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creamflix · 1 month ago

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PERSEPHONE — ryomen sukuna x female reader [chapter 1]

summary: ryomen sukuna, ruthless tycoon of the alcohol industry, is used to crushing rivals. but when his former meek secretary walks into his office as his newest competitor, he’s blindsided. you’ve transformed into a powerful force, ready to go head-to-head in a high-stakes battle for dominance. as tension rises between you — both in business and something far more dangerous — sukuna realizes this fight might cost him more than just his empire.

content warnings & tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, business tycoon sukuna, mentions of depression and alcoholism, angst, slow-burn, mentions of other jujutsu kaisen characters (suguru geto, choso kamo, yuuji itadori) - this takes place in the same universe as my upcoming salaryman!choso fanfic

word count: 6,203 words

notes: and the award of best liar goes to.....in my defense i needed a break from all the smut writing, so please! please, enjoy the first official chapter of an impulse project. there will be multiple parts to it, so worry not! and please, grill me in the comments. get as critical as you can get, i need the advice. thank you for reading!

masterlist

"you’re fuckin’ shit at your job! pathetic, you hear? if i see you here ever again, god so help me, you’ll never find another job again."

those words still echoed in your mind. sukuna's sneer, the disgust that dripped off every syllable. that day, three years ago, you were swiftly replaced, just another disposable pawn in his empire. it wasn’t that you lacked skills. in fact, you were precise, efficient — everything a good secretary should be. but no one could keep up with him. sukuna’s fiery temper was like a storm you never saw coming. always brewing, always on the verge of eruption. the minute you faltered, even slightly, he was there, leaning over your desk, barking down at you like you were nothing.

the flashbacks always left a sour taste in your mouth, but you weren’t the same cowering woman anymore. back then, the memory of his cruel words had left you teary-eyed in the restroom stalls, wiping away mascara smudges and biting back sobs. but after you left, you swore you’d prove him wrong. you refused to be just another forgotten casualty in sukuna’s warpath.

and now, you had your own wine company.

persephone.

sukuna found the name laughable at first, but the numbers? they didn’t lie. your brand was making waves, quickly becoming a sensation in the high-end wine scene. it wasn’t just some trendy label either — it had substance. the quality was undeniable, and the industry was taking note. especially his industry.

“fuckin’ ‘persephone,’ huh?” sukuna muttered under his breath, leaning back in his sleek office chair. he was alone, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest, his expression unreadable. “she’s really givin’ me a run for my money now.” he chuckled, but it wasn’t from amusement. it was that low, dangerous sound he made when something — or someone — was starting to piss him off.

he was the king of the alcohol game, dammit. ryomen had become a powerhouse in just four years, dominating the market with everything from vodka to rum, sake to whiskey. his brand wasn’t just a name; it was a status symbol. people flaunted his bottles like designer bags. you had ryomen on your bar? you were in a different league.

but lately, his sales were dipping in a very specific category. wine. your wine.

“you’re tellin’ me,” he grumbled, looking at the sales report, “that some chick i fired is takin’ a bite outta my profits? unbelievable.”

his current secretary, a polished woman with the demeanor of a robot, stood nearby, silent. she knew better than to interject when sukuna was simmering like this.

“it’s just wine, boss. nothing we can’t —”

“shut the fuck up,” he snapped, cutting her off. “i’ll tell you when it’s ‘nothing.’ right now, it’s a goddamn problem.”

his thoughts raced. part of him hated the fact that you were even on his radar again. you, the same woman who used to flinch when he raised his voice, the one who could barely get out an apology without her hands trembling. he could still remember how you’d stammer through excuses when he’d tear into you for something as simple as a typo in an email.

“god, she was useless,” he muttered to himself, leaning forward and running a hand through his pink hair. but then, a frown crept across his face. useless… or just unlucky enough to work under him?

he shook his head. no, he wasn’t going down that road. feelings, regret, all that emotional bullshit — none of it mattered. it only got in the way of the goal. sukuna was focused, driven, and nothing could pull him off track.

except maybe you.

he hadn’t dwelled on it much back then, too busy building his empire. but now, here you were, with your fancy brand and your goddamn ‘persephone’ label, threatening the wine segment he’d dominated for years.

“she must think she’s somethin’ special,” sukuna muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips. “bet she’s struttin’ around now, huh? all high and mighty.”

he could imagine it — you, standing in front of a boardroom, confident, assured, looking down on everyone the way you probably thought he’d done to you. but that wasn’t going to last.

he rose from his chair, walking over to the window of his penthouse office that overlooked the city skyline. night was starting to fall, and the lights of the city below twinkled like stars.

“well, brat,” he said quietly to himself, voice low and dangerous, “you better enjoy it while it lasts. ‘cause when i’m done with you, you’ll wish i never fired you in the first place.”

he smirked at his own reflection in the glass. maybe he’d underestimated you back then. maybe he’d been too quick to write you off. but that didn’t change the fact that he was going to crush you now.

and this time, he wouldn’t even need to raise his voice.

saying that you were fucked was the understatement of the century.

the alcohol industry? you picked it on purpose — almost like tempting fate itself. it started innocently enough, with your last paycheck crumpled in your hand, drowning your sorrows in ryomen wine — the same wine you used to grab for sukuna when he’d bark orders at you. you swore you could still hear his voice every time you cracked open a bottle. the sharp aftertaste didn’t help, either. you switched to other brands when your wallet allowed: cloudy bay sauvignon blanc, stags' leap cabernet sauvignon, anything that felt like an escape from his shadow. but your funds ran dry faster than you expected, and soon enough, you found yourself back at your mother’s place, sulking like some NEET loser who couldn't face the real world.

and sukuna? that scumbag was true to his word. not only had he fired you with no remorse, but he made damn sure no one else would touch you with a ten-foot pole. rumors spread fast, and he made sure every single one painted you as the problem. you couldn’t get a job to save your life. so, you hustled. babysitting, tutoring, walking dogs — you did whatever you could just to scrape by. but it was humiliating, feeling like you were clawing at survival while your old boss sat on his throne, sipping his overpriced sake and not giving a second thought to you.

the worst part? you craved a drink. every time you got a little extra cash, you were tempted to blow it on just a bottle of something — anything — to numb the exhaustion. but your mother’s concerned eyes on your gaunt face made you stop. she was already worried enough.

then, one night, as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone in your cramped childhood bedroom, you stumbled across a buzzfeed article: "how to make your own wine in ten easy steps!"

it was absurd — who the hell makes wine from scratch? but you clicked it anyway. the gears in your brain started turning as you read it over. step by step, you memorized every detail. the next morning, you raided the supermarket like a woman possessed, stuffing your cart with grapes, yeast, and whatever else you could get your hands on. you were going to make your own wine, because if you couldn’t afford it anymore, then screw it — you’d just make the damn thing.

you spent hours in the kitchen, your hands moving frantically, following the recipe to the letter. and somehow, against all odds, the first batch tasted… good. like, really good. your mother, usually uptight about everything you did, even cracked a rare smile when she tasted it.

“this is actually delicious,” she admitted, setting the glass down. “you should bring some to my gardening club next week. the ladies would love this.”

it was a small suggestion, but it lit a fire in you. making those first few test bottles for her friends? it wasn’t just a distraction anymore. it was the first real sense of purpose you’d felt in months. and when they praised it — truly praised it — you realized this wasn’t just a hobby. this was your way out. your way to rewrite the script that sukuna had burned into your life. you weren’t just going to survive. you were going to live.

what you didn’t expect was for your little wine experiment to become such a big hit.

the ladies from your mom’s gardening club practically lost their minds over your creation. they praised your "natural talent" for winemaking, showering you with compliments and, more importantly, money. they insisted you make more, some even handing over cash in advance just to guarantee their next bottle. you were floored. you could practically hear the sound of money flowing in as you eagerly took order after order, working day and night in your makeshift wine lab — your old side hustles as a barista and a dog poop scooper long forgotten.

now? you were a businesswoman, and damn if you didn’t love saying it. your mom did too. she proudly bragged about you to anyone who would listen. whenever someone asked that tired, familiar question — "what’s your daughter been up to these days?" — your mom would light up, puffing her chest with pride as she told them all about her daughter’s successful wine venture.

time blurred as you threw yourself into your work, orders coming in steadily, and with them, a steady income. it wasn’t long before you had enough to take your mom out for a nice dinner — your treat. the look of pride on her face when the waiter handed you the bill? priceless. you didn’t even feel the pull to drown your sorrows in alcohol anymore. sukuna’s wine? fuck that. the high you got from creating something that people loved, the thrill of turning your passion into profit — that was better than any drink could ever be. but, of course, ambition is a funny thing. once you start getting a taste of success, you start wondering — what if i could get higher?

that’s when suguru geto crash-landed into your life. literally.

one day, his car broke down in front of your house, a random stroke of luck that led to something unexpected. what started as a quick fix turned into a fast friendship, and in just a week, you went from being casual acquaintances to best friends. turns out, suguru’s aunt was part of your mom’s gardening club, so you two started seeing each other more often, and he quickly became your biggest supporter.

“you know,” he said one afternoon, lounging on your couch, “you should make this a real thing.”

“it is a real thing,” you laughed, raising an eyebrow at him.

“no, i mean like — patent it. sell it in supermarkets. let the whole damn world know about you.”

his words struck a chord in you. you stared at him for a moment, your mind spinning with the possibilities. could you really do that? could you take persephone to the next level?

“i don’t know, sugu,” you murmured, biting your lip. “that’s a lot of pressure. i mean, i’m doing fine as is —”

“fine?” he cut you off, grinning. “you’re thriving. don’t sell yourself short. you’ve got something special here, and you know it.”

his confidence in you was almost overwhelming. it made you wonder — what if he was right? what if this little wine brand of yours wasn’t just a side gig anymore, but something bigger? something that could rival even the big names like… ryomen.

the thought sent a chill down your spine. sukuna.

no. this was your time. your success. and this time, it was on your terms.

your confidence, once sky-high, was quick to deflate as reality hit you like a brick wall. how the hell were you going to get the money to start? you weren’t exactly rolling in cash, and even with all the orders you had, it wasn’t enough to cover what you needed to expand. you were, in every sense of the word, still a nobody in the business world.

sitting on the couch, your mind raced, spiraling through all the worst-case scenarios. that’s when suguru, ever the calm one, leaned back casually and smirked.

“honey, you forget,” he said, shooting you a knowing look, “my talent is breathing money.”

your eyes widened. “you’re seriously gonna fund this?”

“why not?” he shrugged, the confidence in his voice unwavering. “i know you’re serious about this, and i’d rather bet my money on you than anyone else. plus,” he added with a grin, “this is gonna be fun.”

his belief in you left you speechless, and soon after, your mother chipped in too, offering up what she could. “you’ve got something special here,” she said softly, her eyes shining with pride. “we both believe in you, and you know what you’re doing.”

with their help, you pooled together just enough to get things rolling, investing everything accordingly. you finally gave your company a name — persephone. it felt like a declaration. this wasn’t just a passion project anymore; it was your shot at proving yourself, at rewriting the story that sukuna tried to burn into your life.

you managed to get your first stock sent out to the supermarket you used to work in, thanks to your old manager who, having tasted your wine himself, vouched for it without hesitation. he agreed to stock your goods on a trial basis, just to see how the public would respond. you sent the stock out tentatively, crossing your fingers and hoping against hope that you could sell out, just maybe.

you spent that afternoon waiting for a response, nerves gnawing at you, until exhaustion pulled you into sleep. you weren’t prepared for what you’d wake up to.

when you blinked awake, the first thing you saw was your phone screen flashing — seven missed calls from suguru and three from your manager. panic gripped you as the worst thoughts raced through your mind. what if something went wrong? what if people got sick from your wine? what if —

you quickly dialed suguru back, your heart hammering in your chest.

“y/n!” his voice came through, excited, breathless. “you’re not gonna believe this. your entire stock? sold out in four hours. people are demanding for more! even the other supermarkets are calling in, asking for you!”

you blinked, the words not fully sinking in. sold out? your whole stock? your mind spun as you processed what he was saying. a rush of disbelief and euphoria flooded your senses all at once.

“i — what? are you serious?”

“dead serious,” suguru chuckled. “this is just the beginning, y/n. your life’s about to change, and fast.”

and in that moment, you knew — this wasn’t just a lucky break. this was it. your life was about to change forever, and sukuna? he wasn’t looming over you anymore. you were about to loom over him.

all of this was just one year ago. persephone blew up like dynamite, becoming the “it” drink with gen z practically overnight. people everywhere dubbed it “the hot girl drink,” and it spread like wildfire on social media. celebs, influencers, and even rappers were endorsing it — rihanna, beyonce, hell, even international actors from countries you never thought would give you the time of day. your pet project had turned into a full-blown empire, something you never even dreamed of. the insane part? it wasn’t just a fad — it was here to stay. persephone was the new, unbeatable champion of the wine industry, holding the number one spot for the entire year. nothing — and no one — could touch you.

market experts were scrambling to crack the secret behind your success. every business magazine, blog, and analyst was pouring over the data, trying to figure out how the hell a tiny, unknown brand could rise to the top so quickly. when forbes asked you to explain it, your response had been simple:

"all you need is a little bit of love in the mix. that's why everyone loves us."

love? bullshit.

sukuna scoffed, slamming the magazine down on his desk as he glared at your interview in the newest issue of forbes. his eyes burned with frustration as he scanned the glossy page, your face plastered on the front cover — forbes, of all things. he remembered when he was the one on the cover. and now it was you, alongside some other guy, suguru geto, your so-called "business partner." his hands fisted the edges of the magazine as he forced himself to read through the article, bile rising in his throat.

"fuckin’ love," sukuna muttered under his breath. "what a load of crap."

what really pissed him off wasn't the fact that ryomen wines had dropped to number two in the market. no, they were still crushing it in vodka, rum, and sake — dominating, even. sukuna still smugly held onto that victory, and in truth, ryomen's other sectors were thriving. but it wasn’t about the numbers.

it was about you.

you, of all people, had stolen his top spot. the quiet, cowering secretary he’d dismissed without a second thought had somehow clawed her way up to rival him. beat him. and that, more than anything else, was what grated on his nerves. it was like a personal insult, like every bottle of persephone on the shelves was a slap to his face.

he didn’t understand it — couldn’t wrap his head around how you, someone he once considered nothing more than a weak, insignificant nuisance, had built something this big. this powerful. it was unthinkable.

but it didn’t matter. because if there was one thing sukuna hated more than losing, it was losing to you.

“get ready,” he muttered, tossing the crumpled magazine into the trash. “this ain’t over.”

he wasn’t about to let you bask in your victory for long. oh no, sukuna never did well with defeat, and you were about to learn exactly what that meant.

sukuna’s sundays were always a mixed bag when his brothers came over. on the one hand, he secretly enjoyed not being alone, the house filled with chatter and energy he rarely allowed himself to admit he missed. on the other hand… they had their quirks, quirks he didn’t always have the patience for.

today was no exception.

“oii, nii-chan!! is it true you’re cooked?” yuuji’s loud voice rang through the kitchen as he leaned over the counter, his face full of boyish excitement. at eighteen, fresh out of high school, yuuji was all energy and enthusiasm, completely missing the tension in sukuna’s glare.

“we are not cooked, brat. now scram!” sukuna growled, his patience already wearing thin. it wasn’t that he didn’t like yuuji; he loved the kid in his own harsh way. but today was not the day to bring up the one topic that had been gnawing at him for weeks now — persephone.

yuuji, of course, remained completely oblivious to his brother’s thinly veiled rage. “dude, we need to try it out — for sampling purposes, of course!” he corrected himself quickly when sukuna’s eyes darkened, the older man’s low growl sending a shiver down his spine. choso, standing quietly by the side, let out a silent sigh of exasperation that went unnoticed by both of them. as the eldest brother of the three, choso was used to playing mediator between sukuna and yuuji’s endless energy.

“talking about that cheap wine in front of your brother? seems like choso here isn’t teachin’ ya manners, brat,” sukuna scoffed, throwing a sharp glare at choso. but choso wasn’t fooled by the display — he knew sukuna well enough to recognize the silent plea in that look. sukuna wasn’t just angry; he was frustrated and on edge, and right now he needed choso’s help to avoid losing face in front of their younger brother.

choso, ever the calm and rational one, stepped in smoothly. “sukuna’s right, yuuji. why don’t we try some of his wine instead? ryomen’s pretty coveted, you know. you can even tell your friends you’ve got the inside scoop on the best stuff,” he suggested, his voice soft and persuasive. he knew yuuji’s weak spot — flexing on his friends — and wasn’t above playing that card to steer the conversation away from persephone.

yuuji’s eyes lit up at the mention of flexing to his friends. “yeah, that’d be awesome! ryomen’s, like, top-tier,” he agreed quickly, the previous excitement over persephone fading as he eagerly darted toward sukuna’s personal bar.

