#Suffice it to say it was as bleak as it could get | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

persefolli · 1 year

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𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅𝐒

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐬. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭(𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧?,𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 "𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲", 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦), 𝐚𝐠𝐞-𝐠𝐚𝐩, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲,𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧!𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“FUCK!” You slapped your hand against your head. You had failed to train your ilu properly, resulting in 3 rounds of losing the race against the Sully kids and the Metkayina kids.

“Hit me.” You stretched out your arms, ready for the punishment. They looked at each other mischievously.

“Every month our dads go to the forest.” Lo’ak started.

“They always force us to go camping. And it's really, really boring.” Kiri said, sticking her tongue out and rolling her eyes.

“We wanna stay at the reef for the big bonfire we always miss when we go. So you're gonna cover for us.”

You huffed, “How am I gonna substitute for 6 kids?!”

“Don't know, make it happen. Ao’nung said.

You managed to build the courage to ask Tonowari to accompany their trip to the forest, a little lying sufficed, saying that you had never seen the forest and you wanted to gain a broader experience. You opted to ask Tonowari since Jake was the scary one. He agreed, saying you could take over the jobs the kids usually did, “so you would be occupied.”

The ride towards the forest was silent, especially since you were upset knowing you were missing the bonfire for the first time. Kiri and Tsireya would be out there dancing and having fun while you were in the middle of the forest carving sticks. The arrival was just as bleak as you imagined, well, the forest was beautiful, the plants and the trees were really different from those on the reef. But you were immediately tasked with building a tent, you didn't even know what a tent was.

Jake explained it came from the ship of one of the Sky People, and it's a temporary shelter for those who chose to stay out at night. Easy enough, right? Nope. All day, you struggled with setting up the tent, because it would eventually fall down back into pieces. “You have to nail it into the ground!” Jake snapped at you. You flinched and allowed him to take the tools from your hands, simply nailing the ends of the tent into the forest ground. When he finished he threw the tools to the side and sent you to Tonowari, who tasked you with getting dinner.

You weren't bad at fishing considering you were from the reef, but maybe Eywa had other plans. The fish were skinny as hell, so it wouldn't be enough to fill two grown na'vi warriors and a glutton like yourself. You ended up catching around 6 fish, which you allowed Jake and Tonowari to eat on their own while you opted for the fruit you had packed.

So far, not good

Tonowari noticed as the days went, the more sluggish you got. You became less vocal, and became more autonomic with the tasks they gave you. “Y/n it's not that bad. You were due to learn survival skills eventually.” Tonowari approached you while fishing. You stayed silent, and treaded your hands in the water. “We know you don't wanna be here but we want you to leave here with something.”

Silence.

Tonowari sighed and walked to the edge of the riverbank, squatting really close to you. “Why would you accept the bet if you were gonna be like this?” You snapped your head up to look at him. You had no idea he knew that it was all just a bet, but if he knew it was no harm in telling him. “Well, first off I didn't have a choice.”

“You could've always chickened.”

You glared at him before continuing. “I would've been more than happy to come if it wasn't just me. But I guess they knew how much of dick Jake was and threw me under.” Tonowari shifted his head then nodded in understanding. You felt a little bad for calling his best friend a dick, but it had to be said.

Things seemed to shift in the next few hours. You came back from fishing and Jake couldn't be bothered to fool with you. He didn't snap at you to do anything, build anything, or retrieve anything. Maybe Tonowari talked some sense into him. The newfound free time was spent scavenging around the forest, grabbing at new plants and animals. The forest was amazing, no wonder the Sully kids rejected the reef at first.

“Y/n!” Jake yelled in the distance. You groaned and made your way back to the campsite, where Jake stood holding a bow and a few arrows. “Let's go.” You followed him through the forest, where he was seemingly tracking some creature. “Here.” He stopped, and made his mark behind some brushes. He pointed past the brush at a viper wolf, and handed you the bow. You rolled your eyes and practically snatched the bow from his hands. As you aimed at the wolf, Jake began talking. “You're not enjoying yourself?” He said more as a statement rather than a question. You ignored him, and kept your focus on the viperwolf.

“You would really rather be back on the reef having random guys feel you up at a stupid bonfire?”

You shot, and missed, “It would be better than being stuck in a forest with two grandpas, who think staring at trees all day is a valuable life skill.” You snapped at him. Jake's lip twitched, eventually breaking into a smirk. “Grandpas?”

“Old men! Grandpas! Whatever you call it.”

He grabbed the bow to your hands and began walking again, tracking another scent. He finally stopped again, handing you the bow and pointed at a bird-like creature. You squatted, legs slightly parted as you held the bow in your hand. Jake crouched right behind you, breath tickling the back of your neck. Admittedly he was making it very hard to focus. You took in a deep breath, and focused back on the animal that sat peacefully ahead. Before you could draw the bow, you felt Jake's hand on your ass. “Mr. Sully.” You gasped.

“Focus on the target!” He hissed. You did as told, and drew your bow, releasing it and missing the creature. The creature remained unphased, not even noticing the near missed arrow. “At your age, I didn't miss.” He said sourly into your ear. The warmth his hand radiated on your backside sent feelings coursing through your body. Slowly beginning to get turned on. “Again.” You placed your arrow against the bow again, and took in a deep breath. His hand moved to rest on your thigh, and his other hand began cupping your ass. You turned to look at him, but he nodded his head forward. You drew your arrow back, released it, and hit the creature right in its head. “Now that wasn't so hard was it.” He said, not moving from the very inconvenient position you were in.

“Jake.” You muttered. “What? This isn't any different to the bonfire.”

“At least the guys there knew how to touch me.” You egged him on. You saw his face drop, wrinkles around his eyes smoothing out.

“Knew how to touch you like this?” His hand reached beyond your loin cloth and grazed your folds. “Mhm.” You groaned silently. He ran his fingers over your pussy, eventually teasing your entrance with his index finger. “Do you usually get this wet? Hm?”

“No Mr. Sully.” You whimpered.

“That right? Getting creamy and wet just off my fingers. Thought those other guys knew how to touch you.” Your heartbeat quickened as you made eye contact with the aged man. This was wrong, all the way wrong. Especially for someone who was old enough to be your own father. He inched his middle finger inside of your hole, pumping it in and out as he coaxed you. “That's why you came on this trip right? So I can play in this pussy?”

“N-no.” You stammered. You had never heard Jake get so vulgar, never in front of you. You now knew how he got so many kids out of Neytiri, he was a natural.

Jake removed his fingers and sucked your slick off of his two fingers, leaving you weak and whiny. “Come.” He yanked you by the wrist and led you back to the single camp site, where Tonowari sat throwing wood into the fire for the night. Jake dragged you right into the tent, and threw you down onto the mat. He then walked outside, and said something to Tonowari, which you didn't hear due to the blood pumping in your ears. Jake entered, then Tonowari, zipping the tent closed behind him. Tonowari stood waiting. Jake then kneeled and flipped your cloth over, exposing your pussy to the older and taller na’vi. “She calls me a dick behind my back, and calls us old in front of my face.”

“But look at how wet she is.” Tonowari said, dropping to his knees.

“Exactly. See how wet this grandpa made her. She didnt want to learn shit she just wanted to be fucked.” Jake said sourly, almost angry.

“I figured something was off with her.” Tonowari said. He leaned forward and positioned himself so he was laying down with his face between your legs. “Well this old man is gonna show you how to get things done.” Tonowari buried his face in your pussy, catching your clit between his lips. You yelped, feeling the wet warmth and pressure being applied to your bud. You closed your eyes and pathetically spread your legs more, allowing Tonowari to bury himself deeper. “So good.” He licked up your entrance, placing a kiss on your clit. “How tight is she?” Jake asked from beside you. Tonowari pushed his thick wet tongue inside of your entrance. “Wari!” You exclaimed.

“So tight.” He responded to Jake. He continued to thrust his tongue in your pussy, slobbering and animatedly kissing all over your folds. “Mmm…wari…gonna come!” You grabbed the back of his head and began bucking your hips into him. He removed his tongue from your hole and rested it on your clit swiftly, beginning to flick his muscle against your clit in a battle to make you come. “Ooh! Fuck just like that!” You shrieked, raising your legs high in the air and shaking. “Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm gonna fucking come.” You screamed one last time before convulsing and cumming on his face.

Tonowari rose to his knees and looked at Jake, shamelessly with your slick all over his face. The two of them said nothing, but seemed to communicate with just their eyes. Tonowari moved to sit above your head, and Jake took refuge in the spot between your legs. Jake flipped you around, so that you were now on your hands and knees, facing Tonowari.

Tonowari smiled at you, before whipping out his thick cock and slapping the tip against your nose. Jake took hold of your tail and moved it aside as his hand grazed along your ass. “Look at what you've gotten yourself into.” Jake snarled. “Alone in the middle of nowhere being slutted out by your best friends' dads.” He began running his thumb over your wet hole, teasing it.

“For your sake I hope they never find out.” Tonowari joined in. “They won't!” You whimpered. The flutter in your stomach was jumping from guilt to horniness. The confusion made you all the more wet. “I know baby girl. you know how much trouble we would get in? We don't want any trouble do we?” Jake pulled your head back to look at him. “No. No trouble.”

Jake laughed and pushed your head back down to Tonowari. “Had her pussy eaten once and lost all common sense.”

Tonowari grabbed your hair and pulled upwards so your mouth hovered right over his dick. “Be a good girl and suck it.” He pushed his cock between your lips and you gasped. You placed one hand on his thigh to hold yourself up, and the other wrapped around the base of his cock. You began to swirl your tongue around the tip, feeling the shudder in his thighs, but he yanked you up by the hair and snarled. “I said suck, not this licking bullshit.”

Jake on the other end was playing in your folds with his tip. Slapping your pussy with it a few times before snapping his hips forward, you gasped, and opened your mouth wider which Tonowari took advantage of. Jake began thrusting, holding your hips tight. “M’Jake!” You moaned around Wari’s cock. A burst of energy flowed through your veins and you began sucking on his dick more passionately. “Take your time baby. Don't let him provoke you.” He moved a few strands of hair out of your face and guided your head to slowly bob against him. You tested your luck, and pushed all the way down so your nose was buried in his pelvis. “Oh fuck!” He hissed, feeling his dick curve around the shape of your throat.. You rose again, releasing his dick with a pop. “You’ve done this before haven't you?”

“Mhm.” You tilted your head around him and began suckling the side of his dick, flashing your tongue every once in a while.

Jake groaned behind you, thrusting harshly and digging his fingers into your sides. “You're so fucking tight.” He seethed though his teeth. He slid one of his hands over your ass and dipped his thumb into your other hole, emitting a gasp from you. “Ah fuck such a pretty little slut.” Jake closed his eyes. “Letting me fuck the shit out of your sloppy little hole.” You moaned, beginning to bounce harder off of Jake and his dick. He spat more discrepancies, making you more wet and easy to slide into. You felt so nasty, so fucking nasty.

“You like that? having Toruk Makto fuck you?'' Tonowari cooed. You nodded your head, bobbing on him in the process.

“I can’t hear you.”

“I love Toruk Makto fucking me!” You said muffled on his cock. “Really? and what else?”

“I love sucking your dick.” You smiled and licked around his tip, causing him to grumble.

“Fuck! Need her.” Jake said to Tonowari. Tonowari pulled you off his dick, and allowed Jake to pull you away from him. He pushed you down into the mat, so that your ass was now up and at em. He began rutting into you, pulling you back against him harshly. “Fuck!Fuck!Fuck! Jake! Fuck me!” You changed as you felt a ball of tightness build in your gut, ready to burst at any moment.

Jake let out a loud and long groan. “Want me to fill you up, huh? wanna walk around with my cum in your pussy?”

“Yes Mr.Sully! Please fill me up daddy!” You whimpered as he thrusted harder, blurring the pauses between each bounce against each other. A loud yell, and a groan, and he had came. You felt him fill you slowly.

He pulled out, making you shudder from the loss of contact. You felt his seed dribble down your pussy and onto the mat below. Once again your head was being yanked up, and this time Tonowari was standing. He smacked his dick against your lips before tugging at himself. “Fuck you're such a good girl for me.” He moaned and dragged your bottom lip down with his thumb. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his thighs tense. “Tell me you've been a good girl.”

“I've been a good girl Wari.” You moaned, watching him begin to leak in front of you. “Tell me again.”

You purred and leaned into him so his fist was pumping right above your face. “I've been such a good girl daddy.”

“Yes you have.” he managed to groan before cumming. He grabbed your face and slowly tugged his dick to milk himself dry. You smiled and happily accepted his thick ropes of cum on your face.

Jake walked over to you, having cleaned himself up. He smiled and looked at you adoringly, ignoring his friend's release on your face. He bent down and traced his thumb along your lips.

“Now, camping isn't so bad isn't it?”

#persefolli #persefolliwrites #Wattpad #jake sully x reader #jake sully #tonowari x reader #tonowari #avatar2 #avatar the way of water #ATWOW

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penny-anna · 5 months

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ok some actual thoughts on The Giggle now i've had a few days to digest it:

STUFF I LIKED:

'spice up your life' dance sequence absolutely mesmerising. could not look away from the screen. incredible.

melanie bush!! ahhh this was so sweet. the reunion scene was pitch perfect. after Power of the Doctor (which was also pitch perfect just in a different way) really nice to see an old companion w a more upbeat relationship w the Doctor. also liked that they explained how she got back to earth that was fun.

into all the creepy puppet stuff. esp into the guy who straight up got turned into a puppet that was fucked.

liked the new persona for the Toymaker!! was a little :S at the german accent in the trailers but in context it was like OH he's doing this on purpose. okay. should've given RTD more credit that was a smart move.

DELIGHTED to see so much Ncuti Gatwa. honestly that was where the episode really picked up for me. loved seeing him run around his his underwear. love that he's got a jukebox in his TARDIS.

in isolation loved the idea of the incoming & outgoing doctors getting to meet face to face and hug it out i thought that was a really nice new spin on a regen scene <3

also in isolation, have long been of the opionion that Tennant's exit was needlessly bleak so i was looking forward to seeing him get a more upbeat regen and it did deliver on that for sure ljdlkghfdlskg

STUFF I LIKED LESS:

i already talked about & reblogged various posts about the bigen so i will not belabour the point too much dfjkghdflk. mixed feelings suffice to say.

i THINK this regen was like. kind of Sensitive as there was always going to be a demographic of people who'd be consciously or unconsciously unwilling to accept Gatwa as the new Doctor and as a result i think in this specific instance that ending was a. bad way to go. it leaves wriggle room for people who don't want to accept Gatwa for racist reasons. I'm 100% down for Gatwa and as i was watching it i could feel myself struggling to connect w him bcos Tennant was still there. iunno reserving full judgement on this for now bcos hopefully the christmas special will smooth things over a bit.

much as i loved seeing her not sure why Mel was there? like this is barely a complaint bcos im down to just have classic companions show up but. why was Mel there

other people have already said this but honestly it did not fully deliver on the Toymaker. feel like he's a character w a HUGE amount of potential and he didn't uh. do all that much.

also this is VERY PETTY but given that the Toymaker has appeared a bunch in the EU it would have been nice to like leave it more ambiguous how many times they've met previously? if that makes sense? i wouldn't expect the show to canonise any EU content but they didn't have to go out of their way to say that the Doctor and the Toymaker have only met once previously.

as i have implied previously not a fan of how UNIT is being portrayed. would like to see them treated more ambivalently tbph.

in conclusion:

had a good time!!

all in all think this was the weakest of the 3 specials but it did have a hard job to do wrapping everything up. however did provide a lot of fun stuff to Chew on. ah well.

#doctor who

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legzakimmbo · 7 months

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Intoxication - Gainesgoe (Ross Gaines X Joseph Lisgoe)

“How much did you say?”

“Two grand. Two fucking bricks!"

Upon these words, Ross’ glance averted to the three gambling machines shamefully stuck in the corner of the pub. It was easy to tell that the owner wasn’t proud of the purchase. The idea that someone in that meaningless little town would actually want that amount of money (knowing they could never pay it off ; the jobs in Royston Vasey could never suffice) baffled him. Ross pitied the man, but simultaneously, he commended him for having the courage to request that amount from Lisgoe.

The two had crossed paths a few days ago, with thanks to the small sum of money Ross had owed Lisgoe ; Ross was austere and logical, he knew how to handle money, but living in Royston Vasey, you’re bound to owe a debt or two at any given point. And if you weren’t paid a visit by his two incompetent henchmen, you would be visited by Mr Lisgoe himself. And he was much less forgiving than them.

So why was Ross sitting next to him in the pub, surrounded by several empty glasses and an anxious waiter constantly waiting to pour their next drink?

Matter of fact, Lisgoe wondered that as well. Almost every encounter he had with people who wouldn’t cough up on time didn’t end on such a positive note. There must have been something about the brunette man that made him grow a fondness towards him.

Perhaps it was his indifferent nature. Or his abrasiveness upon being demanded so harshly, while others would have probably shit themselves.

The debt collector blamed these uncouth thoughts on his inebriation.

“Do you want me to pay? I wouldn’t mind.”

Ross’ offer was quickly overshadowed by Lisgoe silencing him. “Nah. No need. Poor bastard can’t repay the debt with cash only, so-”

“So you’re taking drinks for free.”

“Shut up! I’m fucking getting there.”

Lisgoe took another sip of the bitter absinthe spirit, wiping away any careless alcohol that beaded at the corners of his mouth. “That skittish cunt almost dragged us down with him, with how much he owed me. This ain’t stealing, Ross. This is the price.”

Ross felt no need to question him further. He was smart enough to understand the other’s logic, but also read his drunken, antsy mood. “Fair enough.”

A brief silence.

“If I knew I could get free drinks from it, I would have become indebted to you a long time ago.”

Lisgoe processed the joke and chuckled hoarsely, running his thumb across the rim of the glass. “Yeah, well, don’t get too cosy. This was just by chance.”

“That so?”

