#9€ the pint yesterday i was really close to tears

[hadewyjch]

Back in Paris and I really miss the price of beer in Poland....

[chilling-seavey]

MORE CUTE SCENES OF FLORENCE AND THE FAM PLS 🥺🥺

Everyone loves a lil protective Daniel around his girls x

Clementine

Valentines Day always came around once a year to rub it in parents’ faces that they weren’t as sappy and crazy love-drunk as they once were; too caught up by real-life problems to bother even making time to participate in society’s made up holiday. But even if they agreed on skipping it year after year, Daniel always brought home a bouquet of red roses for his wife and three long stemmed roses for his daughters, one each. His four Valentines.

Daniel struggled to open the apartment door as he held his bag over his arm and the fifteen flowers in his other hand, eventually nearly falling inside at 4:30pm. There were excited screams from the living room as his daughters came running to greet him like almost every day after work and he closed the door behind him and bent down to kiss them each.

Daniel set his bag down to give him room to bend down in front of the three girls and took the first single rose from the bunch and offered it to Clementine.

The seven-year-old grinned, taking it from him and gave him a kiss, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Penelope was next, carefully taking her single rose from him with blushing cheeks and she broke into a dimpled grin, copying her older sister as they smelt the fresh cut flowers.

Lucy was third, the eighteen-month-old reaching eagerly to the rose he held out to her. Daniel was thankful he had the florist cut off the thorns as the girls held the stems tightly with their excitement.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my little ladies.” Daniel smiled, pulling them all into a hug and pressed kisses over their heads.

Florence appeared in the hallway, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail as she had been making dinner, and she smiled at the sweet scene in the foyer.

“Daddy bought us flowers!” Penelope grinned up at her mother, her arm still snug around Daniel’s shoulders.

“I see that! How lucky of you.” Florence chuckled. “Let’s get washed up for dinner, alright?”

The oldest two girls went running off to the bathroom to wash their hands, the youngest toddling after them with her rose waving around in her hands. Daniel stood up from the ground and swooped right in to kiss his wife, sliding an arm around her waist as he held the bouquet of roses between them.

“Couldn’t forget my forever Valentine.” he whispered as her arms draped around his shoulders.

Florence grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, and they shared soft ‘I love you’s before making their way into the living room. Florence unwrapped the flowers and tucked them in a vase with water on the kitchen counter before finishing up tending to the dinner.

The girls came back out and he got them settled at the dining room table as Penelope talked about her class party they had in her kindergarten class that day and all the crafts they made. Florence brought over the plates as Daniel buckled Lucy in her highchair and they all sat down to eat.

“I had a party too!” Clementine added when her sister was finished. “My boyfriend made me a special Valentine’s card.”

Daniel choked on his water, nearly spitting it back in the glass at his shock, “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Daddy! His name is Christopher and he asked me to be his girlfriend at recess yesterday!” Clementine grinned as if it was the best news ever.

Florence kept her smile to herself behind a bite of her dinner, watching Daniel’s nearly grief-stricken face and saucer wide eyes.

Daniel tried to speak as calmly as he could, “Clemmy girl…sweetheart…angel, you’re only seven, you shouldn’t have a boyfriend.”

“It’s okay, Daddy. He’s really nice. He made me a card today and we might hold hands tomorrow.”

“Oh my gosh.” Daniel shut his eyes tightly for a second. “No. Do not let him touch you, okay? Boys are yucky. The only boy who you are allowed to love is me.”

“What about Uncle Callum?”

“Sometimes.”

“And Uncle Christian and Uncle Tyler?”

“Sometimes.”

“And Jack?”

“Sometimes.”

“And Christopher?”

“Some-No.” Daniel glared at his daughter’s cheeky grin. “No boyfriends, okay? Not until you’re a grown up.”

“Buy why?! Mommy!” Clementine turned to Florence with pleading eyes.

Florence looked between her daughter and her husband, both of them staring at her expectantly.

“I’m not getting involved in your conversation.” Florence mumbled lightly.

“Flora.” Daniel gaped. “Are you hearing this?”

“Go get your card, baby.” Florence said sweetly to her eldest who proudly ran off to her backpack.

“You’re my boyfriend, Daddy.” Penelope whispered, smiling her dimpled grin in his direction.

“God bless your heart, bug. I love you.” Daniel whispered, petting her hair and squishing her cheek a little.

Clementine came rushing back over with her homemade Valentines card in hand, glitter sprinkling onto the table as she thrust it into her mother’s hands. She stood eagerly between her parents at the corner of the table, hands curling around the wood as she watched her mother read the card, a small smile on her face.

“It’s very sweet, Clemmy.” Florence said, holding it out to Daniel, mouthing a ‘be nice’ as he grabbed it from her. He set his fork down and stared at the glitter heart on the front and the messy stickers all around it before opening it up. It was obviously done by a first grader but Daniel frowned, handing it back to his eldest without a word.

“Isn’t it nice, Daddy?” Clementine asked, grabbing his arm with one hand.

Daniel clenched his jaw a moment, staring down at the seven-year-old giving him those puppy eyes she had perfected since she was a baby and he melted, “Yes, angel. It’s very nice.”

Clementine grinned at him and rushed back off to tuck it safely in her backpack.

Daniel mumbled, “He didn’t even spell her name right.”

Florence smacked his arm through a soft laugh, “She’s in grade one, even she can barely spell her own name right.”

Penelope

Daniel parked the car on one of the side streets outside the movie theatre downtown, waiting to pick up Penelope from her night out with her friends. She was just barely 15 and still too hesitant about taking the subway alone at night but her slightly overcautious parents were more than fine to pick her up and drop her off wherever she needed to be instead. Florence had dropped her off just before dinner time and she was gone all evening, texting Daniel that she was ready to be picked up around 9. He found himself waiting there in his car until 9:15 when he finally saw Penelope rounding the corner a bit of a ways away. He kept an eye on her to make sure she was safe on her small walk from the building to his car in the dark city but he frowned when she stopped in place and turned to a boy standing behind her.

The way they were talking made it appear that they knew each other but Daniel kept a hand on the door handle just in case. He watched with narrowed eyes as the guy pulled Penelope into a hug and she curled into him for a moment before he was taking her face in his hands and kissing her. Daniel sat frozen in shock, staring wide-eyed as the teenagers said their goodbyes. Penelope was the daughter who seemed to steer clear of boys the longest and suddenly Daniel was slapped in the face by this change in his shiest girl. He tried to straighten himself up and took a few breaths the best he could as Penelope rushed over to the car.

“Hey, Daddy.” she whispered as she climbed into the passenger side, her voice shaking a little.

“Hi, bug.” Daniel breathed, his hesitation mirroring hers.

They fell into silence for a moment, both staring in opposite directions. Penelope twisted the material of her sweater on her lap anxiously, biting hard on her bottom lip as she stared out the window, Daniel clutching hard onto the steering wheel with the car still in park and his eyes focussed straight ahead, still in shock.

“Dad.” Penelope finally broke their silence and looked over at him.

Daniel met her eyes, the blue shimmering with tears, and he set a hand on her cheek, “Oh, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know!” she cried suddenly, hiding her face in her sweater to try and muffle her sobs.

“It’s okay.” Daniel wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her as close as possible over the centre console of the car. He pressed a kiss to her head.

“H-he kissed me and...and I wasn’t ready for it and I don’t...I don’t know how I feel about it! I’m scared!”

“Oh my gosh, bug. No need to be scared.” Daniel said softly. “It’s nothing to be scared about, your first kiss is always going to be awkward and awful and uncomfortable but now you got it out of the way. However, he should have asked your permission first.”

“Are you mad at me?” Penelope sniffled.

“Oh, Penny girl, no. Why would I be mad at you?” Daniel sat back a little to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“Because I just got k-kissed by a boy.” Penelope sobbed, curling into his chest.

“I’m not mad, bug. I promise.” Daniel chuckled, petting her hair softly. “I’m a little surprised that it happened so quick but you’re 15 so boys were bound to come into the picture soon.”

“No one has ever liked me before.” Penelope sniffled.

“That, or you’ve just never noticed. Maybe you’re just like me.” Daniel sighed, resting his head on hers. “You’re just my late-bloomer, nothing wrong with that. Stay young as long as you can, okay?”

Penelope nodded and sat up straight in her seat, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms and took a shaking breath.

“Would an ice cream stop on the way home help you feel better?” Daniel asked.

“Yes please.” Penelope nodded through her pout.

The ice cream was also sort of for Daniel too as he focussed his heavy heart into his pint of vanilla, watching his second daughter eat quietly across from him with her eyes red from crying and mouth coated in chocolate. She still was the same four year old she once was in his eyes and he wished he could keep her that young forever.

Lucy

Florence knew the moment Lucy brought a boy into her car after school that it wasn’t going to end well. The youngest daughter was only nine and a half, eager to bring home a friend from school; a friend who happened to be a boy. Florence had absolutely no problem with her nine-year-old having male friends, she actually encouraged it, but she knew her husband would have a different opinion, always a tad too protective of his daughters.

Lucy and her friend Marcus sat and chatted excitedly in the backseat, talking youthfully about their classes that day and other things, thirteen-year-old Penelope in the passenger seat. Florence kept glancing through the rear-view mirror at the two fourth graders as she drove towards the apartment building by the waterfront.

“Daddy’s gonna have a fit.” Penelope whispered to her mother.

“I know.” Florence mumbled, trying to bite back a smile. Penelope giggled quietly to herself and leaned against the window.

Of course, it was that day that Daniel had the afternoon off, meaning he was already home when they arrived, busying himself around the apartment as Clementine was sat at the dining room table doing her homework. His double take was unmatched as the fourth person coming into his living room was not a member of his family. Florence kissed him hello, whispering a gentle, ‘He’s a friend’ to her surprised husband. Daniel let her kiss him once more although his eyes were focussed past her and on his youngest daughter and her friend.

