#i still don't know what stranger things is about

[gyubakeries]

HIIII it’s renee! anyway what about cough. domestic fluff with mingyu. just a typical day at home, doing chores and cooking and watching something together 😞😞😞 i love sweet gyu

𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁 | k.mg

a/n: IT TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG TO GET TO THIS but thank u for requesting this renee 💗 this has made me want mingyu EVEN MORE 🫡 hope u like this one! sorry for the wait </3

word count: 1.5k contents: mingyu x afab!reader , established relationship , non idol!au , sickeningly sweet , domestic fluff , just a couple of down bad lovers , binge watching stranger things , THERES A SPOILER , cuddling , FLUFFFFF

when you wake up, you're alone. you know this for sure, because your boyfriend's heavy arm isn't laid across your stomach, and the heat radiating from his bare skin isn't there to warm you either.

you sit up in bed, rubbing your eyes as they slowly open and take in the sight of the empty bedroom. and then, you smell coffee. you quickly get out of bed and set off to find your boyfriend.

you make your way out of the bedroom and head to the kitchen, eyes still half-shut with sleep. in the kitchen, you find mingyu pouring fresh, warm coffee into your favorite mug, humming a random tune to himself.

you quietly slip behind him, snaking your arms around warm, sun-kissed skin and nuzzling your cold nose into his back.

"hi lovie, good morning," mingyu's raspy voice greets you, and you press a loud smooch to his back as a reply.

"morning," you croak out, still groggy with sleep. "you made me coffee?" you ask, tiptoeing to peek over mingyu's shoulder.

"yep, gonna get started on breakfast now," mingyu hums, turning around to face you. he doesn't hold back a laugh when he sees your hair sitting atop your head in a mess.

"baby, i told you not to sleep with your hair open," he tsks, like your mother, and starts brushing his fingers through your hair to detangle the knots.

"but it's too much work to put it in a braid," you sigh, closing your eyes and letting mingyu manage your hair. the way his hands gently run through your hair and scratch against your scalp is enough to make you feel drowsy.

soon, the relaxing movements are stopped, and mingyu turns you around to take a picture of your hair from the back to show you.

"mingyu, you're literally barbie," you gasp. somehow he's managed to tame your hair into a beautiful braid that looks better than any you've made your entire life. "you're good at everything."

"you know what i'm the best at doing, though?" mingyu smirks. "you."

"ugh, that wasn't even funny," you groan. "i guess being the least funny person on this planet is your one flaw."

"whatever, you still laugh at my jokes," mingyu sticks his tongue out at you.

"only because i don't want your feelings to get hurt," you tease, and mingyu gasps dramatically.

"you know what? no strawberries for your waffles anymore," mingyu declares, and you immediately put your hands together, begging for his forgiveness.

"we're having waffles for breakfast? gyu, don't take away my strawberries. pleaaaaase?" you plead, and mingyu does a bad job of ignoring you, the barely concealed smile tugging at his lips.

"fine, i'll forgive you. but you need to watch these waffles and make sure they don't burn," mingyu instructs, and you nod resolutely.

mingyu busies himself with washing up the dishes he used, and you busy yourself with..... staring at mingyu.

your boyfriend looks hot, you won't ever deny it. it's impossible for that statement to be untrue, especially with the way the morning sun makes his golden skin glow, the way his messy, soft hair falls over his eyes perfectly, the way his muscles shift as he dries the last bowl-

"y/n!" he yelps, alarmed, and you faintly register the smell of something burning when you turn around and see that the waffles had burnt to a crisp.

"shit shit shit," you mutter, rushing to switch the machine off and carefully opening up the waffle maker to see that the waffles inside definitely looked like they'd seen better days.

"this is, like, the hundredth time you've burnt waffles," mingyu sighs, letting the machine cool before he can scrape the burnt mess out of it. "how do you never learn?"

"it's not my fault!" you pout. "it's your fault for being so distracting. i only forgot about the waffles because i was staring at you."

mingyu's cheeks turn into a bright shade of pink at your blunt comment, and you find it endearing.

unable to stay mad at you, mingyu just feigns annoyance and fetches another pan. "we're having pancakes for breakfast, then."

"with strawberries?" you ask, a hopeful smile plastered on your face.

"with strawberries," mingyu gives in, and nothing makes him happier than the feeling of you hugging him tightly and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

breakfast is a simple ordeal; you sip on your black coffee and finish up all the strawberries on the plate, while mingyu drinks his coffee with loads of milk and sugar, eating up the last pancake before you can.

"gyu, i wanna binge-watch something today," you tell him as you wash your plates. "any ideas?"

"what about stranger things?" he offers, and your eyes light up with excitement.

"oh my god, yes!" you nod. the show was one of your favorites, starting from the plot, to the suspense, and your not-so-subtle crush on steve harrington. "this is why i love you. you're the best."

"so you only love me when i give you good ideas?" mingyu raises an eyebrow, and you nod jokingly. when he starts pouting like a kicked puppy, you apologize and kiss him as compensation.

mingyu can't really complain after that.

—

after you both showered, you find yourself sprawled across mingyu's lap as he loads up netflix on the TV. he's already prepared snacks and ordered pizza for lunch while you took your own sweet time in the shower earlier.

"i don't think i'm ready to see bob die again," you whisper out loud, as the first episode starts playing.

mingyu looks at you at that, taking your hand in his. "i'll hug you through it, don't worry."

"thank you, gyu," you smile. he puckers his lips in an exaggerated pout and you chuckle affectionately before leaning in to kiss him with a loud smooch.

"there, now we can start binge-watching," he nods, satisfied, and you nuzzle into his shoulder.

true to his word, mingyu holds your hand throughout the first three seasons of the show, saving the fourth one for another day. you only take breaks to go to the bathroom or order food, and you skip past some of the less exciting scenes to speed up the process.

both mingyu and you cry when bob is killed, hugging each other tightly as consolation. you're both at the edge of your seats by the time the last scene plays, and then the screen goes black.

while the credits are rolling, you and mingyu lean back on the couch, processing the entire show.

"it's almost 6 a.m.," comes mingyu's shocked voice, and you turn to see the first rays of sunlight filtering in through the living room windows.

"we've been here for, like, 20 hours?" you gasp. you finally register the burning in your eyes and how much your back aches from sitting on the couch for so long.

"imagine if we decided to watch season 4 too," mingyu laughs, and you rub your eyes to stop the burning sensation.

"we're never binge-watching like this again," you tell him, groaning as you stand up from the couch to stretch your limbs.

"you say that, yet we end up doing this once a year," mingyu points out, and you just shoot him a glare.

