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spacemilkies · 2 years ago

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fractured confections, bittersweet absence (1/?)

pairing: Earth—42!Miles Morales x Spider!Reader wc: 3k+ rating: teen a/n: don't look at me. i'm just writing as it comes to me. we'll see there all these different fic ideas take me. for this in particular, i have everything up to the movie start outlined. i took a few liberties with the timeline. i just have to push myself to write it :(

synopsis: Miguel relies on you to discover a potential anomaly and somehow you become it

Or the one where world 42 never had a Spider-Man but then they do

In a world where alternative universes were nothing more than clichés confined to the pages of fantasy novels, your concerns as a teenager barely in your teens extended far beyond such fantastical notions. The recent addition of supernatural abilities, acquired through a fateful encounter with a dubious arachne during a field trip at a lab conglomerate, had consumed your thoughts. However, all of these preoccupations suddenly lost their significance as the very fabric of your existence crumbled before your eyes.

Echoes of terror-laden screams still reverberated in your mind, mingling with the chaotic symphony of pedestrian and automotive traffic desperately attempting to outrun an impending fate. In the midst of the pandemonium, you struggled to harness your newfound abilities, desperately weaving through the fragmented bodies of disrupted individuals, ephemeral apparitions on the brink of annihilation.

Yet, amidst the turmoil, one memory remained etched in your consciousness with unwavering clarity. It was the image of your best friend's father, seizing you mid-swing, his shattered gaze suddenly focused with newfound purpose. Together, you both tumbled headlong into a blinding burst of radiant light, a tumultuous journey to an uncertain destination.

As you gazed down at the device that had never left your wrist since that pivotal day nearly a year ago, your contemplations shifted from the intricacies of alternate realities to a more fundamental question—what would become of your existence without a tangible world to call your own?

Miguel, whom you swiftly discerned to be a distinct entity from the Mr. O'Hara who once chauffeured you and his daughter to softball practice every Thursday evening, had failed to provide a concrete understanding of the complexity surrounding your being. The only undeniable truth was that as long as the watch remained securely fastened to your wrist, you would be spared the agonizing disintegration that awaited Earth-702, the last vestige of a fading existence.

Earth-702.

The only life you had known reduced to a number.

This enigmatic state of being mirrored the ambiguity that plagued your emotions—a blend of forgiveness and gratitude, still unquantified and unresolved. How could you appreciate and resent the man who had saved you, yet inadvertently led to the destruction of everything you once knew?

For now, you exist as an anomaly entrusted with the task of investigating other anomalies, akin to yourself. A spider-being devoid of a world to safeguard was destined to remain just that—a solitary guardian without a realm to protect.

As you attempted to open the door, your progress came to a halt as LYLA materialized before you. In this constant state of existence, where alternate spider beings surrounded you, the presence of an artificial intelligence like LYLA was a welcome divergence from the norm. If you could practically call it that.

"You just missed Miguel," LYLA chimed, breaking the silence.

A tinge of disappointment washed over you. Miguel was supposed to provide you with an assignment today, and you had eagerly anticipated the opportunity.

“How convenient of him.”

The vague shrug from LYLA hinted at the lack of intention behind the promise from the beginning. With a restrained sigh, you pressed forward, traversing the brief hallway that led to Miguel's office—a space that also doubled as your own.

In the spider-verse association, you held the esteemed position of being its first official member. In simpler terms, you possessed the most comprehensive understanding of the intricate web of activities that kept the organization afloat. You were present when the second spider-being entered the headquarters, and you witnessed firsthand as the building teemed with more individuals from myriad Earths than you could have ever imagined.

With the proliferation of these spider-beings, it became increasingly challenging to distribute the workload. Each spider-being had their own set of responsibilities, both in their home realms and in dealing with one another. Amidst this sea of spider-beings, you were supposed to shine—a silent guardian with untapped potential.

Instead, you found yourself assigned to a desk, monitoring the overall progress of the operation. Miguel preferred to dress it up as a trusted role, acknowledging that not everyone possessed the capacity to grapple with the harsh realities at hand. It was amusing how he believed a teenager trapped within their formative years could shoulder the weight of these adult concerns.

Nonetheless, as an anomaly yourself, you held the title of subject expert in identifying and executing operations to resolve other unfortunate anomalies. Recently, you had grown restless and began to pester Miguel for more opportunities to explore other Earths. It wasn't to say that you hadn't ventured into different realms before. In the beginning, Miguel had no choice but to rely on your abilities in every capacity. However, a persistent fear loomed over both of you—the potential consequences if your device were to be disrupted for even a fleeting moment.

Indeed, that fear coursed through your veins, but you refused to allow it to dictate your life. That was precisely why you had all but demanded to be sent on the next assignment—an insistence that Miguel had skillfully evaded, leaving you feeling slightly defeated.

As you slumped into your seat, a heavy sigh escaped your lips. "What Earth is he even on?" you muttered, the weight of annoyance settling upon you. Almost as if in response to your presence, the displays surrounding your desk hummed to life, illuminating the space with a soft glow.

LYLA materialized by your side, her voice offering a prompt update. "Villain captured on Earth-343. They should be wrapping up soon."

The task at hand hardly posed a challenge beyond your capabilities. There were younger spider-beings grappling with far more daunting situations. You ceased dwelling on what your life would have been like as the Spider-Man of your Earth. You had been too young to even envision your future, let alone prepare for the colossal role thrust upon you in the wake of your transformation.

Amidst your operations, you had heard murmurs of other heroes around your age.

Gwen Stacy from Earth-65.

Pavitr Prabhakar from Earth-50101.

And Margo Kess from 22191.

Their presence evoked a feeling in your chest that you wouldn't readily label as jealousy, but rather a simmering ember that burned hotter than mere contentment.

Occasionally, you engaged in conversations with them, often through the watch devices that connected your disparate realities, providing updates and exchanging information. But there were rare instances when you met face to face. Miguel had often categorized you and Gwen as the "troublesome" stage in your teenage years, a time when you grappled with the complexities of your individual realities. And while he wasn't entirely mistaken, the weight of those challenges felt more pressing in your lives.

Gwen, unlike some of her counterparts, preferred the sanctuary of the headquarters over returning to her home Earth. She seemed perpetually ready for missions, always on the edge of her seat. Upon meeting her, she shared the details of her eventful exposure to the multiverse, beginning with the collision event on Earth-1610B. She had crossed paths with that other Spider-Man... what was his name?

Rising from your slouched position, your fingers danced across the keys, retrieving the name from the recesses of your memory. You settled back into your seat, watching as the screen filled with the image of Miles Morales.

He was certainly... something.

Admittedly clumsy at times, yet he possessed a reasonable level of control over his abilities. Enough, at least, to keep him off Miguel's list of reprimands. Out of curiosity, you toggled his biometrics, allowing the spider DNA coursing through his veins to reveal his Earth designation. But it was within the uniqueness of his profile that you discovered a divergence—his DNA did not match the status of his home Earth.

Earth-42.

You have come across reports mentioning it. According to Miguel, without a Spider-Man to inhabit it, there were no canonical events to monitor. From an operational standpoint, he was correct. However, as you pondered the situation now, you couldn't help but wonder what a world without a Spider-Man truly looked like.

With a few keystrokes, you accessed the live feed, ready to uncover the truth of that reality for yourself.

What you saw, ripped away the lingering shred of sense you had in that moment.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

"This is a very bad idea," the voice persisted, echoing through your wrist. However, your dimension device possessed its own isolated network, impervious to interference or removal without Miguel's biometrics. It was a safety measure designed to keep out unwanted disruptions, but it inadvertently granted you a sense of freedom.

Clinging to the shadows, you effortlessly scaled the side of a building, preparing yourself for the leap to the next rooftop. The act of calculating the jump served as a convenient distraction from the persistent voice reverberating from your wrist.

"Like a very bad idea. Miguel is not going to be happy," LYLA warned, its concern palpable.

You let out a snort that held no trace of humor, grunting upon landing and quickly scrambling up the higher section of the architecture. "When is he ever happy?" you muttered. Miguel seemed to perpetually wear a mask of displeasure, never quite content.

Your response sparked yet another stream of concern from LYLA, but at this point, you had effectively tuned her out. The image feed from Earth-42, displayed on your device, paled in comparison to the chaotic reality that enveloped the city. From open flames licking at structures to blaring sirens piercing the air, there was not a single sign of peace to be found.

From your vantage point, you had always recognized the significance of a spider-hero. Yet, in the absence of one, you had simply assumed that matters would resolve themselves. After all, society was an ever-adapting complexity that spanned countless universes. Surely, there were individuals capable of managing the daily operations without the presence of a superbeing.

As you swung through the air, your mind wandered, delving into the intricacies of divergent paths taken by each reality. You contemplated the weight of the missing Spider-Man in Earth-42 and what it meant for the inhabitants of this dimension.

Lost in contemplation, you find yourself perched upon a lofty rooftop, gazing out at the sprawling city below. The bustling metropolis pulsates with life, its energy reverberating through the very fabric of existence. Yet, amidst the towering structures and bustling streets, your attention is drawn to a nearby building adorned with a larger-than-life mural.

The mural, a masterpiece in its own right, pays homage to a fallen police officer—an embodiment of courage, sacrifice, and unwavering dedication. It is a work of art that transcends the limitations of paint and brush, capturing the essence of the hero's spirit. Vibrant hues dance across the surface, blending seamlessly to form intricate details that breathe life into the mural. Each brushstroke tells a story, whispering of the hero's indomitable spirit and the impact he had on those he protected.

As your eyes wander over the mural, a bittersweet mix of emotions washes over you. You are intimately familiar with the displaced canon event depicted within the artwork, having witnessed its replay countless times. However, the absence of the defining factor—the presence of a Spider-Man—leaves a void, an inexplicable emptiness that permeates the scene. It raises profound questions about the nature of fate and the purpose of heroes. Who, or what, would subject people to a twisted reality without the counterbalance of justice and redemption?

But even in the absence of a Spider-Man, you know that humanity possesses an innate resilience. It is a resilience that gives rise to captains of justice, individuals willing to step forward and fill the void, even at the cost of their own lives. The mural becomes a symbol of that resilience, a testament to the indomitable spirit of the human heart.

Lost in your thoughts, a faint sound interrupts the silence, drawing your attention downward. The scuffling of feet resonates against the pavement, and your senses come alive, attuned to the presence nearby. Your head swivels, and your gaze lands upon the source of the sound.

Beneath the grand mural, the atmosphere hangs heavy with a mix of sadness and reverence. The vibrant colors seem to cast a somber aura, amplifying the weight of the fallen hero's sacrifice. It is there, in the fading sunlight, that you spot a solitary figure—a teenager whose face bears a defiant expression, despite the trails of tears glistening in the soft, golden rays. There is an air of vulnerability about him, and his presence captivates your attention.

With nimble and cautious steps, you descend the side of the building, blending seamlessly into the shadows. Your spider-like agility allows you to approach unnoticed, maintaining a respectful distance. The teen remains oblivious to your presence, engrossed in his own world of emotions.

In the pool of fading sunlight, his tear-stained face reflects a myriad of conflicting emotions. It speaks of loss and grief, yet his expression hints at determination and resilience. You are drawn to his vulnerability, unable to resist the urge to understand his connection to the fallen hero immortalized on the mural. It is evident that the departed officer held a special place in the hearts of many, leaving behind an irreplaceable void in the lives of those he protected.

As you observe the teenager's reaction, a sudden crash and the shattering of glass reverberate through the air, snapping your focus away from the impending danger nearby. The symphony of chaos begins to unravel, growing louder with each passing second. Instinctively, your senses heighten, urging you to intervene and prevent the imminent turmoil. Yet, you understand the delicate balance of interfering in the affairs of other realities, knowing that it may have unforeseen consequences.

Choosing to prioritize the safety of the vulnerable individual, you turn your attention toward him, hoping to offer guidance and solace. It is a decision that carries its own weight, for the unknown intricacies of interdimensional travel have taught you that nothing is ever certain or predictable. With a calm yet concerned voice, you address him, your words laced with empathy and caution.

"Hey, it's dangerous for you to be out here," you gently express, aware of the unexpectedness of your presence. However, before you can fully comprehend the impact of your presence, the teen’s demeanor shifts into something decidedly defensive—an oddly quick but reasonable response, given his environment. In that moment, you realize the jarring sight you must present—a being that embodies the traits of both human and spider, suspended in an upside-down stance before him.

As the boy's awe and curiosity leak through his initial defiance, you notice the hard lines of determination softening under the weight of change. There is a sense of similarity there, lost teenage years consumed by destruction.

His bewildered voice breaks the silence. Despite the perplexment, its gruffness cannot mask his genuine curiosity. "What are you?"

A playful smirk dances across your face, defying the gravity of the situation. The opportunity slips from your lips before you can fully understand the weight of your words.

"I am your friendly neighborhood spider," you reply, the words dripping with both sincerity and light-heartedness. Those wide, capable eyes, tinted with distrust, rove over the intricate design of your costume, searching for answers in the fabric that binds you.

His response is swift, his youthful candor cutting through the tension. "That's a dumb superhero name," he remarks, not comprehending the magnitude of the reality he has stumbled upon. You merely shrug, understanding that you are not the Spider-Man he knows, nor are you bound by the conventions of his familiar world. Here, in this fractured reality on the brink of collapse, your mission transcends trivial matters such as superhero aliases.

"Well, stupid or not, I can't leave you hear," you declare with resolute determination. Before he can fully grasp the gravity of your words, you swiftly encase him in a web cocoon, launching him skyward along the building's side. He puts up a surprisingly capable fight, thin braids swinging to and fro within his captivity.

"Aye, loco! Lemme me go!" he protests, his voice carrying a hint of frustration.

Huh, Spanish. Miguel would be proud.

Together, you ascend to the pinnacle, where the world seems both smaller and more expansive all at once.

From this vantage point, a distant commotion clamors through the night, a discordant symphony of chaos that taints the air with unease. You can sense the imminent danger lurking down the dimly lit streets, threatening the fragile remnants of this crumbling reality.

The boy's now angered gaze fixated upon you, “I can take care of myself.”

You resist the strong urge to volley him, if only to jerk the too-adult pinch from his brow with the promise of fear and your strength. Instead, you guide him to to an adjacent block away from the disruption and drop him to his feet carefully, save for a brief stumble.

The pointed glare focused on you is not the impression you would have imagined from a rescued individual, but you were new to this so maybe not all went to script.

You were feeling a little less confident as you approached.

"I'm going to release you now."

The teen only jerked his chin in response.

Hooking a finger under the webbing, you use the trick Miguel taught you to loosen the bindings. The warning came a split second after he worked an arm free, giving you a brief opportunity to pull out of reach as he swung back.

He was definitely a product of his environment, whether for the good or better was not disclosed.

There was a notable fire in his gaze as he challenged you.

“Next time, keep your freaky abilities to yourself. I don’t need no hero.”

Suspending yourself from the light fixture above, you test your impact on the Earth a length more. You think about all the other Earth’s whose spider-beings who press forward despite the backlash, determined to save what they hold dear.

They might say those words, deflect the help offered to say they didn't need a hero because they were one.

But this teen didn’t give you that impression. His presence vaguely tipped the compass in a different direction.

“Maybe not, but you’re only one person.”

Scoffing, the teen ripped away the rest of the webbing. “No hero has a place here. Everyone agrees on that.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns his heel at that as he descends down the street away from you.

Earth 42 was indeed a reality without a spider-being.

But what proliferated in its absence, was something you felt, would test the universe in its own way.

#earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fanfiction #42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #prowler miles

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ssruis · 4 months ago

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Re: “don’t people make fun of Tsukasa. Even a little bit”

I’m also guilty of forgetting that tsukasa is generally pretty well liked regardless of his freak behavior and obnoxious personality. However. KAITO comments on his natural charisma in his Kamiyama Fes story:

And bear in mind, this is when he’s directing a play with his classmates as actors so he’s in his True Freak Element.

In Tsukasa’s Kamiyama Fes card story he shows them Romeo Battle Royale which they all think is Dumb As Hell (fair), but they also think it’s funny & that this is deliberate. They’re not laughing *at* him or mocking him, they’re assuming - incorrectly but he does not gaf - that they’re laughing with him.

& later on in the card story you, even though they thought he was a weirdo initially, they had fun under his direction and even compliment him.

Which is kind of a running theme with a lot of his interactions with new people. “This guy is an egotistical weirdo” -> “This guy is an egotistical weirdo but he’s also genuinely nice and a decent guy” -> “He’s a freak but he is also my friend & I have fun with him.” & this has been true from a young age, as you can see in Pandemonium:

Tsukasa: When I first proposed the idea, everyone booed me for not choosing between tag or hide and seek and rattling on about this "show" business...

Tsukasa: However, after I began performing, they quickly followed suit. Through my show, we all had a chance to play both games!

