonny was sure he was going to explode from exhaustion or stress when the alarm light turned off, signaling the attack was over. He nearly collapsed in relief, but just as he was about to climb out of the fox-hole they heard some shots being fired.

“I’m so sorry about this, love.” he heard Tim whisper behind him, as he stopped Jonny from getting out and put a hand over his mouth.

The hand was a good call, because Jonny terrified cry was muffled by it. Tim never felt like such a bad person than in that moment, holding the small trembling form of Jonny as he refused to let him get out.

Seconds seemed to pass like hours as the fighting moved above them, first right on top and then further along. The moment he deemed it safe, Tim released Jonny and helped him get out as fast as he could.

Bertie and he climbed out after him and rubbed his back soothingly as he sat on hands and knees gasping for air desperately and crying softly.

“I’m so sorry, Jonny-love, I’m so so so sorry about that, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Tim whispered.

Beside him Bertie said: “It’s okay, dear, it’s all over, you made it, it’s done, you don’t have to go back, you’re done.”

It seemed to last an eternity, before Jonny had calmed down enough to be able to talk. He swallowed a few times, then croaked: “I’m okay, I’m fine, just tired.”

Tim immediately offered him his canteen with water, a guilt pressing down on him. Jonny took it gratefully and drank a few huge gulps, before Bertie grabbed it from him and asked: “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” Jonny mumbled, then he added, “And still a bit freaked, honestly.”

“Do you want to sit for a moment?” Bertie asked.

Jonny answered and they just sat silently in the sand of the moon for a few moments, leaning against the side of the tunnel with Jonny between them. He was still humming slightly, but he seemed less tense with every passing second.

“I’m sorry about that.” Tim broke the silence after a while.

“Wha?” Jonny asked, confused.

“Well, I forced you into that fox-hole and then held you there, it’s my fault you had to go through that, so sorry.” Tim explained.

If it weren’t pitch dark, Tim could have seen Jonny blush quite heavily as he replied: “You just wanted to keep me safe, it’s my own fault I didn’t tell you both about the whole immortality thing.”

“Yeah, we’re still going to talk about that when you feel better.” Bertie said, “It’s not okay that you think you can just die all the time just because you get back. It matters to me that you die and I’m going to make sure you don’t think your life isn’t worth that much.”

“I second that.” Tim agreed, before Jonny could interject with some sort of self-deprecating comment.

“But lets get you back to camp safely first, okay.” Bertie said more lighthearted.

“Here, I’ll carry you.” Tim offered.

“I just told you I’m immortal, you’d think that you’d understand that I should be the one protecting you two.” Jonny grumbled, not accepting the piggy-back ride.

“And you just had a panic attack, so I think we’re justified. Now, just accept Tims offer and lets get going, I think I still have a bit of booze left back at camp.” Bertie replied.

Well, Jonny couldn’t really say no to that, beside getting carried and cared for for a bit sounded really appealing right now. He could let his guard down for a moment, he was safe here with them. It was going to be okay.

#RR writing #The Mechanisms #the mechs #jonny #gunpowder tim #bertie (the mechs)#bertie x tim x jonny #Bertie x gunpowder Tim x Jonny d'ville #tw: claustrophobia #tw: panic attack #jonnys low self esteem #tw: war

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iatheia · 4 years ago

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EDA reviews Part 5 - books 38-46

Previous part 1, 2, 3 & 4

38) Casualties of War - a lovely story. In form and in function it is pretty much identical to the previous story, and even reveals pretty much the same info verbatim. The plot is similarly nothing outstanding, from ~5 minutes in you can tell pretty much exactly how it is going to turn out. That said, it has a much better atmosphere than the Burning, and Doctor’s characterization is also much stronger. Nice and relaxing, if a bit gory at times, and veering off towards supernatural by the end. 8/10

39) The Turing Test - Wow, these stories keep getting better and better! It is overwhelming and exuberant. Only a handful of books have even attempted to get anywhere near close into the Doctor’s psyche as this one has. Moreover, it has multiple narrators, and all three have a very different relationship with the Doctor, you get into the different facets of his persona, multiplicity of his character. You have a dashing and breathless romantic whose mere presence sweeps you off your feet, a reckless hero, an enigma, at the same time, there is a rather selfish and cruel streak as well. He is a manipulator, someone who knows more than he should and willing to use this knowledge to achieve his aims, willing to play people against each other and show a side of himself that they would be most accepting to see. It is never to the degree of Seven, this behavior is all Eight through and through, the core of his characters never sways, it’s just viewed through a different lens. The previous novels have established these facets, but more on accident, due to lack of consistency between different writers, picking one and going with it. But this is the first one I feel they were actually explored in full, though, certainly, there will be other stories to tackle this in the future as well (Caerdroia in particular comes to mind). An outstanding story through and through. 10/10

40) Endgame - Hot off the heels of the previous one, another fun story - or, at the very least, something that would have been a gem if it had managed to sustain the energy it had at the beginning. Doctor’s claustrophobia and depression were very poignant, and, as much as I loved Stranded already, it does make me look at that story in a new light with a newer appreciation. And, on top of that - this book is funny, the Doctor evading spy agents with ease is the comedy of errors. That said, in the second half there is too much runamock it’s a bit repetitive, not very well organized, they needlessly cross the ocean so many times, the situation at a given location is resolved the second the Doctor shows up on a scene, and it all ends in deus ex machina. The authors note says that the original draft was submitted unfinished, and boy does it show. Still, I had fun with it. 8/10

41) Father Time - It is hard not to notice though that some of the novels come in pairs (or trios). The Burning and the Casualties of War had a lot of overlap. Turning Test and Endgame were both based on political intrigue. And now, Endgame and Father Time, both feature some mysterious entity that know the Doctor from before, with him not knowing who they are. They are even called similarly, “The Players” and “The Hunters”. When these overlaps are so close to one another, it does rather stick out. This ark is not the first time this happened, obviously, there have been a number of stories before that makes you pause and go “wait, you’ve just done this in the previous book, too”. It’s probably more to do with how quickly the books are released one after another, so as the writers discuss some ideas, they end up being in several places....

That said, the first third of the book had me singing its praises. After going through the five stages of grief, and battling against the depression of the previous novel, the Doctor is finally reaching acceptance of his situation, and possibly nurturing hope for the future. It’s exactly the type of a fluffy story I have a weakness for. But then... you have a time skip, which gets all the pacing torn into shreds. Not only the conclusion of the first part is too abrupt, everything falling into pieces as if by accident, but also, none of the things that happened in the first part (or most of the characters that were introduced) matter for part two. It turns into a chess match play by numbers, moving characters across the board almost without any transition in service of “plot”, without much of consideration for their head space, keeping everyone rather ooc. The change in visuals is very abrupt - it’s hard to accept the Doctor as a millionaire business consultant living in a grand mansion, new family situation or not. It’s not just at odds with his bohemian persona, it also begs a question, if he is so famous, what do the UNIT and Torchwood are doing about it? And also, *sigh*. You have a sixteen year old girl, who, in the previous chapter, just been ten. And you decide to spend the next two chapters on little else than musing how “she hasn’t been interested in sex, even though she is SO HOT”, only to decide that she is interested now, actually. It comes across more than a little fetishistic, and the story continues to follow her around with the male gaze. I’m not here to follow sexual exploits of minors - not in a Doctor Who novel. It is utterly unnecessary, doesn’t add anything of value to the plot, not character driven, and made me lose pretty much all of the good will I had from the first part of the story (and I had a lot of it, because the start of it was basically perfect). In the third part, it just turns into a discount Taken story, somehow managing to lose any cohesiveness and suspension of disbelief, and fizzles out in the end. 4/10

Amnesia watch: #7. It’s a bait and switch - the Doctor was just pretending, but I’m counting it anyway.

42) Escape Velocity - I wonder, how much sponsorship did various fast food places paid for this novel....

And we are back with Fitz. I didn’t really say it before, but it was really rather a dick move leaving the Doctor all alone for over a century. I mean, it worked, narratively speaking (more on that later), but, still, in an option between traveling through space & time BUT leaving them alone for that long, without any idea who they are, without any network of support, letting them slowly go mad, only being there for the fun bits, versus staying with them to help them through it all, you are kind of a bad friend. Sure, Compassion was in the driver’s seat, but Fitz didn’t exactly protest all that much, did he? And why 20th century earth? If the conditions for Doctor’s maroonment was that he had to stay somewhere for over 100 years while the TARDIS repaired itself, then any other technologically advanced era that didn’t have two world wars would have sufficed? And, psst, Doctor, your adopted kid has a space armada. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind giving you one ship that would allow you at least space travel, you didn’t have to spend last 11 years on Earth - you could have went traveling, TARIS in tow on that ship, and only checked in at the deadline.

Also, I get it, memory loss is a traumatic experience, and the Doctor isn’t human, and there is a sense of wrongness. But, he has lived on Earth for over 100 years. In that time he had more memories and experiences than any human alive. After a while, this entire thing of “I don’t know who I am” should start wearing a bit thin, don’t you think?

This rant aside, the book is a bit play by numbers. A lot of unnecessary runaround, traveling from London to Brussels and back several times for no particular reason. A rather boring “aliens invading earth” plot that left me checked out for a vast majority of it. Nothing bad about it, but nothing stands out about the plot either. But, it did have several heartfelt emotional scenes - the long awaited reunion, seeing TARDIS interior again, the finale. They were fairly brief, and it’s a bit of a pity they weren’t savored for a bit longer, instead letting the plot get in the way, but the little that was there was nice. 7/10

43) EarthWorld - I was hoping to enjoy this book a bit more than I ended up, I usually am quite fond of Rayner’s works, but I guess it is one of her first books. It’s a bit monotone, landing on the side of quirky, whether it was suited for a scene or not. Also dwelling on the past quite a bit, invoking the imagery of Unearthly Child, War Games, Greatest Show in the Galaxy in a rapid succession, for no specific reason, and then dwelling for quite a long time on several previous novels in a not entirely organic way. Instead of using this as an opportunity so start afresh now that we’re finally back in the TARDIS, it feels like it is focused more than ever on recapping how they got here, especially as the previous novel offered a way out by letting Fitz forget most of the previous “ark”. There were a lot of lovely character moments - but some of it did feel overly gratuitous. Still, it’s a decent book, even if it doesn’t quite reach full marks 8/10.

44) Vanishing Point - Easily the best Steve Cole novel of the ones I’ve ever read and/or listened to. This is the fresh start to the team adventures that I was hoping for. The alien world is interesting, with great worldbuilding (which is actually kind of rare in the novels). A lot of exciting imagery. The characters are a joy to behold. Not just the trio, but the secondary characters too. The first half of the book is basically perfect. It... kind of fizzles out in the second half, never really delivering on its set up in an entirely satisfying way.

