#fussa fusataro

[west-tokyo-incidents]

CW: SA, trauma, PTSD, AND ALL THAT FUN STUFF a few allusions to vomit

---

Hi, I'm going to crank the 'the music industry fucked Fusataro up' dial to 11.

Yeah, Fusataro flirts and acts skeevy and shit but like. He flinches away when touched unexpectedly. He avoids actually breaching the subject of sexuality.

Desir one time flirted back, one part genuinely interested and another part making Sumako jealous, and Fusataro reacted... Pretty badly to that. Not like outwardly exploded, but looked like he was going to be sick and told him to back off.

I really don't see anyone else in the evil douji crew being a victim of SA but more than a couple are certainly victims of trauma. And Mizho hates the flash of sympathy she felt for the producer for that split second.

A second later it's 'got a taste of his own medicine' in her mind.

Anyone mentions being attracted to him he starts avoiding them. Because the person who hurt him acted just like that. Acted like what? Just saying they thought he was pretty?

Paresse slips under the radar for a moment, just a moment, keeping himself to just listening to him and making him feel safe, letting him do the flirting.

But when Paresse feels guilty and puts effort into returning the favor, trying one flirt about his appearance and gently taking his hand, Fusataro snatches it away and stops talking to him for a while.

It felt so nice... But it was so poisoned. He curls in on herself, wanting to tear his skin off. He wants more than anything to just. Hold Paresse's fucking hand. Without it burning. Without it making his heart leap to his throat.

Paresse apologizes. Fusataro tries to laugh it off.

Someone jokes to Paresse about him getting a 'piece' of Fusataro within earshot and he wants to vomit. Sure, Paresse doesn't brag and even tells them to fuck off, they haven't even done anything like that yet.

Yet.

Eventually he breaks. Paresse tried to just push a piece of hair out of his face and he braced like he was going to hit him. But he doesn't want to run away. He feels so weak, it was so long ago. Almost 20 years ago. But it's fresh as a bullet wound. He apologizes again, and Fusataro tells him to stop apologizing.

It's his fault. He's broken. He shouldn't be like this. It all comes tumbling out in half digested chunks and rancid bile and it burns his throat.

Paresse wants to reach out, to hold him, but touching him would just hurt him. And then Fusataro is leaning against him. Pressing his forehead into his shoulder. Paresse freezes. He wants to hold him so goddamn bad...

So he decides to ask this time.

"Can I hold you...?"

The pause that drags on from that probably only lasts a few seconds, but Fusataro genuinely wouldn't know if it took a whole hour for him to process that. Being asked for permission to be touched.

And he responds with just a small nod.

#ress writes #ress talks #ish #fussa fusataro #paresse/fussa #karakuridouji ultimo #karakuridoji ultimo #cw sa mention #cw ptsd #cw trauma #and all the lovely shit that goes with it #happy ending tho? #question mark?

[odd-kid-42]

I dunno who to ask for for the unhinged thing, so let's go with Fusataro and Paresse, mostly 'cause Shift of Tone's first two chapters were centered on them, PLUS a character of your choosing that ur Totally Normal About, any fandom!

Copying your own words, OH BOY

Fussa first: God, I need to finish "Shift in Tone" because as I filled out Fussa and Paresse's charts I remembered where I was going with the story. Fussa is great. What do you do when you are helping to destroy the world and suddenly have to 1) keep going to your shitty job and 2) have a fourteen year old who used to be your robot/roommate/paycheck of revenge? Probably has daddy issues but we're not going to unpack that. Doesn't make me sad as much as I want a play-by-play on what is going through his head because epilogue left Fussa and Rage washed up on the beach before Mizho showed up as the one evil douji user whom I imagine kept her wits about her.

I know Paresse is your man, so this is specifically how I imagine him in SiT. Paresse does make me sad, and post-epilogue is one of recovery in my mind. I interpreted the sin of sloth to be one of apathetic detachment towards oneself and others, so Paresse suddenly having Human Emotions (TM) and experiencing Grief (TM) for things never returning to the way they were hits a chord to me. Suddenly needing to engage with the rest of the world while speedrunning Self-care (TM) and the confusion of oh shit the bigger goal is gone. I didn't act and there were consequences I am only now feeling without Mizho catching what is going on is the snow globe I am shaking him in for a bit before Mizho hauls ass on giving the "Being a human kind of blows, but at least there's penicillin now and the steady betterment of the world fucks a bit." speech amongst other words of encouragement.