Tsukasa *is* self centered, and he does have a high opinion of himself, but he’s not interested in putting other people down to make himself feel better. In fact, he also has a pretty high opinion of others and isn’t shy about making that known, which contributes to his likability.

(Outside of the main WxS story. Him yelling at Nene there was more out of frustration towards himself and the failed show, but that’s a different and lengthy discussion I don’t wanna get into here. It is important to keep in mind that he definitely became less “I’m the only one who matters here” and more “I’m great but so are other people” after it, though.)

You can see more clear examples of this in Nene’s earlier card stories as her opinion of him shifts to be more positive. From her initial 2*:

Nene: Rui has taken Robo-Nene for upgrades...

Nene: And once they're complete, I'd like to perform together with her.

Nene: (Tsukasa will probably shoot down my suggestion because he wouldn't want Robo-Nene to steal his spotlight.)

Tsukasa: Okay, so we'd be using Robo-Nene for our next play. But what sort of performance do you have in mind?

Nene: Huh?

Nene: (That...was a more positive reaction than I was expecting.)

Nene: Well that... That depends on what upgrades Rui is going to give her...

Rui: If I might offer my suggestion, the play could begin with only Robo-Nene on stage...

Emu: Hmm, yeah! That's cool! Let's tumble with this idea!

Tsukasa: It's let's roll with, not tumble!

Tsukasa: Anyhow, I like the novelty of it. You got me on board.

Nene: That's...cool.

And from her Kamiyama Fes card story:

[After Nene gives her idea for their next show’s plot]

Nene: Um... We're really doing this?

Tsukasa: Hey, what's this now? It was your own suggestion!

Tsukasa: Okay, we've got the basics down. Now to hammer out the details!

Nene: (Th-They're really going with my suggestion...)

[…]

Nene: (It might be even more fun if you could get different stuff each day or week...)

Tsukasa: Nene, do you have anything you'd like to add?

Nene: Huh?

Tsukasa: Don't be shy. It's your story after all!

Nene: Um... I-I was just about to say something, okay?

[…]

Tsukasa: Nene! I'm going to start writing the script. I need some more input from you.

Nene: Huh? But I already told you everything.

Tsukasa: That couldn't have been everything! This is your chance to make yourself heard and create your very own play. Don't pass it up!

Nene: (What happened to his overblown ego? He's always so pushy about putting what he wants in the script.)

Nene: Fine, I'll see what else I can think of... But you need to contribute too, okay...?

Rui also echos what KAITO said in Kamiyama Fes later in Nene’s Gleaming Stars side story:

& you can see that this is true with how well he gets along with the other people in the workshop in his own Gleaming Stars card story.

In Pandemonium, he also gets along well with his own group in his card story despite being very… himself. And trying to make a star shaped cup on a spinning pottery wheel.

And in the second part of that card story, 1) we learn that he frequently talks with them, and 2) Rui’s group reveals that Tanaka, Yamaguchi, and Fujiwara are all considered popular and cool.

…which is something Tsukasa evidently does not pay attention to or care about. Guy who is immune to the high school social order because he just treats all his peers equally. They’re all future fans friends to him.

From his Kamiyama Fes card again:

I think that even if he notices people laughing at him/thinking he’s bizarre, he views it with this mindset and brushes it off pretty quickly. He’s very confident in himself! He likes himself! Why would he pay attention to any negativity aimed towards something he has no desire to change (his personality)? His loved ones (saki, toya, wxs) all like him just the way he is, so he likes himself just the way he is, and that’s all there is to it.

^ That ofc depends on whether or not he even realizes people aren’t singing his praises. Also from is Kamiyama Fes card story:

Akito & Mizuki are like wow he just said something kinda smart & Tsukasa’s immediate reaction is “they admire me so much I must give them a token of appreciation” (which he also did in Akito’s initial 3 star (?) where he gave Akito & Toya PXL tickets despite Akito pretty clearly not wanting them).

He’s kind of the opposite of Nene, in that Nene enters just about every social interaction going “they’re gonna think I’m so weird what do I even say they don’t want to talk to me at all (spiraling)” & Tsukasa enters every social interaction going “I am so great I bet they’re happy to talk to me (regardless of how they act) and they are enjoying this conversation.” He doesn’t take it seriously when someone like Shiho or Akito are like “🙄 oh great it’s this guy”, and he esp doesn’t take it seriously when wxs poke fun at him.

As readers/viewers who see A Lot of him, it’s pretty easy to go “he is so fucking weird. How do people like him,” but that ignores that most characters find his antics pretty entertaining. Take Mizuki as an example, because even after knowing him for a short period of time she was like “oh this dude is a riot I love it.” As for the characters who found him obnoxious at first, after spending enough time around him to see that he’s a nice guy underneath the ego and attitude, he wins them over (Nene). That, or he earns their respect (Shiho and Akito) which later leads to actual friendship once they’ve built up a tolerance to his personality through repeated exposure.

TLDR:

1) Other characters find Tsukasa funny/entertaining and are able to see that he’s a genuine and kind guy underneath the ego.

2) He’s very extroverted and has zero issues striking up a conversation with literally anyone, whether they’re very popular or someone who doesn’t socialize at all. He treats his peers equally.

2.5) this, coupled with the fact that he’s very friendly, makes people enjoy talking to him and view him as a friend pretty quickly (gesturing at the fact that he still talked to Asahi after Curtain Call and how quickly Bakuno opened up to him).

3) Self confidence will get you everywhere, and he has a lot of that. Some would say too much.

4) Even if someone doesn’t like him very much, he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t give a fuck. People are laughing at him? Well, they’re having a good time and that’s what matters. Denseness + self love is an incredible shield.

Tsukasa is like if you combined a jester/clown with a very extroverted friendly dog. Yes Kamiyama students/fellow actors/his friends/etc think he’s an egotistical weirdo, but he’s THEIR egotistical weirdo, and they (for the most part) enjoy his freak behavior.

#mine #tsukasa #analysis #unfortunately I must step in to defend him from the unlikable loser allegations #he doesn’t deserve my defense but I do take him seriously under the veneer of contempt & mockery.

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trancylovecraft · 1 year ago

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(AOEX) YANDERE LUCIFER x READER: Radiance (DRABBLE)

i had a burst of inspiration at two in the morning, on christmas eve, in the middle of the night, pretty sure i heard santa on my roof. anyways, happy holidays you filthy animals!

"[F/N]!!!"

His shrieks rang throughout the broken rubble of the facility. What use to be white clinical walls and pristine tile flooring were now broken down into stone-dust and shards. Nothing left as that monster rampaged throughout the remains.

She ran, [F/N] ran like her life depended on it and it most certainly did. Her lungs burned as she traversed the rubble, Tears flooding out the corner of her burning eyes as her scorched lungs tried to keep up the pace.

The light behind her, The radiance showing in her peripherals couldn't distract her now. Even though it blinded her and started to sizzle at her skin, Her mind was a single track on the route to escape.

He couldn't get to her now, Not when she had made so many deals, So many months of planning and plotting to get her to where she was now. That one mistake, The one that made the house of cards tumble down:

He had found out of her escape.

Pandemonium broke loose. Both men and women screaming as his yells rang throughout the destroyed facility, They sounded strained, As if he was in more pain than he usually was. But most of all,

He was pissed.

His light was angry, It burned her and scorched her and she should've known. She had flown too close and had been reprimanded as such, Though it didn't matter as she felt the light getting closer. She'd just need to fly faster.

"[F/N]..!! Where are you.. My wife.. WHERE ARE YOU?!"

He screamed once more, Much closer. He was gaining on her quickly which only made the tears in her eyes fall much faster, Her choked gasps for air come out ever so more often. Her legs near given out, But she needed to go- To keep going, To get out of here-

"[F/N]!!!"

She felt something crash into her.

[F/N] let out a scream of her own, Falling down and hitting the broken tiles of the floor hard. She yelped, Crimson ichor already spurting out from a newly shard-cut gash in her head.

Her vision was blurry, A faint droning hum in the back of her ears as she felt her mind fade in and out of consciousness. However the only thing keeping her awake was the compressing weight on her back, One that kept her down on the ground.

[F/N] cried as she felt the charred claws of her captor wrap around her waist. She sobbed as his rotting nose was pressed into the crook of her neck, The way he let out a strangled purr as he did made her want to puke.

"Why.. Why did you try to get away from me..? I.. You ran away.. You.." His voice was like a raid siren in the middle of the night, The panic flooding through thousands was felt in the thundering of her one single heart as he spoke.

Lucifer's tail, The matted blonde fur wrapped around her thigh like a prisoners chain as he held her down to the floor. She sobbed as his rotten body encased hers, Face still pressed into her neck as she felt the nips of his fangs start to graze her skin.

"P-Please.. No!" [F/N] cried as she felt the bone start to dig into her skin, Head still pressed up against the rubble of the ground and his broken body still holding her down. He wasn't in his right mind.

And as her head turned and was met with the face of the beast, [F/N] wished she had never been born.

He was rotting from the inside out, Half of his face was decayed like he had already expired. If only, [F/N] thought. His platinum blonde hair was matted with the blood of others, He now had only one green eye wildly staring down at her, The other one fallen out ages ago.

[F/N] felt bile rise at the back of her throat as she saw the insides of his face, Half-rotten half-primal rage. She could see the bare surface of his skull, She could see his flesh hanging like drapes from his skeleton and how it almost ripped off his frame.

His power, He had exerted himself.

All to get to her.

"W-Why could you do this to me..? Why did you.. You're my wife, We married-! You-.. " Lucifer was cut off by a series of coughs, Mid-way through the markings he started to leave on her neck.

His teal military-uniform was ragged and bloody, His lengthy cardinal cape was the same, Only concealing the ichor better. This man was emotionally a machine, No feelings or deviation. Just an unfeeling machine churning out his duties.

Back then, [F/N] almost convinced herself that he was human. A cold comfort if not for his tail and cat-slit pupils. Not for the light he always radiated, Not like the glow he always emanated.

His glow wasn’t like the radiance of the sun, it wasn't like a lover's embrace on a cold winter's eve. No, Instead it was like the catalyst of a nuclear fallout.

He was the light in the sky moments before disaster, He was the death of thousands of men and women across era. He was The Morningstar, The one warned of in tales of old passed down through tradition and brushed off by the young.

But he was no joke, Not anymore as he held her near crying. Claws around her waist starting to dig into her skin and his coughing breaking down into wheezes, Teeth still lodged deep into her neck.

"You.. You must have gotten lost.. You must.. You got lost, Didn't you, My love? You.. You did!" Lucifer wheezed. This was no machine, Not anymore. He had sentience alright, But even so his delusions were not easily shaken.

[F/N] sniffled, Red eyes looking back at his horrific visage.

"P-Please- You gotta let me go, I can't stay here anymore- Please-! GRAH-!" [F/N] screamed as she felt his teeth gnaw into her neck and bite down, Blood gushed up from the wound and splattered on his rotten flesh.

And she wanted to scream, when she felt his tongue start to lick at her wound.

"Shhh.. You do not need to explain it to me-! You got lost-! You worried me.. You worried me.." He doted as his teeth parted from her wound and his tongue starting to lap at the blood, Almost caringly, Like a cat grooming it's young.

[F/N] sobbed. She knew very well that there was no getting through to him, Not in this state nor in his full power.

Her neck ached, Unable to support her head at it was fallen to the ground. Lucifer continued to tongue at her nape, She could almost feel him physically calm as he tasted the sweetness of her ichor.

"You worry me.. You.. I love you.. I love you, I love you.. I love you.." He said in-between each stroke of his tongue, Which just made her sob even harder. She wheezed, Body weak as she tried to crawl out from under his hold.

The stench was horrid, The iron copper of her blood mixing in with the ugly death of his rotting vessel. She knew he was in pain with every ache of his ligaments, With every tail-squeeze of her thigh she could feel his anguish.

But that didn't seem to matter to him anymore. Clawed hands still digging into her midsection as he claimed his prize, His wife, The one person in the damned dimension that took away his misery.

She loved him, She did. From the moment they met on that fateful night, When their eyes locked as he declared war on the true cross order. He knew that they were meant to be, The yearning obsession pounding through his heart being the tell-tale sign.

She felt the same way, She must have! Lucifer didn't know what he'd do if she didn't, What he'd do if he even had a suspicion.

The bodies around them, The splatters of organs and muscle was enough to tell [F/N] what would happen. The burning light coming from each and every single corpse, Their sizzled flesh smelling almost disgustingly like a meat on a grill, Just like the barbecue's she had when she was free.

But now he held her in a chokehold, What he thought was a lovers embrace. But this demon could never learn to love, Not in the way that could've ever been human anyways. [F/N] just sobbed in his arms, Unable to do anything else.

What could she do? This was The King of Light.

She could never escape, She didn't need a gilded cage to understand that part.

101 notes · View notes

kallesque · 10 months ago

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the conflict of the mind — three.

cws // none for now (does dottore count as his own warning?)

╰┈➤ dottore x reader: in other words, new meetings. FIC MASTERLIST HERE.

𖤐 “I met Delta earlier,” you affirm, remembering the razor-edged teeth, the flash of pink silk at his neck. Hangman hands closing in on your shirt collar. A shiver traverses the length of your spine and the Dove notices it.

“Ah, that one,” she says, and you can’t quite parse the undercurrent in her voice when she says this— is it fondness? Irritation? Amusement? “He leaves quite the impression, doesn’t he?”

“That’s certainly a way to describe it,” you concur.

Nothing in your life has gone quite as planned for the last month or so. This fact further drives itself home a few days later when the door to Dottore’s laboratory slides open and you’re yanked in before you can even knock, still halfway through executing the action. You trip over your feet in a panic from the sudden blur of motion, the hand on your collar hauling you upright before you can tumble over embarrassingly.

It’s too early in the day for this. Your heart is hammering too fast and you’ve had it. “Lord Harbinger, is your frequent manhandling of me going to become a habit? Because I—”

“Prime allows you to speak to him like this? My.”

A shiver traipses down your spine and mangles the words on your tongue as you freeze. This voice, familiar yet not— you’re reminded of dissonant chords, arguments overheard down the hallways at night.

When you raise your head, the spark of outrage that flares within you is extinguished in an instant. Instead of the tapered bird mask you’ve grown accustomed to, this one covers his entire face save for the red eyes that bore into your, unblinking. His hair is styled differently, shorter and curlier than what you remember… and the clothes he dons are in a completely different taste from what you’ve seen Dottore wear.

But it’s the same pale hair, the same cadence— though there’s a certain quality of his tone, something shamelessly unhinged in comparison to the arrogant menace that outlines the contours of your patron’s voice. You can see half of his mouth through the bizarre mask, and his teeth are sharper— edges pointed like a shark’s.

You make eye contact and immediately flinch.

Does he also have…?

“You’re not him,” you say rather lamely, pausing as you try to disentangle the fabric of your shirt collar from his white-gloved grip. To your chagrin, he doesn’t let you go.

He lets out a crazed giggle at your disoriented expression and it wreaks pandemonium on your nerves the same way the unpleasant screech of a bow drawn over strings before rosin has been applied would. “Yes I am.”

You must look even more confused now because he lets you go and moves closer at the same time, drawn to your unease like blood in the water.

You take a wary step away and he closes in. “Where’s Dottore?” you bite out, words curt as alarm rises in the dark of your throat.

“I am Dottore.” You can’t identify any trace of a lie in those deranged eyes, but you’re nonetheless sceptical. “Just not yours, though.” He grins as if he’s just overheard a great joke, but all you feel is danger.

Your gaze scans the room for an exit, trying not to flinch. Something tells you that such a reaction would only spur him on, and you’re a little sick of this perplexing charade— but then he closes in and the backs of your thighs hit the desk, cornered.

“I called him a fool for this, you know,” he tells you. He’s not touching you, but you still feel trapped like a prey animal in the jaws of a beast. His presence is unpredictable and he’s even more difficult to read by way of sheer uncertainty.

Mad, your mind supplies, which isn’t a reassuring thought.

“But I had to come and find out for myself, and now that you’re here, I see it. I do want to…”

He trails off, breaking into another round of snickering. You don’t know what he’s talking about. You don’t know anything, and you’re not sure you’d like to.

“Delta.” Dottore is standing in the doorway to his office, seemingly having just emerged. His voice is scathing.

It comes as a warning but relief slams into you as you’re suddenly given room to breathe, inching away from him— Delta, apparently, who raises his hands in mock surrender. “I was merely curious,” he scoffs. “They’re a pretty little thing, too. Is that what you see?”

“Back to work.” Dottore orders without a single sign of acknowledgement towards the latter’s comments. His tone is final, and the other backs down, obeying with a sneer.

Maybe this really is going to become a standard occurrence, you think to yourself when Dottore’s fingers close around your wrist and he tugs you into his office.

