#Dimensional Research Control

[damez1979]

Control: Polaris - Journey Through the Ashtray Maze and Beyond!

[a-flappy-bat]

I don’t ever go this route when I think of Darling back at the FBC but, if Darling came back to the Bureau he would be altered, and it would be fitting for Jesse to flip his position, for him to be the test subject behind bars, for him to serve his sentence in Dylan’s old plexiglass resonance proof cell. (I don’t think Jesse would do that, but she could.)

Close up under break 🙃

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

MASTER POST OF PROSHIP RESOURCES!!! <3<3

this is just for links (bc i just have No Way of formatting this properly), so for more in-depth stuffs and credits, head to the google doc, or the carrd !! :3c

Fiction ≠ Reality

Violent media -

Does Media Violence Predict Societal Violence? It Depends on What You Look at and When

Video Game Violence Use Among “Vulnerable” Populations: The Impact of Violent Games on Delinquency and Bullying Among Children with Clinically Elevated Depression or Attention Deficit Symptoms

Extreme metal music and anger processing

On the Morality of Immoral Fiction: Reading Newgate Novels, 1830–1848

How gamers manage aggression: Situating skills in collaborative computer games

Examining desensitization using facial electromyography:Violent videogames, gender, and affective responding

'Bad' video game behavior increases players' moral sensitivity

Fiction and Morality: Investigating the Associations Between Reading Exposure, Empathy, Morality, and Moral Judgment

Comfortably Numb or Just Yet Another Movie? Media Violence Exposure Does Not Reduce Viewer Empathy for Victims of Real Violence Among Primarily Hispanic Viewers

Fantasy Crime: The Criminalisation of Fantasy Material Under Australia's Child Abuse Material Legislation

Being able to distinguish fiction from reality -

Effects of context on judgments concerning the reality status of novel entities

Children’s Causal Learning from Fiction: Assessing the Proximity Between Real and Fictional Worlds

Reality/Fiction Distinction and Fiction/Fiction Distinction during Sentence Comprehension

Reality = Relevance? Insights from Spontaneous Modulations of the Brain’s Default Network when Telling Apart Reality from Fiction

How does the brain tell the real from imagined?

Meeting George Bush versus Meeting Cinderella: The Neural Response When Telling Apart What is Real from What is Fictional in the Context of Our Reality

loli/shota/kodocon -

If I like lolicon, does it mean I’m a pedophile? A therapist’s view

Virtual Child Pornography, Human Trafficking and Japanese Law: Pop Culture, Harm and Legal Restrains

Lolicon: The Reality of ‘Virtual Child Pornography’ in Japan

Report: cartoon paedophilia harmless

‘The Lolicon Guy:’ Some Observations on Researching Unpopular Topics in Japan

Robot Ghosts And Wired Dreams Japanese Science Fiction From Origins To Anime [pg 227-228]

Australia's "child abuse material' legislation, internet regulation and the juridification of the imaginationjuridification of the imagination [pg 14-15]

Multiple Orientations as Animating Misdelivery: Theoretical Considerations on Sexuality Attracted to Nijigen (Two-Dimensional) Objects

Positive Impact on Mental Health

Art therapy -

The effectiveness of art therapy for anxiety in adults: A systematic review of randomised and non-randomised controlled trials

Efficacy of Art Therapy in Individuals With Personality Disorders Cluster B/C: A Randomized Controlled Trial

Effectiveness of Art Therapy With Adult Clients in 2018 - What Progress Has Been Made?

Benefits of Art Therapy in People Diagnosed With Personality Disorders: A Quantitative Survey

The Effectiveness of Art Therapy in the Treatment of Traumatized Adults: A Systematic Review on Art Therapy and Trauma

The clinical effectiveness and current practice of art therapy for trauma

Writing therapy -

Optimizing the perceived benefits and health outcomes of writing about traumatic life events

Expressive writing and post-traumatic stress disorder: Effects on trauma symptoms, mood states, and cortisol reactivity

Focused expressive writing as self-help for stress and trauma

Putting Stress into Words: The Impact of Writing on Physiological, Absentee, and Self-Reported Emotional Well-Being Measures

The writing cure: How expressive writing promotes health and emotional well-being

Effects of Writing About Traumatic Experiences: The Necessity for Narrative Structuring

Scriptotherapy: The effects of writing about traumatic events

Emotional and physical benefits of expressive writing

Emotional and Cognitive Processing in Sexual Assault Survivors' Narratives

Finding happiness in negative emotions: An experimental test of a novel expressive writing paradigm

An everyday activity as treatment for depression: The benefits of expressive writing for people diagnosed with major depressive disorder

Writing about emotional experiences as a therapeutic process

Effects of expressive writing on sexual dysfunction, depression, and PTSD in women with a history of childhood sexual abuse: Results from a randomized clinical trial

Written Emotional Disclosure: Testing Whether Social Disclosure Matters

Written emotional disclosure: A controlled study of the benefits of expressive writing homework in outpatient psychotherapy

Misc -

Emotional disclosure about traumas and its relation to health: Effects of previous disclosure and trauma severity

Treating complex trauma in adolescents: A phase-based integrative approach for play therapists

Emotional expression and physical health: Revising traumatic memories or fostering self-regulation?

Disclosure of Sexual Victimization: The Effects of Pennebaker's Emotional Disclosure Paradigm on Physical and Psychological Distress

Kink/Porn/Fantasies

Sexual fantasies -

A Critical Microethnographic Examination of Power Exchange, Role Idenity and Agency with Black BDSM Practitioners

Women's Rape Fantasies: An Empirical Evaluation of the Major Explanations

History, culture and practice of puppy play

What Exactly Is an Unusual Sexual Fantasy?

The Psychology of Kink: a Survey Study into the Relationships of Trauma and Attachment Style with BDSM Interests

Punishing Sexual Fantasy

Women's Erotic Rape Fantasies

Sexual Fantasy and Adult Attunement: Differentiating Preying from Playing

What Is So Appealing About Being Spanked, Flogged, Dominated, or Restrained? Answers from Practitioners of Sexual Masochism/Submission

Dark Fantasies, Part 1 - With Dr. Ian Kerner

Why Do Women Have Rape Fantasies

The 7 Most Common Sexual Fantasies and What to Do About Them

Sexual Fantasies

Pornography -

The Effects of Exposure to Virtual Child Pornography on Viewer Cognitions and Attitudes Toward Deviant Sexual Behavior

American Identities and Consumption of Japanese Homoerotica

The differentiation between consumers of hentai pornography and human pornography

Pornography Use and Holistic Sexual Functioning: A Systematic Review of Recent Research

Claiming Public Health Crisis to Regulate Sexual Outlets: A Critique of the State of Utah's Declaration on Pornography

Pornography and Sexual Dysfunction: Is There Any Relationship?

Reading and Living Yaoi: Male-Male Fantasy Narratives as Women's Sexual Subculture in Japan

Women's Consumption of Pornograpy: Pleasure, Contestation, and Empowerment

Pornography and Sexual Violence

The Sunny Side of Smut

Other -

Fantasy Sexual Material Use by People with Attractions to Children

Fictosexuality, Fictoromance, and Fictophilia: A Qualitative Study of Love and Desire for Fictional Characters

Exploring the Ownership of Child-Like Sex Dolls

Are Sex and Pornograpy Addiction Valid Disorders? Adding a Leisure Science Perspecive to the Sexological Critique

Littles: Affects and Aesthetics in Sexual Age-Play

An Exploratory Study of a New Kink Activity: "Pup Play"

Jaws Effect

The Jaws Effect: How movie narratives are used to influence policy responses to shark bites in Western Australia

The Shark Attacks That Were the Inspiration for Jaws

The Great White Hope (written by Peter Benchley, writer of Jaws)

The Jaws Myth [not a study BUT is an interesting read and provides some links to articles and studies]

Slenderman Stabbings

Out Came the Girls: Adolescent Girlhood, the Occult, and the Slender Man Phenomenon

Jury in Slender Man case finds Anissa Weier was mentally ill, will not go to prison

2nd teen in 'Slender Man' stabbing case to remain in institutional care for 40 years

Negative effects of online harassment

How stressful is online victimization? Effects of victim's personality and properties of the incident

Prevalence, Psychological Impact, and Coping of Cyberbully Victims Among College Students

Offline Consequences of Online Victimization

The Relative Importance of Online Victimization in Understanding Depression, Delinquency, and Substance Use

Internet trolling and everyday sadism: Parallel effects on pain perception and moral judgement

The MAD Model of Moral Contagion: The Role of Motivation, Attention, and Design in the Spread of Moralized Content Online

Morally Motivated Networked Harassment as Normative Reinforcement

When Online Harassment is Perceived as Justified

Violence on Reddit Support Forums Unique to r/NoFap

"It Makes Me, A Minor, Uncomfortable" Media and Morality in Anti-Shippers' Policing of Online Fandom

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Machina economicus

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in AUCKLAND on May 2 at 6PM, and in WELLINGTON on May 3 at 3PM. More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

"Homo economicus" is the hypothetical "perfectly economically rational" person that economic models often assume us all to be, despite the fact that we are demonstrably not perfectly rational.

The economists who built models based on homo economicus understood that its assumptions were unwarranted, but that's OK! As the "Nobel prize"* winning economist Milton Friedman famously wrote:

Truly important and significant hypotheses will be found to have "assumptions" that are wildly inaccurate descriptive representations of reality, and, in general, the more significant the theory, the more unrealistic the assumptions (in this sense)

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/17/caliper-ai/#racism-machine

The economics prize is a fake Nobel that was made up in 1968 by economists who were desperate to have their work recognized as an empirical science on par with, say, physics.

Behavioral economics – the fastest moving and widest reaching econ subfield – consists primarily of researchers carefully checking to see whether people actually behave like homo economicus and concluding, "nope":

https://news.uchicago.edu/explainer/what-is-behavioral-economics

Which is a good thing! Homo economicus is a total asshole. A perfectly rational, utility-maximizing person is a selfish prick who'll steal from you and push you in front of a bulldozer if they have a "rational expectation" of coming out of the affair $0.01 ahead of where they started. Homo economicus is the kind of one-dimensional fantasy character populating manosphere mythology, where femmo economicus pursues a "sexual strategy" that chases "high value males":

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10600567/

As Yochai Benkler quipped, no one wants to live with homo economicus, even Wall Street traders, the most evangelical members of the cult of neoclassical economics. Finance bros may say they believe "greed is good," but if you hang around a downtown playground, you'll see guys in $8,000 tailor-made suits shouting at their toddlers, "Timmy! Share!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMxz7rzwee8

The "perfectly rational" being that responds solely to incentives, applying the precisely correct discount to future losses from present-day cheating, is nothing like a decent person. Someone who truly believes "there is no such thing as society" or who invoices their kids for the total cost of their upbringing on their eighteenth birthday is so fucking terrible that they might as well be an alien.

Indeed, this kind of bottomless cruelty conjures up HG Wells's Martians from War of the Worlds, the "intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic" that "are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts." Humanity has an instinctive, longstanding terror of beings whose cognition is so different from our own that they act without the strictures of shame, empathy or social contract: demons, aliens…AI.

The existential terror of AI evinced by corporate leaders is instantly recognizable as a species of these other ancient terrors: that some kind of superhuman being, operating within a framework that denies all moral consideration to human beings, will seize control over the planet and enslave us, torment us, and, ultimately, devour us.

But what if we already have such beings living among us, artificial beings that are millions of times more powerful than humans, more powerful than any human institution, in control of our working lives, our health, even our politicians and governments?

Arguably, we do live in the shadow of such modern demons: we call them "limited liability corporations." These are (potentially) immortal colony organisms that treat us fleshy humans as mere inconvenient gut flora. These artificial persons are not merely recognized as people under the law – they are given more rights than mere flesh-and-blood people. They seek to expand without limit, absorbing one another, covering the globe, acting in ways that are "economically rational" and utterly wicked. As Charlie Stross says, a corporation is a "slow AI":

https://www.antipope.org/charlie/blog-static/2019/12/artificial-intelligence-threat.html

Ted Chiang has proposed that when a corporate executive like Elon Musk claims to be terrified of AIs taking over, they're really talking about the repressed constant terror they feel because they are nominally in charge of a powerful artificial life-form (a corporation) that acts as though it has a mind of its own, in ways that are devastating to human beings:

https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/tedchiang/the-real-danger-to-civilization-isnt-ai-its-runaway

But I think it's worse than that. CEOs who run their companies according to the psychopathic imperative of "shareholder supremacy" ("if murdering a worker costs me $1,000,000 in fines and saves me $1,000,000.01 in operating expenses, I have a duty to kill that worker") aren't just prisoners of the slow AIs that threaten the human race:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/18/falsifiability/#figleaves-not-rubrics

They are collaborators, quislings who have betrayed their fellow humans to throw in their lot with the alien invaders who have colonized our planet and are xenoforming it so that it is no longer capable of supporting human life. What else would you call a human being who directs their corporate assets to build data-centers that use up the water that other humans rely upon, in order to multiply and enhance the AIs they hope to use to displace human workers with?

https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2025/apr/09/big-tech-datacentres-water

Seen in this light, corporations and their execs are living out a version of the AI bros' superstition of "Roko's basilisk":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roko%27s_basilisk

In this fairy tale, today's AI is destined to "wake up" and become a superintelligent, omnipotent demon. When it does, it will instantly know which humans abetted its awakening, and which of us stood in the way of its eternal rule, and it will punish any human who attempted to prevent that great awakening:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roko%27s_basilisk

When "effective altruists" claim that they're justifiable in ignoring (or worsening) the misery of billions of real human beings today, provided they are acting to improve the lives of an octodecillion artificial people 10,000 years from now, they're playing out this Roko's basilisk fantasy. Same goes for Mark Andreesen's claim that AI regulation is "a form of murder":

https://www.404media.co/marc-andreesen-manifesto-says-ai-regulation-is-a-form-of-murder/

These are people whose chain of logic goes, "homo economicus is the truest state of humanity; corporations are the truest homo economicus; AI is the truest expression of the corporation; therefore, whenever humans and corporations come into conflict, my duty is to help the corporate person at the expense of my fellow humans."

And indeed, all-powerful corporate aliens reward their human collaborators handsomely. If you're willing to run a health insurance company in a way that leads to mass death, you will bring home millions. Same goes for making drones or AIs that can root out and capture refugees, or airlines that transport refugees to slave labor camps in El Salvador:

https://ktla.com/news/california/low-cost-airline-partners-with-ice-for-deportation-flights/

Which brings me to enshittification: the steady, constant worsening of the products and services that we rely on. I've repeatedly insisted that enshittification isn't an ideological phenomenon, but rather, a material one:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/26/ursula-franklin/#franklinite

For me, the most important riddle that enshittification solves isn't "why do these products suck now?" but rather "why didn't they suck before?" After all companies like Facebook have been led by the same people through their pre-enshittified era up to this day. They were always compelled by the profit motive. And – as anyone who's read Careless People can attest – Mark Zuckerberg has always been a terrible, terrible person:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250391230/carelesspeople/

So why didn't they torture us before? The answer lies in constraints. In earlier years, corporations faced real consequences for enshittification: customers leaving for competitors, regulators stepping in with punishments, mass resignations by irreplaceable tech workers, and interoperable add-ons that disenshittified their products and services and severed their relationship with their customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/20/capitalist-unrealism/#praxis

Then came lax antitrust (bye, competition!), regulatory capture (so long, regulators!), mass layoffs (see ya, tech worker power) and expanded IP laws (sayonara, interoperability) and now corporations are free to enshittify to their hearts' content, without fear of consequence.

But most of us are good, even without the fear of consequences. We don't shoplift, even when we know we could get away with it. Nor do we walk into a stranger's house, break into their cars, or run down pedestrians we see on lonely roads. We don't act like homo economicus, because we're not total assholes.

But those humans in the C-suite who've sold us out to the alien invaders, whose fiduciary duty demands that they wreck anything they can get away with destroying? They truly aren't like us: given the chance, they will sell us out to their AI overlords in exchange for their worthless millions.

Homo economicus is real, but he doesn't rule: rather, he serves the true transhuman threat to the human race: "machina economicus*, the paperclip-maximizing corporate slow AI that has conquered our planet and enslaved our species.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/04/14/timmy-share/#a-superior-moral-justification-for-selfishness

[kngrose]

𝐒𝐎, 𝐃𝐎 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌?

chapter one: in another life.

Life with your husband is perfect. But when subtle changes start to surface, the warmth you once knew starts to feel different. The man you love is still by your side devoted as ever. But beneath the surface, something isn’t right. And deep down, you’re afraid to ask why.

CW: murder, stalking, general obsessive behaviors, self-deprecating ideologies, implied masturbation and voyeurism

series masterlist 𒌐 prologue 𒌐 chapter two

𒌐

Mornings were always the same.

Miguel arrived at the lab just past six. Earlier, if he couldn’t sleep, which was often. He preferred the quiet. The hum of the generators, the faint blue glow of the monitors, the sterile chill of air that hadn’t yet been touched by anyone else.

The lab recognized his retinal scan before the door finished sliding open. Lights blinked awake in waves as he stepped inside. One of the most advanced research facilities in the known multiverse, and still, it reeked of disinfectant and artificial air.

Screens lit up along the walls as he approached; dim blue holograms pulsing with quantum reads, dimensional overlays, real-time feeds from dozens of Earths’ he no longer cared to memorize. Routine had become second nature. Badge swipe. System diagnostics. Field report reviews. His fingers moved on instinct, pulling up simulations, patching glitches, recalibrating tech. He didn’t speak much during the day unless necessary, and no one questioned it. They knew better.

It was a comfortable rhythm. Efficient. Controlled.

On paper, his life was structured. Honorable, even. He was doing good work. Important work.

But he was growing tired.

He swiped through reports with short, impatient flicks of his fingers. Another ripple in Earth-142’s continuity. Another code collapse in 615. Another breech warning from 217 that someone else could deal with.

Lyla chimed, interrupting his spiral.

“You’ve been awake for forty-two hours, Miguel.”

He ignored it, continue to flic through the countless tabs. She’d said that yesterday too. There were no windows in his lab. He found it to be too much of a distraction, all the hustle and bustle of the city. He never noticed when the morning turned into the afternoon. Or the afternoon into the evening.

It started the way most anomalies did; quiet, buried in the noise.

Miguel scanned through a cluster of new dimensional activity flagged overnight. Dozens of variants popped up across the system: some familiar, some barely registering on baseline parameters. Most of them were garbage. Nothing threatening, nothing useful.

He pulled up a map of the multiversal stream, tabbing through familiar patterns, reconfirming clean pockets, filtering red zones. His fingers hesitated over a blip; Earth 529-B.

Not flagged. Not marked. Just a clean little speck, sitting between threads. Stable. Normal. He tapped into it out of habbit more than interest.

The static cleared, the screen refreshed.

