#Space Control Operations Center

[sw5w]

The Prime Minister is Expecting You

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:41:55

[she-is-ovarit]

"All inclusive" as it operates today isn't a concept born from the women's movement, civil rights movement, or gay rights movement—it's origins are in the MRA (men's rights activism) "egalitarianism" push in the early 2000s, which was an anti-feminist movement.

And this adoption of "all inclusive" is so similar to the "all lives matter" movement in the sense that it is in direct opposition to women attempting to discuss issues that disproportionately effect us in the axis of sex.

It's the "no sex but the human sex" spinoff to "no race but the human race".

It's not bad to have neutral groups or spaces where everyone is involved, but it's destructive when groups, events, and spaces centered on an oppressed population (including female human beings) are bullied away for not including everybody.

When everything ever becomes "all-inclusive" it is the ideology and culture of the population with the most power and social influence—the oppressor class—that dominates as the default.

Have your online discussions that focus on both men and women, but in addition to this we also need established environments that not only welcome but encourage discussions about how different forms of male violence and coercive control exploit women on the axis of sex without hearing shit about "all genders are welcome here!".

Have your "all-inclusive LGBTQ" bars and events but we also need areas where strictly gay men and lesbian women can freely be and resources that focus specifically on us.

Stop tearing down lesbian bars and women's centers we attempt to construct just simply because it doesn't include you—that is what MRAs and Christian homophobes do.

"All inclusive" is exclusionary to oppressed groups when it's the only option for spaces, resources, and perspectives of discussion because it operates a cultural form of assimilation, erasure, and coercive control.

[sixeyesonathiel]

PANOPTICON — tenant!satoru x cctv operator!reader

cw/cn : voyeurism, masturbation, psychological tension and obsession, degradation kink, 2.2k wc. 18+ only, MDNI.

a/ n : wrote this with this fic in mind, premise was just so good i had to do my own take with it, yummerz <3 part two someday!

tokyo’s crown jewel, they call it. the obsidian spire.

a high-rise so exclusive it’s practically a myth, its black glass facade slicing the tokyo skyline. ninety floors of wealth and secrets, where the air smells of money and the shadows hide sins. the lobby alone could swallow your old apartment whole—marble floors veined with gold, chandeliers dripping crystal, air so crisp it stings your lungs. the tenants? ceos, diplomats, faces you’ve seen on headlines but never in person. they glide through, untouchable, their lives a mystery behind keycard-locked doors.

you’re just the night watch. the graveyard shift concierge-slash-cctv operator, tucked in a surveillance room that hums like a living thing. thirty-two screens, a glowing wall of eyes, each one a window into their world. your world is smaller—coffee gone cold, a chair that creaks, a badge that says you belong but doesn’t mean it. on paper, it’s simple. monitor. log. report. keep the machine running.

nobody told you the screens would pull you in.

nobody warned you about floor seventy.

nobody warned you about him.

satoru gojo. penthouse 70-B.

a name you didn’t know until that first night, but now it’s carved into your pulse, a rhythm you can’t shake. he’s a creature of habit—gym at 10:00 p.m., pool at midnight, smoking shirtless on his balcony by 2:00, always lit like a stage, always alone. always just close enough to the camera to make your skin burn.

you tell yourself it’s protocol. safety. your job.

but you don’t track the others like this. don’t grind into your chair when they stretch, don’t replay their footage, don’t whisper their names through trembling fingers as they move, unaware, under your gaze. only him. only satoru. his body in the jacuzzi, head tipped back, hands sliding over his chest like a lover’s—your hands, in your dreams.

he doesn’t smile at the cameras. doesn’t wink.

but god, he knows. he lingers too long in the lobby mirror, adjusting his tie with fingers that drag slow, deliberate, down his throat. lets his robe slip open in the sauna, just enough to tease. pauses in the elevator, fixing his hair, his reflection a taunt you can’t look away from.

you consume it. devour it. a starving thing, clawing at scraps of him through glass and wire.

it started three weeks ago. your first shift.

your workplace was new to you then, its weight still sinking into your bones. the surveillance room felt like a cockpit, all blinking lights and quiet menace, the screens alive with the building’s pulse. you were still learning the system—camera toggles, tenant logs, the web interface that mapped every floor, every door. your hands shook, fumbling with the controls, nerves raw from the pressure of not screwing up.

then he walked in.

lobby camera, center frame. 1:47 a.m.

a man—tall, lean, platinum hair catching the chandelier glow like a halo. black coat unbuttoned, shirt half-untucked, tie loose like he’d tugged it free mid-conversation. he moved like water, smooth and unhurried, every step a claim on the space around him.

your breath hitched.

he stopped at the lobby desk, empty at this hour, and leaned against it, one elbow propped, head tilted back. his throat—long, pale, exposed—gleamed under the light, and you stared, frozen, as his fingers brushed his jaw, slow, almost lazy, like he was touching himself for you.

you didn’t mean to zoom in.

your finger slipped, nudged the control, and the camera tightened on him—his jawline, sharp enough to cut, the faint curve of his lips, the way his lashes framed eyes you couldn’t see but felt, even through the screen. your mouth went dry. your pulse throbbed, low and heavy, between your thighs.

he didn’t look at the camera. didn’t need to.

he just stood there, a god in tailored black, and you were already falling. already his.

“who…” you whispered, voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of the room.

your hands moved before you could stop them. the web interface—tenant directory, access logs. you pulled it up, fingers trembling as you typed, cross-referencing the timestamp, the lobby feed, the elevator he’d step into.

floor seventy. penthouse 70-B.

satoru gojo.

the name burned itself into you, a brand you’d carry. you stared at it, at the screen, at him, still lingering in the lobby, now turning toward the elevator. he paused, just for a moment, and ran a hand through his hair, slow, deliberate, fingers dragging through platinum strands like he knew you were watching. like he wanted you to.

your thighs pressed together.

you felt it—the heat, the ache, the pull of him through the screen. you sat there, shaking, staring as he stepped into the elevator, as the doors closed, as the number ticked up to seventy.

you didn’t sleep when you got home. couldn’t.

you saw his throat, his fingers, the way he moved, every time you closed your eyes.

now, weeks later, it’s worse.

he’s a habit you can’t break. a drug you don’t want to.

tonight, he’s on the balcony, not the gym. 2:13 a.m. cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling around his lips like a lover’s caress. shirtless, of course, because he knows—god, he has to know—how it wrecks you. his chest gleams under the city lights, lean muscle shifting as he leans against the railing, head tipped back, throat bared like an offering.

your finger hovers over the balcony feed. trembles. taps.

the screen zooms in, and you’re gone.

“satoru…” you whisper, voice raw, breaking on his name.

the surveillance room is a tomb, dim and buzzing, your only company the cold coffee at your elbow and the chair that groans under your weight. your shoe taps the desk’s base, a nervous rhythm, but it’s not enough to ground you. nothing is.

you shouldn’t.

you really, really shouldn’t.

but you lean in, elbows braced, forehead dropping into one hand as the other slips between your thighs. just over your pants, at first, palm pressing against the damp heat already soaking through. you’re shaking, breath caught in your throat, the pressure hitting too sharp, too fast.

he exhales, smoke spilling from his lips, and you whimper, a tiny, choked sound, as your fingers press harder, grinding slow circles that make your hips twitch. shame burns your cheeks, but it’s not enough to stop. it’s never enough.

he shifts, one hand sliding down his chest, fingers brushing the edge of his waistband—low, too low, always too low—and you’re panting now, thighs squeezing tight, the chair creaking as you rock against your hand.

“fuck…” you hiss, barely audible, but it feels like a scream.

you imagine him knowing. imagine him turning, ocean eyes piercing the lens, that cruel, lazy smirk curling his lips as he sees you—sees you falling apart, sees you desperate, sees you his. you imagine his voice, low and smooth, calling you filthy, calling you his little voyeur, telling you to beg for him.

your other hand tangles in your hair, pulling, muffling the sounds you can’t keep in. you’re pathetic. you know it. every night, the same surrender, the same ruin. and still, your stomach twists, your pulse hammers, like it’s the first time he’s stripped you bare with a glance.

he flicks the cigarette away. leans further back, arms spread along the railing, chest flexing, abs tightening. a performance. a fucking taunt.

your fingers slip under your waistband, find slick, find heat, and you moan, soft, broken, as you curl them inside, chasing the ache he’s carved into you. you’re trembling, hips jerking, the pressure building too fast, too sharp.

“please… satoru…” you’re begging now, nonsense spilling from your lips, tears pricking your eyes as you grind against your hand. you want his fingers, his mouth, his cock—want him to pin you down, to fuck you until you’re sobbing, until you’re nothing but his.

the screen blurs. your vision blurs.

he turns, just slightly, and for a moment—god, fuck—you think he looks. not at the camera, not quite, but close enough, his lips twitching, almost a smirk, like he feels you, knows you’re there, knows you’re coming undone for him.

the orgasm cuts through you like glass—swift, brutal, unrelenting. your body jerks, folds in on itself, thighs squeezing tight around your trembling hand as your hips lurch forward. your other palm flies to your mouth, barely stifling the broken sob that claws its way out. you come fast, filthy, slick flooding your fingers as your eyes stay locked on him—on the way he just stands there, untouched, untouchable, claiming you without ever lifting a finger.

you slump back, shaking, panting, the screen still burning with his image.

he doesn’t move. doesn’t glance up. but that almost-smirk lingers, like he knows.

your fingers fumble, minimizing the feed. you close your eyes, bite your cheek until you taste copper, but it’s no use.

it’s just the same old regret with no attempt to change.

the morning after, you’re late.

first mistake.

the service elevator’s down, stairwell’s sealed, and your badge won’t open the freight. no choice but to take the main lift, even with the day staff still lingering, even with the high-rise’s elite drifting in for their shadowed deals. you tap the button, fix your collar in the glass pane, tell yourself it’s fine.

it’s not.

the doors slide open, and he’s there.

satoru gojo. seventy-B.

leaning against the panel, one hand in his pocket, black coat draped over his frame like it was tailored for sin. tie loose, platinum hair mussed, like someone’s fingers—or the wind—already claimed it. his presence fills the space, heavy, suffocating, and your mouth goes dry, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your throat.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t blink. just tilts his head, gaze sliding from your shoes to your throat, lingering there—too long, always too long—until you forget how to breathe.

you step in. no choice. the doors are closing.

you take the opposite side, careful, too careful, not to stand too close. but it’s useless. his scent—clean, sharp, something faintly sweet—curls around you, and your heart’s pounding so loud you’re sure he hears it. sure he feels it, like a predator sensing prey.

floor 1 to 70.

an eternity of silence, broken only by the elevator’s hum and the soft tap of his fingers—once, twice—against his thigh. you steal a glance, catch his reflection in the mirrored walls. his jawline, sharp as a blade. his shoulders, rolling under the coat. the veins on his hand, the glint of his watch.

you’re trembling. thighs pressed tight, hands curled into fists to keep from reaching out. you’ve seen him bare, seen him slick with sweat, seen him stretch for your cameras like he’s offering himself. you’ve touched yourself to the shape of his hips, cried his name into your palm, and now he’s here, real, close enough to touch, close enough to ruin you.

your lips part. you almost speak.

he turns.

slow. deliberate. like he planned it.

his eyes—ocean-blue, half-lidded, unreadable—pin you in place. they flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and you flinch, a tiny shudder you can’t hide.

“hi,” you whisper, voice cracking, too small, too desperate.

he doesn’t answer. not at first. just watches, lets the silence stretch until it’s a noose around your neck. then, low and smooth, like ice sliding down your spine:

“we really don’t have to do this, do we?”

his voice slices through you—sleek and precise, like a scalpel. it doesn’t raise, doesn’t crack. it lands. right in your stomach, clean as a knife to soft flesh. shame floods in fast. need follows close behind. the ache of being seen carves itself into your ribs. you flinch—sharper this time—fingers spasming at your sides, nails biting into your skin like you're trying to hold yourself in.

“r-right,” you stammer, too fast, too weak, and your eyes dart to the floor, to the numbers ticking up. floor 33. floor 52. you bite your cheek, taste blood, try to hold yourself together, but you’re unraveling, and he knows it. he sees it.

his gaze doesn’t leave you. not for a second. it’s heavy, burning, stripping you bare, and you’re shaking now, thighs squeezing tighter, heat pooling where you don’t want it. you’re desperate—god, you’re so desperate—for him to say something else, to step closer, to pin you against the wall and make you beg.

you imagine it. his hands on your throat, fingers pressing just enough to make you gasp. his mouth, hot and cruel, whispering how pathetic you are, how you’re his little whore, watching him night after night. you imagine him pulling your hair, bending you over, fucking you until you can’t think, until you’re nothing but his.

floor 61.

floor 70.

the bell dings.

he steps out, unhurried, like the world waits for him. like you wait for him. and before the doors close, he pauses by the mirrored panel, adjusts his tie. his hand slides down his chest, slow, deliberate, fingers grazing the waistband of his pants.

he smiles.

not at you. at his reflection. but it’s enough. it’s too much.

the doors seal shut, and you’re alone, trembling, thighs slick, hands clawing at your own arms to keep from falling apart.

you’re not even at the security room yet, but you already know that tonight, you’ll come harder than ever. to his voice. to that smile. to the way he looked at you like he already owns you.

because he does.

he fucking does.

[yrenesbrainrotss]

Can you write a small fanfic/headcanons on ENA elevator operator x reader? Maybe even a little hint on NSFW if it's not too much trouble? (I apologize, English is not my native language)

A/N: This was so much fun to write susjsjjaja. I think i went overboard with the little hint on nsfw but oh well.

•Warnings : NSFW content ahead!!

•Reader pronouns : Female

•Summary: ENA gives you exclusive treatment.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

The grand hotel lobby buzzes with low murmurs and clinking glasses.The hotel is almost full tonight, the waiters are running around eager to please every customer that arrives and the tables are all occupied. A soft melody plays from the speakers placed around the room, setting a nice cozy but jazzy atmosphere.

You almost drag your tired feet across the golden and white marble floors, passing the dark oak bar buzzing with customers, making a lively atmosphere with their cheerful chatter. You groan and clutch your purse closer to yourself and try to distinguish the abstract shapes and colors of the busy lobby..maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much with your friends..

You exit the loud room and take a left path to the elevators as the jazz music fades,where— as expected— your usual acquaintance is waiting eagerly for your presence.

She tips her hat and welcomes you inside the polished vintage elevator with a mysterious smile on the right side of her red split, revealing only a bit of her sharp teeth.

She stands poised in a crisp, form-fitting red uniform, adorned with gold and white buttons and small pins—cap tilted just so, gloves pristine white, and lips painted a dark red that borders on dangerous. Her triangular eyes lock with yours as the ornate gates shut behind you with a satisfying clang.You’re the only one riding.

“Going up?” she asks, her voice a sultry purr under the hum of the old gears. You only nod and without another word she presses the button with her gloved finger laced with deliberate slowness, glancing sideways at you.

You glance at the velvet floor as the elevator rises—there are shapes shifting on the burgundy material and you squint your eyes trying to decipher, however not for long because you suddenly become aware of the closeness of another presence in the small space—a heavy atmosphere pressing against your chest and the stuffy air around you— as she moves her white gloved hand on your chest at the pretense of ‘adjusting your collar’.

“You’re the last ride tonight,” she whispers. “Sometimes, things move… slower after midnight. Fewer stops.”

The lift halts—not at your floor. Not yet.

She smirks, locks the controls.

“Private service,” she says, voice lower now. “Hope you don’t mind a little overtime.”

Her breath fawns over your cleavage and your body responds with a hitched breath—she chuckles and inhales your perfume.

“Hm..you changed your perfume? Quite a novelty for you to be so…experimental.”

ENA’s gloved hand travels from your exposed lower back to the nape of your neck teasingly,using only the tips of her fingers. The hairs on your skin rise forming goosebumps and you almost shudder if it weren’t for your attempt at suppressing it. She kisses the soft spot at your clavicle and grazes her glossy lips to your right shoulder pressing another wet kiss.

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. “You always take this elevator. Always so… polite.”

The last gap of space between your bodies closes when she grabs your lower abdomen and pushes your back against her own,her hands explore every inches of your body, from your thighs exposed through the slit of your dress to the curves of your hips and heaving ribcage and the cut of the black,silky material that reveals the center of your jewelry-covered chest, showing a small part of your breasts.

The brunette trails one finger over the exposed skin and rests her cheek on the space between your shoulder and neck—relishing in the way your disoriented self reacted— and when it reaches lower dipping under the silky material her palm squishes your soft skin,kneading it in a satisfying manner. You lean your head back supporting it on her chest and your lips part to for a small moan to slip out.

Her other hand, that was pressing you against her form, ghosts over your skin and settles on the centre of you neck—making a nice replacement for a necklace— as the tip of her index finger turns your head towards her.

She looks into your glassy eyes. “I’m off-duty. And I take special care of passengers who ride alone.”

The air feels heavy. Her breath fans your parted lips, and the tension between you could snap steel cables.

Her gloved hand guides you to her awaiting mouth by your neck as she pulls you down into her kiss—hot, commanding, laced with months of bottled-up hunger. ENA’s lips taste faintly like cherry and mystery and the tip of her tongue prods your now abused lips. When you don’t respond her attempt at exploring your velvet mouth, she uses her thumb to part your lips herself, slipping her wet muscle inside. She steals the air out of your lungs,not parting even when you tap her arm.

She breaks away with a low laugh with a string of saliva attached to your tongue, her lipstick now smeared beautifully across your mouth. “I knew you’d taste good,” she whispers. You can only muster up a few breathless whines, and bring your arms to circle her delicate neck.

Without breaking eye contact, she unbuttons her uniform jacket—fast,impatient, as if she needs to find a way too keep you there, with your gaze fixed on her—and only her.Beneath, ENA wears little. Just a silk camisole and a black bra that does nothing to hide how hard her nipples have gotten under your gaze.

She catches you looking and gives you a smug curve of her lips.

“Floor’s stuck,” she says, straddling your thigh, grinding ever so slightly. “Might as well… make use of the time.”

Her hands are no longer gloved,you don’t even know when she took them off.Bare fingers now trace down your chest, reaching your groin, covered with a small layer from your black stockings.She rips them open exposing you black lace panties,the loud tear sounding in the confined space. Your body responds instantly, pressed up against the velvet-lined wall as she takes off her hat and places it on your head before sinking to her knees, a wicked look sparkling in her eye.

She doesn’t rush. She wants you desperate.

“This elevator’s seen a lot,” she purrs, nuzzling just above your waistband. “But not this.”

Her sharp clawed finger drags your soaked panties to the side, revealing your glistening heat—you flush red and avoid her knowing eyes.

Her mouth meets your pulsating heat, prodding the entrance with the tip of her tongue—teasing, tasting and kissing all the exposed flesh.You tangle your fingers in her midnight colored hair and bring her closer,almost grinding into her face when she suckles on that bundle of nerves that makes your eyes roll and jaw fall slack.

Endless praises and struggling blabbering falls from your lips, and your leg finds its place over her shoulder,encasing her whole—slurping and humming, whines and cries fill the once silent elevator room, and the rush of the whole thing excites you even more.

ENA’s lips leave your aching core and leaves you confused before pushing two of her red fingers into your wet cunt, the muscle wrapping snugly around them. You cry out in pleasure and sink your nails into her scalp,she doesn’t even flinch—instead her tongue sticks out once more to gather your leaking fluids.

The squelching noise of her fingers moving in and out of you would have made you want to bury your head in the dirt if it weren’t for the dizzying ecstasy you felt at the moment,combined with the buzz of the alcohol in your veins.You buck your hips into her face and she uses her sharp hand to keep your pelvis in place in an almost demanding manner, you thrash and whine but she has you locked in place, determined to bring you over the edge, and she does just that. You shut your eyes and arch your back off of the elevator wall, the hand tangled in dark hair gripping the locks and bringing their owner closer to your trembling heat.

ENA doesn’t stop.

She drinks from you—tongue working greedily through your orgasm, sucking your clit until you’re a mess, until your legs nearly give out and you’re begging, breathless.

When it’s done and she has enough.she pulls away licking her lips, glistening with your fluids, a smirk tugging at her split mouth, with her hair all disheveled and her once perfectly ironed uniform crumpled and uneven on her exposed shoulders.

As the elevator jolts to life again—long, long minutes later—your clothes are a mess, your hair is sticking out from all the possible angles and her lipstick is smudged everywhere, on your mouth and neck, and your legs feel like they’re made of smoke.

Your ripped thighs do nothing more than show more of your messy state, but luckily it’s too late for anyone to wander the halls of your private floor.

The raven haired woman stands, smoothing her red pants with grace like nothing happened and hands you a ridiculously small napkin that doesn’t even wipe the lipstick off of your pristine skin as it only smudges it further.

“Your floor,” she says with a wink. “But you’re welcome to ride again. I’m always here… after midnight.”

The gates slide open.

And just like that, she’s a uniformed stranger again—until the next ride when she proves that her knowledge of your body still remains in her mind.

[nasa]

What’s It Like to Work in NASA’s Mission Control Center?

In the latest installment of our First Woman graphic novel series, we see Commander Callie Rodriguez embark on the next phase of her trailblazing journey, as she leaves the Moon to take the helm at Mission Control.

Flight directors work in Mission Control to oversee operations of the International Space Station and Artemis missions to the Moon. They have a unique, overarching perspective focused on integration between all the systems that make a mission a success – flight directors have to learn a little about a lot.

Diane Dailey and Chloe Mehring were selected as flight directors in 2021. They’ll be taking your questions about what it’s like to lead teams of flight controllers, engineers, and countless professionals, both agencywide and internationally, in an Answer Time session on Nov. 28, 2023, from noon to 1 p.m. EST (9-10 a.m. PST) here on our Tumblr!

Like Callie, how did their unique backgrounds and previous experience, prepare them for this role? What are they excited about as we return to the Moon?

🚨 Ask your questions now by visiting https://nasa.tumblr.com/ask.

Diane Dailey started her career at NASA in 2006 in the space station Environmental Control and Life Support Systems (ECLSS) group. As an ECLSS flight controller, she logged more than 1,700 hours of console time, supported 10 space shuttle missions, and led the ECLSS team. She transitioned to the Integration and System Engineering (ISE) group, where she was the lead flight controller for the 10th and 21st Commercial Resupply Services missions for SpaceX. In addition, she was the ISE lead for NASA’s SpaceX Demo-1 and Demo-2 crew spacecraft test flights. Dailey was also a capsule communicator (Capcom) controller and instructor.

She was selected as a flight director in 2021 and chose her call sign of “Horizon Flight” during her first shift in November of that year. She has since served as the Lead Flight director for the ISS Expedition 68, led the development of a contingency spacewalk, and led a spacewalk in June to install a new solar array on the space station. She is currently working on development of the upcoming Artemis II mission and the Human Lander Systems which will return humanity to the moon. Dailey was raised in Lubbock, Texas, and graduated from Texas A&M University in College Station with a bachelor’s degree in biomedical engineering. She is married and a mother of two. She enjoys cooking, traveling, and spending time outdoors.

Chloe Mehring started her NASA career in 2008 in the Flight Operations’ propulsion systems group and supported 11 space shuttle missions. She served as propulsion support officer for Exploration Flight Test-1, the first test flight of the Orion spacecraft that will be used for Artemis missions to the Moon. Mehring was also a lead NASA propulsion officer for SpaceX’s Crew Dragon spacecraft and served as backup lead for the Boeing Starliner spacecraft. She was accepted into the 2021 Flight Director class and worked her first shift in February 2022, taking on the call sign “Lion Flight”. Since becoming certified, she has worked over 100 shifts, lead the NG-17 cargo resupply mission team, and executed two United States spacewalks within 10 days of each other. She became certified as a Boeing Starliner Flight Director, sat console for the unmanned test flight in May 2022 (OFT-2) and will be leading the undock team for the first crewed mission on Starliner in the spring of next year. She originally is from Mifflinville, Pennsylvania, and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering from The Pennsylvania State University in State College. She is a wife, a mom to one boy, and she enjoys fitness, cooking and gardening.

[celestialxgarden]

What color is your AURA?

𓇬 𓇬 Masterlist with all my previous readings. 𓇬 𓇬

Pile 1

Your aura is green. There are some blue undertones, but I’m mainly seeing green.

You seem to be operating mostly from your heart chakra. A lot of energy is being generated from your heart.

You have a very romantic and harmonious disposition. I feel like you embody a lot of grace quite effortlessly. There are also some soft pink tones coming from your aura. I feel like you are a very beautiful person and you radiate that out.

You have a very open and receptive heart space. I feel like there’s a lot of love that you want to give to people. I get the idea that you believe that every person is deserving of receiving love and adoration. You have a very kind and caring nature. You are very intuned with the energies of others. I feel like you always strive to create a balanced and harmonious atmosphere. I get the idea that you tend to avoid conflict. You don’t like to surround yourself with chaotic energies. I do think that if you find yourself in drama, that you would try to create peace. I feel like you have a lot of understanding and sympathy for others. You come across as a very affectionate and loving person.

A green aura is typically indicative of someone that is able to love unconditionally.

I also saw that your root chakra might be blocked. This usually stems from a place of fear. I feel like there are some issues when it comes to your personal power and security. There is a disconnection with your base needs and the wants of your heart. You could potentially have some sexual blockages as well.

I get the idea that you might feel a lack of control over your own life. I feel like you are more focused on the wants and needs of other people that you struggle to meet your own. There is this energy of feeling unsafe and anxious. I feel like you could have issues with standing up for yourself. I also get the idea that you struggle when things happen outside of your control. When there are outside forces influencing your life. I feel like it makes you feel powerless. It would be beneficial for you to try and balance your Muladhara center. You could do this by chanting the seed sound “LANG”.

Repetition of this mantra deepens concentration, gives awareness and inner strength. It helps with taking away insecurities.

It would also be favorable to avoid unpleasant smells.

Pile 2

Right now, your aura has a muted orange color that is barley visible. It’s looks like your aura is being covered or suppressed in some way. There is a heaviness surrounding your energy.

I feel like your aura has the potential to be extremely bright and radiant.

I get the impression that you are a very sensitive and empathetic person. That you often take things to heart. You are very easily influenced by the energies of other people and I think that this has something to do with the state of your aura.

I get the vibe that you’re a deeply caring and compassionate person. Your energy feels very watery, it can therefore easily get polluted or influenced by outside sources. This is because water in itself is a very pure substance.

I feel like there is a lot of negative energy around you at this time. It almost feels like you are energetically in a state of hiding. That you are trying to make yourself unseen in order to protect yourself. I feel like you could also be isolating yourself at this time. I get the impression that you used to be very social and outgoing in the past. That you were very spontaneous and cheerful. It feels as if your losing your confidence and becoming more insecure.

There is so much warmth and radiance buried within you. I feel like you are such a friendly and sweet person. You are someone that can offer a lot of joy and happiness to other people. You have a very encouraging and uplifting essence.

I think that you have the potential to radiate a very bright and inspiring light.

If I look at your aura without all of the heaviness, it has a very bright orange/yellow color. It is very vibrant and uplifting. It has a very stimulating quality to it. It make you feel awake and energized. It gives vitality and optimism.

I think it’s important that you dedicate a lot of time to self care. That you really try to nurture and nourish yourself at this time. I feel like you’ve been neglecting yourself a bit, so I think it’s time to make yourself more of a priority. I also think it’s important to make yourself feel happy. Do something that will make you feel joy, that will give you a sense of hope again.

Pile 3

You have a mainly blue and turquoise aura. Your aura feels very calm and serene. I feel like you are someone that has no problem with staying calm under pressure. I feel like you almost never get stressed. You come across as being a very peaceful and relaxed person.

I get the impression that you’ve totally surrendered to God or the universe. There is a lot of trust there. I feel like you believe that everything happens for a reason, so there’s no need to stress yourself.

I feel like you are more detached when it comes to outcomes. You have a lot of faith in the universe and that it knows what’s best for you. I do believe that this has come over time and this trust was really something that you had to learn.

Some people could perceive you as being more aloof or indifferent.

You seem to be disinterested in a lot of mundane things. You seem to be very much in your own world. Something about you feels a bit distant. I get the feeling that you don’t like letting people inside and that you prefer to be alone.

