#never visit your grieving husband in his dreams

[dovewingkinnie]

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

[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.

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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."

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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."

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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!!!

[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.

[luverofralts]

Arkhelios University

Roman stared at himself in the mirror, trying to calm his nerves.

It’s no big deal. You’re only getting married on live television in a nation that probably thinks that you had something to do with your first husband’s death. Just breathe. It’s not like your mother has a history of ruining your life and possibly killing the people you love. And the curse that your grandmother made that nearly killed your son, well, that was probably the only curse hanging around in your family. Things like that never happen twice in a lifetime, right?

“Are you almost ready?”

Roman had been so absorbed in his fear that he’d missed Ulyssa’s arrival completely. Somehow, she looked even worse than he felt.

It had been a tough transition for Ulyssa and Maura to assume the throne. It had only been a few weeks, but between adding additional weeks of mourning for the two monarchs they’d lost and following up with the new security teams, both women had been nearly impossible to get a hold of or visit. Maura had sent Ulyssa last week to inform Roman that his wedding needed to be bumped up in the royal schedule. The shocking loss of Queen Cherry and her wife and daughter had devastated the islands, and Queen Maura was desperate for something positive to lighten the national mood. There was no pregnancy to announce or anyone left in their family to find an engagement for besides the grieving Trent, so Roman’s state sponsored wedding was chosen to give the nation something to look forward to. None of their wedding plans could be accommodated in the time span the queen was demanding, so Roman and Abe had spent a whirlwind afternoon at the castle picking between different shades of black and somber looking cakes. It wasn’t the wedding Roman had always dreamed of having with Abe, but there was always a vow renewal ceremony or anniversary party that could be thrown in the future. Ulyssa and Maura needed this and neither man wanted to let them down in their time of need,

Maybe the demon wedding will be a little more extravagant. That may be the only good thing about having to go through with it.

“I just need to change into my wedding suit, and then I’ll be ready,” he replied. “It’s going to be okay, Ulyssa. Nothing bad will happen, I promise.”

Ulyssa smiled weakly at her friend and nodded slightly. All of her days were filled with doom and gloom and countless meetings about the danger of letting her guard down. The wedding and reception had been cut to family only, with minimal staff operating the equipment to broadcast the ceremony.

“I’m sorry this is so scaled back,” she said quietly. “I know you and Abe wanted something bigger but...it’s just all been so hard lately. I’m barely allowed to leave the castle these days until the incident is resolved. Maura and Trent are all that’s left of the family, aside from your girls, and people are scared.”

Roman knew all too well the stress Ulyssa was under. He’d been briefed by councils and ministers about the possible future his twin girls might have should something tragic occur with Maura or Trent. The girls were second and third in line to the throne of Twikkii Island and that knowledge terrified Roman. When he’d married Adrian, it had been made clear to him that Adrian wasn’t high enough in the nobility to ever see the throne and to raise his girls accordingly. Now there was a very real chance of them inheriting it. He wasn’t sure what future scared him more: Theo’s potential dark rise to powerful demon lord, or his daughters placed in the same dangerous position Maura found herself in.

“I understand,” Roman replied gently. “Don’t worry about us. Just take care of your wife. Do they have any leads yet about...the incident?”

It was easier to just talk about The Incident than to ask about the “murder investigation” or the “terrorist attack” or the “possible start of a war”. The entire nation was gripped with fear; Maura could easily be the next target and the peaceful islands could be thrust into war or panic or disaster at any moment. Maura’s great-great grandfather had become a national hero for repelling the monstrous king of Pleasantview a long time ago and there hadn’t been a credible threat on that scale since. Sure there was infighting among the nobility and a few deaths that were whispered about, but nearly wiping out an entire royal family in a violent attack was unheard of. It wasn’t just the royal family. Hundreds of people from every walk of life were injured or killed in the explosion. There had been serving staff, ambassadors, children and a foreign princess on board, and hundreds of people walking along the harbour front. Maura knew that her grandmother’s hands were stained by violence of her own, but she could never imagine the former queen committing such a vile act against her own people and invited guests. The investigators that served the government would no doubt find the culprit soon.

