#and also wanting to share my existing thoughts but not remembering enough of it to know if its at all accurate kandksndk

[bleue-flora]

For absolutely no reason whatsoever, I feel like we should talk about Limbo. Because it’s a interesting topic with lots of space for theories and perhaps this will help us come back to some common ground of discussion, and be an open enough topic to allow everyone, whether someone who just joined the fandom or has been here for years, to hopefully feel safe and welcome enough to join in and share their thoughts and opinions. Go ahead and use the tag #dsmp limbo so I can see your thoughts, there is no right or wrong answer here.

To start off the discussion, we know the time dilation based on what Wilbur has said is about 30/1 - meaning every 1 second is 30 seconds in limbo, every 2 minutes is 1 hour in limbo, every 48 minutes is 1 day in limbo, every 1 day is a about 1 month in limbo and so on just to give you perspective. We also know based on both what happens in the finale and by what Dream says in the finale, that Limbo changes based on how you die and the circumstances around your death.

Now here are my thoughts at the moment on the matter. While a lot of times I see Limbo in fanfics more personalized to the person killed, one theory I came up with to explain Limbo is that it is actually is more connected to the situation around the death and killer/death.

For example, Schlatt died of a stroke and his limbo then becomes a gym, themeing off the fact of becoming healthy and fit something he wasn’t in life. That lead to his nation being taken over and him not being physically capable to stop it as well as him dying to a stroke, which we are encouraged to believe is caused by his alcoholism.

But I feel like perhaps Schlatt’s is the easiest to connect, Wilbur’s on the other hand is a little weirder. But I think the train station is actually connected to Philza having just arrived, so the relation to travel. Trains are often kept on a schedule to be on time and Philza’s appearance is just in time to kill Wilbur, but too late to stop him from pushing the button.

Mexican Dream’s limbo then reflects more of Dream than of Mexican Dream. With an empty, unfinished nation not unlike how empty and isolated Dream likely felt, as well as angry about nations for being the cause.

This theory becomes a little stronger when looking at Tommy’s 1st Limbo being an existence of basically nothing. And I think this reflects how Dream kinda has nothing at this point. Also relating to how Tommy killed the cat (and am I miss remembering that he also burned his clock?) the only thing(s) Dream had left. It could alternatively relate to an empty stomach adding an element from his death being from the potato.

Rambo’s limbo then connects to Sam for a few reasons, one I think Sam felt very alone in his efforts to keep Dream locked up. Like only he could do it and no one was helping him. It is also similar in the fact that Sam felt so cornered and trapped like killing Ranboo was the only thing he could do, similar to how one would feel stuck on a tiny island surrounded by water that burns. It’s also interesting since for Ranboo, the island is also inescapable like the prison and he is only able to leave when Mexican Dream comes (like Dream only escaping prison when Techno comes), oh and Sam lives on an island too.

Then finally Tommy’s 2nd Limbo I think pretty clearly relates to Tommy asking before he died about why and how Dream saw things, and Dream’s comment of “everything was fine before you came!” so Limbo shows Tommy Dream’s pov at the beginning. Reflecting how Dream feels, his - “I just don’t want to ever be alone.”

Anyways, hopefully that made some sense, those are just some thoughts I have at the moment. Now I wanna hear yours. :) How do you think limbo works? What do you think Punz’s and Dream’s Limbos were? What were Vik’s, Lazar’s and Connor’s Limbos? What do you think would have been Tubbo’s, Techno’s or other character’s Limbos? How was Quackity able to visit Limbo in Las Nevadas?…

[topaztimes]

Hi this is a vent post! Continue scrolling if you'd rather not see that

[gibbearish]

eternal conflict between disliking christianity bc raised christian so wanting to stay away from anything involved with it vs wanting to reread the bible treating it as a fiction novel and examining the characters

[i-cant-sing]

TIME TRAVELER AU PT 2

Original post/idea here. Part 1 is here. Part 3 is here.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

I fucked up.

You thought as you sat on the bed, holding your head in your hands.

I fucked up so baaaaaad.

Not only have you healed Baldwin of his leprosy, forever changing history of the LEPER KING, but also managed to somehow be his bride. To make matters EVEN worse, you cant just up and leave right now because you dont know the disastrous effects it'll have on the future now that Baldwin wont die of leprosy, which means that the kingdom of Jerusalem wont fall to Salauddin and his muslim army and after that its just a domino effect.

You tried to view your options here.

I stay here, marry Baldwin and fuck up the fabric of time and space because how can someone from the future marry someone from the past? Wouldnt I cease to exist?

I leave, return to my time where authorities arrest me for fucking around with time- that is, if I even exist in the future now that I've altered history. Who knows if my ancestors survived/were born after this?

No. Neither option is good. I need to stay here and fix this. But in a way that i dont draw too much attention to myself so that im so insignificant that nobody remembers, let alone writes about me in the history books.

You were drawn out of your thoughts with someone knocking on your door. "Come in." You said, straightening yourself.

A couple of servants walked in, all women. "Princess Y/n." They all courtesied. "We've been sent here by his majesty to prepare you for dinner with him."

Princess? Ah yes. Only a couple of hours ago, Baldwin had proposed to you, I guess the concept of asking wasnt a thing here as he just slipped on the big beautiful ring on your finger.

You narrowed your eyes at them. "First of all, Im not a princess. You will address me as Y/n only. And secondly, Im not going to join him for dinner, so there's no need to prepare me" The maids all shared a look of confusion before the head servant spoke.

"But we cant address you as anything else until you wed the king, after which you will be our queen, princess."

"Didnt I just tell you not to call me princess? Just call me Y/n!" The head maid shook her head. "Princess, we can not do that. If we do, then we would be punished. And we must prepare you for dinner with his majesty!" The maids moved ahead to start helping you but you raised a hand, halting them.

"I said, no." You said sternly.

"What... what will we tell the king, princess? He's expecting you-"

"Tell him i cant come because Im sic- no, Im not feeling well and Id like to be alone." You cant say "sick" in this era, because that means "death sentence" here and you dont want to be fretted over and bring attention to yourself as "the king's fiancee got SICK!". Besides, you do need to be away from Baldwin as much as possible and have some time to plot your moves.

-

You had pulled out your notebook and began writing out dates and historic events of this era to plan your escape. You're trying to find some sort of shortcut where Baldwin gets sick again and dies, leaving his kingdom in the hands of his sister and brother in law, who will bring its downfall-

Someone knocked on your door gently. "Princess?" You quickly hid your notebook. "Come in."

Baldwin walked inside and towards you, eyes worried as they scanned you up and down.

"I heard you're not feeling well?" He asked and before you had a chance to back away, he had cupped your cheeks in his hands tenderly. "What's wrong? Shall I fetch the royal physician?"

"No." You replied with your face smushed in his hands. "I'm fine." You pulled your face away his large hands.

Confusion spread through his blue orbs. "Then why did you not join me for dinner?" He asked, using a hand to push your hair over your ear, not taking the hint that you didn't want him touching you.

"I just-" what possible excuse could you come up with that would be both effective and not insulting enough to have your head chopped off. "you- you dont care about me."

Baldwin looked at you in bewilderment. "I dont... care about you? Princess, how can you say that?" He tried to cup your cheek again but you backed away before he could, putting on a face of hurt.

"How can I not? You dont care about what I want, or even ask me what I need?" You feingned pain in your voice, turning away from him for dramatic effect.

He grabbed your shoulders and turned you towards him, his pupils grew wide as if trying to search for what it is that you need. "My love, what do you want? Just say the word, and I'll give it to you."

You looked down, again for the theatrics, and Baldwin lifted your chin. "Go on."

"You never- never asked me to marry you."

"Huh? But I did today-"

"No, you stated it- demanded I marry you." You furrowed your brows and looked down again.

Baldwin smiled. Of course, how could he have not asked you? You were a girl after all, you want to be courted the traditional way. Its not your fault that you dont know that kings do not ask permission for things. They just get it, because who would refuse to marry a king?

He kissed your forehead, lifting your chin again to meet his eyes. "Im sorry, princess. I shouldve asked." He took your hands in his and had that charming smile again. "Will you marry me, Y/n?"

"No." You shook your head. "I... I cant marry you, your majesty." You said, adding tears into your eyes. His brows furrowed in concern.

"What? Why?" You tried pulling your hands away but he didnt let go, tightening his grip ever so slightly.

"I-" well, you could say that youre not catholic and the church would never let you two get married, but you also dont wanna be tortured for being a "heretic". Maybe religious differences could be the last plan. Taking your silence as hesitance, Baldwin spoke. "I can offer you everything and more. Jerusalem would be yours. What is it that I lack that anyone else could offer?"

"I am not a good match for you!" Ah yes, lets do the typical "its not you, its me." You bit your lip as you yanked your hands out of his and walked towards the window, your back to him (theatrics). "You and I are not equals- no we are nowhere close! Youre a king, your father was a king, your family is royalty. I come from nothing, as did my ancestors. There will never be stability in our marriage when we come from such different backgrounds!" You never thought that you would be putting yourself down and call yourself "inferior" to break up with a man.

Silence hung in the air, as you held your breath.

"Youre right." You heard him say behind you. "We are not equals, we never will be." For some reason, instead of being relieved, a chill ran down your spine. Baldwin wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. "I may be a king, but youre far superior to me. You're an angel, sent to me by God, and you saved me. I wouldnt be king anymore if you werent here, princess."

Warmth spread from your cheeks to the tip of your ears, both due to the close proximity and his words. Sensing your bashfulness, he chuckled, kissing your cheek as he turned you around to face him. You could hear your own heart beat at how close he was.

Baldwin tilted his head, half lidded eyes staring at you. "Youre everything and more that I could ask for, princess. Never put yourself down and compare yourself to me, hm?" He said, giving your arms a gentle squeeze before moving away, but not detaching himself completely as he took ahold of your hand and looked back at you.

"Now that this is settled, let us go eat. I've had the servants prepare a feast for us and then we can discuss wedding arrangements-" shit shit shit shit shit fuck it!

"I'm not catholic!" Baldwin halted at that. You've already said it, might as well dig yourself a deeper hole. You let the tears form in your eyes. "Im... Muslim. I didnt tell you because I didnt want you to think I was working for Salauddin and spying on you for him, you know I wasnt! I really did only want to know about you. Please believe me, I wasnt-"

"I believe you."

What? Just like that.

"You- you believe me?" You breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Once again, Im sorry i didnt tell you I was a Muslim, but dont worry, I'll pack my things and leave tonight-"

"Why? We still have to get married."

You blinked slowly. "But... Im Muslim?"

Baldwin shrugged. "So? It doesnt change anything."

You looked at him in bafflement. "It does! It changes everything! We cant get married! Im a Muslim! The church wont allow interfaith marriages, and I dont intend on converting to catholicism either if thats what youre suggesting!"

"I am not suggesting that. You can be a muslim if you want to, but we're still getting married." Baldwin stated matter of factly.

"The church wont allow it-"

"The church will do as I say. I am the head of the church. Besides-" He smiled.

"I dont remember angels having to prove themselves to be a catholic. You saved my life, you cured my incurable disease. As far as the church is concerned, youre a miracle sent to me by God. Youre the Chosen One!"

Is he... is he hearing himself? Can you try to convince him?

"But... but Jerusalem deserves a Catholic Queen-" you tried weakly, but he cupped your cheek and smiled gently at you.

"I am Jerusalem, Y/n. And I deserve you." Was all he said before pecking your forehead.

He tugged you along with him. "Now, we have to eat."

You dont want to eat. You want to stay behind and think of another strategy because clearly you cant talk yourself out of this wedding.

"I'm- I'm not hungry." You said, making him frown.

"How is that possible? You havent had anything since morning. I dont want you getting sick before the wedding." Baldwin continued to pull you along.

Does he not listen?

"I dont want to eat- I- dont feel like it." You said a bit harshly this time, hoping he'd take the hint.

And he did, finally stopping. He sighed and let go of your hand. "Okay. I suppose if you really dont want to, we can skip dinner tonight." Fucking finally. "Its just... I seem to have developed a habit of enjoying meals with you. And now that my leprosy is cured and I have no more diet restrictions, I just- I had the kitchen prepare some of my favourite dishes that I was able to enjoy before my disease disabled me."

You stared at him. Is he- is he trying to guilt trip you? Baldwin once told you that due to leprosy he had ulcers in his mouth, and he couldnt eat different types of food, and was only able to have bland, soft goo.

You looked away from his big sad eyes. He's not getting to you. You need to go back to your room, make yourself scarce, be far away from him as often as possible.

"You can still go and eat dinner alone."

With one hand, he cupped your cheek. "Princess, you know I cant eat until you eat too. But its okay, if you dont want to eat, then I wont too. I guess I'll just have the servants finish the chicken roast and oh-! They even made strawberry cream cake for dessert. But- maybe another day."

You looked into his eyes, those blue orbs that were filled with sadness, resembling a kid who was just told "no candy!"

Sighing, you held his hand. "Maybe I can have a few bites."

His face lit up. Ah, he knew you'd come around. "Lets go!"

-

The next day, youre helped by the maids to get ready for the day. Apparently, Sibylla wanted to meet you and discuss some things, and you suspect she wants to talk about the wedding preprations.

The maids had prepared your bath and were very insistent on washing you themselves but you made them all leave the bath chambers. Finally, they compromised when you told them that they could dress you up if they wait outside.

Setting your old clothes on the bed, you entered the bathroom and settled into the warm water. The essential oils and flower petals soothed your mind and body, and you finally had some desperately needed silence to hear your own thoughts.

