#i have tried and i have put so much effort into trying to have a relationship with them

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

chicken scratches ☆

synopsis : katsuki tries to surprise you...but he's taking too damn long !!

an. merry christmas(if you celebrate) n happy holidays yall !! i love my boyfriend as usual,,btw have yall seen that new hori art ??? dreamy sigh my man so stupid..

cw. itty bitty manga spoilers, but otherwise nun !!

when katsuki manages to hold a pencil again and write with his right hand, it looks absolutely horrendous.

switching from writing with their left hand then back to the right one would've been disorienting for most, and it probably was for him, but he didn't show it much aside from the occasional grumble and scoff at his trembling grip. nothing ever holds him back after all.

you sigh "can i—"

"no. don't look yet." katsuki has his back turned to you, sending you a sharp glare. hunched over his little piece of paper like how he'd hide his page from kaminari's peeking eyes during an exam, always so dramatic. he turns around with a huff and you snort with a roll of your eyes.

you had come over to his room after he’d told you to, mumbling out a quick “come over.” over the phone and hanging up before you could say a word.

and so here you were. waiting.

“katsukiiiiiiii—”

“shut up,” your boyfriend grunts, his scribbling sounds harsher, in a bit more of a rush. “so damn impatient..”

“but i wanna see what you wrote !” you kick your legs up in the air, pouting at his back sitting in his office chair. “i’ve been waiting for decades to see you write with that arm again.”

katsuki scoffs out a snarky laugh “yeah, well how do you think i feel ?” you groan, whining at his dark joke, he laughs again. “just stay put. ‘m..almost done.” he trails off, focusing back on his surprisingly long task.

you do know that despite being able to use his arm again, it had gone slow—surely, but really slowly. then again, he originally wouldn’t have been able to use that arm at all, so you’ll honestly take anything.

but the excitement is getting to you, and you really wanna see what he wrote ! so slowly, surely, you quietly try to sneak the short distance to his desk to peek behind his shoulder. however, your boyfriend has some crazy spider senses.

he sighs “if i turn around and you’re not sittin’ your ass on the bed i’ll—HEY !”

busted. katsuki catches you mid creep, so close to seeing his paper until he swiftly turns in his chair. he reaches out with his left hand, reflexively, and grabs a hold of your arm.

“you can’t ever just—do what you’re fuckin’ told ! knew you were being too damn quiet ! ” he complains between gritted teeth, trying to wrestle you away from him.

“i just—wanna see !” you shriek. when he suddenly remembers he can use his right hand again, and it almost feels nostalgic the way he jams it in your side to tickle you, dropping his pencil in the process. you think you hear it rolling on the floor, but your own noises of surprise overpowered the sound. he’d really gotten better at using that arm again, you could cry if your boyfriend wasn’t actively trying to shove his entire hand inside your ribs and push you away.

during the light scuffle, his hurried movements magically make the paper fly away with a harsh whip of his arm and a gust of wind, you thank every god when you notice it, just a second before he does. you’re half sure the world slowed down as you slide down to the floor and clutch the piece of paper in your grasp like the fate of the world depended on it.

the little piece of paper makes your heart jump, with its crumpled up edges and wonky writing and all.

I love you

both the o’s are too long, his u trails off towards the end and the e looks like he'd written it with the pencil in his mouth. it looks nothing like his usual handwriting.

but it was him, unmistakably, undeniably him and all of him and all of his efforts. all his efforts coming down to this. being able to write i love you and to show you.

your heart does more than jump, it restarts in your chest.

harshly, your flipped over by katsuki. he’s red all the way down to his neck and his eyebrows twitch angrily. but his hands, both his hands are gripping your cheeks hard and pulling at them and you can’t help but laugh.

“little shit. can never jus’ lemme be romantic..” he pouts, pouts like the adorable tryharding asshat he is, and you’re so so happy. your cheeks hurt cus he's tugging at them but his right thumb is digging into your cheek. you can feel the little callous on his middle finger because he holds his pencil with too much pressure on it.

“you’re so adorable.” it tumbles out between a watery laugh before you can stop it, katsuki’s jaw ticks and he gets even redder if that was even possible—he uses his right hand to squish your nose shut mid breath so your ears pop.

“shut it, shut up. ya ruined everything.” ducking down, his teeth make contact with your cheek and your chin knocks against his when you jump with a little scream. "i literally just finished. was just about to hand it to you, but noooo—everythin' has to go your way.." he angrily mumbles into your neck.

you press a kiss to his nape and he stiffens "i'm sorry for ruining your perfect surprise." he scoffs, biting at your shoulder. "i'm really happy though, it was unfortunately very worth it."

"you're a fuckin' fiend." he spits out, and you really can't help but laugh "love you too." you snort out, and his hands, both of them squeeze your sides hard, your cheeks hurt and you can't help but laugh.

[guiltyc0nscience]

camille’s master list ⋆˙⟡🩰

completed matt fics — 6

completed chris fics — 15

key — ꣑ৎ = angst ˗ˏˋ = personal favs ☆ = fluff ❀ = smut

matt sturniolo ⋆˙⟡

— ❀ matt the munch

“in which matt’s favourite thing to do to you, is going down on you.”

— ꣑ৎ ☆ where do broken hearts go?

“in which matt feels like you aren’t considering his feelings and not putting as much effort into your relationship as he is, so he brings it up to you which results in conflict but was quick to be resolved.”

— ☆ if the world was ending i’d wanna be next to you

“in which cute things matter does in a relationship.”

— ❀ he’s so pretty when he goes down on me

“in which your favourite part of sex with matt is when he goes down on you because you think he just looks so perfect.”

— ❀ behind the frames

“in which while making out with matt, his glasses get in the way and you have to take them off mid make-out.”

— ꣑ৎ lacy, oh, lacy

“in which your ex-boyfriend, matt, gets a new girlfriend and you envy her.”

chris sturniolo ⋆˙⟡

— ❀ hickey

“in which while you and chris were having time alone, matt interrupted you both.”

— ꣑ৎ josslyn

“in which while chris was in the shower he got an incoming call and he told you to answer it without thinking and when you do, you find out that he had another girl on the side.”

— ꣑ৎ ☆ pretty isn’t pretty

“in which one year ago you suffered from an ED, where at one point you thought there was no turning point but chris proved you wrong. fast forward one year, you’re back in the same dark pit, but chris is there yet again to help you out.”

— ❀☆ we can hear and see, ya know?

“in which while you and the triplets were in chicago, you and chris were having a moment, you didn’t think matt and nick could see you but you were proved wrong.”

— ☆ surf curse

“in which you convinced chris to do the latest tiktok trend with you.”

— coke and vodka

“in which while at one of chris’ frat parties, he takes a shot of vodka and a line of cocaine off of your body as he is head-to-head with his frat brother who can do it quicker off their girlfriends.”

— ❀ yapper

“in which chris is yapping away with his fingers in your mouth because you kept interrupting him while he was talking.”

— ☆ clothing haul

“in which whole you were away visiting family in florida, chris sends you a video of him showing you the clothes that you had ordered online.”

— ❀ flashed

“in which while arguing with chris, you flashed him to shut him up.”

— ꣑ৎ this is me trying

“in which chris tried so hard to support you through your drug addiction that had been ongoing for a year. every time he got you out, you fell back into the same hole. one day, chris had finally had enough and had a talk with you about wether or not you were willing to change for him, but once you say you can’t, he leaves your relationship behind for good.”

