#half-return

[barnesonly]

Half-return

dad!bucky barnes x reader (implied)

trope: absolute angst.

summary: your daughter skips school to visit Bucky’s — her father’s — grave.

word count: 1499

A/N: Oh gods, I actually made myself cry while writing this. I imagine this happening in 2010’s, reader was pregnant when her and Steve fell into ice. I might write part two one day, let me know what you think! Also this is heavily inspired by this song.

The cemetery was quiet that morning.

No birdsong, no wind. Just the gentle crunch of gravel under small, determined footsteps. Her backpack bounced against her spine with every step, heavier than usual — not because of books, but because of the secret folded in the front pocket.

A homemade card. Pink construction paper. Crayon hearts. A little drawing of a man she never met.

She hugged her hoodie tighter around herself as she walked between rows of graves, her sneakers brushing against wildflowers that hadn’t been cut back yet. The sky hung low with heavy clouds, soft and gray, like the world was holding its breath.

She knew where he was.

She didn’t need help finding it anymore.

James Buchanan Barnes.

1917 — 1945.

Beloved friend. Cherished soldier. Never forgotten.

The letters on the stone were starting to wear a little. She ran her fingers across the name like she always did, just to feel it. She imagined his hand might’ve felt rough like the stone, big and strong and warm if she ever got to hold it.

She glanced around — empty. No one saw her. No one followed.

“I skipped school,” she said quietly, her voice too small for the sky. “I’m not supposed to. But I needed to see you.”

She sat down cross-legged in front of the headstone, brushing some leaves away from the base. Then she opened her backpack and carefully pulled out the card, like it was treasure.

“I made this at school,” she whispered. “Everyone was making cards for their dads. And I didn’t know what to do at first… but then I made this for you.”

She set it down gently against the headstone, the crayon hearts already smudging a little from the mist in the air.

“I just wanted to come alone this time… Without mommy… I wanted you to myself today.” She smiled, just barely. Her chin trembled.

She picked at a thread on her sleeve, then leaned forward like she was telling a secret.

“They gave us this math test yesterday,” she said, nose wrinkling. “I didn’t do so good.” She frowned for a second, like she was scolding herself. Then she glanced up at the headstone and shrugged.

“But… I think you wouldn’t have minded. Mommy says you weren’t great at math either.”

There was a small pause, and she plucked a piece of grass, twisting it between her fingers.

“My teacher, Miss Carr, she’s always talking about heroes. She says we’re supposed to write about one for this essay thing. I picked you.” She smiled again, a tiny, proud thing.

“Even though you’re not in any of the books at school. I had to ask Mommy a bunch of stuff so I could write about you right. I said you were brave and kind and that you protected people. And that you fell off a train ‘cause you were trying to save people. I think you would’ve liked that part.”

Her voice wavered a little at the end, but she pushed through it.

“They all picked people like Captain America… Or other Avengers… or firefighters. But I picked you. ‘Cause you’re my dad. Even if you’re not… here.”

She reached out and adjusted the card again where it leaned against the stone, like it needed to stand straighter.

“I think maybe you would’ve walked me to school. Or helped me with spelling. I bet you’d tell really funny jokes that made Mommy roll her eyes but laugh when you weren’t looking.”

A soft gust of wind blew her hair into her face, and she tucked it behind her ear absentmindedly.

“Sometimes I see kids with their dads, and I wonder if you’d be like that. Or if you’d carry me on your shoulders even though I’m not that little anymore. Mommy says you’d love me so, so much.”

Her throat tightened.

“I think I’d love you too.”

She was quiet for a long time after that. Just sitting, legs curled beneath her, fingers tugging at grass. The wind picked up a little, brushing against her cheek like a hand that wasn’t there.

Then she spoke again, even softer than before.

“Uncle Steve told me you’d always protect him from bullies when he was younger…” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “I wish you were here to help me like that now. I’d really need it.”

She blinked fast and looked up at the sky, like maybe if she didn’t look at the headstone, the sting in her eyes would stop.

“There’s this girl at school who always laughs when I get answers wrong. She says I’m weird. She makes fun of my shoes, and my backpack, and one time she called Mommy weird ‘cause she always looks tired.”

She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“I didn’t tell Mommy. I don’t wanna make her sad. She’s got enough worries. But I thought… if you were here, maybe you’d wait outside school for me. And if she said something mean, you’d just look at her and she’d stop.”

She smiled at the thought. A sad, flickering smile.

“Uncle Steve said you were like that. That no one messed with him when you were around.”

She traced the edge of the headstone with her finger again, slow and gentle.

“I really wish you were around.”

She sat still for a while, eyes locked on the card like it might fix everything just by being there. The crayon lines were running now — little streaks from the mist or maybe her fingers, she wasn’t sure.

Then suddenly, it hit her.

The weight.

The emptiness.

The truth.

Her lip trembled. She looked down at her knees, then back at the stone. And the words tumbled out in a breathless rush—broken, cracked, helpless.

“I don’t even know why I came here alone…” Her voice shook, barely holding on. “I always come here with Mommy but… I wanted to talk with you alone. I…”

Her small hands curled into fists against her jeans.

