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another-clive-blog · 6 months

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I talked about the sad story’s before. I love your art for it!! If i can talk more about my vision, he die’s immediately because in mine he was shot in the head, but being shot in the heart works too because he still dies. For the sad part maybe you can do the aftermath. Its very sudden for him to die so they’re probably in shock, but besides that I thought about it alot and maybe bill hired some one to shoot clive, because the gun definitely didn’t just fire itself. Luke might be kept from seing clive dead, and Flora too. Billl claims no responsibility of course and its very hard for them to prove it for the time being, but unfortunately Clive is dead…

(Continuation of this post)

Alright I want to start by a fair warning : this got very personal. I've re-written it 6 times now to try and make it less of a personal thing, and I think I've successfully done it but also I kind of have a tunnel vision.

So yeah- trigger warning !! I personally consider this the most brutal fic I've done, also because I've introduced that unbearable thing I personally call "trauma latching". Other than that, TW are : gunshot, gun injury, head injury, mention of death, character death.

It takes place right after the final Layton and Clive flashback, when Clive is explaining himself and thanking the professor for saving him.

No one was expecting it. Why would they ? Future London was gone, the fortress was gone, all of this nightmare was over : at least that was what Layton thought.

And then he heard the gunshot.

It was sudden and loud and close, so close that he knew the sense of danger overtaking him wasn't unfounded : someone was actually trying to finish the job, as Luke would say, someone malevolent.

Layton was ashamed to admit it, but upon hearing that gunshot, his first reaction was to move towards Clive to stop him from shooting again.

His second reaction was to look up and go perfectly still.

Clive had not moved a finger : he was still standing right in front of the professor, staring at him. His hands were still empty, no firearms in sight. The only real difference was the bullet hole in his head.

Clive didn't say anything. He stumbled forward after a second, trying to get to the professor maybe, if this was even intentional, which it probably wasn't- and then he was falling. Layton didn't even think, didn't have time to think, before he caught Clive in his arms : the weight of the young man made him lose his balance and they both fell to their knees on the dirty ground.

"Professor !!" Luke shrieked.

Oh no.

"Keep the children away !!" Layton urged the inspector : he himself pressed Clive's forehead against his chest, trying to keep anyone else from witnessing what he knew had happened.

From the outside, he probably looked like he was trying to keep Clive safe, to protect him like the adult he was : he hoped the children would fall for it. He hoped none of them could truly understand why he was seemingly comforting Clive.

He hoped no one else knew Clive was gone already.

"I think the professor got hurt !! You have to- let me go !!" From the corner of his eyes, Layton could see Inspector Chelmey and Barton leading the children away. Flora looked a bit pale as she walked away, whereas Luke was fighting back with all his might, screaming and kicking.

It reminded him of another child.

Clive was still in his arms. Hershel remembered when he had hold him the same way, all these years ago : he remembered the erratic and desperate child fighting so desperately to go back into the fire. Looking back, he should have known it was him.

He had never forgotten him- he had even tried to look for him, but it had been too late. The child had already vanished out of thin air, gone from everywhere except for his memory.

His friends had gently made fun of him, calling it 'paternal instinct'. "I don't know why you haven't adopted him," Brenda would always say. "He needed parents, and you..." She would never finish her sentence, but she never needed to.

There was more than one way to build a family.

Claire watched helplessly, her heart aching : from where she was standing, it almost looked like Layton's head was buried in Clive's hair, like a parent kissing their child good night.

The inspector was gone, the kids were gone, Clive was gone : but she remained, and so did Bill Hawks. His nonchalance as he stared at the scene lit up fire in her heart, a desire to fight back that she hadn't even known could be there. "I know it was you-" she told Hawks as she stood tall in front of him, catching his attention. "Don't even try to deny it."

The policemen surrounding Bill immediately moved to neutralize this new threat, but a simple hand movement from the prime minister stopped them : they reluctantly took a step back, watching the scene in silence instead.

"This is absurd," Bill said, and he sounded as disgusted and angry as Claire. Her accusations were a blow to his ego that he simply couldn't live with. "I could very well have been the target. Who knows if I'm not in danger !"

"A shot to the head can hardly be called missing the target." She didn't even like Clive. She never had. But this-

Layton knew this wasn't actually about Clive. He didn't know the young man he actually was, wasn't given enough time to get to know him once the trick was up. He only knew the murderer who had caused so much pain to his beloved city, the awful man who had ruined far too many lives tonight.

He also knew he wasn't actually mourning Clive. He was mourning the memory of a little ray of light in the darkest day of his life, the memory that despite losing Claire, Layton had managed to save a life. The memory that there had still been some good that day. A child had been saved, his life was destroyed but still he was alive, he would keep on living. After the incident, Hershel would often find himself thinking about this child, wondering what kind of amazing new things he had gotten to experience for the first time after that awful day : he would wonder if that child was happy.

Now that child was dead.

Bill Hawks was roaring, sounding offended as always. "This man has just kidnapped me !"

Claire would not back down. "And now he's dead !"

"Are you implying that this is a bad thing ?" Bill's voice had gotten dangerously low, a threat barely disguised. "It is true that you were oddly adamant on going back for him," his mouth told her, whereas his eyes said 'Are you sure you want to side with him ?'

Claire's hands shook, her whole body vibrating with a sheer rage she was dreaming to let out on this man. She was dead either way, wasn't she ? And Clive was too, despite her efforts to save him. A waste of efforts, time, hope- everything. This man had taken everything away. He-

"Celeste !"

Hershel's voice snapped her out of it, and suddenly Claire realized how close she had gotten to Bill, how nervous his men were, how their hands were resting on their weapons-

She staggered back, hesitantly unclenching her fists. She was suffocating suddenly- she needed to take a deep breath. The air was cold, it tasted like ash. London was still burning and the wind was carrying more proof of that. It was all going wrong. She was losing control, losing it- losing.

Bill Hawks gave her a look of contempt. "Before accusing me of murder, young lady, you might want to ask yourself this : who wouldn't want that man dead ?"

Claire fell silent, ash and smoke in her lungs. It burned, like a time machine explosion; it burned because she knew he was right.

No one would mourn Clive- most people would celebrate his death actually. It made sense they would, after all the damage he'd done and the lives he'd ruined : the people of London had no reason to care about him. She didn't even care about him. She simply felt... guilty. For causing it all in the first place. She had tried to save him because she wanted to right her wrongs, not his.

No one had actually cared about Clive as a person, she realized, and now no one ever would.

Bill Hawks turned away : his personal guards escorted him into the night, back to his Prime Minister office. He had no time to go back home, after all, he had more work to do.

#Trauma latching is the worse #It sucks for everyone involved and the spectators too #Anyway thank you for the ask <3 #I'm sorry if this isn't what you were expecting #I cut off pieces and bits so if you want that back you can just ring ahah #clive dove #hershel layton #claire foley #professor layton and the unwound future #professor layton and the lost future #unwound future spoilers #lost future spoilers #My writing #Ask #TW : Gunshots #TW : mention of death #TW : character death

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traitorestraven · 2 years

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MJF is the new protagonist of AEW because this era of AEW is about father figures and MJF has the most unresolved daddy issues out of the entire roster send tweet

#mjf #aew #the man's career in aew so far has been latching onto and then turning against different older men #you have cody #the loving coddling mentor who ignores what's wrong with him until it's too late #jericho who feeds his worse impulses #punk who sees himself in max and so tries to destroy him #and now william stop crying or i'll give you something real to cry about regal #sorry hangman you were the protagonist when aew was about scrappy underdogs but things have moved on #(actually what mjf has is a complicated mix of unresolved childhood rsd and that thing where jewish men develop a really complicated #relationship to masculinity #because traditional jewish masculinity is Different from gentile american masculinity but you're growing up assimilated Enough that you #feel all the pressures to perform both masculinities simultaneously #and also something something trauma powerlessness #diaspora vulnerability shame etc #so he's latching on to different images of power because he is terrified of being powerless again #one day i will write my MJF-is-a-jewish-american-princess-and-here's-what-that-means essay #but not today)

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britishsass · 2 years

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for most of it, bob zanotto's life is a tragedy.

#the owl draws #bob zanotto #cassie o'pia #compton boole #otto mentallis #ford cruller #psychonauts fanart #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #the psychic six #psychonauts spoilers #I just. Please talk to me about Bob. This man has so much trauma.#the owl posts #the five that survived have survivors guilt but i think that bob got so much worse #because his partner and his best friend were gone all at once #leaving him no one he could latch onto #it's just him now.#and i think that no one else really understood his grief.#anyways. kind of a vent piece but. still.

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mango-dolphin · 2 years

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realized that there are currently other active shield hero fans on tumblr w/some decent/great takes but also :( i might be a little too unhinged to engage w/the ecosystem i guess. also unfortunately i like motoyasu

#mango japery #shield hero #glad to see that everyone agrees naofumi is some flavor of bi tho. correct #ALSO saw that some people are pro naofumi & ren friendship (read: ren little brother adoption)#felt so SO vindicated. yeah #sorry about liking motoyasu tho i didn't mean it. in my defense #i can fix him (make him worse (explore his trauma (dissect his flaws and see him as a fully realized person)))#i have to latch onto the shittiest characters. I Have To. i have to scrungle them so bad you don't understa #sorry for the incomprehensibility other shield hero fans

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lesbiradshaw · 2 years

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just hopping into ur inbox to say thanks for actually considering steve's trauma and actual character in your work! i feel like with a lot of stevebucky he's reduced to a walking dildo in order to make room for bucky and his trauma that his own never really gets addressed bc he's the more """"""manly"""""" of the two. i also never got the nec hype and never actually finished the fic LMAO. <33

5 million years late to answering this but 🫂 i love steve so much he will forever me safe with me.

#saw someone imply steve is Mentally Well in canon the other day and my jaw dropped like . hello #was talking ab this w my friend the other day but usually in ships the character w the ‘worse trauma’ aka usually the more prolonged +#probably more explicitly violent stuff in their history is the one that ends up getting 90% of the ship angst writter ab them #which is kinda inevitable but also #then like 7% of the remaining 10 is the other character’s angst being made about their partner’s angst 😭#and then to handle the trauma the one character gets infantilized beyond recognition and thats how fanon characterization is born i fear #which is like. not inherently wrong or whatever but it is very annoying to ME #esp in sb’s case bc its made steve this Stone Personality who gets man dont cried all the time like omg that man cries like 2x a movie!#let him shed some tears in fic! im begging!#i always latch onto the characters who have the least amount of angst/h/c written ab them in fics omg FREE ME #write the character angst you want to see more of in the world ❤️‍🩹

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iliveinprocrasti-nationn · 1 year

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i don’t like. the irrationality created by memories

#ive spent enough time pouring over information and reading studies and making sure i know damn well how this disease works so that at least #it’s not some unknown enemy and becomes something i can understand #which is fine until im crying and shaking in my bathroom over it potentially being in this damn house once again and at this time of the #year where specific anniversaries of horrible milestones come back to haunt me #and i haven’t been fully present in going on two years now but these last two days have passed obnoxiously quickly and none of it feels real #it’s been a long time since i haven’t known the hour much less what day it is #and i can tell you about blood vessels and symptoms and all the ways this disease can function in and destroy the body but it doesn’t make #any difference when nothing feels real and i had to check what day it was and got the date wrong for the first time in years #I’m also defaulting to hyper-rationality which hasn’t happened since middle school and isn’t. a good sign #it’s just a replay of a lot of memories i can’t forgot but this time it’s not just memories and has a very much physical component which is #worse. I think. by far.#and then there’s the repercussions of this where I have to see if my brain will allow me to anything #i can hope i can still go to work and everything because i do love it but last time this happened i wasn’t able to walk into any building #without having to leave #so. I don’t know. not to mention things that don’t have to do with school or careers?#and rationally i should be asleep at the moment because sleep is so so necessary right now but that’s the one thing I’m really struggling #with right now #i don’t know. it’s just a lot and I don’t appreciate the added layer of ‘time is a circle’#there’s other things I have to deal with and work through that are more irrational than research vs trauma response but will probably be #harder to work through because man does my brain love latching onto a grudge but. for lack of a better term. whatever #im most upset about things pertaining to a career has been messed up and that i can’t celebrate chanukah with my family #because everyone else can think about christmas but im losing my winter holiday #im just. anything that isn’t empty is scared and angry and bitter just a little bit #vent tw

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waywardsalt · 7 months

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i love being insane abt my own oc/canon ship

writing the scene where they meet has me thinking more about damien and linebeck when theyre kids. being each other’s first and only friends and running off into the forest or to the beach so they can hang out on their own terms. linebeck cutting damien’s hair and letting him borrow some of his clothes. damien letting linebeck stay over at his house some nights when his mother isnt around. linebeck’s brother keeping an eye on them and the two of them roping him in to hang out with them. linebeck and damien playing with cats on the island, reading books and watching sailors at the port and opening up with each other. playing around and doing school stuff together and figuring out stuff they wanted to do together. spending a bit more time away from each other as they get older but being able to do that in the first place because they built each other up. theyre comfortable with each other and strive to keep in touch after separation, even if it seems like they will get no response and the letters cannot find their intended recipient. they latched onto each other early on and it made their lives better