“but only a sip!” choso called after him, his tone firm but affectionate. yuuji grinned and gave a thumbs-up, too eager to care about the warning.

as soon as yuuji was out of earshot, sukuna’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his scowl remained. “thanks,” he muttered under his breath, leaning against the kitchen counter with a scowl that barely concealed his relief.

choso merely nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “you should really tell him what’s bothering you, sukuna. pretending it’s not a problem won’t make it go away.”

sukuna’s jaw clenched at the suggestion. “i’m not pretending anything,” he shot back. “just not giving that cheap wine any more attention than it deserves.”

choso didn’t argue — he knew better than to press sukuna when he was like this. but even as they heard yuuji clattering around in the bar, talking excitedly to himself about the bottles he found, choso couldn’t help but wonder how much longer sukuna could keep up this front before the tension snapped.

soon enough, sukuna bid choso and yuuji goodbye, grunting a half-hearted “good luck” to yuuji for his academics and giving a curt nod to choso. it was their silent agreement to continue taking care of yuuji, a bond forged through the ups and downs of their unconventional family. deep down, sukuna wished his brothers could stay longer, but he knew his work environment would be more chaotic than conducive to yuuji’s growth. the kid needed some normalcy, a chance to be a teenager without the weight of sukuna's world pressing down on him.

choso had that normalcy. he had a simple job and quiet life waiting for him back home, something that balanced him out in a way that sukuna hadn’t found in years. as he watched them leave, sukuna couldn’t help but wonder what life could have been like if he hadn’t run off at twenty-seven, leaving his twenty-two-year-old brother to shoulder the burden of raising a thirteen-year-old yuuji all by himself. it felt like a dick move, something no older brother should do. but he’d made up for it in his own way — by rapidly building a name for himself in the alcohol industry, ensuring his brothers were taken care of.

the weight of those thoughts pressed on him as he closed the door behind them. he had sent ample money back to support choso and yuuji, ensuring they lived comfortably and never struggled. yuuji’s education had never been compromised, and sukuna took a twisted sense of pride in that. everything he did — every deal struck, every bottle sold — was silently for them, though he’d never admit it out loud. they knew, though. they understood the sacrifices he’d made and the lengths he’d go to protect them.

leaning against the closed door, sukuna let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. the house felt empty now, the echoes of yuuji's laughter fading away. but he was used to this emptiness. it was part of the job, part of the life he’d chosen. yet, as he glanced at the bottle of ryomen wine sitting on the counter, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind grew louder. persephone was thriving, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just a business — it was a challenge, a direct competition that tugged at his pride.

he shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. no need to dwell on that right now. there would be time to strategize, to find a way to reclaim what he’d lost. for now, he had work to do, deals to make, and a reputation to maintain. but the tension lingered, a constant reminder that the game was far from over.

every business professional and their mother had heard of the forbes awards — one of the highest honors in the industry, recognizing outstanding achievements in categories like innovation, leadership, and entrepreneurship. it was a big deal, and of course, sukuna was invited. how could he not be? he was the face of ryomen, and ryomen was synonymous with him. it would have been a moral sin to overlook his presence.

but alongside him, in a stunning twist of fate, you were invited as well. your heart raced with excitement as you entered the grand hall, arm in arm with suguru, who wore his usual calm demeanor. the ambiance was electric, filled with murmurs of anticipation and the soft clinking of glasses. you felt like you were floating, clad in the prettiest gown you’d ever worn, the fabric hugging you in all the right places. your excitement bubbled over as you and suguru chatted animatedly, sharing whispers and laughter about the event.

sukuna sat a few seats ahead of you, his presence commanding attention even before the ceremony began. he glanced back at you and suguru, his brow twitching in annoyance. that bastard, he thought, irritation prickling at his nerves. was he annoyed because you were here, or because you were here with suguru? who the hell does he think he is, cozying up to you like that?

he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the stage as the lights dimmed. why the fuck does it matter? sukuna knew he should be above this, above whatever twisted emotions were gnawing at him. but it was hard to shake the feeling that your success was a direct challenge to him. persephone had blown up like a wildfire, and now here you were, practically glowing next to some random man.

the announcer’s voice boomed, echoing through the hall as the first award was presented. sukuna’s mind raced. everyone in this room is waiting to see me win. his heart pounded as he thought about the years of work, the sacrifices he made to build ryomen into what it was. these people need to remember who the real titan in the room is.

he couldn't help but steal glances at you, laughter dancing on your lips as you leaned into suguru’s space, that smile of yours bright enough to rival the stage lights. you think you’re some kind of star now, huh? the thought twisted in his gut. you don’t know what it took to get here.

as winners were announced, the crowd erupted in applause, and sukuna forced himself to smile politely, though inside he was a storm. you’ll never be more than a little brat who got lucky, he told himself. and yet, here you are, basking in the glory that should have been mine.

with every name called, the tension in sukuna grew. he could feel the eyes of the room shifting between him and you. they’re waiting to see what i do next, he mused, resentment and determination colliding within him. they think this is the peak. they have no idea what’s coming.

the night was still young, and the real competition was just beginning.

“and this year’s forbes most innovative company award goes to — y/n l/n & suguru geto for persephone!”

you sat there dumbfounded, too shocked to move, even as cheers erupted around you, your name being called echoing in your mind like a beautiful melody. suguru was beside you, his excitement contagious as he urged you on, “y/n, we won! go on, what are you waiting for?”

you won. you really won. the gravity of it settled in, and you felt a rush of emotions. you hoped your mother was tuned in tonight — oh, who were you kidding? your mother and every other mother in the room had tuned in, probably with their phones in hand, eagerly documenting the night. your mom's hourly reminders of “forbes award show tonight, my daughter is winning” played in your mind like a comforting mantra.

it took all your physical strength to push yourself up from your seat, legs trembling as you shakily walked toward the stage. the camera panned in on your nervous expression, capturing the moment for the world to see. when the award was handed to you, a giddy laugh escaped your lips, a blend of disbelief and joy.

“i — i don’t even know where to begin. i’m just… i’m just someone who started out in her mother’s kitchen.” the crowd chuckled, and you caught a glimpse of suguru, his face radiating pride. “and here i am, getting an award from forbes.” the room erupted into cheers, and you could feel the warmth of their applause wrapping around you.

“i….i made it, mom! i really did, i—” your eyes inadvertently wandered, locking onto sukuna, who was seated a few rows ahead. his expression was thunderous, livid anger practically radiating off him, his tattoos appearing to shift in the dim light as he stared you down. if looks could kill, you were certain you’d disintegrate on the spot.

for a fleeting moment, you felt like that meek little secretary from years ago — the girl who cowered at his angry words, whose confidence had crumbled under his disdain. your breath caught in your throat, palms clammy around the award that suddenly felt like a shackle, the blaring stage lights pressing down on you.

“t-thank you,” you mumbled quickly, and with that, you rushed off the stage, confusion buzzing in the air as people murmured about your abrupt exit. suguru’s brows furrowed with concern as you settled back into your seat beside him.

“hey, what’s wrong? talk to me,” he whispered, his hand finding yours beneath the table, offering a comforting squeeze.

“i saw him,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the reality of your win overshadowed by the weight of sukuna’s gaze.

the moment hung in the air between you, an electric tension that made your heart race. you had won tonight, yet the thrill felt tainted, as if sukuna’s presence had darkened your moment. suguru's grip tightened, grounding you, but the storm brewing inside you was harder to quell. this victory should have felt like a celebration, but instead, it brought the ghosts of your past crashing back, threatening to overshadow everything you had worked so hard for.

you should be counting your lucky stars that you exited the stage as soon as possible because if you had stood there for even one more minute, holding the award and basking in the stage lights, sukuna would have popped a blood vessel.

how could you — of all people — have won the award? it felt like a cruel joke, a slap in the face to all the hard work ryomen had poured into every drink they crafted. sugary excuse of a wine — that’s what he thought of your creation. it didn’t matter that you had poured your heart into persephone; to him, it was a mere distraction, a gimmick that somehow managed to catch fire while he’d been left to stoke the flames of a legacy he had built with his own hands.

sukuna’s jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he tried to reign in the rage bubbling beneath the surface. what the hell did you do to deserve this? it wasn’t fair. i revolutionized the industry, he thought bitterly, a storm brewing in his chest. i put everything into ryomen, and yet here you are, stealing the spotlight with your little pet project.

he couldn’t even pay attention to the next awards being given out; they were just a backdrop to the humiliation he felt. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. he scanned the room, trying to gauge the reactions of others. do they think this is a joke? he wanted to scream, to lash out at anyone who dared to think persephone was on his level. the mere thought of you being lauded for your success twisted in his gut like a knife.

you didn’t know the sacrifices it took to build an empire, he raged inwardly. you didn’t endure the sleepless nights, the harsh decisions, the pressure of making a brand that people could depend on. to sukuna, ryomen wasn’t just a company; it was an extension of himself, a representation of all he had sacrificed for his brothers, for his future. and now, you had waltzed in and claimed an accolade that felt undeserved.

every cheer from the crowd felt like a taunt, a reminder of how far you had come and how deeply he loathed that it was you who had taken this honor away from him. you’ll never be more than a flash in the pan, he promised himself, a mantra to ease the burning rage. i’ll make sure of that.

his mind raced, plotting and scheming as he gripped the armrest of his chair, knuckles white. i need to show them who the real titan is. he had to reclaim his dominance, to put you in your place. it didn’t matter how many influencers endorsed you or how popular your product became; this was just the beginning, and he would not be overshadowed by someone he once considered insignificant.

as you settled back into your seat, a shaky smile still lighting up your face, sukuna's gaze hardened. this isn’t over, he vowed silently, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and resolve. you may have won tonight, but I’ll be damned if i let you steal my thunder.

days had passed since the forbes award show, but the victory felt hollow for sukuna. sure, he walked out with an armful of awards: the stevie awards, recognizing achievements in management and customer service; the international business awards, celebrating excellence in global innovation and leadership; and the business excellence awards, which honored outstanding performance across the board. it was a haul that solidified his status as a titan in the industry. but even with all that, his mind was consumed by the nagging echo of your name.

how the hell did you manage to steal that one award? it nagged at him like a splinter, refusing to be ignored. it didn’t make sense. even though your win seemed like a mere trinket compared to his accolades, it felt like a theft — a theft of something more precious than gold.

wasn’t it enough that i built this empire from the ground up? he thought, frustration simmering just below the surface. i sacrificed everything to get here, and you — of all people — come in and claim a piece of the pie? it infuriated him to think of you standing on that stage, giggling with disbelief, so carefree and unburdened by the weight of the industry that he had shouldered for years. i’ve earned this!

flashbacks from the award show rolled through his mind like a montage — standing on stage, the lights shining down on him as he accepted award after award. the applause ringing in his ears, the pride swelling in his chest as he shook hands with industry leaders, the kind of recognition that validated every sacrifice he had made.

“congratulations, sukuna,” one executive had said, clapping him on the back. “you’ve really outdone yourself this year.”

“what can i say?” he had replied with a smirk, “i’m just that good.”

yet, while those moments should have felt triumphant, all he could think about was you. that fleeting moment when you stood up there — why couldn’t he shake the image of your smile, your shocked expression? it stirred something within him, an unsettling mix of envy and anger.

you didn’t earn it, he seethed inwardly. you didn’t work your way through sleepless nights or the pressure of making decisions that could sink a company. you just made a drink and got lucky with some influencers.

he wanted to dismiss your success as a fluke, but something about it gnawed at him. why does it bother me so much? he questioned himself, feeling a surge of confusion mixed with annoyance. you weren’t a threat, you were an annoyance, a temporary blip in the industry. yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were becoming something more — something significant.

the thought of you overshadowing his hard-earned victories was infuriating. i won’t let you steal my thunder, he promised himself, his resolve hardening with every passing day. he could not let the narrative shift. this isn’t over; i’ll make sure everyone knows that ryomen is the name that matters, not your little hobby.

but as the days turned into weeks, sukuna found it increasingly difficult to focus solely on his empire. every time he turned on the news or scrolled through social media, your name surfaced, wrapped in praise and admiration, while he was left wondering how you had somehow infiltrated his thoughts, stirring up feelings he had long buried. it’s just a phase, he told himself, clenching his jaw. i’ll crush this little competition of yours. soon, no one will even remember your name.

but deep down, a flicker of doubt loomed. what if they do?

comment on any of the chapters to be added to the taglist, please have your age displayed or your request will be ignored! thanks (: produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

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abhishekverma-10 · 2 years ago

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What's the major difference marketing and sales? You might have heard that question a lot of times. Here in this blog we have tried to cover every aspect of this topic.Marketing is the process of creating value for a company through the creation and distribution of products or services. Selling is the act of exchanging goods or services for money.

#difference between sales and marketing with example #marketing and sales

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mywitchyblog · 5 months ago

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Reality Shifting and Age Changing Explained: A Deep Dive into the "Controversial" Practice

Introduction: Reality Shifting, the mind-bending practice of moving your consciousness/awareness to another reality (known as a Desired Reality or DR), has sparked intense debates within the community. One of the hottest topics? Age changing – the act of shifting to a different age in your DR. This shit has caused so many arguments, especially about ethics and what's "allowed". Let's break down why age changing isn't as fucked up as some people make it out to be, and why those who say otherwise might need to reconsider their stance. I will Mostly talk about agin yourself down since that is what is making the biggest noise

Taglist of various people who i think would be interested in this post (i will update it progresively) :

@shiftersroom You wanted my opinion ? Here is it /pos

@norumis I saw that post of yours

@evangelineshifts and @reiashiftsrealities Talked my project on your discord lol.

@jolynesmom Loved your post about it btw

Warning : READ IT FULLY BEFORE JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS THANK YEW

My Race Chaging Post

Masterlist

Part I: Why Age Changing Isn't Bad

a. The Maturity Conundrum: When you look at the source of this controversy, you'll realize it revolves around the maturity gap between the shifter and their DR . Critics argue that age changing either doesn't alter your maturity (meaning if you're a teen in your DR, you still have the maturity of your Original Reality (OR), essentially making you an adult in a minor's body) or that it's inherently problematic. But here's the thing: when you shift, you fully take on the age and mindset of your DR self. You're not just playing pretend; you actually become that age. If you can get your DR self's memories, abilities, skills, and personality, why the fuck is it so far-fetched to think you can have their maturity as well?

Let's break this down scientifically. Maturity is dependent on brain development, more precisely, the coordinated functioning of four distinct zones:

Prefrontal Cortex (PFC): The "CEO" responsible for planning, decision-making, impulse control, and emotional regulation.

Limbic System: The "Marketing & Sales" team that influences emotions, motivation, and memory, shaping how we perceive situations and respond.

Basal Ganglia: The "Operations" department that controls habits and translates plans into action.

Temporal Lobes: "Customer Service & Public Relations" that processes social cues and guides our interactions with others.

This neurological ensemble shows that maturity is something physical, related to the brain development of an individual. It's been established in the shifting community that you cannot bring physical things across realities, so what makes you think you can bring your CR brain with you?

If that were the case, scripting a different personality, skills, and knowledge would be impossible. This means your DR self has its own cognitive and emotional frameworks developed in that reality. Your experiences and maturity are context-specific (in that case reality specific), so when you shift back to your OR, you regain your OR maturity. Shifting isn't like a permanent personality change; it's more like fully immersing yourself in a different role or life. Which is exactly what happens.

b. Debunking Anti-Aging Arguments:

"If you age yourself down, that means you're attracted to minors/you're a pedophile": This argument is complete bullshit. If there are gay people shifting to be heterosexual, lesbian shifters shifting for men, aro/ace people shifting to experience romantic/sexual attraction they never do in this reality, then aging yourself down and potentially having romantic and/or sexual relationships as a minor with another minor doesn't mean you're attracted to minors as an adult in another reality. This take is a "Hasty Generalization" fallacy – making a broad generalization based on a small or unrepresentative sample.

"Why in this reality are you thinking about dating minors??": This type of take is not what you think it is, baby girl. It's called a fallacy, more specifically the Straw Man fallacy. It occurs when someone misrepresents or oversimplifies an opponent's argument to make it easier to attack or refute. In our case, they're trying to oversimplify something as complex and nuanced as reality shifting, not taking into account valid instances where one would age themselves down.

