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eph3merall · 3 months ago

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૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა ⋮ fratboy!chris forgets about loser!readers birthday . . .

an : talked to my baby star about this. in honor of my birthday being a few weeks ago :) rewrote this a few times lolol

you find yourself wandering inside the frat house right after a party. there are drunken bodies draped across various surfaces, stepping carefully around cans and bottles. one misstep and some bottles clang into eachother, casting a nervous glance towards the sleeping forms—only to realize everyone is far too gone to have woken up from such a quiet sound.

your thumb spins and fidgets with the ring on your finger, having gotten it as a gift from one of your current friends. she was sweet, and didnt seem stuck up like a bunch of the girls around campus. you mentioned your birthday once to her and she still ended up remembering.

it meant a lot to you, only because not many people have remembered your birthday before. your parents never cared to get you something when they spotted the scribbled note on the calender saying "y/n's birthday :p" in bold sharpie, and you stopped talking about it in school since no one seemed to care or listen to you.

the further upstairs you go, the more hushed voices you can hear. some guys weren't all wasted, and were probably taking care of themselves or a girl. or fucking a girl, one of the doors to your right shut tight as high pitched moans filtered out the thin walls.

reaching the door at the end of the hall, it's cracked open slightly as smoke slowly wafts out of it every few seconds. creaking it open, you immediately spy chris in his desk chair, hunched over as a joint sits in his mouth. this particular person basically demanded him to roll with pink paper, which was also thin as fuck. his fingers were too long and too big for him to do it well, but it doesn't matter as long as he got it done.

with a flick of his eyes towards the doorway, chris sighs out a huff of smoke and takes the joint between his lips and sets it onto the ash tray nearby. a faint crack is heard in his shoulders as he straightens his back out just by a little, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. the space is illuminated by a single lamp, warm yellow light seeming to calm your nerves and release the sudden tension in your shoulders.

"what?" chris blinks at you, tilting his head a little as he leans back in the chair. it groans under his sudden added weight, fingers grasping the joint as he takes a hit of it. the tip glows a bright orange, sighing out smoke as he flicks the ash into the little tray. the tray you got him for his birthday. the one with a little deer painted on it.

"nothin'.. just thought i'd come see you," suddenly feeling scrutinized under his gaze, you quickly stride towards his bed and sit down on the edge of it, like it'd burn you if you weren't careful. when chris turns around and continues with his job, you sigh to yourself and shift onto the mattress some more, falling onto your back as your hair splays out around you due to the action.

the two of you find yourselves sitting in silence more often than usual. it's not always uncomfortable, as you find a nice peace in the silence that comes with the ones close to you. but today in particular, at this moment, the air feels suffocating and chris feels like he's forcing himself to stay on that chair. it's just like he doesn't want to be near you, and the feeling comes with familiar memories of your childhood. it was always kids who shifted away from you when you tentatively sat next to them, just wanting a friend.

you notice a can of opened pepsi on chris' desk that you missed, noting the alcohol that sits right next to it. you hear him curse a few times, getting upset at how he's doing with his "job". he takes casual hits of the joint, and you watch his back shift as slender fingers grab the neck of a bottle of alcohol to sip at.

you pull your phone out to be met with more birthday messages. but, you only desire those two words from a certain someone.

the day goes on and you end up in chris' bed, under his sheets, with a book in your lap. unsurprisingly, a party has broken out downstairs, the walls and floors of the frat house vibrating from the blaring music. it's late already, and most people have classes to attend tomorrow. but, most people who were at frat parties frequently never did care about their academics anyways.

you dont know how long its been, but a certain amount of time passes. a stumbling chris is cursing when he trips over his own foot, shutting his room door behind him once wobbling inside. you can instantly tell he's wasted and gotten a few hits of some drug earlier. what you dont expect is for him to eye you, drunkenly grin, and then immediately walk over to lay his whole body down onto your own.

groaning at the impact, chris looks like he could give less of a fuck. his eyes glance up and his hand runs through unkept curls, a goofy smirk stretching across his face. his hands are on your hips and you brace your hands on his shoulders, not in the mood for whatever he wanted to do right now.

with a sigh, you give up when chris shoots you a look like you've gone crazy, letting his face push itself into your neck. very rarely is he like this around you, because when he's wasted he usually just turns meaner. you deflate when soft kisses are pressed into your neck, his hair tickling your face.

"i heard.." smooch, "it," smooch, "was your birthday," you feign ignorance, like you've known all along he would remember as you laugh softly, chris being too out of his head to notice the tone of your voice anyways. your hands grow sweaty and clammy, hating the way a thick rope seems to wrap around your neck, making the words you squeak out sound small and pathetic.

"yeah, i guess."

"sorry," smooch, "didn't remember," chris' nose nudges against your jawline, his face suddenly in front of yours—looking so unlike his usual expression. you kind of hate it. with this chris, everything is almost unexpected, and you are never sure on what to do next and what type of reaction it'll trigger.

"i love you, y'know?.."

you don't hear the words at first. you think maybe you're too exhausted and you're hearing things, eyes wide as you blink frantically. you hands still, body tensing up. because that doesn't sound at all like something chris would say. he once refused to hold hands with you for the sole reason that they were in public and he was 'scared people would assume'.

you don't think it's anything. why would you? until the words are getting mumbled against your skin and repeated over and over and over in your ears. like a quiet prayer, full of hope and desperation.

you know it's the alcohol talking. that and whatever else chris took tonight, that he isn't sober and you know deep down he would never say anything like this sober. when you end up coming to your senses, you let your eyes close and try to shift him off of you.

"stop. chris."

even with your firm tone and obvious unpleasant emotions, he doesn't pick up on them. little murmurs of affection graze your skin—your cheeks, forehead, tip of your nose, jawline, lips, neck. you hate it, in a way. chris doesn't ease up, groaning when you eventually shove him harder than normal.

"chris, stop. you don't mean that, you know you don't."

he doesn't say anything, just leans in slowly to press a kiss to your cheek. testing the waters, to see if you'll push him away again.

you've always been weak to him, 'stop' leaving your mouth every time he says something sweet. it unsettles you, because it was so hard to deny him. you know he doesn't mean it. you know he'll deny this ever happened and possibly forget about it the next morning. it'll barely leave a mark on him, while it'll probably scar you forever.

"happy birthday.. love you, m'so in love w'you."

"chris.."

—

©eph3merall 2025

#ᶻz eph3merall #ೀ fratboy!chris #ೀ loser!reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo prompt #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo angst

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notafunkiller · 1 year ago

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Bucky Barnes is the best super soldier

How it was subtly emphasized in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

He always holds back

With the Flag Smashers and even with John Walker. We could see the difference in the last 3 episodes. Sebastian Stan did an incredible job making it clear in a subtle way.

I want to mention that famous "Stay there" scene, and how it was visible Bucky was not punching as hard as he can in the fight with John.)

This is the thing about Bucky, he isn't after the kill, he just does his part. He doesn't try to show off his skills or that he is a good guy. He doesn't try to play the victim role, either. In the scene where Zemo fake-activates the Winter Soldier in Madripoor, he just makes a point. He's obviously not even trying hard.

If he wanted those in the club dead, they would be. But his self control was wow. Sebastian acted so well, his exes said everything.

*And to be honest, even when he was TWS, he could have killed everyone, but he didn't. He could have killed all of the Avengers in Civil War is they were his mission, but they weren't. This is how Natasha survived when she met him, too. It depended on what kind of mission he had (if he wasn't allowed to be seen, then the witnesses would die too, but otherwise? He didn't bother).

2. His skills

People tend to forget how smart and good at making strategies Bucky is. He's been fighting (even though he hates fighting and never wanted to be in the army) for years before he was even captured by Hydra. And this is the reason why government still want him, after all. They can use his strategies as a leader (*cough* Thunderbolts *cough*).

In the last episodes of TFATWS, we could see how he outsmarted everyone. Karli was so terrified of him.

3. Karli Morgenthau

And talking about Karli, the phone call was interesting:

She asked him if he's not tired of fighting for the wrong side, and then told him she's fighting for something bigger than herself.

"And with all the bodies you've collected, have you ever been able to say the same?"

The first thing I wanna point out is how everyone talks about the deaths Bucky caused when he was controlled by Hydra, but everyone ignores the fact that all the Avengers killed far more, but since we consider them the good side, we just don't care.

Clint, Tony, Steve, Wanda etc. They all cause(d) far more deaths than "two dozen" (known assassinations - to quote Natasha), and neither was controlled. The double standards are something else, especially for Clint. (One of the reasons why Tony was on the other side in CW was because of his guilt, after all.)

The second point is how Bucky's answer says a lot more than we might realize at first:

"You don't think I ever fought for something bigger than myself? That's all I ever tried to do, and I failed twice."

Even as TWS, Bucky had to be convinced he is on the right side, that what they do is to save the world, to give "the world the freedom it deserves".

Even brainwashed and put to sleep all the time, he had to be lied to. Bucky as TWS was a victim too. He is not a victim only because he didn't have memories or control, but also because they lied to him and used him as a toy. That milk scene is so loud. (And I am gonna talk about it in a different post). He had no rights, no choices. He was used to being tortured.

[And I wish they explored it more. We deserved and deserve a WS film - maybe with him in Romania getting back his memories, writing in his journal etc.]

"You think your cause justifies all this death, but in the end, the nightmares won't go away. You're gonna remember all the ones you killed. Trust me. Don't do this. Don't go down this path."

Despite being on opposite sides, Bucky still said this to Karli, trying to help her, to make her see the big picture, sharing how he felt and feels.

He is on "the right side". He is a hero, and Bucky being thanked by that man for saving everyone's life was touching.

4. Baron Zemo

You can see how smart, strong, and rational Bucky is when he decides to break Zemo out of jail (his plan was amazing too), risking so much (his relationship with Wakanda people and his own freedom) to get his help for the mess. He puts the cause above his own (huge) trauma. And this makes that moment in Madripoor even more disgusting (he is treated as an object, as a toy):

Zemo: Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum. And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.

The way he keeps his composure, reacts and manages the situation... absolutely incredible!

This conversation also says a lot:

Zemo: The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path.

Bucky: Maybe you're wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.

Zemo: Touché. But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?

Bucky positions himself below Steve, who's considered a good hero, a good person... like no other. But Steve never had to go through what Bucky did: from being kidnapped like that, to being tested on, to falling off the train, to being tortured, and used, and brainwashed for decades, and put to sleep when he was not needed and having n "keepers".

Also, interesting how all Steve wanted was to fight (for a good cause, but still)... and fighting still means violence, meanwhile Bucky never wanted to fight, not even before becoming TWS, in the army (and yet he is still great at fighting. And he is deadly, even when he holds back.). All he wanted was peace.

Despite not getting the "perfect serum", despite being brainwashed, put to sleep, and forced to fight for decades, he is still himself. He never gave in to the dark side for real. He fought in his own way. The first thing he did when he woke up was to choke the Hydra guy with a whole new arm!

Bucky is so underrated: from his intelligence and fighting skills, to how human he is. Being flawed, keeping his sassiness and charm from the 40s, but getting more mature and carrying his past on his shoulders... he's so relatable and real. And every day, he shows Zemo he is wrong.

The show he makes in his final scene with Zemo is absolutely fantastic. He doesn't just prove the point he isn't defined by the serum and Hydra (AND not even by Steve, thanks to Sam. His speech made him realize the important thing about himself: that he decides who he is, not others - even those who know him before becoming TWS- "And this might be a surprise, but it doesn't matter what Steve thought. You gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." parallel to "Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing. [...] So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me."), but also that he is superior.

When Zemo tells him that he decided to let him alive (probably so he can kill Karli) and basically calls him a killing machine: "programmed to kill", Bucky plays the role, lets Zemo talk him into killing Karli, and then Bucky watches him waiting for his own death.

[Also, Bucky's line: Imagine my relief is hilarious.]

The acting was incredible: the shock on Zemo's face and the amusement and somehow relief on Bucky's after he pulls the trigger and lets the bullets fall... He proved him he's THE standard of the super soldier. Because despite everything he went through, he is the best.

