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7-wonders · 1 hour
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maybe i was born to read fanfic and obsess over fictional men idk
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7-wonders · 4 hours
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trapped
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7-wonders · 4 hours
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Hate when you click on a fic without checking the tags and then suddenly you’re reading about cannibalism 🫠
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Don't talk to me or my boss ever again 💢
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7-wonders · 2 days
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Virginia Woolf, The Years
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7-wonders · 5 days
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Wasn’t icarly that guy that girbossed too close to the sun because he was down for Apollo
ICARUS?
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7-wonders · 7 days
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me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:
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like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together
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7-wonders · 7 days
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House of the Dragon premiered the same time as Sandman and they’re already getting season 2 promo and a release date of this summer…Netflix please feed us suffering Sandman fans 😫
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7-wonders · 8 days
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when a film or tv show takes place somewhere where you have been, it is your sacred duty as viewer to say “i’ve been there” every time you recognize a place
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7-wonders · 9 days
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7-wonders · 9 days
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At the Edge of the Universe
Michael Langdon x Reader (Mad Love Act II, Chapter XIV)
Summary: It’s time to meet the residents of Outpost 3 as Michael begins his interviews to see who will make it to the Sanctuary (spoiler alert: not many).
Word count: 4.1k
A note from the author: Surprise Mad Love drop! We are down to our last three or four chapters, can you believe it? I've told myself that I'm not allowed to write anything else until I finish this, so expect updates semi-frequently. Goal is to get this bad boy finished by June! As always—hope you enjoy, and remember that likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round!
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Mad Love Masterlist
This is your fourth Outpost visit, and as you look out at the small crowd of survivors gathered in the sitting room of Outpost 3, you believe that you can confidently say that every one of them looks exactly the same.
Not appearance-wise, of course. Overseers are allowed to establish their own rules for their respective Outposts, including wardrobes. Most had been pretty laidback, actually. Outpost 3 is by far the most draconian, and you’re already regretting not pushing back on Michael’s decision to have you join him as you sweat in your stiff Victorian gown.
Though outfits and rules may change, what doesn’t is the faces. Every single time, when you and Michael arrive and make your introductions, the faces of the survivors are filled with hope. The hope of new drama, the hope of continued survival, the hope of a way out of the Outpost. It’s so familiar now, and each time, it’s pained you to see. These people that the apocalypse has spared, whether due to circumstance or societal standing, have no idea that they’re just pawns in Michael’s game of chess. No, worse than pawns. They’re nothing but dolls, amusement for Michael to play with before tossing them to the side like they’re worthless.
“My name is Langdon,” Michael starts. Instead of introducing you, he looks to you to introduce yourself, and you press your lips together to keep from smirking. Oh, he’s so going to regret this.
He immediately does the moment that you introduce yourself with your first and last name. Your legal last name, the one you were born with, and not that of your infernal husband. You can feel him looking at you, surely with barely-contained rage. Instead of looking back, you simply smile warmly at the occupants of Outpost 3, waiting for Michael to get back with the program.
“We won’t sugarcoat the situation,” he says after a brief stumble. “Humanity is on the brink of failure. Our arrival here is crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth.”
There are a couple of other things that don’t change from Outpost to Outpost, you note as you watch the interaction that unfolds. The questions, for instance, are almost always the same, and almost always asked out of turn in a way that is guaranteed to infuriate Michael. What happened to everybody, what’s the Sanctuary, will some survive, etc. You clock every single question—even robot Ms. Mead’s, though that one wasn’t too surprising since you knew how she was reprogrammed—and listen as Michael gives the same answers that he always does.
Something else that doesn’t change? The abject lust displayed by a good contingent of the survivors. Michael’s a very attractive man, which you obviously know. 18 months is a long time to be surrounded by a very small amount of people day in and day out, and now that there’s fresh blood offering them a chance at salvation, they’ll do anything to convince him that they’re worthy. You frown as the survivors jockey for his attention, to be first. 
Not because you’re jealous or anything. It seems as though the only aspect of Michael’s personality that has remained untouched through his rebirth into a full-fledged Antichrist is his devotion to you. No, you frown because you know that Michael loves to use this to his advantage. After all, lust is one of the seven deadly sins.
“What was that?” Michael asks after the introduction is over and as soon as the doors close behind you in the office in which the interviews will be conducted. 
“What?” you ask coyly, playing a game of your own.
“You know what.”