"you're no better," you say defensively. "you always agree!"

mingyu smiles and gets up from the couch to stand next to you and pull you into a hug. the tension in your muscles seeps out instantly, and you melt in his arms. "i'd be a bad boyfriend if i said no to something that you like."

he feels your lips quirk up into a smile against his chest, and he just squeezes you tighter.

"what would you do if i said you're being a bad boyfriend by not carrying me into the bedroom so we can sleep till afternoon?" you look up at him with a mischievous grin.

"well, then i'd have to correct that," he shrugs, playing along with your teasing. one moment, your feet are on the ground, and the next, you're being hauled up into the air, mingyu's strong arms cradling you close to his chest.

he carries you into the bedroom, bridal style, and the both of you flop down on the bed together, not leaving an inch of space between your bodies. mingyu somehow manages to cover you both with the comforter, because he knows how cold you get without a blanket.

"we should binge-watch harry potter next," you mumble, wrapping your arms around mingyu's torso to cuddle up with him, letting his warmth envelop you.

"okay baby, we'll do it," mingyu chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "for now, let's get some rest, yeah?"

"yeah," you whisper. "goodnight, gyu."

"goodnight, love," he replies, and you raise your head to press another kiss to his lips.

mingyu smiles widely at that, his canines showing through his lips. he retaliates by kissing the tip of your nose, and you giggle.

you fall asleep in his arms by the time the sun is halfway up in the sky. he takes a little more time, just so he can watch the soft sunlight light up your face as you sleep peacefully.

his last thought before he closes his eyes is: twenty hours of netflix, or the rest of his life; mingyu would love to spend it all by your side.

- fin.

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[alice-everafter]

"Is the room to your liking?"

Riddle's tentative voice rings through the peaceful silence. He's stood like a stranger, unsure and hesitant in his crimson pajamas. Which is ironic given the fact that it’s his own room that the two of you are in. Really, that should be you standing around awkwardly. But instead here you were, sat on his king sized bed in similar pajamas without shame.

"Riddle," you don't have to fake the giddy grin as it stretches across your face painfully wide. "Any room is to my liking considering the shack I currently call home."

He gives you a concerned little smile in response. You couldn’t help it, you were excited to finally be able to sleep on a mattress that wasn’t lumpy. Or creaky. And or slightly moldy. The point being you’re excited to get some good sleep.

Riddle flicks off the lights and starts to settle into bed. You follow his lead, because if there is one thing Riddle Rosehearts can do is be a commanding presence even in satin pjs.

He turns on his side, staring at you from across a reasonable gap given the fact that you were currently sharing a bed. A really big one at that but a bed regardless.

And then continues to stare as a questionable silence occurs.

“Do you always go to bed this early?” You blurt out before you can think any better of it. The awkwardness was just asking to be broken.

“This is early?” Riddle’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “I’ve always gone to bed at this hour, even as a child.”

You can just vaguely make out the light of the still setting sun from the window behind you.

“Well, I mean, what time do you normally get up?”

“6 am.”

“Oh,” well. Maybe he’ll let you sleep in, enjoy the luxury of a non-lumpy bed while you still can.

“You seem apprehensive.” Riddle fiddles with the blanket in his hands where it rests right below his chin. You try and shoo the imagery of a small child being tucked in out of your brain.

Thank god his unique magic didn’t have to do with reading minds, otherwise you’d be thrown to the streets with a collar as a parting gift.

Speaking of collars and lack there of, today had marked a month since Riddle’s “big summer blowout” as you have codenamed it as. And what started as a “1 month of sobriety” joke by Ace turned into an actual celebration by Cater. So, naturally, you dragged yourself along and helped yourself to Trey’s mouthwatering pastries. But then one thing led to another and somehow you were roped into playing a Twisted Wonderland version of Monopoly that led to Grim melting all the plastic house pieces in a fit of firey tantrum to then being forced to fix them by Riddle in an impromptu magic lesson/lecture and—

Yeah, so a lot happened. And next thing you know, you’re being surveilled watched by Trey as you meticulously brush your teeth along to his direction… for some reason? Turns out Ace wasn’t spewing complete lies about Trey’s “fetish” for teeth. You wouldn’t call it that, personally. It was more like a… slightly uncomfortable passion.

But anyway, here you are. Sleeping over at Heartslabyul because Riddle had insisted you and Grim stay the night since by the time you had realized, it was past curfew. Though, surprisingly, Riddle insisted that you share his bed. And Grim, still more than a little apprehensive about the Dormhead, scampered off to sleep with the other freshmen. Cramped dorm rooms be damned.

“Prefect?”

You shake yourself from your thoughts, realizing you had left Riddle hanging for your answer.

“No, no. I’m just… difficult to get up in the morning.” You settle on saying, fiddling with the comforter much like Riddle was.

“Oh, well you can’t be worse than Ace. He’d sleep the entire day away if I allowed it.”

You can see that familiar spark of disapproval flare up behind his eyes and you instinctively tense up. Though as quick as it was there, it fizzles out. Reminding you that yes, this was Riddle, but not the same one that nearly decapitated you with a rose bush.

This is the one that you saw break down in tears on the Heartslabyul lawn after treating it like a playground sandbox. The one that nearly did it again—the crying part, not the sandbox bit—as he pulled you aside and apologized for nearly killing you.

You remind yourself that as you decide to take a small leap of faith with your next words.

“I was also sort of hoping to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Oh,” is all he says. Which isn’t terrible, but not exactly good either.

“Since, you know. It’ll be Sunday. And, you know, still the weekend so. Good to get caught up on sleep while you can… you know.”

He’s analyzing what you’ve said, you can tell by the way his eyes get wide and concentrated. Oh, he’s biting his lip now. That means he’s actually considering your thoughts. He’s thinking, he’s about to speak—

“Alright.”

“…Alright?”

“Yes, alright.” He seems to solidify his answer with a nod. “Let’s sleep in.”

Those words settle in your chest like the sweetest relief.

“Brilliant idea, Riddle!” You can feel the excitement as it grows in your chest. So much so you reach over and grasp his hand, shaking it in emphasis. “You won’t regret this, I tell you.”

“You’re acting like I’ve just done something revolutionary.” He titters, cheeks pink from the unexpected contact as you basically start shaking his hand like an eager businessman after a hard won deal.

“How many times have you slept in before?”

He opens his mouth to respond, ponders, and then slowly shuts it.

“See! So it's basically revolutionary. Why do you think we threw you a party?"

"Oh, and that's another thing." He seems to remember something at the mention of the party. "The fact that Ace and Cater kept congratulating me on my '1 month of sobriety' is pure nonsense. I've never had a lick of alcohol my whole life, so why would I be sober if I never got not sober to begin with?"

As he rambled, you could see his confusion slowly shifting towards indignance. His cheeks were beginning to flush, eyebrows knitting together. His fingers were clenching and unclenching in the sheets pulled over his body.

