#which clearly something happened that triggered this response!

[rewindremi]

HAB WHY ARE YOU OUT RN WE ARE AT *WORK* PLEEEEEEASE

[girl-bateman]

it sounds so obvious now, but im pretty sure my physical problems rn can all be traced back to the fact that my brain and body has been in a constant hypervigilance and cortisol overload for 3 months straight. the dizziness, the blackouts, the acne, the constant nausea, the giant eyebags and sudden crows feet ?? Like yeah, no shit thats what happens when ur every waking hour is the equivalent of that camille preaker crying gif

[saintsenara]

Riddle’s extremely fearful and aggressive reaction to Dumbledore when he thinks he’s a doctor (and the fact that he assumes this at all and believes he is being lied to) has some pretty dark implications (which of course no one follows up on). Do you have thoughts?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and yes - this has occurred to me too... which means that my thoughts come with a trigger warning for the sexual abuse of a child, and are under the cut.

the relevant scene in canon is, of course, this:

“I am Professor Dumbledore.” “Professor?” repeated Riddle. He looked wary. “Is that like doctor? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?”  He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left. “No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling.  “I don’t believe you,” said Riddle. “She wants me looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!”  He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still. “Who are you?” “I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.”  Riddle’s reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.  “You can’t kid me! The asylum, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it? ‘Professor,’ yes, of course - well, I’m not going, see? That old cat’s the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they’ll tell you!”

the surface-level reading of this scene - which is clearly what the text wants us to go for - is that riddle thinks he's about to be institutionalised for being "mad" - and, specifically, that he thinks that what dumbledore has been told is his "madness" is actually his magic.

[he is also clearly meant to be read as panicking a little bit that he's fucked around torturing his fellow children and is now about to find out...]

that riddle accepts he's a wizard so easily - and that he is so reassured by dumbledore agreeing that he's not mad - is something the text wants us to read as sinister. him immediately describing himself as "special" is set up as a precursor to the adult voldemort's delusions of grandeur - which the entire arc of the series, ending in his death as an ordinary man, is designed to undermine.

but i've always disliked this reading. the eleven-year-old riddle - a magical child raised around non-magical people - is objectively correct to describe his powers as "special" [in that they make him identifiably different from the crowd] within the context in which he lives. the word choice is nowhere near as deep as dumbledore decides - he's clearly known since he was very young that he's a wizard, but he didn't have the precise language to describe this fundamental part of himself until dumbledore offered it; prior to that, "special" is a perfectly reasonable alternative term.

and, in always knowing that he's a wizard, he also knows that he doesn't have a mental illness - but he must also know that this is something it's near impossible for him to prove.

in the real world, if i spoke to a patient who told me:

“I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.”

then i would be correct to describe them as experiencing psychosis. and i might - depending on their other symptoms - have reasonable cause to admit them [voluntarily or not] for psychiatric treatment.

riddle is - of course - demonstrably not psychotic. but it's not unreasonable that mrs cole would assume he is - the world she lives in, as a muggle [even if she's a religious one], is one in which people do not possess the ability to move objects or control animals with their minds, and if one of her charges is convinced that he can, then she's justified in seeking medical intervention.

[that psychiatric treatment in the 1930s can be described without exaggeration as inhumane is another matter...]

which is to say, i think we can easily suppose that mrs cole has - prior to dumbledore's arrival - succeeded in having riddle "looked at", and that the idea that he's mentally ill and should be committed to an asylum has been mentioned before. i think most of us would be instinctively [and angrily] wary of doctors if this happened to us, regardless of how nice the doctors in question were.

and maybe that's all there is to it.

and maybe it isn't...

in the doylist text, the eleven-year-old riddle's personality is the way it is because he's the villain of the series. where harry is preternaturally capable, even as a child, of all the things the series defines as admirable - above all, enduring difficulty without complaint - riddle is preternaturally incapable of them. he's meant to come across as unambiguously sinister - and the fact that the text repeatedly emphasises that he has control over his unpleasant traits invites us to view him as someone who is acting with full agency. that he lives in an orphanage is a trope which the text uses, like a campy horror film might, predominately to underscore how creepy he is - and the text, in keeping with its general lack of interest in states and their institutions, never really prompts us to interrogate the impact of his childhood upon the course his life takes.

[this is despite the fact that voldemort's reliving of the night he killed the potters in deathly hallows is an incredibly accurate depiction of ptsd...]

but it's also the case that the eleven-year-old riddle's behaviour and personality fits a pattern we might expect to see in a child who is being abused, sexually or otherwise:

he's aggressive, he has a hair-trigger temper, and he becomes distressed even by behaviour - such as dumbledore speaking mildly and calmly - which would not ordinarily be expected to provoke such a reaction.

his broader emotional state is fractious. his mood changes sharply, he seems to feel emotions very profoundly, he struggles to control his emotional response to things, he's extremely easily irritated, he's attention-seeking - and he particularly seeks negative attention, and he's very highly-strung. his admission in deathly hallows that he feels calm before he kills - or before he otherwise eradicates a threat or a problem - comes with the flip-side that he's someone who appears, when things aren't going well or he finds himself in a situation which he can't control, to become quite anxious. which is a trauma response.

he's extremely isolated. the text presents the fact that he has no friends as a deliberate choice - "lord voldemort has never had a friend, nor do i believe that he has ever wanted one" - and his relationship with everyone else he ever meets, including his fellow orphans, is defined by the text as exclusively involving him controlling, manipulating, and punishing them. or: he is always the more powerful person in the pairing. but this need for control can be read as self-protective just as easily as it can be read as sinister. there are hints in canon that riddle is not just some malevolent force in the orphanage preying on mild-mannered innocents. for example, billy stubbs, the owner of the rabbit he kills, is targeted by riddle as revenge: “Billy Stubbs’s rabbit... well, Tom said he didn’t do it and I don’t see how he could have done, but even so, it didn’t hang itself from the rafters, did it? [...] But I’m jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before." on the rare occasions billy turns up in fics, he's usually - i find - written very like neville - sweet and guileless and a bit pathetic. but the alternative reading - especially when we take into account that riddle attacks the rabbit rather than billy himself - is that billy is someone he would be afraid to physically confront. indeed, it's striking that voldemort - at all stages of his life - is described as being quite physically fragile. not only is he very thin, but he's always cold and his heartbeat is described several times in canon as irregular. i think this is supposed to be a comment on the physical changes he undergoes the more horcruxes he makes - although the idea that the soul would affect the heart doesn't actually align with how the series understands the soul to relate to the body - but it can also be interpreted perfectly legitimately as something he was experiencing prior to splitting his soul. i am committed to the headcanon that riddle was quite a sickly child - and that this is one of the things which drives his fear of death - and i'm also committed to the idea that his obsession with magic is because the enormity of his magical power makes up for his physical lack. he can defeat - and humiliate and frighten and remove the threat of - billy or dennis [or even an adult man?] with magic. without it, if they were to physically overpower him, then he wouldn't be able to throw them off.

he is extremely nervous about being alone in a room with dumbledore - someone he doesn't know, and who he assumes is connected to a profession [and, maybe, who knows any other doctors he's been previously made to see...] of which he is frightened.

he doesn't trust or confide in anyone - which, as a child, means particularly that he doesn't trust or confide in adults in positions of responsibility. he's clearly uneasy with the idea of finding himself in the subordinate position in an adult-child relationship when dumbledore offers to take him shopping for school supplies - potentially because he's worried that dumbledore will try and dictate or restrict what he's allowed to buy unless he behaves in a certain way... and i am always very struck that dumbledore says in half-blood prince: "He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again." this is presented in the text as evidence that dumbledore is the only person of whom voldemort is afraid - by which the text means that voldemort acknowledges that dumbledore knows that an ordinary man, mortal and unimpressive, lurks behind the mask of unassailable power he has created for himself; and which the text thinks is a good thing. but we can also read it as a self-protective act on riddle's part. in his excitement, he offers dumbledore information [that he is known to be a liar, that he is in trouble a lot, that mrs cole dislikes him and is disinclined to believe anything he says] which would give dumbledore - or anyone in a similar position of power and presumed respectability - cover to abuse him, safe in the knowledge that he would be unlikely to be believed if he reported it.

he doesn't appear to feel safe in the orphanage and he's frequently absent from it - by his own admission, he spends a huge amount of time wandering around london on his own, which may even involve him staying away for several days at a time. nobody appears to notice or care about this.

he's very independent - which the text again presents as evidence of his deliberate self-isolation and rejection of the bonds of love and friendship - and his independence is unusual for a child his age [i.e. that he is capable of doing all his own shopping for school].

his knowledge of violence - i.e. how he designs the trip to the cave to be maximally psychologically devastating for dennis and amy and devoid of repercussions for himself - is also more advanced and methodical than would be expected in a child of his age. again, the text uses this to emphasise how inextricable the child-voldemort is from his adult self - and also, to some extent, to underscore the intellectual brilliance [his magic is also more advanced than is normal for a child] which his narrative archetype [the exceptional villain who is defeated by the everyman hero] requires. but we can also read it as evidence of his own victimisation. a common sign that a child is being sexually abused is that they display a knowledge of sexual behaviour which is more advanced than is reasonable for a child of their age - for example, knowing in detail how a sex act is performed, or fluently using sexual slang which they have no chance of knowing either from age-appropriate settings like school-based sex education or conversations with a parent or trusted adult, or from the sort of enthusiastic hoarding of rude words and phrases all children enjoy as they grow up. riddle's precise, clinical knowledge of how to manipulate, frighten, torture, and control can be seen as something similar. if he can - at eleven or younger - methodically break down another child until they're "never quite right" again, then this is because he's learned how to from someone.

he keeps secrets. and he also goes out of his way to extract them. his grooming of ginny in chamber of secrets - he manipulates her into confiding things she wants to keep to herself, promises he won't tell anyone, and then uses the threat that he will to get her to do his bidding - is an absolutely textbook example of how abusers use the idea of secrecy to control their victims. it doesn't make his abuse of ginny any less inexcusable if we assume he learns this from being on the other side of things.

dumbledore understands his little cache of objects as trophies he's taken from victims - and the text takes the view that dumbledore is correct in this assessment. that hoarding trophies is something widely associated with serial killers means that this is yet another thing which underlines how creepy - and how like his adult self - the child-voldemort is. but it's also the case that the adult - and teenage - voldemort places a lot of emphasis on gift-giving as part of his control over other people. the two most obvious examples in canon are wormtail being given his shiny hand as a reward for helping voldemort get his body back, and slughorn being buttered up with crystallised pineapple before voldemort asks him about horcruxes. the text thinks this is sinister - and one of the reasons it does this is because gift-giving is a grooming tactic. the text also clearly thinks this isn't behaviour voldemort has learned from the other side. and yet a common sign that a child is being abused is if they have possessions it doesn't make sense for them to own [i.e. a child from a low-income background who is suddenly decked in designer clothes] and which they can't or won't explain how they came by. riddle's cache isn't luxurious - although he's so poor that a yoyo or a mouth organ probably is a luxury to him - but there's also nothing in canon which precludes the objects being presents, rather than stolen goods. if the spell dumbledore uses to make the box rattle is caused by a statement which is both relatively ambiguous and dependent on dumbledore's subjective personal morality - is there anything in this room he's acquired through nefarious means? - then the spell would still work as it does in canon if riddle was an abuse victim given the objects as "rewards". dumbledore's tendency to locate right and wrong in the individual and dumbledore's belief that good people should steadfastly endure misery means he can be written entirely canon-coherently as someone who would think a victim who appeared to collude in their own abuse - such as a victim who "offered" a sexual act because their abuser promised them something if they did - was behaving consensually, manipulatively, and nefariously. and it's worth noting that when riddle doesn't know what dumbledore has done to make the box rattle, he is "unnerved". when he realises dumbledore thinks he's stolen the objects - and that he has no interest in forcing him to admit this aloud - he is "unabashed". perhaps because he's just received proof that an experience he doesn't want to talk about is still secret...

on the other hand, the objects could indeed be stolen - because petty criminality and anti-social behaviour, especially in pre-teen children, is also a sign of abuse.