The pads of Dottore’s fingers are rough on your skin as he kneads into your wrist again, the caustic heat from the contact twisting through you once more. You want to cower away from the feeling. You want to let it burn you at the stake.

“Does this hurt?” His touch drags over a sore spot and you hiss at the twinge of discomfort that jabs at you. He’s merciless as he works into it until the pain dulls and you exhale, nerves still frayed and tender.

You still have no idea why he’s doing this, insistent on treating you every day. You want to ask what benefit you pose to him, what he could ever gain from the patronage, if you were going to end up as another subject on the dissection table—

Instead, you say, “I have questions.”

“I expected as much,” he responds, not looking up. “Go on.”

“Who was that?”

“Delta.” The corner of his mouth curves up as he responds deadpan, secretly amused. Your eyes narrow.

“No, I know, but—” you try to gesture with your dominant hand and realise that he’s still holding it down, grip vicelike but not abrasive. “He said he was you, but not you.”

“He’s a Segment.” You stare at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and Dottore goes on. “Simply put, a piece of myself plucked from one of the varying states of my life, given individual consciousness and thought.”

You raise a brow, but you think you can follow. “He called you Prime, earlier.”

“I am the original, the prime,” he tells you, taking your other wrist and beginning to work on that in turn. “The creator.”

You think of red eyes and the subsequent insanity caged within, the remorseless slice of a scalpel through helpless flesh.

“I see.”

If that’s the case, haven’t you found yourself in a den of wolves? Out of the frying pan and straight into the fire— another thought strikes you.

“This implies that there are more of you, then?”

You twitch as he digs into a nerve, holding back a gasp. “Yes, there are more. You may run into them occasionally.”

The way he says it implies discontent, as if it’s an unfortunate fact—

“But remember this, Composer,” He drawls, acerbic and sharp, “You report to me.”

You wonder if the way his voice dips low like a promise can be interpreted as possessive.

“Yes, Lord Harbinger.”

For all his previous words about how he’s not going to eat you alive, he certainly smiles like he’s about to. “Good.”

Technically, Dottore hasn’t forbidden you from leaving the palace. You’ve just been too wrapped up in a daze of fatigue and stress to think about doing anything else for the last month, and now that the Harbinger has ordered you off playing your instruments until your wrists have recovered, you have far too much free time on your hands. Your passing days have been spent reading and revising your old notes and music scores, but lethargy is beginning to settle into your muscles and you’re itching for a change of scenery.

You recall that the strings on your cello are wearing out. There’s a music store in the nearby village that you can get to on foot, and the salary he continues to pay you even as you’re laid off from playing is far more than enough to cover the expenses. It’s settled, then.

Your eyes sweep over your hands, noting the writer’s callus on your middle finger and the ink stain on your palm, somehow lingering longer than yesterday’s blood. The etchings of your cello’s strings are still raw and tender to the touch when your fingertips brush anything, crisscrossed over old scars of the same design. Perhaps you should buy some ointment as well, for the healing. A musician should have well-kept hands and you’ve never truly cared much about the nuances of this knowledge before— but now you have a patron, and he’s the Second Harbinger. You need to remember that.

Once you’ve bundled yourself up and made sure that you’ve obtained all you need for your errand, you slip out of your room and meander down the hallways. It takes you a few wrong turns and doubling back before you find the exit, but you’re halted by the Fatui guards before you.

“On what business are you departing from the Palace?”

You know it’s standard protocol, really nothing personal, so you’re nervous but steady when you respond. “A personal errand,” you tell them, hoping it’s enough.

Unfortunately, it's not. “Under whose command?”

Anxiety constricts your vocal chords and you hesitate a beat too long to escape suspicion. You wonder if Dottore would mind you using his name for such a small thing, but you hate going off uncertainties—

“They're with me.” Someone’s hand wraps around your shoulder and pulls you into them, but where you expect light hair and a baritone voice, you’re met face-to-face with Columbina, the Third Harbinger. You barely have time to stutter your acknowledgement before she’s sweeping past with you in tow.

Columbina’s smile is sweet and her touch is gentle when she leads you out of the Palace, but you have the inkling that she’s not helping you out of mere goodwill and that whatever she wants, she will obtain.

“My lady,” you begin, and she laughs, the sound blithe and airy. “Why, you delight me with your honorifics! No wonder our Second likes you so.”

Your mind slows to a crawl at that, trying to process the information. “He, he doesn’t— huh?”

“Oh, don’t play the fool,” she admonishes, voice lilting and sweet as a melody. Somehow, your limbs loosen at the sound of it, and tension leaves your shoulders. “You’re his little composer. I’ve heard all about you.”

“You… have?”

The Damselette nods and the seraphim wings on her head flutter excitedly. “But not enough— there are some things I’d prefer to learn from the source themself! Tell me, little bird, where are you headed off today?”

You remain wide-eyed, syrupy daze blanketing your senses like golden honey. Still, you manage to relate the details of your errand to her and tell her your name. Columbina insists on accompanying you on your tasks, and you’re not sure if this spells disaster or not— but there’s little you can do to protest, allowing her to loop her arm into yours as she speaks to you as one would an old friend.

Still, you can’t shake the crawling sense of disquietude that settles over you in her presence. Your mind seems to settle into a state of calm, too docile, too abnormal from your usual racing thoughts. You don’t sense malice from the Dove— but you’ve heard rumours about her lack of mortality and you suspect that it has a part to play in the half-stupor you’re draped in.

She talks to you all the way to your destination and watches inquisitively as you select and pay for the cello strings you’d needed. It’s all lighthearted chatter— you feel as if she’s trying to lull you into a sense of calm as she regales you with her tales, tidbits of palace gossip that make you giggle softly and promises of tea together in the future. It’s only when you’re heading back to the Palace does she finally expose the core of her curiosity.

“Tell me about him,” Columbina urges, practically promenading at your side from how light her steps seem. You notice that she’s barefoot, silk ribbons winding up her ankles and legs. Despite the snowy wasteland that freezes around you both, the Damselette pays it no heed, skin porcelain-perfect and unscathed by the cold. You can’t help but marvel at her.

“Shouldn’t you know him better than I do?” you ask. “I was under the impression that the Harbingers worked together.”

She laughs and it’s the sound of windchimes, crystal-clear and mellifluous. “Yes, little bird,” she says agreeably, “but I want to know about how he treats you.”

You rack your brain, trying to muster up a reply. “He’s… okay, I guess.”

Columbina tilts her head, encouraging you to elaborate. You heave a sigh.

“When he took me on as my patron,” you continue, “I expected him to be far more… restrictive with his expectations of my work, but so far he’s allowed me to work with only my own creativity as the limit. Except…”

You crack your knuckles, a nervous reflex. The motion of it grounds you, gives your hands something to do as you twist your fingers into each other and fidget. “…I got a little carried away, that first month,” you admit sheepishly, “and he’s forbidden me from playing until my wrists heal.”

The wings on her head twitch in something you’d call curiosity as she angles her head towards you. “Forbidden?”

Why is she smiling? This is the second time today that you feel as if you’re witnessing a secret joke that you’re not privy to.

You tell Columbina vaguely about Dottore’s treatment of your hands and wrists, leaving out the details. Somehow, the memory of his fingers pressing into your skin makes you shudder. Do you fear him so much, that even the mere thought of that scares you?

Like the Second, Columbina’s eyes are veiled— behind lace instead of metal— yet she regards you knowingly, as if she knows something you don’t. “Interesting,” she chirps, “so very interesting, little bird. Have you met the others?”

You raise a brow. “The other Harbingers? It’s only been you and him, so far.”

“Oh, no, I meant the other versions of him, though I’m delighted to have gotten to you before my co-workers. If only I’d found you before Dottore had…”

For the sake of your own sanity, you decide to take her latter statement as a joke and your laugh joins hers, bright in the afternoon air. “I met Delta earlier,” you affirm, remembering the razor-edged teeth, the flash of pink silk at his neck. Hangman hands closing in on your shirt collar. A shiver traverses the length of your spine and the Dove notices it.

“Ah, that one,” she says, and you can’t quite parse the undercurrent in her voice when she says this— is it fondness? Irritation? Amusement? “He leaves quite the impression, doesn’t he?”

“That’s certainly a way to describe it,” you concur.

“And did your Doctor say anything of it?”

You ignore the twitch of your fingers when she calls him yours; Delta had done the same earlier. “He reminded me that my patronage was under him, and only him.”

An enigmatic smile flashes across her face, pearly teeth showing. “He never did seem like the type who shared.”

“Huh?” Once again, you’re left in the dark.

“No matter,” Columbina disperses it with a flutter of feathers. “Why don’t you take me to your music room, little bird? I’d love to see your instruments, even if you can’t play for me today.”

Agreement comes to your lips easily and she’s delighted— the Damselette sweeps you up into a whirlwind of conversation once more and you let yourself be drawn in. It’s only when you’re back in the Palace and navigating the hallways back to Dottore’s wing that you realise that you’ve completely forgotten to to buy the healing ointment for your fingers.

Columbina’s company is not an unpleasant one, you conclude. It’s undeniable that she’s a little overwhelming and you have the intuitive feeling that crossing her would be an incredibly foolish decision— but conversation flows easily between the two of you and you’re content enough. Perhaps it’s just a testament to how starved you are of human interaction— it’s been weeks since you’ve had any of it, save for your few exchanges with Dottore.

The Dove sits on your piano bench, mouth open in song. It’s fitting considering her title, you think— the sound of her voice fills the room and holds you captive, silvery and resonant. In all your life, you’ve never heard anything like this— like her, spellbound as you listen, enthralled as you restring your cello.

The case is laid open on the polished floors of the music room. You’re kneeling over the neck of the instrument, fingers twisting the tuning pegs to drop the tension of the string. Once it loosens, you tug it from the pegbox and do the same to the fine tuners, extricating the string completely.

The hem of your shirt goes to wipe at the fingerboard absently as you select the new string, fingers running over the grooves of the instrument’s bridge before you fit it in, tightening it with the pegs. You repeat the process with the other three strings, and Columbina’s voice swoops low, concluding in tandem with your task so that you can tune the cello.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you begin hesitantly, but she’s already nodding and the note you need spills from her throat, lilting. You draw the bow over your strings as you match the pitch to hers, the rest of the strings tuned in falling intervals from the first

You sit up, gathering the discarded strings up and returning your instrument to its case, quietly satisfied.

“Do you sing, little bird?” Columbina asks. You pause.

“At times,” you respond cautiously, leaning back on your haunches, hands folding in your lap.

She clasps her hands together, feigning a swoon. “We must hear you then.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you’re thinking of a gracious way to evade her cajoling when you sense another presence at the door, one you instantly recognize as your spine stiffens.

“Doctor, how lovely,” Columbina croons, unperturbed. “Your little musician was about to sing for us.”

You instantly protest. “N-no, I wasn’t—”

He steps closer and his shadow slides across the floor, fluid as it settles over you and blocks the light behind his looming figure.

You’re made to tilt your head up to look back at him— and then you realise what he’s staring at, rushing to explain. “I was just replacing my cello’s strings, I didn’t play…” you mutter. “Much.”

His head cocks to the side, judgemental. “Is the issue your excess of free time, Composer? I can always keep you busy if that’s the case.”

The memory of red flashes in your vision and you’re nauseous for a moment, mouth going dry.

“Stop that,” Columbina chides. “You’ll frighten the poor thing.”

Dottore shifts his attention to her, wings fluttering all around her head. “Damselette,” he intones dryly, a hint of sarcasm in the reply. “Is it too much to hope that you stay out of my affairs?”

“Far too much,” she responds, syllables spilling from her tongue like birdsong. “You always accuse me about my meddlesome nature. Isn’t it lovely to be right?”

“You can turn anything into a curse, you harpy,” he grumbles, folding his arms across his chest. Columbina laughs soft and low, hopping off the piano bench where she'd perched. She takes off in a flutter before you can blink twice and you’re left alone with the enigma who had shifted the scope of your entire life within a few weeks. Your fault, perhaps, for signing the devil’s deal.

You regain yourself, latching the case of your instrument shut and valiantly ignoring how you’re still kneeling before Dottore, tension building. “Lord Harbinger, did you come for anything?”

“Dinner,” he reminds you simply, and your eyes widen. He's right, it is evening and whatever little sunlight there is in Snezhnaya is already dimming into twilight; you can see it through the window.

A gloved hand is offered to you before you can scramble to your feet awkwardly. You eye it dubiously before you place your hand in his and allow him to help you up.

You gasp as his hand slides further up your arm— so as not to jostle your wrist— and Dottore pulls you forward sharply into him. You stumble and barely avoid colliding into his shoulder, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. You attempt indignation over the invasion of your personal space, but he's far too close for you to pull out all the stops and you're trying to remember how to breathe. “What was that for?”

He shifts, dipping his head so that his lips are at your ear and his voice rolls over you in a shiver, makes you think of a Dionysiac melody, ritualistic madness and religious ecstasy.

“Just to let you know,” he hums, “The offer remains open. You do seem to have a terrible habit of neglecting yourself whenever I leave you to yourself.”

( It’s a hypocrital thing to say, he knows. But in the face of all the alterations he’s made to himself, his reliance on things like sleeping and eating is far less detrimental, barely a cause for concern. You, on the other hand… )

His fingers loosen and you back away to recreate the distance between you, visibly rattled. Your mouth spreads into a thin line, eyes darkening beneath the guise of something unreadable as you glare at him, accusatory. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you.”

It takes every grain of your self-control to remain deathly still when he chuckles, stamping out the shudder that threatens to shake you to the core. “Doing what exactly?”

You fight for articulation, but your mind features only a rising dissonance, notes crashing into each other as you try for words. “Well, I— you know.”

“Let’s say I was doing whatever you’re accusing me of,” he taunts, voice thick with sarcasm. “Is it working?”

You drawn yourself up a little straighter, more rigid. “No.”

The answer is curt, firm, but you read disbelief in the curl of his lips and the flash of his teeth. You don’t realise that you’re staring at his mouth, noting how his teeth are blunter than Delta’s yet hold their own jagged sharpness. Once more, you recall him saying he wouldn't eat you alive, but he could. Carmine irises flash through your mind again and terror licks you down to the bone from the inside out.

He grins when he catches the expression on your face. “Are you scared of me, Composer?”

“No.”

“Liar,” he hisses. Razor-sharp, the smile that widens upon his visage is savage by nature, the embodiment of a demon by design. You know that all the efforts you’ve brought to the table in an attempt to leverage an edge for yourself pales in comparison to the beast before you. “You do fear. You fear me.”

And you can’t look away, because Dottore’s presence rewrites the gravitational pull of your attention whenever he so much as shares a space with you. Magnetic the same way a black hole draws stars towards it, shredding and consuming them with singleminded ruthlessness. Its very nature demands to devour, and you aren’t sure that his own doesn’t follow suit.

To your credit, you manage your terror remarkably well, diminishing it into something that you can swallow back down. Once you understand that denial isn’t an option you can sell convincingly, you resign yourself. “Perhaps,” you admit to him, “but I hope to never reveal the extent of that fear to you.”

“And why is that?” Wicked curiosity meets you with an inquiry, and you square your shoulders firmly.

“You just don’t seem like a very good person to trust, Lord Harbinger.”

He actually laughs at that, and some of the tension between you melts away. “Smart little thing you are, aren't you.”

The dark sky arcing overhead beyond the window seems to bring him back to his original aim in arriving here— when Dottore offers his arm to you in a mockery of courtesy, you take it and allow him to walk you to his office as you rearrange your face back into careful neutrality.

“I don’t like liars,” the Harbinger says abruptly on the way, and you make a mental note of the minute detail, tucking it away. “You’ll do well to remember that.”

As you lapse into silence, Dottore’s eyes slide to the still-healing wound on your cheek and he stifles a huff of amusement at how you take in the information, a performer ever-so-eager to please.

Even away from your music, you are just so entertaining.

find me on ao3 here!

#♡. kal's kitchen #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore x you #TCOTM #genshin impact x reader

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fishcalledsebastian · 1 month ago

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[ Someone walked through the small vent, taking a moment to fully fall out to the other side, tumbling through. ]

“ Heeyy. I heard you were. uh. getting out??-

you should totally take me with you- i am NOT doing another one of pandemonium's minigames. ”

[ — @battery-enthusiast ]

'I'm taking everyone I can.'

#ask blog #pressure #sebastian solace

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karamell-sweetz · 1 year ago

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hey tumble do you think about pandemonium

#project sekai #karamell doodles #rui kamishiro #tsukasa tenma #shizuku hinomori #airi momoi #karamell's confections #GOODNIGHT TUMBLY WUMBLY I LEAVE YOU WITH THIS

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takingstockofwhatmattersmost · 2 years ago

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she wrote a little bit like chaos like ramshackle like a hurricane slamming against the east coast of my heart ripping up roots and flooding my depths

she wrote a little bit like chaos like pandemonium like a kaleidoscopic tumble through rainbow adornments falling into words and drowning in poetry

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lgbtqmanga · 2 years ago

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New Releases Mar. 21, 2023

Doughnuts Under a Crescent Moon vol. 4 by Shio Usui

FINAL VOLUME!