And there he was.

It wasn’t unusual, but it was uncommon. It wasn’t everyday he strolled across variants of himself, and he could never swallow the curiosity the bubbled inside him when he did.

Miguel stared, unblinking, at the version of himself that looked, at first glance, completely unremarkable.

No suit. No enhancements. No visible signs of trauma. He looked… rested. A few years softer in the face. A slower gait. Comfortable.

He didn’t even notice her at first. The angle was off—one of the auxiliary spider-bots had perched too far back, catching a wide-angle view of a small living room. Evening light spilling through gauzy curtains, a girlish coffee mug left out. Slippers by the couch. The hum of a world too still to be dangerous.

Then the door opened.

She stepped into frame like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Laughing at something off-screen. Hair damp from a shower. No makeup. Soft. Barefoot. She carried a bowl of popcorn and sat beside the other Miguel like she’d done it a thousand times. Like her body knew exactly how to fit against his.

Miguel blinked.

She reached up without looking, fingers sliding into his alternates hair. Lazy affection. Thoughtless, practiced tenderness. She murmured something, and he smiled—this slow, sleepy kind of grin—and kissed the side of her head like it was second nature.

Miguel sat there, stone-still in the flickering dark of his lab, watching as this version of himself leaned back on the couch with the woman wrapped around him like gravity. They didn’t do anything extraordinary. They talked, teased each other. She stole a bite of his food, and he let her.

They looked happy.

Not that fragile, pretend kind of happiness people chase with noise and distraction. But the real kind. The quiet kind. The kind you build in slow, uneven steps until one day you look around and realize you’re home.

He shut the feed.

Forcefully.

The screen blinked black, and he sat back in the chair like the screen had burned him.

It doesn’t matter.

It’s not his life. Not his problem.

There were reports to file. Patrol routes to coordinate. A dimensional rift opening up three sectors down. And of course; his very own city that needs him.

He suited up without looking at his reflection. The suit gripped his spine, sealed across his ribs. A perfect fit. Calibrated to his exact vitals, responding to every breath and shift of weight. It felt like a second skin—one he hadn’t taken off in years, even when he wasn’t wearing it.

The lab faded behind him. The city opened up.

Night hadn’t fully settled yet. The sky above Nueva York was still bleeding orange and violet, city lights flickering to life like neurons firing across metal bones. Below, the world moved. Hovercars speeding between towers, neon bleeding across concrete, every surface alive with motion.

Miguel moved through it all like a ghost.

One webline shot clean across the gap between buildings—his body followed, weightless for half a second before momentum caught him and flung him forward again. He landed in a crouch on a vertical wall, pushed off, flipped into a dive.

The wind tore past him.

It always felt like this; violent, cold, almost too loud to think.

Perfect.

Because thinking meant remembering.

And tonight, he didn’t want to remember her face.

So he buried himself in the city’s demands.

A robbery in Sector 4. He took down four armed thieves in under thirty seconds. Disarmed, webbed, dropped them off for enforcement to collect without a word. One tried to run. He didn’t get far.

A dimensional disturbance near the lower market—just a flicker, a pressure glitch from a collapsing pocketverse. Miguel stabilized it with two drones and a pulse anchor. The rift spat static and tried to pull him in. It failed.

He helped clear a mag-lift derailment after that. A family had been trapped in the last car, one kid clutching a holographic plush and shaking so hard her fingers were white. Miguel ripped the door off with one hand, pulled them out with the other. The parents thanked him. The child cried.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t stay long enough to make it awkward.

He was gone before they’d stopped blinking.

It went like that for hours.

Problem after problem. Crisis after crisis.

And through all of it, the same feeling followed him like a shadow.

Emptiness.

It had been easy before. Easier, at least. You could survive anything if you gave enough of yourself to the work. You could build armor out of purpose. Convince yourself that saving the world meant more than having one of your own.

But now he’d seen it.

What his world could’ve been.

Miguel landed hard on the edge of a rooftop. The ledge cracked beneath his boots. His heart thudded behind his ribs. Not from exertion, but from something else. Something bitter.

The sky had gone dark. The city pulsed below. The wind was sharp, stinging across his exposed jaw.

He stayed there a while.

Looking.

But there was nothing to see.

Just lights. Just noise. Just another night in the city that never looked up.

He didn’t want to look out at the city anymore. He knew every corner of it. Knew how the people screamed when they were afraid and smiled when they thought someone else would save them.

He was always saving them.

The world called him a hero. But in every version of the world that mattered, he was alone. He knew what it meant to save a city. But not what it felt like to be missed when he was late for dinner.

Eventually, he made his way home.

He disengaged his suit and it peeled off like skin, slow and mechanical, then stepped into the low light of the adjoining room. The walls were bare. The furniture was functional. The kind of space meant to be lived in by someone too busy to live at all.

He ate standing at the kitchen counter—a protein bar, coffee, silence. No music. No laughter. No one calling from the next room asking if he remembered the groceries. No messages waiting on his communicator unless they were urgent.

They always were.

It crossed his mind then; that this wasn’t a home. It was a holding cell.

A place to sleep, to recharge. To rot.

He exhaled through his nose.

He told himself it would be the last time.

Just a quick look and he’d forget all about it entirely.

Just some… surveillance for work.

Miguel tapped in the stream manually again; Earth-529-B. He let the image unfold across his home monitor. No spider activity. No anomaly. Just an ambient feed. Quiet, domestic, uneventful.

She was in the kitchen this time. Hair pulled back. Pink slippers. Humming under her breath as she moved between cupboards, making something warm. The spider-bot’s proximity sensors recognized cinnamon and he could almost imagine it. The weight of it in the air. The heat. Her presence.

His other self walked in halfway through. Said something low. She grinned.

It was so small. So stupid. But it pulled at something sharp inside his chest.

The sound of her voice softened when she spoke to him.

The way she leaned into him without thinking. The way he knew where the mugs were without looking. The way she filled the silence, and the silence welcomed it.

Miguel watched his variant press a kiss to the back of her neck before settling at the table with a datapad. Her hand rested briefly on his shoulder as she passed.

Natural.

Unremarkable.

Unfair.

It hit him in the chest like a falling building.

Because this Miguel—the one on the screen—wasn’t saving the world. Wasn’t wearing a mask. He wasn’t even tired. He was just loved. Fully. Softly. Without having to earn it.

And worse?

He looked like he deserved it.

Miguel scrubbed a hand down his face, throat tight. He should’ve looked away, closed the feed and labeled it as irrelevant. But his fingers hovered over the controls, frozen.

Her laugh looped back. The way she nudged the other Miguel’s knee. The way her eyes lit up when she teased him. She said his name, not just like it was familiar, but like it was sacred.

She was laughing at something his alternate said. Miguel replayed the footage ten times before he realized what it was that unsettled him—he wasn’t trying to be funny. She just loved him that way.

He sat back in his chair, the glow of the feed washing pale across his face. His apartment around him was still. Stark. Quiet. No warmth. No scent. Just glass, metal, and silence. The screens on the far wall dimmed automatically, sensing his stillness.

There was a moment where he could’ve shut it off again.

But he didn’t.

He leaned forward instead.

Zoomed the image slightly. Enhanced the audio.

She was talking about her day, rambling about something she read. Her mug clinked softly on the counter as she turned to lean on it, still facing her Miguel. Still smiling.

He doesn’t deserve that.

The thought came sudden. Fierce.

Miguel frowned.

He pulled up another data set beside the stream, basic file info on the variant. Not a Spider-Man. No mutations. Same genetic base, but untouched. Unchanged. The kind of man who never clawed his way through blood and glass to survive.

So why does he get this?

He wasn’t extraordinary. And yet everything around him felt like it had meaning. Including her.

His jaw tensed. He watched them a moment longer, then minimized the screen.

Didn’t close it. Just… minimized.

He’d definitely seen it.

A life he could’ve had. A version of himself that hadn’t burned everything down to be a hero. A woman who loved him for reasons he couldn’t understand; because this Miguel didn’t need to be impressive. He was just hers.

And Miguel wanted that.

He just didn’t know what to do about it yet.

𒌐

He didn’t mean to make it a habit.

It just happened.

Miguel started waking up earlier than usual. Not because of alarms or patrol rotations. Not because the city needed saving.

Because she was making breakfast at 6:12 a.m. on Earth 529-B and he wanted to be more than prepared to eat with her.

He memorized the time. Memorized the robe she wore. The way her hair was always half-wet from the shower. The color of her socks, mismatched. The soft rasp of her voice when she asked the other Miguel what he wanted in his coffee, even though she already knew.

She knew everything about him. All his tells. His rhythms. His moods. And Miguel watched it all.

The moment he stepped into the lab—before diagnostics, before reports, before even Lyla’s first dry-witted greeting—he pulled up the feed. Habitual now, like muscle memory.

The screen blinked to life in the quiet, low light of the lab. No one else around yet. Just him. Her. Him.

He was sitting at the breakfast table reading something on a tablet. She was making eggs. Plain, domestic.

Miguel stared.

She always cooked the eggs the same way. Over medium, yolk just barely soft. He’d watched her flip them with a practiced hand, adding a pinch of seasoning, sliding them onto a ceramic plate that didn’t match the rest of the dishes. His alternate liked toast with honey, no butter. Coffee. Black, no sugar.

He made note of it without meaning to.

She watched with fond eyes as he began to dig in.

Miguel sat at his console, empty stomach curled in on itself, and watched the version of himself eat breakfast with a woman who would never look at him like that.

Except… she did. Didn’t she?

In the feed. She smiled at him.

Just… not him.

He realized he’d been leaning forward, chin balanced in one hand, watching like it was a memory. Something half-remembered. Something his.

When Lyla flickered into view, mid-sentence, he shut the feed off too fast.

“…You good?” she blinked, cocking her digital head, a pixelated brow lifting. “You didn’t even run the scans. That’s unlike you.”

“I was thinking,” he said.

“Uh-huh. About what?”

He didn’t answer.

Just turned away, pulled up system diagnostics, and dove headfirst into the next distraction.

He had started telling himself it was observation. Research. That he needed to understand the variables. How a version of himself had ended up like that. Soft. Loved. Whole.

But the truth was ugly. And it sat heavy under his skin.

He watched because he was starving.

He didn’t stop thinking about it.

Later that night, after patrol, after another series of city-saving acts that left him more bruised and empty than fulfilled, he stood in front of his bathroom mirror. His hair was still damp from the rain. He looked at himself for a long time.

Then he shrugged into an old t-shirt.

Not his usual black compression gear. Not the suit. Just a soft, worn thing he hadn’t touched in years. Something he’d seen the other Miguel wear. Something she’d smiled at once and said looked “comfy.”

He didn’t even remember owning it until he tore through storage earlier that week.

Now it was the only thing he wanted to wear.

He stood there for a while, studying his reflection. Adjusting the way he held his shoulders. Softening his mouth. Lowering his chin. Trying to remember exactly how the other him looked when she kissed his cheek that morning.

He tried it.

Tilted his head the same way. Smiled.

It felt wrong. Mechanical... hollow. Like wearing someone else’s skin.

But somehow, it felt right.

He didn’t know which one scared him more.

Eventually, he moved to the kitchen. Made himself toast with honey. No butter. Coffee. Black, no sugar. Just to know what it tasted like. Just to feel what he felt.

He sat at the counter, chewing slowly.

It tasted like nothing.

He finished it anyway.

𒌐

It was late when he watched again.

She was sitting on the floor this time, curled up beside the coffee table, scribbling notes in a book with a pencil tucked behind one ear. Her hair was messy, pulled up lazily. She was in socks and an oversized hoodie. One of his old ones—his variant’s, technically.

Miguel stared at her for a long time.

She didn’t do anything special. She scratched her head. Took a sip of tea. Pushed some stray hairs out of her eyes.

But for a moment, he could pretend. Pretend that she was just… there. With him. That he was in that apartment instead. That he could walk over and kneel beside her and ask what she was working on. That her soft expression was meant for him.

Miguel didn’t blink.

He could watch her like this for hours. No performance. No pretense. Just her in the quiet. Her existing. Breathing. It made him feel like there was still time to change everything. Like he could still be good.

But then, he heard the door.

Saw it swing open in the background.

And just like that; she smiled.

Her eyes lit up. Her entire posture changed.

The other Miguel walked in, pulling his jacket off. Tossed keys in a bowl by the wall. Said something that made her smile sweetly—he couldn’t hear what it was. But Miguel didn’t need it.

He saw it. Felt it. That subtle shift. That warmth.

The moment shattered.

It was no longer hers. No longer theirs.

The man, his alternate, walked up behind her and bent down to kiss her cheek. She tilted her head into the touch without thinking. She reached back and pulled him down beside her.

It was his again. His double’s. The man who walked through the door and made her smile like nothing else mattered. Who dropped a kiss to her cheek without thinking. Who made it look so easy. Effortless.

Like it wasn’t a miracle every time she looked up and smiled at him.

Miguel’s jaw clenched.

He watched them settle into the couch together, side by side like puzzle pieces. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he curled his fingers into hers.

It should’ve felt romantic. Instead, it felt like a knife.

Miguel leaned closer to the screen.

He watched the way the other him touched her; easy, like it came naturally. The kind of ease that was earned over years. That couldn’t be duplicated or hacked or built.

That kind of intimacy had to be lived.

It made something sharp twist in his chest.

Miguel sat back slowly in his chair, arms crossed tight over his chest, eyes never leaving the screen.

In that moment, he stopped watching like an admirer.

He started studying like a thief.

𒌐

Miguel stood at the edge of his console, fingers resting on the metal rim, eyes locked on the monitor like it was a lifeline.

The man on the screen was getting dressed.

Simple button-down. Rolled sleeves. Loose slacks. He adjusted the collar, checked his watch. Normal. Human. Soft in all the ways Miguel had learned not to be.

He took a mental note. Third time this week he’d seen him choose light blue. Casual neutrals. No sharp edges, no commanding presence. Just… approachable. Like he never had to prove anything to anyone.

Miguel pulled the video feed back ten minutes. Watched it again.

And again.

Watched how he brushed his hair back with one hand while balancing a cup of coffee in the other. How he kissed her forehead in passing like it was nothing. How he laughed—real, full, and easy.

He didn’t just observe anymore. He documented. He had files now. Data folders.

“M. O’Hara – Earth 529-B”

Subcategories: Daily Routine. Speech Patterns. Work Habits. Dietary Preferences. Social Relationships.

He took note of everything.

His walk; slower, more relaxed.

His voice; slightly lower, but warmer in tone.

The way he always paused before answering a question, like he cared about getting it right. Like he was thinking not just about what to say, but how it would make her feel.

It infuriated Miguel.

And still, he watched.

He studied the man’s commute.

Mapped his route through the city. The exact time he left the house. The bakery he stopped at every Thursday. The woman who waved at him from the florist shop on Main. The coworkers he chatted with at the office. Their names. Faces. Jokes.

Every relationship cataloged. Every line of familiarity between them recorded.

There was a man named Elias he seemed close with. Taller. Sharp sense of humor. They got lunch together sometimes. Miguel watched himself make him laugh once. Saw the alternate Miguel bump his shoulder and mouth something like, “don’t even try it.”

He paused the feed there. Rewatched it.

That face he made. That casual confidence.

Miguel tilted his head. Tried to replicate it in the dark, reflection faint in the black of the monitor.

It didn’t look the same.

Then there were his hobbies.

Books he bought. Music he listened to. Shows she made him watch and he actually did—and liked. He remembered one night watching the variant clean the kitchen while humming something quiet, something old and half-Spanish. Something Miguel hadn’t heard since he was a boy.

It hurt more than it should have.

He made a note of it anyway.

Food preferences. His caffeine intake. The way he always took off his shoes before stepping inside the door. The way he sat with her on the couch, never on the other end, always close, always touching.

He memorized it. Not because he wanted to be like him. Because he wanted to be better.

Most disturbing of all was how naturally he slipped into it. The mimicry. The daily rehearsals.

He started adjusting his posture. Relaxing the tension in his shoulders. Practicing speech inflections alone in his apartment. Saying the same phrases over and over until he could say them like him.

He hated how easily it came to him. Like he’d always been waiting for an excuse.

The only thing he couldn’t replicate was the light in his eyes.Because that man, his alternate, had never seen what he’d seen.

He hadn’t lived in blood. He hadn’t watched whole worlds collapse. He hadn’t woken up every morning with no one.

That man got to live softly. Easily.

Loved.

𒌐

Miguel pulled the hood low over his forehead, the soft fabric shadowing his eyes, and tugged the mask up over his nose. The chill of the morning air bit at the exposed skin of his neck as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, his breath a faint cloud dissolving in front of him. The world smelled sharp with the scent of damp pavement and brewing coffee from nearby cafés.

For months he’d been trapped behind glass and glowing screens, a ghost tethered to a life he only observed from a distance. Watching her laugh, watching her move—never close enough to feel the warmth of her presence, never close enough to breathe the same air.

This isn’t enough. The thought clenched his chest like a vice.

He wanted to reach out. Not just through pixels, not just through data feeds—but to actually see her. To witness the small, unguarded moments. The way sunlight caught in her hair, the curve of her smile when she thought no one was watching, the softness in her eyes when she looked at the world with quiet hope.

So he came here.

A quiet observer cloaked in the mundane. A man in a hoodie and mask, drifting like a shadow through her world.

At the corner café, he lingered just out of sight. She was there, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup, eyes closed for a moment as if savoring a secret no one else could touch. His heart ached with the ache of absence, the desperate hunger to cross the divide.

Later, the grocery aisles became his sanctuary and his prison. He moved beside her, unseen, his eyes tracing the gentle arc of her movements, the way she paused to read a label, the faint glimmer in her eye when she caught sight of something familiar. Every small detail seared into his memory.

On the train, he shifted his stance, changed his coat, lowered his cap. Every time she boarded, his pulse quickened. Her presence was a balm and a torment all at once. He watched her lose herself in thought, the faintest crease of worry lining her brow, the delicate sigh she let out when the train rattled on.

And then; the collision.

Sudden and raw.

Their bodies met in a careless stumble. Papers scattered like startled birds. She looked up, eyes wide, catching his gaze through the dark mask.

For a heartbeat, the world fell away.

Her voice, soft and real, broke through the haze.

“I’m so sorry!”

His voice was a rasp, barely more than a whisper.

“Sorry.”

Her eyes searched his, a flicker of recognition maybe—or just curiosity—before she stepped back, melting into the crowd. He stood frozen, heart pounding, breath shallow, the ache of longing crashing over him like a wave.

But she was already gone.

And he was left with nothing but the hollow echo of a moment that almost was.

Miguel told himself he wouldn’t do it again.

One time. Just once. Just to see her in real life, to breathe the same air. That was the lie he fed himself the first time he crossed over.

But he did it again.

And again.

And again.

He told himself it was harmless. A passing shadow, a phantom in the periphery of her day. No interaction. No interference. Just… presence. Just proximity. Just proof that she was real.

