#⌈ ❀ ⌉ || ✧ –––– A MILLION LINES FOR A BILLION HEARTS –––– ✧ || WORDS ||

[aurevine]

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 | 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬

summary: when you awake in a random room, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and masked strangers, you have two goals: the main goal is to survive, the other is to avoid your ex-boyfriend at all costs.

warnings: swearing, smutttttt, mentions of drug use and death, slight angst, mentions of a breakup and his suicide attempt, thanos x fem!reader, slight dae-ho x reader, very cheesy ending

words: 5.4k

requests: open

you aren’t sure how you got here: broke, confused, and dressed in a teal tracksuit that certainly isn’t from your closet. you awake in the unfamiliar room with a start, heart pounding as you scanned the area for a single familiar face. none. 

or so you thought. 

it doesn’t take long for a crowd to form, a sea of equally confused men and women gathering in the front of the room as they try to make sense of their circumstances. a group of masked men clad in bright pink suits soon offer a brief explanation of what’s going on. the crowd erupts in chatter and a symphony of frustrated complaints fill the air. 

“what about my phone?” a man yells at one of the masked men, his jacket reading 333. “why did you take my phone and wallet? give them back, please.” he pleads. 

the guard replies solemnly, “we’re keeping your belongings safe. we’ll return them once the games are over.” 

“at least give me my phone. i need to check the crypto market. if i lose money, will you compensate me?” the man continues to beg. 

“we will return it to you once the games are over.” the guard repeats, still stoic. 

“i need to monitor the realtime prices! do you know how much i’ve invested?” you begin to grow annoyed at the man’s whining—there are far more important things to be worried about right now, like where are you? how did you get here and why can’t you remember? 

the guard no longer entertains the man, instead revealing, “player 333, lee myung-gi. age 30, used to run a youtube channel called mg coin. after convincing subscribers to invest in a new crypto coin called dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won, you shut down and disappeared. you’re wanted for fraud and for violating telecom and financial investment laws. current debt levels, 1.8 billion won.” an image of the man flashes across a screen and he cringes in embarrassment. 

other people shout from the crowd, to which the guard displays their images on the screen in response. 

“player 196, kang mina, 45 million won in debt.”

“player 120, cho hyun-ju, 330 million won in debt.”

“player 230, choi su-bong, 1.19 billion won in debt.”

holy shit. 

choi su-bong, also known as thanos, though better known as your ex-boyfriend, flashes across the screen, a vape clutched in his hand. 

what the hell is going on?

first you wake up in an unfamiliar room with over 400 other people, and now your ex is here too? you begin to think things can’t get any worse, but you’re quickly proven wrong once the first game begins. on the surface, it’s a harmless kids game, red light, green light, that you’d played countless times as a child. but as the game progresses, you’re exposed to horrors you couldn’t even imagine if you tried. 

as you stand behind the white line, anxiously studying the doll at the other end of the arena, you hear a man, 456, begin to shout. he warns about the dangers of the game, of this place, and how if you move while the doll is looking, you’ll die. he must be losing his mind in here already. 

you scan the crowd for su-bong and it isn’t hard to spot him, his dark, purple hair sticking out like a sore thumb in the sea of teal bodies. he’s talking to a girl, of course, no doubt flirting with the woman as she twirls her hair. you decide to avoid the man at all costs, feeling jealousy bubble up in your stomach, though you know it’s irrational. you’ve been broken up for a few months now, but the pain has barely subsided. 

you’d been with su-bong prior to his fame, long before the money and pills got to his head. you had met at the bar when he was still an aspiring artist, far less cocky than he’d eventually become. he was charming and kind, paid for your drinks all night, and he insisted the two of you went out on a date shortly after. from there, it was history—the two of you were inseparable. you couldn’t count how many sleepless nights you’d spent with su-bong at the studio, mulling over the same verses over and over again until he finally got them right. he referred to you as his muse; his motivation when fame seemed unattainable. but when he finally blew up, everything changed. 

you blame it on the crew of sleazy guys he’d always surround himself with, insisting they would help him rise even higher to the top, though all they really did was get su-bong high. at first, you were oblivious to it all, attributing his distant behavior to his newfound fame and the demand for new music as fans grew eager. however, when you stumbled upon his secret stash of pills hidden in one of his drawers, your relationship with su-bong began to crumble. he blew you off and called you dramatic, explaining that it was normal in the industry. you tried to reason with your boyfriend, worried about his health and the influence his friends had on him, but he never listened. your relationship had devolved to a point where there were more arguments than not, where you had to beg for his attention and love like some sort of groupie. and after a while, you couldn’t take it anymore. you knew you deserved better, despite how painful it was to end the relationship you’d poured so much love and time into. so, you broke up with su-bong. 

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt like hell, but you respected yourself far too much to let the relationship drag on. you knew you couldn’t ever get the old su-bong back no matter how you tried, and the new version of the man, thanos, was far from desirable to you. despite all this, though, you know deep down that you still love him, and that will never change no matter how much you hate his new persona. 

so maybe that’s why seeing him flirt with that girl, as though he didn’t lose the best thing that's ever happened to him, pissed you off so much. 

you redirect your attention back to the doll once it starts to sing, its shrill, childlike voice sending a chill down your spine. 456 continues to warn the crowd that this isn’t a game, that it’s a killing machine, but you continue to write off the mad man and blame it on the stress of your new environment. 

that is, until, the same girl su-bong had just been flirting with falls to the ground with a thud, a bullet wound to her head. 

“player 196 eliminated.” a robotic voice announces. 

holy shit. maybe 456 isn’t as crazy as you thought. 

you’re shaking, now, trying not to flinch as more lifeless bodies fall to the ground in a panicked frenzy. you try not to think about the deaths you witness and instead take cover behind a tall man in front of you, hoping his large frame is enough to conceal your trembling form. luckily, it is, and you miraculously make it to the other side of the arena without a scratch. you can’t say the same about everyone else, though. 

you immediately find yourself searching the crowd for su-bong again, sighing a breath of relief once you spot him with a few others in the corner. he hardly seems fazed despite the horrors you just witnessed, and you attribute his indifference to the cross around his neck—the same one you’d found in his sock drawer only a few months prior. you roll your eyes at the thought and redirect your attention to the scene in front of you, the last few players sprinting toward the line like their lives depend on it.

well, you suppose they do. 

soon after the final players make it, you and the others head back to main area. you notice the blood that stains the other players’ clothes, a permanent reminder of the bloodbath that had just occurred. you keep a watchful eye on su-bong, careful to maintain your distance so he doesn’t spot you. 

the air is much more tense now, the uncertainties of the games hanging in the air like a thick fog. half of the room still trembles in fear, while the other half lounges around as though it were a normal day. you wonder if su-bong is scared, if he’s even fazed by this new, dark reality, or if the pills have clouded every last trace of his old self. you hate how much your mind wanders to the man, but you can’t help it—not when he’s here. 

“hey, you okay?” a soft voice breaks you out of your thoughts. you’re greeted by the sight of the man from earlier who you hid behind, player 388. 

“oh-uh, yeah, i guess.” you answer, unsure of how to respond. 

of course you aren’t alright, how can anyone be?

he chuckles awkwardly, a blush rosying his cheeks. “sorry, uh, that was a dumb question. can i sit with you?” 

you allow yourself to smile, quickly charmed by his bashful nature. “sure.” 

he sits on the floor across from you, crossing his legs to get comfortable. “i’m dae-ho.”

you nod and tell him your name, then add, “thank you for being my human shield earlier, by the way. i don’t think i could’ve made it without you.” dae-ho chuckles at that, a delighted expression gracing his features. 

“don’t mention it, i’m glad you made it.” 

a comfortable silence falls between the two of you and you find yourself glancing over at su-bong again. he’s managed to accumulate a small squad of players to follow him around, much like the entourage of strung out men he’d always surround himself with at club pentagon. 

typical.

you look back over at dae-ho and you’re about to ask him more about himself before the sound of the guards captures your attention. 

“attention players, it is now time for the first vote to take place.” it doesn’t take long for a crowd to form, and the guards reveal they will call each player one by one to vote. 

shit. so much for hiding from su-bong. 

you slip into the crowd beside dae-ho, anxiously awaiting your number to be called. you both agree to vote x, fearful of what could happen if the games ensue. his number is called, and he votes as planned. a few minutes later, the guards call for player 230—su-bong. 

you’re not sure why you’re so surprised when he presses the “o” button. you feel yourself grow nauseous at his demeanor, wondering how he could be so energized and borderline elated at a time like this. he saunters over to the “o” side with a smirk. 

it feels like an eternity before your number is called and your heart begins to race as you make your way over to the buttons. your hand trembles as it hovers over the x, a red glow illuminating your palm. you press it firmly and steel yourself before turning around, sparing a glance in su-bong’s direction to ensure he hasn’t noticed you. you instantly lock eyes. 

fuck. 

the smirk on his face falters, melding into a look of confusion mixed with something else you can’t read. you quickly avert your gaze and slip back into the crowd beside dae-ho. 

“you okay?” he asks gently, taking immediate note of your sullen expression. 

“yeah,” you respond shakily, “just worried we won’t get out here.” it’s partly true. 

“me too.” dae-ho agrees, swallowing thickly. you both watch the rest of the votes roll through in silence. minutes pass and 001 places the final vote. the “o” side erupts in cheers once they win and you feel your heart drop. you were lucky enough to make it through the first game, but you’re not so sure about what will come. part of you worries the games will get harder from here on out, but you try not to let yourself spiral. maybe 456 knows more about the games. 

“shit.” dae-ho swears, running a hand through his hair, the action slightly thwarted by his ponytail. you glance up at the man and his expression is grim—he’s undoubtedly just as scared as you. “shit.” he repeats, though this time his attention is elsewhere. you turn around to follow his gaze; su-bong is headed right toward you. 

“what the fuck are you doing here, baby?” su-bong questions worriedly, his eyes wide as though he’d seen a ghost. you briefly struggle to find the words to say as you watch the man who had broken your heart saunter over to you like it was nothing. 

“don’t call me that.” you demand bitterly. “why should you care, anyway?” su-bong stops in front of you, reaching out to grab a hold of your hand. “don’t touch me.” you warn, flinching away from his touch. 

su-bong tries to mask the way he cringes at your icy tone with a smirk. “oh come on, don’t be like that.” the way your name rolls off his tongue feels familiar, painful, and you swallow thickly at the sound of your ex lover’s voice. this is certainly not a conversation you want to have now, especially in front of dae-ho, and you glare at the purple-haired man in disdain. 

“‘just leave me alone, su-bong.” you state shakily. from the corner of your eye, dae-ho stiffens beside you, observing the interaction intently. you silently pray he doesn’t get involved—you know all too well how prideful and short-tempered su-bong is, and he’d probably square up with the man in a heartbeat. 

“you know i can’t do that, my girl. what the hell are you doing here?” he asks, softer this time, and you watch as he eyes dae-ho momentarily as though he’s sizing him up.

“what do you think i’m doing here, huh? trying to pay back all the debt you got me in. did you forget about that?” you ask angrily, amazed by his ignorance. had he even missed you at all? did the breakup even affect him whatsoever? did he hide from the pain with his pills or did he never care at all? you’re unsure. 

“of course i can’t forget. that’s why i’m here, baby. wanted to make money so i could take care of us.”

you scoff at that, appalled by his manipulative words. does he really expect you to buy that? it’s been months and he hadn’t bothered to reach out once. now he wants to act like it was all for some noble cause to win you back over?

“bullshit.” you mutter. “and i told you to stop calling me that.” su-bong chuckles in response, gliding his tongue over his teeth. he maintains his composure, still his confident self as he replies, “you know you like it, girl. you don’t have to act tough. i know you love me, baby.”

you laugh bitterly, “no, i don’t. i don’t even know who you are anymore.” you wish the first part was true. you turn back around, your back to su-bong, and give dae-ho a look that screams please come with me. he doesn’t miss a beat and follows you back to your bunk, leaving su-bong in the dust. 

dae-ho waits for you to speak. it takes a few moments, but you finally reveal, “su-bong and i broke up a few months ago. i can’t believe that egotistical prick is here.” you hate how your voice shakes. 

“i’m sorry, he seems like a real douchebag.” dae-ho replies quietly, averting his gaze to the floor. you nod in agreement, suddenly embarrassed to even be telling him this—for him to have witnessed that. 

“i’m sorry you had to see that.” 

“it’s okay, no worries at all. i’m sorry you even have to go through that.” you smile at his sweet words, nodding in gratitude. there’s a pause before you ask him, “so, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?” 

dae-ho hesitates before explaining how his father forced him to join the marines and shortly after, he found himself in 630 million won worth of debt. the two of you continue to talk about your lives before the games; how dae-ho has four older sisters, how you’ve only lived in south korea for around three years. you’re surprised by how easy it is to talk to him, how intently he listens to you, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve truly felt heard in months. 

when dinner time rolls around, dae-ho suggests the two of you talk to 456, who you soon learn is named gi-hun. the older man fills you two in on his first experience in the games, where he barely won, and explains how the second game may be dalgona. however, when you enter the arena the following day, you’re met with a different game: the six-legged pentathlon. you band together with dae-ho and three others, somehow making it out alive. 

you can’t help but notice su-bong does too. 

after the second game, another voting process ensues. “o” wins again, and you’re not surprised when you see thanos hit the blue button, undoubtedly high as he practically makes out with the button. you scoff to yourself at the sight of the man you once loved, now a complete shell of who he once was. 