Asahi has never been big on romantic love—her top priority has always been family. But now that Hinako is in her life, her feelings about romance seem to be changing. Asahi still doesn’t know exactly what that means, but one thing is for sure: her feelings for Hinako are growing more intense by the day. Are Asahi and Hinako destined for more than friendship? Find out in the final volume of Doughnuts Under a Crescent Moon!

The Executioner and Her Way of Life (novel) vol. 6 by Mato Sato and Nilitsu

"Consider yourself lucky to die here."

The fight between Menou and Master Flare in the land of salt begins to tip in the student’s favor. Connecting to Akari’s vast guiding force has enabled Menou to access the pseudo-concept of Time, a development that spells the conclusion to a battle that has ended in defeat countless times before. Yet during the fight, Ivory slips in and out of view. Elsewhere, Pandemonium enters the Star Memory. Something Manon left behind unknowingly has brought about a fatal change, and a catastrophe arrives at the furthest reaches of the world.

Happy of the End vol. 2 by Ogeretsu Tanaka

After constant moving, Chihiro and Haoran may have settled down, which means a house-warming party. This sudden sense of "normalcy" is a little strange for the two of them as their lives are far from it. Whether it's the scars all over Haoran's body or the violent people in their past, finding moments of peace is their only solace in life today.

Hirano and Kagiura vol. 2 by Shou Harusono

Okay, so his first attempt didn’t work. Hirano somehow managed to turn Kagi’s attempt at a confession into nothing. If it was intentional, then does that mean he...doesn’t like Kagi back? Indulging him at every turn, treating him differently than anyone else—it’s not possible that Hirano sees him as just a friend. Is it?

Kiniro Mosaic Best Wishes by Yui Hara

Set one year after the events in Kiniro Mosaic, this volume contains eleven chapters ranging from the everyday life of Alice and her friends after graduation, to behind-the-scenes stories of their high school life never revealed in the main series.

Pulse vol. 3 by Ratana Satis

When their date at the pool only serves to heat up their budding relationship, heart doctor Mel must face the reality that she’s falling for Lynn. As her feelings grow and the temptation to take their relationship to the next step reaches unbearable, an emergency at the hospital demands Mel’s attention. A mystery draws Mel away and wraps her up in an investigation that soon tumbles out of control, leaving Lynn alone to await the doctor’s return.

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat vol. 2 by Sakaomi Yuzaki.

Kasuga and Nomoto promised to spend their Christmas and New Year’s together. Now, they find themselves learning more about each other’s families through the food sent by Nomoto’s mother. Cute character bento, salmon and rice, stollen, fruit sandwiches, roast beef…Nomoto and Kasuga warm up to each other over a cheerful holiday season.

#new releases #manga #light novel #novels #queer manga #lgbt manga

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ker18 · 1 year ago

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Beautiful Disaster (2)

Hello again, friends. I am really into the whole writing thing right now. But, I am no professional and all this is just a work of fan fiction from a wretched, battered soul. There may be absurd grammatical errors within this work, but please be gentle with me... :D

This was in no way intended to hurt or harm. Only to express thoughts in my head.

I do not claim to know anymore than anyone else in the issues plaguing the characters in the fanfic and this is not in anyway related to whatever truth they might actually hold.

With that said... please, enjoy... xD

-Sometime in the Future-

The leaves were rustling and tumbling over each other on the blanket of greens and yellows, the scent markers avid with dawn of the equinox, the tinge of fiery reds eminent in the overhang. The season was already showing signs of the beginning of the end but there she still was, sat on her front porch, looking out into the hibernating world. For five years, it had been hibernating… Five long insufferable years, filled with longing, yearning, and emptiness. For so long, she held on to the hope that there would still be another chance, an opportunity to make things right, a break in the stunt, or a redemption from the solitude.

She could still recall the last minutes, the fleeting moment, the pain – the excruciating grief, the tears, and the last goodbye before the actual fall. The recollection was as vivid as the day itself, no shield from the hurt, still inevitable in the way it came crashing down. For five years, she relived that moment over and over, every hour that dusk rolled by. She would convene herself on the same seat - blanket across her lap, a cup of jasmine tea in hand, thoughts in normalized disarray- and just allow the emotions to flood in.

There was an insincere calm that came with the chaos. First, memories would crash-in of the time when things were happier. The smiles, the dates, the late night talks, the stargazing moments, the promises, the sweet-nothings, the laughs, the hyper-awareness, the water colors, the teasing, the succumbing, the holding-back and then giving-in, the kisses, the touches, the skin-on-skins, the hugs, the warmth, the comfort, the scents, the breaths… the LOVE. All these came tumbling down as soon as the flood gates were released. She’d let them. It was the only way she could feel again. For those few minutes of seclusion, she would allow herself to relive it all and let it seep to revitalize her bones. This was the daily ‘bend before the break’… The instant where the grays showed other hues and she felt perpetual again.

“Babe? I’ll be here. You’ve got me. You know that, right?”

She recalled the cascade of emotions that overtook her the moment she heard those words, coming from the only mouth she could ever want them from. Those sakura lips were her life-force, her only means of survival in the world full of pandemonium. That voice was her voice of reason- the silencer to the unruliness of their day-to-day. Five years ago – and to present – she hadn’t a clue how she would go through every day without hearing that sweet influence. Up to date, her mind still processed that voice, still kept her promise to take the conversations to heart. Pain ensued in her chest where her heart lay, and she let it. Clutching at an imaginary handhold as tears threatened to fall, she moved onto another memory.

“Can you come over? Or should I just make my way to you?... You know what? Pick me up, please?”

Her mind’s eye reread the words and she remembered getting in her car, driving like crazy with one destination in mind. She overlooked the rain, the slippery street, the honks and beeps of traffic as she sped towards her terminus. All she knew at the time was that she needed to be in those arms, just as urgently as their owner needed her to be. She recapped exactly how that night went. As soon as the door was opened to allow her entry into more than just the room, she was enveloped into the warmest embrace. She remembered the whispers of gratitude as the strong arms weaved her into more than just body against her. She felt her heart soar and melt at the same time – melt in to what felt like home. There was no need to move, no need to speak, no need to mind, no need to do anything else but be in each other’s arms… and for that night, they stayed in. There was no rush in those moments, no race to finish anything that they started - there was just them, in the quiet of a room, their thoughts on full display for each other’s regard. Serene touches and sighs, beauty and grace, time and focus, unparalleled devotion were the courters of that night. And, these were welcomed with ardor.

”How could you, Babe? What does this mean for us?” Silent tears drowned the conversation until the silence was broken with the sweetest let down, “I’ll always love you, Babe. But, I can't... I'm sorry..."

The bitterest I love you she’d ever heard was that one right there. It felt like her world came crashing down on her that night, and every night since then. She saw the tortured look of love and betrayal on the face of the only person who had stuck by her through thick and thin. Suddenly, her voice of reason had ran out of reasons – reasons to fight for her, for them –and that’s when she knew that it was over. The sudden emptiness that masked those eyes that she loved, the coldness that radiated from the body she once burned to touch, the brusqueness of the rejection that arose – she felt it all smack her in the middle of her chest. Her heart fell and shattered, and she failed to find herself any excuses to save it from the instant break. ‘Coz she knew she hurt the one she gave it to and there was no greater pain than to see the hurt mirrored at her.

She scoffed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as tears fell freely at the memory - eyes that had grown tired, but never ran out of sorrow. The sobs racked her body, making her hunch in on herself to pacify the sudden tear she felt in her battered heart. Because, until today, she still felt the ache, she still mourned her loss, she still loved the ghost of her derelict lover. She remembered the incalculable emotions that ran across the face of the one that once was so certain of her – the one that traumatized her the most was the look of agonized love. She couldn’t unsee that but what frustrated her the most was that she chose to walk away without letting herself explain... She was a coward! She was the biggest fool! She shouldn’t have! She shouldn’t have listened to that goodbye and held on. She would have… if she’d only known that it was going to be the last time.

That was it. That one mistake was what cost her everything. The cross she bore for the past five years was born of that infuriating moment when she chose her pride over the love she had. In the snap of an instant, the click of a button, the turn of a head, and the blink of an eye, it was all gone. And it took her heart with it. The one thing that kept her together was the one thing that fell her. And, woe to her, she knew that it was all her fault. She let the tears fall freely now – crying in the way a forsaken soul would – cascades of lamented water soaking the blanket that was now pulled up to her chin. She bawled and she broke down, like yesterday, like the past months, like the last five years since that fateful day.

“Off to somewhere new... Time to heal.

But, I’ll always love you…”

The last story she read before the radio silence. The last message to her, broadcasted for all to see. It haunted her and scarred her deeply. She saw and felt the remorse in those words, but also the exigency to leave. She felt the defeat wash over her. She pulled herself away and watched herself crumble and rupture, but she did nothing else to quell the decided.

For months on end, she fell into a monotonous existence, only doing the bare minimum to survive. She lost time, she lost connections, and she lost herself. But nothing could compare to what she actually lost inside. She still kept on until hope reared its head. Deep within, she hoped - maybe, one day, she’d be given the chance… maybe one day, she’d be able to make things right. Maybe, one day, her love would come back… But, for now, she allowed herself these precious moments. The moments to reminisce and drown her system with actual feelings. She lived for these advent moments where she discovered exactly how much she felt, loved and lost.

She basked in the ambience. Her lachrymose disposition slowly subsiding as she stared off into the last rays of the sunlight over the horizon. She wiped her tears, gearing up to head inside and resume her morose life.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

Her heart leaped at the voice. It was the voice from her thoughts… the voice she would never forget. The voice that brought a torrent of emotions with it. Her brain seared in anguish, threatening to explode at the seeming reality of that familiar timber. She refused to look for a moment, fear eminent in her chest to find nothing but the phantom of her memory, but her curiosity broke loose and made her turn towards the source of the dulcet voice. And there, time stopped – eyes, nose, lips, hair, smile, and regard… there was Love! She failed at words at first, exasperated joy and pain overcoming her. She stood slowly, air and strength refusing to support her. The speaker walked towards her, climbing the two steps to reach her on the porch, reaching for her hands with sincerity and adoration, familiarity engraved in her sights. When contact was made, calmness ensued…

“Hi…” She finally said, breathlessly, heart in her hands – figuratively but literally.

#freenbecky #srchafreen #freen sarocha #angelssbecky #beckysangels #issues #ForeverFreenBecky #StayWithFreenBecky #angst #fanfiction #love #reunion

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emmychee · 2 years ago

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We Got You - Aether/own chracters self-indulgent fic

Autistic/She!Reader + Sam and Frank (PLATONIC)

2,484 words

Warning: autistic meltdown, possible mentions of ableism, characters getting hurt.

Meltdowns, you cannot be with them; you cannot be without them. You feel them almost each day when the triggers rise, be it overlapped noises, change in your routine, taking things to heart, or when something doesn’t feel right. They are unbearable for you, as they are unbearable to everyone else, who sees them as “unruly”, “immature”, and that you “needed to be controlled”. Even the stares are not as helpful nor even comforting when you experience a meltdown of any kind in public.

You are a woman and meltdowns are seen as “hysteria” to them. But they don’t know, or even if they do, they don’t completely understand, the fact you are an autistic woman, who are said to mask easily and clearly than those who cannot. But even then, masking during a meltdown does not go hand in hand, nor that it helps. At all.

Yet, you control them and sometimes they go away, and if they don’t at least you have your four friends to help. They help by taking you away from whoever or whatever is causing the meltdown, making it worse, or both. They take you into quieter, safer places and stay at your side after the storm has passed. Addie, Mal, Frank, and Sam, all four are on your side, always telling you your best days to reassure the worst. They are the best friends you have if nobody else is not.

What has been a normal day has continued to being another one of those days with pandemonium. You originally came to town for a wander round and have brought yourself some books to have a read from the bookstore, books that are comforting for you. Now the afternoon lingers by with a gut-feeling that something feels wrong to you. Once you have come out of the bookshop, there it is. Another meltdown.

There are so many people, and with so many people come with so many noises; vehicles honking, dogs barking, people chatting, all each louder to hear. The noises may be normal to them but for you it is like crossing a minefield with a lot of the mines already gone off, banging the air with explosions. At one point you want to turn around for the bookshop and stay there until it feels calmer, but you are certain it will be just as busy, in fact it was growing busy by the time you have left the checkout.

The bag of books you are carrying drops on the ground with a soft pat, your knees are glued together, and your feet spread out. You hide your face creasing with the fighting against the hot tears eager to come out with your long dangling fringe.

Now you are aware that people are staring at you. Murmurs are low but do not sound comforting, some are even doused with annoyance because of seeing a woman like you looking like she is about to explode with emotions at any second. You want to scream but that would create a bigger scene, only the tears down your face are screaming, and only you can hear them scream.

There are shouts and then a sound clatter of metal cans tumbling across the ground, somewhere. You do not know where.

You want to run away, pick up your bag of books and run, but your feet are fixed on the ground not budging an inch, even if people are walking by. Then, your feet give way, and your body slides its way down for the pavement… until a pair of hands catch you before the ground could. Yet, the only thing you feel pain is when your ankle twists to one side from the contact. Just a small tinge.

‘Let me go!’ you cry, trying to throw your arm free. The hands hold on, and then wrap themselves around your waist, as you are pulled inwards to something soft. ‘Let me go!’ you try again, louder this time.

‘It’s okay, Y/N,’ whispers a familiar voice, ‘we got you.’

That voice is indeed familiar, and you look up… facing Sam standing at your side with now both his arms on you. He has caught you from falling to the ground when your meltdown was at its peak. That is better than anyone else. He helps you up to a straight line, squeezing you close by his side. You look around and there is Frank in front, staring at nearby people who are standing and staring, and for some reason is covered almost head to foot with some dark coloured substance, paint, or tar? You cannot tell.

‘We suggest that you lot must go,’ Sam announces to the public, firmly. ‘And leave her with us.’

The people around are murmuring again. You shut your eyes tightly and cover your ears with both hands. You do not want to get Sam and Frank into trouble.

It has not felt like under a minute until you feel your whole body being carefully hoisted carried bridal style into Sam’s arms, as he watches the bystanders turn and leave after one last warning from Frank now carrying Old Faithful in both hands. It is not like him to carry his blunderbuss in public, especially it could let some heads turn. He is not a brave person to do such a thing, even for the sake of friends and you.

You watch Sam, still carrying you, turn for a quieter space, into a small alleyway. You can hear Frank hurrying behind, panting and coughing. You hear him mutter, ‘she doesn’t look good. We gotta get home.’ And that is the last thing you hear before closing your eyes again.

Opening your eyes, you find yourself lying on a soft padding, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets with your head nestled atop thick, fluffy pillows. You look around, lying within the sofa bed in the living room. You look around and the bag of books you have bought are sitting on a small table. There is a smell coming from the kitchen, something that smells sweet. There is chatter somewhere but sounds better than what must have been heard outside. Sounds like Mal and Addie are in the kitchen, talking with Sam. They sound sad. They must have heard about your meltdown.

You hear the shuffling of a limp along with a brief strong smell of paint. Someone is coming towards you, looming over the bed with low groans and complaints. You let out a whimper, pulling the thick blanket over your head in case whoever it is will turn away. You wait and wait for that moment to pass. Then you feel a touch against the blanket… you let out another whimper.

‘Hey, hey, Y/N,’ whispers a soft voice, a hand rubbing over your shoulder. ‘Easy. It’s only me.’

That sounds like Frank. You push the blanket away from your face and it is indeed Frank. His body is still covered with that dark coloured substance you saw back in town, from his face, hair, and beard, and over his brown coat and his two-tone orange cardigan underneath. From the ceiling’s light it looks to be a brown colour. And it looks like he has got himself in a slapstick show. Yet he stares at you with those glossy brown eyes and his sweet smile.

‘F-Frank?’ you manage to say, if in a whisper. ‘You’re all filthy. What happened to you?’

You see his eyes look away and his smile loosens with a tinge of embarrassment. ‘I had a lil’ accident while on the way to rescue you. It ain’t easy running with a wooden limb you see, and I bet the painters are really upset to see that some of their paint is gone.’

You chuckle lightly, carefully pushing up on the bed, and then you rest your back against the pillows. You run your hands over each other, your mind tracing on what has been happening today, your meltdown, the people around you, and then when Frank and Sam came to your rescue. You try to hold back tears daring to come out.