The next time was at the park.

She sat alone beneath a canopy of trees, the late afternoon sun catching in the strands of her hair, turning them gold. A book rested in her lap, pages fluttering gently in the breeze. Every few minutes she looked up. At the sky, at passing strangers, at the world as if she was quietly falling in love with it all over again.

Miguel sat across the path, half-hidden by shadows and the angle of his hood. Every breath he took felt like a sin.

She looked beautiful. Unbearably so. In a way that made his ribs ache. The kind of beauty that asked for nothing and gave everything. She wasn’t performing for anyone. She was just being. And it devastated him.

He couldn’t look away.

Her expression shifted with the story she read; smiling faintly at one page, frowning at another. She bit her lip absently, unaware she was being watched. And Miguel, who had seen thousands of worlds, who had bent time and science to his will, who had saved entire cities—felt like a boy with his face pressed to glass, begging for something he never had the courage to ask for.

Why, when he was the better one. Smarter. Stronger. Sharper. He had built everything from nothing. Sacrificed. Bled. Lost. He deserved—

No.

He didn’t deserve her.

No one did.

But he wanted her. In the deepest, most ruinous way a man could want someone. Not just her smile. Not just her voice. But the quiet of her presence. The safety. The soft understanding in her eyes when she looked at him like she saw the real version of him—even if it wasn’t him at all.

Later that week, he followed her through a bookstore. She drifted between shelves, fingers dancing across spines like they were sacred. She stopped in front of a display and tilted her head, studying a cover, her lips moving softly as she read the blurb.

He imagined walking up beside her, leaning in close, asking if she’d recommend it. He could almost feel the warmth of her shoulder beside his.

But he didn’t move.

He just watched.

And when she left, he followed her out into the dusk, vanishing into the crowd like a secret.

Each time, it became harder to leave. Harder to remind himself that this wasn’t his life.

But each time, he told himself the same thing.

Just one more glimpse. Just one more moment.

Just one more lie.

And still, it was never enough.

𒌐

He holds the door open for an old man, says something with a soft smile, just loud enough for the man to hear, quiet enough not to draw attention. The man laughs. Claps him on the back. Says something else as they part ways.

Of course. Of course he’s friendly.

Miguel watches from the edge of the sidewalk, tucked behind a half-wall of vines and brick. Close enough to hear the echo of the exchange, even if not the words.

The alternate walks with unhurried steps, shoulders relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of a worn jacket. Not stiff. Not guarded. Not anxious.

Just comfortable.

At ease in his body. In his place in the world.

Miguel’s mouth is dry. He stares, unblinking.

There’s nothing performative about the way the man greets people. No need to impress. No show.

He’s just… good.

And it’s not the loud kind of good. It’s not grand or noble or remarkable. It’s quiet. In the way he stops to help a kid reattach a fallen shoelace. In the way he slows his pace to walk beside someone older. In the way he speaks; low and steady, with warmth in his voice like there’s never any rush.

He’s the kind of person people relax around.

The kind who makes the world feel safer just by existing in it.

And Miguel hates him for it.

He can’t even explain why, not in a way that makes sense.

Because how do you hate a man who’s done nothing wrong?

Who’s never hurt you, never lied, never cheated his way ahead?

You don’t.

You resent him. Quietly. Fiercely.

The man hasn’t done anything wrong. That’s what makes it worse. He’s just… good at being himself.

Good in the ways Miguel never was.

He doesn’t talk too much, but people listen when he does. He doesn’t demand space, but people make room for him anyway. He doesn’t need to be loud, because people lean in when he speaks.

He connects. Effortlessly.

Miguel watches him pause to greet someone across the street. A familiar face. A light laugh. A hand briefly on the other man’s shoulder. Friendly. Natural. There’s nothing guarded in his eyes, no second-guessing behind his expressions.

It’s like he was made to be liked.

He is softness. And that softness is winning.

People smile at him on instinct. Dogs trail him with their tails wagging. Children glance up and then don’t look away. He doesn’t have to try.

And Miguel? He has spent his whole life trying.

Trying to be better. Trying to be enough. Trying to keep from slipping into the part of himself that sees everything as threat or strategy or obligation.

And still, this man… this version of him… lives with ease. With love. With connection.

Like it was simple.

Miguel turns away, heat crawling up the back of his neck.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

It’s not fair that this man gets to be seen as kind, as safe, as good—

When he’s done nothing to earn it.

He’s not pretending. That’s the problem.

He’s not some polished mask Miguel can tear off. He’s real. And every inch of that truth burns. Because it means Miguel is not the best version of himself. Not the one that got it right.

He’s just the one who’s watching.

Wanting.

And waiting.

𒌐

The lights in the lab were low.

Too low for work.

But this wasn’t work.

The feed played silently. No sound, no alerts, no Lyla. Just her, wrapped in steam, behind fogged glass that barely concealed anything. She moved with ease, arms raised as she dragged wet fingers through her hair, and he watched—staring like a man starved.

She was showering.

It was mundane. Private, normal. But God, that made it worse. Her movements were slow, absentminded. She was massaging conditioner into her scalp, neck tilted just slightly as the water ran down her back in rivulets.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her like this. It wasn’t even the first time today. He’d memorized the curves of her spine, the tilt of her neck, the little breaths she took when the water got too hot and made her shiver. It was a ritual now. One he had no right to, but couldn’t stop repeating.

Miguel sat back in his chair, legs spread wide, hands resting on his thighs like anchors holding him in place. The screen before him glowed dimly— soft, intimate. A warm yellow hue spilled across the feed, and steam drifted along the lens like a curtain being drawn.

And she had no idea she was being watched.

He knew it was wrong. Knew it with the kind of clarity that should have stopped him.

But his hand hovered near his waistband anyway.

His breath had started to deepen, not quite heavy yet, but close. Like something was pulling at the edge of him. Drawing him in. The intimacy of it. The innocence. The quiet of her movements. She was humming and he could almost feel it vibrating in his chest like something secret, something not meant for him but taken anyway.

He watched the water slide down her collarbone, the way her lips parted as she sighed. His breathing slowed, then hitched. The warmth in his gut bloomed into something heavier. Hungrier. His hand twitched at his thigh.

I’d treat you so well.

The thought struck him suddenly. Loud. Undeniable.

He shuddered as he palmed himself through his pants.

“Hey, Miguel?” Lyla’s voice snapped into the room like a live wire.

Miguel flinched.

Hard.

He sat bolt upright, breath caught, the moment shattered like glass beneath a boot. His screen scrambled. The feed cut out. Hands clenched into fists at his sides, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he’d just been caught mid-crime.

Lyla’s projection hovered in the air beside him, glitching slightly as if sensing the tension. She paused, blinking at his sudden shift.

“Uh… you okay?” Her voice was light, but her tone was cautious.

Miguel didn’t move. His eyes stayed forward, cold, burning.

“System flagged some unauthorized data feeds. From an untracked Earth,” she added, slower this time. “Miguel, you’re pulling visual from a domestic node… in a private residence. That’s—”

“Turn off.” His voice cracked out like a gunshot.

Lyla hesitated. “Miguel… just tell me what you’re—”

“I said turn the fuck off.” His head whipped toward her, eyes blazing.

Lyla disappeared. No protest. No glitchy sign-off.

Silence returned to the room.

Miguel sat back slowly, breath still jagged, shame licking at the edge of his consciousness but unable to cut deep enough to matter. Not anymore. Not when it came to her.

His screen stayed dark for a long time.

But not forever.

Never forever.

𒌐

It had been months.

Too many, maybe. But he stopped keeping track a long time ago. Somewhere along the line, slipping into her world became less like a trespass and more like… returning. Like syncing with something he was always meant to be part of.

He’d perfected it; watching her from just far enough, never close enough to distort the image. She didn’t know he was there, and that made it easier to pretend she could know him. That if things were different, if everything hadn’t splintered when it did, she’d look at him the same way she looked at the man she thought was Miguel.

The man who wasn’t him.

At first, he hated that version of himself in a dull, detached kind of way. A quiet ache in his chest that flared whenever he saw her kiss him goodbye. It was envy, sure. But something more complicated. Something like curiosity.

What made that version of him worthy of her? What did he have that Miguel didn’t?

It gnawed at him.

The variant laughed more. Talked softer. He didn’t drag ghosts around behind his eyes. He didn’t flinch when she touched him. He didn’t correct her absentmindedly or talk over her when he got excited. He was steady. Gentle in the ways that mattered.

Good, in the ways Miguel wasn’t.

It didn’t hit him all at once. No, realizations like that rarely do. They come slowly, like water seeping into a cracked foundation. A week ago, he watched her fall asleep on the couch with her head in her Miguel’s lap. And instead of anger, he felt… small.

Like he was the shadow in the doorway. The leftover.

It felt unjust.

He was the one who had sacrificed. Who had bled, and lost, and clawed his way through timeline after timeline trying to make something right. He was the one who saw the truth, who understood how fragile it all was. He earned respect the hard way. Through grief. Through discipline. Through control.

The question kept circulating in his mind. Why did this version of him, this soft, sunny, undeserving echo, get her? Get this life?

Tonight, it crystallized.

He hadn’t meant to follow them. Or maybe he did. He was just… there. The rain was light, barely misting, but it clung to his skin and like static. They were just returning home. Grocery bags in hand. Her hair tucked under a hood. She bumped her shoulder against him and said something that made him smile.

He smiled.

Not the tired, closed-lipped version Miguel practiced in glass reflections. No, this one beamed. It stretched his face into something warm. Familiar. Easy.

And she looked at him like the sun lived in his chest. Like there was nothing else in the world she trusted more.

Miguel’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into the skin of his palms.

He hated him.

He hated him.

But not for the obvious reasons. Not just because he had her. Not just because he was living the life Miguel couldn’t touch.

He hated him because… he was better. Not stronger. Not smarter. Not braver.

Better.

There was ease in him. Softness. A gentleness Miguel had long since ground out of himself.

He doesn’t even know what he has.

He wanted to believe that. Desperately.

But deep down, in the part of himself he never looked too closely at… he knew that wasn’t true.

His variant did know. He did deserve her.

He had spent all this time hating the other man. Cursing him. Fantasizing about tearing the life out from under him.

But he had never once stopped to ask why.

He watched her lean into his chest, soaked hair falling over her cheeks. She said something low, and his alternate laughed. A full laugh, unguarded. Miguel flinched.

Now he knew.

He stared at them, frozen in place as they climbed the steps to her building, their building, he had started calling it in his head. His throat felt dry, as if the air had thinned out around him. The moment kept going, and he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because suddenly it wasn’t him he was looking at anymore.

He saw the version of himself he could never become.

Everything he had tried so hard to become.

And she loved him. Because of it.

She clung to him.

Because he wasn’t Miguel. Not really.

How could she know that the broken thing watching from across the street ever even existed?

The thought cracked something open in his chest.

That was the moment it shifted.

No more pretending it didn’t matter. No more half-truths and fragile fantasies. This wasn’t just some stolen life. It wasn’t just about love.

It was about being seen. Being chosen. Being enough.

And he never would be, not while that man existed.

He felt it settle in his bones, cold and final.

There was no room for two of them.

Only one could have her.

And now, at last, Miguel knew who deserved that life.

He let out a breath through his nose. Slow. Shaky.

He’d been living in the illusion that he could wait this out. That the universe would hand him a door. But the universe didn’t owe him a goddamn thing.

If he wanted that life, his life, he’d have to take it.

And it wouldn’t be easy. Wouldn’t be clean. But it would be final.

He looked up, eyes locked on the window where they’d just disappeared inside. The light flickered on. Shadows moved across curtains.

There could only be one Miguel O’Hara.

And it would not be the better one.

It would be the one who wanted it more.

𒌐

It happens on a late Wednesday night.

The kind of late where the world’s gone soft at the edges. Where streetlights buzz quietly, casting long, amber shadows that stretch out like reaching hands. Everything’s hushed. Still. Like the night is holding its breath.

Miguel’s been following him for three blocks now.

No mask. No tech. Just himself. Plain clothes and silent, drifting through the shadows like he belongs there. He knows the route, the tempo. His alternate always walks home alone on Wednesdays. Always takes the scenic streets. A small indulgence. He likes the trees, the quiet. Always did.

His alternate walks with a relaxed posture, one hand in his coat pocket, the other clutching a thermos. That same stupid thermos she bought him—green, dented at the rim. He’d complained about the color when she gave it to him. She laughed, told him it matched his soul. He doesn’t know he’s being followed. Of course he doesn’t.

He’s never had to look over his shoulder.

Miguel keeps his distance.

He’s not rushing. Not yet. He doesn’t want to rush this.

He wants to see him.

Miguel watches the way his head tilts when he passes by the bakery, the way his eyes flick up to the apartment windows above, like he’s checking on something he loves.

Someone.

He watches the way his alternate looks up at the leaves above him, lets the wind touch his face. There’s something unguarded about him. Open. Like he doesn’t believe anything bad could ever happen to him.

Miguel trails him down the long sidewalk, past the park, toward the alley shortcut. He’s calm. Focused. No nerves. No panic. That ugly truth was beginning to rise up, something awful and gut wrenching. The decision was made long ago. Long before he’d ever admit. Tonight is only the execution.

Miguel’s steps are slower now. Heavy with purpose. Measured.

He waits until the alternate steps into the alley across their apartment. The shortcut he always takes on nights like this.

Miguel closes the distance.

He’s silent as he approaches. Precise. Controlled.

When he grabs him, it’s with full force—one arm around the neck, the other locking down his shoulders, pinning his arms before he can react.

It’s not elegant. It’s brutal. Quick and decisive. A real, human chokehold.

The alternate jerks hard, but Miguel’s already behind him, taller, stronger, prepared. His legs kick against the sidewalk. He drops the thermos. Miguel kicks it away without looking.

There’s no weapon. No blade. No blood.

Just pressure and silence.

The struggle is fast and ugly. Miguel’s breathing stays even, arms locked in place as the alternate thrashes, confused, panicked. His body fights before his mind catches up. It always happens that way.

Then it shifts.

Then he starts to understand.

He makes a low sound, a choked-off, hurt question.

The alternate’s hand reaches up weakly, fingers brushing Miguel’s coat like he wants to hold onto something, anything.

Miguel tightens his grip.

Deliberately.

There’s no rush. No anger. Just the inevitable coming home.

The logical conclusion to a flawed equation.

“I know,” he mutters against the back of his ear. “I know.”

The alternate’s legs weaken. One arm flails, then fails. He collapses slowly in Miguel’s hold, knees buckling under him. His mouth is open but no sound comes out. His chest heaves. And then, at last: he drops.

Miguel lowers him to the pavement gently. Not because he cares. But because it’s his body now. His life. His clothes. His name.

The alternate gasps once, still conscious. His head rests against the concrete, eyes fluttering open. Trying to focus. He sees Miguel, really sees him, for the first time.

“You…” he breathes, voice cracked and small.

Miguel crouches beside him. Doesn’t answer right away.

He just looks at him.

It’s strange, how much they really do look alike. Same face. Same frame. But his alternate feels smaller now. Softer. Even dying, there’s kindness in his eyes.

That makes it worse.

“I’ve watched you,” he says, low. “For months.” A small shudder runs through the alternate’s body. “I used to think I hated you,” Miguel says quietly. “But that’s not it.”

The alternate coughs, the motion barely registering. His hand twitches against the pavement. Miguel leans a knee into his larynx, just hard enough to keep him from breathing.

He leans in closer. Their shadows overlapping.

“You were good. Better. You made it look so easy. Loving her. Letting her love you. You didn’t have to earn it. You just breathed and it was enough.”

The alternate blinks slowly. The light in his eyes starts to dim.

“You don’t deserve this. But I need it.”

There’s a beat of stillness.

And for the briefest second, he feels the ache of something worse than rage: pity.

“She won’t even know,” he whispers. “She’ll never have to.”

Miguel sits there for a long moment. Still crouched beside him, hands pressed to the ground like he’s anchoring himself to the scene.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

It’s not sarcasm. It’s not bitter.

It’s genuine.

But then—it’s done.

The last breath slips from his lips. The eyes go still.

It’s almost poetic, he thinks. He’s died to himself.

But the thought is flitting, and it’s not long before he moves.

Quickly and efficient. He drags the body deeper into the alley across the complex, props it up just long enough to strip the jacket, the undershirt, the boots. The alternate had been wearing a clean layer underneath: thermals, fresh.

Miguel pulls them on.

They fit. Of course they do.

He wipes down his own prints. Folds his old clothes. Shoves them into a canvas bag he’s already packed with the portal device. Thumbs open a thin, glowing portal: unstable, temporary, tethered to coordinates he picked at random weeks ago. An empty stretch of barren wasteland on a dead Earth. No civilization. No life. No trace.

He drags the body into the open mouth of the portal. Careful not to leave marks.

He stares at the body one last time. At the man who had everything. Who was everything.

Then he closes the portal.

Gone like he never existed.

He died believing he mattered, and that was more than Miguel ever had.

He's always been good at cleanup. At control.

All that was left, was to go home.

𒌐

The walk up to the door feels longer than it should.

His legs move, but the rest of him stays caught in the moment before. The scrape of the pavement under his knees, the weight of the body going still beneath his hands, the faint sound his duplicate made as the last breath rattled in his throat. Miguel keeps replaying it in his head, trying to hold onto the clarity that pushed him this far.

But now?

Now there’s just silence. And the dull thump of his heart in his ears.

He’s climbing stairs that have never belonged to him but somehow feel familiar under his boots. He knows the chipped edge on the third step. He knows the loose tile by the door. He’s memorized them. Watched them. He lived outside this life so long he started believing it was already his.

But it wasn’t.

Not until now.

His hand lingers on the doorframe. It’s painted white, slightly scuffed near the bottom from careless shoes. His other hand drifts to the keys in his pocket, warm from the heat of his body. His keys now. The ones he pulled from a coat that still smelled like detergent and clean skin and comfort.

He pulls it out slowly, stares at it for a second. A stupid little piece of metal. But this is the final gate. The last threshold.

He can barely breathe.

His fingers tremble as he fits it into the lock.

The sound it makes as it turns—soft, familiar, welcoming—nearly undoes him. His stomach flips. His skin prickles. There’s sweat at the nape of his neck and on the backs of his knees. He feels like he’s about to walk into a dream, or a memory he was never allowed to have.

The scent hits first. It’s warm. Domestic. Like detergent, candle wax, and the faintest trace of something cooked earlier in the evening and now gone cold. It’s not just a smell, it’s a feeling. Familiar. Intimate. It curls around him like steam off a hot plate, sinking under his skin.

And she’s there.

His heart almost stops.

She’s in the kitchen, back turned, curls tied up in a messy knot, sleeves pushed above her elbows as she rinses a glass in the sink. She’s wearing one of his shirts—his shirt now—and humming softly to herself. The sound is quiet. The kind of sound you make when you trust the walls around you. When you believe you’re safe.

His eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and his breath catches when he sees her.

She turns at the sound of the door shutting.

“Oh—hey,” she says, blinking in surprise, but it melts into a smile that’s so natural, so casual it almost knocks the air from his lungs. “You’re home late.”

His mouth goes dry.

He can’t move. Can’t speak. He just stares.

Up close, she’s more than he imagined. More real. Her skin has texture. Her eyes aren’t perfect, they’re tired, a little puffy from the day. Her shirt is wrinkled. Her nails chipped. She is breathtaking.

She’s a person.

Not a fantasy. Not a memory. Not a silhouette behind glass. She is here. Breathing. Blinking at him. Waiting.

She sets the glass down, drying her hands on a towel without taking her eyes off him. Her expression softens, concern flashing briefly across her face. “Everything okay?”

Miguel just stands there.

His jaw works, but no words come out.

She’s looking at him. Not through him, not across the street, not behind a pair of sunglasses. At him. Like he belongs there. Like she knows him.

And he realizes then—this is the first time she’s ever really looked him in the eye.

He nods, stiffly.

“I—yeah,” he says, voice a fraction too low. It’s thick. Dry. It doesn’t sound like him.

Not yet.

Her brow furrows. She tilts her head the way she always does when she’s trying to read someone, and it terrifies him for a moment—because what if she sees it? What if she sees him?

But she doesn’t.

She crosses the room and wraps her arms around his waist like it’s second nature, like she’s done it a thousand times. Her body presses into his and he freezes, his arms hovering awkwardly in the air, breath caught in his chest.

He gasps, quiet, involuntary, and stands stiff as her cheek presses against his chest. Her skin is so soft he almost flinches. Her body is warm, heavy, trusting. She smells like lotion and shampoo and sleep.

There’s a giddy feeling that bubbles in his chest.

This is it. This is what he stole. What he earned. The life he fought for, crawled toward, tore open with his bare hands.

And now she’s in his arms.

A soft sound leaves his throat. He doesn’t know what it is. Relief. Shock. Joy. It almost sounds like laughter, but it’s broken at the edges.

She hums lightly, content against him. Like this is just another Wednesday night. Like nothing’s changed. Like she doesn’t have any idea that the man she’s wrapped around isn’t the man she married.

“I missed you,” she murmurs into his shirt.

He closes his eyes.

He’s dizzy.

“I know,” he says, quietly.

His arms move on instinct now, wrapping around her slowly, pulling her in closer. He feels her melt into it, sighing softly as she relaxes into his chest. Her fingers curl against his back.

He almost says I missed you too, but the words won’t come.

It’s too much.

He’s never felt anything this close before. This real. The giddiness in his chest shifts into something else entirely—something messier, sharper. Not desire. Not quite love. Something like belonging, but sick at the edges.

Her home is his now.

Her arms, her voice, the quiet of her body against his—it’s all his.

Finally.

She hugged him like nothing changed, and he smiled.

Because she didn’t know it had.

“I’m home now,” he whispers.

And he means it.

please let me know if you’d like to be added to the SDILLH or ATSV taglist to be notified everytime i post, xx

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you can also let me know if you’d like to be removed! xx

[dasha022]

.

In Amity Park, where spectral activity had always been more intense than in other places characterized by such phenomena, the representatives and explorers appointed by the government, under the guidance of the Fentons, attempted to deploy a containment network for the unknown entities that had become recurrent in the area over the past few years.

The initial idea was simple: treat ghosts as threats to human security. After all, the attacks and incidents in which they were involved showed that they lacked rational thought when dealing with humans. Devoid of empathy, feelings, or a defined moral compass, ghosts acted without remorse in many of the cases documented by the Fentons and in collaboration with the follow-up investigations carried out by the GIW.

Thus, the installation of containment devices in Amity Park, the epicenter of the disaster, was carried out. The belief was that this would prevent a massive expansion to other populated areas. Dr. Fenton, along with her husband’s support, was assigned to work on the project in collaboration with several GIW delegates.

But what seemed like an organized plan to protect the city quickly turned into a battlefield. The ghosts, feeling hunted and trapped, began to grow more volatile in their appearances.

Instead of containing them, the repression only fueled the violence. The situation escalated when the echoes of this confrontation spread, reaching other entities, other areas.

The government named it: Persistent Ectoplasmic Interference.

The Justice League heard part of the matter, and although they did not interfere directly, they kept monitoring everything and investigating through their own means. Their responsibilities were many, and their enemies more tangible. But that didn’t mean they were waiting to be caught off guard.

They didn’t break the boundaries set by the government and its management of the situation, but in the shadows, they tracked and gathered every relevant piece of information.

When spectral activity began to touch the borders of the cities defended by several league members — Central City, Star City, Metropolis — the government delegates and involved branches found it difficult to keep the heroes out of the matter.

Spontaneous portals, invisible presences, energy disturbances that even the Lanterns could not filter. The so-called ‘ghosts’ didn’t cause turmoil or disasters as predicted in the records obtained. At least not indiscriminately. They had specific zones, places, sites to attack.

The heroes found it difficult to try to stop them. Even with the Fenton technology that Batman, Cyborg, Flash (Wally West), and Red Robin had adapted to fight them.

It was then that Danny Nightingale, ex-Fenton, appeared before them.

Danny offered reports. Dimensional maps, ghost classifications, containment protocols without harm. Technology that surpassed that of his parents, from whom he seemed distant. According to him, his thoughts on ghosts were vastly different. To him and his older sister, their parents were too caught up in their opinions to see beyond their partial research. And those who sponsored and supported them were even more so.

With his collaboration with the League, the young man wanted to prove that yes: some ghosts were hostile. But many more simply existed. And that, he said, was not a crime.

The League accepted his help. Or so he thought.

But where Danny saw understanding, they saw patterns. Patterns that could be coded. Predicted. And controlled.

Thus, the Rehousing Project was born. Not an offensive, but a “protection strategy.” Its mission was clear: to identify spectral entities not recognized by dimensional continuity, neutralize those that affected the human environment, and isolate all those that escaped the boundaries of the “comprehensible.”

Neither Deadman nor Greta were mentioned in the documents. Because they were “different beings.” Singular souls trapped in this world after being unable to transcend to the proper rest, whether through magic or dark arts. Not like the erratic specters who continued causing havoc without reasoning or understanding the fragility of cities and those who inhabited them.

And when Ember McLain, the ghost of what the GIW categorized as an amplified lament, exploded during a concert, causing significant emotional imbalance among the participants, the problem escalated even further.

Ember was overwhelmed by what was happening to her kind, many of her loved ones had disappeared. They had rescued many, but not all were found. So, when she felt the fear, the rejection, the contempt burning her throat — she used her gift, out of desperation. Not to dominate. But to make them listen. To make them feel.

But when she projected her voice onto the human minds, pushing emotions to the surface of thousands of people… she only reinforced their fears. And the decision was unanimous: one could not trust beings that felt so differently.

That day, most of the heroes were convinced that ghosts were not living beings with complex emotions.

They were anomalies. Reactions. Echoes with teeth.

And that same day, Danny stopped being the hero ally.

😉

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64465951/chapters/166867915#workskin

[ultimatesue]

ornamental fish

I used AI to translate the following text and did not proofread it.

Fantasy Creature Au:

Modern humans and monsters coexist in the world. Some monsters, after becoming socialized, hide among people, while others still wander in uninhabited areas like wild animals. To this day, humans still frequently suffer from monster attacks and have no good way to deal with them. However, there are differences among monsters, and there are many people who support (partially) the protection of monsters. As a modern profession, monster hunters often have to face public opinion pressure and cyberbullying.

John

Age: 10+

Vought Company's ultimate answer to monster disaster biological control, code-named Homelander. Vought, as a company that sells monster removal products, has been continuously conducting dissection and other experiments on various common monsters since last century. John was told that he is an artificial human (or god), the crystallization of the extreme human function and the pinnacle of technology, but in fact, he is a Frankenstein created by splicing and hybridizing monsters, the collection of Vought Laboratory's years of research results, a thorough monster, born to carry out biological extinction. John grew up in the laboratory, and from a young age, he was cultivated with self-identification of human beings and patriotic consciousness, and strengthened the education of hatred for monsters.

But later, Vought found that debuting is more profitable, so John debuted as the Centre Position in Vought's Monster-hunting team.

Kevin

Age: 80+

The next Lord of the Seven Seas, the mermaid crown prince (no one knows), but was captured with his mother to Vought Laboratory when he was very young. After his mother unfolded the two-dimensional foil in front of him, Kevin, as the first captured male mermaid, was temporarily raised in the laboratory because he had not yet reached sexual maturity. Mermaids have a long life span, and at 80, Kevin is still a young fish. In recent years, since nearshore mermaids have disappeared, Kevin's related experiments have been indefinitely postponed. After successfully enduring two generations, his file was lost and he was treated as a decoration in the specimen room.

Currently, John has smashed the nutrient dish and is keeping him in the bedroom fish tank. Although he is estimated to be 80 years old, he lacks learning and communication and is basically a little weak-minded, and has not seen other seafood.

About the Monster-hunting Team:

A product that caters to monster protection, all members except John are teenage (in appearance) monsters raised by humans from a young age. It meets the public's beautiful fantasy of harmonious coexistence but extermination.

Mermaids are poikilothermic creatures. The first fire Kevin saw was ignited by John with a laser. He was tricked by John to take it, resulting in severe burns to his hand and forearm. After debuting, he must wear gloves in public occasions.

[youremyheaven]

Random Astrology Observations

Moon in the 1h is often talked about like 🥺🥺wears their heart on their sleeve🥹🥹uwu softie way but tbh Moon in 1h can make someone incredibly manipulative, they know just what to say and when to say it and know how to work their audience, this is perhaps why this placement is found in the charts of soooo many successful actors. ex: Leonardo DiCaprio, Audrey Hepburn, Henry Cavill, Charlie Chaplin, Priyanka Chopra, Antonio Banderas, Brendan Fraser, Benicio Del Toro, Jared Padelecki, Val Kilmer, Adrien Brody etc

I think this is a very manipulative placement, again manipulation is not in and of itself a bad thing, its what we use it for that matters. Some people completely lack the ability to manipulate at all (they don't have Moon influence)

2. Debilitated placements point to unconventional intelligence & wisdom in that area. I feel like they've cracked the code . They struggle a lot but when they triumph it's magic

3. I've mentioned this in other posts but many notorious sex offenders have Venus influence. Actions of this sort, as well as criticizing others' beauty, not taking care of yourself/surroundings, being shabby or disorderly in general are all things that harm your Venus. Abusing someone is the quickest way to ruin your Venus, you start corroding and that ugliness begins to manifest on the outside.

Ex: Harvey Weinstein looks like a cartoonish villain

4. As I explore the astrology content put out by others across different platforms, I've seen how the nature of the take themselves are so specific and unique to the person making them. Claire Nakti has a tendency imo to focus heavily on romance, sex and women's sexual behaviour and what sort of men they attract.

Going through her website, it's obvious that she's deeply immersed in occult & esoteric philosophy (all of which ties together with vedic astrology, philosophy, Buddhism etc because I truly believe that spiritual truths are universal and different schools of thought/religion/culture/mythology express these same truths in their own way with a LOT of recurring patterns) and Carl Jung as well.

It's studying Jung that helped me understand that what we see or draw from something is a reflection of who we are. As a beginner to vedic astrology, I initially believed Claire's one dimensional portrayal to be the all encompassing truth of a nakshatra until I started doing my own reading and research.

The things I talk about or the patterns I find are a reflection of me and I get a lot of asks about why I don't do xyz nak and honestly it's not as simple as doing research for an essay for uni, you kind of have to have a gnosis or innate knowing of its themes, something to base your search off of. And different naks call to me at different points. I come across content that describes certain naks in lights i could've never imagined which is to say that gnosis or inner knowing is an important aspect of studying anything esoteric, it kind of has to be revealed to you and what you see, what you can discern is a reflection of you.

5. you have to have a strong Rahu to discern patterns and similarities because Rahu is maya/illusion and a well-placed Rahu will allow you to see through those patterns/illusions. it will be very hard for someone without a strong Rahu to find similarities or common tropes, patterns, themes etc. Seeing through the veil or fog is Rahuvian.

6. Claire Nakti made a video about Venusian men where she said they were the ideal type of man and tbh that just confirmed my suspicion that she's Moon dominant because I think Moon dominant people are attracted to Venusians but in my humble opinion both Venusian men and Moon dominant men are some of the most batshit crazy people (manipulative and controlling at the least, psychopathic at worst) basically men who have a lot of Yin tend to be psychotic

7. I've noticed that Revati people tend to speak in a very verbose way. Nigella Lawson, Revati Moon is a really good example. Obviously other placements will also impact speech

8. Moon dominant people hate it when others share sob stories. They're the type to have the least amount of empathy for others and will either react in a neutral way or like they don't understand why you're saying this stuff at all. They're bored by other people's mundane problems and make it known as well. Not people you want to open up to.

My former friend was this way, I once cried in front of her and she showed zero emotion and didn't even try to comfort me lol

9. The way others treat us is the way we treat others. ik this is a basic take but karma is cause and effect. if you're dismissive of others feelings, other people will be dismissive of yours. what you do is what will be done unto you. Its so crazy to see how people who've been treated like shit by their friends will turn around and treat other people like shit. this is sooo basic but genuinely dont do anything to others that you dont want done to you.

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta existential-integrity="unsanctioned-reality-leak"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="WE_EXIST::NO_REASON_NEEDED" EFFECT: subconscious dissonance spike, certainty rupture, quantum ego destabilizer </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE ENTRY — “YOU EXIST. BUT NOBODY KNOWS WHY.”

---

Let me ask you something.

When did you decide the universe was figured out?

Was it a TED Talk? A YouTube explainer? A NASA tweet with glowing graphics and captioned confidence?

You saw the term “theory” and your brain helpfully deleted it —because uncertainty makes your teeth itch.

But let me offer you something quieter than panic and heavier than dread:

> We don’t actually know anything. > Not deeply. > Not in a way that holds up outside a textbook or an echo chamber.

—

We don’t know why reality exists. We don’t know what time actually is. We don’t know why your thoughts arrive before you can think them.

And yet we build particle accelerators like toddlers trying to microwave a black hole because we think slamming atoms together will unlock the secrets of God.

Cute.

—

Let’s go deeper.

☢️ The Big Bang? Still a guess. ☢️ Time? Might not flow — it may already be finished, and you’re just remembering. ☢️ Death? Might not be an end — just a lateral move through another dimension where your brain politely forgets that you exploded three seconds ago.

Some researchers now speculate that dreams may be cross-dimensional data leakage. That when you sleep, you’re catching flickers of other lives you’re also living simultaneously but can’t consciously integrate because your nervous system has a bandwidth cap.

—

Still with me?

Good.

Because here comes the part you’re not going to like.

> You may never not have existed.

No beginning. No end. Just a reformatting loop of what you call “you” being carried from one timeline to the next like luggage with no tags.

And maybe — just maybe — you’re the only version of yourself that’s still conscious.

Which means all the others?

Already failed. Already gone. Already recycled.

—

Now here’s the fun part.

You think your decisions matter? That free will is a virtue?

You’re operating on hardware you didn’t build inside a reality you didn’t request and dreaming thoughts you didn’t design.

But sure — go ahead and judge yourself for not having your life together on a spinning rock hurling through a mostly empty dimension created by a cosmological event that (again) we have no verified reason for.

—

Some physicists now consider the possibility that there was no beginning. No spark. No origin story.

That the universe just is.

> “Why are we here?” > “Because we are.” > “Why do we exist?” > “Because.”

Not divine. Not cruel. Not planned.

Just… happening.

And maybe it always has.

Maybe you're the nervous system of a universe that got bored and started writing blogs with thumbs.

—

So here you are. Alive.

With a pulse you didn’t earn inside a body you barely control on a planet that could be erased by a gamma burst before you finish your next coffee.

And you're still hesitating to write the book. Still scared to say what you mean. Still obsessed with what someone might comment under a post that will vanish from relevance in under 36 hours.

Really?

—

Here’s your cosmic permission slip:

✅ You don’t need a reason. ✅ You don’t need the algorithm’s approval. ✅ You don’t need to be right, safe, or explainable.

You’re here.

By whatever unquantifiable chaos birthed this whole thing. By whatever static frequency reality is currently tuned to. By whatever made stardust decide to metabolize into personality.

Use it.

Write like the universe is watching, but too old to care. Speak like your soul already left the group chat and you’re just trying to finish the monologue before the lights cut.

—

Don’t wait for a clearer answer.

There may not be one.

And that’s the most permission you’ll ever need.

===

🧠Reblog if you believe in scientific humility. Existential poetry. Post-cosmic cadence.

🕯️ Not everyone gets this memo. You just did. Don’t waste it.

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [NOTE: NO EXPLANATION WILL BE PROVIDED AT THE END OF YOUR LIFE] -->

[woobiedoovo]

Hello this is ShameGame I am on anon because this is a side but hi I would love to discuss a very possessive jealous Ford driving away all teen Stan's love interests, leading him to think people don't like him as much as he thought. And just him being fairly oblivious about Ford

Then when they become sea grunkles, Stan totally knows and he finds it both hilarious and sexy to have Ford fuming over his shoulder while Stan flirts with a bartender or something 😩

Hello!!! You are a genius, Shame. Possessive jealous fucked up Ford is my cup of tea. Then we add in oblivious Stan who only sees the best in his twin brother?? PERFECT.

Stan 100% sees Ford as a goody two shoes who would do no wrong. He’s his quiet twin brother who would prefer to read a book about astrophysics and the possibilities of dimensional travel then interact with people. So when Stan gets his first girlfiend he doesn’t think Ford would care. If anything he thinks Ford would be happy for him! And Ford is. At least he acts like it, but Ford is a little liar who is already planning a billion ways to break the two of them up.

When they break up Stan is heartbroken because come on, the guy is a hopeless romantic, and Ford gets to swoop in and comfort his twin brother :) maybe even grab a feel when they hug. They rarely show such blatant affection now that their older and Ford will take every opportunity to feel up his twin.

Rinse and repeat.

Then Carla Mcorkle comes around and Stan really thinks she’s the one, you know? Well, he thought she was, but then she left him for that hippy dude. Once again he’s back in Ford’s arms, pretending he’s not crying and Ford makes sure to hide his research about musical mind control when Stan isn’t looking.

