#i've wanted to keep a diary all my life but i could never really do it

[silcoitus]

Hello! I think I'm doing this right but if not, I'm so sorry:

What do you think Silco would do if he found out, years later/during Act 2, that a fling he had when he was alot younger and dumber, resulted in him having a Son/Gender neutral child living in Piltover?

(how this is discovered can be completely up to you)

Would the angst of them being a Piltovian(?) citizen permanently leave their relationship undefined or would he push away his hatred of Piltover and try and meet them?

Better yet, how would Jinx react to this?

Just a bit of potential angst to spice things up I guess haha.

Thank you!

Thank you for this amazing prompt, anon! It's one of my favorite ones I've ever received! Why does writing angst soothe me? It doesn't make sense.

Summer's Ghost

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco, original female character, original child character, angst, depression, reference to character death, character study

Word count: 2.7k

Beta reader: @juniper-sunny

Silco receives a curious letter from a Piltie boy claiming to be his son. Spurred by lingering bitterness and unresolved anger, Silco visits Topside for answers and to finally speak his mind to the woman who left him so many years ago.

Dear Mr. Silco,

I'm not exactly sure how even to begin this letter, so I’ll start with the part that is most relevant to you:

I am your son.

I know, I didn't believe it at first either. But if you keep reading, I can tell you how that happened.

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover. She was the top of her class and an artist. My grandparents tell me that, in her university days, she had a bit of a rebellious streak. She ran away from home to live in the Undercity. Over the course of a summer there, she met a man. And fell in love.

You probably know more about how the rest of this story goes than me.

After that summer, my mom had a change of heart. She returned home with a new bundle in tow: me. And while she never told me, I assume she left the Undercity in order to raise me here.

But you probably don’t care about all that. You just want to know why I’m writing to you. 

Well, first off: I'm not asking for money. My mom (and grandparents) provided for me and I have a comfortable life here in Piltover. 

I don't want anything from you. Not really. I wrote because… well… My mother died recently. It's actually how I found out about you. My birth was a closely guarded secret and it was only when I was cleaning her stuff out after her death that I learned. She had a box of things from her time with you: a diary, some photographs, a bracelet. I thought you might want them.

I don’t know what your relationship with my mother was like or how it ended, but this seemed like something she would want me to do. If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. 

I've attached her obituary. It has her final resting place. If you want to collect the box, I've left it on her grave. If you haven’t taken it by next week, I’ll assume you want nothing to do with it. And that’s okay, too.

Sincerely,

M.

P.S I also included a photo for proof. You can hold onto it. I already made myself a copy.

When finally Silco lifts his eyes from the letter, it's with slightly parted lips and inward curling eyebrows. Visions of memories long ago flick across his mind’s eye unbidden, released like water from a dam. 

Setting the letter down, he retrieves the other effects in the pneumatic tube. Fingers tremble as they pull out a small photograph. It's worn around the edges and the ink has faded significantly, but the image is unmistakable: it's him in his early twenties, standing next to the woman who left him.

He remembers that summer clearly, the memories vivid and the feelings so strong it could power a Hexgate. He remembers the late nights talking, the sound of her laugh, the way she was always sketching in her notebook. He remembers the first time they kissed, followed quickly by the first time they made love.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line, something bitter bubbling within him. 

He remembers his desperation when he ran through the Lanes, searching for her. He remembers how he couldn’t sleep for days, worried something had happened. That someone had taken her. Or worse. He remembers crying so hard that he could feel it in his teeth, his cheekbones feeling as if someone was pressing their thumbs to them with the aim of crushing them. He remembers drinking.

And drinking.

And drinking.

Drinking to cope.

Drinking to forget.

Drinking to wash down the bitter taste of the knowledge that he had let someone get so close to him so quickly, only for them to rip his heart out and slash it to pieces. And to add insult to injury—

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover.

He stares at that word again.

Piltover

Hand shaking violently, he picks up the pneumatic tube and hurls it across the room. It breaks on impact as it hits the office door, glass shards flying through the air.

Of course.

Who else could chew him up and spit him out? Who else but a Piltie? His home—his life—nothing more than a tourist attraction to her, a vacation away from her cushy, privileged life. 

How could he have been so blind?

How could he have been so stupid?

He can feel his heart rate rising, chest heaving as his breathing grows unsteady. Good eye fluttering closed, he puts one hand out, signaling himself to stop.

Slow down.

Breathe.

He takes one long inhale through his nose, holding it for a moment before blowing it out his mouth through pursed lips. When he opens his eyes, his jaw is set, decision made.

He snatches the letter, photo, and newspaper clipping off the desk, shoves them into his coat pocket, and walks out the door.

As far as final resting places go, this certainly is one of the more luxurious ones. Even in death, Topsiders can’t help but preen and self-aggrandize, if not with their bodies, their tombs. Each gravestone seems to be attempting to outdo the next, growing larger and more gaudy in size as Silco walks down the rows of graves. Subconsciously, his nostrils flare and his mouth twitches into a snarl.

When he finds her name among the dead, he’s surprised to see not a tombstone but rather a park bench. Constructed out of blue pearl granite and polished to a brilliant shine, her name, date of birth, and date of death are carved into the back. The soil around the bench looks freshly turned over and the carved letters barely have any dust or dirt accumulated in them. Studying the dates, it would seem M did not lie; she had died two weeks ago. 

And there—sitting on one end of the bench, waiting for him—is the box.

His chin lifts as his mismatched eyes scan his surroundings, looking over his shoulder, his ears alert and listening for any signs of other visitors. Certain no one is nearby or within eavesdropping distance, he turns his attention back to the bench.

He could just take the box and go. There’s no need for him to linger here. But as he stands staring at her name—carved with such finality into that unmoving stone—he can’t bring himself to leave.

And yet, it’s odd, addressing a bench. On his way over, he had envisioned himself spitting on a tombstone with great satisfaction. But now, as he’s faced with something as welcoming as a bench in a beautifully maintained cemetery, he feels stuck. Any anger that had been boiling in his abdomen before has simmered down, upended by the unexpected appearance of his former lover’s grave.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves the photograph. After propping it up on the bench, he addresses the woman who lies six feet underground. 

“You…” He can’t even bring himself to say her name, both hands balled into fists in his coat pockets. “You’ve been here this entire time.”

Both eyes roll as he realizes the error of his statement.

“Not here, but in Piltover.” He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, good eye squeezed shut. “I searched for you for weeks. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I thought someone had taken you. I thought you had—”

Died.

Well.

It’s accurate now, isn’t it?

“Typical Topsider,” he spits out, one hand gesturing as if throwing something away, like the way she had thrown him away, “You come to my home, promising a bright and brilliant future, but all you do is leave destruction in your wake.”

He steps back, pulls his head back, and spits onto the freshly dug soil.

“Disgusting,” he snarls. “And to think, I had lov—”

He pauses, unable to finish the word.

He was young. He was ignorant. That was not love he felt for her. Nor adoration. That was infatuation; merely a young man’s naive idea of what love was.

What that was—it was Not Love.

Silco pulls his fingers through his hair, collecting himself.

“Why?” His hand curls into a fist again. His tone is bitter, full of anger, growing in volume. “I don’t care why you left; I know exactly why you left.” 

As he continues to speak, his concerns about being overheard are overcome by the thundering emotions swelling inside him, churning and bubbling after years of dormancy. “You didn’t want your son to grow up to be a street urchin like his sumprat father. No… all I want to know is…”

His next words are bellowed out, the sound coming from deep within his lungs, each word punctuated with a pregnant pause, as if he means to put his entire body into every syllable.

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”

There’s a flurry of wings as nearby birds take flight, spooked by the sudden noise. 

Silco’s good eye flutters closed again and he takes long, deep breaths, recentering himself. His hand comes up, forefinger pressing to his sternum. There’s a desperation to his voice now, a yearning. Mourning something he didn’t even know he had until a few hours ago.

“I had a right to know.” He opens his good eye, staring at the photograph. Staring at her. “He is my son. He is my blood. How could you have kept him from me for so many years?”

He gathers himself, eyes casting to the ground. 

He had so much more he wanted to say. Years of anguish, torment. But now that he’s here, he’s forgotten them all.

He feels empty.

Finally, he slumps down on the bench, next to the box. It remains untouched beside him. He sits with his shoulders sagging forward, both elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as his head hangs low. 

It’s quiet in the cemetery.

He turns his face toward the photograph, addressing the woman in it with a whisper of a voice. “All I wanted was for you to be okay. For you to live a good life.”  He lifts his head toward the great, open sky of the City of Progress, free from smoke and fissure gasses and ash. “And I suppose I got what I wanted.”

He hangs his head once more, speaking to the ground at his feet.

“You just did it without me.”

A stiff breeze blows through, tugging at his coat. He makes no move to bundle himself up further, letting the chill air surround him, seeping into his bones.

He sits.

And remembers.

After a few moments, he hears movement. Ears prickling and head whipping up, he spots a boy walking between some nearby tombstones. He looks to be a teenager, fifteen—maybe sixteen—years of age. The boy pauses at one of the graves, looking at it silently, his hands shoved into his pockets. After a moment, his eyes lift and meet Silco’s.

Silco meets his gaze, unblinking. The boy doesn’t seem at all fazed by Silco’s corrupted eye, giving him a small, polite nod. Silco nods in return before tearing his eyes away.

Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes pause on the small wooden box on the bench. 

Mahogany. Expertly crafted. Like the bench, it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Unbidden, Silco’s throat bobs as he reaches for the box and gingerly places it on his lap.

After taking a deep breath, he lifts the lid.

The first thing he sees is a bracelet. Black in color and made of thin strips of leather with small circular charms along the strings, it’s plain and modest. The surface of the leather looks almost brittle, worn around its edges from frequent use.

Underneath, there’s a stack of photos. Lifting them, he recognizes the first as one he had taken. The late woman stands laughing beside The Last Drop’s jukebox, Felicia grinning widely next to her. Vander can be seen in the corner, caught mid-sentence as he speaks with whom Silco can only assume is Benzo. Setting down that photo, Silco’s eyebrows lift when he sees the next one.

He doesn’t remember this photo being taken at all, which is curious given the fact he’s the one and only subject of the photo. Silco—sporting long hair tied back in a low bun—sits at the bar, pouring over his notebook. His right arm is wrapped in strips of off-white fabric and in his hand is a pencil, which hovers over the page, posed to write. 

Silco remembers this night.

It was the night Felicia told him and Vander she was pregnant with Violet. It was the night everything changed.

Funny, how the night he learns of one pregnancy happens to also be the night his lover leaves him because of hers.

He hums, continuing to study the photograph.

He had forgotten what he looked like at that age, so used to seeing his marred reflection in the mirror. So used to covering half of his face with foundation just to regain some semblance of normalcy.

Silco’s about to look through the rest of the box when he sees movement out of his periphery. Quickly, he shuts the box and looks up to see the boy from before, standing in front of him.

“Sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Silco replies simply. His good eyebrow lifts in silent question.

“Is it okay if…” The boy gestures to the empty spot on the bench. 

Silco stands, hand offering the seat, the box neatly tucked under his arm.

“Oh, you didn’t have to leave,” the boy says, scooting over to leave some room. “I just wanted to sit for a little bit.”

Silco eyes him for a moment, then, against his better judgement, sits back down. The mahogany box feels heavy in his lap. The boy’s eyes look at it briefly before looking out into the rest of the cemetery.

The pair sit in silence, the only sound the rustle of the leaves as the wind rushes through the nearby trees. Silco’s hand covers the box, fingers idly smoothing over the carving of a rose on the lid.

He doesn’t know why he does it, compelled by a nagging curiosity, but Silco breaks the silence.

“Do you have family here?”

The boy nods. “My grandpa.”

Silco hums.

Silence falls between them again.

“Do you?” the boy asks, eyes lifting to meet Silco’s.

Silco’s lips press together, the tip of his chipped tooth catching the inside of his mouth a little.

“In a sense.”

The boy sighs. “At least it’s a pretty nice view.”

Silco follows his gaze.

“It is.”

“Well, except for that.” 

The boy points to a large tombstone made of porcelain with gold accents all along its edges. Every inch of it seems to be covered in some sort of design, painted in blue. But the patterns come across as less elegant and more like visual noise; the eye given nowhere to rest, the senses overwhelmed by all the complicated shapes and textures.

Laughing, the boy makes a retching noise. “It’s so ugly.”

Silco’s lips pull into a smirk, head tilting.

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Yup.”

The boy abruptly gets to his feet, seemingly satisfied. Turning to Silco, he puts his hand out in offering.

“I’m Marlow, by the way.”

“Marlow.” Silco takes his hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy nods, seemingly out of words. After offering a small smile, he turns on his heel, heading for the gates.

Silco continues to sit on the bench, thumb rubbing absentmindedly on the box’s carvings. After a moment, his eyes widen and he reaches into his coat pocket for the letter, eyes darting down to the bottom.

M.

He looks up to find the boy has disappeared. He lets a short chuckle out of his nose as he shakes his head, rising to his feet.

After one final look at his ex-lover’s grave, he starts his trek back home.

He has a feeling this won’t be the last time he visits this cemetery.

And it won’t be the last he’s seen of that boy.

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco  @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @sirenofzaun @blissfulip @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @mrsdelirium @witheringblooddemon

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[galsinspace]

Day 6 on ADHD meds. I woke up when my alarm rang, had breakfast while listening to some music, cleaned while listening to a podcast, and it's only now noon.

All unthinkable as little as a week ago.

Idk how to even explain this insane change to my friends. That inner paralysis I've lived with all my life. That block. That curse. A little over a week ago it took me 3 hours to put new sheets on my bed. Now I just do things.

This is a new life. Before it barely felt like a livable life, and suddenly it does.

[cherry-romper]

Loving You Sounds Like a Song

Playlist

+ Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, Iida, Momo, Jirou, Mina, Ochaco, Asui, Mirio, Amajiki, Aizawa, Hawks, All Might, Dabi, Twice, Compress, Shiguraki

Midoriya; Head over Heels - Tears For Fears

I wanted to be with you alone

I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much?

Something happens and I'm head over heels

One little boy, one little man - funny how time flies

Bakugou; Everlong - Foo Fighters

I've waited here for you, Everlong

Come down, And waste away with me

Breathe out, So I can breathe you in

And I wonder...if everything could ever feel this real forever.

You gotta promise not to stop when I say when.

Todoroki; Say Yes to Heaven - Lana Del Rey

Give peace a chance, Let the fear you have fall away

Say yes to heaven, Say yes to me

If you go, I'll stay, You come back, I'll be right here

And if you fight, I'll fight

I've got my mind on you

Kirishima; Lover - Taylor Swift

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Kaminari; NEON - DPR LIVE

Your kisses make it go neon

Neon, I want to know you

Neon, lose the night with you

Girl, I'm liking your body, but more than that I love your, uh

Colourful smile, you make me wonder what's under, uh

The way you make the light go blurry

Sero; Coast - Hailee Steinfeld

You the wave upon my ocean, pounding rhythm and motion

Just relax and let the riptide pull you close

Baby, all I wanna do is coast, with you

The starts come down, you drown 'em out

I'm sinking deeper into you

Iida; This Charming Man - The Smiths

Will nature make a man of me?

Why pamper life's complexity, When the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat?