‘Hey, Y/N,’ coos a voice, and looking up Sam comes out of the kitchen. ‘You feel any better?’ He quickly glances down at the mug he is holding in one hand. ‘I’ve made some cocoa with milk cooked from the stove, just how you like it. Best to let it cool down for a bit.’ He puts the mug of hot cocoa on a small table next to the sofa bed and sits on top of the blanket.

The sweet smell of the cocoa tickles your nose, and you can no longer hold on. Tears trickle down your cheek and you try to wipe them away with your hand. This warm gesture from the two have been nothing but kind that you just want to cry your heart out.

‘I shouldn’t have made such a scene back there.’ You mutter. ‘What I did was stupid.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Sam counters, rubbing his hand over your shoulder. ‘It grew chaotic, and you weren’t feeling comfortable. Glad I managed to catch you before the ground gave you a graze.’

‘I suppose so. Usually, I hold back the emotions while in public and let it out with you as comfort. I’ve been stupid to let you two run the risk.’ You shift a glance at Frank, referring to the mess he is still in. You can see him shrug nervously. ‘I’m sorry to have let you get involved.’

‘We had to cause we’re your friends. Best friends always worry over one another.’

‘Yeah, Y/N,’ Frank agrees, ‘we do our part to make sure you’re okay after a meltdown, even if it involves getting ourselves in trouble.’ He lifts his hand and gently strokes along your cheek. ‘We were worried about you, sweetie. We wanted to get you outta there, like always in these situations. So, don’t fret a lot about nothin’.’

Your nostrils grow hoarse from your sniffles, as you glance between Frank and Sam, both giving their gentle smiles while remaining at your side. Such kind words the two of them said has made your chest relax even if just a little for you are still recovering from the ordeal. You pull Frank’s hand back to your cheek for more strokes and see his grin at you growing wider along with a chuckle bubbling from his lips.

You want to hold them both, that is what you want now. You want to hold them both as thanks for their gesture. You want to hold them both and not let go until necessary. But of course, seeing the paint all over Frank… that is a problem.

‘I better go and get washed up,’ Frank says, getting up from his seat. ‘All this paint is stickin’ into me like glue. I’ll be back down, okay?’

‘Okay.’ As Frank heads for the bathroom upstairs, you glance around the quiet living room with Sam to keep you company. The cocoa should be cooler to drink now. You take the mug in both hands and take a sip; the chocolate taste is creamy and sweet. You do like your cocoa made with hot milk cooked from the stove, it is the best taste.

As you drink your cocoa, Mal and Addie race into the living room, and their eyes fall onto you.

‘Hey, there you are, Y/N!’ cries Mal, beaming. ‘We heard about your meltdown.’

‘Must have been a hard one to deal with, huh?’ asks Addie.

You nod. ‘Yeah. But Sam and Frank got me outta there.’

‘Yep. Saw Frank come in looking like he got into a vat of molasses! Not that he’d ever do that, despite liking the sweet stuff.’

You laugh lightly for Addie does make you laugh with her little antics. You gulp down the rest of the cocoa and set down the empty mug back on top of the small table.

Frank comes down the stairs with some struggle, and into the living room looking like a better person than before. He is dressed in a grey long-sleeved shirt, a pair of baggy brown trousers and a single red sock for his left foot. His hair is wet from the shower, damping his shoulders, but clean from the sticky substance.

‘There, you’re lookin’ much better now, Frankie!’ Addie states with a cocked eyebrow. ‘Didn’t want you to eat supper looking like you’ve been caught in slapstick.’

‘Yeah, I didn’t think it was a good idea. How long is it going to be?’

‘Since we’re ordering pizza, I think about twenty minutes by now for them to get here.’ Mal turns to you. ‘I’ve got your favourite, Y/N, and even ordered us some cookies to share too.’

You smile at the nice gesture. ‘That’s good.’

‘While we’re at it, Addie, could you help me set out the table?’

‘Alright then. I was wanting to play some video games like we promised, but better get that out of the way.’

As Mal and Addie head for the kitchen to start their preps, you are left with Sam and Frank. But that is okay, because you want to be with them. You snuggle into the depths of the blankets, resting your head on the pillows.

‘Thanks for bringing me back here, you two.’

‘No problem, Y/N.’ Sam smiles. ‘We’re your friends, and if you ever feel those sorts of things happening again, those meltdowns, you know we’ll come running, alright?’

‘Yeah.’ You feel your eyes grow heavy, feeling like wanting to rest them before pizza arrives. You glance between Sam and Frank with your hands running over the blankets, murmuring something.

‘What is it, Y/N?’

You mumble again with a smile slowly growing on your face.

‘You want us to stay with you?’

You nod your head against the pillows. ‘Can you?’

Sam and Frank look at each other and then back at you, smiling. ‘Sure.’

They clamber themselves up, with luckily enough space for the three of you. Sam is on your right and Frank on your left. They put their arms around you, pulling closer to your side. This is just right you think to yourself, looking at them with tired but smiling eyes. Sam nuzzles his face into yours. Frank playfully tickles your nose. Adorable little gestures.

‘Sorry,’ you murmur. ‘Sorry if rescuing me was troubling.’

‘It’s no trouble at all, Y/N.’ replies Sam.

‘Yeah,’ Frank nods, ‘even if I was a klutz to help Sam sweep you from the scene. We do it cause we love you.’

A laugh bubbles from your lips. ‘And I love you both.’

The three of you remain in the bed together after what has been harrowing to you and harrowing to them being the ones who got you out of the funk in town. At least once the door rings and pizza has finally arrived.

#aether #sam #captain frank #mal #addie #reader insert #own characters #writing #self indulgent fic #comfort characters #autistic

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nirahsaooc · 2 years ago

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youtube

This song is fire, and is great to listen to even outside of fighting the bosses that use it in FF14, since yeah this is the actual Boss Music. Plus I just love the lines of, "Or scream all you like, your gods can't hear you." "Scream all you like, 'cause we're all mad here".

Scream

Foul child, bastard and beast O lost lamb, first to the feast Come claim if you're able a spot at this table Mild and meek, down on your knees For hide and seek. It's time that we feed Your heart is racing, blood is running cold Your fractured will is whispering (fly away) Far Away, here be lions

[Chorus] Say goodnight With each bite does your sanity die Sucking the life out, letting the dark Inside, say a prayer as the light leaves your eyes Or scream all you like, your gods can't hear you

[Post-Chorus] Scream Now scream Scream Pseudo suicide, don't choke on your pride Scream Now scream Now scream Yeah, I'm gonna watch you bleed

Flensed and flayed, how does it feel? Your pound is paid, those scars will not heal Lost in suffering, drowning in your tears Won't someone, somewhere tell me (Where do I) go from here Be the lion

[Chorus] Say goodnight With each bite does your sanity die Sucking the life out, letting the dark Inside, say a prayer as the light leaves your eyes Or scream all you like, the gods can't hear you Dressed in rage, inside my cage My pandemonium, still bound to the flame that I bear Buried alive in the coffin of who I used to be I'll scream all I like, 'cause we're all mad here Slumbering, tumbling Wandering, wondering Suffering, hungering Forever falling into my mind Deeper, deeper down 'til I

[Chorus] Say goodnight to the shadow I left far behind I'm just a stranger, we are all strange Inside, you can run but there's nowhere to hide So scream all you like, no one can hear us Follow me (Follow me), come follow me (Follow me) To Pandemonium, still bound to the flame that I bear There's no release (Rescue me) from this empty, waking wonderland (Rescue me) So scream if you like, 'cause we're all mad here Scream all you like, 'cause we're all mad here

#Scream #FF14 #Boss Music #Youtube

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momoleesq · 5 months ago

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Chapter 5

Nairo had stiffened but, to her credit, in Ridley's book, she looked unperturbed. Slowly, Ridley swivelled on his stool and faced the bulk behind the fist. He found himself looking at two furry grey boulders. He lifted his head back and squinted at the misshapen, lumped up, bovine face of the heavy. He had one long curved horn, the other was jagged and broken, and the outrageous scars that ran the length of his snout let Ridley know whoever did it didn’t suffer from an oxygen dependency for too much longer. But his eyes were more terrifying than the scars. They were wide, almost to the point of constant derangement, and a sickly yellow colour. He had an erratic tick and a habit of blinking one eye at a time that rounded off the psychopathic motif his face had chosen.

“Well there's so much of yer back I couldn't help it.” Ridley offered a weak smile and half a shrug.

“That's funny,” the Minotaur snorted, his left eye closed, opened, then the right one twitched shut. “You wanna see how funny you'll look smiling with no teef.” He raised his meaty fist, Nairo drew a sharp breath, ready to jump, Ridley winced in anticipation, then there was the heavy thunk of a safety latch being released..

“Now now Bull, I don’t want no trouble in 'ere.” The plump little Gnome suddenly looked far more menacing with a crossbow in his hands. “Just had the chandeliers cleaned,” he offered as an apology.

The tension in the room had reached breaking point. The second someone pulled a weapon things would either peter out in a cloud of awkward shuffling and muttered oaths of vengeance, or they exploded.

“Put it away Carl,” the Bull grunted. He hadn’t lowered his fist, but neither had he turned Ridley's dentures to dust.

“Yeah put it away Carl,” Ridley said, not entirely confident in the way the crossbow shook in Carl’s sweaty hands.

“No, I will not put it away, and don’t move or I'll shoot,” he squawked.

Out of the corner of his eye Ridley saw Nairo’s chest puff up and a look of righteous indignation cross her face. Before he could stop her, she stood up and turned to Carl.

“I am Sergeant Nairo of the ___ Police Department. Carl that is a Class Two prohibited firearm and concealment of such a weapon is not only illegal but highly frowned upon.” She shook her head in disappointment at Carl's behaviour before rounding on The Bull. “And as for you...”

Ridley gave a silent inward groan and closed his eyes, enjoying the final seconds of peace before pandemonium broke out.

“Youse a copper?” the Bull said as he cocked his massive head in confusion.

“You bought a copper in here Ridley?” Carl almost fell off his perch.

“A copper?” said an incredulous voice from the back of the room.

“Wasn't me!” cried another suddenly.

“Is this a set up!?” The Bull growled, taking a menacing step towards Ridley.

“I'm innocent!” The cries were getting rowdier.

“Bloody pig!”

“Oi what you got against pigs?”

“I'm innocent!” barked another.

“ 'E did it!”

“Oi no I didn’t!”

That was it. The tinkling smash of glass. The universal sign that civility had gone out the window, along with a saggy gnome. Ridley was unsure what hit him first, The Bull or the bartender. He heard the twang of the crossbow followed only a second later by the sick crunch of the Bull's fist smashing into his face. At that range the crossbow bolt went straight through the fleshy part of Ridley's shoulder, exploding out the other side straight in the Bull's leg. Carl tumbled off his stoop with the kickback from the massive crossbow. The formerly sullen drinkers had erupted into a mass of fists, knees and broken furniture. They tumbled and smashed into one another, dissolving into a ball of cursing and violence. The punch had sent Ridley off his stool, his shoulder oozing blood as he hit the spongy carpet. He wanted to cry out in pain, but his face had frozen from the impact of the blow, his whole jaw jarred into paralysis. But Ridley hadn’t lived this long in the grime by not being able to take a hit. His vision uncrossed enough for him to see the Bull roaring in pain, his ham sized fist curled around the bolt in his leg. With a snarl, he yanked it out, spraying blood across the carpet. Ridley scrambled across the carpet as the Bull advanced on him. He slipped the hand of his good arm into his coat, scrabbling for his brass knuckles.

Nairo was there first however, she stood legs akimbo protectively over Ridley's fallen body. The Bull swatted at her, but he was slow and obvious. She ducked under his clumsy attack, let him stumble a step, then drove her knee straight into the open wound in his leg. The Bull howled as he stumbled backwards clutching at his thigh where he was swept into the general melee of brawling punters. Nairo grabbed Ridley and pulled him to his feet. He wobbled uncertainly, blood dripping from his mouth and shoulder.

“You alright?” Nairo asked him as she held him up.

The Bull tried to extract himself, swinging boulder like fists at anything that twitched.

Ridley pushed Nairo out of the way and charged at the Bull.

“You ripped my coat!” he howled at the Bull as he dove into the melee.

In all his years Ridley had never understood the idea of fighting 'clean'. After all, once one has shown their intention to beat you to a bloody pulp, the how is somewhat superfluous. Ridley feinted to the left, then chucked a foot straight between the Bull's leg's before following with an elbow to his wounded thigh. Nairo came running up behind him but was caught by one of the Bull's flailing limbs. She skittered across the pub, almost getting trampled by a pack of scuffling drinkers, around who, one defiant wino crawled across the floor shielding his pint. There was another smash of a window. The crash of furniture and flying barstools added to the crescendoing violence.

When Nairo had regained her bearings and looked up, she realised it was Ridley who had been thrown through the window. The Bull hurled himself out of the remains of the glass in pursuit. Nairo jumped back to her feet hastily making for the hole in the wall. The rumble had increased by at least double its original size. She could have sworn she saw eager-faced creatures run into the pub with the express wish of partaking in some harmless, mid-morning, violence and bloodshed. She fought her way through, trying to channel her training, and use only academy approved strikes. When she stumbled outside she was met by an almost, if it wasn’t for the murderous intent behind it, comical sight. The Bull was limping badly now; his wounded limb barely able to take his massive weight. Frothing at the mouth, his chest heaving, he waved a fist as he chased Ridley, who was clutching his shoulder and wandering around in circles. They both spat curses and insults at each other, Ridley stopped occasionally to aim a kick at the Bull's family jewels. After one poorly aimed kick, Ridley stumbled and the Bull finally caught him. He grabbed him by the tail of his coat and whipped the PI round like a soaked towel. Nairo lunged in and sliced two hard strikes at The Bull's thick neck, only succeeding in annoying him. Ridley made a wet noise as he slapped against the wall and he slid down into a heap groaning. Nairo continued to duck the Bull's awkward one-legged lunges, luring him away from Ridley.

“I really must insist you desist with this behaviour, the charges against you are mounting disconcertingly high!”

“Shurrup!” the Bull snorted, throwing his big head left and right in fury.

Nairo misstepped once, moving forward when she should have dodged back. The Bull’s face contorted with predatory malice as he finally pulled the pesky copper into his clutches. Nairo wriggled and kicked at the massive Minotaur trying futilely to extricate herself. The smell of the Bull was overpowering, like a gym in a barnyard, his froth dripped onto her clothes, his grip bone crushing.

“I got you now, little piglet! I’m gonna snap you into a little bitty piece! Turn your organs into paste!. Pop them pretty little eyes outta yore head! I'm gonna rip your face off and sew it to ya...”

Nairo kicked out and caught him in the now dark purple arrow wound. He roared and she fought to free herself. She dug her heels into his stomach and pushed with all her strength. His grip went slack for a moment and she almost slipped free. He grabbed her by the back of her shirt and slammed her against the wall, once, twice, the third time she had stopped wriggling, the fourth was just for the satisfaction. Nairo went limp.

Ridley, meanwhile, had been quietly fighting the battle to become vertical, succeeding only with the help of his former enemy the brick wall. Victorious, he stumbled forward, his body broken and unresponsive, but his mind was too stubborn for such a minor inconvenience. Ridley stumbled at the Bull, throwing a weak punch at his granite mid section while trying to pull Nairo from his crushing grip. The Bull snarled and snatched Ridley up in his free hand, lifting him off the ground, spittle dripping from his chops, his eyes bugged, swivelling insanely.

“I'm gonna turn youse into a meat bag sandwich and smash yer bones to...”

“Pocket Sand!” Ridley cried.

From his pocket he flung a fistful of what looked like sand into the Bull's eyes. The Bull snarled and hurled both of them in different directions, his rocky fingers clawed at his eyes as he spat grit out of his mouth.

“I'll kill you! You puny little...”

THUNK!

The Bull's face froze. Ridley swung the wooden beam again, grunting with all his effort through the pain of his ruined shoulder. It bounced off the Bull's thick knotted skull, the hollow echoing ringing across the alleyway. It took two more swings before he finally crumpled to his knees. He turned his battered head towards Ridley only to get a snout full of wood. Slowly, the gargantuan beast slumped backwards, his head hit the cobbles hard enough to bounce. Ridley could barely hold his skinny, battered frame straight; the plank fell from his nerveless grip.

“Bullseye,” Ridley muttered thickly through his swollen jaw.

“That was terrible.” Nairo grimaced, her legs shaking under her weight, her face a pallid unhealthy white.

Ridley didn’t get a chance to respond. He collapsed next to the Bull, dark oblivion gave him respite from pain... briefly.

#urban fantasy #mystery #thriller #web series #magic crime #elves #goblins #gnomes #pixie #detective fiction #female lead

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mineconditionally · 6 months ago

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Magical Marshall and Demonic Nart Pt. 2

At first, an air of tense rivalry hung between the demon cat Nart and the mystical tabby Marshall. Though both reveled in unleashing chaos and magic upon the unsuspecting realms, their motivations seemed at odds.