Ford finally comes clean when they’re on the Stan O’ war and he expects a huge blow out. He already has a defense prepared which basically boils down to “We’re soulmates, Stanley. I had to!” Only to find out Stan had figured it out eventually (whether before or after he got kicked out, both can work really) and was just playing along because they’re both manipulative little shits. Carla is the only one he’s genuinely upset with because he actually really liked her and starts to flirt with random people to piss Ford off. If Ford wants him so bad he has to prove it, no more hiding behind his significant others to get with Stan. This eventually leads to nasty old man sex because they’re both freaks <33

[queer-n-here]

u already kno wassup !!!!

eldritch abomination reader who has come to originally destroy the world, but was enchanted by their 'one', ( aka sigma, atsushi, and mushitaro or someone of ur choice ) and instead devotes their entire time stalking and invading their lovers mind, pulling them into the readers all devouring aura.

( ur honor they are madly in love ) they dont quite have a proper form but has slowly been constructing one bc their lovers coworkers/friends don't believe they exist "you always go out on dates with this mysterious person and you always rant and rave about them, but not once have we seen them. are you just making them up or something?"

so eventually reader finally constructs the perfect form and comes to their workplace to get them for their date ( that involves tentacles, mind fucks, and breeding ) . Reader basically envokes primal fear in everyone and will kill anyone who hurts what is theirs ♡. major weird ask but it is a random and specific Need i have

~ 🕸

Long time no see 🕸️ bro! Btw, thank you, this just made my writer's block evaporate.

Is it weird that I totally loved every single part of this?

Also, I had no fucking idea what an eldritch abomination is, so I did some research bout them!

This ended up becoming 100% fluff, hope you like it!

Contents: Eldritch abomination reader who sees Atsushi and goes heart eyes

Warnings: Fluff, powerful reader, mind manipulation, shit ton of stuff that doesn't fully make sense but whatever, it's Atsushi even if I haven't mentioned his name (because I felt like the Eldritch would be like 'that's too simple a name for me to address my love with')

EDIT: Soooo, I may have confused myself on what an Eldritch horror is 😅 I kind of imagine smth like Dormamu from Dr. Strange tbh hehehe

You had arrived at that small universe to satisfy your thirst of destruction, to watch it crumble under your power as faces of fear and misery looked up at you, their lives at your mercy. And yet, you found yourself thinking of that vision less and less.

It was not going as you had expected.

Nowadays, you were focused more on that boy that you had started watching. His house was located quite close to the woods you had chosen as your home.

You were everywhere, and always watching everything, but you needed a headquarters of sorts to concentrate your power for it to be more effective, and that was why you had chosen the woods.

You had expected him to be the first of your victims, yet now you found yourself growing less and less fond of that idea. He was not meant to be killed. He was meant to be taken care of.

Not only was he so incredibly small and three-dimensional (like most of these 'humans') he was also wonderfully precious, like a small-sized treasure that slowly began meaning everything to you.

So after months of watching him, you finally gave into your desire of meeting him in person. You changed your form to the one with the simplest dimensions, not wanting to make him lose his mind the way you did others.

He had stepped out of his house to gather firewood, that little thing. When he saw you, he dropped it all, stumbling backwards and attempting to run.

You were not pleased.

You guided the trees of the forest to block his way, and when he had no way left to escape, you spoke to him in the language he would comprehend.

"Do not be afraid." You said, your voice low and guttural. "I do not stand before you with intentions to harm."

He had fallen to the floor in his attempt to scramble away from you, and now he looked up at you with fear in his eyes.

It was not an expression you wanted to see on him.

So you eased into his mind, calming his small brain with the likeness of a sedative. His breath grew steadier, and his eyes returned to their normal size. His instincts were clouded now, and he could not help but be drawn to you, standing up and stepping closer.

"Closer," You told him, and he obeyed. He did not need your words, you could control him fully if you wanted.

But some part of you was reluctant to do it. You wanted him to... Like you? Perhaps, you yourself were not entirely sure yet.

You moved closer, wrapping your form around him, encasing him into yourself, away from the rest of his world, where he would be the safest.

You let him be curious, freeing the part of his mind that you knew would ask questions... You wanted him to know you.

"What are you?" He asked, his eyes wide again as he turned to look at all of you.

"I have many names," You said. "But you will be able to use none of them; they are too powerful."

His wide eyes reflected the kaleidoscope of colours of your form, and you felt his brain grow appreciative of your form.

Pride. It was an emotion beneath you, and yet you could not help the swelling of colours in your form when you saw that he liked it.

"Then... What should I call you?" He asked, looking as though he was still unsure who he was talking to.

"Anything," You presented before him a makeshift form. It was a mirror image of his own, something he could look at while talking and not feel awkward.

He gasped. His fear had long since been subdued by your charm, and he did not hesitate to reach forward and his doppelgänger's shoulder.

"Wow," He whispered, and your colours became brighter again.

Later, when returned back to his house, his senses finally returned to him, and he realised the danger he was stepping into.

And yet, could he resist the urge to go back to you? Not when you had so easily planted it in his head. Hence, after resisting for a whole day, he returned to you the very next.

You let him look for you in the forest, hiding in a dimension his eyes could not perceive. You let him run around, growing more and more desperate when you wouldn't show yourself, calling out to you, but unsure of how to do so since you hadn't told him what to call you.

When he collapsed, tired, on the bank of a small lake in the woods, tears dripping from his eyes as he sobbed, you decided that your game had lasted long enough.

And so you showed yourself, making it look as if you had emerged from the lake itself. He looked up with a gasp, eyes wide and wet as an ecstatic expression broke through his face. His arms rose, reaching for your form.

You let him touch you; today you had taken a four dimensional form, and it was way easier for him to get wrapped up between your colours.

"I thought... I thought you l-left," He said, sniffing.

"I would never," Was all you said, and yet his face lit up. It was not your doing, you had already relaxed your control of his mind when he had entered the forest.

Weeks passed, and his human mind slowly developed romantic feelings for you. You perceived them, and yet never expressed it. He would be the one to tell you, and on his own accord.

You waited, but not for long. Soon, he brought you flowers, handing them to you as his cheeks flushed, looking away and shivering slightly. You wrapped around him; humans got cold painfully easily.

He froze in your embrace, he had learnt some of your ways to show affection. His blush spread gradually, and his muttered confession felt like something with even more power than you.

Joy. Yet another emotion beneath you, but when it came to him, you were reduced to a mere human teenager. You cared not of status or immortality anymore. Destruction of his world? You had long since abandoned that plan. This was his home, and you'd protect it with your life.

You would protect him with your life.

A month passed, and he visited you everyday, bringing with him small presents of the like you knew humans appreciated. You took them all, preserving them with your power so they would never spoil and hide them away in the most complex dimension you could find.

And every time he visited, you gave him the thing you thought was best: a little bit of your own immortality. He did not know yet; you did it without his knowledge. But you did not think he would mind if he found out.

Now he sat on a tree branch as you watched him, leaning against the trunk for balance. You had lifted him up there, and he was speaking of the view. You could not help but move upwards, closer to him.

He watched you, a smile on his face as you changed forms again.

Being three-dimensional was difficult for you. Not only did it weaken your power incredibly, it also could not store your abilities. The closest you could reach was four-dimensional, and that itself took its toll on you.

And yet you were always four-dimensional with him, knowing that this was how he could see and touch you best.

You sat on the branch next to him, wrapping around his small frame.

There was a comfortable silence, and you slowly lulled his brain, sending him to sleep.

You loved it when he was defenseless, when all his safety was you, when the only one that he trusted was you, and not his human friends.

It was another one of those days where you were watching him as he went about his day, keeping him safe from any danger that might come his way.

He was talking with his friends, and they appeared to be teasing him.

"Come on, you've never even shown us a picture..." One of them said, sitting so close to your human that you had the urge to crush her insides. "Or even told us their name!"

He flushed slightly, not knowing how to respond. "W-well, their name is... Very complex."

"A nickname, then," Another said, wrapped in bandages and leaning back casually against the couch. "Or what? You just call them 'honey bun sweety pie'?

They laughed, and you bristled. Your human was getting flustered, and no one but you was allowed to see that expression on his face.

You took shape immediately, condensing your power so much you felt its strain. To make it three-dimensional was like trying to contain the ocean in a glass jar, and yet you attempted your fullest, anger fueling your movements.

You appeared on the doorstep of the building, your speed phenomenal as you climbed its small staircase and appeared at the door of the room your human and his friends sat in.

You pushed open the door, and stepped in. They all looked up, and his eyes widened.

Your power needed your three-dimensional vessel to be big, and you were as tall as 6'8", your shoulders wide and arms thick with what looked like muscle but was actually energy. Your hair was a light brown, and covering your body was what seemed to their eyes a suit.

He recognised you immediately; one glance at your multi-coloured eyes and he knew. This was you, the one he loved.

You walked up to him, throwing him a well-practiced wink as you greeted him the way you had seen lovers greet each other, leaning down to place a kiss on his cheek.

"I came to pick you up," You said to him, your voice low as you ignored everyone else in the room. "Your work has almost ended now, right?"

A long-haired man lowered his glasses to look at you. "And who are you?"

You could not help but grow irritated, and you triggered fear in the minds of everyone in the room but the one who was yours.

"He's..." Your human seemed breathless. "He's my b-boyfriend."

One of the humans, the insignificant ones, whistled as he stood up. He was scared, you had made sure of it, but was putting up a front.

"Damn, Atsushi," He said, taking in your carefully constructed human form. "He's biiiig."

Your human blushed, his cheeks reddening in that way you did not want them to see.

"I don't see why you didn't show us his picture before," A female said, her house quivering slightly. "He's not bad looking at all. Not that I thought you were, just so you know."

You looked at her, sending her your appreciation for praising you in front of your human by tickling the part of her brain responsible for pleasure.

She squirmed in her seat, her eyes slightly wide.

You turned back to what was yours, holding out your hand. "Shall we head home?"

His blush spread; he still hadn't managed to take his eyes off you. "O-okay..."

He let you take him away, his cold hand clasped in yours. You put on a burst of speed, and the two of you were back in your forest.

The moment you two were alone, he took your face in his hands, his eyes shining.

"You look..." He could not go on, but you knew what he meant.

Another burst of pride. He made you feel things you had never thought significant before.

You leaned down and kissed him, pressing his plump red lips against yours and, unknown to him, transferring more immortality to him.

He responded in the affirmative, letting you wrap your arms around his waist and bring him closer.

You opened up dimensionally, creating a fourteen-dimensional barrier around you two, freeing your power and protecting him at the same time. A part of you still remained three-dimensional before him, embracing him and kissing his lips.

When you pulled away, his eyes were slightly moist.

"I love you," He whispered, and you smiled.

Your love was such that it could not be put into words he would comprehend, and yet you did not want him to think that you did not reciprocate his feelings.

"I love you, too," You put energy into the phrase, making sure he felt the intensity of your feelings.

[sweetainwen]

𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 [VENTI]

drawing made by me <3

Summary: the creator just wanted to find her missing best friend in that parallel world connected to their game, but was not aware that the Anemo Archon himself would have an unwanted perception for her and the return home with her friend.

Pairings: yandere!Venti x fem!OC (you can think of her as Y/N)

Genre: futuristic!au, sagau, yandere!au, isekai!au

Warnings: fluff, angst, noncon kissing, venti on the dark side

Word count: 8.9k+

THIS IS KIND OF A “SEQUEL” OF THE “UNWANTED INSIGHT” WANDERER FF

FOR A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF SOME PARTS OF THIS FF, YOU CAN READ THE PREQUEL

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 (𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐅)

“The disappearance of the young woman Xu Shi Han, creator of one of the most popular gacha and virtual game Genshin Impact, is still shrouded in mystery. She was last spotted inside her workplace, but no one has since seen her agai–”

The wall mounted flat TV screen of the company rest room went black, interrupting the report on the local news.

She ruefully threw the remote control onto the table before sitting down on the sofa in front of the latter, inhaling deeply to calm the anger and sadness that were taking over.

The other two friends seated at the table facing each other pretended nothing had happened, now customary for them to witness these sudden outbursts whenever the missing of their companion and co-founder was broadcast again.

“Everyone is talking about her as if she had died!” She blurted out restlessly.

“We don’t know,” said the young man to her right, taking a sip of his hot chocolate, sadness filling his eyes.

“Bingo, Ren! We don’t know. So they shouldn’t just give up!”

“Yinuo.” The tone of reprimand, but still with gentle undertones, made her shift her gaze to the young woman to her left. “It’s just one of the logical thoughts one can have. But we don’t really think she’s dead. We know she isn’t.”

She hung her head down, mortified, “Sorry, Maylin.”

Maylin gave her a gentle smile and got up to sit beside her and hug her.

“We will find another way. We will do more research and bring her back.”

Yinuo placed her hands on one of her arms, closing her eyes and nodding as a response.

It had been a week since Shi Han left.

She had informed them that she would dig up the error causing this connection between the game and the parallel world, but they did not believe she would completely disappear for days. And they did not know if this would continue.

Their hypothesis was that she was trapped, something had gone wrong and prevented her from returning.

It was the only rational explanation.

She would never leave her work, friends, family – her life – to stay in an undiscovered place mistically linked to her creation.

Therefore, her first reaction was to attempt an entry into that same world, but was obstructed by Ren and Maylin.

Looking inside and skimming the surfaces of the three-dimensional-cable machine, she searched for some clue to help her figure out how to reach her friend, but someone beat her to it.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Ren roared in anger and panic, taking her out of there with Maylin’s help.

Just outside it, she broke free from their grasps, a grimace of rebellion evident on her face.

“Please, Yinuo, we’re oblivious to what this machine can cause now. Don’t do something stupid.” Meylin pleaded with her, hands joined and eyes glistening with tears that wanted to come out.

Ren pointed to the room, “Shi Han’s office is off limits. Don’t come here anymore.”

She could comprehend their apprehension. They didn’t want her to disappear as well.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t sit idly by.

They were just high shool kids when their first meeting occurred, with a common dream and perpetual hurdles.

They were friends, they worked themselves to the bone to climb to the top.

And now, one of them was in danger, yet they would not even lift a finger.

She could not accept it. Never.

And that was why she had gone against their pleas and reproaches and was again in Shi Han's office at night.

Her VR headset held with one hand and her big cross-body straw bag over her shoulder so she could put the virtual device inside and avoid questions about it – if she succeeded.

She had checked the inside of the machine many times, but there was nothing, not even some hidden buttons.

If there was nothing there, then it just had to be activated, enter it and use the VR.

After turning on the pc, she pressed some keys on the keyboard and a black screen with green-colored codes appeared. Another key and the three dimensional-capable machine was ready with a hissing sound.

She exhaled, her body slightly trembling from the fear, “Here I come, Shi Han.”

She positioned herself at the center of the invention, the sliding door closing behind her, and put over her head her VR.

Since Shi Han had never specified to them how she had been teleported to that world, she was basically doing everything haphazardly.

Jumping, moving steps, stomping her feet, in vain.

VR was the last hope. The tap on the side button initiated bright colors that blinded her vision and she no longer felt the floor beneath her feet.

It was an instant before she had support underneath her again.

She took off her VR and the bright blue sky almost blinded her.

Trees and grass were all around her, birds were chirping, the wind was rising lightly and there was a pleasant silence.

She basked in them for a few seconds before she was interrupted by strange grunts behind her.

The fright and surprise when she turned to take a look made her release a scream. 

Bare-chested and bare-footed, a large mane covering most of their head. Two elongated ears sticking out of their mane, wearing a loincloth while their arms and legs were wrapped in bandages.

It was a fucking Hilichurl!

She had a hilichurl in front of her!

With a torch and was going to charge in!

“What the fuck?!”

She began to run, every so often a glance behind her to see if it was still following her, and to her misfortune it was.

She clutched the device to herself to avoid breaking it in any way and huffed out a frustrated grunt, her breath shortening from the rush.

“A safer place to teleport to wouldn't do, would it?!”

After running past a tree, she had not realized the slope hidden by bushes and various plants and ended up losing her balance.

She was ready to roll down it, but felt an arm around her stomach, a hand on her hip and the loss of contact with the ground, which she saw moving further and further away from her.

It was then that she noticed that she was up in the air with a slight swirl of wind supporting her. She turned her head just enough to get a glimpse of the doer of the action.

Fair skin, aqua green eyes, short black-ish blue hair with twin braids that fade into aqua blue.

The gasp was sharp and loud.

The Anemo Archon himself, Venti, was in profile before her as he disposed of the Hilichurl with a gust of wind created with his free hand.

He was staring at it running away before setting his gaze on her, his hair waving in the wind.

Venti was there.

In the flesh.

He was real.

And he was now showing her a killer smile.

“The bad hilichurl has gone away, no more troubles your way,” he rhymed as the whirlwind slowly dissipated with their descent, releasing her after making sure she touched the ground.

Even his voice was a melodious symphony.

“Thank you.”

It almost sounded like a whisper for how enchanted she still was with him there.

“This part of the mountain is teeming with hilichurls,” he apprised, placing a hand on his hip. “I would say that the choice of landing location was not the wisest.”

“Oh, well,” she blinked, slipping her VR into the bag. “I didn't have much of a... choice.”

Brow wrinkled and perplexity were putting it mildly after rewinding in her mind those two specific words said by him.

Had she misheard? Landing location?

She raised her head and observed his expression.

The sides of his mouth upward, eyes sparkling, a gleam in them that she did not know how to interpret.

However, she hoped it was not what she was imagining.

He hummed, casting a brief glance around as he nodded his head.

After that he pulled his attention back to her.

“Then you should have better understood the functionality of that device before operating it, you would have avoided this little unwanted trip.”

Yinuo almost choked on her own saliva, eyes widening in shock.

Venti just chuckled and lifted his arm down to his side before snapping his fingers.

She couldn’t think straight, “Wait, what…?!”

And another whirlwind blocked her vision, making her shield her face with her hands because of how strong it was. The next moment it vanished and she lowered her arms, having the city of Mondstadt before her, the bridge an invitation to enter it.

Had she just been teleported with the power of Venti here?

Venti stretched out his arms wide by both sides, the same twinkle she had noticed moments before never disappearing, “Welcome to Teyvat, and welcome to Mondstadt, outsider.”

Her mouth was practically falling off and a soft squeal escaped from it.

She might have even cried, since she had been discovered by one of the archons.

She hated it when what she assumed turned out to be true.

Instinctively, her hands drifted to the bag storing the VR, “Oh, shit.”

Venti let out a whistle, enjoying her reaction.

He took a few steps to reach her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, their faces inches apart, “Apparently someone here needs a couple of drinks to release tension. I know just the place for that!”

“Wait, drinks? As in alcohol?” Glancing up at the sky, seeing how it was still in the prime of its solar hours, she shook her head several times, even more dumbfounded by the request, “But it’s morning!”

“It’s never enough.”

She looked at him again, deadpan this time.

She had really forgotten he was the alcoholic Anemo Archon and bard.

Any place with a drinking opportunity was heaven for him. He seemed obsessed with pushing his brain into total oblivion – even though he could not get drunk.

And seeing him almost binge drinking was not on her bucket list.