The young boy walked right up to Daniel and held out his hand, “Hi Mr. Seavey. I’m Marcus.”

Daniel could barely form words, taking the nine-year-old���s handshake with a wavering, “Nice to meet you, Marcus.”

“Daddy,” Lucy grabbed onto the side of his shirt and smiled up at him, “Can Marcus and I go play in my room?”

“No.” Daniel said quickly, composing himself with a, “You can play in the living room here, okay?”

“You can play in your room, Lucy Lu.” Florence spoke up. “I’ll call you two when the pizzas get here.”

“Thank you!” Lucy grinned and the two friends rushed down the hallway together.

“Someone needs to relax.” Clementine chuckled under her breath without looking up from her textbook.

“Who is that?” Daniel turned to them quickly.

“He’s her friend, Daddy, chill.” Penelope laughed, sitting herself at the table with her sister and pulled out her notebooks.

“We all know what starts as friends.” Daniel whispered sharply to Florence over the kitchen counter as she put away Lucy’s empty containers from her lunch bag.

“Oh my gosh, baby, she’s nine.” Florence chuckled. “You’re overthinking.”

Daniel leaned closer to her to keep his voice down so the other two girls wouldn’t hear, “I’ve seen the YouTube docs of girls being pregnant at ten. That’s only six months away, Flora! She could-“

“Daniel! Jesus!” Florence held her hands over her ears. “Stop that! You’re going crazy! She can’t even get pregnant yet, chill out.”

“She’s my baby, Flora.” Daniel pouted.

“Our baby, I know. But stop overthinking and just let her be a kid still.” Florence tisked, holding out her phone to him. “Now go make yourself useful and order dinner.”

Daniel kept himself quiet and collected during dinner, trying not to eye the boy beside his youngest too much from across the table. He couldn’t deny that the boy had some of the best manners Daniel had ever seen on a child – other than his own – and it made his paternal distaste hard to stick.

However, his calm only lasted so long, as the girls moved to the living room to watch a movie and Florence and Daniel stayed in the kitchen to tidy up dinner, and barely five minutes into the film, Marcus slid his hand into Lucy’s and they tucked their fingers around each other. Daniel never moved faster in his life, rushing into the living room and wiggling himself between the two nine-year-olds, pushing them apart.

“Okay! What are we watching!” Daniel asked loudly, slinging his arm over Lucy’s shoulders as she glared at him with annoyance. Penelope and Clementine shook their heads with disbelief at their father’s overprotective tendencies, and Florence could only roll her eyes from the kitchen.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (9)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Mentions of torture.

A/N: Finally, we learn more about the Reader. Hydra sucks so hard and love has so many different forms. This chapter also features a cameo from the greatest woman in the MCU and this is my first time writing her.

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

“When I was 12-years-old, a group of men came to my home. The - blond man. He was looking for me. They arrested my Father and I ran. As far from Berlin as I could get.” Closing her eyes, the memory of that black night burns fresh. “I made it to the coast and bought the first ticket out of Germany I found. In March of 1929, I got to London.”

Bucky imagines her as a little girl, alone, penniless, mourning her father and hiding from an unknown horror. It makes him want to raze the world for her.

“That was brave. You were really brave,” he tells her, still rubbing her skin, but she shakes her head.

“That’s where I met him.”

*****

Late June - December, 1942 London, England

Night time in the hospital is peaceful.

Every bed is taken, housing occupants with injuries ranging from broken bones to missing limbs. During the day, a steady stream of chatter and cries of pain will fill every nook and cranny of the sterile hospital, but at night, silence reigns.

Beside a small metal table, she dumps out a basket full of clean clothes. Picking each individual strip, she stretches out the wrinkles, smooths them down, folds it in half, and rolls it into a tight ball. Each bundle goes carefully into the empty basket. Her fingers find a rhythm and the basket begins to fill.

Stretch. Smooth. Fold. Roll.

Out in the rows of sleeping soldiers, the occasional squeak of a bed spring pings as a patient shifts, trying to get comfortable. There’s a disgruntled sigh of failure and the place grows quiet again.

On and on she works, until she hears it.

From the rows of broken men, comes a whimper. The sound of a child holding back tears. It is so lost, it cuts to the bone.

She knows that sound.

Slipping back into the ward, she walks silently through the rows of beds, passing men with shattered limbs, men drowning in plaster casts, men who’s faces have been scorched away. There in the corner, she finds him. Locked in sleep, his head thrashes back and forth, terrified whimpers pushing past his lips. Bending over him, she sees tear tracks streaking down his cheeks, a sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead.

Tugging a clean cloth from the starched pocket of her pale blue dress, she runs it down his face, wiping away sweat and tears. Still, he makes those hurt noises, and she hears the words “no, please, no, sorry, sorry, sorry,” in a panicked whisper.

Out of habit, she glances over her shoulder, but no matter. She is alone with nothing but the soldiers and their nightmares for company.

As she’s done so many times before, she can help.

So, she does.

Placing perpetually cold hands on his face, she hums softly, hushing him. The broken whispers stop, but fat tears still leak from his closed eyes. Closing her eyes, she concentrates on what she finds, feeling the strangeness of warmth tickling her palms, no more than a mere second -

Instantly, the tears stop. Still fast asleep, the man sniffles and those hard lines carved into his face relax. In sleep, he looks so young, and really - isn’t he? No more than eighteen. Cursed to live in a time when men his age are dying in bunkers and battlefields.

Navigating around the clean white beds, she goes back to work.

The tragedy, is that those dark memories will haunt him all his life, but at least tonight, thanks to her, he finds solace in a dreamless sleep.

Sometimes these small acts of mercy, they are enough.

*****

Late one night, she sits at the front desk filing patient reports. Absorbed in the task, she doesn’t hear the man approach until he clears his throat.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Looking up, she sees a tall, lanky soldier. Curly black hair frames a broad forehead and deep brown eyes. Dressed in a crisp military uniform, she sees the Lieutenant insignia on his shoulder. Clutched in his right hand, is a knobby cane, and with his left, he doffs his hat and tucks it under his arm.

“I’m sorry to startle you.” His accent holds a hint of east London. “I’m here to retrieve yesterday’s patient files. Would you know where I might find them?”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” she says. Rising to her feet, she smooths the front of her dress and steps to the file cabinet.

At her words, she sees him touch the gold pin at his shoulder nervously. Leaning the polished wooden cane against the table, he tries to stand up straighter.

“Not much of a Lieutenant these days,” he says wryly.

“An injury doesn’t change that,” she states. Locating the file, she hands it over.

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “Pardon my poor manners. My name’s Henry Lewis.”

When he offers his hand, he gives her a shy smile and she accepts it. It feels warm, but then again doesn’t everything feel warm to her?

*****

The next night, she recognizes the sound. Hears the click-tap of a cane, and the gentle shuffle of a slow gait. The door opens, and Henry steps through. He sweeps his hat from his head and tucks it neatly under his arm.

“Good evening,” he says.

“Hello Lieutenant,” she replies.

A routine is born.

Each night he stops by the hospital, collecting files to return back to his office. Each night they exchange a few words before he tips his hat and ambles slowly away. She finds herself looking forward to his visits, discovering she likes having someone know her, as friends are a luxury she often foregoes.

It is much easier to hide the past when there is no one to ask.

*****

After a month of conversation, brimming with awkward stops and starts, Henry asks her to dinner.

They find a cafe with a table by the front window. Over watery lagers and small bowls of salted potatoes, they talk. She learns he grew up poor on the east side of London; when war was declared, he signed up the same day. Rising quickly through the ranks, he was a clever soldier in the field, until an unexpected bomb drove a chunk of rusty shrapnel through his knee in Belgium. Several surgeries later, the doctors declared it the best they could do.

Now, he walks with a heavy limp. Working in one of the Westminster war departments, he’s resigned himself to a stationary life.

Sitting across from her, his fingers draw patterns in the condensation of his pint glass. He speaks wistfully of war. Of being part of a team. Doing good in the world, fighting for what’s right. It kills him, sitting here while his friends are still out there.

“After all,” he says sadly. “Who needs another broken soldier?”

Shaking her head, she reaches for his hand and squeezes tight. His dark eyes light up at her touch.

“The world always needs good men,” she says.

“Tell me about you,” he answers instead.

She speaks of her life in London, of her work in the hospital. But those details of her past, her father, Berlin, her ability - she reveals nothing, offering only the black and white sketch of her life. There is no color she wants to provide.

Because, well. Being different is hard.

*****

The months are filled with a low simmering courtship. A drink in the pub after work, the occasional picnic in the park, dinner at the few restaurants still open in the midst of war.

Henry is an easy man to like. Gentle and unassuming, he has dimples in both cheeks that follow his shy smiles. When he gets excited, he talks with his hands and he stutters just a bit, and she finds herself charmed.

One night, he walks her home and quietly asks if he can kiss her goodnight. She hesitates for only a moment before saying yes, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders and presses warm lips to hers.

It feels nice, this closeness. She basks in it.

Time drifts along, and there, surrounded by the frantic pace of war-torn London, they fall in love.

There is no earth-shattering event, no wild racing of the heart; it’s not that kind of love. Sometimes love comes barreling in, fierce and wild and full of fire, but other times it arrives slowly and without fanfare. It may not be what she expected, but love is love and she accepts it.

Having someone feels so nice.

*****

December 1942 London, England

Rain has been falling steadily for the past three days.

Inside the cafe, the radiator works over-time and the hot air coats the windows in a thick fog. At their customary table, she waits for him, cold fingers curled around a cup of tea. Milk is hard to find these days, so she drinks it black, stirring absently to cool the scalding liquid.

When they were walking home last night, Henry asked her a question.