Last night at dinner, Baldwin was very- well, "happy" would be an understatement to how he felt near you. And all those forehead kisses and skin contact doesnt go unnoticed by you either. You suppose that since he had leprosy, he never really had or was allowed to touch anyone else. But now that hes cured, all thanks to your dumb ass, he craves the physical intimacy.

You closed your eyes as you sank deeper into the warm water. Gosh, did I really have to give him the water? Had I not done that, he would still be ridden with lepro-

Your eyes snapped open. Thats it. You just have to make sure he never drank your water in the first place! Yes! You can go back in time and sure, its always dangerous to go back in the same time period more than once, but you really dont have any other option now, do you?

After half an hour, you finally exited the bathroom and the maids practically ushered you to sit in the chair as they finally, FINALLY got to dress up the future queen of Jerusalem and after a whole hour, they're finally done. And... well you look good. Your hair has been done nicely, and a delicate golden headpiece, almost like a elegant hair band sits on top of your head. They added some color to your cheeks and lips with crushed berries. As for your clothes, they dressed you in a dark blue tunic with loose, flowing sleeves. The tunic itself was made of silk, probably brought in from the Byzantine empire and was only available to the upperclass of this time.

"I am not wearing those!" You said when they opened the jewellery boxes. There were diamonds and other precious stones adorning the earrings and necklaces.

"But princess, you must wear these. It is royal protocol for the king's bride to be, and the future queen to wear the royal jewels." The head maid said. She doesnt know that you dont plan on sticking around and if you leave wearing these jewels, who knows what havoc would that cause?

"No. I dont want to wear them."

The maids shared a look of concern. "What?" You asked them.

"Its just... his majesty picked these out for you himself. He would be mad at us if you were not wearing these." One of the younger servants spoke as she fumbled with her fingers. Through the mirror, you looked at everyone's worried expression. You doubt that someone as calm and collected as Baldwin would lose his marbles over his fiancee not wearing jewellery.

"I dont think the king would be mad at you if I dont wear some jewellery. He isnt one to get angry that easily, you know?" You said chuckling, but it died when you saw them share the same concerned looks again. This time, you turned away from the mirror to look at them directly. "What? Go on, no secrets."

Another maid mustered up the courage to mumble. "Well- it's just- the king- I mean- his majesty is calm but um-" she paused to look at the other maids for help but they all avoided eye contact. "Out with it." You said a bit sternly.

"His majesty... gets... emotional- yes, emotional! When it comes to matters concerning you."

"Emotional? What do you mean? Speak clearly, no word will get out of this room, I promise." You spoke all while glaring at the other maids to make them silently comply to not tattle on their friend.

The maid bit her lip. "His majesty... gets mad when he thinks that you're not being treated well." You gave her a look to continue. "A few weeks back, while you were strolling out in the garden, his majesty reprimanded some of his knights for not escorting you. He asked them why they weren't guarding you?"

A few weeks back? It may have made some sense for Baldwin to be protective of his bride to be, but you two weren't engaged until yesterday. And before that, his relationship with you was barely platonic, more like a king-servant thing.

"Tell her about the kitchen incident too." Another maid whispered.

"What kitchen incident?"

"Um, 2 months ago, when the kitchen had prepared a feast for his majesty, he almost fired the entire kitchen staff for serving olives with the entree." You gave them a quizzical look. "Well, his majesty had told them that you can't eat olives and had told them not to include it in the palace's food. But it was a feast to celebrate his victory and the staff thought it'd be best to add olives because the king likes them."

Your eyes widened at that. He almost fired the kitchen staff because you said you can't eat olives? I mean, it's not like you're deathly allergic, you just didn't like how tart they were and when Baldwin saw you picking them out on your plate, all you could manage to blurt out was that you can't eat them. Perhaps, he thought you had diet restrictions like him.

You huffed. That still didnt warrant such a reaction from him. "That isn't nice. Don't worry, I'll talk to him."

The maid looked at you in horror. "No! I mean, his majesty would not like that we- um..." she tried to come up with appropriate words that wouldn't be insulting. Her scrunched up face as she thought hard made you giggle.

"Fine, fine. I won't say anything to him. You have my word." You said, smiling at them assuringly.

The head maid then held out the pearl necklace to you. You sighed and nodded, and they all cheered as they started picking out the jewels for you.

Its okay. You told yourself. I can always drop them somewhere before time travelling.

-

As soon as you were dressed, one of Sibylla's lady-in-waiting came to fetch you. She hurried you, saying something along the lines of "you must see princess Sibylla right away!" And you couldn't stop her from pulling you along, so time travelling will have to wait.

"Princess Sibylla needs to see you right away, princess!" The maid said as she pulled you towards a room. Knocking on it, the door swung open and you were met with the sight of different gowns hanging on dummies with maids tending to them, and right in the center of the room was Sibylla, practically jumping on her heels.

"Y/n!" She yelled out as she ran towards you and engulfed you in a hug before her lady in waiting, the same one standing beside you, cleared her throat. It caught Sibylla's attention who gasped softly before backing away and immeadiately giving you a courtesy. "I mean, princess Y/n." You gave a nasty look to the lady in waiting before shaking your head at an embarrassed Sibylla. "You don't need to courtesy to me, princess Sibylla."

She immeadiately beamed. "Of course I do! You're not going to be just my sister in law, you're also going to be Queen of Jerusalem! Of course i bow to you."

Me, a queen? Yeah, we'll see about that.

"Still, I consider us friends before anything else." You offerer her a small smile. "You called for me?"

"Oh? Oh, yes!" She immeadiately grabbed your hand and pulled you further into the room. "I didn't know what colours and material you preferred, so I ordered them to bring everything with the best seamstresses in kingdom!" She pointed at the seamstresses, who bowed to you.

"But... I don't need clothes. I already have a wardrobe." Your statement made Sibylla laugh as did a few of her hand maidens.

"Ahh, you're so naive!" Sibylla giggled. "That wardrobe doesn't exist anymore. You're a princess, soon to be queen, you need a royal wardrobe!" She said as she dragged her hand over one of the gowns, feeling the material. "And! You still have to select your bridal gown!"

For the next 3 hours, Sibylla had the maids show you different gowns and materials, even helping by giving her input as to what would suit you.

"I still like my old clothes, they're quite comfortable." You sighed. Designing your new wardrobe was not something that needed your urgent attention at the moment. You need to return to your room and get the time machine from your old dress and leave this era.

Sibylla nods. "I understand what you're going through. I still remember how they burned away my entire wardrobe when I married Guy. But I suppose its poetic in a way. Since you're starting a new life, so why not start one by getting new clothes!"

Wait.

"They burnt all your old clothes?" Sibylla nods. "Mmhmm! In a way, you're burning away your past! And starting a new-" You didn't stick around as you immeadiately rushed out of the room and made your way towards your own.

You can't- your old clothes has your time machine. If they burn it, you can't ever leave!

You burst into your room, looking at the empty spot on your bed where you'd left your clothes before going in the bath.

"No." The maids, they must've put it in your closet. You searched it, searched your entire room but to no avail.

A maid walked into your room, watching you tear apart the bedroom. "P-princess? May I help-"

"Where are my clothes?!" You walked upto her, the poor maid's fright apparently on her face. "WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES!?"

"They- they're burning it-"

"WHERE?!"

"The gardens!"

You ran out of your room, and made your way towards the royal gardens as fast as you could, but with how huge this palace was, getting there took a while. Not to mention when you did get to the gardens, you didn't spot anyone there, but you did notice the smell of something burning, which lead you to the back of the gardens, that was away from everyone's sight.

There you found them, two maids burning your clothes in a small bonfire.

"PUT IT OUT!" You yelled as you rushed towards them, startling them.

"Princess-" they began bowing.

"Didn't you hear me? PUT THE FIRE OUT!" They scrambled about trying to find some water, but of course, they didn't have it.

"I'll get it from the fountain!" The two maids ran to get a bucket of water for you, but it would be too late by the time they came. So when you spotted your old dress burning, you pulled it out with bare hands, not caring about burning yourself.

The dress was mostly burnt to ashes, while only few bits remained that were still on fire. You managed to wrangle out your time machine out of it, the small metal box that was burning hot and left marks on your skin as you tried to hold it.

But even from here, you could see the damage was done. The area that displayed the year had now completely melted off, as did some of the buttons.

No. No. No. No. No. NO!

You couldn't help but cry as reality began to set in. You're stuck here.... you're stuck here forever.

Heart wrenching sobs wracked your body as you tried to hold the hot metal machine in your hands, your skin burning as you tried. Even when the servants came and poured the water on the fire, you still kept on crying, clutching your machine to your chest, partly to conceal it, partly from helplessness.

The maids looked at each in worry as they tried to console you, tried to pacify you, lest you had them executed. But it didn't matter, you were inconsolable. While one of the maids sat by your side, trying to soothe you, the other one ran in to get help.

Moments later, when you were able to hide the machine in your clothes again, someone came up and touched your shoulder from behind.

"Y/n?" You looked up through your tears. It was Baldwin. For some reason, seeing him only made you cry harder as you finally realised that you were stuck here with him. That you fucked up permanently.

"Oh princess. What's wrong? Don't cry- shhh, I'm here." He pulled your body towards him, letting you sob into his chest heartbreakingly. Exhaustion, frustration and shock must have overtook your body, as you fainted in his arms.

"Princess? Y/n?" He tried waking you up before collecting you in his arms and rushing back into the castle.

-

Hours later, you woke up to find yourself back in your room, lying in your bed. Your eyes looked down at your hands which were now wrapped in bandages. They only served as a reminder of what youd lost- your time machine.

Tears welled up in your eyes again. Am I- am I really stuck here? You sniffled.

A hand came up to caress your cheek, startling you.

It was Baldwin. "Princess? Do you want to tell me what happened?" His soft tone made you even more sad, and you raised your bandaged hands to wipe your tears, but he caught your wrists and lowered them back gently, using his own hands to wipe away the tears.

"No, you cant use your hands for sometime. The burns need to heal." His hand remained on your cheek, thumb caressing the area under your eye. "What happened, Y/n? Why were you so upset?"

You cant avoid the topic for long, and now that your way of escape is gone, you need to be careful of what you say and how you act around the king.

You let out a shaky breath. "They... they burned my clothes."

"Mmhm. Dont worry, I will have them bring in the fanciest clothes for you. Sibylla will make sure of it. Only the best for my princess." You shook your head. "Its not- its not that... They were my clothes... they burned away-"

"I know... but its a tradition. The maids burn away the bride-to-be's old clothes to signify that youre detaching yourself from the past and starting a new life." He explained, watching as you sniffled. Clearly, you were still upset over this.

"But the maids, they still should've informed you of this tradition before doing anything. I know how emotional of a transition this could be for girls." You nodded sadly, heart still sinking at the loss of your machine. "Dont worry though, they will be punished harshly for it. I have them in the dungeons tonight, and tomorrow-"

"What? Punished? No!" You cut him off. You dont want anyone to die because of you, especially when you dont know if anyone these people could potentially be an ancestor of yours.

"But they caused you harm. You burned yourself due to their-"

"No, no. Please, don't punish anyone- I- it was my fault for not knowing about royal traditions! Please, your Majesty, I beg you- don't do this- i- i-" You pleaded.

"Shhh, okay. Okay. I won't punish them for it." He patted your hair. "On one condition."

You looked at him in confusion.

"You call me Baldwin from now on." He grinned. "We are to be husband and wife soon, I don't want us to use royal titles with each other."

Your eyes widened. Is he- is he really giving up titles? You're not that blind to see his attempts at intimacy, but what you don't understand is why or even how you came to be on the receiving end of it.

What exactly is it about you that has made him want to marry you? Surely, Baldwin would've preferred to marry someone of this era, someone who is more compatible with him. Despite you trying to blend in the past months, you allowed Baldwin to see how you're not... as Conservative as most people of this time period are. One could say that he may be impressed by how intelligent you are than others, but it also brings up the factor of being "threatened" or "insulted" by the same intelligence.

Even though you consider beauty to be a "subjective" thing, the whole "beauty is in the eye of the beholder", you're not blind to how attractive others are. So why not them?

Did he only like you because you're intriguing? Does he still think you're a spy? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?

Probably. Or maybe he really does believe all that mumbo jumbo about you being "an angel sent to save him."

"As you wish... Baldwin."

-

Last night, after Baldwin had left you to rest, you stayed up and tried to figure out if you can fix your time machine, and if not, then can you built another one?

Fucking hell. You closed your eyes. I made it once, I can build it again. But it's easier said than done.

Back in the present, you had the technology to build it. Now? You have to first make the technology and the tools from scratch before you could even get on making your time machine, all while keeping your science project discrete, which was easier before because you weren't going to be married to a fucking King!

Right now, you're sitting in Baldwin's private dining room (yes, there are more than one dining room. He's royalty, what did you expect) having breakfast- well, being fed breakfast.

"You really don't need to do this." You said as Baldwin fed you another spoonful. He smiled as he wiped your lips with a napkin. "I don't need to, I want to. Besides, I don't want my princess starving."

Involuntary, your face flushed. "I- the maids could've fed me. And im not a princess." He frowned slightly. "Why would you- open wide, princess- why would you want the maids to feed you when you have me?" He pushed the spoon to your face as you parted your lips, but then he pulled it away and brought his face close to yours. "Do I make you nervous?"

You backed away immediately. "I- no- I mean-"

He burst out laughing. "I'm- I'm sorry princess, but you are just too endearing!" Baldwin chuckled as he grabbed the spoon again and fed you.