“shit, i can’t believe people still want to stay.” dae-ho utters dejectedly beside you, breaking you from your thoughts of su-bong. you sigh in defeat, “me neither.” 

when you rejoin gi-hun and the others, you feel su-bong’s eyes on you. you’re sure he’s noticed how you and dae-ho have been practically attached at the hip and you wonder if it makes him jealous, like you were when you saw him talking to that girl during red light, green light. feeling uncomfortable beneath his gaze, you slip away from the group to use the bathroom, uneasy as a guard escorts you to the women’s room. 

you’re not sure how you made it this far and your anxiety worsens as you begin to think about tomorrow’s game. based on the stories gi-hun has told, it seems as though things will only go downhill from here. you have no idea what to expect and no hope you’ll make it out of here alive. you’re washing your face in the sink when you hear the bathroom door creak open. you glance over and see a familiar tuft of purple hair. 

how the hell did he get in here?

“you okay, my girl?” su-bong asks softly, approaching you hesitantly. you sigh at the sound of his voice, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters in response. 

“what do you think?” you ask dryly, using the sleeve of your jacket to dry your face. su-bong steps closer, bringing up his own sleeve to wipe off a stray droplet of water you missed. 

“look, i know i messed up, but i swear i’m gonna make things right.” his hand drops so it cups your cheek. 

you lean away from his touch, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you mumble sadly, “just like you did before?” you’re tired of acting angry at him when deep down, all you are is hurt. su-bong frowns, gently snaking his arms around your waist to tug you closer to him. this time, you don’t pull away. 

he sighs, “i know i fucked up, baby. that’s why i’m here. i know you don’t believe me now but i swear i’ll make it up to you, okay? just need you to trust me.” you bite the inside of your cheek and look away, internally battling with yourself. 

part of you thinks he’s lying. you’ve heard every empty promise under the sun from the man, and all it got you was into millions of dollars worth of debt and a shitty, teal tracksuit. 

but another part of you can’t help but believe him. he sounds genuine, now, and you wonder if the pills wore off. he’s talking in that soft voice of his that reminds you of su-bong, not thanos, and it sends you reeling. 

but if that’s true, why hadn’t he reached out all those months? why didn’t he fight for you, try to change and win you back then? 

as though he could read your mind, he continues, “i’m sorry for not calling. i thought you hated me and it made me sick to my stomach, girl. i didn’t want to think about how i treated you because all it did was make me mad that i let a girl as perfect as you go. i’ve been miserable ever since. shit, i walked all the way to the han bridge to jump before that fuckin’ guy in the suit came up to me and asked me to play ddakji. i was gonna end it all.” his words make the tears finally fall from your eyes and you look back up at the man.

“su-bong…” you can’t prevent the sob from escaping your lips and su-bong pulls you into his chest, tightening his grasp on your waist so you fall into him. you wrap your arms around his torso, balling the fabric of his sweatshirt into your fists as though he was going to slip right through your fingers. you know you shouldn’t give into the man so easily, the one who broke nearly every promise he ever made to you until it left you heartbroken and penniless, but you can’t help it. 

“i love you.” you admit between sobs, overwhelmed by the wave of emotions you’re feeling. su-bong moves a hand from your waist to pet your hair, placing his chin atop your head. 

“i love you too, my girl. so much. i promise i won’t ever leave you again, alright?” you can only nod into his chest, feeling your sobs begin to subside as the man calms you down. you sniffle a bit, pulling away from his hold after a few moments to wipe away your tears. su-bong looks down at you with a pained smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and aids you in wiping your eyes. you let out a shaky sigh, daring to look over at the mirror to meet your splotchy, tear-stained face. 

“damn, i’m a wreck.” you let out a watery chuckle and move to splash your face with cold water once again. your heart soars as you feel su-bong hold your hair back. he rubs a hand down your back reassuringly. “you’re still the most beautiful girl i know.” he muses quietly, staring at you in the mirror. you suddenly feel shy beneath his gaze, but regain your composure with a smirk as you reply, “thanks. you’re still the hottest guy i know, even though you’re an idiot.”

su-bong lets out a genuine laugh, moving closer so you’re caged in between his arms and the sink. “oh yeah?” he asks lowly, causing your stomach to erupt with butterflies. you’d nearly forgotten how attractive he truly is, even without trying. “hotter than that guy who’s been following you around since you got here?”

aha, so he was jealous. sneaky bastard. 

“yeah.” you answer breathlessly, noticing how his eyes dart down to your lips. it doesn’t take long for him to lean in, kissing you with a softness that soon melds into passion once you kiss him back. his lips move languidly against yours, foreign after all these months, yet oh so familiar. after a moment, su-bong starts to get rougher, his hands wandering to your waist as he presses himself into you. he bites your bottom lip and you gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth effortlessly. you feel heat rush to your core as su-bong growls softly into your mouth, needy and desperate after months without your touch. you need him just as bad. 

you slip your hands beneath su-bong’s shirt, trying to feel every inch of his body as though to make up for the lost time. tilting your head to the side to deepen the kiss, you let a moan slip out as he moves to grope your breasts. he pulls away breathlessly, letting his gaze flicker down to your hands, and rasps, “need you so bad, baby.” you can only nod rapidly in response, glancing around the bathroom before your eyes land on a stall. 

su-bong wastes no time in rushing over to the stall, barely locking the door before he has your back pressed against it. “need your pussy so bad, you have no idea.” he groans achingly. his lips are back on yours and his hands fumble with your pants. he eventually tugs them down, along with your underwear, leaving you bare from the waist down. you have no time to feel shy or embarrassed before su-bong brings his fingers down to your clit, rubbing it with just enough force to make you moan loudly into his mouth. 

“shh, my sweet girl. wouldn’t want the guards to hear now, would we?” you clamp a hand over your mouth as su-bong slips a finger inside of you, thrusting it in and out of your core until you’re dripping all over his hand. he soon adds another, quickening the pace so you’re squelching around him. “fuck, baby. is all of this for me?”

you nod desperately, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you try to stay quiet. “hmm, can’t hear you?” su-bong smirks, seemingly forgetting about his previous words as he encourages to to be louder. he loves the way he ruins you, how he knows exactly how to touch you to make you come undone, even after all this time. 

“y-yes, baby, fuck.” you whimper as quietly as you can, gripping his free arm tightly to steady yourself against the door. su-bong slows his fingers, then pulls them out completely, bringing them to his lips so he can taste you. you try not to whimper at the lack of contact. “you taste so good baby, fuck. i missed you so much, can’t wait any longer.” he’s kicking off his pants and boxers in seconds, letting them drop to the ground before he settles onto the toilet seat. he guides you so you’re sitting on his lip, your pussy hovering over his dick so teasingly it makes su-bong grunt. “need to feel you.” he practically whines, lining up his member with you so that his tip is at your entrance. 

“please fuck me.” you whimper, your legs practically shaking in anticipation as he teases you. su-bong wordlessly thrusts up, allowing you to sink completely onto his cock, and the two of you barely stifle your moans as he finally slips inside. “oh god.” you groan, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. su-bong throws his head back, attempting to contain himself as you clench around him. “shit, baby. you’re so tight.” you hadn’t even moved yet and you can already tell you won’t last long. there’s no hope for su-bong either. 

su-bong’s hands rest on your waist, guiding you as you bounce on his member. you can’t remember the last time you felt this full, this euphoric, and you throw your head back in ecstasy. su-bong is a mess beneath you, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to last. “fuck…missed you so much, baby. needed your pussy so bad. so fuckin’ bad.” he moans lowly, meeting your thrusts with the buck of his hips. you gasp at the action, his tip hitting a part of you that nearly has you seeing stars. 

“o-oh my god, su-bong, right there!” you whine desperately, tipping your head forward so it rests on his shoulder. you hear him pant heavily in your ear, his breaths shaky as you continue to clench around him. then, suddenly, he stands the two of you up, turning you around so you’re bent over in front of him. still inside of you, he begins to pound you harder, his hands gripping your hips so tight they’re sure to leave bruises. 

“yeah, right there, baby? you gonna cum for me?” he grunts deeply, maintaining his brutal pace. the sound of your skin slapping together echoes throughout the bathroom and you wouldn’t be surprised if the guards could hear you outside. “y-yes, su-bong, fuck.” you moan, placing your hands on the wall in front of you to keep your balance. your response doesn’t seem to satisfy su-bong, though, and he lifts up a hand to tug your hair, leaning forward so his lips are right beside your ear. “what was that baby? i couldn’t hear you.” 

“yes, su-bong, right there, please.” you cry out, louder this time. he’s fucking you into oblivion, and you know you won’t last long. but su-bong is relentless. 

“yeah? am i fucking you better than he can?” he grunts, undoubtedly referring to dae-ho. you had completely forgotten about the man, for obvious reasons. “yes, baby, so much better.” you whine, the familiar knot in your stomach beginning to unravel as he pounds into your g-spot repeatedly. he seems to sense this and he brings his hand down to your clit, rubbing it with enough force to make you stutter out a moan. 

“want you to scream my name and prove it, my girl. want him to hear how good i’m fucking you so he knows you’re mine.” his words send you over the edge and soon enough you’re shrieking out moans, su-bong’s unrelenting pace causing you to release all over him. you repeat his name like a mantra, your entire body trembling as you come undone around the man. even once you come down, you continue to moan desperately, sensitive as su-bong maintains his rough pace. a few thrusts later, though, his hips are stuttering, signaling he’s close to his own release.

su-bong groans deeply as he approaches his orgasm, leaning down to hold you by the chest so he can get impossibly closer. “fuck, i love you so much, my girl. so, so much. g-gonna fuck you forever, baby, i promise.” he practically growls, thrusting into you a few more times before pulling out to release all over your back. he moans softly as he cums, rocking into his hand like his life depends on it. su-bong stills after he finishes, keeping a firm hold on your body to steady himself. you tremble beneath him. after a few moments, he stands up straight to clean you up, using the roll of toilet paper that is conveniently right beside you. once he’s finished, he helps you stand up so you face him. 

“you okay, baby?” su-bong’s voice is soft, now. he steadies you by placing his hands on your hips. you nod blissfully, leaning into his chest as you try to process what the hell just happened. you don’t regret it, though. 

“mhm, more than okay.” you sigh into his shoulder, hugging him for a moment. su-bong chuckles and pats your head before pulling away. “we should probably get back before the guards try to join in.” 

you laugh at that and agree, shakily slipping your clothes back on with the help of su-bong. he presses a chaste kiss to your lips before ushering you out of the stall, his hand in yours as he leads the way back to the main area. you’re nervous, now, as you come back to reality, realizing dae-ho and the others have probably been wondering where you’ve been. there’s no way you can explain what just happened, but you’re sure you don’t have to, anyway. 

your suspicions are only confirmed when you meet eyes with dae-ho, who looks both mortified and disappointed as he notices your hand in su-bong’s. you briefly feel bad for the man, but remind yourself you hardly even know him. you know su-bong like no other. 

you tear your attention away from dae-ho when you near su-bong’s entourage, a group made up of three guys and a girl. he introduces you to each of them as his girlfriend, his arm wrapped around your waist proudly as the others greet you. then, su-bong fumbles with the necklace around his neck and rips it off, tossing it over to his friend, nam-gyu. “you can take that, nam-su, i don’t need it anymore.”

“nam-gyu, but thanks.” the man’s eyes light up as he opens up the cross, revealing a myriad of multicolored pills. you’re shocked at su-bong’s actions, and smile to yourself. you have no idea what tomorrow will look like, or if you’ll even make it past then, but you’re at least sure of the fact that you have su-bong by your side, and that’s enough to calm the rapid beating of your heart for now. 

woo, first fic alert!! hope you enjoyed. this was originally going to be a dae-ho x reader fic but i just love thanos so bad. also i apologize if it's a bit fast-paced, i stayed up until 6am writing this ahhh

requests are open :))

[whinelo]

Mmmmaayy I request some Yandere X pls? (◕‿◕✿)

X recently started dating his s/o who is rather awkward and shy and has the self-confidence of a pebble.

X who starts out as a soft yandere but gets a slightly more intense the longer they are dating.

S/o who doesn't see his actions as red flags (you're honor, they're colorblind /j) because they're so unused to the idea of being loved (romantically) that just having X's attention is considered a win.

S/o who probably confuses X needs to keep them at his side at all times as probably a sign for wanting marriage - it's not, but no way is X telling them that.

I wanted to see a twist on the yandere trope where the other person is actually into the yandere's behavior because they just see it as them being extremely passionate about their love.

Up to you if s/o knows who X is.

Love your writing! (^o^)丿♪

Awh that’s so sweet ! Here’s a muah for you (○｀ 3′○) <3

--

| X x Reader. - cw - Yandere behavior. Bob.

X’s Placeholder/ Citizen name is ‘Bai Xizhuang’

You were miles away from Bai Xizhuang’s league— And.. you knew that.

You didn’t deserve him, never in a million years would you ever deserve him- He was the 'X’ for goodness sake! He had billions of people lining up for him, people far grander— greater than you could ever hope to be, he had the heart of so many people— and somehow.. You had his. So why doesn’t it feel real? Why do you hope that you were just someone that he’d pass the time with?

Someone he wasn’t serious about.

And yet time and time again he’d pull you unto his lap and whisper the sweetest of reassurances to you, his palm cradling the side of your cheek in tender gentleness. How his eyes would soften the moment he looked into yours, was it selfish— Was it selfish to want this man for your own, to truly believe that yes— he loves you? How whenever he came home late he’d always have a bouquet of your favorite flower, gifts that you don’t even know why he’d splurge on just for you.

On camera, on the news you’d watch as people would fling themselves unto him— And why does it hurt you so much that one day he’d even glance at them? Leave you in the dust as a fleeting memory, even in his civilian form — Time and time again people would repeat the mantra, “ He doesn’t deserve you. “ — “ Someone like him doesn’t need to waste his time on you. “

You tried. Really hard to convince yourself that it wasn’t true— Wrapping yourself around your lovers words like a protective blanket- gazing at your Trust Value, the hologram glowed aqua brightly as you stared at the singular digit.