— ꣑ৎ☆ dumb teens in love

“in which you and chris were young and you fooled around with each other, and after realising things weren’t right, you took a pregnancy test. finding out you were pregnant and were having a baby with chris sturniolo at 18.”

— ꣑ৎ at your worst

“in which after a hurtful fight between you and chris, he comes and apologises after a few days, and he promises to stay forever—even at your worst.”

— ꣑ৎ i hope ur miserable until ur dead

“in which you walk away from chris after releasing he’s run out of chances to break your heart.”

— ꣑ৎ tough love

“in which you and chris struggle to confront your growing distance and fear of losing each other.”

blurbs ⋆˙⟡

chris is obsessed with the bulge in your throat when sucking him off

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 18 "Universe"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: This chapter is dedicated to the quantum spirits.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: It's a Christmas miracle! 🎄 The final chapter is ready just in time. And, my God, I'm so emotional about it 😭 It hurts to let it go.

After finishing this chapter, you might want to re-read a certain part of a certain other chapter, because of reasons 🤭

If there ever pops up a 19th "chapter", don't be surprised! If it happens, it's going to be a bit of art for this fic 💖💖💖

My biggest thank you goes to @/ClockworkSiren, once again, for beta reading this whole thing and letting me borrow our lovely babies Alyth and Michael and turn them into Lilia and Mikhail ❤️😭

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter

"So, this is it?" She gazes out the window, engines rumbling under their seats. "The Maldives of Giedi Prime?"

"What was that, darling?" Feyd's hand is heavy on her knee, the coolness of his wedding band seeping pleasantly through her gown. His bald head thuds softly against the back panel as he follows her gaze.

The black, oily waves of the svart valta lick at the pale coast of the peninsula below. White sand stretches between tall, chalky cliffs that stand out of the landscape like the unearthed bones of an ancient beast. According to her interface, they're still 150 meters above the ground.

"The Maldives," the relic mutters pensively. "They were an archipelago on Earth, a popular honeymoon destination. Never been there. They were flooded around the time I was born."

"Honeymoon," Feyd repeats the foreign word that lacks a proper translation in Galach, but with the individual words grafted together, it sounds cute. He likes it. "M'gonna drink your honey as soon as we touch down. Until the moon comes out?"

His wife snickers warmly and her breath fogs up the window. Feyd's hand slides to the inside of her thigh, squeezing the soft flesh above her knee.

"Not if I drink yours first," she teases, though her musing gaze remains on the lurid landscape below, abyssal wave hungrily trying to scorch the peninsula of Telkel. From the tasu aurinkosesti, they had flown east to reach one of the most remote Harkonnen settlements on Giedi Prime. Looking at the undulating mass of radiation, she wonders: "What color do you think it'd have under a yellow sun?"

"Don't know," Feyd hums. "You're the scientist. Green, maybe? Or brown."

He had explained to her earlier that the settlers had tried to reintroduce fish to the sea here in Telkel. The giant, corroding basins along the shore remain, but their filter systems have been shut off for decades. To cultivate fish that can not only survive but thrive in the heavily polluted waters would take some serious scientific effort that the late Baron Harkonnen didn't think promising enough to chip his budget for.

"We could have gone to Lankiveil," his woman briefly pouts, though her eyes betray her fascination as the village below increases in size. "I would die to dip my toes into an ocean without having them singed off. Or for some fresh air and a walk among pines. I never had much of that on Earth either."

Feyd hums, contorting his torso to press his cheek against hers as they both gaze out of the same window. Long, pale fingers play along her ribs. "The waters on Lankiveil would freeze your toes off, but… We'll go there," he promises with a low whisper. "Or any other planet you want. The universe is practically ours now." 

Practically. Perhaps after a week of writhing on top of each other in damp sheets, their thirst for revenge will return.

The conversation between Feyd and his brother after the ceremony had been brief, but Glossu had formally invited the both of them to Lankiveil, the snowy, tranquil home of Feyd's early childhood and a place full of emotional debris. But he would rather not elbow his way through the wreckage on their honeymoon.

The aircraft touches down on a bleak landing pad between low buildings that look like matchboxes among the unforgiving landscape. A small committee of a dozen Telkelis awaits the daunting visitors from Barony, their massive aircraft ink-black and shiny, factory new, among the dusty grey architecture and pale hills. The sharp wind of rotor blades makes the Telkelis' drab trousers whip around their legs.

Lilia quickly maneuvers to the other side of the passengers' cabin after prying the hem of her Lady's travel mantle out of Glugo's many finger-toes. The garment has the same functionality as her wedding down, but simpler and more practical.

"You'll get your plushies back when we're inside," the handmaid tries to soothe the wistfully glugging creature. "They're in the suitcase— Oh! Not that one."

But Glugo has already wrapped four out of eight hand-feet around the handle of Mikhail's personal suitcase that the guard had refused to deposit in the cargo department because old habits die hard. As a former resident of the slums of Ganpolis, he prefers to have his belongings where he can see them.

Feyd-Rautha clicks his tongue while Lilia helps his wife into the shiny mantle and gloves, concealing her from head to toes.

Outside, scalding wind carries the sound of distant, crashing waves and the scent of bitter salt. The relic has to hold onto her husband's arm as she sways on the iron footsteps of the aircraft. Behind them, guards spill out of the second cabin, half of them heading straight to the cargo compartment where her cryo pod is stored. She is quite like Mikhail in that regard. 

The committee bravely keeps a stoic face and  doesn't flinch at the disturbingly cute sight of an eight-arm-legged creature toiling away with a too heavy suitcase and refusing a desperate guard's help.

Leaning towards his wife, Mikhail whispers: "My chair's inside that thing!"

Feyd's nostrils flare as he struts towards the gathered dozen with heavy, leisured steps, clutching the hand of his wife. His other hand lifts to shield himself against the glaring sun and the tip of his thumb subconsciously slides against his ear where an inconspicuous black button pierces his antihelix. To the unsuspecting eye, it looks not too different from a regular transponder with an unconventional placement, but what it really contains is a tiny loudspeaker and a chip with just enough memory to run the script that detects the voice.

"Welcome to Telkel, my Lord, my Lady." The committee bends their knees and salutes. The clumsy tension in their limbs gives away that they didn't have to salute to authority often in their lives out here in the godforsaken wilderness.

"Thank you for having us."

If it weren't the young Baron's very own raspy drawl speaking, the Mayor of Telkel would have never believed that 'thank you' would be the first words coming out of Feyd's mouth. The Mayor's daughter had cried in the morning, certain that Feyd-Rautha would behead her father for something as mundane as the driveway to the villa being too crooked or the bad condition of the weather-beaten landing pad.

"It's an honor. The entire village is ecstatic, my Lord." Still hunkering down on one knee, the man's smooth brows suddenly shoot up in horror. "Congratulations!" He blurts. "On your marriage!" He'd meant to say this in the very beginning. Helplessly, his pale eyes snap from Baron to Baroness.

"Thank you," the Lady speaks from behind the curious veil and her voice sounds kind and human. "Why don't you stand up. Don't hurt your knees."

Feyd-Rautha casts a threatening glance at Mikhail, so the guard doesn't blurt out that 'the Lady could print y'all some chairs.'

The Mayor and his people shuffle, straightening their bodies into the sharp wind.

"Oh, my Lady, our knees and backs are used to it." The older man points a scarred thumb behind his shoulder, where the inkvine plantations are beyond the village border. This is how Telkel gets by now, hovering over the maws of poverty at the whims of Giedi Prime's rocky soil and erratic volcanoes.