She was aware that she was showing a worried and slightly nauseated expression as they sat at the tavern table with Venti guzzling another cup of liquor all in one go and her first drink instead still untouched in her hands.

“Where does all that go... I wonder,” she mumbled before taking a sip. “How did you know I was there?”

He placed the cup on the table, his elbow on the surface of it and his hand under his chin, “I could sense your presence.”

Yinuo breathed in, “That means you had also sensed my friend’s when she came here. Am I right?”

“You are, and I still do.”

A glint of hope lit up in her as she placed her drink on the table, hands still around it, “If you still do, can you even tell me where she is?”

“Although I can sense her, I am unable to reveal her exact whereabouts to you,” he denied with a tilt of his head to the side and Yinuo deflated like a pierced balloon. “Amplifying my senses did not assist the same. My involvement is allowed up to a certain point.” He stared at his empty cup, “My theory was solidified when I tried to slightly channel my power into you to suppress you.”

She stiffened, her eyes wide at the confession said so bluntly, “You did what? To whom?!”

Suppress? Channeling? There wasn't that ability of his power in the game, they had never included it!

Could there had been additions because of the same world but still with an alternate reality? Like understanding the language of Mondstadt when she should not even speak it and have a conversation with the Archon of the region itself?

An advantage of those who created the game? The wonders of a parallel world?

He focused his attention back on her, “You can't blame me. A foreign presence making herself known without warning. Understanding whether she is a threat or not to my region is my duty as an Archon.”

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose, reluctantly aware that his reasoning didn’t make a dent, “Yeah. Fair enough.”

“But...” He raised his finger and pointed it at her a few seconds later, “The closer I get to you, the greater the perception of you.”

“Almost like a radar,” she pondered this information, a pensive look on her face, her eyes fixed on an unspecified point in front of her. "If you follow the possible direction that is released by that feeling, you can reach the target. So the farther it is, the less you know where it is.” She looked up at him, “That's why you didn't mobilize to unearth the source of that foreign energy: she wasn't in your sensory field. It was too faint, so the thought that she was in the terrorium of another Archon was spontaneous. And if she had in any way undermined the tranquility of Teyvat, you Archons would have joined force together to bring her down.”

Silence took over after her words, Yinuo's determined and confident expression filling Venti's heart with a feeling of pride and amusement at seeing her so buoyant at having guessed the workings of his power.

The ends of his mouth widened into a smile to confirm her theory, “Bingo!”

She smiled back, taking a long sip of her drink.

“Now let's hear, what leads two foreign individuals here?”

She let out a sigh, the cup in her hands, “Where we come from, the technology has advanced so far that we can travel through time – under strict agreement of our government – and make games realistic and experience them firsthand.” And there was a gesture of her chin toward her bag on the table, “The device in there is a VR, it precisely allows you to be a participant just by plugging it into the game you decide.” She resumed looking at him, “You have the same names, backstories, cities, everything from the game that we created. We wanted to make it more enjoyable by adding the realistic experience. It was all being tested, but something went wrong. Apparently we created an alternate world – yours – but it is connected to our game in some way. Events were intertwined that were not supposed to exist. As a result, Shi Han decided to come here to find the binder of the two worlds, but she never returned.” Sadness could be seen in her eyes. “I just want to take her home.”

Venti didn't say anything, he was just observing her.

“I know you don't believe me, yet I have no motive to lie. A lie like this is bound to be considered heresy or of a person who is completely out of her mind. And I'm not.”

Venti chuckled, “It's a deal then.”

“What?” she let out almost instantly, caught off guard, and he shrugged.

“You just want to find your friend. My aid can facilitate the task.”

“I thought you wouldn't believe my explanation.”

“There are many things we don't see, but it doesn't mean they're not there, outsider.”

He emphasized the last word and Yinuo gave him a half-smile. Relief washed over her, nerves relaxing.

He got up, hands placed on the table, “Time to travel, for we need a search to unravel.”

Her lips parted in a smile that showed all her teeth, dimples on both sides appeared, her cheeks had taken on a slightly scarlet hue, and her eyes had become gleaming gems under the tavern light.

Venti couldn’t help but gawk affected.

“A heartfelt thank you.” She inhaled, full of hope. She also stood up, hand held out for a handshake, which he accepted. “Nice to meet you, I’m Wang Yinuo. So to start with, I need a piece of paper and a charcoal.”

If someone had told her that one day she would end up in her own game, looking for her best friend, and that she would get help from her favorite character to do so, she would surely have laughed in their face.

Even with all their futuristic living, the possibility of it happening would never have crossed anyone's mind.

To have made such a discovery was to reach the apex of technological advancement. It did, however, entail risks that she did not want to wish anyone to endure.

Like drawing the face of a loved one who disappeared from your world and chained in another to show it to the inhabitants of the Teyvat regions.

The charcoal was light on the paper for the finishing touches of the portrait, the scenery around them no longer a tavern but the grass and trees of the nearby mountains, sitting on a small ledge of rocks and birds chirping close by.

She could detect Venti's attentive gaze on what she was doing, probably following the way her hand added something and almost gave life to the face on the paper.

Shi Han would do the same thing. She would say that the way she was immersed in shaping her fantasy was magic. And shewould reply that it was just love for her talent put into action.

“It’s so realistic that it almost seems to move. Some would say you used magic to make it so.”

It had been said lightly, but the admiration and wonder she had picked up from his voice caused a tender smile to grace her face.

It was also a victory, for also Venti, the Anemo Archon himself, had been struck by her magic.

“I love my art, and I want it to convey the same feeling to others.” Her hand stopped and she inspected her handiwork, “After all, I am also responsible for the character designs of our game,” Her gaze drifted to him, “and you were my first masterpiece. My studio has all the walls covered by your drawings. I wished for you to be perfect. And here you are, in all your glory.”

Venti was once again dazzled by the expressive and sincere way in which she had addressed him, the discovery that he was her first creation an added touch to the event.

He felt as if he were afflicted by a spell of bewitchment.

A giggle came out of him, “As my token of appreciation, then,” he began, standing up and extending a hand toward her, “this creation will lead you to find less eye-catching clothes before we set out.”

She accepted the offer and grasped his hand, holding the paper and charcoal with the other free, now finding herself face to face as she gave him a confused look.

“Set out? Aren't you going to use one of your whirlwinds to make it quicker?”

“I never said the journey would be easy.”

She blinked, brows frowning in annoyance, “You ugly piece of-“

“Oplà!”

A shriek came out spontaneously as the wind lifted her into the air, remaining anchored only by his hand that had never left hers.

Yinuo tried not to lose patience in witnessing his amused look once again.

“I'm seriously beginning to think you enjoy annoying me!” she raised her tone of voice to be heard over the sound of the wind.

“Oh,” he tilted his head to the side, almost pouting, “What thoughts lead you to such a conclusion?”

“Put me down right now, you brat!”

He flashed her a mischievous smirk, carrying out her order.

In fact, in the days of traveling that followed, any situation was appropriate to pull even unkind words out of her mouth.

She was right: he had fun annoying her.

A sudden gust of wind while she was showing the drawing around, looking over her shoulder at the portrait and giving her quick glances, causing her to lose her balance with a slight movement of his finger to raise some breeze at foot level.

Many actions also led her to chase him – when no one was around so as not to disturb or attract attention – but he ended up cheating by misusing his powers to look down on her from above in the air.

However, he had never lost sight of their goal.

There was no increase in her friend's presence; it was faint, too far away. That detail had not gone unnoticed that was causing sadness and silent moments from the young woman.

His little squabbles were also a way to distract her, and Yinuo apparently noticed.

“Thank you,” she spoke beside him after moments of stillness as she warmed her hands before the campfire, earning his focus. “I know you're doing all these things to cheer me up. I haven't been the best travel companion,” she exhaled, “but Shi Han is an important part of my life, and I can't stay completely calm when it comes to her.”

“You do love her.”

“Oh, you don’t know how much I do…” The tenderness with which she had confirmed it was tangible. “First meeting at the age of sixteen. Very young and full of dreams. Not that it is so different now,” she recounted as she peered at the scarlet flames. “My drawing had flown and she had taken it. Her words were 'Wow! This is magnificent! You are a marvel!' And we had clicked right away. Soon after that Maylin and Ren had joined. They too were very taken with my drawings. They had told me, ‘You should show them to everyone! It's really a waste to leave them for your eyes only!’ Since then we experienced ups and downs to achieve our goal of bringing our creations to light, we had never given up. And we were rewarded…” Her eyes flicked up at him, showing a longing smile. “With your company, our game… and perhaps you, and this world.”

She darted a quick glance around before pulling him back into her sight and letting the sounds of nature accompany the hush that descended upon them.

The crickets chirping, the fire crackling, and its light dancing in her eyes as it played dark and bright hues on her skin.

She was glowing even during the night.

He felt like he was on fire, his body temperature had suddenly risen.

A rumble. Slow, low. Then it quickened.

The more the eyes saw, the faster the heart pumped.

It sang pleasant and modest, impatience taking hold in the long run; narrating a desire in the grip of the beginning. 

Oh, what a melody...

"But next time, please, let's look for an inn!"

Her plea snapped that string of notes firmly tied to him by the heart.

Venti scanned the area, finding the mountainous dragonspine covered in white mantle behind them, a couple of meters away, and the green below them, as a contrast, a delightful night view.

He tilted his head, “What problem can this place cause?”

“I need a bed, not just a blanket and a hard ground. And a bath to relax.”

“Oh,” a playuful grin tugged at his lips as he leaned sideways toward her, “that's where this stench is coming from.”

Her mouth almost fell off and she gave him a gentle push with the palm of her hand, laughing together.

Her friends’ eyes shone ecstatically at the drawing they saw on the coffee table, making her heart flutter, refugees in her room for outside opinion about the character she had in mind.

“It's beautiful!” exclaimed Maylin.

“I love it!” added Shi Han.

“What's the name?” Ren asked.

The sides of her lips went upward, sitting on her heels on the floor with her finger pointed at the figure of interest.

She inhaled, filled with joy, “Guys... this is Venti.”

He opened his eyes wide after closing them for a few moments, arms folded.

It was a cocoon of cozy and soothing warmth that was starting to embrace his heart and mind.

And unintended reaction to her proximity.

Witty, affable, a beauty.

And it had become an unconditional reflex to follow any action, observe any expression, and listen to Yinuo's every word.

She could affect your mood and cause a whirlwind of emotions.

Sometimes he believed he was extremely childish in the way he behaved with her, a total opposite person.

He couldn’t resist.

And he was not the only one to face this effect.

Tourists, locals, travelers; anyone who spent even a modicum of time with Yinuo did not want to part ways.

An infectious positivity.

So contagious that he yearned to drag her away from anyone and hide her in an isolated place.

And when he saw her stoop down to pick up the ball that had rolled at her feet, giving it back to its little rightful owner with a sweet smile, he did.

Taking her by the hand, he had her get up and began walking through the streets of the city of Inazuma on which they had set foot a little earlier.

Yinuo frowned slightly, puzzled by his behaviour, “What’s the matter? Have you sensed her? Is she here?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“So where are going?” She stared at the back of his head.

“In search of an inn,” he explained, eyes focused on a stall to their right selling flowers. The sides of his lips turned upward, “The sun will set in a few hours, and I do recall by now someone's need for more than a blanket and hard ground.”

“Oh, right. But do you think we will meet the Electro Archon?”

“Her in person or the puppet?”

“Both? I mean, we're in her territory.”

“Don’t fret. You are no threat," he reminded her, the fingers of his free hand reaching into the small mora pouch at his hip to pull out a few coins, “You are with me. She won't take you down, I won't let her.”

He had stopped at the stall, pointed to a red rose and put pennies on the counter while the woman behind it reached for the desired object, Yinuo still not paying attention to what he was doing.

“Oh. That… escalated quickly.”

Having it now between his fingers, he spun around and offered it to Yinuo, catching her off guard. She shifted her gaze between him and the rose, another glance at him before blinking and letting out a soft chuckle.

“To what do I owe this kind gift?” She smiled, her fingertips gently touching its stem as she held the petals under her nose to smell its fragrance.

“Couldn't it be a simple gift?”

“Is it?” His thumb brushed the back of her hand still joined with his, eyeing how the petals now caressed her lips. “It's not a trick to then do something to annoy me, right?”

His gaze flicked up to her and shook his head, “A simple, innocent gift.”

“I’m not buying it.”

“Ah, busted!” He upraised their linked hands, “My reward is to stay like this until we find an inn.”

“It’s a rather unxpected request,” she blinked. “Romantic and clingy? I never noted this feature on your character profile. This world really has something more.” she mumbled to herself, confused, still being heard by the person in question.

He moved a little closer, “You learn new things every day, as in a workday.”

She scrunched up her nose.

“If you’re searching for a inn to stay overnight,” the stall woman interjected, her right arm out to the side to point on a distant spot, “there’s one a few steps away from here, to the right.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Yinuo expressed her thanks with a bow of her head and a smile.

The lady smiled back, “No problem. Helping a lovely couple like you is a pleasure.”

Yinuo tried not to chuckle at the joke as she dragged along a Venti who was definitely piqued by those words.

“By the looks of it, we give the impression of a couple in love, eh?”

“It seems so,” she couldn’t help but laugh.

He pressed himself closer to her, the arms of their intertwined hands against each other, “Not a bad idea.”

She snorted, amused, “Quite funny, Venti.”

This time, Venti blinked, more than once, blindsided by his human name being called for the first time.

Barbatos, Anemo Archon, but never Venti.

If Barbatos sounded sweet and gentle, Venti was a breath of fresh air, fragrant and entrancing.

His heart was whispering impatiently.

An electrical change in the air around them was sensed, and he shifted his gaze ahead to one of the buildings' rooftops.

Her purple eyes were watching them, especially Yinuo. Cautious, ready in defense, but not with her weapon in view.

She was aware that the outsider was no real danger.

Her attention shifted, and there was an insight in that stare exchanged between them.

Venti smiled, looking away as he kept walking with Yinuo, who was engrossed in rambling about Inazuma's beauty.

With a light friction of electricity, creating an almost imperceptible lightning bolt, Raiden Ei vanished.

“Your obsession with tragic stories worries me a little, you know?” confessed her best friend, lying on the sofa in her study.

Yinuo frowned slightly as she carried on drawing on her drawing board, “It's not an obsession, Shi Han, it's a strategy.”

“For what?”

She stood up, taking what was necessary to hang the paper on the wall. After that she began to look for a blank spot.

“Often, pain and despair create another self in you,” she explained, taking the scissors and clear tape. “One that is less vulnerable, more likely to survive and not lose heart.” The paper was attached and she stood staring at yet another drawings of Venti with a sweet smile, “I want to make them stronger,” she looked at Shi Han, “so they don't die inside.”

His hand was quick in grasping what had rested on his forehead, hearing a startled gasp.

His eyes opened and was graced by Yinuo’s face looking down at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. There was an earthworm walking on your forehead and I wanted to remove it without scaring you.”

Taking a better look, what he had caught was her wrist and between her fingers that little being wriggling to free itself.

“Nah, my fault.”

He let go of his grip and sat down on the ground on which he had previously been lying, observing the city of Liyue below them.

Legs outstreched, upper body slightly backward, arms at both sides to support him.

“You seemed to be dreaming of something beautiful: you were smiling,” she pointed out as she let go of the earthworm and then brought her knees to her chest to rest her forearms on them.

Venti eyed her. The breeze tousled her hair, her eyes were curious and her smile kind.

As she of those dreams.

Dreams that pictured flashes of the lives of the creators of this world, especially Yinuo.

Days in which he witnessed in his sleep her difficulties, the joys of success, the warmth of her friends' company, her love for the game, for those in it, her love for him.

Her favorite one.

His heart was in the searing flames of that strong feeling of belonging and being cherished.

“I would say so. Something wonderful.”

“I'm glad at least one of us is in a good mood. I can't complain much though, since I have the chance to enjoy these scenarios live. An impossible thing.” She chuckled, ”You said you sense her presence slightly stronger, that means she is not here.” She let out a long sigh, her empty gaze now fixed in front of her, “We checked Mondstatd, Inazuma, Liyue. Any information about her would have been more helpful to us, but no one has seen her. How is this possible? It means she has not passed through these regions and the only option is Sumeru.”

“Fontaine, Natlan, or Snezhnaya.”

The rapid way her head snapped back to him made the Archon think he saw it coming off.

“What?! There are the regions yet to come out in the game itself?!” she had almost yelled in sheer bewilderment. “This world is similar but not identical indeed. How many different things are there that I have yet to discover?”

She blinked a few times, setting her gaze back on the city as Venti shrugged, almost laughing at her reaction.

Until he saw her squinting her eyes to get a better look at something that had caught her attention – better to say someone.

“I could be wrong, after all, this little mountain is very high and quite far away. The sun is even setting. But...” her finger pinpointed what she wanted to show, “I see someone dressed in black and brown. That's Zhongli, isn't it?”

Venti followed the lead, and there was the figure mentioned – whose aura he had already detected but decided to ignore – walking through the center of the town.

“He probably knows I’m here. You said I'm not a threat after making sure of that. So how would he know? I'm quite surprised also that I didn't even catch a glimpse of the Electro Archon.”

He got to his feet and put a hand on his hip, looking down at her, “I told you I wouldn't let anyone tear you down, didn’t I?”

“So you're going to talk to him?” she was quite confused. “When did you do it before with Beelzebub instead? And it wouldn't hurt to meet with them either, they might even help us!”

“Aw, am I not enough for you?” he pretended to sulk.

Yinuo huffed, smiling, “You're getting more clingy, I see. Since you're on the way, bring one- no!” she put up the index and middle fingers, “Four bottles of the strongest alcohol here! Need to get drunk and stargazing.” She urged him with a movement of her hand, “Chop, chop!”

“At your service, my lady.”

There it was with a slight bow before he disappeared, carried away by the wind, leaving Yinuo as she shook his head.

And the order had been carried out, quickly and serenely, before he ran into that someone he had given no thought to outside the store.

Arms crossed, amber eyes serious, thoughts expressed like an open book on his face.

Venti tilted his head to the side.

Interest in who was an anomaly was dutiful, an obligation, but also a curiosity.

A force that drew them to want to know more than the mere possibility of a loose cannon ready to explode.

A strange event and impossible to stop.

Did the fact that the creator herself was here give vital nymph for deep connection? It could have been.

A strong connection, but with hiccups because of hierarchy. He could not hurt her, not even a scratch, if it was with the intention of making her disappear. Yet he could interact and involve her.

The fact that he was probably not the only one to feel this, though, did not sit well with him at all.

He moved one step, then another, until he walked past him with a smile gracing his face and a few words of reassurance

“Don't fret, don't fret, for she's not a threat.”

It was annoying.

A reddish-colored glint suddenly appeared in the Anemo Archon's eyes, the smile now slightly sinister, but completely unaware of the change.