One. One Belief point, and it came from him.

Wasn't that supposed to be all the reassurance you needed? And yet you still confine to him about it,

His arms wrapped your waist as you sobbed into his shoulder once more= and possibly not the last, “ Aren’t they bad co-workers? You should cut them off, they aren’t good for you. “ He suggested, into your ear— like a creature on your shoulder,

Still. You visibly stilled, “ I can’t do that- -they’re my co-workers— ‘

“ They are.. But aren’t they bad-mouthing you? You don’t deserve that.. You can leave. “ Bai Xizhuang interrupted, his eyes looking at yours directly— “ …I don’t know if I can do that. “ You let out exasperated as you shifted your gaze, and in a sudden moment he pulled your gaze back to him-

Bai Xizhuang paused for a bit, his lips pressed into a thin line as his thumb trailed over your jaw— “ You can, staying here would be so much better— I make enough money and- ‘

Interrupting him, “ I’m not going to free-load on you, Bai Xizhuang- you know that. “ You spoke sternly,

“ I don’t mind, and besides— please, think about it for me? “ He hummed in response, before pulling you close to him. “ ..Fine. “ You weren’t, but you decided not to voice it out as you huddled closer into his neck, breathing in his scent once more.

—

X wanted your co-workers gone.

He made his complaints audible to you— although, without the ‘gone’ part, in his honest opinion? You didn’t need them, they don’t deserve to be around you. Especially not with the fact that they kept planting seeds of distrust in you. X could very much snap them out of existence the moment his patience ran out, but he knew there were better options—

Like convincing you to stay with him, he already managed to convince you to live with him— Next was getting you to work from home— And stop working entirely.

Although.. Nowadays you were clinging unto him more, so maybe he couldn’t be that mad at your co-workers, without their ‘assistance’ maybe you wouldn’t even be needing him this much, he let you spill all your woes on his shoulder— Held unto him so tight that it felt as if the moment you let go of him he’d disappear into oblivion, and he wanted these moments to last forever.

You didn’t need to know that he was watching you always, you didn’t need to know how utterly devoted he was to you— or maybe you should? Who knows maybe you’ll finally realize that he isn’t going anywhere without you, you’re his lifeline— the last drop of sanity he needs.

Nowadays you’ve been looking at jewelry stores much more frequently than you used to— Could it be that you wanted to take the next step into your relationship? Tying the knot? ( forever. ) You don’t have to verbalize it to him [ Name ]! He knows, he’ll make your wish come true.

So.. While he isn’t anywhere near to having you rely on him completely, he’s already on his way into directing the scenario of your Honeymoon, and hm.. Say, how many kids do you want- one, two?

A/N : I'm back in business BABYYY. I honestly do believe that MC’s insecurity WOULD come from her dating X, I mean dating the no.1 hero— when you’re basically a nobody? yeesh, that would scar me for sure.

[kagiura-akira]

You know I GOTTA know about something called "Desperate Kisses"!

What kind of desperation?

Is there angst?

*grabs popcorn*

Are you familiar with @dirtbra1n 's "Kagi is made of love" heritage post?

Well. Kagi in ch 23b made it very clear to us that it does, in fact, hurt to hold back.

And I am close to exploding so I needed a one shot to write and I chose desperate kisses but I think the prompt doesn't quiteeee fit??? It's more like. An explosion. There's pain though not necessarily angst.

Anyway I opened this draft just yesterday and it's not a full length fic, but rather an essay.

I think I'll move it out of the "kghr kisses challenge" project into its own document titled, "Entropy"

Spoilers for Hirano to Kagiura chapter 30

At times, Kagi is plagued by a small list of impossibilities spinning around his head. It taunts him. Now, his senpai wouldn't agree that there are such things for him (“Nothing is impossible for you, Kagi-kun!”), but he knows it's true. For example, coming in first place in his class in the end of term exams, or getting Muroi to stop texting him in weird code.

But the winner of the top spot in the list of impossibilities he thinks about is keeping his self control in line.

What happens when you take galaxies worth of love and super compact it into a smaller form?

Why, Kagiura Akira is born, of course.

With the entropy of billions of star systems and nebulae, any reasonable person would find it hard to contain.

Kagi likes to think he's reasonable.

The issue is, unfortunately, the would-be recipient of his affections is also a reasonable person. He can't burden him with this love as big as the sun itself, let alone millions and billions of galaxies worth affection.

Kagi is made of love—a love so great is puts his physical pain tolerance to the test. It wrenches his heart, stabs him in the lungs, knocks him off his feet like a sucker punch from the gods themselves. Stranded alone in the vast sea of his love, the waves crash violently over his head. Sinking, suffocating, he reaches for the surface like a man who can’t swim.

Kagi is made of love, and it hurts.

In his daily life, it manifests itself as a physical energy, which is exhilarating when put to good use (thank you, basketball) but exhausting when it festers. Such an entropic force brews exponentially in the physical embodiment of love that is Kagiura Akira. It can't be contained in a mere 17 year old human boy’s brain, let alone his heart. When Hirano smiles at him, when he quietly works away at his own homework alongside him, when he touches him—it’s so overwhelming, his brain overclocks and his heart stutters for a second or (or 500) too long.

So now, as he’s standing here at their door, he can still feel the heat from the sports festival. The memory of ten seconds stolen in secret sends a flush up the back of his neck and his ears, quite possibly almost as vivid as Hirano’s scarlet hue which reaches from his head to his toes.

“After this, I want to give you my answer,” he mutters. His mouth is turned downward in an embarrassed frown that only he ever makes. (Bless the boy, only knowing how to express two emotions)

Wait, embarrassment? Why is he embarrassed? Kagi’s heart is the one doing backflips like a trained gymnast. So why is it that when he closes the door behind him and turns the lock, he looks like he’s about to be the most vulnerable he’s ever been in his entire life? A flood of imagery of recent moments rattle against Kagi’s skull like a pinball machine as he recognizes the signs. That is to say, the exact signs that plagued himself a mere three or four months ago.

Another surging tide sends a wave of emotion crashing over his head. It rattles him from the center-most part of his being all the way to his extremities. There are no words to adequately describe the enormous pressure building from within. It’s warm and light. Are his feet even touching the ground? Moreover, is he vibrating? The urge to reach out is overwhelming. After all, he hasn’t had his ten seconds today.

Not that it would be enough.

He’s certain that if he initiated his ten seconds now, he’d never be able to let go. His hand twitches, and he digs his fingernails into the skin of his palm for grounding. The way Hirano looks down and away showcases his neck, makes Kagi grit his teeth. The monster within has been tied down with a mere shoelace - the right words could very well strip him of his sanity, replacing Kagiura Akira with what Kagi will only refer to as the devil.

There’s no way he can let that happen.

His bottom lip quivers, and he tightens the grip so hard that his fingernails break his skin. The seams holding together his three ethereal souls together are made of paper, and this monster, his desire, demolishes it into confetti with a single glance from those beautiful, ocean blue eyes.

“Look, I—”

From the moment the words, “my answer” left Hirano’s lips, Kagi knew he was fighting a losing battle. The ache in his chest that started as a dull thud months ago has grown into a piercing, concentrated stabbing sensation, and he’s ignored it for far too long.

He takes a step forward.

For too long, he’s been ignoring the aching pain clawing away at his insides. It hurts, and if he has to go a moment longer living on like this, he doesn’t know that he can withstand the storm of emotions bubbling up at the back of his throat.

He catches Hirano’s hand and spins him to face him, cups his face, and dives in head-first into the wave. It’s sink or swim, and so he clings to Hirano’s lips like a life vest. It all happens so quickly that he doesn’t think about the force with which his head dives in for the kiss. Was he too rough? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that Hirano’s thin lips taste like a cherry sports drink, and he smells like sweat and the fresh outdoors.

Kagi doesn’t know how long the kiss is. All he knows is that the ache hasn’t gone and won’t go away, but the intensity of the pain is nothing next to the thought of being without him.

[fabulouspotatosister]

ghosts

patrick jane doesn't believe in ghosts. (of course, he has them anyway. and sometimes they follow you.)

word count: 1, 532

gif credit: @flipperbrain-awakes

what's this jess another impulsive mentalist reader insert because the idea wouldn't leave ur brain before it was finished?? why yes it is!! brainrot left me temporarily because i was reading a lot of the murderbot diaries (which i highly recommend) but i started watching s2 of the mentalist and my brainrot is back a little bit. sorry y'all. anyway i hope u enjoy! let me know if u liked this product of my small obsession

Patrick Jane doesn't believe in ghosts.

In fact, he's not even sure he believes in anything anymore. He used to have pillars - shakey, fraudulent pillars, but pillars nonetheless - but those had been demolished greusomely long ago. He knows he doesn't have much to hold onto except for a dream of revenge. He knows he's selfish, and pathetic, and filled with enough self-loathing to fill the Sacremento River. Those are facts he knows.

That belief's shaken when you walk out of the motel room with a child in your arms.

He stares for about a minute, but that minute stretches into a million years.

"Found this little one hiding in a cabinet," you say, your forehead wrinkled. She looks only about a year old, but with a shock of curly blonde ringlets. Jane's heart stutters in his chest. "Poor baby. This is awful."

It takes a second for Jane to snap out of his reverie and remember why he's here. Another homicide - a young woman bludgeoned to death in her small apartment. She was a fresh college graduate, bright-eyed and trying to find her footing in the world. Filled out resumes scattered on the coffee table and classified clippings. They had thought she lived alone. Jane did too. He isn't sure to be amused or annoyed that he was wrong. He settles for both.

"It is awful," he agrees, and you nod with your lips pursed. He leans down to look the child in your arms in the eyes. "Hello there," he says with a smile. The child stares at him, bright wide eyes quivering - frozen, he notes that their color matches yours.

"Do you think she heard it?" you ask. You shift your weight and the baby so she's resting on your hip, and Jane short-circuits.

It's the only way he can describe it. A memory surges through his mind like an electrical current, scorches his synapses and leaves them raw. It feels like a billion years ago and yesterday that Angela held Charlotte like that, her weight resting against her hip, her hair brushing against her face, her little hands reaching out to him because she wanted her father to hold her, too.

Jane doesn't believe in ghosts. He swears he doesn't. But they're right there, floating over your shoulder and lingering in the blond curls of the little girl in your arms. You smile at her, warm and familiar, and then you turn that beautiful smile of yours to him. Hair like his. Eyes like yours. It shouldn't - it couldn't be possible. It can't. The line between dream and memory blurs.

Your voice sounds like it's underwater. You're calling his name. He almost doesn't want to come up for air, can't decide whether to drown in the memory of his family, drown in this strange dream of his, suffocate on his regret and guilt, because he can't think of you like that when -

"Jane?"

That does it. Jane blinks back into reality. He's not sure why he was expecting you to be glaring at him, or impatiently frowning, because when you aren't it turns his complex mess of emotions bubbling like flowing hot lava under the surface into cooled stone. Instead, you look… sad.

Do you know? What he saw?

In that instant, Jane decides that he hates you looking sad, and that he should start devoting the rest of his life, however short it may be, to making sure you never look at him like that again.

"Sorry," he says, slipping on an easy smile. "Do I think she heard what?"

He knows his smiles don't fool you, because you just look sadder. Damn it.

But you don't press. Don't poke at the wounds he keeps fresh and weeping everyday. "What happened to her mom," you say instead of any platitudes, which somehow is worse/better. Again, not sure. This is a pattern with you, Jane notices. He never seems to be sure around you. He's usually pretty sure about a lot of things. "Or if she saw. I don't really want to think about it, but…"

"I know." Jane reaches out, squeezes your arm. The darkness over your face fades slightly as your lips curl up into a small smile. Bingo. One point for Jane. "We can only hope, right?"

"Right," you say grimly, but your expression isn't as grim anymore. "Will Social Services pick her up?"

"Yes," Jane replies. He stretches out a finger to the girl and she grabs it, holding it tight in her small hand. Small hands like that used to hold his heart in them. "They'll take care of her until we find the victim's family."

"Okay," you say quietly. "Do you want to hold her?"

He isn't - but you're looking at him so earnestly - "Sure," slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

You smile at him, subdued. Dimmed, but bright enough to loosen the darkness gripping him. Slowly, you pass her to him, staring at the child the entire time. He remembers this weight, this feeling, and he starts to gently bounce the child in his arms. Memory taking over from consciousness. For a moment, his vision obscured by this little girl's mop of blonde, he catches your eyes twinkle with unshed tears.

Don't cry, Jane wants to say. Not over me. "You okay?" he asks instead.

You shake your head and sniffle. Wipe at your eyes before the tears can roll down your face. Part of him is grateful for that. "I'm sorry," you mumble. "This is hard."

"You've never found a child at a crime scene before?" Jane asks, and again, like before, your forehead wrinkles.

"It's not that," you huff, finally tearing your eyes away from the little girl to look him dead in the eyes. He isn't sure why it freezes him in place. "It's just… she looks like you."

The words knock the air from his lungs.

He knows the child looks like him. He just didn't know you thought the same too. Are you reading his mind? Obviously not, but -

"And it must be hard for you too, with what happened," you continue. Before he can reply, your whole body stiffens, and you reach out for the child again. "I'm sorry, this was stupid of me, I can take her - "

"It's okay," Jane says, maybe a bit too quickly because you flinch and drop your hands. He tries again, gentler. He always wants to be gentle with you. "It's okay. Really. You don't have to apologize."