I'm so sorry I am obsessed about Dndads and you watch it consume me instead of doing KDU stuff. Keeping the rant short, Walter the Immoral is a side character who used to be a famous swordsmith until the tip of one he rushed to make broke off and killed the great hero wielding it, so he was cursed to be a frog monster essentially and abandoned by his family. In the course of the canonical story, he: adopted an eight year old, build a motorcycle from ye olde medieval material to find his eight year after thinking he had been kidnapped, fended off hired mercenaries trying to kidnap the main characters' five children for weeks on end by himself, lost his legs (and shrugged it off because he built himself a wheelchair from scratch and could still fight), watched his eight year old sacrifice himself (unnecessarily!! genuinely, unnecessarily), and then piloted a mecha in the final fight before ducking out of the s1 narrative worse than he started somehow. I have normal feelings about him (/lying).

If I dwell on how the cast treated his son (Paeden) and him too much, I show my ass on the internet because genuinely what the fuck was that. Thank god Walter is somehow well-adjusted and didn't murder them all in the end. Hell of a podcast (/derogatory).

#thank you for the ask! #I had fun filling in the boxes #karakuridouji ultimo #walter the immoral

[calmstim]

fussa fusataro (karakuridouji ultimo) stimboard for @fussa-fusataro! please use she/her pronouns for her.

#karakuridouji ultimo #fussa fusataro #stimboard #gems #crystals #hearts #glitter #silver #guitars #instruments #paint mixing #taffy #pulling #stretching #art #spirograph #nail polish #mixing #deco #stars #black #metallic #blue #pink #green #sky #gif #request #mine #mod k

[kawahageshii]

Karakuridoji Ultimo VOLUME 12

What’s poppin’, Ultimo friends?!!!!!!!! I got this volume on the day it came out last year, but life happened and I havent gotten the chance to read it until now. Aaaannd I’ve been inactive on tumblr for pretty much a whole year, and I come back and I see the fandom looks to be dead T-T. So I dont even know if anybody will even read this. But!! I wanna finish this little series I had where I read every volume and liveblog it lol. So LESSS GOOO

So yeah can we just talk about how beautiful this artwork is

I actually have not read any translations of the final chapters, so I’m going into this completely blind. Tbh I barely remembered what happened last volume (and this summary doesn’t really help lol)

Okayyyy I remember now. Yamato and Rune had just completed their Love Battle, then Sayama comes in all of a sudden and is about to erase Rune’s memories.

BUT YAMATO BEING THE GOOD MAN HE IS STILL LOVE HER (AND RUNE) REGARDLESS

AWWW SAYAMA LIKED YAMATO TOO. Also oh shit that’s right she’s Dunstan’s daughter and Yamato found out!

Murayama Musashi (I’ve forgotten a lot of things, but I can NEVER forget that name) knew too because of his #policeboy skills

OHHH that’s right Sayama joined Vice too! Wtf is going on I forgot everything LMFAO

Aww Sayama. So she knew this WHOLE time about her father and the experiment he was doing? She didn’t suddenly become aware of it when Eco gave all the good doji masters memories of the past? Wow that’s some heavy shit

Drag them Sayama it’s been 12 volumes and they still haven’t made any real progress

NO NOT A GOOD PLAN

Hana & Eater, Sumako & Desir, and Mizho & Paresse arrive all of a sudden!!

Aww Sayama. Yamato is such a good person.

Oh shit Dunstan and Milieu are here now!!

‘Reeducated” okay that isn’t creepy at all. 

Soo Dunstan took Sayama to the year 2989 and now everyone’s fucked.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Vice is having an existential crisis it seems

Awwww this chapter cover is so nice

I love how K immediately jumps to asking about Vice’s well-being while that little brat Jun is like “dafuq is wrong with you”

Nooo Vice nooo Jun is.....seriously disturbed

I’m crying K noticed Vice didn’t poke his eyes out like he normally does. ALSO LITTLE KID K IS SO CUTE LMFAO

Deep thoughts from K’s grandma, making K realize something....but what?

Awww Fussa Fusataro (a name I also can never forget) is a real MVP for sticking around.

Lmfao Rage is like “Oh. Thanks. Thanks for informing me that we’re staying here. Thanks fam”

So Vice goes out and finds Ultimo all alone???

