#years later after the war they stand at my memorial and place the photo gently on the stone before turning away to cry

[theyheoftheapocalypse]

putting up pictures of gerard way on the wall next to my bed like i'm away in the war and he's my girl waiting for me back home

[cafedanslanuit]

sometimes ending a relationship is the only way to help each other. at least that’s what you tell yourself on your way back home to your fiancé.

♡   —   pairing: reiner braun x reader / zeke jaeger x reader (mentioned but not described)

♡   —   tags/warnings: female reader, suggestive but not explicit, cheating, angst, canon compliant, toxic relationships (not romanticized)

♡   —   a/n: heavily inspired by miley cyrus’ ‘angels like you’, hence the title.

♡   —   length: 2.2k

♡   —   masterlist

Liberio at night was never a pretty sight.

As you walked home, you noticed all the small details you never took the time to see. The puddles of sewer water on the streets, the stench of urine in the corners close to bars and the sound of rats running around, too afraid to come in the light. Your thighs hurt every step you gave and you couldn’t ignore the burning sensation between your legs. Memories of grunts and your nails digging on a man’s back flooded your mind, making you shake your head in a vague attempt to get rid of them.

You knew well you couldn’t ever get rid of them.

You thought of everything that led you to Zeke’s office late that night. Of course, it was about delivering some documents that could have been delivered the next morning and staying for a cigarette even if you had quit smoking years ago. And before you knew it, Chief Jaeger was fucking you on his desk, your legs around his waist, his forehead pressing to your shoulder and his hands grabbing your ass as he roughly pounded against you.

You wished there was a part of yourself that truly believed you didn’t know this was coming, that you hadn’t let your skirt rile up when you crossed your legs neither smiled bashfully at Zeke’s compliments about how beautiful you looked that night. You wished there was a part of you that was really attracted to him, a part of you that really wanted him to fuck you seneseless and leave you a sweating mess over his desk as he pulled up his pants.

But you knew better than that.

You opened the door to your small house, not bothering in turning on the lights. Maybe this was for the best, you told yourself. It was the best decision you could make. Well, it had to be, or else you had broken a man without a purpose.

On your way to your bedroom, you noticed a new framed photo on the wall, making you stop in your tracks. You remembered taking it a little more than a week ago and you figured it must have been delivered while you were gone. Reiner, his mom and you were smiling at the camera and if you hadn’t known both Brauns as much as you did, you could have sworn their smile was genuine.

Your eyes fixated on Reiner’s soft expression, one of his hands on your shoulder and the other one over his mom’s. He had barely talked to you since returning from his long mission in Paradis, refusing to answer any of your questions regarding how he was feeling or what had happened during the years he was gone. Reiner had never been one to share too much. You still remembered how long it took him to tell you the truth about his absent father on an Autumn afternoon, his face pressed on your thighs, his shoulders shaking violently as he told you the truth that had been tormenting him for years. You were twelve, just one year older than him, yet you listened and ran your fingers through his blond locks, trying to comfort him the best way you knew. Four years passed by and every night you would pray for his safety and that he would return to you. You knew he was a warrior and that he was good at what he did but you couldn’t fight the feeling that you just wanted him to rest. 

The first time you saw Reiner after his mission in Paradis, you couldn’t stop yourself from crying. No matter how tightly Reiner held you, assuring you he was in fact there and that it wasn’t another one of your dreams. He was hurried by his mother to leave you and go back to his home, which he did, not before asking you to meet him at your spot at midnight.

Reiner was your first kiss. And how happy you were that you had waited for him.

As short-lived as your romance was before he had to leave for war again, you couldn’t help but notice the weight over his shoulder had only increased. Only this time, he wouldn’t talk about what he saw or experienced at the island. You tried to be understanding, even if it pained you to see his disassociated eyes look at the horizon whenever he was too much in his head.

Before Reiner went to war, he promised he would marry you when he got back. You had smiled brightly between tears and told him you would wait for him, no matter how long he took. Both of you kept on your promises, with him buying a small house inside of Liberio just for the two of you and you organizing a small but lovely wedding that would happen in a few months.

That was supposed to happen in a few months.

Now you wondered where it was that you lost him. Had a part of him died in Paradis? Had it been the war that had finally sent him over the edge. You weren’t sure. All you knew was that the Reiner sleeping on your bed wasn’t the boy who had cried on your lap anymore.

Not having enough with dancing around your questions about his feelings, he also expected you to act like he wasn’t having nightmares every night. That you didn’t see him sitting up with a panicked expression, covered in sweat. Whenever you tried to reach for him, he would elude your touch, not even caring to acknowledge your questions about what he had dreamt about or how you could help.

He hadn’t shared a word with you after coming back home from your engagement celebration. Even if the whole afternoon he had his arm around your waist and would press kisses on your forehead and temple at any moment, it all went away when he stepped inside your new home.  You still remembered the knot in your throat from when he refused your offer to have some tea on your balcony, just the two of you. Reiner turned to leave so quickly he didn’t notice the tears streaming down your cheeks.

You didn’t know what happened on that island and you probably would never know but you were sure the man who you had been sharing a bed with wasn’t Reiner anymore.

Your eyes looked at Mrs. Braun in the photo, a sour taste filling your mouth. Even if her smile was gentle, you couldn’t easily forget that only a few minutes before the photo, she had told Reiner you were just an orphan trying to profit from his warrior status and that he should break the engagement, that a promise he made when he was sixteen meant nothing. Reiner’s eyes met yours for a brief second and just when you thought he was going to say something to defend you, he lowered his head, continuing to listen to his mother’s yells while she pretended you were not in the same room.

You took the photo off the wall and placed it face down on the table.

Resuming your steps, you stepped into your bedroom. Reiner was sound asleep on your bed, the sheet not big enough to cover his brod, bare shoulders. For a minute, you just watched him sleep, taking in everything you had loved for years about him. From the way his brow creased to the small mole next to his ear, to the way his hair looked when it was messy. You hated the way his image made you smile even as you were about to lose him for good.

Taking a deep breath, you turned the lights on. Reiner’s light sleep was evident when he started blinking a few seconds later, a confused look on his face until his eyes met yours.

"I fucked Zeke tonight."

A truth. You thought it was always easier when you start with one. Reiner stayed still for a moment, his still confused mind trying to process your words. You watched him in silence, waiting for his response. He was never violent so you weren’t afraid but you knew that night everything was going to change.

Reiner passed one of his hands across his hair, letting out a long sigh.

"Okay."

You furrowed your eyebrows. You opened your mouth and then closed it, not believing you had heard him correctly.

"Okay?"

"I just want to sleep," he exhaled, laying his head on the pillow once again and closing his eyes. You took some steps further until you were standing next to him.

"Reiner, I fucked Zeke Jaeger in his office an hour ago."

"Yeah, you just told me," Reiner muttered, his eyes still closed.

That’s when it hit you. You took the sheets covering his body and pulled them away hastily, forcing him to open his eyes.

"Do you really not fucking care!?" you spat, your voice breaking at the end.

For a few seconds, Reiner remained quiet, not an inch of his body moving. You were breathing heavily, eyes filled with tears that threatened to fall. It was all coming down to this and a part of you still couldn’t believe this is how you were going to say goodbye. Was he truly the man you had loved for the last ten years? Did you really mean so little in his mind? You watched him sit up on the bed, his honey eyes finally facing yours.

"Of course I care that my fiancée slept with the Chief. Of course, I care, fuck— I hate it. I fucking hate it and I wish I could stop imagining it happening inside my head,” Reiner said, gesturing towards his temple, his voice hoarse and pained. “Because it is. Believe me when I say I keep replaying those thoughts in my head, over and over and over,” he hissed, his lips forming a thin line. “But why— why would I feel entitled to say anything when I'm the one that's been fucking things up with you?" he asked, his palm hitting his chest forcefully.

The tears you promised not to shed were already falling from your eyes, your face twisting in a scowl.

“We're not good for each other. We haven’t been for a while, Reiner. So please, please, lets just— we need to let each other go,” you pleaded.

“It’s not like that, we’re not— fuck,” Reiner sighed, covering his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I am, I just— I can’t,” he choked.

“It’s not your fault,” you assured him in a softer voice. Tentatively, you put your hand over his shoulder, rubbing it gently. You saw his body melt under your touch, his left hand immediately reaching for yours in search for comfort. “I’m not what you need right now, Reiner. We’re only hurting each other by playing this long game of pretend. And… I’m tired. I’m so tired,” you cried.

His hand squeezed yours in a vain attempt to calm you down. It only increased the sobs, making you remember all the times he had taken your hand underneath the table whenever he noticed you were anxious in a social gathering or kissed each one of your knuckles, making you laugh even when you had just been crying.

“Guess your mom was right when she told you I wasn’t good enough for you,” you chuckled sadly.

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, taking your hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss on the back of your hand. Reluctantly, you pulled your hand away from his, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“But it’s true. I— I fucked up. I fucked up big time, Reiner. And now… now we’re done,” you breathed out, looking at your shoes. “We can’t just keep pretending everything is fine when—"

"Let's go to sleep.”

You choked on a sob, your eyes snapping back to his. “Reiner,” you whispered.

"I promise we'll talk in the morning. Just come here" he said, shifting on the bed to make space for you. You looked at the sheets, your body not moving a fraction. “Please,” he almost begged, his voice making your heart clench in pain.

You held on his powerful gaze, lips parted in dismay. Both of you stayed in silence for longer than you could register and even if he wasn’t talking, you could recognize the utter necessity of having you close in his eyes, even if he was aware of the lie you had fabricated together. You finally yielded and you looked away, nodding idly as you wiped the tears off your face. Your body and mind had surrendered one more time, just like you told yourself you wouldn’t.

"Let me take a shower first,” you muttered, taking off your coat.

"No," Reiner quipped. You turned to him, confused, and now he was the one to avoid your gaze. "I don't care, just... let's go to sleep.”

Kicking your shoes off, you got into bed with him, his arms around your body feeling so foreign you felt yourself on the verge of breaking down once again. Reiner buried his face on your neck, pretending he didn’t recognize the strong male perfume lingering on your skin, instead massaging the plush of your hips with his thumb softly.

"I love you," he whispered. Your eyes filled with tears once more.

"I love you too," you mumbled back.

You knew you both meant it.

Maybe that's what hurt the most.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Baby, Please Come Home // A Very Harry Potter Christmas (D.M.)

Summary: For as long as you have loved Draco Malfoy, you had celebrated Christmas with him. This year, however, things could be different.

A/N: Here is my fic for A Very Harry Potter Christmas orchestrated by @whack-ed and @jamilelucato! My prompt is day five: digging out christmas ornaments. I hope you all like!

Warnings: fluff, christmas decorations, missing someone, lots of feelings

Word count: 2k (I’m sorry it isn't longer!)

There was one time of year that you simply adored. From the moment the hands of the clock ticked over to the first of December, childish excitement and glee filled you.

It was the build-up combined with the shopping and innocent secrets to do with gifts that had your stomach in a whirl and your heart pounding. Each year you tried to outdo yourself; searching for the one gift that would bring out the shine in Draco’s smile, though he liked to remind you that you were indeed the cause of such a shine.

This year felt different, however. It wasn’t that you weren’t excited, and it wasn’t that you weren’t prepared. It was the fact that there was worry brewing deep within you that Draco would not be able to make it home in time for Christmas.

Sending him away had been hard on you both, but it had to be done. An opportunity such as the one he had been offered was not something to be missed. Invited back to the school of witchcraft and wizardry that had educated him so thoroughly, Draco had been offered the chance to lecture some of the advance students in the art of healing.

The letter offering him the job arrived on the doorstep in the last week of August. Thinking back to it, you remember the trembling of his hands as he read over McGonagall’s words and what she was proposing. There hadn’t been any other answer than yes. You had seen it in his eyes when he handed you the letter; promising not to go, but to stay with you.

A shake of your head stopped his rambling; kept him frozen to the spot as you called him a fool for thinking he would turn this opportunity down. Draco had argued; he didn’t want to leave you for so long, knowing he would miss you too much. Whilst it flattered and sent your heart racing in your chest, you urged him to accept, telling him how good this would be for him.

Eventually, he relented. Draco wrote back to McGonagall, accepting the job offer and tell her he would see her on the first day of term.

Three months on and it was hard. It had been hard to wave him away; bag in hand, filled with his belongings. Draco had left you with a long, hard kiss, promising to be back in time for Christmas.

December brought with it colder days and longer nights. It brought with it frozen breath and warm scarves. To you, December was the month of traditions.

The first weekend in December was time dedicated to decorating the house you have shared with Draco for the last two years. Moving in together once spotting the perfect cottage for you to make your first home.

The attic is warm and musty when you open the door, switching on the small light. Wiping a hand across your forehead, it takes no time at all to spy the boxes. They’re piled up to the left of the door, strings of red and gold tinsel peeking out of the top as if they were too excited for the holiday season to descend and chose to start the decorating without you.

As you place the final box in the living room, your phone rings. The smile that crosses your face when you see Draco’s name flash on the screen is large and filled with love.

“Love,” You greet.

“Darling,” He replies, “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” You comment, opening the closest box to you. “How are you? How is Hogwarts?”

“Hogwarts is fine. It’s just not the same without you.”

You smile though he cannot see you. It had been at Hogwarts that your friendship first developed which then grew into a relationship in your Fifth Year when Draco quietly confessed his feelings for you. He had wanted you to know the truth, he said, in case things start to take a turn for the worse.

Things did take a turn for the worst; a war broke out, but you persisted. You kept your hold of Draco, standing by his side through it all. Even now, years later, Draco reminded you that he would never be able to pay you back for the kindness you showed him through those years.

You laugh, memories of the enchanting castle and searing kisses behind tapestries taking over your mind, “Do you remember-”

“That night in the Room of Requirement?” Draco finishes: laughter lightening his voice as he remembers the very same night.

You snort, “I think we missed all our morning classes the day after.”

“We did,” Draco confirms; his voice warm, “But I would do it all again.”

Heat fills your face and you’re suddenly hit with how much you miss him. It came and went in waves; each one stronger than the last but as you look at the numerous boxes labelled ‘Christmas decorations’ in Draco’s elegant scrawl, you cannot help but miss him fiercely.

If he were here right now, music would be playing, and smiles would be bright. Draco’s area of expertise was always the tree; it was his job to place the tree topper on at the end. The tree would be glowing with its lights, the tinsel would be shimmering away, but the tree was not complete until Draco had placed the golden tree topper on.

A deep ache fills you at the awful realisation that it may have to be you to finish the tree this year.

Quietly, you mumble into the phone, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. So much. I’ll try to be home as fast as I can,” Draco whispers; his voice filled with promise.

“I know you will,” You murmur, willing yourself not to cry on the phone to him.

“How is the decorating going?” Draco asks, desperate to change the subject and not linger on uncertainties.

You laugh mirthlessly, glancing around the bare living room filled with boxes, “I haven’t started.”

“What?” Draco exclaims, shock resounding through his tone, “You’re usually done by now and I’m trying to persuade you otherwise.”

You shrug your shoulders even though Draco can’t see you. “I don’t know,” You state, trailing off before picking your train of thought back up, “It just didn’t feel the same without you.”

Draco is silent for a minute. No sound comes from his end of the phone until you hear him whisper, “Darling…”

“I know, I know,” You repeat, “You’ll try to be home as fast as you can but love, please come home.”

Draco hangs up, whispering an ‘I love you’ before coming off the phone. Pulling the device away from your ear, you stare down at your wallpaper. An image of you and Draco from last Christmas – his arm hooked around your waist with his body angled towards you. Hermione had snapped the photo without either of your noticing. The smile on your face the result of whatever draco happened to be whispering in your ear.

Looking around the too-large living room, you found it hard to remember a single Christmas without Draco. The boxes of Christmas decorations all called to you; all wanting to be put up and shown to the world.

Digging through the first box, you feel tears spring to your eyes as you hold the first ornament daintily in both hands. A grand glass bauble given to you by Draco; inside holds a small winter scene that never fails to remind you of a winter holiday shared some years ago. Draco bought it on a whim; being reminded of the very same holiday. He had presented it to you, smiling through the kiss you had given him before placing the bauble on the forever green tree.

Sighing, you fold your arms, protecting yourself from the dread wanting to crush you. He had to come home for Christmas; he simply had to.

-----------

The day continues to be slow; small decorations placed on the mantle piece and bookshelves. It is just about as much as you can handle without Draco by your side.

As night descends, you climb the stairs, filled with the increasing hope that Draco would be home soon to finish adorning your home with Christmas cheer.

Settling your head on your pillow, you automatically reach out to the other side of the bed, already beginning to dream of a morning when you wake to find him lying beside you.

A crash and a bang from down below has you leaping out of bed and reaching for your wand. Your heart pounds in your chest as you hold your wand to your chest, ready to hex whoever it may be in your home. In your head, you go through possible reasons for anyone to enter your home. The war had been over for years; Draco had repented – there had been no sense of danger for a long time.

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you tiptoe downstairs. Pausing at the door to the living room, you spy a figure rifling through the boxes of decorations still left to put up. The figure is tall and lithe, yet it is too dark to see any defining features.

You let out a screech as you force your way into the room, wand at the ready.

“Darling! It’s me!” The voice shouts, hands coming up to rest above their head.

“Draco!” You shout, “What are you doing here?”

“I heard the sadness in your voice, and I knew I had to come home to you.”

“And give me a heart attack?”

Draco smiles bashfully, “That part was accident, I promise.”

“I’d hope so.”

“Darling?” Draco calls.

“Yes?”

“Will you put your wand down now? There’s no threat.”

“Oh,” you gasp, realising you still had the wand pointed at the love of your life. You drop your wand, placing it gently on the chest of drawers before turning back to face the man who had stolen your heart and had yet to give to back.

It is then that you realise who exactly stands before you with a boyish grin and mischief bright in his grey eyes. You launch yourself into his arms; Draco catching you in his own. He laughs, the sound loud in your ear. His strong arms are tight around your waist as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, feeling evermore at home in your arms.

“You’re home,” You whisper, voice full of awe.

“I’m home,” He confirms, lips brushing over the soft skin of your neck making you shiver.

Stepping away from him, you take your first look at the newly decorated living room. A dark green wreath sits on the living room door, centred perfectly. Next, your eyes spy the garland wrapping around the mantle piece, warm lights shining from it as they reflect from the metallic snowmen standing behind it.

It’s like a winter wonderland.

Draco keeps a tight hold on you, his arm wrapped around your waist. You spin his arms, your face a picture of wonderment, “Draco, did you do all this?”

Draco leans down, pressing a long awaited kiss to your cheek before replying. “I started it without you, but I think I need your help for the rest.”

“Why?”

“You sounded so sad on the phone. I know how much you love traditions and decorating the house is one of ours. I asked McGonagall to leave early, and she said yes.”

“She said yes?”

Draco nods, smiling, “She said yes, so I walked to Hogsmeade and apparated home… to you.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” You whisper, voice truthful.

“I’m glad I’m home too.”

You smile, leaning into his warm body. Turning your face to him, you smile widely before pulling him in for a long kiss. Breaking away, you ask, “What else is there left to do?”

He laughs, ducking down for one more kiss before answering, “Just the tree. Do you think you’re up for it?”

Leaving the warmth of his arms, you wander over to the box of decorations you had brought downstairs only yesterday. Reaching for a golden bauble, you hold it out to Draco, “More than up for it.”

*****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @liilyevanss @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kylosleftbuttcheek @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @sycathorn-slush @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach​ @dracomalfoyswifey​ @kashishwrites​ @justmesadgirl​ @detroitobsessed​ @reaganwonders​ @aspiringsloth20​ @just-a-belgian-girl​ @lahoete​ @minty-malfoy​ @fallinallinmendes​ @ravenclawbitch426​ @ochrythum​ @beiahadid​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @dracosathenaeum​

[rebellconquerer]

Ok y'all, I have a question. I wrote something technically in response to a prompt challenge but it has kinda taken on a life of it's own. It's a little different and a little self indulgent (I mean aren't they all) but at approaching 3000 words it's barely a drabble at this point. It's much more character study ish than anything else and I'm just unsure of anyone will want to read it. I'm posting a taste here to see the response. Let me know what you think.

"What's all this, then?" Sam asks as he gets to the porch, looking down at the three boxes piled outside.

"I'm not sure. It came last night. It's for you." She says with a small twist, turning to face James.

He raises his eyebrows in surprised confusion.

"For me? And it came here?" He questions. 

Sam leans over grabbing the still sealed envelope off the top of the boxes.

"It came 'Care of Captain America' but yeah, it's for you." She says easily hopping up the steps in one go and turning to lean her hip against the old wooden railing. 

"Do you mind?" Sam asks James, already moving to open the envelope. James shakes his head, leaning on a post on the other side of the staircase.

Sam's eyes scan quickly back and forth over the letter before his mouth narrows into a small frown.

"It's from the Smithsonian." He finally says, handing the letter over to James.

"The Smithsonian?" James mumbles, taking the letter and she watches his expression freeze then go utterly blank as he reads it.

"Why is the Smithsonian writing to you?" She asks with concern.

Neither answer her for a moment just long enough that she starts to feel genuine concern.

"Dear Sergeant Barnes," James begins to read, pausing to clear his throat. 

"My name is Eloise Lambert and I have been the lead curator and researcher behind the Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit for nearly 40 years. I understand this must seem a drop in the hat to you, but it has represented my life's work. While I cannot begin to understand what it must be like to find out strangers have been heavily involved in the study of your life while you were still living it, please forgive me the eccentricities of an old woman to tell you that you were always my favourite. 

During the initial stages of the creation of the exhibit in Washington and it's sister sites, several pieces of memorabilia were gifted to the institution by your family. In the intervening years, through research and the continued graciousness of your siblings we amassed quite an impressive list of items from your pre war life. Additionally in the often hard and lonely years that followed the blip, Captain Rogers also donated several items related to both your lives. It is my belief, however, that he gave us these items in good faith, believing you were permanently gone. 

In the aftermath of the returns and the continued examination of the cultural damage that can be wrought by museums, especially with the years of discourse that followed the attack on The Museum of Great Britain, the Smithsonian has wrestled with what to do with the pieces that we have that are not fit for public showing. It is my honest belief that not only would your family and Captain Rogers want you to have these items, but that good morality compels us to return them to you. This endeavour has turned out to be harder than initially anticipated as though I am assured you returned after the blip, no one seems to know quite how to find you. With our continued efforts to locate you failing, and possible sightings of you with Captain America, we have decided to send these items to Captain Wilson in the hopes that they will eventually find their way to you.

As I approach the end of my time, the meaningfulness of old memories has become increasingly clear. I hope this has remained true for you as well even through your painful but most extraordinary journey, however should these items bring more pain than happy remembrance, please feel free to return them. The appropriate address is enclosed below."

By the end of the sentence James' voice has just the barest hints of a wobble.

He looks down at the unassuming boxes with the same carefully blank look on his face.

"Well… that's unexpected." He finally says, looking over at her with questioning eyes. She doesn't know what to say. 

James drops to his knees, pulling one of the boxes to him at random and opening it gently. He lets out a soft breath as he pulls out the object on top.

Sarah strays closer, looking over his shoulder. It's a framed photograph of him in his military uniform, smiling easily at something behind the camer, and in the right lower corner, held in place by some kind of cloth housing, is a small medal.

"Holy shit. Is that a Silver Star, Buck?" Sam asks, stooping down beside James whose thumb brushes reverently over the frame.

"Yeah," James says, voice cracking a little but a small smile curving his lips. "They gave it to me after Azzano, when I got back from Austria… the first time Zola…" he drifts off, glancing over at Sam.

The first time he had been captured. The first time he had been experimented on.

"I had sent it to my ma. They'd sent her a letter listing me as missing and presumed captured. Becca said she'd spent every spare minute she had in the pews at St. Leo's." He huffs out a small laugh, eyes going unfocused. "So I sent her the star and the picture in my next letter, as an apology."

Both Sarah and Sam are quiet, unsure what to say. A moment later James seems to shake the fog away and pushes the photo back into the box, standing abruptly.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

So I wrote a one shot. I watched the film 10 Years a few days ago and it inspired me to write a Star Wars version 🤣 it just focuses on Poe though let’s face it. This is me after all! Poe Dameron lover forever! I didn’t even name it anything interesting.

Yavin High Reunion.

Modern!Poe Dameron x Female Reader

Warnings: mention of divorce, mention of a child, angst! Fluff, smut NSFW 18+, alcohol, did I mention angst? Swearing and possibly a happy ending 👀 Apologises for any mistakes I cannot be bothered to reread it.

Word Count: 7759

You straightened your dress as you got out of the cab, passing money to the driver before turning to look down the high street of your old town. The sky was dark and the shops you had haunted most of your youth were lit by the garish orange street lamps, you smiled slightly as echoes of memories came to you. You had lived in this high street, spending holidays, or a few hours here and there after school, you could always be found here with your friends. But this was the first time you’d seen it since you left when you were 18.

You were late with everyone inside already, just the way you wanted. You placed a hand on your stomach as you breathed deeply trying to control the butterflies that fluttered manically inside you. As soon as High School had finished you left, the only person you really stayed in touch with was your best friend Jess. She had kept you up to date with what everyone else in your group of friends had been doing and you went through stages of missing them, longing for the summer days where you all hung out at the beach, eating picnics, barbecues and getting drunk as the sun finally set.

You closed your eyes briefly before turning to look at the hotel where the reunion was taking place. The grey bricks gave the impression it was a lot fancier than it looked but this hotel hadn’t changed on the outside at all. Music and laughter floated out of the open windows above you and again your stomach cramped nervously. Your last year at school had been a difficult one and you were ashamed with how you dealt with what happened….Jess had said he was coming and really he was the only reason you had come. Steeling yourself you finally took the last steps towards the entrance of the hotel pushing the door open and letting the warm air wash over you.

