#never visit your grieving husband in his dreams

[dovewingkinnie]

if i ripped your wings off, would you come back down to me from heaven?

[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request made by @justsumtuffstuff: Could you do a tommy shelby imagine where you secretly have his kid but don’t tell him until one day aunt polly sees you and is like “holy shit” but that’s not the surprise, the surprise is you have twins. Just a lot of angst and fluff pretty please? ((:

This fic will have two parts!

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: It's a.. heavy fic, so beware. Interact for more

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

~~

The land of Birmingham seemed to never change, not one bit. Ever since the first people settled there, the sky hung over them as if by force, never clear enough to see prospects for the future. Robbing the poor kids of dreams, of the loud thumping in their hearts caused by excitement for the good that never came.

It would seem that God has lost his way to Birmingham, not to mention Small Heath. Dirt, smoke and silence that rang too loud when working men would finish their shifts in factories seeking peace in their homes. After all, the human brain can get used to everything.

What was the difference between going to sleep hungry every night, and the relentless churning in the depths of her stomach that Y/N felt? Pain that never let go, waking up along her side like a loyal husband, never ceasing to accompany her throughout the day. Never loosening the hold on her heart.

Oh, how cruel the fate can be, Y/N thought, looking at the white ceiling of her bedroom. One she slept in for many nights too long, carrying the weight of the curse on her shoulders.

Because she was cursed, that one she was sure. Seeing the man she loved more than anything else in the world, losing himself in the grief after another woman.

Because that was the woman whose name Y/N dared not speak or even think. That's who she was, another woman. Embodiment of pain and betrayal of so many promises, taking away the beautiful, blue gaze Y/N yearned for so badly.

God must have been so cruel, putting her through the uncertainty of ever seeing him again throughout the war, and then taking him away.

Taking him away from Y/N, and letting her watch the process. Letting her see the distance growing, the dilated pupils in his eyes after each doze of opium, fruitlessly trying to numb the pain he carried.

Y/N couldn't help but wake up everyday, wondering how different his grief would be if it was her who died. Would he cry? Would he push the other woman away, like he did her? Sometimes the pain felt like too much to handle, but Y/N would never try to pull the trigger. Subconsciously feeling the weight of shame in her chest if she'd ever somehow found out she was right. That he wouldn't care.

So she lived, losing pieces of her heart day by day, warming his bed whenever he saw it convenient.

Until that one day came, that was. Hearing the... Scary, oh so scary news from her doctor she visited in secret. Putting both of her hands on her still flat stomach, she didn't feel anything physically. Yet it was enough to find the strength, buried so deep in her heart.

The love she felt for her unborn children outweighed the love for him.

The tension in Arrow house felt heavier than usual, as Y/N dragged her heavy suitcase down the stairs before slowly making her way to his office. The pain, longing in her heart slowing her down, extending the seconds into forever.

Y/N took a deep breath as her hand pressed down on the metal handle, the loud click echoing throughout the mostly empty room. Wordlessly she slipped inside, walking up to his desk quietly, letting out a shaky breath when she stopped mere inches away from the wooden furniture. His eyes didn't move from the documents he was reading, an empty gaze fixed on black letters despite knowing she was there. Y/N waited for a second, giving him a chance to look at her. Hoping he would.

But he didn't.

”I'm leaving” she said, loud enough to be heard. Silence followed her words, loud like never before as her heart squeezed in anticipation, silently begging him to stop her. To say something. Several moments passed before he finally did, making her heart stop for a mere second.

”Safe travels, Y/N Y/L/N” He responded in a cold, husky voice and for a moment, Y/N wondered who he was, wearing his face but sounding so different.

But the dust settled, just like the weight of his words as soon as she closed the door behind her back for what she thought would be the last time.

~~

Polly's eyes cut through his skin like a blade, her gaze never changing after that one feral day. The look of contempt and disgrace not even a bit different than one she gave him finding out what happened, back then.

”I was hoping you wouldn't be so stupid” She hissed, leaning forward, reaching for a cigarette with a shaky hand. Her eyes were teary, as she inhaled the smoke. ”When you were younger I saw your mother in your eyes. Now, they're full of greed and foolishness. Just like your father's” She spat out with contempt, raising from the chair. Quickly walking up to his own, she kneeled down for a moment, to meet his gaze.

One so empty, that gave her goosebumps.

”I will never forgive you, and... Neither will you.” She whispered. ”But you will have to live with the choice you made.”

Her words echoed loudly in his head several minutes after Polly left... And they never stopped ringing now, thirty eight months later. Thomas counted, every morning to be sure. After sobering up it was difficult to tell days apart. He rarely slept, fearful of the dreams he had at first.

He saw her, she was so close and yet no matter how fast Tommy ran, he couldn't reach her. Out of his reach no matter how hard he screamed or cried. Looking at him with the burning tears he caused.

It took him three months to sober up, give up on opium and... Feel. Thomas wasn't ready for the hellish pain that dawned on him once the drug wore off. The terrifying longing that dawned on him when he felt the remnants of her perfume on his pillow. The lack of relief he hoped for so badly, throwing away every single Grace's belonging he held onto previously, burning the photos and destroying the items, but it never came.

As time stretched, it became more intense. Thomas carried the pain and guilt wherever he went, finding the smallest bit of relief only in his office, searching for Y/N in every piece of England day by day.

Replaying the ways in which he treated her, internally setting himself on fire and forcing himself to feel every bit of it. Because that's what he deserved, to feel and carry the cross he created with his own hands.

Oh how beautiful the pain was, as he'd lean back in his armchair, closing his eyes and remembering her gaze. Her scent and her laugh, echoing so lively in his mind.

...but none of it worked, no matter how many people searched. How much money he spent on the search. Almost like she disappeared into thin air.

Day by day he was dying a little, bleeding through the wounds he so desperately prevented from healing every single time. Keeping the memory of her alive in his mind, not letting the hope die. Because it was all he had. Glimmer of hope. The leader of Peaky blinders became even worse than before. The pain shaped his mind in unknown ways, as the limitless cruelty became visible to anyone who dared to cross his path. Peaky Blinders were unmatched.

Nobody besides Thomas held onto the hope anymore. Knowing Y/N for so long, John and Artur knew she wouldn't come back. Not if her life depended on it. Polly only prayed for her safety.

...and Y/N? She stopped praying once her children were born. After finding out she'd have twins, she prayed every night for them to be born healthy. It was all that mattered.

Not the fact that she had to be using a fake name after moving to Coventry, mere miles away from Birmingham. But she couldn't afford to move further.

It's been.. so fucking hard. Everything. Y/N spent every night crying, begging any God that would listen to take away the pain in her heart. The pain that her babies only managed to lessen. Working as a waitress on nightshifts after accepting the kindness of her older neighbour. Mrs Wilson offered to take care of her boys while she works to help her make ends meet. Y/N had no idea what she would do without a woman she grew to call her only family.

”It's no problem, honey. They're little angels” She said quietly with a kind smile, taking one of the boys into her arms mere days after they were born.

The pain Y/N felt by having to leave her kids every night was stronger than the physical one. Having to work a demanding job after giving birth to keep the roof over their heads.

She cried, cried so much that eventually tears ran out and all she could do was.. keep trying. The two little people by her side were giving her strength. Light that she couldn't see before them, and only existed because they were here. Keeping her own heart beating.

***

”Are you sure? I can take care of them while you go, honey. You know how much I love them, don't you?” The older lady offered eagerly, caressing Nick's cheek with a smile, and a hint of concern while she glanced at Y/N.

”Thank you, but I will take them. The least I can do is spend time with them throughout the day.” Y/N responded, smiling sadly to her neighbour who just nodded along, understanding the allusion.

Letting out a sigh, she put her hands together.

”Be careful, dear.”

Y/N squeezed her hand lightly before pulling away as she held her son's hand, while carrying the other one on her hip.

”Always”

Travelling via train took no longer than forty minutes, and with each passing mile, Y/N's anxiety grew. She hasn't been in Birmingham for a long time now, not looking back.

Yet, because of her official address being still in the Arrow house, she needed to visit the office to complete documentation for boys. She put it off as long as she could, but it was inevitable now.

Despite the negative emotions, Y/N couldn't felt.. better, having her babies with her. The familiar facial expressions or blue orbs were enough to sometimes bring her to tears, but she couldn't love them more. They were a perfect little copy of the man whose name was engraved on her heart. The older they were, the more similar looking they were and now at dashing two and a half years, both boys were troublemakers.

Slowly making their way through Birmingham, Y/N held one little hand, chatting away with Nick, who was more energised than his brother who slept soundly in his mum's arms.

”...and dat?” He asked, pointing towards the building and glancing curiously at his mama. Y/N smiled at his curiosity, seeing how similar personality wise he was to her.

”that's a house” She replied calmly. The little boy cheered loudly, throwing his arms in the air.

"Yaay! Hooose!” He squealed making her chuckle, not caring about the scolding glances from other passengers.

A couple minutes later the other little one woke up, and started fussing because obviously he also wanted to walk now, while Nick wanted to be carried now. Sighing, Y/N put one of the kids down, and as she managed to pick up little Nick, she gasped loudly seeing her son's legs already in motion as he ran towards the crowd.

”Tommy! Thomas, stop!” She yelled after him, chasing him with Nick on her hip who watched the whole thing with his blue eyes wide open. ”Tommy!” She yelled once again, and he finally turned around, stumbling upon someone.

Y/N closed the distance as fast as she could, grabbing little Tommy and pulling him back to his feet, as she checked for any bruises – found none.

”I'm so sorry, i–” She started out, wanting to apologise to the random passenger, but words died on her tongue as soon as her eyes locked with the familiar brown ones.

”Y/N?” Polly stumbled out in shock.

Fuck

Part two upcoming

[animeyanderelover]

This will be my first request, I am very happy because I LOVE your writing.

Alas aside, Yandere falls in love with a woman older than them who is very maternal for having a child, when he proposes she rejects him because she feels that they should not waste themselves on a woman who already has a child (You can do with the father whatever you want ).It would be with Atsushi, Akutagawa, Daichi Sawamura, Oikawa and if you want to add any more I don't mind

Sorry for my bad english😘😘

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, stalking, threats, violence

Tags: @shumidehiro @leveyani

You shouldn’t waste your time on me

Sawamura Daichi

🌅​Cries of a small child are what guide him through the crowds on that day, his eyes flickering over the people before they finally land on the boy who is standing there all alone. Upon asking him what happened the child tells him that he got distracted and lost his mother. As not only a police officer but also a decent human being Daichi immediately helps, asks the boy where him and his mother were last together and if he knows where his mother planned to go. If worst comes to worst and he won't be able to find the boy's mother he'll just ask the boy where he lives and will bring hm home to wait together with him until his mom returns. Luckily it never comes that far as Daichi is able to find you after half an hour of searching, the boy instantly leaving his side and running to you with tears in his eyes. He's far too humble in your eyes as he is confronted with your gratefulness, tells you that he only did his job and that anyone would have helped a crying child. Still, you make some small talk with him as you ask for his name and both of you start talking for a while with each other. That's how he finds out that you recently moved to the Miyagi prefecture with your child and live close to his neighbourhood.

🌅​The fact that he doesn't live far away from you and that he helped your child are major reasons that aid the two of you in getting so close to each other. Also, your son's dream is it to work for the police later on so he obviously views Daichi as his hero, something that flusters the man deep down a lot more than he shows. He visits you once a week when he has a free day, often bombarded with questions from your son about his job until you softly chide your child for his uncontrolled excitement. You admit to him relatively early that you moved here because your husband died and your parents live nearby as you also need to work and need someone to look after your son. Hearing that your husband died strangely enough makes more sense to him than if someone would have divorced you as only an ignorant fool would have let someone like you go. Daichi is not even going to deny his own feelings, he knows that he's extremely attracted to you. You're kind yet not too coddling, you're responsible and patient, you listen to the worries of others and are always willing to help where you can. Watching you raising your son sometimes reminds him of his high school days, a fond look on his face.

🌅​Daichi is able to stay patient in spite of his obsession, especially if the loss of your husband has been very recent. He gives you time, he allows you to grieve and focuses in the meantime on helping you and your child to integrate into the new city. The thing is that he fills that role of a supportive husband and father so nicely that neighbours and even your own parents and son can't help but support the two of you getting together. When you reject him he is a bit disheartened but he takes it really well because he realises that you didn't do so because you do not love him. You reject him because you feel not good enough but that in itself is still quite hurtful. You're such a wonderful person after all. He doesn't mind the little age gap nor does he think of you less because you have a child. In fact he's grown very fond and protective of your son who you have raised wonderfully. Still, it's wiser to not pressure you so he steps back for now. His confidence remains though, knowing that you didn't deny not being able to see him as a partner. He'll just stay in your life as a pillar of support for now and will slowly make you realise that you are everything but a waste to him.

Oikawa Tooru

👑​After a difficult divorce you make the decision to completely change your life and decide to try to reach for a dream you had when you were younger but gave up later on, deciding that you might not make it. It's better to try and fail then to never take the step. After many months of interviews, exchange of mails and documents you receive the news though. You did it. You're one of the managers for your favorite volleyball club, Club Athletico San Juan. You're so joyous, almost feel like a school girl all over again as you read the letter over and over again, kicking your feet and grinning like an idiot. Oikawa is still Oikawa even if he is by now an adult, his charming attitude still there as soon as you're introduced to the team as their new manager. His other teammates just watch with half amusement and half pity as Oikawa's charm ultimately never works. Sure, he manages to charm people quickly but he never manages to hold a relationship and they would hate for their setter and new manager to be on bad terms from the very start. You, with the divorce still freshly on your mind though, put your foot firmly down and clarify it to Oikawa very clearly that you have no intention of dating.

👑​Obviously Tooru is miffed about your blunt rejection yet another part of him can't help but respect your determination. You know what you want to focus on and he wants to acknowledge that, especially since he is essentially the same. The keyword here is want because who would have thought that his feelings would slip out of his grasp of control so quickly? You know when to put him and his childish antics in his place, chiding him almost as if he were a child and the experience feels only more realistic when he realises that you're a few years older than he is. The fact that you work so closely with him only enables him to be very overbearing as he dreams up all kinds of minor inconveniences so that he has something to complain about to have your attention on himself. Your daughter is a shocker as you have never talked about your private life before and whilst other players gush over your child he gives her a strange look at first, his mind trying to process what it could mean. He pesters you privately about it, his eyes desperate and his body tense. The tension leaves his body at least partially when you admit with a heavy sigh that you had a rough divorce before you started working here.