OH SHIT ULTIMO USED TIME STOP ON VICE TO KILL HIM

But was deterred because Jun is Vice’s master now so there’s extra evil to stop his attacks (right? that’s how it works? I don’t even remember fam)

OH SHIT

Omg but Vice is hesitating when attacking Ultimo

I forgot how creepy this kid was

LMFAO EVEN VICE IS LIKE “Nahhhh that’s not cool”

AWWWW THAT SELF-AWARENESS

OH SHIT ULTIMO TOOK THE CHANCE AND STABBED VICE

BUT NOW JUN IS SHOOTING VICE??? LMFAO LET’S ALL GANG UP ON THIS POOR DUDE TODAY?????

I literally said “Yaaaaaassss” out loud. K really is the hero we deserve

Vice has learned to love I’m crying (also K’s grandma actually seems to be the real hero here)

HOLY FUCK JUN SHOT K???? CAN THIS KID STOP

BUT YAMATO AND THE WHOLE CREW SHOWED UP SO NOW I GUESS WE’RE GOING TO THE FUTURE

Oh wow. It’s the final chapter. 

But we still got half of the volume left??

Anyways, here’s a familiar scene

OH the ending already happened??

ULTI IS GONE IN THE ENDING?? EXPLAIN

Ohhh so that’s why Musashi has literally NO body in the future. Wow

OKAY I GUESS WE’RE GOING TO COMPLETELY SKIP OVER THE FIGHT BETWEEN VICE AND EVERYONE RIGHT AFTER THAT

Lmfaooo Mizho is speaking the truth here nothing happened to her at all. Because I can count on my fingers the number of times she has appeared in this manga. #tragic

Okayyy so they all combined and are now going to fight Dunstan

War. War never changes.

YAAAASSS YAMATO SAVE SAYAMA

YAAAASSS  Universal Milieu has come into the fight

Andd wiped everyone out with Dimension Hammer lol

OH SHIT IT’S YAMATO, K, VICE AND ULTIMO FROM THE 21ST CENTURY. That’s a fucking squad right there. So I guess Dunstan destroyed future!Yamato and crew, but not our Yamato?

OH MY GOD THEY’RE COMBINING IT’S HAPPENING

That’s deep guys

OH MY GODDDDDD EVERYONE’S COMING TOGETHER

(interesting how the Evil Doji are naming their attacks after the planets?)

YAAAAAAAAASSSSSS chills

wait what?????

What

Okay the fuck is going on lol

HUH??????

So all the doji are human now....I remember learning that when I read the raw last chapter, but it’s part of the experiment? Dunstan’s endgame this whole time was to create Ideos Ultimo therefore making the doji human?????

Okay??? I guess that’s the ending???

Milieu’s face is my reaction

Okay......... I guess.... at least it was a happy ending??? (even though it was total cop-out)

so let’s move onto the profiles

Takei gives us all the God/Demon Icon forms of the doji, included their combined forms and Ideos Ultimo

Jun’s Demon Vice actually looks pretty cool. Lol @ the crossbow being included in the design

Ohhh so that’s why the Evil doji has that planet naming

Aww they even included the karakuri soldiers

And here’s a cute afterward from Takei

so....that’s it...wow. That was the final of Karakuridoji Ultimo. I’m glad it was a happy one, though I do feel it was very abrupt. But what can you do

It’s been a wild ride. A wild, and often confusing ride. But I had tons of fun reading, loving, and obsessing over this manga all these years. I already made an emotional post about how much KDU means to me, so I’ll just leave this at that. I hope this isn’t the last time we hear about this manga (anime in 2040 anyone? I predict it now),and I def hope the fandom continues to live on~

#ultimo #karakuridoji ultimo #please dont read this on mobile lol #ultimo chapter reactions #stan lee #hiroyuki takei #karakuridouji ultimo

[west-tokyo-incidents]

pardon me just dropping dump references for fusataro/songbird/etc hair.

#reference dump #fussa fusataro

[west-tokyo-incidents]

The Facility; Frozen Needles

CW; heavy gore, trauma, extreme injury to a minor, nightmares, and manipulation

I don't have a good summary for this story. But it's fun.

---

Cold.

So fucking cold.

Fusataro groaned and curled tighter under her covers. It’s too damn cold in her room. She blindly reaches for her phone on the bedside table to look at the time, but it won’t turn on. Shit, must’ve forgotten to plug it in for the night.