“I’d like to marry you. If you would have me.”

Perhaps she’s been naive, but it took her by surprise.

Growing up, she remembers her father spinning a world of fairy tales, about a beautiful princess and a handsome prince, so in love they could overcome all odds. That was the love he knew, the love he had for her mother. It was what she hoped to find when she grew up, that wild, soul consuming love. The kind that could move mountains and bring you to your knees. The kind that always gives more than it takes.

The kind of love that never leaves, no matter what happens.

That was then. In this world, she long ago abandoned those sweet dreams; the nightmares of the present and the horrors of her past make everything so bleak.

But with his question, Henry’s given her hope. She knows that while she may never have the powerful love her parents shared, she can still have this. A gentle life filled with contentment.

So, she said yes.

Maybe it’s not true love, but it’s a deep affection all the same.

Maybe that’s enough.

After two hours of waiting in the bustling cafe, she decides to go home. Henry’s been buried at work and likely lost track of time. Shrugging into her coat, she drops a few coins on the table and waves to the woman behind the counter. Stepping into the crisp December night, she glances down the empty street, fiddling with the clasp on her purse.

A black car turns the corner and she squints at the dim headlights.

“Waiting for someone miss? May I keep you company?”

The voice at her shoulder is polite, but something makes her flinch. Goosebumps prickle up the back of her neck, biting into her skin and she forces a tight smile as she looks up, intending to brush the man away.

“No thank you, I’m - ”

Recognition comes like a fist to the face.

His brown hat is pulled low, but a tuft of white blond hair peaks beneath the brim. Time has carved tiny lines beside his pale eyes, but the cruel curve of his mouth is shockingly familiar.

Tonight, she sees it all up close, instead of from a hidden spot inside the wall of her living room.

A vicious smile curls his lips. Darting his hand out, he catches her wrist in an iron grip and she sucks in a breath as he leans close, his breath hot and sour, smelling faintly of whiskey.

“Hello little girl. I said I’d find you.”

The black car rumbles to a stop. Panicked, she opens her mouth to scream, but her deep breath does nothing more than inhale the fumes wafting from the damp cloth he suddenly shoves against her face. Speckles of black dance across her vision and she feels herself thrown into the backseat.

The door slams shut with a sickening finality.

The world tilts and goes black.

*****

December 1942 Location Unknown

The bare cement walls are slick beneath her palm. She presses her hand against it, feeling the rough grit of crumbling mortar; it has a vaguely tomb-like smell and she can’t stop shivering.

Rolling over, she pulls the flimsy wool blanket tighter, keeping her eyes locked on the door.

Where is she?

Her head aches and her mouth feels cottony dry, a lingering taste of the drug they used. Dammit. All those years of being cautious, of keeping her eyes open, and this is how it happens.

With a harsh, whining screech, the door bangs open.

Sitting up quickly, she recoils from the throbbing ache behind her eyes. Yellow light spills into her cell, before a bulky silhouette fills the frame. Dressed head-to-toe in black, from the tips of his boots to the thick black gloves to the high-necked collar of his shirt, every bare inch of skin is covered.

“Stand up,” he orders brusquely, “back against the wall. Hands out front.”

Defiance fills her, but exhaustion follows just as swift. Climbing painfully to her feet, she leans back against the cold stone and extends her arms. There’s a clank of metal and heavy shackles clasp her wrists, binding her hands together. Lifting her hands above her head, he presses himself flush against her, pinning her to the wall. She turns away and his mouth is hot and wet against her ear.

“You’re nothing but a fucking freak,” he sneers. “If you try to touch me, I’ll shoot you in the face.”

With that threat, he jerks her from the wall and shoves her into the bright hallway. Leading her down a narrow corridor, they pass by an open room where there’s a brief glimpse of shiny metal, and then she’s climbing a winding staircase. Up and up she goes, circling until she’s dizzy.

Finally, a wood door with a brass knocker appears. Three hard knocks and he shoves it open.

The room is small, with one wall made entirely of glass. It looks down upon a bustling laboratory filled with doctors in white coats, and through the window, she sees in full the glimpse of metal she passed moments ago.

It looks like a chair. Attached to the back, is a rudimentary hook, holding the thick metal halo hanging above; wide leather straps are affixed to the arms and legs, their silver buckles gleaming, while two round spotlights shine down, illuminating the entire contraption.

Even from behind the thick glass, the device pulses with a sinister aura. The chair emanates torture, destruction.

Death.

Seated at the table, is the man who grabbed her. Sipping coffee from a delicate china cup, he looks up at her entrance and bestows a congenial smile.

“Hello. Thank you for joining me.”

Shoved unceremoniously into a chair, the guard who brought her departs without a word. Still smiling, the man leans back, folding his hands over his stomach.

“You have questions, I expect.”

Looking around the room, she waits a full minute before she responds with the only thing she can think, her voice still husky from the drugs.

“Who the hell are you?”

At the question, a spasm of anger flits over his face. “My name is Colonel Wilhelm Richter. Someone you should have met a long time ago.”

“I don’t associate with Nazis,” she spits out.

“Oh, come now,” he chuckles. “Nazis? No.” Fingering the pin on his lapel, he unhooks it and sets it on the table. She sees it clearly now, the silver skull with eight protruding tentacles. “Hitler and his thugs are welcome to whatever they want, but Hydra are interested in more.”

“Hydra,” she says slowly and the name tastes like acid on her tongue. “And what do Hydra want?”

“The best for everyone,” he breathes. “Order and control. In the future, these wars will be unnecessary. We simply need people to follow our path, it’s so easy. But to get there, we need soldiers. That’s why we’re here,” he gestures to lab below. “Creating a new breed of super soldier. Strong and obedient. A fist to destroy what we command.”

Considering his words, she bites the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood.

She knows what’s coming.

“Why am I here?”

Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the table.

“Years ago, I knew a young woman. Beautiful. Indescribably talented. When I discovered what she could do, I wanted her. More than anything. Hydra was just starting, we could have had such a bright future together, but no,” he sneers, lip curling in disgust. “Instead, she ran off and married some worthless piece of trash, and a few years later, she went and had you. I knew you’d be just like her. Able to wipe a man’s brain clean with the touch of your fingers.”

Piece of trash. The words send her blind with rage.

She thinks of her handsome father, his dark eyes sparkling as he watched her mother shuffling a deck of cards. It was late at night and they sat across from each other at the kitchen table, trading warm smiles and sweet words. They never knew she was hiding behind the armchair in the living room, hugging her baby blanket, a sleepy smile on her face as she listened to the sounds of love. It was one of the last nights they had, before a fever stole her mother like a thief in the night.

If she could summon up the saliva, she’d spit in Richter’s face.

“Don’t you ever talk about my father that way,” she snarls. Her fingers flex rapidly in the shackles and he watches her fury with amusement.

“I’ll say any god damn thing I want. He took her and then hid you from me for years. He was a thorn in my side until the day I killed him,” he says, and a fervent gleam lights up his eyes. “That night I came, you did it to him, didn’t you? Wiped him?”

All these years, and the wound is still fresh.

A dark November night. The smell of snow in the air and a dark apartment. The touch of childish hands on a gray stubbled face. Removing every last memory from her father’s head. Knowing he would go to his grave without remembering he had a daughter he loved beyond anything in the world.

“Yes,” she says through clenched teeth.

“You know,” Richter says confidentially, “he was so confused at the end. Had no idea why we took him. Every time we sliced off a finger he just screamed. I finally figured it out though, knew you’d taken it all and we weren’t getting a fucking thing from him. Should’ve just killed him straight away, but I was angry.”

Testing the restraints, she glares at him. “He asked me to do it and I did. But I don’t do that now. Not anymore.”

“That’s where we disagree,” he replies. “Because you certainly will do it again. For as long as I require.”

Laughing hollowly, she slumps in her chair. “There’s no way I’ll ever help you.”

“I thought you might say that.” Rising elegantly, he walks over and pulls her to her feet. “I’ve brought motivation. Let’s have a look.”

Dragging her to the large glass window, they look down at the lab. Richter pushes a red button on the wall and speaks.

“Soldier Lewis, please.”

A door bangs open and two guards march forward, a tall, dark haired man between them. At the sight, her knees buckle.

“No,” she whispers. “Oh my god, no.”

“You will notice we fixed him,” Richter says clinically. “With just a few experiments, we solved what his previous doctors were unable to fix.”

She sees the truth in his words. Henry walks confidently, his limp disappeared. He seems taller now, broader even. Something about him is different.

“What did you do to him?” she chokes out.

“Nothing he did not request. He wanted to serve again, and we gave him the opportunity. We need a perfect soldier, and he is a prime test subject. Natural talent on the battlefield, eager to please. Exactly what we need. There’s just one small problem.”

When Henry sees the chair, he stops short.

“Jesus, no. Please, no. I can’t do it again, please!”

Even through the plate glass window, she hears the fear in his voice. The guards ignore his plea and motion toward the chair. Henry shakes his head vehemently, trying to back away.

“They all resist the chair,” Richter sighs.

Backpedaling now, Henry bumps into two more guards, who grip his arms and drag him forward. He struggles briefly, before sagging in their hands and letting himself be manhandled into the chair. Reluctantly opening his mouth, a gag is thrust between his teeth.

“What is this?” she demands. Her fingers are splayed on the glass, as though she can touch through the window.

“It’s called a memory suppression machine. Our first prototype. Electric currents are used to scrub their minds.” The whirring hum of electricity begins and the halo above the chair twitches to life. “Unfortunately, the effects don’t seem to last. The machine destroys the memories for a brief time, but they reappear.”

The halo rotates and lowers over Henry’s face, locking in place. It makes a loud, vibrating noise and then, with every bit of breath in his lungs, Henry begins to scream. On and on, the bloodcurdling screeches fill the room, heartbreaking sounds of unimaginable pain.