This man said, "It's gruesome that someone so handsome should care"

A jumped up pantry boy, Who never knew his place

Momo; You've Got The Love - Florence + The Machine

I know I can count on you

But you've got the love I need to see me through

When my food is gone you are my daily meal

When friends are gone I know my saviour's love is real

Jirou; Wait a Minute! - WILLOW

I'm here right now, with you

I'll run my hands through you hair

You wanna run your fingers through mine

You left your diary at my house, And I read those pages, Do you really love me, baby?

Mina; DESERT EAGAL - Beyonce

Soft to the touch, let you hold somethin'

Soft kisses on some fat lips

Put on a show and make it nasty, Desert Eagle in the backseat

Oh, I keep it classy, let you love me like a lady, yeah

Ochaco; Strawberry Skies - Kid Travis

Girl you brighten up my world

Cant you tell I want you by my side?

We're gone with the wind, Hair in your face, Put my hand on your waist

Strawberry skies, all on your lips, 'cause I love how it taste

Hope that you catch me when I fall

Asui; Honey - Kehlani

I like my girls just like I like my honey, sweet, A little selfish

'Cause I'm a beautiful wreck, A colourful mess, but I'm funny

All the pretty girls in the world, But I'm in this space with you

Don't walk away, or would you wait for me?

Isn't love all we need? Is it love?

Mirio; I can't Help Myself - Four Tops

You know that I love you, I cant help myself

I love you and nobody else

Leaving just your picture behind, And I kissed it a thousand times

When you snap your figure or wink your eye, I come running too you

But every time I see your face, I get choked up inside.

Amajiki; Halley's Comet - Billie Eilish

But in my dreams I seem to be more honest, And I must admit, you've been in quite a few

But you're all it takes for me to break a promise

Silly me to fall in love with you

Midnight for me is 3AM for you

I was good at feeling nothing, now I'm hopeless

Aizawa; Adore You - Harry Styles

I get so lost inside your eyes, Would you believe it?

You don't have to say you love me

You don't have to say nothing

You don't have to say you're mine

I'd walk through fire for you, Just let me adore you

Hawks; Where u Goin' Tonight? - Mac Ayres

Just don't stand so close to me... Unless tonight, you'll be my only

All of the things I tried to keep low, Feeling like I been changing

Tell me where you goin' tonight? I'll meet you there if that's alright

Could I be the one to do the things that you like?

Burnt all my bridges, baby, But at least I'm staying warm

I been working on forgiveness, Said I don't think its catching on

All Might; I Was Made For Lovin' You - KISS

Tonight I wanna give it all to you

'Cause girl, I was made for you, And girl, you were made for me

Can you get enough of me?

Feel the magic, there's something that drives me wild

Dabi; LET THE WORLD BURN - Chris Grey

It's dangerous 'cause I want it all, And I don't think I care what it costs

I shouldn't have fallen in love, Look what it made me become

And I know you think you can run

But I just cant let you go

I'd let the world burn, Let the world burn for you

This is how it always had to end, If I cant have you then no one can

Twice; Caraphernelia - Pierce The Veil

There ain't a think that you can do that's going to ruin my night

This dizzy dreamer and her bleeding little blue boy

Hold my heart, it's beating for you anyway

Ill burn your name into my throat

What's so good about picking up the pieces?

Mr. Compress; Never Ever Getting Rid of me - From Waitress

I will never let you let me leave, I promise I'm not lying

I'm gonna do this right, Show you I'm not moving, Wherever you go, I won't be far to follow

I'm gonna love you so, You'll learn what I already know, I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me

Shigaraki; No Mercy - DeathByRomy

My boy hates everybody but me

He's sinister, but to me, he's sweet

In love with a monster, Daddy thinks I've lost it

My boy's a bullet in your brain, I show no mercy

Your nightmare is the man of my dreams

It turns me on when he makes you bleed

[azure-cherie]

𝐏𝐀𝐂 : 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅.𝐒.

Hello love's for this reading i channel a love letter from your future spouse , i really have a lack of fs readings and ik I don't do that enough but here's it because I feel so called to do this todayyy. Take what resonates and leave the rest , you can choose multiple . I hope you guys like this and feedbacks are always always appreciated !!!!!

Pile 1 :

Mon Amour ,

The sweet river of my life, the reason I live , the reason I thrive , I've been seeing you in my dreams since past lives and I can't fathom the beauty in your eyes . Ever since we've been together and the day i met you my life has been absolutely the one I dream of . Thank you for always being the shoulder I can learn on thank you i think i don't say it enough, you deserve the world and I'm trying everyday to bring in the world for you . I love the way you make art and love the way you make me your muse if I had the talent you had i probably would sing for you . I love your sweet kisses like candy and i hate every moment i argue so I'm happy to be sorry first kidding I know you're always right kinda bad on my part right , I wanna give you the world and there's so much to be done yet , so much to achieve , so much to heal but i know with you by my side i will heal. So i steal the thunder from heaven to make a souvenir of my love even when i am dead the way i tell you about my love won't be enough.

- yours completely

Pile 2 :

Dear love ,

In my darkest days you're the light I turn to , my heart is so full even when my brain is in shambles because I have you . I'm so in love that I can barely eat so I soak up your sunshine and I'm all fine and better under your holy light . We are a pair and we will make history and all these people that think we're too young too naive will be left in misery, they don't see you like i do, we both see each other . They say love is a big thing but I'd like laundry and taxes with you . Plain bread with you tastes like heaven , even tho I'm a heathen i pray the heavens for you may the paradise we make last forever, may i always keep jewellery in your altar , may things never be forbidden in our diary and in all of the things that are may I know one thing for sure that I don't wanna spend a moment away from you anymore . I burn for you I'm human for you .

- your lover

Pile 3 :

Hey Miss,

Springtime your time my time I look at you my beautiful flower fuller than poppies , more abundant than a lotus , like a burning rose with desire , you set me on fire , yet you cool me like running water how do you do , how do you put me in this state . I wanna love you don't you think it's getting late for even a while to wait , meet me at the garden gate . I don't know much but I know I came into earth to be with you i could be a tree but I'm a human to love you like humans do . How could you know me so well i almost lose myself when I'm with you and that's what I want when I'm with you to be free like a child . I wanna devote all my evenings to make coffee for you and i wanna spend all my breaths being high because I love you so much my thoughts spin out , you're moon herself you grant wishes so please grant mine goddess divine .

- always yours

Pile 4 :

Hey sweetheart,

I've been on a quest to find you , since I was young I've always felt that I was meant for more than just I saw what other couples around me had I knew I needed to be drowned and insane when i like someone , but the way you lift me up gave me all of it together , you're all the bright colours at once , yet you're a mystery , I love that i figure out something beautiful about you each day I know life with you can never be boring, it's always fun always worth living , thank you for holding me when the world discarded me , I know angels are real because i have seen you . Sorry for the times i mess things up , i never want that . we need to be together to explore this world without this bond this earth is mere ground with fire at the core , I wanna love you more . How do I explain this love where do I put all my love for you you're growing into me with each day I place your name in my heart like a sweet melody , i live to love you , I love to love you.

- only yours forever

Thank you so much for reading, have a great day/night ❤️

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 4 "O God!"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧༺༻ Dreams are messages from the deep ༺༻✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

A/N: Fluff meets oh God help us 😩

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️| Relic Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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Night 100

"Do you know that tonight marks our hundredth night together?" Feyd purrs, blue eyes glittering like little seas, shoulders rolling as he sways her in his lap.

"Is that why I get to be on top tonight?" Mirth laces her tone, rocking herself up and down with the aid of his hands. This barely counts as being on top when he does all the heavy lifting for her.

"You get to be wherever you want, my sweet."

She lets out a sultry moan, holding herself at the lowest point of Feyd's lap, relishing how deep he reaches, how completely he fills her when she has fully sank down on him, feeling the smoothness of his thighs against her behind. Feyd moans with her, suckling on her neck which is so beautifully bared to him.

"Really, you've been keeping count?" She mewls when Feyd begins to rock her anew, only little thrusts that make her walls flutter with growing anticipation.

"I have. I've made a tally chart."

That is so endearing to her that she laughs brightly and asks: "With chalk on the walls of your prison cell? I'm so sorry for holding your dreams hostage." She doesn't know how right she is, though it’s not the dream that is the prison. On second thought, what would happen if left through that door over there? They've never tried, because the things to be discovered within each other are of much greater interest.

She adds: "I haven't made a tally chart, but I did write in my diary after our first night. I was so certain I'd never have a dream like that again, I never wanted to forget it."

"What did you write?" Feyd inquires with sparkling eyes, now suckling on her collarbones and then her breasts, rendering her breath shaky and thick with lust when she replies.

"I wrote that I encountered the most wondrous man in my dreams last night and that I could touch him and it felt so real. I wrote that you have pretty eyes and a silly name. I may have also written that I've never come so hard in my life."

That lights a fire in Feyd's eyes and chest and he clutches her body to his tightly, rutting up into her cunt with his feet propped up on the bed. She seeks purchase on his shoulders, clinging to him. Feyd seems intent on exceeding their first night, and with the way her core coils, she thinks he just might.

"And what do you write nowadays?" He inquires with husky voice.

"That's a, haahhh, secret. It's a diary for a reason."

That doesn't quite please Feyd, but he is very pleased by her tone of voice on the edge of despair, spine arching, teeth gritted. His balls feel taut and ready to burst and he keeps his composure only for her. "Well, I want you to write about this night when you wake up, can you do that for me?"

"Yes! Yeees, haaaahhh~ Feyd!" She falls into the mindless embrace of climax, mewling his name, riding him with stuttering hips. It is less the feeling of her fluttering walls that makes him spill himself with a guttural sound, more the sight of his woman so disheveled, features painted in bliss.

When they've both calmed down from their highs, she sinks limply into Feyd's embrace, hearts thundering against each other. Feyd peppers her shoulder with kisses and she does the same to his. She likes his shoulders. After a minute, when her breath is a little calmer, she kisses his neck and jaws.

"That tickles," Feyd complains, scrunching his nose.

"You have a birthmark right here, did you know that?"

"You think I don't know my own body?" In fact, Feyd wasn't fully aware of the birthmark there, just at the underside of his jaw. He avoids looking at himself all too much and all too close, especially outside of the dream.

"It's very pretty. You don't have many birthmarks at all. So smooth." She drags her nose across his neck, blowing softly on him and Feyd flinches, cursing her lightly. That fucking tickles! Eventually, she finds something of interest, touching a spot at his neck with tender fingertips.

"What have you got there, another birthmark?" His voice comes as a light, raspy chuckle.

"No… A scar," she tentatively admits, tracing the blemished skin at the side of his neck. A small sickle moon whose tip brushes against his collar bone. Immediately, she regrets pointing it out, because only one thing comes to mind.

"A scar?" A scar he would remember. Feyd's hand joins hers on his neck, feeling the slightly marred flesh, a scar that's barely an inch long. "I don't have that when I'm awake," he pensively admits. The Baron never hurts him so far up.

Night 168

If only she had the resources and the time, she would have spent every waking hour trying to solve the enigma of her and the man named Feyd, would have done more than writing fondly in her diary, would have wired her body and brain up in a sleep lab and studied how their connection works, but she might never get the chance. No, she will never get the chance. How could that not devastate her?

She hasn't told anyone in her waking life about him. He is her wondrous companion at night, her best friend from a dream with whom she can run away, into whose embrace she can crawl to hide from everything and everyone, with whom she doesn't need to think.

Feyd hasn't failed to notice how restless she has been for the past week, her shoulders always tight, her gaze faraway and a look of guilt and pain plastered into her eyes so deep, not even his touch could melt her anymore.

Presently, his hands curl around the nape of her neck, entangling his fingers in her hair, nose sliding against hers as he slots his lips against hers in a desperate attempt to stifle his own bubbling inquiry. But she cups his cheeks and merely presses their foreheads together, cradling him like he's the most precious thing she's ever held.

Good manners might dictate that he doesn't pressure her, like she had never pressured him to bare his heart to her, but by all the Gods and all the galaxies, he cannot take it any longer and he will pressure her, because the growing unease and the lump in his throat are unbearable.

Surprisingly, she breaks under just a whiff of pressure, like a dam breaking from the removal of a single log. Feys cups her cheeks like she cups his, exhaling a heavy breath against her mouth, blue eyes open and inquisitive. She knows that they're open, so she opens hers and immediately feels stinging wetness spill over her waterline. 

"Tell me?" Half a question, half a demand. Feyd's thumbs rub over the tears that dampen the soft skin beneath her eyes.

"It's gotten s-so so much worse," she removes one hand from his cheek, twists her head to cry into her palm, though Feyd's thumbs remain on her face.

"The… war?"

"Of course, the war! I'm scared that we won't make it out alive, Feyd." She gnaws her lip, closing her eyes. She's lying. She's lying and Feyd must never know her horrible lie.

"Are you still safe?"

"Relatively, yes." She shakes her head, swallowing. Feyd calms his own heart and breathing. That is the most important thing, but he doesn't feel all too well about that 'relatively'.

"Is that really true? You've been so tense. No, don't cry. Of course I noticed." Feyd releases her face, embraces her instead so she may sob into his shoulder.

"Yes, it is. I really am relatively safe. I mean… A few days ago, there was an airstrike a few kilometers to the north and a breach in, uh, in our bunker. But we found and fixed it quickly enough. I was only feeling sick for a day or two."

To describe the place as a mere bunker is such an offense, she feels her own heart shrivel. She needs to tell him, but she can't. Such a fucking coward, pathetic!

Meanwhile, Feyd soaks up every word. He so rarely gets to hear details about her waking life, details that he craves more and more but simultaneously loathes. A heavy frown forms on his forehead, mulling over her words until he only tastes bitter rot and fear on his tongue. If this is relatively safe, how could he accept that?

"I don't know if I can dream while I- while I-"

"While what?!" Feyd snaps when she stops before the crucial part. "Stop speaking in riddles, woman, tell me what's wrong!"

She cannot tell him, or he will despise her for her privilege. It is unfair. There is a reason why people like her are envied, despised and pitied. They are privileged cowards.

"I wish we were together," she swerves but confesses truthfully. But the rules are strict, so it can't be.

Feyd senses his woman slipping out of his fingers metaphorically, no matter how tightly he squeezes her dream-bound body.

"And if I came to save you?" Madly, his heart beats against his ribs and his palms grow clammy with anxiety. She laugh-sobs, like she thinks that's an endearing proposition. Obviously, she doesn't know the power Feyd holds in the same hands that are holding her right now.

"The air space is tight and the land routes are sealed. We, oh God, we… went to orbit yesterday. Even if you had a suitable craft, you would be blown to bits on the way."

Feyd's frown thickens and blue eyes flicker questioningly over his woman's back and shoulder, as her face remains hidden in his neck, clinging onto him with raw fear of judgment.

She adds: "But I c-can't deny, I wish I could have seen you with my own eyes and touched you with my own hands. Even if it's only once." She cries harder and wetness slips down Feyd's shoulder. He cannot bear to see her suffer for a second longer.

He is ready for the singularity to break out of the black hole. To know her personally, intimately and emotionally in the flesh, outside of their dreamland cocoon. He will find her. He will see her in real life and hold her in his real arms. She will love him, it won't matter to her who he is, not to his sweet woman who has learned so much about him, more than any human alive.

"Where are you from?" Softly and calmly he asks her and the lump in his throat dissolves at once. Liberation. He's finally made his decision and never felt better.

Sobbing softly, she names him a place followed by a second place he's never heard of. Maybe a country, maybe a city.

Feyd shakes his head. "No… My sweet, from which world are you? I will get you out of there. Believe me, I can." 

