#tumbles into pandemonium

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main AU

Masterpost

Guys, I'm so sorry. But here's this!

~~~~

Danny blinks and he is somewhere else. He’s sitting at a dining room table, surrounded. There are so many people here. They’re all talking over each other, some yelling, some laughing. This scene comes as a great surprise to him, who -one blink ago- was trying and failing to do his homework at home in his room. Danny shoots up, his chair making a horrible noise as he pushes it away so fast it tumbles over. Everyone in the room turns to look over at him like he’s insane. 

“Oh my god, who are you people?” Danny did not mean to say this out loud, but at the sound of his voice he startles. Danny takes a moment to assess, and then, “Oh my god who am I?”  He is tall, and big, and this is certainly not his body, what is he wearing.

The boy sitting to the right of Danny, a little shorter than he is, with black hair and blue eyes (though now that he’s paying attention that does describe most people in the room),  starts chuckling lightly. “Uh, Jason? Are you good?” 

Danny turns to stare him right in the eyes. “What day is it?”

And he can tell the concern around the table is just ratcheting up every time he opens his stupid mouth.

“Did you hit your head on patrol?” The voice comes from the only blond and one of the only girls in the room, who's to the left of the person across from him. The person across from him is another boy with black hair and blue eyes who is studying Danny in a way that makes him uncomfortable, that under-a-microscope look that makes you feel like you’re failing at something.

“I have no idea if Jason hit his head.” Danny says. “I was just trying to remember if it was my birthday.”

And if he thought the room was busy when he first arrived here it is absolute pandemonium now. Everyone starts shouting and asking questions that he can’t even hear over the shouting. Someone with white hair in a suit just came through a door he didn’t even see earlier to stand by the only person not shouting, who -Danny would guess- is the only other adult in this room, witting at the head of the table. He also has black hair and blue eyes, and where almost everyone else’s reaction was panic, he froze instead. The person across from Danny also isn’t shouting, but the person next to Danny on his right has now fully stood up and looks like he might actually jump across the table to win the argument he ended up in. 

“Are you Jason’s soulmate?” is the main gist of the shouting that Danny can interpret but he’s more concerned with actual Jason at the moment. If they switched bodies... Then Jason might be in trouble…

“Hey, I forget, how long is this body swap supposed to last again?” Danny asks.

“Until you and Jason have physical contact. You have to actually meet.” The boy sitting across from him explains. He seems like one of the only ones that heard Danny talk, everyone else was still shouting. 

“Oh, that just seems terrible. What if we’re in different countries or something?” Danny complained. “Everyone in the world is just supposed to be able to drop everything and afford to fly across the world. The universe is really trying to screw people over now. Honestly, am I in a different country? Where even are we right now?”

“You’re in Gotham.” This voice was new, coming from the head of the table to Danny’s right. 

“Oh no. Nope.” Danny started backing away from the table, almost tripping on his overturned chair. “Absolutely not, no, how do I get out of here?” He starts earnestly looking for a door to get out of this place, but there are three doors he can see and he has no idea where any of them go, and doesn’t this room have any windows? What kind of a room doesn’t have any windows? Do they like to eat in a basement?

“Jason- not Jason. Uh, you need to calm down, everything will be fine alright, We’ll get you and Jason introduced no problem.” Danny swivels to track the voice and it’s the one who was sitting next to him, he’s walking towards him with his hands up and out in front of him. 

“I have to get home.” Danny breathes. 

“We can get you there, promise. Now, I’m Dick, can you tell me your name?”

“Your name is Dick? Who named you Dick?” Danny is so confused he’s stopped panicking. “How old are you for you to go by the name Dick?”

“Okay, rude.” Dick sounds like a petulant child so Danny’s estimations for his age are continuously dropping. “I’m 24.”

Danny snorts. “Okay.” The blond girl starts laughing over at the table. “I’m uh, I’m Danny.”

