#manipulated memories

[rafamonzo]

From the series : “MANIPULATED MEMORIES ”   R.Tanaka

http://rafamonzo.tumblr.com   / http://tanaka-clan.tumblr

[bluerosefox]

One in the Same

Hmmmm

Hmmmmm

So we know during the time Tim lost in spleen (his Red Robin run) and wakes ups next to the pit he almost believed he had been tossed in the Lazarus Pits.

What if

Now hear me out.

What if he actually was.

But what if instead of gaining Pit Madness, he unlocked his past life memories.

His memories of being Daniel 'Danny' Fenton and Danny Phantom.

And once the memories returned so did his ghost form and powers.

And as Tim sits at the bottom of the pits, crossing his legs and letting all his memories slide back into place he questioned what to do now. He pondered for a moment and hummed tapping a finger to his chin.

Maybe he'll play the Pit Madness card? After all Ra's chucked him in here to either turn him into a mindless rage machine he could manipulate or see what the Pits would do to a mind like Tim's. Or Tim could pretend to be a silent rage, a calm before the storm.

Well, Tim grinned his eyes glowing green as he stared at the surface of the Lazarus waters above him, he was very good at lying this life time around. After all he was Tim 'I can even lie to Batman and get away with it' Drake-Wayne and he did used to be Danny 'Commit to the bit' Fenton/Phantom.

He was going to have fun playing that fruitloop named Ra's like the cheap kazoo he was.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 14

Tim was the best thing to ever happen to Danny.

He didn't mean that just because how much of a sappy romantic he was to Tim, but because he literally saved him from his own mind.

Danny was never going to leave Amity Park so long as the portal was open.

The portal would always remain open between his parents practically treating it like thier third child and thier ability to simply make another if anything would have happened to that one. Not to mention the super creep named Vlad.

So Danny would have stayed in Amity forever, cleaning up after his parents and being miserable.

Or ya know. Until they managed to kill him.

But then Tim came into his life and fixed everything. He befriended Danny over nightime rooftop rendezvous and groaning at his dumb (read awesome) puns.

As they got closer Sam and Tucker seemed to get both anxious and angry. Were they jealous? What right did they have after the Gregor incident?! Its true that they'd both been to busy to hand out with Danny for the past few weeks, leaving Danny with only Tim to turn to for company.

Tim pointed out that they may feel threatened knowing someone else knows his secret and Danny couldn't help but agree.

Tim pointed out that Danny was going to be stuck here cleaning up after his parent the rest of his life if he didn't find a way to stop the portal. Danny had nearly broke down at that and admitted he didn't know what else to do, so Tim devised a plan with that big beautiful brain of his.

They created a machine that ran on ectoplasm and magic that could wipe information from both technology and the human brain. They could remove all traces of ghosts ever existing in this town and erase 20 years of knowledge and research from Vlad and the Fentons minds, but it would come at a cost as magic usually does.

They would have to forget Danny existed as well. Tim offered that they could run away together.

Danny decided that was okay. The only person he had left in this town who had cared about him was Jazz and she was better off without him there to get her hurt.

Tim also had a plan to strip Vlad of his powers as well as his knowledge, and Danny was looking forward to not having to deal with him anymore

It was the day after everything went down, Tim was driving the GAV while Danny flew in the Ops Centers Jet form. They had made sure to swipe everything they could from the labs as well as everything the thought they needed to travel to Tims home dimension.

Danny had promised to help Tim uncover the secrets of his past and who he really was and to do that they essentially planned to travel around the Earth being wandering criminals.

Between Tims intellect and Dannys powers they were undefeated and unnoticed. They stole whatever they wanted and did whatever they pleased, making sure no one had to get hurt unless there was no other options.

Of course they stole cash from bank vaults as well as whatever else was in there. They couldn't stop Phantom from entering since anti-meta tech didn't affect him and couldnt track Phantom due to him being whatever he was plus the collar Tim had helped Danny design that covered up his ecto-signature.

They lived like this for over a year, breaking in to abandoned places, having waterfights in large city waterfountains (and running when they heard police sirens), tagging some of the places they'd hit when they wanted to leave a message, long romantic walks at night, lots of laughter, going on dates to restaurants (they never dine & dash. Some places make the wait staff pay which is bull and they might want to return to that establishment at some point), that one time they stole a $900 wedding cake from a homophobic bakery owner, lots of Fake out-Make outs to avoid getting sent to jail, ect.