#tbh a lot of stuff with their actual adult relationship is murky while the details of their childhood together is pretty clear #and tbh im glad with that bc its a good basis for what comes after when they meet back up as adults #cuz figuring out their history together and then what happens in that gap of time helps establish future possibilities #also im ill abt them just being kids hanging out with each other despite bullying and neglect and ostracization #salty talks #damibeck #damien fletcher #linebeck #like. they find each other as kids who are being bullied or whatever and just decide ok. fuck these other guys. youre my friend anyways #damien latches onto the kid who cut his hair short and accepts him as a boy with no question #linebeck latches onto the kid whos nice to him and doesnt scare him and is patient with him #like theyre childhood friends who are intimately aware of each other’s trauma and identities as kids #and they meet back up and damien is living his best life and linebeck got dragged out of like seven straight years of hell #so the timeskip in their relationship is cool bc damien has changed a lot while linebeck is unfortunately very similar and worse for wear #but on the way out of the worst shit so damien helps him get through the final bits of. all of that *gestures vaguely*#the uh. traumatized childhood friends to insane about each other husbands pipeline idk. childhood friends to lovers yknow #linebeck and damien are the kids who roleplayed warrior cats during recess #tldr they latched onto each other like crazy as kids to the point where they wrote letters to each other even when they failed to be sent #(because linebeck was in a different fucking world the mail system in the great sea is good but not that good)

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krypticcafe · 10 months

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Can please get fic where young reader almost gets r-word.. like! What happened to ellie on 'the last of us' like make it into that situation, reader kills the rapist and flees away and runs into the 141 team, and their like in this state of like panic, but they calm them down and they explain what happened they are beyond livid so they just reck hell on the people who was with the man who tried to r-word reader.

(this a platonic relationship between reader and the team)

Me and the Devil

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic 141 x gn!reader

warning(s): no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, non-explicit attempted r*pe, emotional and physical trauma, sexual physical and mental violence, canon-typical graphic violence, comfort

wordcount: ~3.8k

a/n: i'm not exactly sure what anon meant by young, but for context, reader is probably 20-22, I'm just not comfortable writing this kinda stuff for teen or child reader, I hope you don't mind. also, huge, HUGE emphasis on the warnings. though nothing is explicit and there are no sexual graphic terms, the descriptions and actions alone are still very disturbing and uncomfortable! and the violence is a little uncomfy for those not used to it, too. title is from 'Me and the Devil' - Soap&Skin

synopsis: You can see it. The devil. It laughs, and laughs, and laughs, mocks you for your childish stupidity and naivete. To think the angels would come marching in, that you'd make it out with any semblance of sanity. You can't fight it, you can't even hide from it. All you can do is lie in your grave.

Just hours ago, you were alongside the 141, cleaning up and wiping out an enemy base, a typical Tuesday on a summer afternoon. You should've known things would go downhill with how smoothly it was all going. Even Price commented on it with an air of wariness and suspicion. After all, it was a saying that if the fight starts getting too easy, then it's an ambush. And an ambush it was. You want to tell yourself that it was nothing, easy as pie compared to what you've been through. You wanted to say that it was a success and you turned the tables on your enemies. You wanted to say that it ended within a matter of minutes and that you were on your way back to base with your boys, ready for a night of banter at the pub. You'd join Ghost in watching Soap and Gaz try their hand at poker, taking a shot each time Soap's dogshit luck lost him another couple of euros while Price would pry Roach from having another cocktail and piss himself ('it was one time!' he slurs).

But instead, you're here. Locked in a room, bag over your head, tied to a chair, a stereotypical hostage situation but that didn't make it any less tolerable. Though having a potato sack over your head was nowhere near as embarrassing as the reason why you were captured. You tried your best to hold onto the jeep, honestly, you did. Until some ankle-biter decided to latch onto you and sink his teeth into your flesh, causing your grip to loosen and send you tumbling into the dirt. Your bodies slammed into the ground, kicking up dust and your opponent taking most of the fall damage for you. How thoughtful.

Seething at the audacity he had to chomp on your leg like some feral mutt, you gave him a piece of your mind and made sure he'd never bite another ankle again. His friends caught up the moment you were done. They dragged you back down to the coarse dirt and sand of the earth, making you taste and choke on dust. You looked at the lifeless figure in the sand, briefly wondering if you'd be wishing you were him before a bag was slipped over your head and tied like a collar. It didn't help that the sand on the roof of your mouth combined with your ineffective attempts to ration your breathing made for a burn worse than any hard liquor down your throat. Thrashing and shouting like a madman, you cursed them like some teenager who discovered swearing as they tossed you into the back of a truck, rolling you forth with the heels of their boots. Not your finest moment.

Once you were loaded and the rest of them climbed on, the truck shot forward without slowing down for a second, taking you to your own personal hell for the next few days. Knowing the 141, they were probably at the safehouse, planning their next move to retrieve you. In the time between interrogations and routine attempts to break you, you could imagine Soap and Roach pacing around the room, Ghost brandishing a knife with a dark look in his eyes, and Price looming over a map and pulling up contacts with Gaz at his side. While you hated to burden them with your own mistakes, thinking about them all gnawing their teeth in comical anger at your expense brought you momentary comfort, eliciting a small chuckle.

"Something funny?" Much to your ire, all your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of several people shuffling into the room. You could only expect so much privacy in a place like this. The man who spoke up seemed to carry himself like a leader, considering how he spoke above all others and you could hear him carrying out demands every now and then, checking up on you as if he actually gave a shit. And currently, he was on the top of your "to kill" list, along with every other cunt in this prison.

"What'll it be today, more screaming or more silence? You know, you can only stay quiet for so long." He sighed. Judging by the sound of metal screeching on concrete, he pulled up a front-row seat. With a single yank, you were again temporarily freed of the confines of the bag on your face, glaring at the man with a look of ferocity that seemed as if it were etched on your face permanently. His clothes were disturbingly clean-cut and polished despite the blood he spilled for the past few days. Your blood he spilled. "Come now... you know you'll only make things more difficult. Face it, kid, they're not coming, it's been days."

When you felt gloved fingers touch your jaw you snapped, pulling away like an animal restrained by a leash. Your captor let out a taunting "Oooh", and your skin crawled at how he heckled and laughed like some adolescent boy poking a rabid animal with a stick through its cage. "So it bites."

"Fuck you." You rasped.

"And it talks." The humiliation of their nonchalant attitudes made you seethe, you knew it was a tactic to get under your skin and you just wouldn't have it, turning your head away from the men.

"Uh-uh, eyes on me. How is such a fresh thing like you out fighting wars with men like them?" He hummed, gripping your jaw with a strength that took you by surprise and had you wincing. Even though his hands were gloved, it felt as if he were trying to dig into your skin. With no other choice, you were forced to look into his eyes, the pyres of unimaginable anger burning in yours.

However, it was then that you felt it. Something was off. Something was horribly off about him. The several times he'd come in here to either coax you with gentle words or have his men beat you within an inch of your life, he either had some faux kindness or gleeful malice painted across his face. But this time, his eyes were alight with slimy delight. You hated it, Hated how it made you feel small, cornered, pulling on your leash so that you couldn't be yanked from the one place that made you feel safe. You hated how it didn't feel like he was trying to get under your skin, or sink into your bones but instead your mind as if to violate it. You hated how it seemed like he had something more in mind, something that you couldn't predict like a kick to the ribs or a carefully worded reassurance that you'd be in "good hands". It was the one thing you felt like you had control over, knowing what was next, and now you didn't.

With a wave of his hand, his men all filed out of the room, leaving just him and you alone. One came back with a bowl in their hands and you felt yourself doubt your worries. Were you already beginning to lose it in here? "Hungry?" He smiled, taking the bowl and dismissing the soldier. It looked and smelled like a stew, potatoes, and beef, not scraps of stale bread or lukewarm, half-empty beer cans.

"I asked them to make something special today for you, isn't that nice? I suppose even someone like you has a taste for the finer things in life and wouldn't say yes to leftovers." No answer came but it was to be expected as he mixed the stew with a spoon. Your eyes were trained on his face instead, expecting some kind of strings attached. He entertained that expectation by—to your disgust—spitting into the stew, mixing it more, and bringing up a spoonful to your face. "Consider that the cost of being so picky. Open wide, soldier. Surely you won't make a fuss again, now will you?"

There was a pause, you leaned forward, lips ghosting the tip of the spoon before you roughly shoved his chair away from you with your boot. The bowl fell from his hands onto the ground, pooling between the two of you. He could go to hell with his stupid fucking soup.

He let out a scowl of disapproval, his self-satisfied smirk replaced with disgust and irritation like a parent to their troublemaking child. Fine with you, you didn't need that asshole's approval. He stood, grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his hands and the small splatters on his uniform. "Should've known better that the government's pets would act like such animals. I gave you a chance, I tried to make this easy for you." He snarled, tossing his handkerchief aside and grabbing you by the collar, "But no, you just had to be a fucking brat, huh? Fine, be one. I can work with that. Either way, you'll be put in your place soon enough."

Before you could comprehend what he was implying, he slashed the ropes that binded you to your chair with a combat knife and shoved you to the floor, your head throbbing as it hit concrete, along with the rest of your aching muscles. Vision blurred, you sat up and tried to make out what he was doing, falling back when he roughly grabbed your hair and shoved your head back down into the ground. Like an alarm, every single flight or fight response went off in your body and yet you couldn't figure out what he was trying, you just knew that this was something worse and that you were a fool to let your guard down for a single second.

A twisted smile broke across his lips, "You know, you have a very lovely voice. You sing the loveliest songs."

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face until you let out a yelp of pain when he pressed into your stomach, already bruised from previous matters. He let out a sigh that made you shudder and you felt bile creep up your throat, moving your face to the side in fear that you'd choke on it.

"Eyes. On. Me." He snapped, his voice sounding so much louder than it actually was, his hand twisting your jaw back to look up at him while his fingers proceeded to dig themselves into whatever spots got you hissing and squirming away. That's all it took for your resolve to break, the blaze in your eyes fizzling out and replace with genuine fear and utter shock as you watched him straddle you and stare with a piercing gaze that trapped you. It forced your attention to stay on him, daring you to look anywhere else but him when that was all you could focus on. Him.

You couldn't even scream, paralyzed when you heard the sound of metal clinking against metal and the brushing of fabric, raw horror setting itself alight in your bones at how he loomed over you. At that moment, you swore you could see the devil itself laughing, cackling, mocking you in his eyes.

It was like you were seven again.

Scared, cornered in your room because you swore, you swore and sobbed and cried that you saw it, a monster in your closet. A dark, shadowy figure that'd taunt you merely with its existence and prayed on your downfall, drinking the fat tears you spilled and listening to your high-pitched cries as if they were music, eyes that you couldn't see but they could see you.

Others tried to convince you that it wasn't real, opened the doors, and closed them again, showing that there was nothing but cleanly folded clothes and hung-up jackets lined neatly along a rack. Every time, you'd feel a little more silly about your fears but anxious that they'd come back for more.

At some point, you nearly forgot about the monster altogether. It ceased to exist in your closet, but never your mind.

"Damn it, what now?!"

Pulled back into the present, you heard muffled speech with loud, obtrusive noises and more screaming and cursing from the man above you. He was faced with the still-closed door, talking to a soldier behind it. Instead of trying to catch up with what happened, your mind raced to its defensive instincts. Finding the spoon dropped from earlier, you reached for it with a strained grunt which caught his attention. Yet with a swift grab and thrust of your hand, you jammed the blunt handle of the spoon into his throat and screamed at him, your vocal cords ripping in deliriously satisfying pain.

Barely giving him a second to let out a final gasp for air, you flipped him over underneath you and yanked the spoon out, blood erupting out of the gash. Fire ignited in your veins and you balled your fists, giving him a taste of the rage of a caged beast with nothing left to lose, just the desperation to survive for more. It was a symphony of grotesque crunches of bone and ligament, and you yelled, screamed, and cursed with each impact at him, at the entire organization, at a godless world for making you live through hell. A pitiful yet gruesomely satisfying attempt to reclaim what sanity and control you lost in that room.

Blood and flesh coated your fingers like warm syrup, and you were sure your knuckles were split. Crimson red was a good look on a sterile uniform, you thought to yourself. The sight of your work made you realize it wasn't the devil in his eyes was laughing at you, but rather its reflection from over your shoulder, still gleefully singing and squealing with delight as it watched you indulge in pure, unadulterated wrath. Its tail wrapped around your neck, strangling you with delirium and bloodthirst, guiding you in your ear as you beat an already dead man to a pulp.