A big part of the difficulty of suspending disbelief, though, was Fitz’s leg. I twisted my ankle once. I could barely walk for several days afterwards (so it having happen at a beginning of a trip was Awful), it took months for it to fully heal, and even now it feels more wobbly than the other one. And a colleague of mine ended up getting a special boot, because she keeps twisting her ankle (always the same one). Fitz had twisted his ankle, and then he was shot in the leg. And he is running about mountains and waterfalls almost immediately. 8/10

45) Eater of Wasps - You have to give it to Baxendale, he has a very particular style. Everything described so masterfully you couldn’t help but imagining every single detail, like painting a picture before you. Even though a significant portion of it is body horror that is described exactly as lovingly as the British countryside. Never before has the title been this appropriate. Very careful in setting up the conflict and tension between the protagonists. 10/10

46) The Year of Intelligent Tigers - This story is just nice. Another one with incredible visuals and incredible feelings behind it, exuberant and overwhelming, like a hurricane. The ending is particularly strong. This is peak Eight - a force of nature, alien and unknowable, and yet, you can’t help but being swept off your feet. Stories like this one is exactly why he is the platonic ideal of who the Doctor should be.

Overall impressions so far: This was like a breath of fresh air. The “stuck on Earth all on his own” ark was not only beautifully executed, but it was also badly needed. The last time I was complaining that few novels actually did anything with Eight - he would react to the plot, but never really be affected by anything. And at the heart of it was the issue that the writers, through trial and error, did come to a consensus about who he should be, but rarely took time to actually get into his head - they started out somewhat flat-footedly, and then got swept up in other things. Here, though, they were forced to slow down and focus his undivided attention just on him, what makes him tick if you break him down to the barest essentials - so even after reuniting with the TARDIS and the companions, his portrayal is all the stronger as a result. Rather than merely reacting to the world at large, he is now an active participant.

The companions are great. There is nothing particularly special being given to Fitz to chew upon, but his presence is always welcome, especially with him being as mellow as he has been back in Autumn Mist. What is it about the Doctor that attracts so many companions with an acute case of praise kink, I wonder? Anji is also interesting, and I love seeing what’s being done with her. She slots in perfectly, delivering so sorely missed snark Compassion had in her pre-Shadow of Avalon outings, all the while having a rather unique relationship with the Doctor - acknowledging his eldritch horror moments, being one of the few who does stand up to him. Especially after the last couple of books, I’m curious to see where this goes and how it continues to build.

The books themselves are a significant step up to what was there before, which got pretty joyless for a short while, alternating between mediocre to awful. In this batch, tough? Sure, there are some weaker offerings, but even there there is at least one stand-out scene that makes the book. Even if the plot isn’t exactly the most revolutionary thing in the world, it is being made up with solid character work. Honestly, for any new readers I would recommend just starting with #37 Burning and going from there - at least so far.

#doctor who #eighth doctor #eighth doctor adventures #eda

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zephyra-in-the-house · 5 years ago

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A Wolf and a Leopard Walk Into A Store... Sounds Like the Start to a Bad Joke

Chapter 2

Back to the Beginning: Chapter 1

Next Chapter: Chapter 3

Notes:

The cover photo for this chapter is Zephyra Evelynn.

This next chapter sets up the plot for the rest of the story but it's a little short. I tried to shorten it down because it has a lot of world building in it but all of it is useful information for what comes up later on. Also, this chapter is based in Vanoss’ dream as he said in the previous chapter. However, the trick to dreams with Zephyra is that she tends to take people to their subconscious mind. The way I describe Vanoss’ subconscious is generally the scheme that I’ve always imagined for a person’s subconscious. Bear with me, it can seem confusing but hopefully the point gets across.

Also, one of my original characters is included in the majority of this chapter. She only appears every once in a while so she is in no way a main character. Her name is Zephyra and I would like to mention that, by including her, I’m not including myself. Zephyra is simply a character from my original story and I’ve used her name as my usernames for basically everything. In fact, the five books I’ve been writing previous to this are based around her. I’ll explain more at the end of the chapter.

Enjoy!

Vanoss' Perspective:

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before I woke up again. However, this time, I wasn’t in the real world. My surroundings were much too dark and I couldn’t sense any walls or barriers to signify that I was in a room either. There was nothing around me; nothing but an empty abyss.

A mild sense of despair and claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm me as I floated through the darkness. It took all of my effort to suppress the feeling and focus on my breathing while I waited. At one point, I tried to go back to sleep, but the pressure on my mind wouldn’t allow me to.

Eventually, there came a loud clang and a room illuminated by a dull yellow hue rose up around me. With the light, physical images and sensations were brought to life. Even though the click of claws on hard floors echoed through my mind, I was never more grateful to be on the hard cement floor of my subconscious than I was in that moment.

The room that my subconscious brought up was tall and wide. In fact, the ceiling was so tall it was almost nonexistent. The only wall I could see stood on my left side covered in screens which contained images that shifted every few seconds. Beside that, several thousands of Memory Cabinets faded into the abyss of forgotten tales. Everything else around me was nothing but darkness that surrounded me on three sides of the room. Despite the ominous setting and ever present chasm on the other side of me, the small platform with the wall of screens felt comforting.

After a moment, the pacing stopped and, with it, the clicking of long claws. I could feel the moment that the large she-wolf turned towards me.

“I know you’re awake.” A low rumble resounded against the walls. I let out a sigh that vibrated straight through my core.

“Which means you know I was sleeping beforehand.”

“That’s about the only thing I expect from you these days.” The voice quipped. I shot up onto my feet and glared at her.

Zephyra Evelynn, the Kafaira of Noanric, was a baffling person. She had a long lost history that I didn’t care much about. The only thing I knew was that she was as ancient as she was vexing. She always came to me with problems that required me to take responsibility and I absolutely abhorred it. However, I understood where her reputation came from every time I met her.

Zephyra was part of something called the “Original Generation”. This was a term used for the demons that were born and created on the Original Planet billions of years ago. Most of the Original Generation was made up of Demon-Wolves. Very few of that generation made it to Earth and survived the impact. Not many of the ones who did survive were alive in modern day times. Some of them died but others simply hid their origins and blended in with the crowds.

Zephyra was probably the most famous person from the Original Generation. It helped that, because of her blood, she was taller, stronger, and faster than most demons on Earth and, therefore, more noticeable in any crowd. Zephyra’s experience on the Original Planet, plus her own years of experience on Earth, gave her an incredible sense of diplomacy and strategy that was unique to her Generation.

This, and many more reasons, made me extremely wary of her. She was more intimidating in the darkness as well. Her fur rippled with the shadows of hardened muscles and- even though I couldn’t fully see her in the dim light- I occasionally caught glimpses of the many scars bestowed upon the she-wolf by thousands of battles that had been long forgotten.

On top of this, Zephyra usually towered over almost every demon on Earth which made her already much larger than me. At the moment, she stood as tall as my chest, but even that was terrifying. Her decreased size was a political ploy anyway and it took away nothing from her domineering stature.

All of this plus her eyes made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The dark blue orbs glowed their imposing midnight shades as she continued pacing in front of me, her tail lashing.

There was a low sigh that swept through my mind, the sound reminding me of the wind that had passed by during my time on the shore of the river earlier that night.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Zephyra started, “but it’s easier to get into your mind without blasting my way through when you’re asleep.”

“You shouldn’t be in my mind in the first place.” I thought to myself, knowing full well that the she-wolf across from me would hear it. Even in her physical form, Zephyra was a mind reader so, of course, the wolf simply flicked her ears at my “private” comment and scoffed.

“I had warned you already. Don’t blame me. Plus, it’s about the only way I can contact you without traveling all the way to your territory.”

“Right, like that would be such a damn inconvenience for the ancient wolf who traveled across the universe just to find this planet.” I growled.

The silence that followed my remark was almost deafening. I looked up to see that Zephyra had stopped her pacing long enough to fix me with a solemn expression. I had to remind myself that she was physically blind despite the fact that she seemed to be staring into my very soul.

It was said that, in an unfortunate attack on the Original Planet, Zephyra was thrown off of a cliff and fell to her death. Somehow, she survived but with severe physical limitations to things like her eyesight. In one of the many legends about her, I heard that the she-wolf had studied her own molecular composition for years after the incident that made her blind. Eventually, she figured out how to rearrange all of her cells so that she could use a form of echolocation in order to "cure" her blindness.

After a moment, the wolf huffed and shook her head.

“If only you knew kid.” She growled as she continued pacing, her ears flicking to and fro. “And, trust me. Being inside your mind is as troublesome for me as it is for you.”

“I doubt that.” I responded sarcastically. The wolf growled and snapped her jaws irritably.

“Whatever. Anyway …” Zephyra drawled with a stern glance at me. “I have a task for you.”

I groaned and flopped back down on the ground. “Why me?”

“Because your pack is the closest to the problem.”

I tilted my head up to glare at the wolf again, my eyes catching on a long scar across her back. “Let me guess. By close, you mean about 200 miles away from us.”

Zephyra’s lips curled slightly and her tail stood straight out from her body, confirming my suspicions. I rolled my eyes and stood to go to the wall of screens off to our left.

On a long panel underneath all the screens, tons of blinking controls lined themselves in sections that controlled different functions of my body. The screens showed various statuses concerning my health, with a dark screen in the middle that normally showed what I saw when my eyes were open.

Next to the control panel sat a metal post with a chain attached to it. At the end of the chain lay a giant dappled leopard much bigger than me. One bright golden eye traced every move Zephyra made but, for the most part, he stayed still.

Zephyra followed me over to the panel and sat down as I checked through all the screens to make sure everything was running properly. After I checked, I sighed and turned back to the overgrown she-wolf.

“So, what is this task that you have for me?”

Zephyra blinked at me with a tilt of her head. “I have an important mission for you Evan.”

I raised an eyebrow and pursed my lips. “Yeah, you said that much. Now, what is the task?”

The she-wolf stayed quiet for a moment more before standing and walking away. “Somewhere near your territory, just outside the town of Panlyog, there is an abrasion; a secret base where humans and demons alike have been conducting experiments on demons. They see demons as murderers who are too powerful to continue existing. Their goal is to get rid of all demons or subdue to the point where they can't fight back. They capture demons, take them to their base, and test all sorts of things on them.

"We have reason to believe that they are using a newly developed paralysis poison to help capture their targets and that they are in the process of studying demons in order to figure out how their brain works.