He looks at you now with pursed lips, bordering on pouty, waiting for a reply.

"...Well, it's a, um..." You stop yourself from saying joke. If you wanted Riddle to not possibly get offended, you'd need to overexplain as much as he can overthink. "It's supposed to be ironic. As in like, 'haha get it? Riddle would never get drunk and therefore sobriety makes no sense and therefore is funny!' kind of ironic."

You subconsciously ended up avoiding eye contact throughout your entire explanation. And also leaving out the comparison of his... "moments" with alcoholism, since you didn't think that would go over very well. So when you finish and decide to just bite the bullet and look, his expression is one of... disappointment?

"Oh," he says, simply and softly. "I see, I guess that... makes sense."

...Maybe you should explain the comparison. "If you need me to elaborate, I can."

"No," he quickly responds with a shake of the head. "That won't be necessary. Your explanation was more than enough."

His eyes are trained on a loose piece of thread near the edge of his pillow yet it's like he's staring straight through it.

"Is there... something else then that's on your mind?"

"I guess I am just... realizing a few things about myself. Especially in regards to these past few months. All those times when I overheard a student comment that I 'couldn't take a joke' were, in essence, correct."

"What?" Talk about a topic shift. "Wait, hold on a second, where did this come from?"

"From just now, actually." He begins picking at the thread he's been zoning out on. "I mean, you saw me. I almost talked myself into a tizzy over, what? A harmless phrase that had no intention of demeaning my character? That ended up turning into a party meant to congratulate me?"

"Well, I mean, there is an underlying comparison between your 'tizzy' moments and alcoholism so—"

"Ace was right."

You blink, momentarily wondering if the person laying across from you is actually Riddle or not.

"How?" You don't bother with hiding your incredulousness, too confused to sugarcoat.

"When he said that everyone around me only panders to my behavior." He huffs, a small humorless laugh filled with self deprecation. "I, all that time, was just silencing thoughts and behavior that I viewed as wrong even though it would've been right. It's no wonder some of the freshman are still hesitant with me. Why it feels like everyone is walking around eggshells when they talk to me."

"Even you, Prefect." He looks... small, truly like a child. Curled into himself like he wishes to disappear from sight. Blinking rapidly like he's trying not to cry. "Even you do it. You let me do what I want, you're never 100% honest with me, and you justify my responses. Like just now."

You open your mouth to rebuttal, but he shakes his head, smiling sadly.

"Don't bother, I can give you examples. Asking me if we could sleep in, expecting me to disagree. Only half explaining the meaning to me since it'd be directly referencing my anger. Which you have yet to actually name for what it is, not once."

You... hadn't even realized you were doing that. It was all just, natural. Instinctive.

"I can... I'm not the most perceptive but, I can tell when you tense up, Prefect."

He meets your gaze, and that's when you process the tension in your shoulders. You had been tensing them, for who knows how long.

"I don't blame you," he speaks before you can begin to try and say anything in response. "Not after everything I did, not after I overblotted and nearly got us all killed."

He looks defeated as he turns over to lie on his back, staring up at the canopy of his bed.

"Ace and all of them were right, I'm just a baby tyrant."

The two of you lapse into silence, you with nothing to say and him having said it all. You don't know how long you stare at his profile for, just scraping the recesses of your brain for the words to say. But eventually, you decide "fuck it" and just let him have it. Like he deserves.

"So you're a bit of a control freak." His head snaps to you but you force yourself to ignore it, barreling onwards. "Scratch that, you ARE a control freak. Can you blame yourself? What with that shitty mom you have, I'd be surprised if you didn't turn out some form of fucked up."

"My mother is—"

"Nope," you abruptly hold a finger up right to his face. "None of that, I'm talking. You want the truth so I'm giving you the truth. Your mom sucks, severely. She basically made you into the baby tyrant that you are. And we, as friends and as your dormmates, have perpetuated that attitude. Thereby continuing the cycle of tyranny until when someone eventually called you out on it, you exploded."

All that momentary fight dies out the more you went on. Every new statement was like a lash across his face. Now he refuses to look at you, too disappointed to meet your gaze. Eyes glossy with unshed tears.

You cross the invisible wall between you two and reach out, grabbing his hand once again in yours.

"But that doesn't mean you can't change." You squeeze his hand, whether to reassure yourself or him is beyond even you. "The fact that you're acknowledging your behavior is proof enough that you're on your way to fixing it. But even then, healing isn't linear. If you take a few steps back, just get back on it again. It's going to be a while but there's nothing you can do about that except let it happen and be patient. Don't let every reminder of your faults be a dissuasion, let it be a motivator to keep going."

You take a moment to breathe, but also to gauge his reaction. Wide eyed and staring at you in wonderment, Riddle lays unmoving. Nothing but the dim impression of street lights outside to illuminate his form in the darkness of his bedroom. Looking at you and only you.

"I'll do better," you tell him, resolute. "I'll hold you accountable. I'll remind myself more to say what I mean, or even call you out on your shit if I need to. And if not me then someone else will, especially Ace. Consequences be damned with him."

He's lying once more on his side, mirroring you like before. His fingers have since found their place around your hand, holding it in kind. His grip tightens with the lull in your speech. You don't know whether it was intentionally or not but it's enough to encourage you to let that last little thought out.

"And for what it's worth, I think you're doing as good a job as any, Riddle."

Silence settles in, him with nothing to say and you having said it all. Well, almost having said it all.

"So," you pipe up before those tears you can see in his eyes decide to fall. "I think this call for a concluding hug, what do you say?"

So, so many emotions fly across his face as you hold open your arms as best you can while lying on a bed. Eventually, what he settles on doing is laughing. Watery and in disbelief, Riddle laughs and leans forwards into your arms.

"Honestly," he chides without an ounce of real intent as he presses his face into your shoulder. "That's how you decide to end your thoughts?"

"I don't see you doing any better, Mr. 'I'm just a baby tyrant.'"

A month ago, that response would've gotten you a one way ticket to collar town. But tonight, he only laughs and holds you tighter.

"Touché, Prefect." He leans back enough that you're able to watch as a smile spreads across his face, unabashed and bright like the sun.

It's one of the firsts of its kind that you've ever seen on his face. You hope you can keep producing more just like it.

[strange-anni]

This is the source El finds in the void and it's twofold. It's the father. In this case it's Neil but he's just a stand-in for Lonnie.

The other source is the Steel Works warehouse BRIMBORN but that's not how it is presented to us throughout season 3.

It reads more like BRIMBORN as a shadow covers up the B pretty consistently, making us unable to read it

Warning for discussions of CSA under the cut

We also get the full address of the steelworks warehouse and it's

Brimborn Steelworks 6522 Cherry Oak Drive

This is how where the MF possessed Billy. Cherry Oak Drive

Lonnie also means oak tree

Max also tells us Billys full address

Billy Hargrove 4819 Cherry Lane

Billy lives on Cherry Lane but he lost himself and got possessed by the father at Cherry Oak Drive. A lane to drive on...