Your cheeks reddened, this time more out anger than embarrassment. "I don't want to eat anymore." You muttered, turning your face away.

He smiled as he brought the spoon to your lips again. "Ah ah, but you still haven't had enough." However, you rejected again, looking away instead of replying.

He sighed, placing the spoon back on the plate. "I'm sorry, princess. I shouldn't have laughed at you."

"You shouldn't have." You mumbled, face still turned away from him.

His lips quirked up a bit. "You know, for someone who insists that she's not a princess-" He turned your face to him gently. "- you sure have all the blandishment of one."

"Blandishment?"

"Flattering actions of a princess." He nodded.

You frowned. "Are you calling me a spoiled princess? A brat?"

"I would never!" Baldwin gasped. "I enjoy you acting like royalty, demanding respect and attention. You deserve it and more. Besides-" He picked up some food on the spoon again and brought it to your lips. "Even if if you were a spoiled, bratty princess, I wouldn't mind. I would enjoy spoiling you, hm?" He nudged the spoon to your lips softly.

You parted your lips, making him smile. It really is hard to stay mad at him when he looks at you with his baby blue eyes. They just- they draw you in.

"Also, before I forget, I will be leaving the castle today to meet Salauddin. So you can either hand out with Sibylla, who still wants to help you design your wedding gown, or your can-"

Salauddin? "Why are you meeting Salauddin? Isn't he your enemy?"

He chuckled. "Only on the battlefield. He and I have developed a friendship, or a mutual respect over the years. As to why I'm going to meet him, is... well, you."

"Me?" He nodded. "Since you told me that you're a Muslim, I thought that we could perhaps have a discreet Islamic wedding- what is it called? Nikkah? So, I could go and learn more about it from Salauddin."

You opened your mouth to protest. You don't need to be part of history as the "king of Jerusalem's Muslim wife" or "the Muslim-Christian wedding that took place during the Crusades", even if it might make the world more progressive.

But then, you didn't protest. "Can I come?"

Baldwin raised a brow at you. "You want to meet Salauddin?" You shook you're head. "Well, no, not really. I mean, I don't mind meeting him, but I just want to get out of the castle for a bit. It's been months since i left this place, I just want to get some fresh air." This could be the perfect opportunity for you, because if memory serves you right, Muslims of this era had made significant advances in science. Maybe you can use their help to get some tools to make the time machine again.

Baldwin looked unsure. "I don't know if it would be safe for you-" you held his hand with your bandaged ones. "Please, Baldwin? Can't you take me with you? And wouldn't I be the most safe when I'm with you?" Ah yes, stroke the male ego.

Finally, he smiled.

"Alright. I supposed it would be fine, after all, you should see the kingdom you're going to be the queen of."

Thoughts? (Also, I need to go shower rn, so I'll put the read more later. Doing so much effort for u guys, my spoiled greedy children)

Part 3 is here.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Either college or old man Ford being with someone who, even after all the years theyve spent together, still looks at them like a lovesick puppy

like theyre blushing and getting flustered when he rests his hands on their waist or doing normal couple stuff, etc.

it's like their mind still doesn't register that they're together and instead, to cope, just proceeded to have the most down bad crush on their HUSBAND

(like that one reddit post LMAOO)

You knew that you were staring but you didn’t care, and you knew that Ford knew that you were staring and yet you didn’t care when the finest man in existence was before you and was also your husband?!

You still found it impossible to come to terms that this silver fox was yours forever and always, you still get flustered when he compliments you and your bed head, even more so when he cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses your forehead.

You really shouldn’t be this badly affected after being with Ford for so long, but you couldn’t help it! Your husband was hot and you’d be blind to not take time out of your day to stare at him, shamelessly admiring his aging face and silver fluffy hair that looked like storm clouds! It was unfair that Ford looked so effortlessly beautiful no matter what he did that it left you swooning and pining after him like a lovesick fool, you’d find yourself asking if he was single…

Only to remember that you were married to him and got to see him be so effortlessly handsome every damn day of your life and you end up smiling stupidly.

‘You alright my love?’ Ford asked and you internally squealed like a little girl.

‘I am just perfectly fine my dear, just admiring my beautiful and talented and smart husband is all.’ You admitted also sheepishly as though you were confessing to him all over again as you felt the best rush to your cheeks and tips of your ears.

Ford smiled softly as he walked over to you and held your face in his hands, feeling the warmth radiation off of your cheeks as he caressed them; After all this time together Ford was aware of the fact he still held some power over you and he couldn’t help but feel flattered at how little had changed from then to now.

It was charming and sweet and kind of you to still look at him through the lens you did since your time at college together, he didn’t feel like he deserved it, but he knew that feeling would fade the moment he looked into your eyes and saw the abundance of love you held for him was still thriving and very much alive.

‘That is very sweet of you my dear,’ Ford said softly as he kissed your forehead, ‘you truly enlighten me with your love and affection that I can not thank you enough for marrying this old fool.’ He chuckled as he saw your eyes widened as though you still weren’t accustomed to the reality that you two were indeed married and have been for the past two months. Ford often wondered what what off in that head of yours but from the look within your eyes, he already knew his answer and couldn’t help but find it endearing.

‘I’d be the fool if I didn’t marry you Ford, even a bigger fool if I didn’t say anything back in college. I think I’d fight myself if i didn’t.’ You admitted as you thought of an alternate universe where you didn’t spill your guts to Ford back in college, you honestly didn’t want to think of where your life would’ve been like had you not married Ford as you were certain it was one full of regret and longing for what could’ve been. So you thanked god every night as you cuddled up to him in your shared bed that you got to live in a reality where you got Ford to be yous in every aspect possible.

Ford chuckled. ‘I highly doubt there is one where we don’t end up together my darling, and trust me I’ve been through the entire multiverse for the past thirty years.’ His eyes then soften as he rests his forehead against yours, causing your whole body to heat up at the action as you found yourself melting into him and his warmth. ‘I’m just happy that you were willing to wait so long for me. So, so happy.’ He adds in a whisper.

You nudged his noses with yours, flighting off the butterflies that were now within your stomach and running rampant at his words alone. ‘I would’ve waited far longer if needed just to see you home safe and sound.’ You told him as you kissed his nose and cheeks softly, happy to be in his arms and breath him in, content in knowing that he was here and that he was real unlike the dreams you had in the past. ‘So don’t thank me for doing something I would’ve done ten times over. You deserve as such Ford.’ You add as you pecked him lightly on the lips reassuringly.

‘Still I must thank my adorning wife/husband/spouse for being by my side when they had every right to walk away.’ Ford said as he tugged you closer to his chest, just innocently holding you in his arms lovingly but yet you couldn’t help but feel your heart hammer in your chest at being so close with him as you burrowed your face into his heck.

‘Your wife/husband/spouse is just happy to see you home where you’d belong with your family.’ You murmured again his red turtleneck, holding his waist tightly as you indulged in his comforting scent, something you loved about him that rivalled your love for his six fingers.

‘And I’m happy that I get the opportunity to call you my wife/husband/spouse.’ Ford admits as he kisses the top of your head before nuzzling his face into your neck, pressing a tender kiss there which made your breath hitch in your throat. ‘I love you my darling, so, so much.’ He whispers as though it was something that would only be shared between the two of you, like no one else is allowed to hear such talk between lovers and soulmates.

Your love for Ford was insurmountable, no words could properly describe just how much you love this man that you were more then willing to rip heaven and hell for, to rip through time and space just to see him home safe, anything if it meant seeing a man as sweet and loving as him smile that adorable smile of his in your direction.

You needed Ford like you needed air to breathe, water to drink and food to eat. Ford was a necessity for your survival and you weren’t going to let him go ever again, for you didn’t know how you’d be able to cope without him again.

Sure you might still have an embarrassingly massive crush on your husband, and become flustered every time he held your hand, kissed your forehead or even looked at you lovingly but you weren’t ashamed of it as it just meant that you were that your love rang true even after so long. If anything it meant that your love was stronger then most that fizzle out after a certain period of time, and yet you couldn’t help but smile stupidly and look away whether Ford complimented you or engulfed your hand with his own.

Ford was your best friend, husband and your crush all at the same time and you were more then happy to have finally gotten your happy ending with him, all the while staying perpetually in love with him regardless of the passage of time because Ford was so much more then your husband but he was massive part of yourself that you couldn’t live without nor intend to.

‘I love you so much my beloved Ford.’ You said as you rested your eyes and listened in on his strong heartbeat that told you he was alive as he held you tighter. ‘So very, very much.’

‘Then I hope you keep loving me for a long time.’ Ford confessed as he kissed your neck some more.

‘And I’ll promise to love you for an even longer amount of time after that.’ You admit as you moved your neck so that he’d have more access as you clutched onto him, smiling dopey as you felt as though you were on cloud nine within your husbands arms, blissed out of your mind as it ran rampant with ideas for the rest of your shared lives together.

[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part III

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 5k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, gore, blood, violence, short yet emotional smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, overall low intensity angst with a bittersweet ending.

A/N: i want to thank all of you for taking some of your precious time to read my fic, i really appreciate it! this is the last installment of the main series, i hope you enjoy your time.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Standing at the altar, Bucky’s heart pounded loudly; excitement and sorrow interlaced within his being. The weight of Y/N’s death still haunted him; every time he closed his eyes, those horrifying images conquered his mind.

But today, this very moment, he had been given another chance. The conflict within him was fierce; he was determined to protect her this time, to keep them safe no matter the cost. His mind raced with plans and contingencies, but all his thoughts were interrupted when the church doors opened.

As the crowd rose to their feet, for a moment, everything else ceased to exist. Y/N walked toward him, each step amplifying the intense storm swirling inside him. She was more beautiful than he remembered, more radiant than he ever thought possible. In the past, he had been unfamiliar with the nuances of his emotions, but now, with his heart fully opened, he was consumed by an all-encompassing love.

The urge to rush to her, to pull her into his arms and never let go, was almost unbearable, but he forced himself to remain composed, to hold onto the control he needed.

As she walked down the aisle, he felt like his chest was on fire; it was almost overwhelming. Memories of their past life together flashed before his eyes, a painful reminder of what he had lost and what he was determined to save. 

And as Bucky lifted her veil, he couldn’t focus on anything else; the sight of her, so radiant and beautiful, so close, so real.The delicate fabric framed her face, accentuating the soft curve of her cheeks, the gentle arch of her brows, and the deep, soulful eyes that had captivated him from the moment they met. 

When her eyes met his, he saw something unexpected in their depths; an innocence and trust that made his heart ache. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility to protect this woman, not just from the dangers of what lies ahead in their future but also beyond this earth; heaven or hell, it does not matter.

Bucky gently placed a hand on her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the pristine fabric of her dress. His other hand cupped her cheek, the touch both tender and deliberate. The sight of her up close, the feel of her under his touch, was both too much and not enough. 

He leaned in and his heart raced vigorously in the trepidation of the chance that he might lose her again. But when his lips met hers, he was completely engulfed by immense euphoria. The happiness of being able to hold her again, to share this moment of tenderness, was so much stronger than the anxiety that hounded his mind. As he pulled away, he saw her blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her eyes filled with confusion and awe.  

To be able to see such a sight again was a blessing; Bucky thought he had lost it forever. His chest seemingly expanded to accommodate the hope and determination filling the space within his ribcage. To ensure that this time, things would be different. He had longed for this moment, to have her in his arms again, and now that it was real, it was even more profound than he had imagined.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said softly, his voice carrying the depth of his emotions. “I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear.” The reassurance in his tone was genuine, a reflection of his own relief and longing.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes softened as he adored the tint of pink on her cheeks, “Good,” he added, his gaze tender and full of warmth. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Bucky’s nightmare was a relentless torture decorated with anguish and despair. And it was always the same series of events. Him riding through the frozen landscape, the biting cold of the snow searing through his worn leather boots. The icy wind howled around him, matching the torment that gripped his heart. The landscape blurred as he navigated the bloodied halls of their home, a once serene space now stained by violence and death.

Him, stumbling into their shared bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw her; Y/N’s body, brutally maimed and lifeless. The sight of his child, still and cold, was a dagger to his soul. The room was a horrifying tableau of shattered dreams and crushed hopes. His cries of despair echoed in the empty corridors of his mind, the reality of the scene blending with his deepest fears.

His body jerked violently as he jolted awake, the sudden shift from the nightmare to the waking world leaving him disoriented and breathless. The line between a mere dream and reality was blurred, the remnants of his terror clinging to him like a shroud.

He fumbled through the darkness, his mind racing as he struggled to grasp where he was. The echoes of his terror still haunted him, a grim reminder of the fragility of their happiness.

“Bucky?” Her voice, soft and uncertain, cut through his haze of panic. He blinked rapidly, struggling to focus.

“Y/N?” His voice was a whisper, fragile and filled with a tormented confusion. Seeing her was almost like a divine intervention, a moment of disbelief at her presence. He stared at her, trying to reconcile the vibrant, alive woman before him with the haunting vision he had just escaped.

Her presence was a stark contrast to the lifeless image burned into his mind. Seeing her breathing, speaking back to him, felt like a dream that will never come true.

Not wasting any time dwelling, his body surged forward, enveloping her in a gripping yet desperate embrace. “Y/N…” he murmured, his voice trembling with the raw intensity of his emotions. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his grief and dread pouring out in the hidden agony.