"Of course, this is illegal in Noanric for several reasons. Demon related experiments have been outlawed for years and tests conducted by humans specifically can be punished by death. Unfortunately, because the punishments are so extreme, the Council of Law requires that I gather evidence of these suspicions before I am allowed to launch a rescue mission.

"So far, my sources have determined that there are over a hundred imprisoned demons held at the base I'm sending you to investigate. Although the imprisonment of demons is illegal, I can’t act on this alone. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to try the humans for their second felony, the experimentation on demons, until I had more evidence. By the time I am able to gather the information I need, the humans could very well move their base elsewhere or alter the evidence. There is also the possibility that the first trial could finish before I gather such evidence, and I wouldn’t be able to add another felony because it’s for the same issue.”

“So, you need someone to gather specific evidence of these experiments so that you can try the humans for all their crimes instead of one.” I surmised slowly. Zephyra nodded.

“I need someone to find evidence of the poison, as well as the kind of experiments that they are conducting. There has to be details for me to try them for all of their felonies efficiently.”

“It’ll take a while to build such a detailed case though.” I wondered out loud before my mind could give me away.

“I realize that this kind of thing takes time and it means that more demons will be imprisoned while we are trying to build a case." Zephyra conceded with a bow of her head. "However, our information indicates that this base is part of a larger operation. Last time you did something like this, I don't think you understood the caliber with which these organizations work."

I grimaced at the memory and turned my head away.

"I know that more than one of your pack members remembers that case." Zephyra acknowledged my look of disgust with a sympathetic flick of her tail. "Since we first met, these organizations have created several bases around the continent. Each one of them seems to be testing something different. This one is only a part of the bigger picture.

"I have people already building cases against the other bases, but this one is my main priority at the moment. The humans are a great and tragically beautiful race, but if their curiosity has their way, they may be able to imprison all demons and make them subject to their will. Even the demons who serve them are in danger.

"Demon-Wolves especially have dealt with this kind of oppression once before. I believe I speak for all of the Original Generation when I say that I’d rather not have a repeat of the Desolation.” Zephyra growled, her blue eyes glowing fiercely in the dim yellow light of my mind.

“They have to be stopped." She continued, her ears drawing back in a mixture of anger and sadness. "I know that this requires sacrifices, especially for those demons that we won’t be able to get to in time, but it’s necessary for all of us to survive and for our freedom.”

A sense of sorrow permeated from the phantom, now seated in the center of my mind. For several moments, Zephyra didn't speak. Instead, she stared at the ground with her head turned away from me. From her, I received a deep seated regret. The guilt coming off of the wolf’s pelt was almost palpable.

“I would save all of them if I could, but even with all my power and influence, I can’t do much for the ones that are already being oppressed. I can only improve the conditions for the generations to come.”

Sadness and guilt crept through my heart as I watched Zephyra slouch. She was a strong wolf; there was no doubt about that. However, her true feelings sometimes showed whenever she visited me like this. In the subconscious mind, I knew that I was weak because I was stripped of all privacy, but the same was somewhat true even for someone as strong as Zephyra.

This was what I thought about every time someone voiced their concerns about how powerful and dangerous Zephyra was. She wasn’t all-powerful; this proved it. She had doubts and insecurities, just as every leader does. However, her responsibilities were much more taxing than mine, and there was more at stake if she messed up. I had nine others to take care of, plus the occasional rogues. Zephyra had an entire continent of over a billion people to take care of.

As far as I understood it, the continent was run by several “Councils”. Each Council was in charge of something, or was created for a specific purpose. There were the Councils of Law, of Human Representatives, Demon Representatives, Natural Resources, Land Management, Foreign Relations, Tribal/Clan/Pack Management, and thousands of others that all helped Zephyra manage her tasks. Yet, they all answered to her.

At the end of the day, Zephyra was in charge of all of these things. The most important of these tasks was making sure that demons and humans got along. She had done a good job at cleaning up crime between the two races but I had never realized how much of a failure she must feel like as the leader of a continent that still had tons of interracial conflicts. She had so much responsibility resting on her shoulders and here I was being a douche about my one little task.

I sighed and ran hand through my hair.

“Sometimes we take it for granted, don’t we?” Zephyra murmured. I looked up to see one glittering blue eye peering over at me over her fuzzy shoulder. My lips pursed as I looked away.

“That, and sometimes I forget that you can hear my thoughts.” I responded, shifting on my feet.

“Does it bother you?” She asked with genuine interest.

I looked up again to see her massive head swing more towards me with a fixed gaze. Her movement looked almost alien and it took me a moment to see that her right eye was turning darker than before.

I shifted uncomfortably and shrugged with a nervous smile. “Yeah but I can deal with it. I’m a big boy.”

She nodded as she stood and walked towards the yawning abyss on the opposite side of the screens. “Of course. I can always dial it back anytime you need as long as you ask. However, right now I must be going. Someone seems to be sending me a message.”

I shivered and prepared for the pressure to finally lift from my mind, but Zephyra stopped just at the border of my conscience. A few moments passed before I worked up the courage to question her.

“What else do you need?”

“The message isn’t for me. It’s for you…” She whispered in an oddly quiet voice. Then, with a sickening twist of her head, she turned and fixed me with a pair of demonic eyes.

The color of her pupils and her irises became inverted as her shoulders tensed into a ball of apprehension and her mouth dropped open slightly. Her now glowing blue pupils started shifting rapidly in her skull and yet she seemed to be staring at one stationary thing: me. Her head leaned to the side as if someone was telling her a secret and, after several moments, her pupils stopped to look directly at me.

“Soon enough you will meet, a fox with extremely agile feet. He will dance around like the morning sun, but my poor dear, he will be left with none. Beware the red wolf who stalks the night. He’ll be sure to give you tons of fright. Beware the blue demon who haunts your mind. He will give you relief divine.”

And with those words, she vanished.

Notes:

So, that is Zephyra. I apologize if the story veered away from the BBS crew for a moment but this is about the only time Zephyra appears like this and this chapter has basically set up everything you need to know for the rest of this fanfiction. I didn’t want to include much about Zephyra, but she has cameos in every single one of the stories that I write, whether they are my stories or fanfictions. She appears every once in a while in the form of a prophet or mediator at times but she doesn’t interfere too much with any of the stories besides that.

Something I would like to mention about her is that, yes, she is normally taller than anyone on Earth, but every Demon-Wolf has the ability to manipulate the form of their body. If they want, they can add muscle to make them stronger or make their bodies more lithe and agile so that they are faster. Not many Demon-Wolves from the Earth generations can do this for longer than a few minutes at a time. It’s similar to a cheetah’s stamina in the sense that it can only be used in bursts of energy.

Thank you for reading! <3

#bbs squad #VanossGaming #fanfic #alternate universe #setup #awaal #oc #zephyraevelynn

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hellishdrcams · 5 years ago

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triggers: abduction, abuse, claustrophobia

teddy had the candy bar sticking out of his mouth, one hand holding a bag of which was filled with gifts for biscuit, noi and key and even a little something for liye in there. he’d even wrapped them all up and put gift tags on them. and the other holding his phone. he stuffed the phone back into his pocket as he walked. he’d never usually been comfortable going out on his own, key was always with him or he’d talk noi and biscuit into going. sometimes even bo and jisung would take him out if they were feeling up to it or he’d go visit kookie. but they’d all seemed to be busy, so right now he was on his own. though everything had been going well while he was.

he almost reached the dorms when a voice calling out helped stopped him in his tracks, he furrowed his brows and he turned towards it. he was hesitant, he really was but how could he leave someone who needed help. once he rounded the corner he came to a stop, the older woman was facing away from him. she looked like she’d fallen, and needed help. making his way over to her, teddy put the bag down. “ ajumma ? “ he asked. he knelt down next to her, the woman seemed to be crying and muttering to herself.

confused, teddy gently put his hand on her shoulder. “ajumma?” he asked again, softer this time. she turned quickly tightly grabbing onto his arms, and he still couldn’t see her face, she seemed to be covering it with a mask. but her eyes instantly caught his attention. “eomma..” he breathed out her gaze cold, and she roughly tugged him with her. “you were bad, teddy. very bad.” his eyes widen and begin to tear up and despite how much shorter the older woman is, she’s so much stronger than him. “no eomma...please you’re sick. you need help.” teddy could only glance back at the kicked over bag, the gifts spilling out onto the pavement.

“eomma stop!” he shouted, loud enough in hopes that someone would hear him, but he came to the realisation that nobody would care anyway. “did you just raise your voice at me?” she asked, her voice high pitched. “did you?!” she screamed and teddy flinched. he’d thought that being with noi, key and biscuit and all the friends he’d made would help him get over it, but he never would. not really. his eyes close as the first blow hits him straight in the nose and instantly he knows it’s burst but not broken. he can feel the blood dribbling down over his lips. she yanks his arm so hard that he’s scared he’s dislocated it. the pain ripples through his entire arm.

he stops fighting her, not because he doesn’t want to get away but because he doesn’t want to be hit again. he’s terrified so much that his breathing becomes panicked. when they reach an apartment building, she drags him inside. “eomma... eomma please.. “ he whispers and she just pulls his arm harder as she pulls him up the stairs. once they’re in she slams and locks the door. pushing teddy in further the place is a mess, he bites his lip and looks around, it’s becoming a bit triggering for him and he can’t stand it. his whole body starts shaking and she walks straight towards a door, it almost feels familiar and as soon as she opens it he knows.

“no.” he breathes out, shaking his head. tears start streaming down his face when she turned to look at him. “get in teddy.” she pointed. “eomma you’re... you’re sick. okay we can get you help? i’ll help you and i’ll stay with you. eomma-” he suddenly sees black and white dots. he blinks, confused and before he can come back into proper focus she starts hitting him. all teddy can do is lift his arms to cover his head and he slumps over closing his eyes until she’s done and his body hurts all over and she drags him towards the small closet and pushes him in. “you left me, you little bastard. i raised you!” she screams at him through hits.

he’s confused, simply bcause he can’t come into focus on what he needs to. he swallows and he looked towards the door when it’s slammed shut and for a moment he just stared at it. that’s when the panic kicks in and he moved forward. he couldn’t do this again, he just couldn’t. “ no no no no. “ he mumbled shaking his head, he tries to turn the handle. “let me out” at first his voice is quiet, it’s all he can muster. “eomma.” he calls out. “please.” he starts crying. “eomma i don’t like being in here, please, please let be out.” when he gets no answer, teddy cried harder.