“Mmh.” His confirmation was muffled by another sip. From their conversation, Ross had concluded that this was most definitely not going to be the only time they crossed paths. The mutual feeling of interest was too strong for them to just turn round and not see each other again. And it was definitely not the first time, either ; their prior encounter was rocky. A lot of demanding and shouting ensued from Lisgoe alone. But something must have clearly triggered for the two of them to end up sitting on Ross’ sofa, watching Dexter for what felt like a very fast hour.

Lisgoe wasn’t a shit debt collector. He was just shit with Ross.

“You really confuse me, Ross Gaines.”

“I’m aware.”

-------------------------------

The streets of Royston Vasey that night were weirdly bleak.

The occasional lamppost would emit a luminescent glow onto the quiet shops, and (on the off chance that one would appear) no car would dare sputter its engine and interrupt the tranquillity of 1 in the morning. Would anything dare to do such a thing?

Ross and Lisgoe, apparently.

The two faces, beyond inebriated at that point, stumbled from the doors, catching each other before either took a fall to the pavement.

“Fucking ‘ell,”

The useful input from the debt collector rang through the street, as a pale hand ran through his slicked, black hair. With enough hairspray, it remained intact. The wind was less forgiving on Ross’ hair, however. But somehow, it still looked fine, perhaps even better, if Lisgoe could daresay.

“Can’t drive back like this.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe because it’d be illegal.”

“Prissy prick."

“Can’t drive n’nyway. We walked here,” Ross would look about, using Lisgoe’s frame to prevent himself from coming face to face with the pavement. “Barbara’s prolly asleep b’now, as well.”

“Bah. We can walk.”

“Hardly.”

Regardless, they’d try their best to brave the awkward, drunken walk back to their houses. The two would share a sporadic conversation every now and then, but for the most part, they just listened to a deafening silence. The cool breeze complimented the burning intoxication in their throats whilst the wind would numb every speck of exposed skin. It was safe to say that it had been a long time since either of them had experienced such a cold comfort, as the silence indicated that they were revelling in it for as long as they could.

“Joseph.”

Ross looked back up wearily. “Pardon?”

“‘S m’name. Joseph.”

In that moment, Ross was taken aback by the sudden vulnerability being displayed by the hard shell of a man. But it didn’t taint the conversation. Not one bit. “Then I must say, ‘s been good to meetchoo, Joseph.”

Ross’ drunken unintelligibility drew out a raspy laugh from Joseph, who sighed with surprising content as the atmosphere returned to the comfortable silence. Minutes passed, before they stood before the apartment building belonging to the brunette.

“I’m gonnuh’ b’fucking shattered,” Lisgoe managed to spit out groggily, eyeing the complex behind them briefly. Ross pondered for a moment ; he had no idea whether it was the alcohol talking, but regardless, the next thought he had escaped his lips.

“You cuhn’ stay f’the night. On the sofa. F’you’d like.”

“Course not, fucking Mother Teresa.”

Ah.

For the first time that night, he must have misread him.

Rather than feeling embarrassed, he instead felt an appreciation for his erratic nature. A feeling which completely clouded his intoxicated mind.

As Lisgoe began to trudge off, the brunette spoke up again.

“This wonh’ be our lass encounter. Y’know that, don’ you?”

He stopped for a moment and glanced back with a mere shrug. “S’ppose yer right.”

They were both drunk. Equally drunk. But there was a tang to his response that felt very much genuine, as much as sober Lisgoe would have hated it.

No goodbyes were shared. No farewells were bid. But perhaps it was because it just wasn’t necessary.

It felt… good. For a change.

Ross exhaled deeply, as if he had forgotten to breathe for a moment, before withdrawing into the apartment.

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first time writing in ages!!

quite chuffed with it actually, might write some more of them. take both art pieces I've done of them so far too

#reece shearsmith #joseph lisgoe #gainesgoe #ross gaines #the league of gentlemen #writing #the league of gents #league of gentlemen writing #fanfic #gainesgoe fanfic #I love them sm im not normal

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margridarnauds · 6 months

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Where can I get a full The Green Knight (2021) tirade?

Ohohohohohohohohoho.

Alright, so there are things I can discuss, things that I can't, because they're things I've either used before or might be using in the future.

Suffice it to say, I think that it's self-satisfied. There's this notion that the film is somehow both true to the tone of the original text while also being willing to deconstruct it, raising Hard Truths about Arthuriana.

The problem is that...it isn't. It's your typical Mediocre White Male Auteur Tries To Take On the Classics film. It doesn't do anything that authors in the middle ages weren't willing to do themselves.

"Oh, what if King Arthur was a dick?" Boy, I have some news about a little text...called Culhwch ac Olwen....and another text...called The Alliterative Mort d'Arthur....and another text....called Sir Gawain...and the Green Knight...

"We should discuss how the system of chivalry can be hypocritical!" I have some news for you...about the French tradition...and about a little book...called Le Mort d'Arthur.

"Arthurian...imperialism?" ...Peredur.

And it's presented in such a smug, self-satisfied way that it's not "look! Here's a part of the tradition that we don't talk about!" so much as "Hey. Hey. Guess what? Guess what? Did you know that like. Chivalry was mainly a thing for a bunch of bloodthirsty aristocrats?" NO I HAD NO IDEA. NEITHER DID ANYONE IN THE MIDDLE AGES. And it does it while relentlessly portraying the middle ages as this bleak, moody, colorless world, aka The Visual Cliche We Have Seen A Thousand Times Over Again. Wow, look, a brothel. Wow, look, sex. Wow, look, violence. I bet you watched Game of Thrones once.

I hold a certain belief that if you're going to deconstruct a text or a tradition...you've got to do it better than the originals. And I feel like it isn't willing to take tips from what people in the middle ages were actually willing to do.

The characters don't act like PEOPLE, they act like Lowery's obnoxious mouthpieces. "Make me your LADY, Gawain!" He will NOT make you his lady and you KNOW that. Essel is seemingly there to establish Gawain's heterosexuality and be Lowery's own moral mouthpiece and ask pithy questions that seem to be deep. "Why greatness? Why not GOODNESS?" No one would ever think about that, Essel. We definitely don't have people from the Middle Ages...asking these questions.

...Alicia Vikander, you were wasted on this film.

And she doesn't escape it as Lady Bertilak, either, giving that long, self-indulgent monologue about the color green. I've seen people say that it sounds like something that could have come out of a medieval text and, with respect to them...no. It doesn't. It sounds like something that someone wrote in an attempt to be deep. Vellum is precious in the Middle Ages and you're going to waste it on THAT? (Instead of a long, long listing of Arthur's court, looking at you Culhwch ac Olwen.) Like the rest of the film, it's pretty on the outside, stylized almost to perfection, and empty on the inside. And then you have the scene in the Lowery where she somewhat teasingly, somewhat smugly imo talks about how "sometimes...don't tell anyone...when I see room for improvements, I make them " the texts she transcribes. What if the text didn't need to be improved, Lowery? What if it was FINE as it is? Like, say that you made changes in order to better deliver on the themes you wanted to convey, sure -- I still think his vision is shitty, but at least I could accept it. But an improvement? No. That's just hubris. It's rancid. That isn't Lady Bertilak talking, that's Lowery's ego.

You have the treatment of Lord Bertilak, which is...also rancid imo. Like, I don't give a single fuck what Lowery says, the kisses should have been in there. If you could give us a green kirtle cumshot and an entire plotline of Essel sighing dreamily and Emoting, you could have given us two more kisses. Or made the one kiss we got...actually consensual. But we didn't get that. Why? Why did we highlight heteroeroticism and downplay the homosociality?

And what does it all lead to? Nothing. You introduce Arthur as an imperialist, you introduce Camelot as this world that's falling apart, you introduce, but there's nothing that you leave to remedy it. Lay down and die, that's what you do when the world sucks. Can't improve it, might as well die, surrender your neck to the axe.

It encapsulates the worst elements of bad arthouse films -- the surreal is mistaken for the substantial, it's all style, no substance, and what substance it does have is rotten. I see very little of the Green Knight there, it's all Lowery.

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jomiddlemarch · 2 years

Text

most precious to you

“Sasha, you’ve been in a black mood all day. What’s wrong?” Alina asked. He’d been curt throughout the morning, skipped luncheon, sequestered himself in the War Room until dinner and she’d had him in check in three moves in their regular evening shatranj match. Now, he stood at the window that overlooked the back gardens, though there wasn’t much to see on a moonless night except his own reflection.

“It’s nothing,” he said in a tone that was intended to be foreboding, forestalling any further question. She snorted and set down the book she’d been leafing through, unable to lose herself in it when he was so clearly bothered.

“Like Djel it is,” she said.

“Now you curse in Fjerdan?” he replied.

“If that’s what it takes to get you to talk. I’ll speak in tongues if I have to,” she said. “A trouble shared is a trouble halved, you know the old saying.”

“I created that saying,” he said. “They don’t all catch on, but that one did.”

“So, you believed it once,” she said. She waited. He could need that, a significant pause to demonstrate she would not leave, nor nag, patient when he challenged her, not goading him nor demeaning him for any expression of distress.

“I had a vision or a dream, I don’t know,” he said. “It doesn’t signify—"

“It upset you,” she said. “It matters.”

“We were together and apart, you wore a blue kefta,” he said, as if he were remembering it. As if he saw it again in the pane of glass before him. “Blue and not black. You were angry—”

He broke off, made some small gesture with his hand, though no shadows shifted in the room.

“Is that all there was?” she said.

“You and the boy,” he said.

“What boy?” She spent time with the younglings, but she had no favorite among them, and though she had hopes for the future, they had not spoken of children lately.

“The tracker, the one from your home,” Aleksander said.

“Mal?” she said, taken aback.

“Yes, him. You and he, there was a moment, I’d seen your face before like that, but not so far away,” he said, making the barest sense.

“A moment? You mean something happened between us, between Mal and me and that’s what upset you,” Alina said.

“You kissed him and he held you,” he said, as bleak as if it had happened. “You didn’t pull away—”

“Sashenka, it wasn’t real,” she said. “Whether it was a vision or a dream, a bloody nightmare, it wasn’t real. I didn’t kiss him and I wouldn’t. I mean, I suppose I might give him a peck on the cheek if I were saying goodbye but nothing more. I don’t feel that way about him—”

“You did,” he said. “There was truth in it, what I saw. A logic. Inescapable.”

“Well, now you’re positively talking nonsense. Who ever heard of love following logic?” she said. It was time to halve the trouble, to cut through it with a knife, a blade so sharp one blow would suffice.

“Milaya, you are being kind,” he said.

“You are being foolish,” she said. “I saw Mal as my best friend when we were children. I was infatuated with him when he joined the First Army, like so many girls are infatuated with a soldier. When he came to the Little Palace, I saw him for what he was to me, the brother of my childhood, a fellow survivor of the orphanage. Which was never home. It was only where we slept at night. What you saw has never happened, will never happen. Not every vision is a foretelling and not every dream is a memory recalled. Sometimes, we see what we’re afraid of and that’s all that it is, a fear that will never come true.”

“You don’t—you sound so sure,” he said and praise to Sankta Maradi, she could hear in his voice that he had listened to her. Believed her.

“Because I am,” she said. “Think about it—would Genya ever let me wear a blue kefta? She’s quite fierce about how little it suits me and how much finer the gold looks with my complexion.”

“Now you’re teasing me,” he said, but he walked back over to the bed and sat beside her.

“Maybe a little,” she said. “The blue is pretty, but it isn’t my color. And I feel a certain fondness for Mal, but that’s all. It’s nothing to how much I care for you and I’ll happily tell you that until you’re tired of hearing it.”

“Now you are being foolish,” he said, taking her hand in his and letting her feel the resonance of their power, the warmth of his palm against hers. “To think I could ever tire of that.”

#darklina #shadow and bone #season 2 preview #alina x aleksander #canon au #inspired by the recent trailer #anti-malina #without being too harsh on mal #for anyone who's feeling a little protective of aleksander morozova at the moment #soft!thedarkling #preemptive fix-it fic

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ruiniel · 1 year

Note

Thank you so much! Then let me ask for a request! :3

As you might have guessed, I'd like to ask for a small Trevorcard story.

Maybe how they live in the castle during winter/their preparations for winter. Cozy and domestic, Trevor finally having a home, maybe they could warm each other at night (I leave it up to you if Trevor gets horny from cuddling or not xD) They already are in a relationship for a few months and this is their first winter together in the castle.

Take all the time you need and thank you so much for the opportunity to request! ❤️

Whew, this took me longer so it's coming late in the winter. There's plenty of longing and affection, hope you like it. Thank you, I love exploring interactions featuring them, and had so much fun writing it!

Title: Anew

Fandom: Castlevania Series 2017-2021

Rating: M

Relationship: Alucard/Trevor Belmont

Characters: Alucard, Trevor Belmont

Count: 3k

Also on AO3

Additional Tags: Fluff, Tenderness, Banter, Longing, Winter times, Cuddling, New Year's Eve, Frottage because I don't see enough of it in smutfic, Reference to show-canon trauma, POV Trevor Belmont, Oneshot, post-season IV

Trevor flings then catches the small dagger he’d been tossing in the air and capturing repeatedly in an idle game, watching Adrian as he effortlessly stacks the last of the firewood in a tall chamber-turned shed within the castle walls.

He sits on a heavy log, for the first time in a while doing nothing. He’s cold under his coat, but he’s content, and mellow as he hasn’t been in years. Trevor Belmont is not certain whether it’s what Adrian is doing that has him following his every movement—the elegant sway of his lithe body as he carries out a mundane task, or the ease of companionship that flourished between them these past months since Trevor’s unexpected return. He’s had plenty of time to think, time to dwell on his past, and his present, and even, for once, daring to consider the future. Where before was bleak nothingness steeped in bitterness, now he can look ahead, without fear or shame. He’s cleared his name, restored his legacy and for the first time, feels worthy of it. He has his friends and lovers around him. Trevor’s also considered, though not enough, getting accustomed to this new status: from outcast to community leader.

But that’s not at the forefront of his thought now. He dwells on feeling. Specifically, on what sparks and shivers inside him when lately he observes the least likely person in the world Trevor thought he’d catch feelings for; but there it is, and here they are.

Adrian tosses his head back as he straightens, hands on his hips, his chest rising in a deep breath. He regards the wall of stacked timber reaching up to the high ceiling.

It smells of resin, tree bark, and earth in here; a pleasant, raw smell, one Trevor’s most familiar with owing to countless days spent in the wilds, running and fighting. He realizes, with an uncomfortable revelatory twinge of thought, that he no longer wants to run, and no longer could. He looks down at his feet, now spinning the ornate dagger absently in his hand.

“I believe this amount should suffice for a few months,” Adrian speaks, practical contemplation lining his words.

While the castle itself boasts an intelligently devised heating system, the village denizens unwilling to take shelter within its walls for the dark winter months must still keep warm, and it was agreed to stack the firewood inside for everyone’s use, to protect it from humidity and the elements.

Trevor says nothing, lifting his gaze and pausing in his dagger play to regard Adrian in silence: hair done up in a loose bun with those bright, burnished ringlets framing his angular face, softening its pale countenance. He looks not exerted in the least, a trait Trevor’s long stopped to envy, particularly when it comes to certain thoughts he’s mostly kept to himself. One day, he might be able to share them. One day, maybe, when and if Adrian is ready.

“What?” Adrian asks, and if he sees the naked longing on Trevor’s face, he says nothing of it. At the beginning, their beginning, there was teasing, one the hunter welcomed with gruff and eye-rolls and secret enjoyment. Now, Adrian’s gaze slips over him from head to toe as he nears.

Trevor swallows when a long, beringed hand runs through his dark hair, and his forehead rests against a hard abdomen; he breathes in, dropping the dagger to wind his arms around Adrian’s waist. “Nothing,” he mumbles, tilting his face so his cheek rests against the silk of Adrian’s shirt. "Absolutely nothing." Only Adrian would wear fine garments such as this while stacking timber; Trevor, who’s been raggedy most of his adult years until recently, finds it both ridiculous and endearing.

The hand still sleeks through his hair, towards the nape of his neck, grazing the skin there; he shudders.

“I’ve been thinking,” says Adrian.

“Must’ve been hard,” Trevor retorts, but it lacks bite—he’s mostly doing it out of habit, nowadays. Gone so soft, has he?

Adrian ignores him, ruffling his hair back with languid movements of his strong, long fingers.

“All right, what about?”

“Perhaps, you and I could begin sharing a chamber… at one point. If you wish,” Adrian says.

Trevor nearly chokes on his spit. He looks up. His expression only gains him a soft smile, softer than he thought he’d ever see on Adrian’s punch-kissable face.

Ever since he and Sypha learned the details of what passed in their absence, despite the joy of reunion, wrath and guilt rose in his blood whenever Trevor saw the jumpy way Adrian reacted at times at others’ closeness or a mere hand placed on his shoulder, the swift caged look fading from his face but not fast enough. That was months ago, and even after they’d admitted to themselves and each other their buried but very much thriving feelings, the remnants of Adrian’s personal ordeal still lay between them. It was normal, it was expected. They promised him patience, they understood, of course they did. Trevor’s remorse at not having been there had mostly subsided since then, after many nights of frustrated apologies met with reassurance.

Adrian is waiting for his answer, his expression soft and patient.

“... You mean… at night? We do that already, don’t we.”

“I mean, whenever, Trevor,” Adrian says, “...or do you prefer to keep living in separate chambers, then?”

They’ve shown each other they care in many ways, slowly as Adrian allowed, as close as they could get—a brief brush of fingers during a workday, a kiss in a hidden alcove. They’ve come so far in trust, had spent nights with their legs tangled together and sharing each other’s warmth. But, at daybreak, one of them always left.

“Um. It’s not that, I— no, I mean.” He hates it when this happens: master strategist, the last scion of the Belmont clan, reinstated (reluctant) hero of the Wallachian people; and an absolute wreck when Adrian Ţepeş asks him things like this. Things that mean more change. Things Trevor will never admit scare him possibly just as much as Adrian, who is asking, because they leave him utterly vulnerable and he’s gotten more easily used to a regular shave than that state of being. Not only that, but Adrian being ready for more is like a sweet spike to his heart. “I haven’t really been spoiled for choice in terms of living quarters, up until recently, as you know, so I’m not picky. I just…” he bites his lip. “Can I think about it?” Smooth, Trevor, you fucking idiot.