Her sniffling abates and she raises her head, tear-streaked face knitted with confusion. "What do you mean, which world?" 

"Are you toying with me?!" Feyd is not in the mood for jest, because every minute counts. As soon as he awakes, he will order her rescue, and if he has to pay House Harkonnen's entire fortune to the Guild to provide a heighliner to the most distant world. "What's the name of your planet, my darling, I'll come and get you, just tell me the name!"

"Earth?" The corners of her mouth quiver. "I think you're toying with me." And she can't blame him. Everything is already horrible enough.

"From which earth?" Feyd is growing annoyed with her. Does his woman not want to be found by him? What does she fear?! Has he not proven over and over how he craves her, how he loves her? Would she rather be reaped away by some planetal war than be with him?

"I don't understand you," she meekly admits with a tightness in her chest. "From which world are you?" She laughs a little, but her features are warped into horror, like something is knocking at her own house of cards.

"From Giedi Prime, of course! I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, na-Baron of Giedi Prime!" Feyd slams his fist against the mattress. There, he's finally said it. He expects her to pull away from him with fear now and look at him the way every foreigner looks at him, envious and disdainful.

"I don't know what that means," she admits, voice warbled. Perhaps his darling is confused out of her mind, perhaps she didn't hear him correctly. So, Feyd cups her face firmly.

"That means I'll come and get you. Did you hear me? I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen." All those months he had feared her reaction if she ever found out his full name. Now he wants nothing more than what he had so feared, that spark of recognition, disdain or not.

"Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen," she whispers tearfully, trying to giggle like she did when she first heard his forename. "I like that silly name." Tenderly, she traces the shape of his jaw, smiling through the tears.

"You like…? No, listen to me closely. You said you're in orbit. Is there a heighliner near?" She squints her eyes, a flicker of a frown, and fresh tears well. She isn't listening to him!

"I-, I changed my mind, I'm not going. I'll go back down and find you. Tell me where you live!"

"No, no, no you won't go back down, you'll stay where you're safe and I'll come and get you." Feyd is repeating himself, frantic by now, clutching her face with his thumbs rubbing over her cheeks with increasing pace. "Just tell me where you are, please."

"Stop, stop!" She pleads. Feyd sounds out of his mind, confused. Bless his heart, but he can't come and get her. "Tell me, are you safe?" Aside from the obvious, his uncle… 

"Yes, I am-" Feyd doesn't get to finish his sentence because she sobs with relief, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I hope I can dream, I pray." How nice that would be. How comforting. She wants to believe it with her whole heart. "Will you be with me?" 

"I will always be with you."

How wrong he is.

"Can you hold me please? I am so sorry."

Feyd holds her, holds her so tight that he almost convinces himself her flesh, skin and bones are real, her beating heart is real, her soft voice is real. "Tell me where you are," he cries into her hair. "Tell me where you are, tell me where you are, tell me where you are."

Consciousness' meandering tendrils weave into the dream, dissolving it slowly like ink in water, gently, gently… Neither of them realizes as the other fades into mist among the stars.

After this night, Feyd-Rautha never dreams of his beloved again.

I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand – How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep -- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? - A dream within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe, 1850

Tag list: @nostalgichoya, @sebastianswallows, @forgedfromthestars

Do let me know if u want me to tag u 👉👈

A/N: All I can say is I'M SORRY 😩🤭 And - P.S. - There are at least 9 more chapters left to go, so be not afraid 🫂

[rogueabs]

Under the Gun - Abby Anderson x Reader

Are you living for love? When the road gets too tough, is your love strong enough?

-under the gun by The Sisters of Mercy

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SUMMARY: You’ve been running from your reality, you had to leave your home in Oregon, it couldn't get worse after all, you had lost it all. Arriving in Seattle you hear yelling and grunting from afar, when you see a muscular blonde woman being beaten and dragged you freeze, you wouldn't be able to rescue her. Stealthy you follow the people with a scar on their face, a feature that relates them to another to what it seemed like their camp, you hide waiting for the moment to take the blonde girl from the rope restraining her up in the air incapacitating her.

You and Abby’s story begins when she saw the end of hers.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut (further along you perverts!) angst, desciptions of weapons and violence.

next chapter

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Chapter 1: What if it was you

Growing up in Oregon was a gift and a curse, the peace that came with it also brought loneliness. Growing up you only had your mother by your side, your father passed away before you were born trying to protect your family farm from the undead creatures that roamed earth alongside surviving humans. It was you and your mom, against the world as it was always proclaimed by the both of you. She was THE wonder woman in the flesh, raising you, teaching you how to survive and how to take care and keep the farm alive.

When you were nineteen she passed away peacefully when you went on a hunting trip on your own. You found a letter she left and you carried it with you in your leather jacket pocket.

She had been sick for a while, never telling you of the symptoms, you always saw her complain about pain and went on scavenges trying find medicine to take it away but you never thought you would find your mothers lifeless corpse, she didn’t want you to kill her like she had done to the love of her life.

“Your dad and I got engaged on the infamous space needle in Seattle, my wish was to take you there for your birthday but this illness took me way too soon. I never wanted you to see me fade. One day I hope you can see how beautiful the view is from there;”

So you packed your backpack angrily, never wanting to see that house again after burying your mother it would never be a home again. 

With tears in your eyes you grabbed the old notebook your mom got you in a scavenge six years ago, you remember it like it was yesterday, it was her way of giving me privacy and I cherished every word I’ve ever written on it all these years.

"Dear diary, it's weird picking you up, it's been a while since i’ve talked with you. We are grown and alone, I've never been so afraid.

I remembered the old pick-up truck that belonged to the neighbours that once lived by our side, I have no memories of them, only that they were kind according to mom. I’ve been running like a mad woman trying to get gasoline for the last 2 days. It's a quick ride to Seattle. I just really need something good to happen to me."

When you finally got enough gasoline you swear you could believe in god for finally having your prayers answered. Walking back to the fields you knew like the back of your hand, you searched your neighbours house for a tool box, you needed a screwdriver badly. 

“Finally!” you yelled so loudly and regretted it, hoping nothing heard you.

“Okay” you said to yourself “How do I hotwire this fucking car…” rubbing your hands on your head you tried to recall how your mom did it flawlessly for you, how if it went to go sideways she would be the one getting shocked, protecting you was her greatest accomplishment and you lived by loving and caring for someone that deeply.

Shoving the screwdriver in the ignition system and moving it around, you manifest it working since this car was older than you and your mother too probably, a couple minutes of turning it and jiggling it around you heard the motor start.

Beating your legs using them like a drum, you cried of happiness, you could finally escape, a fresh start.

The farthest you could drive too was still far from your destination, you spent one week on foot, you could barely remember what sleep was like when you heard a commotion, it was gunshots.

 Instinctively you held your gun in the palm of your hand, you had to be sure that if needed it was on its holster ready to protect yourself no matter what it took. Scoping far from the building you understood it was one person who did the job, it made you curious of what may have happened, and whatever it was, you didn’t want to get on their bad side. 

Getting closer to the building, being careful not to draw attention to yourself you saw a muscular blonde woman starting to leave the building, sliding on the dirt ramp when out of nowhere someone with an enormous sledgehammer got on top of her. You were panicking deciding if you should or not get closer, to rescue her but you saw her handle herself biting the woman's ear but in a blink of an eye, two men came closer and someone knocked the blonde woman out.

Whoever they were, they started dragging the unconscious girl and you couldn't bear the sight of it. This wasn’t part of the plan but you needed to help her, something inside of you told you to do it, it could have been you.

You were light on your feet, stealth was your best friend and the people in the long jackets didn’t hear or see you, but from afar you noticed it all. Wherever they were bringing her too was bad, it made you sick, were they cannibals? Was it a cult? The only thing that made them related to another was the scars they had on all their faces.

They tied with rough ropes the ankles and wrists of the woman they called “wolf”, it was soothing due to her frame, they dragged her to a place where people were gutted and hung by their neck, you had to save her. 

The people with scars tied the rope on her neck and pulled her up, you got ready to aim and shoot the woman that was pointing a knife to her abdomen when suddenly a young woman was brought to the camp violently. 

The woman that was prepared to kill the blonde woman flipped instantly at the tumult created by two strong men grabbing the girl.

From what you could gather the girl was named Yara, and the sight was too violent, you had never experienced such cruel humans in your life. One of the men that was holding her down obeyed the orders of the woman who told them to “clip her wings”, they ended up smashing her arm with a hammer.

It was now or never and you decided to make your moves to help the woman down, arrows were shot out of nowhere, taking one of the men out and Yara took out the other with the same hammer that was being used violently on her. Quickly you started making your way to get behind the blonde woman to get her down. She was able to catch the tall woman who threatened her before who now was confused at the attack, the blonde trapped her with her strong legs, starting to choke her out but you showed up and stabbed her with a screwdriver in the neck, letting her choke on her blood falling to her death.

Taking the blonde woman out of her restraints you gave her a hand helping her down.

 A young boy came in desperately running towards the Yara girl who now had her arm broken and all you could feel was anger at what she had been put through, hearing them talk you were able to pick up that the boy's name was Lev and you heard her say that “Demons are coming.” Whatever that meant, it sounded like it was going to be hell on earth.

Gazing back at the blonde woman, she rubbed her neck trying to regain her breath and thoughts into place, getting her stability back she grabbed the hammer the girl had thrown across.

“Watch your backs,” the woman said.

You grabbed the gun out of your holster getting yourself ready in position, you were all gonna leave this place alive, even if it meant dying for the safety of these strangers.

It was a bloodbath fighting against all the clickers and runners that came across your escape out of the woods. You and the woman realised the kids were with us, helping us leave even if they were related to the people with scars in their faces and that made you filled with hope in escaping to safety.

After running and crouching underneath a fence, you believed you had left the thrill of the rush to a temporary safe haven in this mess and introduced yourself to the woman. 

“I know this isn't good timing but I’m (Y/N)” giving your hand for the woman to shake.

Shaking your hand the woman said “I’m Abby.”

In the blink of an eye the woman you had seen before, the one with the sledgehammer that knocked the woman down prior to this was attacking the kids, Abby got up instantly to fight without any weapons. You fumbled with your hands trying to search for more ammo to shoot her down but Abby got around just fine with her bare fists, the last thing you recall is hearing her question the tall woman if she was wearing her backpack and before you could recollect your thoughts on what you were witnessing, Abby had smashed the skull of the scared woman with the sledgehammer.

You made your way down trying to open the rusted auto-shop door and heard Abby talk to Lev and Yara but you couldn't hear it over the door you were trying to pry open.

“Through here c’mon” You said to the people you were stuck with for the moment.

When everyone got inside you let go of the door, you were searching your backpack for your flashlight when you felt someone’s presence getting closer.

“(Y/N)? Is that right? Abby asked.

“It is.”  you confirmed looking at her eyes, even if you never crossed her path again after this, you wanted to remember the strange womans features.

“Thanks for you know, helping me down. Do you need anything, anything at all?” She asked with her blue eyes never breaking your gaze.

“Don’t thank me Abby, I’m sure you would’ve done the same.” You replied wiping your sweat away from your forehead, “Right now I just need us to get out of this shit hole.”

Abby respectfully nodded and left you to search while moving  towards the struggling kids who were trying to pry  open a door. You desperately needed ammo so you wouldn't rely on your screwdriver as your weapon of choice but this was odd, you wouldn't admit it to yourself or out loud that the only thing stealing your attention from a completely focused supply search like you had done millions of times was Abby's piercing blue eyes that were stuck in your mind, what had you gotten yourself into.

[vickyvicarious]

I noticed something that I thought you may find interesting as you like parallels: When Jack is on his rock bottom (July 20th), he says

To me it seems only yesterday that my whole life ended with my new hope, and that truly I began a new record. So it will be until the Great Recorder sums me up and closes my ledger account with a balance to profit or loss. Oh, Lucy, Lucy, I cannot be angry with you, nor can I be angry with my friend whose happiness is yours; but I must only wait on hopeless and work. Work! work! If I only could have as strong a cause as my poor mad friend there—a good, unselfish cause to make me work—that would be indeed happiness.

On October 3 Jonathan starts his journal like this:

As I must do something or go mad, I write this diary. [...] Poor Mina told me just now, with the tears running down her dear cheeks, that it is in trouble and trial that our faith is tested—that we must keep on trusting; and that God will aid us up to the end. The end! oh my God! what end?... To work! To work!

It's pretty fascinating how Jonathan starts his narration as a hopeful, enthusiastic man, full of purpose, and becomes similar to the wreck that Jack was at the start, post-rejection, losing hope and clinging furiously to working, to not lose his mind.

Work! To work! That is a fun parallel to be sure...

Actually, I've noted before that Jonathan and Jack start out in opposition to one another in a lot of ways:

engaged to be married vs proposal rejected

recent career advancement and excited about it vs already well established but still clearly wanting to make his mark somehow

held prisoner by someone who calls him 'friend' and abuses power over him vs abusing the power he holds over someone in his care who he calls 'friend' (and all the various subsets of this one, such as 'gets his correspondence read' to 'reads private diary of his patient', etc.)

isolated by force vs chooses to isolate himself (not entirely but he definitely does retreat into work)

sleep-deprived due to being forced into a nocturnal schedule vs appears to regularly suffer insomnia/have bad habits around sleep

coded secret diary on pencil and paper vs audio diary spoken aloud into a phonograph at work

In the very beginning, Jonathan is also looking forward very much to his future, while as you point out, Jack is pretty miserable. He is ending his former life, closing a chapter. Meanwhile Jonathan is starting one - though it doesn't turn out to be the one he expects by any means.

I've not really considered the ways that those comparisons may shift later, though. October 3rd is definitely a close to a former chapter/life and the start of a new one for Jonathan. And he too struggles a lot with keeping up hope and throws himself into his work, his cause.

(While Jack wished in vain for a cause that would let him throw all his morals away, and looks to the idea of that as something that would make the work more effective in easing his own distress, Jonathan has a cause right away. And he later determines that he will throw his morals away if it come to that but is working ceaselessly to ensure it won't. Though he too has plenty of moments when there is no real action he can take and he "must only wait on hopeless" while they are trying to catch Dracula's ship.)

And while Jonathan never is romantically rejected, there's later a door shut between him and Mina, and there's this huge unspoken tension of what to do if she becomes a vampire. On the other hand, Jack was never accepted as Lucy's lover, but he does later on get closer to her as a friend while she is his patient. Their careers also switch emphasis a bit; though both abandon everything to go vampire hunting, prior to that Jonathan inherits everything and can put his name on it, while Jack is exhausted from treating Lucy and not keeping up super well with his work/patients. Increasingly after his arrival but especially when chasing after Dracule, Jack is in fairly close communication with Van Helsing and working as a team, but Jonathan gets very quiet and withdrawn when Mina is turning into a vampire (he always was but when he's not all living flame, in the aftermath of October 3 he appears even more so). We even get a little bit of Jonathan refusing to sleep when he should/can (until Arthur convinces him), while Jack is traveling at a rapid pace but his likely sacrifice of sleep is necessary to keep up that pace (and he claims it doesn't bother him). Jonathan kills his former captor/abuser. Jack's patient dies after he refused to let him leave when he begged to do so.

...If I'm looking for them, I can definitely find various ways they continue to be in contrast later in the novel as well.

[sweetmariihs2]

Since TADC was released I've been thinking what the characters could do/what I would do to prevent going crazy (abstracting). Living day after day in the same place can bring you to madness and depression makes me people upset just by staying 2-3 days at home, so imagine what would be like to be locked there everyday without even having notion of time or any day or night. The circus looks a bit boring after they're used with it and the adventures are made to keep the characters entertained, but what if there were other activities to keep their mental health less bad more stable?