“eomma!” he sobbed his hands hitting the locked door. teddy kept hitting hard at it, his fists hitting wooden door. “eomma, please! let me out. i promise i won’t leave again, i’ll stay with you. just let me out. i don’t like it in here, it’s too dark, eomma, eomma!!.” he had no intention of staying with her, he just needed her to let him out though the light stung his eyes. a breath of relief almost left him when the door opened but a quick deep stinging made that relief sting and he lifted his hands to his face. his eyes teared up and he stared at her, a glare on her face as she looked at him. “i told you to be quiet, teddy. you were never like this. you were always a good boy. that’s what happens when you get taken away from your mother, you need to be a good boy then you get to leave, okay? only then.” she stepped back out and closed the door, locking it behind her.

with the door closed and the darkness swooping back in around him, teddy’s back hit the brick wall and he slid down it. his chest began to heave, the walls feeling like they were closing in on him and he pulled his knees up to his chest, sobs racked him muffled into his knees because now he was stuck and she was never going to let him go and he was never going to see any of his friends or noi, key and biscuit or even jieun again.

#self para #teddy #:|#love me n my depression pls

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weareindeedbastards · 6 years ago

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ok but listen guillermo del toro is just so fucking good

so the shape of water was clearly about minorities stepping up to the man and shit right?

but it wasn’t just plot-wise and dialogue driven it was also visually. And yes it’s pretentious of me to assume people won’t get these because they’re not super subtle visual cues and very basic college film class 101, but I wanna talk about it anyway bear with me

so the story being set in 1962 makes the plot a lot easier to go about. Cold war, experiments, usa vs russia and the rest of the world can go fuck itself. It just makes sense, tense times. But more than that, it was a fantastic opportunity to highlight human hypocrisy at its most obvious (woof that sure was some alliteration right there). The early 60s wasn’t drastically different from its preceding decades. A lot of its culture was basically just everything back until the 30s but with a new stamp on it. And when I say that what I specifically have in mind is what my man del toro decided to focus on here: ideals vs reality

you thought I was gonna say minorities again, right? well hold on, children, I’m getting there

we’ve all heard it before. “Boy, I sure wish I could go back in time. I’d love the 40s/50s/60s, wouldn’t you? Apple pies, milkshakes, tight hairdos and pretty polka dot dresses to the sound of some jazz, nothing like it, don’t you think?” And while my answer is usually nervous laughter it’s not just because those people often fail to realise my developing country did not exactly have the same americanised culture. It’s also because no I wouldn’t love it. Sure there’s some nice aesthetics that we associate with the time periods but I’d much rather enjoy them in modern times which we absolutely can. Why? Because life would suck for me as a poor, queer latina. And I know people who are all sorts of categories that don’t exactly thrive in these conditions (non-white, non-rich, non-straight, disabled, etc) who would and have said the same. We don’t romanticise those times because they wouldn’t be kind to us unlike the often clueless upper middle class abled straight white person posing the question. And you know what, I think it’s ok some don’t realise! It’s not their fault, guys, they grew up hearing about how awesome it was from people like them. They never saw or heard it from another pair of eyes.

And that’s precisely what the film does. But it doesn’t just say it, it shows it too.

Mr of the Bull presents us with the glorified ideals of the time. The whole shebang, from the stereotypical family Giles has to paint for an ad and the real life examples of it, Strickland’s family

to peak 40s/50s/60s culture: an all-smiles blond man tending to a colourful diner full of sweet treats

and all of it emphasised by the sounds of Vera Lynn and Carmen Miranda through scratched vinyls and old TVs (the latter which is, probably intentionally and ironically chosen for the soundtrack because it’s a white woman who’s often seen to represent brazilian culture despite being portuguese so as to be more mass marketable than the exotic but too foreign actual brazilian culture - but hey that doesn’t sound as nice or printable as “the brazilian bombshell”, huh?)

it all sounds nice and cosy though, doesn’t it? Pop me open a cold glass bottle of cola and we’re good to go...but woah there, only if you’re a privileged straight abled white man, of course. That’s right it’s exclusive to a very specific group and it’s irregardless of your personality! In fact, both examples above are assholes but who still get their ego boosted by a submissive wife, adoring clients or a salesman. Who cares about having things because you earned them or simply treating people the way you wanna be treated, right?

Meanwhile the minorities suffer but differently, because despite all of them being marginalised groups they present different layers of experiences and social positions in the hierarchy. What do I mean by that? Eliza and Giles are both white but are discriminated over something unseen. Eliza is disabled and Giles is queer. Zelda and the couple who show up at the diner during one scene are discriminated over something visible. They’re black. And on top of that a bunch of these characters are not well off and gotta struggle in such undermined jobs.

And once again, all these power layers are told to us but also shown.

With privileged characters being positioned upfront at the camera, all big and untouchable, while minorities...

are sheepishly hidden in the back.

And yet it takes a character like Giles being discriminated for showing his true colours to finally open his eyes and see other marginalised groups’ suffering which he previously ignored.

He who, just like Eliza in comparison to Zelda, was previously closer to the camera to seemingly represent the second layer at the social positioning - aka they were benefited by their appearance but held back by their unseen “problems”. But Giles finally takes a step forward, and after subtly defending the couple’s mistreatment (could have been a lil bit firmer buddy but ok) quite literally rises above the unkind privileged man showing that in the end he’s not the real loser here, he’s not “lesser”. And again the camera play shows the change with perspective and character size. Intimidated -> determined

He then comes out braver and ready to kick some ass! Kinda..he helps rather gently, as himself, which is accepted by Eliza because accepting your friends as they are is super badass. And just as he does this the visuals of the dreamy 60s begins to seem darker and darker in saturation and our knowledge of how cruel the world can be taints every idealised scenario we step in.

While also being a more optimistic metaphor for leaving outdated concepts behind and moving on - note the cutesy old fashioned font washed in darkness, but it’s on the back of a van being driven by a scared gay man helping a mute female janitor take the weirdest member of the squad (it’s ok nobody judges anymore, acceptance rules) back home. This is a love mission dammit.

As for our two girls? Our help-people, shit-cleaners and piss-wipers as Mr Cutthoseoffalready put it? They were always strong. And when the time came to help each other they fucking stepped up to the task alright.

Whether it was in the simple but incredibly difficult act of not submitting to the abuse of someone who knows fully well their privilege allows them to get away with it (ew look at that creepy smile, christ dude, it’s darker than your fingers)

- which Del Totoro portrayed by having the villain taking over all the upper space on screen, never respecting others’ space and just keeps taking up more. He’s so in your face that the mirror in the scene where Zelda is threatened reinforces this manmade claustrophobia of our heroines’ enemy being everywhere. Much like the challenges minorities face everyday... -

to some aggressive action taking. They came, they saw, they took frogman to the docks. And all these characters quite literally crushed the repressive society represented here by the male ego, in turn represented by stricklame’s teal car getting rekt (cry, bitch, cry those repressed feelings out)

And they did it all despite the obstacles of their underprivileged positions because in the end, my lambs, it was their social setbacks that made them stronger, more caring and more resilient. All until they were finally the bigger person on camera, standing above their oppressors and becoming the (literal lens) focus of the story to the privileged character’s eyes.

And just like the Amazon Merman God showed us minorities: you can do it too. Guillie is using this dark, but uplifting fairytale to say that he believes in you.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk, have a nice day

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rebootrevolution · 7 years ago

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X-Men Novelization Ch. 59

Chapter Fifty-Nine

It all seemed to be happening so fast. One minute they were all laughing and grumbling around the TV as Bobby hogged the remote. He froze it in a block of ice in his hand so that nobody could remove it, but then Kitty had snatched it right through the ice and suddenly it wasn’t fair to use powers to hog the remote. Hank had just been about to step in and settle the dispute when the TV changed.

He had control of every satellite. Magneto had somehow focused every single one toward broadcasting his ultimatum: every nuclear world power had to disarm itself within 24 hours or he would bring every satellite down. If they did nothing in the 24 hours after that he would reverse the magnetic poles of Earth itself and rip the planet asunder. The Brotherhood would be untouched in their fortress in the sky and any mutant on the ground would be forced to use their powers to survive the wasteland.

And then Scott was barking orders and Charles was telling the kids that all would be well, that he would never let any harm come to them or their families. Kurt and Piotr both wanted to come along, but it was still another month until their shared 18th birthday and Charles would hear none of it. But Hank had no such excuse. He was an adult, a grown man who had to defend the life that he had, and this was the time to defend it.

All of it was a blur. Hank remembered it only distantly as he sat in the co-pilots seat of the Blackbird monitoring the readings and tinkering with the magnetometer he brought along. He tugged at the seams of his costume, so stifling to his overgrown fur. He wished he thought to trim up before going on a mission. He wished he actually trained as dedicatedly as all the students in all the months and years since they had the Danger Room. He wished--

“It’s going to be alright, Hank,” Scott said from the pilot’s seat. His smile was as friendly as it could be with the looming glow of his visor above it. Hank realized that he had been working at the same screw in the magnetometer for far too long.

“I’m just not predisposed toward physical confrontation,” Hank admitted. They were far enough from the others behind them, Logan, Jean, and Ororo, that they could speak in low tones without being heard. “I’m just the science-guy.”

Cyclops scoffed. “You’re a lot more than that. Not predisposed? Hank, you’re the whole reason we ever beat Juggernaut. You think I didn’t hear about that? About you yanking the last bolt of his helmet out with your bare teeth? Come on.”

There were certain advantages to being coated in fur, and chief among them were that nobody can see you blush. “I just wish I’d seen it all from the start,” Hank said. “If I could have known what Erik would become...how many people he would hurt…”

“None of us could have known. We had two of the best psychics on the planet and they didn’t know. The important thing is that we know now, and we’re finally going to stop him.”

Hank looked straightforward and the clouds rushing into the Blackbird. They kept rising higher and higher, knowing that they would be pushing the Blackbird to its limits in order to reach Asteroid M. As they drew closer Hank was able to pull up a radar image of the base and began inspecting it for the best place to attach the Blackbird. Scott could see that the machinery in front of Hank helped distract him.

“Try to get a read on how he holds that place aloft,” Scott said. “If it’s Magneto keeping it aloft I don’t want it tumbling down as soon as we take him out.”

“Hmm,” Hank started, fiddling with the problem, “It’s quite possible that he’s constructed electromagnetic generators which mimic his own abilities. With any luck they should maintain altitude even in the absence of Magneto’s influence.”

“See? That’s why it’s good to have the science guy around.”