The Lady lets out a sympathetic sound and the Mayor can't help himself. The next words just come tumbling out. "It'd be an honor to show you around the plantations and the old basins, if you'd like. Never seen them in action, but my father did. For a year or so, they had a relatively stable population of Tilapia in there."

"I'd love to see them. Actually, if I could have some water samples, maybe I could—"

"Not now, sweetling," Feyd's grating voice chastises and he squeezes his wife's gloved hand, compressing her wedding ring between her fingers. "The villa is prepared?"

"Yes, my Lord. The maids and workers you sent have been very thorough. Radiation-proof window panes, fresh paint. Even got some imported plants. My daughter picked them." The renovated villa is now considerably more homely than the Mayor's own residence. "Shall we head there?"

Despite its forlorn ugliness, the relic finds Telkel and its grey, flat buildings among chalky hills oddly charming. Even if she'll be covered from crown to toe in her lead-painted mantle, she swears she will go to the beach — if Feyd lets her out of the bedroom — and feel the sand underfoot, hear the massive waves trying to swallow the shore. Compared to Barony and the roiling industrial trenches that stretch across most of the northern hemisphere, this is a natural paradise.

"Guess we won't be seeing ya for a while, eh?" Mikhail leers, freshly painted teeth brilliant in the glaring sun as he leans lopsidedly against the grey pillar of the villa's roofed porch. Lilia harshly pinches his side, between the plates of his armor, but the apples of her cheeks round up with laughter. Sometimes it still scares her how openly her husband jests with Feyd-Rautha, a man who used to be known first and foremost for his quick blades and unstable outbursts.

The welcome committee has left them ten minutes ago and the guards currently come shuffling out of the building, having deposited the Baroness' priceless sarcophagus in the room adjacent to their honeymoon suite.

"You may join us for meals," Feyd concedes, grinning.

"Meals as in…?" Mikhail cocks a hairless brow.

"Oh, absolutely not!" The relic gasps and her guard breaks into raspy laughter, lungs expanding in crunchy hops.

"Dun' worry. I wouldn't share my woman anyways. Not even with you, m'Lord. Aight then, see ya in a week, eh?"

Wiry arms curl around Lilia's thighs and the scrawny guard hauls his wife quite easily over his shoulder. She calls him a prat between giggles, and a mongrel, but Mikhail already makes a sprinting beeline for Glugo who still stubbornly drags his suitcase down the freshly paved pathway to the guest house.

"They'll be fine," Feyd-Rautha soothes his wife's veiled, lingering glance. "Look at me." His gravelly timbre demands for her undivided attention and her eyes follow his magnetic pull.

Pale fingers sprawl across her sternum, urging her backwards. Even through the lead-painted layers, she feels his possessive touch singe her skin and bones. Unwittingly, her feet pass the threshold of their holiday abode and the door closes at her husband's back.

Inside, silence embraces them. This place is only for them, where they need to be nothing but lovers. Color provided by golden glow globes fades into Feyd's pallor, the softest notes of pink on cheeks and lips, and blue framed by dark blonde lashes. 

The building is brutalist in its arches and pillars, but less suffocating than the palace. The welcoming range of non-colors and sharp angles creates actual depth and contrast, not like the bulbous pyramid interior that reminds of  a termite burrow, or the innards of a giant insect. Bright daylight streams through the thick windows, fading into glowglobe haze.

Something about this place evokes… Nostalgia.

"You're blushing, husband," she teases, though her hammering heart under his palm betrays her own butterflies.

"Off with that thing." Feyd-Rautha has already mapped out the buckles that keep her mantle fastened and strips it off her frame quicker than she would have ever managed. Her gloves land on the same shiny pile and she hooks her bare fingers into Feyd's belt loops, turning her husband around his tall axis to walk him up the curved stairs. Those pretty eyes could eat her alive, oozing lust like blue honey.

Neither of them take note of the gentle, green fern that line the staircase in tasteful pots.

"Off with that thing." The woman's fingers glide under Feyd's lapels and over his smooth shoulders, slipping his ornamental jacket off his arms. The expensive garment flutters over the banister and he remains in a sleeveless tunic and trousers.

"So, now that you're my wife, will you stop taking that potion?" Feyd leers at her stomach once they've reached the top, his tone playful. The hand that lunges to smack him atop the head is one that he had predicted, and so he dodges it masterfully and dances behind her. Hard, strong arms curl around her middle, lifting her off the ground until she breaks into gasping giggles and demands to be let down with kicking feet. The hem of her gown slides up her shins.

Feyd grins, feeling the plushness of her breasts against his forearms. "What a rare pleasure to have you in a gown, my darling" he purrs.

"For this special occasion, I thought I might as well," she huffs with laughter, accepting her airborne fate.

"I like it. It's practical."

"Practical for you, not for me."

The garment is a classic cut worn by Harkonnen noblewomen, flattering and intricate in the way it curls around her bosom and hips in obsidian black, nothing like the stiff latex and see-through plastic of the former Baron's palace servants.

"Don't worry, you won't have to wear it for the rest of the week, my darling. You'll wear nothing but sweat and cum on your pretty skin. Or maybe some blood. I didn't bring a coffer full of toys for nothing."

"I hope some of them are for you."

"More than you'd think," he purrs, pink lips pressing against her neck. "And some of the blood will be mine."

"Oh? We could start now." The woman twists out of his grasp, turning and grasping his lapels. Her lips find the crescent scar on his clavicle, pretending to delve for a kiss when she really pinches the thin layer of skin over the bone between her teeth. Feyd grunts, shamelessly pressing his confined erection against her navel.

"Let's go, my darling." He seizes her hand, his whole universe, and opens the door.

🎶🎶🎶

"Look, doesn't this remind you of something?" His wife's voice whispers to him excitedly and Feyd-Rautha tilts his head, brows furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"Look!" Her ringed hand slides out of his grip and he chases after it viscerally, nearly overwhelmed by the sudden discomfort of having no soft palm against his own. She shouldn't be slipping away from him at all on their honeymoon.

But then, recognition carves into him, serrated blades that tear his guts open with a monstrous sense of deja vu. His head spins as he advances into the room.

Feyd's feet step on polished parquet and his gaze swivels around, scanning the surroundings which he thought he would never see again. There are white curtains fluttering by the window, a king-sized bed carved out of white marble, a black comforter tucked around the mattress and blue pillows are lined up against the headboard. A real fern grows in a terracotta pot in the corner.

Horrified, Feyd's head snaps back to his woman, suddenly recognizing the  Harkonnen gown wrapped around her curves. He finds her eyes brimming with meaning. 

She clutches his wrist hard, nails digging into tender skin, and it is like some sense of frantic, mutual understanding settles upon wife and husband. Her features soften and she looks at him, seemingly confused.

"I don't recognize this place," he lies. His heart clamors like a captive beast.

"Me neither." She pulls her hand away and takes a step back, her cheeks hot and her head dizzy as the universe's mysterious gears rotate around them. But she masks it well.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Feyd rumbles, tracing his fingertips over the cool, smooth marble bedpost. It feels so real. It is real and always has been real.

"I don't know. I feel so awake." 

A flash of warmth blossoms in Feyd-Rautha's chest as he regards the woman he has seen so many times before, in visions and reality. Curiously, she moves around the light-flooded bedroom. Sunlight filters through the curtains, temporarily robbing her flesh of color. A frown decorates her brows and she turns back to face him. Years of comfort reside in the way she moves and Feyd chases after her with measured steps.