She swings her legs off her bed and reluctantly gets up. Did Rage turn the thermostat down or something? Or maybe it just got colder tonight than expected. She pulls on some pants and a shirt just so she’s not freezing. She even considers putting on her shoes, hardwood floors are not kind to cold bare feet, but it’ll only be for a minute. She yawns and shakes her head just a bit to wake up more and turns to the door.

She doesn’t notice that she can see her own breath in the air until she opens the door and is nearly blinded by white.

Snow.

She stares for a moment after her eyes adjust.

She’s dreaming. Okay. Never been one to lucid dream, what the fuck was in her cigarette.

The landscape doesn’t change. She slowly closes the door. She tries to focus on her different senses, but everything seems to be in working order. She pinched herself, counted down… but she didn’t wake up. Great. Okay, fine, she’s stuck dreaming.

She’s putting her damn shoes on, though. At least the dream was courteous enough not to make her walk barefoot in the snow.

She couldn’t find her jacket, though–wait, no, she remembered where it was. In the living room after she’d thrown it on the couch.

Well why does that matter to this stupid fucking dream? It could at least give her that.

…

But the world remained unresponsive to her angry thoughts. Cold and stone silent.

She shivered.

Okay, well, at least it’s consistent. She looks at the door. Why does she even need to go out there, anyways? It’s cold and bright and all around just a bad time. She could just curl back up in her bed.

But something was nagging at her. The white light spilling into the room from under and around the door felt… strange. Slowly, she walks closer to the door and opens it again, to look. At the threshold, she looks out over the snow. It’s not just snow, there’s trees. Pine trees, she thinks. Sparse bushes devoid of their leaves for the winter. Rocks that jut out of the snow. It looks like imagery off a nature documentary. But she’s never been anywhere like this. Why dream about this…?

She steps out, and the snow crunches under her feet. It isn’t that deep. Maybe an inch deep at most. Probably because of the canopy of the trees. She takes another step, her hand falling off the doorknob. It’s silent except for her footsteps and her slow, soft breathing. A glance behind her confirms her suspicion. Her room is gone now. She wraps her arms around her and shivers. At least she’s not in any real danger.

Nothing in a dream can really hurt her.

She looks around for anything interesting.

Crack! Thump!

She jumps and whips around, eyes wildly searching. She sees snow settling around a branch sticking out of the ground. She looks up, and sees the splintered end of a branch on the tree above. It must’ve broken under the weight of the snow. Shaking off her nerves, she goes over to look at the fallen branch.

Her steps stutter as she sees something red.

Slowly her steps stop. She can barely see over the edge of the little crater. Something is there that isn’t branch or snow. She can see one loop of a rope around the branch. The snow around is scattered with drops of red. 

She doesn’t know if she can’t smell anything because it’s a dream or if it’s because of the cold, but she’s thankful for it. Slowly, she backs away. Against her own wishes, she looks back up. And really looks. Her heart drops to her gut. There are more bodies hanging from the branches above, slowly swaying in the wind. She steps back slowly.

Back and away from the body on the ground, but her eyes don’t come down from looking above.

She isn’t paying attention to where she’s going.

Her back hits something.

With an undignified noise, she jumps and spins around.

It’s a tree.

A fucking. Tree.

She lets out something between an angry huff and a trembling sigh of relief. It’s just a tree.

She lets her eyes close for a second and she leans against the bark, trying to catch herself.

What a fucked up dream. At least she knows she’ll wake up at some point. Hopefully sooner rather than later. After a second of recovering, she opens her eyes again.

There’s something blue against the white and black and brown and cold greens. She leans up off the tree and squints, trying to see what it is. It’s a few yards away, behind another tree…

It moves, just barely.

As if she wasn’t already cold, ice flushes through her body.

It’s an eye. The white shape it’s attached to is the skull of some animal. Her heart flies from her stomach into her throat. Her knuckles turn white, gripping the tree.

It steps out from behind the tree, slowly. A great black limb swings forward from its hiding place, and sinks into the snow with the faintest noise to indicate it. It looks like one of Rage’s gauntlets, though broken. Pieces of it like broken glass barely clinging on. Some little shards even fall into the snow.

The great skull-head swings out, eyes still trained on her and solely her. The skull is a bull’s. White hair in a tangled, matted mess, spill out from behind the skull. Yellowed and in terrible shape. Ruined. The mouth opens and a wet, yellow-red sick spills from the maw like infected pus from an abscess.