The foyer was empty, you wrote your name on a sticker and placed it gently on your dress, you could see some class mates had scribbled in the memory book already and you smiled slightly as you read it realising that no one had really grown up in 10 years. Stands displaying photos stood behind the desk and you made a note to come and look at those later. You saw a camera but no camera man and you wondered if that was better, you were leaving straight after this anyway. Your heels rang out on the stairs as you made your way towards the noise of the reunion.

As soon as you opened the door you felt overwhelmed, the beat from the music thrummed through you and you instantly headed towards the bar ordering a double gin and tonic to calm your nerves. You surveyed your surroundings, it had been decorated with the school colours and you winced at the mix of orange, white, red and black realising how much you hated the colours together. You took your glass as your eyes searched the crowd trying to find a face you recognised, well you knew most of them, older but you knew them as they danced smiling at one another. You spied another room and you hoped there was food in that one, you made your way round the edge of the room quickly slipping into the larger room. This room was quieter, long tables laid out with hot plates of food and round tables that were littered with little pockets of people as they caught up.

Some double doors lead outside onto a balcony and you saw the crowd standing out there, you’d never really mixed with them at school but one caught your attention. From where you were standing you could see him perfectly as he lounged on the sofa, his long legs taking up so much room, he looked smart in his suit his long dark hair hadn’t changed in the passing years but he had a serious look on his expression, gone were smiles he used to have at school. You froze as his hazel eyes caught sight of you and he tipped his head slightly in recognition. Kylo Ren had been the one you turned to all those years ago, he had been the one to drive you to the airport even giving you money and helping you get a job so you could flee. You thought about going over but then the blonde head of Phasma came into view as she laid herself all over him and you quickly moved out of sight. Not much had changed in 10 years at all. You felt sad and you debated leaving as you lost your appetite when all of a sudden you were grabbed. You grinned as her dark hair fell all over your face and she squealed loudly in your ear making you grimace in pain .

‘Jess! Ouch!’

‘Oh my god you came!!’ She almost screamed at you .

‘Yes yes! I told you I would!’ She grabbed you for another hug and you squeezed her back, oh how you had missed her! Video calls had nothing on giving your friend a solid hug in person. ‘Where is everyone else?’ You heard yourself ask and she smirked knowing you weren’t really bothered about everyone else. You just wanted to see him.

‘There’s another room, this one has desserts in so clearly we camped in there,’ she winked and you smiled back but your stomach just went into overdrive as she led you back into the bar and across the dance floor. Of course they were in the dessert room, he had such a sweet tooth. You saw them straight away and a wave of people rose to greet you, Finn was first lifting you off the floor as he squeezed the air out of your chest, then Rose and her sister Paige.

‘Aren’t you too old to be here?’ You whispered to her and she laughed.

‘I snuck in no one saw me,’ she winked and let Snap spin you into a dizzying embrace, he gave you a kiss on the cheek before letting your feet touch the floor again. Next you were embraced by his wife Kare, followed by the clowns of the group Beaumont and Ronith. The group parted as they all sat back down and your breath was taken from you as you laid eyes on the love of your life for the first time in so long. Everything melted away as his intense brown eyes blazed into yours, his curls a dark unruly mess on top of his head and you saw he still wore his Dad’s leather jacket; it just fitted him now, perfectly. He rested one leg on his knee, one of his arms was draped over an empty chair and he didn’t get up to greet you. You swallowed plastering a smile on your face and you felt eternally grateful to Jess as she dragged you over the tables to look at the cakes. But you couldn’t see them, your vision swam and you tried desperately to compose yourself.

‘Well, that was intense,’ Jess mumbled as she passed you a plate. You jumped slightly as you heard his rich laugh rise up from the group, you didn’t know you were going to feel this so strongly, the guilt ripped through you and now you really wished you hadn’t come.

‘He hates me,’ you whispered mindlessly spooning some chocolate cake onto your plate.

‘He doesn’t…’

‘Well he should,’ you snapped softly. You slowly walked back to the table with her heading for the empty chair next to Snap but Jess was just a step ahead of you leaving the only chair available was the one Poe had his arm thrown possessively over.

‘C-can I sit here?’ You were acutely aware the group was watching you both as they talked extra loudly trying to cover up the tension. He moved his arm and you slipped into the chair moving it into the table and slightly away from him. You were immediately pulled into the conversation as Beaumont started recounting some funny drunk story and finally you felt yourself relax but only slightly. Your skin tingled every time he spoke or joined it but it was never directly to you and you desperately tried to ignore that.

‘Oh god and then there was prom!’ Ronith blurted out and you instantly felt Poe tense up. A buzzing noise started in your ears as everything drained away, the memory replaying like it was yesterday in your mind.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your hair looked amazing, your makeup was perfect and your dress was stunning hugging you in all the right places. You looked up at the knock on the door and you knew it was Poe, you bit your lip as you stood at the top of the stairs, your Dad letting him in. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but you didn’t care as Poe caught sight of you. His jaw went slack and his brown eyes widened as he swallowed nervously, your eyes raked over his outfit and his navy suit matched your dress perfectly. You slowly made your way down your hand dragging lightly on the banister until he stepped round your Dad a lopsided smile now spreading over his face as he offered you his arm.

‘You look stunning my love,’ he murmured before shooting a nervous glance at your Dad.

‘The limo is here!’ Called your mum and you both stepped outside, your parents took so many photos you tried to hurry them up but Poe was loving it. His eyes barely left you and neither did his hands, until the glare of blue lights chased away the descending darkness. You all frowned as an officer got out of the car along with Poe’s father, you knew something was instantly wrong by the look on Kes’s face.

‘Can we talk inside?’ The officer asked and your parents ushered you all inside. You had sat next to Poe holding his hand when they broke the news to him that his mother had died in a car crash, she was driving back from work hoping to catch him before he left for prom but she never made it. In that moment you had seen him break, completely fall apart before your very eyes and there was nothing you could do to help him. Shara had been a wonderful person and you adored Poe’s parents having grown up in their house as a second home. Seeing his pain had damaged something inside you and all you could think about was running away.

‘Am I right? You two,’ your eyes rose as he gestured to you both of you, ‘must have had a great time at prom we barely saw you…’ Snap punched Beaumont on the shoulder as silence settled on the table. You and Poe had never made it to prom, instead heading to the hospital so he could say a final goodbye. You got up, fumbling a quiet excuse as you hurried away from the group. You needed out, the noise cascaded over you from the bar and you could feel yourself panicking as you raced down the large staircase to head outside to the gardens. They were only small but you found a bench tucked away and you finally allowed yourself to feel. Tears slid down your face as you silently cried. You remembered everything, all the promises you made him saying you’d be there and help him through his pain but really you should have looked to yours. You didn’t even attend her funeral, turning to Kylo Ren of all people. His parents own a huge company and they got you a job in England, an apprenticeship and you took it, fleeing your old life and falling head first into a new one. Poe had every right to hate you, you hated yourself enough, hated for running out as soon as you could.

You had tried to forget Poe in England and for a time you did, you fell for someone and he swept you off your feet and you got married. But the cracks that started off tiny just got bigger and one of the last things he said to you was your heart clearly wasn’t in it. And it wasn’t, you’d left your heart here with Poe you just didn’t want to acknowledge it. You blotted your eyes trying to gather up the courage to go back inside when someone materialised out of the shadows, his hands in his pockets as he stood a few paces away from you.

‘Hi,’ he said as he stood awkwardly. You slid across the bench silently inviting him to sit with you and he did.

‘Hi,’ you whispered, clasping your hands in your lap as you turned to face him. ‘Poe…’ he shook his head interrupting you.

‘Let’s not,’ he looked up at the sky. ‘Let’s not drag that up.’

‘Good idea.’ You both sat together falling into a familiar silence but not really looking at each other until he spoke again.

‘So you went to England? Jess said…’

‘Yeah, I quite like it over there.’ He smirked slightly.

‘You have an accent.’

‘Poe Dameron I do not!’ His smile got wider as he ran a hand through his curls, a motion you had adored in High School and still did it seemed.

‘It’s cute.’ You swallowed as the butterflies restarted in your stomach and you tried to find anything else to talk about.

‘So what about you? What do you do now?’

‘I followed Dad didn’t I, became a mechanic but I work on planes rather than cars.’

‘Wow that’s impressive,’ you fiddled with the material of your dress as the next question fell from your mouth and even to your ears it sounded strained. ‘Got a wife?’ He looked down at his shoes as he shuffled them in the dirt.

‘Nope, apparently my heart wasn’t in it,’ he said bitterly and you froze hearing those words again, letting out a shaky laugh as he looked at you.

‘Well I’ve been told the exact same thing,’ he frowned as you glanced at him quickly. ‘My hus….ex husband said the same thing to me and he was right.’

‘Husband….you got married?’ You could hear the hurt in his voice and you felt the well of sadness threaten to rise inside you again.

‘Not that it worked out. I left my heart here anyway.’ He opened his mouth to reply when a shout caught both your attention, it was Snap.

‘Guys! We’re heading to Maz’s place, you coming?’

‘Yeah sure,’ you coursed together. ‘Though I want to look at the photos before we go.’ You smiled slightly at him as you stood.

‘Come on then.’ You followed him back inside and you joined Jess at a photo of the pair of you.

‘You ok?’ She asked quietly as she pointed out one of Poe and Snap looking all fresh faced and happy.

‘Yeah I’m ok,’ you replied. You paused at a photo of you all, Poe was standing next to you and he was looking down at you as you smiled at the camera.

How different your life would have been if you’d just stayed, but you had come across Kylo one night at the beach. About 1am in the morning and even though you weren’t what you would call friends you had been so desperate to talk to someone you had spilled everything to him and he gave you the way out you so desperately craved. You looked up as Poe came up behind you.

‘Come on, let’s get drunk,’ he suggested. ‘It will be like the old days,’ he said as he nudged you in a playful way. You went to step away when his hand caught your arm and he held you back from the group. ‘For the record, your ex husband doesn’t know what he’s losing,’ your breath hitched as his warm hand slid up your neck and he planted a kiss against your cheek, his stubble rubbing against you slightly before moving away and you fell into step beside him.

You noticed how suddenly the dynamic had changed between you, now he wanted to sit next to you, he followed you, his hand lightly touching you now and again as he spoke to you. You tried not to think about the way his body pressed against you as you all squeezed into two cars, the scent rolling off his leather was undeniably Poe and it made you swoon slightly. Finally spilling out of the car you gulped in some fresh air trying to curb the feelings you had creeping up on you.

The bar was exactly how you remembered it, dingy and dark perfect for making out in without getting caught. Your eyes were drawn to a booth in the corner and Poe saw you looking.

‘You remember?’ He murmured.

‘Of course I remember,’ you whispered in reply looking up at him. It had been the first place you’d kissed and right now you felt exactly as you did then as you caught up in his eyes, his scent, his expression.

‘Guys! Shots!’ You dragged your gaze away from the man next to you as you grabbed a glass off the bar, all downing the burning liquid before Jess gestured for another lot. You ordered a gin and tonic and took the glasses over to the empty booth, you slipped in and Poe slid in next to you. The rest joined and you couldn’t help the little flutter in your chest as he brushed up against you when he took his leather jacket off, his white shirt top buttons were undone and you caught sight of a necklace. Poe had never been one for jewellery and you pointed feeling curious.

‘What’s this?’ He pulled the chain out and you recognised the silver ring instantly. ‘It’s Shara’s.’ He smiled and let you take it in your hands, turning it over with your fingers as you felt how warm it was from being against his chest.

‘Pack it in you two! I want to hear all about England!’ You let the ring drop and your eyes flew to Poe’s in panic. You hadn’t told any of them except Jess you were married and you had only just told Poe you were divorcing.

‘Let’s get another round in,’ Poe said loudly trying to draw attention off of you but Kare was relentless.

‘Sure sure get some drinks, but I want to hear about it, you’ve been out there for 10 years not even heard a peep from you. What’s so captivating over there?’

‘Oh you know, I’ve just been working hard, I was offered an opportunity and I couldn’t pass it up.’ You rubbed your arm feeling a chill as Poe got up from the table, Snap going with him to the bar.

‘Doing what?’ You shifted uncomfortably as you looked at your friends faces.

‘Well, I help run the British side of the Alderaan Haulage company.’

‘Wait wait,’ said Beaumont holding his hands up. ‘You work for Kylo Ren?’ You could feel the blush creeping over your cheeks as Poe started heading back to the table.

‘He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,’ you said trying to keep your voice low.

‘Is he still as much of a douche as he was at school?’ Poe’s attention snapped to the table at Ronith’s very loud question and you felt yourself die inside a little bit.

‘I don’t have any problems with him,’ you said shrugging.

‘But then he left you alone at school,’ sneered Kare. ‘He had a crush on you soooo bad,’ said Jess.

‘Who are we talking about?’ Said Poe as he slipped a drink over to you and sat back next to you, his shoulder nudging yours.

‘Kylo Ren,’ said Kare as Snap sat down gently beside her. ‘He had a crush on the traitor here.’

‘Guys that’s my boss you’re talking about and he just walked in,’ you hissed, sinking into your seat slightly as Poe flung a possessive arm around your shoulders. You felt surprised as the sudden obvious contact and you saw Jess smirk as she sipped her drink.

You all watched as the crowd piled in, they had been the popular cool kids at school, Kylo with his rich parents had ruled the year, Armitage Hux was still hanging onto his every word, Phasma still shamelessly thirsting after him. Then there were the guys, you and your friends had called them the Knights as they always surrounded Kylo like a beefy entourage, as if he needed protecting. Kylo clocked you before they swarmed the bar and you did a stupid hand wave in acknowledgement.

‘That was embarrassing for you,’ sniggered Jess as they all started laughing into their drinks.

‘Laugh it up fuzzballs! I bet I’m making more money than all of you combined!’ Thankfully that started a new debate and you sat back into Poe’s side as you let them argue. You shivered as his hand gently brushed up your arm, you were sure he didn’t even know he was doing it but you didn’t mind. You had daydreamed so much over the last few years and every time you hit a low point, memories of Poe had helped you through. Your phone buzzed and you cursed as the name came up on the screen.

‘I need to take this,’ you mumbled, climbing over Poe not even getting to enjoy the way his hands helped you out as all you could think about is why he was ringing now.

‘Hello?’

‘Mummy?’ You instantly grinned hearing your daughter's little voice.

‘Hey baby, you ok?’

‘Yeah,’ your 4 year old daughter's voice brought tears to your eyes and you remembered why you had hesitated in coming. ‘Just missing you mummy.’

‘I’ll be home in a couple of days baby. Is daddy being good?’

‘Nope, he won’t let me eat chocolate before bed.’

‘Well that’s good…’

‘Mummy...bye.’

‘Bye baby…’ you heard some rustling on the other end of the line and you frowned as you heard your ex husband speak.

‘So when will you be back?’ He demanded.

‘Well my flights in just over 24 hours then I’ll be home soon after that.’

‘I don’t see why you had to go…’

‘Yeah well maybe I needed a break from it all,’ you snapped, already feeling weary from talking to him.

‘I’ve got papers for you to sign.’

‘Can we talk about this when I get back? And not in front of Flick?’ You looked up at the night sky blinking back tears, fed up with the fights, the paperwork and hiding it all from your daughter as best you could. For now anyway.

‘Say goodnight to mummy it’s dark over there…’ you grinned at your daughters sing song voice before wishing her a goodnight and putting the phone down.

‘You ok?’ You wiped your eyes hurriedly as Poe stood by the door to the bar.

‘Yeah I’ll be in a minute.’ But he came up to you, pulling your hands away from your face.

‘I know you. I know when you’re upset. What did he say?’ You could hear a hint of annoyance in his tone and it warmed you inside that he still felt protective over you.

‘Not much, he was just reminding me I have papers to sign and letting our daughter say goodnight to me,’ the words left your mouth before you could think of what you were saying, not that you were ashamed of your child but you just wanted to have a night and be that person you’d been 10 years ago, now you thought with a heavy heart, Poe would look at you differently.

‘A daughter?’ His voice was monotone almost like he was trying to cover up his shock.

‘Yeah, maybe I should have brought her up before, I don’t know I just wanted to be me for a night.’

‘And you flew all the way out here to do it?’ He asked.

‘It’s been hell,’ you stated simply. You took a shuddery breath trying to quell the rising storm inside you but you felt Poe was the one person you could really be yourself around and at a touch of his hand your barriers fell. He pulled you to him and you cried loudly into his shirt, you hated this and you wished you’d never come but you so desperately needed to escape your situation at home even if it was just for a few days. You felt confused as you clutched Poe’s shirt and he just held you, ever dependable Poe. You pulled away not wanting to rely on him like this.

‘I’m ok, I just need to compose myself,’ you said sniffing.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’ He asked his voice slightly husky as he looked down at you.

‘Yeah I should probably find a motel or something.’

‘Come back to mine, I’ve got a spare room. You’re not here for long, call me selfish but we have some catching up to do. I want to spend time with just you.’ You looked at him, you wanted to, oh god you wanted to go. Your brain said no but your heart said yes and today your heart won.

‘Sure, I’d like that.’

‘Let me get my jacket, stay here. I’ll be subtle.’ He planted a kiss on your head and you closed your eyes still warring with yourself. You told yourself you deserved this, even if a small voice at the back of your mind said you were going to break his heart all over again. He returned within minutes, his hand firmly pressing against the small of your back as he led you away from the bar. ‘Jess clocked me,’ he said just as the door opened. He grabbed you as he darted down an alleyway, he clutched you to him tightly as he peered round the corner. ‘She’s looking for us,’ he whispered and you couldn’t help but grin remembering you used to this back when you were dating. He looked down at you, his hand coming up, brushing the hair over your shoulder before gently swiping your cheek, his thumb trailed softly over your bottom lip and you ran it through your teeth as he tickled you.

You gasped as his lips connected with yours, the kiss was quick as he pulled away seeing your reaction. Your brain froze as long gone feelings rushed to the forefront.

‘I can’t….I only have tonight. I have to go back…’ you whispered feeling sad that you couldn’t just get lost in his arms without hurting him. He rested against the wall with a sigh as he thought about what you said, his curls flopping over his forehead in the way you loved so much.

‘What if we just take tonight. Don’t think ahead, let’s just have tonight.’ His voice was low and you heard the edge of need in his tone stoking the fire inside you.

‘Just tonight…’ you whispered as his hand wrapped around the base of your neck pulling you to him but he paused, his eyes looking deeply into yours as his lips brushed you gently.

‘Just tonight,’ he whispered back. He pulled away dragging you into the night.

Once you were inside his house you felt nervous, like a teenager and your parents were away but they had expressly said no partners. Yet you broke the rules anyway. That’s exactly how you felt, the air of anticipation surrounded you both as you silently slipped your shoes off at the front door. His house was homely, slightly messy but you didn’t care, grinning as he grabbed some stuff to throw in the washing machine.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

‘You were never the tidiest person,’ you said following him into the kitchen and you couldn’t help the smile spreading over your face at the noise of indignation he made.

‘I am an adult! I can live how I like!’ You laughed remembering his Dad used to say that.

‘When you grow up you can live how you like, but until then! It’s my rules!’ You both descended into laughter as you finished off Kes’s phrase. He opened the fridge and pulled out some bottles.

‘What would you prefer, cider or beer?’

‘Ooh cider!’

‘Think fast!’ Your hand shot out as he threw the bottle at you and thankfully you caught it.

‘Poe Dameron! I was not ready!’ You said punching him gently on the shoulder, he held out his bottle and you took it automatically snapping the metal cap off with your teeth.

‘I’m glad that never changed,’ he said before taking a swig, his dark eyes trained on you. You snapped the cap off your bottle and took a sip feeling the cool fruity liquid flood your mouth. You were going to have a headache tomorrow.

‘Can I have a snoop?’ He shrugged and you slowly made your way to the living room. It was clear only Poe had lived here, you paused at the sofa, your fingers threading into the blanket thrown over the back. You recognised it instantly, your nan had taught you how to crochet and you had made a blanket with orange and white colours to create some circular patterns. You had been so shy giving it to him sure he was going to think it was stupid but he took it giving you a hug and saying thanks. And here it was 15 years later on the back of his sofa.

‘Poe..’ you looked at him leaning on the doorframe as he watched you.

‘It was all I had of you after you left.’ You took a steady breath at the sadness lacing his tone as you fisted your hand into the blanket. You took a long drink out of your bottle hoping to fight back the tears as you chucked your head back, the bubbles danced on your tongue and you tried to concentrate on that sensation but you could feel him behind you.

His hand took the bottle from your grasp and you let it slide from your fingers as you watched him over your shoulder. Next he removed your coat softly dragging it down your arms and you got goosebumps as his fingers trailed over your skin. He gently brushed your hair to the side and you had to bite your lip as he kissed the hollow in your neck. His hand tracked down your body as you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. You stayed like that for a moment as his arms tightened around you and he breathed softly against your neck, his nose buried in your hair. You could feel the tension building inside you and you shifted against him, biting your lip again when you felt how hard he was through his trousers already.

You could feel your heart racing as you spun in his embrace, you could feel the edge of the sofa digging into your lower back as he pressed into you. You slipped your hands into his leather jacket, teasing it off his shoulders and laying it down over the sofa. His hands went back to your hips and his eyes roamed over your face, your chest heaved as you studied his face. A face you had desperately missed, you slowly traced his lips with your finger and his eyes glowered at you with a smouldering heat.

‘I’ve missed these,’ you whispered gently brushing his soft curls away from his eyes and he leaned into your touch.

‘I have missed you. More than you realise.’

‘Show me,’ you whispered. ‘Show me how much you've missed me.’ His lips were on you in a second, his tongue in your mouth as he pressed up against you. The kiss was fierce, full of hunger and need as his lips caressed yours, his tongue possessing your mouth in a way that left you dizzy and wanting air. Your body trembled as you pulled at his top and he tugged at your dress straps, you pulled your arms out pushing it down to expose your breasts and the smoulder in his eyes made you press your thighs together in anticipation. A fire had awoken inside you, a fire only Poe could create. It felt like his hands were everywhere at once and you groaned loudly as he sucked on your neck, kissing that spot that only he had been able to find. You pulled your dress up your thighs and wrapped your legs around his hips pulling him closer as you leaned back slightly. His hands supported your back as his mouth trailed searing hot kisses along your exposed collarbone and you worked his shirt out of his trousers, sliding your hands up his toned back. You moaned as he stepped away, his hair disheveled from your fingers, his lips red where he had kissed you hard, his eyes glittering with heat and his chest heaved as he tried to steady himself.

He pulled on your hand and you slowly followed him as he led you upstairs, he looked back giving you that lopsided smile that was always full of unspoken promises. He pulled you to him, kissing you gently as he backed into the bedroom, he turned and shoved you onto the bed and you watched with hooded eyes as he undid the buttons on his shirt, pulling it apart before he crawled between your legs, which you opened to accommodate him. His hand slid up your body, trailed up your neck and he pulled you to him for another kiss. You pulled on him and slowly he lowered his body onto yours, his skin warm to the touch and you rolled your hips into his eliciting a groan from him.

‘Baby you’re so needy,’ he whispered as his hand slowly trailed up your inner thigh, gently brushing your underwear and you almost whimpered in desperation for him to touch you. He hooked a finger in the band and began to shimmy them down your legs, leaving a line of wet kisses down your leg as he did. You were so consumed by your need for him everything else flew from your mind as he grabbed your thighs and pulled them apart. The cold air teased your wet core and you weren’t even ashamed with how wet you were, your hips bucked as he ghosted a hand over your bundle of nerves. ‘Patience.’ His brown eyes raked down your hot and bothered body before he dipped down, his face pressed into your inner thigh and you wound your fingers into his curls. You gasped, your eyes closing tightly as his tongue licked up your wet slit, your back arched as you felt a finger nudge at your entrance. ‘You are so wet,’ he murmured with a moan as he pushed a finger inside you.

‘More!’ You gasped and he obliged with another finger stretching you slightly but you wanted even more. You groaned as you tossed your head to the side just concentrating on the sensations he was giving you and the third finger that stretched you perfectly. A groan ripped from your chest as he gently swiped a thumb over your clit.

‘God, you make the best noises,’ moaned as his head dipped down again and you tightened your grip on his curls as he began to suck on you. His fingers dragged in and out of you causing cries of pleasure to bubble up from inside you. Your orgasm came at you in a rush, pleasure flooding your body as you tensed around him, you could feel just one more suck, one more motion and he’d have you tipping over the edge. Your legs shook and your mouth opened wide as the tidal wave of pleasure rocked your core, it spread through you and momentarily you didn’t know where you were, just lost in the wave of pleasure as it swept you away. You hummed as finally your legs relaxed, he crawled his way up you, kissing you as he shed his shirt and trousers in a rush. You wiggled your hips at the feel of his hardness against you burning the skin of your inner thigh, slowly he entered you and you both groaned at the sensation as he pushed into you. You were both so wet he slid in easily, slotting against you like he was made for you. His hands swiped the hair off your face as he kissed you deeply, his hips finally moving as he settled into a steady rhythm. You zoned out to the noises he made, the way his chain jingled against you both, the little huffs and groans he made when you wiggled a certain way had you moving closer to a second orgasm quicker than you’d like. His face buried in your neck and you felt him falter slightly against you and you knew he was close. You slipped a hand between you gently rubbing your clit, his eyes met yours as he quickened the pace. ‘I’m so c-close,’ he stuttered.