he can be extremely obsequious - when dumbledore tells him to watch how he speaks he becomes "unrecognisably polite", he ruthlessly flatters slughorn, and he is cringingly deferential to hepzibah smith. the text understands this as evidence that his apparent charm is only superficial - another trait associated in the popular imagination with serial killers [and it's striking that so much about the young voldemort - handsome, charming, seemingly quiet and polite, true evil lurking underneath the mask - is exactly like the pop-culture persona which has been created for ted bundy...]. voldemort himself agrees that his charm is performative in chamber of secrets: “If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed. So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted." but his obsequiousness is also a fawn response - a way of minimising a threat by attempting to please the person issuing it. he becomes "unrecognisably polite" - after all - in response to this: Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts - ” “Of course I am!” “Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’ ”  Riddle’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognisably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me - ?”  riddle could reasonably interpret what dumbledore says here as a threat to prevent him attending hogwarts - even though dumbledore evidently doesn't mean it in this way - and he switches to being fawning because this is something he really doesn't want to happen...

do i think that any of this is what the text was actually going for? no. and nor do i think that reading riddle as a victim of abuse excuses the violence which the adult voldemort goes on to perpetuate.

but i think it is a reading of his characterisation which is both canon-plausible and interesting - a strange, sickly child with a reputation for cruelty and dishonesty being abused by the respectable doctor who is constantly called in to treat his coughs and wheezes, who buys him little presents and charms him into telling him secrets, who then [to paraphrase the teenage voldemort] feeds him a few secrets of his own, safe in the knowledge that nobody will ever believe him if he tries to get help.

and i also think this a reading which is sincerely important.

a significant contributor to the prevalence of child abuse - no matter what exact form this abuse takes - is that we are culturally conditioned to imagine that both the abuser and the victim will look and behave in a certain way if the abuse is "real".

and this means, all too often, that we take child abuse more seriously when the victim is "sympathetic" - when they're from a stable home, and their family are respectable, and they do well in school, and they're polite and sweet, and they look innocent, and they behave perfectly appropriately for their age, and nobody would ever dare to say that they come across as older than they are, and they're white, and they don't have a history of lying, and they don't have a history of attention-seeking, and they don't have a criminal record, and they're not abusive themselves, and there's absolutely no way of suggesting that they colluded in their abuse, and the perpetrator was someone who looks like a child abuser.

someone who is creepy, low-status, ugly, unpopular. someone who everyone can tell is socially abnormal, someone who nobody would ever intentionally permit to be around their children. not someone who is charming, well-respected, attractive, rich, popular, trustworthy. not someone who has a loving family and a happy home. not someone we might be friends with.

but many perpetrators of child abuse are these second group of people. and many victims of child abuse are "unsympathetic", when their social positions and reputations are compared to their abusers' own.

they lie. they steal. they're attention-seeking. they're vindictive. they have trouble distinguishing between imagination and reality. they're violent. they're bullies. they hurt animals. they abuse other children. they take drugs. they're mentally-ill. they come from broken homes. they're in the care of the state. they're dirty. they're poor. they're odd. they're behind at school and badly-behaved in the classroom. they do things which allow their abuse to be dismissed as something they brought upon themselves - they speak or dress in certain ways, they pose provocatively in pictures and post them on the internet, they are known to be sexually active outside of the context of their abuse, they lie about being over the age of consent, they engage in sexual behaviour with an adult abuser in a way which appears [even though it isn't, and there's never a circumstance in which it will be] to be consensual or for their own personal gain, they are flattered by the attention they receive from someone who is important or attractive grooming them, they have complicated - and not always wholly negative - feelings towards their abusers.

and they are still - unequivocally - victims, and what happens to them is still - unequivocally - abuse.

tom riddle is an unsympathetic victim - not only of any potential abuse, but also of the horrors of his life which are explicit on the canon page: that he is raised in an orphanage; that he is grieving; that he knows nothing about his family; that he is thought to be mad.

the absence of any institutional response to his childhood experiences - dumbledore, by his own admission, discloses nothing about riddle to his fellow teachers - is a flaw repeated again and again in the worldbuilding of the harry potter series.

hogwarts - and the wizarding [and muggle] state more broadly - doesn't intervene in any case of neglect or abuse, from harry to snape to voldemort's own parents. the series' individualistic morality means that we aren't supposed to interrogate these collective failings. and the series' black-and-white view of good and evil - and its general belief that violence is fine if the person it happens to "deserves" it - means that it has no interest in examining the ways that poverty, isolation, and neglect are risk factors; that straightforwardly unpleasant people can still be victims; that victims can go on to become perpetrators without their victimhood ceasing to matter; and that the abuse of children usually takes place not in silence and secrecy, concealed in ways which make it fine for adults not to notice it and not to intervene, but in plain sight.

this is knowledge it never hurts to refresh. thinking about lord voldemort's childhood might be an usual way of doing so... but it is an effective one nonetheless...

[delulujuls]

papaya nails and everything nice | op81

hi! i dont really know how to comment on that one, i just get this idea from few videos where oscar actually admitted that he has very interesting relationship with his nails

anyway, is this original? i think it is. is this wholesome? hell yes, we do be supportin in this household. enjoy!

summary: oscar is having an unusual problem but it's nothing a manicure cant fix

warnings: none, i hope that painted nails on a boy arent a trigger

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver (ft. lando)

Oscar had been struggling to get himself together for some time now. As far back as he could remember, he considered himself as organized and put-together person who kept everything in check. However, for the past few weeks he had been the complete opposite—nothing seemed to go his way, he was incredibly scattered, sleeping poorly and was always last-minute everywhere.

This day was no exception to the rule that had persistently dominated Piastri's life for the past few weeks. Hurrying, he entered the garage running late and quickly started changing, not wanting to delay the start of training. His hair was messy, clearly having just detached from the pillow a few moments ago. Y/N observed her friend from the corner of her eye, seeing him struggle with unzipping his jumpsuit. Without hesitation, she approached him and eased his suffering, helping him with the zipper.

"Thanks," he mumbled, throwing a fleeting glance at his friend. Only then did Y/N noticed that Oscar's face was marked by several red streaks.

"Something happened?" she asked, clearly concerned. The recent strange behavior of Oscar had not escaped anyone on the team and she was no exception.

"I overslept, nothing new lately," Piastri casually replied, putting on the jumpsuit and fastening it around his neck. He brushed his hair off his face and only now did Y/N have a full view of his face, where red stripes were visible on his even paler-than-usual skin.

"Yes, that too, but that's not what I meant," she said.

Y/N took her phone and showed him his reflection. He furrowed his brows in surprise but took the phone from her and looked at his face. It was a fact, there were strange red marks on it. After a moment, he figured out why he looked like so this morning.

"They're probably scratches; I must have done them in my sleep."

"Scratches?" she scrunched her eyebrows and involuntarily glanced at his nails when he handed her the phone. Indeed, Oscar's nails could make many girls envious.

Y/N still had something to ask, but she was called to take her place in the car. She didn't have the chance to exchange a single word with Oscar until lunchtime. The couple sat in the cafeteria and as Y/N was familiar with both the old Oscar, whom she had known for several years and the slowly emerging new Oscar, she had never paid much attention to his hands or, more importantly, his nails.

"Has this happened to you before?" Y/N asked when they were both eating lunch and Oscar focused all his attention on what she assumed was his first eagerly awaited meal of the day.

"That I took two portions of rice with vegetables for lunch?" he asked with his mouth full, glancing at her in the meantime "No, honestly, this is my debut."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not asking about that. I mean, have you ever looked like you've just met Wolverine?"

"Still have those marks?"

Y/N nodded in response as she continued eating.

Oscar sighed, swallowing what was in his mouth and wondering whether to tell her about the embarrassing nonsense that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. Seeing her curious gaze he decided to confess to her an unusual fact about himself.

"I can't cut my nails."

Oscar threw this statement into the air without much ado. Honestly, at this point in his life where he was and with all the things happening, most of which didn't go the way they should, thinking about things like his unfortunate nails would be total foolishness.

"Oh, really?" she was surprised, but it was the kind of surprise when you hear some fun fact you didn't know before.

"You reacted like I just told you that there are twice as many kangaroos as people in Australia."

"It's quite an unusual thing, you're probably the first person I know who can't do it."

"I don't know if it's something to feel special about, although probably yes since for the rest of the day, I look like I do."

Oscar replied, pointing to his scratched face.

"What's worse," he continued, not interrupting his eating, "Even when I manage to deal with them, it takes a moment and they look the same again. They grow terribly fast."

"If you want, I can help you with them," she offered, glancing at him.

Oscar hesitated for a moment and after that he looked at her uncertainly.

"Could you?"

"Of course!"

Shortly afterward, Y/N's hotel room turned into improvised nail salon. She took her task very seriously, pleased that Oscar allowed her to do anything extra such as cutting his cuticles or giving his hands a massage with a cookie-scented cream.

"You have nice nails," he said when she massaged his hands. Her nails had short square shapes with a matte finish. The color was no surprise; it was papaya orange. "Do PR people dip their fingers in this too?"

Y/N laughed and shook her head.

"No, I just noticed this nail polish in the drugstore and I thought I'd take it. It amused me that this color haunts me everywhere."

"Do you do your nails yourself?" Oscar looked at her with a slight shock. "It must be terribly hard and time-consuming."

"I've been doing them for a few years now and as you can see they are pretty simple, so with each time I get better at it."

She replied, taking a bit more cream. She noticed that he was silently looking at her hands; it seemed that he was particularly paying attention to her nails.

"I can paint yours too if you want."

"Mine?"

Y/N nodded and Oscar looked at her, shocked by how effortlessly she seemed to read his thoughts.

"Painted nails aren't for boys. "

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Anyone can have painted nails, Oscar."

"Zac would be pissed at me. PR people probably too."

"Fuck Zac, fuck PR people," she looked him in the eyes. "Everyone has the right to look how they want, so if Lewis can have earrings and tattoos, Alex could have red hair, then you or any other guy can have painted nails."

Oscar hesitated for a while, looking at her uncertainly. He was silent for a moment, thinking hard. However, he decided that it was time to finally do something contrary to the norm. He has stuck to the rules and regulations all his life, so it's time to make a small concession that won't harm anyone.

"Can you make them for me with a shiny finish?"

Y/N smiled and nodded, hurriedly getting off the bed and grabbing her bag with all the supplies. The smile on Oscar's face appeared with each painted nail, pushing away his fears and insecurities.

When the girl started finishing his other hand after more than an hour, Lando came into the bedroom without any warning, complaining about his friends and the fact that none of them had replied to any of his messages for over forty minutes.

When Norris noticed what he was witnessing, he opened his mouth in shock and his eyes almost fell out of his sockets. Both Oscar and Y/N knew their friend's unfiltered chatter, so they mentally prepared themselves for some comment from him. But beside that, he hurriedly took off his shoes and all excited sat on the bed, rolling up his sleeves.

"Oh my God! Will you do mine too?"

[queenoftheimps]

Why I Think The Season 2 Finale Is Gonna Be Even Rougher Than We Anticipate

Something I am increasingly worried about as we approach the Interview with the Vampire season finale:

What if Louis knows that he doesn't know everything? What if that's what he prefers?

Most of the audience suspects Armand was involved in the trial. Daniel definitely does. There's clues already there that this is the case. I've seen chatter online about how next week will, presumably, be when Louis realizes the truth and splits with Armand.

...however. When Louis confronts Armand about his memories of 1973, Armand tells him Louis asked him to erase them. Louis initially pushes back, but seems to accept this.

Except: why would you ever accept that as an explanation -- unless you knew that it's something you would do? Or possibly even something you'd done already?

Armand, as suspicious as he is, has been laying some groundwork that Louis is deliberately taking part in altering his own memories: "The pages we tore out of Claudia's diaries -- we did most of those together!" Which Louis seems to confirm is true.

I think part of the issue is that Louis' evasiveness is being attributed to a desire to protect Armand & continue seeing him as the love of his life. And it may be true to some extent. But also -- I think it's at least partly to protect Louis from the weight of his own guilt over Claudia's death.