It isn't just your admission of the little girl's resemblance to him that's making it hard for him to breathe. It's the thought that you thought of it at all. That you remembered it (of course you would, who would forget that, Lord knows he can't), but above all considered it. Considered him, his thoughts and feelings. Looked at him with such pity and empathy and not annoyance and discomfort. Mentioned his tragedy and loss without talking about his thirst for revenge.

You knit your eyebrows together in silent doubt. "I do." Your voice is no more than a whisper. "I don't mean to bring up old ghosts."

You have no idea. "No harm done," Jane tries, but your brows knit together even more, if its at all possible. Okay, that one didn't land. He glances down at the little girl if only to find respite from your almost mournful gaze. She's staring up at him still. "Besides, I don't believe in ghosts."

But there they are again, hovering in the corner of his eyes. He's going insane, he is - because why can he see the curve of her frown in yours as you reach for the baby? It isn't fair to her, or you. You especially.

You take the little girl from his arms without much comment. She finally stops her staring, her little face stretching into a gap-toothed smile once she's settled into your embrace. Something twists, swiftly and painfully, in his chest, when your gaze flicks to hers and you smile.

You don't deserve to be stuck with his ghosts, his past, his loss, him. You're so alive; he already feels halfway dead.

"I'm sorry for that," you say, shooting him an apologetic smile. "I'll go, uh, look for Social Services."

Jane reaches for you - then plays it off, waves his hand. "There's really no need to say sorry. It 's not your fault."

He doesn't have time to regret what he says before your head snaps up to look at him. Suddenly he feels exposed, laid bare under your gaze. You're searching for something. You, the vision of both dream and memory, one he's buried deep in his mind made flesh, standing in front of him. He's not normally this poetic. What are you doing to him?

After a silence that stretches a thousand years, you say quietly, "It's not your fault either."

It's not your fault what happened to them, goes unsaid, but he hears it. Sees it on the look on your face. He doesn't believe you. He can't let himself believe you.

When you walk away, the blonde-haired bright-eyed child in your arms, Patrick Jane wills his ghosts off of your shoulders and onto his where they belong.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

New SpaceTime out Wednesday

SpaceTime 20250716 Series 28 Episode 85

Unlocking the secrets of the Moon’s mysterious farside

Scientists have discovered extended volcanism was spewing across the ancient lunar farside south pole region for some 1.4 billion years.

Discovery of the Sun Helicity barrier sheds new light on the solar wind

A new study has confirmed the existence of a region of the Sun which astronomers are calling the Helicity barrier.

Europe’s next generation of launch vehicles

The European Space Agency has narrowed down its list of potential candidates for future launch vehicle providers.

The Science Report

Extended drought and warm weather damaging South Australia’s marine ecosystems.

Using lightning to produce ammonia gas out of thin air.

People feel more comforted by AI-generated words of emotional support if they think they're human.

Alex on Tech Samsung releases the new Fold and Flip 7s.

SpaceTime covers the latest news in astronomy & space sciences.

The show is available every Monday, Wednesday and Friday through your favourite podcast download provider or from www.spacetimewithstuartgary.com

SpaceTime is also broadcast through the National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio and on both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

SpaceTime daily news blog: http://spacetimewithstuartgary.tumblr.com/

SpaceTime facebook: www.facebook.com/spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime Instagram @spacetimewithstuartgary

SpaceTime twitter feed @stuartgary

SpaceTime YouTube: @SpaceTimewithStuartGary

SpaceTime -- A brief history

SpaceTime is Australia’s most popular and respected astronomy and space science news program – averaging over two million downloads every year. We’re also number five in the United States.  The show reports on the latest stories and discoveries making news in astronomy, space flight, and science.  SpaceTime features weekly interviews with leading Australian scientists about their research.  The show began life in 1995 as ‘StarStuff’ on the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s (ABC) NewsRadio network.  Award winning investigative reporter Stuart Gary created the program during more than fifteen years as NewsRadio’s evening anchor and Science Editor.  Gary’s always loved science. He was the dorky school kid who spent his weekends at the Australian Museum. Gary studied astronomy at university and was invited to undertake a PHD in astrophysics, but instead focused on a career in journalism and radio broadcasting. His radio career stretches back some 34 years including 26 at the ABC. Gary’s first gigs were spent as an announcer and music DJ in commercial radio, before becoming a journalist, and eventually joining ABC News and Current Affairs. He was part of the team that set up ABC NewsRadio and became one of its first on air presenters. When asked to put his science background to use, Gary was appointed Science Editor and quickly developed the StarStuff Astronomy show, which he wrote, produced, and hosted. The program proved extremely popular, consistently achieving 9 per cent of the national Australian radio audience -- based on the ABC’s Nielsen ratings survey figures for the five major Australian metro markets: Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Adelaide, and Perth. That compares to the ABC’s overall radio listenership of 5.6 per cent. The StarStuff podcast was published on line by ABC Science -- achieving over 1.3 million downloads annually.  However, after some 20 years, the show finally wrapped up in December 2015 following ABC funding cuts, and a redirection of available finances to increase sports and horse racing coverage.  Rather than continue with the ABC, Gary resigned so that he could keep the show going independently.  StarStuff was rebranded as “SpaceTime”, with the first episode broadcast in February 2016.  Over the years, SpaceTime has grown, more than doubling its former ABC audience numbers and expanding to include new segments such as the Science Report -- which provides a wrap of general science news, weekly skeptical science features, special reports looking at the latest computer and technology news, and Skywatch – which provides a monthly guide to the night skies. The show is published three times a week (every Monday, Wednesday and Friday) and it’s available from the United States National Science Foundation on Science Zone Radio, and through both i-heart Radio and Tune-In Radio.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Gad Saad: Golda Meir, who was the fourth or fifth prime minister of Israel from, I think, 1969 to 1974, has two quotes which I'm going to paraphrase. I don't have the exact quote. She said, if the Jews put down their arms, there'll be a genocide. If the Palestinians put down their arms, there'll be peace. So, just remember that for a second. Second one is, if the Arabs -- and she means in this case the Palestinian Arabs -- if they were to love their children more than they hate ours, then there'd be peace.

So, why am I saying these two quotes? Because this battle is really not about land, And in a sense, we've already addressed this on previous shows where I've come and discussed about some of these Islamic issues. It is an existential affront that the Jewish state exists in the Middle East. So look at all other religious minorities across Arabia. Egypt used to be completely Coptic Christian, 100%, many hundred years ago. Today there are 10% Cops left. What happened to those Cops? There used to be tons of Christians in Syria. What happened to those Syrians? There used to be tons of Christians in Lebanon. There still are some, about 30-35% but Lebanon used to be a majority Christian country.

So, the goal of Islam -- not individual Muslims right, again, I don't need to preface by saying there are are millions and millions of lovely, kind, peaceful Muslims, of course there is -- but Islam as an ideology, does it tolerate others? Well, we have 1,400 years of history that either says it does or it doesn't, right. We don't have to watch TikTok videos. And nothing could be clearer than what the words of Muhammad were, the prophet of Islam who said that you need to rid Arabia of Christians, but certainly the Jews. So the existence of the land of Israel is an affront to that.

One more point and I'll cede the floor back to you. In Islam there's a concept called Dar al-Islam and Dar al-harb. That means "the House of Islam" and "the House of War." Anything that's under the Islamic control is good. Anything that's yet to be under Islamic control is under the House of War. Once a territory is under Islamic control and you lose it, you have to get it back. It is your dominion forever. This is why, for example, Andalucia which was at one point controlled, which is in current Spain, which was controlled by the Moors, an Islamic conquistador, a lot of jihadists will say, inshallah we have to reconquer Andalucia, it is our land. Because once it's under-- so Israel existentially cannot exist.

So why am I saying all this? You can't have peace if you have the other side that truly never wants for you to exist. That's the bottom line. If you can change people's heart where they say, look, I get a piece of land, you get another piece, let's build an incredible vibrant co-society together, you'd have peace. But if you're taught from straight out of the womb that the Jews is the reason for every calamity in the world, you're not going to have peace.

Joe Rogan: But don't you think that there are Jews and there are Israelis that treat Palestinians as if they're less?

Saad: There there is that in in Texas in terms of treating people who are Hispanic. The darkness of the human heart is not monopolized by one group. There are super nasty Jews and there are incredibly lovely and kind Jews. There are super-nice Muslims and incredibly brutal Muslims. So there is no monopoly on the darkness of the human heart. So I concede that. Of course there are Jews that are not very keen on having Palestinian neighbors. But as someone who grew up in the two Worlds, right, I'm an Arabic-speaking Jew, I hang around with tons of Muslims, I hang around with tons of Jews. Have I ever ever heard somebody in my Jewish family say, oh God, I can't wait for us to eradicate the 1.52 billion Muslims in the world? I've never heard that.

Have I heard incessantly all the time about, inshallah, we'll get rid of the Jews? Every second. You just have to say, hi Ahmed. The next line is, godamn it, we got to get rid of the Jews. Now it's it's become a lot--

Rogan: Is it really that common where you are?

Saad: It's as common as the heat in Texas. It is definitional. As a matter of fact, I introduced a game -- I mean, factiously, but I mean it seriously -- Six Degrees of Jew. So that's a play on Six Degrees of--

Rogan: Kevin Bacon

Saad: Exactly. So I give you a calamity in the world and you've got up to six causal steps to blame the Jews. So, an Amazonian frog just died in the Amazon. Go. And so I will post these on Twitter and people give answers. Now, often times they're just playing along but that's the mindset. You got diabetes? Well, that's because the Jews who are controlling the pharmaceutical industry are not releasing the drug.

I'll give you a recent one that I faced. So, I put up a police lineup of some guys that had been caught in Huttersfield, which is a town in England, who had been grooming and raping young British white girls. And you may or may not know this, I'm not sure if we've discussed in the past, in Britain over the past 25 years there's been an unbelievable industrial scale level grooming and raping of young white girls by "Asian" men. That's a euphemism for men of a certain religious heritage, but you say it's, they're "Asian."

So their names are, let me summarize them for you: Muhammad, Ahmed, Muhammad, Ahmed, Muhammad, Muhammad, Muhammad, Ahmed, Ahmed, Muhammad, Ahmed, Ahmed, Muhammad, Ahmed, Muhammad, okay. So I put those up and I sarcastically said, I don't have a big enough brain to do the big data analytics to understand what is the commonality across all those gentlemen. Could anybody help me? Do you know how many people wrote to me and blamed it on the Jews? Not factiously. So now I'm going to ask you, Joe, on--

Rogan: How?

Saad: I was just going to ask you that. How is it when three Muhammads rape your 12-year-old British girl, you blame it on Mordecai? Three Muhammads lead to Mordecai. Tell me how. You tell me.

Rogan: I don't know. How do they do it?

Saad: Who let them in? It's the Jewish cabal who control immigration policy. It's George Soros, the Jew who controls the Open Society ideology.

Rogan: I don't think you could really just connect George Soros to Jewish. If you look at his policies, he seems anti-western civilization.

Saad: I agree but for the Jew hater, any any causal explanation--

Rogan: So, one individual who just happens to be Jewish.

Saad: Or they point to some other one. There's one, I never, I don't even know who she is. I think Barbara Lerner or something, somebody will correct us in the comments section, where they show her saying something, oh you know, we need to flood-- and she happens to be Jewish. But for every Jewish person who is pro-Open Door policy, there's a counter Jewish person. Here is one who is not for open border policies, right. Stephen Miller, who worked in the Trump administration, is Jewish. He's probably the biggest anti-open door immigration.

So, but that's the mindset of the Jew-hater. Everything is blamed. There's this incredible diabolical feature of the Jew that they're able to at times pretend that they're victims but really they're diabolical and genocidal. It's grotesque, man.

Rogan: It's weird. It's just weird that it became so out in the open.

--

Full episode:

==

Absolutely true. You can go onto Twitter/X and go to any post. The replies will have somewhere in there someone blaming the Jews. It could be something about gender ideology and TRAs, it could be about funding DOGE has canceled, it could be about Hawk Tuah Girl's memecoin scam, it doesn't even matter. Someone will post something about how the Jews are responsible.

And this comes from both the pro-Hamas woke left and the "Christ is King" woke right.

A further point here is that whatever Jewish hatred of Muslims exists is not supported by the Jewish religion. For obvious reasons. But it is a core tenet of Islam that the Jews are evil and must be eradicated, and the entire world must fall to Islam.

https://quranx.com/2.61

And [recall] when you said, "O Moses, we can never endure one [kind of] food. So call upon your Lord to bring forth for us from the earth its green herbs and its cucumbers and its garlic and its lentils and its onions." [Moses] said, "Would you exchange what is better for what is less? Go into [any] settlement and indeed, you will have what you have asked." And they were covered with humiliation and poverty and returned with anger from Allah [upon them]. That was because they [repeatedly] disbelieved in the signs of Allah and killed the prophets without right. That was because they disobeyed and were [habitually] transgressing.

https://quranx.com/5.82

You will surely find the most intense of the people in animosity toward the believers [to be] the Jews and those who associate others with Allah; and you will find the nearest of them in affection to the believers those who say, "We are Christians." That is because among them are priests and monks and because they are not arrogant.

https://quranx.com/2.65

And you had already known about those who transgressed among you [Children of Israel] concerning the sabbath, and We said to them, "Be apes, despised."

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Muslim/USC-MSA/Book-41/Hadith-6985

Abu Huraira reported Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) as saying:

The last hour would not come unless the Muslims will fight against the Jews and the Muslims would kill them until the Jews would hide themselves behind a stone or a tree and a stone or a tree would say: Muslim, or the servant of Allah, there is a Jew behind me; come and kill him; but the tree Gharqad would not say, for it is the tree of the Jews.