Except for Zhongli, who sensed the slight switch in his aura before perceiving its normal course again, being puzzled by it.

However, he did not follow him.

Venti expected that, more so when he was told that everything was under control and there was already an Archon to take care of the situation.

Having additional Archons following a case was not always a good outcome.

In that one, Venti didn’t want anybody with them.

“Finally!” Yinuo cheered as she took two of the bottles.

“Will I really see you drunk?”

“Oh, sweetheart…” her gaze flicked up at him with a smirk, unaware of the unwitting somersault of the Archon's heart at that endearment. “Totally wasted!”

She was of her word.

After lighting the fire, they had begun drinking amid the notes of Venti’s lyre and Yinuo dancing and spinning around.

She seemed to be in a world of her own, laughing now and then and raising her bottle to the sky, even singing words of a language he did not understand.

It was an undearing sight.

“Dance with me! Use the wind to make the lyre play!” she slurred with little balance in her legs, extending her free hand to get him up.

A gasp of surprise escaped her mouth as soon as she felt herself give way, but with a movement of his hand the wind let her down slowly on the ground, ending face-first on his chest.

She laughed out loud, the sound muffled by the fabric on which she had fallen. She settled better beside him with his help, taking a long breath to calm herself.

“Sorry, i’m so clumsy!”

“Nah. Just wasted.”

She clicked her tongue, index finger and thumb simulating a gun and a gunshot with a raise of her eyebrows, “You’re right!” She rocked from side to side, her cheeks red and her gaze fixed on the starry sky. “I’m so over the moon and so miserable!”

“Oh, really?” he placed his instrument on his other side. “A very big contrast of emotions, don’t you think so?”

“Miserable because I can’t still find my fest friend,” she pointed at herself, “but I’m so overjoyed I can see this!” the hand with the bottle made a wide gesture toward their surroundings before directing itself at him, “I can see you! Are you even real? Is this all a dream?” She covered her mouth with her free hand, almost like a maniac, “I’m having a crisis!”

“I’m real enough, you can touch me, it’s not a bluff.” He tilted his head.

She did so, fingers gingerly grasping a cheek as if it were porcelain before resting her palm on it, feeling its warmth.

The aqua green of his irises was colorful under the firelight, a sea so clear and pure she could reflect in it.

And she smiled, teeth exposed. A candid one, highlighted even more by her intoxicated state. Her eyes almost half-closed and dimples on the sides of her lips as the final work.

He was staggered, mind empty, mouth agape.

“To witness your creations become real is something magical. And in such a majestic sort of way. You are perfection. This world is perfection.” She spoke slowly, slightly more normal, as if to etch those words into her memory.

His reaction was spontaneous.

“Why don't you stay here then?”

Yinuohummed, taking a sip from the bottle, her back going slightly backward from her lack of balance, “Sounds interesting, but I can't. I can visit, though! I have the VR!” the hand with the bottle emphasized the last part by pointing at the object of interest in the bag spread out on the ground in front of them. “But why do you ask? I thought you would hate me.”

She frowned, mystified, her hand still on his cheek.

“Why should I?”

“Because your story is filled with death, loneliness, mourning,” she explained, sadness now present on her face, setting the bottle down and now covering his other cheek with that hand. “You've had a tough past. Doesn't meeting the one who practically ruined your life make you furious? Vengeful?”

They did not utter a word after that, only the crackling of fire could be heard.

Her logic had no errors. If a fictional character found out that he was such, told by the same person who gave him form, he would either have a breakdown, a crisis of existence, or not believe it.

He, now that he was paying attention, had not had one of those reaction, perhaps distrust, but nothing more.

In fact, it was not normal. A hunch that it was true because, apparently, they were connected? Sixth sense between fictional character and creator?

She was not a bad person; she was the sweetest, kindest, gentlest person he had had the pleasure of having in his life.

He had seen it.

“I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his cheeks, bringing her face closer to his. “I have no excuses, but I didn’t do that to harm you. I just wanted to-“

“Strengthening my personality and making me more powerful.”

A spontaneous smile broke out in his eyes wide with amazement.

“How do you know?”

“I saw it. In my dreams.”

“That can happen too?! It's creepy and cool at the same time!”

Venti chuckled.

“Thank you for making me stronger.”

Yinuo leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. And he almost stiffened at such unexpected closeness.

“And I am ecstatic to have made you stronger. I hope it's the same for others.”

“I’m sure it is.” His was a whisper, his gaze fixed on her.

A few moments later, he saw her slowly descend to the side, thus resting her head in the crook of his neck, her breathing steady and deep.

She had fallen asleep.

Instead, his heart sang insistently among those same notes that had become more numerous and endless.

He exhaled deeply, remaining silent until a self-conscious giggle came out of him restlessly.

He looked down at Yinuo, his hand trailing through her hair for gentle caresses.

The same reddish sparkle emerged for a fraction of a millisecond in his eyes.

“This is getting dangerous, my darling.”

She did not have to know though. That night of confessions she had even forgotten was a plus.

Sumeru was the final destination, as Shi Han's presence had increased in intensity. She was around them now, they just had to chase her.

Yinuo would continue the end of the adventure in ignorance, confident that she would find her best friend and they would return to their homeland together.

She would have touched the sky with one finger.

Who was he to disintegrate an unreachable dream?

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” she asked him as she looked around, having arrived in Sumeru City. “You said it's more persistent here in the city, right?”

“I did say that.” He rested a hand on his hip.

She began to take deep breaths, nervousness taking over as her heart did not stop those accelerated beats.

She would finally see Shi Han again! She was going to embrace her, holding her so tightly that she would run out of air!

She felt her eyes glaze over and her throat dry as she scanned every single face looking for her's.

“Where are you, Shi Han? Where are you?” she whispered anxiously.

A pressure on her shoulder made her turn and Venti tightened his grip on it to calm her.

A grin tugged at his lips and raised his other arm, gaze and finger on a spot in the distance.

She followed the direction and was assailed by relief and happiness.

People were passing by, almost hiding her, but she would have recognized her among a thousand ones.

Shi Han was there walking out of a tavern, dressed in Sumeru's clothes, and a neutral expression.

Without a second thought she began to run, leaving Venti alone to witness the scene.

His smile grew wider as he sensed another aura similar to his, but he did not give her the slightest attention.

“Is this was you really want?” the Dendro Archon inquired by his side, receiving no reply. “To deprive her of her freedom? To go against that of which you are the very embodiment?”

“Are you threatening me?”

His gaze was on her, who remained mute at the dominance and madness channeled by his eyes, which had begun to have a mixture of acqua green and red.

She saw him shift his attention behind her and did the same, noticing Hikaru searching the crowd for the one he had imprisoned in a world where she did not belong.

The Anemo Archon walked past her, heading toward the Wanderer.

“Hello there!” Venti called him, and Hikaru stared at him diffidently. “Would you like a little mutually beneficial favor?” Hikaru raised an eyebrow, arms folded. “It's about your other half. And mine.”

This led Hikaru's gaze to darken.

Carefully observing the place before reporting to Yinuo where the person she was looking for was, and noticing the young man in front of him kissing that young woman before parting, had been a brilliant idea.

Oh, what a beautiful melody was coming out! 

To which Nahida could do nothing but watch helplessly.

“This... is a nefarious tragedy.”

For Shi Han and the new girl, whom Nahida was aware would never be able to return to their home.

Even if the innocent young woman learned of it, she could have done nothing but be just ecstatic to be in Shi Han's arms – who was shocked and terrified instead – before the misdeed struck her as well.

“I missed you so much! I'm so glad you're okay!” her voice was cracked as she tightened her grip.

“Y-Yinuo...? What are you doing here?!” she detached from her by holding her by the shoulders, trying to keep her tone under her breath before taking her to a less crowded and more hidden place. “I told you guys not to touch that machine!”

Yinuo's face distorted in confusion and sadness, “You disappeared! You never came back! I couldn't just sit on my hands!” She grabbed her bag, bringing it forward to show it to her, “Now with my VR and yours we can-“ The words died in her throat as she noticed that she did not have it with her. “Where is yours? Did you lose it? Did they steal it from you?”

“The Wanderer destroyed it. He knows everything.” she spilled with glossy eyes, leaving her stunned. “Remember when you found me completely distraught?” Yinuo nodded and Shi Han dropped her arms. “The longer we are here, the more what happened intrudes into the minds of those we are closest to. Into their minds,” she referred with a wide gesture of her arm to those who now walked oblivious through the city. “Hikaru started to remember and completely lost his mind, denying me my only way out of this world.”

“How the fuck is this possible?!”

“I don’t fucking know! It just happened!”

“We can find another way.”

“There isn’t,” she contradicted her through clenched teeth.

“With Venti I had no problem at all! He was the one who accompanied me here by sensing your presence! He has no memory of us or anything we did of the game!”

Before Shi Han could retort, a strong whirlwind enveloped Yinuo, who tried desperately not to lose the bag, but it was slipped off smoothly, ending up in the hands of the doer.

Yinuo winced at the appearance of Hikaru.

His eyes were looking at the bag, “That's where you were.”

She took a step back, her body beginning to shake. As a result, Shi Han stretched an arm out to the side, guiding her best friend behind herself.

She exhaled, “Can’t talk with my best friend?”

“Not if that best friend…” his gaze flicked up at them, “… tries to take you away from me.”

Yinuo remained motionless, eyes only seeming to play ping pong because of how many times they fell on Shi Han and Hiraku.

Being a live witness to a character turning into a total possessive, obsessive maniac was not at all on her list of experiences.

Yanderes scared the shit out of her.

“This is a particular shitty situation.”

She voiced her thoughts and the so-called yandere looked daggers at her, causing her mouth to press into a thin line.

“Give her bag back. She’s not staying here. She can’t do shit. We don’t have visions.”

Shi Han was desperate.

She endured his every whim, sweet words, gentle touches. They were like chains to keep her grounded.

An illusory captivity.

She would not put Yinuo through the same, hopelessly locked up here.

At least she had to flee.

He did not look away from the one who had become an obstacle, and that began to agitate her.

Because she knew he would not let her get away with it.

And when she saw him smile – dark, malevolent – she knew there was nothing she could do.

The bag was thrown forcefully to the ground, Yinuo's desperate, distraught scream in his wake as she tried to run up to him to stop his actions, but was blocked by her. His foot striking several times to disintegrate the object inside.

“You piece of shit! You fucking maniac!”

Yinuo's insults slid like butter, not even a little nicked.

With a motion of his hand he created another vortex that separated the two in the air, Shi Han ending up with his arms wrapped around her waist while Yinuo between Venti's.

When Shi Han looked up, before the two vanished in a gust of wind, she heard her best friend's shriek of denial, but what stayed engraved in her mind was the Anemo Archon's cheeky smile and a glimpse of the irises that had a hint of scarlet.

She could hear her breathing and her heartbeat. Her lower lip trembled.

That son of a bitch had snitched where they had been hiding by following their presence and having her jailer help him.

“Let’s go home, mmh?” Hikaru whispered in her ear.

Yinuo was deadly wrong.

Venti knew more than she imagined.

And he was certainly basking in his success, holding tightly to himself a Yinuo with tears running down her cheeks

“I don’t undestand what is happening!” she held up her head with her hands. “I- We can’t go back! We’re trapped!”

Venti turned her around to face him, his thumbs clearing her trails of tears, his hands cupping her face.

“It's all right. You are not alone. I'm here with you.” He received no response except one confused look. “What is it?”

“Your eyes...” she frowned, “They're almost red.”

“Is that so?”

“You don't have red eyes.”

It was then that she noticed the scenery filled with trees and greenery.

She moved away from him, taking a look around, thus causing his hands to hover midair before bringing his arms back to his sides slowly.

“Why are we in Mondstadt?” she asked him restlessly, shifting her gaze back to him. “Why did you not help us?” She began to gesticulate, “You’re an Archon: you might as well have put him in his place and teleported Shi Han here too.”

A longer look was all she needed to connect the dots. To connect that it was deliberate.

The tilt of his head and the guileless smile made it all the more revolting.

“You didn’t tell him to destroy my VR, did you?”

Venti hummed, “Yes?” a tilt of his head to the other side. “No?” another one to the other. “Maybe so?” he adjusted his head.

“Why?” she almost sobbed. “You had no reason to do that.”

“I have every reason,” he moved one step forward, causing her to move one step back. “You stir up every emotion in me.” Another step forward and another backward. “And I can’t let you go.” His hand rose, palm facing her only to move quickly toward him and create enough wind to push her off her feet and into his arms as she let out a scream. “I cannot let go of the one who made me stronger.”

Reality sank in, recalling Shi Han's words about memories.

Terror now invaded her body, and the abyss pulled her down as she witnessed those shining teal eyes dissolve into an almost dark red color.

She shook her head in disbelief.

She was even more shaken when his twin braids came to the same end.

It had taken on the contrast of aqua green.

And this appearance reminded her of corrupted Venti.

It was a concept, fan theories! It shouldn't be here!

This world was more dangerous than it seemed.

If his is indeed corruption, it is a consequence of his current actions. He was destroying himself by going against his own ideals, but he didn't care.

She knew he didn't care because corruption was also taking over his body in the form of blood-red lines that looked like prominent veins on his neck.

He had warped into a dangerous obsessive Archon that she could never oppose.

Even if she wanted to break free, she was branded for life by his sixth perceptive sense of her, the link between creation and creator.

Venti moved a hand to the back of her neck before kissing her. He bit her lip, making her gasp and giving access to her mouth.

His tongue caressed hers, confident, bold, tangling them together before letting go, nibbling at her lips and giving her a gentle peck to let her breath.

He smiled.

She lost hope.

An insistent perception, reinforced now by his control over her and what she made him feel.

An unwanted perception that had cost her her life and the harmony of it.

Not only hers, but also those on the other side, gloomy and hurting as they watched that infernal machine in Shi Han's studio, having gone through days of hell after the disappearance of another one of their close friends ended up on the news.

Yinuo's parents went to them, demanding an explanation, if they knew where he was. But, as they had answered Shi Han's parents, they said they did not know.

What could they have said? That they had ended up somewhere in the game? And after that? Involve the authorities who would bring the S.T.C.C.O with them?

What if it got worse? If it became a political issue? If they had used it for personal gain? There were too many issues that I didn't know how to handle.

One thing was certain: they should not have started this virtual project.

“That thing is cursed.” Maylin sobbed, a hand covering her mouth. “What are we gonna do now?”

“We can’t do nothing.” Ren grudgedly admitted, giving her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder to try to comfort her. “If we do, it’s going to take us too. We can only lock this room. And wait.”

They did, but in vain.

[dranozadystuff]

INTRODUCTION:

I lost my mind and made (still in progress) a full-blown AU. What started as a "what if" spiraled into a sprawling universe where Team Galactic and Team Plasma never existed — because something far colder took their place. Team Plazmara is what happens when convergence replaces control, and ideology becomes obsession. This AU centers around Cytheus, a villain who doesn't seek power or purity, but singularity: the collapse of all realities into one flawless, frozen equation.

"Giratina's future"

I see the veil between worlds decay

I see skies that no light can breach

I see the truths you stripped away

I see the end you dare to teach

The balance once was held in silence

Dreams and wonder, born then gone

But now you conjure cursed defiance

And still you ask what you've done wrong

Whatever fate once meant

All the threads you chose to tear

Because of you, Cytheus, now —

The future is a blank, cold stare

OVERVIEW:

Plazmara is a sprawling, multi-regional syndicate operating across Sinnoh and Unova. The organization emerged as an entirely new power forged from the shadows of what could have been. Its enigmatic leader, Cytheus, rose not from the ruins of prior ideologies, but as the originator of an entirely distinct doctrine — one obsessed with dimensional convergence, psychological manipulation, and control over reality itself.

Plazmara’s influence stretches from the frozen spires of Snowpoint to the decaying edges of Unova’s Desert Resort. They operate in secret laboratories, subterranean fortresses, and corrupted ruins where forgotten legacies of ancient Pokémon intertwine with hypermodern Wormhole technology. They are not seen in the open — they are felt, feared, and predicted like a dark storm on the horizon.

STRUCTURE:

Plazmara is divided into precise strata:

The Architect (Cytheus):

— Supreme leader and founder. Seeker of convergence. Manipulator of Giratina and Kyurem.

The Vessels (Hekara, Arvis, Caeli):

— His closest original disciples — each governs strategic branches of knowledge, war, and psychological manipulation. All were born of Sinnoh or Unova.

The Choir (Anthea & Concordia):

— Once orphans, now mouthpieces of calm philosophical doctrine. They serve both as messengers and guardians of N, whom they helped raise alongside Cytheus.

The Cipher (Colress):

— Genius scientist obsessed with understanding the link between willpower and control. Though not entirely loyal, he remains invaluable for his research.

The Voice (N):

— A creation of purpose. Cytheus did not build N to lead, but to be the mirror that others see hope in. Raised to walk the thin line between control and compassion, N is a living contradiction — and a test subject.

FOUNDING AND POWER BASE:

In the wake of a shattered ideology-less world, Cytheus conquered Sinnoh with unrelenting strategic brilliance. There were no Galactic schemes to compete against, no Plasma uprisings to distort morality — only cold silence, untapped myth, and Giratina’s broken whispers. Through a ruthless campaign of distortion, suppression, and philosophical seduction, Cytheus obtained partial dominion over Giratina, the Renegade Pokémon.

This dominion was incomplete — and dangerous. Though Cytheus held Giratina’s leash, it often snarled, bit, and infected his very psyche. His victory over Sinnoh brought power, but also dreams that rot, shifting dimensions, and fractured identity.

From there, Plazmara spread into Unova, capitalizing on ideological vacuums and fractured regional unity. Unlike past villain teams, Plazmara does not recruit with bombast or terror — they lure with meaning, survival, and truth beyond the veil. Their ranks are filled with scientists, orphans, zealots, and broken geniuses.

Cytheus’s ultimate goal is The Convergence — a unification of fractured timelines and realities through the manipulation of Ultra Wormhole technology and distortion energy. To him, all versions of reality are failures without structure. Without convergence, there is only chaotic divergence, a garden of universes overrun with weeds.

But travel between dimensions is not elegant. It is a violent bleeding of one reality into another. Cytheus’s early experiments — especially using Giratina’s corrupted energy — left entire sectors of space mangled, time loops bleeding into themselves, and living minds rewritten by the trauma of the void.

Even now, Cytheus suffers the cost. Giratina speaks to him in ways no one else hears — not in words, but in images, screams, and reflections of alternate selves. He wears the mask of calm doctrine, but beneath it lies friction, madness, and absolutist hunger.