👑​Oikawa doesn't take the rejection very well, his heart dropping even though it doesn't have to do with the fact that you don't see him that way. Still, it is hard to stay logical with a heart as sensitive as his, especially since he is prone to being delusional. He just doesn't understand. What is it that he could have done better?? He has made it more than obvious that he is deeply in love with you. He's showered you in presents, constantly demands your attention and has even made the effort to get closer to your daughter despite initial caution he held. Is that still not enough?? What do you want him to do?? Please tell him what he as to do in order for you to accept. Honestly, your maternal instincts will come quite in handy as you're confronted with Tooru whilst his feelings threaten to burst out of him. Because it helps him to calm down and gives him the reassurance he so desperately craves from you in that moment. Nevertheless though, he ramps up his affection from a 10 to an 11 after that incident. If the problem is simply that you don't feel good enough he will change your mind. You're forgiven this one time. Do not reject him a second time though or else he might just make your job more difficult.

Nakajima Atsushi

🐅​The gentle love of a parent is a notion so foreign to Atsushi that the first encounter he has with you leaves him almost on the edge. Your kind words, the patient look in your eyes, the warmth and comfort you provide him with by simply being in the room threatens to burst his heart right at the seams. After cold deprivation for as long as he can remember your presence feels like being drowned in a bathtub filled with hot water. It's overwhelming almost, scorches his skin yet he gladly submerges himself in the heat and the sensations that come with it. He's almost immediately infatuated with you, finds himself yearning for your affection in his dreams as well as in the real world. The age difference is something that weights on his soul though as he realises how experienced you are and how clumsy he seems to be in comparison. There's a lack of knowledge with certain machines or customs that he hasn't been exposed to due to his time in the orphanage but he is always too ashamed to tell you about it. Adamant to not let himself look like a young fool in front of you, Atsushi simply refuses to ask for help or advice from you. He wants to prove to you as well as himself that he can provide for you.

🐅​As shameful as it is, there is an undeniable twinge of jealousy directed against your own child. He envies the little boy for being able to cling to you as often as he does as those are all things Atsushi desperately wishes to do as well. He wants to be held, comforted and loved by you too but he could never admit such things as he stares at your son. What would you think of him after all if he were to confess to you that he feels jealous of your own child? It doesn't stop him from clenching his hands into fists every time he witnesses you giving affection to your son, nails turning into claws as he imagines what it would be like if he were to be the one in your child's position. You and your husband have parted ways a few years ago but you still keep in contact due to the child and that just about kills Atsushi. It takes always more willpower than it should to not outright growl at the man whenever he visits. Atsushi can't even fathom how a man could let someone like you go and occasionally he imagines what it would be like to just tear that man apart whenever his jealousy gets the better of him. Chances aren't exactly zero for Atsushi to confront your ex-lover and accidentally kill him during an argument.

🐅​The beast within him tries to tame itself as good as it can for you even if results are mixed. With time he grows closer to your child though he struggles to be a parent for the little boy as he more than once acts just as childish and needy. Still, he does his best to show you that he can protect and provide for you and your child all whilst seeking emotional comfort from you. It has taken him a good chunk of courage to finally confess to you only to be met with a direct blow to his heart. The shock of your rejection numbs him for a few seconds before the weight comes crushing down. He hyperventilates, he cries, he bites his bottom lip bloody and his nails threaten to rip through the skin of his palms. That is only because he does misunderstand your rejection as you telling him that you have no interest in him. Once he has come to understand that you didn't reject him for that reason hopefully he manages to calm down at least a bit. That means that he still has a chance, doesn't he? Still, he feels like it's his fault for not having made it clearer to you just how deeply infatuated he is with you. That has to change now. Hopefully some of his seniors can give him useful tips how to woo you.

Akutagawa Ryunosuke

⬛​It is through Gin that Akutagawa finds out about you as his beneath the mask quite shy sister has befriended you and finds herself visiting your small shop once a week. Whilst he is anything but an overbearing brother this piece of information still manages to stick to him. It's the first time he has heard that Gin has made friends with someone outside the Mafia and initially he starts directing hostility against you. Akutagawa isn't an individual to trust easily as he distrusts with far more confidence and this is what he finds himself doing against you. Who are you? Are you really just a regular citizen? His sister assures him that you are not some spy nor does she plan to give you any information about the Port Mafia or her real identity but for Akutagawa actions speak louder than words. He finds himself stalking you occasionally, dark eyes trailing after you. A scoff appears on his face the moment he notices the boy following you, realising that you have a child. How naive you must be, keeping a child whilst involving yourself with a mafioso. If you really are just a normal person you must have no motherly senses at all or else you wouldn't hang out casually with Gin.

⬛​Akutagawa never had a mother who raised him as he has grown up in a violent environment from a very young ago. None of his mentor figures have ever given him even an ounce of affection which has led him to believe that love is a weakness. A weakness he has fallen victim to. A part of him itches to use Rashomon to tear you and that little brat apart yet he holds himself back. Partially because his emotions are messy and partially for his sister's sake as she cherishes you. It's Gin he turns to as his curiosity grows and it is through her he finds out most information about you. The most pressing issue for him is who the father of your son is and even if Gin tells him that you have parted with the guy long before your child was born that doesn't stop Akutagawa's urges to rip that man apart for his mere existence. Stalking you becomes quite difficult, his possessive side flaring up the moment you talk to another man and give him a smile. It's the horrified gaze of his sister that holds him back but that is no guarantee that it'll work every single time. Only to his sister is he able to admit his conflicting feelings to you and both of them know that it is only a question of time when you will find out.

⬛​Still, even if it comes that far Gin wishes for her brother to not terrorise and hurt you even with his obsession. She cares for Akutagawa but you're still her friend and she likes your child as well. She wants him to attempt to confess to you the normal way at least once and if you reject him she kind of knows that there's little she can do. Unable to live with herself if she wouldn't try though Gin introduces her brother to you who finds himself incredibly awkward as he is completely out of his comfort zone, easily irritated and with little patience, especially when your son is around. Big chance that Gin is lurking around in the distance when Akutagawa tries confessing, already looking like he is glaring at you. He honestly only knows what to do in case you reject him because you don't like him which is instantly doing what he can do best. Inflicting fear upon you whilst using Rashomon. He isn't prepared for you rejecting him because you think he shouldn't bother with you and is left so perplexed with that answer that he just stares at you for a good while. Ultimately this only delays the abduction though because it'll still happen. He's promised Gin to not harm your son though.

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; iv

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 9.5k i think

summary:  "We've always known what the Harkonnens are. And yet, they sent me, happily, to marry the devil. To become one."

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, incorrect lore probably, brief allusion to blood kink (blink and you miss it), reader has some mommy issues and also some daddy issues, reader is also a bit of a diva buttttt thats ok shes grieving, height difference mention (Paul is taller than reader).

notes: back with chapter four! Thanks so much again you guys for all of the feedback, it's so so appreciated. I'm happy you're liking it!! this is very unedited. lmk what you think :)

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My Dear Niece,

I hope this message finds you in good health and spirits, despite the trying times you have endured. It has been far too long since we last spoke, and I have often found myself thinking of you and wondering how you are faring - but I am hopeful that Caladan will be more forgiving with message deliveries.

First and foremost, allow me to offer my condolences. I cannot begin to imagine the pain and sorrow you must have experienced in the wake of the tragedy that befell your family at the hands of those beasts. To have been thrust into the midst of such turmoil and danger, surrounded by those who brought about such devastation, must have been unimaginably difficult.

I write to you also with a sincere and heartfelt congratulations on your recent betrothal to Paul Atreides. While I understand that this union may have come as a surprise, I have every confidence that you will make a splendid bride and wife. Duke Leto is a noble and honorable man, and I have no doubt that his son is the very same. I know that he will cherish and protect you with all his heart.

Please know that you are not alone in your sorrow, my dear niece. Though distance may separate us, if ever you feel the need for comfort or companionship, know that our home is always open to you. You are welcome to visit whenever you please, and I would be honored to meet your new husband and welcome him into our family.

In the meantime, I hope this message finds you well and brings some small measure of comfort to your troubled heart. You are a strong and resilient woman, my dear, and I have every confidence that you will emerge from this darkness stronger than ever before.

With all my love and affection,

Lady Ginaz

- Message sent to Lady Bourbon from the Lady Ginaz. 10191. Caladan.

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For the second time in his life, Paul is roused by his mother in the dead of the night.

When she insists he follow her, she wears a similarly grave face to the first time - spooked, uneasy. He was not given the grace to even find shoes this time before she grasped his bicep, pulling him along to her own quarters and through a hallway lit only by the full moon outside; Too tired to protest and still yawning at the curling tendrils of slumber, he drags his bare feet along the stone floor. Still blinking sleep from his eyes, a sense of dread fills him when he crosses into the dimly lit chamber at the end of the hall; an ornate chair placed in the center, and on sitting atop it is the imposing figure of the Reverend Mother.

Paul's heart clenches; his eyes are alert immediately.

Their previous encounter; searing pain, the Gom Jabbar - a test of his humanity. He struggles to conceal the rage that simmers beneath the surface, a bitter reminder of what he'd endured - and for no reason.

He should never have told his mother about the dreams.

Already knowing, but needing the affirmation, he clenches his jaw. "What's this?" He turns to ask his mother, whose stare is icy and less fearful than it was those years before. She doesn't respond, only nudges him forward, towards the woman in the center of the room.

As the Reverend Mother's piercing gaze meets his own, Paul squares his shoulders, steeling himself for what is to come; He'll have to tread carefully, lest he betray the depth of his emotions - or the truth about his dreams.

The Reverend Mother speaks, her voice a low, commanding tone that fills the room. "Tell me of your dreams, Paul Atreides," her eyes bore into his own. Paul hesitates for a moment, glaring to his mother- Lady Jessica nods subtly, her expression urging him to speak the truth; Anger courses through him, but he knows there is no choice for him now.

Summoning his courage, Paul begins to recount the vivid images that have haunted his nights.

Leaving out the details he suspects are less...important, he instead focuses on the more foreboding parts; The eerie familiarity of the clearing, the ceremonial sheet spread like a shroud. Ash falling from the sky, the missile streaks in the sky and the burning of the large pine; a shiver runs down his spine - the visions feel like a portent of doom, and it brings him to a hushed quiet.

"I've tried to make sense of them," His voice comes out just as frustrated as he feels, "But they're elusive. Fragmented. She's always there."

It seems he doesn't have to elaborate on who he's talking about - the woman's eyes flash before him from under her thick veil. She says nothing, but a sharp glance from his mother makes him clear his throat, confessing the dream his mother had woke him from not minutes ago.

"And in the last dream," Paul's jaw tightens, the memory of the vision burning bright in his mind, "I saw someone... stabbing me," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. "A black-hilted knife, with an engraved blade."

The words hang heavy in the air, sending a ripple of unease through the chamber. Paul can feel the weight of the Reverend Mother's scrutiny, her eyes boring into his soul as if searching for the truth buried within. He's not sure if his mother is making the connection; you've brought that knife with you nearly everywhere since you got it back. To him, it's inevitable.

The Reverend Mother's expression is unreadable as she absorbs his words. Paul braces himself for her response, knowing that what he's revealed may have far-reaching consequences; He cannot afford to hide the visions that plague his mind—not if what you said about Sabberon is true. The Reverend Mother regards him with a penetrating stare. "Interesting," she murmurs. "Your dreams hold great significance, Paul Atreides."

Paul's frustration boils to the surface as he listens to the Reverend Mother's cryptic response; He knows what she is capable of, he knows how powerful the Bene Gesserit are in the galaxy - yet his resentment grows and boils within him. Resisting a snarl, he glares sharply, trying to quell the anger, confusion.

"Significance?" Paul retorts, his voice laced with bitterness. "I will not be a pawn in your schemes," he declares, his voice ringing with conviction. "I am the heir to House Atreides. I will not allow my fate to be dictated by prophecy or visions."

His words echo in the chamber; Lady Jessica places a sharp hand on his shoulder, her sharp inhale bristling the hair on Paul's neck.

"Silence."

Whatever words of anger he was about to say halt on his tongue. Prickles of anger wash over him when he comes out of the quick haze; she dares use the Voice on him, yet again.

Her voice is harsh when it comes, eyes sharp as tiny beads behind the black of her dressing. "You are the heir to a great legacy, but with that inheritance comes duty. Tread carefully, Paul Atreides. The choices you make will shape the fate of many." These words are extremely discomforting; Once again he is filled with the spoilt disdain of their fanatic manipulations.

The Reverend Mother continues, her gaze steady and unwavering. "You possess a strength within you, a strength born of both blood and spirit; but true strength lies not in the wielding of power, but in the mastery of oneself. Trust in your instincts, but do not let them blind you."

He refuses to speak.

His mother is fearful behind him; he can feel it radiating off of her, and it fills him with even more indignation. His eyes pierce through her veil, waiting for her to finish. "You may go." She dismisses, and he has no problem turning heel, walking briskly to the door.

"Not you, Jessica."

Jaw clenching at the tone of disrespect the woman uses towards his mother, he almost turns around; but somewhere in his mind is a hazy insistence from his mother- urging him to leave them. He does, lingering to listen to the hushed whispers behind the closed door for only a moment.

"-with the girl, too.You must ensure they go down the right path."

He doesn't bother to stay and hear the rest of it.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

The clashing of blades chimes in your ears with surprise when you arrive for training in the late morning.

It's more common than not to find Duncan sitting, cleaning blades or stretching when you arrive for lessons, but today, it seems he and Paul are thoroughly engrossed in sparring and don't notice when you enter.

They move with that dance-like rhythm you grew up learning; one then the other - legs lunging, arms parrying and striking. They circle each other with cautious precision; Paul's movements are fluid and graceful, calculated - his proficiency comes as somewhat of a shock to you. With such a lithe, deft body, you'd assumed him little match for someone like Duncan. Perhaps, in your own vain perception, you'd expected him to have been meagerly gifted in the art of fighting, having been so well-endowed in the areas of strategy, politics, governance. Of course, you sigh. He's grown up here on Caladan - a Duke's son, trained to become a fair and mighty ruler one day. You suppose you shouldn't be so surprised, he's trained for it all his whole life.