Adrian’s face does not change; Trevor has tried reading him, has even gotten close to succeeding a few times, but now there is nothing.

“Consider it,” he says, releasing Trevor as many voices come nearer, some of children running about the castle corridors, their mothers’ voices hard and watchful behind them.

Consider it. Adrian fucking knows it was never for Trevor or Sypha to say, that they left it all up to him: how close they could get, how much he could give or accept. But now he just sounded like he’d kicked a harmless beast in the teeth, though Adrian still smiles at him as Trevor rises.

“Come,” he says, breaking the spell, “I promised Aida to aid with the New Year’s arrangements and I need your help.” He bends and reaches for his coat.

New Year’s Eve is just around the corner—a welcome distraction, these preparations, Trevor has found, one to keep his wanting thoughts out of the gutter and his ears free of the bursting beats in his chest. But now, he barely hears someone call his name as he walks outside after Adrian, his mind a thousand leagues away.

It’s a frosty night. Trevor stands bundled in his coat, watching the gathering communing before the castle gates from afar, the celebratory mood enhanced by flowing mead and wine and beer. The bonfires have been lit and offer warmth to flushed cheeks, illuminating dancing figures and making them appear as shifting fire spirits, holding hands in circles around the flames. Some of the folk walk the grounds in the guise of symbols of nature and myth, and there is something savage and raw about it, a potent magic rising in the air on sweeping wings; Trevor feels it in his bones, watching the people follow their folk donning suits of the Bear, the Stag, the Fair ones and the Devils—all to ward off evil spirits and make way for a prosperous year to come.

Distracted, Trevor barely feels another presence standing at his side. “Tell me you did not just materialize out of mist,” he mutters good-naturedly, and Adrian’s snort is answer enough.

“I was looking for you.”

“Were you, now,” Trevor smiles without looking Adrian’s way.

Adrian glances at the faraway spectacle. “They have begun. So colorful, I’ve witnessed one such ceremony when I was a child, hiding behind Mother. The ancient ceremonial funeral for the first god of humanity: time.”

Trevor sighs, but his heart beats to another rhythm—what is it about tonight? Something wild and needy gnaws at the bones of his ribcage. What is it about Adrian’s closeness that has him feeling so weak and goddamn soft, and hungering? “You’re being a smartass again,” he mutters. But then, maybe some of Adrian’s musing nature rubbed off on him, after all. “But it’s about rebirth too, isn’t?”

Adrian nods. “It’s easy to submit to the illusion that time is linear, flowing to infinity without return.”

“Well, time, is a man-made concept. We need to know how much we have until we croak, you see.” Would an immortal understand?

“Then every new year is, in a way, a renewal,” Adrian adds, looking up at the stars. “Time wound back like a clock; starting anew in a cycle, like a snake endlessly devouring itself.”

“Someone’s had too much wine,” mumbles Trevor, though somewhere along the way, he’d begun enjoying Adrian’s monologues. Usually, the drunker he got, the more verbose he became. Not unwelcome, for someone usually so quiet and withdrawn. “Why were you looking for me?”

Adrian throws him a shifty glance, “Were you planning on crossing the New Year’s threshold all by yourself?”

“...No, I’m actually glad you came.” He would have gone in search of Adrian anyway, but he’d gotten pulled in by the mood of the celebration, and lost himself.

Soft, low laughter, like claws swiping sweetly at his heart. Something thrums wildly within him again, maybe it’s desire and maybe it’s loneliness or both, or maybe it’s coming to terms that he loves the scion of his family’s bitterest foe, in more ways Trevor can count.

“You are?” he feels closer, and Trevor smiles.

Damn him, his head is spinning. He watches the Bear, the Fairies, the Devils in their dance, but his thought is now on pale hair and warm skin, how it would feel against his own.

“... you know,” Adrian breaks the silence after some time, in that same voice, silky with traces of humor. “They say people should leave no unpaid debts on the last day of the year, lest they struggle with debt for the entire year to come.”

Trevor scoffs half-heartedly, eyes on the golden fires. His body warms despite the chill, drifting somewhere between the stars and the movement of the Earth, with Adrian’s closeness binding it all. “...are you trying to say, there is something I owe you?” he asks, half a smile on his face. What’s Adrian playing at now? A trait of habit—Trevor loathes being taken by surprise, since more often than not, throughout his life surprises tended to end with him running for his life, or cleansing his hands of filth and blood.

Adrian shifts slightly, and though Trevor does not turn, he feels the sweep of his stare, burning into his skin. “Is the thought of being indebted to me so upsetting to you?”

His voice is tender, the way Trevor's rarely had the time to hear these past weeks; with a twinge and a heaviness of heart, he realizes how much he's missed it. He leans forward and crosses his arms over the stone edge of the balcony. “...I guess it depends on the manner of debt.”

He feels a slight graze; Adrian has mirrored his movement, and they sit here, elbows touching as they stare ahead at the revelers and the children who should long have been in bed on any other night, now dancing and running like woodland sprites among the fires.

“But perhaps it is not you who is indebted.”

Trevor turns his head then, staring at the barely-contoured profile of his friend and... well, he can't exactly call him his lover, can he? “You do realize I'm no mind reader, not a lick of magic abilities about me,” he says, turning fully towards Adrian, “So you'll have to speak up—”

He’s breathing in, and like a beloved shadow Adrian glides forward. There’s the hard press of a chest against his, the vice-hold of arms around him, the cold nose buried against his neck. “You've been so patient with me,” Adrian speaks, and the breath of his words melts Trevor's knees. His arms find purchase and grasp, blue eyes catching the shimmer of Adrian's stare.

Trevor feels drunk, though he's surprisingly had not much alcohol despite it being nearly midnight already—another bizarre effect and change his lingering infatuation bought him. Where it led him… he supposes it’s not such a bad place, though they are careful around most with themselves and the guarding of their feelings; some might still not understand. What would anyone think when they saw them thus—the Belmont savior, clinging to the son of Dracula like a priest to his altar. “Be... be serious,” his voice is shaking. “How else could I be, after all that shit you went through? Don’t fuss over it, all right? Anyone who cares would do the same.”

Adrian’s nose bumps against Trevor's. “Not anyone,” he whispers, and tilts his head, and next Trevor knows he's deepening a soft, warm kiss; the thirst he's been stifling becomes a tempest, and the crowds and the cold and the music are forgotten and far away, all his thought and spirit turned to Adrian whispering, a bare shiver in his voice:

“Join me.”

And Trevor goes, lets himself be led by the hand as some hapless youth and not a monster hunter come back from the dead. They step inside together, and he’s drawn into a heap of sheets smelling of old wood and lavender. A long hand runs through his hair and he leans into the touch, nosing at a warm palm, licking at a scarred wrist.

When Adrian leads him down to him he once again follows, knowing little of what to expect and even less what to do—he doesn't want to push too far, not with this, and the fading scars are a poignant if angering reminder.

But he's being held to Adrian’s hard body, his own quick to respond. It feels surreal to twine this way, a step farther than any they'd taken before. A tentative shift of his hips brings forth a sigh of pleasure; he feels hardness, and his own blood leads hot in response. “What's this about?” he asks. Better safe than sorry.

“Us, Trevor. This is about us,” Adrian snarks, but it's soft, and shadows dance across his face in the flickering candlelight. “I want... I want…”

Trevor rests his forehead against Adrian's, adding more pressure to each slow tilt and press of hip— “... what ?” he gasps, searching and finding just the right spot where it feels good enough to continue and running a hand through Adrian's soft strands, slow to nibble softly on his lip.

“I want you closer,” Adrian says, breathless as he speaks.

Trevor traces that sharp jaw with battle-scarred fingers, enjoying as it moves slowly with their kiss, enjoying the swirl of tongue and pressing down harder in repeated motions, himself hard and hot, and he’s long shed his coat but now long fingers divest him of his tunic even as he pulls at Adrian’s shirt, rises on his arms to lick along his chest, down his scar and up again.

Adrian grips him and pulls him down again, urging a rhythm. Trevor moves, and even half-dressed as they are, the pressure grows until Adrian sighs wantonly, urging him on with the grip of his hands, gyrating Trevor’s hips against his; taking control—Trevor lets him, helpless enough that he’d do anything, anything, if it brought Adrian the pleasure he deserves. He’s so hard he won’t last long even this way, the intimacy of it flowering delightfully down his abdomen, building, and building, and he sucks at warm lips and grasps at fair hair, rubbing himself wildly against Adrian’s hips, held snug and tight as he alternates pressure and movement until Adrian groans into his mouth, body shuddering beneath him, once, twice, one leg come wrapped around Trevor’s hip, eyes soft and unfocused as Trevor looks down on him and doesn’t stop. Messily he tugs and bites on Adrian’s mouth until he’s plunged into the depths of bliss, and spills himself into his trousers.

“Holy… fuck…” he gasps with one last thrust of hip, forehead pressed to Adrian’s as he eases down, heavily coils himself around the other’s body.

“Something like that,” Adrian smiles. They kiss slowly, lying in silence, in each other’s arms with their hearts beating between them, away from it all.

“That was… unexpected,” Trevor whispers, his voice a husky mess as he nibbles on a pointy ear.

“... and since we’re speaking of cyclical patterns,” Adrian grins, his sharp teeth glimmering. “... now you owe me.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, tongue swiping tenderly over Adrian’s reddened lips. “Yeah, I get it. But here’s this—I’m absolutely fine with it.”

“Somehow, I expected you would be,” Adrian replies, kissing Trevor again as the clock strikes twelve.

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

#trevorcard #castlevania netflix #castlevania fanfiction #trevor x alucard #ruiniel:fanfiction

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afraidparade · 2 years

Text

A Weapon That Weeps

Word count: 10,601 Content warnings: frequent mention of injuries & death, themes of oppression, various dark themes

(this piece is about faust's homeworld, and is mostly here for lore. it does not have any g/t themes, but will contain a lot of tidbits that may come into play later. the main characters will not reappear at any time in the general lufa story.)

(also, your life will be a lot easier if you give this a quick look over before reading ^^)

-----------

Flurries of clangs rung out as metal struck metal, each attack barely granting so much as a moment to parry, let alone breathe. Both demons bounced on their feet, their bodies trained to either dodge or lunge while their minds were conditioned to seek out every opportunity for a potential advantage, resulting in a high-speed, deathly tango. The polearms they clutched — such disgraceful, low-class things, they’d been told, since true demons were beyond relying on physical weapons — were indeed for training purposes, but the blades were still sharp. They could tear through flesh. They could kill. And if they didn’t fight like their life depended on it, then that bleak dependency would soon be realized.

The shorter one was on the offense, grunting as she delivered slash after furious slash unto her opponent. Under such a barrage, a wavering defense could only last so long. Yet the same reasoning could apply to an unrelenting attacker. It was this razor’s edge between a calculation and a gamble that R-406 spent their life perfecting, and with every impact, their window of opportunity was getting ever closer.

It wasn’t an effortless strategy. To get to this point — where their muscles seared in pain, where their lungs faltered, where their open wounds screamed in bloody protest — it took every ounce of perseverance they had. Coupled with the additional knowledge of what awaited them should they choose to take a break…suffice to say, it was a powerful, dreadful fuel. So with at least a moment’s reprieve visible on the horizon, R-406 allowed their body to give in to the next attack.

They staggered backwards, allowing one hand to lose its grip on the staff and feign an opening. Their opponent’s eyes flashed with that same starving determination for this all to be over in those white-hot pupils, and with reckless abandon, she charged forward. The exposed demon’s eyes flicked downward expectantly, betraying no emotion when they saw one of their assailant’s steps wobble from the effort it took to sprint. They parted their lips to suck in a breath.

Predictable.

Within that moment, R-406’s body dropped low and pushed off the ground with their hands, all in time with their opponent’s next step. Before she managed to land her other foot in the dirt, a devastatingly precise kick swept against the side of her waist, stealing her balance and causing her eyes to fly wide. In the time she crashed to the floor, R-406 managed to use the momentum of their other leg to spin themself upright again, and having maintained a one-handed grip on their weapon during the lightning-fast exchange, brandished it in both hands a mere hair’s length away from the other’s neck.

The two of them finally — finally — paused, panting heavily as they processed the outcome of the spar. Eventually, the defeated trainee dropped her head with a sigh and released her own polearm.

“That move is so cheap. Why is that even allowed?” she whined hoarsely, though there wasn’t a trace of hostility to her tone. In fact, a small, exhausted grin had appeared on her dirt-caked face.

R-406 returned the smile, wiping a combination of sweat and blood droplets from their face with the back of their arm. “I don’t know, B-921. Maybe the question you should be asking is: why do you keep falling for it?”

Having lowered the blade, they offered a hand and assisted B-921 in getting back to her feet, though it required a great deal of effort from both of them. This was the ‘end’ that kept them moving — which, in bitter reality, was no end at all. This time to right themselves and resume their sparring positions was the only break they were permitted until their commanding officer was either content or bored with the day’s regiment. And based on the unmoving, shadowy, ever-watchful figure that seemed to tower over them (even past several rows of sparring Low Ranks), it was impossible to gauge when that time may be.

“Alright,” R-406 spoke as they readied themself several paces back, “Come at me. I’ll go easy on you this time.”

B-921 still trembled from the effort it took to stand, but she managed to take up a battle stance regardless. She laughed. “No you won’t.”

R-406 blinked, then lowered their head. “You’re right,” they stated simply, “I won’t.”

———

The day ended sooner than expected. It turned out to be a “train until one of you loses consciousness” days — not that Klaad felt the need to inform them of that ahead of time — and while those kinds of regiments could stretch far past the ending time of any normally scheduled training day, someone dropped much sooner than anyone expected. Thinking back on it, maybe their commanding officer had only decided on the conditions for the day in that exact moment. Klaad was a particularly nasty soul, after all, even among the most ruthless of High Ranks. R-406, being a relatively competent trainee, managed to avoid too many brush-ins with him, but everyone in the platoon knew what he was capable of.

Klaad had a rather peculiar method of encouragement. It involved tapping into the innate fear of consequence along with the driving force of competition: simply put, whoever performed the weakest on a given day would receive harsh punishment as an example for the rest of the trainees. At its core, it promoted a feeling of “I sure am glad that’s not me." That was the extent of their reward for making it through the day. Honestly, R-406 wasn’t particularly bothered by it. They were glad it wasn’t them. And they were stronger for it.

To the surprise of none, the demon who collapsed was the same runtish trainee that faced these lashings more than anyone else. The poor thing had barely been unconscious for more than a few seconds before he was collected for “encouragement” training and all the others were dismissed. While patching themself up to the best of their ability — healers’ efforts couldn’t be wasted on Low Ranks, naturally — R-406 idly wondered why that trainee hadn’t just given up and died yet. It certainly seemed like the easier option, and it was a hell of a lot better than ending up at Endstation. But they didn’t really care enough to find out. It just meant they never had to worry about being at the bottom. Furthermore, there was nothing to be gained from helping weaklings. They knew this to be true, and yet…

“Pfftt. You look like a dork with that bandage on your nose,” B-921 announced her presence with the snide remark. She limped towards the pile of empty, discarded crates R-406 had been sitting on while they nibbled at a ration bar, content with what used to be a quiet scene. Seeing as she sported a much larger assortment of bandages and ointment patches than they had, it didn’t make much sense that R-406 was the one being made fun of, but everything they could’ve said, they didn’t. After all, they were responsible for most of her wounds, so taking the brunt of a bit of teasing seemed like fair payback.

Despite their best efforts to uphold their ideologies, there was one weakling R-406 maintained a soft spot for. B-921 was a far cry from a model soldier, but when push came to shove, she was unexpectedly reliable. It wasn’t that R-406 needed the company, of course. They operated just fine on their own. It was just…convenient to have someone to talk to once in a while. That was all.

“Is that from me clocking you in the face too hard?” B-921 asked after a moment, gesturing again towards the nose bandage, “Sorry about that.”

R-406 narrowed their eyes. “No, you didn’t land a single hit on my face. This is just from the time I fell wrong.”

B-921 slapped a hand over her mouth as her cheeks upturned in sudden, unconcealed amusement. “Pff— hah! That’s way more pathetic! How the hell did you say that with a straight face?” she squawked, to which R-406 reddened. The flushed trainee clenched their jaw and whirled their head away from B-921, who settled on the crate beside them while snickering still. The moment calmed after a short while, as it always did, and she began unwrapping a small clump of rags that R-406 hadn’t previously noticed.

“Picked up an extra ration bar while I was over there. Wanna split it?” she offered, unveiling that the parcel in her lap did, indeed, contain two colorless, vaguely lumpy bars inside.

R-406 stared at the rations with an air of concern. “How?”

Already, B-921 had torn off a corner of one of the bars and began chewing it nonchalantly. “I beelined it there before anyone else and told ‘em to gimme the extra. Said I’d give it to that one kid. Y’know, Klaad’s favorite punching bag,” she explained, voice muffled by the half-chewed food in her mouth, “Either I’m, like, super convincing, or those dead-eyed Mid Ranks at Distribution just really don’t care.” R-406 bristled slightly at the overly casual name-calling of a higher Rank, but it went unnoticed by B-921. “I mean, if you don’t want it, then whatever, more for–“

“I never said that,” they snapped, and B-921 was laughing again. She broke the second bar in two and handed them a piece, and even with just a quick sidelong glance, they could tell it was the bigger half. That wasn’t logical at all, R-406 reasoned with a frown. B-921 was smaller than them. She should eat more, even if it was just a fraction. Of course, they could also benefit from the extra portion of the nutrient-rich substance. Plus, it’d just be annoying to argue with her over something so trivial. So they bit into the ration in silence, long since accustomed to the barely-there flavor that crumbled across their tongue.

“You shouldn’t do that, by the way,” R-406 mentioned after they finished their extra half. Only just polishing off her first full bar, B-921 glanced up with a rather dumb expression as she sucked the crumbs from her fingers.

“What, steal another kid’s rations?”