Useless list of things that could prevent the characters from abstracting - going crazy (at least for a certain period of time):

Singing

Making karaoke shows (it's fun)

Talking and sharing everything they can remember of their lives (they do remember their lives in the show) (this can give them some ground as to not go crazy)

Have a journal/diary to write about their everyday thoughts and tasks. Who cares if Jax finds them, at least they will have something to do

Have a journal/diary to write everything they can remember of their real lives so that they won't forget their memories and can always remember about who they are when things get bad

Drawing (ask for Caine to make a painting room - he seems to listen when you ask for simple stuff, he can comprehend) (wait I think they can already draw)

Ask for Caine again to let them play dress up and give them new outfits (tadc dress to impress when?) (dressing up is good for mental health and in their case that can give them a bigger variety of everyday clothes, so each day won't be exactly the same) (and I'm saying this because my sensory issues would NEVER allow me to wear a hat 24/7, being in Pomni's skin looks like hell to me)

Dress to impress contest I swear (+the runway too)

Hairstyles too. Imagine Pomni and Ragatha with pig tails. Imagine Kinger with a wig and bows/hairclips because Ragatha and Gangle did his hair. What if then.

playing games like truth or dare - they don't die, nothing is too dangerous to try

Literally ask Caine for more stuff because he can give it to them: Ask for an adventure on a beach where the challenge is to just have as much fun as possible. Or an adventure where they have a tea party in a field of flowers, very easy and without obstacles. What bothers Caine and encourages him to make the adventures more "exciting" (scary and more troublesome) is to say that they are bad, right? Just say that they are good, that he is very good at it and say that you really want a quiet adventure to relax. Manipulation skills guys

They can ask for virtual arts and crafts adventures/rooms/or just objects to do it on the lobby. Virtual sewing can't be that hard (I believe that they can already draw)

Ask for beads and stuff to make friendship bracelets and accessories. Ragatha and Pomni friendship bracelets when

Ask for teddy bears or plushies. Or even make them by themselves with their arts and crafts materials. It sounds silly but everyone is bored and on the edge of madness here

They can ask for cooking minigames. Even though they can't eat them, it might be fun. I like cooking minigames. (Edit: I'm pretty sure that there is a short video made by glitch of Pomni eating a hamburger so I think it's possible to eat)

They can ask for Caine to let their rooms be customizable. Or maybe not, idk, Kaufmo scribbled all over the walls of his room, so maybe it's possible. I had this idea after seeing Pomni's room and thinking that I couldn't be comfortable in such a bright colored room, and it doesn't have a lot of color variation, it really bothers me. If the characters could draw they could put their drawings on the walls, and if they could do arts and crafts they could make little decorations for their rooms as well (they can already draw)

Gift eachother their arts and crafts

Make things from their life memories in those arts and crafts to always remember their past friends or who they are (and put them in their rooms)

Choose random days to do birthday parties, because even though they can't know what day it is or don't have any notion of time at all, they can still have fun

The parties don't even have to be birthdays. They can make parties just because.

Do surprise parties for eschother

Do a surprise party for Caine, it would be very unusual since he probably never got one and never felt the need for any (he's an AI but it's still funny (that's why it would be funny)) (he would get confused and yet flattered) (I swear he's not my favorite character even though I had mentioned him so many times in this post)

Make raves lmao (they can ask Caine for flashing lights) (and a dj table lmao) (and instruments in case they want to play something)

Ask for instruments and get together to make a band and play songs because it would be fun. Don't let Jax get anywhere near of them or else they will hear loud noises everyday for hours and hours (he would do this just to annoy the other characters). They can even play songs that they remember from their lives. Some of them might even know worldwide famous songs.

Dance to the songs that they sing

Whaf if they're allowed to practice ballet. What if they can dance flamenco. Waltz. It sounds fun

Ask for virtual cameras to take pics of themselves or things around them so that they can put them in their room

Do a group therapy (and don't include jax because he will certainly make fun of their troubles)

Parkour in the circus sounds fun too

Explore the outside part of the circus/the grounds and play with the things they have there (take a swim at the lake, go to the carnival, go to the forest etc)

Ask for Caine to make sport areas. I know that there will be a baseball in the next chapters but still.

Make picnics next to the lake, or inside the forest. Or even in the circus

Idk there is something about the "you are stuck with this outfit and appearance everyday" that does not fit well to me. The characters are already stuck in that world, but they can't even play dress up? I don't know if they chose their avatars before joining the circus, but if not, it must suck not being able to change your appearance in a digital world. I mean, look at Zooble there. If they can't change their bodies, can they at least wear something they want to express themselves in that limiting reality? If Caine is capable of making more body parts for Zooble, even if he got their problem wrong, he is capable of allowing the characters to paint their clothes in the colors they want or allow them to wear different things sometimes. (I wonder what would Caine answer after someone ask "can I change my avatar?", that is a genuine question of mine.)

What a lazy post. I'll add more later

[mercy-burning]

(preface) the letter. || THE DOCTOR.

in which the doctor sets our scene. content warnings: N/A word count: 759

series masterlist || main masterlist

———

Dear Mom,

It feels strange to do this knowing that you're not actually here to read my words, but writing to The Idea of You somehow feels more comforting and less dorky than writing out "Dear Diary". Besides, I wouldn't be able to send them out to you anyway. No-contact with the world outside of Sardinia is my one condition to, truly, the best option I have.

It isn't the island in the Mediterranean, though. I've been sent to live in Sardinia, Alaska as a call-in doctor for its residents, even though I have no professional medical training whatsoever. I'm qualified enough to figure it out and be at least semi-proficient at the job, but it's not something I'm particularly eager about. Mostly because it's completely out of my control and I'd also rather not do it alone. I know it's for my safety, and my team is the best at what they do. In no time at all, I'll be back home and doing the job that I'm actually qualified for. I'll have my friends back... My family...

But I can't think about them like that right now. If I'm going to get through this "assignment," we'll call it, then I'm going to have to detach and move forward. When there's news, it will come, but until then I plan to do exactly as I'm expected to, and lay low. It shouldn't be too hard, though. All I really have to do is come when people call and give them the treatment to make them feel better. It's geographically the smallest, and physically the least-populated town I've ever visited, anyway. How hard could it possibly be?

The hardest part I'm sure will be boredom, but if that's the largest worry I'll have, then so be it. Being bored is better than being dead.

Until then, I have a semi-secluded cabin to myself right on the edge of town, with approximately seventeen warm knitted throw blankets (I'm still finding new ones here and there the more I explore the home) and a small painting of a cardinal above the front door. I look at it every morning over a cup of coffee and wonder about what Gideon would do in my shoes, until I laugh to myself and realize that he'd probably just do it every day with a smile and genuinely never want to leave. I'm like him in a lot of ways I think, but... I'll admit that I've been a bit too spoiled with my life in the city to even think about enjoying my time here to the fullest like he could.

For instance, I've come to realize that I don't like the snow as much as I thought I did. It's tolerable and sometimes even pretty when there are city workers who magically plow the sidewalks on your commute to work. And perhaps growing up in Nevada and wishing for a snowy Christmas morning all my childhood had tricked me into believing that it was magical, but I'm of the firm belief that snow is only 'magical' when you don't have to tend to it nearly every day. Some days are better than others, when there's only a light dusting for a week or two, but I've only been in Sardinia for two weeks and three days, and I'm utterly exhausted on physical labor alone. I could call my landlord to do it for me, as she'd so wryly offered to when I moved in, but I already feel like an outsider as it is. So rather than asking someone to teach me how to fix and use the rickety old snowblower in my shed out back, I have promptly decided to suffer in silence and keep my dignity intact.

Who knows, by the end of this Alaskan venture, I may also just be strong enough to take Derek Morgan in an arm-wrestling match... Well, okay, definitely not, but at the very least I'd be able to catch him off-guard for a second or two before his inevitable victory.

Anyway... Aside from greetings from my landlord and the Mayor, I haven't officially met any of the people in town yet. I think they're all still a bit worried about immediately bothering the call-in doctor and not giving him enough time to settle in first, but he's also not really made an effort to do much exploring outside the perimeter of his cabin and its backyard... To his credit, he doesn't do well with change. Never has.

Perhaps the quaint community of Sardinia doesn't, either, and perhaps that's something we'll have in common.

[thought-42]

Somebody has to leave first

Star Wars, 1400 words,Ezra Bridger Something something growing up something something ded parent something something Ezra Bridger in the Chiss Ascendancy. I've never heard of canon in my life.

Ezra Bridger talks to dead people.

They do not, it should be noted, talk back.

He knows all things are possible within the Force, so he's always gotta keep in mind that his monologues run the very real risk of becoming dialogues, probably at the most embarrassing or inconvenient times, but honestly if a ghost has nothing better to do than listen in on his diary entries to the beyond that says more about them than it does about him.

He doesn't talk to Kanan. It seems like the obvious assumption, follow in the shuffling footsteps of Obi-Wan Kenobi and claw out frantically for a point of stability to serve as compass in a world gone upside down. And there was a time where a smile or a few words of pride from Kanan was all Ezra needed to reinforce his foundations and stand tall and ready. But the truth of it is, he doesn't know if Kanan would be proud of him, which would be less of a problem if Ezra himself had any uncertainty about his life choices.

Besides, even ten years on every time he thinks about that last glimpse of Kanan, wreathed in flames, he wants to dig his fingers into his skin and deeper and pull and pull until the memory and the sick feeling in his stomach are gone. He cannot think about it. It is an impossibility, it is not something his mind is capable of bearing, the idea of another living person who he loves burning and burning and burning is not something that can live inside of him sustainably. He thinks of Kanan and he feels sick and sad and selfish for not being able to focus on all the good memories.

No, Ezra doesn't talk to Kanan. Ezra talks to people he has only ever known in death.

He talks to  Master Mace Windu and tells him he wishes he knew how to see shatterpoints. Ezra is good at building connections, building bridges, yeah yeah yeah, but every web has one thread at risk, one point where a quick pull will unravel the whole thing. Ezra's had his entire life shattered twice before with no warning, he would really love to know how to prevent the inevitable third round. . Shouldn't this skill just come free with the lineage?

He talks to Thrass-- "can I call you Thrass?" Everybody says Thrawn needed a brother, and yeah, ok, his older brother died and Thrawn went off the rails there for a hot eighteen years, but Ezra's here now, reporting for little brother duty twenty years late with caccoleaf; but better late than never, right? It feels right, picking up Thrass's flag in the relay of Sky Walker investigation and running hard and fast with it as far as he can go. Feels kinda like when Zeb would start a repair project on the Ghost and then leave the second half for Ezra to finish off with no need for explanation or request, just the trust that Ezra knows what to do. ...Thrawn kinda feels like one of those handed off projects, too, but Ezra doesn't even say that part to the dead, just in case they really are listening and decide to tell on him. Ezra never had an older sibling by blood, but they seem to adopt him everywhere he goes. He figures it's his turn to adopt one back, even if it is posthumous.

He talks to Master Depa, because, as his grandmaster, she's legally required to think he's doing a great job. He talks to her about being a teacher on a warship, asks how she delt with knowing every time she ruffled Caleb's hair over breakfast it could be the last.

He tells her every time he wonders if he permanently stained his soul with the dark he remembers that she came back as strong a Jedi as anybody could ask, and it really does make him trust in himself.

He thanks her for raising Caleb, although would it have killed her to teach him just a biiiit of Vaapad?

He tells her he understands, fundamentally, like a burning cole lodged in his ribcage, her desperate need to protect her student, to die so that he could live.

He tells her she would be proud of the man Caleb became, but that it probably wasn't what she expected. Caleb didn't grow up into Caleb. Caleb grew up into Kanan, and secretly Ezra always wonders if Kanan would have been someone who would have fit back in with the Jedi of his childhood.

Ezra's cabinet of entirely metaphorical ghosts all roll their eyes at this transparent attempt at obfuscation, because all the ghosts Ezra has made up to talk to are assholes.

Ok, fine. So maybe Ezra's pretty sure that the found family who gave Ezra Bridger, Jedi Padawan a home might not know what to do with Stybla'ezra'bridger, Jedi Navigator.

It had taken Ezra and sacher actual months, long nights  of sitting at Ezra's kitchen table with big sheets of paper and cheap wine, tossing potential names for their brand new program back and forth. They settled on Jedi Navigator mostly because Thrawn told them they had three days before the official paperwork had to be filed, and they hadn't come up with anything better that they could both agree on. Ezra hit submit on his part of the project proposal and that night he'd laid awake imagining a scenario where he got to tell Hera and Kanan-- "See? Jedi Navigator. Something from each of you."

He's heard the war is over. The Rebellion won and turned right back around to build another Republic. He's heard there's another Jedi --not Kanan, miraculously returned like Ezra dreams at least once a month-- and he's going to start a new order. And he's tried to imagine himself somewhere in all of that and it doesn't fit. He fit on a bunk bed in the Ghost with his family around him, doing their part to beat back the constant press of fascism. But there's no more Empire, no more family all squished together in one little ship. Even if he wanted to climb back into that bunk he knows his head would bump the top now.

The space between eighteen and twenty-eight feels like a lifetime. At eighteen Ezra had just gotten all his clay together and ready to be moulded into a person, and then he'd flung himself half way across the galaxy and wound up being moulded and fired in a different kilmn entirely. There's an Ezra somewhere out there who grew and changed right alongside that cramped little family, who moved forward in their orbit, chose his path and his place on the same game board. He probably knows how to fit in. He's probably working at the Jedi school or part of the reconstruction efforts on Lothal or a commander on a Republic ship stamping out the last remnants of the Empire.

Ezra's not jealous of this other version of himself, this what-if world he built in his own imagination specifically to hurt himself. He expected to be struck by the longing for home, by the bitterness of lost possibility. He isn't.

He can't tell Thrawn this because Thrawn spent eighteen years becoming something monstrous, shredding himself and everyone around him in an increasingly desperate dancing of 'I can fix this I can fix this I can fix this' and when he’d come back the hole his departure had left had long since healed over.

He can't tell Kanan this because--- the force of the explosion, maybe, was enough to make it quick--

Hera's a General now, apparently, and Ezra's certain it suits her just as he's certain even in a world where he'd stayed he wouldn't be asking a General for existential advice at 3:00 AM. Every thing he learns about what's happening in Lesser Space is a double-edged blade.

They aren't really supposed to know much at all-- not relevant, but Theliva keeps offering Ezra little nuggets of info about the Spectors like an awkward stepparent offering candy to win affection from a recalcitrant child. To which Ezra says, 'did you know it was actually just so easy not to join the Empire?' If Ezra's parents had been alive and he could have carried on their family legacy-- well. Isn't that what his whole life's been about, at the end of the day? Hauling around other people's legacies, trying to build something new out of the scattered pieces.

He offers himself up, everything he is on open palms to the gallery of ghosts, living and dead:

This is all I have to offer. It is enough.

[emonaculate]

Episode O: Teaser

For as long as I can remember, I've been different—special in ways I couldn’t quite understand. Maybe it was my unusually white hair or my blue eyes that resembled frozen ice cubes. I’ve tried to blend in, to act as if nothing was wrong, but normal has never been my forte.