Because if Armand is guilty -- if he has been plainly, obviously guilty for decades, if Daniel can catch it from third-hand evidence 70 years later -- and it happened because he wanted to have Louis to himself, how do you even process that? How do you handle knowing that Claudia died a horrific death because of a romance she herself called you out on? After she told you that this man threatened her and you denied it?

Hell, how do you process it when she's condemned by testimony from someone you failed to kill? When Louis tries to convince Daniel that he really did intent to kill Lestat, that Claudia was the one who couldn't burn him, is it because he can't handle feeling responsible for Lestat being alive to testify against her?

Truthfully, I wouldn't really blame Louis for not being able to handle that level of guilt, and we know he winds up spending several years draining drug addicts as a coping method before ultimately attempting suicide. Being able to forget all of it, and forget that you'd forgotten them, would be appealing. (And I think it's noteworthy that Louis only seems to be willing to question Armand about his memories of 1973, which occurred well after Claudia died.)

That said: I have concerns about what this is going to mean for present-day Dubai.

Daniel clearly can tell something is up and is gunning to dig in. But Louis keeps shutting him down hard. ("Armand sold you out-..." "I'm talking now.")

We also have seen what happens when Daniel digs into something that Louis really doesn't want to talk about. When he asks for Claudia's missing pages, Louis deliberately seems to trigger his Parkinson's. When Daniel makes comments about Lestat's letter, Louis starts digging into Daniel's memories of Alice (which also seems to worsen Daniel's tremors, though that may not be deliberate).

So what happens if he starts pushing in on something that Louis has gone to great, deliberate lengths to forget about? Something that ties into the worst event of Louis' life, something he still feels tremendous guilt over?

Raglan James' line about "You fear Armand. You should fear the other one" feels like a shoe that hasn't been dropped yet. I've been pretty steadily predicting that Daniel is going to have some sort of massive medical issue in the penthouse, but I'm slowly wondering if Louis may be what triggers it (possibly by accident). Hell, I even kind of wonder if Armand suspects something like this could happen, which is part of why he's been so adamant about always being nearby, cosplaying as Rashid so he can run in whenever Louis gets upset.

I don't know, I would love for the finale to be as easy and simple as "Daniel helps Louis see that Armand is guilty, Louis dumps Armand". But this show has never been about easy, simple situations so I suspect we're in for a rough time.

[annabelle--cane]

im listening to mag again and damn do the archival crew HATE jon. listen i get it supposedly your lives would be normal if he hadn't brought you here... but he didn't? (minus og archive crew, jon requesting them and all) if anything he was just kinda there when you made decisions, bro wasn't EVEN THERE when melanie got hired like??? like how r u gonna wish him pain rn, he's ltrly sopping wet and on the verge of dying💀

like another anon I got a month or so ago, this is one of my sleeper agent trigger phrases, so this might be another marina monologue moment.

as I'm also in the middle of a (for my standards) incredibly slow relisten, I've been thinking about this topic, too, but I've been coming at it from a slightly different angle than I normally do. in tim's case, we don't get an actual look at the circumstances under which he transferred to the archives, it is theoretically possible that jon laid it on a bit thick in asking him to come with him to the department and tim wouldn't have even thought of it otherwise, but with melanie we have several scenes of her hiring and onboarding where jon is not present and she continually rebuffs people who tell her she's making a mistake, so the text very clearly sets up that her blaming jon for being trapped there doesn't make sense. and, even with tim having been requested by jon, he still had to make the ultimate decision to switch departments himself, so, yknow, what gives?

most people, I think, and myself in the past, have come at this question from a very jon-centric pov because he's the main character and it's a jon-centric show, but I think putting it down to "they lash out at him because he happens to be there and stops defending himself after a while" misses something, as does "they lash out at him because elias sets everyone up to think they have an adversarial relationship to jon." more than that, I think it's about the rejection of agency.

tma is a show that's very much About agency and choices, so it's important to keep track of where characters suddenly balk and try to offload their choices onto other agents. martin, despite being very proactive and efficient when he sets his mind to it, has a consistent habit of thinking of himself as fundamentally unimportant and unable to affect real change. jon, someone who is usually culpability_acceptor_4000, really tries to convince himself that the web made him pull statements out of strangers. and melanie and tim, on realizing that they've gotten themselves stuck in the archives, have similar reactions of trying to retroactively make those decisions jon's.

they hate being stuck there and they can't bear the idea that it might be their fault, and they don't know how to reconcile the choices they did make with the greater forces outside of their control that shape their lives. tim swings right from seeing jon as fully responsible to seeing everything as the result of cosmically inevitable bad luck, and this hits him so hard that it leads directly to his suicide. post-bullet melanie gets a better handle on it; accepting that she chose to fall further into the slaughter opens her up to accepting that she made other choices, like joining the archives, as well as accepting future choices, like quitting the archives.

and yes, in the moments where tim and melanie are most vulnerable and just starting to realize how deeply screwed they are, jon (at least from their pov) does something to make it worse. when jon tells tim that jane presntiss wasn't his fault, tim says "well you sure made me feel worse afterwards! and then everyone had to pay attention to how you were feeling to get you to stop stalking us!" when melanie goes in for a second assassination attempt on elias, elias makes jon talk her down instead of doing it himself, presumably to try and get the slaughter mark done with. neither of these are the inciting incidents for tim and melanie's situations, but they stand out. and because jon is culpability_acceptor_4000, a man who feels like the weight of the whole world is on his shoulders and is even right some of the time, the accusations stick. tim and melanie don't want anything to be their fault, jon thinks everything is his fault, and it's a bit of a vicious self-fulfilling cycle.

[writerscall]

bruises.

spiderwoman!hazel au. she's known about hazel's little secret for a while now and she's done giving her excuses a free pass.

author's note/s: 1.2k words. trigger warning for talk of injuries, switched to the use of 'you' here for reader cause third person wasn't working for me

It's routine for you to replenish the contents of the first-aid kit in your bedside table's drawer now. You even keep one in your locker and have had many silent debates with yourself on keeping a small one in your bag, just in case. For the past four months, Hazel Callahan has been climbing up to your window to ask for your help with treating a bruise or two. Because of that new women's self-defense club - the "fight club" that started up at school, she said.

Which was incidentally formed about a week after the first news headline came out about some masked vigilante swinging around the city. Fighting crime and saving civilians and beating up bad guys and all that.

Now coincidental rather than incidental for you though, since the day you saw Hazel rushing into her house then saw the infamous Spiderwoman spring out of her bedroom window mere seconds later. You were stunned, but it wasn't hard for you to connect the dots. Your already had your suspicions about some of the bruises Hazel supposedly got from her club; you doubt any of the girls there could actually land a hit that could damage her that badly.

But it's not an easy thing to bring up or just ask about, so you've kept quiet about it. Until that night, however.

You're half-asleep when you hears the incessant knocking at her window. You try not to groan as you throw back the covers and get up, knowing exactly who it is, but whatever irritation you have is gone once you see Hazel's face in the moonlight.

"Jesus Christ," you mutter as you pull her inside, hurriedly moving across the room to switch the light on. "Are you okay?"

"Pretty sure I've been better." Hazel smiles, actually smiles with that joke. But you can only sigh at her in response. Hazel literally looked like she got her face smashed into a wall or to the ground repeatedly - considering the people and things you've seen her fight against, that might've been what happened. There was a bruise along her jawline that you were sure you wouldn't be able to help cover up with make-up the next day and a cut on her forehead where a previous one just healed.

"Let me guess. It's from fight club again?" You manage not to make air quotations at 'fight club' but can't help the disbelieving tone when you say it. There's no way she expects you to believe that.

But as usual, she does. "I was just caught off guard cause we were practicing 'til late at night today and... and I was tired, cause you know, we had a whole day of school earlier and," Hazel stumbles out. The tone you used clearly got to her. "And when I fell it was to the ground and not the mat cause Sylvie got in a really, really good punch. You should've seen it actually."

You say nothing as you let her sit on the side of your bed and take the first-aid kit out, still quiet as you start wiping her face gently. She watches you intently, mouth opening and closing a few times before finally saying, "Don't be so worried. It's not the first time you've seen me like this and I'm always fine after."

"Yeah, sure." Until it happens again, you want to add. You get up to throw the wipes and tissues away and you can feel her eyes on you with every step. Hazel's never been good at dealing with friends being angry with her; you knew how sensitive she could be, which was why you were always quick to reassure her whenever it seemed like she was taking something to heart. It's why you've been patient for so long with her keeping the whole Spiderwoman thing a secret, but you didn't know how much longer you could take seeing her all beaten up and hear one lie after the other on how she supposedly got them.

"Please don't be mad—"

"When are you going to stop lying to me?"

Something shifts in the air at your question. You don't have to look at her to know how her eyes have widened and how her mouth was probably hanging open in shock, or how her mind was definitely racing at what you could possibly be talking about. Even though deep down, she knew.

You turn back around, sighing. "I know, Hazel. About your secret web-slinging life."

Hazel sits up straighter at your admission then stands up abruptly to pace the room, a panicked look on her face. "When did you— how did you even—"

"Does it matter? Why didn't you tell me?" You walk towards her and grab her by the arms, forcing her to stop. "You know you can trust me. I would never, ever tell anyone."

"That's not the point!" She shakes out of your grasp. "That's not the point," she repeats in a softer voice, continuing with, "You can't know. Nobody can because anybody who knows gets put in danger, and they'll come after you eventually to get to me, and I can't let that happen. Not to you, not to my mom, not to any of the girls in fight club. Especially not to you."

Your chest tightens at that. Quietly, you ask, "Why?"

There's a resigned, expectant look on her face when she says, "You know why."

And you do. The two of you have always been great friends but there's always been something else there, something a little more that neither of you were brave enough to acknowledge in fear of ruining what you had. You'd be lying if you said you never noticed the drop in her energy and expression every time you so much as made a passing comment that one of your classmates was cute, and you'd also be lying if you said you never thought anything about the weird feeling you got in your stomach when you saw how much closer she and Stella-Rebecca have gotten since joining the fight club together.

"I need you safe," Hazel says after a moment.

"You'll keep me safe. You'll protect me." You walk towards her again, reaching out to hold her roughed-up face in your hands. Almost instinctively, Hazel leans her cheek into your left palm. "I know you will because you would've done it whether I knew your secret or not. Because you're a good person and a fantastic superhero, Hazel."

Hazel just looks at you for a moment, clearly having some internal argument with herself, before she surges forward to kiss you. You press your lips firmly against hers, kissing her back soundly in case she'd panic and pull away too soon. But Hazel only pulls you in closer, a relieved sigh escaping her as she tilts her head to the side for a different angle.

If a kiss between the two of you was ever going to happen, then it was bound to be in some big reveal moment like this.

Reluctantly, you push her away after a moment because you couldn't let her or yourself get carried away; that first-aid couldn't be put away just yet, plus, your parents might've been dead asleep but they were still home. Both of you would have to put a raincheck on... whatever could've come next.

"Can I stay over tonight?" Hazel asks breathlessly, still eyeing your lips. You smile at her fondly and let out a chuckle, pushing her bangs away from her face.

"Yeah. I still need to fix up that cute face of yours, you know."

[on-a-lucky-tide]

When Simon struggles, he finds Price for relief.

CW: D/s dynamics without it being explicitly outlined, blowjob, a bit of yearning Price.

Price looked up at the sharp rap on his office door and blinked out of the trance-like concentration that had kept him focused for four hours solid, without even a coffee break. The nearby clock said 0200 in flickering red numbers, which meant it could only be one person. No one else sought him out at such an ungodly bloody hour without an imminent mission.

"Come in, Simon."

The handle twisted instantly, like Simon's hand had been resting on it in readiness, and the looming figure of Ghost crossed the threshold. But it wasn't Ghost who needed attention now; Ghost was asleep, waiting for the moment he was needed once more, which had left Simon Riley to surface. The mask did little to hide the difference; Ghost moved like a force of nature, unrepentant and ruthless, but Simon... he moved like a man uncertain whether he was even real.

Price threw his biro down and leaned back in his chair, head tilted to the side. He knew that waiting for Simon to speak was futile; he never would, not in these fragile early hours when he was exposed like a raw nerve. So it fell to Price to take on the burden of deciding, just like in the field.