“Nice to meet you. Sort of. I’m Tim.” The guy from across from him had made it over to stand next to Dick. “There’s a lot of us here today so the one laughing like a hyena is Steph. That one there is Duke.” African-American, still with black hair but he has brown eyes and waves once introduced. “Damian is the short one next to him, and Cass was sitting across from Dick earlier. Our dad, Jason’s dad-” 

“Not my dad!” Steph interrupted. Tim waves her off.

“Everyone but Steph's dad, is over there, Bruce. Alfred, our butler is the one next to him.” Alfred gives a slight nod to his head. Bruce is just staring at him.

“So, names out of the way. You said you wanted to go home, where do you live?”

“Amity Park.”

[spacemilkies]

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. 

[ssruis]

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.

[trancylovecraft]

(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.

[kallesque]

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!

[madarasgirl]

A Night for Hunting Ch.20 -Millennium

T/W: 18+, NSFW, Alucard (Ultimate) x F!Reader, pining, Nazis, war crimes, canon-typical violence, kidnapping, sexual assault, implied gang rape of minor, forced oral sex, torture, executions, psychological horror. Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Words: 5408

Some people will find certain scenes in the upcoming chapters upsetting. Real Nazi war crimes are featured. In no way are the actions of Nazis glorified, but their inclusion acknowledges the atrocities that were committed and the senseless suffering caused by war. I believe these scenes fit into the violence typical of this series, but I updated the rating of this story to “Explicit.” These parts aren’t cute at all, but are meant to be horrifying because that’s what Millennium is like in canon, even if the anime made the characters seem comedic in their evil at times. The Hellsing OVAs are rated 18+ in many countries to begin with.

An excerpt below the cut

“Come on……Ugh!” Both of you groaned as the ball dropped on an odd number and you had to fork over your chips. So there was no strategy in roulette for a novice like yourself, only leaving your fortune up to fate as the wheel spun and decided how to land, and your luck sucked tonight. Even the lowest risk picks were a loss.

You sighed and decided to opt in for just one more round before calling it a night.

Screaming drifted through the room. Spine-curling howls echoed in the distance, followed by the banging of heavy objects crashing to the floor. It was reminiscent of Alucard dropping his coffin lid on the ground to let you in whenever you went to pillow with him. 

Silence belonging to a funerary procession hung over the crowded space as the stunned guests stared at each other like lost sheep while trying to pin the unnerving sounds to a source. The unmistakable sputtering of machine guns broke the hush and several bodies crumpled to the floor like bags of sand amidst more terrified screeches.

“That's more like it! Fucking Rip, taking forever to get onboard. It was getting boring waiting around in a box!” Someone announced loudly.

Beside you, Chris cussed under his breath as you saw Gareth scanning the room from a distance. You didn’t catch who spoke as Chris grabbed your arm and hauled you to another aisle.

What was going on?!

Glassware shattered as they slid from the bartop and met the floor in a shrill explosion of shards. A brief disorienting sensation caught you by surprise as you quickly adjusted to avoid toppling over from inertia. The ship was rapidly putting on the brakes.

A man stumbled forward blindly, trying to pull his intestines back into the gaping cavity as he bled out. You’ve seen this kind of sordid violence and butchery before. Chris wheeled you around.

Terror was a cold, icy feeling that was almost paralyzing. Somehow you knew whatever horrible thing that was occurring had to do with Alucard and Hellsing. It was like watching a gruesome sequence unfold in a video game, or when you dissociated from what happened on missions –you barely noticed the pandemonium as the guests began to panic and scatter.

The bodyguard tugged you along and you traipsed through the aisles. In the unlikely event anything was to happen, you were to pose as the significant other of either Chris or Gareth. If any unscrupulous party was to be seeking you, the act was less suspicious than for a nameless civilian to have two military-trained bodyguards. It was crazy that the unimaginable scenario was now playing out.