Zemo telling him to cross his name off felt like a fresh start (+ telling Nakajima the truth).

5. John Walker

John, on the other hand, is lucky Bucky is an understanding person. He gets what is like... the pressure, the environment, the loss, and even tries to help.

Bucky: Don't go down that road. Believe me, it doesn't end well.

John: I'm not like you!

Of course he is not like Bucky, because Bucky has control. He is not killing to get revenge in a cynical way.

"That serum doesn't exactly have a great track record."

John kept judging Bucky every time they spoke, somehow placing himself above this "broken" man.

"This is all really easy for you, isn't it? All that serum runnin' through your veins. Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?"

This is so wrong on every single level, especially because Bucky didn't choose to take the serum, and he always had his friends' back. He's loyal and ready to sacrifice himself.

The "funny" part about this is John ending up taking the last super soldier serum vial. All the judgement, the disgust, the patronizing tone, just to do that. Plus, of course, to kill someone with the shield.

(John proves Zemo's point about super soldiers, and Bucky does the opposite.)

And what is it easy for Bucky anyway?

He's under government conditions (so CACW coded), he has a vibranium arm that I bet the government would try to take after he dies (HOPEFULLY WHEN HE'S 200 YEARS OLD IN HIS BED, as Sebastian wants too) if he isn't in Wakanda, he is haunted by nightmares (which also can mean he is still Hydra's TWS in another universe as we found out from Strange), and he has to learn how to live for real. He's smart, charismatic, has values and principles, and he's incredible.

We need to see his version of TWS going after everyone Hydra helped. TWS is him, a part of him, and doing that on his terms, having control over it would help him heal.

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a-spes · 7 months ago

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So.. guess who is back with more thoughts about Wanda's really nice hands, and long nails?

Me.

I am the one who can't think about anything else but those perfect hands 🙆

You have many bad habits. You would bite your nails — or your lips, depending on your current mood — and skip meals sometimes. The woman hates that, but there is one bad habit of yours that she doesn't want to fix because she finds it absolutely endearing, and it is the way you are always avoiding her gaze.

She had quickly noticed that you were unable to hold eye contact with her for more than a few seconds, crumbling under a simple glance. She loves to slowly drag her index all the way up your neck until it finds a place under your chin. She loves to apply a slight pressure here, forcing you to tilt your head back until you have no choice but look at her, directly in the eyes. She loves the embarrassment she can read on your face.

—

Sometimes, you forget to think, and words you regret eventually fall past your pretty lips. Words that you do not mean, but would still get you in trouble with the woman — “Shut it, before you say something I'll make you regret,” she reprimands, and you can feel her nails slowly digging into your cheeks.

She is right. You don't want to suffer the consequences of your own actions, you were just craving for some of her attention. She has been so busy with her job lately that you've been feeling left out. Eventually, her thumb would find its way in your mouth, and you would just accept it.

“Isn't it what you wanted, honey? My whole attention? No, don't get shy now that you have it, and use your words to tell mommy what you want,” she teases, and suddenly you find yourself unable to speak — god, there is nothing she likes more than seeing how fast she can make you shut the fuck up and how quick she can turn you into her perfect, and obedient, little girl. One that would do anything she asks without thinking twice about it.

—

She does it on purpose, and you know it. The woman keeps pretending that she left these marks by accident, but you can see in her smile that she meant every one of them.

She loves them.

She loves to see those red crescents that decorate your skin. They are the reminder of who you are belonging to. They are the memory of the nights you've shared, and her not so gentle touches. Most of those are left when you try to squirm out of her grasp, when she has to dig her nails into your hips in order to keep you still while she ruins her precious baby.

—

That is something she loves to do, grabbing you by the hips whenever she is given the chance to. It is not her fault that you are looking so adorable that it gives her the urge to have her hands on your body, and to slowly draw pattern on your skin.

Most of the time, the woman would just sneak up behind you when you are busy, and you would have no idea that she was coming before you could feel her nails slightly digging into your skin and her soft breath brushing your neck.

#a spes thoughts #t: wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff thoughts #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff comfort #mommy wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #readee insert #female reader #marvel cinematic universe #mcu imagine #mcu thoughts

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johanna-517 · 1 month ago

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"Special and unique"

(CHAPTER 6)

After what happened, you stayed locked in your room again. It was for the best... Staying within these four walls, hoping that being here would protect you from being hurt by your siblings again.

Maybe if you stay in this room for the rest of your life, they won't be able to find you, and they won't be able to hurt you again, right?

Alfred quickly noticed your depressed expression and the fact that, once again, you completely refused to leave your room. He asked if something had happened, but you denied it and lied, saying you were just sad because you couldn't get along with your family.

Alfred also didn't know you had a little monarch butterfly that came to your room from time to time. So there was no point in telling him you were depressed because Jason killed your little butterfly friend.

So, just as you had been doing since you arrived here, you had to suffer in silence, inside this large, empty room.

The only good thing was that Alfred recently found Toti for you and returned him to you. At least your faithful stuffed animal was back in your arms. He was the only one who made you feel less alone.

Because yes, you know, Toti is just a stuffed animal, just a fuzzy bear-shaped thing stuffed with cotton. But what of that? That doesn't change the fact that you've been with him for years, doesn't change the fact that during the nights, when you cried over your mother's death, or when you cried about not being accepted here, he always stayed with you.

You don't need Toti to talk, he already comforts you enough just by being with you, in your arms.

As you lay on the bed, hugging Toti, your eyes scanned the room.

The room you were given when you arrived at Wayne Manor... It's big. You're still not used to its size, because you never thought you'd have a room like this.

However, no matter how big the room is, or how elegant the furniture looks... It doesn't make you hate it any less. You don't like it. You don't like this place, you don't like this cold room. Its large walls simply serve to remind you how alone you are.

You hate it, you hate how even when it's daytime, this room still seems dark and gray.

Or maybe it's because at some point everything started to feel gray for you?

"I want to get out of here..." you murmured to yourself, hugging Toti tighter.

You closed your eyes tightly, you just wanted your mother... You tried to imagine, you tried to remember your mother's voice, her sweet, soft voice, and the gentle way her hands used to caress your hair.

You smiled slightly as you remembered her, as you remembered the warm color of your mother's eyes, the beautiful color of her hair, and the beautiful smile she always used to dedicate only to you.

But then your thoughts were interrupted, remembering now what had happened and what you wanted so much to forget; your father's indifference, receiving false promises and false kindness from Dick, being seen as nothing more than a nuisance by Tim, Stephanie's attitude towards you, the cold indifference of Cassandra and Barbara as well, and Jason's cruel comments towards you from the first time he met you.

You opened your eyes instantly, wanting to push those terrible memories away. You just wanted to remember your mother, not what happened to you with this family.

"Now I can see why Mom never let me meet my father," you said softly, staring up at the ceiling. Now you understood your mother. Surely she already knew that, right? She already knew how cold and indifferent Bruce can be, which is why she kept you away from him. She didn't want you to have a father who made you suffer. She would never have allowed anyone to hurt you, not even your father.

You sighed softly. Well... Now Mom wasn't here, and you were too far away from your aunt and cousins, so... There was no one to protect you anymore. You were alone... Where's your family? They're definitely not in this mansion. Those heartless guys can't be your family. You don't want them to be.

It's late at night, and you can hear the rain pounding against your window. Almost without thinking, you get out of bed, leaving Toti on the bed as you head for the door and leave the room.

You haven't left your room for days, so why are you doing it now? Well, not even you know. You just... got fed up with being in your room, maybe.

Since it's already late, the mansion's hallways are darker than usual, but you don't care. You just walk aimlessly through the mansion, not thinking about anything.

After walking for a while, you see some lights coming from a room.

You raise an eyebrow in curiosity and decide to approach, peeking a little through the half-open door.

Your eyes widen in surprise as soon as you see them. They're... several people in strange outfits, and Alfred is with them. After paying a little more attention, you notice who they are... It's Batman and his companions, right? There's Robin too, and Nightwing. You don't recognize the rest, but you know they were related to Batman as well.

You only knew Batman and his companions because you saw them in a newspaper when you arrived in Gotham with your aunt. But definitely... Never in your life did you expect to see them yourself, much less here.

Your heart freezes the moment you hear Alfred call Batman 'Bruce.' Then... Everything in that moment started to fall into place. You discovered that... Your father was Batman, the famous Gotham hero. And your brothers were vigilantes too.

You stood there, almost forgetting to even breathe as you tried to process this information.

Wait... If your father is Batman, and the others are vigilantes too, no one is supposed to know their identities, right? And now, you found out by mistake. You shuddered at the realization... If they find out you know who they are, they'll be really angry, right? Bruce will probably scold you severely, and the others will intimidate you just to make sure you don't say anything. You can't... You don't want them to do that, you don't want them to scold you, to yell at you, to hate you more... You don't want.

So, with shaky breaths, you start walking as quietly as you can away from the door, mentally praying that you'll make it out without being noticed.

Then... Because the hallway was dimly lit, and you were too focused on looking back to make sure no one saw you, you inadvertently... You trip over your own feet and fall to the floor, obviously making a noise.

Your heart nearly stops when you feel someone's presence right behind you. When you turn around, you see your father—or rather, Bruce in his black Batman suit. He stares at you, and you shudder at how serious he seems.

The others leave the room as well, a little surprised to see you on the floor. It's obvious that you've now discovered their identities.

Receiving each of their intense stares is completely unbearable. Why did this have to happen?

You sigh softly, and stand up on your own, since of course, no one will help you up.

You watch as Batman opens his mouth, wanting to start talking. But you don't need to listen to him, not when you already know what he's going to say. You know he's going to scold you for being nosy and finding out something you shouldn't. And you know the others will agree with him, talking about how rude and stupid you are for wandering around the mansion at this hour in the first place.

And honestly... By now, you've had enough of them, you don't want to hear them anymore.

So, before Bruce can start talking... You just look at him indifferently, and turn around, starting to walk, intending to go back to your room.

But then... Before you can get too far away, you feel someone stop you, you feel that strong grip on one of your arms, and oh my... You instantly know who it is. It's not the first time you've felt this rough grasp.

"Where do you think you're going, you little freak?" Jason asked, his tone serious and demanding. "You can't just leave, not after being nosy and discovering something you shouldn't have. Seriously... Didn't anyone teach you not to eavesdrop?"

Just hearing Jason's voice makes you grit your teeth, that bastard... He's still the same. He still thinks he can talk to you however he wants, that he can do whatever he wants.

He's wearing that red helmet, and yet... It's completely obvious to you what kind of expression he has right now. The same angry expression as always, right? Well, that's to be expected from someone like him.

You look away for a moment, now looking at the others. So now you know everyone's identity. It's obvious, you can recognize them even if they're wearing masks.

And... None of them come closer, they just stare. Boy, they really don't care about the way Jason roughly handles you, a 9-year-old girl. You'd say it surprises you, but it really doesn't. They won't do anything because they don't care about you, right?

At that moment, Alfred looks at Bruce, trying to tell him that he needs to do something to stop Jason's attitude.

Bruce understands, so he takes a step forward, staring at Jason.

"Let her go, Jason. That's not the way," Batman said, his tone completely serious.

But before Jason could respond, you jumped in. "Save your words, Batman," you replied in a flat, gruff tone, slipping out of Jason's grasp.

"It's not like I really care if they wear colorful suits at night to go out on the streets to fight... I don't care" you muttered under your breath, walking away quickly without looking back, with no one able to stop you.

Finally, you reach your room and slam the door behind you. Then, you collapse onto the floor, your legs feeling completely weak now.

Even though you walked away from them seemingly indifferent, deep down... you were actually an emotional wreck. But you didn't want to show it to them, you didn't want them to see you vulnerable, no more. Because, when you were weak and sought them out, no one was there for you, so you don't need to be weak in front of them again.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you gaze up at the mansion's ceiling.

Finding out your father is Batman, that this is a family of vigilantes... You never expected this, there were a lot of things you never expected when you arrived in Gotham, but this is number one, definitely.