Source

Billy was a Cherry Lane at first until he got corrupted in the Cheery Oak Drive

Billy is short for William and a stand-in for Will

We also learn more about cherries and their availability

Hopper says there is no cherry in the 7-Eleven. Apparently they had only strawberry

That's not entirely true tough as we see with Alexei here. In fact it seems like they have only cherry and cola. But Hopper still drove there even though it was way out of his way. So I'm sure he would have gotten cherry if it were there, right?

Well, maybe it's more like an either/or situation with the Seven and the Eleven in which one number is the cherry and the other is the strawberry . Maybe they are mutually exclusive

As we've already seen though, it's Will who is already associated with cherries via association of Billy which in turn can only mean one thing

Eleven is the strawberry

But

In the end there is no difference. Cherry and strawberry taste the same. They are the same. Just sugar on ice

But what's a strawberry anyway?

Source

First of all of this goes with the Will Byers has DID theory.

For the longest time I was convinced that Will created Eleven on the day he vanished in the woods but I don't think that's what has happened any longer. I think she was there long before. Ready to take over whenever Will needed her to use her superpowers to absorb what he couldn't face.

That's why Eleven is a strawberry. She was there ready to save Will whenever Lonnie sold off his son to buy dr*gs. It's why there is still a cola next the cherry in the 7-Eleven. Coca-Cola or just coke. Other sources also say that a Strawberry is a woman who willingly sells se*ual favors to buy dr*gs. (although willingly is hardly the word I would use here)

In the beginning of the first season El could barely speak and was more like a child who didn't understand anything. This was also done for her protection throughout the years I think. The less she understood what happened, the better it is for her (or so the reasoning goes)

But she still understood the most important part

[fearoftheminotaur]

Some other things I think are worth considering in this examination of the serial killer panic viewpoint

It's not immediately intuitive to me, at least, that if you did want to take away someone's access to hurting people, that a prison would be the only way. Stuff like probation and house arrest and rehab centers exist, as does the general ability of a society to detain people for sentencing. However, I can see how ultimately, any long term denial of access to the type of people serial killers target, can be argued to be a form of prison - it's just not intuitive to everyone.

Violent crimes are committed in prisons regularly, by both prisoners and employees. The prison constrains the serial killer's ability to access new victims but it notably does not prevent it outright.

We already live in a society where people are afraid that any stranger could assault them. I don't think this is a statistically rational fear (most crimes being between acquaintances and all), and it is also more statistically rational than being afraid that you are gonna be Dahmer's next victim. And this is a very petty point but, at least if you're afraid of Dahmer getting you, you know what Dahmer looks like, which makes him easier to avoid compared to 100 small time criminals who the prison system could neither rehabilitate nor indefinitely detain.

Ultimately prison abolitionists do not get to set the terms of what the justice system will look like in the foreseeable future. Realistically, an abolition of prisons will look like them seeing less use, fewer facilities remaining open, and a lively debate over what if any crimes merit that method (just as many societies today still use the death penalty - with debatable effectiveness). That means arguments like this thread do matter, but also that an individual person's ability to make you feel safe with their vision of abolition is kinda worthless imo. OP ain't running for attorney general afaik, and even if she were, some people like myself wouldn't care too much about the risks of scorched earth prison closure because it just would not happen any time soon. I understand why others have a different standard of proof though.

Our society already feels safe allowing SA and murder because we have prisons and for-profit healthcare. I know that sounds like a cheap shot, but I want to make it very clear that Goop's characterization of the abolitionist viewpoint is what abolitionists and leftists already hear when people defend the status quo.

Pretty sure @needabetternamelater has reblogged like 5 of my posts and then blocked me. So that's funny. But, just in case it's just a glitch that won't let me reblog those replies.

What do we do with rapists in a prisonless society? Well, 1. Fewer than 1% of rapists go to prison, so holding up prison as the standard that any other solution has to beat isn't hard. What do with do with rapists in a society with prisons? For 99+%? Not prison.

2. Prisons do not reduce the amount of rapes that happen. So again, prison fails pretty handedly at being both a prevention and a punishment. (It's a bit like arguing 'without the death penalty, what will we do with shop lifters?")

3. I've explain many times, on posts you've responded to, the variety of responses a justice system can have to any crime, including sexual assault. Mandatory counseling, restraining orders, restorative/reparation hearings, housing and employment restrictions, fines, caseworker check ins, mental health consults, and vocational training are all possible responses, and which would would have the best chance of preventing recidivism would depend on the specifics of that person and the risk factors in them reoffending.

In the past, we locked people in pillories and cut off their hands for crimes. Phasing out a cruel and ineffective punishment doesn't mean there's free reign for crime.

[quirkyfries]

Ruin ramble because writing his pov is interesting

Do you ever notice that Ruin gets really self depreciative about himself sometimes? (Maybe not quite self depreciative, but highlighting things about himself.) Implying vulnerability in a way that can almost come off as a joke if it weren't for his tone of voice. He says he hasn't been safe in a long time, it would be nice to sleep for once, wouldn't his death be hilarious? It comes off as a cry for help, but he states it as fact, he's convinced it won't change.

He's very stubborn about what he's done. He had nothing left to lose. No, there was absolutely no other way he could've gone about destroying the creator, he'd spent years considering his options. Yes, Solar was collateral, unfortunate. Those lives were a necessary sacrifice. He had to do it. There was no other way.

To him, he chose the lesser amount of people in the trolley problem. That was the morally correct thing to do in the circumstances he was given, lives would have been taken either way. He had to do it. (He could've walked away from the lever that switched the rails, but that would be the self serving option, wouldn't it? To move on?)

The most interesting part about it to me is, why does Ruin keep on going? All he's known is pain and suffering in some shape or another, he had nothing to live for after his goal was completed. All he'd ever known was bad, bad, bad, vindictive release, a little bit more bad, and then nothing. He was ready to die, he didn't know where to go.

Then came along this new dimension, one he'd apparently accidentally created through his actions. For someone who has nothing to gain or lose, wouldn't this be a nice chance of pace? To look forward to something nice that was more or less your responsibility in a weird way, to cultivate something good for once after a life of bad? To be able to take the place of your abuser, break that cycle? This new dimension is his reason to keep going, he will see this one good thing through if he can help it. Even if he isn't particularly liked by his migrated peers.