Nart, an ancient interdimensional entity, craved pure bedlam and corruption for its own sake. She delighted in watching the pathetic order of existence unravel into beautiful disarray.

Marshall, on the other hand, was a manifestation of arcane forces. His magics ultimately maintained a harmony, no matter how wildly he reshuffled the laws of nature for his amusement.

Yet as they traded alternating waves of destructive whimsy across towns, cities and countrysides alike, something shifted. The constant game of one-upmanship turned performative, then gradually more...friendly.

Marshall's mischievous sense of humor eroded Nart's rigid nihilism over time. The demon cat began laughing alongsidehim rather than just at the madcap scenes they created. She discovered a childlike joy in Marshall's brand of controlled mayhem.

In turn, Marshall seemed to derive impish glee from witnessing the extent of Nart's unfettered power. Her willingness to go as far into realms of utter chaos gave him a delightfully wicked role model.

Before long, they were gleefully conspiring on joined undertakings rather than trying to outwit each other. Nart provided the spark of twisted inspiration while Marshall added arcane flair to whatever ludicrous idea they concocted.

On one particularly memorable night, the two friends opened a series of random, kaleidoscopic portals across a bustling downtown district. Humans found themselves tumbling from pleasant sunny meadows, through starscapes of outer space, into a realm of infinite pizza before plopping back to the city street.

As the confused mortals tried to make sense of their surreal journey, Nart and Marshall shared a contented look. Twin xeno-smiles of pure chaotic satisfaction spread across their furry faces, made even wider by their newfound camaraderie.

From that night on, both understood the other on an almost spiritual level. Nart and Marshall made an unstoppable team of agents of pandemonium - one driven by primordial turmoil, the other mystical mischief. Yet at their core, a heartwarming friendship bound these two embodiments of glorious disarray.

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queenclaudiabrown · 1 year ago

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She'll Be Coming With Us | Chapter Four: Thereafter

Content warnings: uncensored cussing (contains: ‘hell’ [not the place] and ‘balls’ [not referring to genitalia]); canon-typical violence and triggers (such as the Gorgonopsid’s death); mild alcohol consumption and referenced drunkenness; food; infected blisters and associated pain and medical care but no needles; mentions of sweat if you find that triggering; minor nudity (character takes a bath but it is not descriptive or sexual); brief mention of menstruation [supplies, brief and vague]; Lester being a canon-typical arse; mentions of the Gulf War; mentions of jail/arrests, public urination, brawling, and mild vandalism; very brief mention/threat of murder but it’s kinda??? in jest (is it though?); I think that’s everything but if I missed something notify me and I will rectify it Word count: 9,613

Series Masterlist

Friday, May 19th, 2006

19:58 / 7:58 p.m.

Claudia, Nick, and Ryan crashed through the anomaly, back to home and safety, in a harsh reversal of their entrance into the Permian. Bright evening sunshine switched to the blackness of night like a switch being flipped, the glow of the dying anomaly and the freestanding lamps set up at the campsite inconsequential. The intense heat and cloying humidity changed to the chill of a spring night in England, although the underlying dampness in 2006 seemed infinitesimal in comparison. Claudia gasped as she tumbled and rolled across the ground; damp but packed soil and dead pine needles. The musty, earthy smell of the Forest filled her lungs, and the scent of rain felt like coming home.

They were swarmed by civilians and Home Office scientists alike, a cacophony of overlapping questions and camera shutters clicking exploding in her ears. She couldn’t make any of it out distinctly, too entangled in the shift between worlds and her relief at escaping to absorb anything else.

The anomaly snapped closed, fizzling into oblivion.

Someone helped her stand. Blinking, she struggled to adapt her vision to the change in location. After a few moments, her eyes caught on Abby Maitland, the yellow-white light of the lamps glowing in her hair. Her lips moved, but Claudia’s ears were still ringing and too overwhelmed to parse what words they framed. She thought she might be sick.

Abby, bless her, seemed to understand and led Claudia away from the anomaly, guiding her to sit down on a case of some kind, where she sat shivering. The blonde disappeared, but reappeared a few moments later with a paper cup of water. Claudia took it and gulped it down in a few seconds, but her mouth and throat still felt burning dry.

The hubbub around her was muted entirely by a growling, throaty roar like nothing Claudia had ever heard before, like a hybrid of a lion’s roar and a wolf’s growl but somehow even more terrifying. A fresh pandemonium erupted around her, and eyes that hadn’t quite adjusted caught a huge form galloping on all fours toward the site. Everyone was moving, a flurry of panic and fear and survival. Soldiers abandoned their stations and ran toward the beast, half-cloaked in shadow despite the blinding lamps, and fired on it. The adrenaline from the mad scramble back into 2006 hadn’t even begun to fade from Claudia yet, but it spiked even higher at the animal war cry and broke her from her terrified paralysis into a terrified run.

A scientist clad in all white nearly toppled her over as he raced by, and the sickening realization that about half a dozen civilians and several dozen non-military government officials were present hit Claudia. “Ryan! Clear the area!” She shouted hoarsely, whirling on the spot in a desperate attempt to locate the civilians- Nick, Connor, Abby, and Stephen. The motion caused the muzzle of the rifle still strapped to her chest to bump into her knee again, and in horror she registered that Ryan had only a pistol to defend himself with; the other soldiers likely had all the other guns. She glanced down at herself, briefly contemplating whether or not she should take up the weapon and join in defending the camp.

“Brown, move!” Ryan’s voice cut through the din of screaming and gunfire and roaring. She whipped her head toward the source of the sound and caught choppy glimpses of him moving through the hysterical crowd. She pushed her way toward him, hands coming up to loosen the strap holding the rifle to her. They met in the middle and she quickly pulled it over her head. He took it from her with a grateful nod, and then they were apart again, dashing in opposite directions. He ran toward danger, doing his duty, relying on his training just as she did, although hers dictated that she evacuate to a safer location to allow those trained and equipped to combat a threat to do their job without risk of hindrance or collateral damage. She was smart enough to know there was naught she could do to help the soldiers except get out of their way, and if her instinct to flee agreed with her training, so be it. A modicum of relief sliced through her panic as she caught sight of Connor and Abby in her peripheral vision, fleeing in the same direction she was, and Nick Cutter himself less than a meter ahead of her. Stephen was nowhere to be seen, but she was sure that if he was at the site, he was also fleeing. She probably just couldn’t see him in that dark coat of his with her eyes still not fully adjusted.

In spite of its power, adrenaline can only do so much. Her feet were sore, throbbing with every step, and probably bleeding by now. Disorientation still had a firm grip on her, and she was paradoxically sweating and shivering together. Her aching head was spinning with the change in lighting and the commotion encompassing her, the darkness of the Forest at night like gazing into a black hole and the lamps somehow both too dim and too bright all at once. Her heart had never gotten a chance to stop pounding since she, Ryan, and Nick had staggered up that last hill toward the anomaly.

Claudia tripped, vertical and moving one moment and flat on her stomach and definitely not moving the next. “Cutter!” She called, his name an instinctive cry. He reversed direction immediately, shouting her name. His hands came down on her arms and she turned over as she started to get up. Her and Nick’s eyes landed on the creature at the same moment- the creature that had ceased moving, and was now staring intently at them.

They began to scramble away. The heels of her boots dug into the earth as she struggled to propel herself backward, her upper body suspended by Nick’s grasp alone. But Claudia knew they were moving too slow. All she could see was the lamplight glinting of saliva-dripping saber fangs and menacing orange eyes focused and fixated on her. Its low grumbling growl emanated from deep in its throat, disturbingly audible over the pounding of her heart that thudded like a drum in her already overstimulated ears. The ground vibrated with every impact of its clawed feet as it prowled toward them, stalking toward its kill. She saw the cow, heard the description of the gouges torn into the side of a shipping lorry where it was photographed. She knew what those claws were capable of, and she knew that she was next.

She wished for a moment that she hadn’t cried out, that Nick hadn’t heard her, that he hadn’t come back for her. Especially with a death as gruesome and unstoppable as the one that awaited her, she would much prefer to die alone than share her gory fate with someone else.

The shrill beeping of a car or truck hooter was the most unexpected thing that could have happened in that moment, and yet it did. Claudia’s head snapped to the left, mimicking the creature. A silver Hilux barreled through the trees, headlamps bright. In a way that distantly reminded Claudia of an aggravated bull, the beast charged the truck, and the breath caught in her chest as she watched the two collide just a few meters away. The truck halted, and the creature bounced off and hit the ground solidly.

The driver’s side door opened, and none other than Stephen Hart climbed out. He stared down at the creature with an expression Claudia couldn’t properly decipher in that moment- guilt, she supposed, for the kill, and some measure of shock as well. She swallowed and brought her legs up under her, reaching up to grasp the upright collar of Nick’s wool jacket for leverage. His hands went to her waist, steadying her as she stood. Her eyes remained glued to the creature where it lay but a couple meters away.

And then, one orange eye shot open- dear God, would this night ever end?- and the creature began to rise with a roar, like a horror film’s killer being resurrected for the millionth time. “Stephen!” Nick shouted. His hands still on Claudia’s waist, he swung her around himself on stumbling and sore feet, moving her out of danger. Her arms flung out to steady herself as she watched Nick grab a machine gun from a small rack of them within arms’ reach (she would need to have a conversation with Ryan about that). “Catch!” He called, tossing the firearm through the air into Stephen’s waiting hands, as if they had done this a dozen times before. He shouted again, but she didn’t catch his words over the din.

She reached out, grabbing at Nick’s shoulder to pull him back as the beast advanced. With a grace that made the move look practiced, Stephen dropped to one knee, bringing the automatic rifle to his right cheek and opening fire on the advancing creature. Blood spurted out in a small vermillion geyser from the creature’s side, but the injury didn’t seem to deter it. Stephen continued to fire, another burst of rounds, and it fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. It drew itself up again, one last struggling attempt to get to its feet, but the life went out of it and the creature went limp as it finally, finally died.

It was not an easy thing for Claudia to process that it was dead, having been just seconds away from being consumed by what was now an unmoving, utterly harmless lump of dead flesh. Her eyes remained affixed to the creature, unable to look away from the corpse. Blood still flowed through its veins, carried by inertia; the body, should she touch it, would still be as warm as it was two minutes before mid-rampage. But it was dead, as dead as the Canadian soldier whose bones Claudia had touched.

“That was bloody close.” Nick broke the silent aftershock, the thick burr of his accented voice muffled in Claudia’s ears as the unblocked sound of gunfire still rang in them. But his words served to shake her out of the nigh-catatonic paralysis that had overtaken her.

“Too close.” Stephen agreed, and the unruly tumult of feelings drowned out the shock and lingering fear.

She stepped away from Nick, still unsteadily, and took two aggravated steps toward Stephen before she no longer trusted her stride. “Where-” Claudia began, her chest heaving with more than just adrenaline, “-the bloody hell have you been?” She demanded. Stephen shrank back slightly from the vexation in her eyes. “Well?” She pressed. Stephen opened his mouth, floundering visibly, but she cut him off before he could speak. “No, actually. No. I am going to speak to Captain Ryan and ensure that he has everything under control here and that we are not needed. Then we are going back to the hotel, and I am going to change my clothes and eat something, and then we will discuss this. That means all of us.” She directed pointed looks at the professor, Connor, and Abby. “Have I made myself clear?”

Abby nodded, eyes wide. “Yup, sure have, sure have.” Connor stammered awkwardly. (She’d feel bad for frightening him later.) Nick looked the picture of innocence, but nodded as well.

“Good.” Claudia ended the discussion, if it could be called that, curtly. Seeing that they were still standing there awkwardly- a little nervous of inciting her wrath, no doubt- she snapped, “In the car. Or cars. That truck’s not safe to be driven. I’ll join you shortly.”

They dispersed like fish fleeing a shark, but Claudia was to exhausted and worked up to really care. She glanced around in search of Ryan and finally found him on the other side of the space, near where the anomaly had been. He looked relatively unharmed, but was crouched beside the prone form of another soldier.

“Medic!” He called out. Claudia started toward him, concerned for the welfare of the fallen man, but skirted well around the corpse of the creature. She knew, realistically, that it couldn’t hurt her anymore, but blood was still freely flowing out of the wounds, and the body would still be as warm as life should she touch it. Which was not something she had a desire to do.

She made her way over to Ryan and the others who were grouped around their comrade. Her shadow, cast long by one of the lamps that hadn’t been knocked over, fell over Ryan, and he lifted his head to look at her. “He’s alive.” He reported.

“Good to hear.” A voice at Claudia’s shoulder responded, and a Home Office medic stepped past her to squat at the soldier’s side. “We can take it from here, Captain.” She told him, casting glances about at the others. Taking the hint for what it was, Claudia and Ryan stepped back, echoed by the others. The other medics began streaming over, swarming around the unconscious soldier and tending to him.

Ryan made his way over to Claudia. “Ms. Brown, glad to see you’re alright. I saw the creature heading your way before the fellow in the truck dealt with it.”

“If Stephen hadn’t arrived when he did, I wouldn’t have been.” Claudia admitted, looking at her dirty hands as she rubbed them together for warmth. “Do you believe the site to be secure?”

“So long as the brain trust thinks there’s no more creatures, yes.” Ryan replied, gesturing with his head toward the vehicles.

“I’ll ask them. We’re heading back to the Eddington Hotel to get out from underfoot and debrief.” She weighed her words carefully. “If it does not interfere with your responsibilities, I would appreciate it if you retired to the hotel as well.”

He cracked a light smile. “Because I was on the other side with you and the professor, I assume?”

“In part.” She admitted. “I am not military, but I imagine you’re entitled to a break after the completion of your mission. You executed it quite well, and-” she cut herself off, smiling sheepishly and dropping her gaze to her now filthy shoes. “And I’m very grateful for what you did to get us all out of there alive. You saved the professor’s life, and mine, and I’ll never forget that.”

“I’m not so sure I saved yours, Ms. Brown. You seem to have a sensible head on your shoulders.” Ryan replied. “I won’t contradict you as far as Professor Cutter goes, though. Bloody fool.”

Claudia laughed despite herself, not expecting that. “Well, I couldn’t have dragged him all the way back; I doubt I could even have knocked him out. And I wouldn’t have left without him. But you did knock him out, and you carried him on your shoulders all that way, and then you convinced him to come back here. I do owe you my life. And for heaven’s sake, call me ‘Claudia’. I think we’ve moved past that formality.”

The ride back to the Eddington Hotel was silent, a combination of exhaustion and shock blanketing the occupants of the Hilux. Claudia was in the backseat this time, with Connor in the middle and Abby turned toward her own door, holding her jacket and a bright purple scarf bundled together to her chest like a child holds their favorite stuffed animal. Distantly Claudia wondered if the blonde was experiencing some sort of flashback to a childhood trauma, given her position and newfound- what was the word?- shyness, almost. She’d been very quiet all of a sudden, and had shed her jacket despite the night’s chill and the short sleeves of the top she wore underneath.

Upon returning to the hotel, Claudia ordered herself a plate of bangers and mash before heading upstairs to her room to freshen up. She stood in front of the full-length mirror and looked at herself, top-to-bottom. Her once neatly braided hair was now an unkempt, half-undone mess of frizzy copper. Her dark eyes were dulled with exhaustion even to her gaze, seemingly sunken into their sockets above dark bags that were visible after she’d sweat her makeup off.

Dark earth was streaked on the knees of her trousers and the front of her white jacket and powder blue top, and it was caked in the soles and on the backs of the heels of her horrid sneakers. They looked better covered in dirt, she decided, with their clashing neons muted by sediment.

The soreness that lay under those smears and stains would remind her of how she got them for a while yet. She shuddered involuntarily as her mind turned back to those harrowing moments, the mindless terror swallowing her as she ran on weary legs. She was very lucky to be alive.

Claudia owed Stephen her life; there was no doubt about it. Between ramming the creature with the truck and shooting it dead, he had been the reason she and Nick had escaped being torn to shreds or eaten alive. Nick’s efforts would not be forgotten, of course; he had risked his own life and come back for her, dragged her away from that animal when her own legs had failed her. As much as she hated to admit it, she had at once felt safe in his arms, sheltered by his strength and courage.

That was a dangerous path of thought to go down, and Claudia knew it, rebuking herself for allowing it to happen and blaming the exhaustion, stress, and trauma of the day for a slip of that nature and magnitude.

She did her best to put her mind in order as she took a quick shower, keeping the water lukewarm to avoid staying under the spray for too long. Fortunately, she still had her old clothes that she’d changed out of before heading through the anomaly, so she put them back on, along with her loafers. After drying her hair to an acceptable level and braiding it, she put on just enough makeup to make her look less exhausted than she was and headed back downstairs.