“What? No. I mean, probably, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” R-406 stammered with a shake of their head, “I mean don’t talk about higher Ranks like that. If anyone heard you say that — even if another Low Rank overheard it and reported you to Klaad — you’d be facing a terrible penalty for your carelessness. So watch your mouth.”

The grim warning seemed to bounce right off the girl’s skull, seeing as her initial response was little more than staring forward and blinking a few times. It appeared as if she were considering something, and for a moment R-406 believed that maybe she’d finally unlocked the gift of critical thinking. But they were wrong. “That’s stupid,” she decided, “This whole Rank thing is so stupid.”

R-406 felt as though the brittle reality around them had just cracked into thousands of tiny pieces. Their expression, usually cold and composed, morphed to horrific shock and incredulity. Reason kicked in just a heartbeat later, and they lunged forward to cover B-921’s mouth with their palm while desperately scanning the area for anyone within hearing range. To their relief, even the closest demons were a safe distance away, and this run-down recreational space was only inhabited by Low Ranks, anyways. Only then feeling safe enough to continue talking, R-406 withdrew their hand from the other’s mouth in favor of grabbing her shoulders instead.

“Are you completely out of your mind? More than penalized, that kind of statement could get us both killed!” their hushed, frantic tone was almost pleading, as if begging B-921 to take back her words. She didn’t, though. Instead, she scoffed and returned their panic with a casual grin.

“You’re over-exaggerating, R-406. Plus, there’s no one around to chop our heads off for complaining. It’s not like any of these guys care enough to report us in the first place, and the upper Ranks are too prissy to set foot in this dump,” she countered, gesturing to the other worn-down and injured trainees littering the visible area.

Unconvinced, R-406 swallowed. “W…what about…” their voice trailed off, and after a considerable pause, they stared past B-921’s form and into the distance. Following their gaze, she turned around to survey what was causing such an apprehensive expression. Low in the inky black sky hovered an impossibly distant red spot. It was a mysterious thing; the way it inched along the horizon in cycles, how it dimly illuminated their world, and the way one could simultaneously pinch its visage between their fingers while acknowledging its truly incomprehensible scale. No demon knew just how close or how far away this entity was, and such uncertainty bred mystifying tales explaining its existence.

B-921 turned back with a condescending smirk. “What, you mean the First?” she jabbed. R-406’s steadfast frown indicated their position on this matter, and she snickered again. “As in the First Elite? You seriously think that some guy got too big and powerful to fit on our world, so now he's just hanging out in the sky and watching us? That he’s gonna see a couple beat-up Low Ranks talking crap and go, ‘Grr, better use my infinite power to blow up some dumb kids!’ Wahaha! You still believe in dumb stories like that?”

R-406’s gray skin had gone red yet again from the teasing. “So what if I’m cautious? It’s why I’m still alive,” they retorted, though it did nothing to reduce their companion’s amusement regarding the matter. Growing more irritated by B-921’s annoying cackles, they allowed their composure to slip even further, a thoroughly frustrated grimace on full display at this point. “Stop laughing! All the higher Ranks say it��s true, so—“

“See? Doesn’t that seem a little off to you?” B-921 interjected, suddenly shifting to an expression that seemed just a tad more serious than usual, “It’s a really far-fetched story, but someone as smart as you believes it just because a higher Rank told you to. Weird, right?”

R-406 stared forward blankly. “I don’t follow.”

The shorter demon sighed, running a hand through her fluffy, wild hair as she pieced together her thoughts. “It’s like…none of it’s really real. Not just the story, but the whole Rank system. I mean, there’s no denying that our bodies respond to taking in life force, but why the hierarchy? If ‘universal domination’ or whatever was the real end goal, wouldn’t it be more efficient to help us Low Ranks get more powerful and make an army of Elites than to make us fight for our lives?”

She chuckled for a moment. R-406 couldn’t begin to guess what was so funny.

“My theory is that it’s not actually about any sort of noble pursuit, or that it has much of anything to do with the other realms. It’s just a power trip, that’s all. Everyone here is born at the bottom, so when you finally make it out on top, you wanna enjoy it, right? This whole cycle of abuse continues because of demons like that. And they’re all cowards. Every last one of them.”

R-406 couldn’t speak. What were they supposed to say? They didn’t think B-921 was even capable of basic critical thinking, and now she spouts a conspiracy like this? It was blasphemous. Utter sacrilege. They should report her, they shouldn’t even still be listening at this point, but…a terrifying, horrible part of them wanted to believe what she was saying might be true. And an even worse, irredeemably selfish part of their heart didn’t want to do anything that would harm her. It would just be…inconvenient. Yeah, that was it.

“But all those powerful demons should know how much it sucks to be treated like this! Why doesn’t anyone just do something about it, y’know?” B-921 exclaimed in a sudden outburst, and R-406 had to once again hurriedly remind her to keep her voice down. At least she seemed more like her usual self now.

“Well…what you’re saying is obviously crazy, but if I had to throw my own hypothetical input into this entirely unfounded theory…” They clasped their hands together and stared at the ground. This was a dangerous conversation. There was no logical benefit to prolonging it, and yet they kept talking. “It’s just as you said: it feels good at the top. Questioning the establishment would mean jeopardizing all that power, as well as negating all your efforts to get to that point. It'd mean wasting your entire life. It’d mean…death.”

A heavy silence pressed over them. After leaning back on her palms and letting her face tilt up towards the empty sky, B-921 muttered, “…You know, for a soldier, you sure do have a pretty big fear of death.”

And it was silent again.

B-921 swung her legs idly as she looked to the sky, while R-406 remained perfectly still with eyes transfixed on the floor. Neither were looking at anything in particular, as there wasn’t much to look at. Finally, B-921 spoke up again.

“Hey, here’s an idea!” she announced, whirling to face her companion, “Once we Rank up, we should just go ahead and change the rules!”

R-406 gave her an incredulous glare, hardly able to tell her meaningless jokes from her treacherous ideals anymore. “Did you listen to a single word I just said?” they deadpanned.

She blew a raspberry in response. “Well no duh it’d be impossible if it was just one demon trying to overhaul things, but just think about what we could do with our powers combined! Plus, there’s bound to be some other demons that are thinking the same things as us. We’ll just round ‘em all up and start a revolution!”

They laughed through their nose. It was an incredibly rare occurrence for R-406 to so much as smile, but it was such a ridiculous fantasy, they couldn’t help it. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster, if you ask me,” they noted.

“It’ll work! You’ll see!” she chirped, “And don’t worry — if anyone tries somethin’ funny, I’ll protect you!” As if to further drive this point home, the young trainee tapped a hand against her bicep and huffed triumphantly, and at this R-406 laughed again.

“Really now? Sounds like I have nothing to worry about, then,” they added fondly.

“Yep! So let’s promise, okay?” B-921 offered the sentence as more of a command than a question, but R-406 wasn’t all that interested in arguing at this point, anyways. It was strange, but even in the low light of the First, her black eyes still managed to glimmer with hope. “Promise that when we Rank up, we’ll shake things up around here. Together!”

Promises were such childish things, R-406 remarked internally. But maybe it would be fine to be children for just a little longer.

“Yeah,” they replied, “I promise.”

———

Eike. That was the name they were given at the Ranking Ceremony. Klaad bestowed it upon them himself, as it was customary for a platoon’s commanding officer to conduct the distribution of names after a successful mission. They met the High Rank’s eyes as it happened — taller now, but still eclipsed by their superior. He said that it suited them. That was a cliche line, Eike noted inwardly, since whether it suited them or not was truly irrelevant. What mattered was that it was theirs. That they earned it. They were finally somebody, and that was the first thing they’d ever received that couldn’t ever be taken away by anyone. It was theirs.

The invasion Eike had been drafted to had gone surprisingly smoothly. Out of the select few from their own platoon, as well as the assortment of trainees pulled from other groups, the battalion that was sent to the targeted world was largely Low Ranks. This formula tended to result in a rather hefty fatality rate, but surprisingly, very few of their peers died in the fray.

With any other world, this may not have been the case. The sentient inhabitants of this realm — fuzzy, bipedal creatures with six limbs in total, whose heights mirrored those of the average Mid Rank — displayed phenomenal arcane potential, but seemed to adhere to a strictly pacifistic lifestyle. It was such a waste of potential, really. Even after their attempts at diplomacy were met with bloodshed and the wiser of the survivors attempted retaliation, it was too late; their paltry days of preparation could never match the lifetime of training each individual demon had. Eike almost felt bad for them. Almost. But in truth, they were more frustrated that they weren’t met with a suitable challenge. Oh, well. Their life forces proved to be marvelously effective, and there would always be more assignments in the future.

Once everyone was dismissed from the Ranking Ceremony, Eike wandered through the crowd of fellow Mid Ranks aimlessly. For once, they weren’t quite sure what to do next. There had never been a day in their life where they woke up not knowing what to expect, nor had they ever had this amount of freedom at their disposal. It was…somehow terrifying. What if they messed up and overstepped their bounds as a Mid Rank? Or would the punishment for displaying a Low Rank’s cowardly obedience prove to be even worse? Before these worries could cloud their head any further, a friendly slap to their back jolted them back into reality, and they gasped.

Right, this familiar camaraderie was exactly what they needed to clear their head! B-921 hadn’t been assigned to the same invasion as Eike, so they hadn’t seen her since the days preceding their departure. There would be so much to tell her, so much to catch up on, and so much to look forward to when she Ranked up, too. Though they would have to scold her for being so rough with their back — which was still painfully sore from developing fresh wings — it would be such a relief to be in her crass presence again. They turned around, eyes flashing with an excitement they hadn’t felt in leaps.

Only the demon behind them wasn’t B-921. It was another Mid Rank — Reden had been the name he was just recently given — that Eike had gotten to know during the assignment. It would be a severe overstatement to say they were close, as their relationship mainly consisted of Reden jabbering about anything and everything for hours on end while Eike feigned interest with curt nods and brief remarks. He wasn’t completely inept, though; in fact, he actually rivaled Eike in terms of physical strength. There was at least some value in making acquaintances for now, but they still couldn’t help but feel a bit dejected by their own false assumption. It wasn’t as though Low Ranks and Mid Ranks could chat normally with each other anyways, so Eike did their best to abandon the hope of seeing B-921. At least until she managed to Rank up, too.

“Hey, there you are, pal! Congrats on making it to the end of the ceremony!” Reden burst into the conversation with an irritatingly loud voice, “What do you think of my name? ‘Reden’ sounds pretty great, right? Klaad said that it was pretty much made for me, and if a High Rank like him tells you something like that, you’ve absolutely got to take their word for it! And what about you? Your name, uh…”

“Eike,” they replied flatly. Reden still hadn’t removed his hand, and it made their flesh itch.

“That’s right! You’ve gotta love how that sounds, right? It’s good and strong. Hey, speakin’ of strong, we never did get a sparring match in! Sure, we were busy with the whole extermination thing, but now that that’s over, we can let loose! Come on, how ‘bout it? We can find out which one of us really is the strongest! Let’s head to the Mid Rank training grounds and try it out!”

His tone was chipper and his posture relaxed, but something about the way his grin stretched just a bit too wide gave Eike a feeling of unease. Was it just paranoia? Or did Reden have some sort of complex about being the indisputable leader of any group he was a part of? In a hypothetical situation, Eike was confident that their endurance would outlast Reden’s in head-to-head combat. As far as brute strength went, however…well, there was no question that Reden held the advantage in that regard. Perhaps that very notion was what spurred him to challenge Eike in the first place. They wouldn’t get a chance to find out.

“What’s with these two? All they think about is fighting,” a nearby demon sneered, their tone raised to a purposeful volume so that the two in question would hear it. Eike didn’t bother mentioning that they had precisely zero input in the spontaneous challenge when they considered who the voice belonged to. Another familiar soldier approached — this one had received the name Voss — flanked by two other Mid Ranks, who snickered at the previous remark. Although Voss hadn’t been much of a frontliner during the invasion, they were still a formidable ally; what they lacked in physical strength was made up for wholly in their skill as a tactician, and it was often the strategies Voss offered that led the troops to such efficient and ruthless victories. Eike certainly respected them, but frequently made it a point not to get too comfortable in their presence. After all, the most dangerous demons were the ones you couldn’t read.

Reden simply responded with a chuckle and a theatrical shrug, finally granting Eike the small reprieve of personal space. “What’s wrong with wanting to stay in shape? It’d be a damn shame if we worked so hard to survive our first invasion only to die in the next one,” he replied casually. Though they weren’t quite as enthusiastic about the prospect of a brawl, Eike did have to agree with the second part of the statement. It was easy for a fool to think life was a downhill slope after surviving one assignment, but in reality, safety wasn’t guaranteed even in their own world. Fortune favored the bold, but it also favored the wary; failing to find the balance between those had cost countless upstarts their lives.

“But it’s good to see you alive and well, my friend! And with such a wonderful name, too! That name being…” Reden’s voice trailed off, clearly cuing Voss to chime in. They didn’t bite. “Of course, it’s…erm…”

“Honestly,” Voss sighed through a tight, mirthless grin, “It’s not that difficult to listen every once and awhile. Though I suppose you are living proof that it really is impossible to have both brains and brawn. Isn't that right, Reden?”

Reden smiled in response. It was the same smile he put on when asking Eike for a fight.

“Quips aside, we were just about to head to the Mid Rank dormitories. There’s a chance we may land the fresher, more accommodating rooms if we beat the others to claiming them, and I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use a comfortable bunk after sleeping on those damned cots throughout the entire assignment,” Voss relayed as their entourage nodded vigorously in agreement.

Eike hummed, understanding the logic behind the explanation, but feeling lost as to why it was relevant to either them or Reden. Was it just to gloat? Or was there some tactic to this sudden conversation that they were just missing? “That would be wise,” they replied carefully, studying the other demons’ reactions to determine whether or not this response was adequate, “Best of luck to you, then.”

When the brief silence that followed was accentuated with a cocked head and raised eyebrow on Voss' end, Eike was certain they had missed some sort of deeper meaning after all. “You mean to say you’re not coming along?” they asked.

Now even Reden was giving Eike a confused stare, which only addled them further. What did he of all demons understand that they didn’t? “Am I…” they ventured, eyes flicking between the faces of all the surrounding Mid Ranks, “...Supposed to?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds mandatory,” Voss laughed, “It was just an invitation. You know, between friends.”

Eike froze, their jaw clenching instinctively to prevent any more thoughtless words from escaping their lips.

Friends. Friends…?

This was what friendship was? They hadn’t known it could come about so easily. Throughout their life, such attachments were deemed unnecessary – both by themself and their peers. Fraternizing with weaker demons meant being weighed down, and latching onto stronger demons meant inevitably being disposed of. So then, Eike wondered, what came of grouping with others who were more or less equal? Perhaps there was a strength in numbers. Or perhaps it was a means of ascertaining one's potential rivals. A race to exploit each other’s weaknesses, maybe.

Well, there was no rule saying it couldn’t be all of the above. If it was beneficial to be “friends” even for a short time, then there was no logic in refusing the offer. Eike couldn’t say they trusted any of these new friends of theirs, but trust wasn’t necessary for friendship, right? They all had something to gain. That was what mattered. And maybe…it wouldn’t be so bad to have a place to belong. Just for a little while, anyways.

They drew in a breath, finally feeling clarity in their flurry of thoughts. “I–”

“Uh, ‘scuse me.”

All at once, that clarity raged into a tempest. Eike felt their veins run cold, felt their breath catch in their throat, as a voice more familiar than any other rang out in a place it didn’t belong. Not here. Not now.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting something, but I kinda need to talk to that tall one in the middle there. Eike,” the voice continued. The sound of their newly-earned name on her voice was clunky and unnatural, like trying to shove a key into a lock it wasn’t made for. “Oh, it’s private. Forgot to mention that. But I’ll make it quick, okay?”

Eike felt the others shift around them, but couldn’t find the strength in themself to turn around and face B-921. They didn’t understand why, but it felt like they had been caught doing something wrong. That was an asinine thought, though; they had done nothing to feel ashamed of, and even if they had, she wasn’t strong enough to threaten any consequence. So why couldn’t they shake this growing dread?

Voss was the first of the Mid Ranks to speak. “What’s that scrawny thing doing here? Think it was so dumb that it lost its group?” they snickered coldly, speaking as if the demon couldn’t hear their cruel words, yet meeting her eyes all the while, “Seems like you need a lesson in manners, Low Rank. Truthfully, I’d love to teach you myself, but we’re in a bit of a hurry. I’d be happy to inform your commanding officer of this little indiscretion, though.”

B-921 didn’t even flinch. “Believe it or not, that was me being polite,” she stated firmly. As Voss’ smile faltered, the air went frigid. “I’ll say it again for you, but seeing as you’re in such a rush, I won’t beat around the bush this time: shove off and give us some space. We’ve got somethin’ really important to talk about, and it doesn’t involve you. So beat it.”

A second passed in terrible silence. Another in horrifying stillness. One more, and Eike felt nauseous. This wasn’t bravery. This wasn’t even foolishness. It was suicide. B-921 must have known this, even despite her unrealistic ideals on the Rank system. What was so important that it couldn’t wait for a safer opportunity to be brought up? Just what was her end goal from this senseless provocation? And why did she have to drag Eike into it?

It was Reden who stepped forward next, already flexing his sharp, black claws. He’d used them to tear open flesh countless times before, and from the way his inky eyes glinted with dangerous intent, he would assuredly do so again. It was the final moment of calm before the storm, a last chance to grovel and flee before all hell broke loose. Still with their back to B-921, Eike prayed for the sound of retreating footsteps, or for the Mid Ranks to decide a whiny trainee wasn’t worth their time. Neither happened.

“And just who the hell made you an Elite overnight? I can’t tell if you’re delusional or just fucking stupid,” Reden began in a sneer, the facade of friendliness having been quickly replaced with unconcealed malice, “I already knew you lot of Rankless scum were useless, but you’re not even that much. You’re a parasite; being worthless isn’t enough for you, so you have to drag everyone else down to your level. You really think a cancer like you can tell a Mid Rank what to do? Huh?”