“Stop!” she screams, beating her fists against the window. “You’re going to kill him! Stop it! Please, please stop!”

“As you can see,” Richter says dispassionately, speaking over her screams, “it appears slightly painful.”

With a final lurch, the machine goes silent and Henry’s screams fade away. When the halo lifts, he remains in the chair, shivering uncontrollably. The guards unbuckle the straps and haul him to his feet. Blank and docile, he appears to wait for instruction. It takes nothing more than a sharp request from the guard, for him to spin on his heel and march through the door from where he came.

Panting in the observation room above, she feels sweat dripping down her temple.

“Why are you doing this?” her voice breaks on the last word and she swipes tears from her eyes.

Richter retreats to the table, shuffling a thick stack of paper and tapping the edges even.

“Our research began years ago, that’s why I wanted you then. Our newest trial is starting now.”

“And what the hell does this have to do with me?”

“You know what I want. We’ll continue using the chair on our soldiers until we get it right. Or - you can make it easier. Painless for them. It doesn’t have to be like this. Make the right choice to help them. It’s selfish to say no.”

Closing her eyes, she gives the glass a weak smack.

“You don’t understand. What I do - people don’t come back from it. Whatever I take, the memories are gone. Forever.”

Tilting his head, he observes her with a curious smile.

“I know.”

“No,” she says softly. “I won’t. I won’t do that to people against their will.”

“Haven’t you been doing that exact thing to those poor souls in the hospital?” he says. “Didn’t you take things from them?”

“That was different,” she argues, tears now spilling over. “I was helping them. I only took the bad things, I always left behind what made them who they were.”

“And now you’ll take more. It really is simple.”

“I won’t.” Finally finding that saliva, she spits at his feet. Raising a lazy eyebrow, he looks down at his shoes. When he speaks, his voice is bitterly cold.

“So then - our little game begins.”

*****

Every morning he comes for her. Drags her into the observation deck and forces her to watch while they put a parade of men through the memory suppressing machine.

It spins and sparks and fires bolts of electricity through screaming, writhing bodies. Sometimes they go into convulsions. Sometimes blood streams from their eyes. Sometimes they foam at the mouth. 

Every evening, she tells him no.

Every night, she stuffs her fist in her mouth to muffle her sobs, the screams of the tortured soldiers running on a loop through her brain.

And the next morning, it begins again.

*****

On and on it goes.

Until finally, it happens.

Until finally, she says yes.

*****

One morning, he drags her into the room. They open the door and there’s Henry again, his dark eyes rolling in panic. The moment he sees the chair, he begins to cry.

“Please,” he sobs and his voice breaks. “Please stop.”

The crack in his voice reminds her of the soldiers in her hospital, whimpering as the darkness closed in and the nightmares descended. She helped those men, gave them a measure of peace, but taking away nightmares is not the same. This is more, this is so much more.

The guards are holding him in the chair, strapping his arms in place, cinching the buckles around his legs and she can see Henry’s tears dripping down his cheeks, soaking the ragged collar of his shirt and suddenly it’s too much.

“Wait.”

Richter turns to her, triumph in his face.

“Yes?”

Will she really do this? She looks again at Henry’s terrified face, and her stomach rolls when she sees that the constant bursts of electricity are turning his hair gray.

Will she really do this?

“Take me down.”

When the door to the lab opens, a low moan comes from the chair when Henry sees them dragging her closer. Even with his scrambled brain, through the murky fog of half-formed memories, he recognizes her.

“No! Oh my god, no. What is this? Why are you here?” he asks in anguish. He fights the straps, a fruitless endeavor.

Reaching for him, she wipes away his tears. Everything inside her is screaming, begging her to refuse. She can’t do this again, she can’t destroy a man’s life.

But if this is the only way to end the pain - then she must.

“It’s okay,” she soothes. “It’s okay. I’m okay, please don’t worry. They said they’ll let me help you.”

“Help me?” he repeats, tear-filled eyes searching her face.

“Yes, I can - help,” her voice hitches. Desperately holding back tears, needing to make this moment as painless for him as possible.

Cupping his wet cheeks, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. There’s a moment of nothingness, and then a soft glow appears. Heat flows through her fingers and he relaxes. The white light glows brighter and brighter and brighter, until - she lets go. His eyes roll back and his head droops.

Stepping back, she feels the wave of cold pulsing through her.

Everything, nearly all his memories, wiped away with a touch of her hands. All those pieces that made him who he was are gone. Obliterated from existence, never to be recovered.

Well. Nearly all.

Inside his head, she leaves a few sparse memories. Because as selfish as it sounds, she cannot fathom the pain of being forgotten again, by someone she loves.

*****

It never gets easier.

With the gentle press of her fingers, each man goes limp as she scrubs their brains fresh and clean, ready for whatever Hydra wants to put in place. Strangely, their individual abilities, those that put them on the Hydra selection block - how to obey commands, how to shoot a gun, how to speak a foreign language - those remain. She comes to realize that some things are so deeply ingrained in a person’s DNA, those strips of muscle memory cannot be taken.

Each time she wipes another man clean, she grows colder, the rush of their memories like ice in her veins.

Most of the Hydra guards are disgruntled with the new procedure. They enjoyed listening to the screams, laughed at the writhing bodies as they fought the electric currents shooting through their brains, burning their memories to ash. Torture was what they wanted, that was what they signed up for, not this quiet destruction.

How boring, they mutter glumly to each other. Where’s the fun in this?

*****

Early one morning, she lays on the flimsy mattress, hands folded over her chest, counting the bricks in her cell. She reaches 200 when the door bangs open.

“Get the fuck up,” Richter orders furiously. “Now.”

Rolling her head to look up at him, she sighs tiredly.

“No.”

She keeps counting.

“What did you do?” he snarls, stomping forward. Reaching down, he grabs the chain linking her metal bracelets together, hauling her to her feet. “He’s fucking asking about you. Has a fiancée, he says, needs to tell her where he is. What did you do? It’s supposed to be absolute!”

Swaying slightly, a heady rush of triumph sparkles through her and she shrugs. “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“No, you weren’t, now get the fuck out there and finish the job,” he orders.

Shaking her head slowly, she sinks back to the mattress.

“No. I’m done doing your dirty work.”

“This is your last god damn warning, I mean it.”

Exhausted laughter bubbles up. Her last warning? What else was he going to do?

“I said no.”

The struggle is clear, twisting his features into something ugly. She watches him, curiously detached.

Suddenly, his face goes eerily calm.

“Alright. Remember you said this.”

Turning sharply, he storms away. She resumes counting.

The faint red glow of sunset peaks through the small bars of her tiny window when he returns. Opening the door slowly, without his customary bang, he says nothing. Instead, he leans in the doorframe and crosses his arms. She pays him no attention, staring at the ceiling.

“I wanted to let you know, we increased the power on the chair. Had to find a way to get rid of those pesky memories you left in his head.” His words caress like the smooth slice of razor blades on her skin. “It’s a shame, but he didn’t make it. Voltage was too high, blood vessels in his head exploded. Brutal. Such a mess to clean up.”

She should have expected this. She should have known.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen,” he adds.

Next time, she thinks numbly. There won’t be a next time.

*****

January, 1943 Location Unknown

One morning they take her to a new room. Dark shelves line the walls, cluttered with silver tins and glass vials full of colorful liquid.

The guards hoist her onto the table in the middle of the room and chain her arms above her head, fasten her ankles to the edge of the table with smooth leather cuffs.

This is new.

She kicks and squirms, tries to reach for them. They trap her easily, laughing at her weak attempts and in retaliation, cinch the cuffs so tight they tear her skin.

A short, bespectacled man arrives. Leaning over her on the observation table, she sees her reflection in his thick glasses, before the light hits them and they turn an opaque, milky white.

“Hello, Fraulein,” he murmurs, stroking a finger down her cheek. “I am Dr. Arnim Zola and I am very glad to meet you. So much we have to learn together. Let’s see what we can find.”

Her mouth is forced open, a gag between her teeth so she can’t bite through her tongue. Pulling a tray closer, Zola rubs his hands excitedly and picks up a syringe full of a glowing yellow liquid.

The gag does little to muffle her screams.

*****

For three straight weeks, they experiment.

Strapped to the table, liquids of different colors and textures and variations are pumped into her veins. They burn and twist and rip apart her insides bringing incoherent screams that shred her voice, leave her throat so raw and swollen she can barely speak.

Not that it matters. They don’t care what she has to say.

“We will magnify you,” Zola whispers in her ear, while her body vibrates and flails against the restraints. “Such a simple power, we can take it further. You will help us wipe the slate clean for the masses, build an army for Hydra. So easy to restore order to the chaos.”

Every night, they release the straps and drag her back to her room. In the darkness, she huddles under her little blanket and thinks. She understands what they want.

But the weeks pass and the tests continue with no results.

There was no expansion of her ability. It was impossible, something that could not be touched, because it was born inside her, a power sourced directly from her soul. A part of her that was unalterable, no matter what they tried to do.

And so, with nothing else to be done, the experiments simply strung her in a new direction.

Age, the natural progression of life, fell to the wayside. It would come eventually, but for now, their sick experiments simply extended her life.

What a waste, she would think in later years. What’s the purpose of a long life, when you’re all alone?

*****

In the middle of the night, she hears the guards talking outside her door.

“They’re moving everyone next week, sending us to a new base. More of a work camp I guess.”

“Yeah? Hopefully warmer than this shit-hole. Where’s this fancy new place anyway?”

“Some place in Italy. Azzano, I think.”

Dread fills her. Somewhere new. Somewhere with more men she will be forced to destroy.

The night ticks along and that elusive goal, sleep, finally wraps drowsy fingers around her aching limbs. Floating toward that blessed unconsciousness, she’s on the precipice when it happens.