‘Mmmm let go!’ He pressed his forehead against you as he pumped into you, bringing you both over the threshold, your cries mingling together as you both released at the same time. He sagged against you kissing you lazily as you both rested in the post orgasmic bubble with each other. You wrapped your arms around each other, enjoying the company but as the feelings trickled away from you both cold realisation set in that this wouldn’t last for much longer.

‘Poe…’ but he stopped you with a hand over your mouth.

‘You promised me,’ he kissed your cheek. ‘An entire,’ he kissed your other cheek. ‘Night.’

‘We best carry on then,’ you whispered as a smile crept over your face.

‘Have you got anymore in you baby?’ Before he could react you flipped him onto his back.

‘You have no idea,’ you said as you nudged his face with your nose kissing him gently.

‘Promises…’ he murmured.

You stood by the edge of the bed looking down at him still sleeping. As you had predicted you had a headache but what did you expect from mixing your drinks. You knelt down next to the bed, not wanting to wake him but not wanting to leave without saying goodbye either, not again.

‘Poe…’ you nudged him slightly. ‘Poe….’ He groaned one eye opening sleepily.

‘Is it time?’ You smiled to try and cover the tears that were threatening to well up in your eyes and you nodded. He looked at you for a moment before pulling you to him and whispering in your ear as he embraced you. ‘We said, just tonight.’

‘I know I know!’ He pulled back slightly kissing everywhere he could reach as he held your face. The tears fell silently as you kissed him back before getting up, time was marching on and you couldn’t afford to miss your flight. ‘I have to go...my flight.’

‘Let me walk you out.’ His fingertips were touching you the whole time until you were at the door when he kissed you. His tongue swiping your lips as he kissed you deeply, you felt the wall behind you as he tried to press as much of himself against you as much as possible and you tried desperately not to cry into his mouth. You felt awful, walking away yet again leaving him standing here alone. ‘I don’t hold it against you,’ he murmured as he tucked your hair behind your ear. ‘If I could have left 10 years ago, I would have.’ You cleared your throat before you spoke.

‘But I should have stayed…’

‘No. You did the right thing, I didn’t think so at the time but for you, maybe for both of us. It was the right thing.’ He lifted your head, your eyes locking with his.

‘But the life we could…’ he shrugged. His muscles rippling under his smooth skin as he held your chin.

‘So what? Don’t dwell on the past, it could have been a really great life or we could have ended up hating each other.’

‘But I love you…’ a sob gripped your throat and you fell against him wishing you didn’t have to leave, not knowing when you could come back.

‘I love you too, I always have and I always will, but.’ He placed his hands on your shoulders pushing you away as he swallowed harshly. ‘We said. Just tonight. You have to go back.’ You nodded miserably, he was right you did have to go back.

He opened the door and stepped away from you leaving you no choice but to head outside, your taxi chose that moment to pull up with a squeal of its brakes. ‘Your taxi is here.’ You nodded sniffing slightly as you looked at him.

‘Bye Poe,’ it was barely a whisper like you didn’t want to say it but you had to struggle out the goodbye this time. You owed him that.

‘Goodbye, my love.’ It took all your effort to compose yourself at the use of his old nickname for you, it was his way of saying he’d keep you close to him always and forever. As the taxi drove away you didn’t look back, you couldn’t or you’d break down, shriek at the taxi to stop, fall back into his arms and you’d never find the strength to go back to England. You pulled your phone out with shaky hands and looked at the photo of your daughter smiling up at you. You were going home for her. The streets turned into a blur around you as the taxi sped you away, back to your life and tearing you away from the one you wanted.

You opened your eyes as the weak sunlight streamed through your curtains highlighting the cardboard boxes stacked up in your room. It had been over a month since you’d got back from America and things had moved quickly, the papers were signed, the house was sold and you bought a small two bed for you and Felicity. She was with her father this weekend and in all honesty you hated when she left. You walked through the house in your baggy t-shirt cursing softly as you stubbed your toe on another box in the hallway, hopping the last few steps you managed to ease yourself into your chair and woke your computer up. With a sigh you checked your emails annoyed to see you had nothing to attend to at this ungodly hour on a Sunday. You slumped at your desk, laying your head on the table trying not to get sucked into the swirling whirlpool of dark thoughts that struck you whenever you were on your own, threatening to pull you in the murky depths of hopelessness. A ping made you sit up and you saw Kylo had sent you an email. Finally, you thought, something to do! But you paused at the words on the email.

You have this week off. Enjoy.

Regards

Kylo

You stared at the email, you didn’t book time off? You’d been working 7 days a week almost every week since you got back. Furiously you shot an email back saying he must have made a mistake but the response was almost immediate.

I do not make mistakes. Don’t make me change my mind.

Kylo

You sat back in your chair frowning, you had nothing coming up, no one's birthdays, it wasn’t Easter or Christmas, no school holidays….your mind spun wildly as you entered the kitchen putting the coffee machine on. You really had no idea why Kylo would give you this week off, maybe he was rewarding your hard work but it was so out of character for him.

You swiftly grabbed your coffee as a knock sounded at the door, you quickly ran a hand through your hair but you just successfully made it worse. You pulled the door open expecting to see you ex bringing your daughter home early but your eyes were playing tricks on you. Shock held you rigid, your fingers gripping harshly to the door but you didn’t register the pain shooting down your arm. You had no words as you blinked stupidly at the person before you all coherent thought leaving your brain as he grinned at your reaction.

‘My love, are you going to let me in?’

‘I — I, yes…..’ you finally managed to step aside noting the large bag on his back as he gently prised your fingers off the door closing it softly behind him. You still couldn’t process he was really here as he leaned against the door, his eyes heavy and weary after the long journey. ‘Here.’ You held out the coffee and he took it, his eyes darting behind you.

‘Is she here?’ You shook your head, your heart beating erratically in your chest as he took a step towards you. ‘So I can do this?’ He whispered as his hand slipped round your waist, pulling you towards him he kissed you deeply. You pushed away, your hand flying to your tingling lips as you stared wide eyed at him.

‘You’re here.’

‘I am, sorry it took me so long selling the house was a pain and convincing Dad this was the right choice…’

‘You’re moving here? For good?’ He turned to look at you, his dark eyes hesitant.

‘I can buy my own place until you’re ready..’

‘No.’ You grinned, a stupidly big grin as you stared at Poe Dameron in your hallway, in England. ‘You move in here, we have wasted enough time.’

‘Only if you’re sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. Holy fuck you’re actually here?’ You let out a short laugh in disbelief.

‘Tired, but I’m actually here.’

‘Jess told you where I was didn’t she?’

‘For once, yes she did.’ He held up a hand moving towards the front door. ‘I brought some extra gifts.’ Loud shouts erupted from outside as you saw all your friends standing on your doorstep. Tears filled your eyes as you greeted them all.

This is what you’d wanted, your friends and the man you had loved your whole life in your life always. Bet you’re glad you went to that reunion now.

[darkherolovercroissant]

Never thought

Pairing: Bucky x 40’s reader

Warnings:Fluff and angst

Summary:Bucky goes back in time on a mission with Sam to fix a mistake and ends up running into the woman he loved before Hydra found him.

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

“So let me get this straight, Strange fucked this up, but you’re asking us to fix it?” Sam asked heavily confused

“Well Bucky comes from that time period and you two have been joined at the hip since Steve left,so yeah! You’ll be fixing it.” Doctor Strange said

“Typical. Cleaning up after everyone once again” Sam growled, but Bucky had been quiet the whole time.

Something happened two weeks ago, a memory had resurfaced and Bucky was in complete heartbreak when it had happened. He remembered a young woman back home in Brooklyn, New York. She was gorgeous and Bucky had left her behind with the intention on marrying her when he got back. However, Bucky never came back.

Bucky couldn’t help but think about what would of happened if Steve reached out farther earlier on or what would of happened if he wasn’t standing so close to the edge of the train car. Maybe he would’ve returned with Steve and watched him marry Peggy. Bucky couldve had a life and married his little lady with eyes that sparkled like the Diamond he had been thinking of giving her.

They joined Scott on the standing pad with Strange aswell. Apparently they were going just a bit past the fourties, they were heading to the fifties to fix a glitch that Strange had caused. They safely transferred between now and then and came out looking at the old school look of New York.

“Man! You grew up here?” Sam asked

“I miss it so much.” Bucky mumbled

The duo had just came across to the pinpointed location when a familiar head of hair caught his eye. She was just as gorgeous as he remembered, how he wished to stay here with her.

“Whos the girl?” Sam asked with pure concern

“The woman I wanted to marry. Y/n” he whispered

“I’m sorry man.” Sam said sadly as he watched his friend with pure empathy. It wasn’t easy having everything took from you and Sam tried his hardest to see him through.

Only now watching his friend pine over a girl he always wanted was breaking his heart.

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Sam asked

Bucky shook his head as he looked down.

“She won’t ever remember me.” Bucky sighed

“Hey man, this is probably going to be the only time you’ll be able to do this. As soon as this mission is done, they’re bringing us back so go talk to her. You owe her that much.” Sam says

Bucky just looks up in time to see you look at the two with pure confusion until you see those familiar crystal blue eyes and the next thing the two know, you’re running towards them.

“Bucky?” You ask as you are two feet in front of him.

“Hey, doll.” He smiled

Sam gently backs up giving you two some space, sitting on the curb and watching as his friend is reunited with his long lost love.

“Is that really you? You look a lot older than you left.” She giggled

“It’s me, doll. However you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I had been through.” He smiled

“Oh you must think I’m such a cold lady. My name is y/n” she said as she stuck a hand out towards Sam.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n. My name is Sam.”

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Y/n says to Bucky making his heart flutter.

“I’m here now, doll.” He smiled

“Do you still intend to keep your promise?” She asked without a clear idea on why the two were there in the first place.

Sam saw Bucky stiffen and he took it as a time to step in.

“Now as much as I’d love to see Bucky here get married,I’m afraid he won’t be able to.” Sam sighed

Bucky’s heart broke as he watched y/n become saddened and less cheerful.

“Oh. I understand.” She fake smiled

Bucky felt his heart shatter as she refused to look at them.

“Well I’m terribly busy, so I’ll just let you two get back to work then. Good evening, gentlemen.” And just like that, y/n was gone and Bucky released a broken sigh. His voice wavered and he began to shake. His eyes were now red and his cheeks were now wet.

“Please comeback” he whispered at your retreating form.

Sam felt horrible seeing his broken friend. He didn’t think she’d be that upset and that quick. However when Bucky continued on with their tasks, Sam could see the odd tear fall down onto his hand. As soon as they pulled away, Sam saw the pure heartbreak on his face.

“Look man, I don’t know how to say this, but maybe you should go find her. I’ll finish this and I’ll send the signal after and we can go home.” Bucky took a deep breath and started down the streets towards your apartment and came up the stairs to where you lived.

When you opened the door, you saw the broken man you loved. The poor man has been through so much and all he wanted was you, but he knew he couldn’t have you.

“Bucky?”

“Can we talk?” He asked quietly

You nod and allow him entry and he immediately spills everything.

“Look. I went off to war, I was taken prisoner by Hydra and experimented on and was saved by Steve. We then took out any Hydra members we could find and when we received word that a certain someone was on a train, we looked to capture him. Only I ended up falling off towards what I thought was my death. However with whatever Hydra had put in me, I survived. The next thing I know is that I was taken hostage again and gave a new arm to replace my left one from the fall off the train. I then spent over 70 years with Hydra, or at least that’s what they keep telling me. I did a lot of bad things, y/n and I’m not proud of it. Then I became an avenger and I stood up to a monster called Thanos who took over planets and wiped out half the population and I ended up dying and then coming back five years later, but it only felt like five minutes for me. I’m one hundred and seven now, doll. I missed out on everything I ever wanted. Including you. We came back in time to fix something that had happened and now I’m heading back home.” Bucky says

“I honestly can’t understand a thing you just said.” Y/n felt insulted. It was like the world was playing twisted tricks on her.

“Remember how I said I lost my arm?” He removed his jacket and glove and a shiny black and gold metal arm stood in place for where his arm should’ve been.

You fall into a chair as everything became clear. This was really Bucky and what he had said was true.

“Believe me doll. I don’t wish to be anywhere but at a church marrying you, but I can’t stay” Bucky says

“I understand.” You whisper

“I’m sorry.” He sniffled

“Don’t worry about it, Bucky. Just go back to Sam and worry about your future.” You say as you get up and head to the bedroom.

Bucky frowns as turns to head back. His eyes catch a glimpse of a picture sitting in a frame. A simpler time to be exact.

A picture of you and Bucky.

“You can keep it, if you want.” You say

Immediately,Bucky takes the picture and shoved it into his inside pocket and smiled

“Thank you for everything, Bucky” you say as you hug him.

“I’m sorry it can’t be the way we wanted it” he says

“Go and take care of the future, Barnes.”

He looked down at you and smiled before kissing you for what felt like years and pulling back before leaving the apartment.

When he approached Sam, he smiled weakly and then the two were brought back to normal times and Bruce, Strange,Peter and Carol were there to welcome the two back.

“Nice work, boys” Carol says

Bucky opens his jacket and pulls the picture out as he walks back to his room smiling down and the photo.

His lovely little lady. The woman he couldn’t have, but still loved. Never thought that life would be this cruel

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Twelve: The One With the Coffee

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3073

Lily Briar Osborne. The girl that would lay her life down on the line for anyone who even showed her the slightest of affection. Or even just said hi to her on the subway or something. She would never hurt a fly. Never raise her voice or become angry. Even when parents grew upset with a diagnosis Lily had given to their child. But when it came to her son, her boy, the earth she, the sun, revolved around. That's when she would cut someone. She would go to war for Hunter, and everybody who knew Lily understood this. And they all knew never to cross her when it surrounded her only child.

She would even dare to take on the challenge of a six-foot-four, 220 pounds, man, made out of strictly muscle. Lily Osborne. The five-foot-five, 128 pounds, meek, and frail doctor would throw down in an apartment building parking lot almost an entire foot taller than her if it meant protecting her son from his reckless tendencies for the rest of his (hopefully) long-lived life. The surge of strength that ran through her veins rivalled the primal levels that a woman can feel while experiencing childbirth. For it has been scientifically proven that the mama bear instinct is indeed a real thing women experience, their child or not. It is wired in a woman's DNA to place their own life at risk or face an unspeakable force if it meant protecting a child. Especially when that said person is a mother, it heightens that instinct.

So the sheer thought of Scott putting their child, and Mary's, in danger, was enough to make Lily a new woman. One with no reservations or any sort of anxiety holding her back. She wished to inflict the pain he made her feel on to him. Make him experience the heartache that he had caused her for over ten years. Together or not. The heartbreak he inflicted on her. The feeling of abandonment that Hunter experienced at such a young age. And it all came to a head because he had decided to make the brilliant choice of leaving his children home with a deadbeat babysitter. And all she wanted was to strangle the life out of him.

But that would create more problems than it would solve, wouldn't it?

"What do you mean I'm done being a father? He is my son Lily," Scott grumbled, his voice dropping a few octaves in an attempt to create a more domineering presence.

"He is more Gen's child than he will ever be yours. The divorce gave you a second chance to be better. And you blew it. Again," the blonde snapped, stepping back and draping her arm across her son's frail shoulders, "Tell Mary to call me if she needs any divorce tips."

With the final dig served, Lily lead her son and the others back towards her car, where everybody piled in. But before the doors shut. One voice, one powerful and overprotective voice spoke out, "See you in court, jackass." Rose's voice called from the driver’s seat before Gen slammed the door and everybody was locked inside of the car.

-----

After dropping Gen and Rose off at Gen's apartment building, Bucky took over the wheel after Lily inputted the GPS. Seeing as he was the only sober one since Rose left...being a supersoldier and all. Lily sat in the backseat of her car, gripping her son close to her chest as the car revved along the empty streets of now suburban New York. Gentle music played in the background as Lily listened to the soft breathing emitting from Hunter's lips. The boy had dozed off not too long ago, and let’s face it, the boy deserved to have some shut-eye. He had just gone through something that would stick with him through all of his years. But one thing kept sticking inside of Lily's mind as if stuck on repeat.

Why was the guy calling out Scott's name while banging on the door?

"Want me to carry him in?" Bucky's soothing voice cooed, snapping Lily out of her thoughts. Without realizing it, they had arrived back at the quaint-style house that she and Hunter called home. Her hand halted from stroking the blonde hair atop of her son’s head and gave the man upfront a gentle smile.

"Oh, that's okay. I've carried him from the car a few times," Lily smiled while popping open the car door and scooping her son into her arms. She let out a quiet grunt as she stepped from the car, forgetting that he was still a growing boy. Seeing as he was turning 12 soon...Lily almost became tearful at the thought of him growing up. Clearing her throat, she nodded to the keys in Buckys hand, "Unlock the door for me would you?"

Complying, the three passed the threshold, coming face to face with a sleeping Joey at the front door. Lily smiled gently and stepped over the large dog that continued snoring on as she walked Hunter up to his room, tucking him in under the blue Captain America comforter she had gotten him for Christmas last year. Flicking on the Thor nightlight that sat on Hunter's bedside table, Lily placed a kiss on his forehead before shutting the white door behind her. She slid into her own bedroom to step out of her dress and pulled on pyjamas, scrubbing the makeup off of her face and letting her hair down. When she exited her room, her eyes spotted the kitchen light on, the blonde walked down the wooden stairs, feet tapping gently. Her green eyes laid on Bucky, looking at the framed pictures of the little mismatched group that Lily called her family.

Pictures of Lily, her brother, and her sister as kids. Lily a ripe 14 years old, Rose standing at a solid seven, and Cedar still being a young three-year-old. His eyes flickering across to one of Lily and Hunter in front of Stark tower When the young boy was only eight. Or Lily, Rose, and Gen sharing glasses of champagne at her bachelorette party all of those years ago. One of Lily's personal favourites though was her graduation photo. A bright smile plastered on her face as she held her diploma in her hands. But the one that Bucky couldn't seem to take his eyes off of is one of Lily's least favourites.

The first time that Lily held Hunter in her arms. Her hair stuck to her forehead from the sweat of childbirth. It had been 27-hour labour, and Lily's face stayed puffy and red as she held the freshly swaddled and cleaned baby in her gentle arms. Tears rolled down her cheeks as the baby halted his screaming the moment his mother’s heartbeat began to radiate in his ears. The god-awful hospital light beat down on Lily's face, creating a fluorescent glow around her already beaming facial expression. Everything inside of her wanted to toss the photo off of the picture table and keep it for her eyes only. But her mother loved the photo and managed to convince her ever-so-insecure daughter to leave it. Alicia Osborne had said it showed genuine happiness from her daughter and created a new light. It was raw and real. And that's what everyone loved about it.

Especially Mr. Barnes.

"Twenty-seven hours later..." Lily sighed gently as she leaned on the banister, "I wanted to get a c-section but looking back at it I'm glad I didn't...but the pain is still a haunting memory." The blonde commented, eyes scanning over the pictures herself.

In each picture that was taken without Lily's knowledge, her smile was bright. A warm glow lit up any room that she managed to find herself in. It was an infectious thing, the doctor’s smile. It radiated kindness and sincerity. A certain type of authenticity that seemed to be a gift that was few and far between. Everybody had become too hostile and aggressive with one another, but that one diamond always seemed to be found in a group of coal. And that's how the majority of people in her life viewed Lily. She was the one tomato that would grow on the plant when you first started gardening. The rose that stuck out brighter than the rest. And even though she tried so hard to blend in and run with the crowd, Lily's energy, or aura as Gen would say, was too charming for anybody to ignore. Much to the eldest Osborne's dismay.

"You look beautiful," Bucky began, hand resting on the side of the silver frame and lifting up the photograph, getting a closer look at all of the small details. The way the tears made her eyes light up like green Christmas lights. or how they seemed to be made of stained glass. How he could see all of the similarities between Hunter and Lily, even when he was just born. The curve of their noses, the twinkle of love in their eyes. A bit of Bucky's heart broke at the domesticity of it all. Sure he was a playboy back in the ‘40s, but he had dreamed of a family one day. A small home and a dog. A beautiful wife beside him and a son and a daughter, similar to the life that Lily leads now. but he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to find that, "Just...naturally."

Placing the sentimental picture back down, Bucky raised his ice-blue eyes to look at the woman that stood on the stairs. Her golden hair tousled, laying perfectly messy across her shoulders. The pale skin of her cheekbones that were naturally coloured a bit red. How Lily's face was so naturally beautiful, even with the faint acne scars on her cheek, the blemishes across her forehead and chin (no doubt from her work). The deepness of her under-eye that was permanently stained a purple hue from countless late shifts and sleepless nights. The way her eyes fluttered open and closed as she attempted to keep herself awake and coherent after the hectic night that she had just suffered through.

"Thank you. I didn't feel very beautiful at that moment though. Just a lot of emotions going through my mind." she chuckled sleepily, barefoot landing on the cool hardwood of the main floor of her two-story home. Lily stepped forward, past the supersoldier as she herself lifted the picture from his hand to look at herself and her son. But who was missing from the picture? You guessed it. Scott, "You're probably wondering where the father of my son is in this picture," Lily commented, tears welling up on her waterline, "Supposedly stuck at work. But I learned later that wasn't the case."

Dropping the framed photo back onto her small table collection, Lily kept her eyes down on the floor. She had grown ashamed (?) of her past relationship. How he had so obviously been walking all over her like she was a rug. And instead of standing up for herself and confronting the son of a bitch, she took it. For seven years, Lily took the pain and emotional trauma that Scott had inflicted upon her heart and mind. All because she hadn't had the strength or the courage to stand up for herself. To know her own worth and realize that she was Lily Osborne. One of the top pediatricians in new york. Single mother of an eleven-year-old boy. The woman who graduated top of her class, all while raising a child alone in New York. The girl who came out on the other side of an emotionally abusive and draining relationship alive and intact. She was Lily fucking Osborne. And she had allowed a deadbeat, no good, son of a bitch, to use and manipulate her like a pawn in his game.

And she was ashamed of it.

"And who's this big guy." Bucky's smooth voice cooed, once again, reeling Lily in from the dark corners of her mind. Lily glanced over her shoulder to see Bucky delicately stroking Joey's ears. The dog had a stupid grin on his face, just enjoying the attention from the new person his mom had decided to bring into her home.

"That's joey. The other boy in my life." Lily smiled, eyes creasing as she admired the way Bucky interacted with her dog. Though not much of a guard, clearly, Joey was an excellent judge of character. Lily had learned this when she once brought home a nurse friend and Joey lost his ever-loving mind. It was later revealed that that nurse was stealing money out of Lily's wallet. And really, ever since that moment, Lily trusted Joey's reaction to people she brought home.

And by the looks of it, the German Shepherd had a new favourite friend. Lily's heart swelled at the sight that had taken place in front of her. The soft touches Bucky made with his left hand. The metal one. It seemed as though Bucky was nervous he would scare Joey, or worse, cause harm. But to Lily, it was one of the most endearing things she had seen him do in the entirety of their friendship? If that's even what it was. The two weren't romantically involved, they weren't close friends. They were more so acquaintances. Of course, Lily was attracted to Bucky, he looked like he had been sculpted by the Greek gods. Not to mention, he was a kind soul. He was sweet and caring. And the way he acted for Hunter and the way that he treated Joey was evident of that.

"Uh, do you want some coffee?" Lily asked, scratching her cheeks with her nails, shifting her weight before walking off towards the white and grey-styled kitchen with navy blue accents. Her thin hand dripped the dark kettle and filled it with water before placing it back onto the boiling device. Her deep-set eyes glanced over her shoulder to see Bucky once again admiring the pictures placed aesthetically on a brown stained wood table, "Bucky?"

"Hm? Oh, sure. thank you." his voice echoed. It was a deep vibrato tone that sent a shiver down Lily's spine. It was a voice that Lily would love to hear in the mornings. One that she could only imagine would continue to drop a few octaves. Small grunts as he stretched after waking from a deep slumber. cradling Lily tight in his arms as Joey snored soundly at the end of their bed with the light shining through the sheer white curtains.

The feeling of his calloused flesh hand and the contrast of his cold metal hand sliding along her pale and supple side in the morning. Slightly chapped and swollen lips kissing her forehead as her soft breathing radiated against his chest. Whatever it was about Bucky, it had an everlasting effect on Lily. It kept her heart beating rapidly and her face growing a deep shade of red that matched the natural rosacea of her cheeks. She longed for the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around her thin waist as he pressed gentle and generous kisses to her cheek and down her neck, creating goosebumps on her skin.

Lily pulled out her coffee grounds from the cupboard and perked up when she heard the soft footsteps of Bucky's shoes tapping against her floors. After the kettle screamed at her, Lily poured two cups and took out the cream and sugar from her fridge and baking cupboard. Turning around, she came face to face with that same broad chest that she did all those weeks ago. A small gasp escaped her lips as the coffee sloshed inside of the navy blue mugs she held in each hand as she bit her lip.

"I take two sugar," he stated, cool eyes looking down at the girl as she attempted to avoid any contact between them. When she moved left, he thought to do the same. When she went to duck around his right side, he accidentally blocked her path. It was an uncoordinated, unplanned tango that neither one of them knew how to end. Well, that's what Lily thought at least.

His large hands reached forward and grabbed the mugs from Lily's. The supersoldier placed them on the counter island behind him before returning his attention to the much smaller blonde girl in front of him. Without thinking, he placed both hands with no hesitation on either side of her face. Her breathing came to a halt as he leaned forward and planted a deep and passionate kiss on her flower soft lips. His human hand threading into the hair that hung on the left side of her face, the golden tresses tangling into his fingers. Her own eyes fluttered closed as she returned the pressure that he had initiated onto her lips. Lily's arms slid around the man’s neck as she took a hesitant step forward, closing the small gap that kept them apart.