I also get the impression that it’s easy for you to read other people and to understand what is going on with them internally, but it’s difficult for others to read you. People often wonder about what’s going on in your head. I think they sometimes perceive you as being a bit cold or unemotional, but you’re actually very in touch with your emotions. You seem like someone that is very emotionally stable.

I do feel like you have a lot of compassion for others and that you’re able to feel things very deeply.

Your aura also has a very healing and comforting vibe to it. It feels very soothing. There is a very pure and innocent quality to it.

I get the idea that you’re a very intuitive person. You’re very receptive to divine guidance. I feel like you have a heightened sense of awareness and perception.

There are some shades of this cinnamon, bronze like color. Which give you a very stable and down to earth disposition. It makes you a reliable and dependable person. People who have this color are typically very honest and also have a lot of integrity. I also feel like you have a sense of humbleness and humility about you.

Thank you for reading 🌙

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these images. All credit belongs to their respective owners.

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 10/?)

Any action can be justified, as long as the right words surround it. And, for your luck — or ruin — Silco was a master at turning manipulation into art.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,9K

Warnings: use of drugs as medicine (shimmer), description of injuries, suspicious medical operations, Singed is the warning itself, character near-death, threats, threats with weapons, explicit references to scientific experiments without consent, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 9

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The laboratory door was shoved open with such force that it slammed against the wall, the sound echoing through the cramped space and plunging everyone into silence. Silco entered, carrying the limp body in his arms, his muscles rigid, his eyes alight with restrained fury. Behind him, Sevika, always steady, now visibly shaken—a rare occurrence that Silco chose to ignore. He couldn't afford to consider the weakness of others when he himself was teetering on the edge of emotional collapse.

The metallic smell of blood and the dampness of rain still clung to his skin, a shadow of what he had just witnessed. The warehouse, that grotesque scene of carnage, remained vivid in his mind—a blur of bodies strewn about, blood-soaked chains, and her—his girl—standing at the center of it all, a living specter of death. He didn't know if the blood dripping from his arms was hers or that of her enemies. In that moment, it didn't matter.

He crossed the lab in firm, almost aggressive strides and placed the body on the metal table. The sound of the soft impact made his jaw clench; she looked so fragile lying there, in stark contrast to the devastating force he had witnessed minutes earlier. He brushed the damp hair away from her face, his fingers trying to remain steady but trembling ever so slightly.

He had considered every possibility when he enlisted Singed, more specifically his skills, for a potential operation before the night's invasion. If she were injured, immediate intervention would be crucial. He knew his own hands, steady enough to suture a superficial wound or apply a tourniquet, were not equipped for more complex procedures. Singed, on the other hand, had neither moral nor physical limitations preventing him from doing what was necessary.

And that was precisely what Silco needed now.

Sevika began strapping her arms and legs to the table, following instructions Silco had given before they even arrived, to prevent her from moving during the procedure should she regain consciousness. Still, seeing her restrained, vulnerable, made something churn in his stomach—something he ignored with practiced ease.

Silco stepped back, watching as Singed inspected the injuries. The doctor was meticulous, his deft fingers peeling back torn fabric to expose the wounded shoulder. The blood still flowed, though less now, congealing into dark patches that Silco had to look away from momentarily to rein in his rising anger.

"The shoulder wound is deep but not fatal." Singed began, his voice controlled and almost indifferent. His eyes moved over the rest of her body, examining the cuts and bruises. "The bruising is of no concern. The nasal bleeding suggests severe exhaustion. But..."

Singed's rare furrowed brow immediately caught Silco's attention. He stepped closer again, leaning over the doctor, his gaze burning with an implicit threat.

"But what?" Silco demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

"There's something unusual here." Singed said, pointing to her hands, still bearing the marks of the chains' grip. "The adrenaline levels are far beyond normal, even for a combat situation. This isn't just physical exhaustion. She's pushed past the natural limits of the human body. Forced the muscles, the organs... even the heart. Anyone else would have been dead hours ago."

"But she isn't." Silco interrupted, his voice cutting. His eyes gleamed with determination, and there was something else — something deeper, more dangerous. "She will not die."

Singed lifted his gaze to Silco, his eyebrows knit in what seemed to be a mix of irritation and fascination. "It's impressive, to be sure. However, if you want her to stay alive, certain... methods may be required."

"Do whatever is necessary." His voice was low and grave, laden with an authority that brooked no argument. He turned to Singed, who approached with his characteristic inhuman calm. "Everything. No restrictions."

Singed cast a brief, analytical glance at Silco, as if evaluating the intensity of that command. "I believe I can stabilize her quickly." he replied, his tone almost casual. He began preparing his instruments, pulling a metal table stocked with medical devices. Before doing anything further, however, he held up a syringe containing a greenish liquid, a sedative, and handed it to Sevika, though his eyes remained fixed on Silco.

"But it will be... grotesque." Singed said, with the cutting precision that defined him. "And considering your... close relationship with her, you might not handle it well."

Silco's teeth clenched tightly. The insinuation was obvious, and Singed seemed to take a certain amusement in testing his limits. But this was not the time for confrontations. The anger simmered beneath his skin, as always, but he controlled it, only because he had to. That didn't stop him from issuing a threat.

"Choose your words more carefully, doctor."

Sevika, always the voice of reason, stepped forward. "The longer you waste time here, Silco, the faster she dies." The syringe was still in her hand, and the weight of logic in her words was enough to make him stop.

Silco cast one last lethal glare at Singed before turning abruptly, grabbing and dragging a chair closer to the table. He sat down, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face, as if holding his fury in check through sheer force of will. His eyes, however, never left her body. Sevika, meanwhile, positioned herself behind him, keeping a silent vigil over Silco as Singed began to remove the bullet from her shoulder.

Silco remained still, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable. He wouldn't look away, no matter what came next.

Somehow, this was all he could do for her now: be there. And in the grim silence of the laboratory, he made a silent promise. If she survived, those responsible for this would pay with interest. And if she didn't survive... well, the promise would still be fulfilled. In blood.

The sound of the small projectile hitting the metal tray was like a hammer striking Silco's already frayed nerves. He watched impassively, though the slight tremor in his leg betrayed the mounting tension in his body. Every meticulous movement of Singed was a test of his patience; every second seemed to drag on. The needle pierced her flesh with almost inhuman precision as the scientist stitched the wound. Each pull of the thread made her skin twitch, and Silco felt as though it were his own shoulder being sewn back together.

When Singed reached for the next syringe, Silco already knew what was coming.

The purple gleam of Shimmer in the cold laboratory light was unmistakable. Silco felt his muscles tense even further. He knew exactly what would come next—he had witnessed it countless times before, and he himself knew all too well what it felt like, even if only briefly. The agonized screams, the contorted flesh, the muscles locked in unbearable strain.

He saw the needle pierce her vein. The purple liquid slid in, merging with her blood, vanishing from sight. Silco gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable. He knew what was about to happen. The scream. The desperate gasping. The body writhing, struggling against the unstoppable.

But none of that happened.

The room remained silent, so heavy that even the sounds of Zaun in the early hours of the morning seemed distant, muffled. Silco leaned forward, his brow furrowed. He watched her chest, waiting for it to rise and fall erratically, to show any sign of reaction. But she remained still, like a statue carved from marble. Silco caught a glance at Singed, a rare expression of confusion crossing the scientist's face. This wasn't what was expected.

When the man leaned down to check her pulse, time seemed to slow. It was a simple gesture, something that should have been over in seconds. But Singed lingered too long, his fingers pressing against her neck as his face remained impassive, his gaze lost in some distant point.

"Speak, Singed!"

When Singed finally did speak, Silco wished he had stayed silent.

"No pulse."

For a moment, Silco remained frozen, his eyes fixed on her face. There was something terribly wrong about seeing her like this, so still, like a broken doll. Her breathing, something he'd always thought constant and immutable, was now gone. And with it, it felt as if all the air in the room had been drained away.

He stood up without thinking, the chair behind him toppling over with a dull thud. His hands found the metallic edge of the stretcher, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Silco leaned over her body, searching for any sign of life, any movement, but all he found was cruel inertia.

But soon the shock was swallowed by a wave of fury. The rage surged like an uncontrollable wildfire, consuming every rational thought. He lifted his gaze to Singed, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity, like embers fed by pure hatred. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew it wasn't the scientist's fault. He knew Singed had done everything in his power. But in that moment, logic didn't matter. He needed a target, something to unleash the anger that threatened to devour him.

Moving quickly, Silco advanced. His hand was already outstretched, ready to grab Singed by the collar and drag him to the ground, but he froze mid-motion.

Something stopped him.

A firm pressure around his neck.

Her hand.

That same hand which, just seconds earlier, should have been limp and lifeless, now gripped him with superhuman strength. He felt her fingers tighten further, nearly crushing his windpipe. The straps that had once bound her to the gurney were now shredded, hanging like torn pieces of cloth. Her arm trembled slightly, as though acting purely on instinct, but the power emanating from that grip was brutal.

The world around him seemed to shrink, becoming an indistinct blur of shadows and cold lights. The crushing pressure around his throat was all Silco could register. Every breath was a losing battle, each attempt to draw air another step closer to despair. He had felt this before. The grip of fingers around his neck, cruel and unyielding, awakened memories he'd rather leave buried.

Vander.

For a brief moment, he wasn't in the stifling, tension-laden laboratory. He was back at the river, cold water lapping at his face as calloused, determined hands tried to wrest his life from him. Silco felt the same desperation, the same primal panic that had taught him a bitter lesson: survival required more than strength—it demanded conviction.

But this wasn't Vander.

Her eyes, once so alive, now glowed with a cold, empty white, as though some strange force had torn her soul away and left only a violent husk. There was nothing human in that gaze, no spark of the woman he had known. Only raw, merciless strength, now squeezing his throat with the promise of imminent death.

Her fingers were claws, digging into his flesh. Pain radiated in waves, but Silco didn't look away. Even as darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, he refused to blink, to give in. A sudden movement to his side caught his peripheral attention, even as his sight started to blur. Sevika. He saw her move, syringe in hand, and in an instant, she plunged it into the woman's neck.

The effect was almost immediate. The grip on his throat loosened, and Silco fell forward, gasping, gulping air in desperate, ragged breaths. He pressed a hand to his neck, feeling the sharp pain from the pressure her fingers had left behind. His lungs burned as they tried to make up for the lack of oxygen. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, she was collapsing, her body going limp as if the string holding her up had been cut. The arm that had once gripped him with such force now hung lifelessly at her side.

"Interesting." Singed murmured, leaning closer for a better look, the gleam of fascination in his eyes growing stronger. "Perhaps the shimmer triggered some dormant reaction in her blood. That would explain the initial absence of vitals and the sudden attack. It might have acted as a reagent."

Silco raised his gaze from where he knelt, his hand still resting on his neck as he struggled to steady his breathing. At first, he didn't understand what Singed was trying to say.

"It's the first time I've seen anything like this." Singed continued, his tone almost fascinated. "No rejection. On the contrary... it's as if her body has assimilated the shimmer, incorporating it naturally."

Silco didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze fixed on her once more. Now, her chest rose and fell with regularity, the rigid lines of pain and tension on her face softened by stabilization. The contrast was almost disconcerting, considering the deplorable state in which she had arrived.

He then noticed Singed's gaze on him, an inquisitive glint that Silco knew all too well. "Sevika." Silco said abruptly. "Return to The Last Drop. Make sure things don't spiral out of control while I'm here."

Sevika hesitated for a moment, the concern evident on her face, but eventually complied. She let out a low sigh before leaving, the heavy metal door closing behind her with a resounding clang.

"You found her." said the other man in the room, almost accusatory. "I thought she'd been dead... for years."

"So did I." Silco replied, his voice lower, almost introspective. His eyes wandered back to her. "We were both wrong."

Singed picked up a scalpel and pointed to the stitches he had made on her shoulder.

"Look." Singed leaned in closer, his tone almost too clinical, as though he were discussing a machine. "The tissue is already healing, and I believe her internal organs are beginning the same process. If her body continues to react this way, it's likely she'll be fully functional in a few days. It all depends on how sustained the regeneration is. But I recommend administering small amounts of shimmer to stimulate what's already in her bloodstream."

Silco nodded slightly, the motion short and nearly imperceptible. It was always Singed's universal solution, yet the idea of introducing more of that substance into her body unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Singed, of course, either didn't notice — or cared even less.

"I assume you'd like to start the research immediately, correct?" Singed leaned over to organize his instruments, his voice almost casual. "Now that we finally have access to her, I can collect some blood samples. If I start the research now, I should be able to replicate her genetic formula within a few months. A significant breakthrough, considering the potential it could unlock."

The words lingered in the air, laden with a weight Silco did not want to bear. He ran a hand over his face, then through his hair, feeling the pressure pulsing in his temples. Years ago, he wouldn't have thought twice. Having access to what she represented was the key to something greater, something he desperately sought—to make Zaun into something Piltover feared. That was why he had searched for her in the first place.

And it was also why the crushing sense of failure when he heard of her death had felt like a blade piercing through his resolve. Days, weeks of anguish gnawed at him, but eventually, he moved on. He buried the weight of that obsession under layers of new plans, new strategies. Until that damned day at the brothel when he found her—like a ghost. Like a specter torn from a nightmare or a dream, she was there, alive.

That fragile, motionless body now seemed so distant from the storm raging in his mind. He was not a man prone to sentimentality or hesitation. Since taking control of Zaun, his choices had been driven by logic, necessity, and, above all, ambition. But now... now, it was different.

He had allowed something he had sworn never to do again: to care.

She should have been just another piece on the board, a means to an end. That's how Silco saw the world. Every person, every action, existed to serve him, to help him achieve his goals. But she defied that logic. There was something about her—her strength, her resilience, perhaps even her stubbornness—that had pierced through the walls he had so carefully built over the years.

And it infuriated him.

He couldn't afford to falter. There was too much at stake, and he knew that any emotional attachment was a weakness that could be exploited. Yet, as he watched her, her features softened by induced sleep, Silco felt a pang of something he couldn't define. It wasn't just concern; it was possessiveness. She wasn't just important to his plans. She was important to him.

"Begin the research." his voice came out firmer than he expected, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. "Keep this under strict secrecy. To anyone else, it's just medical monitoring until her full recovery."

Singed nodded without question, moving mechanically to prepare another syringe. The scientist didn't care about the emotional or political intricacies of the situation. To him, she was a case to solve, an experiment to conduct.

He didn't take his eyes off her. There was something almost ironic about how peaceful she looked now, lost in that dreamless sleep where nothing could reach her — not pain, not despair, not even him.

Silco was a selfish man. Ambitious. Those words had been used to describe him so many times that he had embraced them as part of who he was. But he was also a man of conviction. And that conviction drove him forward, compelled him to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goals, no matter the cost. He believed in it. Zaun needed to believe in it. And now, she would need to believe in it too.

He would convince her. He would show her that everything he did was justifiable, that the ends always justified the means. He would make her see that the true enemy wasn't him, but those who lived above — the wretched people of Piltover, who had oppressed Zaun for so long. They were responsible for everything. For her wounds, for the blood she had spilled, for the suffering that bound them together.

Silco leaned in, letting his fingers trace her face in a tender caress.

He would shape her. She would become something they feared. Something they could never destroy again.

Just like him.

[...]

Seven days.

Seven damned days.

Time seemed to have acquired a rhythm of its own, dragging on like dead weight. For Silco, every second since she had entered that comatose state had become a needle stabbing beneath his skin, a constant reminder of something slipping beyond his control.

Silco hadn't slept in four days. Sleep was a dispensable necessity, something he replaced with sheer determination and generous doses of whiskey and bitter coffee. His mind remained occupied with work—constant updates from Sevika and Singed, Jinx's occasional explosions that decimated critical parts of his operations, and the ever-growing pile of administrative problems that never seemed to shrink.

The weight of exhaustion seemed to triple as soon as Silco crossed the threshold of his office. The wood, so familiar, felt suffocating, as though it had absorbed his weariness. Each step toward the chair was labored, his muscles protesting the effort. When he finally sat, a heavy sigh escaped him, echoing in the silent room.

The lack of sleep was nothing new, but the last few days had tested the limits of his endurance. His mind, so sharp under normal circumstances, now felt like a whirlwind of disconnected thoughts, as if every idea had to wade through dense fog before taking shape. Fatigue pressed on his shoulders like an invisible weight, and irritation simmered beneath the surface, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

He rubbed his temples with his fingers, pressing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to clear his mind. The torturously long nights blended together, with no clear beginning or end, and he wondered how much longer he could maintain this insane routine before his body finally gave out.

But there was no choice. Not while she remained in that state.

Thinking of her brought a wave of frustration and restlessness that he couldn't suppress. Her body was healed—the shimmer injections had done their job impeccably, regenerating even the smallest damages in record time. Singed, to Silco's annoyance, had been right about the treatment's effectiveness. But what Silco couldn't bear was the fact that, despite everything, she still hadn't woken up.

This waiting was wearing him down.

She now slept in his room—a practical decision, or at least that was what he told himself. Keeping her close made it easier to monitor any changes, allowed him to personally check every detail of her condition. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just that.

He had to admit, the sight of her there, in his bed, was something he would normally find... pleasant. Almost comforting. But under the current circumstances, the context made any such satisfaction impossible. She was there, but she wasn't.

Silco leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest against the backrest. His gaze fixed on the ceiling for a moment, and slowly, the burden of keeping his eyes open became a weight he no longer cared to bear.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The ceiling was bare, devoid of any detail that might catch your attention, yet you stared at it anyway. Your mind was active, buzzing with questions, while your body seemed trapped in a state of lethargy. It was as if you were floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your thoughts insistently blending together. How long had it been since your last concrete memory? Days? The warm sensation of an embrace was the last thing that lingered before the void.

You tried to move your hands, feeling your fingers curl with some difficulty, as if every muscle had rusted. A deep inhale brought the scent of the room into sharp focus: alcohol, cigarettes, and something metallic in the air—a clear sign of where you were. Yes, The Last Drop.

With effort, you shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. At first, your legs didn't cooperate. Your initial attempt to stand was clumsy, your knees trembling under the weight of your own body. But you persisted, and on the second try, you managed to steady yourself.

Only then did you allow yourself to take in the room around you. It was functional, simple, devoid of personality or any attempt at making it feel welcoming. Minimal, practical furniture—just enough to serve its purpose. However, the balcony caught your attention. As you moved toward the opening, you realized it overlooked the interior of The Last Drop—directly above the club. The bar, the dance floor, every detail below seemed meticulously positioned to be visible to whoever owned this space.

And you had little doubt who that was.

Leaning against the railing, your eyes scanned the scene. Lights pulsed in rhythm with the muffled music that reached you even up here. A sense of familiarity and unease traveled down your spine. This wasn't a place you wanted to be, but it was the closest thing to "home" you had left.

You then moved to a nearby mirror to check your appearance. You lifted the hem of the shirt you were wearing, revealing the smooth surface of your stomach. No sign of cuts or bruises—not that you had really expected any. But something felt off. Your body felt... strange. As if something had changed, something beneath the surface you couldn't quite identify. It was as though everything either responded too quickly or too slowly, like a suit tailored improperly. You tried to dismiss the discomfort, chalking it up to the simple fact that you had nearly died—again.

It was almost comical, in a way. Every time it seemed like death had finally come to claim you, something or someone always pulled you back.

You moved toward the door—or what you assumed was one. There were no clear markings, just a discreet handle breaking the uniformity of the wall. The wood creaked faintly under your hand as you pushed it, revealing Silco's office in all its familiar, somber atmosphere.

And there he was, naturally, at the desk. Silco, slumped against the chair at an angle that looked uncomfortable even for someone like him, someone seemingly accustomed to discomfort. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes closed, his body relaxed in a way that was almost unsettling. He was asleep.

You stepped into the room with light, almost soundless footsteps. Your bare feet made no noise, as if you were afraid of breaking the rare moment of calm. Only after stepping away from the door did you notice something that had previously gone unnoticed: the entrance to the room was nothing more than a false wall. A small, discreet pull handle blended into the surrounding irregularities. If you hadn't just come through it, you never would've noticed.

Clever.

Close to the office, functional for someone like Silco, but also strategic. A possible escape route, if needed.

Your eyes returned to him, caught in a sleep that seemed as rare as gold. He'd also been asleep the last time you saw him. You moved closer, hesitant, with the words he'd spoken when you fainted in the warehouse lingering in your mind like a persistent shadow. During those fleeting moments when you were semi-conscious, although it was more like sleeping, you could still remember. It was as though he was there, speaking to you. Not in dreams, but on the threshold of reality.

You could swear you heard him.

Silco had spoken, perhaps believing his words were nothing more than echoes lost in the void, but they stayed with you. In moments of delirium, you felt the weight of sentences laden with a concern he would never openly admit. And on a few rare occasions, you could almost swear you'd felt a touch on your face. Hesitant, fleeting, like a breeze barely noticeable before it vanished.

He had been an anchor. While you fought not to succumb to your own mind, he had remained there. And now, as you watched him sleep, that realization felt overwhelming.

You stopped a few steps away from the chair, unsure of what to do. Part of you wanted to touch his shoulder, wake him, tell him you were fine — or at least try to convince him of that. But the other part, the one still harboring resentment and distrust, hesitated. So, you decided to come up with a third option. But, of course, something went wrong.

It all happened too quickly for you to react. One second, you were adjusting the strand of hair that insisted on falling over his face, and the next, your hand was being gripped tightly, your body shoved against the desk. The impact reverberated down your spine, and something cold and sharp pressed dangerously against your throat.

Silco stared at you, his eyes blazing with fury, but there was something else there, an emotion hidden behind the intensity. Anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it swirled in a chaotic storm as wild as his uneven breathing. And then, as if an invisible thread had snapped, something shifted. The anger in his eyes was replaced by palpable shock, and then by something deeper: realization. The blade's pressure on your throat eased, still present but without the imminent threat from before.

A smile formed on your lips, defiant and slightly teasing, even as your heart pounded in your chest. "Is that how you welcome someone?"

Your hand, ignoring the danger, rose again, and your fingers gently brushed over the scars on his face. The rough texture of his skin told stories you didn't know, yet there was a curiosity in your touch, a silent acceptance.

"You haunted me even in my sleep, you know?" you continued, your tone softer now, almost a whisper. "I didn't know you were the talkative type when no one's looking."

And yet, Silco remained silent, his muscles taut as if he were waging an internal battle.

Then, with a movement that nearly stopped your heart, he drove the dagger into the desk, the blade embedding itself in the wood mere inches from your head. The sound echoed through the room, the vibration rippling across your skin like distant thunder. You opened your mouth to protest, ready to comment on how close he'd come to hitting you, but the words died in your throat.

Shock froze you for a second. The kiss was urgent, hungry, as if he were desperate for something only you could provide. His strength kept you pinned against the desk, one hand braced beside your head while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You felt his body against yours — the weight, the heat. He kissed you like a man on the edge of despair, as if that moment was the only thing keeping him alive. His lips moved against yours with an almost overwhelming intensity, stealing the air from your lungs before you even realized you were breathless.

He tasted of restrained fury and something profoundly human, something he likely wouldn't admit even to himself. Your hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you tried to reclaim some semblance of control over the situation.

But there was no control here. Not in this moment.

His hand slid up your back, his fingers pressing against your skin with a firmness that left no room for doubt. He was everything you could feel—the heat, the strength, the overwhelming weight of his presence. And yet, there was something more. Something that wasn't anger or need, but something deeper, more visceral.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Silco pulled his mouth away from yours, but not completely. He kept his forehead resting against yours, your irregular breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. The heat of the moment still hung in the air as he fought to regain a shred of composure. His eyes, those unmistakable, vibrant irises, opened—cloudy and unfocused—staring at you with an intensity that almost seemed to burn.

"Talking too much, dove." he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough and gravelly, still heavy with the intensity of the kiss. "Not that I expected anything less from you."

A faint, ironic smile tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing the arrogant bastard you knew so well. But there was something else there. An unexpected softness, a rare tenderness that caused faint wrinkles to form at the edges of his eyes, breaking the usual coldness of his expression.

You rolled your eyes and let out a low laugh, the provocation slipping from your lips with ease.

"And this is the part where you admit you missed me."

Silco's eyes flickered at your teasing, a mix of surprise and something deeper, almost gentle, flashing in their depths. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, one brow arching in an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement.

"Missed you?" his voice carried a tone of disbelief that fooled no one. "You should be grateful you're still alive, you reckless woman."

Despite the harshness of the words, there was no real severity in them. On the contrary, there was genuine relief beneath his firm facade—a relief intertwined with something that resembled fear and gratitude. All of it mingling together in a cocktail of emotions that Silco probably didn't know—or didn't want—to express.

His hand, still firm on your hip, didn't ease its grip, as though he needed it to ensure you wouldn't disappear again. But the other rose to your jawline, tracing a gentle line along it with his thumb. It was an almost reverent touch, contrasting with the strength of his hold. His eyes traced every curve of your face, lingering on the details as if he wanted to commit them to memory, perhaps afraid this chance might not come again.

"I've got a pretty good guardian angel."

You teased back, making Silco let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly.

"I think I might have missed your insolent mouth." The arrogance returned to his eyes, but this time it carried a peculiar warmth. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmured, "But don't think for a second that means I'll go easy on you, dove."

His words were followed by a light nip at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. The gesture carried a hint of playfulness but also an intimacy that spoke of something deeper, something the two of you shared without needing to put it into words. There was a charge in the air, a mutual understanding that said more than any conversation could. He was Silco, a complicated man, and you knew that nothing with him would ever be simple. This tenderness hid something. It was laying the groundwork for something you already knew you'd hate.

"I wouldn't expect any less from you."

You replied with a touch of provocation, your words carefully chosen to echo his from moments earlier. The slight smirk on your lips was defiant, but you knew your attitude would only irritate him more. And it worked. Silco sighed, a deep and exasperated sound that seemed to convey everything without the need for words.

"For God's sake."

He pulled back slightly, relieving just enough of the weight pressing down on you for you to catch your breath, but not enough to allow any chance of escape. The arm he braced against the desk beside your head felt like a barrier, while the other rested near your waist, a constant, dominating presence. It was a minimal concession, but an intentional one—a reminder of who still held control of the situation.

The two of you remained like that for a long moment, the silence broken only by the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the office. Silco's eyes were locked onto yours, and it was impossible to ignore the intensity in his gaze, as if he was trying to extract answers from you with sheer will alone.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Why did you run?"

The question came out low, almost a whisper, but it carried a tension that didn't need volume to be felt. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn't quite place. Perhaps disappointment.

"Why would you put yourself in such danger, knowing full well the risks? You're no defenseless damsel, so don't try to tell me you did it by accident." His tone was firm, but not without reason. "You made a choice, and you chose to leave. So I want to know why."

You knew this moment would come, but you never imagined it would be like this. The situation was so absurdly contradictory — an interrogation at his desk, with your bodies in alarmingly close proximity — that the context almost distracted from the implicit danger in his words. Silco had always been a man of control, and the idea that you had defied him to the point of running seemed to deeply unsettle him. A small part of you felt a flicker of satisfaction.

You opened your mouth, trying to formulate a coherent response, but nothing came. Part of you knew he was right. If you hadn't made that impulsive decision, the abduction would never have happened. Ultimately, you were to blame for putting yourself in this position. But that didn't absolve him of his share of the guilt.

"I don't know..." you said casually, diverting your gaze from his eyes for a brief moment. "A momentary lapse of judgment that went horribly wrong. That's all..."

The instant you saw the shift in Silco's expression, you knew you'd made a mistake. It wasn't a subtle change. It was as though a silent storm had swept through him, extinguishing any remaining trace of patience. The grip on your waist tightened, and you felt his fingers press into your skin like sharp claws — a silent warning. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, a mix of disdain and admonishment, as if he were deciding, in that very moment, what kind of lesson he would teach you for your evasive answer. You knew this was only the beginning.

"I don't appreciate lies." he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with a hidden edge. It was the kind of tone that made your stomach twist, a subtle warning that you were treading on thin ice. He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, and you could feel the implicit threat in the proximity. "Least of all from you."

The weight of his words hit harder than you expected, their meaning hanging in the air, inescapable. He was dead serious.

"The last person who tried to deceive me..." Silco paused, his tone dripping with cruel irony. "Didn't meet a very pleasant end."