Landing was harder than Hank had imagined. Asteroid M was a mishmash of buildings pulled straight from their foundations and massive chunks of rock and dirt that there was no surface flat enough to land on. Ultimately there was no easy solution. Scott’s plan was to keep the jet in autopilot through the duration of the mission and to summon it when we needed it, but without the Blackbird immediately on hand there would be no easy escapes.

“We’re not running away from this one anyways,” Scott said as the Blackbird’s back hatch opened up. It was just a small jump down to the rocky surface of Asteroid M, but Hank hesitated until he was the last to join.

“Come on, Hank!” Jean yelled up at him. A memory flashed through Hank’s mind of her as a young teenage girl, all knobbly-knees and awkward mumbling. Now she smiled up at him confidently, and as he jumped down to join the squad she lead the way toward an entrance.

They managed to find a line of escape pods attached to one side of the base. Wolverine managed to slash his way into one, but just before he slashed them through the other side into the base Jean stopped him, grasping at her temple. “There are two minds walking by. They’ll pass soon.”

“We need to play this quiet,” Cyclops said. “We’re outnumbered and outgunned. Surprise is one of the few advantages we have.”

When Jean gave the all clear Wolverine cut an opening into the base as neatly as they could. The X-Men piled around the open hangar and Beast suddenly felt exposed. He sniffed at the air and found that the closest Brotherhood members were down a stretch of hallway and in a kitchen area. Charles’ voice came alive in all of their heads, linking each of the X-Men up to eachother, and Beast relayed what he smelled to the others.

“We’ll start by incapacitating them then,” Cyclops said telepathically. “Then I want you to use that magnetometer to take us to the big bad himself, Hank.”

Hank nodded, taking up the rear as the others started down the hallway toward the two scents. He found himself down on his knuckles, walking on all fours like a gorilla. If there were not so much adrenaline heightening his neural synapses it may have disturbed him, but in the moment he took whatever small comforts he could get. He felt more agile on all fours, faster, as if he could spring away at a moment’s notice if he needed.

The first two Brotherhood members that they came across were the one called Blob and a young woman with tanned skin. They were sitting in a commons area drinking beers and laughing when they noticed the X-Men’s appearance.

“Hey! How’d you get in here!” Blob yelled. He stood up from his seat, looking around his shoulders as if for backup, and said “Come on, Eunice! We gotta stop these guys!” before stampeding toward the X-Men.

A moment later he was clutching his throat, down on the floor, his face growing increasingly red before he lost consciousness. Jean held her hand outstretched, assuring everyone “Don’t worry, he’s still alive. I just closed his windpipe long enough to put him out.” Jean turned her gaze toward Eunice and arched an eyebrow. “You planning on raising any alarms, or do I need to put you out too?”

Eunice held her arms up in a gesture of submission. “Whoa, hey, I’m just along for the ride. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Jean and the others seemed satisfied, but Hank lingered as they all turned to continue their progress through Asteroid M. Beast gave a strong sniff. The girl’s scent had vanished the moment she noticed the X-Men’s appearance, it lingered only in the parts of the room where she had walked. The girl considered him with curiosity, but did not seem as frightened at Hank’s appearance as others usually were. Without another word he joined the rest of the group.

“Hank, any sense if we’re heading the right way here?” Cyclops asked telepathically.

Hank looked at the magnetometer, then up at the hallways before them, then back at the machine. He pointed “I think I was right about the mechanism by which the base stays aloft. Its signal is interfering with Magneto’s own, but if we assume Magneto himself has the stronger signal then he will be this way. “

They continued on, their progress slow but steady. Every so often Jean would stop the others to make they crossed no paths. The further they got into the base the more nervous and cautious Storm grew. She was learning to manage her claustrophobia admirably, and she never would have admitted to it if Hank brought it up, the way her hooded head darted around her shoulders at every angle gave her anxiety away.

“Wait a second,” Jean broadcasted, stopping them. “There’s something...weird. I think it’s a mind...or...two minds? I can’t quite--

He recognized her at once. All those years ago it was her appearance that first unsettled Hank, that made him feel a revulsion he would only come, increasingly, to fear in others. Before he sprouted fur and fangs and claws and walked on all fours it was her, Mystique, who showed him how inhuman a mutant could look.

She paused in the middle of the hallway, processing the sudden appearance of five young mutants in her path. Wolverine was the first to spring into action, rushing forward with his claws outstretched, a growl rumbling from his chest. She was too fast, vaulting over him, her body line a boneless twisting acrobatic mass. She latched onto the ceiling and skittered along it, her joints popping out of place like some alien insect. It was Cyclops who acted next, trying to catch her with an optic beam, but he missed his one and only chance as Mystique tore away an air vent and compressed herself into it.

“Well,” Storm said with half a laugh, “we may have lost that element of surprise you were talking about.”

“Okay everybody circle up.” Cyclops started, “We’ll need to keep our progress slow, but the emphasis is on defense now. Who knows how many they’re about to throw at us or what all they can do. Our target is still Magneto.”

“Your target is still Magneto,” Wolverine said, the eyes of his mask narrowing as he bent his head forward to track a scent. “I’m no good in that fight, and I think it’s about time I tend to my own matters, Slim.” Wolverine turned and started to chase the smell. Beast caught a whiff of it himself, an undercurrent of wet dog but with an overwhelming sense of alpha male foreboding.

“Wolverine!” Cyclop called after the mutant. When Wolverine disappeared around a corner Cyclops cursed to himself. “This is why we have team exercises. This is why I try to get him to do team exercises.”

“No use fighting it now,” Jean said, pressing on forward. “Besides, if we’re real lucky Mystique just went to save her own tail. Maybe she didn’t raise any alarms at all.”

As if on cue, a red tint overtook the hallways as a claxxon sounded off. “Well, at least we don’t need Charles to relay all of our messages now,” Beast said aloud.

“Come on, let’s go!” Cyclops yelled, running forward as everyone else followed behind. They lost their advantage though. This was Magneto’s domain, and now that Magneto knew they were here the very surroundings themselves became the enemy. The floor started to contort out of shape, the tiles twisting so that Cyclops and Jean were sent forward on a wave of metal as Beast and Storm began to fall. The floor beneath them opened up, sealing over them after the fell through and popping back into place.

They were on a lower level, and they were not alone. On one side of them stood Pyro, now armored in a flame-retardant suit and armed with gauntlets that spit out flames, each spurt lighting up his maniacally smiling face. The gauntlets were connected by hoses to a fuel tank he wore on his back.

On the other side was Avalanche, and while he did not share Pyro’s mad smile he was even more heavily armored and wore an icy determination on his face. Both men prepared their attacks, and the X-Men prepared theirs.

“Mind if I take this one?” Storm asked, jutting her chin out at Avalanche. “We have something of a score to settle.”

“Oh, I’d be delighted to take the human flamethrower,” Beast joked. He wasted no time, sprinting at once toward his target. Pyro thrusted his arms forward, the flames coiling out and taking the shape of pouncing cougars that Beast just barely managed to jump over. Just as he landed, however, the cougars came pouncing back and Beast threw his arm up into his face, the flames crashing into one side of his body and searing off a layer of fur and skin. The acrid smell filled the air, and as Beast lowered his arm and turned to Pyro the grin melted from the pyromaniac’s face.

He unleashed the beast inside of himself and attacked.

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stillebesat · 7 years ago

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In the Rubble (2/6)

Blurb: After a bomb collapses a building on both Conan and Kogoro, Conan is faced with a difficult decision regarding the Famous Sleeping Detective. Story: Detective Conan Characters: Edogawa Conan/Kudo Shinichi, Mouri Kogoro TW: Claustrophobia/Trapped

Chapter 2: Discovery

"CONAN!" Kogoro clawed at a jagged concrete outcropping, desperate to pull himself onto his feet despite his broken legs. No. No. No. He chanted in his head as his shout echoed in his ears. The boy had to be alright. He had to, he couldn't have-

A figure emerged from the cloud of dust, coughing, much taller than the brat should be. But Kogoro had just seen him grow before his eyes. Conan. Kogoro exhaled in relief, the hole in his chest disappearing as he sank back to the ground, his legs throbbing like an exploding volcano mixed with a bad hangover. "What in the world were you thinking you crazy freeloader?!" He half yelled as the now young man stumbled over to him. He collapsed face down next to Kogoro, shivering, his bare, sweat drenched body covered in thick layer of blood and dust.

Kogoro winced, maneuvering himself so that he could lay a hand on the boy, trying to see the extent of his injuries. His head was turned away from Kogoro giving him a good view of the blood covered shoulder the brat had used to lift the rubble, though with the grime, it was hard to tell if he was injured to the bone or not. "You could have killed yourself, pulling a foolhardy stunt like that!" But he hadn't. It looked like the shoulder was the worst thing the boy was dealing with. Relief filled Kogoro. The brat was lucky like that.

"I cou-couldn't let you die, Ojisan." The brat managed, his voice hoarse from screaming, but now much deeper than his kid voice. It sounded so familiar too. How though?

Kogoro exhaled, ruffling the boy's hair, careful to avoid the head wound. The brat made a noise of protest anyways, pulling away. "I can't say I'm not grateful, you freeloader, but that was risky." It should have been impossible, this all was impossible. Conan had grown up right before his eyes! "How did you even manage to grow?! Why would you even think that would work in the first place?" This wasn't a superhero movie. How could something in a bottle do this?

Conan shivered. "When I'm a kid," he spoke, his voice gaining strength and sounding all the more familiar. "I feel like a coiled spring, compacted. So I thought that if I were to grow quickly that spring would release and give me temporary strength stronger than I would normally have at this size because of the energy expanded." He coughed, moving a hand underneath his torso to rub at his chest. "I'm glad it actually worked."

When he was as kid? Kogoro frowned wishing for a drink. The brat made it sound like he did this often. No, he had said he was used to this pain of growing. So he did do this often. But when? Why? How had he and Ran not noticed these 'growth spurts?'

Speaking of that. Kogoro shrugged off his own torn and dirty suit jacket, tossing it onto the brat to give him a little bit of covering. He couldn't let the boy, ah young man, wander around the bomb site completely naked.

"Thanks, Ojisan" Conan whispered, pushing himself up to kneel as he took the jacket. Without looking up, he slipped it on, wincing as he lifted the injured shoulder. It wasn't a perfect fit, Kogoro was more broad in the shoulders than older Conan, but it worked well enough to cover him. However, seeing the blue jacket on Conan only made him look all the more familiar...

Kogoro narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, biting back his own cry of pain as he jarred his broken legs. Right. He was injured too. Conan's grown up appearance had distracted him from that particular issue. He took Conan's chin and lifted it up so he could get a good look into the boy's grime covered face before he could jerk away.