There’s the sound of a soft, cajoling female voice. It’s a stark contrast to the rough, guttural tones she normally hears and her ears perk.

There’s a pause and she hears the sickening crunch of bone on bone. Scrambling upright, she clutches the blanket, keeping her back to the cold wall. Keys jingle, scraping with a muffled curse and suddenly the door opens. Light floods in, illuminating a strange sight.

A woman steps inside, wiping blood from her knuckles and grimacing.

“Imbeciles. Dammit, that hurt quite a lot more than I expected,” she says to someone behind. She is strikingly beautiful, with thick brown hair falling in fat curls to her shoulders and a sunny, wide-lipped grin.

Pulling up short at the sight of a dirty, disheveled woman crouched on a mattress, she throws her arms out, stopping anyone else from entering.

“What is it?” a man’s voice inquires impatiently, and the woman shakes her head.

“Stay there. Give me a minute.” Raising her hands slowly, she opens them wide, showing she holds nothing dangerous. Her voice is kind when she speaks. “Hello love. My name’s Peggy Carter. Let me help you.”

*****

Flanked by a small, covert group of undercover agents led by SSR Agent Margaret Carter, she escapes. The agents were clearly not equipped to support a captive, they were simply there for intel, but it doesn’t matter.

When Peggy Carter insists, everyone listens.

As they make their way out, she asks the date and then does the math.

Between December 1942 and January 1943, she spends 44 days in Hydra’s grasp. She will remember every second until the day she dies.

*****

The trip home to London takes a week. In transit, she learns the base was deep in the countryside outside Krakow, Poland.

Peggy never leaves her side. She appreciates the warmth of a protective arm around her, lets herself be lulled into drowsy comfort by the rolling English accent. One evening, as she sits huddled under a thick blanket, Peggy takes her hands and rubs them encouragingly.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There is such obvious gentleness there, but she refuses.

“Thank you, Peggy, but no. I just want to forget this ever happened.”

What an ironic comment from her. Forgetting.

“I understand. What will you do next?” Peggy asks carefully. “I can help you find a job at the SSR if you like. We always need good recruits.”

There are good intentions there, and frankly if she still had the capacity to trust anyone in this world, she would trust Peggy Carter. But she knows how the world works and in the end, they’re all the same.

Hydra. The SSR. Once they know her ability, she would become nothing more than a weapon. Something to be primed and aimed at whatever target suits their interest. She can never allow herself to be in that position again.

And above all, she knows he will come searching. Whatever happens, she cannot let him find her again.

Normalcy is all she wants, a quiet life away from everything. A small house, somewhere safe to lay her head. Somewhere hidden.

“Please, I just - I want to disappear. From everything and everyone. Please help me.”

Peggy wraps her in a fierce hug and she buries her face in those thick brown curls.

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

*****

In the SSR records, there is no mention of an enhanced woman discovered at a Hydra base in Poland.

*****

In the stuffy space of her tiny London flat, she quickly packs everything into a worn carpetbag.

Treasures she cannot live without, tangible memories she keeps close. While her memory will never allow her to forget, there’s something beautiful in feeling the shapes and textures of her past; she holds tight to those little objects, no matter the cost.

A soft baby blanket. Photos of her and her father. A silver hairbrush and a jewelry box that belonged to her mother. And once again, in the middle of a black night, she disappears.

Finds passage on a ship and sails down the coast of France, weaving through Royal Navy blockades and nests of Nazi gunners. Takes a train and walks miles to a small village in southern France. Buries herself in the rhythm of the town, creating a new life for herself.

She finds a comfortable house. A small kitchen with a bathroom off the back, a tiny bedroom with a little fireplace upstairs. She trades her sewing skills for two chickens and then barters the eggs for a chipped white vase. Every day, she fills it with something fresh.

And she lives a quiet life, alone again. Forgotten by everyone she’s ever known, except the one man she wishes with all her heart would cease to remember.

She mourns for Henry and the tragedy of his fate. Loving a soldier was one thing she never expected and the experience nearly killed her. The war trudges on, and sometimes soldiers pass through the village; while she always puts her nursing skills to good use, she keeps her distance.

Sometimes she sits by the creek, washing clothes in the cold water and thinking. She wishes she had the power to scrub her own brain clean, but no.

This is her penance, the one she will pay from now until the end of time.

To remember.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

[mcwriting]

starstruck (2)

Heyyyyyy so I stuck to my word lol.

I’m basically unable to function after seeing far from home this evening but also it was so good. I teared up when tom did and my mom made fun of me but its okay because his acting was awesome! Highly recommend y’all see it (even tho ik you probably will if you haven’t already lol)

Ps this is my first time linking one post to another so please lmk if it doesn’t work, but if it’s not, you’ll always be able to access this through my starstruck tag!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Fandom: Tommo Holland

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader eventually

Setting: LA

Word Count: 1386 (lol it’s shorter this time srry)

Warnings: i actually don’t think there’s any here, but lmk if there should be

Rating: K+ still

Background: part 2 of my DCOM inspired fic

B/f/n: your best friend’s name

                             __________________________________

Previously on starstruck...

The faint remains of his cologne wafted to your nose and you couldn’t help but breathe it in. You relaxed further into his grip and stayed comfortable until you heard a buzz on the table next to you.

You decided to ignore it until it happened two more times. Finally, you decided to wiggle out of Tom’s grip and succeeded without waking him. You picked up the cell and noticed it was 10 a.m. and all three texts were from b/f/n

Hey I’m coming over

I’ll bring ice cream since you said you weren’t doing too hot yesterday 

I’m on my way

“No. No, no, nonoNO,” you exclaimed, getting louder and louder, causing Tom to sleepily ask,

“Could you keep it down, darling?” 

“No, I can’t ‘keep it down,’ Thomas, because b/f/n is ON HER WAY HERE!”

“What!?” 

He sat up fully awake.

“We have to get you out of here without her seeing, and she’s probably gonna be here in like 5 minutes.”

Tom rushed to get up and find his keys that were in the pocket of his discarded jacket while you hurried to brush your hair and take a makeup wipe to your face.

You clambered down the stairs and hurried Tom through the kitchen and into the laundry room when you heard the doorbell ring, and when you didn’t answer in apt time, it began ringing like crazy.

Panic stuck your chest and you looked at Tom.

“Open the garage and leave in 5 minutes, then text me so I can close it.” You commanded, beginning to walk towards the entryway.

“Wait, wait,” he grabbed your arm, “I don’t have your number!”

You scrawled it down on a sticky note and ran, hoping he would get out safely and quickly. You opened the door to find b/f/n holding two pints of ice cream, raspberry sorbet for you and coffee ice cream for herself.

“My gosh what took you so long? I about started searching for the spare key with all these goods melting.”

You were about to reply when the door between the garage and utility room shut loudly. 

“Uh, who was that?” she asked, knowing your parents were at work.

“Oh, uh, a friend from dance. We’re working on a piece together and we decided to talk about it last night since I hurt my head,” you lied.

B/f/n furrowed her brows for a second before letting it go and coming inside to set up your typical movie day in the living room. Meanwhile, you headed back to the kitchen to grab spoons and check your phone, where a new number had sent a message. 

I’m out so you’re good to close the door. Thanks again for the great night ;)

You smiled and sent back 

That makes it sound soooo much worse than what really happened haha. You made it out without suspicion too :)

You decided to put his number in as a contact, disguising him as “Clara Twinkletoes” after a joke made late into the previous night, then headed to the living room.

                             __________________________________

After finishing one movie and your separate ice creams, you both decided to take a break and were looking at your phones.

“Hey, I know you hate talking about Tom Holland,” you gave a side-eyed glance to the bringing up of his name, “but guess what? He liked my picture last night! I just remembered to tell you!” 

B/f/n held up her phone to show you the notification, then went back to staring at it excitedly. 

“That’s actually really cool. I’m happy for you,” you expressed, leaving out the fact that you had asked Tom to like it when you were talking about the post at 1 a.m.

A few minutes later, b/f/n breathed out a soft “woah.”

You looked at her in confusion.

“Y/n, look at this girl Tom was photographed with yesterday, she looks like your twin!”

Dread filled your stomach as you stared at the picture of you and Tom in his black Audi A8, that stupid ballet skirt wrapping your head.

“Yeah, maybe if I took ride alongs with celebrities and wore nineteen fifties headscarves,” you quipped, “you only think that girl looks like me because you want it to be me, b/f/n.”

“Hmm, I guess…” she trailed, taking back her phone to continue scrolling through Instagram.

Not long after, you got a text from Clara twinkletoes.

Have you seen the picture??? I’m getting tagged and you are too

Like… everyone thinks that girl is you

Psh as if. We can talk about it later, I’m busy with my gal pal

Fine. Also, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me to the beach tomorrow? I wanna talk about all this in person

Hmm. Maybe. Probably not ;) 

“Hey, b/f/n?” You asked tentatively.

“Yeah?”

“Is it cool if you don’t spend the night tonight? I need to go to dance early tomorrow since I took the day off and I’ve also got this head injury so…” 

it wasn’t a complete lie. You did have a head injury and your plan was to go to dance at some point, but you decided to leave out the part where you might actually go hang out with hot shot Holland.

“Oh, uh yeah, sure. My sister is coming into town this week so it’s probably for the best, you know how my mom is about cleaning the house and stuff,” she said, obviously trying to hide her disappointment.

Around 4 pm, she got up to leave. You had watched two more movies and eaten plenty more snacks throughout the afternoon. 

“I guess I’ll see you later, y/n. Hope you’re feeling better tomorrow,” she smiled. 

You returned the gesture and gave her a hug, then watched from the doorstep as she mounted her bike and rode off to her house only a few neighborhoods away, you feeling queasy about lying so much.