“I realized I don’t have a single memory with you. None.” Her shoulders started to shake. One sob slipped out before she could stop it.

“I don’t know your voice. Or your laugh. Or how your hugs feel. I don’t even know what your hands looked like.”

Tears spilled over now, hot and silent at first, then building until they came in waves.

“And I… I just really wanted to have one. Just one memory. Just you and me, Dad.”

She covered her face with her hands, sobbing into the quiet.

“I came here so I could pretend. Just for a little bit. That you’re here. That you’re real and you’re listening and… and that I’m not alone.”

The card fluttered a little where it leaned against the stone, caught in the wind like it was reaching for her.

She sniffled, dragging her sleeve across her face, and then — barely above a whisper:

“Mommy misses you so much.”

She didn’t look up. Just spoke into her knees, into the earth.

“She tries to be strong… but it hurts her. I see it.”

Another tear fell, but slower now. Heavier.

“She cries when she thinks I’m asleep. Sometimes I hear her say your name. Sometimes she just sits in the kitchen with the lights off.”

She looked up at the grave, eyes red and full of something bigger than a ten-year-old should ever have to carry.

“I don’t think she ever stopped loving you. I don’t think she ever will.”

She reached out again, touching the stone like it was his hand.

“Neither will I.”

She sat like that for a while — still, small, and hurting — until her legs began to ache. Slowly, she unfolded from the grass, stiff and heavy, like every part of her was tired.

She looked down at the card, bent from the wind but still standing. She knelt and adjusted it carefully, pressing a small rock against the corner so it wouldn’t blow away.

Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out something small — just a string bracelet, all crooked and uneven knots, the kind only a kid could make.

“I made this in art class,” she whispered, holding it in her palm for a second. “It’s not… very good. But it’s yours.”

She laid it beside the card, fingers lingering for a moment before pulling away.

Standing again, she looked at the grave, at the name carved so deep it would never fade. And even though her face was blotchy and red, her voice was steady — shaky, but trying.

“I have to go now.”

She hugged herself tightly.

“Mommy’s gonna be mad I skipped school. But I just… I needed this.”

A pause.

“I needed you.”

The wind rustled the trees above her, and she looked up, eyes shining.

“I’ll come back soon. I promise.”

She stepped back, wiped her cheeks one last time, then raised her fingers to her lips, kissed them and pressed them gently against his name.

“Bye, Dad.”

Then she turned. And walked away.

The bracelet stayed.

The card fluttered quietly.

And the empty grave watched.

[bluegiragi]

everything (part 3)

full version on patreon on bluesky

[dyinggirldied]

Rosemary's Baby Misunderstanding

It's the usual: Ellie and Dan get injured and reverted back to cores which Danny basically adopts inside his own to help protecting them.

Meanwhile, every single mages, wizards and magical-inclined person sees this young, high-school-age boy carrying what must be a sort of equivalent to Satan's babies except this particular Satan is not really Satan and is more of the High King of Infinity Realm I guess.

[brutusinthewoods]

i think grigori instilled strange eating habits in shephard during their time together

[dooblebrain]

slams credit card on table ANOTHER ONE

unstoppable existential dread vs immovable idgaf who will win

I need to space out all my dr. coomer angst comics lol

[jinglebunns]

some of my favorite scenes from my kirby mv!!

[berrysquared]

A short break 🌾

[prlssprfctn]

I think we don't talk nearly enough about this part of UTRH. I think we don't give nearly as much thought to this moment as we should. Because this declaration ("I am no one's son") is not dramatics, not another hyperbolised, theatrical line Jason loves to throw at his opponent. This is a desperate acceptance.

Because in a way, before his death, Jason's journey essentially was about finding a family; a parent, who cares, who loves. All he did as a Robin, he did it for love. He took the cape not because he was seeking revenge, not because of the necessity or a sense of rightness — first and foremost, he took the mantle for love. I said that once or twice there, but it is my favourite way to simplify the whole thing: Robin gave Jason magic, and magic in its core (for him) was safety and loving dad.

So, in a way, Jason (as a Greek character, if you squint) had his own journey from the beginning; a one that seemed fulfilled, once Bruce took him in. And then shit hit the fan, and he lost that in a way. That is where he goes in an adventure to find his mother, to become someone's son again. He finds his mother, he finds Sheila — except, everything goes wrong again, and she turns her back on him.

And then the journey ends. And Jason is back after many years.

And that's what he gets out of it. Accepts bitterly.

He is no one's son. And he hadn't been anyone's since Catherine Todd died.

[thathomestar]

played a half life mod series called timeline where you're trying to stop nazis from altering the flow of time. g-man teams up with hitler, it's a wild time, whole thing goes crazy

there's a bit where you get sent to a pocket outside of space-time, and jumping in a portal takes you to a random unwinnable scenario in history, one of which is

[calmbigdipper]

I believe Fugo and Trish would be besties in the most awkward way possible

[barnesonly]

hi!! idk if you’ve said anything about a part two for half return, but the daughter pov actually killed me a little (in a good way) and now i’m very attached to this fictional child and her fictional father. what do you think would be the reader/her mom’s reaction to getting the call from steve? is the reader an active agent at all? was she there for tws/civil war? i have so many questions about this little universe you’ve created :)

and if you have a place for a new anon, could i use 🪲?