Kogoro inhaled sharply, which resulted in his own coughing fit from the dust in the air. No. That wasn't possible. "Shinichi-kun?"

Conan-no this was Shinichi, he knew the boy too well to mistake him for another, flinched. He opened his mouth, probably in denial, but ended up exhaling running a hand across his blood streaked brow. "Yah...Oji-ah, Mouri-tantei" he said, reluctantly meeting his eyes as he dropped his hand. "It's me."

Kogoro gaped at the boy, trying to fit it all together, before reflexes kicked in and he thumped the brat, albeit lightly, he was injured, on the head. "THE WHOLE TIME?!" he hissed. "HOW!" Teenagers were not supposed to shrink down into six-year-olds!

Shinichi cut off a yelp of pain at the contact, and jerked out of Kogoro's reach, scooting down to his feet. He rubbed his head as he knelt there, examining Kogoro's legs like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Purposely avoiding eye contact. "I can explain late-"

"I can't walk." Kogoro interrupted bluntly, gritting his teeth as Shinichi prodded cautiously at his limbs. Now that he was out of immediate danger they could wait right here for rescue. "There's plenty of time, you conniving little freeloader! How in the world did you become a child! Is this some elaborate joke? How dare you invite yourself into my home-"

"Oji-Mouri-san," Shinichi ran a hand through his hair, shooting Kogoro a frustrated but understanding look. "I know it's a lot to take in, but I only have about an hour, if" he emphasized the word. "I'm lucky, and when it comes to this, I am not, before the pill wears off and I shrink to Conan again." His tone briefly went bitter. "I need to get you out of here before then. We don't know how stable the rest of this place is." He grabbed his-Conan's shirt, it would never have fit Shinichi as he was now, and two mangled pieces of piping and set them on either side of Kogoro's right leg to make a splint.

Kogoro frowned, glancing upwards to the remaining ceiling above them. Even as he looked, a section of plaster broke away, shattering into a million pieces as it landed. The brat had a point, but that didn't mean he was about to let Shinichi off the hook. "You can talk and splint my leg at the same time, Shinichi-kun." he growled. "What do you mean shrink? When did this happen?"

Shinichi exhaled, his shoulders slumping even as he reached out with his good arm to pull some electrical wiring from the rubble before turning his attention back to the shirt, his nimble fingers tearing it into strips. Though, Kogoro noted that he kept the injured shoulder as still as he could. "I'm not masquerading as an almost eight-year-old for fun, Oji-Mouri-san." He said finally. The words coming out reluctantly. His blue eyes flickered up to Kogoro's then back to the bandages he was creating from Conan's shirt. "I shrank...that day when I took Ran to Tropical Land."

Kogoro narrowed his eyes, intent on the boy, looking for lies as he worked to remember that day. He did. Vaguely. Ran had been upset Shinichi hadn't come home, gone to find him, and just as Kogoro was dashing out the door for his first real case in months, had returned with the little brat. His eyes widened and he jerked upright, promptly regretting the action, but stubbornly refused to lay down as he grabbed the brat's arm. "Does Ran?"

A flash of pain crossed the boy's face, and only then did Kogoro realize he'd grabbed the boy's injured arm, jarring the shoulder. Shinichi removed his arm from Kogoro's grip, pushing him back against the rubble. "Careful." he muttered, his eyes flickering up to Kogoro's and then away as he shook his head. "She doesn't know." He grimaced, pushing up the sleeves of Kogoro's jacket as he readjusted the pipes against Kogoro's right leg. "She suspects me from time to time...but I haven't told her." He picked up the wire to tie them in place to keep the entire limb straight.

Kogoro hissed, trying to remember to breathe as his fingers dug into the rubble when Shinichi moved his leg. That meant that the brat had hid this secret from both of them for nearly two years. TWO YEARS. "What happened on that date?" He got out through gritted teeth. How could the brat have left a teenager and come back a child?

"It wasn't a date." Shinichi responded automatically and Kogoro snorted with disbelief. Sure it wasn't. He'd seen how the boy had looked at his daughter.

Shinichi hunched his shoulders, but quickly relaxed them, moving one hand up to lightly touch the injured one. "But, I left Ran to investigate-" Shinichi shook his head, dropping his hand back to the pipes, needlessly adjusting them. "And ended up getting poisoned because I was careless and got caught eavesdropping..."

Kogoro bristled. "Poisons don't-"

"This one did." Shinichi interrupted. "I know they usually kill or make you sick,"

And Kogoro knew that the boy would know his poisons. After as many murder investigations he'd been at as Conan, let alone as a teenager, it would be shocking if he didn't. "But it...shrank you, instead?" He threw up his hands. Really? A shrinking poison? Who'd ever heard of that? No one. "You can't expect me to believe that!"

The corner of Shinichi's mouth twitched upwards. "It's a...very, very, very rare side effect, and I wouldn't have believed it myself, but I'm living it. And you witnessed it did you not Oj-Mouri-tantei?" He raised an eyebrow towards the detective.

Kogoro had to give him a point there. He had seen it for himself.

"Instead of me dying, I shrank. And I've been trying since then to get back to normal, and find the peo-" A tremor ran through his arms and he paused in splinting to rub at his chest. "So far things like this," he absently pointed to himself as he wound the wire around Kogoro's leg to keep the pipes steady, "have only been temporary. There hasn't been an antidote created yet that can return me to normal permanently." He finished tying up the splint, double checking the knots in the wires before he moved to Kogoro's left leg.

Kogoro shook his head, wishing he had a beer to help him process this. The boy had been shrunk to a child, and his first thought was to find the people who'd done this?! As a CHILD?! It sounded too unbelievable to be true. But the boy was right. He had seen the results. Kogoro frowned. So the vial had contained one of those supposed antidotes? How many of them did he carry around? Did he go around growing whenever he needed to? It seemed so unreal. To the point where he almost considered this all to be a pain induced hallucination. Kogoro quickly dismissed the idea. This didn't feel like one or act like one. His hallucinations usually had Yoko-chan in them and a distinct lack of broken legs, crumbling buildings and boys growing into teenagers in the blink of an eye.

Kogoro crossed his arms staring the boy down. "So you shrank and chose to leech off of My resources at My home to find these people and this supposed cure!?" He demanded. "Why not go home to your parents?" He blinked, frowning. Wait a minute. "Who was that Fumiyo woman then?" She had cut him quite the check that first time they'd met and sent more money every so often to look after the boy.

"Edogawa Fumiyo is my mother in disguise." Shinichi said glancing at Kogoro again as he took two smaller pipes and placed them on either side of his ankle picking up the bandages to wrap it together.

Kogoro's eyes flashed. His Mother!? "Why the charade then!" He exclaimed again grabbing the boy by the arm, only remembering to let go when Shinichi inhaled sharply. "If your parents already knew about your size issue, why have they not come to take you back perm-"

"Because I didn't want them to take me." Shinichi interrupted, edging further out of Kogoro's reach. "Ran's told you my parents moved to America when I was fourteen. I had no one at home to go home to when this," he gestured to himself. "Happened." He fiddled with the remaining torn bandages made from his-Conan's shirt. "Trust me. You weren't my first choice, Mouri-san." He looked up, his eyes dark. "I did return home first even though I knew no one would be there to help me." Shinichi ran a hand through his mussed up hair, pushing up the sleeves of Kogoro's jacket to keep his hands uncovered. "And I was too short to be able to open my own gate when I got there."

Kogoro leaned against the rubble, shoving away the hint of sympathy trying to grow in his chest. Instead choosing to focus on piecing a timeline together. The boy had returned to his mansion of a house, but hadn't been able to get in, so what had... "Ran found you there." His daughter would have gone to Shinichi's house first to check for him.

Shinichi nodded, taking up more of the wire. "Yes. I wouldn't have come with her if I could have found another way. I didn't want her getting hurt by Them if word got out I was still alive." He pushed the sleeves up again, looking pensive. "And Ran knows me so well...how could I hide that I was myself from my best friend?"

That was true. The two of them had been inseparable growing up. Ran would have known that Shinichi was Shinichi pretty quickly, even as impossible as the situation seemed. Honestly, how a simple pair of glasses had kept the boy from being discovered was beyond him. Kogoro glowered. Well he had been fooled. He'd never noticed a thing. "Yet you decided to risk her life anyways," he growled, hiding the niggling worry worming itself into his chest. How much danger was this boy in? Again he dug his fingers into the dirt as Shinichi moved his leg slightly to be able to wind the wire easier around his leg to hold the splint together

"It wasn't a decision made lightly, Oji-Mouri-san." Shinichi shook his head. "I had had my neighbor, Agasa, already willing to help me out." He said, methodically checking to make sure the wire was keeping the pipes tight against the leg.

Kogoro gritted his teeth at that, eyes widening in fury. The professor was in on the secret too?!

"I had already dismissed going to Ran," Shinichi continued, before Kogoro could speak, again glancing to him. "Back at Tropical Land when I first woke up. I was going to call her...but then I couldn't figure out how to explain this and I didn't want her getting hurt." His face took on a pensive look before he lowered his head.

Kogoro leaned forward, tense. He didn't want her getting hurt?! But here he was with them. "So what changed? Why did you decide to involve her?" He bit off. "Involve me?"

Shinichi flinched, though his hands were steady as he worked. "When she suddenly showed up looking for me...Agasa reminded me that you're a detective," For once, Shinichi didn't sound like he was mocking Kogoro's capabilities in being one. That was new. "And if I was going to find a cure, find the people who-" he cut off again, biting his bottom lip. "I would need a way to access leads to Their crimes, find cases involving...Them...and the best way to do that was to live with you." He met Kogoro's eyes once more. "If I left with my parents, I would never find the leads I needed to solve this..." he broke eye contact suddenly, focusing back on Kogoro's legs. "...this never ending case." His fingers went white on the wire.

So the brat had risked their lives simply to satisfy his own ends for a case. Kogoro wanted to see red. After all that they'd done for him. Fed him, clothed him, housed him, and he risked their lives! "The case Ran says you've been away on? This is that case? You being a kid?" Kogoro gave a derisive snort. "What happened to your mighty 'solve the case in a day' streak?" He remembered that all too well. Kogoro blamed the high schooler for his lack of work back then, though he knew the boy hadn't been the cause.

Shinichi's eyes flashed, before his face went blank. He finished with the wire, using the last of the bandages to ensure the ends wouldn't dig into Kogoro's leg. "I usually solve murders, not shrinkage." he retorted. "It's not like I can search for solutions publicly. The people who did this to me think Kudo Shinichi is dead." His shoulders slumped. "At this point he might as well be." he mumbled so quietly Kogoro barely heard it.