You're sourly impressed as Paul matches him blow for blow, cheeks dusted with pink, barely a glean of sweat across his furrowed brow. A strike against Duncan hits unblocked; The older man, in turn, lets out a huff of laughter - pride flickers in his eyes as he watches Paul strike again.

It turns your blood to acid as you lean against the doorframe; waiting is becoming quite a drag. Duncan, watching Paul as if he were his own son; anger bites at your heels, pushing down the resentment you harbor. He couldn't have done anything when you were sent to Giedi Prime; rationally, you understand that, but the bitterness lingers, a reminder of the betrayal you felt at being abandoned to your fate years ago. There was a time years ago where you would spar with him like this in the weapons arena on Sabberon during the Harvest season- leaves falling red and yellow from their branches, the smell of roast and cider rising into the air.

Duncan's blade presses to Paul's side in a sudden move. Grunting, Paul can't seem to parry, and the blade is moments away from penetrating the shield and breaking through; God forbid he hurts that precious porcelain skin, You think. Briefly, as you watch the shield flicker red, you wonder how dark Paul's blood would flow. Feyd-Rautha's blood was so dark it was nearly black - a crimson color when it smeared across his skin; a tangy, sharp metallic taste when he'd pressed his bloodied fingers to your lips. You blink your eyes hard, pressing away the urge with a furrowed brow.

Your patience is gone, but luckily, Duncan seems to notice you first.

A spare glance in your direction as you linger in the entryway and he's fumbling - Paul takes the moment to strike, knocking Duncan to the ground with his blade pressed against his throat. Your brows raise.

With a wipe of sweat from his brow, Duncan's eyes skirt to the clock and he huffs, "Sorry, we must've lost track of the time." He mutters, taking Paul's extended hand. Paul nods at you in greeting; you nod back just as terse, ignoring the shocked look on Duncan's face at your appearance.

"It's fine. I believe I'm early." You reason, turning to walk towards the mat, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Duncan's stare on you; since you refused the veil from Hestia this morning, each person has looked at you the same - surprise, intrigue. You have to resist a snarl.

Paul, whose eyes flick to you then towards the weapons table, seems to be the only person this morning who hasn't stared at you as if you'd grown another head - but you're not fooled by his capacity to regard you simply as yourself this morning. Yesterday, he promised to never disrespect you; you suppose in turn, you will never disrespect him. That much will be given. But respecting someone is not the same as enjoying someone's company, and a moment of camaraderie is just a moment of weakness; You know he doesn't want this as much as you don't, but you will have to use this marriage as leverage if you ever want to make sure the Harkonnens stay off of Sabberon. And that means building trust.

Paul looks at you from the corner of his eyes for a moment before beginning to disinfect the blade he'd been using; Reaching to hold it out for you to take, you decline the offer.

Instead, your hand finds the hilt of your own blade, "No, thank you. I prefer to use my own."

Paul's eyes catch and linger on the blade; He blinks those long lashes a few times, as if deep in thought, before nodding. "Of course." He says, voice quiet as he turns. Duncan watches with disinterest, sipping on a cup of water as Paul brushes past you, giving you a tight-lipped, emotionless smile.

It's not until he's gone that you turn your stare to Duncan Idaho.

"He fights like you," You observe, beginning to stretch; if it's instigative, let it be.

Duncan's brow raises, "That's a good thing." He retorts, running a finger over the blade Paul had set down. You roll your eyes, concealing it by unsheathing your blade to begin sharpening it.

You can feel his stare. you know Duncan - he's not going to come out and say it, given how you've received his presence since arriving on Caladan; Instead, you beat him to it, turning to meet his eyes. "Did you expect me to be bald under the veil?" You ask, lifting a brow, "I lived there long enough, didn't I?"

He holds his hands up defensively, "I didn't say anything." He's right; you're acting up. Acting out. Probably both. You send him a look, "You didn't have to." You feel a defensive streak kick in yourself, considering what you'd learned about your own heritage by Paul yesterday. You'd been embarrassed in front of him - not knowing your own House's marriage traditions, or even the correct mourning phases? You looked like a fool.

He shakes his head. "You just... you've gotten older. You look like your mother." A pain that you've been holding down surfaces, striking you in the small gap your wall had built around your heart; guilt of survival, anger at your mother and all she'd done, everything shatters. You glare, throwing your knife onto the table in front of you.

"Don't speak to me of any of them, Duncan Idaho." You snap, eyes burning with emotion. "I was never prepared to be the last Bourbon alive, but now there's nobody left to witness my traditions being broken but myself." You say coldly, "I'm done with the veils and the gowns; I'm barely a Bourbon at all anymore. I didn't even know there were traditions until my betrothed informed me of them." Your voice is venomous; You can tell Duncan is preparing himself for a fight of words and not blades as he walks towards you.

"You've always been a fighter, my lady," Duncan chooses, his tone filled with respect; you can't help but hear the voice of someone who is approaching a cornered hound. "But you don't have to face it all alone."

Astounded, you almost laugh. "Really?" You snap, "Then where were you?"

You knew it would boil over at some point; By the look on his face, he knew it too.

Hands shaking, you take a shaky breath, "I was there with them - with him - for four years. Four years." You say, heart thundering, "Not one single fucking check-in, no visit, nothing. Nobody batted an eye when my messages stopped delivering, when there was never a wedding?"

You're not finished; the floodgates open, you're at your own mercy to stop and you can't help but continue. "-They had to have known what kind of monsters they'd shipped me off to, right? We were allies with the Atreides for centuries; we've always known what the Harkonnens are."

You laugh mirthlessly, "And yet, they sent me, happily, to marry the devil. To become one." You're breathing hard, hands shaking - the room feels hot and you can't seem to catch your breath. "-And I know, Duncan. I know that your hands were tied." You sigh, pressing your hands to your cheeks to soothe the heat. Thankfully, no tears fall. "I don't blame you, really, but- you're the only person left to be angry towards." Your voice cracks as you look down, shame burning on your face.

Duncan's expression softens, his gaze filled with regret and remorse. "I'm sorry for everything you lost, my lady." he says, his voice heavy; You resist the urge to pull him into an embrace, to feel the warmth of someone else and feel safe for the first time in so long. Instead you stand, barren and alone, in the middle of the floor.

"I should have been there for you - they should have, too."

It strikes a bout of guilt in you to make him admit something so ugly when you know he is grieving their loss just as you are. "They should have done something to help you. It's okay to still be angry with them, what they did to you, even if you're mourning them."

His words cut through the haze of anger and pain and you're stuck with an exhaustion - one that comes from the years of neglect and abandonment. You look down at the ground; perhaps it won't hurt to have someone on your side, someone you trust. It's been a dangerous and lonely several years, and you're tired of always trying to watch your own back. Clearing your throat, you nod. "I'm sorry, Duncan." You utter, looking up at him squarely. "I shouldn't have treated you coldly. I haven't been taking this change well at all." You confess.

He gives you a look, shaking his head, "There is nothing for you to apologize for, Little Bourbon." At the shadow of a smile on your face, he grins; He's always known what will cheer you up - tossing you your blade from where it sat on the table, he squares himself. You catch it deftly, rolling your neck and squaring yourself, thankful for the end of such a vulnerable moment.

The sound of footsteps disrupts you. You crane your neck behind you; A soldier walks through the room, but instead of addressing Duncan after bowing to you, he speaks to you.

"My lady." He starts. You raise a brow in question. "The Lady Jessica wishes to speak with you over lunch in her quarters now, if you have a moment."

You grit your teeth, a shot of uncertainty flooding you. You've yet to dine with her on your own yet - something about her sets you on edge, and you'd really prefer to spar to take your mind off of everything.

But you know better than to refuse the lady of the house's wishes.

"And spoil my fun here?" You ask, voice dry. "Alright."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

Lunch is barely picked at before Lady Jessica brings it up.

When she speaks, your eyes meet hers - less stony than usual, she regards you with an interest in her eyes that you've yet to see before. "You were once on the path of the Bene Gesserit," Lady Jessica starts, her voice tinged with empathy; You try to hide the set of your jaw, looking away briefly.

"Circumstances may have led you away, but your training has not been forgotten." She adds. You suspected this would be one of the reasons she called you in. "Yes, my lady," You affirm, setting down your fork; you send her a tight-lipped smile. "I trained when I was younger."

She nods, "Have you considered continuing this path? Honing your skills once more—to strengthen your voice, your intuition, your presence."

You take the moment she gives you to consider it; of course, you've thought of it now and then. But you have, to put it lightly, a very conflicted past with the Sisterhood, one that you prefer not to relive; Your mother's stern visage, relentless training regimens appear in your mind. Countless hours in rigorous physical and mental exercises - pressure to conform to their strict teachings weighing too heavily upon you and all three of your sisters' shoulders.

There's a part of you that can't help the twinge of curiosity that sparks through you; The allure of such an ancient order, unlocking hidden potential, the possibility of power and mastery of certain skills. It sounds glamorous, but you know better- you saw what kind of mistrust it sewed in your own house; The crack between your father and his court on behalf of your mother and the sisterhood, the loss of thousands of years of tradition.

Your lips open, and they feel suddenly very chapped. "I'm... not sure, my lady." You say honestly, blinking down at the unappetizing food below you.

"I understand your hesitations," she continues, voice earnest, "but given the current circumstances, it may be wise to strengthen all of your skills, including those you learned with the Bene Gesserit. It's imperative to ere on the side of caution."

"Circumstances?" You parrot, tilting your head. You know what she's implying; it doesn't ease the suspicion that rises, the feeling that the strings which tie themselves to Lady Jessica's limbs and lips are being pulled from much higher above your head; high enough to have actual, galactic implications. It is keenly upsetting.

"Yes, my dear." She begins, taking a sip of water, back straight; she doesn't bother to elaborate for you, and a tinge of irritation courses through you. "Tell me," She says, stirring the tea in front of her, "Even after your time with the sisterhood, did you ever experience visions? Dreams that stayed with you long after you woke?"

Your throat dries so quick you almost cough. Cheeks heating up, your eyes lock with hers; so it was a look of importance at the strategy council yesterday. It seems Lady Jessica has been keeping close tabs on you, after all. You hope she cannot read your mind thoroughly, for she would likely not enjoy what your dreams entail.

"You seem to already know my answer." You say, voice chilly in the warm room. Lady Jessica's lips press together. "Indeed," she affirms; gentle, yet probing. "But I need to hear it from you."

You pause, grappling with the memories that surge forth at Lady Jessica's inquiry; The dreams, the visions—they haunt you, asleep or awake - and despite your reluctance to acknowledge them, they have persisted, lingering like a shadow upon your consciousness. Swallowing against the dryness of your throat, you gather your thoughts before speaking.

"Yes," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I have."

Lady Jessica nods. "I suspected as much," she murmurs, her eyes reflecting a depth that is distinctly familiar. "These dreams may hold greater significance than you realize, dear. They may be the key to understanding the path that lies before you."

Her words hang in the air, pregnant with meaning and yet still exasperatingly cryptic; You are, in your silence, forced to acknowledge for the first times that these dreams - they are a calling, a beckoning towards something that you cannot ignore. You feel the soreness of your jaw and will your teeth to unclench.

Lady Jessica continues, murmuring your name firmly, "I urge you to consider resuming your training with the Bene Gesserit. Not out of obligation, but out of necessity. In times of uncertainty, it is essential to be prepared."

You meet Lady Jessica's gaze; despite your reservations, despite the ghosts of the past, you know that finding your studies again might be effective; the potential you will have with the skills and power of the Bene Gesserit are undeniable, but the pause you feel is very strong. There is something bizarre about the timing, about the whole interaction. To use raw power is to make yourself infinitely vulnerable to greater powers, you remember your mother saying years ago.

With a nod of affirmation, you square your shoulders. "I will consider it, my lady," you respond, meeting her gaze, "Thank you for your guidance."

Lady Jessica offers you a reassuring smile, one which does little to quell the raging in your stomach.

"You're stronger than you realize, my lady."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:

It is past dark when Paul finally exits his mother's quarters.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, he lets his feet drag across the floor on his way back, thinking quite fondly of his bed and pillow, of the warmth of his sheets.

His stomach growls - his normally ravenous appetite has eluded him all day since this morning; The visit from the Reverend Mother earlier in the day had left him teetering on the edge. Admittedly, she is as commanding as she is disfavored by Paul; yet it was his mother's reaction that troubles him the most.

The last few hours, sparring on knife skills, were spent tense; He, upon entering the room, had asked nearly immediately what the Reverend Mother had told her when he was dismissed earlier in the morning, yet she remained silent and instructed him not to question it. Whispering, quiet and serious: He would find out in due time.

Lost in thought, Paul quickens his pace, his footsteps echoing down the dimly lit hallway; The weight of dual weapons training today has set his muscles to ache and groan with each step, mind not too far behind body - the sooner he is in bed, the better.

But as he rounds a corner, Paul nearly hits someone - you, in fact.

Blinking in shock, for a moment your eyes meet; nothing happens. You've stepped back slightly, seemingly just as startled as he - you're just perfectly positioned in the hall that the dim lights reflect on your clothes and you look warm, comfortable; So unlike yourself in the daylight.

"Apologies, my lady," Paul offers, his voice tight with tension as he inclines his head in a respectful nod, gaze flickering down the hall you both seemingly planned on walking down. Truthfully, he is not in the mood to speak to anyone, in particular you after the uneasy sight of your knife, hilt catching the reflection of the lights beside you.

You return the gesture, expression signaturely guarded as you mutter, "No harm done, my lord."

He clears his throat; Though your hair looks nice and your skin healthy, you look quite tired - he's not sure when he'll get used to seeing your face.

"I was just heading-" He gestures down the hall, and you nod stiffly, "So was I."

And so you fall into stride alongside him, watching the walls pass as you both take a slower pace than either of you would likely prefer. Perhaps, in an ordinary world, he would feel giddy to walk his prospective wife to her quarters after a long day; but this world is not ordinary, and he's still getting used to treating you as less as a threat and more of an ally.

A large window passes on his right, illuminating your figure in silvery light before hushing you back into the shadows again. He wonders what the moons are like on Sabberon.