[chloessapphicapothecary]

(A billion years of technical-difficulties later, I got it to post! Thank Rao. >,<)

"Comfortable":

*Inside Cat Grant's Penthouse, National City, CA.*

Kara almost didn’t realize it. Sure, it was late, she didn’t realize that Cat was even tired, let alone starting to nod off on her shoulder. She was so enthralled in the movie and trying not to pinch herself, so she woke up and was back in her apartment, without an adorably-tipsy Cat Grant leaning on her shoulder. It wasn’t until her ears pricked the faintest of snoring sounds that Kara realized Cat was zonked-out using her shoulder as an adequate impromptu pillow, as the wine caught up with her and sent her off to hopefully not too much of a hangover the next morning.

The realization, however, sat heavy in Kara's stomach. “So, I am sitting in the middle of CAT GRANT’S apartment, and she’s asleep on my shoulder…” Kara pieced-together internally, her brain running a million different directions about what she should do. “I… I think I should go.” She relented, wanting nothing more to never have to move her perfect face, that of course looked stunning even if it was starting to drool on the sleeve of Kara's blouse.

Kryptonian Soul-Mate bonds don’t mess around.

“Ok, Kara… just slowly stand up..” she muttered under her breath, as she slowly started to shift out from underneath the snoozing woman, each small jostle or creak of furniture and floorboards making Kara’s heart leap into her throat. She was a super-powered alien vigilante with more powers than she could quantify, so super-not-waking-up-cute-girls-as-you-try-to-leave is one of them, right?

Shift, reaction, shift, reaction, it was a roller-coaster of emotions as Kara slowly slid out from underneath the sleeping Cat, and laid Cat down on the couch, covering her up with the blanket that was covering Cat’s lap. Tucking the blanket over Cat’s shoulder, Kara just took a moment to gaze on the blissfully-snoozing Multimedia CEO, and the reaction was almost immediate. The ‘warm and fuzzies’ like Eliza used to call it, and Alex would make fun of her for using as a descriptor well into high school… though once Alex met Sara, she had to admit she might have been a skosh wrong.

“I… love you, Cat…” Kara almost mouthed, her uttering of words so quiet only someone with super-hearing had a shot of hearing it. “I know that sounds crazy, but some day I hope I'll get the chance to make it all make sense…” she added, resisting the urge to cup her face. Kara could wait. Kara could be patient. She could wait for an eternity for Cat. That was the easy part. The hard part is the uncertainty. This wasn’t destined in the stars like it was on Krypton, so Kara couldn’t rest on any semblance of laurels… and that terrified her.

Pulling herself away, Kara tiptoed towards the front door, but along the way saw some paper and a pen on a side-table, and she immediately changed course to scoop the items up. “Least I can do is make sure she doesn’t think I left because I was mad, right?” Kara rationalized internally, as she picked up the pen, and looked to see the paper was Monogrammed stationary. That wouldn’t help her adjusting brain, but she could handle that later.

“Hmmmmm… what to say, what to say..” Kara racked her brain, until the perfect line dropped into her brain, and it was just cheesy enough to work, or so she hoped.

“Didn’t wanna wake you from your Cat-nap. Breakfast at Noonan’s? Kara.”

Kara looked at it, and her gut instinct was to roll her eyes and maybe admit that this was ‘too cheesy’ even by her standards, but something just seemed to insist that it would be fine, so, turning back towards the couch, Kara dropped the note on the coffee table in front of where Cat snoozed away, folded in-half with Cat’s name scribbled in a quick, but flowy fashion.

Sneaking her way back to the door, Kara looked back one more time, silently sighed, then pulled herself away to quietly slippout, striding quickly to the elevators, head swimming with a lifetime's worth of memories to placate her for the uncertain future.

-Chlo. 💜☀️

[godmused]

combichrist lyrics

warning for dark and potentially nsfw themes. adjust terminology as necessary.

I want your blood, I want your soul. I want them both right now. We're making monsters, we created you. Fed you with you with hope and abandoned you. I got gallons of blood. Can't remember where it's from. Just clippings on the wall. I guess it's stuff that I have done. All the moans that you gasp are only for me. Obey, kneel down, I'm in complete control. I need to taste you, your second skin. Every breath you take belongs to me. We are masters of our enemy until there is no enemy. It's in my body. It's in my soul, invading it all. Come set me free, all pain is gone. And it's never enough, the story never ends. A chapter is closed, another one's revealed. Can't stand the pain? Get in line. It's all clear, crystal clear. All the way to the core. Discipline, on your knees, I want your soul. I set you free, on an island of flesh. If we are what we eat, I could be you tomorrow. I've gotta paint this town red! I know its killing you, its a bitter taste - but it's just like me. You're just like me. They, they want it all. They, they got it all. They, a billion strong will destroy us all, make us crawl. They wanna own you and their screams are like thunder. It's hard to scream with your throat full of glass. Laying on the floor in a pool of blood, I can see everything so clear now. Without emotions, without feelings, without love, without hate. Breath is just a clock, ticking. Now I'm blind, I can open my eyes. I cannot breathe this poison air filled with lies. They wish, they want, they will - and never quit. Let the screams in your head be the last thing you hear. Like a disease, I'm always in the wrong. Everything is nothing, life is a shallow grave. I'll be your noise. It's in my body. It's in my soul, demanding it all. Receive the comfort of a broken heart. Surrounded by a million faces, one by one, I see the judgment in their eyes. You always take you what you want, so I'll just take what is mine. You'll feel it from within as I work my way out. You could call it the end of the world. You are losing your mind, and it makes you sick. A lesson of life: It's not what you want, but what you get. "Nobody cares" is all you say to me. Blaming myself for a world on fire. Silent words from a bleeding mouth that swallows pride with a swollen tongue. I can't help it, can't decline. It's always better down the line. I'm in the wrong and I've done it all before. A sickened soul and your world is going under like you never existed in this world at all.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

By Adam Piore

There’s still no cure for the debilitating condition. But some front-line clinicians are finding ways to help patients feel better.

Until Elizabeth Kenny shuffled into Dr. David M. Systrom’s clinic at Brigham and Women’s Hospital in May 2022, she’d pretty much given up hope.

Two years earlier, the 50-something actress took to her bed with COVID-19, feverish and exhausted, to wait for her body to repair itself. Instead, Kenny’s 101-degree fever lasted 70 days and left behind a series of life-altering symptoms that perplexed every doctor she’d consulted. She’d stopped sweating. Her body fluctuated between feeling hot and freezing cold. She had so much trouble digesting food that she became malnourished. She developed a stutter. Bright lights made her vision blur. The back of her head often felt like someone had whacked it with a frying pan. Her heart raced. But the worst part was the relentless, soul-crushing exhaustion.

Systrom, she recalls, “was the first person that when I was describing my symptoms, wasn’t going ‘weird,’” said Kenny, who lives in Arlington. “He was like, ‘yep.’ And then asking me questions that nobody had asked.” Systrom told her that “obviously” Kenny had long COVID. Then he introduced her to a series of unfamiliar words that she would come to know intimately in the weeks that followed: “dysautonomia,” “small fiber neuropathy,” and “mast cell disorder.” It was the beginning of a new phase in her illness. One with hope.

The US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates almost 7 percent, or close to 18 million Americans, are afflicted with the mysterious condition known as long COVID, a syndrome that is so heterogenous, elusive, and difficult to treat, it took a year for some doctors to even acknowledge it was real. In the years that followed, the federal government has doled out more than $1.6 billion to study it, helping to make it one of the most researched diseases in any four years of recorded history. Yet we have little to show for it.

In July, the National Academies of Science, Engineering, and Medicine, at the behest of the Biden administration, published an official definition of the condition. Long COVID occurs after a COVID-19 infection, lasts for at least 3 months, affects one or more organ systems, and includes hundreds of possible symptoms and diagnosable conditions, scientists wrote. But there are still no approved blood tests to diagnose long COVID, no clinically validated treatments, and no cure.

The news is not all bad. Five years in, a small but growing cadre of front-line clinicians such as Systrom are beginning to unravel some of long COVID’s most vexing mysteries. In the process, they are achieving something that once seemed impossible: they are finding ways to help patients, including Kenny, get their lives back.

Doing so requires improvisation, experimentation, and a willingness to work at the edge of medical knowledge. Systrom and his colleagues discuss promising scientific papers and trade tips at conferences, on Zoom calls, and in email chains. Their growing well of anecdotal experience is pointing the way toward the groundbreaking research and clinical trials that will be needed to develop a standard of care in the years ahead as we grapple with a slow-burning public health crisis that shows no sign of abating. While the incidence of long COVID has dropped from roughly 10 percent at the peak of the pandemic to about 3.5 percent among the vaccinated, only about 25 percent of those who develop the condition recover, according to Systrom and other front-line clinicians.

In September 2021, Systrom was among the first clinicians in the nation to demonstrate a measurable change in the physiology of patients suffering from long COVID — and explain how those changes might account for the crushing fatigue that is among its most debilitating symptoms. The study helped establish long COVID as a legitimate condition and overcome the skeptics, said Dr. David Putrino, who runs a long COVID clinic at New York’s Mt. Sinai Hospital.

The study grew out of his experiences with patients: Prior to the arrival of COVID-19, Systrom, a critical care physician who runs a pulmonary clinic at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, had spent years studying chronic fatigue syndrome, also known as myalgic encephalomyelitis, an illness afflicting more than 3 million Americans. When Systrom saw his first long COVID patients — before the condition even had a name — he recognized their symptoms immediately. They were similar if not identical to those reported by patients with chronic fatigue.

To prove it, Systrom had 10 patients don masks and threaded thin, flexible tubes into their jugular veins and major arteries in the forearm to measure the concentration of oxygen absorbed into the lungs, passed into the bloodstream, and taken up by the body’s muscles as they underwent rigorous workouts on stationary bicycles.

Patients who reported symptoms of long COVID absorbed just as much oxygen into their lungs as those without it. But the amount reaching their muscles — oxygen needed to produce the energy required by the exercise — was dramatically reduced, Systrom found.

A growing body of research suggests that both long COVID and chronic fatigue are post-viral syndromes that result in chronic, low-grade inflammation that can damage healthy tissue and, in some cases, the production of auto-antibodies that can attack it.

Systrom and others have begun to catalog the scope of the microscopic carnage caused by the immune system’s friendly fire. Using skin biopsies, Systrom has identified damage to the vast microscopic network of small nerve fibers responsible for sending a wide array of sensory information to the brain. The brain uses that information to regulate involuntary physiologic processes including heart rate, blood flow, temperature, breathing, digestion, and sexual arousal. The result is a condition called “dysautonomia,” a failure of the autonomic nervous system often associated with diabetes as well as autoimmune and degenerative nerve disorders.

They have also identified reductions in mitochondria, the microscopic powerhouses that produce the chemical energy needed to perform basic cellular functions.

For many patients, these findings have been a revelation.

“He’s taken me from feeling completely lost in the woods to at least now just being on the edge of the woods,” Kenny said. “At least now I have a partial understanding of what’s happening to me.” Perhaps more important, Systrom and others have begun to find ways to blunt the condition’s most debilitating symptoms.

Most front-line treatments are still “anecdotal, based on our hunch and experience that we’ve amassed in the clinic over the past several years,” said Ziyad Al-Aly, a clinical epidemiologist at Washington University in St. Louis and leading long COVID researcher, who runs a long COVID clinic.

To tamp down the toxic low-level inflammation, Systrom often prescribes a low dosage of naltrexone, an anti-addiction drug. He and others recently launched a randomized clinical trial to demonstrate the success they have seen in the clinic. He uses Midodrine, a drug that can cause blood vessels to tighten, to increase blood pressure, which can fall dangerously low due to the problems with autonomic nerve signaling. And he offers Mestinon, approved to treat a chronic autoimmune neuromuscular disease called myasthenia gravis, to improve communication between the small nerve fibers and the brain.

Other promising off-label therapies listed by Al-Awy, Putrino, and others include emergency opioid medications that seem to attenuate brain fog, transdermal patches that deliver mitochondrial supplements, and antihistamines, which can be used to tamp down the overactivation of the immune system’s mast cells in tissues.

These treatments have not been validated by the Food and Drug Administration and the success rate varies by patient type, symptoms, and clinical practice. While Putrino and Systrom both believe the transdermal patches have helped their patients with mitochondrial dysfunction, for instance, Al-Awy has less confidence in their efficacy and is thus far less likely to prescribe them.

For Kenny, these medications make a difference. Today, she can move around her house and do things for five hours a day, instead of just two. Her brain fog has lifted enough that she can write for small windows of time. She no longer suffers from intestinal distress so severe she has to use the bathroom five times a day.

Her disease feels like a disability, not a death sentence.

“There’s this huge difference depending on which doctor you end up with,” she said. “I could have just as easily been put with a different doctor who doesn’t have Systrom’s background, who would give me that speech: ‘This is a brand new disease. We don’t know anything. This is all emerging. We still don’t know.’ I got lucky.”

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from The Revelator:

In recent decades the Inland Empire — comprised of San Bernardino and Riverside counties — has been the primary victim of America’s warehouse boom. As demand for online shopping has surged — e-commerce sales grew 50% to $870 billion during the pandemic alone — this region has served as a billionaire’s dumping ground. Those are the words of Tom Dolan, executive director of Inland Congregations United for Change. “Now it’s no longer just Warren Buffet, it’s Jeff Bezos and Amazon,” Dolan told The Guardian in 2021. “And we’re paying the cost of doing their business.”

That business is only made possible by taking out a nonconsensual loan from the residents of surrounding communities. It’s a coercive trade: the health and safety of citizens for the profits they’ll never share. And no worthwhile efforts have been made to pay off that debt.