The small lunch she’d eaten with Nick and Abby in the Home Office canteen seemed so long ago now, and nearly moot, as if she hadn’t eaten at all. Her hot supper was ready and sitting before her on a white (material) dinnerplate within five to seven minutes of her returning to the combination bar and restaurant portion of the hotel, and she found herself sitting in the same place she had been when she had first laid eyes on Nick. Mercifully, there was no nameless, arrogant sleazebag blathering away and sitting across from her this time. Actually, there was no one sitting in the same booth as her at all, which was probably the best for her image, considering the way she ravenously wolfed down her dinner despite it being far too hot to eat. She tasted very little of it through the burning sensation as she shoveled it into her mouth, but it was a balm to her painfully empty stomach, and what flavor she did glean from it she certainly enjoyed.

Her hunger satisfied and her bad mood somewhat abated, Claudia leaned back against the overstuffed leather back of her bench seat and arranged her dishes neatly to make things easier for the busser when they arrived to clear her table. She might be exhausted, irritated, and moderately traumatized, but that was no excuse for a lack of manners.

She found the others all together; Nick and Abby at the bar drinking and Connor and Stephen sitting in the nearest booth, the latter with a beer in his hand and two empty bottles in front of him. “Abby, gentlemen.” Claudia drew their attention to herself. “We have some things we need to discuss- privately. Come with me.”

Nick and Stephen exchanged a look that Claudia did not miss, and in tandem they threw back the rest of their respective drinks. Sensing the tension, Abby mimicked them, and Connor got to his feet as the others did, though he kept a tight grip on his mug of… cocoa, judging by the scent.

Claudia led them upstairs to her room, which she had neatly tidied before heading downstairs. The bed was made, and her personal items were packed up, save for her dirty clothes which now temporarily resided in the loo, hidden from sight by the closed door.

“We’ve all had a long day, so I’ll be brief.” Claudia began. “This morning, Professor Cutter, Ms. Maitland, and myself returned to London to sign the Official Secrets Act. Sir James Lester, who far outranks me, is acting as our overseer in London; he’s coordinating the soldiers and so forth, I won’t bore you with the technicalities and jargon. Testing of the lizard Rex confirmed that he was a Coelurosauruvus, if I’m pronouncing that correctly. Sir Lester authorized a trip through the anomaly to search for Mrs. Cutter and return Rex to his own time. We were accompanied by Captain Tom Ryan. On the other side, we released Rex and began exploring. We found the remnants of a human campsite, and… human remains.”

Steadfastly ignoring the others’ shock for the sake of continuing her tale, Claudia also squashed down her memories of the emotionally-tumultuous events that had occurred next. “We found one body, a man, wearing Canadian dog tags. We know nothing further about his identity yet. I’ll have to inform Sir Lester, but other than him, I would very much appreciate it if we kept the discovery of the tags among ourselves, given the potential international implications.” The others nodded, much to her relief. “Thank you. I do have the tags, and I’ll have a friend of mine at the Home Office take a look at them. Beside the body, Captain Ryan found a camera that Professor Cutter has identifies as belonging to his wife.”

Stephen, surprisingly, had the strongest reaction to this. “She was at the camp?” He queried, face suddenly brightening with hope.

“We won’t know for sure until we develop the film in the camera and see if it contains any clues.” Claudia explained. She filed away his reaction- one she would’ve expected from Helen’s husband- for further contemplation. “But considering the camera was buried right next to the body, it’s a reasonable guess that the two are connected. At that point we returned to present day, which the rest of you were there for.” She let out a breath. “Now that I’ve explained what happened in London and the Permian, I’d very much like to know what happened in the Forest of Dean while I was gone.” She fixed Stephen with a look she’d inherited from her mother, Samantha Brown, the same one that she had unfailingly pulled the truth from her husband Clarence and young Claudia with.

Stephen swallowed uncomfortably, shifting nervously in place. “Y-You want me to explain?”

Claudia huffed out an incredulous breath at his uncertain tone. “Well, Stephen, considering you left without checking in with either me or the Home Office security forces present at the anomaly site before going to hunt down a dangerous creature that hadn’t even been identified yet, sent Connor back to us after he identified it as powerful and destructive, and then lost contact for several hours only to come careening back at the eleventh hour with your kamikaze rescue plan that I’m frankly surprised worked at all, I think you’d better have a bloody good explanation for your actions. I want to know why the hell you thought it was a good idea to face down what Connor called a ‘compact killing machine’ with ‘incredible power’ alone and unarmed without so much as ringing to inform someone of your plans, or that its trail had led you to a fucking school!”

“…When you put it that way, it does sound bad and… poorly-planned.” Stephen admitted. “For what it’s worth, it didn’t seem so reckless in the moment.”

“Foolish and irresponsible actions rarely do.” Claudia replied, clipped.

“Just for the record, I sent Connor back because I didn’t want to put him in danger.” Stephen said. “I didn’t know where the Gorgonopsid was headed and I didn’t want to bring him into a situation that I might not be able to safely get him out of. I’ve dealt with a lot of dangerous animals before, and I’ve always been able to handle them better if I’m alone because I don’t have to look out for anyone else. I wasn’t planning on directly confronting the Gorgonopsid until I realized it was how much danger the kid and his teacher were in. When I did… there wasn’t even a question anymore. It was breaking down the door to their classroom. If I hadn’t intervened they would both be dead.”

Claudia sighed deeply. Stephen seemed like an intelligent man, and she had firsthand seen how good of a tracker he was. And it had been her who had called in reinforcements on account of innocent lives- Ben Trent’s life included- being at risk. She could hardly criticize him for risking his life for a kid and another civilian bystander when she had mustered the troops for the same reason. She had gone through a doorway in time, seen impossible things, and violated a grave; meanwhile, he had tracked a living fossil through the Gloucester woodland and nearly been killed by said creature while saving a child and his teacher from it. They had both had a rough day, their lives and the lives of two other people with them hanging in the balance. She couldn’t find it in herself to be angry at him anymore.

“What happened to them?” She pressed.

Stephen gave a light shrug. “Well, after I managed to draw it away from them and it threw me through the fire doors and knocked me out-” Claudia, Nick, and Abby all made strangled noises at his words as he rushed through them with a wince “-I woke up eventually, not sure how long I was out for though, and it was gone. There was a car parked outside when I got there and it was gone when I woke up, and when I went inside the classroom door looked like it had when I last saw it, and there was no blood or anything inside. I’m guessing they escaped while I was unconscious.” Abby’s sigh of relief completely covered the sound of Claudia’s. “Then I ran back and found the truck where I’d left it- I’m guessing Connor either walked or hailed a cab- and drove back to the anomaly site, and… well, you know the rest.”

Claudia nodded. “Well, It’s apparent that neither you nor Professor Cutter possess a single shred of self-preservation, but at least you seem to not be mulish about it.” Nick squawked offendedly, but she paid him no mind. “I’ll make some calls and find out for sure if Ben and his teacher are in fact alive, but given what you said I’m inclined to believe that they are. I’m not going to yell at you anymore, not now that I know what happened. Thank you for explaining.” Stephen nodded in response, no longer wild-eyed like a skittish deer.

Nick let out a deep sigh. “Bloody hell, Stephen. And you say I’m reckless.”

“Well, you are. Just because I’m reckless doesn’t mean you’re not.” Stephen refuted sensibly. “You pick fights any sane person would’ve walked away from much before. I’ve bailed you out of jail more times than I can count for brawling and disturbing the peace. And that’s not counting the times I’ve physically kept you from pissing on somebody’s lawn… or house… or car… or the person themselves… because they got you cheesed off. Or the time I got arrested because I lied and said I threw that stone angel porch decoration through that bloke’s windscreen when it was actually you.”

Nick’s mouth was opening and shutting like a fish as several emotions passed tellingly over his face. “…I don’t remember that last one.”

The expression on Stephen’s face was stony and unamused with Nick’s picture-of-innocence antics. “I did nine months community service for that. Would’ve actually gone to jail if we hadn’t both been balls-to-the-wall sloshed.” He tilted his head. “You passed out in the squad car on the way to the station, if I remember correctly.”

Though she had been silently listening and observing during this conversation, Claudia had felt her blood pressure rising and her headache worsening, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright, no more misdemeanor stories, thank you. You’re both bloody menaces and unless you want to be murdered by my colleague and friend for raising my blood pressure an unhealthy amount, you’ll never consume alcohol around me. If you do, there will be consequences.”

The professor and his laboratory assistant/technician exchanged looks and gulped, then nodded dutifully.

“Good. Now, all of you get the hell out of my room, and don’t let me see you again before a reasonable hour tomorrow morning unless there is an actual emergency.”

Connor nearly ate the carpet and the doorjamb (in two separate incidents) as he tripped over his own feet in a mad scramble to get into the hallway, and the others followed quickly behind, albeit in a more orderly fashion. She shut the door behind them with a decisive click and rested her forehead against the polished amber wood of the door, shoulders sagging as she expelled all the air in her lungs with a single longsuffering sigh. She was not getting paid enough for this. Could she ask for a bonus- hazard pay, or something like that? It was worth looking into, at the very least. Maybe she could haggle an extra week of leave time.

She locked the room door and sought out her mobile, and pressing her second ‘emergency’ contact, the one and the only Lorraine Wickes. Flopping backward onto the bed, she put the phone to her ear and waited for her friend to pick up.

The answer came exactly eight seconds later, like it always did. “Hello?”

“Hi, Lorraine, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that I’m alive and in one piece, although I think I left my sanity and patience in the Late Permian.”

“You’re speaking coherently; you’ll be fine.” Lorraine replied primly despite the late hour. Despite her crisp, professional tone, Claudia knew that Lorraine was being kind. “Are you injured?”

“Bumps and bruises. When we came back through, we were attacked by a Gorgonopsid, and I tripped and fell trying to get away from it. We’re all okay, though- although there’s one soldier I’ll need to check in about later- and the Gorgonopsid is dead.”

“Good. You do know that if you had died or been trapped back there that I would have found a way to drag you back kicking and screaming?”

A chuckle burst from Claudia’s lips despite herself. “I would’ve been disappointed if you hadn’t.”

There was a quiet bang in the background, followed by a muffled shout of pain. “Cállase, por favor.” Lorraine called to someone on her end- her voice bland but tinged with the faintest hint of irritation, like it was an inconvenience to have to say it.

Claudia did not speak Spanish barring the basics, so she wasn’t sure what the first part of what Lorraine had said meant. She decided she didn’t want to know. Best not to ask – ‘ignorance is bliss’ and all that.

“Do you think I can get a raise? Or hazard pay?” She asked instead, twirling a lock of hair around one finger lazily. “You know I’m not the type to ask for that lightly.”

“Indeed not. Prehistoric times must have been quite the experience.” Noted Lorraine, and Claudia knew that it was her way of asking if she was okay.

“It could’ve been a lot worse, and I’ll fill you in on all the details when it’s more convenient, but I thoroughly disliked it, and I would very much like to go back to my old workload. Desk duty has never been so appealing to me before as it is right now.” Claudia confessed.

“I see.” Lorraine replied, voice tight and hard to keep it from trembling with concern. “Well, given your excellent record and the nature of the situation, you probably have a good chance, especially since you’re asking for some form of compensation for your troubles and not a promotion or even a transfer or reassignment. I’ll see what I can do, but you know I can’t promise anything.”

“Of course, I understand. Thank you.” Claudia turned her head away to yawn in a most undignified manner. “Well, I’m bloody knackered and I’m sure you’re quite busy, so I’ll hang up now. Do you think I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You’d better.” Replied Lorraine cheekily. “I will be finished with my present situation shortly and there is no reason to not be at work as usual tomorrow. Get some rest, now.”

“Goodnight, Lorraine.” Claudia replied. She knew that her friend could not return the pleasantry as she was almost certainly in a setting where she could not show affection, so she hung up. She let her arm drop so that it was extended over the edge of the bed, and loosening her fingers she let her mobile slip from her fingers and hit the carpeted floor. Toeing off her shoes, she let them land by the foot of the bed with a twin set of muffled thumps. Her hands went to her face and she rubbed her eyes, which were sore from the stress and strain and lack of sleep over the last few days.

She really hoped Lorraine could get her some kind of compensation for her efforts.

Saturday, May 20th, 2006

08:14 a.m.

Sleeping in was a rare thing for Claudia, but considering all that had happened over the last few days, she didn’t feel the slightest bit bad about it. The last thing she wanted to do was get up, drive for two and a half to three hours, and then deal with Lester and her colleagues (except Lorraine; she was wonderful and never unappealing to deal with) and enough red tape to mummify a Gorgonopsid. Unfortunately, those were the cards that she had been dealt, and it was her turn.

Fortunately, Claudia still had the loafers she had switched her other shoes for earlier that day while Nick and Abby signed the OSA, as well as a two-day-old office outfit. It wasn’t ideal to wear again, but she didn’t really care. After a brief shower that morning, she changed into that outfit, packed up the rest of her things, and ate a quick but satisfying breakfast. After verifying that everyone’s rooms, meals, and drinks had been paid for, the group got into their respective vehicles (Connor riding back with Nick and Stephen as he had come to the Forest originally a few days ago) and headed for London. Claudia hooked up her iPod to her car’s stereo and started a lively playlist on shuffle, hoping it would keep her awake and alert.

Upon returning to the Home Office nearly three hours later, Claudia sent Connor and Stephen off immediately to sign the Official Secrets Act. The next three hours passed in a blur as she debriefed Lester on everything she had witnessed and experienced- including the dog tags and that she was going to have them analyzed, then sent Nick and Abby in one at a time after her to do the same. She sought out Cerise Carroll, Lorraine’s assistant, and gave her the task of taking the dog tags directly to Lorraine with discretion. She knew that Cerise admired and respected Lorraine, and that Lorraine was fond of Cerise and had high hopes for her. As such, Claudia trusted her to manage her task correctly.

When Connor and Stephen were finished with signing the OSA, she corralled them and Nick and Abby, recently finished with Lester, for an overdue lunch. By the grace of God, Lester didn’t materialize and bark orders this time around, so they were able to finish eating in peace before Stephen and Connor had to debrief Lester of their own personal experiences. As they arrived to Lester’s office, Claudia caught sight of Captain Ryan leaving, his face the kind of stony that was meant to hide exasperation and irritation. She sympathized.

Finally, finally, the majority of the legal t’s were crossed and i’s were dotted, and all that Claudia had left to do was write her report- after she spoke to the Trents and Ben’s teacher, of course, but she wasn’t going to do that today.

Lester called Nick into a conference room shortly after Connor’s debriefing was finished, and the others assembled outside in a show of support. Claudia followed and watched as the Scotsman sat down at the large round table, slumping with exhaustion, supporting his head with one hand.

“We developed the film in the camera you brought back.” Lester announced. An image appeared on the monitor, and Nick straightened in his seat.

“It’s her. It’s Helen.” The Scotsman said, the final confirmation. There was a click as the next picture came up, very similar to the first.

Claudia studied the image. It was taken up close, the main focus being an attractive woman with brown hair and eyes in her forties or early fifties, the unmistakable Permian landscape serving as a backdrop. But despite being trapped in a threatening landscape and time period, Helen seemed unbothered, even cheerful. She smiled happily, livelily, at the camera, as if enjoying herself immensely. Claudia couldn’t fathom how anyone could actually like being there, under the scorching sun and constant danger. She wore a green button-down tank top with several of the top buttons undone and a white bandana around her neck. Despite the large amount of exposed skin, she didn’t appear injured in any way, and although she was slim, she looked more lean than gaunt. Of course, this picture could��ve been taken shortly after becoming stranded there, before starvation and the elements truly affected her; or if she had met up with the soldiers at this point, she would have had access to their food and medical supplies. Hope, or company, would’ve kept loneliness and despair at bay. Still, there was something about the pictures that bothered Claudia.

The screen went dark after that, disappointing Nick and Claudia alike. There were no pictures of the military camp or of the soldiers that established it- no way of discerning their objective or home time period or identities. Keeping her thoughts to herself, she directed her gaze to Nick, who looked utterly lost, his bright eyes still locked on the screen. She felt sorry for him, but not in that sickeningly pitying way. The man had spent the last eight years believing his wife was dead, grieving and moving on as best as he could, and now before him was the proof that she hadn’t perished on that night, that she’d lived on afterward. But perhaps the pictures were only giving him false hope – it was entirely possible that Helen had died soon after they were taken, and there was no way of knowing how long after she had disappeared that they had been taken. She could have gone through the anomaly, met up with the soldiers, gotten her pictures taken by one of them, and then died within a day or so. But now any closure he may have found in the near-decade since her disappearance was gone, voided, and if she was dead in some other time period, it was highly likely that he would never know and forever wonder what had happened to her.

“I’m sorry for your personal loss, Professor.” Lester said, placing the screen remote on the tabletop. Claudia couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not. “This camp you discovered- there were no clues as to who made it or what it was for?”