But he still isn't secure. There are enemies he'd made, the insurmountable weight of lives on his shoulders, and a new uncertain freedom of identity. (Granted, he still has to lie to some people to get by. I more mean his own Creator, the Virus act, and Nexus + Dark Sun here. Ruin having to strike deals and bargain for his life and act against his own morals to survive. But those are gone. When had Ruin last acted like himself, truly? He had barely been able to define himself as an Eclipse before everything bad happened.)

Does Ruin hate himself? I don't know, he's very adamant about hating what he had to do, but would do it again. He believes he was right, he's even defensive about it to several people, but there is still something that's bothering him. Does he hate himself for pressing the red button? Dunno. Maybe subconsciously. He's clearly meant to parallel Puppet with how he is now, they're the same words in different font. Ruin pulled the lever to kill the smaller amount of strangers to save the greater amount of strangers. Puppet was inside the train that killed everyone she knew. She wants to repent, Ruin hasn't shown much interest in it. Does a selfless act require repentance?

I like to think he has a bit of a dissociation issue, he compartmentalizes things if you squint, a possible coping mechanism of something called cognitive dissonance (a disturbance that happens when your actions do not align with your morals/values.) He was right for what he did. What he did was bad. What he did was necessary. He deserves his fate. He doesn't like pain. There's some contradicting statements there, he'd have to separate some things into neat little boxes in order for it to make sense in his head, so he didn't torture himself thinking about what that said about himself and his values. What he did was right and necessary. What he did was bad and he deserves his fate. He doesn't like pain. Still contradictory a bit, but a little more organized. If he focused on the positive box more than the negative box, he can feel better about himself, but he's painfully aware of the negative box' existence. Maybe he avoids looking at the negative box at all times and ignores the contents, but what's inside is so over accumulated that it can't help but be constantly present and occasionally overflow in those matter-of-fact cries for help. A lotta PTSD can fit in this bad boy (pats ruin on the head)

Does that make sense? I don't know, I feel like a therapist trying to write from his point of view. What is wrong with this little british guy.

[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 💕

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

updated and improved "all the fears want arthur lester carnally" list

just a general tally of influence/Marks arthur would have received if you were playing by TMA rules. enhanced with further contemplation and with some peer review from @luci-z-wont-shut-up thankyouuu

the eye

VERY dedicated private investigator. consistently more invested in Solving The Mystery than, like, Remaining Alive

was magic-stalked by the KIY and his cult throughout season 1

also kayne was watching his whole life and taking notes to roast him about his trauma later. apparently

something something metanarrative implications of an audience gathering around just to watch you suffer

the spiral

possessed by a god of madness (twice) (three times?) (possibly more depending on how you count?)

was held hostage in a fake dream-realm mental institution with fucked up architecture so one of the aforementioned madness gods could pry information out of him (which also gets cryptically described as "Here, there, everywhere, nowhere. Anywhere." which is sooo the spiral-coded)

relies on someone else to be his eyes so there's always the lingering background awareness that he may be missing or outright misrepresenting information & consequently he can't trust what he sees

the end

he's died.

multiple times.

there's also the omnipresent threats on his life but mostly just that. like. he's been The Ended. doesn't get much more direct than that

the stranger

i still think "losing parts of your body to another consciousness while they are still attached to you" is VERY the stranger type activities

the king in S1 turning any weak-willed bystanders against him so any stranger could turn into a threat without warning

also, the king and scratch posing as normal people, even people he knows sometimes!

orbited by a cast of nonhuman Entities remaking their identities into something closer to humanity for one reason or another (john, yellow, scratch, kayne) and frequently not quite hitting the mark (ty luci)

the lonely

general sense of alienation from his peers that started young and—just vibe checking here, just taking a general temperature—doesn't seem to have gotten much better over time

"I want him safe." / "You want him back." / "...Yes." <- guy who can totally handle being alone

john left and he went fully off the deep end in the span of like, a day

it's just one of those things that i think he hates and is terrified of but also is constantly haunted by

the desolation

the whole vibe of the death/destruction specifically of things that could have brought meaning to the world, or people who had a lot to live for and could have touched other lives and had an effect on others, is... um. (gestures vaguely at the. all of them)

will do LITERALLY ANYTHING to avoid losing anyone else.

also pain. i feel like pain takes a thematic backseat but it is still a part of the desolation and good lord is this man in so much pain basically all the time

one time he did an arson at an in-progress building site and left a guy bleeding out in the ruins!! desolation come get your juice

also independently invented molotovs so he could use them to kill a different thing which was perhaps divine inspiration straight from the lightless flame itself??

the slaughter

start with parker's death and just work your way down from there tbh

the butcher confrontation "Whose life did you take without provocation, without threat? Who did you kill that was innocent?" vs the slaughter's "random, senseless, unmotivated violence"

also knowing that pain and death are coming but not where or when or how. Yup 👍

just. in general. he has been wading through his own and other people's blood in equal measure since the start of the damn show

had to hide in a pit full of rotting corpses that one time

the vast

timelines! go confront how meaningless your entire life is in the face of the uncaring multiverse! have a quick crisis about it! fuck meaning!

i still don't have a whole lot for this one tbh

he can't stop falling off things obviously but i don't think he's particularly scared of that. i think he's resigned to it. balance is a fickle beast and he has accepted that it does not return his affections.

one time a kraken almost drowned him?

the buried

known claustrophobe!

almost got pinned in a cave, unable to move, on multiple different occasions!

this man and caves in general have a very very bad relationship. they keep making him be underground and then terrible things happen to him down there.

drowning goes here also :)

the dark

"Funny. Before all of this, I used to fear the dark. Not in any crippling way, but – but now it’s… well, now it’s no different."

used to be unnerved by the dark and now he is blind. checks out

also, the dark world. it's in the name, baby. that's more john's fear but i think it has to rub off on him at least a little bit

the corruption

eeeeverything that happened with the witch. she tried to use him to breed maggots. now that's what i call Corrupt™

horig, also

obsessive, almost self-destructive levels of devotion to an entity that killed his friend and wrecked his life. listen i'm supportive i think they're perfect for each other in an ESH way i'm just saying this probably also falls into the corruption's purview (ty luci)

ESPECIALLY considering john lives in his body like a parasite. not trying to be derogatory here but like, on an objective level. he is stealing his body parts. and arthur loves him. again, incredibly on-brand for the corruption

the web

he Doesn't Like Being Told What To Do >:[

ongoing vendetta against cult shit for this exact reason

the idea of not having fully free will seems to be very actively and deeply concerning for him

"I am the captain of my soul" and so on and so forth

got literally brainwormed by The Creature back in addison (twice!)

the flesh

Michael Fucking Faust

also, had to bite his own finger off before that. in case you needed or wanted some bonus points

the hunt

HOO BOY has he ever been Hunted. so many times by so many different things. take your fucking pick

also: "You are hunting." / "Predators need to be hunted." <- basically an active prayer to the hunt

this man is prey animal rage incarnate honestly. go!! lose yourself in the bloodlust!! kill them before they can kill you!!!!

john would really appreciate it if he was a little Less cozy with the hunt tbh :(

the extinction

i'm actually not counting this one bc it doesn't take avatars and also doesn't rrrreally exist yet

he's lived through a world war and a pandemic. how's that. i think that's as good as it gets.