“Not yet,” she sighed. “It’s so hard looking over my shoulder these days, just expecting someone to strike. It’s like living in the shadow of Abraham’s murder all over again. Maybe the killer is done, and maybe they’re just getting started. We have to be careful regardless.”

“I can’t imagine living like that,” Roman commented dryly. “Every person you love or are related to just mysteriously and violently dying? I couldn’t imagine.”

Ulyssa shot her friend a tired look and folded her arms defensively.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she snapped. “It’s not a competition over whose life is sadder. You’re always going to win that.”

While the grooms got ready, Theo was in charge of entertaining his sisters. With security as tight as it was, no staff had the time or ability to entertain toddlers or keep an eye on Theo.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Abe said quietly, hoping that his tone was respectful and not in anyway upsetting. If Lucy and his mother suddenly died in an unexpected attack, he’d probably be a wreck. “If there’s anything Roman or I can do, please let us know.”

Maura sighed, adjusting the crown on her head so that it didn’t dig into her skin when she moved.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I’m sorry that you aren’t getting what we agreed on. I know Roman had big plans. Maybe we can have an anniversary party in the future. You deserve to have the kind of wedding Ulyssa and I enjoyed.”

Abe shrugged.

“This is all we need,” he stated. “Honestly, my mother’s become superstitious about parties over the past few years and she’s probably right. Just about every party we have in our family is a disaster in some way. All that matters is that Roman is going to be my husband.”

“Of course. I wish you two all the best then.”

Elaine looked out at the expansive gardens greeting her and shuddered. This castle was too nice and too formal for her group of insufferable children. Something was going to go wrong, she just knew it. If it wasn’t Lucy, then Nathan would start something or Theo would start a fire. It would be just her luck if Abe suddenly got cold feet and bolted down the aisle. All the reassuring words from Launce weren’t helping ease her anxiety.

“It’s amazing here,” Jorah breathed, inhaling the strong floral scents around him and beaming. “Every time I come here, it just gets more beautiful.”

“You say that about everything, Jorah,” Lucy scoffed. “You think that Murder Park is ‘charming’.”

Launce had insisted on taking all of their children with them to Twikkii Island for the ceremony so that they could support Ulyssa in her time of need. Elaine wasn’t convinced that the somewhat feral young adults she’d raised could be helpful for anyone, but she’d been overruled. Maybe Launce’s children would be a comfort for Ulyssa, but if Elaine had to choose the two people most likely to upset the new queen consort, it would be Nathan and Lucy.

“You really think that this marriage is going to last?” Nathan asked, staring intently at Jorah. “By the time the reception rolls around, Roman will be all over Ulyssa, and Abe will be going home with the first guy who smiles at him.”

“Nathan! That’s a horrible thing to say!”

Cindra scolded her ex and to everyone’s surprise, Nathan didn’t continue his comments. He still made a dismissive noise and rolled his eyes, but his rant concluded.

“Abe and Roman are meant to be together. They’re going to be happy together and that’s the end of it,” Cindra continued. “Ulyssa needs this wedding and we’re all going to make sure it goes perfectly. Is that clear?”

“Until Nathan picks up any guy that Abe’s ever made eye contact with,” Lucy remarked, sensing an opportunity to sow chaos. “You couldn’t find a date willing to come with you, so you need to find someone here.”

“Says the woman who couldn’t bring her boss as her date because he’d see her drooling over the married queen consort,” Nathan laughed. “And you think I’m the pathetic one?”