Taking a stand, its whispers remained in your ear, praising you and yet you felt sick looking at what was left of what you had done, of what was left of the man's face. His blood pooled around his shoulders, mixing with the stew into an unholy concoction, evidence that was a testimony to your suffering and to your sin. Using his combat knife, you cut through the ropes around your wrists, skin scratched raw and bleeding. Without a second glance, you took his gun and left the room.

To this day, you tell yourself that you crawled out of hell that day.

"Any signs of the hostage?" Gaz shouted over comms, holding off a room of enemies alongside Price.

The moment they had all seen your fingers slip from the jeep and saw you tumble away that afternoon was the moment they knew they wouldn't be coming back to base for a long time. Roach had watched in despair as he was so damn close to grabbing your hand, swearing that had he'd been a little quicker, you wouldn't be here. Soap had yelled for Price to go back but Gaz and Ghost both knew his hand wasn't going to turn that wheel anytime soon. All of them knew. They couldn't turn back, and you wouldn't have wanted them to either, not unless the entire team and mission were to be jeopardized. However, that didn't stop them from doing whatever it takes to get you back safe again.

"Negative." Ghost answered over the line, standing with Soap in a hallway painted with the blood of the opposition, bodies scattered like lifeless bags of flesh with no greater purpose than to rot.

"I have eyes on them, they escaped from captivity. Currently pursuing them!" Roach responded. He'd seen your figure run down a hall at an alarming speed, and when he followed you, he had a glimpse of the room and the spectacle you left behind, "The leader is terminated, too. Jesus, can someone get over here?! They're gunning it for the west exit and I can barely keep up!"

You were in fact, bolting for the exits, panicking the more you got lost and running so fast that you probably could've broken a record on base. Distant gunfire and blasts snapped at your heels like a pack of dogs, reminding you that if you didn't keep running, you'd be dead, you'd be torn apart and beaten just like their leader and fed to the wolves. Boots trampled the ground behind you like drums of death, the yelling of men ringing in your ears, a requiem to the inevitable. Run, just run, it's all you could do in this frenzied state. If you didn't you'd be helpless, you'd be put down like a rabid fucking animal. Run, even if your bones shook from the pain, even if flames licked at your torn muscles, even if it meant dying of exhaustion because anything was better than dying at the hands of those animals.

At last, you found the light of an exit, finally an escape from this asylum. Your heart felt lighter when sunlight kissed your skin only to be weighed down by getting slammed into, grabbed into a relentless hold. You screeched, shrieked, snapped, and sneered while the voices seemed relieved, almost happy at your capture.

"Don't fucking touch me-!" You screamed with animosity, practically frothing at the mouth, "Don't fucking touch me I'll fucking kill you! I'll fucking—"

"Friendly, friendly!"

Still growling under your breath, confusion flickered over your eyes. Why did it sound like... like...

"Captain?"

"You're safe kid," Price panted, as if he'd been running to chase you. He was chasing you. In all your hysteria, you hadn't realized that the group had been running after you for past minute or so, trying to call for you, get you to slow down. The only thing that worked was to just grab to and hopefully knock some sense into you or knock you out. "It's just us, see?"

Your gaze softened, taking in the features of the man before you. Despite the crossfire and fighting, somehow he still had such a kind look on him, puppy eyes that pitied you and kept you grounded. Turning your head, you saw the rest of the men watching you in concern, all tired but overjoyed nonetheless that you were finally back.

You were safe.

It was like a weight finally lifted off your chest, a pile of restrained misery and relief washing over you, and you wept without a thought to pride. Price whispered your name in a way that felt so comfortingly familiar, tucking your head into his shoulder and letting you muffle your sobs into his uniform. It was painful to hear your wails, the relief and the instability shaking off of you in waves. A part of you expected to be scolded, to be teased for messing up so badly with a simple mistake as letting go of the jeep but they didn't.

"You're in good hands,"

"We've got them covered,"

"They can't hurt you anymore, love."

"Do you have any major injuries?" Gaz asked, but you couldn't say a thing, clinging onto Price's jacket and crying like you were four years old and found by your parents after getting lost. Slowly and gently, Price pulled you from him to examine you, and that's when he saw it. It didn't take long for the others to notice as well. Your clothes were torn and belt undone. While no physical harm was visible, knowing what happened was enough to make Price tick.

"Roach, get them to the car and give them some spares ASAP. Everyone else with me, we're cleaning out the place." Everyone else had the same dark look in their eyes, one that sent shivers down your spine but encouraged you once more you were secure now. While Roach escorted you away, you peeked back to see them disappear back into the building. After you changed in the car, you could hear the distant gunfire and screams, shutting your eyes closed tight, making an effort to drown out the thoughts.

"You okay?" Roach frowned. he had apologized to you a dozen times over on your way to the car and explained all that happened after you were taken, which you appreciated him for and insisted it wasn't his fault. But he was sweet and stubborn, bandaging your wounds and telling you he'd make it up by giving you his dessert for the next month, a gesture that made you smile for once in a while.

"Yeah, yeah just... hope they're safe." You breathed, sinking into your seat with the rest of your thoughts. Though you cried once more, quietly this time and on Roach's shoulder. He was cautious not to initiate too much physical contact, holding your hand only when you asked for it.

The building was silent, not a single soul left to be reaped by the 141. They all regrouped around a body that was beaten beyond belief, to the point where the face was unrecognizable. Regardless, they knew who it was.

Gaz broke the silence, "You think they did this?" They all looked at each other, not wanting to imagine what happened to lead to this point.

Ghost nodded, a confirmation of something they already knew but wanted to mutually agree on. "No one else could've made this much of a bloody mess. HQ's going to have a field day with this. Can't say that he didn't have it coming for him, though."

"And well deserved, too." Soap spat. Price continued to look down on the figure on the floor without any thought to it. Not anger, disappointment, or spite, just disregard. Headquarters would be interested to hear what happened, but he could care less about the report. All that mattered was that loose ends were tied.

Minutes later, the men all piled up in the car again, setting for the road back. You woke from your half-asleep state, rubbing your eyes. You were met with a soft smile from Soap, who ruffled your hair. "You alright there, sleepin' beauty?"

Humming in acknowledgment, you nodded and glanced out the window to see the road whizzing by, the building growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Some dingy warehouse. So that was the hellhole you were stuck in for a near week.

"Dinnae think 'bout it too much," He followed your gaze and nudged your boot with his, "When we said they can't hurt ye anymore, we meant it."

"Yeah," You quietly mumbled, leaning back on Roach, who had fallen asleep and leaned on Gaz for support. "Can smell it on you guys."

That got a rumbling laugh out of Soap and even a little headshake from Ghost who sat in the passenger seat. Looking at the rearview mirror, Price was looking right back at you, eyes flickering to the road occasionally, "Get some rest. It'll be a long ride home."

You nodded like a little kid with a mumbled "yessir" and drifted off once more. For the first time in forever, you feel like you can breathe and ground yourself, no punishment, no torture, nothing to haunt in this rare bit of calm. You didn't feel the pain of your sore muscles, you didn't feel that your body was filthy, you didn't feel small and scared, not anymore. Just surrounded by nothing but a familiar feeling of safety and lulled to sleep by the sound of the engine that took you home.

a/n pt.2: had a tough time writing this one but hey, I think I managed! to be honest, though, I'm not super confident about the ending and proofread this while half-asleep, but I'd love to hear some thoughts about it. shoutout to the people who noticed any reoccurring themes.

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cupcakeslushie · 12 days

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I know that Hamatos are all really confused about what happened to Donnie, but I can see April getting legitimately pissed and starting down every lead she can find to dig up the truth detective style. Because messing with people and being a bully is one thing, but manipulating and abusing someone enough to change their personality is another. And she messed with HER family. And “you’ve done it now- when I get you I swear to god-“

Not sure if April would find anything but I can see her initial reaction being frustration rather than confusion.

@starrobot96 @snipersiniora

I’m honestly leaning more towards Raph and April having the most intense reactions to what’s been done to Donnie. Raph, because he’s still dealing with his own Krang trauma. So Kendra messing with his little brother, similar to what was done to him. That’s gonna make him want to rip her apart. I don’t think he’d kill her. But Kendra is definitely not getting out of this Scott free.

Raph will more than likely be leading the charge in Donnie’s rescue, because I don’t think he would go with them willingly, and Raph’s not about to make Leo or Mikey be the one to drag Don away while he’s screaming and resisting. Raph would take that role solely onto himself.

Leo is way out of his comfort zone. During the actual search, he’s more serious than he’s been since the invasion. Thinking that everything will be okay once they can just get Donnie home. But when they do, one desperate, good-natured joke has Donnie terrified of even looking at Leo. From then on, Leo makes that distance bigger, by avoiding Donnie, scared of setting of another panic attack. Even when Donnie starts to reach out, Leo is now hesitant to say anything. That was their whole type of sibling dynamic, ribbing and joking with each other. But now Donnie is like a stranger.

Mikey really hammers away with the toxic positivity. It’s not his fault. He’s just so out of his depth. He’s not a baby, but this is intense stuff. Trauma that he always steered away from in his Dr. Feeling research. But now that knowledge is necessary…looking into it really takes a toll on his own mental well being, bad enough that Splinter sees and puts a stop to it.

April is frustrated with her own investigative ability, and feels guilty, because Kendra wouldn’t have even known about Donnie, if she hadn’t asked him to come by her school. We know, that’s more than likely NOT true, as the boys run into criminals all the time, but April isn’t thinking logically.

Im still not sure about the exact how’s of Donnie’s rescue, but April will probably be the one he latches onto most in the aftermath. The fake simulations with her, were never as bad as the ones with his brothers (ie physically painful) so even though he would be scared to talk to her, and be seen as annoying, Donnie will let her get the closest to help him. He goes from trying to desperately please Kendra, to trying to desperately please April, and it makes her insanely uncomfortable. But she doesn’t want to scare him off when he’s not giving any of them many openings to help. She has to be very careful with walking that line between helping Donnie recover, and making things worse by enabling all of Kendra’s programming.

April’s really gonna carry the brunt of Donnie’s recovery.

#rottmnt #ask slushie #rise of the tmnt #kendratello au #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #rise april #rise raph #rise kendra #rise leo #rise mikey #tw brainwashing #tw emotional manipulation #tw emotional distress #tw implied sa

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misscammiedawn · 3 months

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Hypnosis and Dissociative Disorders

I've been meaning to write this since Charmed.

I shall not point fingers or name names but during Charmed 2024 there was a 101 class that taught that it was unsafe to play with those who dissociate as part of a mental illness. The graphic, which I'll paste below, used the word "Can't".

I wanted to speak to that.

Hypnosis has several different definitions. One could go to a hypnosis event and ask every presenter "define hypnosis in a single sentence" and get a different answer every class, likely a few may even contradict.

One such definition I could use is "Hypnosis is an altered state where a hypnotee is lead to a suggestible state where the hypnotee is dissociated from their conscious thinking." though one could say it is "an altered state that leads to breakdown in critical thinking and a heightened state of suggestibility" or you could start talking about the unconscious or subconscious mind.

Fact is, there's a lot of theory work at play and the language we use to shape the concepts isn't as important as understanding the concepts.

Dissociation is a natural part of hypnosis. It's also a natural part of existing. In much pre-talk patter we as hypnotists tend to ask an introduction level hypnotee to think about their experiences with time dilation, with highway hypnosis, with spacing out, with walking into a room and forgetting why you came in there.

Things so normal that as part of rapport, a hypnotist tends to assume the hypnotee can latch on to one of the concepts.

Dissociation is a spectrum. Literally. Within psychology the DES-II tool grades dissociation experiences on a scale, hence the acronym.

Graphic source

When people, including myself at times, describe dissociative disorders they tend to be referring to disorders that focus on dissociation as their main symptom. Depersonalization, Derealization and of course Dissociative Identity Disorder. Over the course of my life I have been diagnosed with all three.

But the scale includes Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, both complex and standard. Complex simply refers to a level of trauma that has been ongoing long enough that it is not a single memory or incident that triggers the symptoms.

According to the American Psychiatric Association one in eleven people will be diagnosed with PTSD at some point in their life with 3.5m diagnosed per year in the USA.

Which is to say that dissociating as part of an illness includes 8% of the population. Does that mean 8% of all potential hypnotees are too dangerous to play with?

...the answer is not a clear cut, "no". There is some elevated danger. But rather than teaching people not to play with those who live with these experiences, perhaps we can teach why there should be heightened caution and then allow people to navigate together.

We should always strive to educate and provide tools. When you tell a person they can't do something then they'll just do it without understanding why they aren't supposed to or, worse, predators will find those who were excluded from safer spaces. Harm is not reduced, an educator just gets to walk away from the harm with a simple "I said they shouldn't".

And plus, I said 8% of the general population...