CONCLUSION: i still think arthur should go shake hands with the vast and get carried off by a bird and hope that gets the rest of these assholes to fuck off. i think it's his best bet atp.

[thecoffeelorian]

The Anomaly Series, Chapter 3: The Quest (Jod Na Nawood x Reader)

A/N: ...Yes, this story is now, OFFICIALLY, canon divergent. Ya know, because I don't condone/endorse violence against children, and any other disclaimers I need to put here.

Also, there are three literal episodes left, so pardon me if I'm still holding out for Jod and Neel eventually twinning in their clothing choices in canon. 'Nuff said.

Chapter Title: The Quest

Genre: Drama/Romance; Slow Burn; Obvious Canon Divergence.

Word Count: 1,698 words

AO3: Click Here!

Special Notes: As I'm not yet sure how I even begin to breach the topic of child abuse here...let's just do the safe thing and label this as 'Spoilers up to Episode 4'. Thank you.

No Pressure Tags:

@chenoa-devyn-blog @not-approvedtrash @lulalovez @deepestballoonllama-fandoms @papa-poutine

@xbeyondthegatex @bridge-always @loverdjudeforever @kucharka23 @khaleesihavilliard

@xitlalli2001 @braveincafleet @amawu23 @gun-roswell @bruceewayne

@shirley-girly @cloudofpinkicecream @lokigirlszendaya @valdasha @aemondvelaryon

@carry-on-wayward-daughter @pantasticalcat @robin-hyperfixates @down-down-by-the-river @sydneyann623

@brookeandherfandoms @kazunish @redermraven @ladyofthelakee @nightlordsvengence

@tarboo13 and anybody else who wonders what romance would look like for this hot mess of a man. :D

I’m a person who needs your help…

As of ten seconds ago, every other thought that had once been safe inside your mind feels as though they’ve all flown away, and so not left much else behind them save for one of the few thoughts that remains.

You’re officially involved.

There’s no other way around it now, because you’re feeling it too deep in your consciousness to turn back. You’re involved in this stranger’s case, and it’s going to take nothing less than a little Reclamation of your own to knock you off this path, and—despite all of your previous attempts to calm down, there’s some of the old adrenaline starting to course back into your body.

My help…? What kind of help do you need?

This rush makes you just a tiny bit lightheaded as you wait for Jack’s response, not knowing if he’s about to try and sweet-talk you into arranging a jailbreak or not. That was THE one thing that the Reclamation Committee had been worried about, and so, even if he let loose with a mountain of ‘Sweethearts’, odds already were that you would have to turn him down due to your ingrained obedience to the Law.

The same Law that, unfortunately, has spirited him out of your reach and out of your sight.

Something that I doubt my jailers want anything to do with.

And why is that?

They’re the ones who just robbed me.

Not that you’ll necessarily have to, maybe, because he hasn’t brought it up yet…but then again, he could always try to trick you up by slipping some kind of missing key or lockpick into the mix. Judging by how the security droids were more than happy to keep their weapons trained upon him, anything is possible here.

I’m sorry.

No need to apologize to me, sweetheart. You’re not the one who did this.

But I am the one you want to help fix it...right?

That depends. How good are you at finding lost things?

That’s one thought you have to keep fresh and safe inside your mind no matter what, along with eventually refusing him in that sense if it should happen.

In the meantime, though, you’re adding a second page to this new file of yours, as you have a slight feeling that you might certainly need it later.

Well…I once found my best friend’s missing keychain back in school.

That must have been a while ago, though. What about recently?

That depends on where you’re going with this. What’s so important that you need my assistance?

Fine. They took all my belongings away before they locked me up. Happy now?

Another thought that you’re unfortunately blessed with, though, is the image of Crimson Jack being attacked by two prison droids. The first never thinks twice about administering a few short electric shocks; the second strips him clean of any and all weapons or tools; and then finally, both of them turn and tilt their heads to each other in a gesture of smug triumph.

More like slightly flustered, but thank you—

—‘Flustered’?

It’s what happens when a person’s annoyed, confused, or both. Continue.

All right…

This is one thought you don’t want to fixate on too strongly, because you already have a feeling that you might end up worrying yourself sick if you don’t pull yourself together first. No, it’ll be better for the both of you if you have work like this to focus on instead, and for this reason, you add a third page.

…First item, a blaster pistol of my own making, about twenty-five years old with a slim wooden handle. Second item—

—Wait, what’s a blaster?

You’ve never seen a blaster before?

I’ve never seen a war before. Care to describe it?

There’s a small pause between writing, almost as though he’s stopping to think or else let out a sigh of frustration—then your next set of directions comes.

All right, look. I don’t want to take all day, and I’m guessing you have plans, so let’s keep it simple. Put your hand flat out in front of you.

As for you, you’re left raising both eyebrows before doing as you’re asked, though not without feeling just a little bit silly.

Now, take the last two fingers on whatever hand you’ve picked, and curl them in towards you.

Another curious direction, to be sure…yet you obey that one as well.

And finally, once you’re ready, raise your remaining three fingers up and act like you’re shooting the wall.

Once you’ve fully caught on to this particular mental image, however, that’s when you almost drop your writing equipment out of shock.

…Heck.

Nasty thing, isn’t it?

Wow, you think?!

Try spending twenty years with one of those aimed at you, and you’ll get what war is.

Whatever you say, CJ…

You let out an annoyed huff of your own before adding a fourth page to your document, somewhat feeling as though you might cut this conversation off if it gets too—well, wild. As someone who still knows precious little about the one you’re writing to, you certainly count this idea as a possibility.

…Any other weapons I need to know about?

‘CJ’?

Those are your initials, silly. Think of it like a nickname if that’s easier.

Hm…

Another small pause. He seems to be taking his time figuring out what to make of you as well, or so the slow pacing of this ‘meeting’ suggests to you.

…Anyways. As I was saying, second item, fairly unused Lightsaber as I prefer the blaster.

I suppose that's like a knife?

If you want to make comparisons, yes. It's got a thin, metallic hilt and so far, it's powered by a green colored stone somewhere in there.

Right...thin hilt, green stone. What else?

Brown jacket with gray stripes on the sleeves and collar. That’s the third item I’m missing.

And the fourth?

It’s sewn inside the third. In fact, if you have a chance, I’d prefer to recover both of them before we find the others.