She laughed at that. The situation had become utterly surreal. It was as if a predator’s approach had been stopped short by the mere titter of its prey.

“That’s rich. Weren’t you all Low Ranks just a few leaps ago?” Everything stopped in that moment. Reden stopped moving. Voss stopped smiling. Eike stopped breathing. A line that should never be crossed had just been trampled over, and time seemed to simply cease passing. All that remained was the measly Low Rank who rejected common sense. “Besides,” she said, “My friend here will tell you the exact same thing. Neither of us think the Rank system is fair, so we’re going to change it.”

Eike could feel everyone’s gaze shift to their stiff figure. It felt as though an invisible cord had been wrapped around their torso, squeezing the air out of them, constricting their ribs so they couldn’t so much as try to take another breath. This shouldn’t have happened. None of it should have happened. Two worlds that were never meant to meet were colliding into each other with full force. Eike didn’t want to be a part of either, so how exactly did they get caught in the middle? Why did everyone else choose for them? Why couldn’t they speak up when it counted most? And why did everyone keep calling them ‘friend?’

“Eike,” Voss muttered, “Is that true?”

They just wanted to get by. They just wanted to survive. It didn’t matter if they excelled, it didn’t matter if they thrived, it didn’t matter if they were part of some grand cause. B-921, if she could just see that, if she hadn’t dragged them into this in the first place, none of this would be happening. If she’d just stayed in line like Eike had, like they always tried so damn hard to do, she could be traveling to the Mid Rank dormitories with the rest of them. They could all be friends.

“...C’mon, what’s with the cold shoulder? I thought you’d be excited to see me after so long,” B-921 addressed the statement towards Eike with a chuckle, but there was a considerable apprehension in her tone that had been absent in her prior declarations. “Are you feeling alright?”

That cord pulled tighter, to the point where it felt like they may keel over from the pressure. Stop talking, Eike pleaded inwardly, Please stop talking. Stop worrying about things out of your control. Stop dreaming of the impossible. Stop endangering yourself. Stop showing weakness. Stop thinking. Stop, stop, stop.

“Hey… You remember, right?” There were soft footsteps approaching slowly now, and though the other Mid Ranks had been ready to cut B-921 to her knees before, they didn’t dare interfere now. “That talk we had? You remember what you said, right? Hey, look at me.”

This wasn’t what Eike wanted, this was never what they wanted. How were they supposed to know B-921 was being serious when she talked about a damn revolution? They were kids! If she had been at the invasion, if she had Ranked up, if she had only tasted what it felt like to earn strength after being powerless for so long, she’d understand. They just wanted her to understand. They just wanted her to listen for once. They just wanted her by their side again.

The cord tightened, and tightened, and–

There was a gentle tug at the back hem of their uniform. “Hey, R-40–”

The cord snapped.

A rush of demonic instinct overcame Eike in such a furious wave, it blinded their vision with a searing white. Faster than they’d ever moved in their life, the Mid Rank swung their leg in a powerful arc and connected the side of their foot with B-921’s side. It was their signature attack – the very same one they’d spent a lifetime practicing and refining against the very same opponent – only now, instead of stunning her or merely knocking her off balance, it threw her into the dirt several paces back with a sickening crunch. There wasn’t so much as a second for B-921 to recover before Eike had thrown themself on top of her, pinning the Low Rank easily with their newly acquired height advantage. They ground a knee into her chest, deaf to her cries, no doubt putting even more strain on whatever ribs they’d fractured from the kick.

“Don’t call me that!” Eike bellowed through a positively animalistic snarl.

“I’m sorry,” B-921 whimpered, her voice hardly more than a pitiful wheeze, “Eike, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–” Her babbling went ignored. “Don’t you EVER call me that! That’s not my fucking name, that demon doesn’t exist anymore! I earned this name, this Rank – I earned it! You wouldn’t know what it’s like to work for something like this. All you do is chase stupid fantasies! If you dedicated even a fraction of the time you spend dreaming utter nonsense to actually getting stronger, you’d realize how this world works. You’d grow up, you’d move forward, you’d– you’d STOP dragging me behind!”

A moment passed where all either of them could do was fight for breath. It was fleeting, but somehow, there was a bittersweet nostalgia to it all. Clashing, wrestling one another to the ground, staring at each other’s dirt-caked and flushed faces as they caught their breaths. In another time, this would be the point where B-921 smiled, sighed, and admitted defeat. And Eike would offer her a hand, help her get back on her feet, then limp together to Distribution for their rations. But B-921 didn’t smile. Instead, her face contorted into a grimace laden with pain, despair, and betrayal.

“You…spineless fucking rat!” she screamed, shoving her aggressor’s knee from her chest. The shrill sound reached every corner of the ceremony grounds, drawing the attention of more than just Mid Ranks, and even stunning Eike to the point that they didn’t stop her from grabbing fistfuls of their uniform. “You coward! You promised me! You promised! How could you say that, when you’re the only one I–!”

The ground rumbled from the force of a sudden impact, and the cataclysmic outburst was silenced in an instant as an imposing shadow smothered them both. B-921, enraged to the point of tears just a second ago, gasped and paled in sudden terror, and as soon as Eike looked up, they understood why. In a clearing of his own making, the looming figure of Klaad stared down at them, massive wings still outstretched from his brief flight across the grounds. The High Rank’s eyes would have been piercing even without his unique features, but the unsettling asymmetry of them made his gaze downright petrifying. While his right eye displayed the same pupil pattern one may find on an average Mid Rank, his scarred left eye evinced countless rings patterning the entire sclera. Such rings were a sign of a demon’s power level, and Eike had only heard rumors as to how Klaad attained so many, or why they were confined to just one eye. It was a mystery they certainly didn’t plan on pursuing any time soon.

“My, my. What a ruckus,” the deceptively diplomatic voice of the commanding officer reverberated through the weaker demons’ bones, causing them to tremble involuntarily, “And at a ceremony, no less. How very, very unseemly.”

Klaad bent forward with an inquisitive expression. The proximity reminded Eike that despite their own physical growth upon becoming a Mid Rank, they were still practically a sapling compared to the hulking form of a High Rank. It was hard to believe they were even the same species. “Hmm… Oh, this won’t do. Young lady, your training group is under my watch and jurisdiction, is it not?”

B-921 couldn’t respond. Klaad tutted with a shake of his head.

“To think one of my very own crops would instigate such an ugly scene on a day like today. Don’t you realize how this tarnishes my image? Oh, I do hope I haven’t lost my touch as a trainee officer. Age does make a demon rather sloppy, you know.” He redirected his gaze to Eike, flashing a pleasant grin that chilled them to the bone. “What do you think, Mid Rank? Have I become sloppy?”

“N…” Eike swallowed. It was bad enough that they’d already stuttered, but acting like a pitiful, wilting leaf in the presence of a superior was unacceptable. A true demon retained their dignity, even in the face of danger. They steadied their voice. “No, sir.”

“Well said, well said! So then,” Klaad snapped his focus back to B-921, a darker, more primal smile twisting across his face now, “Let’s see what you think, my dear instigator. If you’re able to even tempt the thought of smearing your grimy fingers on my reputation again by the time we’re through, then we can conclude that I have, indeed, lost my spark. However, if I’m able to render you incapable of opening that treacherous little mouth again – assuming you even survive what’s in store – well…I suppose I’ll have to start giving myself more credit!”

With a mere flick of his wrist, B-921 was suddenly pulled from under Eike by an otherworldly force, leaving them to scramble for leverage in the dirt while trying to ascertain the Low Rank’s new position. She was struggling now, effortlessly overpowered by a shifting gleam of arcane energy that suspended her high in the air. Their eyes met, only for the briefest of moments, as a desperate, final plea reflected in Eike’s terrified gaze. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

With his rogue trainee secured, Klaad snapped his wings open once more, but paused briefly to address Eike with another smile. “Oh! Again, congratulations to you,” he offered, eyes narrowing in demented glee, “I do so hope you’ll continue living up to the name I gave you.”

And with a powerful gust of wind, he and B-921 were gone.

The following heavy stillness remained in place for a long time. The small crowd of curious onlookers that had accumulated eventually dispersed, not wishing to incur the wrath of another High Rank, while the original group of Reden, Voss, and the other Mid Ranks slowly crept back towards Eike. For as chatty as they'd been before, none of them said a word at that time. It was hard enough to process what had just happened, let alone resume business as usual.

After doing naught more than stare at the ground where their companion had once been, the Eike’s gaze hardened, and with uncanny, mechanical movements, they brought themself to their feet.

“We were going to the dormitories, weren’t we?” they asked. Even they were surprised by the chilling evenness of their voice. The other demons exchanged glances and a few hushed whispers, but Eike didn’t really care to ponder their meaning.

“Y-yes, of course we were, until that little…er, distraction came along. I’m sure there’ll still be plenty of good rooms left for us if we hurry,” Voss replied. Their tone lacked the usual smoothness and confidence it normally carried.

Even Reden seemed cautious to meet Eike’s gaze. They were all acting as if they were Low Ranks again, scared of their own shadows. It was pathetic. “Yeah, let’s get going. I think there must be something in the air here that’s driving us crazy,” he laughed in an attempted joke. “What a weird Low Rank. That’s what she gets for believing in fantasies and promises, I guess.”

As the group traveled and attempted to repair the atmosphere with light conversation, Eike remained quiet. A memory attempted to resurface itself from the depths of their mind, but they forced it back. Not here. Not now.

———

The memory of that day certainly smoldered in the corners of Eike’s mind every now and then, but in the leaps that followed, they began to learn what normal life meant for Mid Ranks. The dorms were, indeed, much more accommodating than the bunks Low Ranks were crammed into, but the ones they’d ended up with were no more or less notable than all the others. Voss made sure to voice their distaste regarding that. They were still kept busy, of course – Ranking up didn’t come with any sort of vacation – but rather than a repetitive and grueling training regiment every day, their schedules saw a welcome variety of other tasks.

Most of the time, they were assigned jobs that best suited their talents. They would change every so often based on the demand for a position, but most remained rather tolerable, and some Eike even found to be downright enjoyable. Organizational jobs like weapon inventory and preparing supplies for distribution were among their favorites.

There were also classes to attend every few days. Education at this level — reading, writing, basic math, et cetera — was a privilege only offered upon achieving Mid Rank, and Eike couldn’t get enough of it. They loved the feeling of filling in those blanks in their mind with new information, connecting the pieces of that which they already knew with that which they recently discovered, and achieving new heights as the steps passed by. It was a shame that these lessons couldn’t be every day, as Eike would have gladly traded all the jobs in the world just to keep on learning. It was almost an addiction.

Additionally, the Mid Ranks still trained frequently, but the only mandatory sessions were held once every few days. Everything else was left to each individual’s own discretion, and while some saw this freetime as an opportunity to take it easy and relax for once in their lives, Eike continued to practice. There was no telling when their next assignment would be, and there was no guarantee that it would be as lax as the last one. Plenty of Mid Ranks died in battle, and as far as they were concerned, sitting around doing nothing was merely a means of adding to that tally. Reden was usually happy to volunteer himself for the position of a sparring partner during these sessions, but when Eike wasn’t in the mood to deal with his loquaciousness, he didn’t press the matter any further. Not anymore.

It wasn’t that Eike’s “friends” avoided them. They still maintained a more-or-less stable camaraderie, and spoke to each other near daily. But after Eike’s unprecedented outburst, the group seemed a bit more apprehensive of them. Maybe it was fear, and maybe it was respect. Sometimes, they wondered if it was because the other Mid Ranks believed what B-921 had said, and thought that Eike secretly concurred with treacherous conjecture. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter. They welcomed the distance that others willingly kept from them.

Despite Eike and B-921’s disastrous falling out, a part of them hoped they could reconcile one day. It really was just a misunderstanding that had been blown out of proportion, and even though B-921 ended up getting hauled away by Klaad, it was seriously unlikely that he killed her. Eike liked to believe that after she healed up from whatever torment the High Rank put her through, B-921 learned her lesson, took some of Eike’s words to heart, and redoubled her efforts to Rank up. That way, they would be able to talk normally again. Eike would apologize, and B-921 would probably punch them, but ultimately they’d make up. That’s just the kind of demon she was.

There was actually one time that Eike had business near their old training grounds. They knew it wouldn’t be all that likely that B-921 would be out at the same time they were – and even if she was, a Low Rank and a Mid Rank couldn’t just have a casual conversation without raising serious suspicion – but a part of them still hoped they’d see her. Low Ranks at her age were prime for assignment selection, so there was at least an increased chance she’d be in the grounds preparing for that.

And as it would turn out, their hopes came true.

She was quite a distance away, but Eike recognized her wiry frame and fluffy hair even from across the field. It seemed as though she was attending some sort of assembly rather than training, given that the Low Ranks were all grouped together and unarmed. After a moment of deliberation, Eike realized they recognized that setting. It was an assignment debriefing, after all! That news made their chest swell. Everything they dared to hope for was falling into place, and they could hardly wait to speak to B-921 face-to-face. They wondered idly what her name would be, and just as they began to ponder whether or not she’d end up taller than them, something unexpected happened. Their eyes locked.

It might’ve been an accident that their gazes met, but now that they were more focused, Eike noted certain details they had missed at first due to the extensive span between them. She had far, far more scars than Eike remembered, including a severe gash that cut across her mouth diagonally. B-921 had always been somewhat thin in stature, but she’d never looked so…brittle. It was hard to tell from the placement of her many bandages, but it almost seemed as though certain bones were protruding from beneath her skin. Had she been eating properly?

Unease replaced the excitement Eike had felt a moment prior as they took in her appearance and anxiously awaited her response. Of course, they knew it would be far too foolish to wish for a smile, or even a polite nod. Even still, any acknowledgement – a scowl, a sneer, even just a slight frown – would have sufficed plenty for them. Anything.

But B-921 didn’t react at all. Eike began to wonder if she even recognized them. The Low Rank just stared through them, past them, glassy-eyed, empty, until she deemed the information of the assembly director more important, and directed her attention back to the task at hand. And that was the end of it.

Even that occurrence had been leaps ago. There were no more encounters with B-921, no more unexpected outbursts, and no more reminders of the past. All Eike could do was silently and privately hope that her invasion was going well, and that whatever realm she’d been assigned to was treating her kindly.

The shuffling of a stack of parchments elsewhere in the room grounded their focus once again to the task at hand. Eike sighed and carded their claws through their hair, ruffling the strands as if it might shake those nagging thoughts out of their brain. How shameful it was to become so deeply distracted during a job – especially one as unique and opportunistic as this. They had recently been recommended to fill in for a vacant position dealing with invasion archives, possibly due to their assiduous work in other organizational tasks thus far. It was a position typically reserved for more experienced Mid Ranks, as it required competence in both reading and writing, but apparently one of the workers had simply stopped appearing for his shifts, and the archives found themselves woefully short-staffed. Eike wouldn’t go so far as to say they were especially proficient in written language yet, but those lessons were among their favorites, and they often studied the subject independently. It was better than nothing, the Mid Rank archivists seemed to reason, so Eike ultimately landed the position.

For most of the day, they worked quietly and independently, only consulting others to fill in the gaps of their developing literacy. The end of their appointed shift was close, and they couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at how much they’d accomplished in the day. It was slow work, but invigorating all the same; after poring over so many records of past battles and conquered realms, how could any demon not feel pride in the accomplishments of their race? It was only when they stood up to begin tidying their work area that two other archivists walked in, each carrying a considerable stack of scrolls and documents.

“Bastard had to go AWOL without tipping us off about all the paperwork he had piling up, didn’t he?” one of them grumbled, dropping her burden onto a nearby table with an unceremonious thud. “Just look at this mess.”

The other one sighed in agreement, depositing his load in a similar manner before ducking and stretching in front of a wall of shelves with searching eyes. “Can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t want to be in charge of the Endstation files, either.” He huffed a sigh. “Yet here I am. In charge of the Endstation files.”

Eike cast a cautious glance in the direction of the heaping pile upon hearing which invasion they covered. Naturally, every demon who lived and breathed knew about Endstation. It was the only realm in known history whose militaristic power was on par with the demons’ own, and they had been in a vicious stalemate since long before Eike was even born. The Elites evidently deemed that world too precious of a resource to ignore, and steadfastly refused to withdraw the troops from its surface. No one knew exactly what that "precious resource" was, but if even the Elites sought after it, there was no questioning its worth. It was even fabled that killing just one Endstationian would be enough to elevate a Low Rank straight to a High Rank, but it wasn’t as though any had succeeded in that attempt. After all, the Low Ranks that were sent to Endstation never came back.

It was supposedly some sort of distraction tactic the High Rank soldiers deployed to gain a momentary advantage, but whether it actually worked was somewhat doubtful. Everyone knew the real reason Low Ranks were sent to Endstation was to clear up space in the bunkers for new trainees. It was a humane execution, all things considered, to die with honor in a battle for their homeworld. That was what the Low Ranks were told, anyways.

“Seriously,” the first demon chimed in again, “How long has it been since he abandoned post? Two leaps? Three? That’s how much backlog we’re dealing with.” She plucked a rolled up document from the top of the pile and gave it a brief read, then pursed her lips in thought. “From the looks of it, he left just before the most recent draft. You think he had some sort of death wish and volunteered to chaperone the meat shields?”

Eike pondered that information with a slight frown. They hadn’t heard anything about an Endstation draft in the past few leaps. It did make sense, given that Mid Ranks didn’t exactly have to concern themselves with the looming fear of being sent to that hellish place anymore. Still, there was a strange mist accumulating behind their eyes. Their thoughts felt fuzzy. Just over two leaps ago…well, it was just an estimate, but wasn’t that the last time they had seen…?

Their legs began moving before their mind could catch up. Eike could tell that the two archivist demons were saying something to them – maybe that the shift wasn’t up yet, that it wasn’t time to go – but none of it registered. Eike wasn't sure where this was coming from. They weren’t worried about B-921, of course. They had no reason to be. She was still completing her assignment, after all. In a realm that treated her kindly. By now, she would have already Ranked up. She would have made friends with the other soldiers, would have given them a hard time and teased them just like she always did to Eike. And when she came back, when Eike apologized, they would hear all about the world she went to, and tell her about the one they visited, too. Because she never went to Endstation. Because she was fine. Because Eike needed her to be fine.