The pause he allowed was long enough for the gravity of his words to sink in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone. His grip on your waist grew even tighter, as if to reinforce the point that he could squeeze harder, both literally and figuratively.

"I'd hate for history to repeat itself."

You stared at him, refusing to look away, even as the weight of the tension between you grew heavier. Silco had this almost supernatural ability to turn every word and gesture into a minefield. The hostility that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface between the two of you was beginning to emerge — quiet but undeniable. It was a violence that didn't need words or actions to manifest; it existed in every glance, in every movement, and in the deafening silence that filled the space between sentences.

It was like a shadow in the corner of the room. Always there, always present. You knew it wouldn't disappear, no matter how many lights were turned on. If anything, the darkness only seemed to give it more space to grow.

"Are you threatening me, Silco?"

Silco's smile was a spectacle in itself, but not in any comforting or reassuring way. It wasn't a smile born of genuine humor, much less kindness. A tight pull of his thin lips, almost mechanical in precision, exposing his chipped teeth as each word left his mouth. There was something about the way that smile lingered on his face that sent a chill down your spine—a visceral reminder of who he was.

"Am I?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, almost innocent, but the sarcasm in his voice gave him away. "Oh, I thought I was merely offering a simple observation, dove. You know, a little advice, from one... friend to another."

He pronounced "friend" with a clarity that felt unbearable, savoring every syllable as if the word itself was laced with poison. The sound of it carried acidic venom, a curse disguised as courtesy.

"Friends?" you teased, tilting your chin upward and leaning closer to him again, letting the weight of the suggestion hang in the air between you. Silco didn't back away. He allowed the proximity, but the gesture was accompanied by an almost imperceptible movement: the hand that had rested on your waist slid away, as if he already knew what was about to happen.

Your eyes caught the detail, but you refused to be deterred. The hand resting on the table moved subtly, almost instinctively, until it neared the dagger Silco had embedded in the wood moments earlier.

"I thought we were past this part."

And then, in one swift, precise motion, you pulled the dagger from the wood and spun it, pointing it directly at his neck. The blade's gleam caught the room's light for a split second, but any sense of triumph you might have felt evaporated just as quickly. Before you could even process what was happening, you felt the unmistakable cold steel of a gun barrel pressing against your chin.

"Getting predictable, dove? I thought you were better than that."

Silco's voice was a low, sharp whisper, dripping with that infuriating confidence that always seemed to follow him. He tilted the revolver slightly, forcing your chin higher. The gesture was as casual as it was cruel, a clear demonstration that he was in control of the situation, even with the blade dangerously close to his throat.

But you didn't back down. On the contrary, your fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger, and you felt the blade press even closer against Silco's neck. One slight movement, and it would all be over. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, the subtle tension in his muscles betraying that, no matter how composed his face remained, he could feel the danger.

"You're far too confident, aren't you?" Your voice came out low, carrying an almost theatrical calm. You pressed the blade harder against him, feeling the faint resistance of his skin. "I could kill you right now... you saw what I did in my apartment, didn't you?"

"You could." Silco replied, tilting his head slightly as if offering you a better angle. "But you won't."

"And how are you so sure of that?"

Silco, being Silco, seemed to revel in the danger. He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between you until you could feel the heat of his body against yours. Your heart raced, and it wasn't just from the threat of the weapon pointed at you. It was the entire moment: the suffocating proximity, the piercing gaze, the way he commanded every second of the situation.

"You don't hesitate." he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "So, I wonder, why did you hesitate that night?"

The words hit you like a blow, catching you completely off guard. He knew. How, you had no idea, but he knew what had happened that night, just before your escape. You blinked, trying to process it, but before you could form a question, the distinct click of a revolver being cocked snapped you back to reality.

And then he fired. Without hesitation.

The dry click echoed in your ears, and your body flinched instinctively, taking a moment longer to realize there was no bullet in the gun. But Silco didn't seem to care; in fact, a faint smile formed on his lips, as if he'd merely proven a point.

"You had my loaded gun and no one to stop you. What made you change your mind?"

"How did you—"

"Just answer."

Curiously, something inside you gave way. Without fully understanding why, you let the dagger fall from your hand, abandoning the weight of the threat you'd raised against him. Perhaps it was the fact that Silco's gun no longer seemed like a real intent to harm, but rather a statement of control. That gesture, that silent lesson he always managed to deliver, disarmed you in a way you hated.

You weren't one to stay silent, much less back down. You always had a retort ready, a sharp provocation, something to keep the dynamic balanced. But now, in this moment, there simply wasn't the will to act like a defiant brat. Not when the tone of the conversation felt so serious, so charged with tension.

Still, the feeling was uncomfortable. You were on dangerous ground—not in the line of fire anymore, but treading on thin ice, and you knew that any wrong word could send it all crashing down.

"I... I don't know." You sighed deeply, turning your head to the side, unable to meet his gaze any longer. The admission slipped from your lips with a weight that felt disproportionate to the lightness of the words. "But this time, I'm telling the truth."

That sentence felt far too intimate, more intimate even than the position you were in.

"I wanted to do it... but I couldn't. I just... couldn't. It seemed easy the first time, but now... I froze. And I have no idea why."

It was a lie. You knew exactly why. But some truths were better kept locked away, hidden behind unbreakable walls.

Silco remained silent, and then, slowly, he moved the revolver to the side, setting it down with a gesture that seemed almost casual. He took a few steps back, finally releasing the tension between you. It was a relief, and yet, an unsettling emptiness. You took the opportunity to sit on the edge of the table, the weight of your own confusion now resting heavily on your shoulders.

"Is that what caused the outburst that made you run?"

"In part. I just wanted... to disappear." You admitted, though the bitter taste of honesty was almost unbearable. Part of you hated to confess it, but there was no room for lies now. "To get away from you." The words came out softer than you intended, almost as if confessing a sin to the devil himself.

You expected an outburst of anger, perhaps some sarcastic remark, but what came was completely different. Silco leaned in slightly and raised his hand, gently touching your chin with a disconcerting tenderness. You instinctively braced yourself for a rough grip, something that matched his cold, ruthless demeanor, but the touch was soft, almost... careful.

He forced your face to lift, compelling your eyes to meet his. The look he cast in your direction was rigid, controlled, but there was something deeper beneath that mask of ice. It wasn't anger that you found there, but an almost palpable disappointment, a kind of emotion that seemed misplaced in a man as dangerous as him. It was that, more than anything, that made your heart race—not out of fear, but something far harder to define.

"Don't ever do that again." The words were spoken with a chilling calmness, but the tone was absolute, unquestionable. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

You should resist. Every fiber of your being screamed at you not to submit, to hold onto some shred of control over your own narrative. But the moment his gaze pierced through yours, any trace of resistance was crushed. You simply nodded, too drained to defy him.

When Silco extended his hand, you hesitated for a moment, but soon took it. The gesture was surprisingly natural, almost intimate. He pulled you up to your feet and, in silence, led you back to that false wall. The groan of the door as it opened echoed in the space, but his attention never wavered from you.

"You need to rest." His voice was more controlled now, but it still carried a note of authority that couldn't be ignored. "Your body's been through too much. I don't want you passing out again."

"And you? You need sleep too. You look like you haven't closed your eyes in days." You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Besides, this room is yours, not mine."

Silco raised an eyebrow, his expression slightly skeptical as if weighing your words. "Are you suggesting I sleep with you?"

"Well..." you began, tilting your head and letting the smile spread across your lips. "You kind of already do."

The tone was unapologetically playful, a deliberate provocation you knew he wouldn't let slide without a reaction. Silco's expression shifted, and he huffed, rolling his eyes. Despite his apparent irritation, something in his demeanor betrayed him—he wasn't truly bothered. Maybe, just maybe, he was even amused, though he would never admit it.

"But yes, I do want that."

He remained still for a moment, the silence hanging heavy between you like a drawn curtain. Then, without a word, Silco stepped forward. You felt the immediate shift in the atmosphere—subtle but undeniable. Your body reacted instinctively, stepping back as he advanced. Silco didn't need words to convey the control he wielded. You held his gaze, but it was hard not to get lost in the sharp contrast between the blue and orange of his eyes. It was like staring into an abyss and feeling a strange, reckless urge to leap.

It was only then that you noticed the low, definitive click of the door locking behind him.

Silco stopped in front of you, his presence filling the space like a looming shadow—threatening, yet strangely captivating. He tilted his head slightly, assessing your expression with an almost clinical interest, but his eyes... his eyes told a different story. You had the distinct sensation that you had walked willingly into some sort of trap, one you had set for yourself, heedless of the consequences. And he seemed ready to savor every second of it.

Part 11

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes, we will have smut in the next chapter, just wait. Now with all the information thrown in the previous chapters, have you figured out why Silco was interested in her years ago? I made a small arrangement on how the story will unfold and in theory it will have approximately 30 chapters, but it can change either more or less. Which means we will have a long way to go.

↓ ┊ TAG LIST ┊ ↓

@heidiland05

@defmxl

@rubyoff1cal

@silcoisatan

@edynmeyer1

@metamorphoserequiem

@casualunknownrunaway

@qlovalova

@kinavet

@aise-30

@bubbabobabubbles

@artist4theworld

@lovelyjulieee

@pollomoon

@celi-xxmoon

@starryhiraeth

@spntiel

@vxllys

@hotchners-wifey

@unadulteratedcoffeetastemaker

@ultrahoney

@mysteriouszer0

@thisisarcanereverie

@prettyrose189

@coffeesefied

@sarynnah

@apexie100

@mommymilkers0526

@mikimimic

@shugar0cone0alt

@sunshiines-stuff

@lynnieluvsu

@ficsamillion

@koshehehe

@hayleynott

@malkentaj

@twililty

@fandomsinthegalaxies

@mikuley

@anthy-j-ander

@angelsdemonsmonsters

@buggnuggies

@fudosl

@strwwbbrri

@taefect94

[c-53]

Durandal's Plan

Show up to lhowon, pfhor occupation, lots of ships, piece of cake.

Obliterate all of them with a telefrag + laser barrage. leaves them devastated. no survivors.

No one does it like me.

LHOWON IS UNDER OUR CONTROL

(Fuck theres still a lot of guys on the ground though and they called for help???)

PIVOT: Wake up the BoBs and my crazy powerful cyborg

They werent expecting that. Keep them on their toes, launch a surface assault on all their major command centers

LHOWON IS UNDER OUR CONTROL

(Oh my god they killed the BoBs with lava??? I wasn’t expecting lava, thats on me)

PIVOT: its fine. They were just a diversion. blast meteor hole in the roof of their base of operations

drop my awesome cyborg in (only he can survive the fall)

My guy cleans up. Easy. outpost destroyed, unrecoverable,

LHOWON IS UNDER OUR CONTROL

Endgame achieved

(Battlegroup 7 is on its way, and they have Tycho???)

PIVOT: ditch my crew and singlehandedly outplay and outmanuever battegroup 7. I need to be alone.

Lock in.

I’m like a hawk picking off field mice. No one does it like me.

My guy on the ground gets the intel.

Alien ai located, lost s’pht clan confirmed, but the ai won’t help me if I’m winning.

We don’t need them yet.

(I am shot down)

PIVOT: its fine. We can recover from this. preform controlled landing and prepare to go on the defensive

Mix it up. Get my guy back in board to clean up shop. They’re not ready for him.

LET tycho trap me

use cyborg to lobotomize me so tycho can't get anything from me (this will make sense later...)

I’m taken to the flagship.

Cant check in on cyborg right now but figure he's with the BoBs

blake can handle this part. I need to be on the down low. no extra guns from me though. get your own s'pht manufactory

Alien ai thinks I’m dead, forced into action. Calls k’lia, and the s'pht'kr. (Lobotomy purpose revealed)

Defeat tycho. Self explanatory.

Might as well move into the flagship while I’m at it… I deserve a treat

LHOWON IS UNDER OUR CONTROL

Endgame Achieved

(just a little more cleanup..)

Find my cyborg. Reveal myself. 100% sure he missed me. Fortnite. Epic moment.

Send my cyborg to destroy the survivors. S’pht’kr providing reinforcements.

Mercifully let the humans go - we don’t need them anymore!

Ignore weird message from Blake. He’s just obsessed with me

(They’re blowing up the sun)

PIVOT: We don’t need Lhowon, K’lia can fold space time.

K’LIA IS UNDER OUR CONTROL (true endgame reveal)

Well on our way to escaping entropy. We win. As long as theres nothing that devours reality hidden in the sun

Endgame achieved

[genderkoolaid]

As a strident critic of efforts to silence the movement for justice in Palestine in this way, I expected to encounter opposing perspectives. The conference’s many sponsors included the Anti-Defamation League (ADL) and the Academic Engagement Network (AEN), two organizations at the forefront of such weaponized attacks on college campuses. Fellow speakers included operatives like Kenneth Marcus, who has helped shape the campus crusade for over two decades, including within the Department of Education during the first Trump administration. While I didn’t expect to change their minds, I felt it was important to add my voice to this contested space as a Senior Research Analyst at Political Research Associates and co-author of Safety through Solidarity: A Radical Guide to Fighting Antisemitism. I took my place alongside plenty of other experts resolutely opposed to the heavy-handed tactics of the pro-Israel Right and Center. A week after returning from LA, I opened my inbox to discover emails with blaring subject lines from Jewish Insider: “UCLA hosts anti-Zionists at conference on antisemitism,” and one day later, “ADL Alters Conference Sponsorship Policy After Anti-Israel Speakers Exposed.” The two articles listed me as one of three participants whose presentations or mere presence at the conference had crossed a line; in my case, because some years ago I worked as campus coordinator for Jewish Voice for Peace. [...]

The author also published their words at the conference. The whole thing is worth reading but here are some highlights:

Our approach at Political Research Associates, and in Safety through Solidarity, understands antisemitism as an anti-democratic political project that uses conspiracy theories to explain the world through an appeal to supposed Jewish wickedness, subversion, and control. The conspiracy theory of the elite Jewish cabal is a projected image of power, used by authoritarian and nationalist leaders to divert widespread anger, alienation, malaise, and anomie away from the actual sources of social immiseration, and towards an imaginary, diabolic enemy instead. Antisemitic conspiracy theories offer stunted attempts to make sense of the world, easy answers to deeply felt crises of political agency. They can be seductive and appealing, lending purpose, resolve, and hope in place of helplessness. In times of widespread social dislocation, when millions are grasping for answers and eager for someone to blame, authoritarians use antisemitism to sow division and consolidate power, build momentum and expand their coalition by demonizing elite cabals as ciphers for progressivism, as all-powerful threats to tradition, order, and the “common man.” Today antisemitism is a core component of a broader project to entrench authoritarian rule; to sweep away decades of civil rights advances in a wave of white racial backlash; to restructure the national polity and civic life around the contours of white and Christian dominance. Elon Musk and Steve Bannon are normalizing Nazi salutes; leading MAGA podcasters are platforming Holocaust revisionism and lurid tales of Israeli pedophile cabals to audiences of millions; top administration officials are sharing Leo Frank conspiracy theories and statements from the leaders of groups that marched at Charlottesville. [...]

Antisemitism does show up on the Left, but it structures the Right; it weakens the Left, but it strengthens the Right; it diverts the Left from its goals of freedom and equality, but it helps the Right pursue its goals of exclusion and domination. Elon Musk, the richest person on the planet who’s actively dismantling the federal government, holds immeasurably more power than any undergraduate or college professor. It’s clear where the greater long term, foundational threat to Jewish safety and thriving lies. Tracing the intersection of antisemitism with other forms of oppression gives Jews a stake in standing with Others, and Others a stake in standing with Jews. It grounds the particular fight against antisemitism in a universal project. This means that promoting a robust democracy, and working to end economic and social inequality are important means of fighting antisemitism at its root, by chipping away at the structural dispossession, desperation, and alienation that motivates people to grasp for conspiracy theories and scapegoats. This means that ending antisemitism is everyone’s business, not only out of moral concern for Jews but also because it’s essential to building a more just world for everyone. [...]

These campaigns also fail at actually fighting the real antisemitism that can exist among some pro-Palestine activism. Anti-Zionism isn’t inherently antisemitic; quite the contrary, it’s often motivated by values of justice and equity. The accusation is spurious and flimsy at best, cynical and malicious at worst. But some forms of anti-Zionism can mobilize antisemitism, knowingly or not, when fantastical portrayals of outsized, shadowy “Zionist” power take the place of grounded criticism of Israel’s injustices, or concrete assessment of the actual political influence wielded by the state or its supporters. In a few highly-publicized instances, Palestine solidarity protesters have appeared to indiscriminately target Jewish individuals or institutions to express generalized rage at Israel; subject Jews to political litmus tests; or couch anti-Zionism in the mold of Christian anti-Jewish demonology, for example. Other times, protesters have lapsed into vulgar campism by uncritically cheering on Islamist nationalist movements as vanguards of liberatory resistance, or by mobilizing oversimplistic binaries that caricature all Israelis, Zionists, or Jews as monolithic oppressors. In some of these cases, the antisemitism is clear-cut; other times, what we’re seeing may be a reductive, callous and counterproductive brand of ultraradicalism; understanding this as inherently antisemitic tends to obscure, rather than clarify, the political dynamics at play. Initiatives like the JDA and Nexus can help offer the kind of rigorous, contextual evaluation we need to parse these distinctions. Lost in the din of media hysteria and overzealous lawfare is precisely this capacity to think critically in public. It is possible to have open, honest and tough conversations about antisemitism within the Palestine solidarity movement, which is one goal of our book. But the indiscriminate, authoritarian crackdown makes this incredibly harder, fostering a siege mentality among its targets, provoking activists to double down and bristle with defensiveness and distrust.

[scary-grace]

certain stars (part 2) - a Shigaraki x reader fic

Nothing in your training prepared you for this: A deadly virus that burnt through Space Station Ultra, leaving only two survivors -- you, and Mission Specialist Shigaraki, trapped together in the command module. With time, food, and life-support running out, you have a choice about how you'll spend your final hours. You just wish you had any idea what you're supposed to do.

This is for @shigarakislaughter (happy birthday!) who asked for a forced-proximity roommates to lovers situation. Being me, I had to make it weird, and being one of my fics, it had to get away from me. Part 1 can be found here! Shigaraki x reader, rated M, space station au, angst + suggestive content. dividers by @cafekitsune.

part 1

You’ve been on the line with Mission Control for four hours, in a conversation that includes you only tangentially, and your eyes are starting to blur. This plan to save your life and Shigaraki’s without carrying the virus back to Earth was your idea. You have to be here to advocate for it, to address any questions Control might have, to find a way around any problems that might arise. You’re the pilot in command. It’s your job to get yourself and the last remaining member of your crew home.

But you’re so tired. It’s all you can do to write down the figures that are being named, calculating trajectories and fuel burns by hand to fact-check Mission Control’s results. It’s hard to do when they still haven’t decided if it’s safe for you and Shigaraki to return to Earth. The suspense would be killing you if you had any adrenaline left to spare.

As Mission Control continues to debate, no one willing to come right out and say that they’re not sure it’s a good idea to bring you back, Shigaraki slips into the seat beside you. You sent him into the shuttle with step-by-step instructions for running a full diagnostic, and he slides the results across the desk to you. You study them, the numbers difficult to read until you squeeze your eyes shut and open them again. Then you tap your mic and interrupt one of the flight director’s proteges in the middle of a soliloquy about reentry speed. “I have the shuttle diagnostics. All systems are operational.”

“What about the heat shield?”

That’s a sticking point. One of many. “Protocol is to do a visual inspection, but we can’t risk a spacewalk. Is there any way we can get a satellite view?”

You hear paper rustling, then a thud. It’s all too easy to picture one of the ensigns getting up in a hurry, tripping over themselves, and falling flat on their face before beelining to the comms center. “We’re investigating the prospect,” Director Sasaki says. “Every participating nation has offered their help, as have several non-participants and several corporate entities. If they elect to put their money where their mouths are, we should be able to give you multiple views of the heat shield.”

You nod, then remember they can’t see you. “Can someone check a compromise rate?”

“The compromise rate depends on your reentry angle,” the flight director says. You think her name’s Tatsuma. You’ve only met her once. “And your reentry angle depends on your landing site.”

“Which hasn’t been decided yet,” Shigaraki says, into your microphone, “because you jag-offs can’t make up your minds about whether we’re coming back at all.”

“Get your own headset,” you hiss, shooing him away. “Mission Specialist Shigaraki has a point. All of this is theoretical unless it’s safe to come home.”

“We told you that already,” Director Todoroki snaps. You roll your eyes. “Were you listening?”

You were probably trying to do math. You rub your eyes, and Shigaraki speaks into your mic again. “I didn’t hear it.”

Director Todoroki heaves a big, nasty sigh, and Director Bate, the current head of the space station program, speaks up. “Based on the data your crew collected, the virus thrives in the same conditions humans do. Extreme cold renders it inert, while extreme heat destroys it. The heat from reentry should cook that thing right off the exterior of the shuttle. Your return to Earth should be safe, as long as you land in the right place.”

“Only two concerns remain,” Director Sasaki says. “First, whether the damage your plan to purge the virus from Station Ultra will cause is worth the reward –”

You appreciate him giving it to you straight. “And secondly, whether the likely expulsion of your deceased crewmates’ bodies into space is an acceptable result.”

“Yeah,” you say. You’re too tired to stick to formal speech. “I thought that might be it.”

Your plan to clear Station Ultra of the virus involves blowing the airlocks on each of the infected modules, which will suck the virus back out into space, where it’ll go back to hibernating. It’ll work, but it’s likely to take the bodies of the crew with it. And the space program’s unofficial and unstated policy has always been to bring all the crewmembers home, dead or alive.

“Um –” Someone in Mission Control clears their throat. “I feel terrible saying this, but we can’t bring their bodies home. They died of the virus. They’re probably still carrying it. Asking the pilot and mission specialist to retrieve them is an unacceptable risk, and we can’t risk live virus entering the atmosphere.”

Someone protests. Dr. Shield, maybe – Dr. Shield, whose daughter died in the lab module, conducting research on the virus right up until it killed her. Director Tatsuma waits for him to finish, then speaks up. “The flight academy prepares its graduates for this. They are aware that this is the likely scenario if they should die outside the atmosphere.”

“The astronauts, sure. The mission specialists have families,” someone argues. You don’t know that voice. Your head hurts. “What are we supposed to tell them? That we just launched their loved ones’ corpses into space?”

“Yeah.” Shigaraki’s finally put on his headset. “Everybody who died here was a better person than me, and if I died up here, I wouldn’t care what the survivors did with my body.”

It’s quiet for a second. “Unless they wanted to eat it.”

You feel insane, hysterical laughter bubbling in the back of your throat and swallow it down. “I think you should ask the mission specialists’ families,” you say. “It’s their loved ones up here. Tell them what we’re up against and ask them what they want to do.”

“That’s unwise,” Director Sasaki says. There’s a pause. “We will reach out to them. Continue your preflight preparations, and we’ll contact you when a full protocol has been devised.”

The call drops, and you take off your headset. It doesn’t make your head hurt any less, but you’ll give it time. Next to you, Shigaraki does the same. “How long do you think it’ll take them to tell us no?”

You knew your crewmates, astronauts and mission specialists both. You met their families. You’re not convinced it’ll be a yes, but you’re not sure it’ll be a no, either. And there’s one crewmember you haven’t known long enough to make a guess. “Would you really be okay with your body being shot out into space?”

“Sure. Not like anybody’s waiting for it at home.” Shigaraki shrugs. “If you were starving, you could eat my corpse.”

This time, you don’t have to suppress your laughter. “Just me, though?”

“What, do you want to share or something?”

“No,” you say. You glance at him, noting the way-too-prominent bruise on his neck, remembering that there’s one just like it on his shoulder. He seemed into it, and you were into his reaction, so you went a little overboard. “I’m not good at sharing.”

Shigaraki’s pale enough that even the faint flush in his cheeks is as obvious as a neon sign. “Don’t act possessive. You only hooked up with me because we’re going to die soon.”

There’s a lot to address there, and you’re too tired to do it delicately. “We’re not going to die soon. I’ll find a way to get you home. I didn’t think you liked me. I only hooked up with you because I thought we were about to die. If we weren’t about to die we’d have gone on dates first.”

Shigaraki is staring at you now, eyes wide. Did you even speak a recognizable language, or were you just mumbling to yourself about nothing? You really don’t want to have to say it all again. You look away from him, even though it’s hard to do, and look down at your sheet of calculations. You can barely read them. You find a new piece of paper and start copying them down again. “What is that?” Shigaraki asks, peering over your shoulder as you rewrite equation after equation. “I thought we didn’t have a trajectory yet.”

“We don’t. But the basic reentry calculations were made assuming that the shuttle is at capacity, and it’s – not.” Not even close. “We’ll be coming down light. That changes things.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki’s chin comes to rest over your shoulder. “Why are you doing it by hand?”

“That was how they used to do everything,” you say. “Back in the early days. But the academy still teaches it, in case we lose contact with Mission Control or the onboard computer goes down. They don’t want us to be totally helpless without it.”

“Huh,” Shigaraki says again. “That’s a lot of physics for a bunch of meatheads.”

“Yeah. Almost like we aren’t meatheads after all.” You copy out the last equations, then elbow Shigaraki until he straightens up. “Check these for me, okay?”

“You don’t trust your calculations?”

“I can barely see straight,” you say. Shigaraki blinks. “I haven’t slept more than an hour or two at a stretch since this started, and this isn’t the kind of thing where mistakes are survivable. You’re an actual physicist. Just look at them.”

“Sure.” Shigaraki flips over the shuttle diagnostic and starts writing on the back.

You fold your arms on the console and rest your head on them, watching him work. You like seeing him locked in on something, even if you wish he’d stop scratching his neck with his free hand, and you wonder what his research profile looks like. What he works on when he’s not getting tossed into a shuttle he doesn’t want to be on. He must be in a lab or something. Or have his own. So –

Something occurs to you. “Should I have been calling you Dr. Shigaraki this whole time? Some people get mad about their titles not being used.”

“Some people are assholes,” Shigaraki says matter-of-factly. “I might be an asshole, but I’m not that kind of asshole.”

He frowns at something he’s just written. “Show me your first set of calculations.” You hand it over, and he identifies the mistake in seconds. “You rewrote it wrong on this page. With this reentry velocity we’d bounce right off the atmosphere.”

“This is why you needed to check it.”

“You got it right the first time,” Shigaraki says. His hand falls from the side of his neck to rest on the console, then edges out into the space between the two of you. You spend a little too long looking before it occurs to you to touch.

A green light starts blinking on the console, indicating a call from Control. You yank your hand away from Shigaraki’s and pull your headset on. “Yes?”

“The families of the mission specialists agreed to your plan,” Director Sasaki says, and exhaustion sweeps over you. Shigaraki is looking at you questioningly. You give a thumbs-up. “However, they requested some sort of commemoration before the airlocks are blown.”

You’ll think of something. “Understood. I’ve adjusted the reentry calculations to account for the lighter payload. Dr. Shigaraki is checking my work as we speak.”

Dr. Shigaraki is also rolling his eyes, but you don’t need to mention that. “We’ve developed a launch protocol,” Sasaki informs you, “which should account for a lighter payload. We also have identified a landing site for you, one which will render any surviving virus inert.”

“Yes,” Director Tatsuma says. “You’ll be aiming for the Ross Ice Shelf.”

You haven’t touched the airlocks, but it still feels like every iota of breathable air has just been sucked out of your lungs. “The – what?”

“A cold environment with little for the virus to feed on, in the unlikely event that any of it is left after reentry,” Sasaki says. “Rest assured, you will have plenty of runway. Do you have any questions?”

You can’t even get your mind around the thought. It feels unreal, like you’ve stumbled through a funhouse mirror into some other reality. Director Sasaki takes your silence for agreement and moves on. “We’ll plan to launch in six hours. In that time you will need to initiate a complete data transfer – everything from Station Ultra, in order to allow for proper diagnostics. Begin the procedure by –”

“I’ll do it.” Shigaraki cuts Director Sasaki off. He looks at you. “You’re going to sleep.”

You look at him blankly. Sasaki’s voice takes on a sharp edge. “The procedure is supposed to be completed by the commanding officer.”