“Oh, that?” Michael nods exasperatedly. “Langdon’s not my last name.”
You’re not sure if he looks more angered or bewildered, though the combination does have a pleasing shade of red creeping up his neck. “Of course it is, you’re my wife!”
“Not legally,” you retort.
“Well, we can’t exactly go to a courthouse to make it legal.”
“Hmm, maybe you should have waited for us to get to the point where I wanted to get legally married before ending the world.”
Michael’s jaw clenches, and he smirks. “Clever, though I have to say that your attitude is getting old.”
“And yours isn’t?”
You’re both breathing heavily as you glare, daring the other to continue. You fight with Michael so often now that this is a familiar dance, and you know the next move. He goes to kiss you, and though you’re certainly tempted, you put a hand up to stop him.
“No! No, we are not having sex right now.” You try to sound convincing, though you might be attempting to convince yourself more than Michael. It’s just so easy to resort to sex. It’s the one thing that you both agree on in this new world—that you’re good at having sex together. Plus, that’s one of the only times that you don’t completely hate him, and though it pains you to admit it, you look forward to those moments when you forget why you should think him a monster.
Michael raises an eyebrow. “We could, though.”
“No.” 
To drive the point home, you put as much space between you as possible and go to the desk that holds all of the files of every Outpost 3 resident. If there’s one thing that gets Michael’s mind out of the gutter, it’s talking about his magnum opus: the apocalypse.
“What’s Dinah doing here?” That had been quite the shock, to greet Outpost 3 and find yourself meeting the eyes of the (now former, you suppose) voodoo queen. Though her own had widened in a frightened recognition, she looked down at her hands and kept her gaze there for the remainder of the meeting. The man next to her, her son, was one of those who instantly fell a little bit in love with Michael.
“She bought her spot, just like all the other rich fucks.”
“So she won’t be joining us back at the Sanctuary,” you tease.
“Absolutely not, especially now that I have no use for her and her powers.” 
Ever since ending the world, Michael’s powers have blossomed into a whole different beast. He’s so powerful now that you don’t even know the extent, and you don’t think you want to. Where before, he would have needed the help of a voodoo queen or the Supreme when doing something especially complicated or out of his wheelhouse (such as enlisting Dinah’s help when you ate Satan’s poisoned apple or getting a spell from Mallory to reveal the ghost of Cordelia Goode), now, their powers would be worthless to him. You’re no expert when it comes to magic, but you think that his power must be equal to at least ten Supremes.
You certainly don’t want to test that theory.
“How many survivors will be accompanying us back to the Sanctuary, do you think?” you ask.
“Considering I’m not hopeful about interviews, there will be two. A man and a woman, both selected for their optimal genetics.” The interviews are never something to be hopeful over, because they almost always are a disappointment. In the other twelve Outposts, there have been a total of nine survivors that impressed Michael enough with interviews alone that he spared them from their original fates and gave them a spot at the Sanctuary.
“If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the two that are very obviously in love with each other.”
“Which ones?”
You rifle through the folders until you find two with pictures that match who you were looking at in the library. “These two. Timothy and Emily.”
He looks up at you curiously. “How could you tell?”
“When they weren’t watching you, they were staring at each other.” 
Though the two were sat across the room from each other, their eyes were continually drawn together like magnets of differing polarities. You’re a little shocked that Michael couldn’t tell, considering his ‘night vision of the soul,’ as he calls it.
You just call it his creepy Antichrist powers.
You try not to, but you find yourself beginning to look through all of the files. They’re all fairly simple; a headshot, a bio, medical information. Really, Michael only uses them to look official and mysterious as he begins to pick their personalities apart bit by bit. For you however, they help to get to know the survivors, even just a little bit.
That’s precisely why you don’t like looking through these, why you don’t like these visits at all. Because knowing them, and knowing their ultimate fates, is something that makes you sick. Maybe that’s the price you’re forced to pay by the universe for being the Antichrist’s wife. You’re forced to be complicit in the continued mind games and eventual deaths of these people who thought that they were somehow safe after the bombs dropped.
Michael scoffs at the next file you flip open. “That’s one interview I’m dreading.”
“Her?”
“Mhm, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt.” His words drip with disdain.
Coco…the name strikes some level of familiarity, but you can’t remember where you would have met a Coco. She didn’t look familiar when you saw her and her…interesting hair in the sitting room. She’s obviously a socialite, so maybe she was trending for some scandal or another in the Before. It’s so hard to remember that time, not only for the pain, but because it feels like an entire lifetime ago. 