"What's your name?" He asks. She tells him only a forename, no House, because she has none, unfamiliar sounding, because the name was given to her 24,000 years ago. "I've never heard that name before," Feyd confesses, standing mere inches away from his wife. Her pretty face is craned upwards to meet the alluring gaze of his eyes. She would describe the color as baby blue. The prettiest shade in the world.

"And what's your name?" She breathes. No matter what this is, she has no reason to be nervous. It already happened.

He hesitates at that. Feyd-Rautha Rabban. But ultimately, he stays true to the script. "Feyd." 

The name sparks no judgment on the woman's features and he remembers the flood of immense, stupid relief and how he had concluded that there is probably more than one person in the universe named Feyd, that Harkonnens all look the same to foreigners. To talk to a person who only knows Feyd, not Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had been his lifeline out of the gluttonous maws of death.

"Feyd," she repeats, suddenly giggling.

He too is in the mood for giggling, but he didn't giggle then, so he doesn't giggle now. Feyd leans an inch closer, eyes rapidly dancing across her mirthful face.

"Feyd as in you will fade away when I wake up?" She covers her mouth now, still laughing. Something compels him to laugh as well because all things considered, this is still a funny joke, even though neither of them will wake up. 

Or will they?

No. No, they won't.

The pressure against the apples of his cheeks doesn't feel so unfamiliar anymore, as the corners of his mouth lift into a wide grin. His lips part and what escapes him is a small haha.

Suddenly, the woman flinches and her smile drops. Perhaps she had the same thought as he did. She catches herself quickly and remembers: "Sorry! I just—"

"What? Oh, the black teeth? People usually find them very pretty where I'm from, desirable even.” Feyd closes his mouth. He's still unsure if laughter suits him, but his woman seems to like it. Always has.

"Oh, no, please keep laughing!" She wraps her hand around Feyd's wrist. So smooth, every part of him. She wants to curl against his body and rub her cheek against his pallid flesh. Even now, his features are still outlandish to her, strikingly pretty. The pale skin, so light that it almost looks translucent, the entirely bald head and lack of brows.

She should have always known that he's not a figment of her imagination, because she couldn't have imagined someone so pretty.

Encouraged by her touch, Feyd smiles once more and it has never been easier. It feels so good. He looks away from his woman who still holds his wrist and finds a mirror on the far wall. He looks foreign to himself, his cheeks not in the right place, but he's gotten more used to it.

"If I pinch you, will you wake up?" She teases, pinching his skin without waiting for his answer. She seems fascinated by the small blotch which decorates his wrist where she poked him with her nail, twisting and turning his wrist and hand like he's an interesting specimen. Of course she would look at him like that — his little scientist, life saver, love of his life.

Even though this is not a lucid dream, Feyd knows he doesn't have to worry about what he does, not with her. She has loved even the most unlovable parts of him. He feels compelled to do things he would have never done before her, such as dismantling the walls around his soul with laughter.

Even though this is not a lucid dream, she knows she doesn't have to worry about what she does, not with him. She also feels compelled to do things she would have never done before him. Such as getting married to the apocalyptic soundscape of an erupting volcano and adopting a lovely freak of immoral genetic engineering.

"So, Feyd…" She purrs his name like an exotic, amusing thing. "What would you like to do?"

Feyd pretends to be taken aback by the question, because no one ever used to ask him that. Not like that. "What would you like to do?" He coos, slinking closer with rolling gait and a small smirk on his serpentine features. He knows the way her pupils dilate well.

"There's a bed in the room, so…"

Feyd leers, smile turning wolfish. Yes, he will fuck his wife senseless. He might even fuck her so good that his own climax jostles him awake and out of whatever the fuck this bizarre simulation is. Which, upon second thought, would ruin his life.

She speaks again, moving her lips closer to his, pretty lashes lowering so they almost kiss her cheek bones "...So perhaps that means we should sleep."

Feyd acts baffled, then rumbles: "I won't sleep in my sleep."

"I meant sleeping with each other."

Of course she did. Feyd's hairless brows shoot up and something light flutters in his stomach when she starts giggling again, attempting to turn away as if suddenly bashful about her own words.

"To the bed, you confusing woman," he orders with a low growl and there is not even an ounce of resistance when his hands wrap around his wife's shoulders, nudging her backwards, so her knees bend around the mattress of their honeymoon bed and she sinks down.

Her husband's face hovers directly over her and she admires the dip of his cupid's bow and the soft curve of his jaws. So pretty. She reaches up and cups his cheek and the way his bone structure slots against her palms feels just right, always has.

Feyd pounces on her like a tiger and the strength and weight of the hard muscles concealed by a black tunic and slacks becomes evident. Heat pools into her abdomen instantly, caged under the man of and from her dreams who is made of flesh and blood, smells like it too. A familiar note of something leathery and metallic clings to him.

There is no need for a prelude, because they've loved each other a thousand times, in the past and the future. Feyd's lips kiss her decolletage before they find her throat and by the time they've found her lips, the hard ridge of his cock is pressed against her core which is only covered by the fabric of her dress, ridiculously easy to access.

Practical for him, as he said.

Why not, she thinks. It's not like the world is going to come collapsing down on them. Right?

Why not, he thinks. Even if the world comes collapsing down on them when they're done, it would be worth it.

Her hands curl around the back of his head gently and Feyd wants to weep at how soft her touch is, almost like she's worried of hurting him. He loves her nails in his scalp as much as he loves the loving dance of her fingertips.

She rolls her hips against his pelvis, ever amazed how hard his body is. A small grunt escapes her husband's mouth and mingles with the sloppy kiss which is all soft lips and saliva, leaving her open-mouthed and softly moaning for more as her core yearns for friction.

Feyd-Rautha is ever amazed by how soft and pliant her body is, breasts and stomach like a pillow for him to snuggle. And her little cunt is already grinding against his crotch. Under different circumstances, he might have had his fun right away, but that's his wife and her squirming hips are too tempting not to spoil her rotten before he fucks her. He reaches down, long fingers gliding up the curve of her thigh where the dress has pooled around her hips. Instinctively, her leg curls up higher, knee pressing against his ribs. Feyd works her underwear halfway off her rear, needing to get up to slide it off fully.

"If this is a lucid dream, I should be able to make myself wet with a thought," she muses as Feyd scoots down and freezes halfway, before he can settle down between her thighs, hard cock straining against his trousers.

The brief moment of hesitation is all it takes to throw him off the track of time that has carved its way through the universe.

"But it's not a lucid dream. They were visions all along, weren't they?" Feyd blurts, deviating from God's wicked script. For a moment, they both stare at each other in terror, as if expecting the universe to disintegrate and crush their souls into one smoldering singularity in space-time. 

But nothing happens.

Nothing at all.

The relic shuffles up slowly, tugging her dress down her legs and sitting back on her haunches.

"What is going on?" Feyd hisses, scared that the quantum spirits in the walls are listening. "What the fuck was that?"

He has never been so grateful to see the spark of knowledge in her eyes.

"That was our past, present and future."

"So, are we in a— a fucking time loop? Are we gonna wake up and go through hell again? Will I have to wait another eternity for the Guild to pluck you out of space?!"

"No!" She curls her arms around his shoulders and lays her forehead against his. No, my love… But it is a loop of sorts." Rapt fingertips glide slowly to the crescent scar on Feyd's pallid clavicle, inflicted by herself a few months back, first noticed by her 24,000 years ago, when Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was not even a spark among the stars. "We could have never ended up together if we hadn't already seen us be together in the past, but what we really saw back then was our future. Weren't we the greatest actors? We were so good, we convinced even ourselves."