He doesn't expect you to speak; in fact, he himself has no plans to. Yet after a few minutes your voice comes hesitantly and with the tranquility of a sleeping cat.

"I had lunch with your mother today."

Alarm bells sound in his head; He certainly did not expect that. When he turns to look at you, he finds you already staring up at him; perhaps you're gaging his reaction to this information - he doesn't try hard to hide his displeasure.

"What did she tell you?" He asks before he can stop himself.

You give him an inquisitive look, lifting a brow. "Why do you assume she had things to tell?" You rebut. His shoulders relax ever so slightly as he sighs, slowing his pace as you near his door.

He doesn't respond, yet something in his features must convince you to start again, to be less facetious in your words; You set your jaw as you look away and back to him.

"She wants me to take up Bene Gesserit training again." You say, eyes narrow as you gaze at him - cold, scrutinizing - perhaps to once again see his reaction. His nostrils flare; This must be what the Reverend Mother instructed his mother to do - to ensure you are going down the right paths. Why though, he is still unsure.

"She asked about your dreams, didn't she?" He asks; this time, it's Paul who watches your face for a reaction - and he gets one. Your eyes blink in shock as you nod stiffly. "Yes, she- how do you know this?" You ask, hand grabbing his elbow as you both slow to a stop.

There's a bout of silence, in which he debates nearly everything; muscles aching, he wishes to just go to sleep - but your eyes hold an alarm in them that makes him hesitate.

Opening his mouth to speak, Paul stares down at you; If what the Reverend Mother was saying is true, then you might truly be as dangerous as he'd thought. But he knows what their order is like - all in the way of maintaining power. A faint echo down the hall of someone makes his eyes snap away from your heavy stare; Perhaps the hallway is not an appropriate place for such a conversation. "We shouldn't be speaking of this here," He glances at you, "Would you come in?" He asks. He opens the door that leads to his quarters. You stare at him for a moment, as if surprised - but with a glance around, it seems you decide the coast is clear, and you slip in past where he holds to door ajar with his arm.

You walk less assured than usual in the unfamiliar territory; he knows you've been active in your time here in the castle, but this is certainly one part of the fort you have not yet seen. A guiding hand presses your back as he quickens his pace, hoping to get this over with swiftly as he leads you to his bed chamber; though your back tenses, you do not push him away.

You repose on the chair but Paul is restless, standing in front of your expectant gaze.

"Paul," You start, leaning forward; It's with a startle that he registers your use of his first name - a tone which provides no warmth but a hint of anxiety as you look up at him. "If we are to do this together, we need to build trust." You start, and he knows you're right. This - marriage, ruling Caladan, representing the House Atreides - and whatever else is to come.

"Just tell me. How concerned do I need to be?" You ask; this was not what he'd thought you would say, and it takes him a second to think of anything to respond with. The truth is a thousand pieces scattered through dust and sand, and he cannot stop slipping through it.

"I don't know." He says, candor dripping through his exasperation. "I was visited by the Reverend Mother this morning." He admits, relief finding his shoulders. If you are to be by his side in the upcoming months, you'll surely learn of all of this sooner or later; It's better to come from him than elsewhere.

Your face darkens slightly at the mention and you raise a brow.

"What did she want with you?" You ask.

"I've been having dreams." He admits to yet another person he'd rather not; "Dreams about... Sabberon. In them, I feel like..." He exhales, "I feel like I have to go there. I'm meant to." He finishes, not wishing to delve any further into what the dreams entail. You look completely shocked, though; ghostly, uneasy.

He has no answers and so instead he tells you most of what he knows; Your expression turns more grim as he continues, describing his interaction with the Reverend Mother that morning. Your eyes flick to his in shock when he mentions the previous meeting with her years prior.

"The Gom Jabbar?" You say suddenly, sitting up straighter. He nods, "Yes. It was a test-"

"-No, I know what it is. I also received it." you swallow, brows furrowing. "But I don't understand why she would give it to you."

A deep, pregnant pause in the room, where Paul debates what he's about to say. Knowledge is a weapon and a burden.

"My mother has trained me in the ways of the Bene Gesserit too."

Your face morphs for only a moment as you stare at him in disbelief. Schooling yourself, you're quieted by this revelation; Paul waits patiently for you to respond. You gather your thoughts within a few moments.

"She warned me," You say, eyes swimming through his; he feels scrutinized under your intense stare. "She said that continuing as Bene Gesserit is not out of obligation but necessity." You add, "That continuing is the key to understanding the path that lies before me. That dreams could have more meaning than we think."

His stomach drops that the phrasing. You must ensure they go down the right path. That manipulative crone; playing you, his mother, and him all as she wants for the benefit of her sisterhood. Fury boils within him, but he knows what you need is an explanation. "There's a prophecy that my mother mentioned to my father once. I was young, eavesdropping-" He shakes off the sly look you give him at this, his cheeks heating up, "- and I didn't hear all of it, but I heard parts."

He's not sure how else to piece it together than to just tell you everything he's thinking. "When the Reverend Mother administered the Gom Jabbar, she told my mother there would be two candidates for something. That I may be one of them. Today, she told me to trust my dreams, that they may be the key to unlocking something important. Which is... troubling."

The bitter laugh you let out surprises him, and he lowers himself to sit on the chaise longue beside yours. "Troubling." You mutter, shaking your head. It's the exact thing Lady Jessica implied with you.

"I'm not sure if it means anything," Your tone suggests otherwise, "but I have also been having dreams about Sabberon." You admit - his eyes snake to yours, hands clenched together; stomach dropping, dread fills him. He worried this, too; having the same dreams, however alike or different they may be, are foreboding.

"-On a mountain I do not recognize. My house has a sacred Pine, you know? It represents the Harvest. I dream that I'm there... with you." You let out a sigh, and Paul swears he hears it shake. "I haven't told anybody, not even your mother." Your eyes are sharp - fearful, he realizes.

For a beat, he feels less alone. Another soul, trapped in this web of visions and politics and power; He's sympathizing with you, a foreign and unexpected emotion. Paul is starting to nurse a sharp headache; closing his eyes, he exhales and nods, "You're there in my dreams, too." He admits.

The two of you sit, then; Paul, slumped with consternation and you, back rigid with stress.

A moment of silence in which Paul is overthinking and you likely are too.

"Do you trust her?" You ask; A foolish thing to ask one of one's mother - yet his hesitation shocks not just you, but himself as well.

He starts hesitantly. "I believe that she loves me and my father, and by extension, she cares for you." He is well-aware of the vagueness behind his words. He licks his lips, "I know that the sisterhood instructed her to have a daughter. But instead, for my father, she bore him a son. The Reverend Mother is still unhappy about it."

You stare, but you say nothing. Uneasy with the intensity of your attention, he plays with a spare thread poking from the chaise longue. "This morning, I overheard the Reverend Mother telling my mother to ensure we are on the right path. Both of us."

You, sharp as ever, nod thoughtfully, "Which is why she decided so abruptly to offer for me to train again."

He nods in affirmation, biting his lip; a bad stress habit, one he got from his father. Your voice is almost dreamy as it comes out, his eyes staring off at the small bull figurine that sits on his table. You ask, "How do we know which path is the right one?"

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head as he stares ahead. He has no clue. "I wish I had an answer," he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. "All we can do is trust our instincts, but even then, there are no guarantees. Not if we don't believe them."

You nod in understanding, a solemn but signature expression painting your features. "It's a heavy burden to bear," you remark softly, your voice echoing his sentiments; Heavy, yes. But you seem used to burdens. "All things are known because we want to believe in them." You say. He perks up, looking at you; That's something his mother has said during skills training training before - but in your voice, now, next to him - it sounds much different.

Weary and exhausted, Paul sighs. "Perhaps if I'd had a sister, this wouldn't be happening."

You snort softly from your nose, a gentle exhale that is becoming quite familiar to his ears. "I had three. They were a handful." You say, hugging yourself.

He hums. For a moment, he can almost picture it; You, ten years smaller, just a young teen - fighting in a snow field with three sisters, a little boy chasing after you. He almost hears your screams when your younger sister jumps into a half-frozen lake, the water green as emeralds against the white fields and evergreens in the distance. The laughter that leaves you as you plunge, dress and all, into the icy depths besides her and pull your sisters with you; Handmaids wearing furs and soldiers boasting roaring wolf armor run to fish you out. They almost feel real. "What was it like, growing up with siblings?" he asks, seeking to reciprocate the gesture of openness that you've surrendered in the dark.

Your demeanor shifts slightly, your guard momentarily lowering as you reflect on your upbringing. "It was...complicated," your voice is contemplative, small. "We were close in some ways, but distant in others. There was always a sense of competition between us even when we were young, especially between me and my sisters. My mother was Bene Gesserit and was very strict."

He's studied so much about Sabberon, learned about your House's old customs and traditions - but yet, he realizes how little he truly knows about you; A pang of guilt washes over him for his previous assumptions and judgments.

Your boots look foreign against the rug on his bed chamber floor as you drag the tip of one. "They were like having built-in friends." You acquiesce, "They made me laugh all the time."

It's hard for Paul to picture you joking or laughing at all. "I don't have siblings," He states - obviously - "but I've always wanted to be a brother."

He knows the bittersweet territory he's crossed, and does not wish to upset you or remind you of all you have lost. But instead, you just send him a kind smile; one that's almost shy. "You'd be a good one." Your eyes are nostalgic and sincere; he has to look away.

Clearing his throat, he notices your hands as they sit in your lap. "It looks better," He says, nodding to your hand, where the sting had been reduced to a mere blemish. You smile, a sheepish thing, but it still brightens Paul's dark room. "I thought you'd been tricking me." You admit, face flushed as he lifts a brow, "Trying to make me look foolish."

He hums at this, tilting his head. "I assumed you'd thought I was trying to poison you." He admits, smiling just as sheepishly. Speaking with you feels surprisingly relieving - perhaps he is more tired than he thought.

"The possibility did cross my mind." Your voice, keenly serious, makes him chuckle slightly. He shakes his head, "I wouldn't have tricked you. I know how bad those crabs sting." He recalls one day lathering the chewed root onto his toe, fighting tears as his father watched with an amused sternness. If you disrespect them, he'd said, they'll disrespect you.

"I was considering amputating my hand before you showed up." Another attempt at a joke, from you? You're opening up; despite himself, he grins. Your eyes are deep - under the dim lighting, they shine in a way he hadn't expected; staring, he loses his track of thought. You seem to have as well, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"Is this your book?" You ask suddenly, rising to pad over towards his bedside, tilting your head to run your spine over the book that sits, embarrassingly, on his bedside table. The Noble Lineage: Exploring the Customs and Cultures of the Houses Major of Landsraad: House Bourbon. He nods, "If you'd like to read it, help yourself."

Craning your neck back you look at him, lifting a brow, "Is it interesting?"

For a second, he stares, unsure what to say - it dawns on him that you're teasing, and he cracks a small smile. Odd as it is to see a woman who was a mere shell open up, he's glad to have the priviledge of your trust, no matter how small or weak it may be.

"Haven't decided yet." He retorts, the feeling foreign.

"Maybe I will borrow it, then." You muse, "Perhaps it'll finally be the thing to lull me to sleep."

He stands to meet you; three steps over and he stands before you, taking in - not for the first time - your height and how your neck moves to look into his eyes. "You should get some rest if you can tonight." He agrees, "We've got to be at the Strategy Council tomorrow morning."

You nod, clearing your throat, "Oh- Yes, apologies." You sigh, "It's been a long day."

He hadn't meant to insinuate you should leave, but as he escorts you to the main hall, his eyes are drooping. Mercifully, though he tries to, you insist he need not walk you to your room.

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Alone back in his room, he stares at the book; Despite the barriers that still exist between he and you, there's a shared humanity that binds you together— funny enough that fear and reluctance is the thing that has made him realize such an obvious sentiment. He falls asleep and dreams within minutes.

You return to your chambers, the warmth of the last few minutes wearing off of you slower than molasses.

Alone, you are left with haunting thoughts; What do the Bene Gesserit have in store for you if you do choose to continue? Looming further is the prospect of galactic war should the Harkonnens leverage their petroleum reserves. The implications of you and Paul's shared visions; despite yourself, your cheeks flush with heat - how similar are these dreams of yours...?

And Paul - his eyes are very green.

He keeps his room neater than you'd thought - and with a bit of shock you'd seen all of the books on planets, flora and fauna, biology, culture. You secretly wished you could have observed them all closer - there were ones you've never heard of, and even one that had struck you right in the chest - Giedi Prime. Their culture was horror, after all.

You shake off the warm feeling of conversation - though the subject had left you on edge, it was terribly reassuring to have someone who not only you could speak freely with about your dreams and the Bene Gesserit, but who seems to hold similar opinions as you. Emotional whiplash has given you a staunch headache - you still believe that respecting someone is not the same as enjoying someone's company... but perhaps it doesn't always have to be mutually exclusive.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes; you can't get the smell of his bedroom off your clothes. You change into your robe. Before drifting to sleep, you catch sight of your bureau, the daunting metal that stares at you gleaming from across the room.

Yawning, you pad over to it.

The message remains on your desk, where it's been since being delivered a few days ago. You'd read it already, yes - read, cried, raged, and accepted it. Now, you suppose, it is time to respond. And in due time, it's finished.

My Dearest Aunt Ginaz,

Your letter arrived at a very uncertain time for me and for that, I am profoundly grateful. I apologize for the delayed response, it has been quite an adjustment for me after leaving Giedi Prime; Before that, as you've suspected, my keepers preferred I did not receive or send messages. There wasn't a day that passed where I didn't wish to read them.

For my betrothal to Paul Atreides, your kind words of congratulations reassure me; Truthfully, the prospect of marrying into such a noble family is daunting, yet they have been quick to assure I have felt welcomed. It is a sharp change from my previous engagement.

The loss of my family continues to weigh heavily upon my heart, and there are days when the pain feels unbearable. Yet, every day I am learning to live again. I can walk to the sea - the sea, which I have never before seen in my life. I spend my days educating, training with Swordmaster and your old friend Duncan Idaho, and have begun to sit in on the Duke's Strategy Councils. I believe I will live well here.