(Was it really only eighteen months ago that you were preparing for graduation, scrolling through social media, and participating in regular 21st-century society?)
One person who does look familiar? The white-haired stylist whose work Coco sports and the one who claimed the first interview spot before anybody else, Mr. Gallant. You’d recognize him anywhere—his confidence in you was one of the sole reasons you had the courage to go down the stairs and join Michael for your first Cooperative function. But as for him?
“Mr. Gallant didn’t recognize us,” you broach.
“No, he wouldn’t. Those whose services are needed by the Cooperative but aren’t trusted enough to keep their mouths shut are…conditioned to forget.”
“You brainwash them,” you clarify.
“I don’t.” His lips twitch at his own joke. Of course, he doesn’t. That would be getting his hands dirty, which he hates doing, especially now that he has all the resources in the (under)world at his disposal.
“My bad.”
“You’re so interested in this group of survivors. Does that mean you’ll be joining me for interviews?”
When you joined Michael for the first time, at Outpost 6, you said yes when he asked you this question. It was something different, after all, and you were at first interested in being a part of the process and getting to know some new survivors. Of course, this was all before you actually sat in on the first couple of interviews and witnessed Michael’s interview ‘style’ firsthand.
You roll your eyes. “Ugh, no. I hate all the weird sexual tension you have with everyone you interview.”
Naturally, Michael gets the wrong idea and thinks that you’re jealous. He places his hands on the arms of your chair, and leans in until he can meet your eyes. “You’re my one and only, you know that.”
“I do.” You stare back at him unflinchingly. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
“The sexual tension or that you’re my soulmate?” You simply raise an eyebrow in response, and Michael sighs before straightening up. “Well, a Gray should be arriving at any moment with Mr. Gallant, so if you don’t want to see any ‘weird sexual tension,’ I would suggest leaving now.” 
“Alright then, guess I’ll give myself a tour around ol’ Hawthorne.”
Michael pouts. “I was planning on taking you around tonight after Venable’s curfew.”
“Oh, that sucks. Have fun.” You give him a friendly pat on the shoulder as you leave the room.
Outpost 3 isn’t the largest Outpost you’ve visited, but it’s still pretty expansive. In most cases, this would mean lots of exploring to do. Unfortunately, it seems that Ms. Venable has stripped this place of anything that would make it unique. Hall after hall looks exactly the same in a way that would be disorienting if you weren’t keeping track of your whereabouts. The same boring, gray walls, the same black doors, the same frightened Grays scurrying around.
(If you had to pick the worst part about this Outpost so early on, you’d have to go with the forced servitude of some of the survivors here. Most of the other Outposts had a glorified chore chart that distributed tasks equally among survivors. Others had special privileges given to those who volunteered to work. This system? Well, this system has you hoping that Michael’s especially tough on Ms. Venable during her interview.)
After coming to the unfortunate conclusion that this is about as interesting as it’s going to get for you, you make your way back to where it all started: the library. This room at least has some character, between the fireplace and the music playing. Yes, it might be the same song on repeat, played on a vintage radio, but at least it’s something. 
As it turns out, you won’t be alone. The two that you had noticed earlier, the ones that couldn’t keep their eyes off of each other, are holding hands and whispering to each other on the couch. They spring apart when you enter, and it’s obvious that they’re not expecting anybody to see them. Their attitude, and the way they’re trying to play it off like they weren’t conspiring, gives you pause. What other severe rules has Ms. Venable imposed on those under her care?
“Hello,” you smile at the two warmly in between appraising the titles on the shelves. “Timothy and Emily, right? It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Timothy says warily.
Emily, who doesn’t have that same tact, immediately gets to her question. “Are you here to interview us?”
You shake your head. “No, I let Langdon do the interviewing.”
“So…what do you want with us?”
“I don’t want anything with you. I am trying to find some entertainment, because this place is already incredibly boring and I’ve barely been here six hours.”
Timothy laughs. “Yeah, that doesn’t really get better.”
They watch as you continue to peruse the books, waiting to see if this is some sort of trap devised by you and Michael. It’s not—you genuinely just want to find a book you haven’t read yet and escape to your bedroom for a few quiet hours. Unfortunately, nothing is modern here, not even the books, and you end up settling on Frankenstein, which you’ve read a couple of times now. 
“Is it alright if we ask you a couple of questions?” Timothy asks when you turn back around.