She stumbles back, its eyes follow her.

It gurgles. Bubbles fall out in the oozing fluids as it does. Its other front limb swings forward, and she can see the bruises that cover the skin of this… rage-thing’s shoulder.

It’s pitiful. An abused, broken thing. With teeth as long as her forearm. The mouth falls open more, and with another gurgle, it roars at her.

You shouldn’t run from a predator. Especially not one that you know is much faster than you. You’ll only activate its chase response. It’ll only end badly.

Fusataro runs.

She barely notices that she steps on the body in her flight. The world is nothing but white and cold and tree branches. Black trunks of pine trees seem to twist like claws trying to grab her and feed her to the beast that’s chasing her.

Its galloping feet echo her heartbeat, heavy in her ears. Painfully in her ears. She can’t see anything but the white. It hurts. A flash of black becomes too obvious, too sudden, she can’t move out of the way in time. Her shoulder collides, full bodied, into the tree. She’s falling. Further than she should have. Through the snow she hits a rock. Or the ground. Both are equally hard as she rolls. It’s a ditch. Something flashes across her vision…

And she’s alive. The chasing galloping is retreating. She’s alive. She shudders and stares blankly up at the branches above. The running steps she can still hear seem to skid to a stop. Panic floods her ears and she’s scrambling to get up. It’s coming back for her. 

Something grabs her arm. Something strong and with needle-sharp edges. She screams and yanks against it, tearing her sleeve and skin.

“Shut up!!”

Her own voice. 

She hadn’t spoken.

In her shock, she freezes, and the grasp on her shoulder is dragging her down the ditch-path. She’s thrown against one side after a few steps, “Stay fucking still.”

She does as she’s told, not even breathing.

Heavy, gurgling pants come from where she just was. The wet plop-splat of gore on rock and root. She can picture the beast standing over the ditch, looking down into it.

A hissing sound. Not like a cat, but like hot metal on cold skin. A burning hiss. Water dripped onto a red-hot stove-top. She can’t picture what that is.

A low, rolling growl. A grumble, even. Footsteps retreating. Can she breathe now? She doesn’t dare to. How long has it been? Doesn’t really matter. She isn’t really seeing the world in front of her.

Something pokes her shoulder. Her whole body jerks in a flinch and her head snaps up to… what, growl at what had poked her?

“You okay?”

It takes a moment for her to process what she’s looking at. A face. Her face.

Well, kind of. Her eyes are sunken, deep bags hang under them, her eyes fogged over, eyelids crusted with ice. The right side of her jaw and cheek are all gore, jaw muscles exposed and blackening from frostbite. Her teeth, on the other hand, are gold, bright, even, as they move. Sharp. Like a predator’s. A cat’s. Something’s being said. She’s talking.

Rapidly she blinks and tries to make eye contact and focus on what’s being said.

“S-Sorry, what did you say?”

The… other her sighed in exasperation.

“I was asking if you broke anything.”

Oh. Right. Herself. She reached up and rubbed at the shoulder that hit the tree. Pain returned to her world all in a rush and she whimpered. But it’s… not as bad as she thought. She shakes her head.

“Good.” A hand reaches up and sets down on her arm. A shudder runs up Fusataro’s spine as she stares at her limb. It’s all bone, as gold as her teeth… and it’s not human. The ends of her fingers are backwards, wicked claws folded back. Cat bones.

“...Don’t worry, once you wake up hopefully you’ll forget most of this.”

“So… this is a dream.” She hugs her arms around herself, “I am dreaming.”

“...yeah, but it’s not yours. Ours. Whatever. It’s his.”

“...his?”

“Paresse. My Paresse.” The other her stands up and offers one of her limbs out. The bones disappear up into the shredded and charred fabric at her elbow, but the bloodstains just above her elbow belay enough to tell her where they truly attach. She swallows, but reluctantly takes it.

“... Yours?”

“Yeah… It’s… hard to explain. Multi-universe theory is correct, at least…!” A half hearted laugh as she pulls her hand quickly away from the gaudy bones. The claws flex outward and then fold back again. The other… ‘her’ looks away.

“I don’t know if yours is, but mine took over Vice’s place as Ultimate Evil. I don’t know how or why, but he killed Vice. He started infecting our dreams. Dragging us into his. This place.” She motions around.