Within hypnosis circles I assure you it is far higher when one factors in that multiple studies have supplied evidence that hypnotic susceptibility increases along with dissociative capacity.

Suffice to say, from utilizing hypnotic susceptibility tests (HGSHS) and dissociative tests (SDD and DES) the more a person dissociates, the more susceptible to hypnosis they are.

The human mind uses dissociation as a way of coping with physical and emotional pain, among other necessary inner needs, and so a person suffering from a mental illness that features dissociation becomes a naturally gifted hypnotee. It's a matter of practicing a skill constantly without realizing that they are refining something useful. Wax-On/Wax-Off.

This leads to a number of safety concerns. We've typed on serious concerns such as altering sense of identity and derealization attacks from lack of grounding. This is a topic near and dear to our heart as we acknowledge that we needed to gain an education in how to safely consent to hypnosis play and failing to do so in the past caused harm to ourselves and to those we played with.

So here's a list of potential dangers in playing with those who are further along the dissociative spectrum, how to mitigate those dangers and create a space where everyone can play safely.

I'll focus on hypnotees with dissociative experiences for the most part as the relationship between dissociation and hypnosis is primarily a concern while the hypnotee is in trance. That having been said I acknowledge that Dom Space connects just as much to the spectrum and an entire new post can be made on the topic of performing hypnosis when you have a dissociative disorder.

Heaven knows it is a topic I study feverishly to maintain safety for myself and those who entrust their mind to my care.

So... with that said, let's talk about the dangers.

Abreactions

This is likely the most common concept that comes up when thinking of the relationship between PTSD and hypnosis. An abreaction is the moment a hypnosis session or scene goes off the rails because the hypnotee is actively reacting to a trauma trigger while they are in a suggestible state. Their Fight/Flight/Freeze/Fawn impulse may be triggered and cause a physical or emotional reaction which was not part of the negotiated/planned scene.

This could be a cut and dry example of "and think about all the times you've been hypnotized right there on that sofa" causing a hypnotee to follow the suggestion and regress in memory to a time before a bad break-up when their former partner hypnotized them on the sofa they are currently on.

It could be an abstract example like "imagining yourself in a field of flowers and breathing in, noting how lovely the scent is, like the most beautiful perfume." causing sense memory to trigger the scent of a perfume that was in the air during a traumatic moment of their life that instantly flips the switch in their mind to go into F/F/F/F mode.

Likely any given hypnotist will experience this at some point in their life. The first example is one that any person could experience. Hypnosis naturally draws upon associations and when you create an association in the present to a negative emotion in the past you will summon it into the present.

With the second example, that association is already there and it was activated during the scene. The source of the abreaction. I avoid using the word "Trigger" both because of shitty internet discourse in the 2010s and because the term is used for other things in hypnosis, but that is what it is. A sense, a memory, an association which causes the source of trauma to intrude upon the present. The danger that the hypnotee experiences in these moments is very real.

Typically when I discuss these topics I put a disclaimer and emphasize how present the traumatic experience is. My hope is that anyone who is interested in hypnosis knows full well how true and powerful inner experiences are. If you doubt that then I sincerely do not know why you are in this community to begin with.

How to prevent an abreaction is important but should never be learned at the expense of learning how to handle an abreaction. Prevention is about disclosing during negotiation, asking the hypnotee to volunteer anything which may activate a negative reaction or simply what topics to avoid. Phobias are common enough examples of things that a hypnotist should know before working.

But disclosing every part of a trance or scene during the early phases of a hypnotic relationship is essential too. This way the hypnotee does not get surprised by anything propping up during play and they can measure their expected reactions before going into a suggestible state.

But if, despite caution, something does happen? What then?

Noting that every abreaction manifests specific to the person, their situation, their emotional state and how the scene caused it to happen. The first thing the hypnotist needs to do is not overreact. Over-correcting is an easy mistake to make in the moment but it will lead to an overall negative outcome.

Assess the situation and try to recognize what is happening. I had mentioned that the reflex is "Fight/Flight/Freeze/Fawn" this can be obvious like thrashing or ejecting out of trance instantly. It could be something harder to notice like locking up and becoming unresponsive or emotionally regressing to a terrified state.

If the hypnotee is still in trance then do your best to offer comfort and grounding. Remind them what is happening, remind them that they are safe, perform some grounding exercises such as box breathing (breathe in, hold, exhale for a number of seconds).

Touch is a case by case situation here. I know if I were having an emotional flashback to an assault then being touched would launch me further into abreaction territory. If you believe holding a hand would be beneficial then at the very least communicate it "I'm here, I'm going to take your hand, everything's safe, I'm here."

Over distance you should communicate this via modality. "I'm here, just listen to my voice, focus on the sounds in the room, I'm not going anywhere" for an audio example, "Just feel the blanket beneath you, you can brush your fingers against it if you need" for touch based.

The idea is to use emotional comfort, sensory grounding and patience to bring the hypnotee gently out of the moment.

Then apply aftercare and discuss what happened, what could be improved, what the hypnotee needs and acknowledge that the stress of these moments impacts the hypnotist too. Leave room for the hypnotist to recover as much as the hypnotee.

Decide together if this will end the session or not. Do not cut off on principal. If someone is conditioned to believe that displaying their negative reactions will lead to play stopping then they will hide those reactions. Accept that they happen. Learn how to grow together and incorporate care, comfort and safety into every scene.

Spontaneous Hypnotic Amnesia

One danger for those who suffer dissociative disorders is that their brains are very good at editing information. The further down the spectrum one is, the more adept their mind is at naturally pushing away things that they do not wish to think about nor have the capacity to integrate.

One categorization of dissociation is a failure for the brain to integrate information and experience. It is the cause of time dilation, it is why critical thinking is bypassed and it is why those further on the dissociative spectrum are able to compartmentalize their experiences so effortlessly that they can maintain dissociated personalities.

Where most people who practice hypnosis typically have to study how to achieve post-hypnotic amnesia, those who begin working with hypnosis with patholigized dissociative experiences may need to learn how not to experience it. I include this as I have spoken to multiple people who have lived this reality and it is something we ourselves experienced in the past.

Should a newer hypnotee show signs that they are not remembering what is happening during trance, it is a good practice to train them on how to retain information. Hypnotee Agency is a skill that one develops and allowing them the knowledge that they can chose to retain the information during a trance is as important as reinforcing how easy and normal it is to forget when that is a negotiated part of the scene.

All it takes to be safe here is to just remind them that if they wish to and find it enjoyable to do so, they may retain the information from this trance.

Nothing more complicated than that.

Derealization/Unreality

Derealization is a common experience within dissociation that is actually lower on the dissociative spectrum than PTSD. It is when you do not feel attached to your present experiences in real time.

A common version of this is "Deja Vu" which is a sensation where you are having difficulty integrating your present experience because it "feels" like you've already experienced it.

It can manifest in many other ways, however the commonality is that the person experiencing this knows that it's abnormal. When a person is disconnected from their surroundings like this they may experience a barrier between themselves and the world, they may have a distorted sense of time and they may become physically unresponsive and withdrawn.

Source: Mayo Clinic

The best way to handle this is to make sure that grounding always includes a thorough count-up that lets a person feel both in their body (this will help with depersonalization too) and aware of their surroundings. Ensuring both debriefing and aftercare focus on keeping reality in the room is important when someone's sense of what is real can drift.

For that reason it's a good idea to try and reinforce those ideas of what is real and save them in a little box that can be stored away if there are ever any reality altering suggestions in play, that way retrieving and unpacking that box can just be a natural part of the post-scene.

I linked it earlier, but my post on the topic can be found here.

Depersonalization/Altered States of Identity

Ah, our favorite soapbox.

Much like derealization, depersonalization is a symptom that is lower on the scale than PTSD and is actively invoked during inductions such as the Bandler which turns a handshake into the hypnotee starring at their hand and having the sensation of the hand distanced from their mind. Literally dissociating the hand from your body and using that sensation to build a trance.

It's a good induction. All forms of dissociation are not bad things. That is something I want to make sure an audience fully understands. This post is here to destigmatize, particularly when a 101 class was teaching stigma.

Depersonalization is a disconnection from one's sense of self. These are the moments when one feels like they are not the ones living through a moment, they are experiencing themselves from an outside perspective.

Once again, things that are utilized heavily in induction patter.

Source: Mayo Clinic

The derealization advice works well in this case, particularly the idea of creating a "back-up" to restore carefully at the end of a scene.

The big difference though is that depersonalization as a natural thing that those with dissociative disorders do can lead to some bleed when doing suggestions which alter a person's sense of self. I highly recommend an optional suggestion or affirmation that can help a hypnotee ground themselves. That may be too close to therapy for many though.

The hard part about being safe with depersonalization symptoms is that they are typically things that we actively engage with during hypnosis. I guarantee at least one person read "Feeling like a robot or that you're not in control of what you say or how you move." and thought of that as an absolute win.

This is where a bit of negotiation and hypnotee agency comes into play. Reality needs to be kept in the room during all hypnosis. Diving into ego-death or erasing reality may be tempting, especially for those who aren't particularly fond of reality or themselves, but it is too dangerous to surrender those things.

My definitive post on the topic has more information.

Though while I'm talking about altered personalities, I want to make something clear which I did not type about much in my Personality Play post...

Plurality

This is a topic on its own which could take on an entire post to itself. I may yet write it. If anyone has read our Madison and Belladonna stories they would know that they are written entirely based upon the life lessons Daja and I have been learning while I began therapy and was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Many of my lessons for how to safely play with plural systems are mixed in with the fiction.

When I say Plural I mean to refer to those who have multiple dissociated personalities, along with circumstances such as dissociative barriers.

There are as many displays of plurality as there are people who experience it. Every system is different. No two people are not on fire (awww).

So with that said, any play on either side of the watch is going to be lead with self-advocating. A hypnotic relationship involving a system (or more than one, even) will need a level of disclosure. Not just that a system exists but how that system manifests. What patterns are known regarding switches, what best works when an unexpected switch occurs, what levels of dissociative barriers exist between alters/parts, what terminology is preferred...

Wait, that's a lot to throw at once.

Our version of plurality is based upon Dissociative Identity Disorder. Which is to say that my system, originating via complex PTSD during childhood, used to have firm dissociative barriers between one another. This meant that, prior to diagnosis, you could have an emotionally charged conversation with me, Dawn, and then the next day Cammie will wake up and depending on the level of dissociation (typically but not always linked to stress or proximity to trauma triggers) will either not remember what happened during that conversation or will not carry the emotions that I had experienced. "Not remembering" can simply be "won't think about"

As I said, it's quite subjective. But the conceit is that with those on the DID spectrum will have a complete disconnect between parts/alters.

For those with less dissociation, but still experience plurality, they may not have amnesia or barriers between parts, allowing themselves to communicate with one another actively.

Within psychological communities there is eternal debate on all of these experiences and one of the more poignant debates is that the difference between DID and OSDD seems to just be a level of severity and that treatment and therapy tactics tend to move DID patients into the OSDD box and so they shouldn't be labeled as separate disorders.

These rules on amnesia, inner communication and emotional consistency between parts typically apply outside of disorders. I do not wish to engage in syscourse. But as above when I mentioned abreactions, those who practice with hypnosis know how capable a mind is to create hypnotically induced personalities. There are experiences outside of the DSM-V and that really shouldn't be a controversial statement.

A switch is when one part/alter trades out for another. The reasons are hyper specific to every system and cannot really be predicted without knowing their circumstances intimately. For instance the scent of lavender will draw me out without fail.

These can happen without warning and during hypnosis. Being cautious about body language, tone of voice and sudden changes in mood are the best you can do without guidance from the one with lived experience.

I'd also cautiously warn to end a scene and check in if there is an unexpected switch and there's no negotiated playbook on what to do in case of a switch.

The first Madison and Belladonna story tells the story of that very circumstance because that happened in my real life.

For safety it is best to try and communicate with the entire system over how to approach any aspect of hypnosis play. Exploring is a collaborative action and it can be a rewarding experience to find what works and what doesn't work. But it does take time.

For some basic "until I know better" rules, I'd say NEVER FORCE A SWITCH is a fairly basic rule, though. Also do not assume consent for a specific part/alter counts as consent for the whole system.

There is so much to say on this topic and I will likely revisit it at another point, but much of the safety tied up with DID and identity based dissociative disorders boils down to the fact that you are negotiating consent for a group and that you cannot always guarantee that the hypnotee at the start of a scene will always be present during the entire scene.

To that, I say treat switches like an abreaction, display acceptance and curiosity and don't get too hung up on the circumstances.

At the end of the day plural folx are just people too, just not person.

So... why did I write all this, anyway?