They started sprinting.

The route to the training grounds was ingrained into their body, even if their mind longed to forget it. Breath after ragged breath scraped through their throat, a panic settling in as the memory of that day replayed in Eike’s mind. B-921 said she needed to talk to them. She said it was urgent. It wasn’t until now that the Mid Rank realized they never found out what she wanted to say. It was so important that it couldn’t wait. It was so important that she risked – and received – a run-in with Klaad. But it was all just an exaggeration, right? It was just a misunderstanding! She always did stuff like that. She just had an affinity for hyperbole. It couldn’t have been this. It couldn’t have been.

Upon reaching the field littered with sparring Low Ranks, Eike’s eyes roamed the landscape frantically. It wasn’t hard to locate the ever-watchful shadow of the demon who had once been their commanding officer, and against their better judgment, Eike approached Klaad with as much composed urgency as they could manage.

His asymmetric gaze snapped upwards in an instant, calculating at first, probing the Mid Rank for some sort of silent explanation, before that artificial warmth spread across his features and he addressed Eike with a smile. “Well met, soldier,” Klaad greeted as he folded his hands behind his back, “If I am not mistaken, Mid Ranks have no business wallowing in the filth of the Low Rank sector. Has there been some sort of urgent complication that I am needed for?”

Eike withheld a tremor as they forced their eyes to meet Klaad’s. Dignity, even in the face of danger. That was what constituted a true demon. “Somewhat, sir. If you’ll excuse the vague answer,” they began trepidatiously, “I was sent from the invasion archives. A Mid Rank in charge of the Endstation documents has abandoned his post, and left many gaps regarding the recent developments of the battle in his wake. We would like to request a list of the Low Ranks drafted in the most recent attack at your earliest convenience, sir.” Klaad’s grin grew thinner. “Yes, I’ve been made aware of the…untimely disappearances. I must admit, they’ve been a real thorn in my side.” Eike’s head tilted slightly as they briefly wondered if he’d misspoken. Disappearances? “But, ah, you silly thing! I’ll wager you’re new to the archives, given your status and the nature of your request. See, all the necessary paperwork was submitted leaps ago, and a list of trainees is not among that. Affairs with Endstation are only documented when demons with Ranks are involved, so I’m afraid the document you’re requesting doesn’t exist.”

Eike swallowed. They had to keep trying. “Be that as it may, sir, there’s something we wish to check regarding an outstanding Low Rank. I understand that this request deviates from protocol, but is there any way a list could be formed regardless?”

For a moment, Klaad’s interest seemed piqued. “What was this outstanding Low Rank’s identification code?”

In the moment that Eike faltered, the outcome of this confrontation was decided. They couldn’t reveal that it was B-921, or their intentions would be transparent. Even still, their reluctance to answer was proof positive of the unstable lie. The game was over. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I can’t—“

“That’s enough, then,” the High Rank declared lowly with a small flick of his barbed tail. In an instant, Eike felt a paralyzing force pulse through their veins like a formless venom. They tried to speak, but couldn't; it was as though the shimmering force occupied the open space of their throat, choking them into silence. It felt much too hot, much too foreign, and the way the magic energy seemed to prick every surface of their body from the inside out was utterly nauseating. Seeing as their feet still met the ground, though, this must have been a fraction of the power Klaad had used previously against B-921.

“You know, for a moment I thought this infantile charade of yours might actually bear a shred of useful information. It would seem I became the exact sort of fool you took me for, hm?” he sneered, stepping far too close for Eike’s comfort. “Where you mustered the audacity to pose such a fatuous request is beyond me. A list of condemned Low Ranks? Do you honestly think I file a report for every single shit I take? Do you?”

If they had the capacity to vocalize any sort of discomfort, Eike was certain they’d be just shy of a scream. The pressure of the arcane energy multiplied in intensity all around them, threatening to crush bone or tear skin if it persisted much longer.

“You forget your place, Mid Rank. You think that just because you sprouted wings and had yourself a little growth spurt, you’ve made it to the mountaintop. The harsh reality, though, is that you’re hardly even out of the valley; the only thing that separates you from these festering maggots is the measly handful of lives you took,” Klaad gestured to the training grounds, where several of the braver Low Ranks dared to look on in curiosity, “That’s all you are. You’d do well to act like it.”

Just as the strain from the tortuous magic became unbearable, the energy dispelled, leaving Eike to collapse and hack up bile onto the ground. Klaad whirled around to bark threats at the trainees that had paused their regiment to spectate, then, once satisfied, resumed his downward glower at the Mid Rank’s heaving form without a trace of emotion.

“It would seem you need to sharpen yourself even more, soldier. Sentimentality doesn’t become you.”

Eike didn’t respond. Klaad allowed it, turning on his heel as he set off in another direction. “Consider the outcome of this encounter an act of mercy on my part, but know that there will never be another. We have no need for a weapon that weeps.”

It was over.

They wiped their mouth, stood up, and trudged back towards the dormitories. It was all they could do. Everything kept moving, regardless of whether Eike could keep up with it or not. Everything would continue to change, yet everything would always stay the same. Those who were strong survived. And those who were weak perished. That was the only constant of this world.

But strength did not equate bravery, and weakness did not equate fear. Eike understood that with painful clarity now. There was no room in this place for a trainee unfit to be a soldier. There was no hope for a child who dreamt the impossible. There was no good deed that went unpunished. There was no kind heart that went unbroken. Everything kept moving. The constant remained.

Somewhere, in a dingy corner of the Low Rank slums that not even the light of the First could reach, a young demon wept, alone. Their cries went unanswered, so they thought, until the shuffle of little footsteps approached them slowly. Looking up, they saw a girl, steady on her feet despite being in vastly worse shape than themself. She crouched in front of them, wiped their tears, and smiled. It would be alright, she said. Things could be scary on your own, but they were together now. So it would all be okay.

And what a wonderful thing that was, the young demon thought with a small smile of their own. To have a friend must truly be the most wonderful thing in the world.

#glossary:#day = day (there are no nights as the first doesn't set)#week = step #month = leap #i tried changing day to something else as well but it just got confusing :'D #anyways. holy fuck this took forever but i'm glad it's done #writingtag #angst #worldbuilding #not g/t #i feel like there's so many sensitive topics idk how to tw them all but if you want me to add a tag please just lmk #lufa lore

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ecothroat · 2 years

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[[Hyperlink Blocked]] Defined

I went through all of Spamton’s dialogue and noted every time he says “Hyperlink Blocked.” It’s to be assumed that this phrase is used because he can’t (or won’t?) say the actual word or words, and I want to guess what he means.

First, some “statistics” I gathered:

The phrase is said 11 times total. However, one of those times is dialogue from his shop (when you exit without buying the KeyGen), and it’s a repeat of dialogue from his first battle. So i’ll say it’s an even 10 sentences to gather context clues from.

In 9 of these sentences, it’s used as a noun. In one, it’s used as an adjective. There’s more to look at with the quote, but I’ll get to that later. Suffice to say, if this is a single word, it’s something that’s both a noun and an adjective.

The phrase isn’t used once during the normal route Spamton Neo segment. Not before, during, or after the battle. However, it is used during the Snowgrave Neo fight.

Now, onto deeper analysis.

Note: for personal convenience, I’ll be shortening the phrase “Hyperlink blocked” to just “Hyperlink” in this post. I’ll also be simplifying Spamton’s dialogue from all caps, multiple brackets, and such into normal text with single brackets. This is for both accessibility and clarity.

What We Know

Here is all of what we can extrapolate from context clues about the nature of Hyperlink.

It’s something that Spamton considers desirable. He wants it, he talks about it to Kris like they want it, and generally acts like everyone wants it. (Much like a salesman acting like buyers need their product in order to make money.) “You want it. You want [Hyperlink Blocked], don’t you.”

It’s not an idea or concept, it’s something that can be obtained. He says, “I was only ever in it for the [Freedom]. To make your own [Deals] to call your own [Shots] and sometimes in the morning, a little [Hyperlink Blocked]” and “But we know what we want, don’t we? Wild prizes, HotSingle, 100 customer, and most of all… [Hyperlink Blocked].” and “Vacationing in [Burning Acid] while you soak in the [Hyperlink Blocked].” These could all be argued to be about concepts like Heaven, but then you pair them with the fact that…

It can be made. During the Snowgrave Neo battle, Spamton says that we bought the Thorn Ring from him and that all of our actions led to him getting the Neo body, but he’s angry that all of this happened only for Kris to turn around and seal the fountain. He feels, again, thrown away, and says it’s because of Noelle. He says “No, I get it! It’s you and that [Hochi Mama]! You’ve been [Making], haven’t you! You’ve been making [Hyperlink Blocked]! And now that you have your own supply, you don’t need me!!!”

Spamton has Hyperlink. This is evidenced by the above quote implying that Spamton was somehow supplying it to Kris and Noelle, but also because of what he says when we have the EmptyDisk. “Now Kris. Don’t be greedy. Hand over. The disk. Then we will transfer. My [Hyperlink Blocked].”

Spamton can “become” Hyperlink. This is when he uses it like an adjective, and says, “I’ll get so. I’ll get so. I’ll get so. I’ll get so. I’ll get so. I’ll get so. [[Hyperlink blocked.]]” This use of the word “get” is more of a “I’ll be made” rather than “I’ll obtain,” which is why it’s implied to be an adjective here. He specifically implies he’ll get so Hyperlink after getting the Neo body, which he believes will let him reach “Heaven” (the Light World) and break his strings.

With these points, we can begin to define Hyperlink. So, here are some theories. With each, I’ll tell why, in my opinion, it makes sense and/or doesn’t. This isn’t to dissuade people from thinking differently from me, in fact I encourage that! These are just my thoughts.

Theory 1: Heaven

I’ve seen someone saying that they believe Hyperlink to mean Heaven, AKA what Spamton calls the Light World. This makes sense, as it’s desirable, it’s something one can reach, and Kris and Noelle “making Heaven” is… bleak but can be interpreted as true. However, it’s not something Spamton currently has. He can’t “transfer” heaven. Heaven also isn’t an adjective, Spamton can’t “get so heaven.” It could be “get so heavenly,” though.

Also, it’s assumed he says Hyperlink because he can’t say whatever it means in the first place. Spamton says heaven in the cutscene before the Neo fight. One could say it’s because being in the Neo body allows him to say it, but he still says Hyperlink in the Snowgrave fight. It could also be that he’s “allowed” to say heaven in the cutscene because the letters in the text box are all spaced out, implying that he’s technically just saying the letters and we read it as the full word.

I’ll end this theory with the fact that “making heaven” is my new favorite name for the snowgrave route /j

Theory 2: Soul

After originally collecting all of the quotes, my first thought was that Hyperlink had something to do with Souls. We don’t know if Darkners have Souls, or if there’s a difference between Deltarune Lightner Souls and Undertale Souls, but replacing some Hyperlink quotes with “Soul” leads to interesting conclusions.

“That’s right!! Now’s your chance to be a [Big Shot]!! And I have just. The thing. You need. That’s… [Soul].”

“Now Kris. Don’t be greedy. Hand over. The disk. Then we will transfer. My [Soul]. Do that… and you have my [Specil Guaranttee] I will [Pass My Savings Onto You!] Every [Big], every [Shot], every [Soul], all yours, Kris.”

“You’ve been [Making], haven’t you! You’ve been making [Soul]! And now that you have your own supply, you don’t need me!!!”

But again, Soul isn’t an adjective. Spamton can’t “get so Soul.” Nonetheless, this raised a lot of questions in my head about the nature of Darkner Souls and if they can combine with Lightner Souls much like monsters and humans in Undertale.

That one adjective quote has put a hole in both theories so far, so my further theories are words that specifically are both nouns and adjectives.

Theory 3: Light

I’ll admit I had to look up a list of words that are both adjectives and nouns, but I found a word that applies interestingly to Deltarune: light. Here are some quotes with light replacing Hyperlink.

“I was only ever in it for the [Freedom]. To make your own [Deals] to call your own [Shots] and sometimes in the morning, a little [Light]”

“But we know what we want, don’t we? Wild prizes, HotSingle, 100 customer, and most of all… [Light].”

“Vacationing in [Burning Acid] while you soak in the [Light].”

“I’ll get so. I’ll get so. I’ll get so. I’ll get so. I’ll get so. I’ll get so. [Light.]”

“You’ve been [Making], haven’t you! You’ve been making [Light]! And now that you have your own supply, you don’t need me!!!”

In my opinion, this makes the most sense. Spamton wants to reach the Light World so, so badly, of course he wants “light.”

Also considering the quote from Snowgrave: Noelle uses ice attacks, and Snowgrave is a spell using, well, snow. So much snow, in fact, that Noelle can’t see what’s happening as she casts it. And snow is white, and shines in the right lighting.

The biggest flaw in this, though, is that Spamton says “Light” outside of Hyperlink: “All you have to do is show me. Your [HeartShapedObject]. You’re Light ner aren’t you? You’ve got the [Light.] Why don’t you [Show it off?]”

The same applies to a sub-theory of this: where Hyperlink means dark rather than light. Dark also fits really well in the quotes, even applying differently to Snowgrave. (Kris and Noelle “make” darkness by killing people.) However, Spamton also still says “Dark” outside of Hyperlink: “What are these strings!? Why am I not [Big] enough!? It’s still dark… so dark!”

It seems that none of these words apply perfectly, due to all of the different information about Hyperlink. It’s especially annoying because a lot of that information is based off of assumption because Spamton and his lore are very cryptic. This leads me to the next possibility:

Theory 4: Something Else Entirely

Hyperlink may simply be something we’ll learn about later in the game! It might not even be standing for something specific, it might just be up to interpretation. Maybe Toby thought it’d be cool/funny to put Hyperlink in Spamton’s dialogue in random places. Hyperlink might even stand for different words depending on context! I dunno 🤷

I think there’s a lot of fun in theorizing about all of this, and learning the true meaning might even make it less fun. So, in the meantime, I love hearing various ideas about this topic, and thought I’d share mine! Thanks for reading all of this :-)

#utdr #deltarune theory #spamton deltarune #spamton #deltarune #txt #putting tags on this because I Want Attention #i got. embarrassingly far into a side tangent before stopping and remaking the whole post without it #i’m keeping it in my drafts tho because it’s a good amount of stuff about spamton n jevil #ANYWAY. my personal theory is that it’s light. it makes the most sense and is the most entertaining to me #okay bye :^)

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velvethopewrites · 1 year

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Name 10 Characters from 10 Fandoms that You Love:

Thanks for the tag @moonlightchess 🥰 ! To make it tougher on myself I am going to limit this to tv show characters. *cracks knuckles* Also, this got so long I made a new post, sorry. Let’s see:

Dana Scully, X-Files. One of my first fandoms (and also one of my first girl crushes) I adored the skeptical, scientific redhead right down to her patented leather pumps. She gave as good as she got and I always respected the way Gillian Anderson played her - as a real person, not just some female sidekick, but as a fully formed woman with flaws and strengths and guh. We take it for granted now, but trust me when the X-Files was first on? There was no one else giving us girl boss vibes like Scully. She could hold her own and then some.

Buffy Summers/Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Ah yes, the slayer. I could have easily answered this with Willow (and thus cementing my bizarre need to like every redhead ever) but in the end I went with Buffy. She’s the reason I tuned in every Tuesday night, after all, and I always thought her character was just…I don’t want to say perfect, because she’s anything but - she’s flawed, and she screws up, and boy, does she screw up, but god damn the girl TRIES so hard - she fights, she kicks ass, yes, but she also gets her assed kicked and hell, she even dies (twice) and thanks to a once in a life-time performance from Sarah Michelle Gellar, she is one of the most amazing characters to ever be on a tv series, let alone one of the best female ones. Are some of the episodes now problematic? Of course. Does that take away from my enjoyment and love of the character? No. Buffy blazed a trail and those who would poo-poo her importance can’t remember what a dearth of strong women we had back then. It was bleak, people. Bleak.

Castiel/Supernatural. Yes, yes, Supernatural is on this list. Deal with it. I love him, your honor. Why? It’s not because he’s an angel, it’s not because he’s hot (neither of those things actually hurt him though, heh) but there is something about Castiel that calls to me - his awkwardness, his complete misunderstanding of social cues, his over doof-ness. Also his gentleness and his smite-yness. He makes mistakes, he screws up but he tries, so hard. (Do we see a trend here? 🤔) I just know I would not have continued down the SPN rabbit hole if it hadn’t been for his character. Does this make me Dean-coded or Cas-coded? Don’t know, don’t care. Just give me the damn angel. All the time.

Lois Lane/Smallville Now this one might be a tiny cheat, because I was a HUGE Lois Lane fan girl when I was a kid because of the movies. But honestly, as much as I enjoy Margot Kidder’s performance, Erica Durance’s nuanced, enjoyable, kick-ass (Stiletto, anyone?) portrayal of our intrepid news woman makes my heart pitter-pat and my blood pressure go up. She’s such a great character - she has to be, right? I mean, she has to go toe to toe with freaking Superman. Damn straight she’s gotta kick butt in all the ways. I could watch Lois be Lois for 48 minutes straight and not miss a beat.

Rose Tyler/Doctor Who. Okay, so this list is getting long because I talk too much. Sorry. Suffice it to say I fell in love with Doctor Who much like Rose did. They say you never get over your first doctor but I also say you never get over your first companion. She made a crazy alien guy in a blue box more human and more watchable just by shining her own humanity on things. ‘Nuff said.

Veronica Mars/Veronica Mars. She’s a teenage detective. Hell yeah, I love her. Tv Noir is a thing because of our marshmallow. I honestly wish I were as brave as Veronica, which is the best thing to say about a character, when you get down to it.

Jadzia Dax/Deep Space Nine. Nerd alert: I’m a Star Trek girl. Jadzia is a Trill which means she has a Symbiant in her belly that keeps all of her past lives inside her. So, basically, she’s been alive for over 300 years and has had a handful of different hosts, with all of their experiences and memories converging in one person. She’s been male, female, a father, a mother, a husband, a wife, a pilot, a science officer, etc etc you get the picture. She’s fantastic. One of the best characters in any show I have ever watched, hands down.