“Was that…”

“That was Rage, yeah. And most of us are… like this…” She holds up her… paw? And stares at it. Then she sighs and drops it down. “Everyone’s here. This is where we go when we sleep.”

“... And now he’s. Taken me.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, “And you need to get out of here.”

A numb nod. She couldn’t agree more. But she stares at the other. Can she really trust this?

“How?”

“... There’s a place. At the base of the mountain. Akira thinks it’s the way Paresse left the mountains after Michel died. There’s a lake there. When Paresse is done with us, he takes us there and… drowns us. Then we wake up.”

Fusataro shivers at the thought.

“...We can’t let Paresse find you. Rage has probably already gone to tell him you’re here. We have to move.”

The dream-Fussa stands up and moves. A tail drags behind her, sparse black fur stuck in places like rot on dying flesh. Bone is exposed, torn muscles barely holding it in place. It’s as pitiful of a sight as the dream-Rage. Fusataro twists to push herself up, feeling dirt falling from her hair and her clothes. 

It’s all so real… too real. She can taste the blood in her mouth from where she must’ve bitten her own tongue in the run or in the fall. She can feel the bits of dirt in her shoes and the cold sting of the snow melting against her skin. She can smell the blood in her nose. She can hear the crunch of gravel and snow under their feet. She can see what’s right before her eyes. 

A fucked up half-feline half-corpse version of herself half limping down a gore-caked, rocky ditch. She follows numbly. The other pauses. Looks back at her.

“If you get separated from me, go down the mountain. From here, it’s all downhill. Understand?”

She blinks, then nods. She wishes she’d brought her sweater. Her nose is starting to run and her fingers are hurting from the cold. She doesn’t imagine it’ll be long before she can’t feel them at all.

They keep walking. There’s a sickening crunch-splat. It jerks her to attention. An icy patch of water, running. The ditch is starting to turn into a stream.

“We can’t stay in here for forever.” The dream-her looked up at the edge of the ditch, her tail twitches and lifts off the ground before she crouches and jumps up above with inhuman grace. She looks around with those fogged eyes, then turns around and offers one of her claw-hands down.

She takes it, but the other her pauses.

“Please remember, whatever you see here, you’ll forget it soon, okay?” There’s a small crack of remorse in her voice. Fusataro swallows, but nods.

And she’s lifted up.

She snow here is very nearly only slush. Caked with gore in shades brown and black and red. Bones jut from corpses, bodies she both recognizes and some she isn’t sure even cops could identify. Douji, master, all in a disgusting sepia gradient painting the pine forest. Even her dream-self’s golden parts seem to mesh with their surroundings.

Something crunches. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a hulking beast, and turns to look. She can make out a bright orange mane, and a lion-head gnawing on a corpse. It stares blankly in their direction, but not at them, but beyond. Saliva and blood drool out of his maw from the lazy roll of his jaw through bone and fat and organ.

Claws on her arm, gently pulling her, “Come on, he’s occupied.” There’s an undertone of urgency to her voice. She turns to follow, shivering and quickly. A deep part of her doesn’t want to trust her. This horrible version of herself leading her deeper and deeper into this nightmare. But what else could she do? Run? Where? Down hill to where she was already going? Back to where her own douji was hunting her like a rabbit?

There’s nowhere for her to go if she ran.

Orghullo isn’t the only one. A terrible visage that might’ve been the small body of Hana dragging her entails behind her as she fought with a douji she was pretty sure was Jealousy. All of them had ice and rot and fresh wounds. The bodies littered the woods. Reminders, she was told, of all the last times they failed. Of all the times they died in these dreams. The bodies were left behind. The only thing to eat in this wasteland. And if they didn’t, they were kept here until they starved and died that way… and woke up again in the dream. Until Paresse let them wake up in the lake.

Fusataro remembers Mizho one time bragging about surviving on the mountains as Michel.

She wonders if this is some twisted projection of those horrors, the starving and freezing, exacerbated by the fact it was a dream.

Something snarls.

She runs into her companion’s back and looks up. Up into the… shockingly clear eyes of Desir, staring at her in disbelief. His body is one of the worst for wear, his hair mere clumps on his head, visors broken down to little slivers floating by his face. His face, half of which is just shattered and twisted metal and wood. His gauntlets are twisted into horrible claws and his legs just taper into the spikes of his lower legs, feet gone and his chest cracked open, his sphere bared and cracked in a hundred places.

The other her is tense, sparse fur on end and claws extended.

