so i ascended

there's just a couple of other things that i'd like to ask you.

i'm not searching. i'm looking.

i've never accused you of anything.

i can see some movies five times.

uh... excuse me. i'm a little hungry.

this old man is going home.

give me a break, would you, please?

you see, in my line of work, homicide... somebody is always... well, dead.

say, that's delicious. i never tasted chili like that before.

avoid actors. they'll kill you.

i'm going home and finishing getting drunk.

she always hit me with a frying pan.

i'm always getting you angry.

before coffee, i'm up and walking around but i'm not awake.

i can't swim. i don't even like a deep tub.

i respect your talent, but i don't like anything else about you.

how about we stop pretending that i'm brilliant and you're simple!

i worry. i mean, little things bother me. i'm a worrier. i mean, little insignificant details. i lose my appetite. i can't eat.

there are a couple of loose ends i'd like to tie up. nothing important, you understand.

oh, don't mind that. that's just my lunch.

i knew you could do it.

no, never. i couldn't do that.

it's a little steep. but i'll tell you, it was the quickest way down.

i gotta take off this coat. i can't think in this coat.

oh, sorry, i didn't recognize you. you look different somehow.

if you ever wanna go again, i'd be happy to take you.

i'm hanging up. you can keep talking, but i'm gonna hang up.

why does the ice cream truck have to come just before lunch or just before dinner and spoil the children's appetite?

i don't think it's proving anything.

as a matter of fact... i don't even know what it means.

it's just one of those things that gets in my head and keeps rolling around in there like a marble.

you're a very kind man.

don't count on that.

my ears pop in an elevator. as a matter of fact, i don't even like being this tall.

i must say, i found you disappointing.

these are the worst pictures i have ever seen.

i think i'm crazy.

i won't tell a soul about your disguise.

are you trying to frighten me with some newfound masculinity?

your little joke was not funny.

you're a devious man.

you want to give them spaghetti, give them spaghetti.

now let me have my coffee first.

that's my underwear.

you're crazy. you can't prove anything like that.

nobody can be right all the time.

is that a fact, or just some more of your fancy guesswork?

the beer i had for breakfast? it wasn't bad.

i just don't know what to write.

i could use a man like you on my team.

i won't be gone long.

that's a lie.

you son of a gun.

if it hadn't been for that accident, things would've looked very bad for you now.

why are you asking me all these questions?

did somebody mention coffee?

here. buy yourself a personality.

“ babe, wake up. “

“ you okay? “

“ i had a nightmare. “

“ you’re safe... “

“ are you awake? “

“ you woke up screaming. “

“ i need a minute. “

“ it just felt so… real. “

“ wanna talk about it? “

“ i’m here, okay? “

“ it's the third one this week. are you sure everything's okay? “

“ just hold me. “

“ you almost rolled out of bed, hit your head. caught you last second. “

“ will you stay up with me? “

“ it's just a bad dream. “

“ please don’t go back to sleep just yet. “

“ want me to spray the monster under the bed? “ “ “

“ can i stay with you? i had a really bad dream. “

“ here, take my hand. “

“ you kicked me... “

“ it’s just a bad dream. “

“ hey, look at me. look at me. it’s not real. “

“ wake up! “

“ i can't breathe... “

“ c'mere. lay with me. “

“ hey… are you crying? “

“ i'm glad you're here. “

“ hey, what’s wrong? “

“ let’s stay up for a while. “

“ this is so embarrassing... “

“ i woke up screaming? “

“ probably woke the entire neighborhood... “

“ you wanna tell me [about your dream]? “

“ it was like a horror movie... “

“ you good to go to sleep? “

“ i’ll stay up with you. “

“ i had a really crazy dream. like... really crazy. “

“ i think i’m gonna stay up for a while. make sure you're okay. “

“ you’re crushing my hand. “

“ hey, calm down. calm down. you’re okay. “

“ i’m going back to sleep, but don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything. “

I had to turn this off, but it's something that allows Windows and anyone using your device to generate text/images.

She didn't know, all this dancing around the truth and giving half truths and Natasha didn't know that the younger widow was hers.

Granted, most of what Alek had to go on was whispers and guess work, but the clues were there.

"It's not possible. They removed that possibility." It is not curt, or sharp, or meant to be hurtful. It's a fact she's believed, always believed, since she can remember. For the same reason she couldn't know the others, she couldn't be allowed to have children. To build connections and be reminded of the fact that she could be more than a weapon.

She steps away from her father's side. Three paces off, half-buried in Arrakis sand, lies a man—throat opened by her own blade, the wound already dry as leather in the heat, as if the desert had claimed him before she did.

Ghanima kneels. Presses one palm to his cheek, the other to his brow. His jaw hangs slack, one canine catching the last of the light like a splinter of moon. Rigor has locked him mid-scream. She yanks; the crack of it travels up through her wrists.

The tooth does not want to leave him. Roots curve like a fishhook, clinging to the only home they have known— a memory surfaces of a mother pulling her son’s tooth with thread and a slammed door. She knows she must twist.