“Yeah. Only you want the commanding officer to land the shuttle on an ice sheet in fucking Antarctica in six hours,” Shigaraki says. “The commanding officer’s going to rest until then. I’ll do your data transfer.”

It’s quiet for a second. “You will need to write this down.”

“I need to get a pen.” Shigaraki takes off his headset, takes off yours, and pulls you away from the console, back to the pile of blankets. “Why didn’t you say you weren’t sleeping when it was your turn?”

“You were having a hard time sleeping, too. It didn’t –” You break off as Shigaraki half-lifts you off your feet, then sets you down on the blankets. “I thought you hated zero gravity.”

“It has one or two perks.” Shigaraki pulls the blankets roughly over you, then fumbles in his flightsuit pocket. “Here.”

You find yourself looking at an old-style MP3 player, headphones already plugged in. You tuck one of them into your ear, and Shigaraki presses play. “What am I listening to?”

“The music,” Shigaraki says. You blink at him. “Musica universalis, on a loop. It helps me sleep.

You hear the first of the high, clear notes, reverberating off into infinity, and hide a yawn. “That’s not very restful.”

“It doesn’t need to be restful. It just needs to keep you calm.” Shigaraki tucks the other headphone into your ear without asking first, his roughened fingertips oddly gentle. “That’s what it sounds like in interstellar space. You’d hear it on your trip to Alpha Centauri and back.”

Your throat tightens, even as your eyelids grow heavy. “Get some sleep,” Shigaraki says. You catch his hand as he straightens up, holding on tight, wishing you knew what to say to him. Like you did when they told you about the landing site, you come up empty. The best you can do is give one more squeeze and let go, before you turn your head against a makeshift pillow that smells like him and fall asleep, the sound of space humming in your ears.

You settle into the shuttle’s cockpit, wrapping your gloved hands around the controls and watching the console come to life. You’ve piloted a shuttle up to Station Ultra three times, but this will only be your second reentry, and it’ll be a hell of a reentry. For a split second, you allow it to fill your mind, oozing into every corner of your thoughts, sending shooting pains through your fingers. What they’re expecting you to do is impossible. It can’t be done.

And then you glance sideways, at Shigaraki strapped into the copilot’s seat. The instant the shuttle detaches from Station Ultra, his fate is out of his hands and firmly in yours. He looks scared enough on his own. He doesn’t need to see it from you, too.

You take a deep breath, then let it go. “Walk me through the preflight checklist.”

Mission Control is in Director Tatsuma’s hands at the moment. One of her proteges takes you through it, system by system – propulsion, shielding, navigation, life-support, everything coming up positive. The satellite photos of the heat shield revealed a few tiny abnormalities, nothing that should cause trouble. Then again, there shouldn’t be viruses floating around in space.

Something occurs to you, and in the middle of a stir of the oxygen tanks, you find yourself laughing. “What?” Shigaraki demands. “What’s funny?”

“The virus,” you say. Shigaraki looks at you like you’re out of your mind. “It’s an extraterrestrial. We found the first alien.”

“From a research perspective, this was a very fruitful trip,” one of the ensigns pipes up. “The first confirmed contact with alien life, the first recordings of Shigaraki phenomena –”

Shigaraki coughs. “Of what?”

“And the first loss of a space station, Ensign Hado. Read the room,” Director Sasaki says severely. “All systems are go. Were you able to come up with a commemoration to share as you depressurize the modules?”

“Um, High Flight is traditional,” you say. “But it’s religious, and not everybody’s religious, so – I have a different one. Should I use that?”

“Can you deliver it while completing the depressurization sequence?”

“Yes.”

“Then begin the sequence with Module Five.”

Module Five was the dormitory module. Five of your crewmates died there. You blow the airlock and speak. “We never know how high we are, til we are called to rise.” Module One is next. You avert your eyes. “And then, if we are true to plan, our statures touch the skies –”

You blow Modules Three and Four next, sending Station Ultra into a calculated spin. In the seat next to you, Shigaraki closes his eyes, his jaw clenched. “The heroism we recite,” you continue, blowing the airlock on Module Six, “would be a daily thing; did not ourselves the cubits warp –”

Module Two. “For fear to be a king.” You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of your crew, dead in the atmosphere, lost to the void. How they kept fighting, kept studying, until the very end. “Depressurization sequence complete.”

“Detach.”

“Detaching in three – two – one.” You disengage the seal between the shuttle’s airlock and the command module, pitch the nose of the shuttle down, and let the stolen momentum from the station’s spin carry you down towards the atmosphere. “Departing high orbit. Any updates to the trajectory?”

“Not as yet, but owing to the uniqueness of the landing site, a pilot who had the opportunity to fly the route in the simulator will –”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Shigaraki mumbles.

You glance over at him and see him taking his helmet off. “If you don’t put that back on right now, I’m going to –”

“Trouble in paradise?” A familiar voice comes in over the intercom, and your frustration with Shigaraki takes an instant backseat. “Long time no see, airhead.”

“Not long enough, birdbrain,” you mutter, and Hawks chuckles into the mic. “Flew this in the simulator, did you?”

“Easy as pie, at least for me,” Hawks says. If you make it through this, you’re going to beat him to death with his helmet. “But don’t you worry, Dr. Shigaraki. You’re in good hands with Airhead here. Second in our class at the Flight Academy. Want to guess who was first?”

“We tied,” you snap, over the sound of Shigaraki gagging into an airsickness bag. Neither of you have enough food in your stomachs to really vomit. “You’re not first just because they called our names in alphabetical order. Do you want to talk shit or beta this trajectory?”

“We can talk shit when you land,” Hawks agrees. “Okay. Your current angle looks good. On the count of five, initiate a two-second burn from your starboard engine. Five – four – three – two – one –”

You trigger the burn, your grip on the controls as relaxed as you can make it, and the shuttle dips sideways. The flight roughens almost immediately, rattling the entire cockpit as you brush against the atmosphere, then skip off again. “Ooh, okay. It looks like you’re not in the atmosphere yet,” Hawks says. You can’t tell if he’s mimicking the flight simulator’s voice or not, but you’re still going to kill him when you get back. “Let’s do another burn – two seconds, both engines –”

The shuttle’s left wing dips into the atmosphere without being repelled, and you feel the lurch as gravity takes hold and pulls. “Autopilot will do the rest,” Hawks says. “Nice and easy.”

It’s not. The shuttle’s too light – too light for gravity to pull you the rest of the way in, and the longer you spend in the atmosphere, the more likely it is that something will go wrong with the heat shield. The cockpit is heating up way too fast. “I’m doing another burn. Both engines.”

“The autopilot said –”

“It’s not flying this mission,” you snap. There’s a reason shuttles aren’t flown completely on autopilot. Autopilot can’t adapt. “I am. If we stay in here any longer, the virus isn’t the only thing that’s going to cook. Burn in three – two – one –”

It works this time. The shuttle leaves space behind and plunges into the thermosphere, and the cockpit rattles and heats up, growing hotter and hotter with every nanosecond that passes. It’s killing the virus, you remind yourself. You’re in a shuttle with a heat shield, but the virus is clinging to the hull, and it’ll be destroyed. Reentry always feels like hell, anyway. Somehow it’s so much worse when you know you’re almost home.

Shigaraki’s got his helmet back on, finally. You can hear his ragged breathing over the comms. Is he conscious? “Stay with me, Shigaraki. This part is normal.”

“This part blows,” Shigaraki mumbles through clenched teeth. “Tomura.”

“Hmm?”

“My name is Tomura.” He’s slumping sideways in his chair, limp against the restraints, his speech slurring. “Call me that.”

“Okay, you got it. Tomura.” You feel a brief twinge of embarrassment that you didn’t think to ask his given name before you hooked up with him. “If I call you Tomura, are you going to stay awake? I really need you to stay awake. We’re going to lose comms with Mission Control in a second here and I don’t want to do this alone.”

Hawks chooses that moment to break in. “You were right about the burn, but you’re coming in way too fast. Hit the brakes.”

“I can’t do that. I need the parachutes for the landing.” You take your eyes off the windscreen for a split second to check your position on the map. “If I cut momentum right now, we won’t make it to the landing zone.”

“And if you don’t cut speed, you’ll pancake into the ice at Mach 10!”

“If I hit the water and there’s virus left on the hull, that’s it. For everyone!” You hate the way your voice pitches up, cracks. “I’m getting to Antarctica, Hawks. One way or another.”

Hawks starts to say something else, but the comms cut off in a static flatline, just like they’ve done at this point on every reentry you’ve flown. It’s the first normal thing that’s happened on this flight, and it hits you like a splash of cold water across the back of your neck. This is a reentry flight. You studied this at the academy. What does a pilot do on reentry to cut altitude and gradually reduce speed? There has to be something. Somewhere –

The answer occurs to you, in the same moment as Shigaraki stirs in his seat beside you. “Hey,” you say quickly, keeping your voice calm. “Welcome back.”

“Are we there yet?” Shigaraki’s voice blurs. “Is it over?”

“We’re through the atmosphere,” you admit, “but we’ve got a problem. I don’t know how much you heard, but –”

“Too fast.” Shigaraki sits up with an effort. His expression is grim through his helmet’s visor. “Either we crash into the ice and kill ourselves, or crash into the ocean and kill everybody else.”

“Or we land on the icesheet and everybody lives.” You reach for the control panel and start making the adjustments, ignoring the alarms that sound. “There’s a way to land this shuttle.”

“How?” Shigaraki’s hands clamp down tightly on the armrests. “If we were going to die anyway, we should have stayed up there.”

“Why?” you ask. You check your trajectory one last time, then kill the engines. “It wasn’t worth it to try to get home?”

“Maybe. Except –” Shigaraki peels one hand off the armrest and clamps it down over his mouth as you put the shuttle into a gentle bank. “Don’t ask. Tell me what you’re doing.”

“I need to cut our speed, but if I deploy the parachutes now, I won’t have them to slow us down during the actual landing. So I’m going to slow us down the old-fashioned way. Like a glider.” You can tell that none of what you’re saying makes sense to Shigaraki. You keep talking anyway, adjusting the controls to create a gentle turn. “In the academy they make us study all kinds of aviation accidents. There were a couple where the aircraft lost both engines and had to descend and land without them. One time a flight crew landed a plane on a river like that and everybody got out alive.”

You can tell Shigaraki’s getting nauseous. Then again, you’re flying the shuttle like you’re going down an endless set of switchbacks, trimming speed by fractions on each one. “You’re the physics guy. Tell me what will happen if I burn enough momentum on the descent.”

“If I open my mouth I’ll hurl.” Shigaraki speaks through clenched teeth. If you actually succeed in landing this thing, he’ll wind up with the worst tension headache in history. “You know what you’re doing. Keep talking.”

You keep talking, narrating your bizarre flight pattern as the shuttle travels around the world once, then again, spiraling down with painful slowness. If this was a normal flight, you’d have hit your landing site already, and space shuttles aren’t designed with long-term atmospheric flight in mind. But just because they aren’t designed for it doesn’t mean they’re incapable of it. You’re not putting this thing through any ridiculous maneuvers. Just curving gently down, one S-turn after another, letting physics and gravity take care of the rest. Pilots before you have done this and lived. Pilots after you will do it and survive, too. You just hope none of them have to do it in a shuttle.

When you drop out of the upper atmosphere, gentle flight goes out the window. You’re still coming down fast, and your landing site is approaching. One more trip around the world and you’ll be there, and if you don’t land then, you won’t have enough altitude to make another rotation. You bring the engines back gently, get ready to pull the brakes. “This is it,” you tell Shigaraki. You risk the smallest glance his way. He’s pale, his brow furrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’ve got this. It’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.” You check your speed and your stomach lurches. Mission Control had better have given you the longest runway in aviation history. You complete a final S-curve, as long and winding as possible, then line yourself up. “Deploying landing gear.”

The landing gear won’t survive contact with the ice, but you don’t need it to; you just need the extra drag it’ll provide. Brakes next, starting out slow, then pushing harder by the second as your airspeed indicators begin to drop. You don’t even want to think about how fast you’re descending. The ground rushes up to meet you, and the ground proximity alarm starts to sound. TERRAIN. TERRAIN. PULL UP. “I can see it,” you snap at nothing. “Shut up.”

You’re not slow enough yet. You deploy the parachutes while you’re still in the air, and all at once you’re wrestling with the controls, diverting all power to hydraulics in order to maintain a steady flight. “Brace,” you order, like you’re a flight attendant on a plane that’s about to crash with no survivors. “Any second –”

The initial impact jars every bone in your body, and the next is just the same. The shuttle is acting like a skipping stone, touching down and bouncing up, and you already deployed the chutes. As if the bouncing’s not enough, every touchdown brings a series of jolts as the landing gear makes contact with the uneven terrain. You hit the brakes, pitch the nose of the shuttle ever so slightly up, and slam the back wheels down so hard that they crumple like a tin can.

Control’s going to kill you for how much damage you’re doing to the shuttle, but you can feel the drag reducing. Your skipping-stone maneuver devolves into a long skid across the ice, slowing by degrees, as you scan the horizon through the windscreen. No sign of the ocean. As far as you can see, there’s only ice.

Your console chimes, and you take a look at the indication. Hysterical laughter spills out of your mouth. “What?” Shigaraki asks. “Did we crash?”

“No,” you say, although you’re pretty sure the shuttle techs are going to disagree. “You’ll be interested to know that we’ve reached appropriate landing speed.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Shigaraki says, and you laugh harder. “We’re landing?”

“Landed,” you say. The shuttle bobs up once more, and you drop the nose down for a final time, planting it firmly into the ice. “Sorry. Now we’re landed.”

You cut the engines, open the comms channel to establish contact with Control, and start going through your post-flight checklist. Beside you, Shigaraki unbuckles his seat. “I’d stay down if I were you,” you say, knowing he won’t listen. “It’ll be just –”

He drapes himself over the back of your seat, his helmet knocking against yours. The move would startle you if you had any nerves left. As it is, you’re just bemused. “What are you doing?”

“If we died up there, we’d have died like this.” Shigaraki’s arms come up around you, holding on tight. “You’re not getting out of it just because we lived.”

“If that’s how it’s going to be, you owe me a date,” you say. You depressurize the cabin, taking off your helmet the instant there’s outside air to breathe. Shigaraki takes his off, then presses his face into the side of your neck in a way that makes your face heat up. “At least one.”

“That landing of yours took ten years off my life. You own me ten.”

Before you can argue back, the comms squawk to life. “This is Mission Control. Do you read?”

“We read, birdbrain,” you say, and Hawks laughs. You can hear cheering in the background, and you’ve been at Control during enough reentries to picture the scene perfectly. “You blew your landing site by a thousand kilometers, but we’ve got your position. Welcome back to Earth.”

“A drone is on its way to scan the hull for evidence of the virus,” Director Sasaki says into the microphone. “Once we’ve confirmed its absence, our extraction team will come to retrieve you.”

“In the meantime, sit tight,” Director Tatsuma says. There’s a pause. “Well done, Commander. That was quite a landing.”

“We made it,” you say. Your hands are shaking on the controls, and you pull them away. The instant they’re clear, Shigaraki grabs one, peeling it out of its glove. “That’s good enough.”

Tatsuma signs off, after instructing you to run a diagnostic and transmit the results, and you key in the command one-handed. Shigaraki’s got your other one pressed against his face. His skin is warm, his lips dry and cracked. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “I knew you could do it.”

“Yeah?” Your hand is shaking, no matter how you try to hold it still. Shigaraki presses it harder against his cheek. “How?”

“You promised.” Shigaraki’s voice is matter-of-fact, even if it’s rattling just as badly as yours. You give it a few more minutes before one or both of you goes into shock. “What happens now?”

“I don’t know.” There’s never been a mission like this in human history. You hope it never happens again. “Thanks for trusting me to get us home.”

This time, the pressure of Shigaraki’s mouth against your hand can’t be called anything but a kiss. “Any time.”

“I have good news, and I have news,” Yamada, the space program’s PR director, says from the other side of the glass. “Which one do you want first?”

You and Tomura glance at each other. “News,” you say, and Tomura’s grip on your hand tightens. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll start with the good news,” Yamada says, and Tomura rolls his eyes. “The good news is that you guys are cleared. You’re getting out of quarantine tonight, and there’s a hell of a welcoming party waiting for you. Your family’s here – and your friends, Dr. Shigaraki – and they’re hyped to see you.”

“Finally,” Tomura mutters. He won’t let you call him Dr. Shigaraki, or even just Shigaraki – it’s his name or nothing. “What’s the news?”

“The news is that there’s going to be press everywhere,” Yamada says, and sighs. “We’ve been beating them off with a stick, but we’ve been ordered to host a press conference, and they’re going to want to hear from you. I need to prep you for the kind of questions they’ll ask.”

“Go for it,” you say. Yamada grimaces. “What?”

“The media loves a narrative,” Yamada says. “The coverage of the Station Ultra disaster has been wall-to-wall for weeks, and so far, the only narrative they’ve been able to spin is a horror story. Which is what it is. It’s the worst loss of life in the history of spaceflight, and it was nothing anyone was prepared for. Things have been pretty dark. They want something else. And unfortunately, that something else is you.”

Tomura makes a face. You’re pretty sure you’re making the same one. “What does that mean?”

“If there’s anything redeemable about the mission, it’s attached to you two,” Yamada says. “The discovery of Shigaraki phenomena –”

“Stop calling it that,” Tomura says. “It sounds stupid.”

“It’s tradition, as far as I understand it. New stuff is named after the person who discovered it,” Yamada says. “There’s that, and then there’s that crazy landing the commander here pulled off. They’ve had pilots in simulators all around the world trying to copy that landing. Nobody’s been able to do it.”

“Because it was luck,” you say. Tomura elbows you. “It was. Any pilot will tell you that. I know how to fly, but I got lucky. All of this was us getting lucky.”

“We didn’t make it because we’re special or something,” Tomura says. “It could have been any of others, too.”

“I know,” Yamada says. “Everybody does, but nobody likes thinking about it. Like I said, they want their narrative, and they’re building it with or without you. You and me and everybody else in the program knows it was luck – mostly – but the media’s decided it was fate. The media likes a hero. The only thing they like better than a hero is a love story.”

“No,” you say at once. “They can’t make this about us. It’s not about us.”

“It’s not their fucking business,” Tomura says. “And they’re wrong about it.”

That’s news to you. “What?”

“It didn’t happen during the lockdown,” Tomura says. He’s glaring at Yamada through the glass at first. Then he looks to you. “I liked you before that. I was at the command module that night because I wanted to talk to you.”

His face always flushes awkwardly when he talks about his feelings, but he never backs off of it. It always gives you butterflies. “You still haven’t told me what you wanted to talk about. Are you going to?”

“I don’t need to,” Tomura says. “You already know.”

You smile in spite of yourself. Tomura’s eyes stay locked on yours, and you’re conscious of his hand in yours, his leg pressed against your own. You were in two separate chairs, but he dragged yours alongside his before you’d even sat down. On the other side of the glass, Yamada clears his throat. “You guys aren’t exactly beating the love story allegations here.”

Tomura’s face flushes worse than before. You look away with an effort. “What are they planning to ask about – us?”

“Like I said, they’ve already made up the story. They’ll just be looking for confirmation,” Yamada says. You grimace. “If you get a nosy one – I’ll try to avoid calling on those ones – they’ll ask you to elaborate. Don’t lie. The transcripts from the command module were made public, so they’ll call you out.”

Your stomach lurches. “Wait, all the transcripts?”

“No,” Yamada says. “You know the rules about documenting a mission. No filming in the bathroom, during a medical exam, or impromptu hookups in the command module. That got deleted on-sight. But there’s enough context in everything else for them to nail you two to the wall if you try to lie about it.”

The flush in Tomura’s face is slow to fade. “What else are they going to ask?”

“About what’s next for you two,” Yamada says. “If I were you, I’d work out an answer.”

He goes over the rest of the questions – lots of stuff about the mission for you, lots of stuff about his research for Tomura, things the two of you could talk about in your sleep. Then he leaves, and you and Tomura step away from the glass, retreating further into the quarantine unit. You’re still trying to catch up on sleep, so you climb back into the bed, which you haven’t made since the first time you turned it down. Tomura climbs in next to you without asking first.

Originally they were going to put you in separate quarantine units, but then they decided that they only wanted to risk contaminating one. It’s the size of a small apartment, ordinarily cramped for two, but compared to the command module it’s basically a penthouse. You and Tomura have all the space you could possibly need, if you wanted it. But you don’t.

You thought you and Tomura would be sick of each other after three weeks in close proximity, but the opposite’s happened. You feel better when you’re close to him, feel better knowing where he is, which works out pretty well with Tomura’s clinginess. You’ve felt okay here, with him. Not needing to go anywhere or do anything. Just being together, seeing what works, searching for something that doesn’t. So far, there’s nothing. There’s so much nothing that you’re dreading walking away.

He asked the question after you landed the shuttle, so it’s your turn now. “What happens now?”

“Press conference.”

“What about after that?” you ask. “If this is a thing, Tomura – you live in Japan. I live here.”

“Long-distance won’t work,” Tomura says, and your heart sinks. “I’ll move my lab.”

You roll over to stare at him, and Tomura looks back, like what he just said isn’t a little insane. “People are interested in my work. I’ve gotten formal offers from every research university with an astrophysics department. The offer from the one near here was pretty good. They aren’t even going to make me teach.”

“You don’t like teaching?” You fake surprise, and Tomura snorts. “If you’ve got offers from everywhere, you should go where you want to go. I don’t want to hold you back. I don’t want us to hold each other back.”

“Sure.” Tomura shrugs. “But you’re going to be around here, too, aren’t you? They’re making you an instructor at the flight academy.”

You wince. “How did you find out?”

“Read your mail. It was open already.” Tomura shrugs again, and you shove him lightly. “I’ll move my lab. You’ll teach meatheads how to fly. It’ll be fine.”

“Your friends are in Japan –”

“And they work in my lab,” Tomura says. “If I move my lab, they’re coming, too.”

This is what you want. Exactly what you want. And it seems a little too easy. “Are you sure?” When he nods, you speak up again, your voice wavering. “How?”

“I thought we were dead up there. And I didn’t have a job to do like you did. So I had time to think about stuff while I was staring out into the void.” Tomura closes the distance between the two of you, crawling halfway on top of you and burrowing into your shoulder the way he does when he doesn’t want you to see his face. “The universe is so big that human minds can’t comprehend it, and the space between habitable worlds is enormous, and entropy’s ripping the whole thing apart – and there’s fuck all we can do about it. There’s always going to be fuck all we can do about it.”

This is why you never learned about astrophysics. “That’s dark.”

“No shit.” Tomura’s voice is muffled. “I realized that there was something I could do about it. Up there, or down here. Anywhere. I get to choose if entropy wins – not for the universe, just for me. I’m not letting it win. So I’ll find a way to keep the things I want together.”

There’s something a little absurd about him, something you’ve grown fond of. Maybe fond is understating it. “You’re going to fight the laws of the universe.”

“Yeah. And win.” Tomura settles against you, a contented sigh exiting his mouth as your fingers wind through his hair. “Say what you want. If the reporters ask me, that’s what I’m telling them.”

“We’re definitely not beating the love story accusations if you tell them that.”

“Never said I wanted to.” Tomura’s voice is starting to blur into sleep. If you close your eyes, the two of you are going to nap like this straight through the press conference. “If your apartment doesn’t allow dogs, we’ll have to get a new one.”

Now you’re moving in together. It makes as much sense as anything else about this, which is to say it doesn’t. In some ways it feels like you never left orbit, or like you never landed the shuttle – everything is surreal, hard to believe. But you remember Tomura’s music of the spheres brushing against your eardrums, impossible to imagine and impossible to refute. You don’t have to believe. All you have to do is trust what you can see and hear and feel. And that’s him.

For a little while the thought is peaceful. Then something else pierces through it, something you can’t hold in. “I’m still a pilot,” you say. “They’re making me an instructor, and I can’t fly until my psych evals come up clean, but once they do – the program’s down two pilots. They’re going to send me up again.”

It’ll be a while. Right now the mechanics department is designing drones that can repair Station Ultra, outlining a system that will eliminate the need for spacewalks, but it’ll be a long time before it’s ready. Not long enough, though. You’re a long time from mandatory retirement. You’ll fly again. And when you do – “I’ll go with you,” Tomura says. “I still have work to do up there. And I’m not flying with anybody else.”

He yawns. “Deal?”

“Deal,” you say, and when you kiss him, you let yourself believe.

<- part 1

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @dance-with-me-in-hell @evilcookie5 @cheeseonatower @koohiii @minniessskii @handumb @agente707 @lvtuss @xeveryxstarfallx @stardustdreamersisi @warxhammer @atspiss @shikiblessed @boogiemansbitch @baking-ghoul @issaortiz @aslutforfictionalmen @f3r4lfr0gg3r @lacrimae-lotos @fwxyz00

[starconstruction]

Hypothermia and the Cosmos.

You've probably read this before, maybe. If you followed my old account. Feel free to read it again I made some very minor adjustments.

Re-note if you want.

smut tags: oral (f/m), creampie, riding, vanilla stuff, ass eating.

The fic is now combined into 1 post as opposed to 4, how nifty.

Word Count: 17100

2094.

Everyone could have predicted the planet being uninhabitable, the rate industrial production sped up exponentially. Nobody wanted to slow down their ventures for more and more money, it wasn't really a surprise that eventually in 2068 every carbon sink had completely fallen through. Trees did nothing, water did nothing, fungus struggled to grow. Nowhere in the worlds air supply was safe to breathe. The stench of methane set in as the sky was blocked out. The sun itself couldn't pierce the thick fog of disease that hung itself across the earth's surface, leaving an eternal dusk that never ceased for brighter times for humanity.

Now all of humanity's survival was dependent on a mere couple thousand people, those who signed up for the planetary expedition program. A subset of the divisions designed to protect humanity for years to come, the goal was simple. Find a planet that was habitable and scalable or die trying. Today was the day where everyone was heading out, arming yourself in the mandatory assigned space gear, the unpleasant odor of new plastic and nylon mixed with the environmental methane to make something abominably disgusting to breathe into.

You grabbed onto the rails of the staircase, pulling upwards as your gear lulled behind. A crew of 32 including you were grouped together, this was the first time any of you had met. Their presence was both comforting and uncomforting, a pendulum of emotions as everyone loaded the ship full of their stuff.

Your crew gathered into your living quarters, it was a simple design. Two large components connected by a singular hallway, the company thought it'd be less risky to make them two full inclusive units as opposed to relying on each other. The ship was fully equipped with a kitchen area, containing a brand new kettle, oven, microwave, toaster and tap. The tap didn't have any water properties in itself. But thanks to the companies glorious technology, it can siphon planetary liquid with ease! The scent of coffee pierced the usually pungent atmosphere, being handed a cup by someone completely unknown. The coffee tasted like dirt as it slid down your throat, coffee apparently used to taste better than this. Before the soil got completely filled with disgusting plastics and gases.

The ship has two dynamic captains operating the helm of your operation, one of them was a small man, 5'6? He had brown hair that was being constrained by the tight helmet he was obligated to wear. And his body was slightly out of shape, you didn't know him very well but he seemed average personality wise. He was sat on his pilot chair, legs kicked up against the center console waiting for liftoff. The other pilot juxtaposed his entire appearance. She was anything but average, her hair a dual toned masterpiece, pink and black converged upon each other. She wasn't wearing her helmet yet, allowing you to bask in her entire glory. Her hair ran straight down to her back, you couldn't see her face while she faced the smog filled atmosphere from outside, sipping on the nasty complementary coffee. She was really pretty, but you knew nothing about her personality. Not uttering a word to anyone on this ship since she arrived.

The company provided sirens rung out through the air, firing a blaring warning that take off had to be imminent. The elusive girl put her helmet on and sat up properly, running her hands across the controls as she set up. For some reason the majority of the crew was in the left wing. Chatting it up about nothing in particular as the ship whirred to life. You and the strange pilot was all who was on this side.

Checking the gear stores for your side, the company provided tools for every scenario, ice picks, new motors, batteries and respiratory equipment, the budget for these missions were unfathomable. Humanity fell on all of you, it's a thought that weighed on your very soul. Weeks of preparation lead up to this mission, it can not fail.