The Desir’s eyes slowly turn to the other.

“What have you done?” He whispers harshly.

“Fuck off, bunny boy!” The hiss that comes from her is like a brand hitting flesh. The gold of her teeth and claws begin to steam, “This isn’t any of your business!”

Desir takes a step back then his eyes snap back to her, face twisting into something akin to fury, mouth opening to speak, but he’s drowned out by the roar-hiss that comes from his companion.

“Run!!” 

And she does, taking off down hill as the two collide. Running again. This time, though, there’s nothing chasing her. Not yet. But she feels eyes in her back and she swears she sees eyes out of the corners of her vision among the trees. The ground is cold and wet and slippery and she struggles to maintain footing until the trees suddenly open and she’s on a path. 

She skids to a stop and frantically looks around. The stones here are coated with blood in dragging streaks, signs of many bodies being taken through this way.

She hears a hiss. Not like a cat. Not like something wet touching something hot. 

She hears a hiss like the scales of a snake rubbing against themselves. The wet flick of a tongue.

She takes off down the path, all sense lost. The lake is her way out, that’s all it can be. That’s all she can think of. The bright reflection of the sun off a great, reflective surface rewards her and she can’t help but feel grateful. It’s almost over. She can forget about all of this, everything she’s seen. She’ll warn the others of her own timeline. She’ll…

She’ll slip in something soft and fall into sharp rocks. Something will crack, and pain shoots through her face. Her blood joins the rest. She chokes, shocked and the wind knocked out of her. She’s certain she just broke her jaw. With a groan she tries to make her muscles move. She struggles to stand up, all too aware of how badly her shoulder aches, how little she can feel her limbs, and the sheer pain in her body. She can see the lake, just barely, through tears that threaten to freeze her eyes shut. She whimpers. It’ll be over soon. All she has to do is get into the lake. Drown herself… Won't be hard, she thinks bitterly, she can barely imagine being able to swim like this. She stumbles towards the frozen edge.

“Well, well… Aren’t you resilient?” She ignores the hiss of Paresse’s voice behind her. The footsteps lazily following her down the gravely shore, “I chose my first in this timeline well. She’ll make a good host, won’t she?”

“I told you so.”

That voice. That voice shocks her. Her own voice. She turns to look. She doesn’t see Paresse, only the shape next to him, Desir’s corpse in her claws. She wishes she could be shocked at the betrayal. Instead she gives a pathetic little laugh. It’s echoed by the mad giggle of her mirror self.

“It’s really sad, you almost got away, too!” She waved one of her claws dismissively towards Paresse. Wait… what did she mean? She was never safe. First Rage, then following her, then now… She turns and sees the rage-thing in the twisted green claws of Paresse. Its blue eyes stare at her, tears running down his skull-face. His eyes are clear.

Just like Desir’s. Her eyes snap to her mirror-self’s. Foggy, icey. Just like Orghullo, like Hana, like Jealousy. Then back to Rage.

“You were trying to save me…” She could only think it, not say it through her slowly swelling jaw. His blue eyes seem to soften for a moment… before they pop out of his skull as it’s crushed by those claws. A whimper left her as his body is dropped to the ground, joining the countless others.

“Thank you…” The tired, lazy hiss-drawl of Paresse’s voice is suffocating, “...for running all this way. It’s so exhausting having to drag everyone out here…” She finally looks up at him.

He’s almost pristine, it’s another kind of horrifying. His body free of gore, even from the mangled corpse in his hand. His mask twisted and strange, a mouth like an oni’s in the shape of a snake’s. Tusks jutting out, with a gap in the front for the thick wet fork of his tongue to slide out and flick. His hair longer, neck longer, limbs longer, too long to be mistaken for natural.

She takes a step back and her foot breaks through the ice, soaking through her shoe and into her skin.

“Now… let’s stop playing with our food, shall we?”

His hand is suddenly around her head, pressing against her broken jaw. She screams and claws at it, as if that would make it stop, as if there’s anything she can do. The next thing she knows is cold. Cold and pain and muffled noises. Underwater. 

Cold.

So fucking cold.

—

Dubois skims over the report from his wife, eyes slowly blinking, “Why is it always instances of you and me, love?”

Songbird laughs softly, and shakes her head, “I don’t know. But what I do know is that Boon’s been itching for a mission with you in charge ever since we got back, and this one seems like a good one for the whole Bloodline crew back together.”