They were having the time of thier lives up until they stopped in a little 24 hour diner in Bludhaven. They were doing what they usually do, flirting and laughing until the waiter takes thier order, when a guy approached thier table. Tim and Danny exchanged worried looks before the guy held up his hands in mock surrender, "I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise, I'm Dick Grayson." The man held out his hand to Tim, who hesitated before shaking it, "Tim," he answered honestly.

Danny nudged him with his foot under the table.

The man smiled wide, "Like Tim Drake?"

Tim and Danny looked confused, "Like who?" Danny asked and Dicks smile faltered

[zishuge]

The only thing I remember is killing people. You say I'm someone who saves people. I won't kill you — but I don't believe you either. Do you think I'm a fool? You're not a fool. Mysterious Lotus Casebook (2023) | Ep. 20

[lgbtiwtv]

god. god. the significance of the diary pages about claudia’s assault being torn out raggedly by Louis, clearly in a fit of guilt and anguish and trauma, vs the diary pages about louis mourning lestat and regretting killing him being removed with surgical control and precision. by armand. this wasn’t a heat of the moment action it was deliberate and calculated and I can’t stop thinking about it

[toomanythoughts4myhead]

District!reader who Coriolanus left for dead in 12, but was found by Doctor Gaul and her team of scientists.

District!reader who was stuck in the private laboratories in Panem, having their brain altered, memory shifted and mismatched as Coriolanus climbs up the ranks and becomes president.

Newly acclaimed President Snow, still fresh off the hype of winning elections, was called down yet again down to see Dr Gaul. As he is escorted down the narrowing corridors he feels almost dresdful nostalgia for the years where he hadn't been as tainted, dreadful disdain for the times he had been weak and constantly scared of the future day.

And on a silver platter, in a hospital gown is sitting the ghost of his last, staring at him mindlessly. Doctor Gaul stares at him, studying his expression to see if she would see cracks in his exterior, yet another of her cruel tests, to see if he is truly deserving of ruling over Pabem.

President Snow who now has his almost lobotomised former lover stuck in the guest bedroom of his President Penthouse. Doctor Gaul had told him with a smile that she was simply returning "his songbird with clipped wings".

Coriolanus who has to deal with the silence and empty stares, lifeless eyes. Corio who feels the burning hate for you, himself and the powerlessness he has.

Loving Corio who helps you remember why you loved him, leaving all the unpleasant things out, making you his lap dog again. Corio who risks loosing you again, for the sake of bringing you back as you were. Your Corio who can't let you leave again.

Or

Dark!Coriolanus who relishes in your dependence on him, your curiosity gaze as he walks you around the Capitol, parading you almost like his pet for all the curios ministers and politician. You have become Panems favorite new face, everyone wants a piece.

Coriolanus Snow who will never let you leave, whichever route his twisted mind takes. Who will have you one way or another, willingly by his side, as his first lady of Panem, as his lap dog, as his hidden songbird in the gilded cage that is his mannor, never to be seen again.

[dominicsorel]

You ever think about how the "keep Riku safe" memory almost wakes Sora up but then Ansem SOD showing up to imply Sora's failure on doing that in KH1 is what plunges him back into sleep?

[navithescribe]

Ignorance is Bliss?

Summary:

You’ve been having the same nightmare for over a week now. At the same time, you feel as though you have been missing something from your memories for a while. A new employee at your workplace, whom you have no memory of, is missing. A bracelet has suddenly appeared around your wrist, a gift you don’t remember receiving.

Slowly, you also start suspecting your mutant boyfriend is hiding something from you…

Warnings: Yandere, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, implied murder

💜🐢💜

AO3

--------------------------------‐------------------

It was almost 1:00 in the morning. Donatello had spent all day working on a new circuit. He was close to finishing… but something was distracting him. A pair of eyes were on the back of his neck, they had been for several seconds now. 34,07 seconds to be exact.

He smiled to himself.

“How long are you planning on just standing there and just watch?” he spoke up.

He pushed up his goggles and turned around on his swivel chair to face the doorway.

There you stood, half hiding behind the door, looking at him.

You were in your pjs and held your pillow in your arms.

It was the third night in a row now, you came to him in the middle of the night.

While Donnie was working on something, which usually kept him up until the late hours of the night, you woke up and went to him because you knew he would still awake.

“Another nightmare?” he then asked right out.

You nodded.

“I’ll be right there.”

He put his tools away before getting up from his chair and walked with you to the living room area and plopped down on the couch.

You looked pale. You had dark circles under your eyes.