A lovely friend of mine recently joked that Charmed 2024 was the "Year of Plurality" and in a way they were right. I've been attending the event since 2020 and where my first had been a humble little class of 8 or so people on a Sunday afternoon ran by Vulpes Automata (Vulpes teaches the same class at Plural Positivity, albeit without the hypnosis content, a recording is hosted here) this year's event included many systems declaring themselves as such on their badge, both an in-person and online unconference that stretched beyond the time limits put in place and were feverishly well attended.

It has done my heart so good to see the safety and community growing and becoming more accepting.

It reminds me of the community's slow growth to accepting and embracing the transgender community in the mid-2010s.

Which is why I wish to be firm about trying to stop bad ideas from taking root in how we teach on these topics.

Some may remember that in the 2000s, respectable resources teaching hypnokink used to state firmly to "confirm biological sex" with any potential play partner. Said material has been revised. Times change and communities grow.

So when I see this teaching graphic saying that those who dissociate as part of a mental illness "Can't" be hypnotized, due to safety concerns? I get worried.

It was being used in a 101 class at the very same Charmed event that I am praising for having such good acceptance of plural experiences?

I lived this once as a closeted transgender woman. I don't want to live it again with our DID.

And I remember that "never play with anyone who has a mental illness" used to be taught in the same resources that once said to disclose one's "biological sex". People have taught this in classes and been approached by someone who had a mental illness and told how ignorant it was to teach that they could not be played with.

We, as a community, can do better.

I'd rather a 3 hour 101 become a 4 hour 101 and teach this material than to dismiss those who are the most vulnerable and susceptible and have them seek their trances from those who do not have reservations about safety and ethics.

Thank you for reading. I know this was a big soap box.

#dawn posting #hypnokink #hypnosis #hypnokink writings #charmed 2024 #did #bpd #community resources #community safety

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tablestoastandtime · 3 months

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Legacy and Shadows

Say what you will about large parts of Tim's characterization being a product of the archetype he used to embody in the DC universe, it's kind of fucked up to suddenly become a completely different kind of character without your say so.

Or, Tim and the fact he doesn't get to have a future.

Tim wasn't sure what to make of the way everyone seemed confident that one day Damian would be Batman.

The kid was the only one to say it out loud, for the most part, but like a surprising amount of things that came out of his mouth everyone seemed to mostly take it for truth. And to be fair, when had Damian ever let anyone really stop him from going after something he felt he had a right to? So maybe it was true, if only because he was going to make sure of it.

It was just. People used to think that about Tim, too. Not that he'd ever said that, ever even wanted it. If anything, Tim had spent as much time as he could reminding people that he wasn't Batman and had no intention of being him. But the shadow of it had lingered, and part of Tim had been bracing for it for years.

After all, Dick wanted to be Batman even less than Tim did, had initially been willing to let the mantle die to avoid it. Dick was Nightwing in a way not everyone ever got to inhabit their titles. Part of what made Dick one of the best of them was how he managed the split; by not letting there be one. Dick was Nightwing was Coach Grayson was whatever bullshit name he'd picked up while playing super spy. He never stopped being himself in any of those roles, for all that he'd put on the appropriate hat to play the crowd. There was a difference between performing and lying, and Dick was born for the lights.

Batman didn't have much to do with light even at the best of times.

And on the other end of the spectrum, Batman was bad for Jason in a way that honestly caught Tim off guard when he first saw it. Sure none of them had been at their best back then, all alone in their own seas of grief, but Jason had lost whatever stability he'd had for a while there, and was only more recently leveling back out. He'd latched onto the mantle as both connection and insult, a last 'fuck you' to a man he wasn't ready to let go of yet. For Jason the cowl hadn't been about any actual interest in the job that needed doing. And yeah, maybe Tim was a bit biased because if he ever saw Jason in a batsuit again he was liable to do something truly stupid to pay him back for last time. What was worse, being attacked by a symbol of trauma or a symbol of faith?

Tim sure knew that he hadn't liked his end of the stick, at the very least. Maybe he'd feel differently if things hadn't gone the way they had, but he didn't want Jason to be Batman and it was only mostly personal.

Even before all that though, the idea of legacy had still been haunting Tim for longer than he'd wanted to admit. People died, heroes died, Tim knew that better than he knew what school he'd taken second year bio at, but the job always remained. Dick had only been interested in doing part of that job. He'd do the parts he wanted to well, Tim had always believed that, but that still left the rest of the job.

And Tim had kind of figured that would be his responsibility.

He hadn't always been happy about it, had resented the shapes Bruce built into his work even as he'd learned more and more why they'd been necessary to keep the undead freight train of the Bat going. Tim didn't like a lot of what Batman had to be to be effective, but he understood it and he didn't want to see Gotham or the world go without the pillar he represented. If you wanted a job done right, sometimes you had to do it yourself. Tim wouldn't ask anyone else to do something he wasn't willing to do, and if it meant Gotham got to keep its hero then yeah, he'd put on the cowl one day. He'd already tried once.

More than that, Tim was pretty sure Bruce used to see things the same way. Half of his training only made sense if it was to be something that was both more and less than Robin. He'd been preparing Tim for a role that wanted to eat him alive, and for all that Tim had gotten maybe more attached than was strictly healthy to the Robin mantle, it had become a part of him rather than his whole identity. Robin leapt into dark and danger feet first. To be Batman was to live there all the time.

Whether Tim had liked it or not, he'd spent the better part of the last four years half-knowing he'd have to move there one day and he'd lived like it was true. Frustrated, fighting it sometimes and dutifully twisting his edges to better fit others, but always like it was a future he couldn't afford to be unprepared for.

And then Damian came into their lives and Darkseid tried to transtemporally nuke Tim's remaining mental health. There was a paranoid imp that lived in the back of Tim's head that still half-believed that the whole thing had been another elaborate test, except this time if it had been then Tim must have failed because he never did get his life back afterwards.

Tim put himself and everything he believed into a blender to find the cracks in everyone else's certainty and for all that he'd been right it had never even mattered. The Justice League found out about and went after Bruce independently. They'd only called him after he'd spent months playing into his own worst instincts to get the job done, just to do almost all of the work in front of him.

Maybe he'd done it all wrong. Maybe he'd been doing it wrong for a while.

Even if he hadn't wanted it, he'd been Tim Drake. Robin. The kid who might one day be Batman. And now, by some silent consensus he hadn't been invited to, he wasn't.

It was a relief. It was a deeply haunted house he'd been written out of the will for, it was a black hole that had materialized over his head and swallowed everything he had seen ahead of him.

It was the reality Tim needed to figure out how to live with.

He was doing his best these days, trying to fit the pieces of the person he used to be into the new shape of his life, but he kept cutting himself on the edges where they didn't quite line up. Cut other people sometimes too, even when he tried not to. But when he tried to take space to keep the sharpness to himself, it took his eyes off the movement of the world and when he looked up he had to start all over again to try to put together the puzzle of what he was going to do for the rest of his life.

And through it all, Tim kept turning over the issue of finding a name to use, methodologies to employ, somewhere he could even live, because the ones he used to have didn't really belong to him anymore. Never had, in all fairness.

They'd always been things gifted to him in exchange for dedication and hard work. He'd thought at the time that had meant earning. Now, of course, he knew better.

And now he had to do without them.

Who was Tim Drake if he was never going to be Batman? Who was Tim Drake, as someone who used to be Robin?

He had no idea. Tim just hoped it didn't take the rest of his life to figure it out.

#tim drake #my writing #quick little exercise to try to get back into the habit of writing a thought to completion

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urhoneycombwitch · 2 months

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in sickness, to cherish

foreword: so excited to release this lil’ babe into the world. PTSD and trauma healing is of special interest to me, I hope you enjoy 💖 (p.s. from my limited research I don’t think they would have used a heart monitor for low-risk patients but it is literally integral to my plot so I’m breaking my anachronistic purity rule. soz)

wc: 3k

cw: descriptions of seizure, PTSD + hospital/medical trauma for the whole gang, brief mention of non-consensual drugging, R is referred to once as “Mrs” & “girlfriend”, angst w/ comfort

___

The mounted clock on the wall of the dingy Hawkins Memorial waiting room ticks over to nine PM, a brutal reminder that time (for everyone else, at least) has not, in fact, stopped.

Nine o’clock. As you pace from one end of the plastic chair-lined aisle to the other, you run the numbers in your head, fingers spastic at your sides- it’s nine right now, and Steve was admitted just after six, which means they’ve been running tests for three hours, even though the charge nurse said it should only take one…

”You wanna step outside for a smoke?”

Eddie speaks up from his seat at the end of the row, catching your bleary gaze before you’re turning on your heel again to complete your looping track.

His voice cuts smoothly over the buzzing fluorescents, the old television in the corner droning with last week’s news cycle; it’s enough to disrupt Robin from her half-sleep against Eddie’s shoulder, blinking into consciousness and stretching her stiff limbs as you respond.

“No, thanks.” Your hands slip to the inside of your elbows, squeezing through layers of soft cardigan in a near-bruise, feet continuing the rhythmic pacing. “You can go, though- I’ll make sure Robin comes to get you if anything happens.”

Eddie clears his throat, sinking back into the hard plastic, rings clicking at the armrests. “Nah, I’m good without one. Just thought you’d want a change of scenery, maybe some fresh air would calm-”

“I’m staying here.”

There’s a sharpness to your voice, a rarity- Robin winces, fingers in her lap twisting and fidgeting as she tries to change the subject. “God, Steve’s gonna be spitting mad when he wakes up. He’s the most doctor-adverse person I know.”

Eddie latches on to this with a humorless chuckle- “Stubborn bastard. Wouldn’t let those lab goons go near him, even after last year-”

“Fuck.” The swear comes from the bottom of your toes, even as you swivel on the balls of your feet to loop back in front of your friends; their faces snap to you, a blur of motion as you pass them again- “You’re right. Steve fucking hates doctors. I should’ve-”

Your next breath comes stilted, fingers a vice-grip on your own arms as you pace, pace, pace- “I should’ve treated this like taking a dog to a vet. Crushed up some pills in his food, or something- he never listens to me when I nag him about his hearing getting worse- do you know how many meals, how many glasses of water we share, every day?”

From the corner of your hazy vision, Robin’s gone still and pale, her voice tremulous- “I didn’t mean to imply- this isn’t your fault, you know-”

But you’re not ready to hear that, guilt surfacing like a sick wave, tears pooling, moments away from spilling over, voice trembling with anguish- “Could’ve been so easy, tell him we’re going for a ride, load him up into the passenger seat, he goes to sleep and I could’a passed him right off to a doctor, to someone who could have prevented this-”

Eddie rises from his seat to stand in the middle of your path, hands lifting to soothe and appease, but you’re still in flight mode, like a bird beating its wings against the confines of its cage.

You flinch away from his touch, standing with your back turned to them both, staring out the dark window, unseeing. “You know what Steve said to me? Right before he hit the ground? He said, ‘Don’t panic, I’m gonna pass out, try not to let my hair get too messed up.’”

An edge of misplaced humor draws a dry laugh from your throat. The dark window reflects your own face back- tear-streaked, red veins encroaching on the whites of your eyes- as you shake your head in disbelief. “He made a joke. To try and distract me from the fact that he was about to hit the ground and go all… all spastic-”

Unbidden flashes of memory surge to the forefront of your mind: victims of last spring. Twisted forms snapped at the bone, Max’s arms and legs bent at horrifying angles, plaster casts from head-to-toe, freckled face still and sallow against the starch-white hospital sheets-

A leather-jacketed form in the reflection behind you, Eddie’s hand solid on your back against the shuddering breaths wracking all the air from your lungs. You don’t flinch away this time.

Your beautiful boy. Steve. With his eye-crinkling smiles and sharp wit and gentle heart, stiff as a board in the middle of your living room, eyes rolled back in his skull like a downed deer, unreachable, just three hours ago.

“I thought it was Vecna. It’s been so long but I thought he’d come back, somehow, I was this close to running upstairs and grabbing our Walkman-”

”But you didn’t.” The hand at your back is joined by another at your arm as Eddie pulls you to face him, his gaze locking on your own, brown eyes full of grave compassion. “You heard the nurse. She said tipping him on his side was the best call you could’a made, sweetheart- you saved him.”

”But I didn’t know,” you insist, “I didn’t know that’s what would help, I just did it ‘cuz I was worried he was going to choke on his own tongue-”

“Semantics. You intuited it, then.” One of Eddie’s hands leaves your arm briefly to make a dismissive gesture through the air- “Which, in my book, is all the more impressive.”

Unconvinced, your voice small and tightening along with your chest- “What if this happens again, and he’s alone, this time? What if he’s working one of his three closing shifts a week, without Robin- what if he’s driving?”

You can’t help the spiraling of your thoughts, what-if scenarios jumping in line, each one more horrifying than the last.

Robin rises to stand beside Eddie, opens her mouth- to deny, to comfort, it’s unclear- but is interrupted by a new nurse who’s just appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Harrington?”

This snaps you back to earth, a bit, another watery laugh as Eddie takes a step back, allowing you to swipe at the mess of tears on your face before turning to the nurse- “Yeah. As good as, I guess. How’s he doing?”