“Are you disappointed that Michael’s not here?” Lucy snapped, her voice betraying her true anger towards her brother. “I know how desperately you must want him here so you can try to throw yourself at him. You’ve already run through Abe’s list of bad decisions and now you’re trying to do the same to mine. I don’t think you’re Michael’s type though, little brother. He doesn’t want a whiny edgelord who’s obsessed with some washed up demon no one cares about. Stick with Kaeileen; I’m sure she’s desperate enough to take you back.”

“Enough!”

 Elaine’s voice echoed across the garden, startling the formally dressed guests that were starting to arrive.

“The two of you are going to act like reasonable adults the entire time we’re here or there will be consequences,” Elaine threatened. “I don’t know what they’ll be, but I’ll let Roman think of something appropriate. Neither one of you will make a scene or add your snide little commentary about your brother’s romantic history or even mention Kaeileen. I’m still apologizing to Emilia about the two of you. Launce is probably the only reason that we’re not drowning in legal action from the Rivales company and you should be thanking him for it. Abe is too much like your father for his own good, but at least I’m not ashamed to admit he’s my child. The two of you, I just don’t know what to do with.”

“Oh look, I think I see Ulyssa’s assistant waving us over,” Cindra interrupted. “We should probably check in with her to see if Ulyssa needs any help. Nathan, come help me while Lucy finds where we’re supposed to be sitting for the ceremony.”

Nathan shot a withering glare at his sister before Cindra dragged him away, which Lucy returned. The two siblings didn’t get along at the best of times, but the situation with Kaeileen had only splintered their relationship even further. Cindra’s well meaning intervention was only delaying the inevitable battle between them, but at least it wouldn’t occur during Abe’s wedding. At least she hoped it wouldn’t anyway. As much as she cared about Nathan, she knew how volatile the Helios-Chun siblings could be.

[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.

[bobbyseyesmile]

Pride and Passion | 3

Chapter 3

⤝ Previous chapter | Next chapter ��� ➻ Pride and Passion masterlist

Three weeks.

You had counted the days and made a small scratch in the wall for every day that had passed. For three weeks no one, not even a single person, had spoken a word to you.

You were sure that this was Negan’s work and he probably instructed all of his people not to interact with you. After a week you had stopped leaving your room, Dwight brought you three meals a day and left without speaking a single word.

At first it was fine; you could be alone and Negan ignored you but after a week you imagined voices that clearly weren’t there. It was his voice.

A small knock signalized your food was there. You opened the door and stared and the plate on the floor: Chicken breast, peas and a dinner roll. The food at the Sanctuary was far better than in Alexandria. Back there you only had meat if Daryl went out hunting and would be successful- other than that there was canned goods. Most of all canned beans or fruits. It wasn’t the best but it was a source of energy and that was the only thing that mattered.

A few days ago, you heard Negan walking past your room, talking about visiting Alexandria to collect whatever they could’ve found. It worried you a lot. There wasn’t many places you hadn’t already searched; their possibilities were small to find goods for Negan that would satisfy him.

“If I’d be still alive, we would never be in this situation.”

“Shut up, you aren’t real…” you hissed to the voice inside your head.

Since his death he hadn’t ‘visited’ you that often, mostly in your dreams or on sleepless nights when you thought about that one fateful night. You had no choice. You had to kill him. But some days, like today, you heard him loud and clearly like he was standing right next to you.

He wasn’t. He was six feet under and would never come back. Since his death a lot changed, you changed. A lighthearted, naïve and playful teenager turned into a serious grown-up who barely remembered what happiness felt like.

18 years old when you kissed for the first time, 19 when you had sex in the forest and 20 when you blew his brain out. It was your first kill ever, beside walkers, and your last one ever since.

When your dad found his corpse and started sobbing you stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, supporting him through his grieving process. You supported your mother who had a secret affair with him when she still believed her husband had died.

You were there for everyone who loved Shane, even though he was impulsive and stubborn, comforting them while you carried the weight of his death on your shoulders.