And after what Lily believed to be hours, the two broke away, lungs gasping for air. Lily's face exploded into a fit of red as she stared into the same eyes that always seemed to make her feel like she had a place in the world. Even if she had only seen or even been around him a handful of times, Bucky Barnes made Lily feel like she was the most special girl in the world, just by maintaining (or attempting) eye contact with her through those steel-blue eyes of his. The same eyes that used to be hidden by a mask and glasses because it was too dangerous for anyone to see his face. The same eyes that had seen the horrors of the world. The ones that watched men and women die at his hands.

"Your room is on the left when you go upstairs."

And with that, Lily darted out of his grip and up the wooden stairs with her heart pounding in her chest so loud she wouldn't be surprised if he could hear it. It played a dangerous rhythm in her ears as she shut her own bedroom door and fell back onto the plush pillows and blankets that laid decoratively on her bed. Lily's calloused hands slapped her forehead before sliding down to cover her entire face. The moment replayed in her head 1000 times over.

He kissed her. And she liked it.

[spookyfbi]

Another untitled Klave fic

I’m like 95% certain that Klaus changed the timeline so Dave never met him so even though I don’t want it I still made a fic about it in the hopes that maybe if I write it down it won’t happen in the show. Also some Ben angst because of course

Klaus walked into the Veterans of Foreign Wars bar and glanced at the wall where he knew Dave’s photo was. He’d go see Dave in a minute, but he needed a drink first. Oh god, he needed a drink, or several. Actually, he needed a line of coke, but a drink would suffice for now. He could imagine Ben’s whine… Don’t do it, Klaus… Be strong, Klaus… Oh, Ben. He missed his brother. That emo Ben doppelgänger and his pals had done a number on Klaus and his siblings back at the Academy, and after being unceremoniously thrown out of their former home, Five had told them not to separate, but Alison had wanted to go see Claire (if her daughter was even alive in this timeline) and they all just sort of dispersed to see what this new timeline was all about. Klaus didn’t much care who he was in this timeline, he just needed a little pick-me-up after… everything. So he grabbed a shot glass and filled it with some spirit or other and sent it down the hatch.

Klaus downed a few more shots and then stumbled his way over to Dave. He looked at the photo and… wait. Wait, what? Klaus furrowed his brow as he stared at the photo through the glass. Dave wasn’t in the photo, and for that matter, neither was Klaus. Klaus leaned in to the photo, reaching his hands out to the glass, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He was vaguely aware of someone approaching and standing next to him.

“Hey…” the man said.

Klaus sighed and waved the man away without taking his eyes from the photo. “Yeah yeah, I know, Vets only. Look, I’m kind of having a moment here, if you don’t mind, so kindly buzz off and leave me alone.” Klaus just felt so tired and he just wanted to see his dead boyfriend’s face without having to deal with some asshole who thought he didn’t belong.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just… I always hoped I’d see you again. So I could thank you.”

Klaus rolled his eyes. Oh god… He grabbed the man’s hand and looked at his palm. No ‘Hello’ or ‘Good bye’. “Oh, thank god.” Not a cult member. He let go of the man’s hand and returned his gaze back to the photo and something nagged at him at the back of his mind that he might have paid attention to if he were more sober.

“Y’know, you were wrong about A Shau Valley, Hill 689. I was never sent there. But you were right about Dune, so thanks for the book recommendation.”

Klaus froze. Slowly he turned to look at this man, and god… those familiar kind blue eyes looked back at him, hidden under more than a few wrinkles.

“It wasn’t published till 1965 though, so that’s kind of interesting, considering you told me about it in 1963.” The elderly Dave that stood before him folded his arms with a playful smirk.

Klaus let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and it came out as a sob, along with the tears that were burning his eyes, and once he started he couldn’t stop. Klaus wept in this Veteran’s bar in front of an elderly Dave who knew him only as a peacenik cult leader who tried and failed to persuade him not to enlist. He wept for Dave and he wept for Ben and he wept for himself and he wept for the cut on his lip that still stung whenever he thought about it, and he tried not to think about it, tried to drown the memory in as much booze as he could manage.

“Hey…” Dave’s smirk vanished and he looked at Klaus with concern. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he placed a hand on Klaus’ arm and god… to feel Dave’s touch again. It was too much and not enough and everything and Klaus drew in a shaky breath but it came out in another sob. Dave moved his hand to Klaus’ back and gestured to a nearby seat. “Come on, why don’t you sit down, I’ll get you a drink.”

Klaus sat down and took a few deep breaths, rubbing his eyes with his palms. Slowly he felt himself calming down, and Dave returned with a large glass of very light beer and Klaus had to smile. He took the beer and cradled it between his hands. “I’m sorry…” he began, looking sheepishly at Dave, who took the seat next to him.

Dave shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re clearly going through something.” Dave let it hang for a moment and then when Klaus didn’t respond, “I know I’m just some stranger you haven’t seen since 1963, but… if you want to talk…”

And he did, god he did. He wanted to talk to Dave… or to Ben… or to anyone who would listen or care how he was feeling. But what could he possibly tell this Dave that wouldn’t sound completely insane? “I lost my brother… earlier today” It was still today, wasn’t it? Or was it yesterday? Or was it more accurate to say 56 years ago?

“I’m so sorry.” Dave said gently. “I know how much it hurts to lose someone.”

Klaus straightened up and looked at Dave. “You do?”

Dave nodded. “My husband, Frank. Complications related to Alzheimers, 3 years ago. He was 74, so it wasn’t exactly unexpected, but… I still miss him every day. But we had 52 happy years together.”

“I’m sorry.” Klaus whispered. He was never good at math when dear old Dad wanted him to be, but he was pretty quick when it was important to him, even when he was high or drunk. Figuring out if he was getting a good deal on the shit he was being sold, figuring out how far he could stretch it when money was a little tight. Klaus found his mind making the calculation before he’d even meant to. 2019 - 3 - 52 = 1964. That closeted 19 year old who couldn’t even admit the real reason he wanted to enlist in the army somehow met a young man named Frank only a year later who he would end up marrying. Dave met a man named Frank in 1964, which meant that Dave and this Frank were together in 1968. Dave was not single in 1968. Dave had a long and happy life with a man named Frank. Klaus didn’t know how to feel.

“It feels good to remember him. To talk about him.” Dave leaned forward and cocked his head. “Would you like to talk about your brother?”

Klaus closed his eyes and nodded. “Ben…” he whispered, then he sniffed. “He was always looking out for me. But he was sorta mean and whiny about it sometimes. Be strong Klaus, don’t give into temptation Klaus, have some eggs and orange juice Klaus, don’t forget to go to your AA meeting Klaus…”

“AA?” Dave looked down at the beer Klaus was holding and gently took it back from him and placed it on a nearby table. He looked back at Klaus with a kind smile.

“Oh, like that one beer would’ve made a difference. I had seven shots of rum just now and a half a bottle of tequila before I got here.”

“Well, it’s never too late to stop.”

“Why bother?” Klaus leaned back in the seat and gazed at Dave and god if this were his Dave who could love him and live the rest of his life with him he might consider it, but… “I’ve failed at everything I’ve ever tried. I’m just sexy trash. I know this and I accept it. Why fight it?” Klaus reached for the beer but Dave slid it further away. “You know it’s free drinks here, I could just get some more myself.” Dave said nothing but just looked at Klaus and Klaus looked back at Dave and he told himself he could get up and get some more booze if he wanted to but something in him held him in his seat. “What do you care anyway, old man?”

“I could ask you the same question. What did you care if some kid from Dallas enlisted in the army and died in the Vietnam war?” Klaus sighed. How could he possibly begin to answer that question? How could he possibly explain it to this Dave? “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I’ve gone this long without an answer.” Dave shifted in his seat. “I don’t think your trash, far from it.”

Klaus pointed at Dave. “But you do think I’m sexy.”

Dave chuckled. “Well I am very gay. And I may be old, but my eyes are still fully functioning. So yeah, I think you’re sexy. And you’re confident and brave in a way that I really wanted to be when I was younger. Y’know, I thought about you, when I saw Frank in a bar in Saigon. He was so handsome and I wanted to go up and talk to him. I was so scared, but I thought of you. I thought of how… completely unapologetic and unashamed you were when my uncle called you a queer. And I thought… I can do it. I can be like that too. I was so nervous. But I thought of you and I felt a little bit braver. And I did it. My hands were shaking the whole time, but I did it. I said hi and I asked if I could buy him a drink and he said yes. And we talked and we danced and… god, I was shaking all over, but… I kissed him. And he kissed me back, and that was it, we were inseparable ever since. You inspired me. You inspired me to talk to Frank and we had a wonderful life together. You may not have saved me from enlisting but you saved me in another way. You saved me from myself. I always wanted to tell you that.”

“Oh, god…” Klaus leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “That’s so wonderful.” He felt like he was going to be sick. “I’m a god damn fucking gay love guru.” A bar in Saigon. Drinks, dancing, talking, a kiss. It was a familiar story, just with a different love interest. Frank, that lucky bastard, whoever he was.

“Hey, are you okay?” Klaus felt Dave’s hand on his back and it was warm… hot, it was too hot and too much because Dave fell in love with a man named Frank in a bar in Saigon in 1964.

Klaus sat back up. “Oh yeah, I’m peaches and cream, baby. I’m…” Klaus forced the words out, “…so happy for you. It’s just, y’know, what’s that story about the Cobbler with no feet?”

“The Cobbler’s children have no shoes?”

“Right.”

Dave seemed to hesitate for a moment. “I don’t mean to burden you while you’re grieving. I wanted you to know what it meant to me to see someone like you when I was younger, but… not if it upsets you. I can go if you’d rather be alone right now.”

“No please don’t go” the words slipped out before Klaus could hold them back because god, he hadn’t been alone in 17 years, and the thought of it frightened him.

Dave nodded.

“Y’know, Ben didn’t think I should talk to you, back in 1963.” Klaus let out a chuckle. “I wish I could see the look on his face right now.”

“What would he say?”

“Oh, I don’t know, he’d probably say I shouldn’t be talking to you right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh…” Klaus shook his head. “It’s… so complicated…” Klaus pointed a finger at Dave “Hey, do me a favour. Promise me you won’t ever time travel. That shit’ll mess you up.”

Dave chuckled. “Sure, next time I’m offered the opportunity to time travel.”

“Yeah…” Klaus looked down. “Ben was a good brother. And I was kind of a shitty brother.” He looked back up at Dave. “In my defence, I had a shitty childhood. When I left home at 17, Ben came with me, and he’s been with me ever since, an annoying angel on my shoulder whining at me about how I was screwing up my life. Until this afternoon…”

“Sounds irritating”

“Oh god, you have no idea! So irritating! But… as much as I hate to admit it, he did talk me out of some of the dumber shit I could have done. He was just looking out for me. And I didn’t really appreciate it. And now he’s gone and I’m…” Klaus swallowed. “I’m scared.” He’d never been this open with anyone before, except for Dave. But this wasn’t his Dave. But it felt so good to pretend, to share his burdens with someone who actually listened and didn’t just see him as a no good junkie. “I’m scared…” he chuckled nervously, avoiding eye contact. “of the dumb shit I’m going to do without him telling me not to.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, y’know, I mean… well us junkies do have a tendency to find ourselves overdosed in some ditch somewhere.”

Dave looked at him for what felt like the longest time and Klaus chuckled to lighten the mood but it didn’t seem to work. “Do you know the assisted living facility just up the road?” Klaus shook his head because why on earth would he? Dave gestured behind Klaus. “It’s that big building with the blue roof, you can’t miss it.”

Klaus looked back and he could see it through the bar window. “Okay…” he said, turning back to Dave.

“I live there. Frank and I moved there when he started… forgetting things.” Dave cleared his throat. “Anyway… if you feel like you’re gonna do something dumb, or if you just want to talk, you come there and see me, okay? I’ll tell the girls who work reception to expect you, they’re really nice.”

Klaus felt his lower lip trembling and he smiled to keep from crying again. He swallowed hard. “Oh… I’ve guilted you into saying that…”

“No, not at all”

“Come on…”

“Look, I’m an old widower with no kids who lives in a nursing home. I don’t get too many visitors. I’d love for you to come talk to me, about anything you like. That is, if you’d ever want to visit a lonely old man in a nursing home.”

Klaus couldn’t hold back his sob this time. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot, actually.”

Dave smiled.

“Hey… this might sound weird, and feel free to say no if you like, but…” Klaus took a deep breath and it was getting easier to see his Dave beneath all those wrinkles. “Can I lean my head on your shoulder?” When Dave didn’t respond immediately, Klaus shook his head. “You can say no, I mean, that was… really forward, I just…”

“Sure” Klaus peered at Dave carefully, and Dave smiled warmly and nodded, holding his arm out in invitation. So Klaus rested his head on Dave’s shoulder, and Dave put his arm around Klaus, and Klaus let the tears come. “I know sometimes it’s nice to be held, when you’re upset.”

“Yeah…” Klaus sobbed through the tears.

[meterokinesis]

Black and Blue

Read it on AO3

Prompt: “bruises”

TW for domestic violence, physical abuse, harm to children. Please read responsibly.

Summary: Bruce Wayne never expected his children to come to him whole. But he never expected Tim Drake to be so bruised.

(Or, Batman saves the boy who saved him)

Bruce never expected his children to come to him whole.

Dick had calluses and impacted musculoskeletal growth, along with an anger Bruce wasn’t sure would ever be sated. Jason was malnourished and coping with PTSD, and had scars with more history than most developed nations. But of them all, he expected Tim to be the least shattered; he’d grown up in the lap of luxury after all.

He never expected Tim to be so bruised.

                                           _________________

Tim was a smart kid, no doubt about that. Years ago, Bruce had taken a look at his records: straight A’s since kindergarten, fluency in three languages and working on a fourth, an IQ of 142. He wasn’t Lex Luthor, but it was impressive for a kid of just 13. Especially a kid who never seemed to stay in one place for long.

Tim’s school records revealed more than just his intelligence. He was taught by an au pair until kindergarten, then went to a private elementary school just outside Gotham for three years. From third to fifth grade he was enrolled at Gotham Academy as a boarder. Middle school was spent at another boarding school in Gotham, but he was allowed home on weekends. He’d start freshman year at a public school, Louis E. Grieves Memorial, the upcoming September.

Bruce didn’t pretend to know everything about child psychology, but he was sure that repeated upheavals were bad for any child, let alone one who was smarter than most of his classmates to begin with. He didn’t even want to think about Tim going to a public school in a few weeks.

It was the reports from Tim’s teachers that made Bruce hesitate the most:

Timothy struggles with connecting to other classmates.

Timothy stayed indoors during recess, claiming a stomach ache. When asked if he wanted to play with the others, he shook his head and went back to reading.

Timothy is a pleasure to have in class, but the school mandates that parents must sign off on permission slips, rather than nannies.

Timothy’s roommate frequently complains about Timothy’s nightmares. The Drake family doctor has prescribed sleeping aids to help the problem.

Timothy came back from his weekend at home with a black eye and multiple new surface injuries. He insists he fell while skateboarding.

It didn’t take a detective to know that Tim was being bullied. He was a skinny kid with gelled-up hair and an affinity for math. As Tim himself once put it, he was “every coming-of-age movie’s nerd who gets shoved into a locker.” That didn’t make it any better.

Bruce hadn’t realized that he was at the Drakes’ house until his knuckles stalled an inch from the door. The limo that hauled the Drakes around wasn’t in the driveway. This wasn’t a wellness check, it was a nice walk that ended in seeing his newest sidekick. That was an excuse he could live with.

He rapped twice: two loud, short knocks that seemed to echo. Not a minute later, he could hear locks clicking on the other side of the door, and there was Tim--all 5’2” of him.

It wasn’t Tim’s short stature or gelled hair that made Bruce’s heart sink, though. It was the bruises that caressed his jaw and temple that almost ended in a black eye. His nose was bruised, but Bruce didn’t think it was broken. Probably. The bruises were fresh, less than 24 hours old. Tim had been beaten up recently.

“Who did this to you?” He tried to ask gently, but it came out too harsh and too breathy all at once. Bruce reached out for Tim’s shoulder, but the young teenager avoided him with ease, like it was a practiced movement.

“‘S not important,” Tim mumbled, his tone achingly adolescent.

“I know you’re getting bullied, Tim. I know it’s been going on for a long time. I need you to tell me who it is so they can see consequences.” Bruce had never done this before. He’d saved kids from hostage situations and from the creepy guy on the playground. But he’d never had to save kids from other kids.

Instead of breaking down in tears like Bruce expected, Tim barked a short laugh.

“I’m not getting bullied, B. I’m Robin, do you seriously think Tyrone Wright bothers me anymore? Not to mention, I never have to see him again. He’s going to Gotham Academy next year.”

“Then who-” Bruce’s sentence fell apart as his mouth caught up with his mind. Fresh bruises. Not another kid. The Drakes left this morning.

Oh.

“Tim,” he began slowly, “did your father do this to you?”

Tim’s demeanor dropped immediately, and he wouldn’t look Bruce in the eye. Seconds passed without a response, and for a second Bruce could painfully feel how, in this moment, they were Batman and a scared child.

“He didn’t mean to,” Tim finally let out, his voice as quiet as a dying breath.

Worry churned in Bruce’s stomach. Those words were never a good sign.

“I need you to explain everything that happened last night, okay?” Bruce said, as gently as he could while his heart was breaking. “Do you want to talk here, or at the Manor?”

Instead of answering, Tim slipped back into the house, leaving the door open for Bruce to follow. Bruce crossed the threshold, and took in the Drake mansion. It was full of that post-modern, minimalist decor that Bruce despised. It looked sterile, like a museum or a morgue. It certainly didn’t look like a place that housed a 13 year old boy.

Tim led him past the foyer and the formal sitting room and into the kitchen, where he selected a stool at the island. The counters were marble and impeccably clean. The cabinets were glass and white-painted wood. It looked like something out of a magazine. Pictures lined the walls, but they were all landscapes of foreign lands. Bruce couldn’t spot a single family photo.

“Where are your parents? I thought they were supposed to be in Gotham for at least another week,” Bruce began, but he truly didn’t care that the Drakes were gone. Good riddance.

“They left this morning for Haiti. Some big dig started early and they couldn’t miss it,” Tim whispered, his tone much wetter than it had been a few minutes before. “We were supposed to have a big going-away dinner, but I was playing my music too loud and didn’t hear my dad when he called. He came in and saw me just sitting on my bed and told me to stand up. S-so I did and he slapped m-” Tim’s sentences were barely-suppressed sobs now.

“He hit you so hard you bruised?” Bruce prompted, frowning. “Has he done this before?”

“N-no. To both. I wasn’t ready and I fell and hit my head on my desk. It’s not like that’s what he wanted to happen.” Tim had managed to choke down the tears, and was now staring solemnly at Bruce. It was as if he’d learned to quiet his sorrow as quickly as possible.

“Tim…” Bruce murmured, but he could barely get the words out over the pain of his heart splintering. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s not your fault. Your dad shouldn’t have hit you. No adult should hit a child, ever.” 

Tim stared at the countertop, but remained silent. Bruce reached out to pat him on the back, but when his hand brushed Tim’s shoulder, Tim flinched. Bruce didn’t try to touch him again after that.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he finally said, putting on the voice he used as Batman. “We’re going to go to the manor, take a look at your injuries, and watch some movies. Alfred will buy us those ice cream cookie sandwiches if we ask nicely. That sound good?”

Tim nodded mutely and pushed himself off the stool.

“Okay, what do you need to pack to stay at the Manor? Clothes, obviously--maybe a speaker?”

“He broke mine. Before he hit me.” Tim mumbled.

Bruce froze, just for a second. “Well, we’ll have to fix that. How about we get you a new WayneTech phone? You can download music onto it, and I’ll get you some earbuds too.” Bruce followed Tim as the boy wove his way through the house, all the way up to his room. It was starkly bare, with a few posters and knick knacks but not much else. Tim shoved clothes into a duffel bag, did a quick survey, then looked at Bruce.

“Ready.”

That’s it? It was shocking how easily Tim could pick himself out of this life, like he was a piece of lint on a fancy suit.

Still, Bruce smiled. “Then let’s go. I’m thinking Star Wars for the movies, how about you?”

Tim quipped something about how Star Trek was superior in every way, but all Bruce could think about were his other sons. It hadn’t even been six months since he’d lost Jason, but he was already letting another child in. He wasn’t going to let another little boy slip through the cracks.

And when the Drakes came home from Haiti, he would show them no mercy.

[juniperwindsong]

In Love & War (2/3)

Part 2: Retrouvaille

  You look down at the parchment in your hands, then back at the dilapidated building in front of you. The numbers match. This is the place. And a more unlikely setting for a casual conversation, you can’t imagine. You have to walk several flights of stairs to reach the top flat. You knock tentatively on the stripped-paint door, but it swings open at your touch. In spite of the sun shining behind you, the room within is shrouded in darkness.

  The thought of what Felix would say if he knew where you were and what you were about to do stops you before you enter. Felix, so all-consumed with your safety he thinks of almost nothing else. To walk into such an obvious trap after everything he’s done for you feels like a betrayal of the highest order. But the darkness ahead doesn’t frighten you nearly as much as the dark gaps in your memories. You're convinced now something is wrong, something is missing from your mind, and you cannot shake the feeling that Talbott Winger will be able to shed light on it.

  And if it turns out to be a trap, well, it's been a long time since you had a decent duel.

  You light your wand and push past the creaking door. It's a studio loft flat, the entirety of which could fit inside the Rosier mansion's second-best dining room. Your light arcs across the walls, scanning the dark for potential dangers. There's a worn but comfortable-looking sofa, soft curtains fluttering gently over the windows, and cheerily painted picture frames decorating the peeling walls. It might have been quite homey once, you think. Only now nearly everything is coated in a thick layer of dust and debris. A table near the kitchen alcove is piled high with used dishes and old fish-and-chip wrappers. You wrinkle your nose at the smell of stale food. There's a noticeable absence of animals or insect life, however, and you wonder whether the flat is entirely abandoned after all.

  Movement at the corner of your vision makes you jump. You look up, wand gripped tightly. A wavy pattern of light dances across the wall behind the table. A strange, flickering light, like the reflection of water. You step closer, searching for the source, when a picture hanging at an angle captures your attention.

  Even beneath the layers of dust, you recognise the yellow-gold eyes of Talbott Winger. A teenaged Talbott Winger, standing awkwardly at the edge of a group of young people wearing Hogwarts robes. As you stare, one of the other teenagers grabs Talbott's hand, dragging him closer. The students all smile and wave toward the camera, and Talbott's friend leans over to kiss his cheek. Several of the students cheer and Talbott's face turns a fiery red, but he smiles in spite of himself and doesn't pull away.

  You inspect Talbott's cheeky companion with interest. You squint at the face, trying to make it out beneath the dust and dirt. Something about them is painfully familiar. The figure turns to face the camera again, and shock like a thunderbolt roots you to the spot.

  “Y/N.”

  You whip around to find Talbott lurking near the door watching you. His wand is held at his side, but it doesn't occur to you to be afraid. Your head is reeling at the photograph's implications.

  “What is this?” You gesture at the picture.

  Talbott does not reply. He’s once again the self that seems most natural on him, brooding and silent.

  “Why am I in this photo? Why am I -“ You glance back at the picture to confirm what your mind is struggling to accept. You - a teenaged you, dressed in school robes - leaning in to kiss Talbott's cheek as you wave to the camera.

  “Were we.... together? At school?

  Talbott is still unwilling, or unable, to answer. He takes a few wooden steps toward you. You gather your wits enough to point your wand at his chest.

  "Stop!" you demand. You rake your free hand across your scalp, grappling for an explanation. "This is...some sort of trick, isn't it? You're trying to get information from me. About Felix.”

  Talbott only shakes his head. His eyes look almost as panicked as you feel.

  "Then why can't I remember you? Why can't I remember any of this? Why doesn't anything make sense?"

  "Your husband," Talbott pronounces the word with disgust, "is lying to you."

  Your heart skips a beat.

  "That's...quite an accusation." The tremor in your voice belies your arch words. A light has clicked on in your head, but you don't want to look at it.

  It makes sense. It's almost the only thing that makes sense. Felix's refusal to answer questions, to explain anything to you, to let you go anywhere... You've always known he was hiding something. You simply trusted him enough to let it go, at least for the time being. But lying? You picture your husband's adoring eyes and careful hands cupping your face. It's impossible to imagine Felix doing anything to hurt you.

  "Alright then. What is he lying about?"

  "Everything."

  Talbott takes a tentative step, eyes asking yours for permission. You hesitate. Then you lower your wand. You hold your breath as he walks, but Talbott stops on the other side of the table. He pushes aside greasy newspaper wrappings to reveal a stone basin underneath.

  "A Pensieve?"

  You've seen one just like it in Dumbledore's office. You wonder if it isn't the same one, it looks so similar. What is it doing here?

  "I don't know what he's done to you, but I think it's a powerful memory charm," says Talbott. He takes a small vial from his pocket and empties it into the Pensieve. "So you're not going to believe me if I tell you. But I think if I show you...you might remember."

  The contents of the basin begin to swirl. Talbott takes a step back and stares at you pointedly. You understand what he wants you to do. But it's madness to put yourself in such a vulnerable position with this man you cannot remember. You shouldn't even be considering it.

  You stare at the swirling basin. It’s filled to the brim with memories. And memories are everything you’ve been missing for so long. You approach the Pensieve, and, without letting yourself think anymore, plunge your face inside.