"Even if you are the same age, you still have the awareness of being an adult, which means you're a predator": And again, another fallacious argument. Seriously, aren't y'all sick and tired of bouncing on my wood all day long? That's not how shifting works, and you know it. We aren't even sure awareness works like this. It's just a theory, plus I can tell that a lot of people with this stupid-ass take haven't shifted at all.When you shift – and let me tell you because I did shift, so I know how awareness works – when you shift to a reality, you don't even realize you've shifted at first because for you, existing, waking up, just living in this reality is something normal, not extraordinary at all. Then something will trigger the fact that you know you've shifted, and from the perspective of you in your DR, you don't feel as if you "originate" from a specific reality. For you, your DR becomes your CR, and subsequently,so does your awareness. You just know there's another reality, another version of you that exists and that you're an adult there. Your existence/consciousness/awareness is like a circle: no beginning, no end, no origin.Plus, according to the concept of infinite realities and possibilities, you can change via scripting how your awareness works. I haven't done that; that's how I and thousand of shifters WHO DID ACTUALLY SHIFT personally experienced/perceived our awareness while in our DR.

"Using shifting to age yourself down to date a minor while being an adult hereand saying 'oh well according to multiverse I AM this age, it doesn't matter ifI'm an adult in a different reality' is similar to trying to pursue someone thesecond they are of legal age when that shit varies in other countries/states": Nah, seriously, do some of y'all have actual arguments to defend your point of view except fallacious ones that have as much value as my nonexistent heterosexuality? The statement equates aging down in a Desired Reality to the practice of pursuing someone as soon as they reach the legal age in this reality, which is a "false equivalence" fallacy. These scenarios are fundamentally different in nature and intent. In reality shifting, the individual adopts the full cognitive and emotional framework of their DR self, becoming that version of them entirely. This is not comparable to someone in this reality deliberately targeting individuals based on legal age thresholds. The intent and context are distinct. Do some of you people realise that an actual predator/creep/pedophile would not age themselves down once they realized they could strike a chord as an adult in their DR without any consequences?

c. Valid Reasons for Age Changing:

Exploration and Nostalgia: Some people age down to relive experiences or explore stages of life they missed in their OR. It's like getting a second chance at living life. Maybe you want to experience high school without the anxiety, or have a childhood free from trauma. This shit can be healing as fuck and the best therapy there is in the multiverse.

Healing and Fulfillment: Shifting to a younger age can help heal from missed opportunities or trauma, like experiencing a fulfilling teenage romance or a carefree childhood. It's a way to rewrite parts of your life that were painful or unfulfilled.Imagine being able to have loving parents if you didn't in your OR,or getting to pursue that dream you gave up on as a kid.

Non-Sexual Intentions: Many shifters change their age without any sexual motives, focusing more on friendships, adventures, or just being in a different stage of life. It's about experiencing life from a different perspective, not about fetishizing youth. You might want to join a high school club, go to prom, or just enjoy the simpler responsibilities of being younger.

Tried to shift since being a minor: A lot of shifters discovered shifting when they were still minors and made DRs whose age corresponded to the one they had in their OR at the time and tried to shift again and again despite the years. Are you telling me that you're going to tell those people to discard those realities the moment they turn 18? Bitch, make it make sense and you cant.

Part II: Examining the Discourse Within the Reality Shifting Community

a. Teenage Shifters : Double standards and hypocrisy. Teenage Shifters need to acknowledge the hypocrisy of them shifting to a DR where they are a married adult with kids one day and then deciding to shift to a reality where they are 15 and dating another 15-year-old the next. This inconsistency becomes even more problematic when they complain about their "maturity" being affected upon returning to their original reality. Furthermore, these same shifters often label adult shifters as "predatory" for shifting to realities where they interact with high schoolers, failing to recognize the double standard in their own behavior.

This hypocrisy extends to their attitudes towards sexual content and relationships. Teenage shifters often defend scripting mature content in their desired realities, arguing that teens naturally have such desires. However, they become outraged when adult shifters express a desire to experience young love again through shifting. This inconsistency is further highlighted by their willingness to engage in adult behaviors with older partners in one reality while simultaneously pursuing teenage relationships in another.

This hypocrisy extends to their attitudes towards sexual content and relationships. Teenage shifters often defend scripting mature content in their desired realities, arguing that teens naturally have such desires. However, they become outraged when adult shifters express a desire to experience young love again (or expereince young love they never did) through shifting. This inconsistency is further highlighted by their willingness to engage in adult behaviors with older partners in one reality while simultaneously pursuing teenage relationships in another.

Moreover, the logic applied to adult shifters - that having a teenage love interest in a desired reality implies attraction to minors in the original reality - is not consistently applied to teenage shifters who frequently shift between adult and teenage experiences. This disparity in reasoning further underscores the bias within the community.

Lastly, the pressure to shift before reaching adulthood in the original reality is a concerning trend. The community's belief that minor-aged shifters can shift to any age creates an implicit urgency to experience various realities before becoming an adult, after which such experiences might be viewed as pedophilic fantasies by the wider community.

Many Shifters who are minors (I do not say that all shifters that are minors are like this, just a huge amount) have a very odd understanding of what shifting is. They often treat it like cosplay, which is not what true shifting is about. They accuse adults who age down of being predatory, yet they:

Age themselves up to be with adults.

Age down adults to be with them.

Have pornstar or stripper DRs, which is ironic considering their criticisms.

This double standard reveals a lack of understanding about the true nature of shifting and the subjective experience of each shifter. It's like they're playing by different rules depending on what suits them at the moment.

Consider this mind-fuck: A 17-year-old shifts to another reality, lives there for 40 years, then comes back and dates someone who's 17 in their CR. By their logic, this makes them predatory because they've lived for 57 years. Conversely, if they return to their CR as a 17-year-old and date a 57-year-old because they're "57 in shifting age," it's still seen as wrong. This highlights the inconsistency in their arguments and the subjective nature of age and experience across realities.

It's like trying to apply the rules of chess to a game of poker – it just doesn't work. Each reality has its own context, and trying to apply blanket rules across all of them is an exercise in futility.

b. The Hypocrisy of shiftok : Oppresive and unfounded dogma, lack of empathy and Cultish Tendencies

The TikTok reality shifting community, colloquially known as "Shiftok," often displays a concerning lack of empathy and nuanced understanding when discussing complex issues surrounding shifting experiences. This is exemplified by the interaction shown in the image below :

In the first comment, an individual expresses feeling emotionally and mentally stunted due to missing formative experiences while growing up(which is true a lack of expereince can stunt someone s well being and developement). They view shifting as a potential way to have those experiences and achieve personal growth. This perspective highlights the therapeutic potential some see in reality shifting. However, the response to this vulnerable admission is harsh and dismissive: "Just bc your childhood got fcked up does not give you the right to fck up another child's." This reply demonstrates the judgmental attitude prevalent in the Shiftok community, where complex motivations are often reduced to simplistic, moralistic condemnations.

This interaction illustrates several problematic aspects of the Shiftok discourse:

Lack of empathy: The responder shows no compassion for the original commenter's expressed trauma and stunted development.

Misinterpretation of intentions: The reply assumes malicious intent, ignoring the therapeutic or self-exploratory motivations expressed.

Imposing rigid moral standards: The response applies a single moral framework without considering the subjective nature of ethics across different realities.

Oversimplification of complex issues: The nuanced topic of personal growth through shifting is reduced to a binary "right" or "wrong" judgment.

Hypocrisy: While condemning certain shifting practices, the community often overlooks similar ethical concerns in other contexts, such as minors scripting adult relationships.

This example shows perfectly the need for more thoughtful, empathetic discourse within the shifting community. Rather than rush to judgment, shiftokers should strive to understand diverse perspectives and the complex reasons one would shift to a specific DR of theirs.Otherwise people will keep thinking that we are nothing more than a cult that seeks to exploit the mental health of broken teenagers and prey on their desperationf for fame and money.

c.The "holier than thou" attitude: The "holier than thou" attitude, also known as moral superiority or self-righteousness, is a mindset where individuals or groups believe their moral standards, beliefs, or practices are superior to those of others. This attitude often manifests as judgmental behavior, condescension, and a lack of empathy towards differing viewpoints or experiences.

In the context of Shiftok, the TikTok reality shifting community, this "holier than thou" attitude is particularly evident and problematic. It applies to Shiftok in several ways:

Moral Absolutism: Shiftokers often apply rigid moral standards derived from their original reality (OR) to all desired realities (DRs), ignoring the concept of subjective morality across infinite realities.

Selective Condemnation: The community tends to harshly judge certain practices (like adults shifting to younger ages) while overlooking potentially problematic behaviors by minors (such as scripting adult relationships in their DRs) or people scripting in trauma abuse or that people get SA ed or are in relationship with problematoc people such as murderers and villains.

Lack of Empathy: As demonstrated in the image, there's often a dismissive attitude towards individuals expressing personal struggles or complex motivations for their shifting practices.

Oversimplification of Complex Issues: Nuanced topics are frequently reduced to simplistic "right" or "wrong" judgments, disregarding the multifaceted nature of personal experiences and ethical considerations in shifting. Shiting at its core is complex, nuanced and multifaceted, no black and white its gray.

Assumption of Expertise: Despite many members potentially lacking deep understanding or personal experience with shifting, there's a tendency to speak authoritatively on what is or isn't acceptable in shifting practices. It's always those who either have never shifted or minishifted who yap the most about shifting like they know it all . Honey you don't , you know nothing you have nothing to talk about shut up and try to shift before opening your mouth on a subject you do not have an expertise about.

Gatekeeping: Some members of the community may attempt to dictate who can or cannot engage in certain shifting practices based on arbitrary criteria or personal biases.

Dismissal of Therapeutic Potential: The community often overlooks or dismisses the potential therapeutic or personal growth aspects of shifting, focusing instead on enforcing their perceived moral standards.

This "holier than thou" attitude in Shiftok creates an environment that suppresses open dialogue, discourages the sharing of diverse experiences, and potentially alienates individuals seeking support or understanding within the community. It contradicts the very essence of reality shifting, which is about exploring different perspectives and experiences across infinite realities.

And also the most concerning consequence of this effect, this hypocrisy, this lack of empathy makes shiftok look like a cult in the eyes of other spiritual communities. I do know and disagree when antishifters make the statement that shifting is a cult but I understand and come to agree with them when they say that shiftok is a cult.

This community that is supposed to help one another is just oppressing bullying and suppressing people when they have an opinion that differs from the dogma big shiftokers imposed on the rest of the community thinking that their word is law and they get to write the rules of a practice that is the antithesis of that .Shifting is the epitome of breaking the chains the constraints of this world and its rules. Plus do some of you lot realise that those people that you worship do not give a flying fuck about you ? These people pray on your desperation to keep you on their page.

Shiftok is nothing more than a living sack of horse shit. All the knowledge and tips are just poorly regurgitated from amino and other shifting spaces that existed far before 2020. They immediately closed themselves to outsiders when they saw the damage shiftok did to the community as a whole. When a cultist, shiftoker claims to have this groundbreaking solution /information about shifting keep in mind that 100% of the time it was already known elsewhere.Just not on shiftok and now they are the new shifting Messiah lmao.

Shiftokers sometimes (more like always tbh) ignore the fact that shifting involves complete immersion in the new reality. If it's possible to gain your DR self's memories and personality, then obviously, you'll also become their age mentally as well. You're not just dropped into that life with no context; you fully integrate into that age and lifestyle. When you shift to your DR, that's your new CR. This reality becomes a DR. This reality is not the baseline for anything.

Some people say their memories of their OR feel far away while their DR memories are front and center, making their DR life feel like their primary existence. This means you won't feel like an imposter, no matter how different your DR is from your OR.

In ancient times, gaining spiritual knowledge like shifting required understanding that you are a soul or consciousness having a human experience. Modern cultists shiftokers often skip this step, leading to judgment and misunderstanding. Shifting should be a tool for self-discovery and growth, not just entertainment. This lack of spiritual foundation often leads to a superficial understanding of shifting. It's not just about living out fantasies; it's about expanding consciousness and understanding the nature of reality itself. By focusing solely on the surface-level aspects of shifting, many miss out on the profound insights and personal growth that can come from this practice. Because of the damage shiftok did on the reputation of the practise it is nearly or impossible to break free of the stereotype of shifter being a bunch of mentally ill schoolgirls shifting to be with the wizard version of Nazis (looking at you girlies that shift for Draco Malfoy or Tom Riddle).

Honestly that is the thing that makes me cackle. The most about shiftok i keep hearing and seeing videos from these cultists shiftokers asking and wondering themselves why is the platform dying and why theres no active discussions like sharing tips story times etc...

Bombastic Side Eye-Do you fuckers realised it is all your fault ? You try and silence people when their opinion differs than the one you have.They experienced something you did not you shame and burn them at the stake for it no wonder why people leave that ghetto ass platform and im scared just like a lot of us here of the massive exodus of shiftokers that will happen once tiktok is banned in the US.

Conclusion:

Age changing in shifting isn't inherently bad. It lets people explore different life stages, fulfill desires, and grow personally. The real issue comes when age changing is done for fetishizing purposes, turning ages into objects for sexual gratification. As long as shifters are respectful, consensual, and not exploitative, age changing can be a valid and enriching part of the shifting experience.

Remember, shifting is about expanding your consciousness and experiencing the infinite possibilities of existence. Don't let narrow-minded judgments hold you back from exploring the full potential of this practice. Stay open, stay curious, and most importantly, stay true to your own journey of self-discovery through shifting.

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #desired reality #shifting community #shifting realities #shifters #shifttok #shifting blog #shifting antis dni #reality shift

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bakuhatsufallinlove · 7 months ago

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Let's talk about Jump GIGA

Jump GIGA covers, 2016-2024. Volumes are published (left to right per row) as Winter, Spring, Summer, and Autumn releases, with 2018 and 2019 briefly breaking the pattern by having three Winter and three Summer volumes each. 2023 has an Early Spring volume in addition to the standard four.

So, people have pointed out that the 2024 Spring cover is, uh, not like other covers.

But I've only seen comparisons to other MHA GIGA covers and MHA Weekly Shonen Jump covers. Out of curiosity for what GIGA's typical marketing aesthetics might be, I put together a comparison between all of Jump GIGA's covers to date.

And, um. Some things stand out, to say the least.

First, let me clarify what Jump GIGA even is: it is a seasonal magazine from Shonen Jump, published separate from Weekly Shonen Jump. SJ is an absolutely massive brand and they have a number of magazines serialized outside of the most well-known weekly magazine.

The content of Jump GIGA is primarily made up of one-shots and spin-offs. From the beginning, a lot of the appeal has been the cool cover illustrations which showcase special merchandise that comes with the purchase of GIGA. Usually the cover also promotes big things going on related to the WSJ series, like movie events, new games, or special figurines for sale.

The marketing aesthetic has been clear from the start: the cover consists of one core illustration and a number of ads surrounding it. Most often you get a cover illustration of a protagonist, and then ads and merch for other series, e.g. Food Wars protagonist cover with One Piece film promotion and Haikyuu!! merch.

The purpose of this marketing direction is pretty obvious. Spin-offs and one-shots are not likely to generate a ton of interest consistently, so they lure people in with the cool covers and tempting limited edition merchandise of the series they already know and love. In this way, highlighting one series with the cover and different series with the merch makes sense, because maybe somebody doesn't care about Food Wars, but they definitely want those Haikyuu!! stickers, stuff like that.

Starting from 2020's Autumn volume, you can see a shift. For the first time, basically all of the merchandise is for the cover series. The Demon Slayer manga had already ended five months earlier in May, but a two-chapter spin-off was scheduled for release in WSJ during October. This GIGA was released exactly one day before the second chapter was published and it capitalizes on the hype.

After this point, only MHA and Jujutsu Kaisen dominate the cover and the merch in quite this way, with Black Clover getting attention last volume as a way to highlight the fact that it actually switched syndication from WSJ to GIGA.

Anyway, most commonly the cover illustration is a solo shot of a core cast member (usually but not always the protagonist), and if it's not a solo, it's a big cast illustration.

Only a few covers focus on two characters, and usually it's a crossover as opposed to characters from same series sharing the limelight.

Here we've got Food Wars' protagonist with the main characters from Dr. Stone and Act-Age.

The two covers most similar to the Izuku & Kacchan cover are 2022 Winter and 2023 Autumn.

Winter depicts the main trio of Blue Box in a seasonally-appropriate aesthetic. Not gonna lie, this one kinda makes me laugh--Blue Box is a romance and sports manga, and even though Christmas has a romantic air to it in Japan, instead of depicting any sort of like, hesitant but hopeful romantic energy between the heterosexual couple that actually get together later in the series, they focus primarily on the two girls being cute with the guy is a wee footnote? I mean, all right.

Meanwhile, Autumn depicts one of the protagonists with the series antagonist with a typical cool action style. I'm not very familiar with JJK, but I hear these two have got Some Drama going on, so, there's that.

The merch itself has also evolved over the years. Stickers and posters were present early on, but they have since expanded to decorative folders and now acrylic stands and coasters. 2021 Summer sees the first time the cover illustration is marketed as merch, with the Jujutsu Kaisen cover included as a decorative folder.

Right after that, the Kacchan cover of 2021 Autumn is included as a poster alongside earlier covers featuring Todoroki and Izuku.