Price turned his chair to face to the side and Simon drifted over to stand before him, his fingers twitching at his sides in regular little ticks. The tension hummed off of him like radiation, a tight heat on a hair trigger. Price tilted his chair back, fingers twined together over his belly as he looked up at his officer.

Other than his mask, Simon had presented himself practically naked. Well, by Ghost's standards. Cotton shirt, trousers held up by an empty belt, not even a utility knife at the side, his boots were unlaced where he had clearly rolled from his cot and shoved his feet into them in a hurry. Price couldn't see his eyes; the light in the office was too dim, the battered lamp only enough to illuminate the dossier he'd been working on. The shadows hid Simon from him.

He spread his knees and dipped his chin towards the floor. "On your knees, lieutenant," Price said, and Simon obeyed. He dropped between Price's knees without hesitation, hitting the old rug with a dull thud. His shoulders remained squared, his arms rigidly at his sides, but now he was looking up at Price with doe-wide eyes, and Price felt the first stirrings in the pit of his stomach.

He made Simon wait as he evaluated those eyes, the only window he had into the man before him. They were still blacked out but the camo had partially smeared off in sleep; Price could see a few wisps of a blonde eyebrow and damn if Simon didn't have the fullest lashes Price had ever seen on a man.

"The airport," Price said, and saw a flicker in Simon's eyes that confirmed it. "I see."

Price leaned forward and saw the first judder in Simon's composure; a hitch in his chest, a twitch of his broad shoulders. There was no point in telling Simon it wasn't on him; Price carried the rank so he carried the responsibility. All Simon would be thinking of was the families he hadn't saved; the stand-ins for everything he'd lost. Ghost understood; collateral damage, the enemy taking their pound of flesh. That was just what happened in the field. Simon needed help forgetting and letting it go, because he would never be able to understand.

Now, Price wasn't a fool. He knew they were one and the same man, but trauma did something to a man's head. Fuck, it had done a number on his that he was sure some army psych would take great joy in unravelling when it eventually all caught up with him, but they managed in their own ways. Simon has pulled on a mask and called it Ghost, because his call sign was the one defence he had left.

So, to reach Simon, the mask had to come off. Just a little.

Price reached forward and Simon flinched from his hands despite the needy jut of his chin. "Stand easy," he said, the words falling out naturally as they would with any twitchy greenhorn about to take his first jump. Calm authority. And it worked on Simon like a dream; his chin pressed into Price's palm and his shoulders eased.

Price held him there, letting Simon rest in the literal and metaphorical safety of his commanding officer's hands. He felt the warm puffs of breath from Simon's nose on his wrist, and squeezed only enough to feel the strong lines of Simon's jaw. A handsome bloke, if memory served. One day, he'd get this damned mask all the way off and admire it once again, even with all of Simon's past etched and burned into it.

Price hooked his thumbs beneath it and curled it up until it folded just over the tip of Simon's nose. Those intense eyes were flickering, alert, and Price let them settle again until he turned to tracing Simon's lips. They were so unique; full, pale, gnarled across one corner by the scar twisting from his jaw to his cheek, disappearing beneath the band of his balaclava.

Simon was breathing a little heavier; excitement, anxiety, it didn't matter, the body reacted the same. Hairs on end, goosebumps on pale skin. Simon wouldn't pull away, wouldn't stop Price at any point. In these early hours, Price could make him do anything, which was precisely why he couldn't. Simon would shatter and Ghost would be there to harvest the pieces, absorbing them until Simon disappeared forever. Price would only go as far as they always did, because he couldn't risk losing Simon. Not this way.

"You're a good man for coming to me," Price said, the low timbre of his whisper sounding loud in the small office. "Always so good. So loyal."

Price tugged at Simon's lower lip and then stroked the pad of his thumb over Simon's teeth; Simon opened obediently under the lightest touch, and Price stroked his tongue, cupping that strong jaw as Simon surrendered to him, each breath coming easier. "Good, lieutenant. Come on, show me what you want..."

Simon's eyes flickered and rolled, his mouth closed only to suck Price in as far as his thumb would go, those full lips pressing down to his palm with the softest groan as the last of Simon's hesitant restraint tumbled away, like glacier ice cracking off a distant mountain.

"Ahh, there you are, Simon. Good boy." Price pressed a little on Simon's tongue and looked down between his knees. The front of Simon's trousers were bulging out, but his big hands remained firmly on his thick thighs; thighs that Price would give his damn pension to have wrapped around his waist, they would snap him in half and he'd be bloody grateful for it.

The heat under his own skin throbbed warmer and he spread his legs a little further, yielding space to his hardening prick. As if he could sense Price's building arousal, Simon sucked harder, his teeth grazing Price's skin. "Hmm, eager to please, I see." Price pressed down, urging Simon's mouth open, as he pulled at his belt and button. It took only a little fumbling for him to free his cock, the shaft sitting over the elastic of his boxers and dripping shamelessly. Price grunted, a little abashed at his own eagerness. "You do things to me, lad."

Simon's eyes flickered between Price's face and his prick, his tongue wriggling beneath the weight of Price's thumb. "Fuck," Price breathed, fingers tightening on Simon's jaw once more. He eased thumb free and then his foreskin back until his frenulum could tease over the soft, supple skin of Simon's lower lip. Simon held fast, his eyes not leaving Price's face, and Price let him see the pleasure, the admiration.

He teased himself on Simon's lips, rocking backwards and forwards, leaking into his lieutenant's mouth until Simon's tongue was saturated in scent and taste. Price couldn't deny the feral attraction of it; of having Lieutenant Simon Riley on his knees, Ghost tamed into quiet submission, all that power coiled away, and the man himself so desperate to submit.

Simon's tongue curled up to press at Price's slit and Price groaned as his glans yielded to the tip of it. "Impatient, as always," Price said, the words croaked through a miasma of listless pleasure. He leaned back and drew Simon with him, sliding that hot, eager mouth down his shaft. Price wasn't sure what was better; the wet, needy heat that swallowed him to the root, or the way that Simon's eyes rolled back into his bloody head.

Simon pushed his nose to Price's groin, his throat spasming reflexively. "Steady," Price managed, checking the swell of his own excitement as his balls pulled tight. Fuck, so soon? His own bloody thoughts had ridden him to the razor edge and Simon hadn't got his fill yet. Price let his head fall back and closed his eyes, but his hand stayed on Simon's chin, not guiding once Simon had slowed so much as holding. He pressed his thumb into Simon's cheek and felt his prick slide through Simon's mouth and it was almost enough to shove him over the brink.

"Bloody hell," Price hissed through clenched teeth as Simon drew off to lick through his slit again, seeking that concentration of taste and arousal. He licked the thick vein that snaked up from the base, finishing just shy of the tip and then slowed. Slowed right down. Price played with the fuzz of blonde hair at the back of Simon's neck, revealed as his mask hitched a little higher, and felt the cooler tip of Simon's nose at the cusp of his boxers, the puff of hot breath and another deep, guttural groan, and Price's stomach bunched tight.

It was sweet, sweet torture, but Simon was teasing him deliberately, baiting him out for something a little more, and Price gave gladly. He pushed his lieutenant back enough to stand, before hauling him around by the chin until the back of his head pressed to the edge of his desk, cushioned by the meat of Price's free hand.

Simon's mouth hung open for him and Price thrust in deep with a low growl. Price rolled his hips slowly, savouring each drag of Simon's lips and tongue down his shaft, but he couldn't temper his pace for long. He moved faster, stopping only just short of ramming Simon's head back into his hand. Simon's eyes were closed, his body completely slack, and the absolute submission was enough to rip Price's orgasm from him.

His hips stuttered as he emptied down Simon's throat and the lad took it all, consumed every last drop of it, and Price once again revelled in the power yielded to him. He may never have Simon over his desk in the way he wanted, but fuck was he going to enjoy every shred of him he could have like this.

Price dropped Simon's chin in favour of propping himself up and watched as Simon licked absently at his softening prick, the sparks of oversensitivity leaping up his bloody spine like burning shrapnel.

When he was certain his legs would hold him, Price pulled back, returning to wipe Simon's mouth clean of spit and cum. Simon hung in his hands, soft and light, and Price stared at his lips. The urge to kiss in these moments after was almost overpowering, a breath between Price and the taste of himself in his Simon's mouth. Ahh, and there was the bloody problem. His. Not now, not ever.

Price swallowed and sat back on his heels, discarding the scarf he'd used to clean Simon's face, and eased Simon's mask back into place. He rose on aching legs, the afterburn of his climax making him a little dizzy. "Bed. Now. Mess at 0600."

Simon uncurled to his full height - all six-foot-giant of him - and left without a word. Price slumped at his desk and stared at the ceiling. The dossier would have to wait. He felt like he'd just run Test Week at double time.

***

"Ahh, L.T., bit of a wee bounce in yer step t'day. Get lucky at the bar?"

"Focus on the mission, Soap."

"Ahh geddit, you don' kiss an' tell, pwoper English gent."

As Ghost walked to the back of the plane, Price was sure Simon glanced at him from beneath that balaclava, but it was Ghost that rumbled through the intercom. "Ready, sir."

"Ghost takes point, radio silence until we rendezvous at agreed coordinates, go."

Ghost slid his rifle behind his back and threw himself into free fall.

[v3nusxsky]

Hello! 👋🏻 I would love a little smutty Larissa x Morticia x Reader oneshot if I'm the first ask. Please and thank you 😊

Can we keep her? 18+

*Authors note~ I’m so sorry I haven’t posted in a while placement has been hectic with so many assessments needing to be done for me to pass the year which ends in two weeks! But have this little brain child*

Trigger warnings ~ established relationship Mortica x reader, mommy dom! Mortica, sub r, sub leaning switch!Larissa, talks of past Tish x Larissa, oral fixation (r), thigh riding (L-M), praise kink, degrading kink, oral sex, fingering, sensory play?, blindfolds, overstimulation kink, mirror sex, aftercare obvs

Prompt^^^

Being Nevermore’s Literature professor was in all honesty a dream come true. Ever since your time as a student in the school you’d wished to end up here. And that you did. Larissa couldn’t wait to offer you a position after being your last placement before you qualified. The skills you possess are honestly some of the best she has seen and therefore makes you an asset to her staff.

But if you know Nevermore, which you do, it always provides the unexpected. The youngest member of staff just so happened to unknowingly gain the interest of a certain raven haired beauty. Morticia Addams. But it was not the only time you’d been on her mind, no, when you were studying you often ended up shadowing her class as Larissa felt you needed to be well rounded in classroom management. Your nature making you quiet and reserved and a little afraid to assume your natural authority over the class. Which is why Mortica was perfect for you.

Thinking back to how it all started out with you and your girlfriend always brings a smile to your face. When things got tough she was always there, rain or shine to support you. Also you’d be utterly insane to not notice her radiant beauty she so effortlessly wears. Everything about her was perfect. Beautiful skin like the pale moons reflection on the lake. Raven hair as dark as night, perfectly straight and never out of place. Dresses that hugged her body as if they were her skin. And the height that woman has often brings you to your knees. Truly, she’s magnificent. So of course it was only natural to see her celestial being in your dreams.

You knew of her psychic abilities and she knew that you process the ability of mental projection. Now you have a higher ability than most would assume which allows you to project thoughts feelings, create alternative worlds with your imagination and even switch realities. Mostly, you enjoyed your ability and the fact you could use it to help others, but you’d never would’ve thought that your own mind would let out your secret desire.

You’d been utterly exhausted the whole day which resulted in your head snuggled into the woman’s neck as she read a French book out loud to soothe you to sleep. And like always the smooth silky voice and the steady thumps of the heart bellow you worked like a charm. Only to send you into the spiciest dream you’ve ever had.

“Mommy” you whined pitifully as you squirmed under Larissa’s gaze. The blonde seemingly confident as she towered over you, not even throwing her past crush a glance. “She is a pretty thing Tish, I could do so much with her” the shifter murmured thoughtfully, clearly talking about you and not to you as she ignored your desperate state.