Donatello felt bad you had to suffer in through the nights, but it was the only way. It was for your own good…

“Tell me about it.” he commanded softly, as he reached a hand up to stroke your back your hair.

“It was the same as the others…” you muttered.

Your gaze was focused on your hands fidgeting, on your lap.

You were still wearing the beaded bracelet he had made you… Good.

“A dark figure… a man… or something else… at the end of a long hallway…” Your voice was so quiet, “it kept demanding I returned to him… that I could never escape…”

“It’s only a dream, darling.” Donnie kissed your head.

“I know but-“

“But what?”

“… It feels like more than just a dream.” You sighed.

Donnie felt a lump grow in his throat. Dear god, don’t let them realise…

“It feels like… like a memory.” You finally said it.

Donnie pulled you close, hugging you tightly.

“It was only a dream.” He murmured more slowly.

You went quiet.

There was no way you could remember.

You shouldn’t remember.

He made sure of that…

It had all started with an argument three weeks ago.

You had found out he had hacked your phone, spying on you through it.

He was only looking out for you.

There really had been no need for you to get so angry…

He thought you would get over it.

You did not get over it.

After three days of not answering his calls or texts, he decided to check on you… not through your phone, but for real.

He waited for you outside your apartment.

You were furious.

It was ridiculous! Why were you so upset? He had just tried to look out for you, it was no big deal really. He had just gone through your messages and listened in on your calls, maybe checked on you through your phone’s camera.

He did his best to explain this to you, but you just wouldn’t listen, even when he promised he wouldn’t do it again.

You threw him out of the building.

He tried again.

The next day, the turtle waited for you outside your workplace and approached you when you walked out of the building.

You wouldn’t talk to him and just walked away.

This was frustrating beyond belief!

If only you hadn’t found out about him hacking your phone…

Then an idea popped into the purple-clad genius’s head.

What if he could make you forget he had hacked your phone?

After a couple of days working tirelessly in his lab, he had done it. He had made you the perfect gift!

You had always loved his homemade gifts, so this was sure to work right?

He went straight for your apartment, knocking on your door.

You didn’t answer. Strange. You were usually home at this hour, it was past 5 pm.

He heard footsteps coming his way and he swiftly hid behind a corner to observe.

He saw you, and… someone else. Someone he didn’t know… and he knew of all your friends and family.

The stranger was male, tall, dark hair, wore a dark grey coat and blue jeans.

He was smiling at you.

You were holding hands.

The ninja felt his body tense. His hands curled into fists.

Just who did this stranger think he was, walking you home? Holding your hand? Were you planning on inviting him in?

“Thank you taking me out to lunch, I really needed a distraction.” You smiled to the stranger.

Donatello saw you reach down the pocket of your keys.

“It was the least I could do,” the stranger spoke with a chuckle, “you looked like you needed some cheering up. Besides, you’ve been kind enough to show me the ropes at work.”

“It’s always hard starting a new place, don’t think about it.” you now chuckled too.

Donatello’s face darkened.

Did this loser think he was good enough to get close to you? Did he think he could take advantage of your kindness?

No, he would not let this happen.

You were his!

He emerged from his hiding place, just as you were about to open the door to your apartment and pulled out his tech-bo.

You noticed him approach.

“Donnie?” Your voice sounded worried.

He would soon fix that.

He would fix all of it.

*********************************************

You woke up, finding yourself in your boyfriend’s arms just outside your apartment.

You felt dizzy and disoriented. Your head was pounding.

What had just happened?

Why were you outside your apartment and not inside?

“Hey, you okay darling?” the voice of your boyfriend sounded.

You looked up to meet the purple masked turtle’s eyes.

He looked worried. His hand reached your forehead, stroking a lock of your hair aside.

“What just happened?” you muttered, as you were helped to your feet.

You didn’t get an answer right away. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t hear it? You weren’t sure, everything felt muffled for some reason.

Donnie helped you back inside your apartment and placed you on your couch.

He went to your kitchen to make you tea.

You tried remembering what had just happened… You felt completely out of it, as if you had just woken up from a deep sleep.

You then noticed something on your wrist: A silver bracelet with a purple heart-shaped charm attached to it. Where had that come from?

“Do you like it?” You looked up to see Donatello come back with a cup of hot tea for you, “I made it just for you.”

“When did you give this to me?” you asked confused.

“Today.” He smirked.

You looked back at the bracelet. Why couldn’t you remember?

Or… maybe you did remember? You did feel like you could remember Donnie putting it on you.