The truth of his nightmare and the burden of his misery weighed heavily on him, almost impossible to bear; at least not alone. The words he wanted to speak were trapped within him, their pressure making it hard to breathe, let alone articulate his pain.

Bucky took refuge in his wife’s arm, focusing on the feeling of her hands moving soothingly up and down his back. “I’m here,” she whispered softly. “I’m here, Bucky.” Her presence was grounding; holding him tight in a reality that felt too fragile to trust.

The night was still and intimate, and Bucky’s need for her overwhelmed him. Their connection deepened as he made love to her, each touch, each kiss a frenzied affirmation of the life they still shared; a way to anchor himself to the truth of their love amidst the chaos of his dreams.

In the opulent chamber, Bucky stood like a silent sentinel, his form partially obscured by the shadows cast from the full moon behind him. The eerie silhouette of his shadow filtering through the large, arched window. The room was a luxurious display of wealth and power, adorned with velvet drapes and golden accents.

Despite the grandeur, the atmosphere was chilling, accentuated by the presence of Bucky in his Winter Soldier attire: a black mask, heavy boots, and a sleek, tactical uniform that made him appear as if he were more machine than man.

He moved with the ghostly grace of a predator, each step intentional and calculated as he approached the enormous bed at the centre of the room. The Emperor lay sprawled beneath an elaborate canopy, his slumber seemingly undisturbed by the chaos outside his lavish walls. It was almost laughable to Bucky that such a cruel ruler, whose hands were stained with countless deaths, could rest so easily, untouched by the spectres of guilt that should have plagued him.

Bucky’s gaze was unfeeling as he surveyed the sleeping figure. The Emperor's peaceful expression was a dichotomy to the turmoil that simmered beneath Bucky’s cold exterior. His presence, unmoving and imposing, made the room feel colder, his eyes devoid of warmth or emotion.With the steely void in his mind, his purpose clear as he stalked closer, each step making the heavy boots sound like distant thunder.

The Emperor stirred, his eyes fluttering open to the sight of Bucky standing at the foot of the bed. For a moment, there was confusion in the Emperor’s eyes, quickly replaced by a smirk. "I don't remember calling for you, soldier," he said, his tone half-joking, half-curious.

This was not the first visit at such ungodly hours for Bucky. Often the Emperor would call upon him to send him out on clandestine missions or covert operations.

Bucky’s unresponsive silence made the Emperor uneasy, a subtle crack in his facade of control. As Bucky’s form loomed closer, his eyes glinted with an icy determination that cut through the darkness like a blade. The realisation of the danger crept into his expression as Bucky reached the side of the bed.

Before the Emperor managed to call out for help, Bucky’s metal hand shot out, encircling the Emperor's throat with a grip of iron. His eyes widened in shock, "What is the meaning of this?" he croaked, his voice strained as he struggled against the unyielding grip.

Bucky’s voice was a low, menacing growl. "Why did you kill them?" he demanded. The Emperor’s face twisted into a mask of genuine confusion. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” he said, his voice strained with bewilderment.

Eyes burning with an intensity that spoke of old wounds and unending fury, Bucky was in a trance-like state. His mind focused on the Emperor as the embodiment of the callousness that had devastated his life. To him, it mattered so little whether this version of the Emperor had committed the heinous acts or not. The knowledge that past him had once inflicted such horrors was enough to ignite Bucky’s rage.

“My wife,” Bucky growled, his voice cutting through the Emperor’s confusion with chilling clarity. The Emperor’s eyes widened further, a flicker of fear beginning to replace his initial disbelief. “Why did you kill her?,” Bucky continued, his tone carrying the heaviness of an unspoken pain.

The Emperor’s expression remained in a genuine concern, though it did little to mask his growing foreboding. “I never ordered anyone to lay hands on her,” he insisted, his voice cracking with a hint of desperation. “I would have remembered something like that.”

Bucky’s gaze remained unwavering, his anger as fiery as ever. The Emperor’s words, though spoken with a semblance of sincerity, only fueled Bucky’s fury. It wasn’t merely about this specific Emperor’s actions; it didn’t even matter if he had not done the deed yet.

It was about the realisation that such brutality happened once before. Much more atrocious to know that it had been sanctioned by someone in a position of power. The sense of betrayal ran deep, rooted in the knowledge that the cruelty was a part of a larger, systemic evil that had haunted Bucky’s past.

As the Emperor tried to reason with him, his terror and desperation were transparent. "I would never harm your wife," he protested weakly, his voice trembling with an echo of dismay. Bucky’s mind flashed with ghastly memories; the cold snow he rode through, the bloodied halls leading to their shared bedroom, the image of Y/N’s body maimed, his child lifeless. The horrific images fueled his rage.

"Oh, but you will." Bucky hissed, his anger boiling beneath the surface. His free hand drew a blade, the steel glinting with deadly intent. The Emperor's eyes were wide with horror; his pleas of defence were simply a string of meaningless words lost in the wind as Bucky’s resolve hardened.

With a swift, adept motion, the blade struck through the man’s throat. The Emperor gurgled; blood bubbling from the wound as his eyes widened in shock. Bucky’s face remained impassive, his cold eyes reflecting no mercy. He plunged the blade deeper, the Emperor’s feeble attempts to grasp Bucky’s arm proving futile. 

Unfortunately for him, the first strike was not enough to quench the rage that burned within Bucky. He pulled the blade out and struck again. Again and again, the knife met its target, each jab driven by the anguish of countless painful memories. The bed beneath them soaked with the colour of crimson, the luxurious chamber now marred by the blood of its cruel occupant. The room filled with the grotesque sound of a life being extinguished, a gruesome symphony that echoed Bucky’s inner anarchy.

Bucky stood over the fallen ruler, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. As the adrenaline faded, Bucky’s vision suddenly began to blur, the edges of the room dimming into darkness. The world seemed to contract into a tunnel of darkness until a voice cut through the haze. “You really have to be that… brutal?” The voice was calm, yet filled with an air of reproach.

With his sight suddenly altered, Bucky turned towards the sound; the silhouette was unclear in his clouded vision, however he recognized the voice. “Steve,” he called out, his voice a low rasp.

Steve, the crown prince, stood in the doorway, his expression was weaving traces of concern and resignation. He took a step forward, the dim light catching the determination etched in his features. Tomorrow, he would be the new emperor, a role thrust upon him by necessity and circumstance.

Although Steve was one of the emperor’s blood; his only living male heir. His mother was not the empress but one of the many wives the emperor had taken. In the emperor's eyes, this made Steve unworthy of the crown, despite his lineage. This disdain had placed Steve in a precarious position, viewed as a threat rather than a successor.

In the past, Bucky and Wanda had seen Steve meet a tragic end, assassinated by the devout followers of the Emperor who refused to relinquish power. This time, Bucky and Wanda had approached Steve with a plan to overthrow the throne.

While withholding the truth of their origins, they convinced him to claim the crown for his own, knowing the kingdom already favoured him. The real challenge lay with the noble families, whose support was crucial. Over the past few months, Steve had skillfully manoeuvred through the intricate web of politics, winning their allegiance.

Meanwhile, Wanda had been executing a 'clean-up' operation at the magic tower, ensuring no loyalists of the emperor remained. By the time Bucky entered the emperor’s chambers, all potential threats had been neutralised. Soon, the kingdom would surely hear news of the youngest female master of the tower reigning in power.

“Hey, Buck. You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm. Steve noticed the way Bucky’s eyes seemed to glaze over, staring into nothingness. Concern etched into his features, he took a step closer. Bucky blinked a couple of times, trying to clear his vision, but the blurriness persisted, leaving him disoriented.

As Bucky’s vision began to clear, he saw Steve’s concerned blue eyes staring back at him. “Yeah, just…” Bucky shoved his hand into his pocket, retrieving the teleportation stone given to him by Wanda prior to the mission. His gaze fixed on the shimmering stone, the weight of his debt to the ancient magic pressed heavily on his mind; knowing the time to pay for it was drawing near. “…just missing my wife.”

Steve watched, a silent understanding passing between them. Bucky crushed the stone in his hand, the stone's magic activated with a flash of deep red light, enveloping Bucky in its embrace, swallowing him into the abyss and back to his home, to Y/N.

Moments later, the warmth and chaos of the Emperor’s chambers vanished as the cold night air hit him as Bucky found himself on the balcony of his home. Through the transparent glass, he could see his room bathed in a faint light. Inside, Y/N was reading by the soft glow of a night lamp. The sudden swoosh of Bucky’s arrival drew her attention, and she lifted her gaze from the book to the source of the sound. Her eyes widened as she saw the dark silhouette standing on the balcony.

"Hello?" she called out softly, her voice quivering with fear. She set her book aside and stood up, her silk nightdress flowing around her like a whisper of moonlight. She walked to the balcony door, the rhythm of her heart quickened as anxiety creeped in. 

As the door opened, the cold wind tickled a shivering goosebumps on her skin. She looked up at the man, her eyes widening in surprise and anxiousness. Bucky, on the other hand, remained still; his mask and dark attire made him look as if he were a ghost from her nightmares. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The familiar blue gaze met hers, and she recognized him instantly.

Y/N’s initial fear melted away as she stepped closer towards him, "Why are you out here in the cold, love?" she asked gently, standing only inches from his foreboding self. The distinction between them was hardly difficult to spot: her soft, fragile appearance in her silk nightdress against his imposing, almost monstrous form in his combat gear.

Bucky stayed silent, his eyes trained on her as if trying to memorise every feature, every delicate line of her face. She reached up, her fingers slightly trembling to the cold, gently removing his mask. The emotionless facade that he put up crumbled almost instantly, his eyes softened as she smiled up to him. Her hand reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble, "Come inside," she urged softly. "You're freezing."

He didn’t argue as he allowed himself to be led into the warmth of their room. Y/N’s hands moved with gentle resolution. As they reached the side of their bed, she began undressing him from his harsh, restrictive attire down to his shorts and sat him on the mattress behind him. She traced the scars on his body, each one a testament to the battles he had fought, and her fingers made their way up to his stubbled jaw, cupping his cheek tenderly.

"Bucky… you look so troubled." She noticed. "What's wrong, my love?" her voice filled with concern. She came to his side, sitting close as she spoke softly, “Tell me,” her eyes searched within his, “...please?” 

Bucky took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the burden of the truth he was about to reveal. "Y/N," he began, his voice slow, as if he was afraid, "This... this isn't our first time living through this. Our marriage, our life together, it was supposed to be different.”

Everything that had been haunting him for the past months spilled out for Y/N to consume. He spoke of the first time he stood at the altar, the way he was clumsy and rough the first time he touched her, their awkward moments, and the ups and downs that became the foundation of their budding romance.

He told her about her pregnancy, the joy he felt from it, how she glowed with happiness, and the dreams they had for their child. He recounted his request for retirement, wanting to leave his life as a weapon behind to be with his family, to protect and cherish them.

But then he spoke of the horror that shattered his world. How he found her dead with their child, both victims of the Emperor’s cruelty. He described the devastation, the unbearable pain, and the crushing sense of failure. He had lost them both, and his heart had been torn apart. "I lost you once before. You and our child," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Bucky continued, his words pouring out in a rush. He spoke of Wanda, how she had given him a chance to come back, to change things, to save her, to save them. He told her about the sacrifices, the battles fought in the shadows, and the relentless drive to protect her and their unborn child. He described the nightmares that haunted him, the fear of failing again, and the desperate hope that this time, things would be different.

Yet, as he bared his entire soul to her, Bucky kept one critical detail shrouded in silence. He did not mention the true cost of altering time, the personal price he had to pay for this chance at redemption. The burden of that price, the debt to ancient magic that had exacted a toll on him, remained untold, a hidden weight that he bore alone. At least for now.

Y/N was silent, her mind racing to comprehend the enormity of his confession. It sounded impossible, yet there was a sincerity in Bucky's voice, a pain that was all too real. She thought back to the subtle hints in his behaviour, the way he seemed to know her so intimately, as if he had known her for a lifetime. She remembered the moments when he would finish her sentences, anticipate her needs before she even voiced them, and the way he looked at her with such profound love and fear, as if he was afraid she would disappear.

Tears welled up in Bucky’s eyes as he reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “It’s true, Y/N. Every word. I’ve lived through this nightmare, and I couldn’t bear to lose you again.” However, Y/N’s silence scared him. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, terrified that she would reject his story, reject him. Bucky's tears fell freely now, landing on her skin like tiny droplets of despair. "Say something, please," he begged, his voice choking with emotion.

Y/N’s mind and heart were in turmoil, but something deep within her, something in her soul, told her to put her faith in him. Just like that, she believed him. Her heart ached at the thought of the pain he must have endured. She cupped his face in her hands, her eyes searching in his ocean blues. “I’m so sorry for leaving you so soon, love,” she said softly, not knowing why her voice broke..

Bucky’s reaction was immediate. His eyes widened with relief, his tears flowing even more; raw and unfiltered. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she would vanish. “Y/N” he whispered against her hair, his voice was a sound of agony and respite. 

Y/N’s own tears fell as she held him close. She didn’t fully understand the mechanics of time or the magic that had brought him back, but she knew one thing: she loved this man with all her heart, and she would do anything to ease his pain. 

“Thank you for saving me.” she echoed, her voice soft but firm.

Their tears of sorrow began to shift into a more tender, fervent connection as their need for each other deepened. Bucky’s lips found Y/N’s in a searing, passionate kiss. Their tears mingled and cascaded down their cheeks as they lost themselves in the embrace. Each touch, each kiss, was imbued with an urgency to reaffirm their bond and erase the pain that had haunted him.