With a last look at your friends, the nurse leads you down sickeningly-bright corridors while reading from a clipboard- most of it’s medical jargon, your foggy brain struggling to keep up as you stay on her heels.

What you gather, as you’re led to his room, is nothing new- Steve’s had a seizure, likely due to the trauma his brain incurred from the ‘earthquake’ of ‘86, and it’s unclear what triggered it, or if it’s likely to happen again.

“We’re going to keep him overnight, just to monitor his condition.” The nurse stops at a door labeled Room 202, hinges squeaking as she pushes it open. “He was really lucky, this time. Must’ve had a good guardian angel looking out for him.”

Heart thrumming thick in your throat, you almost ask the nurse to wait, to give you a second- maybe a quick bathroom break to splash some cold water against the tear-tracks, or even an extra few seconds to pretend at being stoic- but she’s already ushering you in with a kind smile.

The nurse pulls the door shut, and you’re left alone with the boy in the bed.

He looks exhausted, dark circles pulling at the soft skin below his eyes, which are full of relief, trained on you as you approach.

“Hey, there’s my girl.” There’s a scratchy quality to Steve’s voice, on its way to being lost.

You were doing really well, no crying or anything, before he spoke. But hearing him, paired with the awful sight of a medical cord wrapping around the width of his broad chest, has your face crumpling in an instant.

“Oh, shit. Aw, honey. C’mere-” Steve reaches for you, halfway to sitting up off his supporting pillows, and you quickly close the gap, sitting near his hip on the bed.

“No, hey- stay down,” you chide through the tears, pushing at the shoulder of his white hospital tee. “Don’t put any stress on your body.”

“Cut the stress, she says,” Steve grumbles, leaning back against the stack of pillows but compromising by pulling you in closer. “My baby’s crying, and she tells me no stress?”

His left palm slips over your cheek, thumb swiping away tears, while his right hand- IV taped flat over the back of it- slides to rest on your waist.

”Gonna tell me what’s wrong, hm?”

Under different circumstances, you’d laugh at his question- christ, where did he want you to start: but with that amber gaze so full of empathy, desperate to fix what’s making you sad, you’re stripped raw with sincerity.

”I was just- I was so scared, Steve-”

Steve pulls your face towards his, needily, a breath away from begging for a kiss before you lean in for one.

He tastes salty, like sweat and tears, lips plush and softly seeking against the seam of your own. Between the kisses, he’s mumbling apologies, “sorry, so sorry”, broken by the need to be as close to you as all the medical gear will allow.

There’s a soft noise from the back of his throat, and you pull away just enough to bump your nose into his, hands running up to push through the soft strands of his hair.

Steve practically purrs under your touch; you’re careful not to disturb the tubing wrapping around the length of his chest, leaning your weight into his shoulders instead.

A vein of hilarity spikes as you remember Steve’s last words before he went under: and here you were, fingers pulling at his dark roots, breaking his one request. When you start to giggle, Steve’s eyes pop open, baffled, hair sticking up at the ends when your fingers leave his hair. Both hands now squeezing at your hips, he feels left out of the joke- “What?”

“I just- nothing. Never mind. I’m really glad you’re okay.” It’s the truth. You frame his lovely face with your hands, kissing his forehead once before sitting up fully. “I don’t wanna fight about it here, okay? Let’s just focus on you feeling better, and then-”

“See, now, wait a minute-” Steve holds up a finger to interrupt. “You don’t get it. I’ve been hoping and praying for hours now that my pretty girlfriend would come in here just so we could have a good fight.”

He tweaks at the skin of your hips (with the IV-hand, so you can’t just smack it away, dammit), smiling up at you far too dreamily for someone reclining in a hospital bed.

Settling against the length of Steve’s torso, your arms cross over his stomach just under the tubing as you start, carefully- “You know, Max had one of these- when she was in the hospital?”

”Yeah, you’re right.” Steve’s hands worm their way under both your cardigan sleeves, seeking out the comfort of skin like a magnet- “Think it tracks heart rate. Or something.”

“Mm-hm. And… you know how she had to go to physical therapy three times a week? For, like, half the school year?”

Steve’s thumbs swipe absently at your wrists, a line pinched between his brows, trying to piece together your angle. “…yeah?”

“Takes a lot of time, to heal from something like that.” Your eyes drop to his chest, throat swelling with the effort of holding back a sob. “And I’m just- just thinking of all the times you might be alone, and how we could have prevented this, and-”

“Hey, hey, hey- shhh…” Steve soothes, shaking his head. “Honey, it was inevitable, okay? Nothing we could’a done. The doc told me this shit can happen, like, years after a big event. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Fighting against the wall of emotion that makes speaking harder, you return his head shake, desperate for understanding- “But you can’t promise that, baby. You had a seizure- an actual, medical emergency, and… we don’t know if it’ll happen again.”

With a purposeful straightening of your spine, you state, resolutely: “I want a different promise.”

Steve presses the crown of his head back into the pillows, melodramatic, resurfacing with a tsk. “So stubborn. What promise you want, then, huh?”

”I want you to promise that you’ll see a doctor- a real one. A head guy. Not some… family medicine quack.”

Steve grins, charming even while unusually pale- “I love it when you talk medical, really gets me going-”

He decides to bail on the rest of that sentence when he sees the flare of irritation on its way to real anger in your face, raising both hands in appeasement- “Okay. Hey- I promise to see a real head doc. I don’t intend on putting you through this again.”

WIth a sigh, you surge forward again, mumbling “Thank you” into Steve’s lips, a kiss of relief and gratitude. Best news you’ve heard all day.

His groans vibrate through you, hands running down the length of your side, near the bottom of your cardigan; you squeak at the intrusion of his cold palms on the bare skin of your waist but they warm quickly, and you’re willingly distracted as his tongue presses against the seam of your lips.

Perhaps not exactly hospital-appropriate, but as it’s been an evening full of adrenaline-filled panic and heartache, you figure some making out might be a good cure for the both of you.

“Won’t scare you like that again,” Steve says, lips already pink and spit-slick, intense and breathless as he clings to you between kisses- “Gonna be okay. You saved me, angel. Love you s’much…”

Your hand, previously resting on Steve’s knee, automatically slides up at his words, notching into the soft expanse of his inner thigh over the thin sheets- “Love you too, so much…”

A bright, electronic noise jolts into frantic beeping- the monitor that Steve’s hooked up to is loud enough to startle you into sitting up.

There’s no time to process or even rearrange yourselves before the nurse from earlier bustles into the room to glare at the machine’s screen; best you can do is a swipe across your mouth, hopefully hiding any evidence of moments-ago spit-swappage as you stammer out, “Um, yeah, sorry- h-he was trying to sit up and that set it off, I guess…?”

Steve lies placid and amenable against his pillows, giving the nurse a gold-medal grin, which unfortunately does nothing to allay her suspicions.

“Uh-huh.” The monitor alarm is stopped short with the press of a few buttons, and she gives Steve a sideways look, clipboard tucked under her arm- “You ready for your other visitors, Mr. Harrington, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

“Bring forth the party, Patricia.” Steve folds his hands behind his head, wincing when his IV gets bumped but covering it with a wink.

Nurse Patricia leaves. You cover your heated face, mortified- “Oh my god. She probably thought I was giving you a handjob or something, jesus, Steve-”

He’s outright laughing at you now, unable to help it- “Come on, no she didn’t. And even if she did…”

Steve is momentarily distracted, frowning down at his chest, following the monitor’s line to the machine; you watch through cracked fingers, his face lighting up, triumphant. “See, I bet if we unplug it from the wall same time as disconnecting it from here, we might be able to fit a handy under the radar, after all!”

Robin and Eddie enter the room just as you’re swatting Steve’s shoulder; over your subdued and mildly horrified laughter, he groans in faux-pain: “God, you two got here just in time. She’s beating me up for no reason.”

As Eddie settles into the plastic chair under the opposing wall’s window, you scooch down the mattress, patting the side closest to Steve with an encouraging smile at Robin.

She takes the seat, appreciative, her clammy hand slipping into yours for support as she addresses Steve: “Y’know, if you did this to get out of doing inventory this weekend, you could just say so.”

“You caught me, Robs,” Steve says, thumbing over her knuckles fondly. “Finally gonna join my conspiracy to make Keith’s life hell?”

You’re about to cut in, emphasizing that no one else should be making any hospital visits, when a metallic screech has the three of you on the bed whipping around.

Eddie’s managed to crack the barred window- judging by the sound, it hasn’t been opened since the 70s. He freezes with all the attention, then speaks around the cigarette clenched between his lips, suave again- “Pardon the interruption. Anyone else care for a smoke?”

Everyone in the room blinks at him, in various stages of disbelief; Steve starts laughing, first, which gets Robin going, and eventually you, too, until Eddie’s grinning around the cigarette, lighter halfway to his mouth as he chuckles- “Well, can’t say I didn’t offer…”

Robin makes a comment about nicotine fumes, which quickly devolves into her and Eddie fiercely bickering.

The elevated chatter of your friends fades into the background as Steve takes your hand atop the sheets, head tilted to get you in his line of sight again- love you, he mouths.

Love you, too.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader

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papaleon · 7 months

Text

I'm Still Full of the Love You Want

pairing: RE4R!Leon Kennedy x afab!Reader

wc: 2.4k

summary: Leon has come back from Spain and, on the advice of his therapist, he's learning to associate the bad memories with something good. That something happens to be you.

content: leon gets cuffed, p in v, oral (reader receiving), no protection (wrap it up guys), i just replayed resi4r and i can't get over leon being chained to the ceiling (inspo), leon is a good boy

18+ MDNI, this is literally just pwp

a/n: please be gentle, i haven't written fic in years, this post has a lot of my writing firsts including the perspective and the smut. it has been sorta proofread, all mistakes are my own. enjoy! <3

Leon let out a deep groan as you moved to straddle his unclothed thighs. The handcuffs you had just finished latching to the headboard clinked as he tested their strength. See, Leon had just returned from his mission in Spain. He was, of course, tight-lipped and bound by a very intimidating NDA to keep the details quiet. But, even though he wasn’t able to share the grisly details with you, you could read Leon like a book. He always wore his pain, anger, and anxiety in his eyes, as much as he’d hate to admit it.

Right now though, his face only told of pleasure, and that was enough for you. You offered him a soft smile as you ground down onto the meat of his muscular thigh, pressing down just enough for him to feel your want.

“C’mon baby, please.”

Leon’s work mandated therapist, Dr. Woolf, had recommended he work to associate the horrors and trauma he’d experienced with something positive. You were certain that Dr. Woolf did not intend those new associations to be with sex, in fact you had a few qualms with the whole thing but it was the only thing that seemed to help Leon. After years of witnessing the love of your life suffer with his own memories, day and night, you figured you’d do anything to help him.

So here you both were, blue moonlight kissing warm candle light as it danced over both of your bodies. You had just finished stripping Leon down and cuffing him, wrists over his head, after a very lengthy discussion about limits and how this tied back to Spain.

This wasn’t that bad, baby, I swear. You had stared at him as he spoke, looking for any hint of a lie. My gear was taken and we were chained to the ceiling. It could have been worse. He smirked at that. You had feigned indignation and lightly smacked his chest. This you could deal with. You knew he suffered much worse but you tried to leave your worries unspoken.

He looked beautiful like this though, you thought as you ran your eyes over him. Leon Kennedy certainly had a reputation that preceded him. A rookie cop turned hardened agent, a bit of a sarcastic, stoic dickhead if you pissed him off, and a selfless protector. Someone you would want on your team but certainly never wanted to get on the bad side of. But you knew more. He had lived through so much strife and hardship, he was hidden behind years of trauma and survival instincts, but deep down he was a person who longed to be cared for and understood. You were more than happy to give that to him.

“Darling, I need-“ Leon’s request stuck in his throat, hips kicking up, cock jumping as you ground down hard against his thigh. The pressure on your clit pulled a small sigh out of you. You started to pick up your pace, riding his thigh in earnest now.

“What do you need, hmm?” You smiled wide at Leon, his hands flexing as he tried to move to touch you. He let out a frustrated groan.

“Need to see you, s-since I can’t touch.” You dropped your eyes, scanning over Leon’s naked body, still covered in scars and healing bruises. Your gaze stopped at his cock, hard and lying up against his toned stomach. You could see how flushed the tip looked, slick pre-cum dripping, pooling where his cock met skin. Your mouth watered, you simply couldn’t help it. A very vocal part of you wanted to lean down, lap up his mess and take him into your mouth. Later, you promised yourself.

You, of course, were still dressed. You wanted to give Leon a show. These ‘re-associations’ were to be as involved and lengthy as possible, Dr. Woolf had mentioned. Anything to give Leon’s mind more incentive to replace the bad with the good.