Everything felt foggy and far away in your mind…

“You fainted,” the turtle spoke before you could even ask again what had happened, “in the hallway and you hit your head it seems. Do you feel dizzy? Nauseas maybe?”

“No, I- I’m fine.”

“You just need some rest.” He handed you the tea.

You took a sip and immediately felt better. The scent was soothing.

“You didn’t answer my question before,” Donnie sat down next to you, “Do you like the bracelet?” he held up your hand, looking at the bracelet around your wrist, as if he was inspecting it.

“Yes!” your quickly blurted and put down the mug of tea. “Sorry, I haven’t thanked you, right? Thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“Good.” He smiled softly and leaned in, kissing your forehead and holding you close against his chest. He was being very affectionate, more than usual that is, “I’m so glad we’re together again…”

What?

“Again?” you asked, confused.

“Uh- nothing.” He shook his head and gave you one last squeeze before letting you go.

Something felt off though…

You looked around your space in the living room, though you weren’t sure what exactly you were trying to find.

“We… we were alone just now, right?” you asked in an unsure voice.

“Of course we’re alone,” he chuckled, “why are you asking?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… wasn’t there someone else in the hallway with us a little while ago?”

Donatello didn’t answer.

Instead, he went on a ramble about some new project he was working on, something about a new charging station for Shelldon.

Why wouldn’t he answer your question?

That night, you woke up out of breath and drenched in sweat.

A nightmare.

You couldn’t remember much, but it had been bad enough to wake you. It was weird. You weren’t prone to nightmares usually. You were quite a heavy sleeper normally.

You remembered a shadowed figure, at the corner of a long hallway… but not much else…

You reached for your phone to check the time and noticed a text message from Donatello.

I love you <3

That was all it said.

You smiled softly and tried to go back to sleep, while stroking the charm of the bracelet around your wrist.

“Uh, Y/n, we already sent in these papers two weeks ago, why are you working on them again?” your colleague looked over your shoulder as you worked in your booth.

You looked back at her, confused.

“What do you mean? Didn’t we just start on it the other day?”

Your colleague gave you strange look.

It had been like this all day. It was like you had been away from work without even realising it. New projects were already being worked on, though you could’ve sworn you had yet to finish paperwork from the last project…

You had even gotten the date wrong. You were much further into the month than you thought. Had the days just gone by so fast and you just didn’t realise?

You also kept overhearing your colleagues talk about someone named Owen. Who was this Owen? You overheard conversations of others, who were wondering why he hadn’t shown up today and no one could get a hold of him.

Was this Owen a new client or something?

“You went out to lunch with Owen yesterday, right?” you then heard another colleague ask you, “Did he say something about not showing up today?”

What the hell was going on?

Once your day (your very weird day) was over, and you got back to your apartment building, you suddenly found yourself frozen in front of your door.

A sense of dread and panic came over you, as if someone had just dropped a bucket of cold water all over you.

Your heart was racing, your palms felt sweaty, and you felt nauseous out of nowhere.

You looked over your shoulder, as if you expected someone was behind you… or behind the corner?

You quickly unlocked your door and rushed inside to the safety of your small living space and immediately locked the door behind you.

“Y/n? Y/n!”

You were immediately snapped out of your thoughts, “What?”

“You weren’t listening to a word I said just now, were you?” Donatello frowned annoyed, crossing his arms.

It had been five days since you fainted in the hallway.

You were hanging out in the turtles’ lair with Donatello, in his lab.

“Sorry… I guess I was pretty far away just now.” You rubbed the back of your head and tried to smile.

But your boyfriend’s face shifted to a look of worry, seeing through your pathetic attempt of a smile.

“Are you feeling okay? You look tired.”

You glanced the other way, hesitating.

“I… haven’t been sleeping well lately,” You admitted, “I’ve been having nightmares this past week and… they’re only getting worse.”

Donnie put his hands on your shoulders, and you immediately looked back at him, and saw him stare closely at your face as if he were looking for something.

“… Why haven’t you said anything?” His voice was now serious.

“I don’t know, I –“ you caught yourself short. Why hadn’t you told him? You told Donnie everything. For some reason, the thought of telling him about your nightmares gave you the same feeling of dread, like when you stood in front of the door to your apartment whenever you got home from work now. Was it paranoia, maybe? You honestly couldn’t tell. It was as if something was missing… like the days you had apparently forgotten had already passed at work… like you had apparently forgotten Owen, your supposed new colleague.