The final arraignment at the referendum is nearing, and I wonder if you will be attending alongside Lord Ginaz - Even if you are not able to attend, I will face the challenges that lie ahead knowing I have you on my side.

Your offer of sanctuary is a gift beyond measure, and I cannot express how much it means to me. I long for the day when we can be reunited and I might hear more of your life. In the meantime, know that I am safe and well, and that I carry your love and affection with me always.

With all my gratitude,

Your loving Niece

You almost feel guilty for the lies you've woven through your message - though not explicit, they are little and white and still deceiving. Your mother's bastarded sister, who succeeded your mother's parents when they died, inherited the noble last name as one of her father's dying wishes. They'd had several daughters - all married off to other houses, like your mother - and she had been left to learn to run the Swordmaster School. She now rules over their house with her husband, who took the name Ginaz when they wed.

You smirk, thinking of this: Paul Bourbon - it has a poor ring to it, you decide, wiping away the thought before it can blossom. You blink deliriously, knowing you are in acute need of sleep, and sigh.

You'll have Hestia send the message out in the morning; for now, all you can do is try not to dream as you curl up on your bed, eyes heavy with the weight of the day.

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You know you're dreaming this time.

The clouds are too fluffy, sounds muted as if you'd stuffed cotton into your ear canals. The hands that are on you are Paul's, you know this. But you're not embracing, no - there is no pleasure; his hands are slippery against your flesh and you're gasping in pain, gasping for breath. You are bleeding.

Or, is that his blood?

You squint, trying to find the ground, but all you see is the hilt of your nameday blade glinting in the sun, blood dripping from the tip. Who wields it? You let out a short groan, filled with pain - Paul leans against you, his weight heavy. The air is heavy with snow - no, not snow, ash. Ash that rains from the sky in flurries, fighter ships booming above your heads.

Another flash of your knife, this time in a hand. Gasping,Your hand comes away from your own abdomen, tainted black - black as the sun you once lived under.

"Hello?" A fuzzy voice, laced with pain, but you could pick it out of millions. You look into his eyes and see green; hands cup your cheeks, staining handprints over your trembling skin. An explosion somewhere in the distance -

"Paul." You breathe, fear lacing every fiber of you. You're dreaming, you're dreaming. You can't breathe.

But then, Paul's face changes - a sickening recognition flickers over his features when you speak, and something shifts. There is something wrong; He says your name as if he's surprised to see you, as if... as if you were in the wrong dream.

He looks down, as if expecting to see something between the two of you. But with his head tilted down, you squint, just barely making out the glint of another figure; glowing skin, sickeningly pale. A black smile.

There is someone behind Paul, and he is holding your knife.

It has the blood of your husband on it.

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follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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[builtaworldwithyourlove]

Free Falling

Chapter Two

2k/ (eventual) husband!joel x f!reader /minors dni

‘I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel’

Summary: you take the leap to leave your stagnant relationship, and end up falling into the arms of a man who will give you the life you always dreamed of. 

Content: loveless relationship, mention of TW: domestic violence, emotional abuse, age gap (reader is mid-late 20s, Joel is late 30s-mid 40s), angst, allusions of cheating, sad sad sad but Joel will save the day, slow burn, smut, fluff, oc(reader’s boyfriend and friends/family), mention of reader grieving loss of her dad, swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption, lovely lovely baby boy Joel, reader is a sweetheart, sexual tension, no smut just yet, some physical description of reader, Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

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Saturday morning was glorious. Your bedroom was fortunately positioned so that the sun shone through your white cotton curtains, and woke you up naturally. Although you didn’t get to revel in the peace for long, as Leo decided to scale the curtains and cry for help as he got stuck in limbo.

With a sigh, you rolled out of bed. You scooped Leo up in your arms and held him whilst you made the rounds opening all the windows and setting the house up for the day.

The coffee machine was the most important visit of the day. You were an early riser, so your 7am coffee was the surest way to keep you somewhat personable. You put some music on and started to tidy your kitchen, when your phone started ringing. It was Joel.

‘Morning, could you text me your address? I’ll be there within the hour.’ 

‘Sure! I’ll get the coffee ready now’ you replied.

Joel chuckled ‘See ya.’

Someone’s not a morning person, you thought to yourself. 

You let Joel know to let himself in round the back in case you didn’t answer as you were getting yourself ready. You ran up the stairs, trying to ignore the excitement in your chest. It would be the first time you’d have  some potential male attention, although he was an old family friend, surely he wouldn’t see you in that way. You got out of your head, made your bed and sprayed it with your fabric freshener, then lit a stick of incense followed by your favourite sedona sandstone candle.

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You showered and drenched yourself in cocoa butter and your Flora Luminare perfume. The doorbell rang and you skipped downstairs to answer.

Joel stood there, towering over you. He was gorgeous. Chiselled, tanned, the deepest brown eyes and softest looking lips.

He stood there taking you in. You were shorter than him, your hair fell down to your waist and he was encompassed by a cloud of your scent. He could’ve fallen to his knees in awe of you. He remembered the brief moments he had seen you before. It was always after one too many beers, but he knew he found you were beautiful. You made him laugh too, you were always as if butter wouldn’t melt, trying to keep your asshole ex-boyfriend sweet. But he remembered you sneaking smokes in the front yard at family parties, or downing a shot of tequila in the kitchen on your own when things got too much. The sparkle in your eyes never dulled, and your smile never faded.

‘Hey, thanks for coming so early’ you smiled.

Joel shook himself out of his daze.  He winked at you and put his hand on your shoulder.

‘No problem, show me the damage darling.’

His eyes twinkled and he smirked as you placed your hand on Joel’s. You squeezed his hand and gestured him in. 

He examined every part of your house on the way to your bedroom. The baby pink accents, the kitten toys scattered all over the place, and the framed pictures of you with your friends and family.

You quickly joined him with a mug of coffee. You sat cross-legged on the bed. You were wearing baby pink yoga pants and a plain white cropped tee. He looked you up and down, very brazen and not ashamed. You blushed and adjusted yourself to let Leo join you.

‘You the clumsy type then?’ Joel sized up the hole in the wall, and looked over his shoulder at you, with an eyebrow raised.

‘Erm, my ex-boyfriend. Fragile masculinity and alcohol’ you looked down and Joel cringed. He faced you and rested his hands on his hips. Your throat went dry and you couldn’t tell if you were turned on or terrified of being told off for letting yourself in that situation.

‘I’m sorry, baby’ Joel dropped his head and started fixing the wall. 

You watched him intently. His arms flexing as he worked his magic. You let Joel finish as you went downstairs to fix up some food for him to take with him.

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‘The wall’s fixed. Anything else I can do?’ Joel startled you and you hopped round and laughed.

He took the second mug of coffee you offered him and gazed at you. 

‘I need my locks changed’ you rifled down your drawers unable to find the replacement locks, then you remembered you had put them in your glass cabinet. 

The pictures of your dad faced outward as you opened the door to the cabinet, and Joel felt his heart drop. He was so fond of your dad, and couldn’t imagine the shit you had been through this past year. 

He chuckled and took the locks out of your hands. 

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‘I’m all done, is that everything?’ Joel poked his head round the doorway of your dressing room. You grinned as you finished applying your lipgloss and turned around to Joel.

‘Yes thank you, Mr Miller’ you winked.

He turned as if to go. ‘Wait, wait, wait’ you clambered up out of your seat, ‘I’ll see you out.’

Joel gestured to let you lead the way and you half curtsied. He was intrigued. You were so high energy and like a ball of sunshine, and he felt like he was 18 again.

He got his stuff ready and began to head back to the car. 

‘Erm, Joel. I’m having my family and friends round tonight for some drinks. I’d love you to come, to say thank you for your help. Clara and Rufus will be there, so will Mum and the girls’ you felt embarrassed and desperate, but Joel made you feel safe.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, text me a time’ Joel winked and waved as he headed back towards his truck.

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You were a woman infatuated. Joel occupied every corner of your mind. You slid on your flip flops and grabbed your purse before heading to get food and drink for your night of hosting.

You stopped off to drop Rufus and Clara’s lunch to their shop.

‘Now when were you going to tell me Mr Miller is devastatingly handsome?’ You burst through the door of the florist.

‘Well I thought it would be a welcome surprise’ Clara smirked.

‘He’s already called. Said he’s looking forward to seeing us tonight, and that you are an absolute angel.’ Rufus hooked his arm around you, roughing you up as you both do.

‘Eeek! I’m obsessed’ you twirled round and waved yourself out the door. You blew a kiss and practically waltzed down to your car.

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‘Come here anytime from 4:30pm. Wear something pretty😉’ you felt bold after the margaritas you had downed whilst getting ready with the girls. Lottie, Jess and Rhea were your absolute world. You were dancing around the bedroom and dressing room, blaring your music and feeling half tipsy.

It was 3:37pm, and Joel sat at home waiting restlessly to leave. He decided to call your Auntie and Uncle and get a lift with them. 

‘Who are you texting?’ Rhea snatched your phone out of your hand.

‘Stop, you can’t even judge me on this. He’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He fixed some bits up in the house yesterday. Knows Rue and Clara, an old family friend. He’s coming tonight’ you girls all squealed in unison.

Rhea still had your phone and headed straight to Facebook. She got Joel’s profile up right away and mocked you with it. She accidentally liked a photo from 3 years ago, and her face dropped. You all went silent before freaking out. She threw your phone to the center of your bed. 

It lit up:

Facebook:

One new friend request- Joel Miller

Chaos ensued, and you were quick to accept it.

Joel texted you letting you know they were on their way. You felt giddy.

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Your mum and sisters arrived and you set your sisters up in the summerhouse at the end of the garden with some of their friends they had bought along. You made them mocktails and let them have free roam of your beauty drawers and facemasks beforehand.

You switched on the fairylights around your garden, and you and the girls sat debriefing on life with your mum and her best friend.

Joel and the rest of your family creeped round through the side gate. You stood up to greet them and your auntie and uncle held you tightly before sauntering off to see your mum and sisters. A few more family acquaintances turned up, and people you know and love, but this was all a daze as Joel kissed your cheek and pulled you in for a cuddle.

His dark curls were swept backwards, with the exception of one that fell over his forehead. ‘Thank you for having me’ he whispered into your ear.

You traced down his arms to his hands, and you squeezed them as if to say thank you. His hands lingered on your waist, perhaps a second too long and the girls couldn’t help but wolf whistle. 

Joel laughed, and headed over to meet everyone.

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The night was beautiful, everyone had too much food and drink, but everyone was happy and content. Your sisters and friends had crashed out in the spare room, which was fine, you loved having guests.  Your mum left after you assuring her you’d be fine to drop the girls off home tomorrow. Your friends had booked an uber to go to the club, but you were more of a homebody, plus Joel had stuck around and you didn’t want him to leave.

You cleared the glasses and bottles away in the kitchen, Joel offered to help but he sat at the table and watched you instead. 

You offered him a cigarette from your hidden box which was in the empty biscuit tin. You sat next to eachother on the backdoor step. The sun was setting and it caressed his features and soaked them in a golden hue. Everything had been moving in double speed since you met him, and now was the first time you got to take in every bit about him, and was also the first time you noticed he did the same to you. He made you laugh until your stomach hurt, and you made him feel relaxed. As you laughed, you leaned into his side, and he wrapped his arm over your shoulders and placed a kiss upon the top of your head.

You looked up at him and he kissed you. Deeply and passionately and carefully. You relaxed your arms over his shoulders and as you deepened the kiss. Then tested the waters and held onto his neck, under his jawline, and pulled him towards you.

‘I wanted to do this since I saw you,’ Joel tilted his forehead pressed against yours, and you grinned. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’

‘No plans, tackling the aftermath of this I think. Why do you ask?’ Joel stroked your thigh with his thumb. It was cold from nursing a beer, but it was welcome.

‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’ Joel felt shy, and anxious.

‘I wouldn’t want to do anything else. Text me the details, and I’ll be there’ you blushed and kissed his cheek.

‘I’ll pick you up at 5pm baby’ Joel kissed your cheek and headed out as he stumbled towards the cab he had booked.

He sat in the back of the cab and motioned a phone with his hand and mouthed call me. You blew a kiss and waved him off, giggling like a school girl as he waved out of the window of the car.

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You showered and headed to bed, high on life and feeling like you were floating. 

‘Good evening Mr Miller’ you tried your best at flirting, and following Joel’s orders to call him. 

‘I’ve been wondering when you’d call’ he yawned.

‘Bad timing?’

‘Never bad timing with you. I’d answer your call at any second of any day.’ His southern drawl flipped your stomach.

‘I’ll remember that, I may need you a lot from now on.’ You rolled over and snuggled into your pillow.

‘You get some sleep baby. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow’ 

You hung up the phone, texted Joel goodnight and slept through the night in peace.

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[sleepyyshouto]

comfort crowd — bakugo

a/n: the rest of these haven't really been that angsty and i was planning to keep it that way but occasionally you need to make your comfort character cry so here we are, this is lowkey hurt/comfort but like comfort isn't super obvious at this point bc griefs a bitch. (TW: minor child character deaths, insecurity, mentions of kidnapping (kamino ward))

song: comfort crowd by conan gray & you are in love by taylor swift

!! iida — prev | bakugo | next — momo!! | series masterlist

bakugo — words of affirmation/physical touch

you knew today was going to be rough for your husband before you even opened your eyes. it was the twelfth anniversary of the battle at Kamino Ward and leading up to the day he never sleeps well, haunted by old nightmares that rarely show any other time of year. waking up to his red rimmed eyes with bags under them made you fight back a cringe even as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. he had slipped out of bed about a half hour ago and it had originally been a big problem in your relationship, him working on days when he could instead be grieving, resting, you knew that today was one of the days he had to work or else he would mentally spiral for the rest of the week.

"I'll see you tonight, doll." He whispers into the dark and you sleepily grasp his hand, giving it a quick squeeze as per routine.

"be safe, I love you." You murmur back, the feeling of his lips on your forehead before he heads to your bedroom door whispering a quiet, "I love you, too." You roll over and go back to sleep, needing to sleep a few more hours before starting the day.

It isn't your alarm but you're phone going off three hours later that wakes you up. grumbling you turn over just to see seven missed calls from kirishima and quickly sitting up.

"hello?" you call out, voice rough from sleep but a sense of panic beginning to build in your chest.