2023 Summer's cover is a huge, wrap-around MHA cast illustration and it was published three days after chapter 396 came out, strategically timed to highlight the big shift in the final battle as Ochako vs Toga ends and All Might vs. AFO begins. Merch includes a decorative folder of the wrap-around cover and character motif stickers.

And then we get this!?

A duo cover illustration where the cover art itself has been merchandised to hell and back!?!?

Acrylic stand and pin set!?

Double-sided coaster showing bkdk greatest hits!? With volume 29's river scene cover!?

There's also a double-sided poster featuring the Spring cover with the ninth popularity poll art and a decorative bag with the anniversary art. The cover art itself is plastered all over the volume, front, back, and spine, apparently a total of 19 times.

I honestly don't know what to say about this. It feels wild that this is actually what the cover is. Obviously it is a huge marketing push in anticipation of season 7, and Izuku and Katsuki are the most popular characters, but. it just feels... unique.

In the course of Jump GIGA's publication, this direction is kind of unprecedented. Genuinely no one could have expected this. This seems to be the first time there's been this much merch for a cover. And it was a solid fucking move, marketing-wise--it's sold out basically everywhere, everyone is talking about it. And even people who don't follow the series or ship these two can't help but comment on how strikingly romantic it looks!?

I don't know how much say Horikoshi had in what the cover was, but damn it sure feels like he drew this with immense affection. I kind of wonder if he personally pushed for it to be these two, rather than the typical solo shot, cast shot, or even a protagonist vs. antagonist shot.

I'm KO'd, man. idek if this post is useful to anybody I'm just on my hands and knees here.

Everybody knows what we're all here for, and it's these cute boys finally getting their happy ending.

EDIT NOTE: I gathered much of the information and many, many of the images in this post from a fan-made Jump Database. I neglected to say it properly when I first posted this, but special thanks to the very dedicated people who maintain that website!

#bkdk #i'm losing it #idek how to go on #they're so beautiful #I was trying to be all thoughtful and intellectual about what kind of marketing game GIGA plays in SJ's arsenal of branding #but #this is just such a divergence from their typical approach #why are there basically no other duo covers #did the other mangaka just not particularly push for it #did other duos just not serve as attention-grabbing enough #there's nothing else like it #what am I supposed to do with this knowledge

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merakiui · 3 months ago

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OHSHC AU where reader breaks a precious arrifact from one of the dorms maybe all but instead of repaying the huggeeee debt with hours of labour she has to pay with her body and can’t refuse :)

every kink in the book is used as she’s pleading with the dorm leaders for mercy, crying about forgiveness but all they can hear is that her mouth is very wide open and needs to be replaced with a cock or gag </3 poor reader doesn’t have time to take birth control! and none of the students at nrc know what condoms are oopsies!! imagine savanaclaw in their heat … oh boy rip her pussy! she’ll never know a peaceful day until graduation but even then one of the dorm leaders might take her with them to spend forever with them

Omg yes,,, ohshc au, but it's freaky and full of sex because those scheming boys now have a girl in their debt and that opens so many possibilities. Their methods in dealing with you would all be different, of course, but in the end you're probably getting dicked down either way. <3

I think Riddle's punishments are probably more old-fashioned. If you can't fix whatever it is you broke, then you will write lines stating that you will be more careful, that you won't break anything again, etc. Or he'll make you write an essay detailing why exactly you're sorry, why you ought to be forgiven, etc. T_T really, these are just punishments his own mother gave to him in order to push him to do better in his studies. Riddle doesn't know any better.

He thinks differently when someone like Ace or Cater offhandedly and jokingly remarks how unlucky you must feel. Good thing their Housewarden isn't some pervert, otherwise he could totally force you to give him blowjobs whenever he wanted all under the guise of "repaying your debt." Riddle is appalled. He would never stoop so low! This is Heartslabyul, not Octavinelle. >:( still, the basic concept is just a little appealing. So maybe he's got a small crush on you, and maybe it would be easier to get you to spend time with him if you had no other choice. He makes you join him for tea parties in the gardens, for games of croquet, etc. His hope is that you'll warm up to him and not feel so rigid around him. orz

Leona probably doesn't care as much about the artifact as someone like Riddle might. It has no sentimental value to him personally, so why should he be worried? Besides, it was pretty old anyway. But that doesn't mean you can get off completely innocent. You're the reason he's got more work on his plate now, what with having to deal with the Headmage squawking at him about it. He allows you to choose between two punishments: either you become Savanaclaw's errand girl and do much the same work Ruggie does around the dorm, or you spend every night literally warming his bed (i.e. let him use you as a pillow if you're going to be good and still and quiet). If you want an easy way out, you'll choose the latter. Besides, his bed is comfortable, big enough for two. And as long as you aren't a pain, he doesn't mind. (You are definitely going to be warming his bed in other ways. The innuendo in his words is not lost on Leona.)

Azul...... of course he's slimy and sleazy about it. Oh, you poor soul. How is he ever going to get over this dear, priceless artifact that you have so carelessly broke? Jade is there to oh-so-helpfully inform you of its market price and what it could currently go for if sold. And Floyd's there to poke fun at the unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in. But Azul is a resourceful octopus. He makes a grand show of contemplating what he should do with you just to watch you squirm nervously, as if he hasn't already planned it out from the very beginning. He'll capitalize on your being a girl and have you work the floor in the lounge. There's always an increase in tips and sales when you're serving the customers, and why wouldn't there be? A cute, helpless girl in a school full of boys is an appealing sight.

He's irritating, but he isn't callous! Jade and Floyd are there to look out for you in case any of the patrons get it in their heads that they ought to appreciate you through touch instead of simply staring. Your uniforms change with every new event Mostro Lounge holds. Azul knows his target audience well because he also fits into that same group LOL. So maybe the sight of you in frilly uniforms is appealing. Sue him. >_< he wants you so badly, and luckily (with you being indebted to him) he has you all to himself. :) after hours are a very fun time at the lounge.

Kalim doesn't see what the issue is. He's not mad, so please don't cry!!! 🥺 you'll make him cry if you're not happy... Jamil is just about ready to pass out while he calculates just how bad this is. And here Kalim is, not caring in the slightest! T_T but Kalim is more sympathetic towards you, not the vase you broke. Besides, he can just get another one. :D no harm done at all! There really isn't any punishment to be had. If you insist on repaying your debt, Kalim tells you it's all water under the bridge.

Jamil is the only one who insists this is a good idea, and if Jamil thinks it's fine then Kalim agrees. So now you're sort of,,, there in Scarabia. Jamil puts you to work when Kalim isn't around, but when Kalim is there he spoils you rotten. The complete opposite of a punishment. There's definitely dubious shadows to this, though. For all of the delicious foods and alcohol you consume, you wake with hazy memories, only ever recalling you looked into the eyes of...something before you fell. Was it a snake? Maybe... but Kalim is always there in the morning to smother you in affection, so maybe it's not so bad.

You are Vil's newest pet project. He goes in with metaphorical fork and knife and cuts into you with his criticism, all of which is completely valid. You were clumsy when you broke that artifact. You weren't paying attention to your surroundings. You were completely oblivious, so in your own world. Epel would feel bad for you, but finally he gets to relax just a little bit now that Vil's eyes are mostly off of him and centered on you. Vil is going to put you through a reformation of sorts. You will come out of it your best, most elegant self! A wonderful improvement from your earlier carelessness. Only then will he forgive your previous transgression.

You and Vil get on like oil and water. That is, you don't mix at all. You are subjected to curses left and right because Vil is so strict. Suddenly, you can't eat certain foods and if you try to sneak them you find they've all been cursed (courtesy of Vil). If you try to slack on the work he has you do, even when you know he's not around, somehow word gets back to Vil. That creepy hunter always seems to know everything you do even when you're alone. It's troubling. Vil likes to think his heart is an iron fortress, so it's impossible to fathom when he falls for you first (and so hopelessly, at that)!

Idia doesn't put as much value in that artifact as he does in his own anime collection. If you broke something from his collection that was limited edition, he'd be far more upset (and then proceed to pull out the second one he got as back-up for this very specific moment). But this is an easy fix, really. He has the technology to make it good as new and, if that can't be done, he can always build a new one. Upgrades are important and necessary in some cases, especially when things get too outdated. It's a little awkward having a real 3D girl in his room all the time, though. >_< kick his ass in the twst equivalent of Smash and he's looking at you in a completely different light (hearing you trash talk him is so arousing; he's never been more hard).

Let's say the thing you broke in this case was a gargoyle. You're not sure how it happened, but it's headless now and Malleus is just staring silently at you. You can't read the emotions on his face, but with the way Sebek is shouting at you to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness you think you're about to be burnt to a crisp. It's so uneasy and awkward, and all you can do is apologize profusely, insisting you didn't mean to break it. It's Lilia who comes to your rescue: "Now, now, Malleus. You'll scare the poor child if you keep frowning so. Mistakes happen, do they not?" Silver also comes to your aid, adding that it wasn't your intention to break this gargoyle. It was an accident.

So now here you are, the second member of the Gargoyle Studies Club, accompanying Malleus for club activities while he teaches you all about gargoyles so that you can gain a better appreciation for them. It was Lilia's idea in the first place. He is Malleus's unofficial wingman. One way or another, you're going to find yourself alone in the woods with Malleus while Lilia is in the bushes belting out "romantic" love ballads from the old ages. T_T someone put peepaw to bed... at the very least, it lessens the awkward tension between you and Malleus, and it even gets the both of you laughing.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: dubcon #i wrote it and yet it isn't nearly as freaky... orz it's a slow burn sort of freak :3

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tapwater118 · 6 months ago

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Has anyone ever heard of “Battle for Dream Island” (1990) before? Really obscure NES game, doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page (or hell, even a mention in one).

From what little I can find about it on the internet, Battle for Dream Island was an NES game released on January 1st, 1990, apparently made entirely by a pair of independent American developers. Never made all that many sales, but eventually it garnered a rather niche following on an obscure gaming forum, though it had long since dissipated. Unfortunately, seemingly nothing from the forum threads was archived, so all I have to go on are a few vague threads titles from a navigation page.

I, rather cliched like, bought this BfDI cartridge from a sleazy old guy at a flea market (along with Puzznic and Wario’s Woods for a bargain deal). I dumped the ROM and booted it up on an emulator to take some screencaps.

Upon pressing start, you are prompted to “Choose Contestant,” and have a choice between any of 20 playable characters (who are all everyday objects, for some reason). Each contestant has their own stats, and while you can feel the difference while playing, the overall impact of character choice is pretty negligible. (Also some of these guys don’t even have arms?? Weird design choice but okay.)

Two screencaps of the character select screen. I went with Pin for my first playthrough cause idk she seemed kinda cute. I’m almost sure the stats are “Strength,” “Speed,” “Jump,” and “Skill.”

(Continued under cut)

While touting itself as a game show, BfDI is essentially a glorified minigame collection. The gameplay loop is as follows: You and the 19 other contestants play a minigame (referred to as “challenges”) to earn points based on how well you do (though I’m fairly certain the computer contestants just get a random amount of points for each challenge). Most of the challenges are various platforming segments, though some others fall more into puzzle game territory.

Two of the challenges. The green “Win Tokens” can be collected for bonus points. LEFT: A horizontal platformer level. The grey wall in the middle of the screencap moves up and down. RIGHT: A challenge about climbing ladders while avoiding “acid spitballs.” The game pauses to scroll vertically a la Super Mario Bros. 2.

After each challenge, this speaker thing shows up (pretty sure he’s supposed to be like a game show host?) and tallies up everyone’s score. The contestant with the least score gets “eliminated” and removed from the game.

The results screen. Leafy did rather poor on the last challenge, so she’s out of the game.

The game continues like this until you lose (have the least amount of points) and get booted to the game over screen, or until you are the last one left, in which case you win Dream Island! (Though of course in reality you just get booted back to the title screen. No Dream Island for you.)

The victory screen, with the gates to Dream Island in sight. Feels more like the gates to hell given how Pin’s staring at me.

It’s a fairly easy game for NES standards (I won on my first try). Took me about 80 minutes on my first playthrough, though subsequent ones could take less than an hour as I knew what I was doing. The brevity and the fact it saves your high score gives BfDI a nice sense of replayability (though this is probably best done sporadically, as the challenges tend to get a bit samey after a couple of back-to-back playthroughs).

So yeah, just wanted to share this in case anybody else has heard of it. I’ll probably rip the sprites and upload them sometime later cause it doesn’t look like anybody’s done that yet.

#bfdi #bfdia #bfb #tpot #bfdi firey #bfdi pin #bfdi leafy #bfdi needle #bfdi teardrop #bfdi eraser #bfdi flower #bfdi pencil #bfdi rocky #bfdi announcer #BfDI1990 #unreality #unfiction

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years ago

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Social Quitting

In “Social Quitting,” my latest Locus Magazine column, I advance a theory to explain the precipitous vibe shift in how many of us view the once-dominant social media platforms, Facebook and Twitter, and how it is that we have so quickly gone asking what we can do to get these services out of our lives to where we should go now that we’re all ready to leave them:

https://locusmag.com/2023/01/commentary-cory-doctorow-social-quitting/

The core of the argument revolves around surpluses — that is, the value that exists in the service. For a user, surpluses are things like “being able to converse with your friends” and “being able to plan activities with your friends.” For advertisers, surpluses are things like “being able to target ads based on the extraction and processing of private user data” and “being able to force users to look at ads before they can talk to one another.”

For the platforms, surpluses are things like, “Being able to force advertisers and business customers to monetize their offerings through the platform, blocking rivals like Onlyfans, Patreon, Netflix, Amazon, etc” and things like “Being able to charge more for ads” and “being able to clone your business customers’ products and then switch your users to the in-house version.”

Platforms control most of the surplus-allocating options. They can tune your feed so that it mostly consists of media and text from people you explicitly chose to follow, or so that it consists of ads, sponsored posts, or posts they think will “boost engagement” by sinking you into a dismal clickhole. They can made ads skippable or unskippable. They can block posts with links to rival sites to force their business customers to transact within their platform, so they can skim fat commissions every time money changes hands and so that they can glean market intelligence about which of their business customers’ products they should clone and displace.

But platforms can’t just allocate surpluses will-ye or nill-ye. No one would join a brand-new platform whose sales-pitch was, “No matter who you follow, we’ll show you other stuff; there will be lots of ads that you can’t skip; we will spy on you a lot.” Likewise, no one would sign up to advertise or sell services on a platform whose pitch was “Our ads are really expensive. Any business you transact has to go through us, and we’ll take all your profits in junk fees. This also lets us clone you and put you out of business.”

Instead, platforms have to carefully shift their surpluses around: first they have to lure in users, who will attract business customers, who will generate the fat cash surpluses that can be creamed off for the platforms’ investors. All of this has to be orchestrated to lock in each group, so that they won’t go elsewhere when the service is enshittified as it processes through its life-cycle.

This is where network effects and switching costs come into play. A service has “network effects” if it gets more valuable as users join it. You joined Twitter to talk to the people who were already using it, and then other people joined so they could talk to you.

“Switching costs” are what you have to give up when you leave a service: if a service is siloed — if it blocks interoperability with rivals — then quitting that service means giving up access to the people whom you left behind. This is the single most important difference between ActivityPub-based Fediverse services like Mastodon and the silos like Twitter and Facebook — you can quit a Fediverse server and set up somewhere else, and still maintain your follows and followers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/23/semipermeable-membranes/#free-as-in-puppies

In the absence of interoperability, network effects impose their own switching cost: the “collective action problem” of deciding when to leave and where to go. If you depend on the people you follow and who follow you — for emotional support, for your livelihood, for community — then the extreme difficulty of convincing everyone to leave at the same time and go somewhere else means that you can be enticed into staying on a service that you no longer enjoy. The platforms can shift the surpluses away from you, provided that doing so makes you less miserable than abandoning your friends or fans or customers would. This is the Fiddler On the Roof problem: everyone stays put in the shtetl even though the cossacks ride through on the reg and beat the shit out of them, because they can’t all agree on where to go if they leave:

https://doctorow.medium.com/how-to-leave-dying-social-media-platforms-9fc550fe5abf

So the first stage of the platform lifecycle is luring in users by allocating lots of surplus to them — making the service fun and great and satisfying to use. Few or no ads, little or no overt data-collection, feeds that emphasize the people you want to hear from, not the people willing to pay to reach you.

This continues until the service attains a critical mass: once it becomes impossible to, say, enroll your kid in a little-league baseball team without having a Facebook account, then Facebook can start shifting its surpluses to advertisers and other business-users of the platform, who will pay Facebook to interpose themselves in your use of the platform. You’ll hate it, but you won’t leave. Junior loves little-league.