You’re probably reading this and wondering what I’m babbling about. This isn’t the story you signed up for, right? You want to hear about all the villains I've taken down, the babies’ foreheads I’ve kissed after saving New Tokyo from yet another threat. Well, I’m getting to that—just let me be a little melodramatic for a moment. Jesus, can I ever catch a fucking break?

To those of you who just happened to stumble upon this book and have no idea what I’m talking about, let me explain. My name is Satoru Gojo, and I’m the one and only Spider-Man, protecting my home, New Tokyo, from anything and anyone that threatens its peace.

This little book you’ve found—yes, the one you’re nosily reading—is my diary of sorts. My therapist recommended I write down my feelings. According to her, I’m “severely mentally unstable” and she thinks that voicing my thoughts instead of relying on self-deprecating jokes might help me get “better.” So, here we are.

And don’t worry your pretty little head; I fully intend to start from the very beginning and explain exactly what made me so unstable in the first place. Fair warning: my story is a long one. Not that I think you mind—look at you, all curled up in your cozy pajamas, excitedly waiting for me to share the depressing tale of my life. Yeah, I can see you; don’t act shy now. Fix your posture and go drink some water! I know you’re hunched over and probably haven’t left your room all day (and no, work doesn’t count).

Sorry, that’s an old habit I picked up from—well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s begin, shall we?

Satoru was jolted awake by the sound of his curtains being ripped open, the bright sunlight burning through his closed eyelids.

"Get up, loser."

The now fifteen-year-old boy sat up and glared at his attacker; his piercing sapphire eyes locked onto a pair of matching ones. Of course, who else would wake up the birthday boy in such a cruel fashion but his annoyingly cheerful older sister, Sayori Gojo?

Standing at 5'10", Sayori looked down at her younger brother with a devilish smirk. The piercing in her lower lip gleamed with mischief, mirroring the sparkle in her eyes. Though they shared striking features—those vivid eyes and snowy white hair—the siblings couldn’t be more different. Sayori was as pale as could be, and her once-long, beautiful hair was now a choppy mess that seemed impossible to tame. It also didnt help that she had the features of a model. However, piercings adorned her face: in her nose, on her tongue, and, of course, in her bottom lip, all of which their parents disapproved of.

"You're going on fifty... why do you act like this?" Satoru grumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

A squeak of disbelief escaped Sayori’s lips, clearly shocked by her brother’s claim. "I am only twenty-seven! I just recently turned that age, so let’s not act like it’s anywhere close to fifty, you freak."

Gojo rolled his eyes, slipping out of bed to stretch and prepare for his day—his birthday.

Satoru turned his back to Sayori, moving to his (one of many dressers) to pull out clothes for the day. He could feel her lingering in the doorway, a smirk still plastered on her face.

"Seriously, Sayori, I need to get dressed," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, not wanting her to mock him for anymore voice cracks. "You can’t just barge in here and expect to hang out while I’m half-asleep."

Sayori leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "But it’s my job as the older sister to make sure you don’t just throw on whatever looks least wrinkled."

"Well, I’m not a toddler anymore. I can dress myself." He threw a shirt over his shoulder, missing the mark as it landed on his bed instead.

"But can you really?" she teased, stepping further back into the room, her eyes scanning the chaos of clothes, figurines, and gaming controllers strewn about. "What if you end up wearing something ridiculous? You know how embarrassing that would be on your big day?"

"Sayori," Gojo warned, spinning to face her with a glare that could kill. "If you don’t get out of my room right now, I swear I’ll tell mom and dad where you were on family picture day."

Sayori's eyes widened in horror as she lifted her hands up as a sign of surrendering. Yes she was a grown woman, but both she and Satoru knew that making their parents unhappy meant them telling the siblings' grandfather.. and no one wanted to disappoint grandfather.

"Fine. Don't come crying to me if you get bullied for some funky ass fit."

"Yeah, Yeah," Satoru said, smirking as he nudged her toward the door. "Now out you go. I’m serious."

With a dramatic sigh, Sayori finally relented, stepping back into the hallway.

"Otaku loser."

She murmured to herself as she walked away from the door, flipping off the teen.

"Crack whore," he called after her, slamming the door before she could come back to kick his ass. As he turned back to his reflection, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the string of curses that followed the older woman banging on his locked room door. Once the banging died down, Satoru redirected his attention to focusing on getting ready for his birthday celebration.

Today wasn’t just any day for Satoru; it was the one day a year his family pretended he was their top priority. While most kids looked forward to presents or parties, Satoru just looked forward to being noticed.

Sayori’s visit, as chaotic as it was, had been a rare gesture. Usually, she was the ghost of the house, flitting in and out of their lives, almost always in defiance of whatever their parents were trying to enforce at the moment. If their parents praised something, she was bound to hate it. If they disapproved, she’d embrace it with open arms. But even with all her rebellion, she still managed to show up for his birthday each year, barging in to tease him and make a ruckus just because she knew it mattered to him.

His parents, however, were another story. Gojo Enterprise was their true firstborn, and everything else—including him—seemed to come second. They rarely had time for him, and on the off chance they did, their visits usually consisted of half-hearted advice, critiques on his school achievements, or reminders of how he could "be even better." If they bothered to ask about his grades, it wasn’t because they cared about him but because they wanted to show off his straight As in one of their many social gatherings.

Satoru sighed, already preparing for the disappointment he was bound to face today, as he glanced at his blurry reflection in the mirror. Staring back was a scrawny, pale kid with a mess of white hair that never seemed to settle the way he wanted. He gave his reflection a halfhearted smirk. It wasn’t that he hated how he looked—well, maybe a little—but it wasn’t exactly what he’d call intimidating, either.

He squinted, barely making out the details of his own face in the glass.

"I really need to find my glasses," He muttered, groping around on his dresser until his hand brushed the familiar, clunky frames. Sliding them on, his vision cleared, and he grimaced. There he was, in all his nerdy glory, complete with a pair of thick glasses that did nothing to boost his confidence.

Satoru sighed again as he rifled through his clothes, pulling out a graphic tee featuring a retro anime character that probably no one else in his class even knew about. He tugged it over his head and then picked out a pair of faded jeans that were just slightly too big. His sister's teasing rang in his mind, and he huffed, folding up the cuffs so he wouldn’t trip over them.

As he fiddled with his clothes, he caught sight of his reflection once more. Yep, he was thin as a twig, with a body that looked like it might snap if the wind blew too hard. But his mind quickly shifted to his upcoming birthday plans—the new manga release he asked his parents for, the multiplayer game he’d been itching to finish with Geto and Shoko. Those thoughts made him forget, even if just for a moment, about his awkward looks and lack of bulk.

He rolled his eyes as he recalled Sayori’s antics. Sure, she loved poking fun at his “style,” but it wasn’t like he could hide who he was. He was a full-blown nerd, and no amount of fancy clothes or money was going to change that.

Satoru double-checked the lock (he had made it himself using scraps from Geto's parents mechanic shop), feeling a small sense of relief as he heard the click. It wasn’t that he hated the maids or the staff—they were usually polite enough—but he couldn't stand how they’d rearrange everything, trying to turn his room into some pristine display instead of the controlled chaos he preferred.

To anyone else, it might’ve looked like a mess: figurines lined up haphazardly across his shelves, manga volumes stacked in precarious towers, and a jumble of notebooks, controllers, and cables sprawled across his desk. But to him, every item had its place. His favorite games were within arm’s reach, his sketchbooks for drawing piled near the window for the best light, and his notes from school carefully wedged between books on his bed frame. It was a system no one else could understand, but it worked.

He took a final look back at his door, almost as if he could will it to stay locked even if he couldn’t be there to guard it. With a small sigh, he turned and started down the hall, steeling himself for the inevitable attention he’d get today.

Satoru descended the grand, spiraling staircase of the mansion, his fingers trailing along the cool marble railing. It was early, and the house was quiet save for the faint hum of voices echoing from the foyer. As he reached the bottom, he spotted them—two familiar figures standing awkwardly in the grand entryway, dwarfed by towering crystal vases and oversized paintings on the walls.

“Yo, birthday boy!” Shoko called out, offering a lopsided grin as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She wore her usual black leather jacket and ripped jeans with some random punk band tanktop, looking relaxed despite the stuffy atmosphere of the mansion.

Beside her stood Geto, hands in his pockets, his expression cool but with the hint of a smile he usually reserved for special occasions. “Took you long enough. I thought you’d abandoned us for some high-society brunch,” he teased, his eyes twinkling.

Satoru couldn’t help but laugh. “As if I’d ever choose those people over you two. I’d rather deal with Sayori’s wake-up calls every morning.”

The three of them exchanged grins, and the comfort of their presence helped Satoru shake off the lingering weight of his family’s expectations. Unlike everyone else in his life, Shoko and Geto never cared about who his family was or how extravagant his home looked. They were here for him, and on his birthday, that meant more than anything else.

Shoko held up a paper bag. “I brought breakfast sandwiches. Figured you might not want to eat whatever rich people snobby shit they serve here.”

Satoru’s face lit up. “You’re a lifesaver. And you know me too well.” He snagged a sandwich from her bag, taking a huge bite as they made their way toward the front door.

“So,” Geto said, raising an eyebrow, “you ready for some serious button-mashing at the arcade? I’ve been practicing, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be taking down the ‘birthday champion’ today.”

Satoru smirked, his mouth full. “Good luck with that, buddy. You’ve never beaten me before, and I don’t plan to let you start today.”

They laughed together as they stepped outside, the morning sun warming their faces. Satoru glanced back at the towering mansion behind him, then back to his friends, who waited for him by the sleek black car his family had arranged for the day.

The arcade was alive with flashing lights and the constant hum of machines, its walls plastered with neon signs and colorful yet corny posters. The air was thick with the familiar clinking of tokens, the beep-beep of high scores being shattered, and the excited chatter of kids and teens alike. Satoru, Shoko, and Geto had been there for hours, fully immersed in the chaotic joy of the place.

They had already blown through several rounds of classics—racing games, fighting games, even a basketball shooter. Geto had tried his best to dethrone Satoru on every machine, but the birthday boy’s natural knack for gaming held strong. Each time, Geto threw his hands up in defeat while Satoru flashed his signature smug grin. Shoko, meanwhile, had spent most of the day lounging in one of the booths with a soda, only occasionally joining in to wipe the floor with them in games that required quick reflexes. It appeared that the young teenage girl was too cool to play with the boys but she still appeared to enjoy watching them play.

As the hours slipped by, they barely noticed the crowd thinning around them. The noise from the machines still pulsed, but it had quieted slightly, with only the diehard players sticking around until closing time. Satoru was at one of his favorite stations—an old-school zombie shooter game with plastic guns that rattled in your hands as you fired.

He stood poised, blasting away at wave after wave of the undead, completely in the zone. Shoko sidled up next to him, leaning casually against the machine, her eyes gleaming with an idea.

"You think you’re hot stuff, huh?" She said, watching as he took out another zombie with ease.

Satoru glanced over, raising an eyebrow. "Please, I’ve been beating this game since I've known how to pronounce the word "Gameboy". What are you getting at?"

Shoko smirked. "I’m saying let’s raise the stakes. One final round before we head out. You versus me, on the zombie shooter. Winner gets to make a bet."

Geto, munching on what was probably his fifth snack of the day, looked up with interest. "Now this I gotta see."

Satoru chuckled. "What kind of bet are we talking about?"

Shoko’s eyes glinted mischievously, as if she knew something that Satoru didn't. "If I win—which, let’s face it, I probably won’t—you have to sneak us into your parents’ lab. I’ve been dying to see what kind of tech they’re cooking up in there."

Satoru froze for a second, blinking at her as if she’d just suggested something insane. "You want me to break into my parents’ private research lab?" he asked incredulously.

Shoko shrugged, nonchalant as ever. "Yeah. What, scared I might actually win?"

Satoru narrowed his eyes, the competitive edge kicking in. "Fine. But when I win, you have to actually go with me to see Alien vs Spider-Ants III"

"Deal," Shoko said, grabbing the second gun controller from the holster.

They both positioned themselves in front of the screen, the machine lighting up with eerie green and red colors as the game counted down to start. Geto leaned on a nearby arcade machine, arms crossed, watching the showdown with a growing grin.

The game began, and for the first few rounds, Satoru dominated as expected, picking off zombies with perfect aim and precision. Shoko kept pace, but just barely, struggling to keep up with his rhythm. As the levels progressed and the zombies came faster, something shifted. Shoko’s aim became sharper, her reflexes quicker, and soon she was gunning down zombies with an accuracy that surprised both Satoru and Geto.

"Shoko, when did you get this good?" Satoru muttered, beads of sweat forming on his brow as the game threw its hardest challenges at them.

She didn’t answer, too focused on the screen, her face a picture of calm concentration. The crowd around them had thinned even more, but a few people gathered to watch the final showdown. The zombie boss loomed on the screen, huge and menacing, but Shoko remained unfazed.

It came down to the final seconds. Satoru’s score was high, but Shoko had caught up, and in a burst of perfect timing, she landed the final critical shot that sent the boss crashing to the ground.

The screen flashed: Player 2 Wins!

Satoru’s jaw dropped. Geto let out a low whistle, laughing. "Well, well, looks like you’ve been hustled, sweetheart."

Shoko stood there, grinning widely, her gun still in hand as she shot Satoru a triumphant look. "Guess it’s time for you to keep up your end of the deal, Gojo."

He shook his head in disbelief, but he couldn’t help smiling. "You seriously just pretended to not be good at this game so I could show you my parents' lab?"

"Looks like it," Shoko said, leaning the gun against the machine with a satisfied click. "Now, speaking of that lab..."

Satoru groaned, rubbing his temples. "You’re insane, you know that?"

"I know," she replied, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "But come on, we’re not really gonna pass up an adventure, are we?"

The arcade buzzed softly around them, the flashing lights now dimming as closing time neared. The clock was ticking, and Satoru knew that tomorrow, or sometime soon, he’d be leading them on a whole different kind of game—one far more dangerous than any zombie shooter.. if he got caught that is.

Satoru couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this. The city lights of New Tokyo glowed around him as he led Shoko and Geto down a deserted alley that ran along the back of Gojo Enterprises’ research lab. The building was sleek and high-tech, its walls lined with reinforced glass and flashing security cameras, and the closer they got, the louder Satoru's heartbeat thudded in his chest.

They crouched near a loading dock, out of sight from the main entrance. The thrill of sneaking out in the dead of night was exhilarating, but the stakes felt entirely different now. He took a deep breath, trying to look calm even though his mind raced. After all, he’d convinced his parents' driver to drop them off by claiming they were going to a midnight movie—no one would suspect a thing until morning.

Shoko nudged him, a grin plastered on her face. “So, how are we getting in, Mr. Genius?”

Satoru pulled a small key card from the pocket of his baggy jeans. "Family card. They give one to all Gojo relatives for ‘emergency access,’" he said, quoting the excuse his parents had given when they handed it to him years ago. He’d never had a reason to use it—until now.

Geto raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been sitting on this secret card and never used it?”

“Didn’t exactly plan on breaking into my parents’ lab,” Satoru shot back, swiping the card on a hidden panel by the door. The scanner blinked green, and with a soft hiss, the heavy door slid open. “But let’s move fast. Cameras reset every five minutes, so we don’t have much time before they pick us up again.”

They slipped inside, careful to stay low and quiet as they made their way through a dimly lit corridor. The lab felt eerily empty, with the hum of machinery and faint, blinking lights from high-tech devices casting shadows across the walls. As they crept further into the building, they passed rows of glass cases displaying various prototypes—everything from sleek gadgets to high-tech robotics in the early stages of development.