Replaying the scene in your mind made your lips tremble slightly... The fear and panic you felt in your chest as soon as they discovered you, the way even with his Batman suit, Bruce still had a strict look for you, the way Jason called you that way again and took you by the arm tightly, and no one said anything to him, no one stopped him, they just... They just stared.

And above all, knowing that Bruce simply tried to stop Jason because Alfred asked him to, but if it hadn't been for that, he would surely have stood by and done nothing like the others, right?

Besides, even though you tried to hide it, you actually... actually freaked out when you realized Jason was near you again. You almost wanted to cry at the way he held you. Even more so because it brought back memories of your first encounter with him, those painful memories of how he destroyed your butterfly in front of your very eyes without a shred of guilt.

None of them ever do anything for you. They just hurt you more and more. And that's... That's not what a family should do. But then again, you have to remind yourself that they probably don't even see you as part of their family in the first place.

Finally, you get up, walk around your room, and stop until you reach your closet. You take out a medium-sized box and open it. Inside, there's a small Batman plush.

When you arrived in Gotham, your aunt bought it for you, and gave it to you before leaving you at Wayne Manor.

"Lo siento, tía... Pero realmente, no planeó conservar esto." And with that, you took some scissors and instantly, you started to destroy the Batman plush.

You hated him, you hated Batman, because Batman is your father, he's everyone's hero in Gotham, except yours. He can save everyone, except you. He can protect everyone, except you. And it's just... Because he doesn't even care about you in the first place, right? He's probably so busy being Batman at night and a famous billionaire by day that he never has time for you, even if you're his daughter. Which is funny, considering he always has at least a little time for his other children, except for you.

He never has time for you, and he never will, right?

With one last movement of anger and frustration, you finally... finish destroying the small Batman plush that was left in pieces by you.

You pick it up, you pick up every single piece of the Batman plush, and you just go and throw it in the trash.

Ah... Somehow, this helped you relax a little, to vent your anger at the way Bruce has treated you. Feeling a little better, you finally get into bed, beginning to sleep peacefully with Toti in your arms.

❦: (In this chapter we could see the different emotions that the reader now has for the batfamily. First she tried to seem indifferent, then she felt bad and at last she was angry while destroying the Batman plush. Here it can be reflected that she feels both sadness, fear and anguish for the batfamily, but also hatred and anger. It could also be observed that in this chapter she tried to hide it, since now she develops a quite strong need to avoid them seeing her vulnerable again due to the previous events. We know that in some cases, it is difficult not to end up hating those who hurt you. And it would be a mixture of sadness, pain and anger. Because even if you hate them, it does not mean that you are not really affected by what they do.// Well, I hope you liked this chapter, and I plan to make the next chapter longer, so it will probably take longer to publish it.)

✯/Tag list: @hopingtoclearmedschool @simpingpandas @ryuushou @ninihrtss @soulsire @artistwithcreativeburnout @the-dumber-scaramouche

#Special and unique #female reader #neglected reader #neglected reader x yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dc #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #platonic batfam #batfam x reader #batfamily #yandere tim drake #yandere batfam x reader #x y/n

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tragedy-of-commons · 10 months ago

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fuck it we ball. hsr prom date hcs because i am on something different tonight. based on my very limited experience.

dan heng

he's painfully awkward. like you expected it when you asked him to be your date but it's even worse than you predicted...

he DID pick you up and he WAS almost an hour early, causing you to rush down the stairs and almost trip (not very magical-teen-coming-of-age-moment-like of you). that kind of lightened the mood though.

also painfully sweet! upon your arrival he gives you a boutonniere/corsage that matches your outfit which he had managed to keep hidden. his sweaty palms were not just because he was nervous, then...

march helped him pick it out, he admits with red-tipped ears. that makes sense, because she was suspiciously interested in what you were wearing to the function.

but he did also forget to pick out one for him. oops.

during the slow dance bit, his hands are sweaty. you don't care because your eyes lock and there's the fuzziness curling in your gut that plagues you whenever you're with dan heng.

overall, a good experience! polite and always willing to humor your whims, even if he's a little stiff.

and if you peck him on the cheek after he walks you back to your doorstep, well, that's alright with him. more than alright.

black swan

life of the party. not in a screaming-getting-way-too-into-the-music kinda way, but in the way that everyone wants a sliver of her attention. she's always relaxed, interesting to talk to, and dreamy to boot! it wouldn't be any different at prom.

but black swan, above all else, wants to just... spend time with you. anyone that wants to chat can wait until later, when she's not watching you stuff snacks into your pockets with a fond look in her faraway eyes.

to commemorate the occasion, you're cajoled into the photobooth where you both hold up props and make funny faces for the camera. you know black swan doesn't cherish much above memories, even if they're immortalized in a gag reel where you're clad in silly-straw glasses and her in a purple mustache.

but in the last photo, right before the camera flashes, she sneaks a kiss on your cheek. your eyes are blown wide in surprise in the picture and that's her favorite part!

surprisingly adept at dancing. depending on your taste, she will either dip you dramatically and take the lead, or fall into your steps and try to make you feel more comfortable if you're nervous.

cherishes any memento from the event. she does the teasing, though, so don't get any ideas about poking fun at her for being sappy.

a great date, i dare say.

aventurine

it's a given that both of you look the best. dressed to the nines.

the whole thing is a bit sensationalized, though. mostly because he's used to everything being treated like a spectacle, aventurine tries his best (while looking like he isn't trying at all) to give you a good time.

his saving grace is that... he's here with you. everything is more enjoyable this way, even the distastefully loud music matches the pulse in his ears when he looks at y💥💥

his favorite part of the event, surprisingly, is when you ask him to ditch with you early. makes a little joke like "wow, are you having that bad of a time with me?" but there's a bit of weight behind it that you can sense. anyway, you answer by rolling your eyes and pulling him outside.

away from the noise, pretenses drop and You Hold His Hand, telling him that any time with him is a good time. but this is infinitely better, even if you're both just stood in the parking lot.

you both decide to stay a little longer. at the end of the night, the principal gets into one of those dunking booths for the children to throw balls at to get them dunked in water. aventurine bets you a date that he'll hit the target.

you know he'll win (his luck kind of scares you), so of course you take him up on that wager, very excited to lose. it's very sweet.

lol he does hit the target

you both are prom celebrities for the rest of the night with another date set in stone a week from now!

kafka

imo she would make the best date out of everyone on this list.

mostly because any outing with kafka is almost cataclysmic in its impact... starting when she pops over at your place to help you get ready! surprise!

zips you up/adjusts your lapels/make sure your makeup looks good/whatever is part of this whole routine for you. she does so while humming a dulcet tune. she wants to be involved with every aspect of your pivotal prom experience tbh. keen on making memories like black swan is, but the effort is unconscious.

also. since blade has his driver's license, she basically bribed him into being your chauffeur for the night. i think that'd be a fun detail.

if you suck at dancing, never fear, because she also isn't very good (or so she says, but she's kafka, so of course she makes it work).

is not opposed to silly photobooth pics but she'd rather have someone take a candid of you both together by persuading them nicely - more her speed.

her eyes are ENCHANTING in that dim lighting... i just know... you get so distracted that you trip over her feet. silver wolf, the resident DJ that the school hired, sees and laughs.

has that tattered jacket thrown over whatever she decides to wear. she drapes it over you if you get cold due to the weather or temperature inside of the building.

#aventurine x reader #dan heng x reader #kafka x reader #black swan x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #hsr kafka x reader #hsr black swan x reader #hsr fluff #hsr crack #── brainrot. ♬ ݁˖

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angstywaifu · 3 months ago

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Black Dahlia - 33. An Unlikely Hero

Summary: Celebrations for Reunification Day are well under way. But it's not a day for all to celebrate. Something a certain family member makes sure she doesn't forget.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Support Me

The party was now in full swing, the crowd a mix of pale blue, cream, navy blue and black. The one time of year all the Quadrants interact in celebration of our win over the rebellion. I wave at Austin, Liz and Kai who are with the rest of our squad. I want more than anything to go join them, but I’m stuck with Dain for the evening. Garrick was right, for someone who normally didn’t care about people I sure gave a damn tonight.

”Well I hear you two are excelling in the Quadrant.” A familiar voice says from behind, turning to see General Sorrengail looking at Dain and I. “Sounds like I have some promising prospects for our front line when you two graduate.”

”Thank you General. Hopefully we can serve our nation proudly.” Dain says with a smile I swear he reserves for when he’s sucking up to his superiors.

”I’m sure you will. With signets like yours on our side, nothing can stand in our way.” She says with a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. She almost looks… worried. Why would she be worried? “Anyway, I have a lot of people to see. Enjoy the night.”

I watch her leave, unable to shake the look in her eyes from my memory.

”I see your usual entourage are missing.” Dain notes as he scans the crowd.

I scoff, “Can you blame them? Were celebrating the death of their parents. If you were in their shoes would you want to be here?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “They aren’t the only ones who lost someone on this date.”

Ouch, low blow. And he knows it. I swear I see regret in his eyes before I turn, his hand grazing mine as I walk away, heading for the staircase I know will take me back up to the corridor leading back to the quadrant. I hear him call out to me but I ignore him. He knows I am well aware what today means for us. It had been years since I’d been reminded due to this celebration taking priority. But I still fucking knew.

”Disappointing. Just like always.” His cold voice drawls from behind me as I reach the corridor.

I turn and see my father leaning against the wall, his gaze down on the crowd below. He’d been watching me. Probably waiting for me to sneak off.

”Like I said in that tower, I’m use to being this disappointment. Just another day for me.” I tell him sternly, noting the tick in his jaw at my words.

”And always will be it seems.” He states as he turns his attention to me. “First your mother. And now you fall in with that lot.”

”You know that day wasn’t my fault.” I hiss at him as I bawl my hands into fists at my side.

”It was entirely your fault. If you hadn’t gone running off with those infantry boys, nothing would have happened. If you had been in training like you were meant to, nothing would have happened. And today wouldn’t be tainted by what you did.” He snaps at me as he stalks over to me.

”I didn’t throw the rock!” I nearly yell at him, instantly regretting it as fury washes over his features.

”You might not have thrown it but you were the reason it was thrown. And you chose to throw yourself in with those marked ones. You made those choices, and you will deal with those consequences.”

I shake my head, chuckling nervously at his words. “Trust me, I deal with them every day thanks to you and your lies. But don’t worry, those marked ones you’re so worried about aren’t an issue any more.”

I hated to speak the words, but they were true. I’d already noted how Xaden had been more reserved around me. How much quieter Bodhi had gotten with me. Even Imogen had been around less at training. Either due to me reverting back to the usual cold demeanour I’d had prior to coming here, or due to what had happened with Garrick. Either way, I’d already noted the shift since that night.

”Ah, they finally figured out the disgrace you are. They were going to find out eventually.” He sounds almost pleased by the idea.

”She’s not a disgrace.” Someone calls from behind me, my body going rigid at their voice.

No. Why the hell was he here? He shouldn’t be here. Not today. He should be far away from here. He didn’t celebrate today, and he’d made it clear what he thought of me attending. And yet he was here. Right behind me and…. defending me?

”Please, that’s rich coming from someone like you.” My father shoots back as he narrows his eyes while looking over my shoulder.

”Well aware. But she’s not a disgrace.” Garrick states, his footsteps getting closer and closer.

”And what would you know about her?” My father says cockily, as if he has the upper hand.

”A lot more than you it seems. She’s strong, determined and a hell of a strategist. Hell she’s been running circles around me all year with out blinking an eye.” Garrick rattles off with ease. “And it’s not just me she’s doing it to. She could probably run circles around most of the Wingleaders without a second thought.”

”She’s only like that because of me.” My father lying through his teeth.

”No.” I say loudly, my father shifting his attention to me. “None of that was because of you. All of the was because I was trying to get your approval. When I was young and naïve enough to think if I could do better than Dain that you would love me again.”

”There is nothing you could do to get my approval after killing your mother.”

The words leave his mouth so easily I barely register what he’s said at first. But he said it. He said the words he’s only ever spoken to Dain and I. I look over my shoulder at Garrick who is right behind me, as if standing guard. He doesn’t even seem phased over my fathers words.