-

  Tendrils of liquid mist writhe about you as you sink in a swirl of light and colour. Fragments of memory play out quickly in front of your floating body: you see yourself, a ridiculously young you, watching in awe as a gawky yellow-eyed boy becomes a bird in the middle of the Hogwarts courtyard; then a version of yourself only slightly older peers anxiously through a gap in a bookcase, hands fiddling with your hair, until the young Talbott on the other side whispers, "My answer is yes," and you watch your own face light up in unrestrained joy.        

  Another swirl of mist turns the room into starlit sky, and the teenage you and Talbott are perched on the edge of the courtyard fountain. Talbott's hand inches across the stone toward yours. You meet him halfway, grinning furtively, your fingers just brushing his before Talbott grips them tightly, as though you might run away at any second. Then the courtyard morphs into a greenhouse, stars still winking overhead, and you're holding hands with Talbott across a table. The teenage you holds her breath, and you can feel your own present-day chest suddenly still, as Talbott leans over and places tentative lips on your cheek.

  You reach up to touch your own, older cheek as if the imprint might still be there. Then your fingers brush your lips. There's a burning there, as well, and you suddenly know where the next memory will be just before the swirling mist subsides.

  The owlrey, at sunset. You and Talbott sit cross-legged on the straw, books spread out between you. You're supposed to be studying, you remember, but you can't keep your eyes off the boy next to you. He's staring at his book with all the appearance of unflappable focus. Then he darts a glance at you from the corner of his eye. The younger you smiles. In a rush of boldness you can feel as well as see, the younger you presses your lips to Talbott's in the whisper of a kiss.

  Echos of exhilaration, and a sudden horrible fear that you've gone too far, rush through your veins as if the moment were happening to you again. Then Talbott reaches for your teenage self, yanking you closer, his mouth open in a desperate, un-practiced, entirely un-self-conscious kiss. Your first kiss.

  You remember it now. You close your eyes, but the scene continues to play behind your eyelids. Your awkward teenage fumbling with lips and teeth and tongue, interspersed with giggles and later with breathy sighs. That kiss had meant everything to you. It had lulled you to sleep at night for so many years. It was the memory that inspired your patronus. How could you have forgotten it?

  You open your eyes again. Images continue to flash in quick succession and your dizzy brain tries desperately to keep up. There's you and Talbott in the library passing notes to each other between the bookcases; laying out on the grass with Talbott, your fingers intertwined, watching the stars and sharing secrets; stolen moments with Talbott in the owlrey, discovering each other's bodies slowly and sweetly; Talbott cradling you against him at Rowan's funeral, ignoring the whispers and raised eyebrows of the students around you; Talbott's burning face and pleased smile as you kiss his cheek for your graduation photograph.  

  Each moment ignites a flame of recognition inside you. You try to remember everything all at once, itemize every moment you've somehow forgotten. But your head feels like it's breaking under the barrage of memories.

  Then the mists converge and settle into a scene more still and focused than the others. A slightly older Talbott stands stiffly in the middle of an empty studio flat. You recognise it as the flat you've left your body in. Only it's less dusty and dirty, and there's sunlight streaming through open, curtain-less windows.

  You look around for your younger self, but Talbott is alone. These must be Talbott's memories then, not yours. He's rubbing the back of his neck so hard he might wear the skin away, and shooting panicked looks around the empty room. His yellow-gold eyes dart to a window. You can tell he's fighting the urge to take flight. Then the door to the flat swings open noisily. It slams against the wall and a rain of plaster sprinkles to the floor.

  "Whoops!" you hear your own voice say. A you, slightly older than the graduation photo and with different hair, staggers into the flat. There’s a tower of boxes balanced in your arms. "Guess we'll need to fix that."

  You flash a grin at Talbott, but it fades when you catch sight of his expression.

  "What's wrong?"

  Talbott says nothing. He figdets with the pocket of his trousers and doesn't meet your eye.

  Carefully, you tip your boxes to the floor. You take slow, deliberate steps toward Talbott, as if approaching an extra skittish bowtruckle.

  "You don't...I mean...you've not changed your mind, have you?"

  If anything, Talbott looks more anxious than before. He shakes his head so violently hair swings about his face. He stares at you, mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a baby bird. Your younger self considers this for a moment. Then you take a deep breath and say, "Okay. Hold on."

  Pointing your wand at the boxes, your younger self murmurs, "Windgardium Leviosa,” levitating them carefully to the middle of the room. The boxes settle into even columns until they form a wall about waist height. You dig through the top box and come up with parchment and quill. Then you slide down one side of the cardboard wall. Your hand sneaks around to pat the space on the other side.

  The present-day you smiles as you watch Talbott take the proffered seat. You know what this is. It’s the ritual the two of you invented at school, whenever Talbott's anxiety robbed him of speech. What others often mistook for haughty silence, you discovered was really Talbott trapped in his own head, too overwhelmed to explain his thoughts aloud. So you wrote him notes. You left them in the owlery, or his schoolbooks, or slid them between bookshelves in the library to where he waited on the other side. You let him write, at his own pace, everything that was on his mind, until the panic subsided and he could speak again.

  As you watch, your younger self scribbles a single word on the parchment, then slides it back to Talbott. You don't have to look to remember what it says.

  Hey

  Hey yourself, Talbott writes, sliding the parchment back.

  You don't seem excited about moving day. Is it the flat? I know it's rubbish, but I can fix a good bit of that.

   Talbott grimaces before writing in his careful hand: I don't mind about the flat. It's ours. It's perfect.

  So why the long face?

  This time, it takes Talbott minutes before he's able to pen the words, I'm afraid, and push the parchment toward you.

  Of what?

   Talbott's hand-writing is now a hasty scrawl. What if some dark wizard I'm tracking comes looking for me and finds you instead? What if I'm not here to help you?

   Your younger self grins. Talbott, I outduel you every time. I'm more worried about you going to work without me.

   The corner of Talbott's lips twitch before his face clouds again. What if you change your mind later?

   I won't.

   The next words come slow and shaky. Talbott presses the quill so hard to the parchment ink bleeds through.When he's finished, Talbott tosses the parchment aside. You have to stretch your arm around the boxes to reach it.

  I don't want to lose you.

  And you remember without having to look the little pinpricks of tears in yours eyes as you read this. You set the parchment down and crawl around the boxes to Talbott's side. You settle yourself across Talbott's lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing your forehead to his.

  "You aren't going to lose me. I promise."

  Then Talbott's hands are everywhere at once: roaming through your hair, down your arms, across every bit of your body he can reach. His mouth takes yours like a drowning man fighting for air. Even now, so many years later, you can feel your heart stop with the force of that kiss. There's nothing gentle or careful about his clutching fingers or his hungry lips. It's a primal, animal sort of need that makes you gasp and tremble and wrap your legs around him.

  Talbott pulls you harder against him, as close as you can possibly be, but it isn't close enough. It never is. Not after you've removed every layer of clothing separating you, nor when he pins you to the ground, your frantic movements testing the integrity of the floorboards. You always need more of him. It's why you can make a promise like that with such certainty. 

  What on earth could have induced you to break it? What could possibly have made you forget this moment?

  The memory melts into mist again, and when it reforms you see a different face smiling at a version of you not much younger than you are now. A face with rich brown eyes, and a superior smirk you know by heart.

  "Rosier, this is a surprise!"

  Your exclamation echoes into Flourish and Blotts where Talbott, examining a book, looks up sharply.

  "Indeed. It's been a long time, Y/N. It's a pleasure to see you again."

  Felix takes your hand and offers it a kiss, accented by a mock bow. He winks, and you laugh at the little display.

  The scene shifts again, and now you're watching yourself and Felix chat across a table at an outdoor cafe. Only you’re watching from the rooftop of a building a block away. You wonder why, until you spot a great eagle next to you, piercing yellow-gold eyes fixed on the you down below. You squint in the same direction, wondering if you can get closer. Except, as you take in the cafe's coloured awning, you realise you know this memory already. You've thought of it before: catching up with Felix for the first time after you graduated.

  You can see Felix's lips move, but the words are muffled. Talbott must have been too far away to hear anything clearly. Felix reaches across the table to stroke the back of your hand. You remember the way the casual flirtation made you shiver. He says something Talbott can't hear, but you remember the words exactly.

  "Perhaps I could take you to dinner sometime. I'd love to hear more. I've...quite missed you, Y/N."

  And your own reply as you pull your hand gently away. "That...sounds lovely, Rosier. Felix. But I'm afraid I am seeing someone already."

  You offer an apologetic smile which Felix accepts with grace.

  "Of course. Maybe, as friends then? If you're comfortable?"

  But Talbott can't hear this exchange. He can only see your eager nod and the brief embrace you and Felix share before parting.

  "We were just friends," you whisper to the eagle, but of course, he can't hear that either. He takes off from the building in rapid flight, wings beating the air violently. And the memory congeals into mist once more.

-

  Scenes continue to play before your eyes. You watch time pass in snatches of moments, but you take in very little of what's happening. Because something has clicked in your brain, and your mind is finally supplying forgotten memories of its own. Talbott, wandering the flat you share, taciturn and brooding. Nothing you do or say can cheer him. Your questions go unanswered, your notes ignored. You remember your growing frustration and concern with your distant partner. His change toward you hurt. You can still feel the ache, like a bruise against your chest. It was as if all the years you had spent carefully building trust with him had never happened. You couldn't understand it.

  But with Talbott's memories to fill in the gaps, everything makes sense.

  You never mentioned your lunch with Felix to Talbott, nor any of the meetings that followed. You knew Felix's Death Eater family would have made any friendship between him and Talbott impossible. So you kept it hidden. You thought. Guilt sours your stomach until you're afraid you might be sick. What must Talbott have thought of you?

  The sound of your own voice raised in frustration snaps you back to the scene in front of you.

  "You have to talk to me!" you cry, fingers fisting in your own hair. "I have been so patient, Talbott, but I can't drag words from you all the time. You have to help me! You have to tell me what's going on in your head. If you don't love me anymore, then just say so! Anything is better than this."

  "Of course, I love you," Talbott mumbles. He's edging toward the window, retreating from the fight. Usually, this would make you stop and think through your actions carefully. The last thing you ever want to do is scare Talbott away. But this time, angry agitation courses through you. You can still feel the echo of it bubbling in your veins, keeping your better judgment at bay.

  "Then why? Why would it be so awful to be married? We've lived together for years, I don't understand why it's so different."

  Talbott's yellow-gold eyes plead with you to hear what he cannot say. You understand now the fears he could not put into words. But your younger self only waits impatiently, arms crossed, while Talbott shakes his head.

  "We just...can't."

  The memory shifts again, and you're watching yourself from a great height. Rain pelts from the sky in angry bullets. They seem to pass right through your strangely floating body, but they run heavily off the wings of the eagle next to you: Talbott, gliding soundlessly above your younger self, as you sprint across the Rosier estate to the manor house. You rap hard on the front door. It takes only a moment for it to open and a surprised looking Felix to allow you to dart inside.

  Talbott circles the manor several times, you floating along beside him, before he catches sight of light and movement in a ground floor window. He dives, and you dive with him. You know you can't actually be hurt in someone else's memory, but still you squeeze your eyes shut as the ground hurtles toward you. You don't reopen them until you hear the scrabbling of talons against ground. Talbott settles himself in the shadows beside a window looking down onto the butcher’s table in the kitchen you know so well. The two of you watch as Felix pours you a cup of tea, and your younger self pours out your heart.

  This time you can hear words between your sobs: almost incoherent confessions of how worried you are about your partner and how confused you feel about your relationship.  Which means Talbott must be able to hear them too. He must also hear Felix when he finally speaks into the silence that lingers in the wake of your rambling.

  “Y/N, do you think...if you hadn’t met him, hadn’t dated him at school...would you have considered...me when I asked you? As something more than a friend?"

  Your younger face scrunches up in confusion. "I don't know. Maybe. I mean, I confess, I did fancy you a bit in my first year. Or, did you know that already? I wasn't much good at hiding it."

  Felix's face turns bright red.

  "I did not," he replies carefully. He tries to hide his blush behind his tea cup, but you see it and giggle around wet hiccoughs.

  “There’s a face I don’t see often.”

   Felix grins sheepishly. "Then, I suppose I ought to confess that I...I quite fancied you as well."

  Your younger self nearly chokes on a sip of tea. "What, when I was 11?"

  "No, I mean...for the last few years. Now, in fact."

  You stop laughing, and Felix continues hastily.

  "I know this might not be the best time to say it, but...it seems like there never is a best time. I've waited for years. I didn't want to - I mean - I wanted to wait until you weren't with him anymore, but Merlin knows when that will be. It doesn’t seem like anything he does will induce you to leave him. But he doesn't appreciate you, surely you can see that now? How could any man be so cold to you? Make you worry like this? Make you wait?"

  "So...this whole time..." your younger self says in growing agitation, rising from the chair. "We weren't really friends? You were just...waiting for me to break up?"

  "Of course not. I mean, of course we were friends. Are friends," Felix says, standing quickly. "I - I misspoke. I just thought...maybe it would help you to know...you have other options." He runs a hand through his hair. "This was the wrong time.”

  "Yes, it was."

  "I apologise," says Felix quietly. He looks so unhappy you wonder how your younger self can stand to be so cold to him. It's hard to remember a time when Felix, carefree and smiling, wasn't at the forefront of your desires. But, as you watch your younger self flee the house, you know that in spite of everything Felix had to offer, you had only ever been in love with one person.

  "Talbott!"

  The memory blurs into another, and your younger self is startled to see Talbott waiting for you in the street outside your flat. It's still pouring, and both of you are soaked to the skin. But Talbott is babbling, something you've never seen him do, and you're too shocked to suggest adjourning somewhere dry.

  'I'm sorry," he says, taking your hands and clenching them between his own. "I'm so sorry. I know I'm - I can't say the things I mean. Even when I need to, when it's most important. But I do mean them. I mean... I love you."

  "I love you, too," you're quick to assure him.

  Talbott shakes his head, water flicking from the ends of his sopping hair. "I've never understood that. It didn't seem real, and... I think I've just been waiting all these years to lose you somehow. But I don't want to lose you. And I certainly don't want to be the reason why I lose you."

  Your jaw goes slack. You know you ought to say something in response, but shock has frozen your tongue. This might be the most emotion Talbott has ever confessed at one time. He takes your stunned face in his hands. "What I’m saying is... I mean, I'm asking if you'll marry me."

 A little bubble of joy grows in your chest. A bubble you force yourself to pop.

  "Talbott, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just...I love you, so much. And the way you've been recently... I know you're hurting and I don't know why or how to help and it hurts me too, but... you're never going to lose me. We don't have to be married for that to be true. I'm yours, I'm always yours. I promise."

  Talbott presses his mouth to yours in a crushing, breathless kiss. His lips know a language that communicates feeling better than his words ever can. You inhale his need for you and return it in kind. The rain dripping into your nose forces you to part for air.

  "Please marry me," he whispers into your hair. "I want to. I want you. I want...us."

  You can feel the joyous bubble expand within you, pushing everything else aside. Until there's no room for confusion or sadness or fear.

  "Do you really mean that?"

   Talbott can only nod, his words exhausted. But you see the answer in the spark of his yellow-gold eyes.

  "Then, yes!" You cling to Talbott as though the rain might sweep him away. "Yes!"

  Tears leak from your younger eyes, lost in the rivers of rain. It's a moment before you realise your older self is crying as well. You sob quietly into your hand, even as the mists swirl about once more, carrying away one of the most meaningful moments of your life. Lost, for so long. Like you promised Talbott you would never be.

  How? the word pounds against your aching brain. How? How?

-

  The rain fades into mist and the mist reforms into the inside of your flat. In spite of the light shining through the parted curtains, the room is oddly shadowed. There’ s something different about it. Something is missing you can’t quite put your finger on.

  You hear a choking noise and turn to see Talbott, sitting at the table. There's a piece of parchment in his hand. His yellow-gold eyes are liquid, and as you watch, a tear rolls down his sharp nose. He makes another strangled choking sound, and you realise he's crying. Your memories may still be settling, but you're certain you've never seen Talbott cry before. The sight wrenches your heart from your chest. You want to throw your arms around him, even though you know he can't feel it.

 Instead, you stare at the parchment in his hand. It begins, Dear Talbott, and it ends in your signature. The writing looks like yours, if a bit tidier than you usually bother with. You scan the contents of the letter, eyes widening with each line. You're leaving? You've changed your mind? You're marrying Felix Rosier, instead? You can't recall ever even thinking these things, let alone writing them down. A phrase jumps out at you from the parchment: You've never appreciated me, I see that now. The words are horribly familiar...and you blanch as you remember where you heard them.

   The memory starts to dissolve. You glance around desperately. You want to re-read the letter again. You want to be absolutely sure before you allow the shadow in your mind to take full form. But the flat becomes the entryway to the enormous manor house you know so well. Beside you, Talbott steels himself with a breath, then pulls the bell.

   The door opens, and Felix's wand appears first. He holds it just low enough to keep the minimum requirement for civility, but the threat is unmistakable.

   "What do you want?" he asks Talbott coolly.

   "I want to see Y/N."

   Felix's eyes flick briefly over his shoulder as if checking for something. He replies in a lower voice:

   "She has no wish to see you."

   "I don't believe you."

   "Believe what you like."

   Felix attempts to close the door, but Talbott throws his shoulder against it. He squares up to Felix as if he might simply push past him. Neither man is particularly brawny, but Talbott has the height advantage. Their scuffle is quickly solved when Felix pokes his wand directly into Talbott's chest forcing him to step back.

   "You did something to her, didn't you?" Talbott says, yellow-gold eyes bright with fury. "You wrote that letter. You...you kidnapped her."

   A brief, hard swallow is the only indication of guilt Felix betrays.

   "It hardly matters. It's over between you either way. Y/N is safe now, that's what's important. There's nothing you can do."

   "You don't care about her safety!" Talbott's voice is almost a shout.

   'Don't you dare!" Felix suddenly snarls, shocking both men into a short silence. Felix composes his face and continues more quietly, "Her safety is all I care about. And if it had mattered more to you, perhaps things would have been different."

  The glint of concentration in Talbott's eyes is a look you've seen before. You know he's thinking quickly, debating his next move.

   "You won't get away this," he finally says, his voice a soft and venomous hiss. "I won't let you."

   "Is that a threat?"

   "It's a promise."

    Without another word, Felix pushes the heavy front door closed. Just before it slams shut, you see a figure dart down the corridor behind him. You recognise your own wide eyes make contact with Talbott's in surprise. Then the mists swirl about you again. This time, they envelope your body like a whirlpool lifting you up, up, up...    

  Until you’re stumbling out of the Pensieve, reeling and gasping for air. You lean over the table, gripping the edge until your knuckles turn white. You take deep, slow breaths, your eyes closed. Your mind is whirling, frantically sorting through everything you've seen, everything you now remember. 

  Felix, you realise, and your insides twist sharply. Felix had done something to you. What? Your battered brain supplies a forgotten image of Felix's wand pointed at you, his eyes full of fear and pleading. His mouth moves frantically, but the memory still lacks sound.

  Your own name being called tears you from your vision. You turn carefully, leaning against the table for support. The sudden recovery of everything your mind was missing is wreaking havoc with your body. Your knees wobble. You feel dizzy and seasick. And the sight that meets your eyes does nothing to settle your symptoms.

  "Y/N!"

  Felix says your name again, but he isn't looking at you. His eyes are on the wand Talbott aims at his chest. There are notes of concern in Felix's voice, but his wand arm, pointed at Talbott, is entirely steady. The two men watch each other, tensed for action. Both shoot quick glances your way, but neither can do more without dropping their defence.

  "Are you alright?" Felix calls over his shoulder.

  You blink, but don't answer. Your mind throbs so badly your vision blurs, but for once you know you can trust it.

  "You lied to me." Your voice comes out a croak. You briefly wonder how long you've been in the Pensieve.

  "What?" Felix sounds panicked.

  "You did this to me," you say slowly, the words leaving a terrible taste in your mouth. You don't want them to be true. But the sound has caught up to the picture in your head of Felix's wand pointed at you. You can hear his spell clearly. "You...obliviated me. You made me forget. How...how could you do that?"

  Felix tries to step closer, but Talbott sends a hex at the floorboard near his feet. With a snarl, Felix throws a curse back at Talbott. Talbott ducks and weaves to the side just in time. The spell hits the sofa, sending it flying against the wall with a crash. Both men straighten, and raise their wands at each other once more.

  "Stop it!" you yell as loudly as your pounding head will allow. You hold your own wand out, but your arm shakes too much to be menacing. You fight a wave of nausea threatening to capsize your stomach. Both Talbott and Felix turn to you in concern. Felix is nearest. He shuffles backward toward you, still keeping his wand on Talbott.

  "Take another step and I swear I will kill you."

  You glance up at Talbott. You know from the set of his jaw and the glint of purpose in his yellow-gold eyes, he means exactly what he says.

  "No." Both Talbott and Felix drop their wands a fraction, looking at you in varying degrees of surprise. "I want him to explain." You keep your face as expressionless as possible as you fix your eyes on Felix. "I want to know why you did this."

   For once, Felix doesn't blush. Instead, colour drains from his face until its almost translucent. And when he speaks, his voice is as unsteady as your legs.

  " Y/N, I swear, I didn't want to do it. But I had to! You wouldn't see reason. The Dark Lord, he - he considered you a threat. Ismelda Murk, she told him everything about you - everything you did at school. He wanted you dead, or on his side. I told you to leave...to run...to stay safe. But you wouldn't. You - he -" he spits the word in Talbott’s direction, "insisted you stay and fight.

  "And for good reason," you say hotly. "The Dark Lord has to be stopped. He's evil."

  "That doesn't matter!" Felix shouts. "This isn't about good and evil, it's about alive and dead. All I wanted was to keep you alive. You wouldn't listen to me, and I didn't know what else to do. I just wanted to keep you safe."

 Felix's eyes are anguished, but you feel no compulsion to comfort him. Ice creeps through your veins, freezing your heart, shattering your sympathy.

  "No you didn't." Your voice cracks with brittle fury. "You didn't care about keeping me safe. If you did, you would have just wiped my memory and sent me to France or America or somewhere he wouldn't find me. You didn't do this for me. You did this for you." Your voice rises in volume until you're almost shouting. "I chose Talbott. You wanted me, and I picked Talbott and you couldn't stand it."

  "Because it's foolishness!" Felix bellows. A shower of red sparks erupt from his wand. "He's a frightened little bird, he can't keep you safe! He flies away at the first sign of a fight. I took you from him, and he didn't even attempt to come and find you. The way I would have. The way I always-"

  Talbott's curse is completely silent. Purple light hits Felix in the chest and he falls heavily to the floor. He lays still, eyes closed, and you gasp in spite of yourself.

  Talbott sprints the length of the flat in a second. He throws your arm about his shoulder, and half-drags you past the unmoving Felix.

  Your stomach heaves as you ask, "Is he-"

  "He's not dead," Talbott says viciously. "He's not worth anyone's soul."

  You can't reply. Each step you take increases your risk of being sick all over Talbott, so you focus on your feet. Picking up one after the other. As you stumble out the door, you cannot help but look back. The sight of Felix crumpled on the floor sends a crack through your heart's icy veneer.

  You want to tell Talbott to stop. You want to come up with a plan; something that will fix everything, the way you always do. But your mind is too exhausted to think anymore. You close your eyes and let Talbott wrap his arms around you, hoisting you down the stairs. When he reaches the bottom, he clutches you against him and disapparates.

-

  You sleep. You don't know for how long. You're looking for someone, someone calling your name. A voice you know... a voice you trust. A face swims into focus and you smile as you recognise it. Then it points a wand at your chest, and the spell echoes over and over in your mind. Obliviate. Swirling mist wraps itself around your body, trapping your arms and legs, constricting your chest, your throat. You're sure your head is about to explode.

   You jerk into consciousness, breathless and sweating. You fumble for Felix to wrap yourself in his arms, but the bed next to you is empty. And entirely too narrow to be yours.

   Then you remember. You're in the house of an escaped convict who, it was explained to you, had been falsely convicted after being framed for murder by his purported victim, both of whom were also unregistered animagi. And somehow, that's only the second strangest revelation you're wrestling with.

   Your wrap the blanket around you and take stock of yourself. Your head still hurts miserably. Most of your body aches as well. But your mind is the strongest it's been in a long time. Sleep has cleared away the last vestiges of fog.  You know exactly who you are and what has happened to you. It's a cruel irony then how much you wish the last 24 hours were just an awful dream.

    There's a knock at the door. You have no desire to talk to anyone at the moment. You open your mouth to say so when a voice calls, "Y/N, are you up?"

   The tension in your shoulders eases a fraction as you recognise who it is.

   "Yes. Come in."

   The door creaks open slowly and Bill Weasley sidles inside carrying a tray.

   "Mum wanted to make sure you ate something. She didn't get to feed you last night, and you know how she is. Thinks you might starve to death overnight."

   The sound of Bill's nervous prattle is immensely comforting. Bill, the big brother you wish you'd had. Bill, whose advice you value above anyone else's. For him, you're able to manage a weak smile.

   "I don't know if I can stomach anything just at present. But I might take a cup of tea if you have it."

   Grinning in relief, Bill sets the tray down on the bed beside you. You take the steaming cup and hold it against your chest.

   "So, how are you feeling this morning?"

   "I'm..." You want to say fine, but your mouth can't even form the words. You simply stop talking and squeeze your eyes shut again.

   "Yeah, that's sort of what I figured."

    A few minutes gentle silence rests between you. You sip your tea, hoping the warm liquid will settle the roiling in your stomach. Deep down, you know it's futile. It isn't really your stomach that's sick, it's your heart. But you don't know how to deal with that problem just yet, so you focus on Bill instead.

   "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Egypt?”

   "Oh, I took a desk job to help out the Order. You knew that, didn't you?"

   You shake your head. Bill flushes, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Oh. I guess it might have been after you..um..."