So much for a quiet few hours.
You sigh and sit down on the couch opposite the pair. “I can’t guarantee that I can answer all of them, but I’ll certainly try.”
“What’s it like out there?” Timothy asks the question, but both his and Emily’s eyes shine, desperate for any sort of news about the world outside the walls of Outpost 3. You wish you had better to share with them.
“Lawless. You remember the movies about the apocalypse?” They nod. “It’s worse than that. The world is completely unrecognizable, decimated by the bombs. If it weren’t for a map, I wouldn’t even know where we are. Those who survived the blast have been affected by the radiation from the fallout in the most terrible of ways. They have…sores and growths and cancer, all over their bodies. People kill each other for the smallest scrap of clothing. I’ve seen cannibals picking clean the bones of someone they once traveled with, someone that was once their friend.”
“My god,” Emily mutters.
“When M-–Langdon traveled to Outpost 2, his carriage was almost overrun by a band of survivors. They believed there was food inside, and even if there wasn’t, they wanted the chance to hurt somebody that hadn’t yet been hurt by nuclear fallout.” 
That had been a terrifying ordeal to hear Michael recount. He wasn’t scared at all, knowing both that the radiation couldn’t hurt him and that he could (did) kill all of them with the snap of his fingers. But you were, for the simple fact that the world that you had once lived in was completely gone and replaced by one where people hunted each other out of necessity, because it might be the only true meal they could eat in weeks.
“How did he get out of it?” Timothy wonders.
The true answer obviously isn’t something that you’re able to share, so you instead go with what would have been the answer if it were any other member of the Cooperative in the carriage. “The bodies of the carriage have an electric current that can be activated in case of emergency. The attackers were all electrocuted with the push of a button.”
“Langdon mentioned a Sanctuary,” Emily says. “Is that where you live?”
“We both do.”
“What’s it like?” Timothy asks, while at the same time, Emily questions, “Where is it?”
“The Sanctuary is…well, it feels like the world never ended, that it just moved underground. As for the location, I’m afraid that’s classified.” You smile sympathetically, feeling a lot like Michael.
Now that this line of communication has been established, that Emily and Timothy now feel like they can trust you, you can practically see the plethora of questions that they want to ask.
“So how do you end up working for an organization like the Cooperative?”
Now that’s a question you haven’t been asked before. “It’s kind of a long story,” you say with an awkward laugh, wracking your brain to come up with a lie convincing enough that they believe it.
Before you can, the sound of a cane clicking slowly across the floor stops you. You look in the direction of the entryway, where none other than your dour host stands. Her bright orange hair stands in stark contrast to the rest of her outfit, black like yours. She smiles at you with darkly painted lips, but it’s a smile that holds absolutely no warmth.
“Dinner is served,” she announces.
The three of you stand, but only two start to follow Ms. Venable to the kitchen. “I’ll take my leave, then,” you say.
“You won’t be joining us?” She sounds a tad incredulous, as though nobody’s told her no in quite some time. That’s likely the case.
“The Cooperative supplies us with rations of our own, so as not to take from the Outposts’ stockpiles.”
It’s technically true. Michael would rather starve than eat the gelatinous cubes that constitute nutrition, and thanks to the endless powers he’s gifted with, meals remain the same as they are when at the Sanctuary.
“We shall see you tomorrow, then.”
You nod before smiling at Emily and Timothy. “It was nice talking to you.”
As you walk towards the office, you can already hear Venable questioning what it was that you talked about, trying to determine if the two gained an edge on making it to the Sanctuary. If only she knew that they’re practically guaranteed spots, you think with a quiet laugh.
Michael arrives at the office at the same time as you do, which is odd, considering he’s meant to be inside the office conducting his interviews. He takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently before opening the doors and leading you in.
“Where were you?” you ask.
He waves a hand and the doors close behind you. “Finishing up an interview.”
“Doing a little field work?”
“Something like that. Now, I’m starving, and I would very much like to enjoy dinner with some good company.”
At first, you felt a little bad eating your favorite foods while the rest of the inhabitants were forced to eat what was left of their rations. Why should you enjoy while they suffer? And then, you met the survivors, most of whom were filthy rich, and you felt okay with it.
Now, as you sit across from Michael enjoying an actual meal, you allow yourself to pretend for a little bit that your life is still as it was before the end. That this is a regular day after classes, and you’re eating a quick meal and enjoying the company of the man you love before you’re off to finish homework, go to an activity, or just hang out with friends. You miss the simplicity that you didn’t know you had, even still after eighteen months.