Shoko’s eyes sparkled as she inspected the devices on display. “Wow, I had no idea they were working on stuff like this,” she whispered, leaning closer to get a look at a sleek, futuristic helmet inside one of the cases.

Geto chuckled softly. “Satoru, you’ve been holding out on us. This is some next-level tech.”

Satoru rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide a grin. “You think I know anything about this stuff? They don’t exactly invite me to company presentations.”

They reached the far end of the corridor, where a steel door loomed, marked with a glowing red Authorized Personnel Only sign. Satoru hesitated, glancing at Shoko and Geto, both of whom seemed unfazed.

"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered, swiping his card again. This time, the door opened into an expansive room filled with a dizzying array of tech—computer stations lined the walls, and strange devices blinked and whirred on metal tables. In the center of the room was a large glass chamber, towering over them with cables stretching to the ceiling and intricate wires weaving in and out of its frame.

"What… is this place?" Satoru whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous lab.

Shoko moved closer to the chamber, her curiosity overriding any fear. “Maybe… some kind of energy source? Or a containment unit?”

Geto joined her, nodding in agreement. “Looks like something out of a sci-fi movie. You sure your parents just work in tech?”

Satoru shrugged, suddenly feeling out of place in his own parents' world. “Beats me. They’re always secretive about what exactly goes on in here.”

They edged closer to the chamber, marveling at the sleek design and the strange, pulsing energy that seemed to radiate from within. Shoko reached a hand out to the glass, her eyes wide. “Think they’d notice if we touched—"

Before she could finish, a faint hum grew louder, and the chamber seemed to activate, the energy inside swirling in bright colors that almost hypnotized them. Alarms began to blare throughout the lab, red lights flashing along the walls.

Smoke poured into the room, thick and suffocating. Satoru coughed, his heart hammering as the reality of their situation sank in. He had known this was a risky plan, but he’d never expected things to spiral out of control like this. Alarms blared louder, echoing off the metal walls, and the sound of heavy footsteps told him that security guards were close—way too close.

Shoko’s eyes darted around the room, her face unusually serious. “Satoru, we need an exit, now!”

Geto was already tugging on his arm, but Satoru hesitated for one precious second, glancing back at the chamber they’d accidentally triggered. Whatever was inside it was still glowing, pulsating faster as if it were alive.

“Gojo, move!” Geto’s shout snapped him out of his thoughts.

He tore his gaze from the chamber and followed them through the smoke-filled lab, scanning the room for any possible way out. Just as he spotted a side exit, the security guards burst through the main entrance, their flashlights cutting through the smoke.

“Stop right there!” one of them yelled, reaching for his radio to call for backup.

Satoru bolted, adrenaline fueling him as they sprinted toward the side door. He could hear Shoko’s heavy breathing and Geto’s hurried footsteps right behind him. They reached the door just in time, slipping through and slamming it shut behind them. But they weren’t safe yet. A new alarm began to sound, signaling that the side exit had been breached, and they could hear the guards mobilizing to cut them off.

“This is bad—really bad,” Satoru muttered, his voice thick with fear. His parents would never forgive him if they found out he’d broken into their lab, especially after setting off all the alarms. And that’s if he was even lucky enough to make it out without getting caught.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Shoko said, her usual nonchalance now replaced by urgency. “Just focus on getting out of here!”

They rounded a corner, spotting a stairwell that led up to the rooftop. Without hesitation, they bolted up the steps, lungs burning as they climbed. Reaching the top, they burst out onto the rooftop, gulping in fresh air as they skidded to a halt. Below them, security lights swept across the alleyway, and they could hear more guards closing in.

“Look!” Geto pointed to an adjacent rooftop a short distance away.

Satoru’s stomach dropped at the sight, but with no other option, he nodded, steeling himself. “We jump on three.”

With synchronized breaths, they counted down, then ran full speed toward the edge, launching themselves into the air. Satoru’s heart skipped a beat as he flew over the gap, barely managing to land on his feet. Shoko and Geto landed beside him, all of them wobbling but standing.

As they darted toward the next stairwell, Satoru cast one last glance back at the lab, the pulsing glow of the chamber visible through the windows. He didn’t know what they had just unleashed—or what his parents would say when they found out—but he knew that after tonight, nothing would be the same.

Satoru barely had a moment to catch his breath, a triumphant grin just starting to form on his face when the sharp, searing pain shot through his hand. It felt as though fire had exploded beneath his skin, racing up his arm and spreading through his entire body in waves. His muscles locked up instantly, his limbs going rigid as he collapsed onto the rooftop, his vision blurring around the edges.

He tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn't move. He could only lie there, his mind whirling as he struggled to make sense of the pain.

"Satoru!" Shoko's voice cut through the haze, sharp and panicked. Her face swam into his vision, pale against the dark sky as she leaned over him, hands hovering helplessly. "Something bit him—a spider or...something, I don’t know!"

Geto knelt beside her, his own face stricken with worry. "Stay with us, man! Just breathe, slow breaths. You’re okay."

But Satoru was no way in hell okay; he got fucking bit by the damn predator it felt like. The pain was consuming, a hot, pulsing sensation that twisted and convulsed in his muscles. His vision swam, and his hearing faded, Shoko’s frantic voice becoming muffled as though he were underwater. He couldn’t even feel his limbs anymore, just the intense, searing agony and the terrifying sense that he was slipping away.

Focus, he tried to tell himself. Breathe.

But the harder he tried, the worse it got, until the world finally faded entirely, sinking into total blackness.

Satoru blinked, trying to shake off the lingering fog in his mind. The hospital room came into focus, sharp and clear—clearer than he could ever remember seeing, actually. His eyes darted around, adjusting to the sudden brightness that seemed to be assaulting his senses. Everything was so vivid, so intensely defined. His mind stuttered over the realization, then froze as he looked over at the nightstand and saw his glasses lying there, untouched.

He swallowed, the bitter taste in his mouth making him grimace. It was the kind of taste he associated with hospital medication, antiseptic and sharp, but it was nothing compared to the shock of realizing he could see perfectly fine without his glasses.

Satoru brought a shaky hand up to his face, feeling his bare skin where his frames usually rested. He stared at his fingers, noticing the faint prickling sensation running through his hand, where a painful, pulsing ache was subsiding. He clenched his hand experimentally, and to his surprise, the movement felt almost... unnatural. Powerful, even. But also slightly off, like he wasn’t entirely in control of his own strength.

His mind raced as he tried to make sense of everything. Just as he was about to sit up, the door creaked open, and a familiar face poked through—Shoko, eyes red-rimmed and worried, though she managed a weak grin when she saw he was awake.

"Satoru," she whispered, relief flooding her expression as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "You’re okay."

"Kind of feels like I got hit by a truck," he muttered, the sound of his own voice startling him with its newfound clarity. "But...I guess I’m fine." He hesitated, looking down at his bare hand, flexing it slowly. "Shoko, what happened? All I remember is that something bit me, and then… nothing."

Shoko glanced at the door, as if worried someone might overhear, then lowered her voice. "The doctors said it was some sort of spider bite. They were… surprised by how intense your reaction was. You were unconscious for almost a full day, Satoru. They were worried you’d need emergency care, but then you suddenly stabilized."

Satoru’s brow furrowed as he listened, the hospital room seeming to sharpen even further in his vision, every speck of dust, every crease in the bedsheets standing out. "A spider bite," he echoed, trying to wrap his head around it. He swallowed, feeling his heart rate start to quicken. "Shoko, this might sound weird, but... I don’t need my glasses."

She looked at him, momentarily confused. "What? Like... your vision’s better?"

"Perfect," he said, still half in disbelief. "Everything’s way sharper than before. And it’s not just my sight—it’s like my whole body feels different. Stronger, somehow."

Shoko’s eyes widened slightly as she watched him, the hints of worry creeping back into her expression. "Maybe… I don’t know. The doctors didn’t say anything about side effects from the bite. I figured you’d just need some meds and rest, but..." She bit her lip. "Maybe this is something else."

"Yeah, maybe," Satoru murmured, glancing down at his hand, flexing it again to see if he could detect any more changes. His hand was still tingling slightly, and for a second, he could swear he felt something coursing through him, like an electric hum simmering just under the surface.

He went quiet seeing how worried his friend had become over his current state and thought quickly to change the subject.

"So what did you tell my parents and did they find out?"

Shoko's gaze softened, and she looked away, scratching the back of her neck. "Well, I... I didn't really have to tell them much," she admitted, her voice dropping. "Your parents didn’t exactly come rushing to check on you."

Satoru nodded, the familiar sting settling in his chest. Of course they hadn’t shown up—not that he’d truly expected them to. They were probably too busy to be bothered with a minor "incident" like their only son lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

"But don’t worry," Shoko continued quickly, "Geto and I took care of everything. We told the doctors it was some freak accident at an arcade and that you didn't want to bother your family. Geto's great at talking to adults, so he handled most of it. I made sure the story didn’t get too detailed, just in case anyone decided to contact your parents."

Satoru managed a small smile, the weight lifting slightly. "You guys are lifesavers. I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Shoko grinned, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah, well, I’m not missing my friend’s birthday just because he’s out cold in a hospital bed. Besides, that’s what friends are for, right?”

He relaxed a bit, letting himself enjoy the normalcy her words brought. "Still, sorry for dragging you both into this. I swear I’m done with ‘birthday dares’ for a while.”

“Oh, come on. Just means next year we’ll have to top it,” Shoko teased, the worry lifting from her face for the first time. “But no science labs this time. That’s my rule.”

Satoru chuckled, feeling that bittersweet blend of relief and exhaustion.

Satoru left the hospital the next morning, a strange mix of anticipation and uncertainty bubbling under his skin. Shoko and Geto stayed by his side, laughing and teasing him as he forged his parents signatures on the discharge papers and threw on his jacket. On the outside, everything seemed normal. But with each step out of the hospital and into the bustling streets of New Tokyo, Satoru couldn’t ignore the surreal sensations coursing through him.

As they walked, he noticed the colors around him seemed richer, more vivid. The sunlight was brighter than ever, and he could even make out the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic beat of footsteps on the street in a way he’d never noticed before. Sounds that used to blend into the background now came alive with distinct clarity, like the street vendors calling out their deals or the faint clinking of coins in a cup. He found himself grinning, though he quickly covered it, hoping Shoko and Geto wouldn’t catch on.

Once he parted ways with his friends, Satoru ducked into an alley, eager to test out just how far these changes went. He glanced around, then focused on the nearest building, a three-story structure with narrow ledges and windowsills. He flexed his hands and felt that faint tingle from before, almost like his muscles were thrumming with energy, as though something deep within him was waiting to be unleashed.

With a burst of confidence, he reached up and grabbed the edge of the first window ledge. His hand seemed to stick to the surface, and he felt a strange ease as he hoisted himself up with barely any effort. Climbing felt natural, almost instinctual, as he scaled the building effortlessly, moving from ledge to ledge until he reached the top, breathing only slightly heavier than normal. He looked down, heart pounding with excitement as he realized just how far he'd come with barely a bead of sweat.

For the next few days, Satoru honed these strange abilities in secret. He found that he could leap several feet in the air, lifting his entire weight with ease, and his reflexes had sharpened to the point that he could catch a falling object before it hit the ground without even thinking about it. At home, he practiced in his room, keeping his movements swift and silent. But hiding his new powers became tricky when it came to everyday life.

He had to remind himself to walk at a normal pace, not to slam doors by accident, and to avoid overdoing it when reaching for things. More than once, he found himself gripping something—like a cup or a book—only to nearly crush it in his hands. He made a habit of wearing gloves in front of his family to keep them from noticing how sticky his grip seemed to be at times.

At school, he kept his distance, careful not to reveal just how fast he could dodge or how precise his aim had become. His classmates might have thought he was just focused on his studies, but in reality, he was constantly aware of every sound, every movement around him, his senses alive with newfound sharpness.

Yet, every time he looked in the mirror, Satoru felt a pang of disbelief. This new strength was thrilling, but the mystery of what exactly had happened to him—and what else might still change—kept him on edge. The spider bite had unlocked something inside him, something that seemed beyond his understanding, and for now, all he could do was keep it hidden and hope it wouldn’t get him into even more trouble.

"Yo, earth to Satoru! For fucksakes man, I've been calling you for about five minutes. You good?" Geto questioned his bestfriend, flicking the boy's head.

Satoru blinked seeming hyper aware of his surroundings once more, sitting at the lunch table with his friends.

"Shoko was explaining that she has free time to go see that aliens movie if you still wanna go... Hey, since when did you start wearing contacts?"

Satoru cleared his throat, forcing a grin as he adjusted his seat. "Oh, yeah—uh, thought I'd try the contacts thing. Glasses were getting annoying, you know?" He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling an uncomfortable warmth creep up as Geto and Shoko both kept their eyes on him.

Shoko arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she let it slide, taking a long sip of her milk tea. “Right. Well, if you’re done spacing out, are you still down for the movie tonight?”

“Of course!” Satoru said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He winced, then shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalance. “I mean, yeah, sounds good. I could use the distraction.”

Geto leaned back, crossing his arms and studying him thoughtfully. "Okay, but seriously, man, something’s different about you. You’re... taller? And last week you had those huge bags under your eyes, but now…” He squinted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “It’s like you’ve hit some weird puberty growth spurt overnight.”

Satoru forced another laugh, brushing off his friends' observations with a dismissive wave. "Maybe I just finally got a good night's sleep. Been hitting the books too hard, I guess.”

Shoko wasn’t buying it. She watched him closely, her gaze drifting from his eyes to his posture, noting the way he seemed more poised, almost... alert, like he was holding back some bound-up energy. She shook her head slightly but decided to hold her tongue, letting Geto do most of the interrogating.

“Alright, fine,” Geto finally relented, shrugging. “Guess puberty is just hitting you like a truck, or maybe all those spider bites actually boosted your immune system or something.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s the spider bites,” Satoru muttered, forcing himself to look casual as he took a bite of his food, trying not to think about how true those words were.

As they settled back into their usual banter, Satoru’s mind wandered again, this time with a strange sense of exhilaration. He couldn’t wait to test the limits of his newfound abilities later, though he knew he’d have to be careful around Shoko and Geto. They might not have figured out his secret yet, but one wrong move, and they’d be onto him in no time.

The theater was packed, buzzing with the energy of weekend crowds as Satoru met up with Geto and Shoko by the concession stand. They handed him a large soda and a bag of popcorn, and the three of them made their way to their seats, laughing and chatting about random nonsense as the previews rolled.

Settling in, Satoru tried to focus on the movie as it started, the eerie music and ominous landscapes immersing him in the story. But not long after the first scene, a strange sensation began to creep over him—a tingling sense of unease prickling the back of his neck. He shifted in his seat, glancing around the theater, but everyone was engrossed in the movie, their faces dimly lit by the flickering screen.

“Satoru, you good?” Geto whispered, catching his movement.

"Yeah," Satoru replied quickly, forcing a casual smile. "Just... bathroom break, I’ll be back." He slipped out of his seat and exited the theater, the sensation growing stronger with each step he took.

The hallway outside the theater was quiet, with only the faint sounds of distant movie scenes filtering through the walls. Satoru turned toward the restroom, hoping the walk would shake the feeling off. Just as he rounded a corner, however, he heard muffled voices. A quick glance confirmed it: near the vending machines at the far end of the hall, a young girl was cornered by three men, their postures aggressive, her expression one of fear.