   It's Bill's turn to trail away.

  "I imagine I've missed quite a bit," you say as casually as you can, raising the cup to your lips again.

   "Yeah, but...there'll be time to catch up on all that later. Mum isn't going to let anyone bother you till you’re well again. She's been terribly worried about you, you know. I mean, everyone has, but...when Talbott said you'd run off with that Death Eater, I thought Mum was going to march right up to the house herself and drag you out by your ear."

   Bill chuckles, but you can't join him.

   "How could anyone think I'd really done that? Joined You-Know-Who?"

   Bill's face falls. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably. "No one liked it much. It didn't make any sense. But the way Talbott explained it you'd left some letter saying you...you loved him. And love can make people do pretty mad things."

   You can't say anything to that.

   "Do you...want to talk about it?"

   You shake your head.

   "Alright. I'll leave you alone, then."

   Bill pushes off from the bed. He sets the tray of uneaten food on the bedside table, and starts for the door. His hand is just turning the knob when you call him back.

   "Bill?"

   Bill doesn't answer. He doesn't have to. He scoots onto the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You lay your head against his chest, and sob.

-

   For days, you keep yourself locked in the dusty bedroom of Grimmauld Place. Food is brought to you, occasionally by Mrs Weasley or Bill, but you pretend to be asleep whenever they arrive. You wait until after they've left to choke down what food you can stomach. You know you need to eat, but hunger and thirst have both abandoned you.

  Occasionally, you hear the sounds of gentle knocking or whispered conversations outside your door. You recognise the voices of your friends, wanting to see you, and Mrs Weasley shooing them away. You're glad for it. You aren't ready to speak to anybody. 

   Your ailment isn't a mystery to you. You know you're heartbroken, you just don't want to think about why. What does it say about you that you wake each morning craving the presence of the man who tricked you, lied to you, erased your memories? You can barely stomach the knowledge yourself. You don't want to think about what anyone else would say if they knew.

   Instead, you sleep as much as possible, and wait for the pain to subside.

    You're lying in bed one afternoon, letting the little sun the window permits warm your bones, when you're startled by the sound of shoes outside your door. You close your eyes, hoping whoever it is will see you sleeping and go away. But the door doesn't open. A scraping, scuffing noise reaches your ear. It stops, and the hall is quiet once more.

   You wait for a count of ten, then roll over in bed and open your eye just a crack. Something is laying on the floor. Curious, you sit up. It’s a piece of parchment and a quill, stuffed under the crack in the door. You leave the shelter of the bed and tiptoe across the room. You pick up the parchment and read the word, Hey. 

   For the first time in days, you smile. Turning, you slide down the door and settle onto the ground. You listen to the breathing on the other side, and close your eyes. 

   This is what it felt like to be you, before Felix. When the only place you could ever imagine yourself, the only place you wanted to be, was with Talbott. The mysterious, awkward boy who tugged at your heart strings. The man that settled your soul and set fire to your body. To be back-to-back with Talbott again is the comfort you desperately needed. It's returning to your own bed at the end of a long, tiring day.

   You turn to the parchment on your knees.

   Hey yourself, you write and stuff the parchment and quill back under the door.

   You can hear the faint scratch of the quill, then the parchment returns.

   How are you feeling?

   You mark out several answers before deciding on, I don't know.

   That makes sense. Talbott leaves a few lines of space before, I've missed you.

   You smile sadly. I missed you too.

    Really? His reply is an eager scrawl.

    Really. Even when I didn't know what I was missing, I knew I was missing something. And after I saw you in Diagon Alley, I knew deep down it was you. Even if I didn't know why. Somehow, this doesn’t seem like enough, so you add, I’m sorry. 

   It's not your fault, Talbott sends back. His handwriting is even. No ink blots or shaky pen strokes, nothing to suggest the statement is hard for him to admit.

   I know, but I'm still sorry.

   This time, Talbott's reply takes longer to reach you. So am I. I should have figured it out sooner. I should have known you wouldn't have left like that. I should have come after you.

   You hesitate. But the whole point of the ritual is to communicate the things you need the other to know, but are too hard to say out loud. So you let yourself write, Why didn't you?

   You can hear by the quill, stopping and starting again several times, how hard it is for Talbott to admit.

   I did once. When you first got back from France. I did a fly-by of the house. But you were with him. You looked happy. 

   You stare at the words. You wonder what moment Talbott had caught you in. You and Felix reading in the study, glancing at each other over the tops of your books? Together at the piano, where you took every opportunity to brush your fingers against his? Dancing in the ballroom? Laughing in the kitchen? Or wrapped around each other in one of a million places all over the house? It makes your face burn to think of Talbott seeing you like that.

   "Were you?" 

   You start at the sound of Talbott's voice as he whispers the words from around the closed door.

   "Was I what?" you ask quickly.

   "Were you happy?"

    You release a long, deep sigh.  "I...I don't know. I thought I was happy, but... I wasn't myself."

   "Did you really...love him?" The word twists Talbott’s voice. You know how hard it must be for him to say.

   "We were just friends, Talbott. I know I should have told you a long time ago, I just-"

   "No," he interrupts, "I mean - when you...forgot me. Did you love him then?"

   You don't know what to say. "He...he was very kind to me." It isn't really an answer to Talbott's question. But it’s all the confirmation he needs.

   "Do you love him now?"

  The answer sits on your tongue, heavy and uncomfortable. You want to spit it out, to confess. That’s what the ritual is for. But you can’t force it from your mouth. You sit frozen, unable to speak. You wonder if this is what it’s like to be Talbott.

   “Even after you know what he did to you?” Talbott says, unable to keep bitterness out of his voice. “Even though he's a Death Eater?” 

   "He's not just a Death Eater," you snap. You only realise how defensive this is until it’s too late. There’s no sound from the other side of the door. Talbott’s breathing seems to have stopped. "I mean, he doesn't want to be a Death Eater. He's just...frightened."

     Talbott doesn’t answer. You hear shoes slide against the floor. Then footsteps echo down the hall. You strain your ear until the only sound left is your own thudding heart beat.  You have to close your eyes again to keep the tears from spilling.

   You've spent days so lost in your longing for Felix, you forgot how badly you miss Talbott as well. 

-

Part 3 | Masterpost

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

When You Were a Young and Callow Fellow

Part 5 of Try to Remember

Bucky X music teacher fem!Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky progresses and you meet the Avengers.

A/N: I realized that I don’t know that I’ve ever tagged this as female reader and I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I also apologize that I have not updated anything in so long. Work has been crazy with COVID right now and I’m just trying to make it through the day.

Warnings: Angst, Self-deprecation, bed sharing.

Word Count: 2,586

James Buchanan Barnes found it hard to search through his old memories. The past was shaky for him, uncertain and unknown. Most people would state that as their thoughts toward the future. But for him, it was his past. Tracing patterns, backtracking to find the truth, the real memories. Years as the Soldier had muddled his brain, causing him to consistently question his own reality.

Who was he? Was he really friends with Captain America? Did he save people? How many did he kill? These questions swirled through his mind daily. Questions that he didn’t have the answers for. The people around him barely had answers for him. Tony had answers, but those were painful, they weren’t the answers he wanted. The answers that absolved him and showed that even through the Soldier days, he was a good man, those were the ones he wanted. He had to be a good man, he had to be good, otherwise, how would he have you?

He appreciated Steve, who constantly tried to remind ‘Buck’ of the good old days. Times of dancing in crowded dance clubs with a new dame each week. Beating off Steve’s bullies who he didn’t think were too big for him to take on. Tales of their days serving as Howling Commandos, of Steve’s lost love, and the war. Steve always acted like not a day had passed since their friendship began. But a day had, almost fifty years had passed.

Steve stood tall and strong, a super soldier who sacrificed himself for the good of mankind. He cast a six foot tall shadow that Bucky often found himself shivering in. Golden boy was the phrase he would use to describe his best friend. An almost entirely unattainable state of perfection was what Steve was. Good, kind, honest, the kind of man that the word doted upon. Bucky felt the pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, even though he knew it was not well placed.

Steve had always been a good, kind, and honest man, that much he knew.  The difference now, was that in terms of attractiveness, the two were on even footing. Bucky found himself shaking his head as these thoughts invaded his mind. His mind redirected itself to thoughts of you, it had been a few months since your first date, and several more had followed. The side of his mouth curled up as he thought about the stories you had told him about your students and their recent antics. Stories of stuck valves and slides, broken reeds, and off-key singing. The best part of his day was hearing about yours, as cliche as it was. There was a degree of normalcy that he had gained through being with you. A normalcy that he had doubted he would ever receive again.

His tower mates were pleasantly surprised at the progression of the relationship. Sam had threatened that he was becoming tempted to follow the two of you during dates. “It’s just not fair that we haven’t met her yet.” He would whine.

Tony kept hounding him that it was time to bring his flame around to meet the family. “You can’t keep her to yourself forever!”

And that was how Bucky found himself waiting in your living room as you got ready to meet the Avengers. The television was playing a show you had been watching before he got there, it played on as background noise. He occasionally glanced up and saw animated figures on the screen, but he was more interested in how you were feeling about tonight.

“Doll, how are you doing?” He called in your direction.

“Fine, I’m fine! It’s all fine!” You answered from your room. You stood in the third dress you had changed into since he arrived. It was one of your favorites, casual, but cute. Bucky was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. So you assumed this was a relatively casual meeting. It had taken a while, but he finally got you to call him Bucky and not James. Not that he minded James, but he felt like James had met you under a false pretense in a way. Bucky, though, was who he authentically was, or at least who he strove to be. “Are you sure casual dress is fine?”

You heard him sigh and the sound of his feet padded through the living room to your room. He stopped at the doorway, his eyes taking in the sight before him. “Doll, you look perfect. They are going to love you.”

Your eyes met his for a moment when he mentioned that word. You quickly glanced down, your heart fluttering in your chest. “Okay, I’m ready.” You said, reaching out to grab the jean jacket you had worn earlier to work. You pulled your classroom keys and school badge from them, set them on the table and braced yourself for what was to come. Bucky held out his hand to you and you threaded your fingers through his following him out of your apartment door. Your roommate had remained in their room once Bucky showed up. No amount of convincing could get them to meet him, only begrudgingly accept that he was a part of your life.

In the months of dating you had grown more comfortable with Bucky’s past of being the Winter Soldier. You had always been told that you were quick to forgive and understand. Usually that was said in a condescending manner, but in this instance, it was welcomed, almost worshipped at times. On your own, there had been instances of doubt, brought forth but a Google search or a news article. Photos and reports of the Winter Soldier’s dealings were made public through the news as Bucky became more active as a member of the Avenger’s team. Reporters trying to make names for themselves began writing furiously about the man whose hand was entwined with yours.

After the publication of a truly scathing article you had found yourself in the Captain America, standing in front of Bucky’s WWII uniform. Bucky had retreated into himself for a week. The last conversation you had with him had ended with him telling you that you would be safer without him. You read the description in front of you, reading the edits to include the Winter Soldier and his new work as an Avenger. You reached out and traced over his name.

“That kid, he thought that he would save the world.” You heard a voice murmur behind you. “He thought that he single handedly would defeat the Nazis, then he became one.” You remained quiet, letting him continue. “He contributed to the very things he hated and wanted to defeat. They should have left him for dead.”

You flinched at his final sentence. You knew that Bucky had low opinion of himself, but you never realized how much hatred he harbored for himself. You turned, looking at the man in front of you. His eyes were red, his hands haphazardly wrapped in bandages. “Bucky....” You started, taking a step towards him, which he quickly took two back as a response. You sighed, and took larger steps, closing the gap between you so the two of you were only a foot apart. His eyes met yours, then abruptly turned to the floor.

“I’m no good for you. He was, in the 40’s. God, he would have been good for you, maybe he was a cocky ass, but he was good.” His hands were shaking. “I’m just spare parts.”

You reached out, and gently placed your hand under his chin, bringing his head up so his blue eyes met yours. “You are good. You are still him. Through all the hell you’ve been through, you are still a good man.” Tears had formed in his eyes, causing them to become glassy. Your hand reached down and fingers entwined with his. “I’m not afraid.”

You were brought back to the present by him giving your hand a slight squeeze, you were outside of the tower. The A shining brightly amongst the skyscrapers.

“They are going to love you, and you are going to be fine.” He whispered in your ear as you entered the elevator. You took a deep breath, letting his words soothe you. The elevator ride seemed like it was going on forever until you heard the ding and the doors opened. “It’s just pizza and movie night.” He chuckled in your ear, giving you a gentle push out the door.

You glanced around and noted that all the Avengers were standing in the living area that opened to the elevator. A giggle fell from your lips as you took in the sight before you. They looked like the cast of your middle school musical when you had directed them to act natural.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” A voice snarked, as a man moved toward you with an outstretched hand. “Sam Wilson.”

Bucky released your hand so you could shake Sam’s.  A parade of faces made their way up to you, familiar from the television, but completely new to you. You felt Bucky’s hand tracing circles on the small of your back as each member of the Tower came up to introduce themselves to you.

Natasha smiled at you, “About time we find someone who can put him in line.”

“Hey!” Bucky started, only to be silenced by a glare from Natasha.

“We’ll talk later.” She said with a wink as she walked away. Bucky grumbled from beside you, making you chuckle.

Tony Stark and Bruce Banner made their introductions, Bruce pulled Tony away as he continued to ramble. Finally, Steve Rogers stood before you. Bucky’s motion on your back paused as he held his breath.

“Steve Rogers, it’s a pleasure to meet the woman my best friend won’t stop talking about.” He said, giving your hand a firm shake before giving a slight nod to his friend. “Sometime I’ll tell you all the stories he doesn’t want you to know.”

“I look forward to it.” You answered as Bucky’s breathing began to even out.

“Alright everyone, now that we’ve had introductions, let’s start this movie night!” Tony called from the kitchen, leaving the room with a plate full of pizza. Everyone filed into line and began taking pizza and followed the man to a home theater.

Your eyes widened as you entered the room, couches and chairs filled the room, a silver screen filled the wall across from the door. You could hear a chuckle from behind you, “Tony doesn’t spare an expense.” Bruce said, shuffling to a recliner across the way.

“My seat’s over there.” Bucky nodded to a love seat in the corner, you followed him. Taking in the sight of the Avengers, or most of them, having a movie night. Bucky noticed you glancing around, “This all started when Steve and I didn’t understand a Star Wars reference. Now Tony mandates a weekly movie night to catch us up on what we missed.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “At least he started you on Star Wars. He has some taste.” You chuckled, taking a bite of pizza. “So what’s on the list for tonight?”

“The Princess Bride.” Bucky answered.

A grin split across your face, you looked at Bucky. “This is one of my top ten movies of all time. It is great.” You said, taking the final bite of your pizza, Bucky reached out and took the plate from you, stacking it on his and placing it on the ground.

“Then I’m sure it’s a good one.” He said, opening his arm for you to cuddle into his side. You snuggled into him as the movie started, his hand resting on your side. You could feel eyes on you from a few of the Avengers, but you didn’t care. You mouthed along to the lines of the movie, word for word. Bucky found himself watching you more than the movie. Watching you mimic the actors, the smile on your face when something happened, the pure joy the film brought you. He decided that this movie was going to be on his top ten list.

The ending credits began to play and Bucky glanced around, the room was empty. He wasn’t sure when the group had decided to leave, he looked down at you, your head was resting against his chest, your eyes drooping closed. “Doll, we better get you home.” He murmured.

“Don’t wanna move.” You grumbled, clinging to his side. “Stay here.”

He chuckled, “I think we’ll both regret that in the morning.”

“Mmmm.” You sighed, nuzzling against his chest. He brushed his hand through your hair.

“Doll, you gotta get up.” He said, attempting to move you.

“Don’t wanna, wanna stay.” You answered.

He sighed, his room was just down the hall, he could carry you. “Doll, do you want to stay in my room?”

“Mhmmmm.” You answered with a small yawn.

“And you couldn’t say that because…?”

“I needed an invitation.” You answered, sitting up.

A small smile on his face, “C’mon, let’s go.” He pulled you up from the couch and led you to his room. He led you down the hall to his room, he opened the door and led you into a room that was so obviously Bucky. The walls were painted a deep blue, a large bed in the middle of the room, and a dresser. It didn’t feel empty, it felt like a home. Bucky walked to his dresser and pulled out a shirt and sweat pants. “I figure you don’t want to sleep in that outfit.”

You smiled sleepily, “You would be right.”

“Bathroom is over there.” He pointed in the direction. You nodded and closed the door behind you. He pulled a set of sweat pants from his dresser and quickly changed into them. He stopped as he glanced at the bed. Sure, he had shared a bed with a woman before. But that was before he was the Soldier, before the night terrors. He tensed by the side of the bed for a moment and you walked out of his bathroom to see him frozen by the bed.

You took in the sight of him standing there in just his sweat pants, your eyes moved up his body to his face where a panicked look was in his eyes. “Buck, what’s wrong?” You made your way over to his side and placed your hand on his cheek.

“I could hurt you.” He whispered. “I get nightmares.”

You caressed his cheek. “We’ll work through them together, let’s go to bed. We’re both tired.”

He nodded stiffly and pulled the covers back as you crawled under them, he followed cautiously. Laying on his back, arms tight at his side. You rolled over so you were facing him. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You curled close to him. “Buck, it’s okay.” Your hand reached out and brushed his arm. He relaxed into your touch, rolling to face you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. He placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight.” He whispered. Your eyes closed and he could feel you drift to sleep in his arms. He looked down at you, the dim light from his window illuminating your relaxed face. He brushed your hair from your face and smiled. “I love you.” He whispered before closing his eyes and drifting to sleep, his arms holding you close to his chest.

[flutistbyday-1]

All Too Well

All Too Well   

I do not own The Hunger Games, characters, etc. I do not own “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift; I was just inspired by her song. Set after Mockingjay, but AU. Katniss and Peeta work through the loss of a baby. This is an old piece of mine; I wrote it in 2016. Sorry for the jumping POV's-- I'm too lazy to go back and fix it.

            TW: Miscarriage 

    Word Count: almost 1500

 Peeta

I climbed the stairs, fully aware of what I was doing. I was going to my drawer and pull out her scarf. I didn’t feel like I was in control. I felt like some other entity was moving me like a toy. Almost like a puppet. I was going to find her scared. And I was going to smell it; smell her. I opened the drawer, dug to the bottom, and pulled out her scarf. It was folded neatly.  I pulled it to my face and breathed in her scent. This was torture. 

    I fell to my knees. 

    Yes, I miss Katniss.

How did I get here? Desperately craving her, but knowing I could never have her? I let her in, always. Even when it killed me. 

I pulled the scarf up to my face, fondly remembering that day. I dared to let a smile crawl on my face.

    Kaniss

    I miss Peeta.

    With every fiber of my being, I missed him. Almost more than my father, Prim, Gale. 

    I remember when I first let him back into my life. Three months after he came back, it was official-- he and I were together. It was getting chilly out, so I had a scarf around my neck. My white scarf that Prim had knitted for me one winter. I blew into his house, our house. He stared at me, like I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. We sang together that day, lost in the other’s company. The autumn leaves were falling, the pieces of our lives falling into place. That day was magical. That day is long gone, along with the magic.

    My mind flashes to the next day. We were walking around town. Peeta tripped over a rock in the road because he’d been too busy staring at me. The wind did as it pleased to my hair, my face. He told me I was glowing. I smiled at him. 

    A few months later, and I still hurt. Sometimes I forget about him just long enough to forget why I needed to.

Peeta

    Katniss was in such a good mood that night. We were both hungry around two in the morning, so we crawled downstairs. We danced in the moonlight until it was time for breakfast. I remember seeing the grey light of dawn reflect in her grey eyes. 

    At breakfast, Haymitch showed up with something. A photo album of Peeta. She scrambled over to it, and they giggled at it. It had somehow been saved from the wreckage of the bombing. There’s a picture of me and Rye wrestling. A picture of me with icing all over my face, from a birthday. A blush crept over my face. Katniss and Haymitch cooed over my baby self. She looked back at me, and whispered something to Haymitch. He laughed, and said, “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

    When he left, I asked her what she said. 

    “I told him that I hope our kids look like you,” she beamed.

    Kids? Katniss has the world children in her vocabulary?

Katniss

    My stomach still hurts from it sometimes. I remember the day I woke up with blood covering me. I screamed, which woke Peeta up. I pulled back the covers, and we both started crying. We called mother. She said we needed a doctor. Fortunately, after the war, hospitals became common. No matter how many towels I had, blood soaked them.

    We ran to the hospital. Well, Peeta ran, while I was in his arms. 

    I passed out in the hospital. I woke to find Peeta crying, holding my hand. 

    “Oh, Katniss!” he cried.

    Panic filled me, and I ripped the blanket off of me. My belly was still swollen, but the baby in it was no longer alive. I looked up at him, wanting this to be just a dream.

    He nodded his head yes, and I screamed again. I started cussing, moving, hitting anything in my way. The nurses had to sedate me.

    Tears flood down my face as I think of this. 

Peeta

    My mind drifts to the day of the miscarriage. No, not even the Capitol could have imagined hurting me like this. Nobody had any idea the pain Katniss and I had. Katniss, more so than myself. It had been an accident, conceiving. We got hung up in the moment, forgot protection. She cried for a month after she found out she was pregnant. Nothing could console her. 

    After the--we lost the baby, it took  her a few weeks to be able to walk. As soon as she could, she tore through the house, straight to my paintings. She ripped up the one of us in the cave. Then, the one of her and I one the train. One of her and Prim. One of her father and her hunting. Finally, the one of me kissing her belly. She knocked over my easels, flung my paints around the room. I just watched her. 

    I wasn’t upset that she was tearing up paintings. I hurt because she hurt, because there was nothing I could do. 

    Maybe she and I got lost in translation, maybe I asked for too much. Maybe, just maybe, this thing was a masterpiece and I tore it all up.

Katniss

    It’s been a year since the miscarriage. I don’t talk to Peeta. It hurts to be reminded of the baby. One day, he calls me. I know it’s him. He’s the only one who calls. Haymitch stumbles in, knowing my pain. He gives me liquor. He makes sure I shower and eat. 

    Today, I decide to answer.

    “Hi,” I barely whisper.

    “Katniss,” his voice is pleading. “Katniss, honey, come home.”

    “No!” I scream.

    “You know what, Katniss? You need to stop being so selfish! You aren’t the only one who’s hurt, you know!” His tone was no longer pleading. 

    My heart drops. Peeta has never been this harsh.

    “No, Katniss. I didn’t mean it,” he pleads again.

    My response is to hang up the phone, and I crumple on the floor like a piece of discarded paper. Like the papers I crumple when I can’t get the right words on them. 

    I remember this all too well.

Peeta

    This year has been slow, so slow. It’s like I’m paralyzed by time. 

    I almost give up on Katniss. I leave her things on her porch one day, when I know she’s out hunting.I remember when she wore my shirts, and the nights I made her my own. I see her walk home alone, and I want to be there. But I keep her old scarf, from that very first week. It reminds me of my innocence, and it smells just like her. I can’t get rid of it, because I remember it all too well. 

    I sigh, stand up, and tuck the scarf back into place. 

    I go downstairs, and sit at the kitchen table. 

    I can’t cry. 

Two years after we lose the baby, my will cracks. I hadn’t been sleeping at night anymore. I baked. The whole town had free bread almost twice a day. 

It was three in the morning, and I couldn’t help myself anymore. I hear Katniss scream in her nightmares. Her screams will wake the town if I don’t wake her. This is the last straw. I put on a shirt, and I go to her house. Her door isn’t locked. I march upstairs, into her bedroom. I must have woken her up, because she stares at me, alarmed. 

“Peeta!” she whispers.

“I can’t handle this, Katniss! I spent eleven fucking years to make you mine. I lost myself for you. I did everything I could to make you happy! Now I can’t even do that.” I had started out angry, but my resolve had crumbled under her knowing stare. 

When she didn’t say anything, I flipped. 

I picked her up out of her bed, marched down the stairs, out of her house, into mine, and into my bedroom. She protested, but I was stronger. I could tell she hadn’t been eating much.

I put her on my bed, and pinned her down. Fear had been replaced with anger.

“Let me go!” she hissed.

“I can’t do that, Katniss.”

I kissed her. I kissed her until she stopped resisting, until she kissed me back. I pulled back, but she pulled me back in. 

“Katniss,” I mumble between kisses. She doesn’t stop. I push her down, gently this time. “Katniss, we can’t heal without the other. We’ve proved that already. Why do you push me away?” 

She shakes her head, then looks up. “I’m so sorry, Peeta. I’ve missed you so badly. But I was afraid you’d never forgive me.” Tears threatened to pour, but I kissed her sweetly this time. She wraps her arms around me tightly. 

I wasn’t going to let her go again.

The memory of her being gone is one I remember all too well.

[rebellconquerer]

hi, I don’t know if your inbox is still open for requests,if not that’s completely fine :). If so, I would like to request “Fuck, I need a drink to deal with you.” For Bucky x Sarah. Thank you.

It's a little long and a little different from my other bits of writing, less cute, more character study but I hope you still like it anon! Cross posted to AO3

She watches them get out of the truck, loud and boisterous in that way she's learnt means that they're ok. She knows they've been back stateside for several days already, spending extended time at the base in DC while Sam trains Torres and James continues his cross-country journey training special forces personnel. Hell, she had even video chatted with them but there is some part of her that does not settle, cannot settle, until she can touch them and see for herself that they are safe.

"You're a menace Buck, you know that right? Is it something about the 40s that made you and Steve like this or did the two of you find each other because everyone else saw how fucking crazy you were?" Sam asks, voice light with laughter.