Every piece of clothes were thrown aside; discarded in their frantic desire to be closer. Bucky’s touch grew more intimate; hands moved to pin Y/N's hands above her head, pressing her wrists gently but firmly into the bed. His eyes, dark with desire and love, bore into hers.

“Let me see you, my dear. Please, let me see all of you,” Bucky whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he removed his hands from her wrists, roaming over Y/N’s body. His touch is a mix of reverence and desperation. He explored the curve of her waist, the gentle slope of her hips, and the soft, supple skin that felt like a lifeline to him. 

He trailed his lips down Y/N’s neck, savouring the softness of her skin, leaving a trail of heated kisses. His breath warmed her as he explored her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, and lower, where his lips brushed against the delicate curve of her breasts. Each kiss was a worshipful caress, a testament to his adoration and need for her.

A simple nudge of his hips and Bucky sinks in, breathes caught in the air when he starts to move; “You feel so good, so tight around me.” His thrusts were slow, sensual yet deliciously deep. “I love you so much,” his declaration spread warmth all over heart, filling up every space possible; much like his huge, throbbing cock to her cunt. So full, so good. While he rocked his hips, Bucky’s lips trailed delicately on her cheek, “My dearest” he murmured watching the tears fall from the corner of her eyes, “My everything”. 

Y/N, feeling the intensity of his love and the raw need in his embrace, responded with equal fervour. Her hands ardently moved over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling the contours of his muscles tense and relax under her touch. She could sense the urgency in his movements, the way he clung to her as if she were his salvation.

Bucky’s calloused fingers slipped downwards, reaching to where their bodies were most connected. He found a grounding pleasure as he swirled soft circles on her sensitive clit; rubbing it the way he knew she loved. Y/N leaned into his touch, her body responding to his every movement. Her breaths came in short, heated whimpers as Bucky’s hands continued their exploration, his fingers grazing over her sensitive skin with a mix of tenderness and hunger.

Creating a slight distance between them, Bucky leaned back and revelled in the sight of her; what a view she was.

Her hair was messy in the most beautiful way, cascading around her face like a halo. Her hands gripped the sheets behind her, knuckles white, grounding herself in the intensity of the moment. Her body arched gracefully, a perfect curve that pushed her hips toward his in a silent plea for more. His fingers; now wet with her slick, continued to rub tight circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“There she is. So pretty for me, so fucking gorgeous,” Bucky murmured lowly, his voice filled with desire and awe.

“Bucky, please,” she whispered, her voice a plea, her legs around his waist tugging him closer.

Bucky found her shy desperation was seductive yet so innocently pure. “God, how am I so fucking lucky?” Bucky’s breath shuddered as he felt the way her pussy clenched in protest of his delay; his voice heavy with emotion as he moved against her, his eyes locked onto hers. The raw need in her voice, the way her body responded to his touch, made his heart swell with unrestrained desire.

The metal of his left hand found their way to her hips, guiding her with a gentle yet insistent touch as his fleshed finger worked on her clit. Despite the hard and hasten pace of his thrusts, their movements were synchronised, each grind was a need to chase that height of ecstasy. 

The room was filled with their whispered breaths, their shared moans of pleasure, and the undeniable proof of their love. Their connection transcended the physical, reaching into the depths of their souls, reaffirming the bond that had defied time and fate. 

“I love you so much, Y/N,” Bucky whispered, his voice raw and filled with affection as he held her close, their hearts beating in perfect harmony.

“I love you, too, Bucky.” she replied, her voice trembling with the intensity of her feelings.

As they reached the peak of their high, their cries of passion were mingled with their whispered promises of devotion. Every touch was a declaration, every kiss a vow to never be separated again, and every warmth filling inside her was a possible gift of a future they looked forward to.

Afterward, they lay entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal, the room filled with a quiet sense of contentment and amour. Compared to prior, this time, their touch was gentle, almost innocent compared to the fervent passion earlier. They held each other, caressing skin, savouring the quiet moments of closeness. Bucky felt at ease, a sense of peace washing over him that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like lifetimes.

Bucky’s perspective was filled with the sight of Y/N. He drank in every detail, from the curve of her lips to the softness of her cheeks, to the way her eyes sparkled even in the dim light. Her skin was a beautiful contrast to his own, delicate and smooth; pure and untainted. He traced his fingers lightly over her features, committing them to memory with a sense of awe and gratitude.

She yawned as fatigue creeped in, snuggling closer, tighter. Bucky brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “You should sleep, sweetheart.” he whispered softly. Y/N smiled, her eyes already half-closed. “See you in the morning?” she murmured, her voice laced with drowsiness.

At that moment, Bucky’s vision began to blur again; worse than before. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear it, but the edges of his sight remained dark and unfocused. He felt a pang of fear but pushed it aside. The time had come, he realised. He kissed her forehead gently, revelling in the feel of her skin against his lips. “See you in the morning, my dear,” he replied, his voice steady despite the growing darkness in his vision.

He smiled down at her as she snuggled, his heart filled with joy and serenity. Bucky held onto her tightly, cherishing the moment, knowing that no matter what happened, their love had conquered time itself. He marvelled at the fact that against all odds, he had saved the woman he loved, and nothing could take that triumph away from him. In the end, even with his eyes still wide open, he let the encroaching blackness take over, surrendering to the inevitable with a heart full of love and a soul finally at peace.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: we have reached the end of the journey, i am sorry if you feel like the story is a bit rushed; i am not capable to commit more than 3 chapters, otherwise this will ended up being in a hiatus. i, however, can consider writing oneshots for this au somewhere in the future. meanwhile, leaving your comments behind would definitely make me happy!

[kellysue]

The Suit-Making Metaphor

[Written in January, 2024] The cold eventually got bad enough that the Grandma, the kids and I fled to a hotel while Matt stayed at the house with the dogs. We were fortunate to be able to that of course, and sharing a room in a nice warm hotel was not suffering by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, it was stressful. We brought ipads, paints, books and needlework to keep the kids entertained and alleviate some anxiety, but time also had to be made for school work—especially as they would be going back to class just in time for finals. We made lists of their classes, what they had to study, what we could help with and what questions would need to be put to their teachers.

Henry’s 16 now (!!) and instead of an exam, his Humanities final was a personal essay. We chatted a bit about his writing process, what he liked about what he had done so far and what was frustrating for him. Though he had a terrific topic, he’d written and rewritten his opening paragraph several times and wasn’t making any real progress.

Been there, buddy.

As we talked, I stumbled on a metaphor that I found helpful, and so I’m going to try and share with you roughly what I said to him, and perhaps some of you will find it helpful too.

I get it, I do. It’s exactly my inclination as well. But writing like this-- where you try to perfect everything as you go, effectively writing the third draft before you finish the first--it’s like trying to make a suit from the top to the bottom. You can’t make a suit like that. You can’t start with the collar and get that perfected and then move to the shoulder. You can’t topstitch the upper part of the button placket before the bottom even exists. And even if you could figure how to do it that way, your suit isn't going to fit. Because that’s just not the best way to make a suit. Finishing the thing from top to bottom is not the best way to write, either. You start by choosing your fabric—your topic. What material are you going to craft the suit from? What’s the subject of the essay? You want to write about your relationship to various monsters. That’s terrific! That’s like a nice wool; there’s heft there—memories and feelings and personal details that resonate as truths; it should make a rich and interesting suit. Now, instead of cutting out the collar immediately, let’s choose a pattern. We need a pattern to help us cut the wool into the proper shapes. The pattern is the very basic structure of your essay. How might you organize your thoughts and feelings about monsters? The order isn’t as important as the categories. For the suit jacket, we’ll need right front, left front, sleeves, collar, lining etc. For the essay, what monsters do you want to write about? King Kong, the Rancor, the Minotaur and Bernard the Bull. Perfect. Cutting the pattern pieces out is equivalent to gathering your thoughts on each monster. Write freely about each one, taking the time to remember in as much detail as possible where you first encountered each monster, how old you were, etc. Go through each of your senses to help you recall the moment. What did you see? Smell? Taste? Feel? Who was with you? How did you feel in your body? How did you feel in your heart? Include everything that jumps out at you, you can always edit it down later. In our metaphor, this step is not just cutting out the pieces but also taking the time to transfer the pattern marks. You might not need them all, but you're sure to make a finer suit if you have them all available. Once you have the pieces, the next step is to see how they fit together. Read through each monster and look for connections. Is there an order that suggests itself? Rearrange and then edit and expand to highlight those connections. The first pass of this is basting stitches—loose connections just to test the fit—once you’re happy with the shape you can go ahead and lay in seams. Here is where our parallels start to fall apart: For the suit, you’ll want to do all the finishing touches—the handstitching, buttons, pressing, etc.—and then try it on and style it. But in writing your essay, these steps are reversed—styling is crafting the last paragraph, bringing the piece to a close. Your essay doesn’t have to wrap up neatly, in fact, you don’t want it to be too matchy-matchy. Just as an outfit’s style is improved by personal idiosyncrasies, a piece of writing is enriched by the author's capacity to engage with complexity and ambiguity. With the styling done--when you really know what it is you're trying to say--now you can go back with needle and thread and do that hand-stitching: tighten the prose where you can, polish rhythms, word choice, grammar and voice. With the whole of the thing in front of you, you now have what you need to do the kind of “third draft” finishing work that was impossible to begin with.

This might be the very definition of beating a metaphor to death, but I surprised myself with it. It was as revelatory for me as it was for Henry--probably more so.

And with that, I need to get back to those now-422 emails.

Cheers,

Kelly Sue

PS New creator-owned book coming out late fall this year--first launch in a decade or so, I think? I do need to figure out this whole newsletter/blog conundrum sooner rather than later. Advice and opinions welcome.

[4dkellysworld]

After deciding 'it is done'

This is more of a manifestation themed post (it's a draft from March when I spontaneously felt like writing it but didn't post it) because I felt like it but I'd appreciate if I didn't get any asks about manifestation* (unless I change my mind later) cos I'll share what I can and there's a lot of material available already! You can see my past post on this topic here. For more posts on it, see @4dbarbie-archive and realisophie's posts here and here and there's also some over at @ndjournal in the experience sharing tag.

*Also because I don't want to send mixed messages to the readers of this blog. I see conscious manifestation as a way to challenge & break limitations and concepts from the mind, not to get things in the world (kinda like Neo learning to bend the spoon in the Matrix if you get me lol). The latter will only pull you deeper into ego and the world, which isn't conducive to self-realization (if that's your goal) if you're focused on satisfying ego and the worldly life. If that makes sense and you resonate and agree with that, then we are on the same page but not everyone is and that's okay too, just do what feels right to you. Just sharing my reasoning :)

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I've been reading this book called Parallel Universes of Self because I read the author Frederick Dodson had an interesting reality shifting experience. I didn't expect to read info on manifestation but they are pretty much the same. I have a few books of his that I'm skimming through out of curiosity and there's some interesting stuff (I might share some other things later, he doesn't just talk about manifestation, but also consciousness, reality and even non-duality).

I thought I'd share the below excerpt because it's explained really well and might help some others. It's also a nice succinct summary of what Ada and Soph talked about for materialization/manifestation as well. I can remember pretty much 95% of the things I've ever "manifested" were from when I acted the way he described after I had decided "it is done". It's easier to do this for things you don't care about because you just end up forgetting about it entirely and then it shows up and you're like 'oh yeah!! nice'.

In the hours, days and weeks after simply rest in the new viewpoint, rest in the fulfilled reality. This means that you don’t try to “make it happen” because you have already claimed it as real. You don’t affirm, visualize, repeat or wait for it. You don’t hope for it to come in some future. Because you have claimed it as already real you don’t even think about it much either. You don’t ask when, how, where it will show up. Instead you simply do what offers itself to you throughout the day, and this will involve commonplace activities. Daily life continues in a natural manner without neediness or lack. Once in awhile you may want to re-feel the body sense of the chosen reality, and enjoy what you have claimed as true, but often not even that is necessary. Furthermore you needn’t be “acting as if” the desired reality is manifest, for that still implies separation. Simply cease to behave in a way that presupposes that it is not already so. You may refuse to ascribe relevance or importance to any events that seem to contradict your newly chosen reality. From the new viewpoint such events may still exist and come up but they are no longer relevant enough to be reacted to and interacted with. They may be the way things are at the moment, but they are no longer the way you are. The corresponding physical manifestation will appear when you stop needing it, chasing after it, looking for it but are instead willingly and lovingly identified with it…not for the sake of “making it manifest” *, but for the sake of experiencing its joy in the here, now and today. *Because trying to make it happen/manifest reinforces the idea/belief that it isn't

This is the same as what 4dbarbie said about getting ego out of the way or as Lester Levenson said, let go and let God. Just let it happen and stop trying to control the process because the more you try, the more you reinforce the fact that it isn't already so. Basically stop putting in effort once you know it is true, just continue knowing with calm and ease that it is the way you want it. Ada also said here:

If you have thoughts like "I need to say my affirmations", "I need to check my state", you're not living in the end but still desiring. When you're able to look at the thing you desire as being something that was once a dream, but now only a memory - you've entered the state of the wish fulfilled. When desire turns into identity, you know you've succeeded in fulfilling yourself.

Yes we're conditioned to think we need to work hard and put effort to earn things in the world but when it comes to manifesting, this sort of mentality will only sabotage and hinder your success. You can literally just decide you have it and then never look back. This sort of mindset can take a bit of time and practice to get used to because it is not something we're used to but the more you practice, the easier it gets.