“You wanna see me?” You teased as you ran your hands along your body, fingers teasing under the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing - stolen from Leon’s drawer.

“Fuck, yeah please l-let me see you angel,” Leon nodded fervently, his words were starting to slur together slightly. You always liked seeing Leon lose his poise and control, your strong-willed boyfriend squirming and begging underneath you. It didn’t happen often but you relished in the moments Leon would let you in like that, let you take care of him, show you his trust. “…shit baby you look so good in my clothes.”

“Okay baby, you’re such a good boy for asking.” You smirked as you swung your legs over to kneel next to Leon, needing to remove your lounge clothes. He whined and bucked his hips at the loss of contact, your own slick shiny and cooling on his thigh. Leon just stared at you hungrily. He’d been so patient for you, so good, so you teased the hem of the t-shirt before pulling it off in one quick movement, dropping it off the side of the bed onto the floor.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Leon’s eyes darted to your chest, taking in the sight. You blushed lightly. Leon always looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole, like you were the only other person in the entire world, like he loved and desired nothing more than you. Wanting to hide your blushing cheeks, you leaned down quickly to kiss him, chaste and soft given the current circumstances. The chains rattled again as he moved to reach for you.

“You’re so good to me,” You whispered as you sat up to pull your sleep shorts and panties down and off. You shuddered as the cold air met your soaked cunt. Leon went slack jawed, his cock jumping slightly off his belly.

“‘Course sweet thing,” his voice was gruff, filled with want as he stared at your dripping core. You discarded your shorts onto the floor next to your top before moving to straddle Leon’s hips this time. You firmly dropped down to drag your slick cunt against Leon’s cock, the tip bumping against your clit. Leon moaned low and deep, his look of shock immediately replaced by his eyes rolling back into his head. Your own breathing started getting ragged, you wanted nothing more than to slip him inside but you had to control yourself, you really wanted to do this right, to make this last.

“C’mon baby, ride me,” Leon’s hips pushed up, attempting to slide in whenever you bucked your hips forward. You shuddered, slowly but surely losing the will to tease. It was especially hard when Leon was looking up at you like that, like he was about to cry. “W-wanna make you come.”

“Yeah?” You groaned loudly, losing the rest of any willpower you had before reaching down to line up his thick cock with your dripping hole. You slammed your hips down hard, a sharp smack mingled with the loud moans of you both. It burned, the sudden stretch, but that didn’t matter when Leon filled you up perfectly, you just couldn’t help it, you craved that feeling. You could see a flash of frustration in his eyes as you slowly started fucking yourself on him. You could feel him shift beneath you, feet planted on the mattress so he could find his own pace. You leaned forward, back arched as your chest met his as you tucked your face into his neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-“ Leon chanted softly, groaning as he thrust up into your tight, wet cunt. The sounds were obscene, you felt impossibly wet, Leon’s pre-cum mixing with your slick.

You finally gained your wits enough to push back into his thrusts, angling your own hips just right so each thrust hit the right spot. You had heard Leon wince as your nails dug into his shoulders, but it barely registered as you barrelled toward your own orgasm, hanging onto Leon like a lifeline.

“Gonna … gonna come baby, you’re gonna make me come,” you felt Leon’s cock throb inside you as his own thrusts grew erratic. “Unlock the cuffs f’me darling, wanna touch” he squeezed his eyes shut, and let out a sigh. You stilled your hips, leaning over to the nightstand to grab the small key. Leon took advantage of your position to lap and bite at your nipple. You leaned into the sensation.

“L-leon please,” you reached over to unlock one of the cuffs finally allowing Leon’s hands down. He remained limp, pliant under you.

That is, until you unlocked the second cuff.

He pushed himself up quickly, slipping out of you, rolling you both over until he was firmly planted between your thighs and had you pinned down by your wrists. You were about to whine from the emptiness when you felt him slide back into you, bottoming out in one quick motion.

Leon set a frantic pace from there, pushing your knees together and leaning over to press them to your chest, his eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows furrowed as you took him even deeper. You could feel the tip of his cock nudge against your cervix with every thrust, sending small sparks of pain through your abdomen, but it only made the fire in your belly grow hotter, made your skin tingle all over.

“Ah, ah, ah, fuck, Leon!” You bit through gritted teeth, losing all the poise and confidence you had when you controlled the pace. Leon’s fingers intertwined with yours and you held on for dear life, unable to do

“so fuh-fucking good for me baby, taking me so well,” Leon moaned. It took all the energy you had left to open your eyes just to see Leon lean closer, his soft hair falling over his brow and his jaw locked, willing every bit of his body not to let go yet, he wasn’t done with you. He leaned even closer to kiss you. “You were meant to take this cock right? Only you. Your pussy is so tight huh, angel? Fuck you were made for me weren’t you?”

All you could do was nod dumbly, squeezing your eyes shut as the fire raged inside both of you. Leon was relentless, fucking into you hard and fast, like a man starved, every thrust hitting the perfect spot inside you. The pressure was building, and you couldn’t really hear what you were saying anymore, you were just babbling about how perfect your cock is, and fuck me, I love you.

Leon’s pace started to falter, just as you felt your orgasm approaching, but that didn’t matter, as you felt him move to pull out. But you simply couldn’t have that. “No, no, no, no! Come in me Leon, baby, please!” You whined, squirming underneath him. “Wanna feel you, puh-lease, fuck!”

Leon growled lowly, “You want my cum darling?” There was no more teasing as he lined his cock back up with your puffy, fucked out cunt. Yes, and please, fell out of your mouth like a chant even before he was finished the question.

“Come in me please, Leon, ‘m close, so close.” And who was he to deny you a single thing? Leon grunted as he started up his brutal pace again, only managing several more thrusts before slamming into you, bottoming out, as he fucked his cum deep inside you. You clenched hard at the throbbing warmth, your soft, tight cunt milking every last drop out of Leon.

“That’s right, good baby. Take it all. So good just f’me, hmm?” You moaned, nodding weakly, still trying to push your hips against his. The fire raged on in you, your cunt was begging for release.

“Wanna come, make me come Leon, please, need it.” You whined, putting on the best pout you could manage. Leon chuckled lightly at the sight before pulling out and letting your legs down gently. You were about to complain when Leon leaned in to leave kisses all over the column of your throat, down to your breasts and over your soft stomach before he laid himself down between your legs.

Your hands reached out to tangle in his hair as he started suckling little marks in the crease of your thigh, so close to where you needed him.

“Duh-don’t tease,” you whispered, tugging lightly on his strands and bucking your hips up, hoping he’d take the hint. And so he did. You felt yourself melting into the mattress from the very first slow drag of his tongue. Leon seemed content fucking his cum even further into you with his tongue. You sighed and moaned and the fire in your belly burned bright again. You felt his fingers run their way up the inside of your thigh. He pushed two fingers inside, replacing his tongue, crooking them and fucking you, hard and fast. You felt the pressure building quickly, and your cunt squeezed down hard.

“Gonna come Leon, you’re gonna make me co-“ Leon chose that very moment to latch his mouth over your poor, neglected clit and suck. You finally felt that heat snap as you came, gushing out all over Leon’s hand and face. He continued fucking you through it, the wet sounds positively obscene as your sensitive cunt twitched and dripped. Leon didn’t stop until you were twitching from overstimulation. You had to drag his face away by the iron grip you still had on his hair. He winced lightly as he moved up the bed to drape his body over you. “Sorry,” you whispered, easing up on his hair, followed by “Thank you.”

“No, thank you!” Leon said as he nuzzled into your neck. You both just laid there, panting for a while, locked in a warm embrace. You dozed in and out of sleep, waking just enough to feel Leon starting to move his hips and feeling something warm and hard pressing up against your thigh.

“Really Leon?” You mumbled, amused. “Already?”

Leon just chuckled, pushing himself up to lean over you and line his hips up with you again, slowly sinking back into your wet, warm cunt. “Can you blame me?”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon s kennedy #re4r leon #ns/ft #idk what possessed me to write and post this considering i haven't written in like a decade but anyway #my own works #idk how good this is lol

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uhohwhathaveidone · 1 year

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Hi I love your work! I absolutely adore the Slytherin boys so could you do angsty-fluff for Ominis, Sebastian and reader?

Pretty please can you write about them being worried when reader doesn't react to crucio? Like an "I've survived worse" type of thing? Like it 100% hurt, because the door opens but they're used to just toughing it out?

Idk just a random idea I've had.

I am so sorry I got carried away.

What Happened to You (S.S)/(O.G)

I've been told to warn you that this contains big violence as well as trauma and abuse and violence and no I will not tell you how I made the trauma. Please enjoy, I'm going to get pudding now.

You stood beside Sebastian and Ominis, looking around the room for a way out. When you walked into the room, Sebastian had assured you that the skeleton on the ground was just to scare people off, until he was left stuttering as the door behind you closed, locking you in. “You were saying, Sebastian?” Ominis scoffed, beginning to pace. You shook your head as you walked over to the door opposite of you, its design almost haunting. You sighed as you ran a hand over its surface, tracing the faces engraved in the black stone, searching for a latch or something similar that would unlock the door. Sebastian walked up behind you, following your hand as he tried to think of a way out. “If both doors are locked, then the skeleton you mentioned.” Ominis said, walking over to the two of you. “That’s a real person?”

You huffed, turning to Ominis and putting your hand on his shoulder, giving it an assuring squeeze. “We’ll be fine, I promise.” He smiled slightly as he nodded, his head hung as he listened to Sebastian mutter to himself. You walked around the room, looking at every crack in the wall for something to open the door with, but to no avail. You sighed in frustration, sliding down the side of a wall and burying your face into your hands. Sebastian watched you in silence, frowning as he watched you pick at your fingers. He walked over and offered his hand to you, which you took as he pulled you up and gave you a small smile. “We’ll get out of this, we always do.” You nodded, turning your head to Ominis as he scoffed. “We’ve never gotten stuck in a room with two locked doors, not to mention that there is a skeleton right next to us!”

You frowned, looking over at the skeleton that lay next to the door, bare of any flesh. It had been there for a while, whoever it was that was last down here died alone. You squinted slightly, leaning forward as you continued to exam the bones, finding a slip of parchment near where you assumed the hand was. Sebastian and Ominis stood behind you as you bent down and picked it up, careful not to damage the aged paper. You unfolded the note and studied what was written, the hurried scribbles barely legible. “What does it say?” Sebastian asked, peering over your shoulder to get a look. You frowned as you went over the note once again. “She died alone, even when she knew how to escape, she was alone.” Ominis furrowed his brows, “Even when she could escape? Why didn’t she then?” Your gaze darkened as you turned to the two boys, a graze expression taking over your features.

“She needed another person, so she could cast the spell that would open the door.” Sebastian frowned, looking over at the door. “What kind of spell did she need that she couldn’t do it alone?” You folded the note and placed it in your pocket, walking over to the door. “The Cruciuatus Curse.” Ominis’ eyes widened as he stood, frozen. Sebastian’s gaze darkened as well, looking at the door as he began to understand the dark design on its surface. “It’s the only way to get out. I’m not sure how she figured it out, but it says to use Crucio on someone, and the door will unlock.” You said, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked between the two boys. Sebastian avoided your gaze as he looked down at his feet, a sad, worried look had etched itself on Ominis’ face as he looked in your direction. “So, one of us has to cast it on another.” Sebastian whispered. You nodded.

“I’m sorry, but I refuse to take part in this.” Ominis stated, walking away from you. You sighed as you nodded your head. “We won’t force you, Ominis. But that means that you and I must decide.” You said, looking at Sebastian. He continued to avoid your gaze as he nodded slowly. “It’s going to be painful, Sebastian. For both parties.” He nodded again as he paced, muttering to himself. You watched in worry as he continued to pace around the room, unable to understand what he was saying. Ominis stood farther away, near the door you had come in from, frowning as he mumbled to himself about how absurd the situation was. You took a breath as you walked to Sebastian, putting a hand on his shoulder and stopping him. “Cast it on me.” Sebastian’s eyes widened as he looked at you, shaking his head. Ominis spoke from where he stood, concerned. “Absolutely not! Are you insane?” “I won’t do that, not to you. Why would you ask that of me?” You furrowed your brows as you looked over at the door. “We need to get out, and I won’t be learning the curse just to cast it on you. If we don’t do this, we’ll be here until we die, and I’d rather not die in a room under the castle, even with the two of you by my side.” You stared into Sebastian’s eyes, determined to get your point across. You watched as Sebastian’s eyes glossed over as he tapped his wand on his leg. “Are you sure? You know that this spell literally tortures you, right?” You nodded as you gave him a reassuring smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ominis covered his ears as you moved to stand in front of the door, readying yourself. Sebastian gave you another worried glance as he readied his wand, practically begging you to reconsider. You held your ground, however, as you nodded to him, letting him know you were ready. You braced yourself as Sebastian raised his wand, brows furrowed as he sent the spell your way. You groaned as you stood your ground, holding your side as your blood boiled. You quietly gasped for air as you felt your lungs squeezed what little oxygen was left in them. You gritted your teeth as you looked over to the door, watching as it began to move, the red light that surrounded you now spreading over the door’s surface. Sebastian watched you with wide eyes as you stood your ground, unsure about what he should do. Ominis furrowed his brows as he slowly removed his hands from his ears, walking over slowly in surprise as you sighed.