“It’s alright, darling.” You felt the purple-clad turtle take your hand, which was fidgeting with your bracelet, and he gently forced it away from your wrist as if he was afraid, you might accidently break it. His voice was softer now.

“Why don’t you stay here a couple of nights? We’ll get this sorted out.” He offered you a smile.

Was it just you… or did he sound kind guilty when he spoke?

You took him up on his offer.

Donnie did everything he could to distract you. You watched your favourite movies together, played video games, info-dumped you about his latest projects, even going on small walks before bedtime.

But it didn’t stop the nightmares…

You kept seeing that shadowed figure charging towards you, yelling at you… demanding you.

“I’m sure you’ve just been working too hard.”

“You’re stressed, obviously.”

“You just need more rest.”

“You’re thinking too much about it.”

“They’re only dreams.”

Donnie kept telling you this.

And yet… there was an eerie feeling about your dreams you just couldn’t shake off.

It was as if they became clearer.

A shadow in the corner of a hallway came charging towards you. A distorted voice demanding you to return to them.

Someone screaming…

The name Owen suddenly popped into your mind. That was the name of the supposed new employee at your workplace, right? You didn’t know why you suddenly started thinking about that name when remembering your nightmares…

On the third night of you staying in the lair, after you had been woken from your nightmares again, like clockwork now, you had gone to find Donnie just like the other two nights.

He sat with you on the couch, comforting you and cuddling you like he always did when you didn’t feel well.

He stroked your wrist where your bracelet was, constantly, as if he kept making sure you were wearing it.

He repeated again and again your nightmares were only dreams, nothing more… but he didn’t sound so convincing anymore. In fact, he sounded kind of… nervous?

When you tried telling him you were starting to believe the nightmares were memories, he dismissed it.

He led you back to his bedroom and got into bed with you.

He fell asleep after a while, holding you close to him, being the big spoon. You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back.

You, however, couldn’t sleep…

You felt uneasy.

A somewhat unsettling thought had entered your mind:

Donnie wouldn’t lie if he thought something was actually wrong with me… right?

Surely, he wouldn’t hide anything from you…

You thought about his voice, how it sounded… uncertain, when you spoke about your nightmares.

You thought about how he had seemed to be extra affectionate as of late.

“I’m so glad we’re together again…”

You couldn’t seem to get that sentence out of your head. What had he meant by that?

You looked down at the bracelet around your wrist and ran your fingers against the purple heart-charm. It was nice and smooth to touch.

You hadn’t taken it off since Donnie gave it to you.

In fact… it had felt like he kept checking, to make sure you always wore it…

No, that was silly… you were being paranoid…

It was a lovely gift, and he had probably spent a lot of time and effort to make it just for you, of course he’d want you to wear it.

You weren’t sure why, but you suddenly felt the urge to take it off. It was as if something inside you told you the answer to all your questions of late would be answered, if you took it off. It was stupid… but still…

Ever so slowly, you started slipping it off your wrist.

But before you managed to take it off completely, your hand was suddenly stopped by Donnie’s, who grabbed your hand.

Startled, you felt your heart skip a beat. His grip was tight, it almost hurt. You hadn’t realised at all he had woken up.

“Don’t take it off, darling…” he murmured.

Your whole body tensed. The way he said that made your heart race. You palms started sweating and a sense of panic washed over you… but you weren’t sure why…

“Please…” you then heard his voice whisper, almost pleading as his other hand slipped your bracelet back in place on your wrist, “I need you to trust me… Everything will be okay… just don’t take it off…”

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Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed the story. 😊

It has been a rough start to the new year for me, not only because I was sick, but because I'm still dealing with a lot of hard things in my life right now. For a while, I had a lot of good days, where I could write and be creative, but the last couple of months have been tough, and I find myself not really having the energy to do anything, so I'm really happy I managed to write this story.

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

[tinybro]

jasico server was chatting about the cupid scene and jason getting nico's memories blasted straight into his brain and how jason being shot with one of cupid's arrows while with nico and this was just never brought up in canon again and now i'm thinking like...what if that's just how cupid's arrows work? not by magically manifesting love for someone out of nothing, but by giving someone the perspective that'd make them fall in love naturally? jason gets a front row seat to nico's memories and instantly understands him intimately and can trust him completely without any doubt or suspicion

so what if jason, after slowly realizing he's totally in love with nico, just thought back to the arrow incident and it made him second-guess everything? because maybe he's only feeling this way because cupid hit him with an arrow with only nico was around and it's no different than any other god messing with his love life

[rafamonzo]

R.Tanaka - From the series " Landscape from Nowhere"

http://rafamonzo.tumblr.com   / http://tanaka-clan.tumblr

[sunnynwanda]

House of Memories

Based on the snippet Newspaper clippings.