“Ah, mon amour, you aren’t in control here are you darling?” Your lover reminded the principal, clearly stating that she is in control of both you and the blonde. “Will you be good for me sweet girl?” She practically coed at the older woman while actively ignoring you. “Yes mommy” came the mumbled response, her shyness soaking the words. “Oh my dear Rissa, we both know you aren’t shy in this department darling” came her chuckled teasing words. You’d know there was something with them in the past, but purposely not spoken about until this interaction.

It was then that you became overwhelmed with your thoughts of the two women together in the most intimate and inexperienced ways that your grip of control faltered and everyone in the room was blessed with the image of Larissa Weems in her youth, riding your Tish’s milky thigh in a frantic rhythm. “Oh! You’re so good Rissa, keep going for mommy, I want to feel you cum for me darling” she would murmured into the blondes ear before taking it between her teeth and tugging gently.

Unbeknownst to your slumbering self you’d given your girlfriend the opportunity to hopefully bring her first crush and lover to the bedroom without fear of upsetting you. Seeing the sexual dream that had caused you to entangle your legs to hers, effectively pressing your now dripping warmth to her leg was enough reassurance. All she needed now was the principal to agree.

To say Larissa was expecting the potion teacher to barge into her office with such a personal invitation during school hours would have been insanity, but then again the Addams family love to make keep her on her toes. Truthfully, Principal Weems kept her ex lover former crush on the staff for many reasons. Her teaching for one, to be close to her for another, and the third being those pesky lingering feelings that never left once she left the gates of Nevermore with Gomez. One swift divorce had her back where she belongs it still not hers. No. Because she wanted you.

Meetings with the principal after hours were not uncommon for you as a first year qualified teacher however, seeing Tish sat on her desk as their lips fused together like a centuries old dance was definitely a first. Not that you were complaining at all. In fact, you decided to let them feel the affect they have on you, causing Larissa to let out a whimper of need. “Patience sweetheart, this isn’t about us yet” Morticia reprimanded as she pulled herself away from the shifters body. “Would you care to join us sweet girl? I know just how much you enjoyed your dream the other night, and mommy wants to give that to you baby.”

That’s how you found yourself reliving your first part of your dream, word for word squirming on the sofa by the warm fire. Two pairs of eyes drinking in your now semi naked form. “Much better sweet girl you’re so pretty for mommy baby” your girlfriend praised before swiftly moving to grab the blindfold she’d stashed away before your arrival. From there you were promptly ignored by the older women as Mortica claimed her dominant stance causing Larissa to slip into a happy medium, content to please everyone.

Slender fingers trailed your exposed abdomen ever so lightly that it may as well have been a ghost. A phantom feeling only to be chased away with a rougher texture on your plush thighs. “Mm” you purred happily, Morticia always knew just what you craved without you needing to say it. So there was no surprise when she instructed Larissa to fetch a cold water bottle and roll it over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. “C-cold mommy” you whimpered with an adorable pout on your luscious lips. “Oh my poor baby” the faux sympathy rolling off her words in waves. Soon enough there was a soft tassle being dragged all over your body like a snake looking for its prey as it slithers over your bra clad chest.

Soon enough both women grew tired of their little game, deciding that you were all simply too clothed for the occasion. Tish instructed you to try and undress her while your vision was not present but you ended up reaching for Weems instead. A quick tut of disapproval soon had you swivelling around to please her only to lose your balance. “Such a silly baby, can’t even undress me. Well Larissa will have to do it seems I know she can be a good girl for me.”

Only when Larissa freed the older woman from her garments did she get permission to strip down herself while Morticia ripped the skimpy lace off your body. “Please can I play with her Mommy?” Larissa mumbled completely star struck by your bare body. With a wave of the other woman’s hand Larissa immediately yanked you onto your hands and knees and settled under your body. Mortica coming to sit on the arm rest and spreading her legs for you to be eye to eye with her aching core. “Get to work little slut, be good for me baby.”

You immediately delve into her awaiting cunt, blindly missing your target by an inch causing your lover to grab a fist fall of hair to guide you, all while Larissa happily began to kiss and lick your pillowy thighs before eating you out like a starved woman. Soon enough the office was filled with the sweetest moans where French and English words blended together in the height of her enjoyment. Larissa simply moaning shamelessly into your soaked pussy causing you to mirror her with the raven haired woman’s clit pulsing between your lips. “Oh fuck baby! Right there pretty whore. Best whore for mommy” her praise only spurring on your determination to please her. Only when you decide to plunge two fingers into her greedy core did she cum as you happily lapped up your reward before tumbling over the edge yourself.

“Oh sweet girl your blindfolds all wet.” She mock gasped before ripping it off your head to examine it. “Messy whore” was offered by the blonde whose mouth was coated in your arousal and cum. All while you were blinking rapidly trying to maintain your position not wanting to disappoint them. Inevitability your shaking legs failed you causing you to collapse against the sofa earning a time out.

That’s how you found yourself sat on the floor, let’s spread wide, hands behind your back as you watched Tish bring Larissa over the edge time after time, lavishing her on sweet praise with ever orgasm, while you sat untouched and ignored. Every little needy sound that slipped past your lips bought the blonde another high. Every time you moved from your position brought your girlfriend a chance to feel the bliss while you sat there watching another woman have her screaming and crying out with pure pleasure. On one hand you were jealous as sin on the other it was hot as hell and what a spectacular show to be blessed with. Perhaps that’s why you behaved.

Tish had simply lost count of how many times she’d rode the waves of pleasure, simply forgetting how good Larissa is in the department before she had some experience. However, she’s not as young as she was back then and her body simply requires a break which is why Larissa gets you resting against your mommy’s front, legs spread as she instructs you to keep your gaze on the ceiling. Fuck. Mirrors. Everywhere, you realised. “Gonna make you watch how much of a filthy slut you look like as you fall apart for another woman” she stated before setting to work in trailing her fingers through your slick. “So fucking messy sweet girl, eyes on the ceiling or I’ll make mommy hold your head that way” the blonde threatens before unleashing a whole new burst of energy on your pleading core.

“Tish, the whore won’t look” Larissa grumbled noticing how your head had dropped to the side after the second orgasm. “Mommy, too much” you slurred letting out a little squeal when Larissa touched your oversensitive clit. “One more sweet girl, mommys right here, one more baby you can take it. Look how pretty my girl looks.” Her praise combined with the principals three fingers curling just right to hit the perfect spot had you seeing stars and drenching the sofa below you all. It was only after working you down from the high did you let out a sob of “no more” over and over.

Larissa hurrying to find the pre set out aftercare things while morticia hummed a French lullaby, your favourite when this deep into sub space. Your eyes filed with a haze as you immediately began to root around for more skin to skin contact. When Larissa returned with water and sugary treat you seemed to far down which worried her. Yet Tish seemed to know just what to do. After sipping her water and encouraging you to do the same with the support from both women you settled in between them both. Completely submerged into your subby mindset you gently grabbed Larissa’s hand and brought her fingers to your lips before ever so lightly drawing them between your lips. Immediately a content sigh left your body as you snuggled more into your mommy muttering around the slender fingers, “mm we keeps her?” Without knowing Morticia already planned on it.

Word count ~ 2161

[lawsvalentine]

Safe With Me • Law x reader •

Requested by @nyi72 : Can you write a fanfic with Law comforting a gn reader who just had a ptsd or panic attack out of nowhere?

Cee’s Note: Thank you for this request 🫶🏽 sorry it took long I hope you enjoy it ☺️

CW: mentions of trauma, descriptions of panic attack, fluff, gender not specified, reader and Law are not together but clearly like each other, reader feels like a burden, soft!Law

“Y/N-ya?”

You heard your captain from outside the door yet you remained silent, hoping he would just walk away.

It happened again.

You absolutely hated feeling this way.

The simplest things would trigger these emotions. The sound of raised voices, the loud bangs of objects colliding together, or glass shattering on the pavement and the haunting memories would start flooding your mind. Suddenly you were back at that place in your life before you had joined the heart pirates. The air starts getting denser and suddenly it feels like you’re suffocating.

This wasn’t the first time these overwhelming feelings would hit you out of nowhere but never had it happened in front of your captain.

Law had found you hyperventilating and sobbing in the hallway of the submarine. His medical instincts kicked in and he was quick to be at your side. He was familiar with the signs of panic attacks so he knew exactly what to do.

He instructed you to focus on your breathing. He demonstrated on himself, slowly breathing in and out, encouraging you to follow his breaths.

After a few shaky attempts you were able to slow down your breathing, your heart beat slowing down from its erratic pace. You could faintly make out his sharp features through your tears. Although his expression remained calm, his eyes held so much concern.

When you finally calmed down, your eyes widened in realization at what had just happened and you quickly rose to your feet and ran inside the door behind you which happened to be your bedroom. You locked the door, pressing your back against it, sliding down before burying your head in your arms from embarrassment.

Law was taken aback from your quick movements but stood from his crouched position and knocked on your door, calling your name. You remained at your spot, not budging an inch. After a few more knocks, it was quiet and you assumed he finally walked away.

That was until you heard a “Room” and “Shambles” and the book that was on your nightstand was replaced by your captain.

You were startled by his presence, forgetting about your captain’s teleportation powers.

“Y/N-ya, why did you run away from me?” Law questioned, eyebrows furrowed at you.

You sigh, trying to find the words to explain yourself but when you tried to speak it was as if the words were caught in your throat, unable to escape.

Law took notice of your lack of a response and slowly made his way towards you. He perched down and sat next to you on the cold pavement against the door. You two sat in silence for a moment, both trying to find the right words to say to one another.

“Ya know…you can talk to me”

You glanced next to you to see Law’s head down, hat lowered covering his eyes.

“I know I’m just your captain but….I do care about you Y/N-ya” his words were quiet yet soft.

The sincerity in his tone gave you the courage to finally speak.

“I didn’t want…you to see me like that” you admitted, eyes looking everywhere else but the man beside you.

“Why?”

Because I have a huge crush on you.

Because I don’t want you to think that I’m weak.

Because I don’t want to burden you with my issues.

“I just don’t…okay”, you sighed.

If only he knew

Law raised his head to study your features. Your tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes made his heart ache. He knew that there was something plaguing your heart and he wished he could free you from the pain and sadness you must be feeling.

“I used to get those a lot too….when I was younger”, he admitted.

“I had a lot of fucked up things happen when I was a kid. The attacks eventually stopped but i still get night terrors once in a while about my past.”

Your eyes widened in shock at his confession. Your captain was a very private person, you’ve never heard him express his emotions or talk about his past.

You turned your head to look at him, his golden eyes met yours before shyly looking down again. He never opened up to anyone, not even Bepo.

“Thank you for telling me that”, you gave him a small smile. “I’m here for you too, if you need somebody to talk to”

Law raised his head to loom at you, his features had relaxed and he returned your smile.

“I’m supposed to be the one comforting you Y/N-ya” he joked.

This was a side you’ve never seen from Law but it was refreshing, seeing him smile and be less serious.

You giggled at his comment. “You did though, I guess you can say we’re trauma bonding”

He chuckled a bit at your comment. It was a sound you’ve never heard come from your captain, but filled you with butterflies nonetheless.

“Well, you don’t have to feel scared or alone. You’re safe here…with me” he said, peering down at your hand that was an inch away from his tatted one on the ground.

You followed his gaze and decided to do what he had wanted to do but was too scared to. You closed the space between each other’s hands, looping your pinkie with his. His eyes widened slightly, his cheeks getting pink by the sudden action. Despite his surprised expression, he didn’t move his hand away.

Law’s heart felt like it was beating 100 mph. Such a simple act, has gotten him feeling butterflies in his stomach. You sheepishly look at him, feeling your own cheeks heating up. You looked so adorable to him. He couldn’t help his gaze from going to your lips then back up to meet your eyes, almost silently asking you for permission.

You nodded your head, giving him the okay. Law stared at you for a moment before closing the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours for the first time.

His lips felt soft like a warm pillow and you couldn’t help but to sink into him, kissing him back tentatively. You could feel the tickle of his goatee against your chin, the slight sensation of your shared breaths under your nose.

Law gave you one last peck, before breaking the kiss. You both slowly parted away from each other, eyes blinking open. Law lowered his hat, trying to hide his flushed face. You giggle at his shyness, he was so cute and awkward.