Molly Hooper/BBC Sherlock. Yeah. I don’t know. I just really like Molly. Maybe I can (over) identify with her crush on the unattainable male lead, I dunno. Yes, Johnlock is a thing. I get it. I read it. I have to admit to reading Sherlolly as well. It’s all about the wish-fulfillment in this one, I have to admit. I also just really enjoy the character growth Motiss gave her (although it went to shit in series 4, what the hell, of course the whole show sucked in series 4)

Data/Star Trek Next Generation. Like Castiel above, Data is awkward, doesn’t understand social clues and is all an around odd duck. But he longs to one day be human and I say, brother, you’re an android, fuck yeah, you go DO that. Told you I was a nerd.

Zoe Washburne/Firefly. I love Zoe. She’s the type of woman that has always intimidated me (while I also secretly long to be her). For one thing, Gina Torres is amazing. And she plays her so perfectly. Some people might see Zoe as the cold soldier - the woman that doesn’t feel-and Torres throws that in your face and plays her like a human fucking being who’s just really good at shooting people, that’s all. God, I love Zoe. When I grow up I want to be just like her.

Wow. I did not mean for this to be a feminist manifesto of all my favorite characters, but there you go. I tag: @late-to-the-fandom @alonelyturtle @readysetjo and @clarkenting

#Tag you’re it #favorite characters

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dissertationmeganfox · 1 year

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From Agitprop to Artistic Rebellion: A Brief History of Soviet Animation

Okay, so maybe all the overt agitprop (a fun and definitely not scary portmanteau of “agitation” and “propaganda”) gives early Soviet animation away. And maybe Soyuzmultfilm’s slightly-off but unmissable parroting of “the Disney style” is a tell. And, hey, maybe the bleak, rebellious uptake of Czech puppetry as a means of rebelling against an oppressive occupation is also a clue. Suffice to say: Soviet animation is distinct and endlessly fascinating. Like all art, it’s political. And because it’s Soviet Art, it’s doubly so.

This video on the history of Soviet animation is by Mountains of Media, a channel dedicated to exploring and analyzing media.

The Samoyed boy 1928

spring visitors 1948.

After the 30s/40s soviet animation took a lot of influence from Disney and western animation, especially copying the anthropomorphised animals.

By 1946 The animation industry would recover and as The Soviet Union now encompasses East Germany to the eastern edge of Asia, more diverse and talented artists are included in this. Such as Trnka and his art of puppetry and 3 decade career.

1960-1992 new golden age of soviet animation

Although censorship was far from eliminated Khrushchev’s thaw helped to birth a new subgenre of animation within the USSR, the animation of political dissidence, drawing from the well of inspiration of old soviet agitprop pieces these animations dared to do what could not be done under the less politically tolerant tenure of Stalin’s reign. One of the most notable to come in 1965 - THE HAND RUKA. His work and puppetry cultivated influences the present day and Trnka inspired and paved the way for a host of young talent in Prague that would embrace the puppetry and surrealism native to the golden city, the most talented and notable of these being Jan Švankmajer, Prague native whose massive body of work and influences continues into the present day with his most recent work meat love 1989. Punch and Judy 1966 another famous piece.

There lived Kozyavin 1966 - Andrei Krzynovski’s 1966 work there lived quiz yavin served as a satirical criticism of the modern office bureaucracy in the USSR, a theme that would be just at home on madison avenue as it was in Moscow. The feature greatly experiments with animation style and sound, a fixture that would become staple with Krzynovski’s later animated works, reaching new heights in his surreal masterpiece, THE GLASS HARMONICA, 1968, the film serves as a testament to the destructive forces of capital and censorship upon the artist and draws heavy stylistic from the renaissance and surreal art including the otherworldly paintings of hieronymus bosch and francisco goya. The movie was heavily censored in its time and many did not get a chance to see it until nearly two decades after its creation, numerous changes were made throughout its creation but ultimately its themes and styles which were originally intended to be more critical of the soviet state than capital still proved too subversive even after the thaw. The glass harmonica stands as a masterwork of soviet animation and was unfortunately robbed of its potential influence on soviet animation following the films completion due to its being shelled.

Outside of Czechoslovakia and in the Russian heart of the USSR, a wave of new styles and themes swept through the animation world through the 60s,70s and 80s.

Adaptation of Russian folktale the hedgehog and fog 1975, still stands today as one of the most recognisable pieces of soviet animation ever produced.

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futurefind · 7 months

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ON: SASUME & IMMORTALITY

//Sasume, more than most, has a very... complicated relationship with her own mortality. Similarly, if given immortality (whether innate or bestowed), that too would incite its own sort of complications wrt how she perceives her life.

But before we can get to the concept of Sasume on im/mortality, we need to go over her thoughts on living. And suffice to say those thoughts are... bleak. She's not fond of herself, least of all living, and she's especially not fond of the idea of living a long life — an extremely abusive childhood and the fallout thereof has left her with a viscous struggle with PTSD, severe depression, and suicidality. However her survivor's guilt and (separated but similar) sense of duty helps keeps her around (although some days are harder than others). "It's rotten work. especially to me especially if it's you. I'll fucking do it but christ alive" is an apt descriptor of her stance about it, really.

And as someone who's lost most everyone in her life, repeatedly, and in her childhood— and before she could develop proper safety/stability on top of that— well. Even living a long, mortal life, aside from sounding simply unpleasant, sounds utterly terrifying to her.

After all, living more means knowing more. Meeting more, loving more. Losing more. When she's already horrifically ill-prepared and triggered by the idea of such things, feeding into her distancing herself from others (which in turn worsens her stability and resources to cope, and thus her isolating, and so on).

And so, the thought of living forever? Well—

...It depends, actually.

If Sasume is a token immortal, uniquely so (or close enough), the functional only one of her kind... she'd hate it. How couldn't she, where even if she wanted to be more open, everyone would crumble to dust in her hands? She'd still keep going, because of course she would, but only because she has no idea how to do anything else.

If Sasume is among one of many, well... she'd still find it terrifying. Perhaps even more so, since such a context turns it into an option. She'd still have a lot to struggle, and grieve, but with support? She could learn, and adjust, much in the same way she could with living a long, mortal life.

And the benefits? They're not ones she'd consider, for a number of reasons, but they exist. There's hope. Namely, with proper support systems and loved ones (ideally long-lived too, but not necessarily)? It'd give her so, so much more time to not just grow past and reconcile with her traumas and grief, but for her life to grow ever larger around it — and even more time to live and laugh and love after doing so.

(Tl;dr: Horrifying as shit in concept, but if she didn't have to do it alone? And had others with her for it? ...It couldn't be too bad.)

#about // sasume #meta //#meta // sasume #filler tag 1 //#filler tag 2 //#suicide mention //#suicidal ideation mention //#tfw i was expecting to need an in-text massive cw. but it turned out way more loosey goosey and missed the Yikes beats i was expecting #ask to tag //#TLDR !!! she hates hates HATES the idea but w proper tlc + support (ie friends/community/loved ones) she absolutely Could + benefit from it #shed have a lot to process abt it sure but. :'3

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smokeybrandreviews · 1 year

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Long Long Time

With the ending of The Last of Us this past weekend, I was left with thoughts. The ride was one of the best I’ve been on but, for some reason, i was left wanting. The game is one of the best I have ever played but, more than that, something felt off. I enjoyed my time in this incredibly rich take on that bleak ass world but, before I actually commented on it, I took some time to actually think on my overall experience. These are the primary realizations I had after letting that entire series sit with me for a few days after that explosive conclusion.

Bella Ramsey was good as her Ellie but she's not THE Ellie. Game Ellie hits completely different. There is this softness to her that Show Ellie lacks. While I will always prefer Ashley Johnson in the role, Bella really did make the character her own.

Pedro's Pascal is daddy. There were certain choices made with Adaption Joel that I don't necessarily agree with but, overall, I think they did The character justice. Obviously, I prefer the game version because I am a Gamer before anything but Pascal really delivered.

As an adaption, The Last of Us was exceptional. They capture the feel and tone of the source material perfectly, while simultaneously adjusting an hours long game narrative for television consumption. They had to basically distill thirty or so hours of game play down into something a non-Gamer would find captivating and they, for sure, did that.

Episode three, goddamn! This was the high point of the show and it wasn't even about Joel and Ellie. I'm sure you know about why this episode stands above the rest so there's no need to go into detail but, suffice it to say, Nick f*ckin' Offerman!

Some of the other changes were blergh. Ellie baby exposure was kind of meh. Like, that's how vaccines work. You just found a way to vaccinate people against the shrooms. Do that to other pregernants. You're willing to murder a teenager, what's a few mothers-to-be? That changes kind of makes everything these characters go through, inconsequential, bordering meaningless.

Hive mind subplot just disappeared. Sh*t was cool for an episode but then just never revisited. Why? Do you know how much more terrifying that world is now??

Gorgeous and expensive and you see every penny onscreen.

Should have had more infected. Seriously, for all the loot onscreen, there was a criminal lack of actual infected action. I know that stuff doesn't translate from game to screen well but goddamn, man. Three set pieces the whole show?? Three?

But them flashbacks, tho. Goddamn! Seriously, that cold open for episode one was chilling and the little expose for episode two? That, on it's own, could be a solid Emmy admission for Best Short. It was that good.

Speaking of original content,, I hear they might expand upon this little world they created for season two instead of jumping straight into the narrative of the sequel game. I'm not a fan of the Part II story so expanding might be dope. Like, there should have been a game in between those two showing the deterioration of Ellie and Joel's relationship and I kind of hope the show actually gives that lost content to us.

That said, most of the original content was the worst part of this show. Not the flashback stuff, that was inspired, but the additions and tweaks. Don't misunderstand me, as far as television is concerned, it's top tier. I just worry for when the writers go off-script so to speak.

I don't want the quality of this show to fall off a cliff like with Game of Thrones and, if that bit with Kathleen is anything to go off of, I might be right in my apprehension.

Sh*t was too short. We didn't get to spend time enough with Ellie and Joel. More to the point, Joel and Ellie didn't get to spend that much time together. Watching that beautifully shot and cut rampage Joel goes on during the season finale rang a bit hollow because, not two episodes earlier, Joel was still acting like a dick. Now, he's massacring an entire hospital to "save" Ellie? Really?

The game is still much, much, better. Go play that. Seriously, if you’ve never played the game, but enjoy the show, go play that sh*t right now.

#The Last of Us

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smokeybrand · 1 year

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Long Long Time

Hive mind subplot just disappeared. Sh*t was cool for an episode but then just never revisited. Why? Do you know how much more terrifying that world is now??

Gorgeous and expensive and you see every penny onscreen.

I don't want the quality of this show to fall off a cliff like with Game of Thrones and, if that bit with Kathleen is anything to go off of, I might be right in my apprehension.

The game is still much, much, better. Go play that. Seriously, if you’ve never played the game, but enjoy the show, go play that sh*t right now.

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wttcsms · 2 years

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♡ | afterglow [I]

PAIRING atsumu miya x f!reader WORD COUNT 5k CONTENT CONTAINS illusions to excessive alcohol consumption, very subtly hinted drug abuse (not from reader or atsumu)

SYNOPSIS finding out that his hot supermodel girlfriend is dumping him for some baseball player? that sucks. finding out via her red carpet debut with her new man as her plus one? sucks a bit more. having this happen to him the same day he just lost the last game of the season? yeah, it’s starting to feel like the universe has it out for him at this point, right? but atsumu miya is nothing if not petty, childish, and immature. he’ll get back at her. after all, there’s a secret dating app created by publicists and agents that pair up perfect matches for brightening up any celebrity’s public image. all atsumu has to do is pay a pretty sum of money to convince the media (and mainly his ex) that atsumu miya is still on top of the world and living his best life with the best (albeit, fake) girlfriend ever.

unfortunately for him, his perfect match just so happens to be you — his first girlfriend, his highschool sweetheart turned sour, and the first girl who ever broke his heart.

you know what they say: when it rains, it pours.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Atsumu Miya does not believe in soulmates.

It’s a concept that he can’t really wrap his head around. The idea that there is someone out there for everyone is just some sugar-coated fantasy that was contrived purely to sell shit on Valentine’s Day.

(It goes without saying, of course, that Atsumu Miya — in all his twenty-three years — has never bought, made, and/or given anything to anyone on Valentine’s Day.

Even with his current circumstances, the chances of breaking that streak look bleak at best.)

He comes to this conclusion during his first year of high school. Everyone picks a myth or folktale that they previously covered during said unit in literature class, and then they go up to the front of the classroom and share the deeper research they did on whatever they chose.

Atsumu chooses the Red Thread of Fate. He’s not a romantic, by any means (and you’d have to be real fucking dense to even entertain that idea). It’s a matter of convenience. His mom has a sewing kit that she keeps in the linen closet, and since this project requires him to decorate a board, he figures taping a bunch of red thread on cardboard will suffice.

(It doesn’t, but that’s only because the lack of effort was too obvious to ignore.)

Anyway, what he learns from all the research he put in (read: ten minutes on Wikipedia), basically, there’s this dude who talks to an old man, and oldie tells him that the woman he’s going to marry is gonna be his wife. For whatever reason, the girl happens to be there, but the young guy thinks this man is full of shit, and he throws a rock at the girl. Even Atsumu sees that there could have been a better response to that situation, but it’s not enough for him to stop rooting for the guy, y’know? So, flashforward — guy gets an arranged marriage, he meets his wife and sees her for the first time, and he totally scores. The woman is supposedly one of the great beauties of the village. Then, here’s the real kicker: it turns out she has a scar. A scar that came as a result of being whacked in the face with a rock.

There’s other variations, other retellings, but they all end up sharing the same ending: no matter how the guy feels, no matter what the guy does, he still ends up getting the girl, proving that the old man wasn’t lying whenever he said the red string connecting them would forever tie them together.

Well, it’s a myth for a reason.

In the real world, things like that don’t exist. Coincidences, yeah. Fate? Predetermined destinies that the universe decides to assign to everyone? Yeah, no. But then Atsumu remembers the way a volleyball feels in his hands, grazing against his knuckles, propelled by the force of just his fingertips, and the feeling of something fitting in so perfectly in his life makes him think that maybe fate is something real.

Fate, as it appears, is one sick and twisted bitch.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat what you just said?” He runs a hand through his already messy hair, hoping that he’s too hungover and genuinely did mishear you the first time around.

You roll your eyes before leaning forward, repeating what you told him just a couple of seconds ago.

“Miya, I’m going to be your girlfriend for as long as my services are required.”

You look about as happy as he feels, and he wants to say something smart, something witty, but he’s thinking that maybe he shouldn’t open his mouth at all. He feels sick to his stomach, and it’s not an exaggeration or a means to describe how he feels about this current situation.

It might be a result of a gas station burrito.

Obviously annoyed, you lean back in your chair. “Well, anything to say to your new girlfriend?”

He opens his mouth and throws up.

8 HOURS EARLIER

Happiness can be found anywhere.

Atsumu usually finds it on the court, ball in play, and a team of talented players that he can orchestrate to his heart’s content.

He currently finds it at the bottom of a shot glass at a club he doesn’t even remember the name of. The bass boosted music blasting through the sound system might be the reason for why his head is pounding so hard (he’s never been a fan of loud noises), or it could be a result of him accidentally hitting his head against the doorframe entrance to the men’s bathroom. He’s not really sure, and fun fact: he doesn’t actually care, either.

All he cares about right now is getting so fucked up, he forgets his own name.

“Miya!”

The fact that he knows that shout is meant to grab his attention is just proof that he’s not working hard enough. Catching on to his pattern already, the bartender is quick in sliding him another drink. He downs it by the time the person calling for him actually reaches him.

“Miya, get a fucking grip,” he hisses, slapping Atsumu’s back with a bit more force than necessary.

There aren’t a lot of people who can get away with doing that to him, but Shugo Meian is the current captain of the MSBY Black Jackals, which — as fate would have it — happens to be Atsumu’s current team. The last person Atsumu wants to piss off is the guy who pretty much calls the shots and has a shit ton of influence over how much play time he gets. With the way his night has been so far, playing volleyball seems like the only good thing left he’s got going for him. He’ll be damned if he fucks this up, too.

Not like it matters, though, since their season got cut short. It happens — seasons ending sooner than expected. It happens when you lose.

And that’s what happened. Their team lost. There is no play time for Shugo to take away from Atsumu, considering the fact that they won’t be playing for the last month remaining of the season. It was a good run; a great one, even. They made it a lot farther than most teams, and Atsumu’s just barely scraping the surface when it comes to talk about reaching the peak of his career. He has more than enough years to recover and redeem himself from a loss that, from certain viewpoints, is hardly a loss to beat himself over.

And, really, during normal circumstances, he really wouldn’t take this so harshly. He normally wouldn’t feel as gutted and hollowed out as he is right now; if only he hadn’t been dumped.

And it’s one thing to be dumped over text or on a phone call or in-person during a dinner date, but it’s another thing entirely when it comes out of seemingly nowhere. In the afternoon, he’s walking on the court with a supermodel girlfriend, and in the early evening, he’s stepping off the court, a man sweaty and defeated, opens up his Twitter timeline, and sees that said supermodel girlfriend is now his supermodel ex-girlfriend.

Professionally photographed variations of “the gorgeous Izumi Aoki” and her “yummy hunk of arm candy Junichiro Ichikawa” standing impossibly close together at some red carpet event are plastered all over his timeline. They look practically joined at the waist with how close they are. It’s not exactly the best thing to see after getting his ass kicked on (and then subsequently off) the court. He originally gives her the benefit of the doubt, but after clicking on one (or two… or three… maybe six, but definitely no more than seven) article(s), he ends up realizing with startling clarity: he just got dumped.

