Work Text:
there’s a lot of things that keep us from our memories.
guilt, a sense of regret for something you’ve done in the past.
shame, the embarrassment of mistakes.
fear, being scared that while searching for one memory you’ll find another.
but see, memories are fickle things.
they hold truth but they also hold lies. you can twist a memory into something you want it to be - as long as you try hard enough. but deep down you’ll always know it’s a fake, that the real thing was so much worse. memories are the lockboxes to all our mistakes and your will to learn is the key.
some people never even attempt to go deep inside the crooks of their brain, to search through the dusty old cabinets and cobwebbed corners. you were one of these people.
the past hurt far too much to even dip your toe into.
in your eyes, the past didn’t matter, only the present did. your actions in the past do not define you now, but the choices you make in the present do.
you can remember the day you made a choice that threw everything you knew off course.
the air had been cold, streetlights flickering with expired lightbulbs and cracked cobblestone. you’d felt alive, power surging through your fingertips and crackling green in the air around you, posture high and confident as you loomed over the man. that night your magic wasn’t the only sparks that flew. you had been so close to killing the man, long-drawn whips of green caressed his face, but as you started to make the first cut some silly bat-shaped toy hit you right in the hand, the magic dissipating at the sudden shock.
you had been enchanted. his eyes were the only thing visible - and they had a vice grip on you before you even knew it. the fight was hard, you had strung him up in magical bonds only for him to throw a gas bomb and clamp power disabling cuffs on you. so, of course, you wrapped the handcuffs around his neck and kissed his cheek.
“you’re awfully cute for a superhero - not old and musty like the batman.” you had purred, eyes wide and glittering golden from the surge of magic. your hands twiddled at the hair on the back of his neck, head tilted, “and your eyes are absolutely captivating - like a mousetrap.”
his heartbeat had started to thrum and you could feel it against your chest, warmth flushing to his cheeks and lips crooked into an im-trying-not-to smile, “you know we can’t do this.” he muttered lips ghosting yours.
the little affair had gone on for weeks, with stolen kisses and sweet words the two danced around the truth that this was doomed.
“just join me, we can work together i can help you just- “ he had been silenced with a cold kiss, the freezing night air nipping at your exposed stomach. when you pulled away you both were breathless, “please, come to the good side.”
“they’ll kill me timothy,” you mumbled, head resting on his shoulder, “they’ll kill me and i’ll never see you again.”
“we can protect you - we can stop them,” he rambled off, shaking you lightly, “please y/n. i love you so much and i can’t protect you forever.”
“no one can protect me - not from them.”
you had been right. because as you lie in a pool of your blood all you can think is that timothy will never forgive himself. and neither would you.