Facebook can enshittify its user experience because the users are now locked in, holding each other hostage. If Facebook can use the courts and technological countermeasures to block interoperable services, it can increase its users’ switching costs, producing more opportunities for lucrative enshittification without the risk of losing the users that make Facebook valuable to advertisers. That’s why Facebook pioneered so many legal tactics for criminalizing interoperability:

https://www.eff.org/cases/facebook-v-power-ventures

This is the second phase of the toxic platform life-cycle: luring in business customers by shifting surpluses from users to advertisers, sellers, etc. This is the moment when the platforms offer cheap and easy monetization, low transaction fees, few barriers to off-platform monetization, etc. This is when, for example, a news organization can tease an article on its website with an off-platform link, luring users to click through and see the ads it controls.

Because Facebook has locked in its users through mutual hostage-taking, it can pollute their feeds with lots of these posts to news organizations’ sites, bumping down the messages from its users’ friends, and that means that Facebook can selectively tune how much traffic it gives to different kinds of business customers. If Facebook wants to lure in sports sites, it can cram those sites’ posts into millions of users’ feeds and send floods of traffic to sports outlets.

Outlets that don’t participate in Facebook lose out, and so they join Facebook, start shoveling their content into it, hiring SEO Kremlinologists to help them figure out how to please The Algorithm, in hopes of gaining a permanent, durable source of readers (and thus revenue) for their site.

But ironically, once a critical mass of sports sites are on Facebook, Facebook no longer needs to prioritize sports sites in its users’ feeds. Now that the sports sites all believe that a Facebook presence is a competitive necessity, they will hold each other hostage there, egging each other on to put more things on Facebook, even as the traffic dwindles.

Once sports sites have taken each other hostage, Facebook can claw back the surplus it allocated to them and use it to rope in another sector — health sites, casual games, employment seekers, financial advisors, etc etc. Each group is ensnared by a similar dynamic to the one that locks in the users.

But there is a difference between users’ surpluses and business’s surpluses. A user’s surplus is attention, and there is no such thing as an “attention economy.” You can’t use attention to pay for data-centers, or executive bonuses, or to lobby Congress. Attention is not a currency in the same way that cryptos are not currency — it is not a store of value, nor a unit of exchange, nor or a unit of account.

Turning attention into money requires the same tactics as turning crypto into money — you have to lure in people who have real, actual money and convince them to swap it for attention. With crypto, this involved paying Larry David, Matt Damon, Spike Lee and LeBron James to lie about crypto’s future in order to rope in suckers who would swap their perfectly cromulent “fiat” money for unspendable crypto tokens.

With platforms, you need to bring in business customers who get paid in actual cash and convince them to give you that cash in exchange for ethereal, fast-evaporating, inconstant, unmeasurable “attention.” This works like any Ponzi scheme (that is, it works like cryptos): you can use your shareholders’ cash to pay short-term returns to business customers, losing a little money as a convincer that brings in more trade.

That’s what Facebook did when it sent enormous amounts of traffic to a select few news-sites that fell for the pivot to video fraud, in order to convince their competitors to borrow billions of dollars to finance Facebook’s bid to compete with Youtube:

https://doctorow.medium.com/metaverse-means-pivot-to-video-adbe09319038

This convincer strategy is found in every con. If you go to the county fair, you’ll see some poor bastard walking around all day with a giant teddy bear that he “won” by throwing three balls into a peach-basket. The carny who operated that midway game let him win the teddy precisely so that he would walk around all day, advertising the game, which is rigged so that no one else wins the giant teddy-bear:

https://boingboing.net/2006/08/27/rigged-carny-game.html

Social media platforms can allocate giant teddy-bears to business-customers, and it can also withdraw them at will. Careful allocations mean that the platform can rope in a critical mass of business customers and then begin the final phase of its life-cycle: allocating surpluses to its shareholders.

We know what this looks like.

Rigged ad-markets:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

Understaffed content moderation departments:

https://www.dw.com/en/twitters-sacking-of-content-moderators-will-backfire-experts-warn/a-63778330

Knock-off products:

https://techcrunch.com/2021/12/08/twitter-is-the-latest-platform-to-test-a-tiktok-copycat-feature/

Nuking “trust and safety”:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/twitter-dissolves-trust-safety-council-2022-12-13/

Hiding posts that have links to rival services:

https://www.makeuseof.com/content-types-facebook-hides-why/

Or blocking posts that link to rival services:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/19/better-failure/#let-my-tweeters-go

Or worse, terminating accounts for linking to rival services:

https://blog.joinmastodon.org/2022/12/twitter-suspends-mastodon-account-prevents-sharing-links/

That is, once a platform has its users locked in, and has its business customers locked in, it can enshittify its service to the point of near uselessness without losing either, allocating all the useful surplus in the business to its shareholders.

But this strategy has a problem: users and business customers don’t like to be locked in! They will constantly try to find ways to de-enshittify your service and/or leave for greener pastures. And being at war with your users and business customers means that your reputation continuously declines, because every time a user or business customer figures out a way to claw back some surplus, you have to visibly, obviously enshittify your service wrestle it back.

Every time a service makes headlines for blocking an ad-blocker, or increasing its transaction fees, or screwing over its users or business customers in some other way, it makes the case that the price you pay for using the service is not worth the value it delivers.

In other words, the platforms try to establish an equilibrium where they only leave business customers and users with the absolute bare minimum needed to keep them on the service, and extract the rest for their shareholders. But this is a very brittle equilibrium, because the prices that platforms impose on their users and business customers can change very quickly, even if the platforms don’t do anything differently.

Users and business customers can revalue the privacy costs, or the risks of staying on the platform based on exogenous factors. Privacy scandals and other ruptures can make the cost you’ve been paying for years seem higher than you realized and no longer worth it.

This problem isn’t unique to social media platforms, either. It’s endemic to end-stage capitalism, where companies can go on for years paying their workers just barely enough to survive (or even less, expecting them to get public assistance and/or a side-hustle), and those workers can tolerate it, and tolerate it, and tolerate it — until one day, they stop.

The Great Resignation, Quiet Quitting, the mass desertions from the gig economy — they all prove the Stein’s Law: “Anything that can’t go on forever will eventually stop.”

Same for long, brittle supply-chains, where all the surplus has been squeezed out: concentrating all the microchip production in China and Taiwan, all the medical saline in Puerto Rico, all the shipping into three cartels… This strategy works well, and can be perfectly tuned with mathematical models that cut right to the joint, and they work and they work.

Until they stop. Until covid. Or war. Or wildfires. Or floods. Or interest rate hikes. Or revolution. All this stuff works great until you wake up and discover that the delicate balance between paying for guard labor and paying for a fair society has tilted, and now there’s a mob building a guillotine outside the gates of your luxury compound.

This is the force underpinning collapse: “slow at first, then all at once.” A steady erosion of the failsafes, flensing all the slack out of the system, extracting all the surpluses until there’s nothing left in the reservoir, no reason to stay.

It’s what caused the near-collapse of Barnes and Noble, and while there are plenty of ways to describe James Daunt’s successful turnaround, the most general characterization is, “He has reallocated the company’s surpluses to workers, readers, writers and publishers”:

https://tedgioia.substack.com/p/what-can-we-learn-from-barnes-and

A system can never truly stabilize. This is why utopias are nonsense: even if you design the most perfect society in which everything works brilliantly, it will still have to cope with war and meteors and pandemics and other factors beyond your control. A system can’t just work well, it has to fail well.

This is why I object so strenuously to people who characterize my 2017 novel Walkaway as a “dystopian novel.” Yes, the protagonists are eking out survival amidst a climate emergency and a failing state, but they aren’t giving up, they’re building something new:

https://locusmag.com/2017/06/bruce-sterling-reviews-cory-doctorow/

“Dystopia” isn’t when things go wrong. Assuming nothing will go wrong doesn’t make you an optimist, it makes you an asshole. A dangerous asshole. Assuming nothing will go wrong is why they didn’t put enough lifeboats on the Titanic. Dystopia isn’t where things go wrong. Dystopia is when things go wrong, and nothing can be done about it.

Anything that can’t go on forever will eventually stop. The social media barons who reeled users and business customers into a mutual hostage-taking were confident that their self-licking ice-cream cone — in which we all continued to energetically produce surpluses for them to harvest, because we couldn’t afford to leave — would last forever.

They were wrong. The important thing about the Fediverse isn’t that it’s noncommercial or decentralized — it’s that its design impedes surplus harvesting. The Fediverse is designed to keep switching costs as low as possible, by enshrining the Right Of Exit into the technical architecture of the system. The ability to leave a service without paying a price is the best defense we have against the scourge of enshittification.

(Thanks to Tim Harford for inspiring this column via an offhand remark in his kitchen a couple months ago!)

[Image ID: The Phillip Medhurst Picture Torah 397. The Israelites collect manna. Exodus cap 16 v 14. Luyken and son.]

#pluralistic #social media #post-twitter #post-facebook #switching costs #network effects #web theory #locus magazine #exodus #decentralization

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beomiracles · 5 months ago

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Hiiiiii! I've been your avid reader for a long time and i got the courage to finally ask about a request. Congratulations BTW! ❤ I just want to request a fic about Yeonjun. The clip where he removed his maroon vest and slowly unbuttoning his short with a fvcking smirk plastered on his face. 😭 if you know the clip i am talking about, please i beg youuu. I beg you for a president-secretary council trope. I want him to be the most gentle president he is but quiet aggresive on bed. Like, he loves back scratches, neck biting and hickey. (I am begging you, excuse me, because I am ovulating 😔😔😔) And please do iclude that clip if possible, thank you so much, i love you and your works! ❤❤❤

-🦭 white seal

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... hehe white seal anon wtf ily :( I never even knew I needed this Yeonjun until today ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

wc -> 1.4k

pairings president!yeonjun x secretary!reader (afab) warnings unprotected sex, creampie, marking lots lots, hair pulling, semi-public

Choi Yeonjun had this aura around him, it was almost like he was glowing. You think it was that glow that made people feel drawn to him. His gentle and kind nature, it usually got him what he wanted. The press conferences, the interviews, the marketing, Yeonjun knew how to persuade people into following him. He never raised his voice, not once, and he always approached anything with a smile.

You were no different, and you quickly fell for his charms as you applied for the position that would get you the closest to him. — You had just never imagined that being his secretary also meant being bent over his desk as he pounded into you from behind. The glow previously surrounding him would completely evaporate the second he hiked your skirt up above your waist. It was like he became someone completely different. Someone you loved.

Cheek pressed against the cool wood of his office desk, your knuckles had since long turned white as they gripped the edge of the table harshly, your nails were surely leaving dents against the clear paint. One of Yeonjun’s large hands on your lower back keeps you still under him as he snaps his hips against yours, the sheer force he used threatening to make your eyes roll back.

“Rethink the sales plan?” He scoffs to himself, his free hand snaking between your thighs to rub harshly against your clit, making you yelp as you screw your eyes shut. He shakes his head, a breathy laugh ripping from his throat. “Rethink it?” — “Do they think this is some kind of charity work?” He grunts as the hand between your legs moves to the curve of your ass, gently caressing it before he digs his fingers into the soft flesh.

You could clearly recall how it all started. It was barely past 10am and you had gone through about a fourth of today’s tasks. Scheduling and rescheduling both interviews and meetings was almost like fitting pieces into a disorganized puzzle. — The large doors to his office had been ripped open with such force that you had flinched in your seat. Glancing up just in time to see Yeonjun kicking them shut with his feet, his hands already working on unbuttoning his shirt when his gaze met yours.

“Desk, now.” Was all he had said and you scrambled to your feet as you scurried over, immediately dropping any current task on your hands as you carefully bent over the clean wood. You knew better than to ask what had happened, and even though your curiosity was at its peak, you bit your tongue in better judgment.

Yeonjun had quickly discarded both his tie and blazer, his shirt halfway open before he gave up with a groan, large hands grabbing ahold of your skirt as he pulled it up along your thighs. Quickly yanking your panties down to your knees, his fingers wasted no time in coating themselves in your already pooling arousal. — During your first week here you had found out that he wasn’t one for foreplay, especially not when someone had pissed him off.

That was how you found yourself like this, tears welling in your eyes as your teeth threatened to break the skin on your lips. Yeonjun’s pace doesn’t waver for even a second and his grip on your ass is bound to leave a mark. “Fuck babe, what do they want from me?” He seethes as he buries himself deeper, his cock brushing up against every inch of you. “I…I don’t know..” You splutter between gasps and he huffs behind you.

The ever monotone sound of his phone ringing makes your eyes snap open as a small chill runs down your spine. Somewhere above you, Yeonjun lets out an exasperated groan as he reaches for the small device. When your wide eyes meet his he gives you a stern look as he motions for you to stay quiet. Before you have the chance to realize what he’s about to do he presses the device against his ear, a small “hm?” leaving his lips as his hips snap against yours once more, his brows drawing together at the way you clenched around him.

Clasping a hand over your mouth you choke down your whines as you hear the faint voice of someone else on the other line. Yeonjun sighs as he pulls back, just enough to where his tip remains, before he slams back into you, making the pencils on the desk rattle. “No, I’ll get around to it later”, he mutters as his free hand trails across your back, pushing up beneath your shirt and you shiver.

There’s a brief pause as he stills inside of you, and you almost wanted to cry at the lack of friction. Whatever the person on the other side was saying it had to be important. The frown on his face only deepens as he sighs, “tell them that I’ll get back to them.” — “No of course not, tell them that I would be happy to”, his voice is light and cheerful, the voice he used when he was working, the voice that got people on his side.

“Ah, thank you. That would be wonderful, yes.”

The second the call cuts he slams his phone against the table right in front of your eyes and you flinch. “Piece of fucking shit”, he grunts as he pulls out of you, two hands on your waist as he hoists you up and flips you over, making you face him. Your hands find his shoulders on instinct as he pushes himself inside once more, and you moan as you let your head fall back.

“Why the fuck do we even have them hired?” His teeth graze the skin of your neck as he peppers your skin in harsh kisses, his frustration easily simmering out into the angry red marks he leaves on your body. You don’t reply as your sharp nails dig into his shoulders, trailing down his back with such force that you think it might hurt, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he groans against your skin, his cock twitching deep inside of you.

“Fuck do that again, babe.” He breathes as his pace only increases, one of his hands rooting themselves in your hair, his tight grip causing a burning sensation to spread throughout your scalp. The feeling has your nails digging further into his back as Yeonjun pulls the skin of your neck between his teeth.

His thrust slowly grows jagged and his free hand moves down to stimulate your clit as he urges you to finish alongside him. You cry out as you pull him closer, inevitably pushing his lips against your own. At first you freeze, while the two of you were intimate more than often, kissing was something you rarely did. Thinking you had overstepped, you were ready to pull back when he suddenly kissed you back, the grip on your hair preventing you from shying away.

With a small moan you feel yourself throb around him as your climax hits, and you shudder against his lips. A harsh and final snap of his hips makes him groan as he releases himself inside of you, the hot sensation clouding your thoughts as he continued to fuck his cum back into you. — Within seconds he was hard again and you whimpered at the uncomfortable overstimulation.

“Reschedule all my meetings for today.”

“Never thought you’d make it”, Taehyun says as Yeonjun takes a seat next to him, quickly calling the bartender over to order himself something to drink. “No?” He muses as he runs a hand through his hair. — “We’ve been here an hour already”, Beomgyu adds as he sets his empty glass down against the bar counter.

Yeonjun rolls his eyes as he pushes the sleeves of his shirt up. “Got held up at work”, he shrugs as he receives his drink. “You seem to do that a lot”, Beomgyu mutters as he too orders himself another round. — Taehyun on the other hand had gone completely silent as he studied his friend’s now exposed forearms.

“What the fuck happenend to you?” He motions toward the angry red marks trailing down his arms and Yeonjun cocks an eyebrow toward his skin, images of your sharp nails flashing across his eyes as a smirk grows on his lips.

“Ah, this? Just the cat.”

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ariaste · 6 months ago

Note

I'm super excited for your new book, quick question though... I recently saw something about an author not getting much $ from amazon because of the way revenue/profit was allocated when the book was on sale. What are the best 3 ways to buy your book in terms of revenue for you? I'm assuming Amazon isn't great? What about B&N? small local book stores? From the link you shared? A different method?

That is an AWESOME question and extremely thoughtful! I will give the short answer and the long answer. Short answer for RUNNING CLOSE TO THE WIND specifically:

Buy the hardback from Allstora (GREAT) or my Bookshop.org affiliate store (still good) or Barnes & Noble (I won't get any extra money, but it's good for other reasons, see below) or your local indie bookstore (we love supporting small businesses)

Buy the ebook from wherever is best for you! Right now I make pretty much the same amount of money regardless of platform.

Remember to recommend it to your local library in hardback, ebook, and audiobook form. (I still make money when libraries buy my books, and libraries help new readers discover my books)

For readers outside of America: You should be able to get it everywhere, and buying it from any retailer is great! I recommend a local indie bookstore.