"y/n, it's - it's bad. there was a bomber early who took out 6 kids at a daycare where bakugo was patrolling. he was there right after it happened but all 6 of them were already dead. i'm gonna come drop him off at your house but he's- he's in really rough shape." a knot formed in your stomach at the words and you threw the covers off as you moved to the living room.

"i'm ready for him when you get here." you mumble into the receiver, gathering the large blanket on the sofa and turning on some of the lamps to bring light to still dark morning.

"roger." he hangs up and you curse the universe for it's timing. losing someone always hit katsuki rough. he had a bleeding heart behind his mask of assholery and every people he's ever lost he could name out loud with their family members who he visited each year. that on top of it being the same date he was rescued from being kidnapped by villains who still haunted his dreams, and the day his mentor lost his quirk which he blamed himself for, was a terrible combination.

the sound of eijirou's truck pulling up in the drive way had you unlocking the front door and watching through one of the windows as he got katsuki out in order to gauge just where he was mentally, whether it be him somewhere else mentally, angry at the world, or as he was now shell-shocked and spiraling. opening the door, you couldn't help the way you heart broke at the silent tears streaming down his face. his arms automatically went around you as he got close enough, head burying in your shirt as he started to sob. closing the door behind the two of you, you tightened your hold on him, staying silent in his time of need. you felt out of your depth, not used to him reacting this way and fearing he had hit his breaking point.

"do you want to me to the bed, love?" you asked softly, running your hands through his dirty hair with bits of concrete embedded in it. the shaky nod had you moving there slowly, katsuki's arms never loosening even as you laid down and his head rested on your chest. as his hands moved from your waist to move towards his hair you quickly took them in yours, finally able to see where he was mentally.

"it's not your fault." your voice is loud in the comparison to his quiet sobs which grow larger at your words. "it's not your fault. there was nothing else you could have done."

moving his hands to one of yours as they shake and relax at your words, you use another to tilt his head up to look at you. his face is covered in tear tracks, his eyes red and bloodshot, the sight breaks your heart and you take a deep breath to keep talking when all you wanna do is cry for the man in your arms in so much anguish, he's crying for the first time since your wedding night.

"okay? look at me. it wasn't your fault. whatever you did was enough, there was nothing more you could have done. you did enough, you are enough." you stress even as he tries to hide his face, but you need him to hear this. "okay? you're enough." the words have him moving closer, as if he could crawl in your skin, as his hands tightly grasp yours in between the two of you. his breath slowly starts to even out despite the tears you still feel dampening your shirt and you squeeze his hands in yours.

"you did enough, you're enough," you repeat, voice thick with emotion as he relaxes into your body, silent, but from the way his grip starts to slacken as begins to fall asleep. you hold on anyways, as if you can sear the words in his skin with yours purely by touch and will power. you know this isn't the end of this, he'll wake up and it'll start all over again whether he's screaming or crying and you'll question if what you're doing is enough, but the storm will pass, the wounds will heal and scar, that it'll come back next year, but that you'll both get though it. yet as you hold him close, you pray to every god you've ever known to take the pain away, to give it to you, to go back and not let him leave the bed this morning, because he'll heal with time, but time isn't kind.

do not edit, claim, or repost my works as per @sleepyyshouto

[gentil-minou]

hold me close

Sometimes Lan Wangji misses Wei Ying even when he's with him. He forgets he doesn’t need to be afraid. This Wei Ying won’t vanish into the shadows. Sometimes, it feels like Lan Wangji is just waiting to be proven wrong. Lan Wangji has spent his entire life grieving for the ones he's loved and lost. How can he be expected to simply stop?

Wangxian | Oneshot | 13.4K | Rated E

Relevant Tags

Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Sex, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Character Study, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Top Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Bottom Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Working Through Grief With Sex, Grieving Your Husband While Fucking Him, tender husbands being tender, 13 years of grieving followed by a life time of healing from it

crossposted on

Preview below the cut

Wei Ying visits Lan Wangji every night for thirteen years.

He arrives cloaked in shadows wrapping around him in a shroud. Long hair fans out behind him buffeted by an unnatural wind, thick at the roots and becoming wisps of smoke at the ends.

And every night, Lan Wangji welcomes this Wei Ying into arms that will never again know his warmth. An embrace that will never be shared with anyone else. A fantasy for a willing hostage, caught in a trap of his own design.

The Wei Ying in his dreams is well-fed and well-loved, skin bronze from endless summers spent lakeside, glowing with a fire stoked from within that both threatens Lan Wangji and calls to him all the same. This Wei Ying is always smiling. Not the one Lan Wangji sees in his nightmares, crazed with resentment consuming his soul. The one from their youth, the one this hostile world stole from him when he was far too young.

The Wei Ying in his dreams is not numb from grief and loss. He is not cruel. He does not shove Lan Wangji away.

He places a hand on Lan Wangji’s flushed, tear-stained cheek. His calloused hand is no longer cold and dying but instead warm and alive. This Wei Ying guides Lan Wangji towards him, a loving gaze fixed on him as a familiar smirk curls into a tease.

His dark eyes are bright and dancing, not glassy and dead. They drag Lan Wangji in, ensnaring him, rooting him in place. Though Lan Wangji has no reason to escape regardless.

Shadows twist up and down his body, leaving mark after mark in a trail claiming him. They convince Lan Wangji that this moment is real and true and won’t vanish like fog once dawn breaks over the mountain, flinging logic and sense far away.

In his dreams, Wei Ying loves him.

In his dreams, Lan Wangji saves him.

In his dreams, he has this. Everything he’s ever wanted.

Lan Wangji becomes quite adept at pretending the dreams are all he needs.

(read more on ao3)

[therantfairysblog]

The grieving that will never stop

✍️ note: there's a splash of my own experience so writing this is quite a challenge. To those who grieving, i hope the flow of times will slowly heal the wound, even though it will leaving behind the scar, our love one will remain alive in our heart. Sending love ❤️.

Everyday, Mrs Kanroji often praying in front of the altar, give various offering to Gods, as she was always afraid of her daughter's safety.

When Mitsuri telling her that she'll join the corps, she actually, for the first time in her life, didn't allowed her to go. Her Intuition often feel off about her decision but over time-and with her husband's support of her daughter, she finally accepted it.

However, over time, Mitsuri seems to finally started to accept herself as she is, and her wide smile never fade which she as a mother feeling grateful for. She always send them letters, telling her story of saving people, new friends and all.

But, honestly, his mother's heart always feel so heavy with the fact that mitsuri are taking the most dangerous job to herself.

Until her fears turned to reality. The news she received from Urara in the morning of new year broke her soul. Mrs Kanroji fell to her knees, begging to Gods that it was just her bad dream.

She stop going to temple.

It was like that for a while. She blaming herself for not strong enough to stop her from joining. Is this her fault? Is her prayer aren't enough?

Mitsuri was her first born, that her husband and her wait for 4 years. She was born strong enough to carry a big rock in her childhood. She's a great sister to her siblings. Never in her mind, that she'll outliving her own daughter.

The grieving was there all year, that her husband getting so worried of her. When ubayashiki kiriya come to visit, she didn't talk much, her husband did.

"Lady Kanroji was an embodiment of kindness that spreading magic among people around her. Most of the members of the Corp are orphan with unbearable trauma.

When she come, its looked like we could breath a little, full of happiness as if we live a normal life. Lady Kanroji is that person who never judged and she's care of all people around her regardless their status. Her departure is the big loss to us, she's never giving up in her last moment.

Lady Kanroji defeated the evil with her strong will and kindness, it's the highest honor to have your daughter as a part of our Corps in destroying the looming demons that haunted the peoples for thousand years. That's why, we'll do our best to help, until the end."

Ubayashiki Kiriya bow deeply to both of them. "Please don't bow like that Lord Ubayashiki, I'm so glad that she's become a part of the victory. It's may take a while, but I'll try to talk to my wife"

Mrs Kanroji couldn't bear to talk to the leader of the corp. Everytime she see him, she'll cry.

.....

Spring come. Cherry blossoms blooming peacefully in front of her house, added to her wound.

"mother, my hair, does it really that weird?"

"hmm? Why you said so? My daughter is always pretty, and your hair look like a cherry blossom. Aren't that pretty?"

"Really?? I love cherry blossom i love sakura mochi "

Mrs Kanroji picking up some of the petals in her hands. Her tears flowing like a river. Her daughter come and went by just like the flowers. So beautiful but their lives were so short.

"Mitsuri, you must be sad aren't you, how could i let you go, my daughter? My precious child, mother miss you so much"

....

The spring night come, with the nice spring breeze. She dream of her. So beautiful, innocent. The smile across her face, look like a beautiful calestial maiden.

'Mother, i love you so much. Mother I'm so happy and honored to have you as my mother, we will meet again, i promise. Mother I'm so happy here, i think my life is so fulfilling. I don't have any regret'

'mother, please live on. Until we meet again, i want you to smile'

The tears flowing down her cheeks in her sleep. Only God knows how much she miss her.

Perhaps the passage of times will slowly heal her pain, yet her mother's heart will forever be broken.

[triptanite]

Dear Gortash

This one shot is based on the dialogue option that Karlach has when interacting with the ornate mirror!

Option 3: I'd see the Hells filled with flowers, and my old boss Gortash on his hands and knees tending them for eternity.

the companion crew and co all need a shitload of whatever the faerun version of therapy is after saving the world and everything. this is how I imagine Karlach might find a bit of healing within herself

being real, it is a real therapeutic activity to write letters and the like to yourself or others and then to destroy it in some way afterwards. this can be good for venting, or cathartic when you dispose of it afterwards (e.g., ripping, shredding). so if you're feeling a little pent up and need something physical to do, there's an idea for you!

Pairing/s: none

Content warning/s: none

MASTERLIST

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

I didn't have an answer for her then, but I think I would now.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I see you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Gortash.

The crew and I are sorting ourselves out now that the dust has settled a bit. We're rebuilding things, healing and all that. We also get drunk under the stars and eat our weight in stew but I think that's also helping.

Some of us are working on things like forgiveness, and guilt. Some of us are training, socialising, moving on. All of us are grieving.

I struggled for a bit, thinking of a way to find my closure. I lost so much of my life. I was punished so deeply for a crime I never committed. I was put through the ringer, ripped out, and ran through again. One of my friends suggested that I write you a letter, and I won't lie, I laughed. A letter? What the Hells will that do?

But still, I kept it in the back of my mind. I think it's just in my nature to trust the people I care about. I carried a sheet of parchment and a quill in my pack with me for two weeks straight. Except every time I tried, I had nothing to say.

Then I went to visit my parents. I clean their gravestones and sweep away fallen leaves as often as I can make it. I tell them about my adventures, my health, everything really. I tell them about my nightmares, and my daydreams. There's a merchant at the cemetery who sells flowers out of a tiny cart. She's a widower. I pay her thrice her asking price for blooms to decorate my folks place, and ask her about her day. She was telling me about how she still talks to her husband sometimes, when she sleeps. She knows he's gone, but it brings her peace. She asked me about my dreams, and about my peace. I didn't have an answer for her then, but I think I would now.

Sometimes, in my dreams, I see you.

You're dressed plainly, not an adornment in sight. You're crouched low in the soil, joints aching, hands calloused. The knees of your peasant pants are permanently dust-stained, and there is dirt under your fingernails that you'll never get out.

You water an endless field of flowers of every variety gently, there is no other way you are able to do it. There is no company. No conversation. Just a gentle wind meant to carry the pollen of infinite blooms to each other. Light beams down onto you. You've developed deep crows feet from squinting when you look up to note it's movement - the artificial sun is the only way you can track the time here.

You are quiet. Frowning. You're too exhausted to rage anymore. You tend to the flowers, a stark and lovely contrast to the hells that lie just beyond the field. You can never reach the edge, you can never crush the flowers. They simply spring back when stepped on, they simply regrow when ripped out.

You would have spent the first few weeks screaming, ripping roots out of the ground, scheming, plotting, swearing. What else would you have done? But over time, you began to resign yourself to your situation. I hope you find comfort that you're not the only one who knows how that feels.

Far away from the world's living and dead, unable to destroy or devise, this is where you'll stay. You can't sweet-talk the flowers, you can't take advantage of the wind's trust. You cannot leave and you cannot die. You will never hurt me again.

And over time, these dreams will fade with the nights. I replace them with my friends and family. I'll close my eyes and think about meals in the moonlight, about playing with dogs and cats and owlbears, or about nothing at all. I think more about myself now. About what I want to do with every day that I have. I learned to make mince pies, I admire the setting sun. I make more friends. I treat myself. I deserve that. I saved the fucking world. I saved my fucking self.

When I think of you, tending to a field of flowers in the Hells forever, I feel relieved.

One day, I won't think of you at all.

And that makes me smile.

Bye forever, pal.

Karlach.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

my sweet gal Karlach deserves all this and more

ty for the love and kind words/tags on some of my works!!! It's seriously so encouraging to know that actual people like what I do!

as I said in my intro I'm pretty inclined to do bittersweet, wordy pieces so I think you can definitely see that across my works so far

anyway thanks again!! :3

1144pm 3/6/24 1252 4/6/24

[josefavomjaaga]

More gossip from Sir George

I can already say that I love this book:

The Diaries and Letters of Sir George Jackson… (Volume 1, from the diary, May 1806)

29th. […] There is a story in circulation in society here, the truth of which M. de Bray, the Bavarian minister, says he is inclined to doubt, but which was certainly reported to this Government as a fact, that the Princess of Bavaria, vice-reine d'Italie, has returned unexpectedly to her father, in consequence of Beauharnois having ended some marital dispute by striking the princess très rudement, as the account has it. This treatment from her roi et maître, though it might be a mode de Paris, she was not prepared to receive or tolerate, therefore, faisait ses paquets au plus vite, and decamped. The king, her father, was surprised at her visit, and was, naturally, much grieved on learning the cause of it; but he has endeavoured to induce his daughter to return to her noble husband, and, with the assistance of Bonaparte's paternal authority, the quarrel, it is supposed, will be made up and another motive be assigned for her journey.