“I..erm…should p-probably check on the crew” Law stuttered, rising to his feet.

You nodded, smiling slightly. “Thank you for helping me with my panic attack and our talk…aaand the kiss”

Law looked down at his feet, “I-erm yeah..uh..thank you too…I mean…no problem”

He hastily left your room and you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself at his flustered behavior. Your usually calm and collected captain was a stuttering mess. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, Law’s words replaying in your head.

“You’re safe here….with me”

[suugarbabe]

Forget Me Not (3)

[Chapter 3]

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Word count: 2150

Warning: angst, fluff

an: the loooong awaited part 3! Sorry it took me so long, life got in the way and I was a little lost in my writers brain but i'm baaaack and it's gonna get juicier and better :)))))

Your body jolted, seemingly flinching at the action of Fred slamming his fist down on the table. You know he didn’t mean it on purpose, you knew this whole ordeal was harder on him than it was on any of you, but you couldn’t help feeling a little selfish at the fact that he still couldn’t remember anything significant about you. 

After the intimate moment you had with him on the couch, holding him on your chest like you used to, tracing your fingers in his hair to help soothe him and calm him down that day, you thought that maybe he would start remembering. Maybe having a moment so similar to one you’ve had time and time again would trigger something in his brain. 

However it seemed like the more time he spent with you the more frustrated he got. He got a headache everytime you were near him, every time you tried talking with him or tried to reminisce with George about the fun you guys had while at school. Fred could remember the exact scenario, remember everything he did and even George’s responses, but he couldn’t see you in any memory. 

He said it was like there was a blurry figure when he tried to picture it, and then his chest started to feel tight and his head started to pound. You could tell when it started to happen. He would close his eyes, pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh deeply. Then he would slam his hand or fist down on the table, push his seat back harshly and leave the room. 

It always left you feeling terrible. Terrible because you didn’t know how to help him. Terrible because you were the one causing him pain. Not on purpose, but it was clearly memories of you that were making him have these physical reactions. You wanted to comfort him, wanted to take him out into the garden like you’ve done hundreds of times and sit on the bench together, talking about everything frustrating and letting each other vent, it was your special spot. But you couldn’t. It would only cause things to get worse. 

So when you heard Fred and George talking and your name get slipped into the conversation, you sat on the stairs, mouth covered by the sleeve of your jumper to help conceal your presence. 

“I just don’t understand it, Georgie,” you heard the strain in Fred’s voice and you could feel your heart breaking. “Why can’t I remember her? Everyone keeps telling me how important she was to me. Merlin, she was apparently my bloody girlfriend! And if that’s true why hasn’t she told me that?” 

You could hear George let out a sigh, “She is your girlfriend, Freddie, and you love her. So much, or at least you did. And she doesn’t want to make you feel like you have to be with her if you don’t remember.” 

Tears brimmed your eyes, what George said holding truth. You were so desperately in love with Fred, but you were not going to force his hand if he couldn’t remember the love he had for you or all the times and intimate moments you shared together. 

“It’s just, fucking bloody hell,” Fred slammed his fist against the table again, “Why does it physically fucking hurt when I think about her? Were we bad together Georgie? Was I terrible to her? Please tell me I wasn’t awful to her…she’s been so kind to me, even though I can’t remember a thing about her.

“She’s made me lunches, gotten me tea in the mornings, she even knows which jumpers are my favorite. What if I can’t remember anything about her because I was so terrible to her and I’m like, protecting myself from myself or something like that?” You could hear the wobble in Fred’s voice and you couldn’t stop the tears from silently falling down your cheeks.

“No, Freddie. No, no, you were amazing to her, so bloody good to her, and her you. Merlin you two had everything anyone would want, could almost finish each other’s sentences as well and me and you can. Honestly, Fred, you were talking about marrying her after the war was over…” 

You bit the thick of your sleeve, trying to conceal the gasping sob that was threatening to escape as you listened to the plans you had no idea were being made. Fred was planning to ask you to marry him…and now he could barely remember anything about you, let alone the relationship you had built together. 

You decided you’d heard enough, had hurt yourself enough eavesdropping, and tip-toed quietly to bed. You opened the door to Fred and George’s room as quietly as you could, hoping the sound of their own voices and the height you were at in the burrow was enough to conceal any creak the hinges might make. 

When you closed the door, you finally allowed yourself to cry, collapsing onto Fred’s bed. He had been sleeping on the couch lately and you had taken home in his room in his place. You pulled back the quilt, sliding underneath before pulling it back up to your chin. You buried your face into his pillow, it still smelled like him; vanilla and cinnamon. 

You must have fallen asleep while crying because the next thing you knew, the sun was peeking out from the curtains on the window. You stretched your arms out in front of you when you noticed something heavy slung around your waist. Your eyes shot open, seeing George completely zonked out in the bed across from you, meaning, “Freddie.” 

His name came out in almost a silent whisper. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling your back impossibly closer to his chest. One of his long legs was slotted between yours, entangling your lower limbs as he subconsciously buried his face in the crook of your neck. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss waking up like this, but it had been a while since you had done so and you were not about to move yet. You closed your eyes again, relishing in the feeling of Fred against you in a way that felt so much like home. His broad shoulders and larger figure meant that he essentially engulfed you in a heated cocoon of his body and you loved every second of it. 

When you heard George stirring across from you, you allowed yourself to open your eyes again. He was sitting up on the edge of his bed, hands resting on the bed beside his legs while the largest smirk was plastered on his freckled face, “Well, well, ducky. Don’t you two look cozy.” 

You held up your middle finger, whisper shouting at the twin across from you, “Sod off, will ya? I just don’t want to wake him yet, he seems to actually be sleeping peacefully for once.” George held up his hands in defense, “You’re gonna have to wake him soon, I can smell mum making breakfast and she’s probably wondering where he is anyway.” 

You sighed, slowly turning around in Fred’s hold as George left the room. When you finally managed to face him, Fred buried his head into your chest and pulled you closer, grabbing hold of the back of your knee and pulling it over his hip. You gasped slightly at the action, but didn’t make a move to pull away.

Light scratches to his scalp and the sound of your voice are what eventually pull Fred from his slumber. “Freddie, you’ve got to get up. Your mum’s making breakfast.” He groans, too comfortable in his current position to want to move, but he eventually pulls away from you, albeit very slowly. 

You expected him to shoot away from you once he noticed his position but instead he just leaned back slightly so he could properly look you in the eyes. His hand was at the curve of your lower back, your leg still hooked over his hip, “Good morning.” He greeted you with a voice thick of sleep and you swore you could melt on the spot. 

Realizing he was fully awake and speaking you went to move your leg off of him, but his hand shoots to your thigh, stopping your actions, “P-please don’t move yet, I haven’t been this comfortable since I’ve gotten home.” 

He looked at you with shy eyes as you cupped his face with your hand, thumb tracing the apple of cheek, “Okay, Freddie.” He closed his eyes at your touch and you couldn’t help but trace the scar that was now prominent above his brow. The scar that represented the spell that took your Fred away from you, that erased you from his memory and left you and Fred in an emotional purgatory. 

You let yourself get lost in comfortability, lost in your emotions as you placed a gentle kiss to his forehead, right next to his scar. When you pulled back, his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. There was a silence between you, not uncomfortable but you could feel it getting thick. Fred’s eyes fell to your lips, then slowly trailed back up to meet your eyes. 

You stared at each other, not sure if he was going to make the move you were so desperate for. Your faces were so close, his lips right there. He cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing your lower lip, dragging downwards slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat as you notice him leaning towards you. Your impatience got the best of you and you finished closing the gap between you, slotting your lips with a passion you had missed for months. 

You weren’t sure if it was muscle memory, or if even in his forgetful state Fred was just as physically attracted to you but as soon as your lips met, it was like he couldn’t get your bodies close enough, his hand squeezing at the flesh of your thigh pulling you to straddle his lap as he turned to his back. 

His other had found the back of your neck, holding your body flush to his as your hands found ground on the mattress on either side of his head. It had been so long since you kissed your boyfriend that it felt like a first kiss, your stomach in swirling butterflies, heart pounding against your chest. 

Your lungs were burning but you didn’t want to pull away, the softness of his lips seemingly curing any emotional ailment you had been feeling the night before. When you finally pull away a slight whimper leaves Fred’s mouth, his hands settling on your hips as you sit on his lap.

“We’ve done that before, haven’t we?” Fred asks cheekily. You rake your teeth along your bottom lip, trying to suppress your smile, “Yes, Freddie. We’ve done that many times before.” 

His hands ran idly up and down your thighs, “Well I think we should do it again, might jog my memory, yannow?” 

You perked up a little, “Do you remember something, Freddie?” He shrugged his shoulders, “I remember that I really like kissing you, like love kissing you.” He laughed lightly, blocking your hand as you went to slap his chest, “C’mon, your mum’s making breakfast and we need to get down there. Any longer and she might think we’re doing dirty things.”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows, “Well we have done dirty things before, too, haven’t we?” This time you were successful in slapping his chest as you climbed off his lap. You smoothed out your pajamas and jumper as you answered him, “Yes, Freddie…we have done other things before. We’ve been…erm…were together for a long time.” 

Fred frowned slightly at your correction, “We’re still together, as far as I know I never broke up with you.” 

You shifted your weight on your feet, “Yeah, but you don’t exactly remember asking me out either.” Fred stood then, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close, “Well maybe you can tell me all about it after breakfast, yeah?” 

You opened your mouth to respond before jumping slightly at the sound of a ‘pop’ and George appearing in the room. “Seems like every time I see you two you get cozier and cozier.” 

This time it was Fred who gave his brother the finger, “Don’t be jealous that you’re alone Georgie.” You had to cover your mouth to conceal your laughter, your heart soaring at your old Fred showing his joking nature. 

George waved him off, opening the bedroom door and walking downstairs. Fred grabbed your hand as he followed his twin, “C’mon, love. After breakfast we’ll go sit by the garden and you can tell me all about us, yeah? Garden seems like a beautiful and peaceful place to talk, it can be like our special spot.” 

Your heart was soaring, “Yeah, Freddie, our special spot.”

taglist: @words-are-cheap ; @l0ulistens ; @reallysparklychaos ; @df841 ; @rhahghbs ; @delfonicstheme-blog ; @marvelsbitch ; @slytherclaws ; @football1921

*if your name is bolded it would not let me tag you

[basuralindo]

So I was asked to expand on the whole Jamil having a trauma response to Leona comment on my last post, aaand here's that.

(This pertains to chapter 6 btw, so spoiler warning)

(also it's very much sleep deprived rambling so sorry if it's, well, rambly)

First off, I'm operating under the assumption that he has cPTSD. Jamil has clearly been programmed since birth to always obey the Asims and act in their best interests, even at the expense of his own life. This is a boy who has been forced to eat poison to protect them and their assets, who's family was forced to let that happen, and who has been so desperate his entire life to escape that situation that he was willing to resort to murder and doom not just himself but his whole family which he is implied to care about. Which means if simply quitting was an option, he would have done so. So, you kinda have to infer that he and his family don't have a choice in this role, and there are severe enough consequences for disobedience that fucking up or refusing is a worse option than risking a slow painful death every time Kalim wants to eat something. And this is all stuff that's been depicted blatantly in canon, not even touching on the assumptions that could be made from there.

So that's the position Jamil is in. That is a traumatic situation. This is a guy who has been groomed for servitude and obedience since he was old enough to talk. These kinds of circumstances absolutely can lead someone to be triggered into subservience or other trained behaviors. That's just, a thing with trauma.

Now, with the Asims being one of if not THE most powerful merchant families in their country, one of the expectations of Jamil as their servant and especially as the attendant to their heir is to ensure good relationships with other rich and powerful families, especially royalty. This was shown in the fireworks event, where he states that as a prince, if Malleus came to any harm under his watch while a guest of the Asims, it could start an international conflict. These are incredibly high stakes, a misstep on Jamil's part could ruin the Asim family and potentially even endanger his country, and it's pretty strongly implied that he and his family would take the blame and suffer the consequences. Now, much like how wearing a company logo while at work makes your actions representative of your employer, Jamil serving the Asims 24/7 (and especially as the chaperone of their heir) means that he is representing their family At All Times. This is why he is forced to defer to Kalim in all aspects of life even outside of their country, part of his job is to make his employers look good, and there are consequences for not doing so. This means that anyone of high enough status to be significant to the Asims is someone who Jamil is required to be subordinate to.