The room is spinning at an ungodly speed when Villain looks away from the last clipping in their trembling hands. The walls are closing in on them with every shaky exhale that slips past their parted lips. Their pulse is throbbing in their ears, the pressure obstructing their hearing. They feel like they were skyrocketed into outer space, enveloped by its dreadful silence. The air is too dense to inhale; they are suffocating, gasping for oxygen, struggling to swallow down the lump in their throat. Tears well up in the corners of their eyes again, threatening to spill down their pale cheeks as they card a hand through their hair and over their forehead, not registering the bead of sweat running down the side of their face. They feel numb as they run their cold fingers over their arms, trying to pull their chaotic mind into a semblance of a person.

After the initial shock passes, Villain springs to their feet, ignoring the nauseous churn of their stomach and running downstairs to search for more information. They find their biography retold by dedicated fans on forums and websites. They find lists of their accomplishments, events held as homage to their work, and even whole shrines constructed in their memory. Many still harbour hopes of them returning. Some even tried looking for them, despite having positively no idea what Villain looked like. Hero was meticulous in their quest to erase any trace of Villain from the face of the Earth.

By the time Hero's car screeches to a stop in their driveway, Villain has calmed down. They greet Hero by the door and, despite their reluctance, kiss them on the cheek. Hero talks about their day at work while helping Villain set the table and maintains the conversation through dinner. Villain cannot find it within themself to talk, instead opting for nods and hums here and there. Their mind is swarmed by countless whys and what fors, left in anguish and confusion.

"Is everything alright?" Hero quirks an eyebrow at them, taking note of the tension weighing on their spouse's shoulders. Villain nods slowly, still deep in thought. "How was your day?"

"O-okay.. it was okay," Villain squeezes out in hopes to drop the subject. After a moment, their eyes shift to look at Hero, determination setting deep inside their cracking heart. They shrug, and it takes everything in them to act nonchalant. "I finally cleaned the attic."

Part of them still harbours hope that maybe, just maybe, it's not what they think it is. They don't want to believe it is true. They don't want it to be true. They want to wrap themself in Hero's arms and forget they ever opened that box. They could have misunderstood it. It could have been an accident, right? Or, a stupid joke. A prank, for all they care. Anything, anything at all that would stop their heart from hitting rock bottom, shattering at their feet as they force a pained smile onto their face.

Please. Please. Please.

Hero pauses, sending a sharp jolt of pain through Villain's entire being. They can feel it radiating off of the hollow space in their chest to their limbs and up their throat, rising like bile and exploding in their temples. They squeeze their eyes shut, gripping their fork until it bends between their fingers. Hero shallows thickly, before they meet Villain's glassy gaze with the most terrified expression Villain has ever witnessed on their face. They try to come up with words, but nothing crosses their mind except for panicked ringing. Their mouth remains agape, but their voice never comes.

"Do you have anything to say?" Villain finally manages, voice still carrying a grain of hope. Please. How foolish of them. 

"I-I love you," Hero mumbles, face incredulous. They were not ready for this conversation. Villain scoffs at that, shaking their head in disbelief. Hero tries to salvage the situation, only making it worse. "I meant to tell you... one day."

"One day," Villain breathes out. They feel benumbed, and their senses are stupefied with the unresolved incertitude.

There's no mistaking it anymore - it was never an accident. It has always been a part of the plan. A depraved, vile, inhumane plan.

"I never meant for you to find out like this." Tears flood Hero's eyes as they get up, crossing the room and kneeling by Villain's side. They try to capture their hands, but Villain pulls away.

"You never meant for me to find out at all," their voice is hardly above a whisper when they speak, lips trembling so violently that they have to press them together to keep whimpers of pain from escaping. They feel sore all over, prickling with recollections of Hero's every touch, every kiss laid on their skin, every mark left by them. It's an ache that gnaws at their throat, burns their eyes with salt, and tears their flesh with crooked claws and sharp teeth.

"Villain, please, hear me out," Hero's voice reaches Villain through a haze of hurt. They shake their head no, but Hero persists. "Why do you think I kept those clippings?"

"To gloat your twisted victory," Villain offers, willing themself to get up only to collapse back onto their chair when their knees buckle under them.