So it’s all a big mystery for you to solve, then. Some off-the-wall version of the Great Party Icebreaker to endear you to The New Guy In The Office, provided as always that you don’t end up contracting Foot-In-Your-Mouth Disease.

Ah, well...your nights at home, totally alone, were getting a little boring anyway.

Very good...so you’re in a holding cell right now, I assume?

Obviously.

What are you being charged with?

A fifth page. Gods, this file’s getting a little big, or so you’re all too happy to tell yourself as nobody else can see the awkward look on your face right now.

Nobody’s bothered to tell me.

Have you been provided any legal counsel?

What’s that?

And yet, as awkward as all of this feels, you’ve definitely got your work cut out for you. Work that involves making sure that any possible trial moves forward without a hitch, because with a suspect as high-profile as this one, there’s no way anybody will want to risk the case being thrown out.

A pity they don’t make Lawyer Droids for this exact purpose.

Nevertheless, with the three words ‘MUST. FIND. LEGAL COUNSEL.’ written on the imaginary wall in your mind, you’re still pushing yourself onward just a bit further, as you’re more or less feeling that you’re too far in to turn back now.

Okay...just a few more things before we wrap things up here.

Go on.

Firstly...why me? And—and what was it that happened out there on the landing pad?

A third pause. He’s either taking his time finding the right words to answer you with, or else to cook up a pretty plausible lie with which to keep you occupied. Strange how the one seems so much like the other, at least at this moment in time.

I...don’t really know for sure.

‘Don’t know’? You don’t know if you have some special talent, or you don’t know why your special talent reacted the way it did?

Both. Neither. It’s as crazy to me as it is to you.

Fine…

You’ll be sure to find out what’s really taking place here, though, if there’s any way to get in touch with the people—or droids—who took him into custody. You might also try poking around the local library later this week, if there’s any chance at all that there might be some hint of your new life situation to read up on.

As for how the little crew he traveled with might figure into this, a fact that you’re far too keen to forget about even as you add a sixth page to this file—

And the last thing you wanted to ask me?

Simple…do your traveling companions know where you are?

—You’re working on it. Maybe you’ll have to get parental consent before questioning them. Maybe they’ll instead show up on your doorstep one day, hands full of dataries and voices full of pleading, totally ready to cooperate and compensate you for your time in one go. Either way, they’re witnesses.

When it comes to whether or not Crimson Jack himself will help his case or harm it, well...that concept just isn’t as clear. In fact, he very nearly confuses you with no pauses, awkward silences, or hesitations of any kind.

Just a slowly written No, almost as though just thinking about this part is too painful.

As for you, you can still remember how scared those kids were at the mere thought of him being harmed by the security droids...so it’s more than just a little bit understandable. Whatever else happened up there, whatever blaster fights, lightsaber duels, or anything else that this group saw...they must have had some time to bond.

But you’d like to see them, right?

YES.

Good. I won’t waste any time if I can help it, but I will need you to give me something in return first.

And that is…?

Your true name.

And if you have any grasp upon this stranger’s character, which you hope very much that you do—that bond just might be the key to saving old Crimson Jack’s life.

TO BE CONTINUED

[echologname]

In support of Sam x Danny

We never got to see what the relationship of the Phantom trio was like before the portal accident but I think it's mostly similar to how we see them in the show. To me, it seems like it's implied that Sam always secretly liked Danny and then one fateful day, she and Tucker witnessed him almost die, don't you think after something traumatic like that, it's harder to keep feelings for another inside? Also, after Danny got his powers and started fighting ghosts, Sam got to witness his bravery and willingness to help people put to extreme tests. She didn't fall in love with him because of cool powers, she genuinely fell in love with who he is. His new life as a halfa, like all trials in life, helped him to become a better person, throughout their adventures virtues were strengthened and vices were weakened and their friendship was matured through its testing. I don't see it but it's a common claim that Sam only started crushing on Danny AFTER he got his powers which paints her in a shallow view. So, I'd like to point out correlation does not necessarily equal causation. Clearly Danny went through big changes from the accident but I betcha Sam and Tucker weren't quite the same themselves and if one of them being a more prominent openness to showing affection then there's nothing wrong with that.

Whether friends or lovers, I think both work but I just wanted to say, Sam doesn't deserve the hate she gets from fans for canonically being the one to end up with Danny in the end. And who's to say it's a forever thing? Teens are constantly growing and changing and so are their romantic interests. It's OK to think you work together at one point and not so much the next. Their identities are still developing and so are their brains. And if they do stay together forever, no matter what happens, then isn't that all the more sweet and wholesome? Even if Sam had an inkling of ghostly bias towards liking him, it's totally the green eyes given how much she likes plants and nature (ironically green is the color of life and health).

The whole episode with Sam falling for the fake foreign exchange guy who looks a lot like Danny's ghost form doesn't help her case. I get it, because of an example like this, fans fear she likes Phantom more than Fenton. But his whole persona WAS all an act for the purpose of targeting what a specific girl likes like telling Sam he was a vegetarian then acted like a jock in front of cheerleaders. Or maybe this is what she needed, to see that like Danny, this guy also had an alter ego but he was using it deceptively for personal gain. Meeting Danny PHANTOM for the first time might have felt like meeting a new person to her, so a stranger from another country symbolizes that. Then the truth about him being a jerk comes out when he metaphorically, "drops his mask." Sam knows both sides of Danny and knows that he isn't like that guy at all, and she's seen for herself that he's still himself no matter what he looks like. He genuinely wants to help people and doesn't put on an act. Perhaps this failed relationship helped her realize how much Danny cares for her both as Fenton AND Phantom and that he's always been a good friend she can trust (he DID spy on her in the episode and of course Sam was offended but it didn't really hurt their relationship).

Disagreeing with them being together is still understandable but c'mon, how many relationships were you in that was also a cringe pairing? Relationships aren't perfect but the people that we were/are with have helped us understand ourselves and each other more. The person you're with now may be who you need to be with for a certain period of your life to help prepare you for the one you'll be with forever. It's important for even awkward and rash relationships to take their course so we can grow from them.

So, I think we can find it in our hearts to be more forgiving to some cartoon kids. Sam and Danny's relationship is an important part of their character development no matter how it turns out or how much the ship is hated.

[secondbeatsongs]

going through some old logs, and I need you to understand just how truly unhinged early 2010s RP omegle was.

genuinely you could stay on there for hours with just one person, hashing out complex traumatic backstories, drawn-out love confessions, detailed action scenes...collaboratively describing graphic violence, past abuse, comfort, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, any number of sex acts...and then one of you would be like, "oh haha it's 2AM! I have to sleep :(" and the other person would say, "omg saaaame. :( gnight!!!" and then you'd exit the chat and never speak to each other again, and this was. fine.

you could just spend an entire evening shoving your wretched, bleeding soul into a chat log with someone you'd never meet or learn the name of, achieve some form of emotional catharsis, and then go about your day or night like this was an average way to spend your time.