Meanwhile, in Monza, five days later, on 4 June 1806, the vice-reine in question loudly complains in a letter to her brother about having been separated from her beloved husband for ten whole days (!!!) because Napoleon had sent him on an inspection tour through the country, and vows she will never go to Paris if it means leaving her darling Eugène in Italy… And she must have complained about the separation even before, to no lesser person than Napoleon himself, because we have the following imperial reply from 3 June 1806:

I received your letter of 26 May. I can feel how lonely you must be, [to] find yourself alone out there in the middle of Lombardy. But Eugène will be back soon, and one only really feels that one is in love when one sees one another again or when the other is absent. […]

In any case: Being a junior attaché to an ambassador sounds like a dream job, consisting of collecting and spreading the most ridiculous gossip all day. Much better than all that boring military stuff!

[b-plot-butch]

Hiding by Florence + The Machine is such a Calliope and Dream song

Hi anon!! Florence + The Machine isn’t my usual type of music but your ask made me 👀👀👀 so I listened to the song and ohmygod. I hope you don’t mind if I write a breakdown of some of the lyrics? I…may have gotten a bit carried away. I’ll stick most of this under a read-more because there is simply Too Much.

I think you hide / When all the world’s asleep and tired / You cry a little

ALL RIGHT STRAIGHT OFF THE BAT WE’VE GOT SOME EMOTIONS HERE. I will say it a thousand times, it speaks volumes to me that though Dream is billions of years old and has had a number of lovers, Calliope is the only one he married. As we see in Brief Lives, Dream does sometimes break down. You know that panel of him sitting in his chair with his hand over his face? Yeah. Fuck. As his lover, as his wife, Calliope may have witnessed something like this or at least suspected it. I’m imagining a situation where Orpheus as a young child has an minor accident, and Calliope and Dream have to just. Stop. And cope with the knowledge of his mortality together.

I know that you’re hiding / I know there’s a part of you that I just cannot reach / You don’t have to let me in / Just know that I’m still here

Now this is GOOD SHIT. It goes both ways with these two!!! Dream would never know what it was like to experience the abuse Calliope survived, would never force her to tell him about it. Calliope would never understand the weight of what it means to contain the world’s collective unconscious, to have to be so rigid with yourself to the point of pain. But these lyrics speak to steadfastness. While we don’t see much indication (either comics or show) that they will be there for each other in the future, in the show we see the tenderness between them so clearly in Calliope pressing her cheek to Dream’s, Dream’s eyelids fluttering shut. It’s VERY easy to expand on that and explore in fic and headcanon that they would again forge a supportive relationship—bolstered by the character development Dream has had since their marriage—and work together to try to heal. I’ve written that myself!

I know you’ve tried / But something stops you every time

Hahahahahaha. Oh my god. I am hitting Dream with a stick.

And it’s your pride / That’s keeping us still so far apart / But if you give a little / So will I

HELLOOOOO. Okay, so I know the initial reaction is to probably apply this to Dream, which, yes, he is one proud motherfucker. But I think Calliope certainly has her own share of pride, although not to the extent of her ex-husband. (I’d say in her episode, we see more of the like, self-worth, I-know-what-I-deserve type of pride. Which is good!!! I adore that about her!!!) She did not want to yield over those thousands of years, either. And she will not beg. She will request—may I visit you in the Dream Realm sometime, so that we may finally talk about our son, and grieve him properly?—but she will not beg. But! If Dream gives a little!! So will she!!!

I know I seem shaky / These hands not fit for holding

THESE HANDS NOT FIT FOR HOLDING. JESUS CHRIST. This is, of course, a lyric that shouts and screams Dream at me. I am in pain. I’m thinking of the way he says, “I owe you that much.” The word owe stands out to me—I think it may indicate that he has become aware he did not always treat Calliope as she should be treated, and he feels he has to make up for that in some way. I’m thinking about how he says, “I’ve learnt much in recent times,” and how that suggests he may have been reevaluating his role in Orpheus’s fate. How he could have acted differently. And with that, I think it made him consider Calliope’s reproach in a new way. It doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch to me that Dream would feel like his hands are not fit for holding Calliope’s anymore.

ANYWAY. That was a whole lot of probably incoherent chatter and I hope at least you enjoyed reading it, anon. Anyone reading this, feel free to send me asks about songs that remind you of the characters or dynamics that I post about often. Although I have to say, if it’s a Taylor Swift song I probably won’t listen to it, sorry.

Thanks again for the ask, anon!!!

[vervainandspritz]

CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?—please, don't leave me

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Request by @goblinjnr

Warnings: hurt/comfort, mentions of death, grieving, angst, suicide

A/N: it's very fucking sad so beware

~~

Her eyes shut tight as her husband pressed a loving kiss onto her lips. Y/N's body involuntarily relaxing into his hands, causing Tommy to smile through the kiss.

”Mrs. Shelby, are you cold? I can see goosebumps on your skin” He teased, leaning forward as he grazed the skin of her neck with his nose, causing her to let out a sigh.

”Very funny” She responded, pinching his side lightly with a grin. ”That's what happens to a woman when her husband finally decides to put business away and give her affection instead.” Her voice was also teasing, as her own gaze completely drowned in his intense blue orbs.

Pulling her even closer, Tommy's nose brushed against hers in a promise of a kiss.

”So I'll have to consider doing this more often.”

Leaving last, strong kiss on her lips Tommy took a step back.

”Do what you have to, and come find me.” Y/N asked, squeezing his hand lightly, her expression relaxed and almost dreamy seeing him in such a good humour.

Bowing lightly, Thomas answered.

”Don't go too far, I'll join you soon.” His voice had an undertone of worry to it, his eyes becoming slightly more cloudy at the obvious allusion.

Giving him a weak nod, Y/N agreed, understanding exactly what he meant.

Don't go anywhere on your own, it's dangerous

Turning around, Thomas slowly walked back to his office, his steps echoing throughout the corridor as the warmth of their lovely encounter disappeared under the weight of reality.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, her heart picking up speed as her hand fell to her belly, causing more internal pain than anything. The mask she had to wear around him was becoming heavier with each passing day.

But she couldn't tell him. Not when the prognosis were so hopeful the last time they visited the hospital together. Not after seeing him gain back the spark he lost for so long.

Letting out a sharp exhale, Y/N turned around, slowly walking back to their bedroom. Wincing quietly she made her way through the corridor before settling on a bed lightly.

The day they found out was the worst day in her life. Rushing to the doctor so hopefully, once she noticed her stomach... Growing. After trying for a baby, could it finally happen? Y/N wondered back then, showing Tommy the swelling on her stomach.

Putting his hand over her belly, he was the happiest man in the world, dimples on his cheeks revealing to their full extent as he smiled so brightly, a rare sight but how beautiful she felt. A family, of her own.

A girl? A boy? They wondered the day before her visit. Chatting away endlessly about names, clothes and toys for a little Shelby.

A heavenly happiness that lasted no longer than three days, before they got crushed by the diagnosis.

Stomach cancer

Thomas' hand fell limp by his side, as Y/N froze completely. It took a longer minute, followed by ”I'm so sorry” from the doctor before tears appeared. Falling faster and heavier, each one a nail to her poor heart, wiping away every dream they managed to talk about in the last days.

All hope, gone, just like that.

...but it wasn't over just yet, as Dr. Wellerman explained the path they will have to go through. The risks of chemotherapy, additional tests and needed medication.

Tommy tried to stay strong, so badly, despite the white colour his face turned. Nausea took over his mind as he listened to each word, listening to the doctor explaining her survival rate. He needed to be strong.

So he was, carrying the weight like a world champion, never letting her carry it alone.

”Don't cry” He murmured in the worst nights, rocking her back and forth in his arms, sitting on the floor by the bed. ”We will bring you back to good health, and then have children. Little copies of our own, eh? A girl with my nose and your smile.” He spoke quietly into her ear, staring blankly at a wall. Whispering beautiful words she so desperately needed to hear, keeping her heart from breaking.

With each week they were both feeling worse, Y/N's physical state worsening visibly throughout the chemotherapy. The pain she felt in her abdomen could be compared to the flames from hell, reaching her ruthlessly and blooming the horrible thought she tried to push away so badly.

I want to die already, her mind would whisper cruelly, hating the way her husband's bones became more visible. His sunken eyes which lost all colour, almost as if he was the one with tumour eating away on his body and mind.

It wouldn't be much different then, because the pain he carried seeing her slowly fade away was easily the most difficult battles he had to fight.

A couple years back, Thomas would never expect to even think that, but the war in France was nothing compared to the unfair war he chose to fight everyday, holding onto his wife at all costs.

On the worst days, he would silently cry against the door of their bathroom, begging her to let him in as she cried so loudly.

”Don't look at me, I'm disgusting!” Y/N kept repeating, looking in the shattered mirror at her reflection. She was a shadow of her old self, her almost completely bald head mocking her, along with the colourless eyes that looked back.

”Y/N, please. Don't shut me away” His voice was breaking, despite the attempts to stay strong. Minutes later he would be on the floor by her side, kissing her temples and holding so tightly to not let her drown.

”You're beautiful, Mrs. Shelby. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen,” He talked, looking her in the eyes, his deep, honest voice never ceasing to bring her out of misery even just for a few seconds. Rough fingertips grazing over her delicate, pale skin. ”So beautiful I just had to marry you.”

A deep silence following his gentle tone, as his fingers drew random patterns on her skin.

”Am I dying, Tommy?” She asked quietly, her voice so fearful as she held onto his shirt, head resting on his shoulder. Thomas was almost sure she could physically hear his heart shattering at the question.

”No,” He replied confidently, getting her to look him in the eyes. To see the lack of hesitation and the fire he had in him, as her own was slowly getting smaller. She was losing hope. ”You're not dying. I wouldn't let you leave me, after all, eh?” He said, small, weak smile appearing on his lips and reaching her eyes.

”I love you so much” She whispered, slowly nodding off to sleep against his heartbeat.

Y/N remembered every and each of those days when he's been the lifeline. The only reason she was getting up and fighting against the cruel faith, slipping from death's embrace every day, almost like his love was keeping her alive.

...and it worked. Tests started coming back better than before, the cancer responded well to the chemo, allowing life to slowly seep back into their reality.

Y/N could never forget how happy it made them. Made him. The way he laughed and joked, and touched her looking, oh the way he looked at her. Like nothing else mattered, as he brought her flowers and loved every moment they had. Thomas grew to appreciate her presence so much, even the business wasn't able to get a hold of his mind as often anymore.

Life was a dream, until it wasn't.

The pain and swelling grew, sometimes making it difficult to move her legs even. Y/N held onto the thought that it was temporary, that everything was okay, so she didn't tell him. Couldn't bring herself to share her worries, seeing the way he lived and not just survived anymore.

So the secrets began, every letter from the hospital started coming to the rented storage she kept away from everyone. Tests getting more worrying until one, particular one, killed the hope completely.

The cancer no longer remained in her stomach, now spreading to the liver, lymph nodes and lungs, crushing the potential survival rate to 3%.

”Oh God” She cried at first, howling so loudly her throat grew sore and voice weak.

But it wasn't the worst. The worst was pretending around Tommy, forcing herself to smile and walk and talk as lively as before.

Be there for him, and try hard enough to smile so it would reach her eyes, because else he would know.

Each day was harder as the pain grew stronger. Eventually she had to start shaving her head every few days, to hide the fact she stopped the chemotherapy.

The pain was too much. The first time was easier, as she mindlessly shared the misery with Tommy. Carrying it together was easier, but with how much he loved her, seeing her in that state was killing him more than cancer was killing her.

So she pretended. Smiling, shaving her head and making sure to keep her expression stoic as the swelling burned hellishly.

So here she was, sitting on the edge of their bed, both hands on her belly in hopes to ease the pain. Unfamiliar pain, one so strong she couldn't breath at all.

”Tommy” She managed to whimper out, fingers wrapping around the edge of the nightstand so hard, her knuckles turned white. Slowly lowering herself to the ground, Y/N felt her legs giving out as she fell down with a loud thump, starting to cough.

Barely opening her eyes, she noticed the drops of crimson red fluid dirtying the clean, wooden floor. Her mind turned hazy, feeling completely out of it as more and more blood splattered the floor.

Only then did she barely register the fast, loud steps approaching.

”Y/N!” Thomas boomed loudly, rushing to her side. His face was completely pale, his shaky hands wrapping around her chest as he pulled her up, completely panicked. ”Frances! Frances call the ambulance!” He screamed in a frenzy, leaning forward to try and help. ”Y/N, I'm here, I'm here.” He choked out as her eyes became cloudy, breaths coming out in short bursts. ”Y/N! Look at me, please fucking look at me!” Tears steamed down his face at the suddenly terrible state she found herself in. She looked at him, but couldn't see.

As he cried, and screamed, pulling all the old medication she used to be taking from her nightstand, spilling them by his side and looking for the particular one that used to help with breathing problems, Y/N was halway gone.

Physically she couldn't see, struggling to breathe enough to keep her brain functioning yet the only thing she could think of was him.

Please, don't take me away. Who's going to protect him from the self-destruction his heart holds?

”Please, don't leave me” He cried out weakly, pushing his forehead against her collarbone, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. Hiding.

The memory of his happy, blue eyes was the last thing she registered, feeling as if he gently eased her into sleep, taking away all the pain. In reality, Thomas couldn't hold in the animalistic howling that ripped from his throat while he held her tightly to his chest, rocking back and forth as the sound of an ambulance pulling up by the Arrow house came to his ears.

From this moment, there was nothing.

***

She was gone.

He lost count of the amount of hours since it happened. Thomas didn't know if it was a night or a day, as he forced the maids to cover every source of light in the house before sending them away. The alcohol combined with opium in his system made him see the most beautiful things in the dark, memories shining so brightly.

His eyes rolled back at the scent of her, as he was holding her nightgown to his chest. Blood was trickling from his fingers, dirtying the pink material because of the destruction he brought upon the Arrow house once left alone.

Rocking back and forth in the middle of the room, he remembered the sight of his wife sitting by the vanity, laughing as she made him roll his eyes with her smart mouth. She fitted so perfectly, so perfectly with the scent he was feeling.

It was all that mattered, as long as he felt her presence around him.

In the next few days Polly threw away all the opium he had, trying her best along with her nephews to support him through the ripping loss. Only if he wanted that help, maybe everything would eventually be okay.

But for him, there was nothing before her, and nothing after her. The story was done.

Once left alone again, he let out a sigh, feeling the pounding headache. The noise was overwhelming, impossible to suppress ever since she was gone.