"Is that how little you think of me?" Hero's arm shoots up to support them, but they push them away. It's a little too strong, causing Hero to fall over on the soft carpet. Villain remembers the day they bought it. They had spent several hours looking for a perfect match for their dining room, and upon finding it, decided to celebrate by having a movie night on it.

The hurt crushes over Villain in tidal waves, leaving them gasping for air once again. Hero doesn't move - a twinge of guilt flashes over their face when Villain turns to look down at them.

"You lied to me," they whisper, no longer controlling the quiver in their voice. "You erased my memory. You erased my very existence from people's minds so no one could recognise me. And then had the fucking audacity to show up in my hospital room and act like my spouse! So, yes, that's what I think of you!"

They get up onto wobbling feet, holding onto the wall as they try to walk, and Hero follows them. "Where are you going?"

They want to scream, to wail, to rip Hero apart the same way they are torn into bleeding pieces, to put them through the same agony. Yet their words barely make it past their lips. "Anywhere away from you."

"Stop, love, let me explain," Hero reaches for them again, expression splitting into that of hurt, and Villain hates how it pangs through their nape.

"Don't. Fucking don't, Hero," they growl, ignoring Hero's pitiful look. "You have no right to call me that."

"We need to talk," Hero looks baffled but doesn't back down - they stand firmly in front of the door like that can keep Villain from leaving.

"About what?" Villain snaps, throwing their hand into the air. For a second, they think about slapping Hero but restrain themself, opting to tug at their own hair. "Everything I know is a lie. Damn it, I don't even know who I am!"

"Villain, I- I had to do it," Hero hiccups, swallowing their tears and taking a deep breath to compose themself before continuing under Villain's inquiring stare. "There was no way around it, but I never planned to keep you in the dark forever."

"I don't believe you." The words taste bitter in their mouth, but they savour it - roll it on their tongue as a brutal reminder. "You cried. You begged me to remember you, to recognise you! Gods, you were on your knees!" They are sobbing at this point, tears streaming down their face in currents of resentment and dejection.

"I meant it. Every word of it," Hero laments, running their hands through their hair.

"No, you did not," Villain shakes their head solemnly. "All that for your demented game. You played your part perfectly." They can feel the pounding at the base of their neck where it connects to their head - a promise of a rising migraine. "You could have told me. Five years. You couldn't find a moment in those five years to tell me you had to erase my fucking personality and make me your... what am I even?"

"My entire life, that's what you are," Hero's reply earns nothing but a disgruntled chuckle from their spouse. "I tried to tell you. Many times."

"Yeah, right," Villain's tone is bitter even to their liking. They can't be bothered to care for decorum, when they are falling apart in the middle of the damn entryway.

"Villain, please," Hero drops to their knees, wrapping their arms around Villain's mid, pressing their forehead to their stomach. "I couldn't do it. I tried - but I couldn't bring myself to ruin everything we had. We were happy. You were happy. I was scared I'd lose you."

"You did," Villain confirms Hero's every fear, but their voice betrays them, breaking when they try to order. "Now return it to me."

"What?" Hero looks up at them with tears staining their flushed face.

Villain pries their arms off their body, backing away to put some distance between them. "Return my memory."

Hero goes rigid. Their shoulders sag under the weight of Villain's gaze. "I can't."

"Of course," Villain steps towards the stairs with a short nod. They need to grab their bag and get out of those walls before they collapse over their head, burying them alive under layers of concrete and debris.

"I'm sorry," Hero tries to stop them with one last attempt. They are on the verge of a breakdown; their entire body shudders when Villain pushes past them. "I'm so sorry, love."

"Don't you dare apologise now," Villain sneers over their shoulder before disappearing upstairs. They hear Hero sobbing when they walk out and shut the front door. They don't look back, afraid they won't find it in them to leave if they do.

An enormous part of them yearns to go back, climb into bed and find solace in the comfort of Hero's arms. They want to fall into oblivion, blissful nihility of mind, to forget the truth and deception, to forget the knife in their back and the kisses on their forehead every time they had a nightmare. They want to forget every laugh they shared, every happy moment, the love in Hero's eyes, the tenderness of their touch, the way their heart fluttered every time Hero shot them that damned smile they loved. They want to forget.

Oh, how they want to forget. 

Newspaper Clippings snippet

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode

[curiosa-hypnotica]

Horny hypnosubs, offering their minds to be controlled for the first time 🤝 Sneaky hypnotists who were alredy controlling them, but made the subs forget

[intotheelliwoods]

I have one more thing I want to work on before I get back into updating 2AL regularly, but until then......