”Is that what you tell yourself at night to make you feel better?” Garrick says without missing a beat.

My fathers eyes meet his again. “How dare you speak to me like that cadet. How dare you stand there act like you know better than me.”

”And I will continue to do so, because it’s abundantly clear you know nothing about your own daughter.”

As I look at Garrick, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry. Not even at me. The way he looked at me earlier feels like nothing to how he’s glaring at my father. He was the epitome of if looks could kill. And for the first time since I was a kid, I was actually worried for my father. But I can’t help but feel something else. A feeling I can’t describe because I’ve never felt it before. Not even an hour ago Garrick was pushing me away, being completely shut off to me. And now here he was defending me like I mean something to him.

”And you think you do?” He snaps back at Garrick.

Garrick fucking smirks at my father while crossing his arms across his chest and leaning towards him as he looks down at him. “Definitely. Because if you did you’d realise how amazing she is without any of the so called help you denied her of.”

My father scoffs, taking a step back from Garrick and I. And with a shake of his head he turns and marches down the stairs I’d just come down from. I breathe a sigh of relief as I watch him disappear into the crowd below. Garrick might have won this one for me, but I knew this was far from over. Especially with Garrick stepping in.

I turn and look at Garrick, unsure what I should say. There’s a part of me that wants to yell at him for defending me like that and stepping in. But there’s another part of me that isn’t quite sure how to feel about it. No one had ever defended me like that. Especially not to my father.

”Why?” I ask him finally as I turn to look at him.

Garrick shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place. Hesitation, maybe. Or guilt. “Because it was the right thing to do,” he says simply. “No one should talk to you like that, not even your father.”

His words hit me harder than I expect them to. I cross my arms, partly to shield myself from the sudden vulnerability I feel and partly to keep my hands from trembling. “You don’t understand. It’s… complicated. My father and I—”

“It doesn’t matter how complicated it is,” he interrupts, his voice firm now. “Respect isn’t something that should come with conditions. You deserve better than that.”

I blink at him, stunned. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. The air feels heavy between us, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say.

“I didn’t ask you to fight my battles,” I murmur, though the words feel weak as they leave my mouth.

Garrick lets out a soft laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “You didn’t have to ask. Sometimes, people need someone in their corner, even if they don’t realise it.”

I look away, the knot in my chest tightening. I hate that his words make me feel seen in a way I’m not ready for. “You’re awfully quick to play the hero,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, but it comes out sharper than I intend.

“I’m not trying to be a hero,” he says, his voice softening. “I’m just trying to be… someone you can count on.”

The sincerity in his voice disarms me, and I feel my defences crumbling, piece by piece. I shake my head, letting out a shaky breath. “You don’t even know me, Garrick. Not fully.”

“Maybe not yet,” he admits. “But I’d like to. If you’ll let me.”

I nod, dropping my gaze to the ground as I try to figure out the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside my head. Which wasn’t uncommon in the last few weeks and months since that night in the gym. I look back up, Garrick’s hazel eyes already on me, watching and waiting. There’s a softness and warmth to them I’m not use to seeing and it sends my heart into a chaotic rhythm. The last time he looked at me like this was in that tower after I’d used his signet.

”Garrick….” I start, but I’m unsure what I want to say to him.

”It’s ok,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything.”

But I do. I want to so badly. But I have no idea how to put into words the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling. Instead I take a step closer, feeling the space us shrink, my heart now pounding loudly, so loud I’m sure he can hear it. Because it’s all I can hear right now.

He doesn’t move an inch, watching as I step towards him. But his eyes flicker down to my lips for the briefest second, enough to make my breath catch. I swallow hard, trying to stop the slight shake that has started in my hands. Before I can stop my self I raise my shields, closing this distance between us as I grasp his flight jacket in my hands and pull him down to me, pressing my lips to his. Fuck it.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #the fourth wing #garrick tavis #the empyrean #fourth wing imagine #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing x reader #garrick tavis x oc #garrick tavis x dahlia aetos #dahlia aetos #black dahlia #dain aetos #xaden riorson #colonel aetos #bodhi durran

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lullabyes22-blog · 20 days ago

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Snippet - Estrangement - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx's family dynamics are shifting...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"Don't say I don't deliver."

Jinx flips her off.

Sevika replies with a smoke-ring. The perfect circle shivers, distends, before disintegrating over Jinx's skull. The fug makes her eyes burn; she nuzzles them unobtrusively against her forearm.

By the time she glances up, Sevika's gone.

Fine, so the Ogre scored, and they're even for now. Why it has to be like this, Jinx no longer knows. They'd started out mutually murderous but at least honest in their animosity: both of them disengaged and yet stabbing away, right until the moment the blow found its target and in a blink they’d surface—Jinx with a demon's glint in the eye and Sevika with a fiery twist of a smile.

But somewhere along the line, the two-quotient shifted. A decimal slipped in, undercutting their equation exponentially. Their interactions have since become astrophysics-level ambiguous, and neither of them have the mental chops to decipher what the hell is going on.

Do they like each other? Do they hate each other? Do they like hating each other because it's better to pretend they cohabitate badly—Jinx's razor tongue and Sevika's competitive streak forever at odds—than admit their sniping serves only to sharpen a deeper connection?

Jinx bites another praline, squishing it gooey-warm at the roof of her mouth.

It shouldn't matter. None of this matters.

Tomorrow will find her flying high across continents, with Viktor in the wings. An orbit without limits. And soon—soon—with the answers she needs, and the ammo to back up those answers with a literal boom.

Except—

Why does it hurt so damn bad?

Every goodbye feels like she's peeling off another chunk of skin.

Her eyes go to Silco. He and Sevika have convened to the small bar at the end. Standing hip-to-hip, drinks in hand, they survey their subordinates like two lions presiding over the Shuriman plains. Their pride: no longer a motley crew of fleabitten strays but a vital force to be reckoned with.

Jinx watches them confer in low tones: info being traded. Their expressions: hard, unreadable. Their stances: intimately attuned. United front; singular vision.

Same as always.

And yet... there's something in their bodies. About their juxtaposition. Never touching, always distant. Even as they move in almost perfect syncopation, there seems an invisible seam running down the centerline. A boundary where once there was freeflow.

Jinx doesn't understand, except that it'd transpired right around the time when her freefall had nearly become Zaun's. The city's ultimate weapon turned fatal liability: Jinx in Silco's arms as she spat up tar-black blood, death flooding the cavity of her ribcage.

She doesn't know what happened during the fallout. Only that it drove a stake between Silco and Sevika. You had to be right between them to feel it: the ripple effect of estrangement stuck in stasis.

They were never together without the crew closeby, as if protecting themselves from proximity to one another. And they no longer swapped black looks of knowingness that telegraphed complicity without a single word spoken: heavy; hooded; loaded with history.

The history isn't gone. But it's been superseded by protocol. Blunt; to-the-point; nothing extraneous. No shades of gray.

But sometimes...

Sometimes the stake whittled down. Sometimes, when Sevika bent to confer in Silco's ear, she'd linger just that fraction too long: lips inches from the cold half of his profile, breath gone soft. And Silco—inclining his head just so—would soften in imperceptible turn: shoulders loosening; forehead smoothing; the permanent tautness at his jawline fading into a tiny, fond uptick: full of old memory and older secrets.

Whenever that happened, the crew would heave a collective sigh.

Then, with a sharp intake, they'd straighten, or sidestep, or swerve away altogether.

Back to business.

Afterward, Jinx would spy Sevika at the bars, solitary or in company, the hot gleam in her eyes inverting into a hungry desolation whenever she drank herself too deep into her cups. Or she'd catch Silco in his office, pacing relentlessly with a whiskey glass in hand, whiteknuckled as if for want of holding something more than its ice-cold smolder.

Now, Jinx watches Silco peel a Tereshni pear with his flicknife, speaking in quiet tones as he denudes the fruit. He passes the long peel to Sevika. She accepts it with rare laugh, tipping her head back to drop the green curlicue slowly into her mouth.

Silco's eyes pass over her exposed throat, like a blade looking for a jugular, but warmer.

Jinx frowns.

She doesn't understand. She'd once thought she knew so much. As if secrets were a game of hide-and-seek, and she was the expert at sussing out their sneakiest spots.

But the truth's always got a way of slipping beyond reach.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane silco #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane sevika #sevika #sevilco #silco x sevika

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flowerandblood · 10 months ago

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The Lost Haven (2/16)

[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]

[ warnings: incest but they were unaware children, the angst, woman on the rape pill, suicidal thoughts, therapy ]

[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.

Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

The memory of that holiday haunted her for many years; a mixture of sadness, melancholy, regret and longing blended into one in her mind making her live in the past and present at the same time.

Although she had trouble remembering what she had been doing the day before, she remembered perfectly the expression on his face that day when Jace had taken his boxers from him – she saw the exact moment when he closed his eyes, heartbroken, and burst out sobbing like a small child.

Although he pretended to be an aloof boy who was unaffected by anything, in that moment his mask broke before her eyes showing how vulnerable he was.

The fact that he pushed her away after she helped him hurt her, but it didn't stop her from doing what she did next either.

"What is this? Are you still sleeping with the light on?" Jace asked, looking in her backpack for his book that he liked to read before bed.

She pressed her lips together, covering herself more tightly with the duvet.

"Yes." She muttered.

Jace snorted and shook his head.

"Only babies sleep with the light on. You need to get over your fear. You're already big." He said finally, unplugging her lamp, taking it with him.

"– n-no – I –" She whimpered, but her brother simply turned off the light and left her room.

"– you'll be fine –" He called out, and she hid under the duvet, panting heavily.

Her imagination always caused her clothes lying on the chair or various objects standing on the desk to remind her of disturbing, frightening shapes in the dark.

She was very afraid of them and of the fact that if she closed her eyes and just lay there, the monsters would slowly approach her until they devoured her.

She pulled the duvet slowly off her head and swallowed hard, seeing that the wardrobe was ajar, one of the long dresses spilling out of it like a glistening black ooze. She thought she heard a rustling sound and jumped when something hit the windowsill.

She thought she couldn't stand it – she burst out crying, pulled herself up and ran out of the room.

She didn't know where to go, afraid that if she complained to her mum about Jace he would later tease her even more or that worse, Rhaenyra would admit he was right.

That's why she stood in the corridor, terrified of being surrounded by darkness on all sides.

She walked to his door, knowing he would be furious, and opened it, breathing heavily – she heard him rise on his arms, his sleepy face with furrowed brows directed towards her.

"– Aemond? –" She mumbled, trying to calm her breathing. "– can I sleep with you? –"

"– you must be crazy –" He said impatiently.

"– they took away my little lamp – Jace said I'm already big and I can't sleep with the light on – but I'm so scared –" She confessed with shame, feeling like all those children who wet their bed in their sleep and had to wake their parents to change their sheets.

Her uncle looked at her for a long moment before giving in, agreeing reluctantly, threatening to kill her with his own hands if anyone found out. She climbed onto his bed with relief and, feeling the warmth of his body next to hers, slept peacefully that night and all the nights that followed.

Despite his initial frustration with her daily nightly visits, he eventually allowed her to read books with him or even cuddle with him.

She noticed that the fact that she didn't tease him like her brothers did made him calmer around her and therefore, in essence, nicer.

She liked the fact that he stopped avoiding her, taking her along on his expeditions – they searched in the sand for unique treasures: old coins, unusual stones or shells, cartridges and other objects of interest.

They invented their own missions and tasks, pretending they were great explorers of ancient temples hidden under the desert sands, and dug deep holes hoping to really find something.

Usually they discovered beer bottles, however, it was all about the whole process, not the result, pretending that traps, poisonous insects or great windstorms lurked everywhere to force them to turn back from their path.

She enjoyed the way he made her feel with him as if they were characters from a book or a film: as it usually happened, although typically the partners didn't like each other at first, later they became inseparable companions, and each new day was another episode of the series in which they played leading roles.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" He asked her one day, walking side by side with her by the sea shore – they were just returning from an expedition where she had found lots of beautiful, large shells in which she believed mermaids' songs were enchanted.