I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED THIS! “half-return” made me cry so bad and I am happy there are people who liked it. 🪲 is all yours! nice to meet you 🪲🪲

In the fic i mentioned in additional notes that I imagine the reader was pregnant when her and Steve fell into ice, so yes — she was active in steve’s missions back in 40’s and I believe she is now as well. Maybe works with SHIELD or sth…

And the phone call… oh jeez i imagined it so many times already… lemme write it down.

———

The house was quiet except for the faint scratch of pencil on paper and the hum of the fridge. You stirred the pot on the stove absently, steam curling up into your tired face. Tomato soup—cheap, easy. The kind of dinner you could throw together without really thinking.

In the living room, your daughter lay on her stomach, elbows digging into the carpet as she worked through her math homework. She hummed softly under her breath, something tuneless and sweet. You could see the curve of her back rising and falling, relaxed. Safe. Ordinary.

You wiped your hands on a dish towel, glanced at the clock. Almost nine. She’d need to be in bed soon.

Then the phone rang.

Steve.

You hadn’t spoken in months. Not really. Not since he left on another mission, then another and another. Not since your nightmares started again.

You swallowed hard and answered.

“Steve?”

There was a pause on the other end—too long. Too full.

His voice was low when it came. “Are you alone?”

You glanced over your shoulder. Your daughter was still on the floor, legs kicking behind her in the air, focused on her paper. You stepped into the hallway.

“She’s here,” you said quietly. “What’s going on?”

Another pause.

Then, carefully—like it physically hurt him to say it:

“I found him.”

Your world stopped.

You blinked, sure you’d misheard.

“What?”

“I found Bucky,” Steve repeated, slower now. “He’s alive.”

You leaned against the wall, knees suddenly too loose beneath you. You pressed your palm to your stomach like something inside was falling.

Alive?

No… No, he—he couldn’t be. You mourned him. You grieved every day for years.

“Steve,” you whispered. “What are you talking about?”

“He doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t remember anyone,” Steve said, voice raw. “But it’s him. I swear to you—it’s him.”

Your breath hitched, loud in the phone. You felt like your lungs were shrinking. You sank slowly to the floor, knees folding beneath you. The soup on the stove bubbled softly in the background, like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

“Where?” you managed. “Where is he?”

“D.C. He’s—he’s not well. He’s scared. He’s dangerous. But I had to tell you. I couldn’t—” Steve’s voice cracked, and then steadied again. “I had to tell you.”

Your hand trembled against your mouth.

In the other room, your daughter giggled to herself, the sound sharp and bright like a crack in the silence.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know her father was alive.

“Does he… know about her?” you asked softly, barely able to say it.

“No,” Steve said. “Not yet.”

You closed your eyes, biting down hard on the sob that threatened to rip through your chest.

Not yet.

The hallway spun around you like a dream you hadn’t dared to have in years. You didn’t speak for a long time. Neither did he.

The silence stretched, full of everything you couldn’t say. Your fingers dug into the edge of the hallway wall. You felt dizzy, like the ground had shifted just slightly beneath you, and you were the only one who noticed.

Alive.

Two syllables that rewrote over ten years of grief.

When you finally found your voice, it was barely a whisper. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Steve said. “It’s him.”

You swallowed hard, your voice shaking as you asked the only question you could manage.

“What do I do now?”

There was no answer. Not right away. Then, softly, Steve said, “You breathe. And then we figure it out.”

Your hand slid down the wall until it found the floor. You sat there, knees pulled to your chest, phone still pressed to your ear like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

From the living room, your daughter’s voice carried faintly.

“Mom? Is dinner ready?”

You blinked hard, wiped your face with your sleeve before she could see. Your voice barely held steady as you called back:

“Almost, sweetheart.”

Then you brought the phone back to your ear, quieter now.

“Don’t tell him yet,” you whispered. “Not about her. Not until I see him.”

“Okay,” Steve said gently. “I’ll wait for you.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. Then you ended the call and sat there for a moment longer, staring at nothing.

[lucabyte]

siffrin starts the game with oddly empty pockets for a rogue who has a habit of stashing away every little trinket that isn't nailed down

and a hardy pocketwatch is an indispensable tool for oceanic navigation

[benevolenterrancy]

Sect Leader Nie and his Deputy trauma-bonding over sect paperwork (i feel in my heart that the nie sect does NOT produce great administrators and everyone suffers for that)

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

At times, for inexplicable reasons, Jason feels drawn to his grave like a ghost to its haunt, and then he’ll just stay there for hours at a time regardless of the weather.

This happens at random, and the first time the batfam notice is when Jason suddenly wanders off mid patrol.

[sandals-art]

murderbotmurderbotmurderbot(and amena)

[scribz-ag24]

one of these villains is not like the others

also one last gengar being a bastard