His heartbeat quickened, and he took a step closer, instinctively straightening, his mind racing. One of the men looked up and noticed him, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

"Hey, kid," the guy called out, his voice low and menacing, "mind your own business unless you want trouble."

Satoru froze for a moment, considering his options. He clenched his fists, then forced himself to nod and back away, walking to the restroom as if he hadn’t seen anything. But the uneasy feeling gnawed at him, intensifying with every step. There was no way he could just ignore it, not after what he’d seen.

Then, his gaze landed on a rack of merchandise near the entrance—specifically, an alien mask sold as part of a popcorn tub set. An idea sparked, and before he knew it, he grabbed the mask, slipping it over his head as he moved back toward the hallway. He made sure to pull the hood of his jacket up over it, creating a makeshift disguise. Heart pounding, he squared his shoulders and strode back toward the vending machines.

The men were still there, laughing and murmuring threats to the girl, who looked like she was struggling to hold back tears.

"Hey," Satoru called out, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. His stance was calm, but his body thrummed with the same strange energy he’d been feeling all week. "Leave her alone."

The men turned, looking stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Look, it’s a freaking alien coming to save the day!” one of them sneered, stepping closer. “You better walk away now, or you’re gonna regret it.”

Satoru felt a surge of confidence, his senses heightened, and without another word, he lunged forward, his fist connecting with the guy’s stomach hard. A loud crunch was heard (okay Satoru definitely needed to learn how to pull his punches.) The man stumbled back, clutching his middle in shock coughing in agony, and the others gaped before snarling and moving toward him. But Satoru was ready.

He ducked a punch, easily sidestepping and sweeping the man’s leg out from under him, watching as he tumbled to the floor. The other grabbed his shoulder, but Satoru twisted, using his newfound strength to wrench free and land another hit square in the man’s jaw. The guy staggered back, dazed, and before they could regroup, Satoru shot the girl a quick nod.

“Run. Now,” he said, his voice steady.

The girl hesitated, then nodded gratefully and took off down the hall. The men were left disoriented, clutching their bruises as they glared at him.

“You freak!” one of them shouted, reaching out for Satoru again, but he dodged, throwing one final punch that sent the guy crashing against the candy stand. With his heart pounding and his muscles humming, Satoru straightened, watching as the men scrambled to their feet and bolted out of the hall.

"I'd put some ice on those ribs.. maybe see a doctor." He called out after them.

Satisfied, he adjusted the alien mask and slipped back into the theater, where Shoko and Geto were too immersed in the movie to notice his absence. He pulled off the mask, hiding it in his jacket with a quiet, exhilarated breath.

He'd never felt so alive.

As Satoru settled back into his seat, the adrenaline still coursing through him, he felt an odd mix of exhilaration and relief. The movie flickered on, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts about what just happened. He glanced at Shoko and Geto, who were completely engrossed in the film, unaware of the small battle he had just fought.

The eerie atmosphere of the movie now felt different to him; it was as if the tension on screen mirrored the heightened state he was in. He shifted in his seat, letting the popcorn bag settle in his lap as he tried to ground himself in the moment. But the feeling of empowerment lingered, nudging at the corners of his mind.

After a few moments, Geto turned to him, a bemused expression on his face. “What took you so long? Did you get lost in there or something?”

Satoru chuckled, brushing it off. “Yeah, just had a little trouble finding the restroom.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn, trying to focus on the movie and not the chaos he'd just left behind. But the image of the girl’s frightened face haunted him.

“Bet you’re glad to be back,” Shoko said, not looking away from the screen. “I heard the part where the spider-ant emerged from the woman's stomach—such a classic jump scare!”

“Totally,” Satoru replied, forcing enthusiasm into his tone. But inside, he was still replaying the confrontation in his head. He didn’t just intervene; he had fought back.

As the movie progressed, Satoru found himself occasionally glancing at the exit, half-expecting the men to return, though they were likely long gone. The thrill of standing up to them filled him with a strange sense of purpose.

“What are you thinking about?” Geto asked, noticing Satoru’s distracted demeanor.

“Just… the movie,” he said, forcing a grin. “It’s pretty intense.” He leaned back, trying to blend into the ambiance of the theater, but the incident weighed heavily on him.

Finally, as the credits began to roll, Satoru felt the energy of the theater shift. People started to stand and chatter, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to do more. He leaned over to Shoko and Geto.

“Hey, what if we check out that comic shop down the street after this? I heard they have some new releases,” he suggested, hoping to keep the momentum of their night going.

“Sounds good to me!” Shoko replied, stretching her arms. “I could use a new read.”

Geto shrugged. “Sure, why not? Just make sure you don’t get us into any trouble, alien boy.”

Satoru laughed, feeling lighter. “No promises.” As they made their way out of the theater, he took a deep breath, the cool air outside refreshing against his skin. Maybe tonight would be the start of something new for him—something more than just movies and popcorn.

Two Years Later…

At seventeen, Satoru Gojo stood tall, his once-scrawny frame now replaced with defined rippling muscles, the result of relentless training and countless nights spent honing his powers. His snowy white hair had grown out in unruly waves (he should probably cut it), which he made no effort to tame. His dimples—something he never knew he had until recently—now made every smirk dangerous, a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his classmates, who were starting to call him "unreasonably good-looking." Adding to the change were the black stud earrings glinting on both ears, giving him an effortlessly cool edge.

He slid a pair of sleek, pitch-black circular shades onto his face, shielding his hypersensitive sapphire-blue eyes from the glaring sunlight that threatened to overwhelm his vision. His eyes, once a challenge to focus, had become razor-sharp weapons. He could spot movement from blocks away, read the most subtle shifts in a person’s body language, and detect danger long before it arrived. But with these new skills came the annoying side effect of photosensitivity—regular daylight now felt like staring into a floodlight, hence the constant use of his shades.

It wasn’t just his body that had evolved—his entire life had shifted. For the past two years, Satoru had been living a double life, one that required not only skill but secrecy. By day, he was just another high school student at a private academy, juggling exams, family expectations, and the occasional run-in with Shoko and Geto. But by night, he was someone else entirely: Spider-Man, the masked vigilante swinging through the streets of New Tokyo.

The Suit

His transformation into Spider-Man hadn’t been easy. It had taken months of trial and error, sneaking into restricted areas of Gojo Enterprise’s labs, using the tech his parents had locked behind biometric doors and firewalls. He’d spent countless nights disassembling prototypes, siphoning materials, and testing equipment in secret. With no one to guide him, everything was self-taught—a series of failed experiments, some of which nearly blew up in his face. But eventually, the pieces fell into place, and the suit he envisioned became reality.

The final product was a sleek, custom-designed suit with a unique color palette that felt entirely his own. The base was matte black, hugging his athletic frame like a second skin. Blue accents streaked down the sides of his arms and legs, giving the suit a dynamic, aerodynamic look. And over his chest and back was the unmistakable insignia of a spider, rendered in bright white, striking a perfect balance against the black background.

He’d integrated tech from Gojo Enterprise into the suit, scavenging from discarded prototypes and building his own systems. The gloves housed web shooters—miniature, pressurized devices capable of firing synthetic webs strong enough to hold a car. His boots were equipped with magnetic grips that allowed him to cling to any surface effortlessly, and the suit itself was lined with a lightweight polymer, providing enhanced durability without sacrificing mobility.

Inside the mask, he’d embedded sensors that worked like augmented reality displays, feeding him real-time data—heat signatures, environmental readings, and even surveillance feeds he’d hacked from public cameras. He didn’t just fight crime; he studied it, locked in on threats with laser focus, moving like a shadow through the streets.

A Double Life

Two years of living like this had given him more confidence than he ever thought possible. No longer was he the awkward, nerdy kid struggling to fit in. He was stronger, faster, smarter—and it showed. His parents barely noticed the difference, too preoccupied with their business ventures to pay attention to his personal life, but that was just as well. It made it easier to keep his secret. Despite his parents not noticing; his classmates certainly did. Especially the girls.

To his friends, he was still Satoru, the same cocky kid they’d grown up with—just with a bit more... swag (cringe) now. He still met up with Shoko and Geto regularly, playing it cool as if he wasn’t sneaking out at night to swing from rooftops and take down gangs, smugglers, and corrupt politicians. They had no idea about the Spider-Man persona he’d created, and he intended to keep it that way. For now.

But even with all the training, the fights, and the wins, he knew this life wasn’t just fun and games. New Tokyo was a city of shadows, with forces far more dangerous than petty thieves lurking in its corners. And if he wanted to survive, he had to keep evolving—both as Satoru Gojo and Spider-Man.

He stood on the edge of a high-rise building, the night wind tugging at his hood, the city sprawling beneath him in a sea of glowing lights. A subtle smirk played on his lips as he adjusted his mask, tucking the alien mask that had started it all into his belt as a lucky charm.

"Alright," he whispered to himself, the thrill of the hunt thrumming through his veins. "Maximum effort, I got a chem test to study for.. just a quick patrol."

With a flick of his wrist, he fired a webline, the familiar thwip sound bringing a rush of excitement. The line caught on a nearby skyscraper, and in one smooth motion, Satoru launched himself into the night, disappearing into the cityscape like a shadow with a purpose.

Author's note: AHHHH! I've been working on this piece for months and I've done everything in my power to make sure it was perfect! I really hope everyone likes it because I really have worked super hard to make this the best piece of fiction I've ever put out. I plan to make the full story over on Ao3 if this gets enough positive feedback. Yes, Y/n has not been mentioned yet but she is coming and will be present and center in the next installment. The first big baddie is also going to be in the next chapter as well. I also want to note that this story is going to be very angst heavy so prepare yourselves. My last words of the night are be kind to one another, drink water, and live laugh love Gojo Satoru!

[curryfury13]

KHOC Week Day 6 - Journal

This has been a prompt for @khoc-week that I've been so excited about. Hinata keeps journals of her adventures as a way to keep track of her memories. She's forgotten large chunks of her past before and wants to make sure that can never happen again.

Her journals, however, are a bit different from a normal diary. She writes them like a story and also draws pictures in them to show where she is. She's not an incredibly gifted artist, but learned a few things from her time with Namine.

This is an excerpt of her journal entry during a short stay on Montressor. In Chapter 41 of "The Forgotten Traveler", Hinata and her team find themselves back on Montressor in search of information on Sam's dad. It leads them back to the Benbow, where Sam's mom holds the missing piece.

The actual chapter was written from Sam's point of view, but this journal entry is Hinata's take on it all. I'll post the entire entry below:

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

The Benbo Inn was filled with warmth and life. Sarah Hawkins always did have a way of making people feel welcome. She kept our booth open. I remember sitting there after my shift, or whenever Sam and James would come during my work day and convince me to take a break. Tonight though, it lacked the usual excitement it used to.

While the rest of the inn bustled and chatted, we were there for something different. Sam needed to talk with her mom. It wasn't going to be easy and it made me queasy to think about. Jenna was someone I couldn't figure out. Her eyes showed a vast emptiness, yet I could sense something deeper. It made me sad for her. Though I could understand the anger Sam held towards her. Two years of isolation… What could that do to someone? I went crazy during my month alone on Treasure Planet. Well, mostly alone.

As Ben and I took our seats, Sam went to her mom. Her words were short and terse, telling her they needed to talk after closing time, then she came back to the booth with us. I wish I could have said something to help. Part of me wished I could have taken care of the entire thing for her. But that wouldn't help anything. It was something she needed to face on her own.

Knowing that, I asked if she wanted us there during the discussion, which she said yes to. All that remained was for us to eat dinner and wait. But even with the great food from Sarah, I didn't have much of an appetite. Sam didn't seem to either. While Ben kept the conversation going, mostly with himself. I'm glad he was there.

It was agonizing to wait. I kept drumming my fingers against the table and I'm pretty sure my leg wouldn't stop shaking. Then closing time finally came. I helped Jenna and Sarah clean up. It was just like I was working there again. But then it was time to talk.

Jenna brought over a chair and carefully folded her apron over the back of it before she sat down. She sat on the edge, her back straight. It was like she was trying to seem stronger than she felt. Sam brought out a locket. It looked similar to mine but was made from a bluish metal. I didn't recognize the engraving on top, not that it entirely matters. Jenna seemed to though. I noticed her shifting in her seat at the sight of it. Did she know what was inside it?

Sam asked if she'd seen the vision and Jenna just nodded. Not a word came out of her. Sam continued to pry and Jenna's entire demeanor shifted. Her posture slumped and that distant glaze came back over her eyes. There was more to this. Even with the possibility of getting Jarith back, she didn't react. It only made her retreat further back into herself. What was really going on?

There was something deeper. Something even Sam didn't seem to understand and realize. The raw pain between them was palpable. It didn't take long for Sam to lose her temper. She slammed her hands against the table, demanding answers. Jenna begged her not to look into this and got up from her seat to leave.

I couldn't sit by anymore and got out of my seat, while Lupe took care of calming Sam down. Jenna could hardly stand. She leaned against the tables for support as she walked away. I moved to stand in front of her and all I saw was a broken woman. Everything she did… she abandoned her children when they needed her most, ignored them when they pleaded for help and even for something as simple as love, and locked herself away for nearly two years. Why didn't I share Sam's resentment towards her? There had to be more to it. More that we didn't understand about Jenna.

All I had to say to Jenna was acknowledge she was trying to protect Sam. She broke down. Sam was all she had left.

Sam cried that if that was the case, why did she never care?

It was a valid question. One Jenna didn't have an answer to. Whatever is going on with her, maybe Jarith will have the answer. We have to find him.

Lupe and I calmed Jenna down enough to let Sam back in for another chance to talk. We promised her that we'd get him back… Maybe that was a foolish thing to promise, but it seemed like the only choice at the time. I know I'll do everything in my power to do it. We all will.

Sam tried again. She knelt in front of Jenna and offered the locket once more. She pleaded softly, begging for any information about her dad. And Jenna did… she told us the name Glee Anselm. That's where we'll find Sam's dad.

We have quite the journey ahead of us.

[royalrebelpropaganda]

hi, hello, calling all ever after high fans! fun fact!

the Fandom wiki SUCKS.

I've known this for a while, and talking to people in the discord makes it more obvious. the Fandom wiki is unmoderated, unprofessionally written, chronically undercited, and often contains just completely incorrect information. if you want examples, I will be including SEVERAL under the cut!

essentially, I have been building my own wiki with several people from the server, but it is taking a LONG time to get up and running. is this something that you guys would be interested in helping me with?? most of the character links and pages are currently defunct, but I'm working on uploading and transcribing all of the diaries at the moment (because I really really don't want to steal anything from the Fandom wiki. this is our own project, so we have to find our own sources, links, and information.)

just looking for feedback !!! please reblog with tags or comments if you would like to work on this project. keep in mind it will HAVE to be source-based, so it's going to be a lot of reading and searching for information from various sources, not just the show.

thank you!! the "keep reading" below will be for EGREGIOUS examples of wiki running because this really is one of the worst wikis I've ever seen:

1)

Hunter Huntsman's diary

this is MADE UP. the last line of this DOESN'T EXIST. it ends at "My life... a fairytale come true." the rest of this is someone writing fanfiction and putting it in the official wiki.

2)

Braeburn

there's so many problems here I don't even know where to start. actually I do.

ONE: her name is Braebyrn. not Braeburn. this wiki doesn't mention it, but her name is NEVER MENTIONED in the show or in the junior novelization; it's on the official ever after high instagram, it's on the apple white dragon games doll box, and it's in the mobile app game that was released in accompaniment with the show. that's important information that the wiki didn't think mattered, and they misspelled her name!!!!