She wanted very much to be a mermaid and hoped they would help her succeed.

However, his question turned her thoughts away from the matter, making her heart beat harder in her chest.

"No. And you?" She asked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Her uncle pressed his lips together, looking everywhere but at her.

"No."

They were silent for a long moment, embarrassed to be talking about such unusually adult matters.

She wondered if he wanted to ask her for advice on some amorous matter, to make her help him win the heart of the girl he secretly fancied, and she felt a twinge in her stomach at the thought.

"And would you like to have one? A boyfriend, I mean." He asked further, startling her. She blinked, looking at him with amusement.

What was he getting at with these questions?

"Well. It depends if I would like him." She said truthfully.

"Do you like me?" He muttered, and she giggled, feeling a pleasant, warm sensation spread through her heart.

"Yes."

"So?"

"What are you asking?"

She saw him press his lips together, clearly not wanting to appear a fool if there was a misunderstanding between them.

She thought she would take pity on him.

"I can be your girlfriend, but that will mean I get to hold your hand sometimes or give you a kiss." She said warmly.

Her uncle looked at her, his eyes shining in hope, embarrassment and disbelief. He hummed, pondering her words, terrified and excited at the same time.

"…but only when we're alone." He muttered.

"Alright."

Later that night he kissed her for the first time and did so repeatedly for many days afterwards.

His lips were pleasant to the touch, warm and moist, his hands touching her face full of delicacy and tenderness.

Years later, she realised that their kisses were a simple pressing of one lips against the other, without finesse or tongues, the way one would kiss an aunt or a mother on the cheek. There was nothing ambiguous about them – it was just that adults did it too, and it made them both feel more mature.

And then he came to her, pale, and although they had arranged another trip, neither of them had gone to the beach that day.

"– I'm breaking up with you –"

She shook her head, feeling her heart stop for a moment.

"– but –"

"– you're my niece – you can't be my girlfriend – sleep with your brother or your mum tonight –"

She blinked, looking at him in disbelief, feeling the cold sweat on her back, her throat squeezed tight while her eyes filled with burning tears of disappointment.

He had deceived her, used her, played with her to frustrate her brothers.

And then Luke hit him on the head with a bottle, and its shards smashed into his face. As Aemond and Alicent drove to the hospital, her grandfather, Viserys told her mother to return home.

"– it was an unfortunate accident, but it would be better if you left sooner – your presence will only make things worse, Alicent needs to cool off –" He said, her brother, Luke, as she did, sat on the couch and was shaking, whooping with tears.

Despite her desperate pleas and her attempt to escape, her parents locked her in the car saying it was better that way and drove off, without goodbye, without explanation, without compensation.

All the way home she cried, clutching in her hand a piece of paper with his phone number on it, which she found slipped under the door of her room that same morning.

She spent the next few weeks pretty much just crying and sleeping, refusing to eat or drink, feeling that her life was over before it really began.

The boy who broke her heart had been hurt by her family and she didn't know how she was ever going to look him in the face at the family table again.

It turned out that her mother had simply only been in contact with her grandfather from then on, saying that perhaps it would be better that way.

That maybe this would separate them from this world.

At the time, she didn't understand what she meant.

The first text message she sent him was when she overheard her brothers talking, saying that her uncle would now have an artificial eye like a terminator.

The sense of guilt and regret that he was left alone with this didn't give her peace that night, and although she hadn't slept with the light on for a long time, she liked to imagine with her eyes closed that he was lying next to her.

It calmed her down.

She took her phone in her hand, chose his number in her contacts and began to text everything that was on her heart.

But he never wrote her back even though she sent him hundreds of messages: ones about her daily life, what she was doing, reading or listening to.

She send him Christmas and birthday wishes, asked about his health, how he was doing at school, but never got any response from him.

Many times she thought about calling him, but she still kept the card he had left her, which said under his number:

CALL ONLY IN A LIFE-THREATENING EMERGENCY.

She was afraid that if she called him saying that she simply missed him, she would anger him even more. Her parents no longer spent Christmas with his family, and after her father was shot dead, presumably for trying to escape the mafia life, she completely broke down.

Her mother decided to send her to therapy when she started high school.

She remembered clearly the smell of that clinic and the doctor who sat in front of her: a middle-aged man with round glasses on his nose, his voice calm and quiet, full of patience and understanding.

All around them were plants in pots and it made her feel a little cosier.

"Tell me about the friend you mentioned to me on your last visit." He started and she pressed her lips together, feeling cold sweat on her back and discomfort in her chest.

She was afraid to tell him what they had done, who he was.

She was afraid of his appraising gaze, of the fact that he would think she was disgusting.

"He was… my uncle."

The doctor corrected his glasses on his nose, intrigued and concerned at the same time.

"How old was he then?"

"He's two years older than me."

"Oh. I see." The man smiled, as if with a kind of relief that surprised her. She grunted quietly, twisting in her seat.

"He really is my uncle. My mother's brother from the second marriage."

"I understand, however, your age has surely made you treat each other more like cousins. Am I wrong?" He asked, and she shook her head.

"No."

"You said that when your brother took your lamp, he let you sleep in his bed. Something happened then?" He continued and she shook her head, horrified at what he might have implied.

"N-no. I… we just slept next to each other. Sometimes I'd cuddle up to his arm or his back when I was scared. It made him angry that I was coming to him, but he felt sorry for me."

The man nodded in understanding and smiled.

"You felt safe with him."

"Yes." She confessed with shame, looking down at her hands, feeling her heart in her throat.

"Are you two still friends? Are you two supportive of each other?"

She pressed her lips together, feeling tears burning under her eyelids, unable to get the words out for a moment.

She couldn't even look him in the eye.

"No."

"Why? What happened?"

"He lost his eye because of my brother."

"Does he blame you for that?"

"No…I mean. God." She muttered, burying her face in her hands, feeling like she was about to vomit or pass out.

This had been weighing on her heart for too long.

She needed to confide in someone.

"He, during that holiday… he asked if I would become his girlfriend. We kissed. Fuck! I didn't know about it, neither of us knew we shouldn't do it! That it was wrong, that we were too closely related." She exhaled with difficulty, finally bursting out crying, feeling hot, overpowering shame flowing in waves through her body.

The doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"How long were you two together?" He asked.

She wiped her red cheeks with her palm, trying to calm and focus.

"A few days. Maybe a week."

"Why did you stop being together?"

"Because he broke up with me. He told me we couldn't be together." She mumbled, feeling like a complete idiot. "It wasn't until later that I realised what he'd found out, what incest was and what we'd done."

"There is a seeker nature in children. They watch adults and want to behave like them. Until their parents introduce them to the rules of the world it seems to them that the world doesn't have them. Even more so when it comes to social norms. Neither you nor your friend knew at the time that such relationships were not universally accepted. Up to that point you were family to each other, but also girlfriend and boyfriend. Looking at a child's decisions from an adult's perspective is ineffective."

He explained, making her, for some reason, feel better. She looked at him and shook her head.

"It's just… he was close to me. He was a good looking boy. He was kind to me. I felt safe with him. He didn't want to take advantage of me, I know that."

"So why are you creating a situation in your mind that what you did was the result of your premeditation when neither of you knew then what you know now?"

He asked, and she remained silent, not knowing what to answer him.

"It's just… ever since then I've felt a constant, heavy, overwhelming shame, crushing me like a stone." She muttered without strength, feeling that she had probably expressed the core of her feelings in this.

The man nodded at her words.

"It's natural. Shame accompanies us as a regulator of decency in our lives. I once read about a theory that God, when he banished Adam and Eve from paradise, did not make them bare: they were like that, they just realised their nakedness, and original sin made them feel shame for the first time. It is shame and fear of punishment that make us not walk naked in the street, that we guard our intimacy."

On the bus ride home, she reflected deeply on his words, feeling as if she had awoken, as if her senses had sharpened, allowing her to see the world again as it was.

She realised that all her life she had been punishing herself for feeling something for him and that it felt good, even though some part of her was telling her that she should be disgusted with herself.

She decided to forgive herself.

She felt much better and even started dating, trying to forget what had happened, to create a relationship that wasn't stigmatised.

Although she was smiling, she resented herself for looking at those boys, hearing the sound of the sea in the back of her head, his voice coming to her as if from afar.

I'm afraid of monsters too.

Everything changed when one day she received a message that made her heart stop.

She had no idea what she should be thinking: only a year after her father's death, her mother had begun dating Daemon, who had at first frightened her, and although Rhaenyra had said she wanted to end with the mafia half-world, the man she had married shortly afterwards had drawn them even deeper into it.

Daemon was an unpredictable and dangerous man, but loyal to his principles, his family and above all – her mother.

In some strange way, incomprehensible to her, they truly loved each other.

What she appreciated about his character was that he gave her and her brothers a choice: he said he did not intend to condemn them to sink into his world, but if they chose to go their own way, they were to devote themselves to study and education.

She and Luke chose to study, but Jace, to her and her mother's despair, wanted to be like him.

They eventually moved into his large house on the outskirts of the city together with his daughters from his first marriage – at first it was quite strange and awkward, even more so when they ate all together, but then Baela and Rhaena opened up to her, becoming, in her eyes, part of her family.

Daemon could sense when she was lying: he would then look at her with furrowed brows and say that he wanted to talk to her in private, which always made her heart pound like crazy with fear.

She was genuinely scared of him.

"I know you're hiding something inside. I can feel it and I don't like the fact that you're not being honest with me." He said coldly, taking a drag on his cigarette, standing with her in the garden.

She lowered her gaze, pale, not knowing what to answer him.

"I won't play your father, but I can see that you are lost. You isolate yourself, you rarely see your friends, you're still studying. You're trying to wait out your youth instead of living it and you'll regret it one day."

She couldn't describe how much his words hurt her.

They hurt her because he saw right through her and described her life in a few simple words.

You're trying to wait out your youth instead of living it.

It sounded better than the thought that she had no desire to live at all.

She felt that something had been missing inside her since that holiday, some part of her heart had been ripped out and thrown into the sea, and she felt defective, her interior filled with an emptiness.

Despite being surrounded by many people, she was lonely.

For a long time she wondered what to make of the message she had received: its tone made it seem as if there was something she and her siblings had not been told about her father's death.

She feared it was some sort of mafia hijacking, a trap for Daemon and one of her brothers – she decided she would tell Baela where she was going so that if she didn't return someone would start looking for her.

"Heavenly Beach? It's a dangerous place. I'll go with you." She said, concerned.

"No. I was supposed to come alone. It's just… if I'm not back by three o'clock wake up Daemon and tell him where I am."

"Do you have your pocket knife?"

"Yes."

She told Daemon and her mother that she was going to a friend's for a sleepover: the frustrated look on her stepfather's face told her that he didn't believe her, but apparently even he, knowing her nature, didn't suspect what she wanted to do.

Heavenly Beach belonged to his rival.

To her father's brother, Larys Strong.

She arrived by taxi, surprised at how large crowds stood waiting to enter the club. She wondered if she should wait in line with them, but after a while her phone vibrated and she got another message from an unknown number.

So she did, and the broad, bulky man told her to open her backpack and show him what she had inside.

She thanked God that she had hidden her pocket knife in her bra.

The man nodded for her to follow him and together they went down the stairs to the underground consisting of several large rooms in which music was booming, the flashing coloured lights around her made her feel as if she had gone blind. She swallowed hard, spotting her uncle in one of the VIP boxes.

Larys Strong had indeed greeted her with a bouquet of roses.

The thought that he was the one she would be talking to reassured her, and that was her mistake.

"I'm very glad you came. Sit down, please." He said softly, his smile warm and welcoming while his hand pointed to the other side of the couch, a safe distance away. She smiled too and sat down where he indicated to her, sighing in relief.

"Forgive me for only contacting you now, but this matter keeps me awake. I know you are the most cautious of your siblings, which is why I preferred not to take the risk and invite your brothers. I fear they would take it badly and it could lead to some…complications." He said, making her feel an unpleasant squeeze in her stomach.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll get to that in a moment. But first, let's order something to drink. Would you like a vodka and coke?" He asked, and she shook her head quickly.