                            __________________________________

You headed upstairs after a light dinner and some TV. It was only about 8 o’clock, but the combination of a head injury, late night, and slight emotional distress (from lying to b/f/n) made you feel exhausted, not to mention you would be waking early the next day. 

You changed into sweats and flopped into bed, checking your social media for a little bit to wind down. 

Your snapchat was just pictures from friends, only a couple of them joking to you about the whole Tom Holland situation (but of course none of them knew the truth)

Twitter and Instagram, however, were a different story. After the premiere, you had chosen to turn off notifications and were especially happy to know it was the right choice. 

On Twitter, fan accounts and other people were replying to a joking tweet you had made days before the premiere in reply to b/f/n where you said “Why be friends with that tom holland guy when you could hang out with your superior best friend hmmmm?? He’s lame compared to me lolol” 

People were going nuts about it, divided over whether you were just messing around or if you really didn’t like him. Most of them chose the former, though you knew you had meant the latter. Other people were tweeting about you separately and debating about that picture from the day before.

You almost deleted your Twitter in a rash decision but realized how suspicious that could look and instead closed it and moved to instagram.

It too was overflowing with tags and comments and follows and likes. Your stomach churned as you realized how big this was becoming. Finally you made the choice to meet Tom tomorrow, even if it risked being caught again. You sent him a single text to let it be known:

Alright twinkletoes. Let’s go to the beach.

You figured you could reply to whatever he sent in the morning and put your phone on do not disturb before plugging it in and checking the alarm.

You snuggled into the sheets and buried your head into a pillow. A sweet and musky scent drifted into your nose and you took a deep breath. 

Tom’s cologne

You sat up, sniffing around the sheets, pillows, and covers, realizing he had left his scent everywhere. 

“I need to wash these sheets tomorrow” you breathed to yourself in an annoyed tone. 

With that you laid back down, glad that b/f/n wasn’t there to ask whose scent was all over your bed. Though you tried to convince yourself that you wanted the smell gone, had anyone been watching, they couldn’t deny the way you sunk into the bed and the faint smile that made its way to your lips as you drifted into slumber.

                            __________________________________

A/N: there’s chapter 2!! Hope you guys enjoy. I don’t think I’ll post 3 until this weekend but who even knows haha. Love y’all and am so happy to have your support!

Tag List: @marvel-lously

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (16/?)

Title: Wednesday’s Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you’re current, we’re good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I’m just borrowing them but I’ll put them back when I’m finished! Author's Note: Here's some Snow-and-tiny-Killian time, just because. Also a little heads-up that next chapter might be delayed a bit because of NJCon this weekend. :)

—–

{1} {2} {3} {4} {5} {6} {7} {8} {9} {10} {11} {12} {13} {14} {15}

At ff.net and below.

Tagging @shealivedarnit (If anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know!)

—–

For a peaceful and calm forty-five minutes, Snow and Charming sat with their babies. Little Neal, full of the energy that only small children had, bounced from activity to activity at their feet. Mega Blocks gave way to his shape sorter, which in turn gave way to stacking rings. Only when he became bored with pushing his toy tractor around the hardwood floor did he circle back to the Mega Blocks.

"Do you mind if I leave for a few minutes and check on the animals?" Charming eventually asked, breaking the comfortable silence between him and his wife.

After a glance down at Neal and then over to the blanket fort where Emma and Killian were still sleeping, Snow shook her head. "Go make sure everyone weathered the storm all right," she said with a tender smile. "We'll be fine here for a few minutes."

Charming shot her a grateful smile as he rose from the chair. He crouched down to ruffle Neal's soft hair before straightening and giving Snow a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll be right back," he murmured as she closed her eyes against the kiss.

At Snow's nod, Charming crept over to the blanket fort and snapped his fingers to capture Wilby's attention. Understanding his master's silent command, the dog gave a sleeping Emma's cheek a swift lick, pushed himself to his feet, and tottered out of the fort.

Snow was left on her own with the children and her thoughts. The earlier conversation with Charming still weighed heavily on her mind. The ache in her chest at the thought of what her little girl and Killian had been through already in their young lives was so great that she swore it might drown her.

The pain in their eyes was too much for her. The uncertainty, the reluctance, the sheer distrust. They were the eyes of children who'd experienced far too much far too young. She wanted nothing more than to whisk all that pain away from them, to make it so they'd never experienced it at all.

Losing her mother at such a young age had been soul-crushing for Snow. She'd been a little girl whose mother had missed her milestones and had missed watching her grow from girl to young adult. There were so many nights she longed for her mother, so many lonely nights when all she'd wanted was to curl up in her mother's arms and feel safe and secure. It gutted her to think of all the nights Emma and Killian had done the same, all the endless nights spent longing for their parents.

The poor children had suffered so much. They deserved love, deserved to know how it felt to be cherished. They deserved to feel safe and secure and comforted, deserved to know that someone was always there for them, for anything they needed.

And Snow vowed to show them exactly that for as long as they were in her charge.

A quiet but insistent banging drew Snow from her morose reverie. While she'd been daydreaming, little Neal had decided to happily bang the Mega Blocks in his hands against the hardwood floor. "Oh, shh," Snow murmured as she held her hands over her son's to halt them in place. "No banging. You're going to wake your sister and brother-in-law!"

And scuff the floor, but really, waking the children from their nap was Snow's bigger concern at the moment.

Almost guiltily, Snow darted her gaze over to the fort. At first it didn't seem as if the noise had disturbed them but barely a second later, Killian shifted restlessly under the blanket. He whimpered softly and tried to turn over only to discover Emma lying back-to-back with him. The collision startled poor Killian awake while Emma simply let out a soft grunt, rolled onto her stomach, and went still.

Snow stifled a chuckle at the poor boy's rude awakening as a disoriented Killian sat up and rubbed his eyes. His bleary gaze traveled around the blanket fort before landing on Emma, who breathed a soft sigh as she settled back into sleep. Smiling gently, he cautiously climbed over Emma's legs and ducked out of the fort.

"Well hello, sleepyhead," Snow gently teased the boy as he padded over to her.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," he said almost apologetically before plopping down in the armchair Charming had vacated.

"Oh, Killian, it's perfectly all right. You and Emma were both tired and you must have been really comfortable listening to Henry read. Honestly, I would have been more surprised if you didn't fall asleep."

That got him to smile. Sensing he needed a little time to fully wake up, Snow let the conversation trail off. Instead, she did a quick visual check of her other babies. At her feet, Neal was still happily playing with his Mega Blocks – without hammering them against the floor, thank goodness – and in the fort, Emma was beginning to stir.

"Mary Margaret, may I ask you a question?"

The soft query drew her attention back to Killian, who was regarding her with a tentative uncertainty that made Snow's chest ache. "Of course, honey."

"Are you and David and Regina really from the Enchanted Forest?"

Of all the questions Snow thought Killian might ask, that one was nowhere on the list. She must have looked as surprised as she felt because he added, "David told me yesterday."

The hopeful expression on the boy's face told Snow exactly why her husband had confided that they were from the Enchanted Forest. The knowledge that the new adults in his life were from the same place he was made him feel a little more at home in this new, unfamiliar world.

A glance over at the fort proved that Emma was fighting waking up with all she had. Secure in the knowledge that Emma wouldn't overhear her, Snow replied, "Yes, we are."

"How did you get here?"

"We were sent here by a curse. It's broken now, though, so I don't want you to worry about it, all right?"

Killian nodded, letting out a relieved breath. "If it's broken, how come you didn't go back? Don't you miss the Enchanted Forest?"

"Sometimes," Snow admitted. "I miss the fresh air and the quiet. Sometimes this world can be very noisy." At that, Killian nodded in agreement. "That said, this world is my home now. My family and friends and all the people I love are here. One lesson the Curse taught me is that home isn't necessarily a physical place. It's wherever you can be with the people you love."

Again, Killian nodded, though this time it seemed as if he were mulling over her words. The concept of home seemed unfamiliar to him and frankly, it probably was. Even if he'd thought he knew what home was, his own conception of it would have shattered the morning he awoke to find his father gone.

"May I ask you another question?" a suddenly subdued Killian asked.

The boy's change in demeanor instantly worried Snow. "Absolutely," she said, trying not to make her concern apparent in her tone. The last thing she wanted was to make the boy uncomfortable.

"If I wanted this world to be my home, could we try to bring Liam here? And if Liam comes, could we still stay here with you?"

The tears welled in Snow's eyes without warning. This little boy, this lonely, frightened little boy had found somewhere he wanted to belong. As tenuous a concept as it was for him, he'd found home and he'd found it with her family. Sniffing back her tears, Snow pushed herself up from her chair, crouched down in front of Killian's, and took his hands in hers. The reassurance she wanted – no, needed – to give him was worth the implied white lie regarding Liam. "Of course you could still stay here with us. We would be honored to have both of you join our family."

It was the absolute truth. Welcoming Killian Jones, in any incarnation, into her family was her pleasure. Killian loved Emma, protected her, supported her, helped her find her way home. He'd protected the entire family, he'd sacrificed himself for them, and they'd willingly followed Emma on her march to the Underworld to rescue him.

Not that this little boy knew any of that. All he knew was that he felt loved here. He felt safe and secure and comforted and loved.

Killian sat motionless for a beat before throwing his arms around Snow in a tight hug. "Oh, Killian," she murmured into the boy's ear, "you're safe now."

He tightened his grip and in response, Snow tightened hers. This poor little boy had clearly longed for this kind of comfort, had ached for it, and now that someone was giving it to him, he didn't want to let it go.

After a long moment, Killian pulled away and sniffed back some stray tears. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Snow smiled, blinking back her own tears as she cupped Killian's little cheek in her palm.