In order to fulfill the glamorous promises of expedited, overnight and same-day deliveries, diesel trucks conduct over 600,000 daily trips through the Inland Empire alone, carrying roughly 40% of the nation’s goods. These vehicles emit 1,000 pounds of diesel particulate matter every day (alongside 100,000 pounds of nitric oxide and 50,000,000 pounds of carbon dioxide).

The International Agency for Research on Cancer has classified diesel particulate matter as a Group 1 carcinogen — the most severe category — due to sufficient evidence linking diesel exposure to lung cancer. (Other studies have suggested a relationship to cancers of the bladder, larynx, esophagus, stomach, pancreas and blood, alongside asthma, other respiratory disease, heart attacks and premature mortality.) The region bordering the warehouse hub in one Inland Empire city, Ontario, ranks in the 95th percentile of cancer. A 2015 study estimated that 70% of the total cancer risk from air pollution in California is caused by diesel exhaust alone.

The people who suffer the consequences of our online shopping are not typically over-consumers themselves. The South Coast Air Quality Management District found that the 2.4 million people living within half a mile of a warehouse are also disproportionately Black and Latino communities below the poverty line. In 2012 San Bernardino ranked as the second poorest city in America with over 34.6% of people living in poverty. And of all the residents living within a mile of the average Amazon warehouse, 80% are people of color.

[sarsaparillaart]

“The 12-made-10 and the broken dance. The Accelerando. The Change of Ladies. The Metronome and the Song. The Dance-Architect and Rhythm-Draw. The Body. The Chassé. The Rèvèrence. The Unheard Objection.”

Swordtember 7 - Moon

Longer lore piece below. Rendering nacre is harder than I thought btw.

10 Invocations for 10 Moons

O Milkmoon! Life and growth and rot and unloving lust. All things that spread because they must, and all things that take because they can. You the ancient forest and the stinking city, the corn in the field and the smut upon it. You, language and terrible ideas that spread through furtive whispers, poisoning the dwelling minds. You, the disgusting undying evergrowing! The beautiful cancer inside all things! O Halcyon! Grow!

O Coalmoon! The everflowing torrent of change. The violent storm of light and fire and lightning and smoke! You, the forge that melts the world and mixes and ruins and fixes and starts again! You, the white-hot flame that makes glass from deserts and brick from clay and ash from men! You, the violent storm that changes them again to something new! O Labile! Change!

O Saltmoon! The long-held breath; existence without resolution! You yourself the fear of death. You, salted fish and mummified kings! You, the unmarred monument-stone and the author's name on a page! History now and never-past. The unbroken line and unmoving sky! You, still water and rock-hard bread. You who cannot stop, for you cannot move! O Sterile! Continue!

O Winemoon! The impossible dance, shattered legs, and blooded throat! The thirst for drink that already pumps through veins! You, the song that never ends! The silent  verses that flow in a torrents from the lungs of all. The melody in birdsong and the rhythm in the beating of hearts! You the first, last, and million dances unending! The scurrying of rats and the procession of pilgrims! The flowing of water and the whirling of atoms! O Blithe! Revel!

O Nacremoon! The beauty in numbers; the constant ticking up and down and ceaselessness of a spiraling fractal. You the tides of gain and loss. You the lies of luck! You, outlier in an infinite range! The meaningless profundity between digits! You who live in the clink of coins and the arc of arrows. You which breathes probability and bleeds geometric form!  You, the one perfect thing! O Mnemonic! Reckon!

O Silkmoon! The billion lines in a billion webs. You, the strands connecting me to you and you to them and them to me! The lines that connect our eyes to these words and these words to their meanings in a million doomed languages! You, the threads of love and hatred and fealty. The connections between the disconnected! The net of staggering complexity that ties everything that does and does not exist! You, worm-spider in the shape of a moon, spinning and knitting and cutting and shaping! O Sibling! Tether!

O Bilemoon! Flesh and beautiful body. The face perfect, all sharp curves and smooth edges! The glow of sickened health. You, the muscular fat rippling across wide tracts of flesh! You, fast-strength! You skin radiant! You eyes clear! The cutless and malleable form radiating death and sex! You the beautiful parts of existing! You incarnation incarnate! The singular point of body! O Chassis! Live!

O Sugarmoon. You the sky and sea! The wanderer and a researcher. The seer and a thinker! You, the answerless question; the sweet smell on the wind and far-off shore from whence it came! You, the prow of every ship. The boots of every wanderer. The wind in sails! You, promise of discovery! Onward. Onward. Onward! The acidic desire for discovery. The thousand miles within a step and the step  of one thousand miles. You, the hidden name! The reason to search. The lie that gives discovery stronger meaning. You, the push- pull freeing us from stagnation! The sky and sea and the vast stretches of land. The roads and paths and meadows and monuments and wonders on the page and in the minds of explorers. O Peregrine! Seek!

O Venommoon! The vengeance for a broken thing. The well-undeserved punishment. You, the thing that knows sins and castigation! Rejected fate. The death of the young and the continuation of the old. You, the steel-flash of retribution. You, implacable justice. The death of the killer. You, impatience. You, rash action! Destiny taken into unworthy hands. The failed severing of cause and effect, and the successful bending of rules. You, the rebel-judge! O Bellicose! Try!

O Oilmoon! The wretched and unfair hive of golden finery and silver-wealth. You, power manifest! You, monarch in wing-flesh! The servitude of slaves; golden light on the crown; silver light on the usurper's sword. You, the right to rule and the power to enforce! You, every-kenning. The scurrying ants underfoot and the marching steps of soldiers above. You who force the bent knee. Command. You the law and the tax and the splendor and wealth of vast nations. You, the honeycombed tracts of land, the spread and focused will. You, the draw of fealty, the protection of leaders,the fear of tyrants. O Primate! Domineer!

[amethystunarmed]

In This World and the Next

Word Count: 1952 AO3 Thank you to my phenomenal beta, @snarky-wallflower!

Once again, Margaret is staring out a window.

Admittedly, it is not like any window she had gazed through before. Nothing on the Nautilus is like anything she has ever experienced. Soaring through the skies is completely different from traveling by ship; the floor vibrates beneath her, and she constantly has to lean forward to avoid being knocked off her feet. Even through the thick metal hull, she can hear the thrumming of whatever engine makes the Nautilus go. The whir of it makes her heart race, nothing like the calming lap of waves on the way to British Guiana or on the Ellen Austin. 

And the view…

It is a habit of hers, gazing out into the unknown, one that she has had for far longer than she had realized. She has often found it soothing, staring out into the night and gazing at the moons and stars of her home world. There was comfort in the infinite, in knowing just how very much was out there, seeming within reach. But today there is no respite in her quiet observance. The stars move by so fast it makes her dizzy, blurring into stark white lines as they fly by. There is no sign of the moon. There are none of the constellations from her childhood. Looking out at the billions of stars doesn’t comfort her; it just makes her feel entirely alone.

She hears the door behind her open. She knows who it is. There is only one person it could be. Dakkar is unconscious in the infirmary with Ahlaam tending to his injuries, Addison is flying the Nautilus, John is busy with Rose, and Rose… Rose is...

She knows it has to be Sia, coming to check on her. She knows Margaret best, after all.

“I knew that I would find you here,” Sia says. “You always liked looking at the sky when you were upset.” The words are gentle, even slightly teasing. An olive branch. A foot in the door.

But they only make Margaret remember another conversation, back what feels like years ago on the roof of her apartment. The words are so vivid in her mind, she can almost imagine him beside her. She swallows the welling lump in her throat.

“Right,” she says, fighting to keep her voice from cracking. It is harder than she would like.

Behind her, Sia doesn’t move, no footsteps bringing her closer or taking her away. Margaret doesn’t dare to look back at her, knowing it may be what breaks her composure. She takes a hitched, stuttering breath, trying to get herself to calm down. 

Margaret remembers what happened the last time she felt this way, the rush of grief that swept over her when she learned that Great Astronomical Discoveries was a hoax. She remembers the way the Stratfords flew across the room in a supernova of blue light, how right her outburst had felt in the moment. It had been easy, lashing out. With memories of the rest of her magic ways, she doesn’t want to know what she could do to the Nautilus in another burst of rage.

She takes another deep breath.

Sia, finally, makes a decision. She walks up beside Margaret, slowly, the way Margaret had once approached the meanest of the alley cats that lived beside her apartment; with the care of someone who expects to be scratched. Sia stands directly at her side, so that Margaret can just barely see flashes of red hair out of the corner of her eye. She is close enough that Margaret could reach out and touch her, but she feels millions of miles away. 

Margaret wants to cling to her, to hold her in her arms. Margaret can’t bring herself to get even a step closer. The conflicting desires make her mind ache. She breathes through the pain, until her mind settles.

“You said you remember everything?” Sia asks. A week ago, the question would have seemed innocuous. Margaret would have taken it at face value and continued on. But she knows Sia now, remembers her every tell. 

She’s probing.

I guess we are having this conversation now.

Margaret strengthens her resolve, and turns to look at her. Sia… Sia looks rough. Her eyes are red and puffy; her hair is a tangled mess. Her arms are covered in bruises and burns from where she pulled Ahlaam out of the fire of the Antikythera. Soot and sand muddy the white of her robe to a dingy grey. But, as always, Margaret feels a little flutter in her chest at the sight of her. 

She’s beautiful.

“I know we are married, if that is what you’re asking,” Margaret says, keeping her voice level. Sia has the wherewithal to look sheepish at that. “You’re my wife.”

Sia flinches a bit at the title. “It… It’s not called that.”

Margaret knows the proper word for it. She can hear it in her head, the word for what Sia is to her. Her partner, her chosen, the other half of her Radiance. A bond that is tightly knitted between them, one only death could break. 

She just also hears how she would have heard it before, a series of notes and peals that would have barely felt like a song to her, much less a language. The dissonance hurts her head, this language that is both her mother tongue and entirely unfamiliar. It is easier to think in English, for now.

“I know,” she says instead, and feels a twinge of guilt at how Sia’s face falls.

They stand in silence for a long while, only the hum of the Nautilus passing between them. Margaret doesn't mind the silence, but can hear Sia growing more agitated beside her. Her feet shuffle awkwardly, as though she is resisting the urge to leave. She trails her fingers along the ridges of her necklace, at an increasingly desperate rate.

Finally, Sia blurts out what she is thinking.

“Do you hate me?”

Margaret had been expecting this question, and it still feels like a knife in her chest. It's the earnestness, the way Sia’s voice cracks. Sia truly believes it’s a possibility. And Margaret… Margaret can't stand for that.

“I love you,” Margaret says, as easily as the day they were married. “I love you so much.” 

Giving up Sia was one of the hardest things Margaret has even done. She remembers the last kiss they shared, before everything went to hell. She remembers Sia’s hands clutching the front of her robes, the desperate way Sia had dragged her close. The feeling of Sia’s hot tears as they splashed against her cheek. She can practically feel the point of Sia’s canine against her bottom lip, as though Sia could devour her, could keep her close through that, if nothing else. Margaret didn’t blame her. She is sure her own fierce kisses left bruises on Sia for weeks. 

Margaret hopes they lasted. She hopes that Sia felt her in the ache for as long as possible.

But now, Sia shakes her head, dismissing the words like they don’t matter. “Margaret… It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way anymore, it’s been-” She stops, and crosses her arms over her chest. “I know you and Samuel were getting close.”

Gods… Samuel.

Margaret never kissed Samuel. She had imagined it before, lying awake at night in Township #9. What it would have felt like, if she had been brave enough to kiss him on her rooftop, back when Great Astronomical Discoveries was real. If he would have been as gentle as his smile when he placed his lips against her own. 

She wishes she had done it. She wishes she kissed him, while she still could.

She is glad she never did. She thinks the guilt might have eaten her alive. 

Samuel didn’t deserve this. Sia didn’t deserve this. 

Thinking of either of them tears her hearts to shreds in entirely different ways. Two loves she managed to fail in utter totality. She wasn't enough for either of them, when it mattered most. It is almost enough to make her laugh.

“Do you blame me?” Sia asks. 

And isn’t that the question?

Because Margaret knows it isn’t Sia’s fault. Visions are not concrete. They are not easy-to-follow guidelines that get you to the best outcome. Ever since she was a little girl, it was drilled into her the weight those with the gift of Perception must bear, the double-edged sword they wield. 

A vision is not a prophecy.

Margaret the Traveler knows this. 

Margaret the Human…

She can’t help but think of the brilliant man with a smile like the sun. Sia was the one who placed them in the path of Morgan, in the path of the Antikythera, in the path of Kal. Margaret remembers thinking that it was all part of some grand plot, that Sia must have had a reason. 

And she did. 

She put them in danger on purpose, put Samuel in danger on purpose. She took the first friend Margaret Cavendish had ever made and placed him in the middle of a battlefield. Amos, Elijah, AJ, Samuel… Sia didn’t warn them away from the fight with Kal, but instead pushed them to it; all in the name of getting Margaret back. 

Now they’re all dead.

Samuel sacrificed himself. He paid the ultimate price to keep all of them safe, in an utterly selfless act. Margaret will not take that away from him.

But she knows he never would have been in that situation if it wasn’t for meeting Sia.

If it wasn’t for meeting Margaret.

So Margaret doesn’t answer Sia’s question, like a coward. Sia hears the words anyway.

“Where does that leave us?” Sia asks. Margaret can hear the sobs she is holding back in the quaver of her voice.

Margaret swallows. “I don’t know.” She wishes she had a better answer. She wishes she had more to give. But… 

She just doesn’t know.

Sia looks stricken for a second, eyes going wide. Her face is pale in the strange false lights of the Nautilus, and Margaret can see the reflection of the speeding stars reflected in her pupils. Then, with her usual grace, Sia pastes a smile on her face. It doesn’t hide the tears welling in her eyes. 