Sarah watches the easy line of James' shoulders as he reaches into the back for his duffle, she can tell a lot about the headspace he's in based solely off of how he holds himself. She's had to learn his little tells because he still doesn't talk as much as she'd like.

"I trained with 12-year-old Dora's that were more impressive than this asshole and that was practically their after school program. It's not my fault he took exception to that comparison." James replies, glaring mockingly at Sam. She can tell they've been having whatever conversation this is for a while.

"You know if you keep breaking their soldiers the US military isn't going to continue inviting you back." Sam's smirk is playful though, clearly harassing James more for the sake of the harassment than out of any actual concern.

"Thank-fucking-Christ. See if I miss them." James grumbles, turning to face her with his duffle draped over his shoulders.

She is moving towards them before she consciously tells her feet to go. She isn't some damsel left behind though, so there will be no running and leaping into his arms, no matter how much she may want that. Instead, she strolls casually out her front door and down her porch steps with her arms tucked safely in her pockets, face excited, but in a cool and controlled way.

She watches as his smile broadens into a grin at the sight of her and her cool and controlled expression fails immediately as she grins back at him.

Sam makes a retching sound somewhere to the right of her but she isn't paying him any attention, thank you very much.

"Welcome back." She manages around her smile, technically to both of them but she's staring at James.

"Thank you, kind sister. You know it was a really rough couple of weeks, but it's the support of family that really holds us togeth- oh Christ, just kiss him already. It's not like watching the two of you make eyes at each other is any better." Sam ends in an exasperated mutter.

She chuckles lightly, her eyes darting around James' face, taking in the familiar blue of his eyes along with the healing bruises high on his left cheek. Her brother occasionally has good ideas.

He drops his bag on the dew-wet grass of the early morning and is reaching for her as she stretches up slightly to meet his soft, chapped lips.

"Sam, is it very hard being Captain America and having to stop white panther over there from doing stupid shit every ten minutes? As a matter of fact, yes, it is. Thank you for asking, sister of mine." Sam's voice grumbles as he moves away from them towards the front door.

His solo conversation forces a huff of laughter from her lips. It's become one of her favourite things, laughing into James' mouth. She pulls away from him, feeling sorted for the first time in weeks.

"Hi Sam! How are you? It's been so long since I last spoke to you 10 hours ago." She says brightly.

She watches the back of Sam's headshake ruefully as he keeps walking away from them and hears James pick back up his bag as he begins strolling lazily beside her.

"What's all this, then?" Sam asks as he gets to the porch, looking down at the three boxes piled outside.

"I'm not sure. It came last night. It's for you." She says with a small twist, turning to face James.

He raises his eyebrows in surprised confusion.

"For me? And it came here?" He questions.

Sam leans over, grabbing the still-sealed envelope off the top of the boxes.

"It came 'Care of Captain America' but yeah, it's for you." She says easily, hopping up the steps in one go and turning to lean her hip against the old wooden railing.

"Do you mind?" Sam asks James, already moving to open the envelope. James shakes his head, leaning on a post on the other side of the staircase.

Sam's eyes scan quickly back and forth over the letter before his mouth narrows into a small frown.

"It's from the Smithsonian." He finally says, handing the letter over to James.

"The Smithsonian?" James mumbles, taking the letter and she watches his expression freeze then go utterly blank as he reads it.

"Why is the Smithsonian writing to you?" She asks with concern.

Neither answer her for a moment just long enough that she starts to feel genuine concern.

"Dear Sergeant Barnes," James begins to read, pausing to clear his throat.

By the end of the sentence, James' voice has just the barest hints of a wobble.

"My name is Eloise Lambert and I have been the lead curator and researcher behind the Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit for nearly 40 years. I understand this must seem a drop in the hat to you, but it has represented my life's work. While I cannot begin to understand what it must be like to find out strangers have been heavily involved in the study of your life while you were still living it, please forgive me the eccentricities of an old woman to tell you that you were always my favourite.

During the initial stages of the creation of the exhibit in Washington and at its sister sites, several pieces of memorabilia were gifted to the institution by your family. In the intervening years, through research and the continued graciousness of your siblings, we have amassed quite an impressive list of items from your pre-war life. Additionally, in the often hard and lonely years that followed the blip, Captain Rogers also donated several items related to both your lives. It is my belief, however, that he gave us these items in good faith, believing you were permanently gone.

In the aftermath of the returns and the continued examination of the cultural damage that can be wrought by museums, especially with the years of discourse that followed the attack on The Museum of Great Britain, the Smithsonian has wrestled with what to do with the pieces that we have that are not fit for public showing. It is my honest belief that not only would your family and Captain Rogers want you to have these items, but that good morality compels us to return them to you. This endeavour has turned out to be harder than initially anticipated as though I am assured you returned after the blip, no one seems to know quite how to find you. With our continued efforts to locate you failing, and possible sightings of you with Captain America, we have decided to send these items to Captain Wilson in the hopes that they will eventually find their way to you.

Time is a cruel mistress, and as I approach the end of my life, the meaningfulness of old memories has become increasingly clear. I hope this has remained true for you as well, even through your painful but most extraordinary journey, however, should these items bring more pain than happy remembrance, please feel free to return them. The appropriate address is enclosed below."

He looks down at the unassuming boxes with the same carefully blank look on his face.

"Well… that's unexpected." He finally says, looking over at her with questioning eyes.

James drops to his knees, pulling one of the boxes to him at random and opening it gently. He lets out a soft breath as he pulls out the object on top.

Sarah strays closer, looking over his shoulder. It's a framed photograph of him in his military uniform, smiling easily at something behind the camera and in the right lower corner, held in place by some kind of cloth housing, is a small medal.

"Holy shit. Is that a Silver Star, Buck?" Sam asks, stooping down beside James whose thumb brushes reverently over the frame.

"Yeah," James says, voice cracking a little but a small smile curving his lips. "They gave it to me after Azzano, when I got back from Austria… the first time Zola…" he drifts off, glancing over at Sam.

The first time he had been captured. The first time he had been experimented on.

"I had sent it to my ma. They'd sent her a letter listing me as missing and presumed captured. Becca said she'd spent every spare minute she had in the pews at St. Leo's." He huffs out a small laugh, eyes going unfocused. "So I sent her the star and the picture in my next letter, as an apology."

Both Sarah and Sam are quiet, unsure what to say. A moment later James seems to shake the fog away and pushes the photo back into the box, standing abruptly.

"I'm gonna grab a shower, get cleaned up before the boys wake up." He mutters, old Brooklyn accent seeping in around the edges to soften his consonants, the way it always seems to when he gets lost in his past.

Sam stands slowly, making eye contact with her for a second before she steps up beside James.

"Are you ok?" She asks lowly.

He pushes the open box to the side of the door with his foot, then leans in and drops a quick kiss on her cheek.

"I'm good. Honest. I'll come back to it." He replies, shouldering his bag and stepping inside. She turns to look at Sam. He just shrugs and follows James into the house.

**********************************

The rest of the day continues like every one of her weekends since she began to be called mom more often than Sarah.

AJ wakes first and is downstairs pulling out dishes and mixing bowls for her because 'weekend mornings mean pancakes, mom!'

Then he's in the living room, TV on, watching whatever cartoon is his latest obsession. This month it's Clone Wars.

Sam comes down next, surprising AJ who hadn't noticed the truck in the driveway or the shoes by the entrance, so he's folded into the mandatory cartoons.

Cass is a late sleeper. Will sleep till the early afternoon if left to his own devices usually, but if Sam is AJs favourite adult, James is Cass's, so she's not all that surprised to see him at James' elbow when he does come downstairs in grey sweats and an old, soft-looking graphic T proclaiming Wakanda Forever. Bucky wanders into the kitchen, Cass right behind him and sets up to help with breakfast.

So the morning goes, with laughter and sticky spills and chocolate chips, until Sarah all but forgets about the boxes heavy with history sitting on her porch. It's not until much later, when the dishes are already washed and packed away, loads of laundry completed and her eyes tired from staring at income and expense spreadsheets from the restaurant, that she realises she hasn't seen hide nor hair of James and his shadow in some time.

Needing a break from excel, Sarah stretches languidly, feeling the bones in her back pop and realign before she stands, strolling through the house to find them. She hears the soft murmur of James' voice and the gentle cadence of Cass asking questions coming from the porch.

The door is propped open, only the screen door closed, so she can see them from the entryway and she has to stop to take it in for a moment. They are sitting on the floor, Cass in between James' outstretched legs with his back curved into James' chest, going through one of his boxes from the Smithsonian.

"And what about this?" Cass asks, pulling out a piece of ancient-looking folded paper.

"You tell me," James replies softly, unfolding the delicate age stained paper, hand over hand with Cass.

"Um, it's another letter. From Ruth?"

"My youngest sister,” James mumbles. “What does it say?"

"De-dearest James,” Cass begins to read. “I was so ple-ple-as-"

"Pleased," James corrects lightly.

"Pleased to read your most re-recent letter. We are so glad that you are away from the front for the next few weeks… what does that mean? Front of what?" Cass asks, turning to look up at James, whose eyes are sombre but kind, seemingly unable to look away from the old words.

"It means where the fighting was during the war."

Sarah stands watching the easy care James takes with her son and feels like she can't catch her breath. He's not doing it for her, she knows. He is sitting and sharing his life with her child, going over his reading with him, solely because he wants to. Because Cass wants to be near to him. She moves her hand to her chest, rubbing absently, trying to work out the heavy feeling that has settled over her heart.

"Why didn't she want you to fight? You're really good at it." Cass says with the carelessness of the young.

James hums consideringly, going through the rest of the letters in the batch in his hand. "I wasn't as good at it then, and she was worried about me."

She chooses that moment to join them. "What're ya'll up to out here?" She asks, coming to sit cross-legged on the other side of the boxes.

James looks up at her, eyes lighter than she expects, and smiles. "Just going through them, you know," he replies. She wants to ask if he is ok, if he needs time or space or any of the 20 other things she could probably come up with but thinks it might be better to just let him be.

She reaches into the box in front of her and comes out with another stack of papers. She gently pulls them apart then freezes. They're copies of his enlistment documents. The top right-hand corner of one has a faded, black and white photo of a man, barely more than a boy really, with familiar blue eyes but no hint of the darkness James carries.

"Bucky Barnes I presume." She says softly, holding the picture out to him.

Cass' little hands pull James' arm down to his level as he takes the photo so he can see too.

"That's not you!" Cass says, scrunching up his nose.

James makes a face and looks down at him askance.

"And why not?"

Cass shrugs. "You look so old now"

James absolutely cackles at that. Head thrown back, hand over his heart. Sarah tries to stifle her own laugh and look disapprovingly at Cass. Nothing beats the open honesty of the innocent.

"Real vicious, kid. I think I look ok for 106." He finally gets out.

Cass seems unimpressed, scrambling away from James to poke at another box as Sam’s head appears around the front door.

"What's going on out here? Grandpa is laughing?"

James just shrugs.

"Your nephew is speaking truth to power," Sarah replies with a smirk. James gives her a baleful glare while Sam takes in the scene around them, giving Sarah a significant look that she can't really read.

"Is this you too, Uncle Buck?" Cass asks, holding up a sketchbook.

Sarah looks over to see an impressive likeness of a young James in side profile, a small smile curving his lips as a thin cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth.

James nods, holding his hand out for the sketchbook as a grin overtakes his face. Sam comes to sit, dropping down heavily beside her as Sarah switches to laying on her stomach, head perched on her hands. James places the dog eared book on the floor between them.

Cass scrunches up his nose again. "Is that a cigarette? Those are bad!"

James nods, looking up as Cass comes to lean heavily against his shoulder. "You're right but gimme a break. It was 1938. We didn't know that yet."

Sarah reaches out and flips through the book. There are drawings of the view from a fire escape at different times of day with the vague outlines of people coming and going, a few of a young woman with old, old eyes and a lot of sketches of James. Sometimes just bits and pieces of him, how his eyes look happy or sad or tired. His hands holding a cigarette or a beer or fixing things. Some are whole body portraits, from James in a full suit to him in nothing but an undershirt and trousers, his suspenders hanging off his shoulders.

The last few pages have several drawings of a delicate-looking young man who’s almost pretty, soft hair and a pointed chin, but with eyes that blaze.

"Who's that?" She asks.

James gets a complicated look on his face, wrapping an arm around Cass's small frame.

"Portrait of the artist as a young man." He whispers.

"No shit," Sam says softly, reaching to twist the book more towards himself. Sarah is so shocked she doesn't even remember to yell at Sam about his language.

She stares down at the image. She's seen the hologram of Captain America before the serum in museums, like everyone else, but it's always the same image: him in some military clothes with an ill-fitted helmet on, before it slides into that famous shot of him, almost 6 and a half feet of righteous fury. She studies the picture some more. She thinks she can see it, see him, in the curve of his mouth and the intensity in his gaze. She supposes America doesn't want the world reminded of the small boy behind one of the greatest symbols of 'American Exceptionalism'. She doesn't really know much about the man that Steve Rogers was. She never particularly cared for what he represented. She wonders now if he even liked what he came to be seen as.

"And the woman? She's in here a lot too." Sam asks.

James smiles crookedly. "His ma. Her name was Sarah."

When Sarah's sharp eyes flick to him, he's already looking at her, smile widening minutely before he sighs.

"She died a month after my 18th. TB. Money got even tighter after that. Eventually moved with him into a tiny little apartment near Red Hook, let my Ma rent out my room at home. Anything for a buck, you know."

Cass gets bored with the conversation and wanders back inside, probably to harass his brother.

Sarah looks at her namesake, trying to wrap her mind around this whole other life that James has lived. She flips through the pages again. By far the most common subject is James, the lines of him traced with familiarity and clearly with love. Sarah flicks her eyes up to James who is watching her quietly.

“Ask” he commands.

She makes a face. “What? I don’t know what you-”

“Just ask, Sarah.” he interrupts, eyes playful. She looks back down at the drawings, unable to resist trailing her fingers lightly along the charcoal lines.

“Well… I mean there are a lot of drawings of you here… were you two ever-”

“No,” he says with a put upon smile.

“Hey! You told me to ask! I didn’t even get to finish my question!” she chuckles. James rolls his eyes heavenward.

“God, I need a drink to deal with you,” he mumbles. Sarah pouts and Sam also starts to laugh. “You think you’re the first person to ask if I was sleeping with Captain America? God, if I had a nickel every time someone asked me, I’d be a millionaire.”

Sam shrugs. “Man, if I had a nickel every time someone asked me if you were sleeping with Steve, I’d be a millionaire.”

Bucky laughs at that. It takes him a minute to settle down.

"Steve got real sick winter of '37. Didn't really shake it for the rest of the next year. Would get a couple of good weeks then his breathing was shit again. Spent most of the year in bed. Couldn’t manage to do too much but draw… didn't have too many models though. So it was what he could see from the window and well… me. I think the priest came to the house 3 or 4 times that year.” he trails off, eyes seeming to stare past the sketches.

“Priest?” she asks.

Bucky nods, leaning back against the house. “Steve's ma was real religious. Wouldn'ta let us live it down if Steve passed without last rights. It was touch and go a few times.”

They’re all silent for a bit after that, letting it sink in. She looks back down at the drawings, how much they seem like they are about to start moving, how well they seem to capture James’ essence.

“He loved you though, you can’t draw someone like that without a lot of love.” She whispers looking up to see Sam and James share a look.

“Steve loved… hard,” Sam replies. James nods.

“Could be real irritable about it, but yeah. His pa died when he was real little. Ma never remarried. Between Steve being so sickly and his ma being a single mother, things were rough. My parents owned a little deli. Wasn’t much but it meant we were doing a lot better for a lot longer than a lot of people until we weren’t.” James says with a shrug. Sarah barely breathes, she’s never heard him talk about his past so freely.

“We lived in the same building. My ma had a real bleeding heart. Came over from Italy as a teenager… I don’t think she ever forgot how people looked at her in the beginning when her accent was real strong.” he scoffs. “Never forgot being run out of her own country either. Didn’t much take to what other people thought. Helped out whenever she could, practically adopted them. There were times when things got bad, I was all he had.” James eventually finishes.

She supposes she can see it then, why Steve Rogers risked his life, risked his freedom, to get James back. Sam just nods slowly, like he’s heard it all before. Hell, he probably has. Sam pulls the last unopened box to him and starts carefully going through it as Sarah relaxes in the gentle breeze in the early afternoon.

“Damn. Didn’t think they’d give this back.” Sam says, pulling a dusty old leather case with a glass front out. He flips the case open slowly, turning it to face James who lets out a quiet release of breath.

Sarah frowns. It’s a medal of some kind, but she doesn’t recognize it. “What is that?”

Sam looks at her, his face very solemn. “It’s a medal of honour. Highest military award you get. A lot of times posthumously.”

James takes the medal, looking down at it with wonder. “I’d never seen it,” he says softly. “Steve said it was Peggy who made sure we both got them. Wanted the world to know that we died for something even if no one could be told exactly what. I don’t even know who it was presented to." James stares at the small medallion with an expression of adoration on his face.

A moment later there is a loud crash from inside the house followed by a suspicious silence. Sarah moves to stand but Sam waves her off, standing first to go investigate.

James leans back against the wall, just staring at the small medallion while Sarah watches him. He's occasionally so much more than she expects and yet still so very human.

"You are handling all this a lot better than I expected you to." She says, unable to keep the thought in.

James pauses. "Honestly, I don't think I ever expected to get any of these things back, and I certainly never expected to have anyone to share all this with." He replies, looking at her with such deep affection, she has to look away.

"Can I ask another question that may make you uncomfortable?"

"You literally asked me if I was fucking my best friend 10 minutes ago, I don't think anything is off the table." He replies with a small smirk and a head tilt. She huffs out a quiet laugh at that.

"How come more things from this century don't seem to… shock you? No 'for coloured only signs', gay marriage, interracial dating… “ she adds, pointing between the two of them. "Most people your age have pretty set opinions on a lot of those things. "

He frowns, tilting his head in that way that she knows means she has shocked him.

"Where's this coming from?"

She shrugs, reaching for one of the small piles of letters littering the floor between them. If she's honest it's a thought she's had before, but always assumed it had something to do with him not being fully unaware of the passage of time given the intermittent awakenings of the Soldier, or the fact that he'd basically been kept as property himself. She'd never felt entirely comfortable asking before, but this James, the one who reads his old letters to her son, seems so much more like an open book than ever before.

"Just… being reminded that you really were born in 1917 and the world of your youth looked very very different." Is what she chooses to say.

James seems to think for a minute and she appreciates that. Appreciates him trying to give her an answer that feels honest to him.

"A strong man who has known power all his life may lose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of it. Erskine said that to Steve before he gave him the serum. Steve was fond of that quote." He says quietly.

She frowns.

"Not to call you out James but this guy might have been a few pounds lighter than you but I don't know if anyone would call him weak." She replies holding up the enrollment form with his picture.

He shakes his head, digging into the box in front of him and pulling out another old frame with an ancient-looking sepia portrait, colour bleeding at edges. He hands it to her.

She looks down at it. It's a family. Woman, man, four children. Taken in that old-timey way that you only ever see in horror movies these days. James looks like he's maybe 16 or 17. It's truly stunning.

"This is them, isn't it? Your whole family." She asks. He nods, looking down at his hands.

"You know how I said, my ma came over from Italy?"

"Yeah"

"Well she did, but her first language wasn't Italian. It was Romani."

"Romani?" Sarah asks with a frown, she doesn't think she's heard of that before.

"They used to call them gypsies. Weren't real popular in the US. Neither in Europe. She'd spent a lot of her life afraid simply for being born what she was, but she was proud and tough and unwilling to be afraid anymore. She wasn't going to let any of us forget her roots. Wasn't going to allow any of us to turn into bullies."

Sarah stares at the faded photo focusing on the woman.

"What was her name?" She questions.

"Maria." He replies, voice soft.

She looks tiny next to the man in the photo, a dainty little thing with full lips set in a stubborn looking line and proud eyes. She can see the resemblance to James though, can trace the lines of his features in her face.

"She sounds like an amazing woman," Sarah says looking up, surprised to find James studying her with almost the same intensity that she was studying the photo.

"Yeah… I seem to know a lot of those." He replies, with a strange, crooked little smile.

She blushes at that, feeling heat spread along her face and down the line of her throat at the unexpected compliment. She holds his gaze though, lets the moment sit between them warm and heavy somewhere in her chest as the bird songs continue and the wind rustles through the trees. For a moment, sitting amongst the ancient memories that helped create this impossible man, time finally seems to pause in deference to them.

[hispeculiartreasure]

Don’t Wanna Fall - S.R.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Genre: Angst angst angst angst angst

Setting: Immediately after Infinity War, preceding Endgame.

AN: I am . . . so deeply sorry for this. I’ve been in a melancholy funk for a few days and listening to my Johnnyswim playlist on a loop hasn’t helped. This was inspired by their song “Wicked Game”. Borrowed lyrics appear in italics/ If you haven’t heard it before, go listen to it first. It really sets the mood. This just wouldn’t stay in my heart so I’m making you all suffer with me.

In a split second, the world had imploded. Every single person’s life changed at the snap of a finger. No one would ever be the same.

After the day where everyone lost everything, you threw yourself into your work. You saw a need and had a desperation to be occupied at every second of the day.

People needed to grieve and grief had never been seen on this high of a global scale. Your nonprofit - what was left of it - began coordinating therapy worldwide. You hunted down therapists and counselors that were still living, trained willing volunteers. Support groups, individual sessions, you made it all happen. You fought tooth and nail to make it happen.

Everyone who walked in and out of your doors looked hollow, yet determined. Determined to find something meaningful in the aftermath. Then again, each person had lost someone. Including your staff, including yourself. Your whole operation depended on broken people helping broken people.

The world was on fire, no one could save me but you.

People around you tried to beckon you back out, mentioned you hadn’t been yourself. You laughed in their faces. Who could be themselves after this? You couldn’t help but think that person had died along with the other half of the world. What was the point? It was easier to love no one, to remain independent, to keep everyone at arm's length. That way you could at least pretend the remaining pieces of you could live on.

But then there was Steve.

I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you.

He was good - straight down to his bones, he was good. He was kind. He was clever. He was haunted. For all his strength, he was gentle. For all he had in his mind, he was thoughtful. Still waters ran miles deep and it was too tempting not to explore the open seas.

The last session of the week is the one where you allow yourself to move from employee to participant. You knew you needed it, you begrudgingly sat through it. Your heart was no less shattered than anyone else’s here.

That’s where you met him. He was barely recognizable with his shaggy hair and beard that disguised his features. Without fail, he was always early. The previous session hadn’t quite ended, so he loitered by the door, watching, observing. He watches as you finish your duties, as you take your staff lanyard off and subtly transition into group member.

He finds himself sitting by you every Saturday evening. Both of you were among the quieter ones in the group. Mainly listening. Finding solace in not being the only one overcome by the grief.

Weeks pass. During a break you stand near each other in companionable silence, sipping on the instant coffee you’d prepared hours ago.

“Who did you lose?” he asks, soft enough to make you question if you’d heard it in the first place.

You take another drag of the bitter drink. “Everyone,” you whisper, void of emotion. “You?” From the corner of your eye you can see him still staring straight ahead.

“Enough.” You share a nod of sympathy as the leader beckons the group to take their seats again.

He lingers as the group disperses, thinking he was watching you covertly. He wasn’t.

You take down signs, Steve offers to help you stack chairs. You gather your folders into your briefcase before shutting off the lights. You never question Steve’s hovering. In a strange way you understood why he was still here. You’re glad he was still here.

“Wanna grab a drink?” He nods in relief, following you down the street to an old haunt.

Sitting at the bar together, there is very little discussion. Both of you were tired of talking about the feelings and thoughts that consumed you. For some reason, your souls recognized a kinship in each other. You felt seen by him, a feeling later he confirmed was reciprocated.

His hand covers yours on the surface of the bar, gently squeezing.

I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you.

Somehow you end up on the front porch of your home, Steve by your side.

Eyes flicker to his, finding that searching look reflected. You lean close, resting your forehead to his shoulder. This isn’t healthy, you think. Steady arms encircle you, a nose nuzzles the top of your head. This is wrong. His lips are inches from yours, waiting for you to close the gap. This will only lead to hurt.

This one would only break you.

You didn’t care. You needed to feel something. Anything. He did too. That much you knew.

It’s strange what desire makes foolish people do.

The pair of you stumble through your living room, mouths insistent, needy on each other. Leaping into Steve’s embrace, he takes you into the hall. Past framed photos, past a more vibrant you in a white dress, a man in a tuxedo gazing down at you adoringly. Past faces you know you’ll never see again. Past a you that had happiness. He angles toward what he assumes is the master suite, resting your back against the closed door for a moment to kiss down your jaw, peppering your throat with affection.

He twists the doorknob, drawing you back to the moment. “No,” you breathe. He freezes, leaning back to assess your meaning. Had he been wrong? Was this not what you wanted? “Down the hall.” Fervor is back in your veins, reviving in his. Shuffling toward the guest room where you’d taken up residence, Steve carries you.

He carries you away from the door, from the memories. Away from the room you hadn’t touched since that horrible day. Away from the place you’d woken up, confused by the dirt in your bed, calling for your husband. Away from the spot where you’d turned the TV on, watched the news coverage. Away from the room where you’d screamed in agony at the empty spot next to you.  Away from where your husband’s ashes still mixed in with the sheets. Away from the tomb of the life that was. Away from a life that was gone.

All that matters is the man that was making you feel anything other than numb.

Morning has almost arrived when you find yourself watching Steve as he slept. Your head is propped on his shoulder, hand firmly resting over his chest. You needed the assurance of his beating heart to keep panic at bay.