The terrible, beautiful Ouroboros has finally come to devour its own, cosmic tail and a shudder of awe passes through the two souls who straddle the starry serpent's undulating neck. From the macroscopic cosmos to the microscopic one within their bodies, it makes even their molecules tremble, even the quantum particles that make up the endless void of every ounce of matter, every brain, every soul.

"But I messed it up," Feyd insists. "I said the wrong thing. Why didn't we see ourselves having this conversation during our first dream? Why didn't we wear our wedding rings then?"

"There's never just one future." She kisses him on the lips, stealing his anxious breath for but a moment.

"How many?"

"Many." The engineer laughs, hands trailing up Feyd's neck to cradle his jaws. Panic fades from his gaze and flows into blue-eyed petulance. "Are your scientists aware of the many-worlds-theory?"

"Do I look like I know?" Strong hands hold his wife's face in a gentle vise.

"In quantum physics, a particle always has two states at once until it is observed. Then, its waveform collapses and it becomes one of the two states. But what happens to the other state?" She pauses, closing her eyes. "It exists too, but in another world. That is the many-worlds-theory.

With every decision we make, every beat of a butterfly's wing, every quiver of a molecule brushing against another, a new world branches off. That makes a tree with infinite branches or a delta with infinite rivers, rolling onwards and onwards since the birth of the first atom. Among this… infinity—" Her breath shudders in trembling reverence. "—there are branches in which we said it just right, because we knew what to say. Branches in which we saw exactly this conversation, or never found each other at all."

"So, why are we in this one where every vision of us acting was aligned perfectly? How probable is that?"

"As probable as any other nexus of visions. One infinity can't be bigger or smaller than another." A small smile plays around her lips. "Some say, the entire universe in itself is a simulation. For all we know, we could just be figments of someone's imagination, or pixels on a computer screen. Perhaps it would have been a less exciting story to tell, if it happened any other way."

The relic briefly turns her head to look at you — yes, you — quantum spirit in the walls.

"And why us?"

She is so happy that her husband's spark for science has finally been ignited, even if just for a few heartbeats — or a few beats of a butterfly's wings.

"When I was with the Bene Gesserit, they called it prescience. They said it's genetic and that my genes allowed me to survive millennia in cryo sleep." She sighs with bitterness. "If my own family has an aberrant sequence in our DNA, we might as well be the ancestors of— of everyone versed in prescience."

And the cause for so much suffering. 

Feyd sees it in her eyes, that flame of intrigue followed by the need to explore and sink into the inland empire of her mind and the ancient technology that's fused with her, a place where he can't follow. So, he tilts her face upwards in both loving hands and kisses her hard before breaking away with a coy grin.

"Are you saying you're my great great great aunt?"

"Yeah!" She blurts out laughing. "I think I am."

Giggling, she goes back in, throws her arms around Feyd's neck and topples him on his back, tangling her legs with his like their threads of fate.

In their angry daydreams, they have pictured themselves in red and gold as the king and queen of a new, better empire, handing out guns and bombs to the revolution.

But in their hearts, they're just a girl and a boy. An astronaut lost in space and a man who has yet to discover his destiny beyond being the unwilling prince of a noble House.

From now on, their future is theirs, and despite all the rights and wrongs, it boils down to a single question.

What do they want? A war to make the universe anew as they see fit? Or maybe just a universe as big as they are. Maybe just—

Peace.

Caught in the riptide I was searching for the truth There was a reason I collided into you Calling your name in the midnight hour Reaching for you from the endless dream So many miles between us then Now you are always here with me Nobody knows (nobody knows) why (why) Nobody knows how, and This feeling begins just like a spark Tossing and turning inside of your heart Exploding in the dark Calling your name in the midnight hour Reaching for you from the endless dream So many miles between us then Now you are always here with me Oh, inside me I find my way Back to you, back to you Calling your name in the midnight hour Reaching for you from the endless dream So many miles between us then Now you are always here with me Two words In your hands, in your heart It′s one (whole) universe You are always here with me

- Here With Me (Two Worlds) by Susie Suh

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for accompanying me on this writing journey ❤️ I'm a little heartbroken that it's over 😭 I had expected to be more relieved, but I'm actually so sad right now. Proud and happy but sad 😭 

If you enjoyed reading this labor of love of mine, please do let me know in a comment, if you can find the time 🫶🏻 No matter if you have or haven't commented before, I'm going to be so grateful about every thought, every reaction. Comments are genuinely the most rewarding thing when publishing my stories, much more so than hits and kudos, because fanfics (in my opinion) are to be relished and not consumed  🫶🏻

I'm not ready to say goodbye to the Dune universe. I have more stories in mind. The idea that I've been mulling over would be the largest, longest and most complex work that I've ever written. I'm talking about heavy world building, an entirely original planet and population, a much more depraved Feyd-Rautha and female protagonist. I've already been teetering at the border of an OC with the reader character in this one. For the next one, I would cross that line for the first time and go for an OC, make the FMC as fleshed out as Feyd is. The story would have a heavy emphasis on religion, corruption kink and cannibalism. It'd be a dove that's almost dead. Basically, all the world building would be my excuse to write deranged, blasphemous, messy smut. It definitely wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea. However, I wouldn't wanna start posting before I've written the entire thing, which might take a long time, so as not to put too much pressure on myself. Can't disappoint anyone if I'm only writing for myself for the time being ❤️

I also have a smutty F/M/M threesome oneshot cooking in my brain, one of the men being Feyd, the other being a surprise 🤭

Annndd I also have two other Feyd oneshots (that have been on ao3 for ages) to upload here, which I'll probably do within the next weeks.

If any of this sounds like something you'd enjoy, feel free to subscribe to me as an author on ao3 to receive email notifications, or follow me here on Tumblr 🫶🏻 I would be so happy to see you again, all of you 💕

[dirtydudesmustdie]

I feel that Sherlock & Co really offers the best representation of Sherlock Holmes. The most popular representation of his character is some super computer with complete disregarded or at least a lack of regard to others' emotions. His character, while interesting by nature, is often too stagnant.

But this Sherlock, he's so much more. He genuinely cares and tries to show it. He puts effort and thought into trying to accommodate those he cares about. He contemplates his own behavior and feels guilt for hurting others even when most would argue he shouldn't feel that way.

While he has many such moments like The Gloria Scott, one of the simplest moments that describe this is how he put so much effort into welcoming Watson's mother. He didn't have to, but he genuinely cared about making a good impression because he cares about Watson.

Not to mention his playfulness and engagement with Watson and Mariana. He's so much more than the "Super Senior Consulting Detective", he's really just a brilliant autistic guy who loves solving riddles with his best friend.

[hyperpotamianarch]

Hello. Today, I'd like to make some random anecdotes about Rabbi Avraham Ibn Ezra - poet, commentator, linguist, mathmatician, probably not too bad at chess and cursed to be poor for the entirety of his life.

After a cursory look at his wikipedia page, I must admit I didn't really know much about his life: only that he was born and raised in Spain, went travelling, had terrible luck with everything, wrote his commentaries on the Torah for money (which I think didn't help with the "cursed to be poor" thing), befriended Rabbenu Tam in France, possibly married the daughter of Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi and promptly died... somewhere... oh, and also wrote lots of poetry in the middle.