“Of course,” she says graciously. She tries to hide it, but Margaret sees her knot her hands in the fabric of her skirt. She grasps it so tightly, her knuckles turn white. “I will let you have the room to yourself-”

“No, stay,” Margaret says, instinctively reaching out to grab Sia’s wrist. The idea of Sia leaving, of being alone in the universe again… It makes her want to start screaming, and she thinks if she started, she would never stop. She trails her fingers down to Sia’s hand, carefully coaxing them out of the ironclad grip in which Sia clutches her skirt. Gently, Margaret massages her knuckles, rubbing the circulation back into them. “Please. Please stay.”

That is what makes the tears spill down Sia’s cheeks. Margaret reaches up and cups Sia’s face, wiping the tears away with her thumbs. The touch on makes Sia sob harder, shaking like a petal in a thunderstorm. Margaret pulls her forward, so their foreheads rest together. She can feel shuddering against her, as Sia releases the anguish she has surely been stockpiling since Kal arrived on Lincoln Island. 

She doesn’t know what their future will be. She can’t even begin to imagine what their lives will look like after this. But she knows she wants Sia there, for all of it.

They stand there, together, holding each other, with only the stars as witness.

[the-sparkling-diamond-satine]

Hiii! Not an ask but just wanted to say thanks for all the amazing moulin rouge fics, I read your very first moulin rouge fic a week after it was published and have read every one of the 296,495 words you’ve written about the mr! Universe since. I’m kinda awful with writing insightful or useful comments or anything, so sorry if this kinda out of the normal or anything- but i just wanted to say thanks for all your writing, and you’re definitely my favourite ao3 author ever.

I’ve been rereading your fics again and again throughout the year, (atp I think I know some of them off by heart) and I just think it’s really amazing how clear your characters are, you’ve built a really amazing world from the ground up, like with every new work it feels like another piece of the story just sorta slots in there? Especially in a pretty small fandom you are making such an awesome impact and I hope you know that your writing is so cool and I appreciate it a lot.Sorry if this is weird or anything but I just wanted you to know that you are crazy underrated and that your writing is so deeply meaningful and never fails to impress.  thanks for the last year <3 

(Hope you enjoy the next one) 

HIIIIIII!!!!!! i'm sorry i take such an abnormally long time to answer whenever i get an ask as nice as this one, it's because i spend a week or two getting most of the excited screaming out so i can answer somewhat coherently!!!!! it's not you i promise i thought about this ask every day since i got it and there was all of the happiness and sdjkfnjksdg (positive)!!!!! aaaahhhh you incredibly kind human!!

omg you have been here FROM THE VERY BEGINNING OF MY ROUGE JOURNEY. HI. THAT IS SO EXCITING!!! not sure how i feel about some of my earliest stuff tbh but i'm glad you stuck around!!! also pls never apologize for how you reach out, every time i post a fic i've worked very hard on it and it feels like putting a little bit of my soul on the internet so positive feedback is welcome from readers in any format or medium and ALWAYS appreciated and read over and over and over again when the impostor syndrome takes hold haha! all that to say any kind comment is useful and i'm gonna respectfully disagree that you aren't insightful! [not that you asked but i used to have horrible anxiety about leaving comments and never knew what to say so where i started was just trying to tell the author either 1) a favorite (moment, line, piece of dialogue, plot twist, chapter, etc.) or 2) how the chapter made me feel (did i laugh, cry, am i still thinking about it days after reading?) if comments are something you'd like to try leaving i hope that gives you a place to start! and as a writer i can say we LOVE this kind of feedback and there is no comment too short or too uninsightful so long as you're kind!! i love hearing from my readers about what they enjoy and what works and it def affects my future chapters/works once i know what you all want to read more of!! the relationship is reciprocal like that haha :) ]

favorite ao3 author is a HIGH ACHIEVEMENT omg. i am gonna scream about that for 87 years (in the best way)!!!!!! thank you for taking the time and the courage to let me know!!!!!

"I just think it’s really amazing how clear your characters are, you’ve built a really amazing world from the ground up, like with every new work it feels like another piece of the story just sorta slots in there? Especially in a pretty small fandom you are making such an awesome impact and I hope you know that your writing is so cool and I appreciate it a lot." <- INSIGHTFUL. INSIGHTFUL AF. ALSO LOVELY AND KIND AND SO WONDERFUL AND KNOWING YOU FEEL THIS WAY MAKES ME SO HAPPY I COULD CRY. this is the kind of feedback i wanna save forever when the impostor syndrome tries to keep me from posting. thank u a million billion times over!!!!! happy to know you will likely be reading whatever i post next haha!!! that's always so encouraging :)

[a-artist-a]

Of Dawn and Dusk: to live and to die

ao3

The world ends in silence. One long drawn out note, high and clear, before it goes quiet, forever. That sudden absence settles heavy on his shoulder; it is not just the missing sound but life itself.

He must at some point have stopped screaming, his throat still raw and cheeks wet with tears. On any other day he would have been angered by himself showing such weakness before his enemy. But there is nothing left. What point is there in shame when you are the only people left in this cursed Galaxy?

The Force is empty. Hollow. Worse than any battle, worse than any slaughter. Not even blood remains. No single spark of life.

To call his feelings grief is wrong. Too simple, too personal.

He is an failure. The words hang in his mind. Nothing he had done mattered. Three times he had fought the Emperor, this false god, and yet here he stands over the corpse of a million worlds. Damned to be as eternal as his nemesis. His flesh aches where sith script is carved into it. What an terrible curse, to be alone with Tenebrae forever. What would boredom drive the Sith to do?

He shivers.

No. He refuses this fate.

The haze of drugs has receded. He was to be conscious for his defeat, the total defeat. So that Tenebrae could laugh at his misery and prod and poke at his wounds. As another mockery he did not even take his lightsaber away. Cold chains bite into his skin as he shifts to his knees. His body is heavy, tired and tortured. It does not want to keep going. His mind, too.

Then let it end. Let it all end.

The Force is an thick block of ice where it should be flowing water. He barks an laugh. Is Tenebrae fucking up his own power source? An bitter win, but he takes it.

“Be damned to all hells, Tenebrae.” Ariol hisses. “I will see you there, waiting for your end. It will come. One day, death will find you and make you pay for every life you stole.”

“Foolish knight. Have you still not learned your lesson? You cannot win.”

“Oh, this it not about winning, it is about making you lose.”

And there is only one thing left to spite him with. Tenebrae wants him to live, to be his trophy, the monument of his triumph. So he shall die.

He reaches deep within – the darkest corner of his being – and simply steps over the line, from life to death.

For a moment he fears Tenebrae will stop him, but then he stands next to his corpse, wreathed in glittering light and sees a thousand empty worlds and only can think: It is over. At last.

Then he wakes up.

It was dark. Not merely night, but an pure darkness in which even shadows were invisible. Was this the end? The force?

He sneezed. Once. Twice. More dust settled in his lungs, dry like parchment, and he coughed before covering his face with his arm. The smell of his blood clung to the battered armor.

So. Not dead. His head was blessedly empty, no Tenebrae in sight. No repeat of that, ever, please.

After another moment in which nothing happened apart from his heart beating and the rise and fall of his chest, he dared to reach out with the Force.

It was – Woah. He had forgotten how full of life the Galaxy could be. A billion sparks covered his surroundings, a net of light and life, from microscopic bacteria to ancient trees. Their roots speared deep into the earth until they hit what must be an underground lake. Lichen grew over volcanic rocks, the raw energy of the heat reflected into the Force.

Blood dripped across his cheek.

Suddenly the room lit up. An presence unveiled within the Force. Before he could think, he moved and pinned the figure against the wall. Only then he realized that the intruder was made of spun light. Glimmering lines formed an silhouette below him, the spiked armor declared the specter to be an Sith.

“Who are you?” He hissed. It was not one of Tenebrae's recent victims, those he all knew by name and shared memories painted over by their death screams.

“Who are you?” The ghost asked back. It stepped backwards, half into the wall, but Ariol grabbed it and yanked it back out. Both of them stared at where his hands touched its arm with horror. The specter shoved him but only managed to sink its hand into his flesh with an flash of cold.

Everyone in the Galaxy knew him, Tenebrae made sure of it, if the fleet behind him wasn't enough to make one take notice. And there was life, here, in the Force, where only death should be. Too much life for it to be an hidden corner of the Galaxy, somehow forgotten in the killing spree.

“Answer my questions and I will leave you to your rest. What year is it?”

“Tsk. Why ever should I do that?”

Ariol stared the spirit down and gave the arm an harsh squeeze. “I am fully capable of performing an exorcism, if my blade is not enough of an persuasion.” Another failed attempt to stop Tenebrae.

“Well, how would I know? I don't care for the living much at all! They never visit my tomb.”

“Then what year did you die in? Or has your mind failed even at that?”

“You!” The Sith pointed at him. “- are the rudest visitor I ever had.”

“I can also be the last visitor you'll ever have.”

“You must have been fun as apprentice. But very well. I died in an great battle for my great Lord Sadow, stricken down by -”

“Enough. Do you know the name Tenebrae?” An shake. “Vitiate?”

“Oh, that little brat? Well, he wasn't so little last I saw him but he is an strange reclusive.”

His lips twitched.

“It's an wonder he has not removed your spirit.” Ariol released the Ghost's arm from his grasp.

“Why? What became of him? Is he your master?” The ghost gave him an pitying look.

“No.”

There had to be an exit somewhere. The tomb so small that the glow of the spirit was enough to let him see. An simple design with an closed sarcophagus, he must have only barely missed when he appeared, and several pedestals, all in gold and emerald. He reached out with the Force and searched the walls until he found an hidden latch on the opposite site.

The ancient door rolled open with an groan. As he stepped over the threshold, he saw tiny holes carved into the plates just beyond. Clear sign of an trap. He paused, took several steps back and jumped over them. Likely an attempt to open to door by hand was the trigger, but he would rather not risk it.

He took an deep breath. Fresh air never felt so good. And what an sight!

Green as far as the eye went, split by an huge river carreling down from an massive mountain range, white foam visible even from far below. Metal glinted above the tree line. An eerie purple haze covered the sky where dark clouds promised an rain storm.

The tomb was located on top of sloped hill, the ground below flat in a way that spoke of regular flooding, with only thin reeds and grass growing. All manner of small critters hushed across the field and herbivores rested at the forest's edge. And he had never seen this place before.

Fuck. Unknown time, unknown location. Could it get worse?

But he was not alone. The Force brimmed with life. An particular huge gathering of energy was located inside the mountains. Likely Sith, with the tomb here. They would have an ship. If they proved troublesome, well, ordinary men had never been the issue. But it would be an waste to kill them without at least trying.

By the time Ariol reached the forest, he had found more marks of life. An road that turned into speeder tracks where the plains began, an ladder that helped him up an hill and the people streaming out of the mountains, as if he had disturbed an anthill. He sat down on an boulder, lightsaber ready incase they wanted to shoot first and ask questions later, and waited.

It did not take long. Several transports came, all in an good state but not military. An older woman stepped out, blaster in hand, followed by more. They all wore an uniform, pure black with golden trim for what he assumed where the higher ranks. Not republic. They might not be considered force-sensitive but those born on Korriban and other old, dark worlds had an distinct presence. Usually it would be lost with time spent in space, separated from their homeworld. That those soldiers still bore an mark was strange. An side effect of the tomb or an clingy Sith Master?

Hesitation and fear curled around the group like dark smoke. Whatever they had expected to find, it had not been him. The leader steeled herself and addressed him: “My Master requests your presence.”

It was not an request and they both knew it. If Ariol refused, they would retreat and call their Lord. But for an Sith it was rather polite. He did appear out of nowhere. An threat. Well, if they were willing to take him to an ship . . “I accept.”

The ride was spent in awkward silence, surrounded by an low current of not quite terror – the knowledge that the person next to you could within an single heartbeat.

Carved into the mountainside was an immense fortress. Towers pierced the stone like bones of an ancient beast. Watchful darkness stared at him from within. Like an spiderweb the presence stretched across the stronghold, weaved into the minds of the soldiers – or perhaps they were all servants.

Red light shone through the gates as they opened with an roar. Ariol was briskly escorted inside, no chance to look around. His eyes flickered over carvings, statues and relics that adorned the long hallways. Several scrolls of sith poetry hung on the walls, but they walked too fast for him to translate.

They led him into an room, huge, with two doors, the one he came through and another. An massive table stood in the middle, made of real wood or an decent fake. Bookshelves covered the walls from top to bottom. Only one window was in the room, placed just right to make the sunlight shine like an halo around the figure at the desk.

“Leave,” commanded an cold voice, and then: “You, sit down.”

Ariol decided to obey. Before him sat an older human with burning sunburst eyes, gold tattoos stark against his tan skin, long hair pinned back. The fine ridges along his nose marked him as of sith blood. He wore robes, black and purple and gold, like an emperor of old.

“Fascinating what one can find by the tombs, although we rarely find anyone living – apart from thieves but these do not stay alive long enough to count.” The Sith drawled, his voice dark and rough, as if he was unused to speaking and yet knew he would be obeyed.

“I am no thief.” His voice was steady despite the low shiver that ran across his back. Confidence was half the game when it came to dealing with Sith.

“Yet you appear on my world without invitation.”

He stared straight into those fiery eyes. “It was not intentional, believe me.”

“I shall be the judge of that.” But Ariol had seen the faint tug at the man's lips.

He glanced away, to imply reservation, even shyness. No, not shyness but respect and an unwillingness to tell tall tales. “How I came to be here is hard to believe, even for myself.”