Here is an excerpt from an astral projection book (I think it's from The Illusion of Method?) I thought was really apt at describing this too. He's talking about AP but you can apply it to manifesting or pretty much anything as well.

Unless you are masochistic, I ask you to reconsider the painful idea of obsessing about time. Bear in mind that results will come whenever they have to, and counting the minutes won't make the outcome arrive faster. It's best if you just forget about it, and accept that it is something that you can't control. You must be patient—most of the time the desired results arrive immediately after giving up control of time. If you are frustrated and/or are afraid of failure, then it means you believe you are in control—and this translates into the feeling that you are responsible for both positive and negative results. Well then, stop thinking that way! Exempting yourself from responsibility is the best course of action there is. As seen in the previous chapter, those who project on command are the ones who couldn’t care less about AP. But the more you obfuscate yourself, the lesser your chances of success —and trust me, you won’t want to get trapped in that vicious cycle. Astral projection works when you stop worrying about failure because you trust that it will happen, whether you “do” something or not.

It’s the same thing: just in the same way that being hasty for sleep to occur keeps us wakeful and alert, being expectant over the OBE will keep us caged in the physical body. If the mind is constantly thinking about the goal, it can easily enter a state of expectancy* and impatience. In such state, the mind is no longer relaxed because expectancy is a state of unrest. This form of tension is what hinders the outcome—thus, the key to being relaxed (i.e., essentially lacking mental tension) is to forget about the goal entirely. If you don’t have the goal in mind you don’t enter a state of expectancy, and therefore you are free from mental tension. *expectancy is the same energy as trying to make something happen.. reinforcing the idea/belief that it isn't so

So, exempt yourself from responsibility means there's nothing more to do because ego is not in control and can do nothing.

[thegnomelord]

oh my lord... mentioning merfolk finally pushed me into sending in an ask for you, so hai!

im a huge marine bio nerd and i could probably ramble about that kinda stuff for awhile so im gonna keep it shorter and stick to sharks, aka my favorite species... i apologize for the very long ramble incoming

id imagine that the kind of shark makes merfolk vary heavily - you have smaller, less aggressive sharks (bamboo sharks, nurse sharks, leopard sharks), then you have dogfish which are aggressive small schooling sharks (that actually have venom from what i remember), and the big bois that are mean like bull sharks, oceanic whitetip sharks, great whites, ect. also you have basking sharks and whale sharks which are big ass chill lads. as much as i love them having a tail instead of legs, i think there'd be two "forms" of merperson, one with legs and a tail and one with just the tail. im mainly referring to the ones with legs and tails when i talk about them

like i was saying, the kind of shark species a merperson (or mershark, ill start calling them that) makes them differ between general personality, strength, size, ect ect. bigger sharks are more popular due to their strength, aggression, and speed, making them very useful in the military. smaller guys also have their advantages - its just that a bull mershark would have a much easier time in the military compared to a lemon mershark. although bigger lads are definitely more of a pain in the ass to work with if they grew up in the ocean over on land, cause i like to think most mershark (and merfolk in general) prefer living in the ocean. smaller sharks are easier to control, as they tend to be less prideful and stubborn compared to the bigger species. oceanic whitetip would be especially bad due to their aggression and pride, they're probably the most aggressive species of shark in the ocean

then when it comes to mating/courtship rituals... they don't do any of the fancy things like a werewolf, harpy, or dragon, they're rather direct. sharks in the wild don't court, typically when they meet another shark of the opposite gender they mate due to how rarely they meet other sharks, although mersharks would probably have small courtship rituals. it's pretty simple, just spending more time around who they want to court. i also think it'd be really cute if they gave the person they were courting a shark tooth of theirs that fell off as a memento of sorts. when it comes to mating, male sharks bite as a ritual. not as hard as they'd bite prey, but definitely enough to leave scars. shark mating is pretty rough, but mersharks would probably tone it back a little bit, though there will be times when their instincts slip.

mershark are also oblivious as fuck to other courting rituals if they grew up in the ocean. almost no shark species really have courting, so they don't have instincts when it comes to someone courting them, and they don't have the same socialization that a mershark that grew up on land would have. i just think mersharks are very interesting and very cool <3

thank you for reading my insane rambling about sharks and sharkpeople... once again, sorry for the long ramble, but i had to share my thoughts

Oh god anon this is some GOOD SOUP and as a fellow animal nerd I absolutely love hearing weird animal facts and all I can imagine is just Ghost and Sharkmer reader being absolute idiots lol :D

CW: NSFW at the end, short and quick bc brain isn't braining but this concept of your anon is so cool!

Like Ghost initially thinking all monster courting rituals are complicated as fuck, and the info he finds on the internet doesn't help one bit. And you, having grown up in the ocean, have no fucking clue he's trying to court you in some convoluted way.

You'll spend days just existing next to him, or very gently nibbling on his fingers, which, in your mind, makes it very clear you want to mate, but all Ghost thinks is that you want to eat him. And the next thing you know he's shoving an energy bar into your mouth and walking away and you're left confused.

And Ghost, bless the poor fool's soul, eventually gets lured into the waters by your sparkling eyes and wide grin of sharp teeth. The same teeth bite down on every piece of his skin, not enough to actually hurt him, but your teeth marks litter his thighs, his ass, all across his chest and especially around his pecs, from shoulders down to his biceps and anywhere you can reach while you stretch him.

God the sex is one of the best he's ever had, his usually cold body warming up from the proximity of you and the warm waters you're in as you slowly fuck both of your cocks into him, having stretched him open until he was unable to beg between his hiccups. And he's so pretty beneath you, rough groans as he rubs his cock while you move your hips in a slow rhythm, your dicks pushing in and out, in and out, brushing against his prostate until he was close to losing his mind with how you stretched him beyond imagination.

Some of your teeth end up lodged in his shoulder, and when you finish mating him you tell him to keep them, making them into a necklace he now wears around his neck.

[parfaitblogs]

scared of my guitar ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you fall out of love, and he notices. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: established relationship. they suck at communicating. whole lot of nothing again why can't i write guys. no happy ending.  word count: 1.2k a/n: this is for the girls who are the problem in their relationships!! i see u!! i hear u!!! thank u olivia rodrigo for representing us.

also posted here on my ao3 !

You were perhaps the most awful and cruel person in the world.

Those were the self-deprecating thoughts you had every single night, morning, and every hour in between. Thoughts you have been having for a month now, and thoughts you were praying would go away. Because the longer you have them, the more solidified they become in your brain, and the closer you get to knowing you need to address them. With him.

The man currently in your kitchen, making two separate cups of tea, like he did every night he was home. Putting all his love and care into making it the way you like, the way you had taught him. Which, truthfully, didn't take long to teach him — he was a fast learner. Always taking the first sip and telling you if it was still too hot to drink, burning his own mouth and allowing you to scold him for it. A nighttime routine that went on for as long as you could remember. 

But it wasn't enough.

You knew he'd crack you open eventually. He didn't need to be a profiler to read you — he knew more about you than you sometimes thought you knew about yourself. He used to coax you to open up to him about past traumas, never going too far, always pushing just enough to get you to share what you needed to. He was sometimes so in tune with your emotions you wondered if he had crawled into your brain and set up camp the day you two met. 

But no, that was just Spencer. 

The first time he asked if something was wrong was three months ago. He had come home from a particularly long case, and you didn't greet him at the door with the same enthusiasm you usually did. Sure, you were happy, but there was a certain spark behind your eyes missing. But it was two in the morning, and you were technically exhausted, so you were able to blame it on that. He was skeptical, but he knew you, and he knew not to push it. 

The second time he confronted you, you had spent an entire week without spending time with him. You both worked full time, but you also always made time for each other. Whether that be as planned as a Friday night movie, or as simple as picking the other up from work. But you had successfully avoided him outside of simple 'good morning's' and 'good night's'. 

He had sat you down the following Tuesday night, and asked if things between you two were okay. You lied, and said yes, and you watched him become even more suspicious than the time before. He didn't believe you. Again, he didn't push it. 

A small part of you wished he would've. Maybe you could've had the difficult conversation, and it would be over, and you'd be sitting on your couch with a shattered heart over a broken relationship, instead of a shattered heart over one that still exists. 

You knew it was coming when he had sat down with the teas, placing both of them on the coffee table, and you two sitting in an awkward silence for a few moments. 

You lifted your head to glance at him, expecting him to be staring at you, but he wasn't. His eyes, instead, trained on the two coffee mugs, cogs turning in his brain. A sight — watching him think — that used to bring you so much joy, now filling your stomach with an uncomfortable sense of anxiety. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off before you could, his gaze unwavering from the mugs. 

"What's wrong?" 

What a layered question, you thought, bitterly. Because what wasn't wrong? 

You wanted to deflect it, tell him nothing, again, say you were fine. But with how serious he seemed, you decided against it. He wouldn't let that pass this time.

"I don't know," you settled on saying, voice shaky, unsure how to actually say what you were feeling. 

He slowly nodded his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Can you try to know, please?"

He still wasn't looking at you.

You inhaled, eyes fluttering as you attempted to regain your emotions, blinking away the tears filling them already. God, confrontation was hard. 

When you were silent for probably too many minutes, he turned his head to look at you, the sight cracking right down the centre of your heart. 

He wasn't sad looking, per se. Exhausted was probably the better word for it. His eyes devoid of most emotion, his naturally downturned lips frowning further. And that wasn't even the most painful part of it. No, it was the barely audible,

"You don't love me anymore, do you?"

His voice impossibly small, eyes blinking a few times, as if he was doing what you had done and fighting back his own tears. If somebody had shoved a knife in your abdomen fifty times over, twisting it every time, you decided it would hurt less than that.

You couldn't find an answer, your lips parting and closing three or four times as you wracked your brain for something — anything — to say that would take that expression off his face. But anything like that would be a lie, and he would see right through it. You knew that.

So, you settled on a small shake of your head, averting your eyes for your own sake. 

He didn't say anything; simply inhaled sharply and nodded his own head, fingers flexing and stretching against each other in a nervous habit you had noticed what felt like years ago. 

"How long?" he then asked, and you, for the umpteenth time that night, wanted to lie. 

But you didn't. "I had my first doubt four months ago," you said. "But three months ago."

"And you waited four months to tell me?" his voice was impossibly strained. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I didn't know if it was just a fleeting thought because you weren't home or not."

"Right," he answered, hands running down his face, index fingers digging into his eyes. "So then you waited three months after you realised?"

"I didn't know how to bring it up."

You could see the frustration slowly settling in his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Spencer—"

"—No," he cut you off, shooting a bullet through your heart as his eyes fluttered shut, and he paused, swallowing back what you figured would be another sob. And you couldn't even blame him. "No, don't—don't justify it. Please. You strung me along for three months?" 

Yes, you did. And you felt awful, staring at him as he drummed his fingers against his thighs; an anxious tic, his eyes settling back on your body. 

"I'm sorry."

It was a pathetic apology, as if it could take back the past three months of interactions he was no doubt overanalysing inside his brain. It couldn't. You knew that, he knew that. 

"Why did you stay?" he finally asked after an eternally long silence between you two.

"I was scared," you whispered. Not intentionally — that's just how small your voice comes out, and it's embarrassing. 

"Of what?"

"Regretting it."

He let out a sigh, nodding his head. He could at least understand that. "I wish you would've told me."

"Me too."

More silence, more anxious heart-beating and more uncomfortable eye contact to each other. 

"I'm sorry," you repeat, breaking the silence. 

He merely nodded his head, eyes searching over your face for a few more seconds, before he stood up, picking up his phone from the coffee table and pocketing it. 

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "So am I."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[miley1442111]

always- a.hotchner

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summary: sharing a bedroom forces feelings to the surface.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader

warnings: none

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Having joined the BAU a few months ago, you thought you fit in well. You get along with your superiors, you get along with your team, and you’re good at your job. The only issue is that… Your ex-boyfriend, Aaron Hotchner is also on the team, and you are constantly put together. It ended because well, he ended it. No reason why, he just did. You had been hurt for months, it took you ages to get over him. 

This case was no different than all the others, a white male in his thirties terrorising New York’s high society. Since it’s New York and since this case was particularly last minute, the hotel only has so many rooms. Meaning, Aaron and you drew the short straws and had to share. Great. 

When you walked up to the door, Aaron behind you, you had two things on your mind;

Washing your face

And 

Sleeping in a bed 

You opened the door and one of the plans became foiled. One bed. 

“Fuck,” you mumbled. 

“Shit,” he sighed. 

“I’ll call reception-” you started, leaving your bag on the ground.

“We can share for one night.” 

You stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and slipped into the bathroom, your toiletries in hand. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, changed into pyjamas and exited the bathroom to find Aaron sitting on the bed, waiting. He went into the bathroom next as you climbed into bed. You shut your light off and tried to close your eyes, exhaustion overtaking your senses. 

“Are you awake?” Aaron asked after an hour of restlessness. 

“Yes,” you confirmed. There was a moment of silence.

“Should we talk about it?” he offered and you laughed. As if he’d care enough to even hear you out. 

“Nope,” You sighed, ending your laughter. “Just go to sleep.”

“I want to talk about it,” he admitted. 

“Too bad,” you sighed, inching closer to the edge of the bed. 

“I’m really sorry-” 

“Aaron, just go to sleep,” you groaned. 

“I want to talk about it,” he sat up in bed, turning on his light. 

“About our non-existent relationship?” you snapped sarcastically. “Yeah right.”

“This is your issue, you're far too childish when it comes to difficult conversations,” he groaned. 