Dubois leans back in his chair, “You gonna join us, tweetheart?”

“Call me that again and I’ll rip your head off.”

“Depends, where will you put it?”

“Oh, fuck off and go get to work, you pervert!” She playfully throws a pen at him and he laughs, turning his chair to get up. The paperwork still in his hand, he skims the details a third time. They wouldn’t be any easy feat to tackle on their own turf, but the perpetrators are bunkered up astonishingly tight. Any who go into their timeline are fucked once they try and sleep, and now they know the Facility exists via the dreams and memories of those who’ve died there.

He closes his eyes as he walks.

There’s no amount of equipment or modification that can be taken into your dreams. They have to find that bunker or nest or whatever it is. And there’s no telling how strong they are in the real world. The good douji of their timeline are all dead, so are their masters, so there’s no getting information out of them. But the time line they’re latched onto…

He wonders if Torment wants another toy.

—

Fusataro wakes with a start, her lungs warm and wet and her stomach rolling. She practically bolts out of bed, stumbling and clawing her way into her bathroom. She leans over her sink and retches harshly. Her dinner comes up with a vengeance not even her douji could muster. She gags and whines at the taste. At the smell. But it’s not blood. It’s not ice water. Her room is nice and warm and calm and clean… well, except for her sink now. But she isn’t focused on that, she’s staring at her hands. Her knuckles. Her skin. A soft laugh leaves her. She’s out of there. 

A knock on her door.

“You okay, ‘taro?”

A sigh, “Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay. Just a nightmare.”

She’s more than okay. She looks up into the mirror.

Like an after-image, gold fangs smile back at her over her reflection as she grins.

#karakuridouji ultimo #The Facility #fussa fusataro #dream eater au #<- in case I ever wanna write this w/o the facility because golden fang Fussa is giving me worms #thanks millhaven #cw gore #cw trauma #the facility: frozen needles

[west-tokyo-incidents]

Fusataro accidentally being a magnet for supernatural/eldritch shit

Being part of the whole evil douji branch is bad enough, she just wants to do her producer thing and deal with mundane stresses.

But also she's painfully aware that one of the idols she produces is Something Else that feeds on human attention. At least one of her coworkers is fae. She's pretty sure another one is a demon, but he could just be an asshole. There's a ghost in the Soney offices that likes to fuck with her.

And all of them flirt with her.

#fussa just wants to do her job man #fuck all this other shit #i want this as a sitcom ngl #ress talks #karakuridoji ultimo #karakuridouji ultimo #ultimo #fussa fusataro

[west-tokyo-incidents]

if I ever write a proper band fic for Fusataro...

#I've been listening to this on repeat today #fussa fusataro #Youtube

[west-tokyo-incidents]

Brain; Ress you've already implied your hc that Fusataro has SA trauma and they literally have canon trauma being beaten down in the music industry THEY DONT NEED MORE

Me; haha what if Aflodite broke up because Fusataro is indirectly at fault for the death of one of the members? would that be fucked up or what?

#ress talks #general content warning #yes im cruel to my favorite characters #glad you noticed #fussa fusataro #karakuridoji ultimo #karakuridouji ultimo #ultimo

[west-tokyo-incidents]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

(Art by acverg on Twitter)

#ultimo #karakuridouji ultimo #kdu paresse #fussa fusataro #karakuridoji ultimo #other's art #fussa/paresse

[west-tokyo-incidents]

In the grand scheme of things, Fusataro and Rage are so very young in the funeral.

Fusataro has this world view that he feels so weathered and jaded. And being cut of the same cloth and woven by Fusataro himself, Rage is very much of the same mind.

Fusataro flirts with danger, trying to recruit Mizho into the music industry, and has no idea. The depths of age and wisdom in her and her robot are more than he ever could have bargained for.

He is, essentially, trying to pick a flower that seems like it's just a few steps off the path. But if he succeeds, he'll only look up and realize he's suddenly lost in a forest so deep and unforgiving, that it's unlikely a rescue team will even attempt the mission.

He thinks he's a monster now.

He's not even remotely close.

#ress writes #karakuridoji ultimo #karakuridouji ultimo #fussa fusataro #rage #mizho #paresse

[west-tokyo-incidents]

The absolutely queer urge to call a fictional, sleazy capitalist 'babygirl'.

Talking about Him.

#fussa fusataro #karakuridôji ultimo #karakuridouji ultimo