You never grieved openly for him. When the group buried him and everyone said some nice last words you just stood there, unable to form a sentence. Your dad gave you a hug, telling you how sorry he was. After the funeral you went in the forest for a walk and puked. You didn’t cry. Not once.

“Y/N! Open up, please.” You got up from your bed and opened the door, not sure if you were imagining it or not. Negan’s right hand, Simon, stood in front of you and gave you a polite smile. “Hi there. It’s your lucky day! Negan wants to see you and I brought a small present too.”

He handed over a simple black box with your name on it. You carefully opened it and realized that it was a dress and some high heels. That can’t be good… “What do I do with this?” you asked, obviously confused.

“You wear it.” Simon answered and looked down on his watch. “You get five minutes.” He closed the door for you and started tapping with his shoes against the floor.

The dress was way too short and tight, the shoes too high. You gave it your best shot but never walked in things like that, stumbling around while Simon supported and held your arm till you finally reached Negan’s bedroom. Simon knocked twice and you heard the approval to come in.

“My god, you look absolutely fucking fantastic, darling!” Negan’s smile widened when his eyes wandered from your body upwards your flustered face. “Don’t be shy doll, or did ya miss me in those three weeks?”

You rolled with our eyes and suddenly noticed another figure in the corner of your eye. Your head turned and stopped at a blonde woman, clothed in the same dress and shoes as you, but her face looked down as if she was staring at her feet.

“Ah, you noticed my beautiful angel?” Negan asked and brushed her long blonde hair back. “Don’t be fucking shy, babygirl, say hello to your new best friend.”

Amber’s eyes met yours and she gave you a quiet "Hello" and a small smile before she looked down again. “What the fuck are you doing with her? Why is she so scared?” The question lingered in your head since you entered the room but you realized that you had spoken it out loud. In front of Negan.

“My my…” Negan casually moved towards your persona and stopped a few inches in front of your face. “Calm the fuck down. I told ya that I hate violence towards women, so why the fuck would I hit my beautiful angel right there?”

“It was you who told me that punishment isn’t always physical.” You didn’t know where all the courage came from to speak to Negan like that, because Amber and Simon were also listening, but you had enough already.

This man wasn’t a god, even if he acted like one. He was just a stupid cult leader. In those three weeks of isolation, you may start losing your mind, hearing your dead boyfriend and talking to yourself, but you never forgot all the things you already went through. In order not to be scared of Negan you remembered the worst thing that you ever witnessed: Terminus.

Nothing was scarier than a bunch of crazy cannibals, trying to kill and eat your dad and friends, trying to rape the women so they would make them new babies and then kill the mothers. You had witnessed it. You would have been one of those women. If it wouldn’t have been for Carol and her brave intervention. So, screw Negan and his cult. Screw all the big bad wolves out there, trying to intimidate your group. You would take them all down.

“Good girl.” Negan whispered and then showed his signature smile. “Today’s a big day for ya, you gonna move, darling. Amber here will escort ya and show ya where all my beautiful wives reside.”

“Wives?” you blurted out. “Plural?” Negan didn’t answer, he just started laughing when Amber grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the room.

Taglist: @toxic-ink @jaywinchestersalvatore @crosshajr

[spencer-reids-wrld]

Glimpse of Us | Eddie Munson

Summary: You still see Eddie in your present lover.

Warnings: just language

Pairing: Henderson!reader x Eddie Munson

A/n bruh why did i do this to myself😭 i can't never get a favorite fictional character. anyway, I stayed up all night to watch vol. 2 and i dreamed this fic so it's small.

"Happy birthday darling, happy birthday to you." Eddie sang soundly into your ear. "Make a wish."

You closed your eyes and blew out the singular candle on the stack of pancakes he made you. Eddie's lips brushed against the top of your ear. He rubbed your shoulders and you hummed.

"What did you wish for?" He whispered, his warm breath tickling your neck.