His chest tightened a bit. He'd never heard Shinichi so...dejected before. Almost it cooled the anger burning within.

"And if they find out I'm still alive before I can take Them down...they'll come back to kill me, and everyone around me for good measure."

"So you chose to risk me and my daughter's lives to keep your absentee parents safe?" Kogoro growled the small bit of sympathy he felt vanishing as his temper flared once more. "Are our lives not-"

Shinichi stood abruptly, wincing as he jarred his shoulder. "Yours and Ran's lives are worth more to me than my parents right now, Ojisan." He stated, his bright blue eyes piercing straight into Kogoro's soul.

#In the Rubble #chapter 2 #nikaylasarae #stillebesat #Detective Conan #fanfic #Edogawa Conan #Mouri Kogoro #trapped #claustrophobia #broken legs #Kudo Shinchi #DCMK

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tayegi · 8 years ago

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Equilibrium is blowing my mind 😮😮😮 I never expected jungkook to suddenly turn into some possessive psycho jerk 😨😨 I really hope he gets his shit together. What the flying f*ck 😱😱😱 In fact It'd be cool if Jin suddenly showed up with food and The OC leaves that chaotic relationship for food 😂😂😂😂 EVRYONE WOULD PICK FOOD OVER RELATIONSHIPS. right ? Am i the only one lol *cries*

AHHHH THANK YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE FOR THEIR LOVELY ASKS!!! IT’S GOOD TO KNOW THAT PEOPLE CAN HAVE HEALTHY, NON-PROBLEMATIC REACTIONS TO GROSS, CONTROLLING MEN!

Anonymous said:Sorry for being late to the party lol, but I just read the new update of Equilibrium and I felt so fucking anxious and scared for the oc. I don't know how in the hell, some ppl find jungkook's actions hot when he is literally being psychotic and obsessive. Especially the part when he told her 'You'll regret it', he's basically threatening her there. It's obvious the whole relationship they have is toxic af and it only seems to be getting worse as time passes. Apart from that, have a nice day!

Anonymous said:OMG EQUILIBRIUM 11 Omg I still have goosebumps, like Jungkook was being so fucking possessive it scared the shit out of me. Even tho It was a shitty move for the oc to not attend his graduation, she still could had attended but that phone call... I don't want this to turn into some creepy murdering fanfic LOL. Ughhh Jungkook what is even going in your mind? I'll be looking forward to the next chapter! xx :)

Anonymous said:Dude, you did such a great job at writing o/c's anxiety in this chapter. I try not to be bias toward her, but it's really hard since the story us in her pov. I got seriously grossed out by JK, man. I was so uncomfortable with the whole morning ordeal. 😩 And his threat at the end?? I know it's a story, but I had my friend-instincts kick in and I just wanted to shake her and be like "PLEASE LEAVE THIS RN PLEASE" (1)

Anonymous said:(2) And I'm curious about how Jimin would react if he knew how JK was acting. He has this idea that JK is a perfect boy, but if only he knew...But, at the same time, they all have this distorted view of one another, huh? We see Jimin as Mr. Perfect cause that's how o/c sees him. I guess it goes into that whole "unreliable narrator" thing? I'm just writing what thoughts the chapter has provoked. I absolutely love how u pay attention to detail in this story!! Awesome job as usual, mane 😊🙆

Anonymous said:Jungkook needs to take a moment to realize how miserable and uncomfortable the OC is like my goodness. Things have gone waaaaaay downhill. Especially for the OC. Also Jungkook actions are just kind of creepy??? And just like so unhealthy. I know it can be really hard to get out of a relationship, and she still loves Jimin and all, but the OC needs to just get out of there.

Anonymous said:omg jk is becoming such a possessive creep like reading the last part gave me chills tbh. they all need to realize that this relationship is v toxic and dip out of it. i kind of expected this to become what it is from the beginning but you still added twists to it that caught me off guard, thanks for being a great writer lu

Anonymous said:oh man that last chapter. just really fucking scary.... i went back and reread the end of ch.10 to recap and it makes me wonder how far y/n's willing to go for what's "worth it" in exchange for her own personal well being. because fuck, what jungkook is exhibiting is extremely concerning. as always your writing is amazing! thank you for using your free time this way, i'm sorry people are being gross and rude. you don't deserve that kinda shit, lu :(

Anonymous said:I genuinely love how you describe the OC as a trapped bird, and seeing how Jungkook reacted to everything is actually causing me to fear for the OC's well-being. I just want her to exist the whole relationship and just hook up with sunshine, can do no wrong hobi instead of the possessive junglecock and the passive Jimin :/ just my thoughts. But you're an extremely talented writer and your PhD is more important than smutty fanfic, so take all the time you need

Anonymous said:Ok first of all what the hell at ppl asking u for quick updates cuz ive lived with phd students they literally have a never ending to do list and im so amazed at ur ability to find time to write unbelievable. U go girl. And 2ndly, the claustraphobia u mentioned that oc was feeling. That was so detailed and even i felt like i was in her place. And jk..uve characterized his possessiveness so well and i got so mad forgetting this was a fictional character i was ready to throw a chair

Anonymous said:eek jungkook is making the equilibrium relationship so unhealthy somebody punch him

Anonymous said:Jungkook makes me so uncomfortable and I can actually feel the claustrophobia that OC feels .-. Overall, really excited for the next parts and can't wait to reread to see if I can find more theories. Thanks for the new chapter!

Anonymous said:ch 11... HOLY FUCK SHE NEED TO GET OUT JK IS LOONEY!! you really know how to make a story really good dude. super excited for updates!! i'm really curious about jimin's thought process about all of this. you've given a really good insight on kook and oc but jimin is still a little hard for me to figure out, i assume that's coming soon? i feel for oc, i want to protect her and tell her she's stronger and smarter than all of this. she's worth more than all of this craziness!!! GIRL POWER!! lol

Anonymous said:Holy fucking shit everything is so messed up in equilibrium like !! I love it and at the same time i cry because of the way you describe the oc's feelings I SWEAR I CAN FEEL IT TOO HOW DO YOU DO THAT? I can feel everything, my heart is pounding so fast now. Im so into it and i just want her to run away from this toxic relationship and take care of herself first like i know she loves jimin to the core but she is more important my heart clenches at every exquisite word you writE THANK YOU SO MUCH

Anonymous said:The story is really great I love how original your writing is I don't even see the characters as Jm an jk Which allows me to see how disgusting they all let themselves be treated in the relationship, a lot of the times I feel like readers are blinded by the image of an idol it changes their perspective honestly even if it was just one person who was lying about loving the other it would still be just as horrible I'm really curious as to what's even going on and how you are going to continue it❤️

ahmie-cat said:I feel so sad for the oc in equilibrium. Jungkook don't own nobody! How dare he claim ownership on the oc! I will fight him any day! I'll fight for the oc's freedom rights. Lols, just kidding... But really all of the characters are so sad...

Anonymous said:Honestly in the earlier chapters i really liked Jungkook but now hes just scaring me. The way the OC reacts to all his actions is so relatable thats exaclty how I would feel in her situation. This is crazy I dont even know how this fic would end I love it so much

Anonymous said:I was the anon who recommended you watch wfkbj and I'm so glad you like it!! :) ALSO the latest chapter of equilibrium was so good oh my god;; it's just ramping up like tenfold and while I was reading it sometimes I just had to stop and take a breather bc of all the tension lol. Honestly I don't even know how the oc is dealing with jungkook rn bc his behavior would chill me to the very bone I would have to get out !!! Anyways as always thank you for updating

Anonymous said:ah goodness, it was autocorrect that changed jungkook to jongkook! maybe next time i'll just use jinglebook to refer to him instead thens ahahahah. "goodness gracious, jinglebook is hella possessive that i'm actually really scared for y/n :s"

Anonymous said:GIRL THANK YOU FOR UPDATING OMG IM SHAKING IN MY CHANKLAS JUNGKOOK IS SO DELUSIONAL AND I WISHED OC WOULDVE BEEN STRAIGHT UP WITH HIM AND LIKE IDK NOT MILK ON HIS CRAZYNESS IM JUST SO ANXIOUS TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS NEXT SORRY FOR TYPING IN CAPS

Anonymous said:So, uh. Equilibrium Jungkook is fucking terrifying....

Anonymous said:I hope the oc in equilibrium leaves the relationship. It's so unhealthy and I feel like she might develop some type of mental illness or just be very stressed and anxious if she continues the relationship.... It's just a fanfic, but man, i'd hate to be in her position... I feel like crying Lols. Is this what you intended?? Haha.... It's really good so far I'm looking forward to what happens next. I feel like there'll be a good moral to the story. *Fingers crossing.

Anonymous said:Damn wtf jungkook behavior is freaking me out 😳 "you'll regret it" like wtf crazy people say shit like that

Anonymous said:jkzldlzlldz TF IS HAPPENING I'M SO CONFUSED JK IS CRAZY WTF OMG

Anonymous said:the characters in equilibrium seem to have never been in an actual proper relationship so the fact that they seem to have lasted this long is by sheer miracle. It's also probably why their worst aspects are even more apparent like jk's obsessiveness (which btw yikes boy yikesss) they literally all need to walk far far away from each other cause they a mess but I do wonder who's gonna be the first to do it cause it's all so complicated now, sorry for rambling I just love this fic so much!!

Anonymous said:What the ever loving monkey fuck is wrong with Jungkook. See, i was okay with him being jealous of Jimin because that's normal. I was moderately okay with OC agreeing to Jungkook's terms because she wants to stay with Jimin. I AM NOT OKAY with his sociopathic tendencies and how obsessive he's become. I think he's mistaken OCs genuine kindness for romantic interest at one point. And the thing that scares me the most is how Jimin seems to have no idea what's going on right under his nose as well

Anonymous said:Bruhhhh jungkook is legit fucking scary but the story itself is amazing and complex im gonna reread it right now

Anonymous said:Equilibrium is getting really interesting!! I'm kinda worried tht ppl read sentences like "Even a domesticated pet needs a taste of freedom" in context with her just /looking/ at jimin and think 'oh how romantic' tho. In every scene between her and jk u can practically feel her discomfort and fear and his possessiveness and how he's abusing her. I would normally stop reading a fic like tht bc I don't like it when the ppl are written like that bc they are real after all but I'm super hooked (1/2)

Anonymous said:(2/2)now and I am also really curious as to if and how they all are gonna get out of that situation or if jk kills her before they can just bc she takes care of a literally puking-everywhere-bedridden jimin. I'm also curious how Jimin is gonna act towards y/n now that they're alone and if he even noticed the toxic stuff that's happening between her and jk or if he didn't even notice bc jk kept him "happy" (idk how else to put it) so yeah. Keep up the great work!! Have a nice day xx

Anonymous said:GURL YOU NEED TO RUN FAST AND YOU NEED TO RUN FAR. It sucks that Jimin doesn't like OC romantically, but he's just using you to stay with JK. But JK... that shit is gonna hit the roof soon soon and it ain't gonna be pretty @.@

Anonymous said:Hey Lu, thanks for taking the time to update again~ Regarding the story...Jungkook is incredibly terrifying, like I had to step away a few times as I read because I just want the reader to leave so badly. I wish she would just be like "peace out". Everyone should just leave this situation and say "peace out". Even though I know the feelings are so complicated between all of them, it's just such a shit show on fire :( . Well done on setting everything up though. The tension is insane!