The two space pilots pressed a few tiny buttons, engaging the core engines on the side of the craft. Bright LEDs shot out to brighten the fog on the surface, the ships motions whipping up a torrent of dirt. Their movement was synchronized to a fine art, engaging their ignition as the fuel burned violently. The ship slowly heading into orbit, escaping the disgusting fog in a brief respite. Atmosphere parting away for a clean celestial view, it was going to be a long long flight as you laid on down on the floor.

-

Space was serene, no noises of coughing through the diseased land of earth, only murmurs of chatter could be heard from the other dock. A nice contrast from what you had to deal with back on earth. You could get used to this. The strange pilot had long since put the ship on autopilot, letting it drift itself across space. She approached the kitchen, making herself another cup of coffee. Two cups? The mysterious woman brought the two cups towards where you were sitting. Placing them gently on the ground next to the both of you. Crouching down as her suit crunched, lifting the visor up in order to more effectively communicate with you.

"So, what's your name?" Her words were blunt which contrasted with her sweet sugary voice, she gave out a breathy laugh to break the tension between the two of you.

"Y/N. What about you mysterious pilot?" her face visibly cringed at your attempt at a joking nickname, eyes rolling as she contemplated just walking away. "It's, Yena. Nice to meet you Y/N" she kept sipping on her coffee as her bluntness sapped on your confidence. You two kept exchanging words. None of them were super important or significant but her beauty caught your eye. Her face was utterly divine, her eyes were enchanting, large bountiful pupils. Her lips were a soft pink, smooth and full of character. Yena tolerated your dry humor and missed punchlines, giving you fake laughter as she jokingly slapped you.

Yena said her goodbyes and got up, her hips swaying as she slowly walked back to her chair. You had to get your hormones under control, ignore the blight of earth and it's consequences on your mental. She was a crew member and deserved respect.

-

A few hours had passed as you checked inventory to take your mind off Yena, months or perhaps years of food for everyone. Crates of personalized clothes, you brought a mix of clothes for every possible situation. Warm, padded clothes designed for the frozen wastelands, fur coats and gloves. Minimal clothes for scorching climates, a strange bunch of shorts, t-shirts and a jumble of whatever.

"Fuck!" It was Yena, desperately trying to regain control of the ship as a swarm of asteroids appeared in front of the ship. Various shapes and sizes threatening to crush your entire project, and you.

"Why the FUCK is he not turning!" Yena frantically turned to the right, but the ship wasn't complying. The once synchronized pact now disjointed as you panicked. Dropping what you were doing, scraping your feet against the metal as you urgently tried to get to the other side. The pilot was going to get you all killed!

You didn't get a chance.

A massive explosion burst out in front of you, a meteor colliding with the corridor as sparks flew overhead. Launching metal launched out into orbit. The two halves of the ship now divided.

The sudden loss of pressure nearly threw you out of the ship, hands clawing onto the side. boxes of supplies hitting your legs on their trip to being thrown out into the vast abyss of space.

Fuck.

Engine batteries, fuel, clothes and more was being thrown out of orbit. Sharp jolts of pain firing through your body as you got hit again and again. Struggling to reach the airlock door button that was just out of grasp. Yena frantically ran over to you, yanking your hand into hers as she got shoved you onto the ground. The airlock door closing as the room went silent.

"Shit." One shared word was all that was said as you looked at your inventory, food sprawled over your floor. Frozen products shattered, clothes strung over various objects. At least those materials survived, all your vital ship pieces now hovering outside.

"We just lost so fucking much Yena." You said briskly, the alarm from earlier didn't stop, still ringing painfully in your ears. The walls flashing a warning red. Yena was panicked and ran back to the helm, dragging you in tow.

"Y/N! Our engine is fucked!! I got a plan though, route us to the only livable planet nearby but it's not pleasant. It'll work! Maybe I hope.." you nodded as she set your route in motion.

-

The ship landed, Or more accurately fell into the planet with a violent thud. Crippling further components as they were bent and crushed under the rock you smashed into. It was cold, really really fucking cold. You could feel it piercing your suit as your skin started to burn up with frostbite.

You looked at Yena and your jaw dropped. The color was draining from her face, her slowly drooping eyes looked soulless. A loud bang rolled out as she hit the ground. Her body now rendering unconscious, you had to find heat before it was too late for both of you. An axe trimmed with pink was lodged into the metal next to the airlock button, it had to be Yena's. You pried it from the rubble and rushed outside. The cold dug knives into your back as you frantically scanned for trees. Shivers ran down your spine feeling the ice crystalize on the corner of your eyes where the tears formed. A cluster of trees were completely obfuscated by blankets of snow, raining down on your skin as every part of you wanted to shut down.

But you couldn't.

Smashing Yena's axe into the side of the tree took considerable effort, barely piercing through the thick bark as the cold raged on. The sound of the snowstorm buzzed in your ears as snow landed on every section of your body. You two couldn't die now.

You wouldn't.

The wood finally relented, splitting into a small enough log you could lug on your back. The snow made movement slow and sluggish as you desperately fought back to get across. Wood fell at your knees as you finally got back into the ship, slapping the airlock button as the room went quiet. You needed to light this wood urgently, thankfully Yena mentioned wanting to smoke in your earlier conversations. Rushing over to her desk you snagged her shining lighter. You were so close.

*click*

Come on!

*click*

Not the time!

*click*

A flame erupted from the small lighter, pressing it deep into the small twigs as it caught fire, slowly spreading to the thicker wood. It wasn't warm, but it was warm enough. Your hands hooked around Yena's body as you pulled her frigid body close to yours. Holding her close to desperately share body heat as you sat by the fire. Eventually succumbing to the tiredness.

-

The world came back into focus as your body felt overly warm, nearly blisteringly hot. Yena was still resting in your arms, her skin returned back to its previous colorful self. You slithered out, the room was so fucking hot. Unnaturally so, looking outside answered your questions. The sky was bright red and the heat was leeching through the ship, all a stark contrast from the frigid temperatures a few hours prior. What the fuck was with this planet? You needed to change before you passed out from heat exhaustion, sweat trickling down the temple of your head as you put out the campfire.

Your space suit was thrown off as you swapped into the shortest clothes you owned. Yena was still asleep to the world, her breaths being long and patient while her body recovered.

You took the company provided axe, significantly less interesting than Yena's. The pink being replaced by a standard wood finish. You had to get enough wood in case that temperature was a normal occurrence. This planet was fucked. Time to get comfortable.

-

You got back to the ship as the temperature started to decline back into the arctic nightmare, Yena was laying down on the pull out bed. Wearing clothes that left little to the imagination, black booty shorts emphasized her delectable curves. Her legs ran down seemingly endlessly, a sheen of sweat from the abhorrent temperature made her skin glow radiantly. Snapping back to reality as you prepped the firewood for the night.

"Our fucking shower doesn't work and the world is a scorching sweaty shithole!" Yena yelled in your general direction. Frustratedly shaking the pillow locked in her embrace. You could understand her complaints, after all. You could smell both of you and it wasn't pleasant.

"Don't worry! It gets even fucking worse Yena! At night it becomes a frozen wasteland! So you might want to change, and even worse! Our temperature regulator is broken!" You exclaimed, running out of breath as the gravity of the situation came to life. Yena stormed off to change as the night plummeted. You guys didn't have a place to securely change so you turned around. Then you changed.

You two sat by the campfire, appreciating the shelter from the cold closing in all around you.

"Yena, we need a plan. We aren't going to survive in these conditions and I'm not going to die yet." Yena's face was unreadable, the first time you couldn't tell what she was feeling. Her legs tightened as she set and reflected on the situation.

"I've got a plan. We can fix all 3 of the components with some wood and flint, thankfully the technology is designed to work with every fuel source! We just need to get them, as for fixing the engine... That might be a longer plan" Yuna spoke with a child like wonder as she gesticulated all her plans, telling you components and how to fix those things you needed so desperately.

-

A week passed as you guys prepared food and general survival before moving onto what you desired.

You two first wanted to fix the temperature regulator, the whiplash every (relative) 12 hours was intolerable as you had to burn through so many outfits you couldn't wash with the current supplies. Creating a mess, you two threw all your clothes in one pile. Creating an acrid scent in its wake.

This was the easiest goal of yours. The two of you went out with your axe and Yena's modified axe. Dicing through enough wood creating a nice collection of scraps usable to repair the first part of your ship.

You and Yena worked together to fix it, jabbing fragments of flint and wood into various documented nodes as you felt it keep a consistent flow of temperature. Helping to reduce the rapid flow of clothes accumulating in the ship.

The next was the shower. You and Yena smelt awful and it was seriously starting to bug you, it required near perfect precision and grinding down the materials to a perfect size. You and Yena made a fantastic team. But the size of the task couldn't be understated.

After a few more hours it came to life, firing spurts water that was taken from the pond not far away. It would only work during the day, given its freezing over during the night. But on the bright side you didn't need to fix the heating component.

It was now just about to become night, with the shower and temperature regulators restored you two freshened up thanks to the company's "Infi-Soap" one of the few inventions they managed to muster with the trillions invested into their company.

Yena let you go first, the water spraying down your body for the first time, it was lukewarm as you rubbed the soap all over your body, feeling the dirt and grime wash away as the lather formed all over you. It felt fantastic to not be completely disgusting.

The shower wasnt exactly the bastion of privacy, it had a small curtain to prevent prying eyes but not much else. Getting out of the shower you quickly ran to change.

You weren't aware of it, but Yena was absently staring at the shower. You pulled the curtain back and your cock was showing for a second while you got out. Yena realized she was staring and turned around. Those lewd thoughts entered her mind for the first time in forever, she rarely ever thought about sex. But it'd been awhile, buried thoughts and memories coming back to the surface and oh god was she hit by them hard. Body shaking slightly in excitement.

Yena hopped in the shower, desperate to get away from the grime that encapsulated her body, rubbing the soap into every crevice to get clean. Those earlier thoughts entering her body yet again, her lower body heating up as she felt her liquid pool on her lower lips. Yena felt guilt as she licked her fingers, knowing it was wrong to do it so close to someone. Regardless she descended her hand lower, leaning against the wall as she slowly inserted one finger, letting out a needy gasp from her agape mouth. Messily rubbing her clit as she put a second finger in. Reaching her knuckles as she went in and out. The pleasure overwhelming her as she thought of your cock. It'd been so long it didn't take her long to cum. Sliding down the shower wall as her head went numb from the mind blowing orgasm. She cleared her thoughts and went outside.

-

Later you two sat by the campfire, no longer a necessity but a luxury as it created a cozy atmosphere for you two to indulge in. She was sucking on a lollipop that she brought with her, the way that her tongue danced around it filled your mind with lewd thoughts again. She was effortlessly sexy. You had to distract yourself.

"So, Yena. Your parents ever tell you much about old earth?" Your voice stuttered at her lollipop releasing her from her mouth with a pop.

"Yeah, she always talked about a fogless earth, one filled with real butterflies! Not just artificial ones! God if I was there I would have taken so many pictures" she said, her voice trailing off as she thought of her personal utopia.

"Was never a huge fan of butterflies, moths though. I would have loved to see some moths."

"Moths?? What are you an emo boy?" She laughed slightly.

The night flowed on as you talked about the old world that neither of you ever got to experience, Yena finishing her lollipop as she threw it into the cold outside that suffocated your ship. The plastic? Paper? Something that immediately got drowned by the snow storm.

You approached the campfire getting ready to put it out as a firm grasp on your arm prevented you, Yena. Her gaze was telling you to wait up.

"Hey, Y/N. Its been a long day. You trust me right?" she pleaded with you as she spoke softly.

You nodded and Yena laid you down as she got on her knees. You were shocked as she got closer between your legs.

"I, don't want you to laugh at me. I want to suck your dick. Please please please!" she was rambling slightly as she fidgeted.

There wasn't much reason to think about the ramifications, especially when you've been practically eye fucking the girl since you met her.

You nodded yet again as her hands pulled down your pants and your boxers in one fell swoop. Pooling into your legs, revealing your hardening shaft.

Yena gulped as she stared at it, her fingers tried to touch your cock but reeled back, her face painted a look of panic. Breathing deeply as she closed her eyes.

"Yena are you alrig-" you started, but she quickly interjected "Yes! I can do this... I can do this.." she murmured to herself.

Her fingers gently touched your shaft, the touch was light and shaky. She held there as she smiled, breaking past one of her boundaries. She stroked slowly, getting used to the feeling of your cock pressing against her fingers, the lack of lubricant made every motion come with a slight twinge of difficulty for Yena.

Yena drooled over your cock from a distance, coating her fingers as she rubbed it into your shaft, driving you mad with her intense strokes.

Yena's tongue made contact with the base of your shaft, pulling away as your musk caught her off guard. Spluttering spit as she coughed aggressively. Her eyes locked up into you with sheer determination as she went in for another attempt. Running it up from the base to the tip. Warm breath tickling your shaft as she got more brazen with her licks. You groaned as Yena made out with your cock, pressing kisses into the tip as she coaxed the precum out. Gagging slightly as bitter liquid made contact with her tongue.

Yuna ceased her movements as she pulled away, generating a thick glob of her spit which she spat on the tip of your shaft. Her determination was admirable.

Yena spoke, "I can do it, I can do it. If I reach the bottom you can throat fuck me. When your about to cum, pull me off." before you could react Yena's lips were parting as the tip of your dick entered her warm mouth. You moaned as your hips bucked involuntarily. Causing Yena to panic and withdraw.

" I'm sorry Ye-" she cut you off again with a gentle suck on your tip. Her plush lips were pillows for your dick as she tried again. Her sticky saliva coating your dick as she pressed lower. Hands pressing into your thighs for reassurance as she got used to your length. Heat radiated as she took you to heaven. Reaching the base as her nose pressed into your pubes as harsh gags leaked out from her stuffed mouth.

Yena took her hands off your legs, wrapping her dual toned hair around her slender fingers, gifting you makeshift ponytails. She couldn't talk with her mouth so she talked with her eyes pleading with you to use her mouth. Fully into it. Her tongue swirled around your tip. Hollowed cheeks providing a suction as you penetrated her mouth, lifting her quickly up and down as she sputtered even more saliva, coughing as it ended all over your legs. Yena couldn't keep her eyes open as you got rougher and rougher. Pressing against her throat, vibrations amplifying the sensations of her acts.

The feeling of your orgasm was imminent, tensing up as you threw Yena off your cock, her breathing heavy and labored. Stroking your Yena drenched cock rapidly with her hand, seeing stars as she raised from knees. You were seconds from erupting as Yena's shirt came up. Exposing a tasty midriff as your cock was pressed into her toned stomach, shooting ropes of thick semen as she kept jerking.

The canvas of her chest was now painted with your semen, Yena smiled as she admired her work. Dried spit coating the corners of her lips, her hair frazzled and screwed after you manhandled her.

"Y-Yena, you did it! Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Thank you, let's go clean up."

-

Since that day, you two slept in the same bed, not that there was ever enough space. The ship only providing small pull out beds meaning Yena and you had to create a tangle of bodies to accommodate each other. Her chest heaving as she gingerly breathed, encapsulated in her dream world, she was so cute like this.

You two set your sights to the moon, literally. You and Yena prepared to find a way out off this hellhole, it wasn't going to be easy. The batteries were completely drained and shattered, repairing them would require a miracle.

You and Yena were scouting the planet one day, attempting to make a hastefully drawn map of resources. It was like two different universes, at night everything was covered in snow and sleet. Ice spikes form in ravines. At day, the snow swapped out for surges of heat, liquid magma formed for a period of time then disappeared soon after.

You two walked in the blanketed forest, taking notes on the surrounding paths, snow crunched under the two of you. Your jaw dropped, a strange grey ghoulish figure stood in front of you. Bones pressing out of the flesh, nails being bent upwards 90*, organs visibly exposed. But the scary part was its size, easily towering over both you and Yena's stature.

"What the fuck is that thing?" You and Yena spoke in unison, surprised as it runs towards you. Panicking as it tackles Yena to the ground, attempting to bite into her flesh as a struggle ensued. You grabbed Yena's knife from the ground. A swift jab coated your hand in a strange green liquid as it went limp, shoving it to the ground, Yena looked up in fear. Neither of you two felt as confident anymore.

-

It was 3:32am. You and Yena were particularly frustrated as you two found nothing for the third expedition in a row. So frustrated in fact you had Yena on your face. Pussy grinding against your tongue as her hips moved desperately chasing her high, her moans filled the spacecraft as you drowned in her. Her taste was so distinctly Yena, begging for more. Hands grabbing her ass as you pressed her further in. Rhythmic licks went from top to bottom, bumping against her clit as your saliva became an equal with her juices. Yena put your hair in a choke hold, pulling it roughly as you coaxed her to her orgasm. A shrill screech as she came undone on top of you. Falling into the bed.

Yena wasn't one for words when her actions could speak louder, ripping off your clothes as she grinded against you, gasps filling the room as she lubed you up with slick. Putting it in with reckless abandonment, the sounds of skin clapping relentless on the ears as her tightness gripped you. Neither of you were going to last particularly long as she bounced incessantly. Her hair sticking to her head and creating a beautiful frame of her beauty.

The well detonated inside Yena, coming undone as you were soon to follow. Pulling off as you came on her thighs. Painting them white with your sticky seed, breathing a sigh of contempt as the anger of you two disappeared.

Yena kept it brief, words didn't need to be shared when actions had left you two defiled and satisfied. "Your my boyfriend now. And we are finding the engine parts tomorrow. Got it?"

- Part 2 -

You and Yena set out at the cover of the darkness, a comfortable silence found as you walked through the icy wasteland with your newfound relationship with your girlfriend. Rime coated her jacket, adorning the sleeves with icy patterns. Her eyes smiling even with her face covered in a mask, the cold would tear and lash at any ounce of skin that dare revealed itself to the open air.

There was an over abundance of trees and bushes in this area, cosplaying glaciers as they were consumed by the night chill. Snow resting on the branches of the trees as ice hung vigilantly on leaves. The ground was the worst part of the planet to Yena, a mix of rock with mud that remained soft no matter the conditions, creating an unstable footing compounded by the snows invisibility.

The moon on this planet was a strange blue hue, it didn't provide as much light as the one described by the proverbs of earth. It hung around uncomfortably long, no clocks were synchronized for this planet but you could swear every day felt like weeks.

Earlier scouting before you two got together found a cave that had the theoretical composition for ore, that night was special, embracing each other as you watched the night sky waiting for the results to generate from the company assisted products. Carelessly mumbling tales of the barren wastelands you two grew up on earth.

You two stood in front of the cave, a pitch black void stared at you as it beckoned you inside. A whistle could be heard as the wind filtered through the rocks inside. Yena's hand grasped your shoulder as she hugged into you, soft clothes pressing into you creating faint whispers of heat fighting against the outside cold.

Regrettably she pulled away, patting your head as her body rescinded, slinging her back to the ground as she pulled out the shared tools you two needed for the expedition. Yena always had her own style, seen from the very moment you laid your eyes on her. All her tools now kept that same black and pink that her hair was, little butterflies drawn on with the materials she snuck into her box of clothes.

Before you headed out this morning, she decorated your tools in a similar fashion citing "It's a good luck charm! I'll be right beside you even if we get lost :)", she was perfect.

Your combat knife was transformed from the standard sleek blue and white into a black and pink. A grey moth was scribbled in black pen onto the side of the handle, alongside a heart and Yena's name. Warmth filled your heart as you thought about her actions, filled with love despite the conditions you met on.

"Yena, this is.. nice" Your words lost all steam as the heat blossomed into your cheeks, admiring her craftsmanship, cutting the nearby air feeling it's strength.

"Told ya! I knew you would like it, now let's get in there and get out!" Yena grabbed her bag, slotting it around her back as she ran in. Giggling after you chased after her, flicking on your flashlight to pierce the dark, the cave was wide and somehow even colder than the outside, jagged rocks growing strange colorful materials on them, they all looked similar to materials you've heard about in legends for old earth. Greys, reds, blues. It was like a gold mine, just there didn't seem to be any gold.

Yena took heavy scrutiny of all the materials, pointing her flashlight as she ran her fingers over the strange rocks. Her experience far exceeded yours, so you let her be.

"Why couldn't the company make an ore identifier? Ugh. It's got to be lower down." Yena said, visibly frustrated as she swung her pickaxe into the thin rock wall that was covering the lower depths. An ominous feeling crept through your blood as you looked down the gravel slide. Yena seemed to pay no mind as she slid down, always the ambitious one.

You two landed in the lower levels, dust clouds forming as feet touched the ground, even more strange materials could be found. The darkness started to creep you out even more as more and more came into frame. You were always afraid of the dark, not that you ever saw the nightsky before a few weeks ago.

You were taken out of your fear when a loud screech filled your now pounding ears, as they throbbed in agony. It was Yena.

"I think I found it! Help me mine it up." rushing to Yena's side as you lifted your pickaxe up. It was trapped in thick columns of stone, barely visible as metal ripped out the material. Landing on the ground with giant thuds as it shone bright as its cobalt colour got exposed to large sums of oxygen.

The ore took a lot out of you two, swings became labored as your arms stung with lactic acid building up to assist the lack of air in your lungs. You two quickly grabbed it and threw it in Yena's bag, now you just had to get home.

You turned around your jaw dropped, those ghoulish freaks which you two aptly named "beasts" were falling down the slide, stumbling over each other as they approached.

"Shit! Yena, honey we've got to get out of here!" grabbing the two pickaxes as Yena ran ahead with the material, the way back was blocked with death. Running into the unknown void as you were being chased.

You ran upwards, Yena in tow up towards the other entrance. Chasing the dim glow of the moon that peaked through. Finally getting towards the entrance and putting just barely enough distance from the horde, that seemingly exponentially growing in size as the night raged on. Wind surged around you two, eyes being assaulted by the bitter cold. You had to make it home, no matter what.

A massive bridge of ice wound in front of you, segmenting like a web as it latched onto the grey surfaces of the mountains nearby. Visible cracks of demise formed all over the surface, fear gripped you like a vice as you two stood in front of it, but you couldn't linger for a moment longer. "Yena! Go first, I'll keep them off you. Go!"

"But-"

"Go! I swear, I'm right behind you!" She ran ahead, the bridge cracked further under her feet, it wasn't going to hold much longer. The beasts had encroached on your position, a wall moving ever closer. They couldn't get onto the bridge, not while she was on it. A beast lunged at you, slamming you into the ground as it towered over your body, dangling as it tried to feast upon you. They couldn't get to Yena. You'd make sure of it.

Your knife jabbed into the head of the beast, a familiar splurge of green liquid fell out the wound as it went stiff, shoved onto the ground as more beasts came into frame. You flailed at them, they were plentiful but not strong, more bodies hit the ground as time went out. Energy running thin as you danced with death, biding hope for your combined survival.

"Baby! I'm across, come on! Go!" she screamed frantically, turning away from the horde as you sprinted across the ice, the cracks became bigger and more severe as more and more beasts walked across. Some fell into the frozen abyss below. Your escape was quickly thwarted with a harsh tug. Knocking you to the fragile ground as you got jumped by one of those freaks, spitting it's rotten breath over your face as it attempted to bite you, your knife was just out of reach. Fingers squeezing desperately into the ice as you tried to claw it into your hand.

The ice bridge shattered underneath you, knocking the beast and all their friends into the glacial spikes below you. Just barely managing to fall on the corner of a thin pillar of ice. Panicking as you jammed your pickaxe, providing you enough leverage to take a breather.

"Y/N!"

"Yena! I'm, fine I promise you." the ice was cracking under you again, a familiar threat as the fall below you would certainly kill you.

"I'll come get you! Stay there Y/N!"

"No! It's not safe, I'll find a way!" Taking a deep breath, you could not let Yena down. Thinking was a luxury you were quickly running out of.

"Shit! There's more on this side!" Yena exclaimed.

"You've, got to get out of here! I'll meet up with you later, we can't lose this material! Yena! Run!" The cost of this mission was far more than you expected, you could lose everything. But her.

"Y/N-"

"Now! I love you Yena, don't ever forget that!" tears filled your eyes as you started slipping, the ice becoming too weak to support the length of your pickaxe.

"Fine. But you better not fucking die! I'll see you soon" Yena ran as the beasts covered her from your vision, you had to get back.

Wrapping your hand onto the small ledge, hoisting your legs off the crevice of ice. No time to falter, you were going to have to jump. Pulling out the pickaxe from the shattering ice, shards flying out in a every direction. The wind grew stronger, raging against your clothes as you shuddered once again.

You threw your pickaxe to the nearby ledge, you just had to make the gap. Getting as close as possible, springing your legs forward as you flew into the air. Time froze in place as your body hung in the sky. Your feet touched the ledge, cracking as it succumb to your pressure.

You fell into the pit.

-

The world came back into vision as the blur dissipated, providing clarity as you adjusted to the light, the snow reflected beams of light into your eyes, you tried to move, a sharp stabbing pain made you nearly throw up, your leg landed on a spike of solid ice, coloring it sanguine as your blood soaked it. You felt lightheaded as your head throbbed. The scent of disease felt so much stronger than you could ever remember, growls came from around the pit.

Fuck! Not now!

The beasts approached your suspended body, Yena would be so disappointed in you if you didn't fight. Punching the spike that severed your leg, frantically trying to break it, but it held. Punch again, it weakened but it still stood. Final punch. It finally started crumbling under the force of your actions. You got yourself up, there were 100s of spikes in your vision. Piercing the hearts of beasts as they struggled to break free. The sight was abhorrent, hands moving absently as they painted them in their color. Those who were lucky were meters away. You had to go.

Taking a step forward was a futile effort, collapsing into the floor as your legs shot up in pain, creeping through your very soul, white heat throbbed in your head, legs burning up as you felt hot. So so hot.

A beast grabbed your leg, clawing it with its razor sharp nails, lacerating what flesh was not punctured earlier, blood coating it's claws as it went in again, lifting your other leg as you kicked the nasty creature into a spike, trapping it, arms and legs struggling as it begged for freedom.

You lifted yourself up, struggling to stand. The world spinning around you as the other beasts approached, limping around the spikes towards the nearby cave. You limped and limped. Sensation in your leg entirely frozen off by this unrelenting nightmare of a planet you crashed onto. A sharp object met your foot, a familiar set unfolded you. It was Yena's gift to you, you took the knife back with a feeling of pride, she really loved you.

One final battle.

I'm coming home Yena.

The cave was clearer than usual, not as many beasts to crowd the environment as you walked through, a few stragglers loomed. Every step took a monolithic amount of energy, the fuse was running low as you struggled to get through... Ugh. Collapsing onto the ground again, the leg begging for the pain to end.

But it wasn't, it was getting worse. Burning against the cold, the cold was aiming to destroy everything you knew.

Yena's gift struggled to pierce the beast that assaulted you, arms moving side to side as you fought for your life. Yours and Yena's. Together. The beasts head fell next to yours, knife piercing it's brain in a fell swoop.

You got out of the cave, being hit by the harsh weather as the ship was visible. Faint but you could see it. So close. So so close.

The night felt soothing, perhaps you had already accepted that you may not make it home. The thoughts of Yena played in your head as the cave came to a close. All those laughs, all those moments of passion, all those late night conversations. Your leg fell through again, a loud buzzing filled your ears as your body started to shutdown, the world went dark as you fell into the snow.

-

"Y/N! Y/N! Wake up! Wake up!" The world came back to you slowly, glazed and blurry as all you could make out was her. Yena's body was hunched over, tears leaking incessantly and unrestrained. Hair sticking to her swollen red cheeks.

"relax sweetie, i'm awake" you said, voice weak with exhaustion, exerting all your strength to reassure her.

Her lips met yours suddenly, eyes widening as her hands reached to your head, pressing your lips against her like this moment was ephmeral. You melted into her touch as she pulled away. A string of saliva connecting you two together, a proof of your unbreakable bond.

"I-I, thought you were dead! I saw you just lying on the ground, you nearly left me.." Yena pressed her head into your chest, wrapping her arms around you thanking the lucky stars that you were here.

"You said I couldn't die, I would never break your wishes, honey." You lifted her head up slightly, wiping her tears off her delicate face.

"God! Your such a dork. I love you Y/N" she backed up slightly as your leg spasmed in pain, reminding you of what transpired tonight.

"Oh yeah, your leg! Can I please take care of it? It's the least I can do" her eyes pleaded with you, begging to take some of the responsibility.