“Oh and that’s why you broke up with me? Because I don’t remember you ever giving me a reason!” You shouted as he stood up, pacing the room. You didn’t care that you were in a hotel. You didn’t care that the walls were thin. You didn’t care anymore.

“I’m in love with you!” 

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. 

“I’m so ridiculously in love with you and I thought it was a bad idea, alright? I’ve never made good decisions when it came to relationships and I’m sorry, but I thought it would be better if I just… quit before I hurt you.” 

“Aaron,” you said calmly. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?” 

“I was scared.” 

“Oh Aaron,” you sighed. You climbed over and grabbed his hand, then wrapped your arms around him. He hugged you back, squeezing you slightly. “I love you too.”

Aaron let out a watery chuckle into your neck, “Good.”

“I never want you to be scared to talk to me about something, alright?” you told him and he nodded. “I’m always here for you, and for Jack, always.” 

“Always.”

--------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[kichiyosh1]

What gives you the right to ignore me?!

Modern au! Scaramouche x reader

w:// this takes place somewhere from grade school to high school, and valentines day will be mentioned later on

When he tells himself that you aren't worth his time, but then starts hoping you don't think the same for him.

(it gets good the more you read it, I swear)

Scara being transferred seats for the 5th time this month because he keeps on picking on his former seat mates because he thinks of them as 'lowly worms'. Oh well, at least he should have some new form of entertainment now that he's seated next to— whatever your name was.

Not even a proper greeting was spoken when all he did was tap your shoulder. "and your name?", he has no need for such pleasantries anyways.

Sure he'd make fun of you later then go back to minding his own business the second after, but he at least would want to put a name to this person which he'd be stuck with for the whole school year(if he were lucky enough not to transfer seats the next few days later)

It took you a while to reply to him, eyes stuck scanning the pages of your book, then you gave him a small glance, and reply before going back to reading. "It's y/n", he's offended by how short of an answer you gave in return, but it's not like he asked for anything else other than your name, but the way you said it with such disinterest makes a shiver run down his back.

"Well? You should feel honoured that i have graced you with my presence. Don't get used to it though, don't think so highly of yourself just beca-","Didn't miss Kusanali transfer you here because you were misbehaving like a total brat? You act all high and mighty yourself when you can't even remember the name of your classmate that you've been in the same class with for awhile now." No ones ever stood up to him like that before, heck, you've completely gotten him off his high horse and all he can do is burn his stare at the side of your face, because despite all that, you STILL aren't looking in his direction.

He's not gonna waste anymore words with you. You're not worth his time anyways. Just another worm in the mud for him to stomp on, but for now he'll allow you to wiggle around in the comforts of soft soil, until it hardens and you have no choice but to dry up and die. Quite the poet he was, if not for his foul mouth and scheming mind.

He made it his personal mission to just ignore you. The only times where he's begrudgingly acknowledging you exist is when he's paired up with you by the teacher or when he REALLY has no choice but to confront you about something.

This would have came off as satisfying to him, the natural reaction of a person in his presence would be them wanting him to notice them, but you did not give an f, any f, at f'ing all.

He would hate to admit it, but he sometimes felt comfort in the silence you two shared, as there are also times where you would acknowledge he exists, like when he'd grumble about his broken pencil tip and you'd pass him a sharpener, or when he's about to fall asleep in class and you'd gently nudge him awake, but what irritates him is that you do all these little things while not even looking at him.

He didn't understand why he was getting frustrated. This is what he wanted, right? He got it, but it didn't feel as fulfilling as he first thought it would. Was he admitting that he wasn't quite fond of this mutual silent treatment? That maybe he'd prefer if you talked to him more, interacted with him more, hung out with him more?

"Like I'd admit to that!" it was after he suddenly blurted that out while standing and slamming his hands down on the table, that he realized the whole class was looking at him, giving him weird looks. A few laughs and chuckles were surfing throughout the room, but his attention wasn't on any of those pesks annoying voices. Once again, you weren't looking at him, but the small giggle that left your mouth had him staring at you in awe. "You look pretty when you smile", those words were lodged in his throat, and he'd rather choke then have those words spoken out for you to hear.

You're so annoying! would it kill for you to at least look at him when laughing at his misery? At this point he might as well admit he'll accept anything you're willing to give him, but it's not enough. He was never one to settle for less, so why now was he acting so shy. Might as well throw what he's thinking straight at your face, while twisting his words just a tiny bit, to save what little pride he had left.

____

"What gives you the right to ignore me, huh?!" "What law would I be breaking for 'minding my own business'?" You're insufferable, you really are, you must be so out of sync with your brain to have forgotten it was valentines day today, and he's so mad he doesn't know how he's supposed to give you the box he's been hiding behind his back, so in the end he never does. He hadn't realized he was storming out of the empty classroom (save for you two there) when he bumped into his homeroom teacher. She had no time to react when Scara was already shoving the box into her arms. "Eat it, give it to someone, throw it away, I don't care! To think I had my mom help me make those for that- that idiot! A waste of time!" he was already far off, still shouting his complaints, leaving a confused Kusanali standing in the hallway.

He wanted to cry, a part of him never wanted to see you again, but he already had the bare minimum of what he could get from you, what more if he wasn't there to catch a glimpse of your rare moments? Oh, and would you look at that, he's already at school earlier than what he's used to but he's doing this all for the sake of not having to awkwardly have to sit down next to you.

The classroom was already half filled when he heard the scraping of the chair next to him. He had his head in his arms, only allowing a small gap for him to take a peek at what you were doing. To no one's surprise, you were already taking out that same book, the one you were reading on your guys' first ever interaction. It was like he was back to square one, an ongoing routine of silence if not then it would be his one sided bickering. Too bad he wasn't feeling it today, but unfortunately, or fortunately for him, it was you who made the first move to speak.

"Hey"

Scared the sleep right out of him, his back straightened and staring into your— eyes? you? him? eye contact? when? eh? one look was all he took and suddenly he forgot how to blink. Presented to him at the palm of your hands was the same box he so carelessly gave to his homeroom teacher. "How did that end up in your hands?","Mrs. Kusanali gave it to me right before I left the school, but from what it says here, you are sender."

He took ahold of the box, and pasted right at its side is a small card that had 'To: y/n♥︎' and 'From: Scaramouche♡' written on it, alongside a very cringy love quote that almost made him want to gag.

"That wench!" He didn't even realize that card was on the side of the box, and from the hand writing alone he could already tell it was from Ei. His face scrunched up further once noticing the heart at the end of your names, even just that was enough for scara to look away out of embarrassment. "N-Not that I care if you liked them or not, but just know that I am NOT responsible for whatever THAT is."

The silence after that was just eating up at him. How did it go from denying you exist to having him here. He was holding onto the box too tight with trembling hands, it slowly crumpling just a tad bit his grip softening when your hands took place on both sides of his. "I think it's cute."

You had such a neutral expression on your face, but unlike before, your voice flowed smoother than any melody he's ever heard. "And thank you. Sorry I didn't get you anything, to make up for it, I'm letting you decide where we'll work for our next project."

____

He still couldn't believe you were actually talking to him and holding eye contact as well, he sometimes forgets you're human and not some unreachable deity.

He really couldn't take his eyes off you, and wanting to answer to a past question of yours, yes, ignoring him was most certainly a crime, if he wasn't able to spend these moments with you, it would be criminal.

"Hey, don't go ignoring me at my own house will you? or do you plan to just leave me there to finish the whole project without you?"

" I doubt you can, with you stealing glances my way for the majority of the time you'll be spending. What? think I didn't notice? peripheral vision exists you know."

"Like there's anything worth looking at you for."

"..."

"You did not just start—"

[forgottenflickr]

This sounds silly, but oh my gosh— this blog just makes me feel so much whenever I see a new post from here in my dash. I didn’t think it was possible to feel that specific kind of emotion before. Like… on one hand, it makes me really really sad, that there was a time on the internet when we didn’t have to worry about AI scraping and reverse image searches and could just post our silly little everyday pics. That was before my time, but I wish that I could still do that now.

On the other hand, this makes me also feel incredibly touched. I love this so much because it’s just small glimpses of people’s lives, shown through a medium that no longer exists (I don’t think people still post this kind of content often or have the platform for it?). It’s the view someone thought was pretty on a day when I was two years old and I will never meet this person and maybe they’ve passed away and maybe they no longer think of that view or maybe they dream of it but either way, here I am, staring at the snow on the glass and like… fuck.

Beauty is eternal, of course, but the most wealthy in societies across history have tried to leave great monuments for us to remember them by. But I’ve never looked at those old statues of great and felt this way about them. I see the slaves who built them and the emperors who were forced into marriages and died young. (Though there can be beauty there, too, sometimes — not all artefacts or rulers created equal, of course.) But these pictures… they weren’t taken with that intent. They were uploaded to be shared, sure, but the contents of them — rainbows, teddy bears, pets. People sharing what they love with us, who they will never know, and we who will never know them.

That just makes me so oddly emotional for some reason. I do follow a religion but I also feel very deeply about Earth and civilisations and humanity, about what we put into the world and what we leave behind when we’re gone. And this blog, for me, is a literal time capsule of why I cry to be human, sometimes — because love never ends, does it? Someone loves something enough to take a picture of it, because it touches their heart. You love these pictures enough to start this blog, because they touch your heart too. I see them on my dash and they touch my heart too. Years or identities don’t matter, but the love has stayed. Been built on, even. Is there anything more beautiful than that?

I’m literally crying all over again, so basically — what I wanted to say is that I think this is a really cool blog, op, and thank you for sharing these photos with us <3

❤️❤️❤️

[tyttamarzh]

Missasinfonia, songs and QSMP…

Hello!! Well, since we all continue to miss Missa, I want to share a little thought.

I don't know if it has already been talked about here, but in the Hispanic fandom of Missa we have his songs very present and some people have not been able to avoid talking about how some of them adapt perfectly to the QSMP.

I want to talk about two in particular whose lyrics I think are perfect for describing Missa's relationship with his family.

The first one is called "Privilegios" (privileges) and I think it describe what Missa is currently going through with Philza. Well, it talks about the anxiety of feeling insufficient for the other and trying to improve but feeling afraid of moving forward (the young Missa from 2014 wrote very deep lyrics). I remember that in a stream he told us about how several of his songs came about and said that he wrote "Privilegios" thinking about us, the people who follow him, because he didn't feel enough for us and is why he always try to do things better. Either way, I think he's perfect for describe his situation with Phil.

The song:

Lyrics

Sometimes I forget my sorrows and things I should do Because ideas slip away, they do not allow us to see Well creating something new means forgetting I would like to be like before and go back to the past

I know how to write the word mature very well But my thoughts don't let me act I don't want to forget, I don't ask for your mercy Because honestly I can fix it.

Chorus I don't know what to do if you're not okay (you're okay!) I don't know whether to lie to me or throw myself at your feet I wonder if I can deserve you Because I didn't earn the privilege.

How can I destroy damn anxiety? If outside my mind is my reality It is not so easy to wish others ill. just so I can free myself

The second song I want to talk about is called "Tarde para el plan B" (Late for Plan B) and I think it could be a message from Missa to Chayanne, some of the things he mentions remind me of what Missa told him in that day of fishing before travel to Japan. He talks about how it's okay to fail and that he shouldn't be overwhelmed by his mistakes, and encourages him to keep going and get better. There is also a phrase that I like to think is very much theirs, since it infers that even if they are not together, he will always see him. Now every time I hear that song I think of them and I can't help it u.u (It's a song created 10 years ago, but I think it's fits perfectly).

The song:

Lyrics

Have you ever wondered… what could happen if after the years, you could come back to the past? Would you have the chance to see what is wrong the bad memories you would be able to erase.

Enjoy moments you didn't see coming feel from the beginning what you should feel but remorse can cut you and repenting would be the final act

Look for alternatives, see how to improve May you know how to handle your situations You don't always get a second chance. you must take advantage of what time gives you

If they give you their hand, don't take our foot don't ask for the moon when it's barely dawning You don't run when you want to calm down do something your soul can bear

[PRE CHORUS] And it's not that it's bad, it could be worse. What doesn't kill you makes you better.

And listen to me, here I will be, watching your actions wherever you are.

sometimes the reasons chase me but they don't want to catch me Sometimes actions are what will count, but you won't count. I prove that what I say is true It's your problem if you don't want to change but honestly sometimes everyone can fail

In the hope that everything is fine There are ideas within your being that grow and create the bad decision than wanting to correct what has already happened

Do what you need to make you feel better. Defeat your demons, destroy that pain Errors exist to know what someone else could fall into

and it's not that it's bad, it could be worse What doesn't kill you makes you better

listen to me, I will be here watching your actions wherever you are

My favorite phrase from this song is: "don't ask for the moon when it's barely dawning" (I just like how deep it sounds xD)

And that's all for now, I've never created a post here, I hope it's okay. Thanks for reading my crazy thoughts. Greetings!!

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

the thing is. why bring Rose back for this finale. she didn't particularly do much other than standing around and looking pretty. I assume there'll be more of her for the second part. I stand by my original assertion from the star beast that it doesn't make sense that she can just 'give up' the alien DNA she was born with. my point back then was that it would be fun if she could regenerate, and ended up becoming the timeless child herself, thus making the Doctor's entire existence a very fun paradox AND also canonizing the 'half human, on my mother's side' line from the 8th doctor's movie (my beloved) (because Donna was only half human whether she knew it or not).