The tender moment was broken when little Neal once again smacked the Mega Blocks against the hardwood floor, startling both Killian and Snow. Mother-in-law and tiny son-in-law shared a sheepish chuckle as Snow reached down and took the blocks out of her son's hands. "No banging," she chided before tucking the confiscated blocks back in the storage bag.

Neal huffed at her and abandoned the rest of the blocks for his stacking rings, giving Snow a sudden flash of the tantrums that surely awaited her once her baby boy hit his terrible twos.

That last bang must have also pushed Emma into full consciousness because no more than a second or two later, just long enough for Killian to settle on the floor with Neal and Snow to sit back down in the armchair, Emma emerged from the blanket fort yawning. Her blonde waves had tangled during her nap and Snow's heart practically seized in her chest at the domesticity of the moment.

"I guess I needed a nap," Emma mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep, as she plopped down on the floor at Snow's feet.

A breath caught in Snow's throat. Here was her sleepy little girl, leaning back against her legs as it if were the most natural thing in the world. Underneath Snow's wonder and joy, however, was a tinge of concern. The fact that a still somewhat hesitant Emma had settled in Snow's personal space couldn't be ignored. On some level, maybe one Emma didn't even realize herself, she was seeking comfort.

An instinct that Snow didn't quite understand made her lean forward and run her fingers through Emma's hair. The small amount of tension in the girl's shoulders relaxed in response to the tender touch and Snow smiled, pleased that her instinct had been correct.

"I just woke up a few minutes ago, too," Killian assured her.

"And Neal and I have been right here the whole time," Snow added. "David and Wilby were here most of the time, too. They just went to check on the animals a few minutes ago now that the storm's over."

Emma graced them both with a shy smile, clearly surprised and grateful that she hadn't been left alone while she slept.

After a minute or two of fiddling with the Mega Blocks, Emma decided to build a rudimentary staircase by taking a few square blocks and stacking each one half on top of the other. Killian observed her for a moment before constructing a staircase of his own. And now that Neal had playmates, he once again shifted focus back to the blocks and started making his specialty: a tower.

The sound of the screen door banging in the kitchen announced Charming's return from the back yard. A smile lit his face as soon as he and Wilby entered the living room to find the children awake. Dog and master each reclaimed their previous spots, Wilby at Emma's side and Charming in the armchair across from Snow. "I see our sleeping beauties are up," Charming teased, causing the children to blush. "Did you both have a good nap?"

"Yeah," Emma replied somewhat shyly while Killian nodded his agreement. "Are the animals okay?"

"All present and accounted for. The sheep are a little muddy, mostly because Linden likes splashing in puddles."

Both Emma and Killian let out soft giggles at the mental image of a sheep intentionally stomping in puddles like a little kid.

A creak on the staircase captured Snow's attention. She tore her gaze from the children to find Henry bounding down the stairs to rejoin the family now that everyone was awake. "I thought I heard voices," he said, grinning at his little mom and stepfather before joining them on the floor with Neal.

Snow looked up to meet Charming's smiling eye. Oh, how they wished they could make this moment with the children simply playing together last forever.

Eventually, Emma set her staircase upright against the storage bag, slung an arm across Wilby's back, and glanced up at each of her parents in turn. "What are we going to do now?"

Snow exchanged a glance with Charming, who nodded at her. It was officially time to see if their plan for the afternoon would work for everyone. "David and I were talking about that while you were napping. You asked yesterday if we could make pasta from scratch. How would you two like another cooking lesson?"

Emma's eyes lit up but Killian looked a little perplexed. "Is pasta what we had for dinner yesterday?"

"Yes indeed," Charming confirmed. "Last night, we had pasta we bought from the store but we can make it ourselves, too. It tastes a little different when it's homemade. Truthfully, I like it much better that way. So what do you all say? Do you mind having spaghetti for dinner again?"

"Nope!" Emma exclaimed, grinning. Not that there had been any doubt.

"Sounds good to me," Killian agreed with a smile. Not that there had been any doubt with him, either.

"I'm game," Henry shrugged, partly because he was indeed a fourteen-year-old boy who just wanted food but mostly because Emma was so excited.

"All right," Snow said, clapping her hands together as she stood up to capture everyone's attention. "All children into the kitchen."

"Yep, definitely a teacher," Emma murmured under her breath, making both Snow and Charming bite back smiles

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Chapter Seventeen

[chrisrunsthemarathon]

How I (hopefully) ran The Marathon - Part 7348

It’s probably time for another update. God knows how many I’ve done so far as it feels like I’ve been training for this forever so we’ll call this episode number 7348.

I am going to try and be more upbeat on this one, I know the last few have been pretty miserable. So what can I say, the sun has come out, it’s warming up and spring is definitely on the way. I even gave the lawn it’s first mow and took the cover off the trampoline yesterday (the kids were out and I just fancied a bounce).

So what’s happened. Well, things have been going pretty well and are looking like they’re on the up (* furiously touches wood). The big news is that Natasha’s Lymphoma is officially in remission. As you probably guessed from my previous entries, that’s been a totally shit 18 months for us so this is pretty big news and the best outcome we could possibly hope for at this stage. Yes I know we’ll be looking at regular checks/appointments etc but this is as good as we could have asked for and we’re bloody delighted. Most of the people who’ll take the time to read this will know that already, but it’s bloody great news so I’ll say it twice. Again she’s been an absolute inspiration through all of this and coped better than I could have possibly imagined. She’s just cracked on with it and she deserves to revel in this great news and we’ll be celebrating in style as soon as this bloody marathon is out of the way. Of course, now that she’s OK it could be argued that I needn’t have signed up for the sodding thing in the first place! but there you go...

Additional to the positives is that I’m starting to get there with the running....I think. I still wouldn’t put it in the ‘enjoyment’ category, and it’s definitely nowhere my top 3 list, but it’s getting better. I’m definitely fitter, stronger and faster than I was. I’ve had a couple of fairly long runs now and have a 15 mile, an 18 mile and a 20 mile under my belt (in 3 hours so the pace is half decent as well.) I’m finding that I’m better prepped for them now. Eat properly/drink properly and have gels/water for the runs and it’s amazing what a difference that makes.It’s hard getting organised and carrying everything round but it’s worth it when the legs are going. One of the things I have struggled with though is the running gels. I need to find a brand that don’t feel like they’re going to go through you like the Rawalpindi Express. I’ve tried a few brands so maybe it’s just my guts but they do feel like they make you need a poo by the time you knock in the 4th one. I’ll keep trying with those...!

I’ve also previously mentioned that having lived in Winchester my whole life, I never realised just how hilly the City is. I’m hoping this’ll stand me in good stead when I get to London but it’s killing me at the moment. It’s a big old slog tearing yourself out for a 3 hour run at the weekend when there’s so much else to be doing, especially up a big hill but the one about 10/11 miles into my route up through St Cross and chalk Ridge won’t be on the London route and hopefully I’ll notice it. I’ve got two more really long ones to do, 22 miles and then another 20 before I start to taper down, it’ll be nice to have my Saturday mornings back.

One of the hardest parts now is keeping the body in shape to avoid any injuries over the next 5 weeks. I felt OK after my long run (taking the kids swimming within about 30 minutes of finishing helped to keep loose) so it’s the joints that are feeling it now, specifically the knees. I’m not suffering at the moment with the shins so hopefully this can hold off until at least the end of April. I plan to have a weekend off (wedding duties) this weekend, those two long ones next two weeks and then wind down with a half marathon 2 weeks before. I reckon if I can get out consistently and frequently for an hour a time, 3-4 times a week over the next 3 weeks I can spend the best part of the final two resting for the big day The reality is I’m feeling pretty much as fit as I ever have. I went out the other night and virtually sprinted 7 miles which I’ve never been able to do. That’s definitely been a bonus in all of this and something I’ll take positively.

Last weekend the training took a bit of a hit for Gav’s stag. My “let’s be sensible, don’t go nuts’ plan would have been great without Stokesie. Not because he egged me on and we got carried away, more because he’s a massive fanny these days so I had to drink my drinks, and drink his as well. It’s fair to say I didn’t get much done last weekend. Although I did get plenty of time to stretch whilst out on the golf course when at one point after I hit my ball I had to wait for my playing partners to play 9 shots between the two of them before I got another go. Good arrows guys! It’s fair to say we had a great weekend in Cardiff at the rugby and playing some golf. It’s also worth noting that Al is incredible on the piano so if you’re reading this and going to the wedding next weekend and don’t know the words to Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’ (which I can’t believe anyone wouldn’t) then I’d definitely recommend getting up to speed pretty quickly. I also spoke to some of Gavs mates for some ‘dirt’ I could use during my speech and it was great when three of his close pals looked at each other, said they couldn’t really think of anything and then after deliberating for 5 minutes one of them said “well he used to shag my sister”. not sure there was much I could use there.

Again I’d like to say a massive thanks for all the sponsorship and support. People have been terrific and super generous. I’m going to be doing the raffle for all the prizes I’ve got in the next two weeks so if you’re interested in some tickets please let me know so that you don’t miss out. There’s some really good stuff in there so definitely worth a couple of pounds.

It’s also worth a mention to someone who came for a run with me! We have a winner! Thanks Tom, the company was hugely appreciated. I felt a bit bad as he didn’t seem all that keen but over a pint on the Friday night Kirsty commented that he should come with me. If you fancy another one mate you know where I am!

Unfortunately I haven’t really got anything funny to say or add this time, it’s more just an informative update and ‘listen to the great news about Tash’ entry so I’m going to leave it there. I’ll stick another update in before the big day (which is just 4 and a half weeks away now), and think of me when you’re tucking into that sausage butty on a Saturday morning listening to the radio and generally chilling out while I’m heading out stinking of Tiger Balm and laden down with drinks and gels with sore knees...

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (15/?)