"Of course, let's get it stitched up"

-

You two showered together, helping you stand as she lathered you up, cleaning each other quickly as your leg ran out of tolerance to keep up. Getting out and changed into pajamas.

You and Yena were hugging each other, basking in the glory of a successful expedition. Rubbing her back gently as she squeezed closer, tracing circles on your chest gently. "Y/N~ this is the last time in awhile before we could, have some fun.." she said.

"What are you implying darling?" You teased, as she sighed.

"You are always so mean! Fine, I want the love of my life to let me ride their dick. Are you happy now?" She huffed in your face. Smiling as you celebrated your humble victory.

"I would do anything for your honey." Locking lips again, sucking on her tongue as she moaned gently at your actions, regrettably you pulled away and she pulled you down.

Yena was a natural tease, slowly lifting her shirt up with a sway of her movement, revealing her black bra. She was stunning, you didn't get to revel in her appearance last time. Rushing out of frustration, you mentally took a picture of her body. Taking focus on her toned midriff, she was aphrodite reborn. Her hands reached behind, clicking her bra as it fell to the wayside. Her breasts were the perfect size, everything about Yena was perfect. Her fingers reaching out to squeeze her nipples, light moans strung out from her mouth as you felt your dick harden under her noises, your mouth salivated as you looked at Yena's tight body. It's like you two were linked as her body lowered. Giving you the luxury of putting her heavenly nipple into your mouth.

You licked aggressively as your lips created a suction, her nipple was salty with her sweat, generated from your earlier hugs. Your hands found the waistline of her jeans, pulling them off alongside the leggings she wore for thermal resistance earlier. Revealing her underwear, damp with her arousal as you rubbed her clothed cunt, your fingers wet with Yena. She gasped as you sucked harder, you pulled her panties to her side, giving you direct access to her pussy. Stroking her clit frantically as Yena pulled her nipple from your mouth. Turning around to sit comfortably in your embrace, giving you full access to her cunt.

Your fingers trailed up Yena's picturesque body, leaving a trail of slick as you probed at her mouth, greedily accepting your fingers as she lathered them in her saliva, " Always so accommodating" You said, watching Yena beam with your praise she licked faster.

You pulled out and gently pressed into her cunt, swallowing you up as she squeezed on your digits, suffocating them as you inserted in and out rapidly. Her moans were a steady stream of breathy affirmations, your other hand got bored. Squeezing her tits as your fingers kept shoving into her. You felt a spongy part inside Yena, immediately invoking screams of pleasure as she tightened around you. Making it hard to pull out as you kissed her exposed neck, leaving small nips as you kept your motions going.

"Ah fuck! Y/N! I'm gonna cum for you! please please please please" you kept your pace steady as she came undone under your grasp. Liquid shooting out violently from her cunt, pushing your fingers out of her as she painted the bed with her essence. She was always so reactive to your touches, in every way.

"My good girl, that's it" you kissed her as her chest, heaved up and down trying to recover. You took your slick ridden fingers into your mouth, tasting your girlfriends perfect juices.

Yena suddenly moved, getting off the bed in order to remove your tight jeans, made tighter by your aching shaft, pressing for freedom as it's granted by your girlfriend. Your shaft flew out as her rigid hands let it free from the constraints of your clothes. She spat out a thick glob of spit onto your shaft as she stroked you frantically, using her other hand in order to stroke your balls softly. Every action of hers felt perfect, peppering small kisses all over your shaft, she came a long way from the first time she tried this. Licking the sides of your cock as she slobbered all over you. Her eyes locked in as you unconsciously thrusted due to her tongue.

As soon as her head started, it ended. Stroking you as she lifted herself above you, bumping your tip against her clit. She begun to lower herself on you, the tightness you felt earlier now strangling your cock. She felt so good as she took you to the hilt, her eyes closed due to the intense pleasure as you two shared moans.

You couldn't thrust upwards due to the intense pain in your leg, keeping you constrained to the bed as you have to take whatever she gives you. Thankfully, she shows mercy as she bounces up and down, skin slapping as the sweaty skin of Yena and yours bodies connected. Her glistening pussy was spreading itself to accommodate your dick. Her rhythm was completely lost as you laid there, feeling the sensations of her grip tightening suddenly. She was getting more frantic and you could tell she was getting close.

"Y/N! Fuckkkk I'm cumming!" She tightened around you painfully, losing herself to the pleasure of your cock.

She stopped moving as she sat to recover, she gingerly got off you as her eyes looked at you seductively "Don't worry baby, you'll get to cum soon. I'll show you how good I can be." she dropped down. Her warm breath ticking your balls as she got ready. Wrapping her lips around your awaiting cock, grabbing your ass cheeks as she went lower.

Sinful gags came out from her mouth as she pushed your cock into her throat, going up and down as she licked the underside of your shaft, you moaned violently as she kept going up and down. You knew you weren't going to last very long.

"Fuck Yena! I'm gonna cum!" She pressed her nose into your body as she took every inch into your mouth, pressing against her throat as you released shot after shot of semen into her awaiting throat. Taking her rightful award.

You took her off your cock as she gagged semen all over your dick, struggling to take all of her deserved load. Being the loving girlfriend she is, her tongue lapped up all of your spent load. Moaning as she swallowed it for the second time.

"Was I good? Y/N~`

" The best, now let's get cleaned up darling. Long day tomorrow."

-

You two spent the entirety of the next 3 days figuring out how to fix the engines, the material unstable as you turned it into power sources that could handle long expeditions. It was long, stressful, and led to a lot of arguments between you and Yena about how to handle the situation, but you two always made up with a kiss and kept moving.

You two finally repaired the engine and got ready to take to the sky.

"Y/N? Do you think we'll ever find a planet worth living on? She exclaimed.

" Of course, we deserve something other than this wasteland."

" Yeah your right! Let's go now."

"Lead the way, my mysterious pilot hah."

She sighed as the engine came to life.

-Part 3 -

The abyss of the vast array of space was more comforting than the last time you two were here, you had started a voyage towards anywhere. She was the commander of the ship, sat in her chair, fiddling with controls on her complicated array. You were taking inventory again, the fight on those planets dwindled vital resources, food, water and fuel was no issue. The problem came with the lack of entertainment for the potentially endless expedition. You walked towards Yena, clanking metal as your hand coiled around her chest.

"How is it going Yenie?" you teased, a silly nickname to break the thick emptiness of space.

A light slap came to your chest, her face scrunching in her soft features as she grimaced about the sickening nickname, "You are never calling me that again, understand?" she replied, her voice a mockery of seriousness as she pretended to be offended.

"It's going good Y/N! Can you believe it?! We are back on track, and your alive!" Her energy was contagious, a smile appearing on your face as she hopped around in her chair. Hitting a tiny dance as Yena celebrated your joined success, god she was truly perfect.

Her hands returned to the console, hitting buttons and pulling levers, colors lighting up as she performed tech magic. You felt a seed of pride bloom in your chest as you watched her movement, none of it made sense to an observer, only those who studied the books of the Technocrat from Old Earth, a period of time defined as before the great environmental disasters. Something Yena referenced a lot, from what you could gather it was a legendary pilot who invented easier space travel before the world went dark with smog.

Yena finished her button mashing, kicking herself out of the chair. Approaching you, arms wrapping around your neck as she gave you a quick peck on the lips, pulling away as quickly as she arrived.

"Come onnnn! It's in autopilot, let's go cuddle!" she pleaded, dragging you by your arm as she pulled you towards your makeshift couch, the pillows from the company provided beds. Multiple blankets laid down on the ground. Covering up the cold metal of the ship floor. What really made the set piece was the plushies Yena had in her box, seemingly endless as she stored more and more unauthorized items that came to light.

"How did you carry all of this? I mean the guard protocol was pretty strict." You asked, Yena gave you a short giggle and shrugged.

"I just, threw it under the guard and he didn't notice. He was kinda an idiot."

Yena pulled you down, your body made contact with the soft blankets. Pressing backwards into the pillows, Yena followed as she sat down next to you. You threw the thickest blanket you two found over each other, the soft cotton bounced the shared body heat around. You two were in relative bliss, Yena leaned into your body, head against your chest. Looking down as your arm draped over her shoulder. Her body naturally fit into yours as you two stayed connected like two puzzle pieces.

Yena was the first one to break the silence, adjusting to get more comfortable. "So, I was thinking, maybe I can figure where they went, yknow the other people?" she said.

"You think they're still alive?" You replied.

"I mean, if we landed with no engine chances are they landed with one." her hands rubbed circles on your leg absentmindedly as she pondered.

"You're probably right, we could have a look. Civilization isn't going to rebuild with just two of us."

Yena gave a small nod from her position and you two sat there, bodies interlinked as you enjoyed each other's company. For the first time not against an arctic inferno, a planet that wanted everything dead. A memory that strengthened your bond together.

Hours passed sitting there, the expanse of space gave you two all the time in the world, you two were both burning up in the climate of your intimacy, neither of you two wanting to be the one to break the connection, but both of you wanting to get out of the scorching hug. You broke your connection, lifting Yena away as you stood up, going off to do whatever.

Yena fiddled with the strange terminal on the side of the ship, something you couldn't even read. Glyphs that Yena tapped and observed as a diagram of a ship came up. It was a life like model that wasn't entirely too dissimilar, fingers pressing into the screen, moving the model of the ship looking for something. You watched in awe as she did her magic, she was truly incredible and you couldn't stop repeating it.

"Ah hah!" she beamed, "I've got a lock on their location." tapping as an image of the planet appeared, how much strength was reliant on this engine? It looked similar to an image of a poster of old earth, dominantly green with trees cut through with a deep blue, creating swirls around the image. A potential home for you and Yena.

"How did you find them so quickly?" You asked, but she didn't answer.

Your leg surged up in pain as you fell to the floor, propping yourself against the wall of the space craft, a expression of worry etched into Yena's face as she came down to sit next to you. Skin touching as her hands enveloped yours. "It's gonna take a few earth days to reach their orbit, I'll take care of you until then." she smiled brightly at you.

"Thank you, my love" you replied.

-

You woke up sometime later, unable to identify how long it's been by the lack of any sun, similar to your time on old earth. A strange noise filled the ship, the sound of metal tearing other metal apart and forging something new. Large sparks flew out through the air, Yena was working on something, clearly an active mind.

"What ya working on Yena?" you asked, limping as you approached her workstation.

"it's a rock smasher thing. Names still pending yknow?" she replied, picking up the framework of her creation, lifting it to the light. A large wooden handle was resting between her hands, thin scraps of metal residing around some stone from the mine you two found the engine matter.

" I see, needed something to do?"

"Yeah, we got a few days. I thought I'd make one so we can do whatever we need to build our new home."

"Good idea Yena. Let's hope all goes well"

-

Excess fuel burned as your ship dived down into the atmosphere of the hopeful planet, the darkness of space replaced by the brightness of the sky, a strange pastel green. This planet was much larger and livelier than the previous planet, dark green leaves spotted over the wide green plains, this planet was so green.

A small ship could be seen as you two descended lower, the signs of life obvious as wooden buildings laid around it. Herds of cattle enjoying the grass as they roamed near the tiny village. You two lowered down beside it, a puff of smoke consuming the floor as you two landed.

The air was crisp and refreshing as you two landed, walking down onto the grass, weapons in your bags as you walked towards the settlement made by the other flight crew members. It was much larger up close, giant wooden walls propped up everywhere as a massive watchtower observed over the centre. You two approached the gate, shoddily made out of wood and metal scraps.

"Hey! Boss it's them! The other two! Yeah I'll let them in to talk" The gatekeeper said, screaming at the top of his lungs to the mysterious "boss".

The gate was opened and you two walked in, holding hands as you followed the guard, there was a faint glimmer of hope within your heart, could this be the start of civilization?

The guard had stopped in front of a door, it had a sign that read "Commanders office", Yena squeezed your hand in worry. The guard walked off without saying a word. Gesturing for you to go in.

Your hand pushed open the door, giving way to the office, silent for the scratching of pencil, a familiar face was sat at the desk. The other pilot, the one that nearly cost you and Yena's life. Anger boiled inside as your hand clenched into a ball.

The pilot looked up, a sense of surprise filled his face. Pencil dropping against the desk as he sat backwards, smugness radiating from him.

"Oh. You made it, congratulations." Sarcasm dripped from his voice thickly like poison. You could feel Yena's anger pooling up by the way she gripped your hand. Before you could intercept she fling at him, jumping over his desk as she slammed him into the wall. A strong thud shook the wall with tremendous force.

"You fucking asshole! We could have both died before you couldn't drive! Did you not learn or were you too busy to pay attention?!" Her arm pressed further into his neck, his fear evident as he struggled to breathe. Yena looked so hot when she was angry, but she couldn't kill him or else you'd both be fucked.

" Yena, lay off a bit honey. We won't be able to do anything if we both get killed." You said, keeping your voice soft. You could feel the tension lighten as she softened her impact.

"Get your fucking hands off me, you lived. No big deal, now. If you want to talk business, we can talk. If not, get off this planet before I get mad." He spat. You pulled Yena back into your arms.

He continued, "Good. You can listen, for the record we were playing spin the bottle. But if you want to help build the future. We could appreciate the help in getting more resources. Get out of my sight, bring back woods, metals whatever. Do it in the morning though, it's getting late. Don't want to run into revenants." God he spoke way too fucking much.

He kicked you out your office as you and Yena went back to the ship for tonight, hooking up your shower and sink to the local fresh water pond.

-

You and Yena were laying down on the makeshift couch again, the night sky colored a strange pink as you two stared at it. No words have been shared in a few long minutes.

"I love you Yena" You let out accidentally.

"I know, honey you say it a lot." She replied, still staring at the sky.

"I know, I just think it is worth repeating, I love every inch of you Yena. I am so glad I met you."

"Every inch?"

"Every inch."

"In that case, theres something I want to try."

-

Yena was pressed up against the pillows of your "couch", clothes laid discarded to the side in a large pile. Legs spread open as she left herself open to your shared desires. Her arousal was irresistible, body open for your next move, one guided by her earlier confession of her interests. You rested just below her, body next to the inches she wanted you to prove you loved.

You reached your destination, locking eyes with hers as you took your first lick of her asshole, starting slow, teasing her as you breathed in her body wash. The same company provided scent from infi-soap. Mixed with her arousal, creating an intoxicating cocktail of scents you couldn't get enough of. Your licks remained slow and deliberate as you circled her asshole, becoming wet with your saliva as she let out delicate gasps.

"Hmmm fuck.. That's really good.." Yena let out, her voice breathy and empty.

You kept licking, getting more ambitious as your had moved up to her clit, rubbing softly, soft gasps turned into loud moans as they pierced your ears. A sweet chorus filling the room. Your mind was clouded with only thoughts of her as you devoured her awaiting asshole.

Minutes passed as you two enjoyed each other, your tongue grew tired as she grinded her cunt against the bridge of your nose, you could feel her closeness, legs tightening on your shoulders.

"Fuck! Y/N baby, I'm gonna cum fuck!" she screamed, her orgasm hit her like a fright train as her body stopped moving, your tongue kept moving while she came undone. Moans slowed down as the world came to a halt.

"Every inch Yena, I told you." You said cheekily.

"Y-Yeah. I think I've got that" she replied, struggling to get the words out.

You didn't bother to tell her about the agonizing pain in your leg.

-

The first major expedition to find resources begun the next morning.

The brisk air wrapped around the trees, endless forests were in front of you. Strange yellow and black creatures flew between the large trees, landing on a small lilac flower. You limped behind Yena, she carried both axes while you held onto food, small scraps in case someone got hungry.

"Here, There's a good amount of wood and I don't see anything dangerous, let's get cutting" She said, an axe suddenly appeared in your hand.

The wood was difficult to cut, leverage was difficult as every swing nearly knocked you over due to the instability of your leg. Worry filled your body, if it came to it. Could you save the person you loved?

You looked over at Yena, already on her sixth tree as you hadn't even cut your first, her elegance was undeniable as each swing was optimized to cut wood down in as few strokes as possible. Leaving nothing but logs in her wake.

Your axe penetrated the surface of the wood, slicing it in half as it fell into the ground, another slice, dividing it again as your arms burned. The wood finally divided into pieces of usable material that could be reshaped, picking it up as you moved to the next one.

-

You and Yena finished cutting wood for the day, but you didn't go home yet. Pulling out the blanket from your food box Yena made out of spare materials on board the ship. Laying it down gently on the ground. The sky was a nice shade of purple and oranges. This entire place felt like a utopia.

You two took some bread and cheese out the box, food generously given from one of the nice members of the settlement. Yena sat crosslegged, combining the food together as she took a bite, face beaming with joy as she ate non-bland food for the first time in weeks.

She brought the food to your mouth, pressing it against your lips as you opened, accepting Yena's offer, the crunch of the bland bread contrasting the salty cheese. It tasted divine, most likely because you shared it with Yena.

You two sat in each others company, like most of your time. Not a single day since this expedition had you removed from Yena, and you liked that.

Yena pouted slightly, "Are you not going to offer me food?" her voice whiney as she made pleading eyes. Your hands reached towards the food as she slapped them away.

"No, not that food... I want something a bit more.. Personal" Her hand went to your crotch, pressing it slightly as she looked into your eyes.

"God your insatiable." You chuckled as you gave her easier access. Kicking the basket out the way to not spoil the meal.

"You love me for it."

"I love you for everything."

She smiled as her hands started to undo your pants, unzipping them quickly as she tried to free you from your confines. Pulling them down and leaving them half way down your legs, her eyes locking with yours as she made out with your clothed tip, saliva wettening the fabric as she teased you. She moved up, her teeth grabbing the waistband of your underwear, pulling it down in one delicate motion as your rigid shaft went out to greet her. Tapping her nose slightly.

Her hand gripped your base, the sudden feeling caught a shocked gasp out of your throat. She licked at your tip rapidly, several short bursts of pleasure ruptured out of the spots she blessed with her holy tongue, contrasting the sinful actions she administered.

She went lower, performing longer more deep strokes of her tongue. Licking up and down as she pressed your dick firmly against her tongue, her mouth releasing delicate hums as she reveled in your pleasure. Her head game has improved tenfold from her first time by that campfire. Her spare hand going down to rub your balls, comparatively like ice compared to the warmth of her mouth. Slowly rubbing in circles as it brought you further into heaven.

Your hips instinctively thrusted into Yena's mouth as her lips were penetrated by your length, sucking her cheeks in as her walls pressed into your cock. Her hands moved away, pressing against your back. Providing enough leeway to press her mouth to the hilt, a few soft gags cams out her mouth. Bobbing up and down as she dragged her mouth from the top to the bottom. Slamming violently against your crotch, tears cropping against her eyes as she gave you the best head of your life.

Your hands grasped at her hair, finding leverage in the silky strands, thrusting stronger as she braced your impact, you knew you weren't going to last any longer, holding her into your base as you shot ropes of semen down her throat. Giving her the meal she wanted.

Her face withdrew, spit connecting you two as she caught her breath. Smiling slightly as she stroked your sensitive length, trying to prevent it from softening. You let out painful gasps as she continued.

"Thanks for the meal" She smiled, before hastily removing the bottom half of her outfit, leaving her cunt fully exposed to nature, you immediately felt ready to go again. The song of nature was playing in your ears, sounds of birds and the wind all around you. It was beautiful, you never got to hear this before. Old earth had no birds when you arrived, all long since dead due to the lack of oxygen.

You were took back out of your thoughts as Yena hovered over you, pressing down impatiently as she took you inside her, her walls gripping on you tightly, you two let out a shared moan with the overpowering sensation, thrusting upwards. Meeting her halfway as you ignored the pleading from your leg.

She leaned forward, clothed breasts in front of your face as Yena kept bouncing, there were no words for her beauty, no words for the shared passion you two engaged in. You greedily pulled off her shirt, Yena providing assistance as you threw it over her head. Taking her bra off revealing her boobs. Something you've indulged in countless times, each time a spectacle as you took one into your mouth. Holding her close as you sucked intensely, moans launching out her mouth as she kept bouncing. Keeping the same pace for several minutes, feeling like hours as you enjoyed the pleasure.

Your hands ran down to her ass, providing firm squeezes as you played with her flesh. Alternating minor slaps between her cheeks, every inch of her was perfect.

"Ugh, oh my god! Y/N, I'm cumming!" Her pussy gripped on you even tighter than before, squeezing you roughly as she came undone.

You felt the familiar pressure creeping all you, shuddering as you pulled her off. Frantically stroking your shaft up and down as you dribbled semen all over her midriff, some splashing on her breasts. You two smiled as you admired the specs of white on her body.

"God, Yena you are incredible.. I love you" You said.

"I know I know, goofball. Let's get home so we can clean up." She replied, putting her clothes on, ignoring the semen that pressed onto her shirt. Picking up her things and you two walked home.

-

Weeks passed as you two provided contributions to the growing society, providing materials that made new buildings, everyone now had their own personal home. Including you and Yena, you two chose to live in the same place. The house was cozy, constructed out of the wood you two had gathered, taking the parts out the ship that was viable to slot into your new home. The main improvement was the bed, significantly bigger than the ones the company had provided, Yena had done her usual decorative work on it, putting the plushies she had earlier on the sides.

The village felt full of life, everyone got along with you two except the boss. Who seemed to still resent you. But you two were happy.

You two completed several resource hunts, but you were always warned to never go out at night. You two were already inseparable, only tightening together more by the time you spent.

-

You and Yena were sleeping, the day long over as you two rested in each others arms. "AHHHHH! FUCK THERE'S A LOT OF THEM! GET BACK" The loud sounds of screams tore you from sleep, shaking Yena frantically out of dreamland, looking at you in confusion as she rubbed her eyes.

The screams grew louder, "Yena, we've gotta get out there!" you two jumped into action, limping to your desk as you grabbed your knife. Yena right behind you with her axe, desperately opening the door as the sights petrified you.

Light fixtures knocked over as strange beasts approached the village, they were a deep brown, covered in horrific amounts of fur. Arms popping out with muscle as they swarmed in, large sharp nails dug out from their hands. They slowly charged the heart of the village, ready to wreck destruction in their path.

You looked at the gate, undamaged but open. Shit.. "Yena! The gates open, they'll keep coming if we don't get it closed!" You yelled. She nodded as you two started to rush towards it. Another scream rippled out from the other side of the village "HELP! WE CAN'T HOLD THEM OFF!" You two stood at a crossroads, they couldn't die. "Yena, listen to me! Help them! I'll get the gate! Go!" You commanded in desperation, she took off in their direction.

A storm broke out overhead, loud tears of thunder as rain dropped down overhead, drenching the dirt floor, saturating it in water creating a thick mud. Every step stuck to you as you desperately pushed forward to the gate. Approaching the under siege structure, monsters came out the woods, looming closer.

It was now or never.

You grabbed onto the handle. Taking your stand against the wet floor and the assault as you struggled to pull it towards the right.

You were nearly done, just a bit closer.

A large hand shoved itself into the small crevice left in the gate, dangling around until it was able to grab onto your arm, knife-like nails cutting through your sleeve. The surge of water even colder as it landed against your bare skin. You pulled your knife closer, struggling out of the grip of the monster, you panicked. Jabbing against the vein of the monster as you tried to get away. It roared in pain as your knife went further in, dark maroon poured out the wound as you stabbed again, and again, it resisted against your actions but it was clearly relenting, this was it.

One final jab and the monster's arm withdrew out the gate. Slamming the gate against the wall as you let out a sigh of relief, grabbing a small plank of wood to trap the handle. Slashes of claws banged out through the gate, it'd hold, it would have to hold.

"HELP!!!! SHIT!" It was Yena, your heart dropped as you turned. Her neck was being held by one of the disgusting monsters, desperately struggling against it's grasp. You ran towards her, knife at the draw. The burning singe of pain in your leg knocked you into the ground, coating your clothes in a thick sludge of mud as you couldn't move.

Yena was in danger and you couldn't do anything.

"Get off her!" You looked up, the boss dived a knife into the monsters knee, a large wail came from its throat as it threw Yena into a wall. A large crash rolling out as she fell unconscious, tears pickled at your eyes.

Get it together! Get up!

Your legs found momentum, just barely scrounging a way up as you limped as quickly as possible.

But it was far too late.

The monster jabbed it's claws into the head of the pilot as his knife slit the monsters throat. Falling down together in a pile of death. The village went quiet, only the sounds of rain filled the air. The beasts by the gates no longer present with their roars disappearing.

The night was still. But the people weren't.

Your entire body was covered in intrusive mud as you frantically got to Yena. Her body slumped over against the wooden wall, you picked her up. "SECURE THE VILLAGE, I'M GOING WITH YENA!" Carrying her over your shoulder. Bringing her home. The rage of the night now over.

Please be okay.

Yena.

-Part 4 -

The village hung silent with the collective lament of everyone within, two bodies laid rough in the dirt as the walls were secure. It was safe for now, but this couldn't hold forever.

Yena laid unconscious in your bed, no longer caked in the thick sludge of mud. She looked peaceful like this, a stark contrast to everyone who was in despair. Your hand reached out to her cheek, softly holding it as you sighed.

"Be okay Yena, please." You whispered, giving her forehead a peck before leaving her to rest.

The rain assaulted your body once more, covering you in water as you went outside. The night was brisk and painful, Yeojin and Heejin hovered over the pilots body, you didn't know them very well. But their agony was evident, eyes red as they looked down.

You approached them, the body was most preserved. Save for the harsh gash on his head, the monster's body laid next to him. An eye for an eye.

"Jesus." You said, delivering one harsh slash to the monster. Stress disappearing from your body.

"He's fucking dead! Oh my god oh my god!" Heejin sobbed, Yeojin's arms wrapped around her body as she sobbed as well.

You didn't know what to say, judging by their body language it was easier just to leave.

You went back into your home, changing clothes from your water locked ones to something much warmer.

You decided to sleep on the floor that night.

-

The light pouring into your room wasn't comforting, shared sorrow still heavy on your mind as you went outside again.

A group of people stood together, looking down in a silent affirmation of regret. The girl in the middle held a shovel, you didn't know whether to approach. You walked forwards reluctantly, standing next to the group of people.

"Here lies the brave trooper who gave his life for our village, a testament to his strength and resilience." You didn't know who was speaking, a rose being put onto the grave, joining the rest of the pile.

Maybe you could share some sympathy?

-

Your axe crushed the skull of the monster in front of you, a deafening yell ripples in the sky. Blood coating the head of your weapon as your foot found the chest of the monster, landing against the floor with a .

"Is Yena going to be okay?" Your hunting partner Wonyoung asked, an elegant woman. Axe hung over her shoulder with a gun hoistered onto her leg, wearing a thick leather jacket that helped against the cold. She helped you out while Yena was out of commission.

" She has to be." You said, swinging your axe into the nearest log. Splinters flying out in every which way, the goals were simple. Get wood, fortify the defenses. Expand.

"But what if... What if she doesn't wake up?" Her voice shuddered at the words.

The thought was unfathomable to you.

"Impossible." You said harshly.

"It's possible Y/N, it was a hard blow." She said, digging her axe in the wood much more elegantly. Splitting into two at once, her words stung like a knife. Tearing through your soul, thoughts of Yena not making it threatening tears to well up.

"It's not! Stop! She's probably already awake! Shut up." You snapped, voice echoing through the leaves. Trees shaking under your words, birds chirping as they fluttered away. Wonyoung's face flashing a quick shock.

The two of you collected wood in silence.

-

You were laying next to Yena, her chest slowly lifting up and down. The night went on with no more interruptions, her hand laid in yours intertwined. Staring outside, the crews bundling up and distributing wood, combining it with stone as they made some of the walls for the expansion project.

"Good night Yena." You said, closing your eyes as you joined her in the dreamworld.

Unaware to you, mere hours after you fell asleep. Yena's eyes opened, groggy and in an intense amount of pain. Sparks of agony tearing up, completely paralysed under the compressing feelings.

Yena moaned in pain, looking out at her sleeping boyfriend. Conked out to the world, hand rubbing idle circles against your back.

"Cutie." She giggled, trying to take her mind off the pain.

She had an aura of calmness around her, much like her surroundings. Completely still and comforting, the dim light of your lamp illuminating the left hand side of the room.

She'd wait until the morning, but it felt good to be awake.