I'm really normal about this, actually

[mikesbasementbeets]

byler in every episode -> 3.04. the sauna test

[poppysworld-versionwhoknows]

"Look, I'm really trying to make sense of this entire thing- you're telling me this guy killed several people, cannibalized some of them, bit the arm off of someone he supposedly loves and is STILL allowed to roam freely!?"

The toon was in genuine disbelief.

"I get trying to change but- maybe for his own and everyone elses saftey he should be limited to specific spaces?"

He tried to reason without sounding too rude or invasive. The expression on Vees face was enough to convince him something more needs to be done.

"I... I don't understand how you have so much faith in him-"

"BoxtenI'mtryingtonotescalatethesituation."

Boxten shook his head as if dismissing Cosmo's concerns. Now shifting his attention to a topic he's more worried about.

"As for... Her. Yes. Keep him away, none of us know what she's capable of but... It's not looking good for anyone right now. So far she's managed to twist someone she's supposed to be the guardian of. If she can do that to her own I can't imagine what she'd do to a stranger she doesn't fancy."

He'd say in an almost urgent tone.

(to Shrimpo, Tisha, Boxten, and Cosmo [OOC : TOODLES IS NOT INCLUDED CUZ GIRLIE DOES *NOT* NEED TO SEE VEE]) The damaged tv limped over to the PW!Mains. parts of her body were missing, her tv head having several dents, as well as her spine practically being partially exposed. There was a noticeable ichor trail behind her, leading who-knows how far. ''H3lLo!- s0rry for tH3 mess!- I'Ve heaRd ab0ut you gUys and just H4D to see for mY5elf-'' (Hello!- Sorry for the mess!- I've heard about you guys and just HAD to see for myself-) She looked at the two, recalling something. ''I'd aL50 Like 2 Thank yOu for Kn0cKing some sen5e into Dandy.. well uh- MY Dandy.. n0t the ye11ow one I heard a8out-Al50 DoNT minD the- uh..'' (I'd also like to thank you for knocking some sense into Dandy.. well uh- MY Dandy.. not the yellow one I heard about- Also don't mind the uh..) she quietly motioned towards her injuries with an ashamed expression, trying to laugh it off -Vee [Redandymated] [ooc again: OooOO a more angsty character upon ye]

The four toons were interrupted mid conversation, first annoyed Tisha glared at the new toon before her expression turned to one of pure concern as she spoke. "DEAR GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU!?" She'd walk over to RDM! Vee and held her face up to inspect the damage. The other three followed quickly after. "What-... how- how are you even alive!? SHit, let me see if I can heal you in any way." Cosmo added to Tisha's comment. Boxten stood behind him at a loss for what to do or even say in this situation. "You're telling me that damned rainbow bastard that tried to flirt with me had something to do with THIS!? THE IDIOT COULD'T STAND HIS GROUND FOR A MINUTE." Shrimpo stood near a door, glancing between it and the others, maybe he wanted to go finish the job. "Shrimpo that's because not EVERYONE is a trained martial artist. Now go make yourself useful and find me some bandages." Tisha said while still holding onto Vee firmly. Cosmo nodding to her statement. Boxten walked over to Shrimpo before he had the chance to leave, whispering something along the lines of ("Whatever you do don't let... her know.") Shrimpo nodded, then left without another word.

(OOC; THIS WAS FUN TO WRITE)

[circlesthatyoufind]

i completely understand the bisexual headcanons but there is something so 👌👏👍🤌 about gay and lesbian steve and nancy. like...the comphet is brain deadening.

[uncanny-tranny]

Getting emotional reading my textbook which includes images of cadavers - people who likely donated their bodies in order for them to now educate me. It's about learning, it's about care, and it's about supporting each other. I hope that wherever they are, they know I am grateful to all of them. I don't know them, but they now have made such a profound and humbling impact on me

Maybe this is too macabre for some, but those images in my textbook were of my fellow people, and I think it's right to be grateful for their contribution to my education, to me, it is such a selfless and kind act, something I have trouble quantifying. It feels almost holy, something which I am almost unworthy of

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[snowangeldotmp3]

kas!max mayfield

okay, this is a thought i've been rotating in my mind for a while (since vol2 dropped) and maddie (@verymuchablog42) and i were talking about the ever popular kas!eddie (which, while fun to explore, likely is not going to happen)

do you know who is the perfect candidate for a kas figure?

max mayfield.

i don't think max is out of the woods, and while it might not be an exact kas the bloody handed scenario,(i don't think the duffers would add vampires this late into the show, lol) i think we can all agree that vecna isn't done with max. yes, technically el is the one who brought her back, not vecna. but i think max is still the perfect candidate.

reason number one: she's in a coma, meaning she's basically defenseless against vecna if he were to strike again. (unless el is consistently monitoring her, which, from the looks of episode 9, she is, but still!) we know vecna/the mind flayer can possess people, and that vecna possession is way more powerful. we've seen vecna/the mind flayer possess people before, and though he's been knocked down a few pegs, he's not completely powerless. though el is the one who brought her back, vecna could be the one to give max her life back, meaning no more coma.

reason number two: the whole puppet master thing. the master of puppets is vecna, and who's the perfect puppet right now? a semi-dead girl who has a connection to el and will and the rest of the party. vecna could tear the party apart from the inside with max. (and a girl who vecna is now seemingly attached too, both with billy's possession and subsequent death, and then with max's death.)

reason number three: if we assume that max will tear the group apart from the inside, we also have to assume that she will be the one who rails against vecna with them in the end, too. because we all know max, there is no way that she wouldn't be fighting off vecna with everything she has, even while he's the only thing keeping her alive. she's going to make him pay.

reason number four: the emotional potential. god, could you imagine? not only would it break lucas and el (and the rest of the party + steve, robin, and nancy) that their best friend and girlfriend is now a puppet for the enemy, but they can't do much about it. it won't be as simple as 'play kate bush' and it saves the day.

not only that, but from max's pov, it would be emotionally devastating. 'do you accept the risk?' and this is the consequence of that risk. that tiny, seemingly insignificant acceptance, has led her to this. she didn't want to end up like billy, spent her years with him defying him the best she knew how, and yet, at the end of the day, she would have the exact same fate as him. her fate is no longer her own (has it ever been?) and she becomes the puppet for vecna's ultimate plan.

anyways, this is half me theorizing about max's s5 fate, and the other half trying to reconcile the fact that max could very well just, die. and i don't want that to happen, i want her (if she does have to go out) to go out with a bang. a 'fuck you!' to vecna, if you will. but i think if max does wake up in season 5, this is one of the routes that they could very well explore.