“Be my guest. Speak true and no harm shall come to you. On my honor as Sith.”

“I was . .” Ariol let out an stuttered breath. “I thought I died, at first. An great battle.” He gave an slight shrug, trying for sincere but embarrassed. “I lost.”

”In one moment my world was gone. Do you know how it feels when the Force itself dies? An empty patch in reality itself?” He snarled, let agony flood his aura. A short but sharp pain pulsed in his eyes.

“And then I woke up! This is not my Galaxy. The Force feels strange, so unlike how I know it to be. I thought it was an trap but why include strangers? There are easier ways to fool me.”

The Sith clasped his hands together and leant forwards.. “You claim to be – not from this Galaxy?”

“I claim nothing. Never have I studied paradoxes, reality and time. If this is another timeline, an dark reflection, an future never meant to pass or an strange nightmare, I do not know and likely never will. But I know an Sith when I see one.”

“As do I.” The Sith smiled darkly. “I have been remiss in greeting you. My apology for the rudeness. Let me introduce myself: I am the Keeper of Mysteries, Lord of the Dark Council – Darth Rictus.”

Ariol forced his face to stay blank, but his mind screamed. Rictus. What an opportunity. High risk, high reward. Should he take it? Could he afford not to? He had an dark councillor sitting in front of him, already believing his story. An threat, no matter what he choose.

If Tenebrae learned about an time traveler, whether from the past or the future, he would investigate. Too interesting, too unique. And Ariol remembered what happened when the Emperor found you interesting.

He had to take the chance. If he could get the majority of the Dark Council on his side – he quickly counted his allies from the past – he may even get them to perform an coup.

And the man believed him to be an Sith! It was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

“I am Ariol, although you will not find that name anywhere.”

Rictus gave him an considering glance. “Perhaps I could shine a light on your history, if not by your name then by your enemies. Who did you battle against?”

“Tenebrae. My nemesis. The one I have sworn to kill no matter what.”

“I must say, I have never heard that name before.”

Ariol laughed, bitter. “He has not gone by that name in an long time. Who he is an even more outrageous tale.”

“Do not keep me in suspense, young lord.” Rictus narrowed his eyes. His aura pulsed in warning, patience coming to an end.

“How secure is this room?”

“No one will know what you speak.”

“Good.” He breathed in deep. This was it. ”You might know him as Darth Vitiate. Or rather – the Sith Emperor. And he intends to kill every living being in the Galaxy.”

“That's an harsh claim.” But there was no surprise in his eyes. Not an single twitch of an muscle. Did he already knew?

“I saw it with my own eyes. An entire planet, gone. The Force itself, gone. And he will do it again and again.”

“War destroys planets all the time.”

“But we know that it is not same, don't we?” He leant forward. “Has he not gone and ignored the Empire? How often does he take part in ruling?”

“Oh, we quite like him distant – but I do admit one single supreme ruler would achieve more than an council of twelve and an absent emperor.”

“And he slows progress. Weakens the Empire. Takes those strong with the Force and makes them his slaves. He is an jealous being at heart.”

Rictus chuckled. “What do you know of him?”

“Much. He plays with us all like puppets, dragging us into battles when he wants entertainment and makes us stop when he gets bored. He fears death more than anything and so he reaches further and further. But he did not stop at immortality.” Ariol paused to draw breath.

“He wants to become an god. To be greater than the Force. And to do so he will sacrifice the Galaxy, consume our life and drain the Force from us until only empty husks remain.”

“You risk much by speaking so open. Rash action brings an swift defeat.”

The Sith Lord fixed him with cold eyes. Then he smiled, faintly.

“But sometimes it is the only course. An battle does not wait for one to finish planning.”

“One day he will die for an final time. I intend to make it soon. Together we could achieve much more.” He spoke with more confidence than he had.

“And what would you do if I were to say no?”

Ariol considered the Sith before him. The question appeared to be sincere, based on pure curiosity, not an actual denial. But it was also an test. Tension was written across the man's body. Excitement, even. He had to choose his answer carefully.

Yet he barely knew anything about this Sith. An Dark Council member, so he was used to power, respect and fear. An strong Sith Lord with enough of an talent for politics to not get assassinated. But one that he had never meet. So, not the type to battle the Republic in person.

It was an gamble. Ariol raised his chin and stared him straight into the eyes. “Then I would have to kill you. I cannot risk Tenebrae learning of my survival.”

The answer shoot like an bullet out of his mouth. “Prove it.”

Ariol paused.

“Prove that you can kill me . . . and I shall consider your offer.”

Somehow, this was so typical sith, he should not be surprised. Of course an duel to the death was an acceptable recruitment method. Why the fuck not?

“Here and now?”

“My holdings are soundproof. No one would dare to interrupt me.” The man glanced at his bookshelves, something like concern on his face. “But let's take this outside.”

It was an short walk. Ariol tried to recall all he could about the Dark Lord, but found that he knew nothing. Assumed death after Zakuul, but not confirmed. Marr never spoke of him. The man was an mystery. And it meant he had to be prepared for anything.

Rictus brought him to an circular stone ring, the ground already marked by scorch marks from previous battles. Above them the mountain split apart to show the black sky. They took position a few foot-lengths apart and lit their blades. His golden blade glowed even brighter in the twilight cast of the cavern. To his surprise, Rictus' lightsaber was not the typical red, but an black so dark it swallowed the light.

They did not bow as Jedi did, but Ariol saluted out of pure habit. After an moment and an nod, the Sith returned it.

To act if he truly were trying to kill Rictus, he had to attack first. Soresu did not led it well to aggression but it was not the only form he had mastered, unwilling student he may have been. Ariol breathed in, ignored all memories and struck.

Sparks flew as their blades met. At first it was an exchange of careful blows, slow and steady. Each tested the other for weakness and found none. Faster and faster they went until they became an whirlwind of light, matching strike for strike.

Pure exhilaration radiated of Rictus. Ariol drew deep onto the Force and struck again, enhanced by his power. Slowly but surely Rictus was pushed back. Finally, something. He bared his teeth in an grin.

Then the Sith changed his approach. No longer he tried to cross blades with him and instead went for simple avoidance. And so their next dance began. The Sith made him chase him across the arena, only meeting his blade when he had no other choice.

Ariol growled as he once again dodged the strike. This was going nowhere! He needed to - an shiver ran across his neck. Suddenly Rictus' presence unfurled. An near endless well of power stared back at him. He had no time for horror.

Pressure sky-rocked. Ariol threw himself back but it was too late. Pure heat seared through his veins as lightning struck from above. An scream escaped his throat. He spat out blood. Blinking, trying to get the tears out of his eyes, he barely managed to block the next blow from taking his arm off. Heat seared across the sensitive underside of his arm. There was no choice but to move, to get distance between them while he took stock of the damage.

Not an moment later, it began to rain. Water hissed into fog where it met their lightsabers. More and more mist filled the air until he had trouble seeing Rictus. Worse, his presence vanished. The dark spot of color that was his blade went out. Fuck.

Silence dropped over the battlefield. Silence and the sound of raindrops. Clearly, he needed another plan. He had to win. There was no other choice and it had to happen soon. Between the exhaustion and the tremors from the lightning, he was not doing well.

But Ariol could only curse himself. What a fool he had been. He let himself be played by an Sith, enticed to attack first, like an charging bantha, and not think. Was he not an Jedi, once? He took an defensive stance and waited. Let Rictus come to him. Let him try to land an blow. He would fail as so many have before.

The veil of rain parted where the black blade struck. Ariol breathed in, parried, breathed out and parried once more. Again and again, Rictus tried to break his defensive, and failed every time. His heartbeat started to slow. His breathing evened out.

Finally, Rictus started to slow.

Ariol tackled the Sith in an rather undignified manner. Rictus nearly scored an hit, but he managed to get his own blade between them. It was an awkward tumble, both trying not to skewer themselves while also trying to stay standing.

With one final hit Rictus' fingers loosened around the hilt and Ariol wrenched it from his hands. The Sith stumbled, then fell. Raw energy started to crackle in the air around him before fading.

Ariol held his lightsaber only a fingers width from his throat. Sweat-drenched, he stared down at his enemy. “Do you give.”

“Yes. Well done. The first to best me in an very long time.” Rictus lowered his voice. “Impressive, truly.”

Ariol extinguished his blade and offered the Sith an hand up. After an pause, he took it.

“May I?” Rictus asked while gesturing towards his burned arm. Ariol nodded. There was no point in harming him now. Dark energy gathered over his wound, an short pain and then it faded into an scar. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry. Rictus could have kept fighting, if he was still throwing around power afterwards. Fucking terrifying.

“Thank you.” he mumbled. His mouth tasted like blood. “What now?”

“You went through an terrible ordeal, kinsman. Rest, heal and let us reconvene tomorrow.” He chuckled. “I, too, need to regenerate from your skilled hands.”

Or rather change clothes. They were both dripping wet and covered in dirt.

There was an short pause before an man slipped into the arena, in the same black uniform as everyone else.

“My lord.” The servant bowed.

“This is my honored guest. Bring him to the guest rooms.” Rictus turned back to Ariol. “You may take my healer's service later.”

Exhaustion hit him like an speedercrash. He barely managed to keep his eyes open and dismiss the servant before stumbling into far too grand rooms. The bed called to him, but he did not want ruin those fancy sheets with blood, sweat and whatever else clung to him.

He dropped his armor by the fresher, then returned to the bedroom to search for something to wear. The wardrobe held robes in nearly every size, made out of some cloth that likely costed more than what he had earned in all his life. Ariol shrugged and choose the first one that looked like it could fit.

The battle had left it marks. Where lightning carved an path through his flesh, raw red lines remain, crossed over by older scars. Ancient script covered him top to bottom. He snarled. Tenebrae's work. If he could only take an knife and scrape it all off.

And as the water washed away the blood, only then he allowed himself to cry.

[raccoonfallsharder]

Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟupdated 1/17

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 25/27 chapters | wip| word count: pending. ♡ check the masterlist for expected updates ♡ ♡ see the "holiday special" ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ [new 12/5] ♡

see new fan art of my girl jo! a few gorgeous sketches by @moonnpiie ♡♡♡♡ and a Chapter XXIV jo by @frostedwitch ♡♡♡♡

girl falls first; racoon falls harder.

Rocket isn’t sure how he continues to be surprised by her, or how he never seems to anticipate her next move, especially when — cosmically speaking — Jo’s the most predictable frickin’ person he knows. For one damn thing, she is constantly dropping down to the ground in front of him: in front of the cage with a plateful of food. In the streets of Conjunction. By his bed while he slept. The very first time she’d used her mouth on him. And then the next time, too. That whole experience had been so brain-melting he still isn’t sure he’ll ever recover. But for whatever reason, when she sits down at the foot of his chair this time and takes his hands in her own — so carefully — his heart is suddenly, unexpectedly, in his throat. He can’t breathe around it, can’t swallow. When she starts speaking, he already knows what she’s going to say. He can feel it in the air, like static electricity building toward a spark. Because, just as she’d said, she’d already told him a million times before. With and without words. But still. He can’t breathe. And once she’s done confessing, and gives him two kisses — one pressed into each palm, to keep — she looks at him patiently and shifts like she’s about to rise to her feet and go about her night, like she’s not expecting anything back. Because of course she’s not.

[NEW 1/9] ✧･ﾟ:*Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. in which both of our heroes learn a little about themselves. ❤︎

i know there are parts of this don't read smoothly (sorry sorry sorry) but in general i am so so so happy with this chapter. drax. (╥﹏╥) we have two more chapters to go, which is.... kinda making me cry tbh. i already miss these two idiots so much. ~♡

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

General summary/notes + links to recently preceding chapters behind the cut.

let me know via comment, message, or ask if you'd like to be added or removed from my fanfic taglist ♡

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies).

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best boy raccoon

*･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:*✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship.

Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron.

Chapter III. A Kindness. in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food.

Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave.

Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units.in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course.

Chapter VII. I'm Here. in which we visit Knowhere.

Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.”

Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking.

Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way.

Chapter XI. Let It Be. in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost.

Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes.

Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared.

Chapter XV: Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly.

Chapter XVI. Run. in which Rocket falls victim to his superstitions.

Chapter XVII. A Seedling. A Fox. A Little Girl. in which the party is divided.

Chapter XVIII. I Happen to Know a Guy. in which our heroes get fucked. Again. Still not in the good way.

Chapter XIX. He Was Loved. in which a planet is killed, a friend is made and lost, and nobody still has any frickin’ tape.

Chapter XX. Some Nerve. *in which an ultimatum is given.

Chapter XXI. I Very Still. ❤︎❤︎ in which our heroes get fucked. In the good way, this time. Finally.

Chapter XXII. Got There Worse. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket does not say "I love you."

Chapter XXIII. We're Gonna Need a Bigger Table. ❤︎ in which the galaxy continues to spin.

Chapter XXIV. Space Would Be Better. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket ~discreetly~ claims the title of boyfriend.

Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. * in which both of our heroes learn a little bit about themselves.

Chapter XXVI. Other Side of the Window. ❤︎

Chapter XXV. The Most Beautiful Thing in My House. ❤︎❤︎

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆A Holiday Special *

Epilogue: Interviewing Rocket & Jo. ten years after Window ends. short/drabbly, silly fluff.

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @pretty-chips ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @glow-autumz

[tapedsleeves]

last line tag game

tagged by @kj-op & @podcasts-8-my-heart

rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

this is hot off the presses (still written on notebook paper) tknp Valentines Fic

When Travis is done drying his hair, Nolan tips his head back and leans up for a kiss. Travis presses his fingers along Nolan's jaw and leans down to press their mouths together.

tagging @lurlur who is worth a million billion words and anyone else who wants to do it!