Longer answer for all of my books:

Right, so I do both indie publishing and traditional publishing, so this is where things get weird:

Allstora is amazing for authors. For physical copies of my books, I get between 10% and 40% of the sale price on top of the royalties i get from my publisher. It is sincerely a game-changer. Buying my books from from my Bookshop.org store, linked above, is also pretty good -- it gets me a little boost of 10% of the profits of any books you buy through my affiliate link. Pretty cool. Buying books from Barnes & Noble is good for different reasons, because while I do not get any extra money beyond my royalties, B&N is very good at reporting their preorder numbers to my publisher, which is useful data for them to know for things like how much of a marketing budget to give my books. As for buying from indie bookstores, that speaks for itself: They are the backbone of our literary society and supporting them is just a morally good thing to do. (For international readers looking to get the hardbacks: Whichever retailer you usually use is great! There's no clear frontrunner right now that gives me more benefit than any other)

For ebooks of my traditionally published books (A Conspiracy of Truths, A Choir of Lies, Finding Faeries, A Taste of Gold and Iron, and now Running Close to the wind), again, buying them anywhere is currently fine. I hear Allstora might be working on getting ebook functionality in the future, in which case that will become the answer :) For ebooks of my self-published works, however, get them from my Patreon shop. I walk away with about $8 off an $8.99 sale. It's incredibly good.

Again, recommending my books to your local library (there's usually an online form on their website) is hugely helpful because that's FREE for you and STILL MONEY for me! :D And libraries are awesome, so.

You can also sign up for my newsletter or join my Discord server to get notifications of special events when you can buy autographed books directly from me! This gets me even more money than Allstora, but I only run these events a couple times a year for special occasions.

THANK YOU SO MUCH for asking this question! I hope this helped!

#books #authors #publishing #booklr #running close to the wind #alexandra rowland

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teshadraws · 5 months ago

Text

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 59]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Tobias and Nia head to Kaleido Bay to find Dismas.

Toby dips his fingers into cold yellow paint, taking a moment to wiggle them around and savor the sensation. He smiles. It’s not often that they get paint from the market instead of their homemade stuff, but there was a sale when Mama dropped in at the market yesterday to drop off the mail. This yellow is brighter than the kind they make at home, and thicker too.

Carefully, Toby lifts his fingers and smears paint on the rough rock wall of the cave, right where the sunlight shining from the entrance stops in a hard line of light. He’s working small right now, trying to put the finishing touches on the picture he’s been working on for forever.

Or an hour. Same difference, really.

Chipper humming accompanies him as he works, from his left. Vivi’s piece is a lot more…what was the word Papa used? Abstract. A lot more abstract than his. She seems to be working totally on instinct, barely pausing to wipe off her hands before jamming them into a different color to slap onto the wall. He can hear her tiny claws catch against the gritty rock every once in a while.

Toby uses careful fingers to paint the next part of his picture, one of the most important parts: the fire. He starts at the base and winds his fingers up to make trails of flames. Then he does it again, to thicken the yellow and help it stand out.

He leans back, hands tacky with drying paint, and tilts his head to consider his work so far.

Four charizard fly across the cave wall, close together in a diamond formation, their wings spread wide. Some of them look a little…lumpy. But the orange paint Papa made by mixing red and yellow stands out bright and warm against the tan of the rock, and he still thinks it looks nice. He even got the right eye colors. Blue for him and Mama, and green for Vivi and Papa.

“That looks good,” their papa says from behind them, where he’s been chipping away at a new instrument for someone, alternating between using his tools and his own sharp claws.

Toby turns his head. “Really? We don’t look too…lumpy?”

Papa rumbles a quiet laugh. “I am kind of lumpy, so I think it looks great. Why are my eyes blue?”

Toby frowns, looking back at the picture. “That’s me!”

“You’re going to be even bigger than me and Mom?”

“Well yeah,” Toby says. He crouches to dip a claw into the red paint, then adds it to the center of the flames at the charizards’ tail tips. Perfect. “Mama says we have to eat all our berries and veggies to get big and strong and you don’t eat all of yours.”

Toby can feel his father’s dry look on his back. He refuses to turn around, biting back a smile.

“Yeah,” Vivi chimes in, eyes still locked onto her colorful, blobby mess. “Why do we have to eat our greens if you don’t?”

“Because I’m already big and strong,” Papa says, laughter in his voice.

“But did you eat your veggies when you were a charmander?”

“…Yes.”

“Are you lying?” Vivi asks, turning with a suspicious expression. Her hands and arms are caked in different colors of paint, some dry and some fresh. She’s not wearing her oversized red scarf, for once. Papa convinced her to take it off earlier so she wouldn’t get paint on it.

“…No.”

“You are!” She says with an accusatory point, delighted.

Toby laughs, then sing-songs, “Mama says it’s bad to lie, Papa!”

Nobody answers Toby. The cave is suddenly silent. Somehow, the space feels emptier than it should.

Confused, Tobias turns. Papa is…gone. And so is Vivi.

Panicked, Tobias turns around, but no one else is here. Instead, the cave is dark, heavy clouds and distant rain dimming the light of the sky.

He’s alone.

Tobias backs up and trips over one of the paint bowls, catching himself on the wall. He freezes when he sees the hand that caught him, covered in red. He…he didn’t get that much red on his hand, he knows he didn’t. He was careful. But it has to be paint. It can’t be anything else.

Where is his family? Vivi? Papa? Mama?

Why is he the only one left?

Tobias jerks awake, nearly falling right out of the shelf he’s sleeping in. He stops himself just in time, and stares at the hand that he caught himself with. Dry and its usual orange color.

It takes him a few moments to recognize where he is once he looks up, panting.

It’s a quiet, dim room. Fairly spacious. Gray dawn light is just starting to leak in through the closed curtains. A fire pit sits in the middle of the space, only a few embers still glowing from the fire last night. Most of the alcoves set into the opposite wall are dark and empty.

Right, he’s…at the inn. At the human settlement. In one of the sleeping alcoves.

Tobias glances to his side, used to Nia sleeping right next to him. But they’d taken separate, smaller shelves when they first arrived here. Junie is probably snuggled up next to her still fast asleep. The room is silent, so it doesn’t seem like he woke anyone else up, either.

Tobias takes a deep breath, heart still fluttering in his chest, and rubs at his eyes, damp with tears. Ugh.

Tobias slips out of the alcove, glancing over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. Nia is indeed curled up beneath a blanket in her own shelf, pointed ears just barely visible as they poke out of her cocoon. Junie is likely close by. Clara the innkeeper and a togedemaru who came in late last night are also sound asleep in their own little recesses.

Relieved, Tobias goes outside and closes the door softly behind him. Then he moves to the wall surrounding the town, standing atop the step at its foot so he can see over the barrier and into the valley below. The town is quiet at such an early hour.

Tobias closes his eyes and takes another shuddering breath, bending to press his forehead against the stone. He hasn’t had a nightmare like that in…a while. They do tend to surface more when he’s thinking a lot about the outlaw trio, though, so it makes sense.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it. He can still smell blood and rain.

Tobias hears the quiet flutter of the inn’s curtains behind him, then an equally quiet flutter of wings. He turns his head just enough to give Junie a tired glare.

The rookidee settles on the wall by his arm.

“Is Nia awake?” Tobias asks.

“Ha. No. She sleeps like a rock. I, uh…heard you.”

Tobias stays silent.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Tobias grunts an affirmative, too tired to feel embarrassed. He looks out over the trees in the canyon instead. The sky is slowly lightening from black to gray, bringing definition back into the world.

“Do you want to, uh. Talk about it?”

Tobias snorts. “No. Do you?”

“Not really, but I thought I’d check.”

They both fall quiet again. The breeze carries voices their way from farther into the settlement. Tobias can faintly hear someone calling to the baker to put the next batch of rolls in the oven.

“Hey,” Junie finally says, hesitant. “Are you gonna be okay, today? Talking to that jerk in the jail cell?”

“Probably not,” Tobias admits. “But I don’t really have another option. I need answers, and he has them.”

“Fair. Just…good luck, then.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

“Nah. I think I’m gonna stay here until you guys get back.”

Tobias frowns, finally looking at the rookidee head-on. “Why?”

Junie shifts on her tiny feet. “Well…this seems like an important thing. To you. A, uh. Private thing. I didn’t think you’d actually want me there.”

Tobias is surprised she’s being so thoughtful. And for a moment he wants to agree. He remembers—vaguely—what he did at the crobat’s grave in the desert. He can’t imagine this will be much better.

But then he remembers what Junie said yesterday while talking about her parents, voice light with forced levity:

“They think I’m too annoying.”

“You can come,” Tobias grumbles, pillowing his chin on his arms again. “Just can’t promise it’ll be a fun trip.”

Junie doesn’t answer for a long moment. “Actually, I was thinking I’d stick around here anyways. You still don’t trust Will, right?”

Tobias frowns, looking at her from the corner of his eye. “…Right.”

“I could be your little spy on the inside. Hang around to make sure him and Rosalind don’t do anything suspicious while you’re gone.”

“You think Will’s suspicious?”

“Well…not as much as you do. But if Rosalind is so cautious, that’s kind of a red flag, isn’t it? And no one would suspect me of all people to be doing a little espionage. Might be good to see if I can notice anything weird going on.”

That’s…a surprisingly good idea. “Wish Nia thought the same.”

“Yeah. She’s not dumb, but she can be pretty dumb about this kind of stuff, huh?”

“Desperate is more like it,” Tobias mumbles. “She wants to go back to the human world so badly that it’s like she’s blind to anything that’ll get in the way of that.”

“We’ll just have to be her eyes, then.”

Tobias makes a vague sound of agreement. He admittedly likes the idea of having someone here to keep an eye on things while they’re gone, but…

“Just be careful. I don’t think Will would do anything obvious, but…”

“Aww, is the big bad lizard worried about me?”

Tobias fights the urge to shove her off the wall again, rolling his eyes. “Nia would be upset if you mysteriously disappeared.”

“Suuurrre,” Junie laughs. She nudges his arm with her whole body, and he barely feels it, light as she is. “I’ll be careful. I’m pretty good at acting oblivious and talking my way out of problems.”

“More like you are oblivious and don’t know when to shut up.”

“Eh, same difference.”

Tobias’ mouth twitches as he fights off a smile. “Well. Thanks, I guess. Don’t die.”

“Same to you, Toby.”

Junie stays strangely quiet after that. Slowly, the sun rises and light starts to paint the valley, color creeping over the land. After a while, more doors open and close. More voices greet each other as the settlement wakes and begins the day.

Tobias peeks again at Junie. The rookidee is a puddle of blue and black and yellow on the warming stone, eyes closed and feathers blowing softly in the breeze. For just the briefest of moments, he thinks of his dream, of little hands covered in paint and a grinning orange face, so much like his own, next to him instead. His heart clenches.

Tobias takes a deep breath and looks back out at the canyon. He needs to wake Nia soon. She got to sleep in yesterday, but he wants to make it to Kaleido Bay by a decent time today.

They’d geared up already the evening before, packing enough food, hydration berries, and water for the short trip south. Nia had clearly been reluctant to leave the little settlement behind before getting to explore it fully, staring longingly at the tailor’s shop in particular. Maybe they could stop by there on their way back through, before heading back to the Haven.

They’d also bumped into Fidel in the evening, and had let him know about their plans. The zoroark had seemed concerned, probably guessing that their journey south had something to do with Rosalind’s private chat, but he’d simply wished them safe travels, letting them know that there would be a place for them to rest when they returned.

Tobias turns, looking back at the inn. “We should get going. You sure you want to stay?”

“Yup! I’ll wake Nia if you wanna grab breakfast. It’s funny seeing her flail around in her blankets.”

Tobias huffs a laugh, agreeing and heading towards the little bakery a few buildings down. Their front door is propped open, the smell of fresh bread wafting out, so Tobias hesitates for only a moment before going inside.

Luckily, the simisear and chansey running the place don’t seem irritated to see someone so early. They’re actually apologetic for not having more to offer, only honeyed rolls and toasted nuts finished and ready for the day. Tobias quietly assures them that the food smells delicious before accepting three servings, each wrapped in cloth.

Tobias skirts past a scizor as he leaves, then heads back to the wall in front of the inn. He’s about to lean against it to eat when a flash of color he hadn’t noticed the day before catches his eye. It’s…a mural, painted onto the side of one of the buildings.

Tobias hesitates, glancing around at the mostly empty walkway before grabbing the food and moving to get a better look. He doesn’t leave the wall, but stops when he gets a better vantage point, food momentarily forgotten.

The mural is…interesting. It’s a happy scene, with a group of what Tobias presumes are humans gathered in front of a strange-looking building. A house, maybe, though it seems rather large. The humans look like the drawings he saw at the convention in Ghatha: tall, lanky creatures wearing lots of clothing, with fur atop their heads. The fur color is different depending on the human, as are their eyes and even their skin tone. Some are larger than others, and some are clearly older or younger. Tobias looks at them with fascination, scanning their smiling, laughing faces and body language.

What did Nia look like, as a human? None of these humans have blue fur, but it’s hard to think about her in any other color. Were her eyes still red? What did she like to wear?

“Finally got her up!” Junie’s voice says from behind him.

Tobias jumps, holding the food closer to himself as he turns.

Junie is flying circles around Nia. The riolu is rubbing her eyes as she walks, clearly still half-asleep. Their satchel is looped over her shoulder, though, prepped and ready to go for the day.

“‘Morning,” Nia mumbles. Wordlessly, she holds her red scarf out to Tobias.

Tobias sets their food down to follow the unspoken request, and ties the scarf around his partner’s upper arm. Nia waits patiently, sniffing the air, as Junie watches with a smug grin that Tobias doesn’t feel like investigating.

“Here,” Tobias says when he’s done, shoving one bundle of food into Nia’s arms. The other he sets on the wall, untying it with a tug of his claw so the sides fall open. Junie trills a happy noise and digs in immediately.

“Oh,” Nia says, perking up as she unravels her own meal, plopping down right on the stone to eat. “This smells delicious! Thank you, Tobias.”

Tobias grunts, joining her on the ground and taking a bite of his own food. The rolls are delicious, warm and soft with a thin layer of honey coating the top. The nuts are smoky, satisfyingly crunchy between his teeth. He makes short work of the meal, hungrier than he realized.

When he looks up again Nia is finishing up her own roll, but her head is tilted to the side, gaze focused on the mural.

“Which kind did you look like?” Tobias finds himself asking.

Nia blinks, focusing on him. “Hm?”

He gestures vaguely in the direction of the painting. “Those are humans, right? Which one did you look like?”

Junie titters above them, which means he said something stupid. Whatever. He ignores her.

Nia giggles, much gentler. “Well…all of them, I guess? But also none of them.”

Tobias scowls at that vague, cryptic answer.

Nia laughs again. “Really! We all look kind of similar, at least in general shape. There aren’t any differences as big as, say…a riolu and a rookidee. But we all look a little different from each other, too. In the human world, I have glasses, and long hair. Otherwise, I’m just kind of average, I guess?”

Tobias frowns, glancing between Nia and the mural. “What color fur did you have?”

Junie chokes on her food.

Nia smiles. “My hair? It’s brown. My eyes are too.”

Tobias has a tough time imagining that. He’s so used to looking at Nia and seeing blue and black fur and bright ruby red eyes. It’s hard to think about her as anything other than a riolu. He tries for a moment to imagine what she’d look like as a human, but can’t quite pull it together, even as he glances again at the mural for help.

Before Tobias can say anything else, a high voice interrupts. “You’re up early today!”

Tobias blinks, looking past Nia. A lillipup is bounding over to them. It takes a moment for Tobias to place the young voice.

“Asher!” Junie cries, peering over the wall, clearly delighted. “Hey, little dude!”

Asher morphs back into his zorua self, sticking his tongue out at Junie. “I’m not little! I’m bigger than you!”

“Everyone is bigger than me, kid. It’s not a high bar.”

Asher growls up at her, playful, before getting distracted and sniffing the air, much like Nia had minutes before. “Ooh, they made honey rolls?! Those are my favorite!”

“They’re really good,” Nia agrees.

“If they have honey, they’ll probably use it for dessert tonight too,” Asher muses, tail wagging. Then he blinks, looking over the three of them with new eyes. “Wait, are you leaving already?”

“Nia and I are heading south to Kaleido for a day,” Tobias says.

Nia opens her mouth, then pauses, blinking first at him and then at Junie in question.

“I’m gonna stay here until you guys get back,” Junie says, much more confident than when she’d suggested the idea to Tobias earlier. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things around here while you’re gone.”

Nia frowns, clearly catching on to what Junie is implying. She looks at Tobias. He holds up his hands in return. “Don’t look at me. It wasn’t my idea.”