"No, thank you, I don't want anything." She muttered.

Larys nodded at a man standing nearby, who approached him after a moment.

"Ned, get me a whisky and a glass of water for this young lady." He said calmly. The man nodded and disappeared after a moment, heading towards the large bar behind her.

"Back on topic: I am in a very difficult situation. Unfortunately, the person who was involved in his death is also a close associate of mine, which makes everything very complicated. However, I believe that my brother deserves for at least one of his children to know the truth." He said, getting serious suddenly, and she listened to him in suspense, horrified.

"Otto Hightower ordered his murder. Harwin was still snooping around, looking for hooks on them, even thinking of co-operating with the police."

She stared at him dully, feeling a complete void in her mind.

Otto Hightower had ordered his murder.

What?

As the man placed a glass of water in front of her and a whisky in front of her uncle her mind was in a state of complete panic. It made her forget what Daemon and her father had always told her.

Never drink anything that has not been poured into a glass in your presence.

"Easy. I know this is difficult for you. You have to be careful with these people, they are dangerous. Drink some water, it will help." He said, and for some reason she listened to him, grabbing the glass, taking a few deep sips from it, feeling that she was trembling all over from nerves.

Viserys's associate was her father's murderer.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" She muttered, closing her eyes for a moment, feeling strange, as if her head was spinning.

"You have to be careful. Anyone who enters this world once will never leave it again. Don't try to cooperate with the police." He replied with a smile, his tone slightly changed, as if what he saw before him and her reaction pleased him.

It seemed to her that the music around her had begun to quiet, as if it was coming from far away, she tried to focus her thoughts but was unable to.

The cold sweat of terror and fear ran down her neck as she realised what had happened.

What she had done.

"I'm sorry, I feel sick from what I heard. I'm going to go… to the toilet." She muttered, getting up from her seat with difficulty and walked ahead towards the sign she could see from afar.

She was dizzy as if she had drunk ten shots, the burning tears of despair making her barely see where she was going.

The light in the bathroom almost blinded her – she locked herself in one of the cabins and slumped to her knees, breathing heavily, pulling her phone out of her backpack, thinking with horror that if she called Daemon and Jace and they raised hell in here, they might shoot them.

She needed to call someone they wouldn't hurt and then it dawned on her.

Aemond.

Call only in a life-threatening emergency.

The screen of her phone seemed blurry to her as she struggled to type in her code and began searching for his number in her contacts. When she finally saw his name she clicked on it and put the phone to her ear, leaning her head against the wall, feeling the cold tiles under her buttocks, the female voices coming from behind the door seemed to her to be just a dream.

"– please – please, please, please –" She muttered, hearing that there was a signal, that he hadn't thrown or blocked that card.

She swallowed hard when the sound silenced and she heard a noise on the other side.

"– Aemond? –" She mumbled in a trembling voice feeling tears of terror, helplessness and fear run down her face, her body numb and heavy.

"– what is it? –" She heard his voice, cold and matter-of-fact, and although he sounded very different from when they were children, a wave of heat and a familiar, pleasant sensation she hadn't felt in years ran through her body.

"– G-God – they must have – they must have put something into my drink –" She cried out, bursting into sobs, thinking about the fact that she was about to lose consciousness and they would do whatever they wanted to her and her body.

Daemon warned her.

Never lie to me.

"– what? – fuck – where are you? –" She heard his voice as if in the distance.

She furrowed her brow, forgetting for a moment who she was talking to, where she was, and what she wanted to do.

"– Rhaenys – focus – fucking speak to me –"

"– I – mmm – I don't know – I think... – ...I think I'm in the toilet –" She muttered finally, looking around her thinking that indeed, this room looked like a toilet.

She felt that she was very tired and just wanted to sleep.

"– in what toilet? – in the club? –" He asked further, his voice sounding as if he was furious.

She closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath, feeling her mind drifting away and remembered that she had seen palm trees before entering this place.

"– yes – in the... – ...club – like... – ...one... – ...with palm trees –" She muttered, and then her mind enveloped in complete darkness.

She thought she felt the touch of someone's hand, heard someone's voice, but she wasn't sure if it was a dream or reality.

When she woke up, she was blinded by the light – she hissed and covered her face, only realising after a moment that she was lying in her bed, in Daemon's house. When she turned her face she saw her stepfather sitting in a chair, looking at her with eyes she knew well.

He was furious.

"I asked you. I thought you were a smarter girl, but you are clearly just a plain, naive idiot." He hissed, as usual saying exactly what he was thinking.

She pressed her lips together, feeling pain in her heart at his words, realising that she had a huge black hole in her memory.

"What happened?"

"You called Aemond. They could have raped you there, and instead of calling me you called the person who could have helped them." He scoffed, raising his voice, annoyed.

"He was here?"

"And how do you think you got here? That you were brought here by a fairy?" He sneered, and she swallowed hard, looking at him with wide eyes.

Even though she should have felt horror at what had happened to her, all she could think about was feeling his hand, hearing his voice.

And then she remembered.

His voice.

His words.

You don't even know how many real monsters lurk in its shadows.

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hyperions-light · 2 months ago

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Taash Week 2025 Day 3 ⏤ Childhood | Family

Sliding in under the wire for day three of Taash Week 2025 on @datvcompanionweeks !

Tama is dead. And Taash doesn't know what to do, anymore.

How are they supposed to be in the world, without her?

They remember her hands on theirs, showing them how to tie knots; to cut food; to trace the letters and connect them into words. They remember her voice around syllables Qunari, Rivaini, and Trade; they remember her singing. The way she smelled— like old parchment, and clean linen, and the sea, sometimes.

How are they supposed to live with just those pieces of her? They're going to get old. What if Taash forgets what it felt like to hold Tama's hand, or how her voice sounded? What if they wake up one day and she's really gone, because they can't remember her right?

There are days when they feel like they can't do anything right. What if they lose her, on one of them?

Who is going to keep the truth of her around, if they don't?

Who knew her like they did?

Their friends want to help. They keep coming around to talk— more than usual. Davrin or Lace will just sit with them, every couple of days. It makes things better sometimes.

Other times, it's kind of annoying— Rook hovers. Like a butterfly, or a bird— like they think Taash needs something, but they don't know what. It frustrates them, that they don't know how to give them the response they're looking for.

Emmrich asks them if they want to have a memorial service for Tama, and they almost say no, immediately, thinking he might want to do weird corpse stuff. But he explains they could just talk about her. Eat her favorite foods, explain the things she loved the most.

Like that, it doesn't sound bad. So they say yes.

They look over her notes and her artifacts beforehand, worried they're not going to do it right. That they won't be able to explain why she loved this old stuff so much, and what it meant to her.

But when they get there they realize… it wasn't really for Tama.

It was for them.

Bellara and Lucanis figured out how to make her favorite meal— the one she'd cook on special occassions. She always said she didn't make it as well as the cooks in Par Vollen, but to Taash it was perfect.

They asked Neve and Emmrich to find some of the less rare Qunari stuff— the things that Tama used to teach people about the Qun— and they did, somehow. Taash passes them around the table, and tells stories.

They didn't even know they remembered so much. It always felt like they never learned anything right, or completely, but as they turn pages of old books and pass the artifacts of everyday life around the table, they find so much to say; and Lace and Rook ask so many questions and they have answers. It's easy. It never felt this easy, before.

While they talk, Davrin carves away at something, slowly. He asks them questions about the way Tama's horns curved, and what kind of clothes she liked to wear.

At first, it's hard to answer him, because it reminds them of all of the little things about her that Taash won't ever get to experience, again; how the dar-saam would sway gently, where they hung in loops on her horns. The way she always parted her hair so carefully.

But Lace holds their hand, through it. Their friends wait for them to be ready to keep going.

And it gets easier.

Becuase there were so many good things about Tama, and Taash has so many beautiful memories of her. As they tell her stories, their friends smile with them, laugh with them, like they're remembering her too.

It hurts, in a different way— a good way— to see them discovering the pieces of her.

Taash talks and talks, until their voice starts getting scratchy, like when they breathe their fire too much, and then Lucanis brings them ginger tea, and that hurts, too— but it feels less sharp— less like it's going to burn a hole in them.

Even though it's late when they finally get quiet, nobody has complained. No one has tried to leave, or stop them from talking.

Davrin gives them his carving of her, and Taash insists it's perfect, because it is, even though Davrin only saw her a couple times.

They don't feel better, after, exactly. But they don't feel lonely, either.

And their pieces of Tama feel safe with their family.

#taashweek2025 #taash #shathann #dragon age #veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age taash #taash the dragon hunter #da taash #da veilguard #datv #dragon age veilguard #veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers

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podiumackles · 7 months ago

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the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 2

A/N: English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: not much in this chapter. mentions of power imbalance, possibly swearing, Soldier Boy's incorrect view of what a man needs to be, mentions of (mental) abuse and manipulation, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

1980s

Soldier Boy had noble intentions to protect and serve his country. He had dignity, honour, and believed every man should grow up to be a “real man”, as his father had repeatedly told him.

Enduring the Second World War wasn’t enough.

Becoming a superhero wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. Not for his father.

His father’s words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder that no matter what he achieved, it was never sufficient.

A real man builds his own success, with his own two hands. He doesn't cheat his way into power.

Those words shaped him, pushing him to become something greater than just a soldier, more than just a hero in the public eye. But no matter how many enemies he thought he vanquished or how many medals adorned his chest, he couldn't escape the feeling that he was failing his father’s impossible standard of manhood.

But the 1980s were a far cry from the battlefields of his youth. Superheroes were no longer symbols of patriotism and sacrifice—they were products, controlled by Vought, manipulated into glossy icons for public consumption. Soldier Boy's clean-cut, all-American image had become a brand, slapped onto cereal boxes and comic books. In private, however, he was chafing under the weight of being Vought’s golden boy. He was a symbol, a puppet, but to his father, he was still just a disappointment.

The breaking point came when Vought began assembling a new team of supes- as Vought would call them- to form the latest supergroup. Ben, a natural leader in his own eyes, felt a simmering resentment. He wasn’t a team player. He was meant to be the star—the hero who stood above the rest, not one who shared the spotlight. To him, the team would only drag him down, undermine his own success, and ruin the carefully crafted image he had worked so hard to build.

But, despite everything, Vought’s grip would always have been too strong. So, despite his disdain, he reluctantly agreed. They understood him. And he needed them. He had been sure he would be appointed the leader of this new group. When he was, he would ensure control over every aspect of the team so they wouldn’t lead to his downfall. This was his time.

As he stood in Vought’s headquarters, a sense of superiority coursed through him. He was the seasoned war hero, the one who had fought on real battlefields. These supes were nothing more than attention-seeking showboats, eager for fame rather than true service.

You, dressed in an orange-red suit, stood next to him with wide-eyed curiosity. You looked like you were barely out of your teens, your youthful face betraying your lack of experience. "Is it true, then?" you asked, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "You killed the president?"

Ben thought the suits Vought had made for the team were ridiculous. He wouldn't need a special suit to be the best version of himself. He wouldn't need anything but himself.

Without looking at you, he growled, “You believe everything you hear?”

You blinked, taken aback by his gruff response, but quickly recovered. “No, I just…” you tore your gaze from him, focusing on the other supes getting in the final pieces of their attire. “Would be a shame to be on the team with a murderer.”

Your words lingered in the tight air between you. He realised you had put up a facade, a mask to hide your wariness of the man next to you. You didn’t idolise him. In fact, you might have been close to despising, if he didn’t know any better.

Ben finally turned his head to face you, his eyes cold and unwavering. Your suit tied around your body, but it seemed loose enough to not reveal too much to the outside. Cloves hugged your delicate hands and reached until well near your elbows. A small cape was fastened onto your wrists, which Ben found all the more ridiculous. Who the fuck needs a cape?

“I’m no murderer,” his words were short, harsh. This woman had no right to speak to him like that. “At least not to people who didn’t deserve it.”

“Did he deserve it?” You started, looking back at the slightly taller man next to you. “The president.”