Anonymous said:Ugh I honestly want to slap Jungkook so hard. Possessive little shit.. As always your writing is amazing. Thank you for the update.

Anonymous said:OC, JIMINS DICK ISNT WORTH AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP GTFO THAT SITUATION GIRL IM SCREAMING

Anonymous said:JEONS FUCKED IN THE HEAD. HE WAS CUTE AND ALL AT FIRST BUT THEN IDK GIRL, I FEEL SORRY FOR JIMIN AND OC. I DONT EVEN KNOW WHATS HAPPENING ALL I KNOW IS I LOVE THIS AND I CERTAINLY LOVE YOU! IS HE PSYCHOTIC THO? FEELS LIKE JEON WOULD KILL ANYONE WHO DARE TO TOUCH OC..

mirajoey said:MY GAWDD!! Jeon Jungkook has gone mad😱 i pray for oc's safety

Anonymous said:i am terrified by jungkook's actions and NOTHING in this whole damn world is going to excuse what he is saying and doing in equilibrium. WHERE IS YOONGI DITCH THEM ALL Y/N AND GO FOR YOONGI. and today, i have been going through some really misogynic shit today and it felt so freaking uncomfortable and i was so angry and kind of frightened...i do not know how y/n is able to act like a normal person with jungkook around who is being very possessive and psycho-like

Anonymous said:When I first saw you updated Equilibrium I almost yelled "IMMA BUST MY LEFT NUT" (I was really excited lol) and now I'm lying here in a puddle of emotion really scared for the OC lol. I adore your writing so much, thank you for writing these xx

Anonymous said:JEON YOU CREEP. Man this is all such a disaster BUT I LOVE TO WATCH THE DRAMA UNFOLD. Anyways it was a great chapter and I am so e x c i t e for the next part to start. You da best 😆

Anonymous said:This is what your writing does to people, this is literally the only time I've ever dislike Jungkook that much in a fic. I wanted the OC and Jungkook together, but now I really thing all 3 should go their separate ways. Jungkook's possessiveness is getting too much, it's too obsessive. I feel sorry for her, but at the same time her own fault as well. As for Jimin who knows he may not be as oblivious as we think ?! He is using the OC to get with Jungkook in the first place.

Anonymous said:Equilibrium OC should just pack her fckin' bags there is no happy way out of this one

Anonymous said:(1/3) Right before I read this I watched this British PSA music video about abusive relationships, where a pregnant woman was choked to death by her boyfriend as she was trying to leave him and I feel like these people who romanticize these types of relationships forgot that this actually happens IRL. This happens to real women and men and some of them don't make it out alive. And when they try to defend it by saying "it's just a story, it's not real" it's very real for some people.

Anonymous said:(2/3) And the fact that the OC is having trouble sleeping and feeling this anxiety. And the that Jungkook didn't fell any sympathy/empathy for Jimin while he was ill, it just doesn't sit well with me. And the OC isn't innocent either. So afraid to shatter what's left of the already crumbling illusion she's built up. The need to keep the fantasy of this relationship with Jimin that I'm not sure existed outside of her mind. I really do enjoy this story and how you portray the characters.

Anonymous said:(3/3) The isolated relationships between the three of them is very realistic. I've seen some of my close friends go through similar situations. And it's hard to get out once you're in.Anonymous said:I cant believe anyone in their right mind is sympathizing with Jungkook in Equilibrium?! The way he is with Y/N makes me so uncomfortable, esp with his “You’re all mine” crap and being so “in love” with her when all he wants is to have her under his control even tho he thinks it’s love. Jimin too, the way he’s down to have Y/N in the relationship since JK wants her but she wants Jimin.. also I’m glad ur fanfics exist since they can give some girls a perspective on what’s NOT okay and NOT love

Anonymous said:' And if I find out you let someone else touch what's mine... you'll regret it' - I kept on reading this over and over but each time it makes me cringe more, the fact that he constantly calls her 'mine' is so fucking off, like as a kookier Stan in rl , I felt really bad for jungkook but now I find it so hard, this relationship is taking a big twist that I did not see coming and it's getting abusive real quick.

Anonymous said:(Cont last) I stood firm in my decision. On the last day that we talked, he finally understood why. It was only then he realized his mistakes, only then did he cry & apologize for everything. He tried to convince me to give him a chance but the time for that has already passed. We are officially over. I loved the guy, you know? and deep down, I know there's good in there. But I can't risk my heart and soul anymore. I'm sorry this has gone out of topic, I just needed to get it off my chest.

Anonymous said:(Cont.) When he got mad at me for one minor thing, he will accuse me of cheating and call me demeaning words. Our relationship was always on his terms. I was always the one apologizing & making an effort to make him happy. I paid for all our dates. Just wow, I'm stupid. After a fight early Feb, I got tired of it all. I broke up with him and that process took 7 fucking days in which he tried to convince that my reasoning was wrong and that he was right. My gut feeling was telling me to leave.

Anonymous said:just finished reading ch 11... yikes. like YIKES. oh my, I'm honestly very worried and scared for the oc. reading it actually made me anxious and nervous lol. that relationship is a nightmare oh sweetie no, she needs to leave asap

Anonymous said:(Cont. Part 3) I felt caged. I always had to inform where I was, who I'm with, are there guys going to be at the event I'm going to. If there were guys, he didn't want me to go. I couldn't even get a regular update from him where he was and couldn't check on his phone. As I said, I was being stupid. I tolerated all of his bullshit. When you're in an abusive relationship, you won't realize it immediately. He'll come off sweet and only wanting to protect you and your relationship.

Anonymous said:(Cont. Part 2) to the red flags he showed early in the relationship. He didn't want to me talk to any guy who wasn't a family and asked me to delete all the guys in my Facebook account. Stupid me did so because I believed him when he said that "It's not because I don't trust you, it's because I don't trust the people around you." I stayed loyal to him but he was always paranoid that I was cheating on him. When we broke up, I learned he was talking to lots of girls that's why he was so paranoid.

Anonymous said:I got curious and read Equilibrium. All I can say is whoa! The anxiety and fear that I felt was so visceral; it made me fill ill. I've recently broken up with my ex, who was like that - subtly emotionally and mentally abusive. I am fairly young, naive, and inexperienced in relationships. I had a low self-esteem. Growing up I felt that I was unattractive and no one would like me. He was the first guy to really pursue me and I guess I was so hungry for love and affection that I turned a blind eye

Anonymous said:oc's anxiety is getting worst in equal... 😞 i hope she gets out soon. i agree, SEND IN MAMA JIN! lol kook is getting crazier each chapter i'm getting scared for her well being 😟☹️😦. SHES WORTH MORE THAN THIS CRAZINESS!! 💔 side note, thank you for sticking to it, i know it's not easy. and thank you for updating. i always look forward to your work ❤

withlove-sydney said:Tbh I was worried that this story was gonna take a disturbing turn after jk revealed that he was purposely trying to keep jimin away in chpt 10 and this chapter just confirmed how toxic he is. I agree with that other person tho I'm glad that you're the one writing this because I trust that you won't try to romanticize this at all. My ex was really possessive like jk and its not cute or sexy at all. I ended up so scared of him and when I see similar things in fics it gives me chills...

btsninetyfiveline said:I just want to say thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the relationship you're portraying in Equilibrium! It's soooooooo important to have stories that show abuse and possessiveness in an unhealthy light! I'm so tired of these "you looked at another guy for 5 seconds in the club so now I'm gonna take you home and show you who you 'belong' to" narratives. It's so important to address and educate young girls on signs of an emotionally manipulative relationship! 💕

Anonymous said:Hi Lu :) how are you? I love how you put out your stories unexpectedly, its always a pleasant surprise. Chapter 11 is so well-written (like all your work ofc).You set up the suffocating atmosphere perfectly with images and metaphors, like Oc's suffer is so real. I am really concerned about oc's mental health... in this chapter we see that she isn't in a good place and I am scared of what is yet to come. Thank you for your hard work. xo

Anonymous said:After reading chap 11, i feel so bad for the oc. Even reading about jk's possessiveness/threats makes me feel suffocated ;-; Though I'm excited for what's going to happen after he leaves for his trip hmm.... once again thank you for the update, Lu! :-) I'm really loving the pace of the story so far.

anonymouspseudonymous said:There's this anon that said "this ain't your ordinary fic where they all compromise and be happy" and i cannot agree more. Although, even if I get it that people hate JK for being cray, you have to punch Jimin as well hahaha idk man this is fucked

Anonymous said:I'm reading ch11 of equilibrium and the part where she wants to touch jimins face but jungkook has a tight grip on her wrist restricting her from doing so is so symbolic of their relationship and how she wants jimin so badly but jungkook is holding her back from him almost keeping her hostage in a way. Anyways I really enjoyed this part it gave me goosebumps so thank you for sharing your work with us even though you don't have to! You owe us nothing so I appreciate everything you give us💓💞💖💕

Anonymous said:I'm glad you don't tolerate the bullshit that jungkook isnt as bad as the protagnonist. People need to hear that that shit is toxic and manipulative. People are brainwashed into thinking it's romantic and okay. When it's absolutely not. No the protagonist isn't free of fault but she isn't being obsessively creepy.

Anonymous said:I think people tend to gloss over the fact that it IS an obsession (unhealthy and actually rather terrifying) and not actual "love" because they like the idea of someone doing anything to stay with them. But even in wanting to stay with someone, there have to be limits. You shouldn't end up losing yourself to someone if they want you as a person, not as just an object or a way to get what they want. There is a line between devotion and obsession, and people seem to ignore that all too often.

#equilibrium #beautiful ppl #jungkookfortunekookies #lu answers

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