“As funny as it is to see you glare daggers at him, he’s right. I brought it up.”

Nia seems confused by that, but she doesn’t push, glancing at Asher’s curious gaze. “W-Well…all right. If you’re sure?”

“Yup! Just stay out of trouble since I won’t be there to bail you out, okay?”

“That’s our line,” Tobias snorts.

Junie kicks a nut at his head.

“If you’re gonna stay here, can we play?” Asher asks, bouncing in place.

“Sure, little man,” Junie says, grabbing her food’s empty cloth in a foot and fluttering over to drop it on Tobias’ head. He brushes it off with a glare. “I’ll even help you set up some sweet pranks if you want.”

Asher’s golden eyes shine. “Yes! I’m gonna go get breakfast, but then we’ve gotta plan, okay?”

The zorua takes off towards the bakery without waiting for an answer. They watch him go, amused.

Nia sits up, looking at Tobias. “Well, should we get going?”

The contentment in Tobias’ gut curdles as he remembers exactly where they’re going today. He takes a breath, then nods and stands. “Yeah.”

Nia gives him an encouraging smile, then turns to Junie, expression turning stern. “We’ll be back in a day or two. Do not give Will any trouble, okay?”

“Only if he gives me trouble first,” Junie says with a wink. She hops into the air, flapping to grab their food cloths like tiny flags. “You two be safe! Make sure you send a letter if you’re gonna be late.”

And with that, Junie is gone, following Asher towards the smell of delicious food.

Tobias leads the way out of the settlement right after. Slate the nidoking is on guard duty again at the front gate, and Tobias gives the scarred sentry a wide berth as they leave, picking their way down the rocky trail. He can feel the poison type’s eyes on the back of his neck until they’re out of sight.

The path is less treacherous when they can actually see where they’re setting their feet, but it still isn’t exactly smooth. Wiry roots snake in and out of the dirt, and rocks act like staggered steps, ready to trip them up. Scratchy, prickly plants edge into the path and grab at their ankles. The trail leads up and down and around, winding down the mesa like a great serpent. Overhead, the rising sun warms the world. There’s little shade to speak of, with the bulk of the trees sprouting away from the path.

It takes an hour for them to reach the bottom of the mesa, already breathing hard. They stop for a moment to eat some hydration berries and drink some water, then move on.

The journey is relatively quiet, both of them wanting to conserve their energy and likely thinking about the destination ahead. Tobias is, at least.

They take the same trail back through long grasses that they’d taken on the way into Will’s settlement, until they hit the wider, smoother dirt path of the main road.

It’s here that Nia speaks up.

“So…what’s the plan, when we get to Kaleido? Are we going straight to the prison?”

Tobias’ mouth twists. “I think so. We want to make sure we don’t miss visitation hours, and we can always check anything else out afterwards.”

Nia doesn’t answer for a long moment. The silence feels heavy.

“And do you…want me there? When you talk to him?”

Tobias stops and looks at Nia in surprise. “Yeah? Do you…not want to be there?”

Nia did have to physically hold him back last time they found out anything substantial about Team Zenith. And he can’t promise he’ll be any more composed during this meeting. He wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to witness that again.

Nia shakes her head, eyes wide. “N-No, I do! If you want me there. I just…didn’t know if you’d want to keep it private? I wanted to make sure.”

Tobias shakes his head. His face feels hot. The Tobias from a few months ago would be absolutely baffled by him willingly—gladly—sharing anything about his past. But this is Nia. The Tobias from a few months ago barely had a friend, let alone a best friend. “No, I’d…I’d like for you to be there.”

It’s easier to face something this terrifying with his partner at his side.

Nia smiles, something in her shoulders relaxing. Like she feels the same. He hopes she feels the same. He hopes he can calm her storms like she calms his.

Filled with renewed determination, the two of them continue down the path south, to Kaleido Bay.

To Dismas, and the answers he holds.

_____________________________________________________________

It’s mid-afternoon when they spot Kaleido Bay in the distance. They see the tops of the buildings first, white with rounded points like seashells, and it’s not long before they can see the city in its entirety. It’s a shimmering thing, sparkling white and silver with pops of bright color against the blue of the ocean.

“Whoa,” Nia says, stopping to take in the sight. “I thought Rosalind was joking. Is it really floating?”

Tobias squints, holding a hand over his eyes against the sun overhead. “Maybe?”

He hopes not—a city built on an island is bad enough as a fire type, but a floating one seems even worse.

Tobias grimaces, but moves forward again.

As they get closer to the city, they also approach the white sands of the beach itself. It’s a nice area even this late in the year. There are a few Pokemon walking along the shore or camped out for a picnic. A large group of younger ‘mon are chasing a ball down the beach, shouting to each other and making a game of it.

Despite the weight that has followed them since waking up this morning, Nia perks up, tail wagging slowly as she watches the scene. When they finally step off craggy rock and tough grass and onto soft, warm sand, the riolu takes a moment to wiggle her toes in it. Tobias waits for her to get her fill, silently following her lead. It’s a…strange sensation. But not awful.

The waves crash loudly this close to the sea, a constant and rhythmic shhSHHHshh…shhSHHHshh…shhSHHHshh. If they weren’t here for the reasons they are, it’d be soothing, Tobias thinks. He closes his eyes for a moment to let the cool, salty breeze wash over his skin and tries to let it soothe some of the tension in his gut.

Eventually, they get moving again. While there are ferry ‘mon carrying visitors to the city over the water, there’s also a single bridge leading there from the shore, for those poor enough to have to walk. Tobias heads for that.

As they get closer, Tobias sees that it’s a more complex design than he realized at first, white stone—concrete?—intertwined with some kind of shiny metal. Steel, maybe. Both substances are uncommon as building materials, at least in Tobias’ limited experience, but maybe it’s important for the infrastructure of this kind of place. As they take the steps up and start the walk across the long bridge, frothy white foam crashes into the bridge’s tall supports. Tobias is just glad that it feels stable underfoot.

The way to the city is long, farther out than Tobias would prefer, the blue-green hue of the ocean getting deeper beneath them as they go. The wind picks up, too.

They pass a surprising amount of Pokemon on the way, mostly locals and workers from the looks of them. Tobias spots a few raised brows and hushed conversations once they see him. Since the majority of Pokemon they pass are water types, Tobias guesses that they probably don’t see many fire types out here. He tries to ignore them, forcing himself to look straight ahead.

Posh tourists ride by in the water below, providing some distraction. They’re either sitting in boats or atop other Pokemon instead of walking on their own feet, with lapras, blastoise, wailmer, and dondozo ferrying them to and from the city. Nia quietly counts how many parasols she sees under her breath.

As they get closer to the island, it becomes clearer that the city is indeed floating. It’s not a natural island, a protrusion from the earth below, so much as…giant chunks of artificial land, linked close together somehow beneath the waves. The gaps between almost look like canals, with water types and canoes traversing them like little roads.

While the city is much too large for Tobias and Nia’s weight to make it bob, he does notice the slightest sway underfoot when they finally reach the end of the bridge. It unbalances him almost immediately, making him stumble like he just stepped onto the Aqua Jet again.

Nia offers him her arm, but he shakes his head, flushing. He’s already getting enough looks from curious passersby. He doesn’t need to be leaning on Nia like a crutch, too.

Tobias takes a minute to regain his bearings, then leads them into the city proper. Considering it’s apparently a hotspot for tourists, it’s unsurprisingly busy, with crowds of Pokemon chatting and laughing as they pass by. Most are holding wrapped cloth packages or paper bags, surely full of treasures from a bountiful shopping trip.

Nia is predictably looking this way and that as she tries to take everything in, nearly bumping into a few of the ‘mon they pass.

Tobias supposes he can understand why. The city is interesting, if nothing else, with its tall, rounded buildings of gleaming white and silver and seams of ocean water separating out different neighborhoods. The pieces shift in subtle ripples along the waves, the unusually large gaps between buildings—nothing like Ghatha and the human settlement’s close-crowded architecture—making them overlap in his vision in dizzying ways. It doesn’t help that most of the buildings also have their first floors hollowed out, open on three sides rather than enclosed with four walls. Those spaces seem to be dedicated to sitting areas, with water-resistant tables and chairs, or just as a place to store larger statues or toys.

The city is also surprisingly colorful. Shops and stalls have tented areas overhead for shade, and they tend to use bright colors and patterns in the fabric. Tropical, well-tended flowers grow everywhere in little plots of dirt, on building corners and under windows and bordering the canals. Some of the concrete buildings are inlaid with chunks of coral or painted with accents of color. Occasional mosaics pop up underfoot too, sprawling art pieces larger than a wailmer that depict flowers and water type Pokemon. And of course, the crowds of Pokemon wandering the streets only add to the vivid mix of colors.

Rosalind did mention that this place is known for its shops, but Tobias is still astonished by the sheer variety of merchants they pass. They’re all selling different things, from food to exploration items to non-necessities that call to the rich tourists around them. One stall is selling dried berry strips, while the one next to it is selling some kind of kelp, according to the sign below it. Apparently it’s grown right here in the city, underneath the ocean. A shop selling orbs and seeds “for protection in dungeons and natural disasters�� is a tempting find, but Tobias knows better than to spend his cash when they don’t need to.

Useful shops like those are far outnumbered, though, by stalls that sell nothing but knickknacks and decorations, souvenirs from the city decorated with colorful shells and coral and gems. There are even one or two shops dedicated solely to fabric and clothing, some of which reminds Tobias of what he saw Pokemon wearing at the human settlement. Lots of jewelry shops, too, which is usually a rarity in Metreja.

There are cafés and bakeries and spas. A few ferry businesses. Artists selling their wares, ceramics and paintings and drawings.

It’s something else that captures Nia’s attention, though.

“Oh, Tobias! Look!”

It’s a little glass shop. Colorful wares cover the countertop: vases and dishware, platters and trinkets, statues and jewelry. Every piece is beautiful and well-crafted, delicate but sturdy. Patterns and gradients paint them in a rainbow of hues, some shiny and some frosted. Nia’s eyes skim over them, a wondrous expression on her face.

Just visible inside the open door of the build building, a monferno glassblower is sitting at a bench, hard at work. Across his lap, he turns a long, metal rod with a confident hand. At the end of it, a green bulb of glass is being spun. The fire type uses his free hand to pinch and pull at the probably-scalding glass, creating delicate curls and wisps. It takes a moment for Tobias to notice a smaller Pokemon, a blue panpour who’s the spitting image of the simipour running the counter out front, working too. She’s blowing at the other end of the metal pole—a pipe?—with her cheeks puffed. The two Pokemon look completely absorbed in their work, focused and totally at ease with the process, as if they’ve done it millions of times before.

Tobias wonders if this glass shop is the only one here in town. Glass is rare in his experience, but here it seems to be used more commonly. A few of the shops actually have large pieces of glass covering long windows to show off the wares inside, which Tobias hasn’t ever seen done before. There’s glass elsewhere, too, smaller panes on house windows and used in decorations like windchimes.

It’s interesting. If they weren’t here for a specific reason, if they didn’t have a world to save and outlaws to interrogate, Tobias wouldn’t mind learning more about the practice.

But the reminder of what they are here for pulls Tobias back to reality, and his chest tightens. He steps off to the side to watch as Nia picks up one of the glass statues, tracing a finger over its thin, pointed horns.

Right. They aren’t here to shop. They’re here for the pangoro held somewhere below the city. Dismas.

Tobias expected to feel ready for this, after so long. Instead, he isn’t really sure how to feel. He’s wanted answers for nearly a decade now. He’s been actively chasing Team Zenith for months. And yet now that some of his goals are within reach, everything doesn’t feel quite…real.

The anger Tobias holds for the outlaws is still there, of course. As always. It’s a quiet, seething sort of hatred, a low ember that only flares on occasion nowadays but that’s always, always lit.

But aside from that?

The vindictive part of him is actually a little disappointed. Upset that some other Seeker brought the pangoro in instead of him. But he doesn’t know how well he’d fare in a fight with one of his literal nightmares, so maybe that was for the best. He’d be useless if he panicked in the middle of a deadly brawl.

Even now, he’s anxious. Even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Both to just see one of the outlaws again, and to ask Dismas the question that’s been haunting him for eight years now.

Why did Team Zenith do what they did? Why kill his family? Why kill innocent children?

Why?

That single word makes him feel a tangle of emotions so thick he could never hope to unravel it. It feels a bit like nerves in his stomach. A bit like desperation choking his throat. He hates it. But he needs to know.

Every time Tobias tries to think back to that night, tries to think of anything that could explain why the arcanine and his crew suddenly turned on them, it’s like his mind can’t handle it and cuts the memory short. He’s gotten vague glimpses of the incident over the years, but most of them come at the cost of a panic attack that sends him spiraling before he can recall the night in its entirety. So since his own brain refuses to give him the answers he needs, he just has to ask someone else who was there. As much as he doesn’t want to.

“Would you happen to know how to get to the prison from here?”

Nia’s voice, directed at the simipour shopkeeper, yanks Tobias back to the present. He looks up.

The water type seems startled by the question, but then her eyes flick over their bag and the scarf tied around Nia’s arm. Hesitantly, she nods and points right, further into the city.

“If you follow this canal to the heart of the city and straight through to the other side, the entrance to the prison is near the edge of the island. Look for red coral out front.”

Nia thanks the shopkeeper, but the riolu’s smile fades as she turns to him. He can only imagine what expression he’s wearing.

“Are you ready? We can always wait until later tonight, or tomorrow, or…”

Tobias shakes his head and straightens up, ready to move. Nia seems to get the message. It’s now or never. Waiting will only delay the inevitable.

Tobias leads the way across the city, following the large canal the shopkeeper had pointed out. They have to cross a few of the city’s segmented islands to do so, and Tobias quickly decides that he hates the floating bridges that are used to cross the smaller canals. They wobble and sink underfoot and feel much more unstable than the city itself.

Kaleido Bay is beautiful, but it’s just too ingrained with the sea for Tobias to really feel comfortable. Nia clearly loves the place—as she does most places—pointing out something new and exciting to look at every few minutes. Whether that be a particularly elaborate tourist boat pulled through the canals, or a saltwater fountain in a little plaza where children scream and play, or a building that Nia says looks like a “church,” built with stunning glass windows that depict images of Pokemon in the ocean. Tobias doesn’t recognize them all, but he knows he spots Kyrogre, Lugia, and Manaphy.

As they near the edge of the city, where homes and less flashy businesses reside, they see more areas under repair, likely from the natural disasters that Rosalind had mentioned. Either this area got hit harder, being without a buffer against the open ocean, or it’s just the last to be fixed since it isn’t where the tourists go to spend their money.

The Pokemon on the streets here are more casual, too, and there are almost no ferry ‘mon swimming in the canals. No fancy accessories or shopping bags in sight. Likely locals rather than tourists. One or two give them curious looks, probably wondering if they’re lost, before spotting their scarves and looking away again to go about their business.

At one point, Nia nudges Tobias to catch his attention, nodding her head across the canal. He follows her gaze, finding a large group of Pokemon gathered around the wooden remains of a building that was nearly ripped off its foundations. The Pokemon in the group are talking quietly to one another, sharing sad smiles and hugs. A small seel is crying with his flippers covering his eyes, his sobs loud enough to echo across the water as a poliwhirl tries in vain to comfort him.

Tobias spots a pile of items—bright shells and coral, food and flowers and letters—stacked together neatly at the foot of the building. A lump rises in his throat.

“Is that..?” Nia murmurs.

“Funeral,” Tobias confirms, looking away.

“D-Do you think it was a natural disaster?”

“Probably,” Tobias answers. “I’d guess the newer buildings are made with the natural disasters in mind, but that one looked older.”

Nia glances back one more time at the decimated home, grief obvious in her slanted ears and limp tail. Tobias can imagine what she’s thinking about. That she’s feeling that desperation, that weight of the world, on her shoulders once more.

“We’ll fix it,” She murmurs. “Everything.”

Tobias nods but doesn’t offer his own reassurance. As cold as it sounds, he can’t focus on the rest of the world right now. Not when the pangoro they’re about to talk to is dominating every thought and every cell in his body.

They finally find the prison, a small building close to the edge of the city. The bulk of the exterior is white concrete and gleaming metal, but two pieces of tall red coral stand on either side of the door, framing it.

Tobias doesn’t realize he’s stopped in the doorway until Nia steps closer to his side, arms brushing. She’s watching him, and when he looks at her, she tilts her head. As if to ask if he’s sure about this.

He nods, ignoring the way his heart is pounding against his ribs. He takes a deep breath, then leads the way inside.

The interior is surprisingly small, with little more than a front desk and some shelves full of books and files. A large metal door dominates the back wall, so Tobias guesses that probably leads to the prison itself.