Nick shook his head. “Nothing conclusive as of yet.” Claudia responded. “There was a chocolate bar in one of the cases, and its packaging was in English. And the dog tags I took off the remains we found seem to be Canadian, but I haven’t heard back on their analysis yet.”

Lester nodded. “Inform me when you do. The thought that someone’s been there before us is far from reassuring. And I used to think the EU Common Agricultural Policy was far-fetched.” Nick and Claudia exchanged matching looks of irritation. “Still, at least the immediate crisis is over.”

The paleontologist pushed to his feet, striding over to the window. “Some force out there ripped the boundaries of space and time to shreds.” He began, his accent thick. “Maybe it’s happened before, in which case, every single thing we thought we knew about the universe is wrong. Or, this is the first time, in which case, what changed? What happens next? Believe me, it’s very, very far from over.”

With that, he marched out of the room, breezing past both government officials and leaving them to contemplate the fallout of his statements. She wanted nothing more for him to be wrong. She wanted to go back to her boring government job where she did mundane task that made plenty of sense in the normal world order and logic and protocol served as her autopilot. She never wanted to see another anomaly again, or a prehistoric creature outside of a museum.

But Claudia was a lot smarter than she appeared to be, and she did not appear to be stupid. She knew that this had happened before- Helen Cutter had gone through it eight years ago and been stranded and photographed in the Permian. Once is a fluke, a bizarre improbability. But twice is suspicious, and even if that anomaly only ever opened every eight years in the same place, it would happen again, Claudia was certain of it.

She knew that Professor Nick Cutter spoke the truth: it was very, very far from over. Phenomena of this magnitude- with this consistency, dubious as it was- were no minor inconvenience, no laughing matter. It would require a substantial amount of government funding, the involvement of at least half a dozen (ideally; realistically, at least ten or fifteen) high-ranking government officials (higher ranking than her, that is), a large and qualified team of scientists, and an at-the-ready, well-trained military contingent.

It was going to be a bitch and a half to cover up.

“Scottish. They’re mad, all of them. Always making mountains out of molehills and blaming everyone else for it.” Sir Lester griped. “A twinkling doorway in Gloucester and a paleontologist thinks the scientific laws of the world have gone mad!” Lester ranted, laughing with a mix of incredulity and annoyance.

Claudia found herself echoing what she’d told the professor barely twenty-four hours ago. “You didn’t see what we saw. You don’t know what we know.” She murmured, looking down at her fingernails. A few stubborn grains of Permian earth had remained jammed underneath them, which she fully intended to remedy later. No amount of reports, of photographs could have the same impact as standing under that younger sun in the blazing heat of the Late Permian, surrounded by ferns and pines and Scutosauri and Coelurosauravus; or as pawing through prehistoric earth to discern the identity of a long-dead soldier out of time, touching his bones.

Claudia didn’t regret going with Professor Cutter and Captain Ryan. She stood by her decision and her reasons for it. She may have played a part in getting Nick (and, by extension, Ryan) back alive, and she doubted giving the timing that either of them would have recovered the dog tags without her. But that hour spent two hundred-something million years ago had changed her. She had seen impossible things and experienced a significant shift in her worldview, and quite literally gotten her hands dirty and touched death in that place. She had never been as aloof as Sir Lester (who was actually quite down-to-earth, hardworking, and caring compared to some she’d met), but from the moment that her teenage self had decided firmly that she would work for the government, she hadn’t been soft either. Calamity and crisis could not be allowed to affect her; hysteria and death must bounce off her with no impact. Calm and level heads were essential when chaos struck, rising above the emotionally tumultuous public and shaping events into the best possible outcome for Great Britain and her people.

“You disagree?” Sir Lester asked.

She nodded. “I do.”

“Alright then, Miss Brown, what is your view on these anomalies?” Lester queried. His expression indicated he was humoring her for the hell of it rather than actually being interested in her opinion.

“Well, if we’re very lucky, the anomaly only opens every eight years or so, and in that same area every time.” Claudia began. “But if Professor Cutter is right and anomalies are tied to ancient myths from all across the world, this may have only been the tip of the iceberg. We could have found one of hundreds, perhaps thousands of anomalies that have opened over time. This anomaly has opened at least twice; the photographs of Helen Cutter prove that. What if every anomaly opens twice? Or three times? Four? What then? Three creatures that we know of came through this time- the Coelurosauravus Rex, a Scutosaurus, and a Gorgonopsid. Two of them were deemed harmless and Rex was mistaken for Draco Volans, but the Gorgonopsid nearly killed several people.” She swallowed. For a moment, she was back in the dark Forest, a lamp blinding her from above and a monster stalking toward her.

“Claudia?” Sir Lester’s voice broke her from her reverie. Her head snapped up, her eyes and ears filling with the Home Office again. Her eyes darted to Lester, who was watching her carefully.

“Apologies, sir.” She said. Immediately their respective masks slipped back into place once more. “As I was saying, although we were very lucky, we may not always be. We need to be prepared for the entirely plausible eventuality that this will happen again, with a greater and far more negative impact than this time.”

Sir Lester nodded pensively. “What then do you suggest?”

“A response team, sir. Someone from the Home Office coordinating, a military presence, and experts that can study the anomalies and at the very least identify any creatures that come through them.”

The faintest edge of a smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “And I suppose you’ll be suggesting Captain Ryan, Professor Cutter, Stephen Hart, Connor Temple, Abby Maitland, and yourself?”

It was a little embarrassing how easily he’d deduced that. “Not out of any desire for self-aggrandizement, sir. I’ve seen those creatures; traveled through an impossible doorway to hundreds of millions of years in the past and seen- touched- the remnants of a campsite there. Captain Ryan saved Professor Cutter and I from the professor’s… dedication… to his wife; Ms. Maitland has knowledge and practical experience with animals; Mr. Hart is a skilled tracker, proficient with weapons, and seems to have some knowledge of prehistoric times; and Professor Cutter and Mr. Temple are both even better-versed in the past and its inhabitants. I think it would be… counterproductive… to dismiss the experience and knowledge already available to us. Also, they’ve all signed the Official Secrets Act; the more people we bring in on this only further expands the web, whereas utilizing those already involved would be more resourceful.”

He nodded again. “Thank you for your input, Claudia. You may go.”

She didn’t need to be told twice, rushing out as professionally as she could. The others had all disappeared, which she couldn’t blame them for. She longed to go home, but there was just a little she had left to do.

Lorraine was sitting at her desk as usual, dressed smartly and typing rapidly. Her eyes never left the computer monitor as Claudia approached, though a soft smile spread across her pretty face. A few seconds before Claudia reached the desk, Lorraine ceased typing, saving and closing whatever she was doing with a few clicks of the mouse.

“So, how was the Permian?” She asked as Claudia stopped beside her desk.

Claudia blew out a very unladylike breath, grabbing a chair from an unoccupied desk and dragging it over to sit in. “Hot. Dry. Pretty, I guess, but I like England better. I know I should be disappointed that the anomaly closed and we can’t send in a science team and learn more, but I’m glad it’s shut. There were none of those Gorgonopsid monstrosities on the other side that I could see, but we weren’t safe there. I didn’t feel safe there for a moment, even before we found the camp. I didn’t think that Captain Ryan was incapable of protecting me, that’s not what I’m saying,” she clarified, “but one man- even one highly trained man with two guns- cannot fend off all the dinosaurs of that era. He cannot surmount volcanoes or other natural disasters. I’m glad to be back.”

Lorraine smiled, genuinely. “And I’m glad you’re back- in one piece and not in a body bag, that is. I would’ve been quite cross with you if the disclaimer I’d printed out for you became necessary.”

Claudia chuckled. “Only because it would’ve been a lot of paperwork, eh?”

“Oh, of course.”

“The soldier who accompanied you and the professor into the Permian, Captain Ryan,” Lorraine began, “I’ve met him.” She tapped her pen against the desktop, irritation twitching a muscle in her jaw. “The Gulf War didn’t even last seven months but it inflicted such a deep impact… I won’t tell you what he told me when we met at the OVA, but I know it scarred him. He joined the Army when he was only seventeen. But he’s a good man, kind. Funny, too. I’m glad it was him that went with you.”

“I’m glad too.” Agreed Claudia. “He was remarkably calm about the whole thing. I’ve felt like I was tumbling down the rabbit hole ever since we came across that Scutosaurus, but he acted like he went through anomalies every day. It was nice to have a levelheaded presence – God knows Professor Cutter wasn’t going to fill that role.” Lorraine snorted in amused concurrence. “I trusted him to get us back safely, and he did. Deserves a bloody medal for convincing Cutter to leave of his own volition. All the medals.” She shook her head, banishing the memories of the chest-tightening panic she’d felt as she and Ryan had desperately pressured and coaxed and bargained with the Scotsman to not condemn them to that terrible fate. “Did you make any discoveries with the dog tags?”

“I did, actually.” Lorraine replied. “They’re Canadian, as you said. They belong to one Major Daniel Douglas of the Canadian Army. Unfortunately, like all things involving military, government, or foreign affairs, it’s not that simple.”

Claudia frowned. “No?”

Lorraine sighed. “No. He’s still very much alive, and a Lieutenant, no less. Like in our Army, that’s two ranks lower than Major.”

Claudia pulled out the nearest unoccupied office chair and sank into it. “Is it possible they’re just covering up his death?”

Lorraine shook her head. “No. I talked him and a dozen or so others into letting him have a video call with me. He matches the pictures I found on the ‘net perfectly. I asked him a handful of obscure questions, like the names of his teachers or classmates. He got them all right. I went through CCTV footage in the towns and cities he frequents and picked him up hundreds of times. I scoured the web for obituaries of men who looked even vaguely like him and explored all those avenues thoroughly. It’s him, Claudia.”

It was Claudia’s turn to sigh deeply. “So whatever led him through the anomaly to the Permian to die in that camp hasn’t happened yet, and probably won’t for several years if he needs to ascend two ranks before he does.”

Lorraine nodded sagely. “I’m going to put into my report that there were no definitive or informational findings, which is true enough. We still don’t know why he was there, or when. We don’t know if one of these doorways opened in Canada and led to the Permian, or if he got there from England. We don’t know what year of the future he will have achieved the rank of Major. We don’t know enough to risk negative relations with Canada.”

She picked up the dog tags, wrapping the chain around the tags themselves, and extended them to Claudia. “Take them. If you face consequences for having them, you can blame me for it. That should silence most.”

“And you’ve got favors and blackmail to silence the rest?” Claudia guessed with a knowing smirk. Lorraine’s answering smile was deceptively sweet. “Thank you, Lorraine. For everything. I’ll make this up to you.”

“Legally, please, if only to spare us both the paperwork.” Lorraine replied primly, and shot her a more genuine smile as she returned to her work. Claudia returned the grin, heading back down the hall again.

17:16 / 5:16 p.m.

Claudia had not finished writing her report, but she had gotten a good chunk of it done, and when she’d talked to Ben Trent and his teacher she would add that to the report and finally be done with it. She had included the discovery of the tags in her report, but mirrored Lorraine’s by claiming there were no informative or definite findings. They sat in a resealable plastic bag in the menstrual supplies pouch at the bottom of her purse, safely hidden from detection. She would hide them better when she went home.

She took the tube home, holding her purse close to her chest and leaning against one of the poles with half-lidded eyes for fear that if she sat, she’d fall asleep in her seat. Mercifully, it was a Saturday, so it was neither as jammed full nor as unpleasant as it was during weekdays.

The station was a fifteen-minute walk, if she was somewhat brisk, from her house, but her battered feet and exhaustion compelled her to take a cab. Nearly falling asleep in the backseat, she was glad she hadn’t driven herself home.

A frozen pizza went in the oven, and Claudia rinsed herself off in the shower before pouring herself a glass of wine, lighting some candles, and settling into a relaxing bath in her clawfoot tub. It was so cliché and stereotypical that Claudia had initially been against it, but when she tried it with the intention of disproving its comfort, she ended up loving it. She drew the line at bubbles, though. They were a pain in the arse to clean up.

Claudia propped her feet up at the other end of the tub, wiggling her toes gently to stretch her blistered foot out of the cramped position it had spent the last few days in. Scrutinizing them over the top of her wine glass as she sipped from it, she halfheartedly considered painting them. It’s not like anyone would see them if she did as she always wore close-toed shoes and nylons or stockings, and there were no office rules against toenail or fingernail polish, as long as the latter wasn’t ostentatious.

The wine was expensive, but its flavor far bested the cheap middle-shelf wines most people bought, and she only drank it on special occasions or stressful days, like the last few had been. Claudia was no connoisseur of wines, nor could she list out the different notes and flavors of her drink of choice without reading them off the bottle’s back label, but she enjoyed its rich taste and how it sat on her palate. It relaxed her, and relaxation was her goal tonight. She could face work and the chaos of the last few days again in the morning.

The dog tags- which she’d taken to mentally referring to as ‘Schrödinger’s tags’ as they didn’t exist yet, did exist, and had existed for a very long time all at once- had been secreted within her house. She had dragged one of her bedside tables away from its place in the corner of her bedroom, used a knife to pull up the carpeting in that spot, and laid the tags underneath. She’d then pressed the carpet back down, going to far as to glue it into place once more, and slid the nightstand into its previous spot. For good measure, she’d slid a photo album under the nightstand. Now a four-inch-thick compilation of her youngest years guarded the tags.

The timer she’d set for the pizza went off in the kitchen, and with a sigh she left her bath, padding in slipper-clad feet into the kitchen to keep her dinner from burning. She plated three slices on a medium-sized platter, forgoing traditional plates, grabbed her wine bottle and glass and sat down on her sofa. She swaddled herself cozily in a thick fleece and flannel blanket and turned on the telly, switching to BBC One. Last she recalled, the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey along with several characters on a parallel Earth were about to be deleted by the Cybermen. It would certainly be interesting to see how they got out of that one.

Author’s notes: The SOLE reason I included Claudia canonically tripping and falling was so I could later say that she had felt safe in his arms. The OVA is the Office for Veterans’ Affairs and is a branch of the Cabinet Office, according to Google. I believe the American equivalent is the VA (Veterans’ Affairs). A headcanon of mine is that Claudia is a Doctor Who fan. If you look up the original UK airdates for the episodes, Series 2 Episode 6 ‘The Age of Steel’ premiered on May 20th, 2006. If it wasn’t obvious, the friend and colleague Claudia says might kill Nick and Stephen is Lorraine. Gee, I wonder what was going on during that phone call…. What Lorraine says in Spanish: “Shut him up, please.” I am not a native Spanish speaker and I used Google translate so if I’m wrong please forgive me and let me know. I’m definitely of the same mind as other fanfic writers when it comes to Lorraine, and it’s actually kind of nice to write a character as powerful, for lack of a better term, as more of a side character than the main character. According to an interview with Lorraine’s actress, Alexandra Afryea (who acted under the name Claire Spence while filming Primeval for reasons I don’t know), she actually knew Mark Wakeling (Captain Ryan) from The Actors Temple, and she started watching Primeval to support him. This fun fact inspired me to make Lorraine and Ryan have at least crossed paths before, and I look forward to combining the Claudia/Ryan and Claudia/Lorraine friendships I had already planned on writing. Also, primeval.fandom.com has a whole page dedicated to Nick’s green jacket. Why? I don’t know. It’s handy though. Cerise is a very minor but entirely canon character from Primeval; she appears in a few episodes of S4 and S5 and is Lester’s assistant. Lester calls her by name in S4E1 when they’re picking up the mess that Princess made in his office (“Just collect them in a pile, Cerys, and I'll sort through them later.”) If you’ve read Ocean Eyes, my MerMay 2022 AU, you may recognize Cerise’s name from Chapter 14 and the epilogue. She’s not very important right now and I don’t know if I’ll really take her character anywhere new, but at the very least we know that Lorraine’s assistant will one day be Lester’s assistant at the ARC. She’s portrayed by Jacqui Carroll, which is where I got her character’s surname. ALSO, a timeline note: The newspaper photo of the Gorgonopsid has the date 05/17/06 – May 17th, 2006. I went with the assumption that since the episode starts in the morning, the picture was taken the day before, so the present-day portion of the show starts on May 18th. The next day is the bulk of the episode, and then the last day of the first episode (featured in this chapter) would therefore be the 20th of May, which I mentioned briefly above in regards to the Doctor Who episode. Now, this won’t matter unless you’ve seen Primeval: New World (SPOILERS AHEAD!), but I found it interesting. In Truth, Ange says that 05-20-80 is Brooke Cross’ birthday, meaning that this episode takes place partly on her birthday. In the finale, we find out that Brooke died in September 2006, which means that the third day of this episode takes place on Brooke Cross’ last birthday. I’m sure it was a coincidence, but I thought it was interesting.

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