“How were your interviews?” you ask, trying to bask in that normalcy for as long as you can.
“Nothing to write home about, though I did learn that Ms. Venable is…shockingly self-conscious beneath her hard exterior.”
You scoff. “And that’s surprising to you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I talked with Emily and Timothy,” you mention.
“Please tell me they’re not as vapid as the rest of the inhabitants of this Outpost.”
“No, they’re…actually kinda cool.”
If you’re being honest with yourself, the reason that you immediately liked them so much is because they kind of remind you of you and Michael, before the apocalypse. They’re so in love with each other, so eager to just be near one another and enjoy their presence. It brings you back to New Orleans, walking through the market arm in arm as you searched for the perfect gift for Kate and he eagerly shared what he had learned when looking up grad schools for you. What you wouldn’t give to be showing him how to catch fireflies, or enjoying a sugary treat together.
Shouting sounds from downstairs, a loud argument starting to take place and distracting you from your thoughts. While you strain to try and hear what’s being yelled about, Michael simply smirks. “Took them long enough.”
Neither of you is surprised, because this is what always happens when Michael arrives at an Outpost. He, quite literally, brings Hell with him. It’s an interesting side effect of what happens when an Antichrist inhabits your space. Those walls that people put up, the rules that they live their lives by, crumble when the living embodiment of sin walks in. From there, it’s only a matter of time until everything unravels and they begin giving in to those seven deadly sins. As you listen to wrath begin to cloud minds, you can practically see Michael becoming more powerful thanks to it.
Later, wrath continues, along with a side of lust.
High-pitched shrieking, so different from the argumentative yelling of earlier, wakes you from the dozing you had taken to while trying to read Michael’s interview reports after dinner. You scramble to sit up in your chair, looking at Michael with wide eyes.
“What was that?” you ask.
He doesn’t even tear his eyes away from the computer to look at you, simply waving a hand nonchalantly. “Oh, Timothy and Emily have just been caught having sex. They’re about to be executed.”
“What?” You stand up in alarm, sure that this is actual cause for alarm. Michael, on the other hand, doesn’t even react to your reaction. “Michael!” you snap, desperately wanting him to show some kind of humanity.
Finally, he turns around in his chair and sighs as though you’re interrupting your work, which you know for a fact you’re not. “Yes?”
“We can’t let them die.”
“We won’t.”
You look at him in disbelief, because it sure looks like he’s going to let them die. “Then why aren’t you stopping this?”
Michael finally joins you in standing, taking your hands in his and squeezing reassuringly. “It’s sweet of you to worry about them, and I promise you that they will not die before reaching the Sanctuary. I’ll stop this when the time is right. First, however,” he smiles, “I’d like to enjoy their terror for a bit.”
“Every time I think you can’t possibly let me down more than you already have, you prove me wrong.” 
Michael’s face falls at the barb that hits unexpectedly deep, but you don’t have it in you to claim any sort of victory in this. Anger, that heady emotion that’s fueled you up until now, has completely left you at this latest example of Michael’s lack of humanity. All that remains now is disappointment, and it’s a disappointment that leaves you tired. Tired of these games, tired of the life that you’ve found yourself in, tired of being able to do nothing but watch.
Except, you can do something this time. In this Outpost, you have the same amount of power as Michael. With that in mind, you pull your hands free and make for the door.
“C’mon, where are you going?” Michael calls after you.
You don’t answer him, because he knows as well as you. If he won’t put a stop to this, then you will.
///
Tag List: @thatonehumanbeing05 @xavierplympton @hecohansen31 @codycrazy @love-on-the-murder-scene @michaellangdonswhore @nsainmoonchild @aftertheglitterfades @iamlivingforturner @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @angistopit @littleangel4996 @xo-angel-ox @ajokeformur-ray @iamavailablesstuff
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7-wonders · 9 days
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PSA if you’re in the US go get your free DQ cone. It’s your right as an American.
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7-wonders · 10 days
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The Sandman in a nutshell:
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7-wonders · 12 days
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you ever feel like you were born with something rotten inside you and if people get close enough they’re gonna find out
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7-wonders · 12 days
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DAILY AFFIRMATION:
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Tag your future fictional husband XD
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7-wonders · 13 days
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7-wonders · 13 days
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Dionysus on Theseus and Ariadne 
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