HOWEVER.

all the susan-baiting is really getting to me. I want our weird little granddaughter back. they canonized the fact that the Doctor doesn't actually know who her parents were. and I REMEMBER. that Susan's original gallifreyan name was Rose. well, their language's equivalent of it. that's how Rose Tyler got her name, it was meant to be a cute little easter egg, the first classic companion and the first new who companion sharing a name. so walk with me. the weird girl daughter of Donna Noble, who grew up on earth but never fit in there, who has the Doctor's DNA woven into her being, and access to a yardis, and can in this scenario regenerate...coming across a younger version of the her father/uncle, introducing herself as Rose (which translates to gallifreyan, I really don't feel like looking up the spelling rn I'm sorry it started with an A), the doctor can recognize her- as family, he thinks, not knowing its a spark of him, their shared mind. she knows about how risky spoiling the future would be, she doesn't know if he has siblings and he looks older than she's ever seen him, so she says she's his granddaughter instead of his niece. daughter. him. she's part time lord. she lives longer than her human family. the Doctor is all she has left and she wants to be with him even if it isn't a him that knows her yet. she's heard the phrase 'timey wimey' before, and she's a smart and careful girl. she finds she doesn't fit in on gallifrey any more than she ever fit in on earth. the Doctor knows exactly what that feels like. they travel. when her human friend renames her Susan, she likes it a lot. feels like when she changed her name the first time. freeing, empowering, becoming. feels like the new name fits her new life better. Rose has a long dead family but Susan has her grandfather. the part of her that is her mother and father, though, still craves human connection. the love and fascination with humanity that she inherited from the Doctor is still there. she tells him all about humans and he takes her to visit them more and more to humor her. she ends up fostering his love for earth that will one day define him AND lead to her creation. she accidentally coins the name tardis the same way the doctor will accidentally invent a banana daiquiri a few centuries too early. he just thinks she's creative and silly. a very dear child. odd and bizarre to her classmates at school, but it's nowhere near as bad as it was the first time around. sometimes she even goes to see a younger Wilf. he's somehow exactly how she remembers him as an old man. she's so grateful they're in the 60's though, because if she ever has to look into the eyes of a Donna Noble who didn't know her, she thinks she may actually die. but the Doctor- he IS enough. he is still part of her, part of her mother, even if he doesn't realize it. she can't help but worry over his health, even knowing he lives long past this, because she got so used to helping his older self in his retirement. she knows him better than he knows himself. she'd do anything for him, and she knows he'd do anything for her.

she just never thought leaving her was something he'd do, though.

[avatar-anna]

Baby Mine

or just young dadrry being a dad

Young Dad! Harry x Young Mom! Reader

Reality struck Harry in the face when he realized Y/n was showing.

The text he got from Y/n saying she was pregnant? Mind-blowing, but also a little surreal. The conversations he had with his parents and management? An out of body experience. But seeing Y/n with a baby bump for the first time, with his baby? His knees nearly buckled from the stark realization that this was actually happening.

He was going to be a dad.

It was a terrifying thought. Harry was still a kid himself—in all the ways that mattered, anyway. He played video games with his mates, he stayed out late on the weekends, and it felt like just yesterday that he'd gotten his driver's license. He could barely successfully cook pasta, let alone take care of his own child.

And Y/n, the girl he'd only known for a short couple months. The girl he really liked to the point where he still talked to her even after his trip to LA was over, she was here with him, on tour, walking around in his hotel room in one of his t-shirts, her stomach stretching the soft material just enough to be noticeable.

"I thought we could have dinner together," she said, coming over to where Harry was still holding vigil by the door. "I was craving Mexican and I remembered you saying you liked tacos, so I did a little exploring, and voila."

His eyes darted over Y/n's shoulder, and there were in fact various Mexican dishes wrapped up in foil packaging. It smelled good too, but it wasn't quite enough to pull Harry from his stupor.

"I...I'm meeting someone. The boys. For dinner," he said.

It wasn't quite enough to pull his head out of his ass apparently, either.

"Oh."

Y/n blushed, her gaze flickering away from his. Harry felt like a dick, especially since it wasn't true. But he freaked out. He was freaking out. Playing house—or hotel—with a girl he barely knew and pretending it was perfectly normal for them to prepare to have a baby together was too much. All of a sudden, it was all too much.

"Have—Have fun, then. I'll probably head back to my room, I guess."

It was painfully awkward, but Harry didn't know how to make it better. So, like the grown adult he wasn't, he mumbled a reply and skirted around Y/n to set his duffle bag down before mumbling his goodbyes and leaving again.

He was gone for maybe an hour. While he was gone, he walked around aimlessly, letting himself get lost in an unfamiliar city. And in all that walking, he gave himself time to think.

Harry knew he'd been an ass. Y/n hadn't done anything wrong, and knowing that he disappointed her made him upset. Because the truth was, he really liked her. She shared his stupid sense of humor, she liked the music he liked, she had a cute little birthmark on her right shoulder that Harry couldn't help but feel compelled to kiss whenever he saw it. She was beautiful and smart and outgoing.

And now she was having his baby.

They were both to blame for that. Both of them had been careless that particular night, but Y/n had been clear to Harry when she told him about her being pregnant. "I want to have it, but I'm also not going to force you to have it with me," she'd told him when they eventually had a phone conversation. "I don't, like, expect anything from you, but I just didn't think it would be right if I kept this a secret from you."

"How did your parents take it?" Harry had asked because her voice contained a steely nerve that was deflecting non-existent judgement.

"Not great, but they'll come around. Eventually. I hope."

She'd said the last part so quietly, as if she wasn't truly sure her parents would actually accept the fact that their daughter was pregnant.

"I want to help," he blurted.

Y/n had looked at him with wide eyes, and a pang of guilt lanced through him at her surprise. She'd genuinely thought he'd leave her high and dry.

"Help?"

"I—I want to be a part of this, or help you raise it—the baby. I want to help. Like we're a team—Not a team. Like a—"

"A team. I like that."

Harry had been glad to be put out of his misery, though to his credit, he never imagined ever having this conversation, and he at least hadn't cried yet.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I think family is too much right now," Y/n said. "But a team...a team looks out for each other. Makes each other better."

So they were a team, though clearly Harry had been dropping the ball recently.

He was just...scared. Terrified. But he could only imagine what Y/n was thinking, how she was feeling. Since she'd joined him on tour, they talked about everything but the baby. Whether that was conscious or subconscious on either of their parts, Harry wasn't sure, but he knew they couldn't skirt around the subject forever. When he first told his mum about Y/n being pregnant, Harry insisted that he could do this, that he was grown enough to raise a baby. He wasn't exactly sure how true that statement was, but one thing he did know was that he could do much better than he was now.

When he got back to the hotel, Y/n was spread out along the plush sofa, eyes closed and arm resting idly on her belly. Harry wasn't so scared at seeing the bump this time around. In fact, a part of him was a little excited.

Y/n startled a little when Harry knelt by her side, her eyes bleary and a little red. "Sorry. I was gonna go, but I sat down for a moment and—"

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry interrupted. "I'm sorry, actually. I was kind of an ass earlier."

Shaking her head, she said, "We don't owe each other anything. It's not like we're—"

"But I want to. I know things have been a little awkward, but I like you, Y/n. A lot. That hasn't changed."

"Really?" Y/n asked, and Harry felt bad when she sounded so unsure.

"Really. We...obviously didn't expect this to happen, but I want this. With you. Even if we are a little young and out of our depth here."

Y/n laughed. "Try a lot."

Harry grinned, resting his hand over hers where she was still holding her belly. "But we'll learn. Together. We're a team, right?"

Her eyes softened then. She ran a hand through his curls, the touch delicate but comforting, and Harry couldn't help but lean into her touch. "Yeah. We're a team."

They stayed like that for a minute, maybe two, but Harry eventually straightened, his grin widening as he said, "Right then. We should welcome the newest member of our team, shouldn't we?"

Y/n giggled as Harry shuffled around until he was face to face with Y/n's stomach. He lifted her shirt gently, his breath catching when he saw the baby bump up close.

"Hello there...baby. I'm Harry. Your dad," he said, only feeling a little silly. "You don't have a name yet, but I just wanted you to know that I love you, and your mum loves you, and even though we're a little on the young side, we're gonna take care of you the best we can. And so will your uncles."

"That was sweet, H," Y/n said, her fingers tracing the side of his cheek. "And...I do have a name in mind."

"You do? I didn't know that."

Y/n gave him a smile that felt like she was teasing him. "Because I'm telling you now. I've been testing it out in my head for a few days."

If Harry thought the baby bump made all of this real, talking about potential names would definitely do that. But whether he was ready or not, this was happening.

"Alright. Hit me with it."

A small smile creeped onto Y/n's face. "Simone."

"Simone," Harry repeated, trying it out for himself. "How'd you land on Simone?"

Y/n shrugged casually, but Harry knew that she put thought into it, that this name meant something to her. "It's pretty, and, I don't know, we talked about Nina Simone on our first date. It seemed right."

Thinking about their first proper date gave Harry butterflies. He remembered how nervous he was to go out with Y/n, spending an embarrassing amount of time picking out the right clothes and fixing his hair. But when he actually met her at the spot they agreed on, all his nerves went away, and he spent the whole date marveling at the fact that he was on a date with Y/n and all the things they had in common and how he didn't want it to end.

"It's perfect," Harry agreed, then bent his head to kiss Y/n's belly. "Hi, Simone. I can't wait to meet you."

A few months later

"Do you want to hold her?"

Y/n was in her hospital bed, hair hanging limp around her shoulders. She looked tired beyond belief, but she was smiling brightly at Harry as she held a little bundle of blankets, one of which was his mother's handiwork, Harry realized.

He found himself nodding, and before he was maybe ready, Y/n passed the baby over to him, and he was holding her. His daughter.

Harry looked down, a swirl of emotions squeezing his heart. She was asleep, the world's tiniest hand pressed against her cheek while she took deep breaths. Logically, he knew she didn't have any distinguishable features yet, but Harry felt like he could see himself and Y/n in her. Just gazing at her little face, he felt like he could see the next fifteen years playing out—the first words and steps, seeing Y/n holding her backstage, recitals and sports games, school projects, first loves, all of it.

An overwhelming feeling Harry couldn't name washed over him. It brought tears to his eyes as he realized just how much he loved her, how much he was willing to bend over backwards and protect her. And when he was able to break away from looking at her for a second, he found Y/n's gaze and saw the same look in her eyes, and one of understanding too.

Harry looked back down at his daughter, that overwhelming feeling rushing through him again, and for a moment, he wondered if that would ever go away. He wasn't sure he wanted it to.

"Hi baby," he whispered. Bending his head down, he kissed her forehead. "Hi, Simone. Welcome to our little family."

He knew Y/n was listening, but he didn't mind. It felt right that it was just the three of them sharing this little moment before everyone else flooded in to see the baby.

"We're a little unconventional as far as families go, and you'll probably have a different childhood than other kids," he said, not caring that Simone couldn't hear or understand him. He needed to say it. "But I'll love you with all my heart, and so will your mummy. You'll want for nothing because we'll give you the world, but you might have to be a little patient with us because we're new to the parenting thing.

"But I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy," he continued, his voice breaking. "I'll never let you feel unloved. I'll change your nappies and wipe your tears and make you smile. I'll be the best daddy for you. I promise."

Harry didn't know what the future held, but that he was sure of. He'd been scared and anxious the last few months, but now that he was standing in a hospital room holding his newborn daughter, he didn't want to give her, or Y/n, anything less than what they deserved.

Years later

"Dad, you're squeezing too hard."

"I don't care. My baby's abandoning me."

"I'm going to college!"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Simone began to squirm, but Harry still wouldn't let up. He was currently in the process of blinking back tears, and didn't want her to notice when he eventually did pull away.

"I'll be back for Fall Break," she said quietly, giving into the hug and squeezing Harry tight.

Harry took a deep breath and let go, even though he wasn't exactly ready to. Mustering a smile, he said, "I know. I'm just going to miss you. You're my baby."

Simone didn't balk or roll her eyes or contradict him, she just gripped the straps of her backpack as she gave him a wobbly smile. "You have plenty of babies to take care of at home."

Harry grinned and looked behind him where Y/n was keeping watch over the rest of the Styles family, though none of them were really babies anymore.

Looking back at Simone, he said, "Behave yourself, okay? Don't do anything Uncle Louis would do. And no boys for at least a month, please?"

Simone did roll her eyes then. "Sure, Dad."

That wasn't totally convincing, but he knew it was the best he was going to get. Harry pulled Simone in for one last hug, memories of the last eighteen years playing in his mind like a fast forward reel. Part of him couldn't believe he was already dropping Simone off for her first year of college, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to let her go. When he looked at her, he could still see the little baby he held for the first time, the one he promised to protect and do his best to raise. He hoped he fulfilled that promise.

"I love you, bug. Call me if you need anything. Any time, any place, you call me, okay?"

Tears appeared in Simone's eyes as she nodded. When Harry was ready, he finally stepped back and walked back toward Y/n and the rest of his family. As everyone got in the car Simone watched, waving to her siblings from the curb until Harry eventually peeled out of his spot, feeling like he was leaving part of his heart behind.

"Can we get something to eat?"

"In-N-Out!"

"There's no In-N-Out here!"

"A burger does sound good."

"Skip the song, please!"

"Play One Direction!"

Harry smiled as he shared a look with Y/n. He already missed Simone, but he knew she would be okay. And he found that it was easier—not by a lot but easier—to miss someone when there were five other babies, who weren't really babies anymore, to look after.