Historically speaking, he lived at the end of the Golden Age of Judaism in Spain, around the 11th-12th centuries CE. This puts him right after Rashi - which allows him to snark at everything he thinks Rashi was wrong about, but before Rambam - which means he doesn't get to snark at everything Rambam got wrong. His commentary on the Torah leans a little towards the linguistic side, though he has a couple of other things going on as well, like roasting people he disagrees with (Ben Zuta is the only friend a bull has, anyone?) and dancing around verses he thinks were added later to the Torah, like every time it says "to this very day".

He also wrote one of the first math books in Hebrew - Sefer HaMispar, he wrote a poem about chess, one about how whatever he'll work at he won't get enough money. And generally, he wrote poems. Quite a lot.

I suppose at this point I should mention something: Hebrew linguists were, at the middle ages, predominantly Sepharadi. I mean, sure, there could be a non-Jewish Hebrew linguist, but for some reason I don't hear much about those. And there probably were Ashkenazi linguists, but there weren't many of them. Rashi does deal with linguistics - but half the time he does, it's using the books of two famous Sepharadi linguists. The Sepharadim, living in Muslim lands as they were, simply had a better background with learning Hebrew, since they were surrounded by speakers of a closely related language - Arabic. And Ibn Ezra's deep understanding of Hebrew led to him loving linguistic riddles, which I can never figure out - and I was reading an eddition with footnotes! Though maybe I didn't make enough effort or something.

But no, the reason I wanted to talk about Ibn Ezra was the impossible standards for poetry, as set by Sepharadi poets. You see, Jews were always influenced by their surroundings, in multiple facets. and poetry is definitely one of them. So, the influence from Arab poets includes strict rules for rhythm and - and this is what I actually wanted to talk about - rhyming.

The rythm thing is bad enough. Only once in my life have I tried keeping up with that. It was very, very hard. It's probably because I'm not used to this, but no song I write can keep a consistent rhythm and meter, and that's without trying to apply the standard Sepharadic rules. So trying to have such a strict meter... didn't work well for me. I guess I'm the frenchman from

וּמִי הֵבִיא לְצָרְפַתִּי בְּבֵית שִׁיר,

וְעָבַר זָר מְקוֹם קֹדֶשׁ וְרָמָס;

וְלוּ שִׁיר יַעֲקֹב יִמְתַּק כְּמוֹ מָן,

אֲנִי שֶׁמֶשׁ, וְחַם שִׁמְשִׁי וְנָמָס.

which was actually written about Rabenu Tam, but I'm a distant relative of his so this might still be applicable. Besides, as far as you know my name is Ya'akov, just like Rabenu Tam! (Sorry for not providing a translation, the gist is "how dare a frenchman trample all over poetry?!")

But rhymes. Oh, the Ibn Ezraic rhyming standards.

According to Ibn Ezra, one must always rhyme with the entire syllable. So no, just the last sound isn't enough. In Ibn Ezra's book, rhyme and dime don't actually rhyme - though I don't think he'd care about English at all. For the Ibn Ezra, shor and ḥamor can't be rhymed with each other; shor can rhyme with Mishor, and ḥamor can rhyme with har hamor, but you can't rhyme any other pair of those with each other. And I can't stay up to this challenge. It's nearly always impossible for me to find proper words to rhyme even without the extra demand for the rhyme to be the entire syllable. With English I don't think I even bothered or ever will. You have too many weird syllables for me. But with Hebrew... I do try with Hebrew, really. But I can't keep this up. And the most frustrating thing? It doesn't appear other Ashkenazi writers had this problem.

Now we get to the interesting part. I have been trying lately a new possible format for my very-anticipated-and-definitely-not-only-I-want-it Jewsade fanfic: introduction, preface and Haskamot to books. I just really enjoy reading prefaces for books, and one of my recent favourite pieces of writing is the conclusion piece of the Vilna edition of the Babylonian Talmud. If you're interested - it can be found in most editions of the Talmud at the very end of Masechet Nidah. The piece describes the trouble they went through to publish this edition of the Talmud and it's very interesting. Another favourite piece of mine is the preface of the Levush, a slightly obscure Halachic book from the time of the Shulchan Aruch. If you've ever seen me talk about the race to Halacha - this is my source for that, because the poor author was upstaged about three to four times by other people doing exactly what he planned on doing. I highly recommend this piece as well, though I don't know how easy it is to find. And the Levush - Rabbi Mordechai Yeffe - is a nice Ashkenazi guy. So he must be more lenient with his rhymes, right?

Well, I guess I didn't establish that part. Yes, the preface to the Levush starts with a poem. It's fun. It's great. It's also up to the Ibn Ezraic standard, while my attempt to write an equivalent is... not.

Huh. This post is oddly rambly. Ah well, maybe someone will like it. Anyway, the preface portion that really takes the cake is actually one from a fairly recent obscure book - like, this one was written barely a century ago. I only found it because one of my favourite singers, Aharon Razel, made a song out of it, but the song doesn't really capture the hilarity of the piece. Do ask me if you want to hear more, this one's great.

Signing off with a "darn you, Ibn Ezra! Why must you set such high standards!"

[gothamite-rambler]

Ra's Al Ghul: Behold, my new man cave!

Ra's stepped aside, revealing a space that gave off an ominous vibe, more reminiscent of a dark cavern than a relaxed hangout spot. Skulls of animals and humans adorned the walls, bookshelves filled with spell books towered in the corners, couches still wrapped in plastic beckoned untouchably, and a flat-screen TV was mounted among a collection of other macabre items.

Duke (unnerved to his soul): Oh hell nah!

Duke tried to escape the unsettling ambiance, but Tim grabbed him, pulling him back. Duke pouted, grumbling about the demon cave.

Ra's (slightly offended): What? You people always talk about caves and hangout spots. This is that. I wanted you to have that place when you visit... here. I say with massive reluctance.

Damian walked further into the cave and looked around, then nodded to approve the cave.

Damian: Huh... This is nice. I like it.

Ra's (appreciative): Th—thank you, grandchild. I wasn’t expecting positive input from you.

Damian (nonchalantly): Nah, it’s cool, it fits you. Is that a cryptid resting in the corner?

Ra's: Yeah, it’s a half-cat, half-fox creature I found. You can pet him if you want.

Damian eagerly ran over to pet the cat-fox, with Duke reluctantly following, keeping his distance from Ra's, who he still viewed as "satan."

Ra's: Why does he keep treating me like I'm the devil?

Jason (walking past): You kind of are.

Dick: Um, this is nic—That'd be a lie. This is interesting to be in and I'm impressed you put this much effort into the set up. We can hang out for a minute and then leave.

Tim: You're not going to poison us or trade us to the Court of Owls, are you?

Ra's: I won't! Because Talia will kill me again if I do. Everything is safe to drink and touch. Pl—ple—please just try the place out... I'm being nice! Let me do this.

Dick and Tim exchanged unsure glances but shrugged it off, stepping into the man cave. Ra's sighed, shaking his head as he closed the door to the unconventional hangout. He had promised Talia and Bruce he’d do one nice thing for his grandson and his brothers before the end of the year, and although it slightly pained him to do so, he couldn’t deny that seeing his grandson happy made him feel a little better.

[dracaelus]

I have this hc that Bruce started letting his hair grow after his parents died. 

It wasn't a conscious choice; it's just that in the months following their deaths, no one remembered something as simple as his hair appointment. 

Then, Bruce kept seeing his photos all over the city—the photos they took of him the night his parents died, his face covered in blood and tears. Even worse, he saw the other pictures: the ones from back when his parents were alive, the ones where he was smiling at them, the ones where he looked happy. His uncle made sure the press didn't get a single picture of him after he saw the ones they took that night, so they kept posting "new" old pictures just to keep things fresh every time they talked about the Waynes — which they did a lot. Bruce looked at those photos and kept thinking to himself, 

"That's not me." 