[ellaenchanting]

Hypnovember Day 17: Corrupted

"I can give you what you want," he said, silkily. "All the submission. All the pleasure. Everything you've been dreaming of."

He sat down next to her on the bed.

"All you need to give me in return," he continued, "is your 'no'".

She startled. She felt her muscles tense involuntarily.

"My 'no'? What does that mean?" she said, asking for confirmation of what she had already, sinkingly guessed.

He spoke evenly. Calmly. Looked her directly in the eyes.

"It means that once we start, you can't say 'no' to me," he said seriously. "You have to trust me implicitly with your submission. That's the only way this will work. I don't play games here- if I'm dominating you, it has to be real."

"Ok..." she said, uncertainly.

He continued. "I'll usually remove the actual 'no' hypnotically but- that only works if I have your permission. Your buy in. In advance." He emphasized his last word, then adopted a more casual tone. "So- you have to give that to me now before we go any further."

She looked away. Down. She was new but she had done some research- people had warned her against situations like this. She wanted things to feel dangerous but- this was maybe too dangerous.

"Do I get a safe word?" she asked.

He shook his head, firmly. "No. This has to be real."

She had told him she wanted something real- back when they were first negotiating.

"I'm not sure..." she started hesitantly.

She immediately wished she could take her words back. This was her chance to actually experience this! Real kink! What if she offended him? What if he got annoyed and left? Found someone more willing?

But instead of leaving, he leaned in sympathetically. With infinite empathy, he asked: "What are you worried about? What people will think?"

He paused, knowingly.

"It's hard when you first start playing with kink- overcoming all of those societal messages about who you're supposed to be and what you're supposed to want. All of that stigma."

That wasn't...exactly her concern, but it was also correct. She had been struggling with wanting submission for quite a while. She nodded, feeling seen.

He nodded back. Comfortingly, he said, "You have to realize that you can't let others' expectations define who you are. That it's ok to want what you want. It's OK that what we want is unconventional. You already know you don't want something conventional- that's why you're here, isn't it?"

She nodded again, relieved.

"I understand it- I struggled for so long with being dominant. I was sure that what I wanted was evil or bad or sexist. What kind of monster wants to hypnotize people and boss them around, y'know?"

He continued, sincerely. "But- it's not bad, is it? Not if we both want it." He took her hand and squeezed it, comfortingly.

She hadn't considered that before- the struggle he must have gone through to be comfortable as a dominant. Maybe that struggle was universally common with kinky people. She had a sudden desire to comfort him.

"No, it's not bad. I don't think you're bad at all, " she said, rushing to reassure him. "It's just that..."

"It's your first time," he said understandingly. "And you're nervous."

She nodded, relieved.

"Oh sweetheart," he gently cupped her cheek, bringing her eyes to his. "It's OK to be nervous. It's OK. But- I want you to hear me with this- I'm going to take such good care of you, ok?"

His thumb stroked her cheek. He sounded so genuine.

"I'm going to keep you so safe. So safe. I'll be watching over you, taking in every reaction. Making sure everything we do is good and right by you. So you don't need to worry, ok?"

She could feel herself melting as he spoke. That's exactly how she wanted to feel. He really understood her.

"Ok, " she responded, feeling almost euphoric.

"Good girl," he praised.

A thrill went through her.

"You can trust me," he said, seriously. "Just let yourself enjoy it."

She nodded eagerly.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment. She wondered if he was going to kiss her. Instead, he seemed to make a decision.

"OK, then," he said soothingly. "Let's go ahead and get started."

He stroked his hand down her hair, gently.

"Close your eyes," he began.

Tagging @mentat101posts @thekinkycocktailclub @jam-and-stuff

[thou-babbling-brook]

Content Warning: Bloody imagery, implied gore (it’s just pomegranates), and symbolic cannibalism (bro is traumatized)

It’s literally just dramatic pomegranate poetry visualization, but look at your own risk 😎

“I had thought Adha would be the one to lead me to rest… Instead, I held her lifeless body in my arms — saw the terror in her fixed, unblinking eyes…”

*Foams at the mouth* Altaïr and pomegranate poetry and how everyone he loves in his life dies horrible deaths that he feels are all his fault and *shaking* being ready to leave everything behind for Adha only to seek the remnants of her love by destroying those that ruined her which only rids the world of the remnants of her left behind and all consuming love and *sobbing* I am totally normal about this (I am not)

Based heavily on this post