-

Your eyes opened, looking forward. Yena was sat there, but her eyes were open?! Her arm draped over your shoulder, like it always belonged there.

"Yena?! Oh my god oh my god, I love you so much." You were incoherent with your speech, getting a beaming smile from your girlfriend. Lips turning up in that same adorable way.

"Morning sleepyhead." She laughed.

"You're awake! This is fantastic, how are you feeling?!" You asked erratically, sitting up to face her.

"Ugh, my back hurts like shit." Yena let out a pained chuckle.

"Oh no, can I help you with anything?" You were really worried for her.

"Well, I can barely move myself. So... Caretaker duty is on you? Help me shower real quick and then we can talk some more." She gasped.

"Alright honey, arms up." You said, turning around. A pair of arms appearing in your peripherals, soft winces as she rested on your back.

"Argh fuck." She yelped.

"I've got you..."

"Better not drop me, owww"

You sat her on the toilet, removing her clothes and throwing them on the ground. Her entire back laid purple and bruised, like a colony of grapes burst. The sight made you shiver a bit.

"Jesus your back is kinda fucked." You said, helping her stand in the shower.

"That bad huh?" She replied.

"Yep."

"Haha, shit."

-

Yena was laying back against the shared bed, plushie in hand. A blue butterfly, her body wrapped in your comforting blanket, eyes slightly closed in a mixture of tiredness and agony. You sat at her feet. "So, what mission are they going to send you on next?" She asked, your heart melted at her sweet voice.

"Going to get some stones, probably." You shrugged, moving the strand of hair that went in front of her eye, which elicited a bubbly giggle.

"Sounds boring, especially without me, but I'll let you go, just come back in one piece." She dismissed, closing her eyes as you left.

-

Your jacket protected you from the cold, each day getting harsher than the last, it was as good of a guess as any to suspect there was also seasons here and it was transitioning into another one. Pickaxe in your hand, no partner this time, already missing Yena's conversation.

The cavern had no light, pitch black with no way to tell what horrors were inside, your flashlight was the only thing that offered you comfort doing it's best to illuminate the surroundings to ill effect.

Rocks reached out, some were grey and others were brown. They all looked like spikes, swinging through each and every rock to break them into manageable pieces. Throwing them onto the wheelbarrow behind you.

A sudden screech alerted you, something similar to a snake. The only difference is snakes don't normally have 2 arms, this planet was sure odd. It didn't move, slit eyes staring at you. It's presence made you uneasy, especially by the sudden 10 more that appeared behind it, they observed. Their gaze made your blood cold.

You chipped through the rocks, taking half second stares, they kept their distance. The wheelbarrow was starting to fill, a light mission today. In the rubble laid clusters of sparkly rock, various colors that all glittered against the torch. Verdant gems that looked like leaves, alongside rocks similar to rose quartz. Yena would love these.

You carved the quartz out of its hold, it was pink with a white base. She'd appreciate it, the snakes started to approach. That seemed to be the cue to leave, dragging the wheelbarrow in tow.

Yena was asleep when you came in, depositing the rocks on the table as you got into the shower. You'd have to hope for her recovery.

-

"Thanks for the quartz baby." She said softly, still visibly in pain. "One of my favorite colors as well, I love it." You two sat next to each other, not touching in fear of hurting her.

"No problem honey, god you should have seen the creatures that guarded it." You chuckled, Yena looked at you in awe, hands gesticulating a massive version of the snakes. A little white lie sure, but the way she laughed and smiled made it worth.

"That sounds awesome! Haha ow." Yena looked down in a sudden gasp, how badly was she thrown? "I'm fine, I'm fine. But baby? Can you grab some food?" Food wasn't necessarily scarce, but it was carefully rationed. Managed by a person called Frederick, you two had became quite good acquaintances.

"Yeah, I'll be back." You said, the climate had changed quickly. Rain was not uncommon, but this was orange. It hissed against your skin, leaving a slimy trail. Quickly dashing out of the exposed air before too much hit you.

Frederick was stood there, holding what resembled a cleaver, his mustache grew ever longer, reaching his hair. An eccentric chap but well meaning. He grinned at your arrival, "Yoyo! Hows it?" His voice had a slight nasal for how high pitched it was. He moved with an exaggerated swagger, almost cartoonishly so.

"I'm good Fred, just came to get some food for me and Yena." You replied, digging through your pockets. You always got more food if you had a little bribe with you.

"Ahha! I predicted she'd wake up next time I saw you, fantastic! I shall give you a proper meal tonight!" He looked behind him, finding a loaf of "bread" and some weird meat. The stuff wasn't bad, just different from what you remembered at earth, not that you ever experienced the real deal. "Our good hunter Mohammed got this meat, it's... I don't know! But he's a damn good shot, glad we got him."

Another person you hadn't met, seemed like every day you learned of someone new. The crew was diverse, gathered from ever sector. Perhaps they didn't speak the language you did, no matter. You graciously grabbed the food. "Thanks Fred, you know what's up with the rain?" You asked.

Frederick hit a stance, contemplating while rubbing his facial hair. "Nope. Was just orange, pretty fucking cool though right?! Back on earth all the rain turned grey, I wouldn't stay in it too long just incase it gives you something. Anyways, get back to your girlfriend!" He shooed you out, what a character.

You shielded the food as you ran back, quickly getting back to Yena. She eyed up you, then the food, then her stomach growled. "Welcome back honey, come. Sit down with me." You put the food on her legs, giving Yena first dibs. "This looks, passable. Thank you." She took a bite, showing zero reaction. Couldn't be that bad. You also took a bite, whatever meat this was tasted similar to how beef was described to you. The bread was dense and not very enjoyable, but it went down.

"Did we figure out electricity yet?" Yena asked, looking at the TV that didn't turn on.

"Yeah, but I don't think we got it yet, I'll ask if I ever get a chance. Let's finish up." You two ate quickly, leaving the board it was distributed with on the ground.

You two talked into the night, eventually falling asleep against each other.

The next week or so fell into a set rhythm. Wake up, talk to Yena, earn your keep, grab food, talk to Yena, sleep.

Yena was recovering, it was a slow process but at least it was happening. Expansion was going well, soon it'd also be thriving instead of surviving.

It was one of those nights, Yena was laid against her bed after you helped her shower. Laying in some shorts when she begun to speak, "Being injured sucks."

"Yeah, back before my leg recovered every day was miserable." You tried to relate, both of you had gone through so much in what felt like so little time.

"Yeah but like. Never mind." She dismissed herself.

"You can tell me Yena, I won't laugh if that's what you are concerned about." You reassured, putting your hand on her leg.

"Okay, haha fine. I've wanted to do sexual stuff with you." She said it slightly embarrassed, something about the situation made everything more odd.

"Yeah, being injured sucks." You parroted her earlier point in retrospect, not sure where to continue the conversation.

"Hm, we can't have sex but..." She let the words hang, "I can give you a hand job? Please Y/N, let me." She had big eyes, you couldn't turn your girlfriend down.

"If you are up to it, I'm never going to turn you down, you are so hot." She was beaming now, you shuffled as close as possible to make it easier. Her hands couldn't keep still, jumpy, being possibly reunited with your shaft motivated her. Being quick to unbuckle your pants, helping Yena by pulling them down, leaving you vulnerable to her touch.

"God it's been way way too long." She sighed, something you couldn't agree more with, her eyes being the height of seduction. Looking at you with such hunger while she spat on her hand, inching closer to your cock. The sudden warmth made your cock stir, hardening inch by inch under her touch. "That's it, get hard for me, come on." Her voice was enthralling, complying completely with her words as you became rock hard for Yena.

"Fuck... Yena." You moaned, her hand was smooth and slick, constantly spitting back into it to apply more lube, she moved with purpose. Up. Down. Up. Down. The sound of her hand gliding complemented the tiny whimpers coming from your mouth, she was limited in her body movement, but her hand did not reflect that. Not even a second.

"Kiss me, please just kiss me." She whined, you were more than happy to oblige, locking lips with her, the passion was evident, tongues melding into each other's presence while her hand kept going. Pulling away from her lips was agonizing, Getting just the bare minimum before diving back in. Savoring how her lips felt, how her tongue slid into your mouth in its exploration, it all felt like magic formed by the it's long overdue nature.

When you pulled away again Yena looked at you with darkened eyes, lust pooling inside her body that pooled out between her legs, visible through her panties when she pushed her shorts ever slightly out the way, "I don't care, fuck me Y/N." She demanded, hand slowing down until she stopped.

You wanted nothing more, but the worry in the back of your head still remained. She could sense the apprehension inside you, her gaze softened. "Trust me, I trust you, just be careful." With that you agreed, hands carefully pulling down her shorts, the heat of the combined arousal making the cool air feel warm, her underwear came next, leaving her equally exposed.

"Can I go down on you first?" Perhaps you just wanted to ease her into it, perhaps the way she was beyond wet lured you in, either way you wanted a taste of her.

She giggled, voice very clearly turned on "You don't need to ask, go ahead babe." You were careful, moving her just enough to get between her legs, her scent rekindling the fire that was dying, you went mouth first. Leaving slow open kisses on every inch of her folds, your tongue was second. Reaching out to savor Yena, her taste something you missed, her honey strong and plentiful.

Your tongue writhed in between every inch of her silky flesh, she was moaning repeatedly, "Fuck, your tongue! I love you..." She screamed, you moved erratically, much like your girlfriend. Swirling around with little flicks, you could never get enough of her, but you needed to get inside of Yena.

"I'll be careful, try to keep yourself still." You warned, adjusting her just enough to let you thrust inside. Her smile faded when your cock started to enter, mouth widening in pleasure. You gasped with every inch, she squeezed and squeezed the life out of you.

"Ow my back, keep fucking going PLEASE!" She cried, a mix of pain and pleasure, you went slow, enjoying her warmth cradling around your cock. "You feel so good inside me! God God God!" Yena chanted, the sound of skin slapping was faint at this pace, being gentle.

You two turned to face outside, the sky turning pink, slushy water falled against the grass. "Huh, it's your color." You remarked, still thrusting into her warmth, she laughed "Yeah it is, can you ugh! Go faster" you complied, hands finding her hips while your eyes gazed back at each other. She was way prettier, the way her lips were quivering, cheeks flushing a warm red. Lost in her in every possible way, listening to her syrupy moans, toothachingly sweet.

"Fuck... Yena I," You were getting embarrassed at how close you were to cumming, her earlier hand job creating wonders.

"Yeah! I'm not that far either! Just cum with me!" She pleaded, your pace had completely disappeared, brain going foggy as you slapped into her, she tightened around you as she came undone, you finally following through and painting your girlfriends walls white.

"Oh god that was so good." She said after awhile, a satisfied gasp leaving her mouth. "Though now we have to shower again, help me up hehe."

-

The next two weeks was equally unremarkable, choosing to restrain yourselves so Yena could recover properly. Somehow the technocrats under her direction had successfully routed electricity to these shoddy wood buildings.

Yena was able to move again, not entirely perfect but capable.

Now you were talking to Liz, one of the scout masters and head leader of the expansion project. Everyone just seemed to pick a profession and stick to it, was working well so far.

Her hands spread open a map, scouted by a drone they had. "So, this is what we are calling The Summit. It's quite high up, it has a lot of stuff that looks akin to what the relocation projects said we needed. Our goal is to get everyone in space here, to start a society." She said with an invigoration.

"So, you want me to go up there?" You asked.

"Of course, but I'm not stupid. It's obviously going to be dangerous, you already have climbing pickaxes and stuff right?" She reached into a cupboard.

"Yeah, most things like that." You replied.

"Cool, so anyways. Here's a gun." She pulled out a 9mm alongside some ammo. "Don't ask who or where it came from." She coughed "wonyoung" You laughed, taking it in your hand. The metal felt cold, "it's not on safety."

"Alright, thanks Liz. Life saver."

"Don't sweat it."

It was early dawn when you got back to Yena, who woke up with you. She liked to be up to chat before you left, but she seemed much more antsy this morning. "Oh! You got, a gun?" She stood next to you, admiring the weapon. "Sick..."

"Yep, going on the most dangerous expedition yet, they gave some heavy metal." You chuckled, throwing the equipment all into your bag.

"Alone? No way, let me come with." She stated. She was stubborn, but it'd be too dangerous as a first mission back.

"First mission back? Honey there's no way you can go I'm sorry." You replied, slotting the gun into your clothes.

"Nope, coming with. Pack double." She wasn't taking no for an answer.

"It's not safe Yena! You need to ease back into it." You reasoned, but her expression didn't shift, still standing in front of you. Getting more irritated by your frequent denial.

"I don't care, I'm coming with you. That is final." She insisted, you weren't going to win.

"Fine. You are going to be the death of me yknow?"

"Of course, but at least I'll be with you."

-

You and Yena walked towards The Summit, it's imposing stature visible for miles and then you had to get up there. The mountain was frosted with snow, but not the snow pictured in old books, it was reflective, like diamonds. It sparkled against the sun.

She held up fine, holding the bag hunched over her right shoulder, wearing clothes that matched yours. Protecting you from the endless cold. "So, what are we actually looking for?" She asked, crunching the snow beneath her. Leaving little miniature hopscotch games in her wake.

"Something, it's at the top of the mountain. Shit, down. There's monsters in front of us" Your voice dropped to a faint whisper, rolling behind a tree. There was four of them, their appearance much more ferocious than the ones that night, nails sharper, refined, sleek. Their fur akin to your coat, they didn't see you yet. "Let's not waste ammo, watch my six."

Every step felt tense, knife poised and ready to attack. The first one went down without a hitch, falling to the ground in one fell swoop. The second one wasn't much harder, barely getting to turn around before the knife pierced the creatures skull. The other two wisened, rushing towards you. Yena looked in horror as they cornered you, sticking the climbing pickaxe into one. It held it at bay, but their claws were inches away, ready to maul you. Slitting the throat of the other one, a refined amount of elegance was all you had. Like Artermis trained you herself. The final one nearly got you, very dangerously so. The pick giving you an opening to finish the job with your knife.

"Got them Yena! We can move closer." You said quietly, they didn't seem particularly motivated by sound but no point to risk it. She caught up with a pep in her step, the forest swarming with the bastards. But not on your direct path, the mountain was now the obstacle directly in front of you. Climbing was something you and Yena were adept at, but the angle of this was dodgy.

You went first, taking the bloody pick and digging it in, grappling upwards towards the small alcove, Yena was much more refined. Ending up next to you. "God this is huge." She looked up at awe, taking the next step, it was much higher up, but with her elegance there was nothing to fear.

"Come up!" She yelled, giving you clear ground. You ran, getting as much height as possible before digging into the rock. Your heart started to spike, not getting enough grip, starting to slip. "Shit! Take my hand!" She warned, arm outstretched, you took it. Seconds before your demise, she had saved you. "Told ya you needed me." She said proudly.

"Yeah okay, we aren't even half way up, dear god." You panted. "What the fuck is that?" A bird hovered over you, grey in colour with red heads. It looked to be sizing you up. Deciding if it could take you two as a meal.

"I don't know, but it's fleeing?" It clearly had better judgement, flying away. Yena shrugged, "After that last jump clearly you need a good luck kiss." She took your lips in hers, giving you a loving peck.

"You just want an excuse to kiss me" You remarked, taking the first jump forward.

"Of course!" She appeared behind you again.

The chill of the mountain started to pierce the fabric worn, air thinning out with every jump and climb you two made. This was going well, perhaps too well. "F-f-fuck that's cold." She shivered, the summit was in grasp, just a bit further one more jump.

And you made it.

Yena made it.

Thank god.

The material was silver and circular, like little geometrical circles. It was cool to the touch, "This is what we scaled a mountain for? What a load of shite." You remarked, but you took it.

"Just get down." She panted, the lack of air making her head spin.

You two started the descent downwards, Yena went first. Jumping down step by step.

It all happened so quickly, snowy platform breaking under Yena as she went hurling towards another part of the mountain banging against a wall. She wailed in agony, "Ow! Fuck." She groaned, the bag fell even lower bouncing towards the bottom. Monsters started to swarm through the mountain, heart racing.

"Fuck! Yena I'm coming!" You yelled down at her, starting to climb downwards, every swing made you panic. It didn't take you long to get down to Yena, who was propped up against the wall. The monsters were getting closer.

"Shit our bag! We got it closed we just need to grab it, how many shots is in the mag?" You were panicking, shaking. There was more than you could count. Look left, more, look right, even more.

"6, why didn't she fully load it?" Yena gasped, clearly in agony. "I can move! Help me up." You pulled her up, moving towards the edge. A monster diving towards you, fate quickly ended by a loud bang. That was one.

"Okay, I'll get down first. Then you'll have to trust me. Keep an eye out!" You reverse mantled, jumping downwards with a tumble. Another two shots rang out, corpses laying next to you.

"Yena! Jump!" You yelled frantically, her eyes full of fear as the ground below her faded, falling towards your outstretched arms. She just barely made it, the sudden weight toppling you to the ground, knocking the bag even lower towards the ground. "Fuck! Oh there's so many."

They crawled and teared the snow like insects, replacing the blanket white with brown. They were getting closer, more than the 3 shots left.

"Just another climb down, Yena! I know you can do it! I love you." You said, taking her arm as you started to climb down, bringing her with you this time. Another shot rang out, you needed this. Now more than ever.

"I love you as well! Ow fuck." You dragged her down, connecting with the next platform of stone. Just a bit lower. Another shot. One left.

You could make that, you took Yena in your arms, jumping down. Taking all the pain in your legs as you buckled, but at least you were grounded. There was so many, too many.

The final shot rang out as you ran to the backpack, no more rounds. Yena was hunched over, following behind you best she could.

A sudden charge kicked you to the ground, revolting breath howling against you, the stench nearly making you vomit as their nails clawed through your clothes. Pain welling up, your knife knocked far out of reach, every second made you bleed out more. It's teeth biting into your neck, eyes turning foggy, you tried to push, but it wasn't moving. Yena grabbed the bag rummaging through to save you, shooting a bullet right into the creature. Looking in horror at your bleeding form, clothes ripped and stained as you oozed a sanguine puddle.

"No, no! We need to get back. It's just a few miles, come on!" She pulled you up, neither of you could really stand. You looked up in a haze, the amount of creatures had multiplied behind comprehension, swarming towards you.

"Y-Yena.... Oh fuck, there's too many, you need to go. Now." You warned, watching them rush closer.

"Not without you!" She sniffled, shooting the ones that were getting close.

"Yena, look at me honey. I, can't, you can't move holding me up. I'm not going to recover from this, don't be silly." You panted, the snow was saturated red with how much blood you were losing. It was a miracle you could still talk.

"N-No..." Was all she could say, keeping you two safe.

In one last bout of desperation, you took her lips against yours. Every emotion ever shared coming to a conclusion, a bittersweet goodbye. You couldn't even express a full goodbye, too many interruptions.

"Go, get back to camp." She was slowly coming to terms with the fact it was inevitable, putting the bag on.

"I, oh my god." She was fully bawling, reloading.

"Don't waste more ammo here honey, go. And Yena, don't... Forget me." You gasped, falling back to the ground.

"I won't, fuck! Why did it have to be like this?! I love you! Goodbye Y/N." She cried.

"I love you as well, now leave quickly." The world was starting to fade, watching as Yena disappeared in a blur, bullets firing as she took off.

"Hey monsters! Come and get some!" You screamed with whatever energy remained, diverting every last piece of attention you could.

They started to loom closer, towering over you. Nails digging in and out of your flesh as the world went black.

This was goodbye. Forever, See you Yena.

-

It has been many years since your sacrifice, Yena could still recall the horrific events like yesterday. The face of you bleeding out haunted every dream for years. She was wiser, older now. Becoming one of the major commanders, helping to improve expeditions to make sure no more loss would happen.

And she was successful, you being the last one to fall in such a violent way.

Yena was sat at your gravestone, decorated with various butterflies and moths. Your knife dug in the dirt next to it, she went back and got it.

"God I wish you could be here to see it all." She started, wearing your clothes. "We've managed to get over 80% of the people here! We even named it Neo Earth. The city is bustling and full of life, we genuinely have a shot at rebuilding society! We won't make the same mistakes, I've been drawing what could have been, had we not lost you. I love you, I love you so much." Her voice waned, tears pooling in her eyes. "You know, I always wondered what would have happened if I didn't come. Would you have been more careful? More logical? Would you still be here?" She pondered, digging a trail in the dirt.

"I can't help myself, even though I know you'd tell me to stop those thoughts. I just, I wish you were still here. You saved me so many times, I can't believe I didn't like you at first. The best thing to ever happen to me, I've said all these words so many times before." She wiped her tears. "But this always makes me feel better, I need to go on another expedition tonight. But, talking to you always reminds me to be safe. I've truly become something to behold! You would be so proud. I'll see you again soon, but first." She pulled out the crumpled paper, a picture of you two roughly drawn, moths and butterflies swarming you two. She smiled as it joined the rest of the drawings.

"Bye for now. I love you." And she left.

You were the luckiest, in life and death.

[sw5w]

Master Jedi

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:41:51

[alovelywaytospendanevening]

The Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop

Craig Rodwell (1940-1993), an active member of the Mattachine Society of New York, suggested that Mattachine open a bookstore that would also have offices and space for community meetings. When Mattachine rejected this idea, Rodwell decided to do it himself, despite the fact that he had no experience running a bookstore. At the age of 26, Rodwell rented a very public storefront on Mercer Street near Waverly Place. The shop was named after Oscar Wilde, who, Rodwell wrote, was “the first homosexual in modern times to defend publicly the homosexual way of life, is a martyr to what has recently become known as the ‘homophile movement.’” The shop stocked books and periodicals that dealt with gay and lesbian issues in a positive manner; Rodwell refused to sell hardcore pornography, in part because of the Mafia-controlled distributors of this content, but he did carry softcore male physique magazines. Rodwell saw the bookstore as a community bulletin board, carrying announcements of important activities, as a clearing house for those interested in law reform in New York State, and as a spur to writers who would now have a place to sell their gay-themed work. On his letterhead and on the store window, he called Oscar Wilde “A Bookshop of the Homophile Movement.” He modeled the store after the Christian Science reading rooms he had grown up with, which sought to impart a positive image of the world.

Craig Rodwell at the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop in 1971

The Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop had its grand opening weekend on November 18-19, 1967, becoming the first gay and lesbian bookstore to operate on the East Coast. It was preceded by Adonis Bookstore, in San Francisco, which opened several months earlier, in March 1967. However, after a couple of years, Adonis evolved into a gay adult bookstore, which made Oscar Wilde the first of its kind in the United States to operate long term. At first, Oscar Wilde only offered a limited number of publications for sale and Rodwell had to spread books out so that the shelves would appear full. His first year was a rough one – vandals broke in three times. But eventually, the shelves were filled with more and more LGBT-related publications. A public presence was crucial to Rodwell’s vision for the store: its front window was adorned with slogans such as “Gay is Good” and “Gay Power.”

Bookshop staff in 1977

People who worked here included Ellen Broidy, who was then a student at NYU and the first president of its Student Homophile League, as well as a member of other LGBT activist groups. The Mercer Street store also became the headquarters for the Homophile Youth Movement, where Rodwell often counseled young gay men and women and tried to set a positive example for them, so, as he said, they would “gain a sense of pride and dignity as young homosexuals.” In 1973, Rodwell decided to open a second store on Christopher Street, close to the center of gay life in New York and also called the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop. He kept the Mercer Street store open for several months, for “sentimental reasons,” but finally closed it in May 1974. (Full article)

[apas-95]

How workers utilising Marxism-Leninism organise medicine production: the workers, organised into a national-scale federation of unions, elect local representatives, who themselves elect further representatives up to the highest levels of governance, where a people's congress deliberates on the results of investigation into issues submitted by a consultative body composed directly of workers, and eventually comes to a consensus, towards which all the nation's resources and work can be directed in unison; a state council directing state-owned assets administers the operations of a pharmaceutical industrial group, in concert with national laboratories and a state regulatory inspector, which directly manages its own logistics, covering 7 logistics hubs, 43 provincial-level logistics centers, and 500 municipal-level logistics centers, with more than 3 million square meters of warehouse space, supplying 8 tertiary hospitals, 21 secondary and specialized hospitals and 141 medical institutions, totalling over 16,000 hospital beds it directly administers, alongside the 700,000 institutions it supplies but does not directly administer, while under direct control of the workers' representatives and capable of both conforming to national-scale economic planning, as well as mobilising medical materiel in the case of emergencies and disasters.

How workers utilising anarchism organise medicine production: they'll figure it out, I don't know. Honestly it's both presumptuous of you to think that knowing how political-economy works means you should know how to organise a logistics chain, and also very insulting towards the individual workers to think they couldn't just organise the logistics chain on their own

[wordsfrombudha]

😘 Moon Men in Relationships 🫂

In my previous post, we looked at how Moon men move in the world. Now, I would like to discuss how these men present in their relationships. I would really like to get deep into the psychological and behavioral patterns of these men to establish a clear framework for how to identify and navigate relationships with them.

Moon men tend to play multifaceted roles in their relationships and social dynamics, effortlessly adapting to different contexts and the people around them. This fluidity makes others feel "safe" and desired in their presence, drawing them in for comfort and validation without the Moon man needing to assert anything directly. As they navigate these interactions, they often adopt a quiet, seemingly naive demeanor, allowing others to underestimate and project onto them while they subtly maintain control and insight into the situation. This unassuming presence naturally places them at the center of social groups, where they become mascots or muses, quietly inspiring the ambitions of those around them. Without fully grasping the extent of their effect, they absorb the emotional projections of others, who attach their meaning, longing, and desire to the Moon man. Over time, this emotional magnetism turns them into a vessel for others’ hopes and insecurities, often leaving little room for their own inner world to be seen or acknowledged.

A good example of how this looks is with Jack Twist in the movie Brokeback Mountain. Jack is passive and soft-eyed, emotionally available in a way Ennis isn’t. He appears innocent and naive, but he’s keenly aware of what he represents to Ennis as he notices him being drawn in to Jack's allure.

Another role Moon men play is that of a passive facilitator of intimacy. They don’t actively try to create emotional connections, but they find themselves in emotionally charged situations regardless, platonically or otherwise. The behaviors that lead to this are usually intense eye contact, casual touching, probing-type flirting that still has an air of innocence, secret-sharing, and "accidental" touching/closeness. This is operationalizing their ability to connect and make others feel seen, even if they don't consciously realize they are doing it. They create comfort and desire by acting as they naturally do, which can easily be interpreted as an invitation, like a shower taken in the same hotel room being misconstrued as a prelude to sex. This unintentional intimacy leaves people confused, yet more intrigued, drawn to the Moon man’s enigmatic nature.

A good example of this is Jack Reacher in Reacher. Jack Reacher facilitates intimacy with his female costars without trying. His casual demeanor, powerful presence, and gentle quietness make people feel seen and safe, drawing them in emotionally. His unintentional closeness, like sharing space or physical proximity, often leads women to project longing and meaning onto him.

There are several key distinctions that set moon men apart from others. The first thing we need to do is realize that Moon men are not Sun men. If you are familiar with Sun man archetypes, then you probably picked up on a more than a few similarities in the examples I gave in my previous post. However, even though many of their behaviors may appear the same from an external vantage point, moon men are operating with different goals and intentions compared to Sun men. Like moon men, sun men are sometimes seen as the "masculine ideal," but their actions are different. For example, a sun man might steal to challenge unjust societal norms, but a moon man will steal for the fun of it and because it can grant them access to a higher quality of life. Moon men are much more hidden about this compared to sun men. When sun men challenge social norms, it is almost immediately noticed because it is obvious. Moon men are better at keeping a lower profile.

To see some examples...

Sun Man:

Moon Man:

The sun is much less sensual and externally oriented than the moon. The sun is content and fulfilled by itself, and it is more of a courtesy that they engage with others when they are stirred from their place of settled inner peace/stagnant happiness. The Moon, on the other hand needs others. They can project self-sustainability, but it is a farce. They exist on the bridge of duality. The Sun represents the aspect of spirituality likened to bodhi or enlightenment. In contrast, the Moon represents the aspect of spirituality known as bhakti or devotion/love for the divine. Enlightenment is achieved by going within the self and discovering a sensation of oneness and unity with all, while devotion is the process of approaching the divine as the dearly beloved devotee. Instead of seeing oneself and the divine as one, a person must surrender to the divine as an other and seek a connection of intimacy with personhood of a specific deity. In the context of moon men and devotion, they are the ones who require surrender and, in return, will bless those who do.