He felt light-years away from the kid in the pictures. Bruce hadn't felt like himself since that night. He didn't know who he was now, but he wasn't him. In fact, he didn't even look like him. 

He couldn't remember the last time he smiled. He had bags under his eyes — the kind he'd only ever seen in grown-ups — because he kept having these stupid nightmares every time he tried to sleep. He didn't have his parents with him anymore. And his hair was longer, bc his mom wasn't there to notice and take him to her hairdresser. 

Everything changed. 

His entire life changed. 

And somewhere along the way, his hair became the only proof he had of this. 

So when someone, likely Alfred, finally realized how long his hair had gotten and tried to give him a haircut — to put it lightly, Bruce didn't take it well. He screamed and kicked and ran, and — most importantly — when they managed to cut a lock of his hair, he cried. He cried like he hadn't cried since that night. He sobbed so hard he almost threw up. 

So they let him keep his hair like that. 

And it kept growing. 

It was hard for him to explain why it was so important to him that his hair remained untouched. 

He didn't even care for it — he made no effort to take care of it and only bothered to brush it so it wouldn't look bad enough that someone would try to cut it again. 

It got even more neglected after he started on his journey around the world — there was no threat of anyone cutting it, so Bruce didn't have to worry about keeping it decent. 

When he met Minhkhoa, he was also wearing his hair long. At first, Khoa didn't think much about Bruce's hair, but after seeing how little effort he put into taking care of it, he asked why he didn't just cut it and keep it short.

Bruce's mistake was genuinely trying to explain. 

He talked about how it was a reminder of his parent's death and how part of him was disgusted by the idea of going back to how he was before they were gone. He told him how different and wrong he felt after their deaths and how the thing that scared him the most wasn't the idea that things would never get better, but rather the possibility of returning to how he was when they were still alive, as if their loss simply never happened. Worst of all, he talked about how in a sad way, his long hair reminded him of their absence because it showed no one was taking care of him. 

The tricky thing about his relationship with Khoa is that every once in a while, Bruce would say things about himself and unknowingly trigger a "self-recognition through the other" reaction in Khoa — something Khoa didn't like and almost always led to fighting. 

So they fought. 

Khoa responded to his vulnerability by saying a lot of mean things to Bruce, and then the fight got physical. 

Khoa went to a hairdresser that same day and got his hair cut — something he hadn't thought of doing since leaving home. He eventually learned to cut his hair himself and took special care of it, just to show Bruce how ridiculous he was for thinking he needed to let his hair grow messy and unkept just bc he didn't have a stupid adult to take care of it for him — unlike Bruce, Khoa was more than capable of taking care of himself without help from anyone.

He also tried to cut Bruce's hair in a fit of rage, but his rage wasn't quite as strong as Bruce's. He fought him like a demon, and the fight ended after Bruce bit him so hard it left a scar Khoa carried for many years after. 

Khoa didn't try cutting it again, but every once in a while, when they were at the same place and on good terms — a rarity — he would take care of Bruce's hair. He would untangle the thousands of knots, brush it out, wash and moisturize it until it looked good and felt nice to touch. As a show of trust (or guilt for the bite), Bruce sometimes let him trim the ends. Khoa did this mostly out of pettiness and as a strange and convoluted way of mocking Bruce for his irrationality — but deep down, it was also bc he cared for Bruce, and he could take care of him, couldn't he see that?

Bruce finally cut his hair before going back to Gotham. 

By then, years had passed since his parents' death, and he wasn't afraid anymore. He had made a decision, one that would tie him to them forever, and he didn't need his hair as proof of the transformation he had undergone. He knew what he had become now. 

He cut his hair in the same style he wore in his youth, and when he looked in the mirror, there were still no traces of the kid in those photos. 

He wasn't him anymore.

In fact, he didn't even look like him.

[feinyan]

may i request dating headcanons but for the nightcord girlies? thank you if you do! your writing is really nice to read :D

DATING HEADCANONS

featuring. kanade yoisaki, mafuyu asahina, ena shinonome and mizuki akiyama.

# kanade yoisaki

dumb pathetic cat. you constantly need to check up on her, making sure that shes taking care of herself or reminding her to eat. she keeps little notes around from you to remind herself to do basic chores.

also, you def do her hair sometimes !! taking care of and washing her long, beautiful hair for her. braiding it, putting it up in pigtails. its so long you could do practically anything with it. kanade doesn’t mind, in fact, she enjoys her hair being played with a lot. it reminds her of when she were a child, making her feel warm.

creates songs for you. ethereal, gorgeous melodies which fill you with a warm blissful feeling. something that could make you happy with just a single listen. composing for you calms her, the memory and thought of you and your happiness brings her joy of her own. something she doesn’t want to lose.

not necessarily used to giving affection, yet tries her best. offers you her hand to hold, and enjoys kissing your cheek. its warm, her nervous, awkward yet sweet affection.

cuddles with kanade are warm and loving. burying her head into the crook of your neck as if she were a cat, hands laid against her chest, hair sprawled against the palms of your hands which were wrapped around her waist. just sweet, quiet cuddling. no words need to be said for you two to know you love each other.

# mafuyu asahina

such a conflicting touch. warm, yet cold. her touch is so trusting, a warm sensation within her fingers, yet you can still feel the distance behind her touch. shes blunt with her words, blunt with her touch. she isn’t exactly sure what she wants, and so you help her. help her explore what makes her happy, help her explore what takes away from that deep emptiness which resides within her.

sososo many study dates .. escaping to the library together in an attempt to get away from her mom, who would never let her have a partner. spending time together through connected silence, headphones shared with one another.

sharing songs to each other that you enjoy! mafuyu expresses a lot of emotion through song. she writes lyrics to express how she feels, and similar to kanade, writes about the way she feels with you.

clingy. in the way that she always wants to be near you, wanting to hold hands with you. following you around, acting like a lost puppy when it comes to you.

kisses you. so much. because she likes the way it makes her feel. a fuzzy, odd feeling that shes not used to. squeezes your face, and fiddles with your fingers or clothing while kissing you.

so fucking dense. does not get jealous. rarely feels any strong emotion. if you want her to understand something, you have to be patient with her and communicate that. overall, she puts in the effort to try and tell you how she feels or act accordingly.

# ena shinonome

makes you model for her drawings !! draws you in such a gorgeous light, the way she views you. with perfection, with accuracy. everything she loves about you. sometimes, she’ll catch herself doodling you on papers or her tablet accidentally. at this point she can draw you precisely without a reference.

you two bicker a lot, ‘n its really amusing to tease her. its not serious arguing, but seeing her face light up in embarrassment as she tries to argue against you makes you feel warm.

needy af. shes embarrassed by it, but she yearns for your touch. constantly wanting to be sat touching legs with you, holding fingers within your own. you’ll catch her glancing at you occasionally, seeming like her mind is always on you, no matter whats happening around you two.

lets you watch her draw. laying in her lap whilst she doodles away or hums to music. quiet time together is something she enjoys a lot.

goes out with you to cafes she wants to try! sometimes the rest of nightcord will accompany you all, and its really fun! going to grab meals, going shopping.