Then, enter Leona. As a wealthy prince, he would be someone who Jamil is expected maintain good relations with at any cost to himself. With his position Leona could literally destroy Jamil's (and probably his family's) entire life with a single complaint to the Asims about his conduct. Like, he could do that with no actual cause just for fun, because the Asims are 100% going to take the side of a prince over an expendable servant. This means that one misstep or any backtalk from Jamil puts him at massive risk, it is entirely up to Leona whether or not he suffers for any of these actions, and while the audience knows Leona's personal morals would prevent him from actually doing that, Jamil does not.

THEREFORE (sorry this ended up so long), once Jamil was in a life threatening situation with Leona, it seems likely that all this programming and fear would manifest in desperately trying to protect him and follow orders the way he's always done for Kalim. To me, the way he snapped into bodyguard mode, and immediately complied with every one of Leona's bitchy commands (like giving him a hair ornament to throw away without question, and barely saying anything about it after), even while being humiliated and knowing he was less trained in magic, just comes off more like a trigger response than anything. Especially because I can't imagine that situation not being triggering, and I can't imagine him knowing any other way to respond.

[softxsuki]

Heya! It's nice to see you again , (honestly I think I'm bothering you 😶 but I really enjoy your writing) I was wondering if you could do mitsuya with a s/o who has had a rough childhood and sometimes has flashbacks when they see people fighting. The reader also has really bad anxiety and isn't good with talking to people, they normally have panic attacks whenever the flashbacks starts. Thank you! I wrote this because I start back tmr and my parents fought really bad 😕

Mitsuya with A S/O Who Had A Rough Childhood

Pairing: Mitsuya x Gn!Reader

Warnings: mentions of traumatic childhood, PTSD responses, panic attacks, fighting, kissing

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 820

Summary: In which you witness a fight and get thrown into a flashback which triggers your panic attack, so Mitsuya helps calm you down

[A/N: Hey, I'm sorry you're going through a rough time. Not sure what type of fighting you meant, but I hope this was okay. Enjoy <3]

Mitsuya:

Being Mitusya’s lover was nice most of the time

He was attentive and just a gentleman towards you in general, always hearing you out and going out of his way to make you happy

So despite having a rough past and knowing that Mitsuya was in a gang, things were going pretty great!

He of course never raised his voice at you; any disagreements you had together were always talked through very calmly

Even though Mitsuya was in a gang and fought for a living, he never directed that aggression towards you

You and his sisters were the most important people to him, he’d hate to see any of you scared or upset with him

So when you showed up at Toman’s headquarters one day to surprise Mitsuya (you were allowed to go since you were Mitsuya’s lover and everyone knew about you) a pretty violent scene awaited you

Toman were in the middle of a fight with another gang, and even though the fight was clearly almost over with Toman in the lead, the violent acts and aggressive screaming at one another sent you into one of your flashbacks

Young you at home, while your parents got into another one of their fights–anytime you witnessed any kind of fight, you’d be transported right back to that vulnerable moment where you were filled with the most fear

You drop to your knees, clutching your chest as you gasp for air, a panic attack beginning to bubble up within you

As the rival gang collected their men and ran off, easily defeated by Toman, your boyfriend finally caught eye of you on the ground and raced over to you, thinking maybe someone hurt you as you were kneeled on the floor looking frantic

“Y/N? What’s going on?” He’d ask with furrowed brows, kneeling down to get to your level

He was worried now, seeing you hyperventilate as he scanned you over for any injuries–there were none so this was clearly something a lot deeper

He’d bring you into his arms as he waves a hand for everyone to go away, giving you the privacy to cry and calm yourself down without their eyes on you

You could still see the images of your childhood flash before your eyes, still not aware that Mitsuya was in front of you now

So he repeats your name, still clutching you close to him, while peppering kisses to your arms and hands, anything to get your attention on him so he could calm you down

It takes a while, but once you’re able to feel him holding you and hear his voice again, the flashback finally leaves, and you’re able to come to a neutral state, only the stain of dried tears left on your face

“You’re okay,” he whispers in your hair, drawing small circles on your back with his thumb. “I’m here, everything will be okay.”

He’s insistent on figuring out why this happened so he knows how to prevent it or help you moving forward, so you end up confessing about your rough childhood and what happens whenever you see people fighting now

Mitsuya is very understanding, silently nodding along as you explain everything to him, glad that he personally, has never yelled or fought in front of you apart from presently

“I’ll make sure you never have to witness any fighting again. That seems like a decent task for me, don’t you think?” He smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “Though we do get into a few fights around here, so maybe next time I’ll text you when it’s safe to come over to visit our base here. You know you’re always welcome, Mikey said so himself, but from now on I want to make sure nothing will set you off again like today, so just tell me in advance.”

You felt bad for causing such a scene, especially in front of his fellow gang members, and he immediately sees that guilty look on your face

Reaching forwards, he cups your cheeks and presses a kiss to your lips

“Hey, don’t worry about today. These fools are always up to something ridiculous, no one will mention what happened here today. If anything, they were all worried for you as well. They all care for you, but no one will care for you as much as I do. I love you.” He whispers against your lips

He goes out of his way in the next few days to learn more about your past whenever you feel comfortable talking about it and makes sure to keep you away from any fights of all kinds

After all, he cares about you deeply and doesn't want to see you suffer like that–long term solutions are in the back of his mind and he’d make a point of bringing them up eventually…one step at a time is more than enough for now though

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 9/11/2023

[hyunjinners]

✧:･ﾟOur Promise → Lee Eunhy-uk x reader ˚₊· ꒰🎀꒱

꒰ 命 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ꒱┊Sometimes bringing up happy memories can lift moods.

꒰ 命 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ꒱┊Lee Eun-hyuk x Fem¡reader

꒰ 命 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 ꒱┊Angst (a little), cute ending.

꒰ 命 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ꒱┊slight trigger, racial differences, Eun-hyuk being a complete cutie ^°^

꒰ 命 𝐖.𝐂 ꒱┊1,2k

꒰ 命 𝐀/𝐍 ꒱┊One more chapter for you! Remembering that English is not my first language, so I apologize if it is in old-fashioned writing or any spelling errors.

⊹₊˚ʚ❛Masterlist❜ɞ

Bored, Eun-hyuk walks through the corridors of the green building, looking at how the residents are getting along with each other. He carries an imperceptible smile on his face from the little memory of his sister proposing between the lines to Hyun-su.

Crossing the hall, his eyes fall directly on her figure sitting absently. Beautiful. He couldn't help thinking. He watches as he crosses his arms, attentive to her details. The pencil in her hand, tracing perfect lines on the notebook in her lap, your foot tapping frantically to the music playing in your headphones and even the way you would unnoticedly tuck the lock of hair that fell across your face behind your ear.

For anyone this would be a cute or ordinary scene. But Eun-hyuk knew you. He loved you. Which of course guaranteed the fact that he knew you very well, and he knew something was wrong. You were nervous, anxious - worried to say the least. You always do that when you're worried, nervous or even scared. Art always called his attention and, from Eun-hyuk's point of view, he found an interesting way of escape. But still his worries did not diminish.

He really noticed how restless and distant you were for a while during the days. He is really distant because of his role as leader of the group, so it's common for 𝗵𝗶𝗺 not to see you. But strangely 𝘆𝗼𝘂 didn't go see him, which sincerely worried him, but he just thought you were thinking that you didn't want to bother him - which wasn't very unusual for you to think, as you always gave him space when needed.

He walks slowly and silently towards you. He watches intently as his fingers scratch the edge of the notebook nervously. Her head hangs down as she hums softly, wanting to concentrate on the music - anything but her problems.

Sitting down next to him, Eun-hyuk gently removes the headphones from his ears, which results in a slight fright on his part by the sudden act. You sigh as soon as you realize who it was and put on your face the widest smile you could manage - which wasn't particularly much.

"Oppa! How are you?" Through her eyes he could confirm with all certainty that something was not right. In response he just smiled, holding your hand, making you let go of the pencil, thus resting it on the notebook.

"how are you? I haven't heard from you lately, so I was worried."

"I'm fine, don't worry." lie. This was clearly a lie. You could even lie very well, but not when it comes to Eun-hyuk. His heart ached when he realized you weren't going to tell him anything, maybe to keep him from worrying.

"something happened, didn't it? You are restless. Besides listening to music, it's something you do when you're really nervous or sad. You can count, y/n. It's okay." You watch him with lost eyes, wondering if you should speak or not. Leaning back against the wall, you sigh as you stare at the ceiling above.

"it's something silly, Eun-hyuk."

"but it's still something. Tell me."

"It's just… today would be my test. The most important of the semester. The proof that I spent weeks studying because I wanted something for my future but, with all this monster business, I wonder if it even really has a future." you let out a sad laugh. You didn't want to tell because it seemed silly, but only you know what happened. a foreigner, who left her family behind to be able to make her proud and become the most studied in the family, being able to bring the life she wanted so much. Only you knew how hard you and your parents worked for you to be here today.

"I know it sounds silly but…I've been waiting for this since I was 14. I struggled, studied and even worked for it. Which in the end became nothing." a silent tear rolls down her cheek. "sorry…it's stupid, I know."

"No…it's not stupid." he guides you to sit between his legs, thus leaning on his chest. He cuddles in her arms while resting his chin on her head, not before leaving a seal in place. "I know it's important to you and I understand more than anyone what it's like to be forced to drop out of school for a bigger reason."

"but the worst of it is that I won't be able to keep our promise."

The promisse. He remembers clearly.

You were in your small apartment for an afternoon of study together. Eun-hyuk was sitting in her swivel chair while you were sitting on her bed, leaning against the wall. You let out a sigh, dropping the book onto the bed with a low grunt.

"Oppa! Why is studying so tiring?" he turns his chair towards her, looking into her eyes with a small smile. He adjusts his glasses as he gets up to sit beside her. You intertwine your hands, looking into his face in awe.

"want to know something? When all this studying, tests and simulations are over, I'm going to marry you." You said suddenly, making Eun-hyuk surprised.

"Marry?" he asks, a little desperate due to the impact of the fright.

"Of course you do, you silly! Or would you rather I marry some college freshman?"

"What? No no! Of course not… I agree to marry you."

"then…" you intertwine your pinkies, joining your thumbs together like a seal. "…it's a promise."

He loves that memory, but it grew sadder and sadder when he stopped to think about their predicament, how their futures were compromised. You bite your lower lip remembering every effort you made to finish college. It was all down the drain.

"Do not think like that. The world could go up in flames, but that's no reason to part with you. I love you. Of course it's hard but, at least for me, if we're together it's just something we'll get through. Together. No matter what happens."

You are silent, absorbing his words. You couldn't disagree, he was definitely your everything, and you couldn't let the situation stop you from thinking about a better future. He also knew that maybe things would never really get better, but he loves you. Very. And I wanted to get through it all with him.

"…Thank you, Eun-hyuk. I don't know how I would be without you. I love you so much and I want more than ever to be with you until the end."

"I love you too, so I'm going to make it happen. I will keep the promise, my love. Don't worry."

꒷꒦ ⊹ ๑ ❛original by: @hyunjinners ¡ Like × reblog❜ =͟͟͞♡ ‧ ˚ ₊

[riddles-n-games]

Can we talk about the fact that most of the atrocities committed against Avery were not by the Hawthorne brothers but by those apparently close to the family or in the family themselves? Like, yes, the boys did trick her here and there but they were harmless compared to what Thea, Rebecca, and Skye did. And I’m only talking about those that are alive or close to the family (so not Emily, Tobias Hawthorne, Sheffield Grayson, Vincent Blake, or Eve).