Soon self-conscious - but not embarrassed - eyes rove your face. “Breakfast?” he suggests.

You weren’t here to fall in love. Neither of you were under that allusion.

But someone to shoulder this unbearable burden? Sure.

What you found together in the next weeks, months, years wasn’t quite happiness. But it was as close as you could get in the world you now lived in.

You meld into each other’s lives. You are present for each other. You are salves on the others’ heart. You find a new kind of normal. You finally face the master bedroom, you clean out old memories. You find a confidence bolstered by a man you hadn’t expected. You work hard to get better. Steve holds you as you cry. You hold him as he cries. He opens up, he bears his soul. Together you talk fondly of the ones you lost. You get to know the only people the other has left. He gets angry. He seeks you out to bring him back down to earth. You hate yourself for the hope he brings, the peace that floods your body when he’s near.

A dark, rainy night he appears on your doorstep unannounced; clean-shaven, more put-together than you’d ever seen him. Something was wrong.

“We need to talk,” his voice is deep, toneless.

The hope is throttled by dread.

You nod, allowing him to pass by you. You stand toe-to-toe behind the closed door.

He’s different. For the first time since you’ve known him, he stands tall, straight. There’s a purpose to his step, a reason glittering behind his determined gaze. Even though his jaw is set, you can sense his agitation.

“What is it, Steve?” you ask when the silence becomes too heavy.

“I’m sorry I’ve let this go on so long. We’ve reached a place where you have feelings that I just. . . don’t have. I can’t keep letting us do this when you’re going to end up hurt.”

Later you look back and wonder why you weren’t stunned. Why you didn’t rail against him, call him every name in the book, truly tear him down like you wanted. But you were calm, collected, even-keeled.

You can tell he’s lying.

You’ve come to know him too well not to tell. The twitch of an eyebrow, the shuffling of the feet. The barely-there eye-contact.

“Care to share where this is coming from?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’ve known for a long time. It was nice to have someone around, but I never let myself fall. I can get by on my own. And it’s not fair to you.” He reaches to scratch at scruff that isn’t there, instead moving his hand to rub his neck. “I’m sorry,” it quietly floats to you. Much like the first thing he’d ever said to you, you were only half sure he had said it.

Who did you lose?

Everyone. You?

Enough.

For some reason, he feels a need to say these things; to say that he never shared feelings you had fought for so long. You knew better. You’d felt the love in his eyes, felt it in his hands, felt it in his words.

What a wicked thing to say you never felt this way.

Your confusion dissipates when you finally pinpoint the energy he’s carrying with him.

Fear. Anxiety. Dread. Terror.

Something is about to happen, something is about to change.

As much as he’s saying he doesn’t need you. . . you know that right now the opposite is true.

“Alright,” you say much more steadily than you feel. “Do what you need to do.” You step closer, one hand reaching to rest on the back of his neck, the other tapping aimlessly over his heart. “Whatever it takes,” you murmur.

Steve knows that you know he’s lying.

He hates himself for gathering you up. He hates himself for breathing in your sweet scent. He hates himself for the blow he’s just landed. And he hates himself for staying when he told himself he would leave.

But he can’t leave, he can’t do what he’s about to do without saying goodbye to someone that has come to mean the world to him. Someone who was there for the end of his world.

He mutters your name like a prayer all night, etching you into his memory. Determined to carry you with him no matter where the next step takes him. Every possible moment you feel for his heartbeat. You memorize the pattern so it can play in your mind when you roll over to find the bed empty once again.

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you.

You walk him to the door the next morning, feel his lips on yours one last time.

“Good luck,” you whisper against his mouth.

Those blue eyes flicker, forgetting the charade he’d started when he’d walked into your home yesterday. He wants you to hate him. Wants you to be furious, he wants to be the someone you can channel your anger toward. You only watch him, nothing but understanding on your face. “Thank you. I’m. . . I’m so sorry.” That was the only true thing he’d said since you last stood in this spot.

Nobody loves no one.

“I’m sorry too, Steve.” You squeeze his hand tightly before you swing the front door open.

Finally, tears trickle down your cheeks as you watch him walk away. Somehow you know you’ll never see him again.

You know him in his bones.

Whatever he’s set on doing, it’ll get done - no matter the cost.

[oneyanderegirl]

Photo Frame

Genre: One-shot 

Rating: T 

Sasuhina Month 2019 Theme: Day 3 (Post-War) 

A/N: Trying to get back into writing so I can finish writing my previous fics and what better way to do it than to write some during SH month? I’m super rusty so bear with me please...  

@sasuhinamonth

Pieces of splintered wood and shattered glass laid beneath her feet.

The wooden floors were a mess, though she was unsure why. All she had heard was the sound of something falling. When she ran into the room to see what had happened, all she saw were broken glass and wood. She slowly searched for the source of the fragmented pieces with desperation. Her panicked heart somehow knowing where it was despite not seeing it. And when her feet had finally stopped moving, she found herself standing before one of the walls near the windowsill with the fallen object just a few inches away.

A picture frame.

Before the war, for the longest time, the relationship between Hinata, her sister Hanabi, and their cousin Neji had been strained. This was especially true between Neji and herself, due to the circumstances of their clan. There was much hatred towards her. It was also due to her clan that there had been virtually no relationship between herself and Hanabi either.

She remembered the days where she would idly sit alone in her room reflecting on the mistakes she had done to deserve the punishment she had received during clan training. She would view her cousin and her sister with jealousy and envy wondering why she, who was supposed to be the next heir to the Hyuga line, was such a failure.

She remembered watching the two from afar, training with each other through combat, wishing she could join them. She would watch in wonder as they clashed head on towards each other with such skill and grace that it would make her feel hopeful that perhaps someday she too could display such talent.

For years, she yearned for their affection and respect with little results. Still, she never gave up despite the negative feelings that would occasionally arise. And after a long time, on one fateful day, her wish became a reality.

She remembered clearly how Naruto, the boy she had feelings for at the time, had broken the walls of hatred that Neji surrounded himself with through their fight during the Chunin exams. It was that fateful day that the wheels had slowly started turning for Hinata. The once strained relationship between her and Neji slowly began to heal.

Soon her idly days alone were filled with days spent with her dear cousin. Not long afterwards, the relationship with her younger sister also began to heal, and soon she too started to join them. It was then, she had finally started to feel the warmth of affection from her family. Although it wasn’t perfect, it was a start.

It made Hinata happy.  

On her sixteenth birthday, despite the winter chill, Hanabi and Neji had insisted on going out to celebrate. She remembered their embarrassment as they scrambled to pull out the gift they had wanted to give her for her birthday. It was poorly wrapped in lavender paper with a messily tied blue ribbon. When she opened the present, she had found herself looking at a picture frame made of maple wood painted with lavender. The picture frame held a photo of the three of them that was taken during the cherry blossom viewing earlier in the year. The bottom corner had been carved with their names. Neji had handmade the frame, while Hanabi had taken the photo and developed it.

It was the proof of their relationship.

And now that had been destroyed.

She unconsciously reached for the pieces in hopes of being able to salvage it.

Nothing.

The frame was too broken to fix. The photo had tears due to the broken glass. The only thing still intact was a piece of the frame that held their carved names. It was small, but Hinata still reached for it with desperation. She held the splintered piece of wood towards her chest as if it were her life line. She gripped it so tightly that she did not notice the blood dripping out from her hands.

“ Hinata!”

Hinata could feel a hand violently grip her as she felt herself being spun around until her eyes were faced with a pair of black ones staring directly at her.

“ What are you doing?”

It was Sasuke.

Ever since the war had ended, Hinata had found herself constantly drawn to the man. She wasn’t sure of the reason, but it seemed that it was always him who would find her during these moments of grief. It started as a mere coincidence, but eventually she started to wonder if it truly was.

It didn’t matter though.

Because that wasn’t the focus at the moment.

Hinata looked at the blood dripping from her hand. The red liquid had splattered onto the piece of wood that she had tried to hold. It had covered Neji’s name and stained it.

“ He still hasn’t forgiven me.” she sadly whispered.  

After a moment of silence, she could feel herself being pulled by him into bed. She felt a cool sensation as Sasuke gently wiped her face with a towel. The scent of hot tea lingered in the air as she could hear a cup being placed by her table side. The piece of wood that she had grabbed earlier was also sitting on the table as well.  

“ You should rest. I’ll clean up.” he said as he left the room to grab some supplies.

As she watched him clean up the mess in silence, she wondered how many times Sasuke had helped her already. This wasn’t the first time he had helped her like this. It felt almost routine at this point.

She would have thought it would be her sister or her friends that would have helped her, yet it somehow ended up being him.

It always ended up being him.

Sasuke had helped her so many times ever since the war ended that the scene playing out in front of her felt familiar. It felt almost nostalgic. She couldn’t describe her feelings at the moment, but Hinata couldn’t stop watching him because of it. Although he would rarely speak in these situations, he never stopped helping her during her grieving.

It made her feel warm.

“ Thank you.” she whispered.

He stopped for a moment to look at her. The way his eyes gently stared at hers never failed to surprise her.

“ You don’t need to thank me,” he replied.

“ Why?” she asked.

“ Because I want to do this.”  

His expression never changed, yet she could feel as if he wanted to say something else but stopped himself. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but she never probe further because she didn’t want to push him more than what he had already done for her. Sasuke was, after all, a man of few words.

Still, she was appreciative of his actions.

So she didn’t say anything else, but continued to watch him. In turn, he went back to cleaning up the mess and the room soon became quiet once more. By the time Sasuke had finished cleaning her room, Hinata had already fallen asleep. Sitting next to her bed, he soon fell asleep too.

When she woke up later, Hinata could feel something warm holding her hand.

It was his hand wrapped around hers.

Another familiar scene that had happened countless times before, yet it still surprised her every time it occurred. Whether it was intentional or not she didn’t know, but the warmth of his hand made Hinata feel safe. She couldn’t help but squeeze it as if it was to reassure herself that this was real. And it was. It always was.

And just like all the times before, when she confirmed it to be real, the warmth of his hand would spread throughout her body and a mixture of feelings would arise. Unfamiliar and familiar, she would take a short moment to ponder over these feelings before letting them disappear once more.

Hinata stared at him again before falling back to sleep.

When she did, she made sure to keep her hand wrapped around his.

-----

It had been a few weeks since that incident.

During that time both Hanabi and Sasuke visited her often, making sure she was never alone. Despite this, none of her friends had found out. She was grateful for that because she knew they would have made an even bigger deal out of it than it was already.

Still, she wondered what would have happened that day if Sasuke hadn’t caught her.

He had left sometime during the night that day. By the time she had woken up, she had found out that he had left for a mission. She wished she could have seen him before he had left. She wanted to thank him once more for all of his help.  

Hinata looked at the sunflowers planted by her porch. Sasuke had helped her plant those a while back after she had experienced another episode of her grief. Her sister had suggested it in hopes that it would brighten her up a bit more, so Sasuke had gone out of his way to buy them the next day. It had taken hours to prepare the small garden, due to their inexperience in planting, but eventually they had finished the task. When the flowers finally bloomed, Hanabi had taken it upon herself to take a picture of the two of them as a reward for their hard work.

The memory made her smile.

“ Hey.”

Hinata turned towards the voice and saw a man jumping down from the fence.

“ Sasuke-kun?”

His clothes were dirty, and he was drenched with sweat. It seemed he had just returned from his mission. She quickly made some tea while he sat down. She was not expecting him to come to her so soon.

“ Welcome back, but shouldn’t you go home to rest first?” she asked as she poured a cup of tea for him.

He quickly drank the contents before helping himself to another cup. Sasuke seemed exhausted.

“ I’m fine. I’ll rest later, but I wanted to give you something first.”

Reaching into his bag, Hinata could see him pull a box out before handing it to her. The box was wrapped with blue wrapping paper with a small lavender bow on it.

“ What’s this?” she curiously asked.

There was no special occasion coming up, and it wasn’t her birthday either, so Hinata was surprised to have received a present from him. She glanced at him to see if he would tell her, but she knew he was not planning on it by the expression on his face.

“ Open it.” he whispered.

The gentle voice he used startled Hinata. He rarely talked in such a tone. She could tell he was a bit embarrassed.

Yet it only made her more curious.

Carefully unwrapping the gift, she opened the box to see what was inside.

She gasped.

Inside the box was a black wooden frame that held the picture of her, Hanabi, and Neji together.

The same photo that had been torn a few weeks ago.  

She could see their names carved on the bottom corner of the frame. She noticed two cracks around the corner and a slight hint of lavender paint. Running her fingers through the lines, she recognized the familiar piece that seemed to be slightly different from the rest of the frame.

It was the same piece of wood from the old photo frame.

Hinata was too shocked to speak.

“ I took the piece you held in your hands and made a new frame for you. I tried to restore the photo, but it was harder than I thought. Luckily your sister still had a copy of it. My craftsmanship isn’t the best, but I managed to make it work somehow. It’s not as nice looking as the old one, so I hope you don’t mind it too much. I finished my mission early, but I wanted to make sure this got done so I traveled a bit longer to see if I could get everything I needed for this. I hope you like it.”  

She held the frame gently against her chest and closed her eyes, taking in all the words he had said and all the things he had done for her. Hinata was grateful. She was grateful to have him here in her life. He had done so much for her to help her process her grief without asking for anything in return. Despite what the world may say about him and the rumors surrounding him, she would never let it affect the feelings she was feeling for him at this very moment.

“ Thank you. Thank you for everything,”

She smiled at him with all of her heart before looking at the picture frame again.

“ Sasuke-kun.”

This time it was Sasuke’s turn to be curious.

“ What is it?”

“ If it’s okay, do you mind carving your name here next to mine?”

“ Why?” he asked.  

Hinata looked at him with another smile.

“ Because you made this for me. Although you aren’t in the picture, you still made the frame that holds the photo together. I don’t want to forget that. I want to remember that it was you who did this for me. I want to remember, so I won’t forget. So is it okay if you carve your name on here?”

Sasuke nodded his head before taking a kunai knife out. With the swiftest slices, he carved his name neatly next to hers. Once he was done, he handed the frame back to her.

She touched the newly carved name in confirmation before returning to admire the whole thing again.

“ Hinata.”

She turned her head towards him.

“ He forgives you. I know he does.” he said.  

The look he gave her was a serious, yet gentle one.

“ What if he doesn’t?” she softly questioned.

“ If he doesn’t, then I’ll just keep fixing everything until he does.”

A moment of silence passed before Hinata started to laugh.

Grief was such a funny thing sometimes. Although she wasn’t sure Neji would ever forgive her, the words that Sasuke had spoken touched her. It felt ridiculous and silly to think about.

Yet despite it all, she couldn’t help but believe in those words.

“ Okay.”

And for the first time in a while, Hinata felt as if her heart had become lighter.

[mobius-prime]

169. Sonic the Hedgehog #101

Welcome to the once-planned hundredth issue, everyone, and there's something at the end of it that has made me lose my freaking mind. You know my penchant for calculating meticulously every tidbit of information that the comic gives us about thing like square miles/kilometers, planet size, orbital height and whatnot. It's become almost something of a running joke in this series. Well, we've hit the peak. After this issue, absolutely nothing that the comic throws at us anymore can possibly compare. Just. You. Wait.

Altered States

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Frank Gagliardo

We left off last issue with Sonic realizing to his horror that Nate is still trapped within Robotropolis. He rushes back toward the city to try to save him, but before he gets there the energy dome goes up once more, causing him to bounce back off it painfully. And right as he does… everything changes. Suddenly, he and Tails once again have their classic designs, and find themselves facing down… Metal Robotnik?

The world appears to have strangely shifted sideways into an alternate reality based on the Sonic OVA. Sonic and Tails work together to battle Metal Robotnik so they can enter Robotropolis and save the princess (Princess Sara, that is), and along the way Knuckles, in his trademark cowboy hat from the movie, hops in to offer his help as well. Unfortunately, they all become cornered… but then reality shifts again. This time, Sonic finds himself witnessing the betrothal of Sally Acorn to Knuckles, with both King Max and Locke happily commemorating the union of the two families after seven years of an official alliance. No one is roboticized, and there appears to be no sign of a war or of Robotnik. Sonic becomes upset at the proceedings and races off, wondering how things came this far.

He heads to Uncle Chuck's chili dog restaurant to have a heart to heart with him, during which time we find out that ten years ago Julian's coup was nipped in the bud before it even began, with the only casualty of the whole affair ultimately being Sonic's father, who was still roboticized from Julian's sabotage. Apparently in this reality, the entire kingdom has been at peace ever since, and everyone has been happy except for Sonic, who feels, as he puts it, like just "the kid who's dad is a 'bot." Uncle Chuck encourages him to still treasure his unofficial ties to Sally, and once again… reality shifts. This time, Sonic and Sally have been cornered at the edge of a building by Robotnik while on a mission, and while pretending to surrender, end up jumping off the building, straight into the path of an airship flown by their friends, who rush to save them.

As they fly off triumphantly, both Sonic and Sally are suddenly overcome with a strange feeling that none of this is right. Sally recounts a dream she had about being engaged to Knuckles, as well as having an older brother and still-living parents, all of which Sonic can remember as well. As they puzzle over how they somehow remember the same events, reality shifts yet again. Sonic finds himself standing alone in a room, with tears gently dripping from his face onto a photo of Sally, marking another rare occasion of Sonic actually shedding tears. His roboticized parents come to retrieve him, and he sadly walks outside… into a funeral party.

As he and his friends mourn over Sally's death, Sonic finds himself suddenly overcome by strange memories - memories of defeating Robotnik, and of kissing a very-much-alive Sally after her miraculous recovery from her injuries from the fall. He stands up, announcing to everyone that Sally isn't actually dead, and as they doubt his mental health he continues to insist that it's true, that he and everyone else, including Sally, have just escaped Robotropolis with the Robians and are returning to Knothole - and all at once, reality rights itself. He finds himself staring at all his friends just outside the energy dome over Robotropolis, and everyone stirs, feeling as though they've all been dreaming. Sonic wonders if Eggman is behind all those weird reality shifts, but Nate informs him that it's not, that Eggman wouldn't work with a plan that's so scattered and that the random nature of the shifts indicates that whoever is behind it isn't fully in control of what's happening. Sonic realizes this isn't the correct reality either, as Nate shouldn't be here with them, and as Nate worries that these shifts could cause reality itself to become unstable, in a single moment Nate morphs into Uncle Chuck, finally bringing reality back to the way it should be… with Nate still trapped inside the city.

And thus, the band leaves the city and heads back to their own village, sadly leaving Nate behind, remembered as the hero who saved them all.

Reboot

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Dawn Best Colors: Frank G.

So who exactly was behind all those reality shifts, then? Well, of course, it was the work of Green Knuckles! Back on board the Dark Legion's battleship, Julie-Su privately confronts Knuckles about his decision to ally himself with the Legion, demanding he explain himself. He surprises her by saying that in the end, Tobor's death influenced his decision - that Tobor died full of anger and hatred, and he felt it all, up to the moment of impact.

Despite Julie-Su's misgivings, Knuckles asks Dimitri for advice on controlling his newfound powers, to which Dimitri reminds him that now that he's essentially a living Chaos Emerald, his powers are almost unlimited. Knuckles then gets the idea that he could possibly travel through time, to prevent any of the negative events of the past centuries from taking place at all, and despite Dimitri warning him that not even he himself had wanted to try something so risky, Knuckles is able to bring himself back to the very day that the Floating Island was first raised from the land. Realizing that everything bad that ever happened could be traced back to the island being created in the first place, he uses his powers to destroy the comet before it can hit, so that the scientists never have to raise the island at all. He finds himself confused why he still exists at all, considering that this should have solved everything, but then out of nowhere, a massive earthquake hits, knocking him off his feet…

He suddenly comes to back on the battleship, as though nothing happened. Dimitri again warns him about the foolishness of trying to change the past, but Knuckles simply calls him a coward and prepares to try again. Dimitri reveals that as far as he knows, there's only three junctions within time where he stands a chance at actually fixing things, and the comet strike was the first, so Knuckles decides he's going to go back to the other two junctions, leaving us on a cliffhanger.

Whoo, those were some pretty intense stories, right? Well, we're not done yet! It's been a long time since we got extra supplemental material like a map or a character profile, but we get both in this issue! First up we have a character profile for Sally Acorn, most of which is just a recap of previous events and is therefore mostly known to us, but which is still worth going over. It's noteworthy that both this and the next page were, though not credited, clearly written by Penders - it has his art and writing style all over it, and furthermore Sally's page has a big ol' picture of her making out with Geoffrey even though that weird era has long since passed us by. Furthermore, he's decided to make up his own various units of measurement without actually giving us a translation for them into real-world units, meaning we have to do a bit of math and guesswork. Sally's height is given as "73 marks," and her weight as "6.5 stone." We don't have any real-world units to compare these measurements to, but what we do have is Sonic's height and weight from the games. He has a later data file for himself, so using his measurements from that later file and comparing them to his measurements from the games, assuming they're equivalent, one mark is worth about 1.43 cm or 0.56 inches, and one stone is worth 4.86 kg or 10.69 lbs. From that, we can easily find Sally's height and weight in real-world units. She's about 104 cm tall or 3′5″, and weighs around 31.5 kg or 69.5 lbs. That seems reasonable, especially given the small stature of most Mobians.

Sally's birthday is also given as the 186th day of the year. On Mobius, the year length is the same as ours, but they don't appear to use months, merely marking the passing of time throughout the year by counting the days. Converting this to something we can understand, this means that Sally was born on July 5. The only other really noteworthy thing in the profile is the statement that she began to officially lead the resistance against Robotnik at the age of thirteen, and that "more than a year later" Julayla died and she acquired Nicole. Now we know when those events happened - just before the Sonic In Your Face special. This would mean that, if she and Sonic are sixteen now, it's been two full years since that issue. I know continuity has always been a little weird in this series concerning how much time takes place in between major events, but two years seems about right, and seems to fall in line with what I've estimated earlier, if she and the others were only around fourteen during the majority of the first two eras. If anything, it's really nice that time actually passes over the course of the comic, whereas the games often seem to take place in some kind of nebulous world where time doesn't really progress and Sonic is forever fifteen.

And now, we come to the second data file: the Floating Island.

I've included the whole page, because we are going to need all of it. I first overlaid this map with the previous one that we were given in the first issue of the Knuckles miniseries to check how well it held up, and to my surprise it matches up perfectly, even down to the most minor of locations - Penders must have traced this map directly from the other one, and just flipped it on its side. The only big differences are the location of Mount Thunder, which was not mentioned at all on the previous map, and the gray area at the right side, which is what the island lost due to the hit from the quantum beam. Right off the bat, we're given the surface area of the island. It used to be 57.75 square metrons, but after the quantum beam it it's been reduced to 41.35 square metrons. That's a reduction of almost 30% in size! I dunno about you, but that gray area does not look like 30% of the total landmass to me. But whatever - all they lost was uninhabited desert, so it doesn't affect the plot much and we can just chalk it up to a small discrepancy or something.

But this does bring us to the very important question of, how much is a metron, exactly? Well, we know from my previous calculations that the surface area of the island is (or rather, was) 2,325 square miles or 6,022 square km in area. Now, calculating the length of a metron in proportion to a mile or kilometer is a lot harder when all you have to work off of are equivalent elliptical areas, so I contracted my math-genius girlfriend for help on this one, and through the power of overcomplicated diagrams, frantic internet searches, cobbled-together formulas, and shameless guesswork we ended up with this: there are roughly 6.34 miles, or 10.14 km, to one metron. Fair enough! This wouldn't be a problem, if it wasn't for the next two measurements given. Mount Thunder, according to this data file, is 1.79 metrons high, which translated into real-world units makes it a whopping 11.35 miles, or 18.15 km, high at its peak. I know it's a bit cliché to use Mount Everest as a reference for Tall Things, but this mountain would be over twice as high as Everest if that is the case. And things only get even more ridiculous when you take a look at its "orbital height" of 6.83 metrons. Congratulations, Ken Penders, now I know you were never bothering to pay attention to scale. Forget our old outdated estimate of the island floating only eight miles high, because this translates to the island consistently floating 43.3 miles, or 69.3 km, off the surface of the goddamned planet! Do you have any idea how high that is?! That is smack dab in the middle of the mesosphere, far above the ozone layer, right around the height at which meteors start burning up on entry into Earth's atmosphere. That is almost twice as high as weather balloons float before they burst due to the difference in pressure. The temperature at that height would be around -60°C, or -76°F, which is almost exactly equal to the average temperature that Antarctica regularly experiences in its coldest locations and seasons. Breathable air straight up doesn't exist at that altitude. This one just blows every other previous absurd measurement out of the water. This is the thing that makes it clear, once and for all, that despite apparently being invested enough in this universe now to be creating fictional units of measurement for it, Kenders still can't bother to try to actually make sense of what he's created. Granted, this is by far one of the least objectionable things to emerge from his work, but as someone who pays a great deal of attention to these kinds of small details in worldbuilding, these kinds of errors are glaring. They're also hilarious, and I will continue to document every single one for posterity because this ongoing saga is probably the best thing to come out of me rereading this series by far.

Ultimately, the rest of the information related in the data file is either already known to us, such as the explanation of the island's history, or largely worthless. There are no real-world measurements provided to compare to "datrons," meaning that the "3.2" number given for the island's orbital period is indecipherable. If there were a comparable unit given, and if we were told which direction the island orbits (east-to-west or west-to-east) then I would probably have spent even more of my time calculating its average speed, as well as just how much longer or shorter a day is on the Floating Island due to its orbit, but that's just not possible for now, unfortunately. But the two data files in this issue are far from the last we'll see, so expect more analyses and calculations like this in the near future, cause lord knows I can't get enough of doing 'em.