# mizuki akiyama

shopping dates :] sososo many. she loves to dress you up as if you were her own little doll. cute clothes she enjoys wearing, things that are your style, bows, frilly shit, anything!

soooo sweet with you, its sickening. giggling whilst kissing your face, scattering bold lipstick kiss marks around your face. she always wraps her pinky around yours while you two walk together. doing your nails together, taking long naps whilst holding each other. loving gestures which allow you two to just be yourselves, together!

loves to tease. flirts with you out of no where, gets all touchy and giggly around you. she loves watching your face grow all flustered, nervously mumbling in her direction.

trusts you with everything. all of her vulnerable moments, her secrets, everything. to her, you’re what it means to trust. you’re someone she can go to when she’s scared, when she’s worried. she values you more than anything, and whilst it took her time to admit her feelings to you and get to the point in the relationship that you’re currently at, she’s so pleased with you. though she may feel ashamed to just be herself at times, she’d never be embarrassed to be with you. to mean something to you, to be with you, meant the world to her.

matching clothes. matching bracelets, matching everything. if she has a pair of something, you’ll def have a matching set of it.

@ feinyan

[imerian]

Vr46 academy keychains

Set of five charms that all match in different ways

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 . ✦　　˚　

Open for detailed pictures of each one

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

˖⁺‧₊˚⭒✮⭒˚₊‧⁺˖

. ݁₊ ✶. ݁ ˖ˎˊ˗

I ran out of tags so I'll say it here but i would greatly appreciate a reblog, especially if you share your thoughts on these pieces in tags (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

(Also i forgot that bez have matching part with luca so I didn’t add that to tags sorry

[puppyeared]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[pondhue]

some (more) fear no mort thoughts 🧠💭

even though rick didn't go down with morty in the hole, he still stayed waiting for him. he didn't seem to panic or call anyone, because i think deep down rick accepted that morty is 10x braver than him and knew (or hoped) he'd come back, which morty did

rick wasn't there during morty's journey with closure, yes. but he was there at the end of it, waiting for morty. when it mattered.

the journey of true self reflection and changing oneself internally can be really fucking hard, this show has pushed that message many times. but it's harder trying to navigate life after starting/completing the process. it helps having someone, something, a support system to keep you grounded. getting outside reassurance/opinion helps. rick has to know that because he needs that too.

i like to think rick was lying when he said only one person can go into the fear hole. how would we know? he didn't know about it, the guy didn't mention it (as far as i can recall). he didn't go in because he was terrified and knew that because his fears are considerably more heavy and fucked up (compared to morty's) he would not have been able to handle it and he likely would've died. morty is way more resilient than rick and he knows that (at least now).

i wouldn't be surprised if a part of rick is jealous of that resilience and ability to bounce back while also still being forgiving, compassionate, and empathetic; all traits rick arguably doesn't have, or isn't good at expressing.

but he wants to be able to have those abilities and traits too. it's gonna be a slow process for rick but he already did the hardest part which is taking that first step towards changing. starting is always the hardest part (imo anyway)

[scoopstomyahoy]

thinking about a no upside down au steddie fic where steve and eddie run into each other years after moving away from hawkins, and eddie remembers steve and his fall from grace as king, and is kind of intrigued to see what kind of person he is now

and steve doesn’t remember him at all at first, because, look, eddie changed his hair again, and steve’s had a few head injuries (no upside down but i imagine he still went thru some shit with the party and with robin), and he didn’t really think about eddie in high school anyway, and he’s trying to forget about hawkins as much as possible (besides the kiddos, but they’re all moved out for college now, anyway) (obviously he lives with robin)

but steve is different now, happier, more open, flirts with guys, flirts with EDDIE, and eddie….. well, he wants to know more! and he tells steve he knows him from hawkins, and steve’s sunny little smile flickers a little, but he just apologizes for not remembering him and mentions he has some memory problems

and they get to know each other, and eventually as eddie tells him more (and maybe with the help of some yearbooks) steve remembers eddie. and. well. they like getting to know each other. and they like each other. and then they get together

eventually they’ve been together for a while, and eddie thinks he wants to maybe introduce steve to wayne, and he mentions he’s going to go back to hawkins for a long weekend (as he’s done a couple times) and this time he’d like steve to join him

and again steve’s sunny smile flickers a bit, but he says he’d love to meet eddie’s uncle, and… they go to hawkins. and it goes well— meeting wayne, at least, but steve seems a little on edge the whole time they’re there, tense when they drive in, fidgety when they go to the grocery store, et cetera. eddie thinks maybe steve is nervous about staying with the man who raised eddie, which is ridiculous, because wayne LOVES steve.

it’s not til they leave the town altogether that steve relaxes, and eddie realizes it wasn’t “meeting the parents” but rather going back to hawkins. and speaking of meeting the parents, steve didn’t ever bring his own up, even though eddie knew they still lived in hawkins. and the way steve glanced around whenever they went in public, like he was scared of getting recognized

and he asks about it, and steve doesn’t really want to talk about it, but he gives eddie snippets of it. people he wanted to leave behind in hawkins, memories that resurfaced, things he wants to forget

eddie goes back to see wayne sometimes, and the first time he doesn’t know whether to ask steve to come, so he just mentions he’s thinking about going to hawkins for some weekend and steve immediately starts making plans with him as if the invite is implicit. they go back to hawkins several more times, steve still tense and pent up the whole time they’re there

over time steve reveals more and more to eddie. everything that made hawkins hell for him, from the things he himself did in high school to the things people did to him. stuff tommy and carol and billy said to him. some of it is just typical high school bullshit (and oh, the nancy thing.) some of it is the tragedies steve went through, the horrors he had to protect his kids from. the injuries he sustained. more generally the homophobia that permeated the whole town, keeping steve from being himself. the lack of support in the indiana public school system for a high school senior who’s had two concussions and gone through incredible trauma.

his parents. the reason why steve’s mail is addressed to ‘steve buckley’ now, not ‘steve harrington’.

(that doesn’t come out until much, much later, and eddie is kicking himself for ever suggesting steve come back to hawkins.)

eddie, who hardly had an easy time of it in hawkins, is absolutely blown away by what steve had gone through in the same town, right under his nose. the entire persona that steve was trying to leave behind — the cool as a cucumber, unaffected, douchey mask he wore to hide all that he had endured. the head injuries. the emotional tragedies he had gone through. the way he had to be the rock for the kids even as he went through the same things as them.

he tries to tell steve they never have to go back to hawkins again, and steve is having none of it. he tells steve wayne can come visit them in their new city, and steve thinks that’s completely unfair to the man who had raised eddie, seriously, you’re going to make him come all the way up here?

and well i don’t know exactly what the ending is but steve is so stubborn about trying to love hawkins because it was eddie’s home and he wants to be able to go see wayne because wayne deserves to see his kid and eddie deserves to see his uncle and steve doesn’t want to be the problem :(

[toytulini]

me, stupidly and weirdly resistant to listening to audio books vs reading a physical book for no real reason: man i wish there was a way to like, read a book while i crochet like i do with tv shows and movies and podcasts

[emeraldblonde]

I tried to mod something and the good news is, it didn't crash the game. 🥳 The bad news is, not what I was looking for lmao.

Like, don't get me wrong. I've seen way worse (the stuff of nightmares) on a modding channel I've been teaching myself this stuff lately, so. It's not like I completely fucked this thing up or anything like that.

It's just... I still gotta ask though.

What went wrong here?

[drop--pop--candy]

whatever. who even gives a fuck.

[starswallowingsea]

thinking of that post that's like being a picky eater as a kid just means i get to experience the joy of trying so many foods as an adult. i have some new foods planned for this week after i move including stir fried sweet and sour veggies + rice and omurice (really simple fried rice... may add veggies to it later if i like it but one step at a time). will let you guys know how it goes