Slowly, wet and granular, it comes free millimeter by millimeter, ripping from the socket. A dark trickle slicks her palm. She holds up the tooth— sun-warm, enamel gleaming, its root curled, stained the deep rust-red of Arrakeen sunset.

Turning to her Papa, she offers her palm like an altar. Sand crusts her knuckles; the tooth glints. Her smile is small and strange and her own.

But he knows his Harkonnen, and he knows the Atreides-Harkonnen currently kneeling above her downed assassin, four times her physical age and without a chance against her, and of course it's both. So stands back, watches as she claims her trophy. A lion cub returning home with a new prize for her father.

When his hand closes around hers, he can feel the grit of sand rolling and pressing between their stillsuited-skin as he curls her fingers around her bloody spoil. Looks at her, the one the Atreides name was created to ordain. Shackle.

"We should take one for you too."

The crimson between them wants to make things slick despite the grit and ragged enamel-cementum edges. He knows better than to suggest golden gilding.

"No… nothing like that."

A quiet smile is still a smile.

And then Will lights up like a Christmas tree. "For real? Yeah– yes! Oh my god, I would love to."

It's hard to say what would be the best part of a few days in New York with his brother: that it's a few days in New York, or that it's a few days with his brother.

But the way he's watching Jonathan just exist in their kitchen again would probably answer that question for him.

"Can I come with you when you go back? Just for a weekend or something like that! But– but–"

But only they've been talking about it forever, and Joyce wouldn't let him go last year–

It's George Michael or it's New York but not both, Will.

He fought her on it, and he lost. Well, he got his concert last year and he's going to go to New York this year, and he's eighteen now and there's a golden ring glinting on his ear and–

"Yeah, you can." Jonathan lives in a studio apartment too small to be the size of a postage stamp, but at least it's his. There's no one to worry about when he wants to squeeze in a visitor — so long as said visitor doesn't mind that things are a little cramped compared to a Hawkins house.

Somehow he doesn't think Will's going to mind all that much.

"Just make sure you're all packed up to go." And if Joyce needed some convincing, well, he'd try his best — and he thinks it's going to help a lot that Will's only a couple months out from going anyway.

compilation of phrases taken from widow's bay, 2026's series created by katie dippold. please, adjust as needed.

we also have her journal.

there's no cell reception on the island.

you should probably know the map isn't the problem.

if you want this blood money, you gotta come and get it yourself.

am i catching you at a bad time?

it's just everything's planned, people will be waiting.

what happened to your arm?

whatever weird tale you're about to tell me, i don't wanna know.

why don't you just tell me what finally made you able to ring my doorbell?

by tonight, you won't be able to lift a finger.

you're not even supposed to have friends here.

is there somewhere else we could go?

i think i am getting mixed signals here.

that was humiliating.

please don't open that.

i'm already on my third glass of wine.

i mean, how many times can you lie?

all it takes is one to change people's minds.

there won't be a single moment of silence.

do you think i'm here for my own entertainment?

i'm a little worried you're putting too much into this thing.

i can't do anything right today.

look who gets to play victim again.

you're just so starved for attention that you had to make that about you.

it's such a wonderful night for our town.

let's go down to the cove for the bonfire.

sorry, i guess people are having fun.

"Whoa, hey." She speaks her words into the line of his jaw, her breath hot with something worse than hate. "Uh."

"No." He'd swear in front of a jury that he only places his palms on her thighs to urge her off. He'd swear up and down that he tries to be gentle, that he says, "We’re not doing this. You're angry." 

He'd leave out the part where he says, "and I'd rather pay for that properly."

And the part where Ben’s eyes wander down his own flanks, flanked by Selina's thighs. And the part where he pushed because she pulled. 

It is like a dance. A comic ballet. Ben rises; Selina twists around him; he balances her on cushioned knees, pressing her spine against the booth-back, prying off one of her thighs with the broad of his hand. She drops one arm to balance herself on him. 

"I don't see what—" she's surprisingly strong "—you're trying to prove."

Her eyes flash; something in Ben flashes in response. This oaf, this tree of a man, would deny that when she sinks her nails into the flesh under his collar, he kisses her.  

There are several words that might describe the kiss. Liquor and cherries. Abrupt, stupid and wrong, and tender and hopeful—and so organic that it seems to repel them naturally. When she slips away, and he stumbles back, Ben falters over the thought—

He’s broken something, hasn't he? The mask he’s worn so poorly slips and the lonely boy he has always been peeks through. The lonely boy whose relationships had only been conditional. Or transactional. 

Is it just because you ran into me? she wants to ask, demand, attack, but she's smart enough, self aware enough, to know she doesn't want to know the answer. That there is no right answer, especially not with the way she's feeling already.

He twists them around but he isn't getting out of it that easily — no one does, so why should he? He isn't better than anyone else in this building — and she uses her legs already straddling his thighs to lift just a little higher and trap him between them, ankles hooking behind him so he can't leave her without taking her with him.

And then he kisses her, and something burns in her ribcage. There's a reality where it soothes her sharper edges; in this reality it cuts her on them.

And she lets him go.

And she watches him through cat-hooded eyes, trying to piece together what the fuck just happened.