Unspooling viscera tumbled from fever hot tissue as more people were cut down from the frenzied crowd to dissuade stampeding. Your thoughts sputtered as fractures of terror resurfaced. Chris stopped behind a set of slot machines and you peered out at the clearing ahead where a dark-skinned man with a giant eye on his hat pointed a rifle at a woman’s face.

"We’re looking for a vampire's bitch. Is it you?" 

"No! I don't know anything!" She replied in a hurry.

The man cackled as he reached for her face. “Then you’re useless, ‘ey? Slut.” Her skin sagged in the iron grip as she was smashed headfirst into the floor over and over and over, a sticky wet slurp accompanying each impact.

“Hey Jan, that’s a woman. We are lookin’ for a woman. Can’t be killin’ ‘em yet,” someone else muttered.

‘Jan’ paused in dashing his victim’s brains across the carpet as he considered his actions. “Something like this is part of The Doc's science, no? I'm just helping add to his nutty data set!” He laughed with a familiar tone, one that desired more gore.

The facts from your training came to you quickly. These were certainly vampires, not ghouls. Their purposeful actions suggested it, but their supernatural strength confirmed the suspicion. 

The nightmare had only begun to unravel.

~To be Continued~

Ch.21 -The Monster of Legend

[fishcalledsebastian]

[ 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.'

[karamell-sweetz]

hey tumble do you think about pandemonium

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

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

[lgbtqmanga]

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.

[littleperilstories]

The Prince of Thieves: When the Snow Falls

Warnings: HA nothing scary today. SO THERE. Like the F&F Christmas episode story, I also wrote this one pretty fast, and since I wanted to post it TODAY (it's still Christmas in my time zone...barely), it didn’t get much editing. Beware of typos and bad sentences; feel free to let me know if you find any. 😂 Enjoy!

OH! And just for funzies, this Christmas special is written in third-person, past-tense! Surprise!

TPOT Masterlist

Word count: 1348 || Approx reading time: 5 mins

Teaser: Jamie nodded, making his father laugh, and from the other side of the room, there was a soft sigh and sleepy moan. Cringing, Jamie glanced back at his brother to see if he’d woken up at the sound of laughter. Luckily, he still seemed fast asleep.

All the neighbourhood children, thought Jamie Wardrew, were going to collectively lose their heads when they woke up. Everything, from the streets to the trees to the rooftops, was covered in pristine white snow. Fat flakes were drifting through the watery light of sunrise, painting lazy arcs in the air as they blanketed the world in white. Jamie stood next to his dad by the window and echoed the peaceful, contented sigh that fogged the old, warped glass windowpane of the family’s rented townhouse.

“Better appreciate the quiet now, son.” Dad rested his brown, calloused hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Once the little ones wake up, this entire street will be in utter chaos.”

Jamie rubbed his eyes and glanced at the dimly lit room behind them. Ma was already at the fire, warming cider made from autumn’s plump red apples. The steaming spiced cider was for their dad, to drink and to warm his hands with before he departed for work. The “little one” of their family was still sprawled on the cot he shared with his brother, half out of his rumpled bed sheets with his limbs splayed in all directions. His freckled face was uncharacteristically tranquil, eyes partially veiled by too-long auburn hair.

When Will awoke and saw how much snow had fallen overnight—the first big snow after several weeks of gloomy, icy rain—he was likely to shatter something with the force of his pure, unrestrained excitement.

“Can I come with you to work?” Jamie mumbled, thinking ahead to the shrieks that would be echoing off the houses and cobblestone streets for the rest of the day. In the warmer seasons, his dad travelled with a large company of labourers, building the railroad, but once winter blasted in with its frigid winds and mountains of snow, he went to work for an old friend who was a foreman in a factory on the outskirts of town.

When Dad looked down at him, a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’d rather shovel coal into a furnace all day than play in the snow or help prepare dinner?”