A smoochum is at the desk in front of them, sitting on what must be an unreasonably tall stool. She’s writing something on a document. When she finishes, she adds the sheet to a stack of paper to her right, which is already taller than she is. Then she grabs a paper from the stack to her left and starts writing again, only glancing up when the door clicks shut behind them.

“Can I help you?”

Tobias steps up to the desk, ignoring her impatient tone.

“We’re here to see prisoner D22.”

The smoochum lifts a brow, giving them an unimpressed once-over. “…Rank?”

Tobias considers lying, for a moment, before deciding that she’ll probably request to see their badges anyways if he aims too high. “D-Rank.”

“You must be at least B-rank for clearance to visit high-security prisoners,” the smoochum drones, going back to her papers.

“We have to see him,” Tobias says, slapping his hand onto the edge of the desk. He desperately wishes he was taller so he didn’t have to look up for this. “Let us talk to Jude. He works here, right?”

“Please,” Nia adds, pulling Tobias back with a hand on his arm. “It’s really important.”

The smoochum still seems unconvinced, but sighs. “Badges?”

Nia digs their badges out of their bag, handing them over the counter. The smoochum flips them over, giving them an idle examination before sliding them back.

“If Jude says you leave, then you leave. Got it?”

“Y-Yes,” Nia says.

“Tell him Rosie sent us,” Tobias adds.

The smoochum waves them off. She leans back to tug on a chain leading into the wall. The faint sound of a bell follows, then the click of a slat opening.

“Send Jude up. He has Seekers here looking to talk to a prisoner. They say ‘Rosie’ sent them.”

The slat clicks closed again. The smoochum doesn’t wait for an affirmative, wordlessly going back to her paperwork.

Tobias glances at Nia. The riolu shrugs, looking as uncertain as he feels.

After a few minutes of quiet, interrupted only by the scratch and flutter of the smoochum’s papers and Tobias’ restless pacing, the metal door on the back wall finally opens with a heavy grating sound. A large Pokemon, not much taller than them but long and wide, enters the room with slow steps. His blue-green plates look more like rock than skin, as do the craggy yellow points of his spiked shell. Beady eyes perch just above a jagged mouth, glancing at Tobias and Nia before turning to the smoochum.

He must be Jude.

“A turtle?” Nia whispers to Tobias.

“A drednaw,” Tobias whispers back, studying the water type’s surly expression.

Jude is saying something to the smoochum that makes her frown. She shakes her head. The drednaw makes another comment, too quiet to hear, and the smoochum hisses a response. The conversation gets more heated, until the smoochum finally just flaps a dismissive arm at him and returns to her work. Jude huffs, but finally walks over to them.

He leans in a little closer than is comfortable, voice hushed. “You said Rosie sent you?”

Tobias nods. “We’re Seekers. She said you can get us in to talk to a prisoner.”

The drednaw grinds his jaws with obvious irritation. “…Who do you want to see?”

“D22,” Tobias answers. “A pangoro named Dismas.”

“That’s just about the highest security prisoner we’ve got here. Why d’you want to see him?”

“Does it matter?”

“I can’t let just anyone in to see him.”

“B-But—!” Nia stutters.

“Rosalind said to remind you of Sahara City,” Tobias cuts in, silently praying this will work. “If that changes your mind.”

Tobias didn’t think it was possible for a Pokemon with such thick scales to visibly pale, but Jude does. He glances over his shoulder at the smoochum, as if afraid she’d heard. When she doesn’t pause in her writing, Jude breathes again, turning a glare onto Tobias. Tobias glares back.

After a tense moment, without looking away, Jude calls, “They’re clear. Get Miro and Toko to escort ‘em. They’re on duty right now.”

The smoochum actually looks up at that, visibly surprised. But after a moment she turns back to the bell and rings it again, passing along Jude’s request.

“Make sure you tell Rosie that I held up my end of the deal,” Jude rumbles, low. Then he lumbers past them, shouldering the door open to go outside.

Tobias is once again reminded that they should never, ever cross Rosalind. He exchanges an uncomfortable look with Nia.

Within a few short minutes, the metal door behind the front desk opens again, and a malamar and quagsire walk through. The malamar’s sharp yellow eyes skim over Nia and Tobias, move past them to empty air, then focus back on the smoochum at the front desk with a questioning look.

“That’s them,” the smoochum says, annoyed. “Got Jude’s approval and everything. Go on.”

While the quagsire seems unphased by this information, the malamar is clearly taken aback. Still, he doesn’t argue, instead stepping forwards to speak to them.

“We’re taking you to see D22, right?” The malamar checks. He’s expressive despite the rigid beak on his face. His tentacles make up for it, the ones on his head waving as if caught in an undercurrent and occasionally lifting like perked ears.

The quagsire stays silent, studying them with unblinking eyes. Despite her casual posture, Tobias gets the distinct feeling that she’s on-guard, and stronger than she looks.

“Y-Yes please,” Nia answers. “We, um. Need to talk to him.”

“We won’t be able to leave you alone with him,” the malamar warns. “Safety protocol. But we can give you half an hour of supervised visitation.”

Tobias isn’t thrilled about that—having two strangers in the room for such an emotionally vulnerable conversation. And only half an hour?

Still, he knows better than to argue. This could very well be Tobias’ only chance to get some answers about Team Zenith. About his family.

Tobias nods.

The malamar nods in return and gestures for them to follow him back through the doorway, stepping into the lead. The quagsire moves to trail behind Nia and Tobias, boxing them in.

Wordlessly, they’re lead past the front desk and out of the lobby.

Tobias is kind of surprised that they didn’t ask to check their bag. Maybe they trust Seekers not to bring in anything dangerous? Or maybe Jude or the overworked smoochum was supposed to check it. Whatever. Tobias isn’t going to bring it up. He feels better having their meager supply of items close by, anyways.

Instead, Tobias focuses on where they’re heading. The floor here is set at an angle, sloping downward, and the long hallway they’re in is dim as the door shuts behind them, the metal walls windowless. The only reason they can see at all is the light from Tobias’ tail flame, the yellow glow of the malamar’s spotted markings, and the soft green glow of…moss? Algae, maybe. It grows in impressive mounds out of little planters protruding from the walls every few feet. Like little balconies of light.

Below the algae, the hallways are also lined with well-maintained plants growing from water-filled basins in the floor. Tobias can’t tell what kind of plants they are in the darkness, the silhouette of them foreign, but the smell of saltwater is thick in the air under the lush greenery, so they’re probably ocean-based.

The hallway they’re traveling down goes on and on, curving slightly. A strange sensation builds in Tobias’ ears, and it takes him a moment to realize what it must be.

Pressure. They’re going under the waves. It’s getting colder, too.

A jolt of fear lances through Tobias’ gut, completely separate from his nerves regarding Dismas. He reaches over and fumbles Nia’s paw into his own, squeezing it. She glances at him, then tightens her own grip in return. He’s grateful she doesn’t say anything about it.

They walk for a few minutes longer, the quiet echo of their steps a soothing rhythm. The pressure gets stronger, Nia slowly cringing under its weight in her sensitive ears.

“Try equalizing,” the malamar says, breaking the silence. He glances back at Nia, then gestures with a tentacle at his face. “It helps with the pressure. Pinch your nose shut and swallow a few times. Or wiggle your jaw.”

Nia hesitantly follows the psychic type’s directions, trying first one technique and then the other. After alternating between the two once or twice, she perks up, tense shoulders dropping. “That helped a lot! Thank you.”

“No problem. It’s tough when you aren’t used to the pressure change.”

Tobias tries to subtly follow Nia’s lead, wiggling his own jaw and blowing air out of his nose. It does relieve some of the pressure that had built up in his ears and head.

“So are you two here on official Seeker business?” The malamar asks. Tobias can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious, if he’s just being friendly, or if he’s suspicious about why they want to talk to Dismas. Maybe all three.

Nia looks to Tobias for an answer, which is fair. Once again, he considers lying, but if they really won’t be allowed to talk to the pangoro alone, then they’re bound to find out why they’re here anyways.

“Personal matter,” Tobias settles on.

Thankfully, the malamar accepts that with nothing more than a nod. “In that case, I hope you get what you’re looking for from this conversation. Dismas is usually pretty straightforward.”

“That’s one word to describe him,” the quagsire says from behind them, voice soft. Both Tobias and Nia jump. “I would use the word cruel.”

“What was he arrested for?” Nia asks, hesitant.

The malamar glances back at them, lingering on whatever expression Tobias is wearing. He looks forward again. “Take your pick. Theft, destruction of property, murder. It’s the last one that shot him and his teammates to the top of every guild’s priority list.”

Murder. Tobias isn’t sure if the charge is even related to his own family. He’d managed to tell Maggie about the Pokemon who attacked his family, eventually, and he’s sure they put out some kind of warning around the mountains where he used to live, but he doubts that the years-late testimony of a traumatized child would be enough on its own for a solid murder charge. At least not without calling Tobias in to talk to an official guild member first.

Then again, Tobias supposes the crime would be pretty obvious when an entire family all but disappeared from their home. He doubts they ever found their bodies. He vaguely remembers Maggie murmuring questions to the medical ‘mon in the village, after some townspeople went to make sure there weren’t any other survivors. He remembers the way the doctor shook their head, how Maggie’s expression fell even further. Tobias doesn’t know if Team Zenith simply sealed off the cave to create a tomb, or burned everything until it was unrecognizable, or what. He doesn’t really want to know.

If there were bodies to bury, Maggie would’ve asked if he wanted to visit their graves before they left for Bethoc’s Haven. But she didn’t.

Tobias’ legs suddenly feel pathetically weak. Like they’ve been replaced with jelly. Some part of him, something small and young and scared, desperately wants to turn and run. Leave now before the truth is revealed. Before he has to face Dismas again.

He shoves that part of himself away, holding tighter to Nia’s paw.

“Well. Multiple charges of murder,” the malamar adds, quieter. “Merchants. A few Seekers. Suspected one-offs. He and his crew have built quite the reputation for themselves.”

Tobias feels nauseous. Somehow this has always felt so personal, Team Zenith’s crime against his family. But Tobias isn’t the only one they’ve hurt. Somewhere out there, there are others they’ve done the same to. Other families and friends and partners who are missing loved ones. Who are weighed down by a similar grief.

That familiar old rage surges through Tobias’ chest like magma. It makes it hard to breathe, makes it hard for him to think about anything aside from hurting Dismas like Dismas hurt him.

But Tobias can feel Nia’s fingers squeeze his, briefly. Can feel her gaze burning into the side of his head. So he closes his eyes, trusting her to lead them, and takes a deep breath. Another. Another. He won’t be allowed to fight a prisoner. He has to be civil, to a degree. He has to keep his head enough to speak, or this whole thing amounts to nothing.

He can’t waste this opportunity.

Tobias only opens his eyes when the darkness behind his eyelids shifts. Their footsteps sound different suddenly, less contained.

They’ve finally reached the end of the long ramp leading down. Ahead of them lies a metal hallway with multiple other hallways branching off of it. To different cells, maybe.

The floor is lit by the same green moss as the hallway they just left, but there’s an even fainter light coming from the walls as well, from tall, thin…windows? It takes Tobias a moment to register what he’s seeing through them.

The ocean is dark this far down, the water inky black, but more moss lights the environment surrounding the prison, growing atop silhouettes of rocky outcroppings. It creates a surreal effect, a gradient of soft green light and harsh black shapes.

Before he looks away, Tobias also catches a glimpse of brighter light streaking by outside. It comes from a lanturn, the lures dangling from the water type’s head glowing a warm yellow. A few seconds later, a vague shape carrying what looks like a moss-fueled lamp swims by as well, too quick to identify. Guards, maybe. Making sure the prisoners stay in or that any curious water types stay out?

Either way, Tobias can’t help wondering why the windows are here at all. He’s not very familiar with glass, but he didn’t think it would be strong enough to withstand the pressure of the ocean.

Just as he’s thinking that, the light catches oddly on one of the windows they pass. Ah, there it is—the unique shimmer of a move. Light screen, maybe, or reflect, reinforcing the glass panes. If he squints, he thinks he can even see the pale green hue of light clay acting as caulk, simultaneously sealing the windows in place and strengthening the effects of the protective moves.

He’s still not a fan.

“How do they get air down here?” Nia asks, distracting Tobias from his staredown with the windows. She’s quiet enough that Tobias isn’t sure if she’s asking him or just talking to herself.

“Vents,” the malamar answers. He motions up with a lift of his head tentacles. Tobias follows the gesture to see a slatted vent laid into the ceiling as they pass by. “Pipes lead up to the surface, and the greenery down here helps with oxygen generation.”

“And the windows?” Tobias can’t help asking. “Seems like a dangerous design choice for an underwater prison.”

“That’s by design,” the malamar says. “Don’t worry, they’re maintained daily. But they can be helpful, if we have an escape attempt. There’s a reason we don’t take water type prisoners here.”

Oh. So the windows are an emergency stop measure. If a prisoner tries to escape, they flood the room they’re in to slow them down?

Or maybe they just drown them.

Tobias shivers at the idea. Nia seems equally perturbed, falling silent again.

Tobias glances down the hallways they pass, expecting to hear jeering voices and see hulking shadows through jail bars. Instead, the cells seem to be individual rooms, each sealed shut by a heavy steel door with a crank in place to open it. A placard rests above each door with a letter-number combo etched into it.

Tobias watches with trepidation as the numbers rise as they walk, from D01 up to D05, then D10 to D15. Do they really need this many prison cells? Maybe they house more prisoners here than he realized.

Finally, they stop in front of a room. D22 is etched into the placard above the door.

Tobias feels lightheaded. He knows he’s holding onto Nia a little tighter than he should, but he can’t seem to relax his grip. The malamar says something, but it’s not until the quagsire steps in front of them that Tobias realizes they’ve been trying to give him a command.

“We’ve gotta step back for a sec,” Nia murmurs, tugging Tobias away from the door.

Tobias nods, barely hearing her as the quagsire puts their whole body into rolling the crank beside the door. With a low groan, the metal slowly lifts. The inside is a weakly lit green like the halls, but Tobias can’t see past the malamar’s twitching tentacles.

The malamar waits until the door is high enough, then slips inside with a quiet, authoritative, “Wait here.”

Tobias does so, heart roaring in his ears. When the door finishes opening and clicks into place, the quagsire steps into the malamar’s spot, guarding the doorway so they can’t enter.

Tobias can hear the rattle of chains and the muted tones of conversation from inside. Nothing discernible, but the deep rumble of a new voice stands out against the malamar’s higher tones.

Tobias’ stomach turns.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Nia whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.

Even then, even knowing there’s no possible way the pangoro could’ve heard, Tobias nods his head instead of answering, desperately wanting her to stop talking. He can’t be weak here. He can’t let the pangoro know that just the hint of his voice has Tobias on the edge of panic.

All too soon, the malamar calls out, “All right. We’re ready.”

The quagsire steps aside to usher them in.

Tobias steps inside. The interior looks just like the rest of the floor, lit faintly green by moss. Two windows, tall but slim, are all that offer a respite from the steely metallic walls and floor. There’s a flattened nest of dry, dark green moss in the corner of the room, large enough to easily fit Nia, Tobias, and all of Team Shellshock inside of it.

Tobias only has a moment to take all of that in before he focuses on the Pokemon sitting in the center of the room.

Tobias has always thought he must’ve exaggerated the pangoro’s size in his nightmares, but Dismas is just as big as he remembers. Even sitting cross-legged on the floor, the pangoro is easily three times their height, and just as wide. Coarse black and white fur does little to hide the muscles in his arms and legs, his limbs as thick as tree trunks. He looks like he could punch through the metal walls of his cell with no trouble if he really wanted to.

Which is probably what the heavy shackles on the pangoro’s wrists, ankles, and neck are there to prevent. Their chains, thicker than Tobias’ arm, lead down through gaps in the floor. They’ve been pulled taut, keeping the pangoro forcibly low to the ground.

Finally, Tobias looks at the pangoro’s face. Dismas looks…bored, almost. Tobias imagines he’d be sitting with his elbow resting on crossed knees and his chin planted in the palm of his paw if he had the range of motion to do so. His shadowed eyes are hardly visible.

Tobias swallows. He wishes Mom was here. Or Dad. Or Maggie. Even with Dismas tied down, Tobias still feels so small. He hates how vulnerable he feels as he steps forward, stopping a few feet away from the outlaw. Nia hovers at his side.

He feels like he’s nine years old again.

“You’re free to talk,” the malamar says. He moves past Tobias to stand guard at the door, Releasing the crank and closing the door with a flash of yellow psychic energy and a loud clang.

The quagsire waddles over to stand at the pangoro’s side, keeping a close eye on the criminal.

And then it’s quiet, and all that’s left to do is to find the truth.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd seekers of soul #pokemon #charizard #charmander #tesha draws #tesha writes #teshamerkel

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