“I didn’t kill the fucking president.”

Soldier Boy’s glare intensified as he sized you up. Your audacity infuriated him. He had dealt with enough scepticism from his father—he didn’t need it from some rookie in a costume Vought had only designed to sell toys.

The room around you buzzed with activity as the other members of the team prepared for their first group appearance. Ben seethed in silence. These so-called superheroes were nothing like the comrades he fought alongside in the war. They lacked discipline, focus, and the hardened edge that came from seeing real combat. They were actors in a carefully orchestrated performance, and to him, that was a disgrace.

You still stood beside him and seemed to sense his irritation, but you didn’t back down. Instead, you tilted your head and raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to lash out.

“You think you're better than us, don’t you?” you asked, your voice quieter this time, but laced with a subtle challenge.

Soldier Boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Better? I don’t think, doll. I know.”

Your lips curled into a smirk, and for the first time, Ben noticed a flash of something in your eyes—something darker, more calculating than the wide-eyed naivety you'd shown earlier.

“Maybe you do,” you said, your voice a low murmur now. “But this isn't the ‘40s anymore. It’s not about who’s the toughest soldier out there. This world, Vought’s world, is about control. It’s about image and playing the game.” You glanced around the room at the other supes. “And you, with all your medals and war stories, are just another player.”

Your words rang through his ears more than he’d like to, and he started to think he thought of you wrongly. You weren't an ordinary trophy girl- you weren't someone to idolise him. You had your own strong opinion, and it wasn't something Ben was sure he could live with.

He clenched his fists, a storm of rage starting to brew inside him, but before he could respond, a booming voice cut through the tension.

“Alright, team!” The commanding voice belonged to Vought’s newest public relations handler, a slick man in an expensive suit. “It’s showtime!”

You shot Soldier Boy a final, knowing glance before you turned away, your cape swishing dramatically as you moved toward the centre of the room. Ben remained where he was, his jaw clenched, watching you. He hated your arrogance, but deep down, he knew you weren't wrong.

This wasn’t the battlefield. This wasn’t about sacrifice, honour, or even survival. This was a new kind of war, one he wasn’t sure he knew how to win.

But win it, he would.

Because failure? That was never an option. Not for him. And certainly not for his father.

As the team assembled for their public debut, Soldier Boy straightened his shoulders and put on his best, most patriotic smile. No one in the crowd would ever know the battle raging inside him, the war he fought against the crushing weight of expectations.

He would play the game, for now. And when the time was right, he would remind them all just how dangerous a man like him could be.

Cameras flashed; eight new heroes to represent America, to supposedly save the residents from upcoming threats, upcoming wars.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the commanding voice rang through their ears again. “May I present to you, your heroes, your idols, your team; Payback.”

Pictures were taken, but Ben paid it no mind. He was used to all the attention, to all the girls swooning over him. He stood front and centre, flashing his most practised, toothy grin. The name Payback echoed in his ears. A team to stand up for their people. But this wasn’t about anything but pride to Ben—it was about staying on top, holding onto the power and prestige he had built over decades.

And the team around him felt like a joke.

You stood a little behind him, a faint smirk still playing on your lips. Your audacity lingered in his mind, taunting him. Despite himself, he couldn’t shake the way you had spoken—calm, deliberate, and entirely sure of yourself. That was rare. Most of the other heroes around him were too obsessed with fame and too concerned with their image. They fell in line because Vought told them to.

Ben clenched his jaw, his father's words echoing in his mind once again.

A real man builds his own success, with his own two hands.

But was this success? Standing here, posing for the cameras, while Vought puppeteered them all? It didn’t feel like the heroism he had once envisioned. The battlefield, the grit, the true sacrifice—it had all been replaced by PR campaigns and flashy photo ops.

Still, he knew better than to show weakness. He had perfected the art of hiding his inner turmoil, just as his father had taught him. To the world, he was still the unbeatable war hero, the icon of American masculinity. No one would ever see the cracks beneath the surface—the doubt, the frustration, the endless quest to be enough.

As the cameras continued snapping, Soldier Boy’s mind wandered your words. It’s about control. Image. Playing the game. You had said those words so matter-of-factly as if you had already accepted the new rules of this world.

After the press conference, the team dispersed to prepare for their first mission together—a staged event, of course, meant to show the world how “heroic” they were. But Soldier Boy lingered, watching as the others left the room.

One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone take his place at the top. He would play the game his way, and when the time came, he would show them all—Vought, Payback, his father—that he was still the strongest, still the best.

Because if there was one thing Ben knew, it was that in the end, power didn’t come from suits or smiles. Power came from dominance, from control, and from the ability to crush anyone who dared to stand in your way.

And that was exactly what he intended to do.

As he turned to leave, Soldier Boy caught a glimpse of himself in one of the giant mirrors that lined the hallway. He stared at his reflection—his square jaw, broad shoulders, and the tight-fitting mask over his head. He looked every bit the hero Vought had made him out to be. But simultaneously, he looked ridiculous.

“Suits are cool, huh?” your familiar voice spoke up as he left the previous room and wandered the hallways of the slightly known building. “Kidding. You look awful.”

Ben hadn’t thought he looked awful altogether; the green hugged his features wonderfully, the gold details shining as a representation of his pride. Just the mask was a reject.

“Can’t say any different about you.” Ben said matter-of-factly.

The hallway was dimly lit, and he continued walking with purpose, ignoring the voice behind him. He didn’t need anyone's approval—especially not from the cocky rookie now catching up with him. The smirk he had seen earlier was back, and you walked with a casual confidence that irritated him even more.

You weren't one to shy away from confrontation, clearly. Your snarky comment about his suit wasn’t just meant to jab at him; it was part of the ongoing game you seemed intent on playing. Ben found it annoying, yet there was something about you that stood out. You weren't like the obedient pawns he was used to, always falling in line and praising him without question.

"Aw, don’t be like that," you teased, still walking alongside him. Your cape fluttered with each step, an accessory he couldn’t understand the need for, as if to taunt him for eternity. “Just saying, for someone who’s supposed to be the leader, you sure look like you're heading into a costume party instead of a mission.”

Ben clenched his jaw but kept walking. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of a response.

You continued, undeterred by his silence. “But you know, maybe that’s the point. We’re all just playing dress-up here, aren’t we? Vought dresses us up, makes us look shiny, and sends us out to wave at the cameras. Nothing heroic about it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ben finally muttered, his voice low. “I’ve seen real combat. I’ve been in the trenches. What have you done, other than talk?”

Your smirk didn’t falter, though your eyes darkened slightly. “You’re right,” you said, a hint of venom in your voice. “I haven’t been in your precious war. But I’m not stupid. I know how things work now. And this… all of this,” you gestured around the hall, “isn’t about being a hero. It’s about staying relevant. It’s about power.”

Ben stopped walking, turning to face you. His eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, sizing you up again. “Power?” he scoffed. “You think prancing around in that cape gives you power?”

Your smirk faded, replaced with a more serious expression. “No, I think understanding how to use what I’ve got gives me power. You’re strong, Soldier Boy. No one’s doubting that. But strength doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to play the game. And that’s where you’re going to lose.”

Ben’s fists clenched. “I don’t lose.”

“We’ll see.” You stepped back, eyes locked with his. There was no fear in them, just a cool, calculated calm. “But you should know, they own you, just like they own all of us.”

Silence fell between them, only the annoying presence of you urging him to keep on walking.

“Name’s Fury by the way. For the public, that is.”

He glanced at you quickly, frowning before letting his eyes fall on the relics on the walls when they continued their way.

“Soldier Boy.”

Ben could’ve sworn he heard you laugh; just the faintest hint of a breath leaving your mouth in a way that angered him.

“I know that,” you spoke, and he grew to feel more frustrated at the feeling you wouldn’t leave him alone. “You got a real name?”

“Yes.”

“Mine is Y/n.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Alright, I’ll figure it out eventually." Your words echoed in Ben’s mind as you walked away, pace speeding up to leave him alone in the hallway. He stared after you, his mind racing with a storm of thoughts he wasn’t used to entertaining. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to force his mind back to what mattered: control, power, dominance. But your words lingered like a stubborn itch he couldn’t scratch.

You were audacious, irritating, and worst of all, you had a point.

Ben hated to admit it, but you seemed to understand the game better than most. Vought didn’t care about his war stories or his medals. To them, and to the world they controlled, he was just another pawn in a machine far bigger than the battlefield. For all his strength, for all the wars he had fought and won, Ben was no longer the master of his own destiny. He was trapped in a world of PR stunts and corporate interests. And that gnawed at him, more than he cared to admit.

He had always believed power came from raw strength, from being the toughest, the strongest. But this new world, this world of superheroes-for-hire and manufactured images, was different.

Ben’s jaw tightened as he turned and continued down the hallway, alone with his thoughts. Vought owned him, you had said. That was the part that stung the most. He had spent his life trying to prove to his father that he could succeed on his own terms. But the truth was, his success had always been shaped by someone else. First his father, now Vought.

As he entered the large meeting room, where Payback's first mission briefing was about to take place, he felt a new kind of resolve building inside him. He didn’t like playing games, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Vought—or you—think they had the upper hand. He was still Soldier Boy, the greatest hero America had ever known, and he would prove it.

The team was already gathered, some stretching, some chatting, all waiting for their cue from Vought’s handlers. You werethere too, standing off to the side with your arms crossed, your eyes scanning the room with that same calculated coolness. You caught his gaze for a moment, but there was no smirk this time. Just a flicker of something that almost looked like respect—or perhaps it was just curiosity.

He didn’t care.

Ben straightened his shoulders and strode to the front of the room, where the mission briefing was about to begin. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need anyone to tell him how to lead.

The lights dimmed, and a large screen flickered to life. A Vought executive appeared, slick and polished as always, ready to guide them through their heroic PR spectacle.

The exec began, his voice oozing with rehearsed enthusiasm. “Your mission today is simple: protect, serve, and show the world why Payback is the team they can trust.”

Ben barely listened. The mission was standard fare—save some politicians from a staged crisis, and make it look good for the cameras. Easy. What he cared about was how he would position himself at the top of the group. This wasn’t just about completing the mission; this was about showing everyone that Soldier Boy wasn’t just another cog in the machine.

After some specifics and unnecesary questions from his lower ranked team, they filed out toward the transport that would take them to the mission site. Ben was the last to leave the room, watching as the others chatted excitedly, eager to get into costume and play the part Vought had crafted for them.

He glanced once more at you, your back to him as you spoke quietly with another member of the team. You were different. You weren't a puppet like the others. That made you dangerous.

But Ben wasn’t worried.

Because at the end of the day, he knew one thing for certain: he didn’t lose.

And when the time came, when he reminded the world just what a real man, a real hero, could do, You—and everyone else—would be forced to recognize that.

He was Soldier Boy. And this? This was just the beginning.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys tv

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eintausendschoen · 3 months ago

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They grow up so fast.

Rhea's and Cronos's kids. Yes, all together for one pic. No, they didn't fight, I didn't bribe them, no one was hurt this was a peaceful affair I am totally fine and I totally did not stitch single portraits together because it was less of a hassle.

Oh, a few of them transitioned their appearance growing up. They have their reasons.

👀 Detail below from left to right (with a few shoutouts) 👀

Poseidon Enosichthon (Enesidaone) Themeliouchos — The pale, lively kid with the always busy hands. What happened to him? A younger brother and his detached father, basically. He's excited about life in general, but still very bad at saying no to his family (or anything else), so he'll end up doing everything at once and trouble always finds him. Being the middle kid ain't always easy.

Big shoutout to @rin-sith for the huge inspiration her Poseidon design was for his clothes and armour pieces. My Poseidon doesn't believe in clothes, usually.

Demeter Sito Thesmophorus — Though she isn't technically the big sister, she always took to the task of keeping her arms open for her siblings, no matter the grief it brought her. Always will she be singing songs, in part to forget the lot bestowed on her by her brothers and her father and keep on – but also in part to give the joys of life to gods and mortals who walk her realm and feel at ease with her. As Rhea's kid she'll uphold tradition gently and firmly, and feed everyone who comes to her table, even if it costs her.