They do not want to be admired from a distance. They want to be adored up close, obsessed over, immersed in. They are not content with impersonal respect. They need emotional entanglement and attachment. A moon man wants to be glorified. But like a personal deity, they are illusive, never fully present in the way you want them to be. You might catch glimpses of them now and again, moments that feel profound and sacred, but they vanish just as quickly. They reveal just enough to keep you reaching and professing your love. The closer you think you are, the more you realize you have no idea who they actually are. This is not an accident. Moon men curate their mystery. They thrive on being longed for, and they do not want to be fully understood. They prefer to be imagined rather than known, loved as an idea rather than as a flawed person. And yet, paradoxically, they invite incredible intimacy. They will let you confess your secrets, cry in their arms, project your hopes and fantasies onto them. They will take it all in without resistance and reflect it back, perform it, feel and experience it for themselves. But when the moment comes for them to actually be honest about what it is they want, they will either retreat or shift the conversation. Not because they are cold, but because they are not built for full exposure. They are built to be worshipped from within a fog. This is why Moon men are so good at creating dependency. They don’t dominate through force but through suggestion and a presence/attention whose absence is felt even more strongly than their presence. And unlike Sun men, who may walk away once their work is done, Moon men linger and haunt. They return when you least expect it. They want to be worshipped, but no one ever said they wanted to be worshipped by only one person. They have enough to give to many different people at the same time.

An example of this is Tom Ripley from the film Plein Soleil. Tom Ripley is the ultimate, albeit darkly exaggerated example of a character who thrives on casual intimacy, admiration, and emotional worship without ever fully reciprocating or committing. His relationships are manipulative, and he draws others to him through his charm and mysterious nature, allowing them to project their desires and affection onto him. Tom is highly attuned to the emotional needs of others, and he draws them in by being emotionally available just enough to make them fall in love with him. Ripley thrives on being desired and admired by others, but he never fully gives himself over to those who admire him. He is elusive, presenting just enough of himself to keep people intrigued and desperate for more, always subtly maintaining control over his interactions and ensuring that he remains the object of desire, even going so far as to attempt to redirect worship for other people towards himself.

What moon men want is to be someone else's number one, while that someone else is their number twelve. Their sensual nature makes them addictive, and at times, polyamorous in energy even if not in behavior. So, in a world that prizes the singular, the Moon man struggles to fit the mold. He is looking for multiplicity, for the ebb and flow of attention, the fleeting moments of intimacy that he can offer to many, all while being praised for it.

This search for variety and for connections that are rich but not necessarily permanent sometimes leaves the Moon man feeling misunderstood. He does not want to be tied down to one path, one person, or one idea. His heart longs for the freedom to experience the depth of many lives, many emotions, and many connections without the burden of being confined to a single role. These men want to be deeply connected to multiple things and people at once, but the modern world doesn’t offer him that freedom. It demands clarity, exclusivity, and a kind of emotional ownership that feels stifling to someone who thrives in the fluidity of more fanciful relationships. It is kind of a compromise. Yes, they can have intense pleasure and interaction with multiple people, but they will usually have to give up the depth of connection and intimacy in the process. As soon as they might start expressing deeper feelings, the other individual will take that as a sign of exclusive commitment, which is not what moon men want. They want casual intimacy with many.

The gif above is of Gavin Leatherwood in the Netflix series The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. He plays Nick Scratch. If you haven't seen the show, I won't spoil anything, but Nick is a textbook example of a Moon man. I wasn't able to talk much about it in my first post because I ran out of room, but moon men are deep into fantasy, magic, the occult, and mysticism that deals with some kind of material manipulation, including sleight of hand, illusion work, and sorcery/science mixed with magic. They also love a good mind-f*ck along with some kind of "big reveal." I think the best examples of this are the movies The Prestige and Now You See Me.

This is what they want, but it is rarely what they get. When they cannot have it, they begin to feel lost and hollow. They have to compromise. Do they choose fickle pleasure seeking or a deeper connection? I don't think there is a universal answer to this. It is kind of up to the individuals and their choices. However, I have personally noticed a tendency for them to choose the deeper connection once they have gotten bored of shallow interactions. That said, I have also noticed many times when they do choose deeper commitments, they will eventually revert back to older habits that have at that point become novel to them again.

Moon men attract people who crave to be seen and adored in a way that feels all-encompassing. These people are dreamers and romantics, people who have longed for an intimate emotional connection that is accompanied by passionate physical ecstasy. Many come from emotionally neglected backgrounds, having never fully felt seen or understood by others. They view the Moon man as a safe haven, a place where they can finally be vulnerable and loved in return without having to compromise on the passion. What draws in most people is the physicality of the moon man. They notice his sexual allure, and in paying attention for long enough, his ability to embody a divine masculinity that is sensitive, creative, and soulful. This tenderness, combined with his magnetic presence, is captivating and intoxicating to those who long for a truly intense and fantastical relationship. But the truth is, in these types of relationships, the moon man tends to become a receptacle for the unfulfilled longings of others. At first, he seems like the perfect answer to their desires, providing a space where love and connection feel pure. However, this is mostly just a projection. No one is perfect, and moon men specifically are definitely far from... They may represent perfect love to wishful eyes, but projections can only last so long. Eventually, the illusion fades, and the real, imperfect nature of the Moon man becomes clear. They start to feel betrayed and like the relationship has been one-sided. This is when relationships are tested. The projections dissolve, and the Moon man’s complexities and contradictions become harder to love and understand. The challenge for the moon man is to navigate the balance between being seen for who he truly is and dealing with the constant pull to be adored for something unattainable.

I think the most perfect rendition of how this looks, capturing even the most subtle of nuances within this dynamic, is the show Normal People. From the beginning, Marianne is portrayed as someone emotionally neglected, both at home and socially. She craves not just romantic connection, but an all-encompassing, transcendent intimacy, someone who sees her fully, emotionally and physically. When Connell shows her tenderness, vulnerability, and physical passion all at once, she becomes deeply attached. He becomes her safe haven, someone who not only satisfies her longing for affection but also offers a kind of spiritual connection without demanding she perform or change. Connell is quiet, introspective, emotionally attuned, and deeply sensitive. His presence is soothing but elusive. He doesn’t assert his value or ask for attention, which only makes Marianne want him more. She reads his silences and softness as proof of depth, and she projects onto him the fantasy of a love that can finally make her feel whole. This projection is mutual at times, but more so from her side. In certain ways, she experiences him as a symbol of salvation juxtaposed with the forbidden nature of being with someone of a different class. But as their relationship progresses, Connell’s emotional complexity, stemming from his depression, his struggle with communication, and his occasional detachment, begins to crack the illusion. Marianne starts to feel like she’s giving more than she’s receiving, and that he can’t give her the intense consistency she craves. Still, even after they part ways, she continues to idealize him. When they reunite, the bond is always emotionally intimate and deeply physical, but there's still an air of yearning, as though she’s trying to recapture something she used to have that was never fully hers to begin with. Connell, the Moon man, becomes a vessel for her unresolved longings. She sees divinity in him through his quiet loyalty, his aching eyes, and his ability to be both soft and strong. But he can never quite hold the image she’s built of him. And yet, his presence lingers. He haunts her, not just because of who he is, but because of what she projected onto him. This is the quintessential essence of a moon man in relationships—to be longed for as a fantasy, and to be mourned even while still alive.

This theme of forbidden and corrupted romance is common to moon nakshatras, I think. Probably the most iconic and well known example of this is the story of Romeo and Juliet, written by moon man, William Shakespeare.

So what draws a moon man into a deeper connection? It is simple, really. When people constantly throw themselves at these men, glorifying them without any effort, they are drawn to people who don't give them that right away. I kind of like to think of how moon men function in relationships in terms of a traveling points system. They will stay with a person long enough to maximize relationship/love points with them, then they will leave. Most people will be easy to get full points with. They will be the ones to initiate everything and coax the moon men into a romantic interaction. But there is not commitment with these types of flings. It is when a person refuses to give the moon man any initial affection or adoration that he gets drawn in. Moon men can win pretty much anyone over with enough time, but when there is initial resistance, it takes them longer to accrue "relationship points." With these people, accruing points requires a commitment and depth others don't. These people aren't initiating anything with the moon man because they don't want anything from him. So, if they wait long enough, the moon man will fold in on his own desires and start pursuing and trying to initiate instead. And this is very unnatural for moon men as they are not used to being told no or even used to feeling this way about another person. They start to think this person could be their soul mate because they are feeling new things and acting completely different, falling all over themselves to shower someone with their complete attention and commitment, trying to gain devotion out of a person who isn't inclined to give it. Suddenly, they have to work for what they want, and that keeps them around and draws them in closer, becoming all the more intense. When moon men set their mind to getting something, they do not stop until it is theirs. When it comes to most people, he will not acknowledge them or express his passion until they first shower him with their love and affection in a way that is very direct and almost desperate. But when it comes to those who care less about his carefully cultivated surface exterior, they are not interested in doing that. They want something deep, something real, and this appeals to the more hidden side of a Moon man. This is what they want, deep down, but they are nonetheless conflicted about it because it is only one side of who they are, contradicting the many other identities they possess.

So who are these people that illicit depth and bring out the hidden side of a moon man? They are not loud or obvious. They do not chase him or try to impress him. Instead, they remain still... detached. They hold something ancient in their eyes, something he cannot quite explain that sucks him him. These are Ketu women. While others beg for his attention, they turn away. And in that turning away, they pull him in. He cannot charm them the way he charms everyone else. He cannot predict them or control the way they see him. They are immune to the surface. And because of that, he cannot help but want to show them more. With Ketu women, he feels exposed in a way that is both unsettling and intoxicating. They do not mirror his light back to him like others do. They reflect nothing, and in that emptiness, he is forced to confront himself. Not the image he crafts, but the person beneath it. The one who feels too much, who wants too much, who hides behind masks of ease and allure. Ketu women are not interested in what he can give them. They do not need his attention to feel worthy, and they do not collapse under the weight of his moods. They remain untouched. Yet, their presence shakes him more than any lover’s devotion ever could. They draw out the part of him that longs to surrender, not to a person, but to something vast and unknowable. It is something he cannot control or possess.

But this is where the conflict begins.

Because Moon men love the chase but not the commitment, they are drawn to the ones who do not want them. They come alive in the pursuit, in the struggle to be seen by someone who seems immune to them. And yet, if the Ketu woman eventually turns toward him, if she finally lets him in and loves him back, that is when he can start to slip. The hunger that once made him vulnerable can turn into fear. The need for stimulation returns, and he begins to wonder if he's given too much away, if he's lost the upper hand. Old patterns creep back in. The charm, the games, the need to be admired by many. He may begin to resent the depth that once thrilled him, because now it feels like it demands more than he is ready to give. It can start to demand more of his attention, all of his attention to the point of requiring singular focus, which is very difficult for them. The stillness that once drew him in starts to feel suffocating. He is torn between the longing to be known and the fear of being claimed. This is the paradox of the Moon man and why so many times they end up alone. He wants to be undone, but only on his terms. He wants to be seen, but not trapped. And so, even in love, he remains divided, caught between the safety of illusion and the raw truth of intimacy.

The movie Cruel Intentions is a perfect fit for this because Sebastian Valmont embodies the Moon man who thrives on charm, control, and emotional entanglement. He glides through social situations with ease, always the one in charge, always the one being wanted. But then he meets Annette, the Ketu woman. While others fall easily under his spell, Annette remains calm, detached, and morally grounded. She refuses to play into his games. This resistance fascinates and unravels him. He cannot manipulate her like the others, and that lack of control exposes his deeper longing to be truly seen. Her stillness becomes a mirror he can’t escape. She doesn’t reflect back the image he wants her to see. She sees through it, and because she is immune to the surface, he finds himself wanting to show her more. Her presence pulls out the parts of him that feel too much, want too much, and hide behind carefully curated masks. But once she begins to return his affection, the illusion starts to crack. He begins to fear the very thing he thought he wanted. The game is no longer fun. It becomes too real. Too intimate. Too vulnerable. His fear resurfaces, and he retreats into old patterns. He pulls away, not because he doesn’t care, but because the emotional depth threatens his control. Annette doesn't need him, and that shakes him more than any kind of devotion ever could. Loving her requires surrender. Not just to her, but to the parts of himself he has tried to avoid. And in that surrender, he risks being claimed, trapped, and forever changed. Sebastian wants to be known, but not if it means losing his sense of freedom. He wants to be adored, but not confined to one person’s love. The closer he gets, the more it slips away. This is the Moon man’s curse: to be drawn toward depth, yet terrified of being consumed by it.

Nowhere is this dynamic more striking than in friends-with-benefits relationships, which often become emotional limbos for Moon men. Unlike other men who might compartmentalize sex and affection, the Moon man blurs the lines until there are none. What begins as playful intimacy or a casual arrangement of shared comfort and physical proximity can quickly spiral into a strange, emotionally charged sexual ambiguity. Moon men excel in these dynamics because they are built for ambiguity. They are able to be present without promise, tender without commitment, intimate without definition. They can make their partner feel like the center of the universe during a single night and vanish into silence the next day. And yet, they don't see this as cruelty. To them, it is the natural ebb and flow of intimacy. But to their partners, especially those who are more linear in their emotional expectations, it can feel like whiplash or what people like to call "love bombing." These arrangements rarely stay casual. Moon men often unintentionally awaken strong emotional attachment in their partners through the sheer intensity of their presence. And sometimes, they fall victim to this intensity themselves. What starts as light and easy morphs into something far more complex: yearning, possessiveness, unspoken feelings, a hunger for something deeper but without the language or structure to hold it. The FWB becomes a proxy relationship that offers the intimacy of a relationship without the defined expectations. For Moon men, this space is simultaneously intoxicating and unsustainable. They thrive in it until they don’t. Eventually, the ambiguity collapses under its own weight. At that point, Moon men are faced with the choice to either retreat back into aloof detachment or dive deeper into vulnerability. Some will leave. Others will cheat. But a few, usually the ones touched by someone whose mystery rivals their own, might finally choose to stay and to love in a way that is more honest, even if it’s still messy. Because even the moon, as elusive as it is, sometimes desires a home in someone’s sky.

Some examples for this are the movies Friends with Benefits (fitting, I know) and No Strings Attached. In Friends with Benefits, Justin Timberlake's character, Dylan, captures the moon man friends-with-benefits dynamic well. At first, his connection with Jamie (Mila Kunis) is casual and fun, with no strings attached. Dylan's emotional depth and magnetic presence create an intimacy that blurs the line between physical connection and emotional involvement, leaving Jamie feeling seen and cherished without the expectation of commitment. However, as the relationship deepens, Dylan's natural ability to make Jamie feel like the center of his world intensifies her attachment, even though he remains emotionally distant. The ambiguity of their arrangement is intoxicating for both, but as feelings grow, the relationship becomes unsustainable. Dylan, much like a typical Moon man, is torn between his fear of losing his independence and the pull of true emotional intimacy, struggling with the conflict between wanting to be adored without being trapped. Eventually, he must confront the reality that even in the most casual relationships, the desire for deeper connection will inevitably emerge, forcing him to choose between retreating into detachment or embracing vulnerability. Then, In No Strings Attached, Ashton Kutcher’s character, offers warmth, emotional presence, and intimacy without commitment, blurring the lines between affection and detachment. His emotional availability contrasts with Emma's resistance to deeper feelings, creating the classic ambiguity of a Moon man relationship. As the casual arrangement becomes more emotionally complex, Adam, like most moon men, struggles with the tension between wanting more while fearing emotional entrapment. This dynamic captures the Moon man's pull between intimacy without structure and the eventual realization that true connection requires vulnerability, making it a perfect example of how Moon men navigate emotional ambiguity.

That said, there are very few people that can completely fulfill them. And this segues into my next point. Moon men are by nature bisexual. I don't mean that in the sense of there being a fixed ratio for how much they are attracted to both men and women, but more so that their behavior, their magnetism, and their emotional and sensual openness does not restrict itself to one direction. For example, even if a Moon man is only attracted to the idea of being with men sexually, he will still flirt with women. He will still kiss them, still crave their attention, still want to be seen and adored by them.

Perhaps one of the most complicated dynamics Moon men provoke is male rivalry. Straight men can find themselves simultaneously resentful, envious, and longing of a moon man, who seems to possess the things they desire, whether it's attention, charm, a subtle power over others, or just an intangible appeal. This rivalry is imbued with sexual tension, a complicated psychological mix of wanting to be the Moon man or, in some cases, wanting to possess him. This creates a push-pull dynamic, where the Moon man becomes the object of obsession, not only from women but also from men who both admire and loathe him.

As a side note, a good way to figure out who a moon man will engage the most with is to see how how much a man or a woman asserts onto him. For example, Rahu nakshatra natives are drawn to pursue moon men, and because they are more aggressive, the moon man will assume a more submissive role.

There is something in moon men that wants to be everything to everyone. He doesn’t like closed doors. He doesn’t like saying no to experiences that could bring him adoration, wealth, or pleasure. His sensuality is responsive rather than being fixed. He might sleep with someone he’s not even that attracted to simply because the moment felt right, because there was a certain look in their eyes, or because he wanted to feel chosen in that way. Gay moon men tend to carry this strange dynamic where they still perform for women. They still want to be beautiful to them, to be wanted, even if they will never return the desire in the same way. The same applies to straight moon men wanting the attention of other men. Even though they don't necessarily want to sleep with men, they are still drawn to male attention and still flirt with it in their own way. They want to be admired by everyone. They want to be desired by everyone, envied and yearned for in more ways than one. A Moon man thrives on the emotional charge that comes with being the object of desire. Sometimes it’s not about sex at all. It’s about the tension, the fantasy, the potential. They like being the dream or the unreachable thing that everyone tries to possess but can't. This creates a complicated pattern where they can unintentionally lead people on, or keep relationships in a state of emotional limbo, because they crave that dynamic more than the resolution. Moon men often live in the realm of “almost.” Almost touched. Almost confessed. Almost real. It gives them control and distance, while still allowing them to feel connected. This emotional ambiguity is part of their nature. And it’s also why they’re so hard to forget.

I think some really good examples of how this looks is Brian Kinney in the show Queer as Folk and Oliver in Call Me By Your Name. Brian Kinney is a perfect example of the Moon man. He thrives on being desired by everyone, regardless of gender, feeding off the emotional charge that comes from being admired, even when he has no intention of returning the feelings. Though he is openly gay, he still performs for women, still flirts with them, because he wants to be seen as beautiful and irresistible. His sensuality is responsive. He sleeps with men not always out of desire, but because he wants to feel chosen in the moment. With Justin, he exists in a constant state of emotional limbo, offering passion without promise, intimacy and passion without clarity. He lives for the fantasy, for the tension of being almost loved and almost known, because that space gives him both connection and control. Brian is unforgettable not because he gives love freely, but because he offers just enough to keep people dreaming.

Oliver fits the Moon man mold in a more subdued but equally potent way. He, too, moves through the world wanting to be adored. His charm is casual, his beauty effortless, and he soaks in the gaze of others like light on water. He flirts without always meaning to, makes everyone feel like they matter, and stays just out of reach. With Elio, he allows himself to be drawn in slowly, responding more to Elio’s openness than initiating his own. Oliver’s sensuality isn’t fixed. It’s tied to context. He may not always know what he wants, but he knows when he’s wanted, and he leans into that feeling until it becomes real. The relationship remains undefined for most of the film, filled with longing, ambiguity, and moments that hover on the edge of something deeper. Oliver gives Elio passion and tenderness but withholds certainty. Even when he loves, he does not stay. He disappears, not out of malice, but because ambiguity has always been his native language. Like Brian, Oliver lives in the realm of almosts—almost together, almost forever, almost said. And that, more than anything, is what makes Moon men unforgettable: they leave others forever wondering what might have been.

Link to Call Me By Your Name Trailer

But this moves into my next point. Who are those who can truly fulfill these men? Other than multiple women, the only ones who can really satisfy them are sun men. Sun men are everything moon men can't be: stable, centered, inwardly fulfilled. They do not need to impress. Their presence is unwavering, grounded in a sense of self that doesn’t rise and fall with the tides. This frustrates and attracts the Mmon man all at once. For once, he cannot create the emotional weather. He cannot stir the sun man, and that stillness and unshakable self-possession becomes a kind of subjugating force. They do not need him, and that’s exactly why the moon man is dethroned in their presence. But unlike Ketu women, sun men don’t demand his total surrender. They don’t test his loyalty or push him to break open his soul and reexamine his morality; they simply exist with steady self-assuredness. There’s a gentleness to the way sun men hold space that allows the moon man to soften. He does not feel like he must perform. He does not feel like he must unravel. And this creates a kind of intimacy that sneaks up on the two of them. Where Ketu women peel him open with silence, sun men warm him with stillness. They are firm, but never forceful. They don’t demand transformation, but they inspire it anyway. He finds himself changing around them without knowing why. He becomes quieter, less chaotic. He listens more and begins to reflect on his own desires instead of chasing stimulation. The beauty of the sun man’s presence is that he doesn't need the Moon man to stay. He doesn’t try to trap or bind him. There is no pressure to settle, no expectation to commit or fulfill any particular role. He allows the moon man the freedom to move as he wishes, to chase the excitement and stimulation he so craves. And yet, the moon man is drawn to him because, despite the freedom, the sun man is not indifferent. He sees him. Where others may be caught in the moon man’s whirlwind, trying to control or match his emotional energy, the sun man remains unwavering. He doesn’t glorify the moon man in the way others might, constantly trying to cater to his desires or amplify his sense of power. Instead, he embraces the moon man for exactly who he is, recognizing his depth without the need for praise or adoration. This nonchalant acceptance provides the moon man with a sense of security that he rarely gets elsewhere. For once, he is loved and acknowledged not for his charm or his endless emotional spectacle, but simply for being himself. In the presence of the mun man, the moon man can be vulnerable without fear of being exploited or judged. The sun man does not require the moon man to live up to any idealized fantasy.

And in return, the moon man gives him something just as rare.

He stirs him, awakening something hidden within the sun man that might otherwise remain dormant. With his ever-shifting moods and magnetic presence, the moon man breathes life into the sun man’s steady stillness. He adds color, sensation, movement. The Moon man brings the emotional depth, the poetic intensity, the subtle chaos that coaxes the sun man into feeling more, sensing more, being more and experiencing more than he usually allows himself to. It is a relationship of mutual illumination. The moon man reflects the light of the sun man back to him in ways he has never seen himself. And the sun man gives the moon man something stable to reflect, something that does not disappear when the night is over. Moon men also attract mentor-mentee dynamics, where older or more powerful figures are drawn to "raise" or possess them. These relationships are often paternalistic, but charged with layers of desire and projection. The Moon man may become the object of intense admiration and longing, as these figures seek to mold or possess them, adding complexity and tension to the dynamic.

This dynamic also exists in extra-romantic forms. There is a subtle air of kinship between Moon men, including other Moon men, and Sun men. When they come together, especially in groups, there is a boy band quality to their energy, a natural rhythm where each man plays a role, yet the connection and loyalty to one another runs deep. Their bond has a magnetic pull that others notice but cannot quite explain. They joke, they perform, they move as one, but beneath the surface is an unspoken emotional contract. Moon men recognize each other’s softness, even when it's masked by bravado or style, and Sun men act as a grounding force, radiating warmth that keeps the group coherent. Their intimacy goes beyond friendship but does not require romance. Moon men are often the "glue" that keeps groups emotionally bonded. Their natural attunement to the moods of others make them excellent at soothing rifts, absorbing envy, and maintaining harmony within the group. They play an important role in preventing emotional breakdowns, sometimes without even realizing the extent of their influence. This affective labor makes them indispensable to those around them, but also leaves them vulnerable to being taken for granted, as they give without receiving a lot of the time. They also become very jealous and angry if people are not taking their suggestions seriously.

The Beatles are a striking example of what happens when multiple Moon men come together in one group. John, Paul, and George all carried strong Moon energy in different ways. Paul was the peacemaker, emotionally attuned and eager to preserve harmony, often taking on the invisible labor of holding the group together. John, more brooding and chaotic, used irony and rebellion as shields for deep emotional sensitivity. George was the quiet soul, contemplative, inwardly emotional but not showy. He often seemed like the one least invested in fame, and yet his stillness carried immense emotional weight. Even Ringo provided a stabilizing, good-humored presence, offering the kind of dependable emotional support that kept the others from unraveling. Together, they created that classic Moon-man group rhythm: performative and playful on the surface, deeply bonded and emotionally volatile underneath. They laughed, joked, fought, cried, and loved each other in ways that felt more like a family than a band, with complex layers of jealousy, admiration, dependence, and unspoken affection. That’s the boy band effect, multiple Moon men creating a kind of emotional constellation.

You see a similar group energy in The Maze Runner trilogy. Nearly every core character carries strong Moon traits. Newt is the emotional anchor of the group, being nurturing, tragic, and emotionally transparent even when he tries to hide it. Minho is protective, reactive, and fiercely loyal, with the sarcastic edge Moon men often use to mask how much they care. Chuck is the embodiment of innocent emotional attachment, forming strong bonds quickly and craving connection. Even Gally, with all his aggression, is a Moon man. His need for structure and control stems from fear, loyalty, and a sense of protectiveness over the group. Together, they form a tightly wound unit of reactive, bonded boys whose relationships drive the emotional arc of the series. They move as one even when they fight, and their emotional dynamics often carry more weight than the actual plot. It’s a pure example of how Moon men, when gathered, create groups held together not by hierarchy or logic but by an unspoken emotional gravity achieved through loyalty, kinship, and the fear of being torn apart. I do not know if Thomas is a moon man. I would rather not assume without his birth time, but I do think there is a very good chance of this being the case, given some of the actor's other roles.

Trailer for maze runner

Finally, Moon men have the ability to create loyalty through emotional anchoring. By choosing one person in a group to emotionally anchor to, they create loyalty that can influence the entire group. This ability to form emotional connections with one person at a time, while keeping others in a group at a distance, makes the Moon man a figure of influential power. When they want there to be harmony, they can very easily achieve it.

The example is a lighter representation of everything discussed up to this point. It is Floyd Consoling Branch in Trolls 3: Band Together. The whole movie is about reuniting a boyband, which is very on brand for as many moon men there are in it. https://youtu.be/J_wbyDoF-r4?si=1gQuGKrhuqsJaIxu

In conclusion, navigating a relationship with a Moon man requires establishing boundaries, respecting his need for emotional distance, and being emotionally self-sufficient. Allow him to be dominant without expecting him to initiate, and make him feel seen without judgement. These men are elusive and independent, preferring space, so avoid being overly needy or clingy. Play hard to get and make him jealous when you can to keep him interested. Allow him to retreat when necessary, and engage with him in a way that piques his curiosity without pressuring him for emotional openness. Build trust gradually, but never force him to open up before he's ready. Recognize his attraction to variety and potential struggles with commitment, and set boundaries for what you are comfortable with the understanding that violating them will result in a termination of the relationship. Make it clear where you stand emotionally without confining him. Focus on cultivating your own emotional resilience and avoid relying on his inconsistent attention. Be patient with his contradictions and vulnerabilities, and keep the dynamic light and playful to avoid overwhelming him. By respecting his need for freedom and setting clear boundaries, you can create a balanced relationship.

Ok, that is all for now. Thanks for reading!

[lonestarflight]

"Inside the Mission Control Center, flight controllers work during the Gemini I mission, an orbital test of the Titan-II launch vehicle.

The Mercury Mission Control Center in Florida played a key role in the United States' early spaceflight program. Located at Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, the original part of the building was constructed between 1956 and 1958, with additions in 1959 and 1963. The facility officially was transferred to NASA on Dec. 26, 1963, and served as mission control during all the Project Mercury missions, as well as the first three flights of the Gemini Program, when it was renamed Mission Control Center. With its operational days behind, on June 1, 1967, the Mission Control Center became a stop on the public tour of NASA facilities until the mid-90s. In 1999, much of the equipment and furnishings from the Flight Control Area were moved to the Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex where they became part of the exhibit there. The building was demolished in spring 2010."

Date: April 8, 1964

NASA ID: KSC-64C-861, S64-0408