You put the pancakes on the nightstand and turned in Eddie's lap and rested your hands on his cheeks. His eyes lit up the room and you would do anything to always see him smile. You stroked his cheekbones with your thumbs, smiling down at him.

"You." You leaned down to quickly kiss him. "Us." You kissed him again. "For us to be together forever."

Eddie grinned like a cheshire cat. "We will be," he said.

He punctuated his statement with a kiss on your ring finger. Your heart swelled at the thought of marrying Eddie. He knew you'd always wanted to marry him, but you didn't wanna marry young.

Meeting Eddie your sophomore year in art class had to have been fate. No one complimented you more than the crazy metal head. You would've never gotten with him if he hadn't have met your brother and became friends with him. Dustin was the whole reason you gave him a chance and you're glad you did.

"Gonna have us some little Munsons." You mumbled, wrapping your arms around Eddie's torso and burying your face in his chest.

"A big house with a white picket fence." Eddie nodded, kissing the top of your head as he rubbed your back.

"Grow old together and die in rocking chairs on the back porch." You chuckled.

"I'm not gonna grow old." Eddie laughed, shaking his head. "I don't wanna lose this masterpiece on my head."

"Me neither." You grinned, looking back up at him and touching his hair. "It's so beautiful.

"I knew that." Eddie rolled his eyes playfully.

"Babe."

You flinched, snorting as you lifted your head from the table. It looked like you fell asleep on your stats homework due to the fact that a piece of paper was sticking to your cheek. Your boyfriend, Austin, chuckled at your dazed state.

When you got back to your surroundings, your heart fell. This was the third time this week you found yourself dreaming about Eddie. It's been over a year now.

Austin noticed the tears that began to slip down your cheeks and pulled you into his arms. He's always reminded you of Eddie. Not only did his mid length shaggy hair remind you of Eddie, he treated you almost as good as Eddie. He had his days where he was different, but on his good days, you couldn't tell the difference between him and your late lover.

Austin knows about Eddie. He understood how you felt because his mother lost her second husband when he was a teenager and he learned how a woman grieves over the loss of someone. She did eventually remarry, but she was never as happy as she was with her second husband. Austin learned to accept that fact when he was comforting you in class.

"Do you wanna go see him?" Austin asked, rubbing your back. You nodded, so he helped you stand and get to the car.

When you visit the little headstone you and Dustin put behind his uncle's trailer, Austin stays in the car. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt your time with the thought of Eddie. This little grave was all you had left.

As you sat on your knees, you sobbed into your hands. The picture of Eddie had been vandalized once again. You figured after all of the initial shock died down, the vandalism would stop, but it never did. You ripped the picture off the stone and crumbled it in your hand.

"Fuck this town." You rested your forehead on the grave. "You saved them and they still do this shit."

"Eddie, baby." You brushed his hair out of his face to help him see. You met Dustin's eyes, seeing your own looking back at you. "We're supposed to get gray together."

Eddie chuckled, blood slipping past his lips. "I told you I wasn't gonna lose this masterpiece," he said, struggling to touch his hair.

You smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you," you said, against his cheek.

"I love you, too." Eddie nodded. You pulled away when he turned his head to Dustin. "I love you, man."

Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I love you, too." He cried.

"Sometimes when I'm with him, I can only see you," you said. You watched as your tears fell from your cheeks and onto the dirt below. "I swear he has the same hair and smile as you."

Thunder cracked a few miles away, but you didn't care. The world was just you and Eddie right now. You sniffled and rubbed your nose.

"He plays electric guitar." You sobbed into your hands at this point. All you ever wanted in life was to be with Eddie. You didn't want a high paying job. You didn't want a lot of money. All you wanted was Eddie, and that was ruined. "Sometimes I hear him playing our song and all I think about is you."

You felt a drop of rain hit your cheek, so you stood up. "I'll always love you, Eddie Munson," you said. "No matter who I'm with, I'll always go back to you."