”I can hear them coming again” He whispered into the silence of his office, as the shovels dug against the walls from every direction. Getting louder with every passing minute. ”They want to take you away from me, darling” His voice was rough from the lack of using it. Opening his eyes, Thomas looked at the portrait hanging on the wall. You and him. Like like he promised. His eyes on the painting were far from reality, not resembling the dark irises, swallowed completely by madness which took over his mind without change. ”I won't let you leave me” He repeated the line from the past, lips wrapping around the familiar words as he pulled out the pistol from his holster. Lazily pressing the muzzle against his head as his lips turned upwards into a heartfelt smile. ”I'm coming, sweetheart.”

His loving words were followed by a loud bang, as the bullet ruthlessly ripped through his skull and brain, only to get stuck in the old furniture in another room.

His body went completely limp as the unlit cigarette fell onto the desk, becoming the last sound of their lively love ever heard in the wall of the Arrow house.

A house which became a cemetery for the undying love, and future that would never come.

Taggin my people: @iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @honeymoon8 @chaimaarouaine11 @hatethis29 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @preparedfruit @emptyvoidofmine

[ambriel-angstwitch]

Ivy through the lens of Morgwen

How's one to know? I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones In a faith forgotten land

Ok this makes me think of when they meet in the woods in season 5 they meet in a place where so many have died and by being there even somewhat against her will Guinevere has betrayed Arthur’s faith in her.

In from the snow Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow Tarnished but so grand

They are the light of each others life and bring forth strong emotions (the two meanings of incandescent). It becomes a tarnished love though because after Morgause’s influence and the subsequent betrayal Morgana they no longer can hold each other as they once did. Or you can argue that according to Uther their love would have always been tarnished as to be with a servant would detract from the value of Morgana. Either way though their love had been grand.

And the old widow goes to the stone every day. But I don't, I just sit here and wait Grieving for the living

After Morgana’s betrayal Guinevere lost her love but there is no grave to visit and in a way she’s forever left waiting. Similarily Morgana is the the same way except she has more belief that Gwen could come to her side.

Oh, goddamn My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand. Taking mine, but it's been promised to another.

The loved one tries to take some of the pain they hold it in their hand, but the wording of a freezing hand is amazing because that can often be something uncomfortable so that can mean though they try to help the other they cause them discomfort instead. In a way they can both fit this role never really being able to create what the other needs. Morgana as the kings ward (and daughter though people don’t know that) was likely intended to be married off to someone and Guinevere was destined to marry Arthur but yet they take each others hands.

Oh, I can't. Stop you putting roots in my dreamland. My house of stone, your ivy grows. And now I'm covered in you

They cling to each other. They love each other so much but they are destroying each others plans. Guinevere can never get that soft life she’d dreamed they might have as Morgana won’t let go of her bitterness and realize better plans and Morgana can’t convince Guinevere to join her side of the fight as she cares for many people in Camelot

I wish to know The fatal flaw that makes you long to be Magnificently cursed

They both wish to know what makes the other wish to be with them despite never getting to truly be together. Well they both love each other it is a curse to be forced to hide it. Also brings to mind Morgana’s magic it could be considered a curse and Gwen as most people in Camelot don’t understand that it’s not always a choice so she would wonder why she decided to take on magic.

He's in the room. Your opal eyes are all I wish to see. He wants what's only yours

You could describe Morgana’s eyes as Opal as like Opals Morgana’s eyes can appear Blue or Green and even Gold (Opals have even more colors but Morgana’s eyes are limited to that)

Clover blooms in the fields Spring breaks loose, the time is near What would he do if he found us out? Crescent moon, coast is clear Spring breaks loose, but so does fear He's gonna burn this house to the ground

I know on the original context him is the woman’s husband but in this analysis it’s Uther because he’s far more filled with rage. We have seen in the show that he has no care for servants and those his children cares for. He would kill them without hesitation. Arthur doesn’t have that same cruel anger even if Morgana and Guinevere had been together when Gwen and him got married.

How's one to know? I'd live and die for moments that we stole On begged and borrowed time

They were truly in love with each other. It started out sweet and innocent even though it was a secret due to how society would view their relationship. But it was borrowed time, they were destined to be torn apart.

So tell me to run Or dare to sit and watch what we'll become And drink my husband's wine

Morgana gave Guinevere an out when she rose to power, Guinevere could join her side or even just sit on the sidelines and no harm would come to her. But they had to become something they never wanted to be. Torn apart and turned against each other.

And I'm covered in you So yeah, it's a fire It's a goddamn blaze in the dark And you started it You started it So yeah, it's a war It's the goddamn fight of my life And you started it You started it

They are on an opposite sides of a fight and it was Morgana who started it. Had things gone differently Morgana and Merlin’s could have stayed friends and brought back magic together and Morgana and Gwen could have been happy but instead Morgana was bitter and the war was started.

[lilacmermaid25]

Ted Lasso Fanfic Challenge 2023 - January

A new year, a new set of challenges! I hope these ones will inspire more of you to take part!

January’s Challenge:  Death & the Afterlife

The Rules: There are none, EXCEPT that your piece must deal with death, and any of the events or spectrum of emotions that it can bring. Show Nate grieving a loved one he lost long ago, or Henry meeting in his dreams the grandfather he never knew. Write about Ted soothing Hank as he was put down, or Rebecca unable to recall the last time she spoke with Paul. Consider the first patient Dr Kent ever lost, or Sharon treating someone who is thinking of suicide. Think about Higgins crying when the entire Greyhound family comes to Julie’s funeral, or Keeley planning a funeral that helps her fear death less. Show Phoebe being afraid of cemeteries, or Deborah treasuring her weekly visit to her husband’s grave. Write about Sassy coming back from a near-death experience, or Trent asking somebody to raise his daughter if he dies. Consider Nora’s profound relief upon Rupert’s death, or Jamie crying non-stop when Mr. Tartt dies. Think about the Crown & Anchor’s uncertain future after Mae’s death, or Ted being sad when Ms. Shipley dies, even though she was always yelling at him. Show Roy writing a bucket list, now that he sees a future for himself after football. Write about Rupert arguing when the Grim Reaper comes for him, or Sam greeting death as an old friend after a long and happy life. Consider Beard exploring the afterlife, or a reincarnation fic involving Mr. Lasso. Or, if you’d prefer, think about an idiom related to death, such as died laughing or you’re dead to me or a fate worse than death.

Any character, any setting, any premise - anything goes! I’m calling it January’s challenge, but there is absolutely no deadline. And no word limit either - make it a drabble or a one-shot, or the longest multi-chapter you’ve ever written. (I can’t claim to need new things to read these days, but I love multi-chapters all the same). It doesn’t even need to be fic - I’d be thrilled if any of these challenges inspired a gifset or some other form of fanart!

Want to participate but aren’t able to write something at the moment? That’s fine too! Just describe what you’d like to write about for this month’s challenge. I’m curious what ideas all of you have in your heads!

Please add your fic to the AO3 collection HERE, and tag it with Ted Lasso Fanfic Challenge anywhere else you post!

Feel free to check out any of my prompts if you’re looking for inspiration. I hope to create a Masterpost with all of them in one place soon!

Bonus Challenge: Feel like setting an additional challenge for yourself? Send  me an Ask and I’ll give you a character/setting/premise!

Good luck!

Previous Challenges:

2022

[bookfreek1964]

The Mercenary’s Love

Epilogue

Namjoon is heartbroken – the agony of losing you so suddenly in the midst of what should have been the happiest time of our life. Never a day goes by that he doesn’t think about his Princess and how he wishes things were different. He needs you and so did your little boy, Lee.

Namjoon’s pain and grief is so powerful that when he can’t take it anymore, he packs up baby Lee in the sling that holds him next to Namjoon’s heart and he walks for miles – daytime or nighttime it doesn’t matter – he just walks. Sometimes with tears continuously streaming down his face.

Since you passed away, Hobi has been avoiding Namjoon. Namjoon knows he needs to address this and soon before there is no breaching the distance between them. He misses Hobi, so he invites him over on a night baby Lee is having an overnite visit with his grandparents. Namjoon and Hobi talk and cry it out over a bottle of scotch. Namjoon and Lee have Hobi back.

The little boy went from babyhood to school, college, husband, father and then grandfather. The seasons pass and the years go by with Namjoon dealing with the highs and lows of being a single, grieving parent. His broken heart has never really healed from his loss but he does his best to hide it. Nobody is fooled though. His BTS family, his adopted parents and your parents did what they could to help him through the darkness and he appreciates everything they did.

Namjoon watches Lee grow up, graduate high school, and then college. Lee marries a wonderful woman, Orchid and starts a family of his own. Namjoon adores his grandkids and spoils them rotten. He happily babysits them when Lee and Orchid have to work late or just want a date night. Namjoon tells them stories about his time as a K-pop idol and then as a mercenary. He tells them the story about meeting you although these stories bring pain to his heart. He stores all of the happy memories in his heart to share with you when he sees you again. The grandkids grow up and have families of their own and Namjoon becomes a great grandpa.

Namjoon turns into an old man. He catches a cold that he can’t shake that turns into a serious case of pneumonia and lands him in the hospital. He struggles to breathe and the constant coughing wears him out. Lee and Orchid are sitting with him in his hospital room when Namjoon turns his head and says in a whispery breathy voice to his son, “Lee, I hear your Mother calling me. She’s waiting for me.”

Lee’s eyes fill up with tears and he says in a trembling voice, “Dad…” he can’t finish. Lee gently picks up Namjoon’s gnarled hand in his own and clears his throat. “Dad, I love you. We will miss you very much. It’s okay, go to her” he sobs.

Namjoon lifts his hand up to wipe away Lee’s tears. “I love you son, I’m so proud of you and your Mother would be too. I’m really tired; I want sleep now.”

“Okay, Dad, you sleep now. We’ll be right here with you.”

Namjoon drifts off to sleep. You come to him in his dream holding out your hand, “Joonie it’s time. I have missed you so very much.”

Namjoon smiles, pulls you into his arms and kisses you, “Princess, I have missed you, too”

Lee sees the radiant smile on his father’s face as the time between heartbeats lengthens until they stop completely. He knows without a doubt that his father is once again reunited with the woman he loves and misses.

The End

[rosethornewrites]

T & G reading since 9/11

The usual.

Finished

Teen:

watch your anger, by loosingletters

Watch your anger, her master used to say, never reprimanding Cangse Sanren for her temper tantrums, mainly reminding her of what she stood to lose if she gave in.

Cangse Sanren survives. Wei Changze does not.

redemption lies plainly in truth, by kaseyskat

“I…” Wei Wuxian pauses again, swallowing. Lan Zhan’s gaze softens, and he takes one of Wei Wuxian’s hands in his own, a gentle reassurance. Take your time, the gesture says, I am here for you whenever you are ready.

“Lan Jingyi,” he finally manages, with a shaky breath, “reminded me that I… that I could. Wear white. For mourning. I never did my one hundred days of mourning for… for shijie, for Wen Qing.”

Lan Zhan makes a little noise in the back of his throat.

“I didn’t…” Wei Wuxian inhales, exhales. Breathe. “I had never… thought about that. I don’t remember being dead, Lan Zhan. It feels like… like three weeks ago, I woke up to Wen Qing and Wen Ning gone. Three weeks since shijie took that blade for me. Since… and it hasn’t been three weeks, but I…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

or, Wei Wuxian comes to terms with the knowledge that he's allowed to grieve for the people he lost.

Do you want to hear, by allollipoppins, dameauxgentianes

— about the deal that I’m making?

Lan Wangji goes back in time to save Wei Wuxian. This changes everything.

Extracts from the diaries of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, relating to the case of Lan Zetian (Nov. 4 to Nov. 27), by Accidental_Child

LWJ and WWX have to work together for their final assignment so they can graduate and become proper cultivators. How complicated could one case be?

“I have been assigned a case to solve as the final assessment for this cultivation masters course. Our class was told that these cases are non-violent, low risk and low impact, suitable for those practising cultivation at a novice level. With my previous experience interning with Brother and Uncle, this seemed too easy. I was correct in this assumption. I have been paired with Wei Wuxian.”

The Twelve Days of Christmas, OR, How to Drive Your Brother-in-Law Insane by Following One Traditional Carol, by Hobbsy3

Wei Ying asks his husband to make more of an effort with Jiang Cheng this Christmas. Lan Zhan chooses malicious compliance.

It is very effective.

In a true Christmas Miracle, this fic contains no angst. Apart from maybe some mild rage on the part of our beloved Jiang Cheng. Enjoy!

General:

of a dream, by Imatableclock

"The softer notes of the scale might help with control," Lan Wangji said, almost petulantly. Wei Wuxian tried to suppress the urge to blow a raspberry at him. It didn't work, and Lan Wangji glared at him, wiping his forehead of spit that definitely wasn't there.

OR

An idle summer day, in the middle of a war. Two boys learning to look at each other, beyond all that the world requires of them.

Unfinished

Teen:

every world, every universe, by glitteringmoonlight

It is well-known that the resources offered by the great clans simply cannot be matched by smaller sects. The greater clans have the most renowned techniques and the best teachers. They have built their reputations over centuries, striving to be the best of the best. It is these clans that most young cultivators aspire to join, and so, they have their pick of recruits and are free to pick the best of the best. To anyone in the cultivation world, it is unquestionable that the great clans reign supreme.

It is, thus, quite understandable that even Wen Ruohan— a man largely known for being arrogant and unflappable— looks surprised at the announcement that the first place in the archery tournament has been won by the Head Disciple of the Tingshan He sect.

Or, Wei Wuxian is raised in Tingshan He. Some things change. Some do not.

Standing By, by Prince_kun

On his way to visit his son and ex, Wei Ying gets stranded at the airport. It turns out to be a little less miserable of an experience when he gets stuck with a handsome, rich stranger named Lan Zhan.

General:

he, who died, is ignorant, by Maxciel_99

Jiang Cheng is thirteen when his eyes lose the shine that has always mirrored Wei Wuxian’s wild spirit. And then no longer is he a shadow of anyone but merely a shell of himself.

Here is a man who is served the world, for once, but he has turned a boy who finally stops wishing and wanting all at once.

_

Or basically, JC time travels but it's not your typical time travel fix-it.