Title: Wednesday’s Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you’re current, we’re good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I’m just borrowing them but I’ll put them back when I’m finished! Author's Note: This ended up a bit heavier than my normal fluff but it was clearly time for it because it came out on its own.

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{1} {2} {3} {4} {5} {6} {7} {8} {9} {10} {11} {12} {13} {14}

At ff.net and below.

Tagging @shealivedarnit (If anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know!)

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After a bit of soft conversation among the adults, little Robin began to fuss, which Regina took as her cue to usher her sister and her niece back to the vault. "We still have a lot of work to do," she explained, "and we were on the cusp of something before lunch. I don't want to lose that momentum."

"Of course," Charming agreed. The two magical experts losing their momentum was not high on the list of things he wanted, either.

"Thank you for letting us come over," Zelena said, her tone surprisingly sincere. "They're precious." After letting the sentiment settle for a beat, she resumed her typical teasing. "Plus, now I have the perfect blackmail pictures."

"Hard to blackmail people with pictures you've already sent everyone," Regina reminded her, rolling her eyes.

"Everyone in this house, maybe. Not everyone in Storybrooke."

Charming and Snow both swallowed snickers. Zelena wasn't going to do a single thing with those pictures except aww over them occasionally and they both knew it.

After walking the Mills ladies to the door and making sure they left safely, Charming and Snow headed back to the living room to check on their charges. Henry had engaged little Neal in a rudimentary game of catch that involved rolling a ball across the floor to each other. A surprised Snow raised her eyebrows, clearly wondering how Henry had gotten the baby to sit still that long. Now that Neal was walking, keeping him in one place for more than a few minutes at a time had become ridiculously difficult.

Evidently not wanting to interrupt the miracle happening between nephew and uncle, Snow instead ducked into the blanket fort to tend to the sleeping children. It seemed little Emma was every bit the bed hog as her adult self; she'd already vacated her own sleeping spot and had taken over half of Killian's.

His heart exploding with love, Charming watched as Snow gently guided Emma back onto her own pillow to give Killian a little more room and then spread one of the blankets padding the floor at the outer edge of the fort over them. "Sleep well, sweethearts," Snow murmured, ghosting each of their temples with a kiss.

Whether it was coincidence, Charming would never know, but both children snuggled deeper under the covers at Snow's gentle touch.

By the time Charming and Snow ducked out of the fort and stood up straight, Neal had decided he'd had enough catch. He toddled toward the blanket fort only to be scooped up by his father before he could enter. The poor baby frowned, babbled some gibberish that sounded awfully insistent, and thrust a chubby hand towards the fort.

It took Charming a beat to recognize that his son was annoyed with being thwarted. "I know you want to play with your big sister and Killian," he said, swallowing a snicker, "but they're napping now and you'd just wake them up."

Now that he didn't have a baby or two ten-year-olds to entertain, Henry begged off to read in his room upstairs. "And no, I'm not reading Bunnicula without them," he teasingly assured his grandparents.

Since Henry and the kids shoving the armchairs aside to make room for the fort meant said armchairs were free for sitting, Charming and Snow plopped down themselves to take a well-deserved breather. Snow set Neal up with some Mega Blocks on the floor at her feet where she could keep an eye on him.

For a long moment, Charming and Snow sat in comfortable silence. From his vantage point, Charming could look out onto the front yard through the window and was pleased to see the sun peeking through the remainder of the clouds. The occasional strong gust of wind and the puddles in the driveway were the only indications that a storm was raging less than an hour ago.

"Looks like Killian will be a bit calmer when he wakes up," Charming said, nodding towards the window.

Snow turned in her seat to look out the window as well. "Yes, looks like." Facing forward, she caught her husband's gaze. "Is it weird that I find it a little unsettling to see him so … hesitant? He's always so decisive and he has so much experience behind him that it's easy to forget that he was once a scared little kid, too."

"It's not weird at all," Charming assured her.

She gave him a small, grateful smile. "I just hope we're doing enough to make him feel comfortable with us."

"I hope so, too," Charming agreed honestly. "He seems to have settled in decently enough; they both have. It's just … he seems so lost. He and I talked a little bit when we were feeding the animals this morning and it's abundantly clear that he misses Liam terribly. All he wants is his brother back and Snow, that's the one thing we can't give him."

Charming had so far managed to dodge all of little Killian's questions about Liam but he wouldn't be able to dodge them forever.

"No, we can't," Snow agreed, swallowing hard as her gaze traveled to the fort where the boy in question lay sleeping. "All we can do is try to help him get through the next couple of days. When Regina and Zelena turn them back to adults, the question of Liam will be moot anyway."

Snow had a point, one that Charming strangely kept forgetting. That the children would eventually return to their adult incarnations was always there in the back of his mind but it was hard to keep that certainty in the forefront when looking at them and talking to them and worrying about them.

Almost as if she could read her husband's thoughts, Snow heaved a sigh. "I didn't expect it to be this hard."

Without even having to ask, Charming knew she was still feeling guilty about the misunderstanding that had sent Emma running. "Snow, this morning wasn't your fault."

A small but unconvincing smile tugged at her lips. "Maybe but I should have been more careful. Before yesterday we only knew the generalities of their childhoods but now we can plainly see how utterly lonely they were. It hurts to see how tentative they are, how hesitant they are to trust. The way Emma examines my face every time she asks me a question guts me, Charming."

Oh, gods, how he knew exactly what she meant. It gutted him, too.

"And it's not even just that! I miss them, the adult them. I want the Emma and Killian we know back but I also don't want to let go of the little kids in that fort." Snow finally tore her eyes from the fort, shaking her head and dropping a pained gaze to her hands. "I don't know, I'm not making any sense."

"Snow, you're making perfect sense," Charming assured her, and gods, she was. She'd just spoken of the conflict in his own heart, the conflict of adoring this opportunity to be with these children and not wanting it to end while also wishing he could have adult Emma and adult Killian back. Of wishing he had an eternity with the children while being aware of the ticking of the clock counting the seconds since he'd last seen his adult baby girl and son-in-law.

He longed to make everything sunshine and puppies and rainbows for the kids while also knowing that all the sunshine and puppies and rainbows in the world wouldn't take away the pain they'd already lived.

After a brief glance over at the fort to make sure the kids were still asleep, he murmured to Snow, "I don't want to let them go, either. These are the moments we should have had with her and I am clinging to every single one of them. I'm treasuring every second I spend with them, trying to commit every detail to memory because I don't want to lose any of it. But at the same time, I'm counting down the minutes until Regina calls us and says she's figured out how to turn them back because I miss our Emma and Killian so much it hurts."

He paused to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat and blink back the tears that had welled in his eyes. "This is hard, Snow. It's hard looking at our baby and seeing a hurt, reticent, frightened little girl looking back. It's hard looking into her eyes and seeing no recognition of who we really are to her. It's hard watching our baby learn how to trust all over again when all I want to do is just pull her into a crushing hug and never let her go. And Killian … he makes me profoundly sad. Seeing him as a little boy who just misses his brother has made me realize that he spent centuries like that. He turned to piracy after losing Liam and revenge after losing Milah and all the while, he was just a lost little boy who missed his family."

Snow tried to no avail to blink back her own tears. "I knew they both had it bad, Charming, but seeing them like this? Gods, I don't know how they survived it."

"They survived it in any way they could," Charming told her softly. "They survived it by putting up those walls of theirs. They didn't let anybody get too close because of how much it would hurt when that somebody went away."

"Such an unimaginably brutal way to grow up."

What else was there to say to that? Snow had spoken the absolute truth.

Charming again glanced over at the silent fort and smiled when he caught Emma once again infringing on poor Killian's personal space in her sleep. Once a bed hog, always a bed hog, apparently.

"Which is exactly why we're doing what we can now, Snow," Charming reminded her. "It was your idea to take this time and give them some of the happy experiences that, as is blatantly obvious, they very much need. No, it won't fix everything. It can't rewind time or change the past or keep them from feeling any of the pain they've experienced but it will help. These kids now know that someone somewhere loves them and when they turn back, if we've eased even an iota of that pain for them, it'll be worth it."

Snow took a shaky breath in and held it a moment before exhaling and drying her eyes with her index fingers. "Thank you."

"What, for telling you your idea was brilliant?" Charming teased. "You're welcome."

That thankfully got her to chuckle, which had been his intention. After taking a moment to settle her emotions, Snow cleared her throat, nodded towards the fort, and asked, "What should we do with them when they wake up?"

Charming considered their options. It was still too wet from the rain for outdoor play, though he did need to check the animals now that the storm had passed and let Wilby run around for a bit. As much as Wilby enjoyed taking care of his new lost lamb, he was typically an outside dog and was itching for the time and space to run free. Henry might be up for another round of video games but Charming wasn't sure he wanted the children to spend a second afternoon in front of the television.

The memory of making dinner with Emma the night before rose to the surface and suddenly Charming knew of the perfect activity. "Emma did ask yesterday if we could make pasta from scratch."

Since Snow enjoyed leading cooking lessons of any kind, it was not a surprise that she jumped readily aboard his train of thought. "I'm prepared for the impending mess if you are."

"The dustpan and broom will be at the ready," he chuckled. "I know Emma will pretty much be in food heaven having spaghetti twice in a row but we'll just have to make sure no one else minds."

Snow ticked family members off on her fingers as she made her way down the list. "Neal's a baby who eats what we give him, Henry's a fourteen-year-old boy who eats anything and everything as long as it's food, and Killian, even in his little state, is fine with whatever Emma is fine with. I have a funny feeling no one's going to complain."

"Well, when you put it like that," Charming said, chuckling, "I think another cooking lesson is just what the doctor ordered."

Snow let her gaze drift to the blanket fort, where her tiny daughter and son-in-law lay sleeping. Preparing dinner as a family was the perfect way to make the children feel even more at home. "Yes, I think it is, too."

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Chapter Sixteen