Jamie nodded, making his father laugh, and from the other side of the room, there was a soft sigh and sleepy moan. Cringing, Jamie glanced back at his brother to see if he’d woken up at the sound of laughter. Luckily, he still seemed fast asleep.

“I’ll do a good job,” Jamie promised, turning back to his dad. “I’m pretty strong. And I can work fast.”

With another chuckle, his dad pressed into the scrawny muscle of his upper arm. “You sure about that?” He shot his hand up to tickle the soft spot of his underarm. “You absolutely sure?”

“Dad!” Jamie bit back a fit of giggles and pulled away, still hesitant to rouse Will.

“Jamie,” said Dad in a matching tone, shaking his dark curls. “The factory’s no place for a boy your age. Stay here and have some fun.”

Imagining again the pandemonium the day would bring—screaming voices and flying snowballs and rolling, rollicking bodies and hats and scarves getting lost in the chaos—Jamie shuddered.

“If you’re not interested in fun,” Dad teased, “then stay in and help Ma with the cooking.”

Neither of Jamie’s two options were particularly desirable, but one involved louder screaming and more rough-and-tumble scuffles in the snow than the other. “All right.”

“But maybe keep an eye on him once he goes out,” Dad said, jerking his head toward Will. “Or he’ll get into some kind of mess.”

As if he’d heard and understood somehow that Dad was talking about him, Will bolted upright in bed, sending the pillow careening to the floor. “Go out where?” Even with a drowsy look on his face as he rubbed his eyes, his voice rang through the air, loud as church bells.

“Shh,” Dad said, beckoning him over. “Come look outside.”

Will scrambled off the cot and tried to dash across the room to the window, but one foot was tangled in the blanket. His limbs flailed wildly as he tried unsuccessfully to catch his balance before he tumbled over into a heap on the floor.

“Oh, Will,” said Ma, shaking her head and taking a step back as she took the pot of cider from the fire. “Be careful.”

Will cackled as he freed himself from the woollen blanket. “Oops.”

Laughing despite himself, Jamie crossed the room to help his brother to his feet. “Slow down, won’t you?”

“No, you slow down.” Will tore away and leapt into Dad’s arms. “What are we—” His words halted as he gazed through the glass and glimpsed the glistening world outside. “Ohhhh.”

As much as Jamie tried to amass his irritation, he found only the tattered dregs of it. His brother was annoying, but his awe was admittedly adorable. Will’s hazel eyes, perfect twins to Dad’s, were wide as saucers as he took in the snowy scene. “It snowed for Christmas?”

“Wasn’t that nice of me and Ma to arrange that for you?” Dad asked, gently setting his younger son back on the floor. “Will you go out and play in the snow today?”

“YES!”

The shrill affirmation pierced the air, a crack of winter thunder splitting the morning’s peace. Dad winced, and Ma spilled some of the apple cider at the sound.

“Will,” Jamie said with a sigh, “shut up. It’s only sunrise. Some folks are still sleeping.”

“I gotta tell everyone about the snow!”

Crossing the room, her mismatched stockings padding on the rough-hewn floorboards, Ma pressed the steaming cider into Dad’s grateful hands. She knelt down next to her youngest son, grasping his fluttering fingers in hers. “Will. Can you listen for a moment?”

When Will kept bouncing, seeming not to hear their mother’s question, Jamie picked up one of his brother’s abandoned socks from the floor, crushed it into a ball, and hurled it at his head.

Dad nearly spit out his cider. “James!”

Jamie shrugged. It had done the trick: Will was glaring at him, but he’d stopped fidgeting long enough to listen to Ma.

“I don’t mind if you want to go out and play in the snow today,” she said gently. “It really is beautiful outside, isn’t it? A perfect gift from Mother Nature  for Christmas.”

“I know! It’s amazing!” Will began to bounce on the balls of his feet again, and Jamie scanned the floor for another sock, but Ma managed to keep his little brother’s attention with a few soft taps on his arm.