Hestia — She might be gentle, but she can never be forgotten. To all that come to her hearth she will listen and grant them protection, even if this sacred solemnity cost her the arms of a lover. She is a lover to none, and loved by all, first she receives sacrifice. Herons gave her their wings to stoke flame, brush out cold cinders. She would rather her skin be stained white by flour than black by soot, though. Her baking is still the very best.

Zeus Olympios Panhellenios — Wide are the shoulders of this son of titans, and they carry burdens of judgement across all Greece. Over the years he aquired a thick skin on them, but never do the troubles of his family wear him down for long, although the same family has brought him to the brink of constant paranoia. The jewellery he chose to wear on the day Typhon cleared out Olympus is something he will never again take off, like the memory and fear of defeat it is part of him, conductor to lightning and passion.

A big grateful nod to @justcommander for the long and wonderful talks about Typhon, he is part of all my thoughts about Zeus now.

Hera Syzygia Alexandros — The sharp eyes of this queen of queens will trace you through darkest night. By her fathers sickle and her great veil she safeguards and upholds sacred laws and traditions and unions, and as protector of men her word triumphs. A guardian of women, she neither tolerates betrayal nor does she hold the cutting edge of her jealousy back for the sake of those who must obey discriminating law against those who the same law allows to overstep a hallowed bond of two. The shade of Baphomet suits you, honey.

Hades — In form and might and character he outgrew his father by far. He is still the same quiet and thoughtful person, but despite the darkness, he, too, is a guardian of life, a keeper of flames. In his gentle hand rests the light of life, on his other arm coils the means to give it, to take it away. Fiercely he rules over the line between realms, allowing hardly any crossing, but on a late summers evening he'll walk the golden shaded groves among the company of all flowers of the earth, too.

See, lovely @ruthlessness69 , how confident he has grown? The kindness of your Hades helped him. A lot! Ask Persephone, though, she'll tell you that he can solve his beloved crosswords without extra light, because he is still a big glowing kid in his heart.

All designs by me. Rhea's aspects come with a broader frame, more pronounced colours and animal traits, and no fear to show skin. Cronos shows in matters of lines, contrast and temper, and a certain tendency towards introversion.

So, what do you think? Next level eldritch? 🖤

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bradleysass · 2 months ago

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Five - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 1k - i apologize this got away from me.

CW: grief, loss

Regulus never imagined he would end up here. Not in a million dreams did he think he'd be sitting in a circle of five strangers, in the dimly lit basement of some community center, discussing loss as if grief could be measured and dissected. Yet, here he was—knees together, hands clenched, his brother sitting stiffly beside him, as though he were ready to bolt at the first opportunity.

Sirius hadn't spoken much since they arrived, which was a relief. He had his own grief, but his presence alone made Regulus feel as though he weren’t drowning entirely. The others had spoken in hushed voices, sharing stories about mothers, fathers, siblings, lovers. And Regulus? He had remained silent, staring at the empty chair next to him.

Because James Potter had claimed it as his own.

No one else could see him. No one noticed the way James lounged in the chair, drumming his fingers against the armrest as if he were meant to be there. His posture was lazy, effortless—like he wasn’t a ghost, like he wasn’t supposed to be dead.

Regulus refused to look at him.

"Regulus," the group leader said softly, drawing his attention away from the impossible weight beside him. "Do you want to share?"

He didn't. He wanted to stand up and walk out, but Sirius' presence held him there. His brother had dragged him here in the first place, thinking it would help, and maybe—just maybe—he didn’t want to disappoint him.

Regulus exhaled slowly. "I lost someone," he said, voice rough. "A long time ago. But it doesn’t feel long. It feels like yesterday. It feels like right now."

James hummed. "I like that. Poetic. You always had a way with words, Reggie."

Regulus' hands clenched, nails digging into his palm. "I thought it would get easier. I thought time would make it better. But it hasn’t. It’s only stretched out the pain, made it something I carry every single day."

The woman across from him, the one who had lost her husband, nodded sympathetically. "It doesn't get easier. It just gets different."

Regulus nearly scoffed. Different. Sure. Different in the way that James was still here, still a presence lingering at the edge of his vision. Different in the way that he could still hear him, still see his crooked grin and those damned glasses perched on his nose. Different in the way that Regulus could never let him go because James refused to leave.

Sirius shifted beside him, uncomfortable. He had no idea. No one did.

James leaned forward, elbows on his knees, close enough that if he had been real, Regulus could have felt his breath against his skin. "Tell them about me."

Regulus inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I can’t. I don’t even know where to begin."

The group leader frowned. "Can’t what?"

James tilted his head, amused. "Can’t tell them, or can’t admit it to yourself?"

Regulus' throat felt tight. He stared down at his hands. "I can’t forget him. I don’t know how. I don’t think I ever will."

The group was silent for a moment, absorbing his words in the way only people who have known loss could. There was a kind of understanding in their eyes, but none of them could truly know. None of them had to sit next to their ghost every single day.

James smiled, gentle and knowing. "I know." He leaned back in his chair, utterly at peace with his place in Regulus' life. "And I’m not going anywhere."

Regulus swallowed past the ache in his chest. He already knew that. He had known it for years, ever since James had died and left a chasm in his life that no amount of time could fill. He had tried everything—distraction, denial, even outright anger. But nothing ever made the weight of James' absence any lighter.

The group leader gave him a small, encouraging nod. "Holding on to the memory of someone you love is natural. Sometimes, our grief takes form in ways we don’t expect."

Regulus almost laughed. If only she knew.

"He’s here," he whispered before he could stop himself.

Sirius turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "Regulus—"

James, unbothered, smirked. "Go on. Tell them."

Regulus swallowed. "I mean, it feels like he’s here. Always. Everywhere. Like I can still hear him, still see him, still feel him next to me. As if he never left at all."

The woman who had lost her husband gave him a knowing look. "That’s normal," she said gently. "Sometimes, love is so strong that it doesn’t leave us, even when the person does."

James snorted. "See? I’m not a ghost. I’m just persistent."

Regulus clenched his jaw. "You’re not real."

"I’m real to you," James countered, grin softening. "And isn’t that enough?"

It should have been. It should have been comforting, having James so close, so unchanged, so effortlessly present. But it wasn’t. It was a cruel reminder that no matter how much he held on, James would never be truly there. He would never laugh the way he used to, never ruffle Regulus’ hair, never pull him into his orbit with that same gravitational force.

And yet, Regulus could not bring himself to let go.

He let out a shaky breath. "I don’t know if I want to move on."

"Then don’t," James said simply. "Not yet."

Sirius, beside him, had gone still. He knew that look on Regulus' face—had seen it before in the mirror when he had first escaped Grimmauld Place, when he had left behind the ghosts of his own past. But this was different. This was Regulus still carrying a ghost on his shoulder, letting it guide him, keep him from moving forward.

"Regulus," Sirius said, his voice quieter now, cautious. "He wouldn't want you to be stuck like this."

James smirked. "How do you know what I’d want, Pads?"

Regulus sucked in a breath at the old nickname, at the way James' voice was so full of fondness, the way he still spoke like he belonged here. Maybe he did. Maybe Regulus wanted him to.

The session continued around him, people sharing their stories, their pain, their longing. But Regulus remained trapped between what was real and what wasn’t, between the past and the future, between holding on and letting go.

James, ever patient, just sat beside him, waiting for him to decide.

@accio-sriracha @leeny-leens @rosiesangel

#black brothers microfic #marauders #jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #james potter #regulus black #sirius black #microfic

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mayasaura · 2 years ago

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sorry if this has been answered before or if there's a post about this, but I've been seeing a lot of posts labeling harrow as schizophrenic and/or having trouble recognizing reality, including the one you just made about crux as harrow's caretaker and reality-indicator.

I realize that these interpretations come from htn, but I'm curious as why people feel that it's always been a trait of harrow's instead of a side effect of the lobotomy?

I was under the impression that she created the reality problems as an excuse to cover the blocks in her memory, especially since we know that wake/the sleeper didn't possess her until after gtn and most of her confusion happens in the river bubble.

even the "hallucinations" of the body don't really impact her perception of reality, and it's actually alecto's soul not a real hallucination. the only questionable moment I can remember is when she sees cytheria under the bed and ianthe says there's nothing there, but we know ianthe is a duplicitous legend so I read it as ianthe lying to harrow lol

long story short, I was wondering if there was scenes in gtn, ntn, or post-realization htn that indicate harrow has had these reality problems pre-lobotomy? or if you know of a post analyzing it further? sorry to throw this at you, I just haven't seen any analysis of it but I saw your post so I was hoping you would have more info :) I really adore all of your tlt analysis posts!

Hi! Yeah, if you go into my '#harrow's schizophrenia' tag, I've made several posts about it, and other people have added on to a few of them with further elaboration.

But I don't think I've ever laid it out fully like a thesis. And I have several stressful things I should be doing right now, so I can't think of a better time to get into it.

When Harrow's brain is editing Gideon out, there's an effect a little like a record skip. Her memory snags on something, very briefly, and then quickly moves on. Or she'll make an assumption or say something that doesn't actually make sense without Gideon in the picture, but she won't notice. The most prominent example is the details in chapter 3 surrounding her opening of the Tomb:

Just ellipsis "found out" ellipsis to skim over the very large part Gideon had to play in those events. If she were to interrogate the memory, it would be strange that she doesn't remember how her parents found out, but doing so would make her brain bleed. She would black out, and most likely forget what she was trying to remember.

And an example from the same chapter of a statement that doesn't make sense, unless you know about Gideon:

Two things are important about these examples, the first being that they don't upset Harrow. She doesn't think they're strange, because she barely thinks about them, which was sort of the point of the lobotomy in the first place. The second is that they can be immediately explained by plugging Gideon into the Gideon-shaped hole in Harrow's memory. If you know about Gideon, and what Harrow's done, there's no mystery remaining.

In contrast, there are other details in chapter 3 about Harrow's childhood that Harrow did, and does, find strange and upsetting.

Gideon didn't attend services, and she most definitely didn't participate in chants. Putting Gideon back in the picture does nothing to explain the "weird, thuddering beat" Harrow finds disruptive. But it does sound an awful lot like an auditory hallucination, as does hearing doors open and close where no doors were opening and closing.

Maybe we could try to explain the doors by supposing she was hearing Gideon coming and going without remembering the source, but that doesn't really track with how we know her mind processes the missing pieces. If Harrow were papering Gideon over in her memory, it wouldn't be important who was or wasn't opening doors and where. The focus of her memory would quickly shift, just like it did when trying to remember how her parents found out about the Tomb, in order to avoid looking at what she's hidden from herself.

Then there's the next paragraph:

Again, plugging Gideon into this memory does nothing to explain it. Even if Gideon had been in the habit of sneaking up behind Harrow and attempting to choke her out—which, yikes—Harrow has already seamlessly blocked out the memory of one attempted strangulation. Then there are the phantom ropes she sees, her parents' method of suicide haunting her.

The forgetting where she was, losing time, and false memories do seem at first glance like they could be explained by the lobotomy, seeing as that is sort of the whole purpose and effect. But I'm pretty sure even these are real memories. Again, because of the focus of her attention. She's remembering having forgotten, while the lobotomy make her forget to remember.

Then there's Harrow's overall behavior. Her reactions to her hallucinations, especially in the River bubble, which imply that not all of this is new to her. She isn't shocked, or caught off-guard. She has coping mechanisms. She's figured out what evidence she can probably rely on to rule out hallucinations, and what's more likely to be suspect. A lobotomy, even a necromantic lobotomy, doesn't come with built-in tools for coping with its effects. Her memory of her past without Gideon in it is fractured and incomplete, not an entirely new life story with new life lessons.

Finally, from Nona the Ninth, some evidence that Harrow's problems with reality definitely predate the lobotomy:

Crux remembers them.

#the locked tomb #harrow nonagesimus #harrowhark nonagesimus #harrow's schizophrenia #tlt meta #ntn spoilers #harrow the ninth #htn spoilers #long post #such a very long post sorry #op #tlt analysis

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