He just got dumped, and the words “I’m breaking up with you” weren’t even spoken or sent to him. All he got were Twitter threads and articles from various semi-reputable gossip sites that all recycled the same quote Izumi told the interviewer:

“Me and Miya? We’re a done deal. Me and Juni…” (She looks up lovingly at Juni while she’s saying this, just an FYI. Atsumu didn’t need to know this information, but five out of the no-more-than-seven articles he read felt the need to mention this little gesture, as if it means something. Maybe it’s the bitterness of a scorned ex speaking, but Atsumu highly doubts that anything coming from Izumi Aoki is capable of being genuine or loving.) “We’re the real thing.”

The truth is this: Atsumu doesn’t really care about the slight attack on him. He doesn’t even care that Izumi broke up with him, just the fact that she didn’t feel the need to let him know that she was going to do so. A little warning would have been well appreciated, rather than seeing that he’s been replaced by a hotshot rookie baseball player via tweets made by thirsty college students who had difficulty choosing between wanting to fuck Izumi or Junichiro.

(The general consensus? Both. People from the ages of seventeen through twenty-two wanted to get in bed and have an insane threesome with, according to them, “the hottest celebrity couple”.)

“Atsumu.” Shugo still has his hand on Atsumu’s shoulder, his grip firm, his tone even more so. “C’mon, it’s time you get home.”

Home, huh? Atsumu stares at the bottom of his glass and sees something familiar. Hyogo Prefecture. He sees practices in his high school gym — it used to feel so big, 'til he went pro and realized that maybe there was a world bigger than that gymnasium. He sees arguments with ‘Samu, back when Osamu was still dying his hair. He sees annoying the shit out of his mother but still willing to fistfight anyone who would dare to make a “your mom” joke to him. He sees himself as a second year, pretending like he didn’t spend all last month gathering up the courage to pretend to be as confident as ever as he convinces the smartest, prettiest, so out of his league girl to go on a date with him. You saying yes to him that one time (and every other time he asked after that) had been the highlight of his last two years of high school — which is saying something, since he went to Nationals both years, as well.

He swallows hard, wanting to laugh at himself for being so sappy. He’s not quite sure why he’s suddenly taking a trip down memory lane. Must be the drinks, he rationalizes. They’re finally doing their job in getting him fucked up.

“Whatever you say, captain,” Atsumu finally replies back to Shugo, looking up to shoot him a grin.

And man, Atsumu must have really had too much to drink tonight, because for a second, the captain he sees is Shinsuke.

Sadness, you suppose, has a way of seeping itself into any place it sees fit. For example, you’re at a club, surrounded by your best fucking friends in the world and future co-stars, celebrating your latest starring role in what Japan is calling its “most anticipated romance of the year”, and you’re…

Well, you’re sad.

You're at the height of your career, but everyone says the peak is just going to keep on getting higher and higher. You’re where you’ve always dreamed of being, where thousands of other young hopefuls are currently aspiring to be, and yet, for some odd reason, you’re not that happy.

“Hey, pretty girl,” a deep voice can be heard right against your ear; you almost jump in surprise but turning around (and also being hit with the overwhelming scent of Versace Eros), you realize it’s not a complete stranger.

Forcing a smile that you know he’ll be too drunk to recognize as fake, you acknowledge your co-star. “Hi, Inoue.”

“C’mon, babe, you can call me Ryo.” He has a heavy arm resting on your shoulder, and your already weak smile completely diminishes at this point.

Ryo Inoue has a following that’ll take you at least two years — two wildly successful years — to even catch up to. His mom was — still is — a prevalent name in the industry. She’s won practically every award an actress can even receive. Now, she has her own skincare line and still a massive, loyal fanbase that treats her word as gospel. His dad is retired, but back in his prime, any movie he was directing was bound to rake in billions of Yen, and several have even done well internationally. The point? The point is that Ryo Inoue is the epitome of a nepotism baby. He’s talented, and he’s got a pretty face, and he probably would have done well without the backing of his two powerful parents, but things come easy to him. Way too easy.

You don’t need a reputation of being easy.

Shaking off his arm, you roll your eyes. He doesn’t catch it because he’s already drunk, and with the club’s strobe lights, fog machine, and warm bodies that make everyone appear to be one big blob, you don’t think he would’ve been able to focus enough even when sober. “Yeah, whatever, I gotta go. See you on set next week.” You slip away. You think you hear him shout something, but it gets devoured by the bass boosted music blaring in this way-too-hot (and legal maximum capacity reached) space. You make your way through the club, trying to find a way out of this damn dancefloor from hell. You glance around at your surroundings, eyes landing on the bar. You catch a glimpse of blond hair and frown.

You shouldn't be thinking about him right now.

That’s how you find yourself back up in the VIP section of the place. It’s a lot better here than down there, with the “commoners” as one of the supermodels call them. The A/C seems to actually be coming through the vents, and while everyone up here is just as scantily clad, just as drunk off their asses, and just as bad — if not worse — than the so-called “commoners”, it doesn’t matter.

Money has a way of turning trashy into classy, after all. Because the barely-there bralettes the models are wearing as tops are decked out in diamonds, not cheap rhinestones. Everyone’s drinking straight out of bottles that go for over two thousand dollars. And nearly everyone here has made their publicists’ lives a living hell.

You don’t want to be thinking right now, and that’s why you’re up here, with them, pretending to celebrate. It’s all any of you are good at: pretending. Looks like you didn’t even have to become an actress to become a professional liar.

“Babe, congrats on the movie!” The only person you really, truly trust out of all “friends” is Yua. She’s bright and bubbly, literally the definition of a ride-or-die, and the only person in the industry who hasn’t stabbed anyone in the back. She’s a model that’s been gracing the covers of Vogue and being Prada’s number one It Girl since she was seventeen. You can’t blame her for wanting to party every night. If you had to go through half the shit she does, you’d want to blackout to forget it all, too.

You hug her in response, looking over her shoulder at the rest of the people present. You can put a name to every face, and you’re familiar with most of them beyond just being aware of their existence. You’re already regretting coming here in the first place, but Yua’s beaming at you, and you recognize that glossy, faraway gleam in her bright eyes. She’s on something right now. You try not to grimace. “Hey, this place sucks. Wanna get back home?”

“Home? Bestie, the party’s just getting started!” She drags you closer to the couch, giggling as she pushes you down, forcing you to sit before she plops next to you. Yua only gets really fucked up like this after a photo shoot. You should have just stayed home, but everyone was going to be here, and you can’t afford to not at least make a brief appearance. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on Yua. Not like you were doing such a stellar job ‘til now.

Yua’s been your roommate for only a couple of months now, but she’s been your first ever friend since you were just some teenage girl from the Hyogo Prefecture who wanted to act. The two of you have the same manager. Meeting her was a coincidence; clicking with her was fate, you guess. You wouldn’t have survived without Yua, and you cringe, thinking about all the emergency hospital visits you took her to. It looks like she wouldn’t survive without you, either.

No, you think miserably. The party’s been over since you looked at your phone, saw a familiar name pop up on your screen, and subsequently wanted to chuck your phone at the nearest wall.

akihito Congratulations on your latest role. I know you’ll do great.

Yua’s squealing as a server comes with a bottle in a bucket of ice. She grabs it. It’s champagne, and apparently, a gift for you.

“I’m so happy for you right now!” She cheers, thrusting the cold bottle into your hand.

You’re still thinking of Akihito, his blond hair and charming smile, and the fact that even though he broke your heart, he’s still the only person you can find yourself longing for.

Maybe you should take a page out of Yua’s book. Fuck it.

You pop the bottle, and the rest of the night becomes history.

6 HOURS EARLIER

Despite Shugo’s best efforts, a drunk Atsumu is a hungry one. And Atsumu, sober or not, is a stubborn dickhead who must have his way.

That’s why Shugo has to pull into a shady convenience store. Atsumu stumbles around the aisles, knocking over snacks, and the cashier doesn’t even look up from his magazine — which Shugo realizes is an old copy of Playboy — probably because he’s so used to this behavior from his customers.

Atsumu gets five burritos from the hot food display, and Shugo tries to gag as he watches him devour the first three in just a couple of bites.

“I can’t believe you ever had a girlfriend,” he mutters to himself, wishing his air fresheners in his car were stronger. Nothing seems to be combating the smell of five gas station burritos.

“I can’t believe you never had a girlfriend,” Atsumu counters, before snorting. “Nevermind, yeah I can.”

“Where would I even have the time to meet a girl? I’m either at the gym or cleaning up your messes.”

“I know you’re old, but c’mon now. Ya never even heard of a dating app?”

It’s because of this conversation that Atsumu is not going straight to bed — which is what Shugo commanded him to do the moment he dropped Atsumu off — but rather, he’s on the phone with his agent.

“Ken, I have an idea.”

Kento Sato is a man with expensive habits, a detrimental aspect of his personality that is the reason why he has to answer phone calls at two in the morning. Had Atsumu Miya not been one of his highest paying clients, Atsumu would not be on the phone right now. Guess money does have its perks.

“What is it, Atsumu?”

“Is it true? The dating app? Is it real?”

Kento freezes momentarily, now wide awake.

“The dating app” as Atsumu so simply puts it goes beyond just that. It’s a network where only the top agents and publicists and managers have access to, and even harder to get an arrangement for your client. Money is an obstacle, but so is your client’s public image, fanbase, career, and predicted future. It’s supposed to be a secret, and no one besides the publicists who set it up and the people who get paired is in on the truth: that it’s a fake dating app.

A publicity stunt. A way to trick followers and haters, co-stars and teammates, the entirety of TikTok and talk show audiences, that this new It Couple is the real thing. The difference between the setups done outside the app versus the matches made from it is easy to tell. The most important one being that the matches made from this app are never found out to be fake.

“Atsumu, let’s discuss this in the morning—”

“Don’t bullshit with me right now, man. Okay? ‘Cause listen — I don’t care much ‘bout the breakup, but it’s embarrassing, and everything’s going to shit right now—”

“Listen to me. You’re drunk. You’re exhausted. You’re not thinking straight—”

“I was thinkin’ just fine when I heard ya setting up that deal for—”

Accidents happen. Kento had been on a call, setting up an arrangement, and Atsumu was (sincerely, too!) looking for the bathroom. (The eavesdropping was all intentional, though. Nosy shit.)

“Don’t speak of that.” Ken hisses, and although Atsumu’s stubborn, he — for the most part — knows when to pick his fights. “Fine. So, it’s true. What does that have to do with you?”

“My rep, Ken! I’m the reason why the team lost, and now I’m a fuckin’ joke ‘cause I got dumped for some rookie baseball player who’s fresh outta high school!”

“And what is this app supposed to do for you, huh? You think I can just magically get you in the network, pull some strings, and just like that, your reputation is fixed? Shit like this happens all the time. I highly doubt a fake girlfriend is going to be able to solve everything for you.”

“Yeah, but—” Atsumu closes his eyes. It’s not really a matter of reputation or “public image” that he cares about. It’s not even the breakup that has him riled up. For the first time in a while, Atsumu acknowledges that he’s drunk, sitting in his dark apartment that feels more like a model home than an actual space that’s lived in, and he’s completely and utterly alone. “Can’t we just give it a fucking shot? ‘Cause if not, I can tell everyone I know about how you set up—”

“Fine, Atsumu.” Kento sounds beyond irritated, but Atsumu doesn’t care. He is, after all, getting his way. “Eight o’clock, sharp. I’ll call an Uber that’ll pick you up at seven to take you to my office. And Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Even if she’s going to be paid to date you, try not to make her want to run for the hills — or to the nearest baseball team, for that matter.”

1 HOUR EARLIER

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

Fumiko Gima — 13 MISSED CALLS Fumiko Gima — 3 VOICEMAILS Fumiko Gima — 27 UNREAD MESSAGES

Fumiko Gima might be one of the best managers in your industry, but she’s notorious for her lack of communication. She’s got a tight grip on the talent industry, and she manages names with more fame and money than yours. Her priority, therefore, will always be with them first, and you as an afterthought. Just being one of her clients is a privilege, and it’s enough to overlook how she rarely ever reaches out (she doesn’t even acknowledge your birthday).

So the fact that it’s Saturday and barely seven in the morning, and she’s called you thirteen fucking times in the past hour means she has a serious butt dialing issue, or you are in deep, deep shit.

Fumiko Gima Potential pairing. 5:03 AM

Fumiko Gima Wake up. We finally got a match. 5:10 AM

Fumiko Gima Get your ass up. Your contract is now depending on whether or not you come through. 5:16 AM

Your eyes feel crusty, your throat is dry, and you don’t even want to know what you look like right now. You woke up in your living room, and Yua is still sleeping on the couch, half her body hanging off of it, drooling and blissfully unaware of your impending doom.

You scroll down further, trying to make sense of Fumiko’s messages. Pairing? Match? Your contract hanging in the balance?

Fuck.

This situation goes beyond the type that shit can be used to accurately express your feelings. This is a catastrophe. Now is the time for you to say fuck.

Because how does a teenager with no connections, no relevant experience, but a shit ton of genuine acting talent get picked up by a powerhouse manager like Fumiko Gima? Here’s a hint: you didn’t sell your soul, but you kind of, sort of, definitely did agree to rent out yourself to parade around as someone’s fake girlfriend when needed.

Fuck.

The air conditioning makes the meeting room colder than it needs to be, the lights are brighter than they need to be, and you are entirely less sober than you need to be.

Fumiko nearly burst a blood vessel when she met you at the front door of some sleek, shiny office building that you’ve certainly never visited before. Of course, even though it’s eight in the morning, Fumiko looks awake enough to shoot you a glare that could have turned you to stone. She’s wearing four-inch heels, her pencil skirt and blazer looked ironed and brand-new, and she looks like she didn’t spend her Friday night moping about her ex. Now you’re wondering if she even has a significant other, or if there was someone special in her life before but now they’re no longer a thing, or—

“You look like shit,” is her greeting, before rolling her eyes, pushing you inside like she’s afraid someone’s going to take a candid of you, and forcing you into an elevator that would be sending you off to your doom. (As it turns out, your doom happens to be located on the twenty-eighth floor of this unknown building. Lovely. You can only hope the view will be nice as you’re signing away your life.)

Now you’re stuck in a chair, staring out the window (the view is shit, by the way, much like this whole entire situation), waiting to see who will be coming out the elevator next.

Truth be told, you weren’t even hesitant when the offer first came up. Fumiko Gima was relatively unknown to you before she handed you her business card after watching one of your mock auditions. A Google search told you everything you needed to know: she meant business, and you wanted to handle yours with her.

Everything comes with a price, though, and at the time, the deal seemed too good to be true. You’ll have to pay her, of course, but only after your first big role — a role that she would secure for you. All you have to do is be on standby for a less… traditional role.

It’s an acting gig, she told you. But it’ll be very challenging not to break your character.

You hear the elevator ding!, and you swallow hard. You’ve got oversized sunglasses on, ones tinted dark enough to where no one can see your eyes, and so you hope that when your “match” sits down in front of you, they won’t be able to see you size them up.

“About time,” Fumiko says, skipping any polite greetings whatsoever. You suppose that when you’ve got a majority of Japan’s A-List actors/actresses in your grip, you can afford to skip formalities or two.

“Gima.” A gruff voice says.

You can feel three pairs of eyes looking at you. Fumiko, probably expecting you to turn to face them and say something. The owner of the gruff voice, undoubtedly. And that leaves… the person you’ll be pretending to be head over heels in love with. Yeah, you’re not looking up just yet.

“Do you think I have the time to just sit here and wait around for you, Sato?” Fumiko’s voice is colder than this room, and a lesser man would have started apologizing the second she was done asking her (highly rhetorical) question.

“Yeah, well, not all of us keep our clients on a leash and yank them to where they need to be.” Apparently, whoever Sato is, is not a lesser man.

“Hmph. From what I’ve heard about him, you really should. It’ll do you some good. Maybe it’ll stop the production of white hairs for you.”

Sato just grunts in reply, before yanking a chair out and taking a seat. Whoever is with him follows suit, taking the chair directly across yours. You register blond hair — messy, which makes you feel a bit more comfortable — and broad shoulders that take up the entirety of your sunglasses’ lens. You’re trying to avoid looking at his face, hoping and praying that he’s not going to be too difficult to pretend to be in love with. Maybe you’re shallow and stupid for wanting your fake boyfriend to be hot, but shallow and stupid describes half the people you’re associated with. Birds of a feather, or whatever.

“Alright, they’re here, we’re here. You two can have the hour to talk things out. I have a more pressing meeting to attend, but I’m sure Sato has nothing important happening in his life, so he’ll discuss legal matters with you both before I get back.” Fumiko’s efficient, so you’re not surprised that she’s practically halfway out the door by the time the first few words come out her mouth.

You turn to focus on Sato, who shoots you what you assume he thinks is a smile (but resembles a scowl, more like). “Ah, I need a drink first. Coffee.” He adds in the last word quickly, which makes you smile. “I’m going to get coffee. You two… Yeah.”

The moment you’re alone, the person who came with Sato finally speaks.

“So, what’s with the sunglasses? Are ya, like, blind? ‘Cause I really don’t mind, but my place is a mess, so if you’re ever comin’ over, you’re gonna have to give me, like, a two-day notice so I can get the place fixed for ya.” The voice sounds oddly familiar, the accent reminding you of home. It’s a lot more comforting than you expect it to be. “Nah. Make it a four-day notice.”

“No. I’m not blind.” You push your sunglasses up to rest them on top of your head, finally staring straight at your new “boyfriend”.

And then you kind of wish you were blind because the stunned face staring right at you is a lot more familiar than the accent.

Five years can make a difference, but you would recognize Atsumu Miya — your first boyfriend, your first love — anywhere.

a/n: i just realized that i stated the fucking obvious with the whole "woman he's going to marry is his wife" and then even had the audacity to emphasize "wife" as if... the woman u marry is ??? anything other than ur wife ???? but i left it up bc on brand with atsumu's idiocy but also im 2 tired 2 do anything abt it. pls know that i have looked over this draft (and probably that paragraph since it was written so early on) a minimum of 3 times and only just now caught it after publishing it. i am resisting the urge to go berserk rn.

#atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #miya x reader #one shot #fluff #imagine #smut #well eventual smut #exes to lovers #hq x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya x you #atsumu imagines #series: afterglow

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