Quite frankly, I don't care that many of you still like Thea (no, she's not a girl boss in my eyes nor will she ever be) and Rebecca. The fact that Avery is still friends with them in a way is even more despicable. It's basically a toxic friendship if anything and I doubt she would do anything to them but they clearly believe her to be expendable. Actually, the best comparison to this is Avery going with Jameson to confront Skye in person with no security after the murder attempt via Drake.

Thea sabotaged Avery to make her look like her dead best friend to get at her current boyfriend and his brother but only ended up triggering Gray instead (this boy has PTSD and depression, can't convince me otherwise). Then, she literally lured her and basically helped to get her kidnapped by Sheffield Grayson which could have easily contributed to her second potential murder if Toby and Oren didn't get there in time.

Rebecca may be in a better place compared to Thea but she still kept a very key piece of information hidden until the very last possible second. She could have said something that day when she came back to the cottage where Avery was recovering and quite clearly, the alarm bells going off in Avery's mind were right that something was off with her. Even though she at least asked for forgiveness, Avery had a right to be mad at her but the fact that Thea expected her to just shrug it off and carry on as if nothing happened was purely ridiculous. (Oh so quirky Thea, yAy! 🙄)

Last but not least, Skye. She was responsible for Avery's first murder attempt and thankfully it failed but that really could have been a deadly blow. What's worse is I feel like she didn't even care that Jameson was there. Her own son, her flesh and blood. Maybe Drake had pretty good shooting skills but if he had misdirected accidentally, we easily could have seen a shot and bleeding Jamie, too. It goes to show how this woman could easily be interpreted as a sociopath (look up the symptoms; she matches some of those pretty well) especially since I think empathy is not a word in her dictionary.

There you go. Anyways, have a good day. I know I just soured mine with this post.

[paper--moons]

Flip!Yamada and Regressor!Aizawa Headcanons

(with CG!Inui)

Before the war, things weren't perfect, but they had a handle on them. Shouta could regress as needed with Hizashi keeping an eye on him, or they could regress together on the rarer occasions that Hizashi also felt small with Nemuri dropping in to keep an eye on both boys. After the war though, when everything has gone to hell? Both are so broken; there's no way around it. There are so many pieces to pick up, perhaps even too many for them to do alone. They have lost the people closest to them and things are different not just on a personal level, but on an institutional scale as well as society itself rebuilds. Big changes are happening all around them, and in spite of having one another it is still difficult to move forwards with the pain that is still quite raw. New wounds and old wounds alike are equally tender, and neither Shouta nor Hizashi feel like they have enough time to pour into the other like they want. Of course this doesn't stop them from trying, but it doesn't halt the grief and loss that seems ever-present in the quiet chaos of the post-war world. There is also a noticeable shift in their regression dynamic as well, with Hizashi needing more time being smaller than he did before. His age seems to drop closer to Shouta's too, another difference that presents challenges when more often than not one's regression now triggers the other's. Though Hizashi is clearly fighting slipping so small—Shouta cannot help but remember how during the...could it even be called an altercation? with Kurogiri that Hizashi had cried, how he had denied he was crying because he was supposed to be a grown man. Shouta didn't realize to the full extent that Hizashi was hurting, but that moment sits with him heavily long after it happens. So heavily, in fact, that Shouta makes a big decision about something that neither of them necessarily like but almost definitely need.

It isn't exactly couple's therapy. Not in the traditional sense, since they aren't having difficulties in their romantic relationship, at least nothing outside of what is healthy. More like...joint counseling concerning their regression and past traumas made fresh again. Doing it together will hold them accountable enough that they actually have to go, or so Shouta had claimed with a sigh. Hizashi is annoyed by such a betrayal, but Shouta assures him he's just as annoyed with himself for not being able to help more. Neither of them are big fans of the concept of getting a third party involved (unless that third party is their big sis, but she isn't around anymore and neither of them want to acknowledge that yet). So they sit impatiently and wait outside of Hound Dog's office despite not wanting to be there, bickering like the children they so often feel like and kicking each other's feet as they argue (which Shouta says is no fair, until Hizashi kicks his metal foot by mistake and winces). It is about that time that Ryou comes to get them, looking utterly unimpressed with their "game" and ushering them into his office. He doesn't exactly specialize in adults, but he cares about their mental health (and it's clear enough that these two fall within his usual domain). The initial session is something that he is prepared for being slow-going based on the short talk he had with Shouta beforehand. It turns out that it's like pulling teeth though—Shouta isn't talkative at the best of times but seems to be trying, his responses coming out awkward yet blunt, whereas Hizashi who is well-known for his loud mouth is suddenly tight-lipped and pouting as he looks pointedly out the window. To call it hesitancy would be generous, as it is closer to outright stubbornness. It's only when Shouta starts struggling with his own answers that Hizashi interjects, making it clear that in order to get him to open up he needs to feel like he is helping someone other than himself.

They work through a few sessions just discussing their regression before Ryou asks if they might allow him to interact with their smaller sides. Not that there haven't been close encounters of the baby kind in the teacher's lounge and dorms before by accident, but for what they are asking of him he needs a more prolonged interaction. Which leads to them making arrangements for aiming to have a regression day in a week's time. A week should be long enough to get used to the idea, but talking about regression is one thing and doing it is another thing entirely. Not that they haven't been middlespacing around Ryou since day one, but this is different. It's difficult . Neither of them are too keen on the idea at first, despite knowing it is something they need to do. It's scary. Letting someone else into that private little world is always nerve-wracking. So maybe they do a bit of scheming. Only one of them will regress and test the waters. It's the perfect plan! Hizashi of course voluntells Shouta that he can be the one to slip all the way first since this whole situation was his idea to begin with. The "suggestion" is punctuated by him sticking his tongue out in a childish fit of pique; Shouta only rolls his eye at the display, but agrees nonetheless. And as planned, the next time they arrive at Ryou's office Shouta is noticeably small, hiding behind Hizashi shyly even as their hands remained clasped together. Like Hizashi, he finds it all too easy—too tempting—to slip small these days. Unlike Hizashi however, his regression itself seems largely unchanged. He still hovers somewhere around two, occupying a nebulous toddlerspace that often dips into babyspace. Like a little spark of electricity, a zap of baby hits them both at the same time. They can't help but notice how nice the space is set up just for them, how Ryou made sure to dress casually in anticipation for tiny tykes that might find his hero costume too much. And Hizashi feels his resolve waver as they enter the office.

Ryou shouldn't really be surprised that they went with a split approach in spite of what they discussed, though he does wish that they had just told him ahead of time. Still, he doesn't give up hope that Hizashi will ease into it. So he is sure to remain patient, and instead encourages Shouta to show him the little backpack of stuff he brought while they give Hizashi a chance to settle in. The contents are about what he expected: a couple of pacifiers, some coloring books, a box of jumbo crayons, and the boy's favorite stuffie. It doesn't go past his notice how Hizashi reacts when something of his is pulled out; apparently Shouta had packed Pompompurin so Chococat wouldn't get lonely, but the hopeful look he gives Hizashi as he passes the stuffie to him tells of a motive beyond that. It's subtle, but there's a crack in the wall he has thrown up when he takes the toy with a tentative smile. Hizashi takes longer to slip down, having committed to staying big that day. But it's a slippery slope from I'm a grown man to I'm a big boy, especially when he's got his playmate waiting on him. The problem isn't in the slipping, it's in the intensity; Hizashi is used to landing somewhere around five on the regression scale, only now he finds himself on Shouta's level and it feels weird. Feels like he should still be big enough to keep an eye on him, not be just as tiny and in need of a watchful eye. In need of help too, as he isn't used to the little things about being littler—like the way he spills juice all down his front because suddenly he is too small for a big kid cup. His frustration that Ryou was cautioned about becomes clear rather quickly as he scrubs at his eyes and fusses over what is really a mild inconvenience. Ryou knows what it is like to get frustrated, to have outbursts—so he recognizes when Hizashi's emotions start to get too big, that these new bouts of frustration are spawned from the worry that those feelings are too much for other people, and those feelings are only piling up.

The session concludes somewhat uneventfully all things considered. Hizashi had a few minor tantrums that were accounted for and carefully de-escalated, and Shouta only tried to chew on a crayon one time until he was successfully distracted by his paci. Though he was more withdrawn than he used to be based on their self-reports (self-reports that they did for each other because they are little shits who would have downplayed or outright lied on their own), which is saying something. Ryou had picked up on the way he would look up at him when he thought he wasn’t paying attention, eye wide and innocent with something akin to want. Not to mention there was the obvious separation anxiety between the two. During the entirety of the session there wasn't once where they were more than three feet apart while they were regressed, and even after they started to come back up that closeness was maintained. Ryou certainly has his work cut out for him, given that neither of the boys have ever really gone through counseling like they should have—the pair having gone to a combined grand total of five sessions since their second year at UA. But with all the other responsibilities they all have to try to fix society after the war, it is nice getting to work with cute tots like them. If nothing else it reminds him that things can get better for them all, as long as they are given the proper support. And support they shall have! Because until they can settle on a babysitter, Ryou has put the rest of the UA staff on baby alert. Meaning that he sends out a sort of blanket email to everyone advising that if they come across any of their fellow staff members while they are regressed to move forward accordingly, or find someone else who may be better suited to help out. Names weren't given, but giving names wasn't necessary. Shouta and Hizashi are, naturally, grumpy about it being broadcasted that they need a babysitter. Perhaps Hizashi moreso, as he whines about how they all don't needta know, says it isn't their business! Only it is their business whether or not him and Shouta are safe—they are heroes too, after all, and that means protecting each other.

While there are a couple potential candidates to act as a caregiver for the boys, it quickly becomes apparent that Ryou is starting to fill that spot. At first, they had considered Taishiro—Shouta's pick, though complications arose around the fact that he isn't a staff member and works out of Osaka. Then they considered Toshinori—Hizashi's pick, and more than just one of convenience. It's hard not to be enamored with the man himself, and the figure of All Might was a big part of their own childhoods as well, which adds to that sense of nostalgia that Hizashi craves. Not to mention Toshinori has wound up keeping an eye on both of them before; the issue with him acting as their primary caregiver essentially boils down to time. He may not be an active hero anymore, but he's playing a major role in overseeing the reconstruction of hero society. Which leaves the boys kind of in the wind for awhile. Try as he might, Hizashi leans more regressor than caregiver these days and Shouta almost always regresses when he does—just another way that they constantly seem to orbit aspects of each other, a part of the universe saying they are inseparable. So while the staff has agreed to take turns and work on establishing some sort of rotation, in the meantime it is left to whoever happens across the tiny heroes. And somehow, nine times out of ten it's Ryou that finds them. Shouta and Hizashi can't decide how it is he knows when they are small and have simply come to accept that he must be some sort of wizard (as is their baby conspiracy discussed in whispers from behind their plushies). In truth, it's because of his senses that are enhanced by his quirk. Most often he knows because he can quite literally smell it on them in the form of baby powder. Or his keen hearing picks up on the sounds of them giggling as they trade back and forth playing with a space helmet and cowboy hat that they've "borrowed".

Somehow it gets to the point where they seek out Ryou for help throughout the day without even thinking about the fact. Never for themselves though! It is either Shouta worrying about Hizashi ignoring the need to be small, or Hizashi worrying about Shouta not taking care of himself—clearly middlespacing as they try to keep it together. They still push themselves, albeit less so as they both begin to allow their new support system to ease into their lives with some hesitancy, afraid that it and the people they care about may be snatched away once again. Unsurprisingly they drop as soon as Ryou reassures them that it's safe to, that they did the right thing coming and finding him. Which means Ryou will have one of the boys toddling behind him while he has to go and toss the other over his shoulder and enforce some much needed small time. It becomes a common sight to see him wrangling the two in such a manner, but it is far from the only common sight this new dynamic brings. Shouta squeezes himself into some small space and camps out somewhere in his sleeping bag? Ryou scoops him up and takes him off to be put in the dorms until he's done with his nap so that his joints won't hurt later. Hizashi has a bad day and gets overwhelmed trying to manage his emotions and starts having a meltdown? Ryou is there to listen, help calm him back down, and remind him that it's okay to cry when he needs to. Before anybody knows it they've got a protective doggy daddy wrapped around their little fingers. Things may not be the same as before and can never be that way again, but that doesn't mean things have to be bad.