“Dad’s got to go to work.” She brushed his moppy hair from his eyes. “So he can’t go out and play with you. Jamie can, but I might need his help around here sometimes.”

Quick as lightning, she winked at Jamie as if to say, You don’t need to spend the entire day dodging snowballs.

“And if that’s the case…” She cupped his rosy cheek in her palm. “You must promise to be very careful while you’re playing with the other children. Can you promise me that, Will?”

Dad downed the rest of his cider. “Remember, William. Once you make a promise, you’re honour-bound to keep it. Right? That’s part of being a grown-up boy.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, but fortunately, neither of his parents noticed.

“Will you promise to be very safe and very kind to the other children while you’re playing in the snow today, Will?” Ma shifted her hand to comb through his sleep-mussed locks with her fingers.

A long silence met her question, hanging between mother and son before Will said with great solemnity, “Yes.”

At the graveness of his son’s tone, Dad muffled a snort of laughter and pressed his teeth into his knuckles.

“That’s my boy,” said Ma, pulling him into a hug. “Can I ask one more thing?”

Still looking serious, Will nodded.

“What d’you think about  having breakfast first, before you go play?”

Will’s face broke into a wide, toothy grin. Jamie found himself smiling right along. He knew what his little brother was about to say.

“YES!”

Tagging: @gala1981 - if you’re not into Christmas you can totally skip this! (Sorry again starlit! I’ll remember next time. I was wayyyy too excited to post this on actual Christmas.)

[ker18]

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. 

[emmychee]

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.

[nirahsaooc]

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

[verasimile]

Catherine Kennedy cannot sleep. It is not something she is capable of, but she dreams all the same. Perfectly awake and yet lost in the neverworld of the dreamtime. Her mind spirals in concentric fractal patterns, her dream a Julia set of illogic. Fair ferns of the subconscious reach up towards the light of truth.

---

There is a hole at the bottom of the universe. A place where reality folds in upon itself and disappears. Every stumbling gyration of the cosmos brings it closer to falling through and out the other side. The end is but a misstep away.

---

All of existence spreads out before her. An expanse of light; the saccharine nuclear riot of an ever-dying star. There is a castle on the hill and a fire in the sky and the sunset turns a shade of purple that never existed.

---

Polyphemus dreams he is a moth. His wings are wide and he flies forever and his antennae see what they will and he has no mouth and he starves and he dies. When he awakes, there will be a tear in his blind eye.

The Polyphemus Moth dreams it is a cyclops. Its body is large and its eye sees far and it is deceived by the traveler and it is blinded. When it awakes it will not have the mental faculty to know that it was dreaming.

---

Thoughts expand down, down, down into the underpinnings of reality, spreading across the breadth of all that is. Orgone orchids rise from fractal fractures in the firmament. A pandemonium of plutonian lilies explode into rune-etched knucklebones and foresee the never-end of time. The inanimate seers tumble down the gravity well and meet the event horizon where it stands. Aesacian argonauts that know the end and see it named, that pass through the singularity unscathed and all the wiser. Catherine knows the answer to their questions but she cannot respond. Her being is reflected back upon itself and cannot see the light. She opens an umbrella against the acid rain and nightmares spill out.

---

A moth and a cyclops sit on the edge of oblivion and watch—though one cannot hear and the other cannot see—as Fortune plucks upon the latitude lines of her lyre heart in melody for the lost things fallen beyond. The sky above is nothing but stars and the one below only darkness. The heavens join her in chorus as she plays, and a dream screams its way down the gravity well.

---

Catherine is spinning. She can’t stop her assailants and she braces herself against the solar winds. She would that it would end, but she was never asleep. She passes the event horizon and it tears her apart. She spins and screams and reality reaches a crescendo and the singularity rises in her sight. Catherine has gone too far not of her own volition the universe expands before her in silhouette the singularity is dark dark dark—

And the dream collapses.

[momoleesq]

Chapter 5

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.