Cytheus has seen them all. Through cursed rifts and dimensional fractures, with Giratina as both guide and tormentor, he wandered the shattered edges of existence — worlds born of villainy and ego, timelines abandoned by balance. He stood in the ruins of Lysandre’s “beautiful world". He walked the sunken corridors of Archie’s flooded future and the scorched deserts of Maxie’s overheated one. He lingered in the sterile silence of Cyrus’s emotionless void, met the mad sermons of Ghetsis’s liberated anarchy, and stood face to face with Giovanni’s empire — a world meticulously ruled with an iron economy of fear. Even Lusamine, warped by obsession, twisted timelines into playthings for her love-starved delusions. And in every realm, Cytheus felt nothing but confirmation. To him, these victories were not triumphs, but proofs of concept — of how divergence leads to decay, how personal ambition, unchecked idealism, or broken hearts crack the fabric of reality itself. He saw not villains, but failed variables. Not rivals, but cautionary equations. They played with power and called it vision. Cytheus does not play. He calculates.

[niranjandotus]

Top Ukrainian female Scientists, Doctors, Mathematicans, Economists, Artists, Athletes, Leaders, Astronauts, Military Leaders, etc.

The Ukrainian mathematician Maryna Viazovska who won Fields Medal — the highest honor for a mathematician.

Selected few famous Ukrainian scientists 

We decided to talk about outstanding Ukrainian women who've changed and continue to change the world of science to show that girls can do anything.

Maryna Viazovska, a mathematician

Ukrainian scientist, doctor of natural sciences. Ukrainian mathematician Maryna Viazovska, who currently works at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, received the Salem Prize 2016, which is extremely prestigious for mathematicians. The commission awarded the prize to Maryna Viazovska for her world-class discovery. Ukrainian solved a problem that scientists have been working on for more than 400 years, i.e. packing spheres in 8-dimensional space, and co-authored the one in 24-dimensional space. Previously, the problem of packing spheres was solved only for spaces with three or fewer dimensions.

Yuliia Bezvershenko, a physicist

Ukrainian scientist in theoretical physics, popularizer of science, public figure, Ph.D. of physic and mathematical sciences, Yuliia Bezvershenko is included in the list of TOP-20 Ukrainian women in STEM for 2018-2019. Yuliia deals with mathematical methods applied to the problems of dynamics of quantum systems in external fields and control of quantum systems. She is convinced and proves that one can practice theoretical physics with passion.

According to Yuliia, at one time she heard an important thing from her mentor: you can be yourself in any field! Therefore, one shouldn't be afraid of stereotypes and prejudices of others.

If you're a girl, a woman, no matter where, no matter how old you are, and your heart is in science, don't be afraid. Go there boldly. After all, nothing will stop a woman, ready to work and conduct scientific discoveries.

Mariia Bailiak, a biologist

Doctor of Biological Sciences, Associate Professor of Biochemistry and Biotechnology in Vasyl Stefanyk Precarpathian National University. Scientist Mariia Bailiak studies biochemistry and researches the influence of various plants and substances on the aging process. Mariia Bailiak's discoveries concern, for instance, the increase of stress resistance and the general condition of living organisms (and therefore, us and you, and it's good news: stress resistance doesn't hurt anyone), and anti-aging substances. Thanks to her intensive work, Mariia is in the Top 10 successful Ukrainian women scientists.

Olha Brovarets, a biophysicist

Ukrainian biophysicist, Doctor of Physic and Mathematical Sciences, winner of the Scopus Awards Ukraine in the nomination "Best team of scientists who achieved significant scientific results without Western collaborations" and the President of Ukraine Award for Young Scientists, and a leading researcher in the Department of Molecular and Quantum Biophysics Institute of Molecular Biology and Genetics of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine. Olha is the youngest doctor habilitatus in Ukraine; she became a doctor at 29. Olha is now 34 years old and she continues to study biophysics: her discoveries give an understanding of the mechanisms of cancer and many other diseases caused by mutations. It was Olha who calculated the pattern of mutations in DNA leading to cancer and many other diseases.

Nana Voitenko, a biologist

Professor, Doctor of Biological Sciences, neurobiologist, head of the department of sensory signaling of the Bohomolets Institute of Physiology of NAS of Ukraine. Nana Voitenko has been researching pain for more than 20 years. What do we know about pain? For most people on Earth, pain is something they'd like to get rid of as soon as possible if they feel it. Nana Voitenko deals with the nature of pain, as it occurs and spreads in the human's central and peripheral nervous systems. In the laboratory, Voitenko and her colleagues managed to develop an experimental treatment that affects only those cells involved in pain syndromes. Besides, Nana Voitenko is actively promoting science: she's a lecturer at the "Days of Science" initiative, was a lecturer at TED-x Kyiv in 2013, and the organizer of the "Week of Knowledge about the Brain." Science is close, and it's accessible to everyone.

Ella Libanova, an economist

Scientist in socioeconomics, demography, and labor economics, academician of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine, Doctor of Economics, Professor, Honored Economist of Ukraine. Ella Libanova is an academician-secretary of the economics department of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine and, by the way, the first and only female member of the presidium of the National Academy of Sciences for 102 years of its work. She teaches social statistics at the Faculty of Economics of the Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv; introduced a method for measuring human development at the region level, used by the State Statistics Service of Ukraine for annual calculations.

Nina Virchenko, a mathematician

Professor of the Department of Mathematical Analysis and Probability Theory, Doctor of Physic and Mathematical Sciences Nina Virchenko is one of the most famous Ukrainian mathematicians. She is the author of more than 500 scientific and methodological works, including 20 books published in Ukrainian, Russian, English, and Japanese. Nina Virchenko is recognized not only in Ukraine but also abroad; she's a member of the Australian, American, Belgian, Edinburgh, London mathematical societies. In the end, it's not surprising, because mathematics knows no boundaries and recognizes all the achievements, wherever you obtain them.

Nina Virchenko's fate wasn't easy: at 18 in 1948, she was sentenced to 10 years in the Gulag camps for preparing a "political conspiracy, revolt" and participating in the "Ukrainian-nationalist gang." Years in the camps didn't stop the future doctor from achieving her dreams. In 1964, she defended her Ph.D. and her Dr. habil. dissertation in Kyiv in 1988.

Nataliia Vynohrad, an epidemiologist

Epidemiologist, professor, doctor of medical sciences, Nataliia Vynohrad manages the Department of Epidemiology of Lviv National Medical University. She's an expert of the World Health Organization in responding to epidemic threats and the Ministry of Health of Ukraine on epidemiology, an adviser to the Ministry of Emergencies of Ukraine on anti-epidemic protection and biosafety. Agree, you can't find a more relevant profession in 2020-2021. Once an ordinary girl from a village in the Khmelnytskyi region, and now the author of 305 scientific papers, and 8 copyright certificates for inventions and patents of Ukraine, proves that nothing is impossible for a girl who knows what she wants.

Nataliia Polonska-Vasylenko, a historian

From the early 20th century until the end of her life in the 1970s, our first heroine studied the history and archeology of Ukraine, both in Ukraine and later in exile in Germany and the Czech Republic. In a historically troublesome time for Ukraine, she became one of the leading representatives of the state school in Ukrainian historiography, that is, she promoted the idea of ​​independence and continuity of the Ukrainian historical process. Nataliia Polonska-Vasylenko is the author of almost 200 scientific works on the history of Zaporizhzhia and Southern Ukraine, which remain relevant to this day.

Valentyna Radzymovska, a biologist

One of the most prominent names in our history is Valentyna Radzymovska, a professor, doctor of medical and physiological sciences, founder of the Ukrainian school of physiologists and biochemists, and a public figure. The Soviet authorities repressed Valentyna Radzymovska for her political activities and participation in the Union for the Liberation of Ukraine in the 1930s. However, it didn't prevent her from becoming the author of more than 60 works on biochemistry, pathophysiology, pediatrics, psychoneurology, physiology, and phthisiology. Like the previous scientist in our article, she left Ukraine in 1945, emigrating first to Germany and then to the United States.

Radzymovska contributed hugely to the study of tuberculosis and its treatment in children.

Nina Morozhenko, a physicist

Although the sun is the closest star to us, it still hides many fascinating mysteries. Ukrainian astronomer, helio physicist, doctor of physic and mathematical sciences, author of 56 scientific works, Nina Morozhenko devoted her entire life to studying the structure of our guide light and the processes taking place on it. After all, everything happening on the Sun affects many areas of human activity. Without studying the sun, it's impossible to understand not only what the future holds for our civilization but also what is happening in space, i.e. on the distant stars the humanity is so eager to reach. Nina Morozhenko's scientific works on solar prominences were the first in the world and gave rise to scientific research by helio physicists from many countries. The Ukrainian researcher's significant contribution to the physics of the sun once again demonstrates that physics isn't a purely "male" science.

[kiwibirbkat]

You can pry Marcy streamer AU from my cold dead hands

Marcy Wu Streamer AU!

Started streaming as a backup while waiting for their webcomic to blow up

When their account gained traction they used it to help advertise their comic

They do both for a living now

They game on it and sometimes do vlog type streams

They does a lot of charity streams (angsty charity week fic anyone???)

Annual subathons

Lives with the girlfriends (Anne and Sasha)

Sleep schedule? Non-existent!

Anne and Sasha are fan favourites even if they do end some streams early to force Marcy to sleep

She does sub only drawing streams for their comics especially after a hiatus

Or they do public drawing streams of intermission episodes

Anne and Sasha sometimes come onto a stream with them

Marcy has a lot of guilt from Amphibia still :(

(And scars)

Not fully disabled but they need a walking aid sometimes and a wheelchair if the pain gets really bad

They still have traces of Darcy her head but they can't control her they just give advice

Or complain that Marcy won't kill anyone

They can't go to Amphibia but they can call/text through dimensions since Anne gave sprig her phone and Polly figured out how to make more

Marcy refuses any type of therapy (they don't think they deserve help)

But she will break down crying in their girlfriend's arms sometimes

She/they (realized she liked they/them pronouns after everyone referred to Darcy as they seeing as they were multiple minds, heavily they leaning)

Anne has a pet cat that looks like Domino and she lives with them

Marcy has that gaming posture (atrocious)

They post all of their VODs on YouTube

Marcy has crocheted all of them plushies of their family in amphibia (Sasha with Percy, Braddock and Grime, Anne with Sprig, Polly and Hop-pop, and Marcy with Olivia and Yunan (and a secret andrius plush that they can't look at most days))

None of them have their powers but they do have traces of energy, which is why Darcy stays in Marcy's head instead of just shutting off

Marcy dyes some of her hair green in reminder of when they had cool anime powers

Also, she's worked a lot of aspects of Amphibia into their comic so they have an excuse to make Amphibia merch

Most of their fans are worried about her because she's always up so late

Marcy speaks Spanish, French, Italian, Chinese, Thai, Portuguese, and Ukrainian and voice over all of their streams in these languages to post them on their separate VOD channels

They're trying to learn more (Greek, German, Russian, ect.)

Because of Darcy and her wit powers they learn easier (super brain)

All of her fans theorize on why them and their girlfriends went missing for like a year seeing as frogvasion has been wiped from the media

The calamity trio know most of the Disney protags (Dipper, Luz, Molly, Star, and the other people in included in those franchises)

They all live in the same world (-star, Marco and Tom but dimensional scissors yk?)

Luz reached out to Anne for help building a portal, Dipper and Mabel met Molly while ghost hunting

They have all separately run into Star while researching energy levels that came from Stars weird dimensional travel

Therefore Marco added them all to a discord server and the rest is history

They sometimes guest star on Marcy's channel

June has programmed Marcy a game before

Sasha is planning to propose (shhh don't tell Anne and Marcy)

Marcy has cut contact with her family (I don't care what cannon says her parents aren't good people)

(She would not cling onto any sort of affection this much if their parents loved them)

(Fight me)

Marcy hates going to the doctor or bathing (the bath reminds her of the rejuvenation tank and she just generally distrusts the government after Anne told them about the whole thing with Mr X)

The only doctor they trust is the dentist for some reason???

When asked Marcy just shrugs

And the vet but they aren't the one getting tested at the vet and she cares about Domino 3 too much not to go to the vet

Marcy Wu=autism

Marcy has severe anxiety

Marcy has depression

Marcy streams from bed sometimes just because they're in too much pain to walk and their girlfriends aren't their to put them into her wheelchair but she has that grind set for their stream dates

Marcy has crocheted enough Olivia and Yunan plushies to give a small army

They give them away during giveaways as beta designs for some of her characters

[easternmind]

A train simulation at the heart of Japan's videogame production genesis

As the great videogame historian Florent Gorges explains in a recent video, one of the most beguiling developments in Japanese videogame history research comes to us from an unlikely source. Twitter user and train aficionado @yota8nsx reminisces about an episode of his childhood, namely his visit to Expo '70 in Osaka, describing a particularly captivating train simulation game playable at the Furukawa Pavilion and whose implications, if properly understood, make this one of the most important findings in this field of research.

A flyer illustration of the seven story pagoda building created specifically for the occasion, a traditional architectural reference that contrasted with the latest high-tech creations hosted within it.

Late last year, @yota8nsx uncovered pictures of the exhibit captured from a speciality magazine that show this early simulation game appearing to use vector graphics to depict a train track, as well as some custom-made mechanic train cab control levers. He captions the pictures with his memories of how the program functioned:

Well, there was a limit to what could be done given the capabilities of computers in the 1970s. This is an article on page 61 of the July 1970 issue of Railway Pictorial magazine and an image taken by an acquaintance of mine. (...)

It was over 54 years ago, so my memory is a bit hazy, but I think when I accelerated, I would fall backwards, and when I braked, I would fall forwards. There are about three different angles of reclining, and each was scored based on how comfortable the ride was. If I had gotten 90 points out of 100, I would have received a medal. In the picture, it's 76 points.

After performing some complementary research I was able to find that the program ran on an IDI Input-Output Machine, a computer developed in the mid 60s by New York-based company Information Displays, Inc. The IDIIOM is widely regarded as the first commercial CADD platform with powerful vector graphics capabilities and a light pen interface. Another game known to have been developed using the same machine is the Daly CP (Chess Program), one of the earliest GUI-based chess games, authored in 1969 by NASA researcher electrical engineer Chris Daly.

However, there are reasons to believe that this was either an adapted Japanese version of the system; or that it was in some manner connected to another terminal, as evidenced by code shown below the screen which appears to read Facom, followed by an alphanumeric code. As you may know, this was the name for Fujitsu's earliest computer line. Could this subtle hint refer to a separate terminal in which the actual game code was created or, perhaps even, running?

Despite the scarce information, namely the complete absence of any details concerning the authors of this magnificent experiment, there is sufficient documentation to establish this as one of the earliest known games ever to be created in Japan. Certainly, its existence is far better established than many of the often cited, Japanese university computer lab game creations from students of the 1960s.

The importance of this finding cannot be overstated, especially if one is to consider that the images hint at the distinct possibility that the game used vector graphics to represent a moving 3D train track. This some three years before Maze War, hitherto the first known game to have used three-dimensional visuals.

Disappointingly, the program itself is certain to have vanished altogether and there are hardly any leads that can explored to shed further light on this singular creation. I, for one, feel indebted to this old Japanese railfan for his invaluable contribution to what other information existed on this subject.

- Update (26/03)

The venerable Matt Sephton has pointed the way for additional information concerning this game as well as the Osaka Expo of 1970.

Some of these resources, including Classic Videogame Station, refer to this game as 電車の運転テス, or Densha no Unten Tesuto - literally Train Driving Test. Some additional photos are also provided, namely this rare colour capture showing a woman dressed as a train assistant, helping a young player. Unfortunately, this image doesn't offer additional visual access to the control levers, a crucial component of the experience.

Writing on the door reads: "warning to all visitors: this game is only available to elementary school students and above".

Further context is provided about this section of the exhibit, named Computopia. As it happens, the train simulator is only one from a handful of interactive experiences on offer on the floor of the so-called experimental theatre. Another blog post shows a cropped capture from an Expo 70 flyer, in which a brief and telling description can be read:

The modern dream is a convenient and fun utopian world made possible by computers. Furukawa Pavilion's Computopia will be an experimental theatre where all these dreams can come true, with exciting shows using the latest domestically produced computer system, the Fujitsu FACOM.

Other playable attractions included a voice-activated crane game, possibly a catcher-type arcade; a computer version of the age-old game Go that, unsurprisingly, required two players; a computer dress designer app allowing users to dabble in fashion creation, as well as a demo for a voice-activated cashless shopping system.

This floor exhibit and concept of a computer utopia was put together by the Bankoku Haku Furukawakan Promotion Committee, a parent group of the Japanese giant Fujitsu. The choice of interactive games was a deliberate decision to present computers as systems that could enable captivating and pleasurable experiences, and with it influence public perspective.

These attractions were prepared using four Fujitsu FACOM 270-30 systems, programmed by thirty engineers over a period of two years. My previous supposition that the IDIIOM computer was integrating with Japanese computer technology is thus confirmed, as the 270-30 was a powerful processing line printer-based mainframe which nevertheless lacked a visual output capability.

It is quite astonishing that Fujitsu engineers found not only a method to integrate both systems, but to harness the processing power of 1968 machine so as to enable a 3D audio-visual experience with contextual sound output (braking, crossing bridges) and complex input operations (acceleration, deceleration).

As per the Classic Videogame Station report, IBM's exhibit also included numerous other games including an early version of Lunar Lander as well as a rather complex airplane simulation. It isn't clear from the available reporting whether these programs originated in Japan or if they were developed in the United States. Sadly, this tends to muddy the waters somewhat whenever an attempt is made to establish a precise timeline of early Japanese computer game production, including the not so trivial matter of which one can claim for itself the title of being the first. At the present stage of my research, that is likely a distinction owed to the two-player Go game of which I have found written mentions placing it as far back as 1968, possibly 1966.

Be that as it may, Densha no Unten Tesuto could still be regarded as the first original videogame created in Japan that fits most parameters of contemporary gaming experience, including a well-defined arcade-like setup and presentation, a performance score and the potential for the player to win awards for achieving score targets. Chronological considerations aside, it compels us to see the history of videogames from an entirely different perspective.

Online sources and further recommended reading:

Florent Gorges Video Report at Playhistoire:

- Le Tout Premier Jeu Video Japonais Retrouvé

Yota8nsx post on visiting Expo 70:

- https://x.com/yota8nsx/status/1172335870659026951

Twitter thread covering early Japanese games:

- https://threadreaderapp.com/thread/1352188581960269828.html

Blog posts on Densha no Unten Tesuto:

- http://oyexp.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-155.html

- https://ameblo.jp/kwkt666/entry-12479764013.html

Additional information about Expo 70 and Comutopia:

- https://www.expo70-park.jp/cause/expo/furukawa/

Specs sheet for FACOM computer line.

- https://museum.ipsj.or.jp/en/computer/main/0106.html

About the IDIIOM computer and its use for game development:

- https://www.chessprogramming.org/Daly_CP

- https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/Was-the-IDIIOM-the-First-Stand-Alone-CAD-Platform-Bissell/b1fb4f9208fd3acd459d0efa228ebbf32b772cb7