TWO: "braeburn appears to be able to control lightning" if anyone did ANY RESEARCH they would know that's not "appears to be," that IS her power. on the box that braebyrn the doll model comes in, it explicitly mentions that her dragon magic is "lightning bolt," so that's not an assumption. however, this fact is never mentioned on the page! because the wiki is non-comprehensive despite pretending that it is.

THREE: "Brushfire's sister" she's. she's all of the baby dragon's sisters. why is this one specifically mentioned. that's just a weird choice. plus it's written as "Brushfires" which is a typo that has not been corrected.

FOUR: "Her name is a nod to Braeburn apples." you have to say "seems to be." unlike the lightning, this one is an ASSUMPTION. if it isn't an assumption, if there was an interview where someone from mattel was talking about it, you have to link it!! it doesn't matter that it's a very obvious pun, wikis are built on FACT. UGH.

3)

Category:Dragons

I have searched far and wide, and as far as I can tell, these are straight up made up. I can't find any sources, and if I look up something like "felecity ever after high" the ONLY links that show up related to the dragons are for the Fandom wiki. there are no sources, no citations. I personally am inclined to believe these are made up names that are stated as fact.

4)

Characters/pets

ONE: NOT her pet pig. it's a pig that she brought to a party because they asked her to bring ham or something to the party and she didn't understand they wanted the pig not alive. I'm pretty sure it hopped out of her hat. it's never mentioned again.

TWO: the storyboard of legends. I. I don't even have anything to say.

5)

there's so many more guys but I'm getting tired. go find some yourself, the wiki is riddled with them, these were just the ones I could remember off the top of my head.

[raining-tulips]

hi! i just found your blog :) love your commonplace book scans! if you don’t mind me asking, could you give a more in-depth explanation of what commonplacing is exactly and what your process is? i’m intrigued and considering getting into it but i wouldn’t even know where to start! thanks a lot xx

Absolutely! So my commonplace is specifically all movies, qoutes, articles, tumblr/Instagram posts, book excerpts, etc. that either resonated with me or I think I'll want to reference later. That is the heart of what common placing is - saving things for later physically rather than digitally.

Some of these just pop up in my feed, and I'll hit the like or save button. If it's an article, it usually first pops up as a preview on my Instagram and I'll open the full article on my desktop than bookmark it in a specific folder for common placing.

Sometimes, when I want to actively find something out (say, about if perfume is really bad for the environment, or I want to look at author interviews because I just loved a book) I will go out and search for that information.

Then, usually once a week I compile everything I'd like to print - i print the sources bc my handwriting is messy - into a word document formatted for two columns. I try and hold off printing until i have a full page worth, or two full page worth.

For images, I have another word document (these are printed in color, and i usually have to jigsaw to fit as many images on the page as possible, so different word document). Same thing, I try and wait until I have a full page to print. Usually x2 a month. I sometimes will print with an HP sprocket but the quality is really bad and the pictures are thick so, it's for when I'm out of printer ink or I think a photo will look okay with a sorta...uneven look.

I use just a Staples brand journal, TruRed. Cheap and easy. I draw a line at the top so I can write the date, and in the future if I want to tag it with a colored sticker or something, I can. My layouts usually include divided space on either the left or right of a page. The article goes in the bigger open space, and then the source (always write your source!!) and any commentary goes in the smaller margins.

Commentary is usually why I wanted to print it, what it reminds me of or makes me think about, etc. What I think the argument was missing, etc. Can be as little or as much as you like. As emotional and deep or as plain-jane as you like. There are no rules!

I trim printed text and images with a 12 inch trimmer bc I've got wobbly hands, but some people just use a little (blanking on the name) exacto knife? Any 12 inch trimmer will do mine is expensive but I also scrapbook so I use it all the time.

I paste things in using a tape runner (again, because I scrapbook and found a tape runner and my mom sells scrapbook supplies they're very accessible to me). Some people use tape, washi tape, glue sticks (liquid glue I've never seen).

And yeah, then I just decorate and play around. It doesn't have to be pretty. It can be really pretty if you want - I'm motivated by aesthetics, so, I like mine to be a little pretty.

If you'd like to see how I actually put it together and why I print certain things, my YouTube channel is the place to go.

Some people tape in movie tickets, receipts from where they shopped or ate, pictures from daily life. Some people mix common-placing and journaling, so including diary entries about their day or about a topic they love, or their thoughts and feelings (I keep mine in a separate journal, explained in this video). Some people mix common-placing with bullet journal or planning. Some combine all three!

At the end I just use a printer scanner (HP Envy 5500, cheap) and post them online that way bc I love the look.

People who have other styles you might try and look at are @petite-gloom (an OG who inspired me and many others) @fakelavender , @teddybearsticker .

[sylvienerevarine]

Man is Not Made for Defeat (An Oblivion Short)

Hello, my dumplings. Recently I've been replaying Oblivion and realized that I've never properly written any Oblivion-specific fanfic, except like one very short thing from last year. Anyway, here's a wee thing featuring my trashy lesbian HoK Sacha, and her soon-to-be adopted son Ben, the Adoring Fan. (In the Sylvieverse he's named Ben. Don't worry about it)

---

“By Azura, ma’am, this is such an honor!”

Sacha Llervu–known variously as the Hero of Kvatch, Iron Maiden of the Arena, and “that’s her, officer”–glanced up from her bloodstained sword in annoyance. She was slumped on a bench in the Arena District park, trying to will her exhausted limbs to carry her to the nearest pub, and wasn’t precisely in the mood for conversation. Especially not with a twig of a Bosmer boy with a daft spike of yellow hair, gazing at her like she was Saint Veloth.

“What do you want?” The question came out wearily, not as the growl she’d intended, and the boy didn’t appear cowed.

“Well, Iron Maiden, ma’am, you’re the Grand Champion now,” he said, as though she hadn’t noticed. “A celebrity. You’ll be wanting an assistant now, of course–someone to carry your bags, shine your shoes, keep away troublemakers. You needn’t pay me, or anything, it would be an honor to work for you…”

“No,” Sacha interrupted. The boy’s lower lip wobbled, and she sighed. “Look, you seem like a good kid. Stay away from me, I’m no champion.” Her eyes, humiliatingly, felt damp. She hadn’t cried when she’d been tossed in prison or seen the Emperor killed three feet in front of her, but now the tears came?

“Ma’am? Is something wrong?”

“I killed a good man today,” she said thickly. “And I didn’t do it honorably. Honestly, I killed him the day I showed him that bloody diary–the Agronak I took down today was just a shell.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “I knew something was off. His reflexes seemed slower than usual, and he barely lifted his shield–it was like he wanted you to win.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Sacha agreed. “He hired me to find information on his father, a while back, and I found out dear old Dad was a vampire. Agronak wanted the truth, so I told him, and you could say it shook him.” That was an understatement. She’d never forget how Agronak’s blunt, cheerful features had gone ashen at the contents of his father’s diary. Being half-vampire didn’t seem like such a tragedy to Sacha, but for someone who’d built his identity around some idea of lost nobility, maybe it could be.

“You gave him a noble death, ma’am,” the boy said quietly. “Mister Agronak’s old mum dropped by once, you know, and told me a bit about life in the strongholds. Apparently some of the elderly Orc folk go out into the wilderness in search of a good death in battle. Maybe the Gray Prince’s defeat isn’t what you wanted, but it’s what he wanted.”

Sacha looked up in surprise. She wouldn’t have expected a youngster with such a ridiculous hairstyle to be so wise. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Ben…ah, Benethir,” the boy stammered. “You can call me Ben, of course, or anything you want really.”

“Ben will do. How old are you? Got family in town?” Somehow she knew his second answer would be no. If there was anyone to look after the lad, he’d probably be in school, not spending all day watching idiots hack each other to pieces.

“Seventeen-ish, I think.” Ben cast her an anxious look, as though worried this would be too young for Sacha’s approval. “My parents died a few years ago, so I’ve been on my own–I mean, independent ever since.”

Annoyingly, Sacha felt her heart soften a bit. She’d been this kid, twenty-odd years ago; a scared urchin fleeing that horrendous Indoril plantation. Within a few years she’d been running scams in every backwater Deshaan village, before the Legion had finally tossed her in prison. Her strength and stubbornness had kept her alive in that pit, but a pup like this Ben wouldn’t last a month.

She’d never been one for charity or hangers-on, but perhaps it was time to make an exception.

“Right.” She stood, brushing off her trousers. “You good at hauling luggage and sweeping and that sort of thing?”

Ben’s eyes lit up. “I certainly can be, ma’am.”

“Smashing. I’ve got a house in Anvil that I frequently need to leave on missions that are none of your business, and it needs looking after while I’m away. Don’t worry, you’ll still have time to waste at the Arena, and a bit of pocket-money as well.” Sacha held out one hand, and the awed boy shook it. “Don’t make me regret this, kid.”

As Ben sputtered in gratitude, Sacha rolled her eyes, already picturing what Marty would say when she told him. Something like I always knew you’d be the maternal type, deep down. Smug bastard. 

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

The DCLA names and how likely I would be to name my kid that

Keep in mind that I do not live in a latin american country, which means some of my choices would be based on the types of names common or uncommon where I live. Some names I think are nice but would stick out a lot more over here.

Violetta: The thing is, I love this name, but if I name my child this I will just think about Violetta the character every time I say their name.

Francesca: Yeah!

Camila: If, and only if, my child is red haired. Source: Every Camila I've met irl has been red haired, and Camila in the show is... well not naturally red haired but it's hard to not to picture her with red hair. (Side note, every Camila I've met have also worked as a teacher or in childcare?????)

Ludmila: I think so?

Natalia: Maybe... although, where I live, it's more common to have a variation of the name, Natalie.

Maxi: It's too common! I've met a lot of Maxi's in my life, although it's short of Maximilian rather than MAXIMILIANO.

Leon: Yeah!

Andres: Not really. Maybe the variation, Anders. But Anders is a "only men over 40 are named this" type of name so... probably not.

Diego: I could consider it, but idk if I'd pick it as a final name

Tomas: no.

Broduey: Everyone will misspell it as Broadway and I just don't want to give my child unnecessary hardships

Federico: I'm very unsure about that tbh

Angie: Yes <33 I'd have Angie as a full name instead of just a nickname too.

Jade: I'd consider it!

Matias: Never in a million years

Germán: Naaaah...

Olga: I don't really think so...

Lisandro (Ramallo): No, not really.

Luca: Yes, I like that name!

Pablo: It's a fine name, but it also feels like a name that only works in certain age groups. Like a teenage boy or a middle aged man named Pablo is fine, but I have a harder time picturing a newborn baby named Pablo.

Roberto (Beto): The name Robert is more common here than Roberto, and I have a relative named Robert already lol

Jackie: Maybe? It would be pretty gender neutral too.

Emma: NEVER. I associate that name with a childhood bully of mine.

Lara: Yeah, I'd think about it

Helena/Lena: Well, I associate this name with middle aged teachers lol. But I wouldn't be opposed to it.

Mara: "Mara" is a slang for a witch in swedish. Also my name is Sara and it feels so cliché to have a name that rhymes with yours.

Ana: Ana, or Anna is so common that I really want to pick something else.

Maria: Maybe?

Antonio: Yeah, maybe...

Gregorio: I don't think so

Esmeralda: In my judgement, people named Esmeralda are either the sweetest humans alive or the meanest and brattiest people you'll meet. And I am not sure if I wanna risk it.

Clement: No.

Marco: I could picture naming my child Marco tbh.

Gery: No???? I'd just associate it with HER.

Nicolas: I could. Potentially.

Napoleon: Maybe...

Braco: I could think about it at least.

Luna: I could.

Ámbar: Honestly, yeah. Maybe without the accent so it's easier for people to spell lol. But yeah.

Simón: Absolutely! Although without the accent as it'll work better here without it.

Matteo: No.

Nina: I know so many Nina's in my life - some of them are really kind, and others I wrote in my diary in fourth grade that I wanted to murder. All in all, it's just a too common name.

Gastón: I could, because it just has this... "memorable" vibe over it, like you're definitely gonna remember someone named Gastón. However, it's a high chance people associate it with Gastón from Beauty and the Beast and make jokes like that all their upbringing.

Monica: Every single Monica I've met has been a teacher or a lunchlady. Also they'd be tormented with the swedish hit single "Hej Monica" which is one of the most annoying songs ever produced from Sweden. Listen to it and you'll see why. Especially in the end of the song where the singer just straight up SCREAMS. So maybe I'll spare them of that.

Miguel: Hmm... idk

Rey: I think the name Rey is pretty cool. So I'd consider it.

Jimena: Ok, when I first heard her full name, my immediate reaction was "That's a strange name?" - because for me living here, it was never a name I heard about before. But then I thought about how many names there are from my country that would sound pretty strange to other cultures, so I tbh should be quiet. All in all, I think Jimena is a pretty nice name, but I also know that over here where I live, people would have a bit of a "can you repeat that?" when someone says it.

Yamila: I think this name could work more... although I feel like some people would be like "Haha you wanted to name them Camila but be different so you changed it to a Y didn't you" (you know, as I'm writing this, I realize just how much swedes are judgemental of names jfc)

Ramiro: I could think about it... not sure if I'd pick it as a final name though.

Pedro: Hmmmmmmm I'm hesitant

Jazmin: Yeah, I think so.

Delfina: If I name my child Delfina I will expose them to so many dolphin jokes for their entire life, so I think I wanna spare them of that

Mora: There's a town in Sweden called Mora so I think if I tried to submit the name it would get disapproved because no child should be named after a town. And yes, we have to get our names approved... which tbh most countries do, it's just that specific one country that doesn't so they think everyone else in the world are "super strict" about it.

Gary: No.

Tamara: I could think about it, but not sure I'd choose it as a final option.

Juliana: Maybe.

Sharon: I think I'd just picture a british old lady, and so it can be hard seeing my little newborn child be named that. The name wouldn't fit them until they're adults.

Amanda: Yeah, it's a name I've actually thought about before that I could picture my child be named.

Ricardo: Not Ricardo, but possibly the variation, Rickard.

Lili: Yeah, it's a cute name!

Bernie: Possibly?

Maggie: I could.

Alfredo: I think I'd shorten it to Alfred if I named my kid this.

Bia: Yeah! And I know her name is short for Beatriz, but I think Bia as the full name is really cute.

Chiara: Yeah, possibly!

Celeste: Sure!

Daisy: I'd definitely think about it, but I also knew a Daisy irl that was really annoying and has definitely ruined the name a bit for me.

Pietro: It's a cool name, but I think everyone would mishear it as Pedro when I say it.

Alex: Naaaah... it's too common

Manuel: Yeah! It's a nice name!

Pixie: It's a very sweet name, so I'd think about it

Victor: I think so!

Lucas: I really wanted my little brother to be named Lucas before he was born, so it's always been a name I liked.

Thiago: I'm... unsure

Carmín: It's a pretty cool name, so maybe!

Alice: I've always liked the name Alice, ever since I was a kid. So yes.

Jhon: Not spelled like that, I'd spell it like John. Although, still not a name I'm super into.

Marcos: No, I'd rather name the kid Marco.

Guillermo: No...

Aíllen: I don't think so.

Mariano: I don't really think so.

Paula: I do like the name Paula! Even though I'm not a big fan of the Bia character Paula lol

Luan: Maybe! And Luan is a pretty gender neutral name too.