“Ah, there we are,” You breathed, shaking your head as the last bits of the spell ran their course. You stretch your back as you turn to the door, looking at the two boys. “Are you…okay?” Ominis asked, frowning as he looked in your direction. You shrugged, “Yeah. It hurt, of course, but other than that I’m fine.” Sebastian looked at you in what felt like horror, grabbing your shoulder, and turning you towards him. “Fine? That spell is supposed to leave even the strongest wizards on the ground, and you claim to be fine?” You shrugged, frowning as you looked into Sebastian’s eyes. “Yes, I’m fine. We should get going, though.” You said, turning back to the door. “We don’t know if it’ll lock us in here again, and I personally don’t want to do that again.”

The three of you walked into the next room and continued your adventure, Ominis and Sebastian constantly keeping an eye on you as you went. When you exited and made your way back to where the rest of the students were, you turned to Sebastian and Ominis. “I’ll catch up with you two later, yeah?” Sebastian grabbed your arm before you could turn to leave, a serious look on his face. “We need to talk, y/n.” You sighed and quirked a brow. “About what?” “About what happened in that room, obviously.” Ominis responded, his worried eyes meeting your own. “Later, then. I have some things I need to do.” With that, you quickly escaped Sebastian’s grasp and walked away. Ominis turned to Sebastian as he shook his head. “I have a feeling we won’t hear something we like, if we hear anything at all.” Sebastian nodded, looking down the hall you had vanished down.

The boys eventually cornered you a few days later, claiming that you needed to talk about what had happened. “I heard that it’s best to discuss moments like this to better get an understanding of it. That’s what my uncle said, at least.” Sebastian stated, gesturing for you to sit next to him in the grass. You sighed as you complied, watching as Ominis sat down next to you. “We used the spell, we got out. That’s all there is, you were there.” You explained, crossing your legs as you leaned your back against the tree behind you. Sebastian shook his head, narrowing his gaze at you. “That’s not what I meant. Look, I applaud you for handling the spell so well, but people aren’t supposed to be left standing afterwards.” Ominis nodded beside you, leaning his back against the trunk of the tree with you, brushing his shoulder against your own. “You handled it well, too well. We just wanted to know if you wanted to talk about it, maybe shed some light?” He said, closing his eyes as he felt a breeze blow by. “It could give us some insight on what we can do, boundaries if you will. Ominis uses them, that’s why I didn’t ask him to participate in the spell casting.” You hung your head as you listened to their voices, reassuring you that you could trust them like they trusted you, telling you that you could refuse if you wanted to.

“I had some trouble in the past, it helped me tolerate pain, I suppose.” You said, closing your eyes. “Do you want to leave it at that?” Sebastian asked, his calm tone easing you as you felt your heartbeat. You shook your head, sighing. “There’s more, if you want to know.” “In your own time, no rush.”

“My family was well known; they knew all our business because my father was in the Ministry. He didn’t like that my mother was helping me learn magic at a young age and would often scold me if he caught me. She would tell him that I was gifted with strong magic that needed to be exercised at a young age, but he wouldn’t have it.” You began. “Sometimes, he would threaten me, push me around and point his wand at me, telling me if he caught me again, I would be in big trouble. I was only 5. If my mother was out when he got home, he’d dismiss the nanny and wait for her to leave before he would sit me down and have a talk with me.” You paused, staring at some blades of grass that swayed in the breeze, calming you. “I didn’t like those talks. Sometimes he’d take his wand out, and he’d point it at my arm or legs, catching my skin of fire for a short moment before extinguishing it. He told me to stop listening to my mother, saying if I didn’t, he’d find a new way to get his point across.” You watched as they both frowned, not speaking as they waited for you to continue. “One day, he got back from work and found my mother and I practicing again; he wasn’t supposed to be home yet. I guess he had enough of me at that point; he didn’t even take out his wand, he just went to the kitchen and started yelling, coming back with a knife. My mother tried to push him away, but he threw her across the room and kept coming for me, said he was going to gut me like an animal.” You placed a hand to your chest, frowning. “He got me too; I have a nasty scar on my chest from it. He almost killed me, but my mother stopped him. Used the killing curse on him, and he dropped right in front of me.” Another pause. “They sent her to Azkaban and sent me to live with my father’s sister. The paper got ahold of the story pretty fast too, and everyone in the town my aunt lived in knew about it. They would console her, telling her they were sorry she had to take care of me, blaming my mother for everything.” You scoffed. “Why wouldn’t they? My father was an important man, did no wrong; he didn’t do anything to get himself killed. The kids threw stones at me, and their parents would talk about me, calling me a sin and claiming that I would go to Azkaban one day to be with my mother.” You felt Ominis place his head on your shoulder, quietly reassuring you as you continued. “There was a man in the town that used to be friends with my father; he would smile at me whenever I went outside. He was nice, until he asked me to help him get something from the shed, claiming he was too big to go under something to grab the tool he dropped. I went, too. He locked it behind us and grabbed me, threatening me with a knife, claiming that I had something of his, that my dad would have given me it before he died. I still don’t know what he was talking about. He almost killed me, if it wasn’t for the fact that one of the muggles in the town saw him lock me in there. He was taken away, and the adults blamed me for it. Said he was a good man, and that I must have used whatever magic my mother taught me to coerce him into what he did.” You shook your head. “My aunt didn’t want me going outside without her after that. I guess I became numb to it all. I thought that spell would hurt a lot more than it did, honestly. But perhaps it’s a good thing?”

You sat there in silence, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “I remember what the neighbor told me the day that man got arrested.” You sighed. “Your fate is sealed. You’re doomed to continue this life until you are completely destroyed. You only lived to die another day.” You shuddered, letting out a laugh as you tried to ease the tension. “It makes sense, with what we’ve been doing. Still, it was rather unnerving.” Sebastian watched you with wide eyes, confused. Ominis had taken his head off your shoulder to give you a worried look, which you shrugged off. “That’s awful! How are you okay with that, and why did you take the curse after all that?” Sebastian asked, shifting his body to face you. You sniffled slightly as you watched the sun set, your tears still present. “I don’t know. I didn’t want either of you to endure that pain, I suppose. Who better than me, I knew I could handle it.” Ominis took your hand into his, sighing. “Even so, no one should go through that again, especially a spell like that.”

“No more dangerous activities for the time being.” Sebastian stated as he stood up. “I’m banning it until further notice. For now, we shall do less dangerous things, like trips to Hogsmeade and study sessions in the library.” You chuckled as you shook your head, pulling Ominis up with you as you stood. “If all the more fun activities are banned, what should we do now?” You asked. Sebastian brought his hand to his chin as he looked over the grounds. “Perhaps we take a walk, shake away the bad and soak in what’s left of the sun.” Ominis nodded and smiled, squeezing your hand as you grabbed Sebastian’s, who began to drag the two of you down to a path to begin your walk.

#sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt imagine #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt #hurt/comfort #angst #angst and fluff #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy

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akutasoda · 7 months

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Greetings! This is my first time requesting on tumblr so please lmk if I was specific enough? I really liked your headcanons about the Obey Me brothers with a rebellious teen mc, and I was wondering if you could do one with the dateables (platonic ofc)

If you feel comfortable, maybe the mc has a lot of trauma and subconsciously latches on to them as a healing parental/family figure? If you’re not comfortable adding that, just ignore the last part.

Have a nice day! (^_<)〜☆

try me

undateables wave 1

synopsis - first impressions in the devildom did solely depend on your current rebellious stage

includes - diavolo, barbatos, simeon, solomon - all platonic

warnings - gn!teen!reader, reader is mentioned to have undescribed past trauma, fluff, slight crack/angst, wc - 803

a/n: hello! thank you and hope your doing well! if you want the other dateables lmk!!

diavolo ★↷

↪he had found your little rebbelions entertaining. from the very first moment he couldn't explain why but he loved the kind of challenges he reckons the new exchange student would bring - much to both lucifers and barbatos dismay. although it couldn't be help when the little nagging feeling of wanting to protect you arose.

↪he never minded when you sought out his presence, never really catching on to why but always excused barbatos when he asked why. maybe he would eventually catch on as to why or maybe you told him. either way when he found out, that urge to protect you grew and he became determined to heal those memories.

↪his duties may keep him busy quite often but he would always make compromise to be with you, especially if something triggered a particularly bad memory. additionally just enjoys spending time with you, he took on the role as your healing/parental figure as if it was always that way.

barbatos ★↷

↪when you had first arrived in devildom he was only concerned about your age considering you would be staying in a place like this. sure your initial display of defiance would concern him more but he didn't really care for that. he was one of the only people to properly read your files afterall.

↪and as time went along he would notice how you naturally gravitated toward him for anything. he could probably guess the reason and never would press you to tell him. he wouldn't mind being your new parental/healing figure as atleast he knew someone was doing it right - and he enjoyed being with you almost to the point were he truly saw you as his own younger sibling.

↪would additionally always be the first at your side to comfort you whenever some form of trauma resurfaced, no matter what he was doing prior. always looking to replace those bad memories with newer, better ones. would very much grow accustomed to having you around and would always feel slightly worse when he hadn't seen you that day.

simeon ★↷

↪simeon was quite confused when he first met you as the new exchange student. he did feel a concern with someone as young as you being in such a place, let alone with that attitude. but he knew it wasn't his place to object so he did take it upon himself to look out for you whenever possible.

↪then he started noticing how you always sought his presence out - truth be told, his kind nature meant you naturally started gravitating towards him ad your new parental/healing figure. and however he found out he didn't mind, in fact he was rather glad. not about why you were doing this, but glad you had chosen him as now he knew he wanted to replace any bad memories with better ones.

↪your rebellious nature didn't phase him, in fact he did find it quite amusing at times - not when you nearly out yourself in danger however. he would never ask for a full explanation unless you willingly gave it to him as he knew it was a sore subject. overall just really took it upon himself to look out for you.

solomon ★↷

↪he didn't quite know what to think when he learnt the new exchange student was in fact a teenager. but then he found out your in your rebellious phase and loved it. he knew you would bring a certain essence to the program and he was there for it.

↪despite the brothers protest in you not listening to them when they told you to avoid solomon, you did and quickly saw him as your parental/healing figure. he wasn't oblivious and knew straight away when you started hanging out with him more and more. especially when you would always ask for his opinion or for him to do stuff with you - and he happily obliged to any of it.

↪he knew how important having a healing figure in your life would be, so he wanted to offer you a better time than whatever you faced before coming to the devildom. he also loves your rebellious behaviour and finds it very fun especially when you deny lucifer.

#x reader #x gender neutral reader #obey me x gn!mc #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x you #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me diavolo #diavolo x mc #diavolo x reader #obey me barbatos #barbatos x mc #barbatos x reader #obey me simeon #simeon x mc #simeon x reader #obey me solomon #solomon x mc #solomon x reader

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mageknight14 · 3 months

Text

"Trust Your Partner": How NEO TWEWY Deconstructs and Reconstructs the Original

I think one of the most interesting things NEO TWEWY does as a sequel is how it takes the original’s game motif of "trust your partner" and explores that to show the negative downsides of that mindset before rebuilding it up again through new lenses.

In the original, "trust your partner" is a motif that’s there to encourage Neku to learn that it’s okay to be vulnerable and that not everyone in the world is out to get you. That you can become strong enough to withstand any emotional hardships that come your way.

In the ending, Neku is rewarded for taking this lesson to heart and being unable to bring himself to shoot Joshua due to a combination of coming to value their relationship and still subconsciously trusting Joshua to do the right thing even in spite of everything he had done to him by getting revived back to life alongside the friends he had made connections with. He can't forgive Joshua for what he had done but he still trusts him regardless and it's a dynamic that still holds true in NEO.

In OG TWEWY, this lesson works for Neku because almost everyone in the game was acting in good faith, doing what they felt was the right thing in the long-run. This was essential towards helping Neku learn to heal from the trauma caused by the death of his best friend and have him open up again. That even if he gets emotionally hurt, he can still keep moving forward.

But NEO looks at that motif and explores a different side to it, showing how the original lesson can be taken into an unsavory direction if exploited by certain kinds of people or their mindsets. How bad faith actors can and will destroy you if you’re not careful. This is a theme that the game thoroughly explores, from Shiba’s relationships with the Shinjuku Reapers and Kubo to Rindo’s dynamic with Motoi, showing off the consequences of what blind faith and never questioning your idols can do.

However, I think the day that best exemplifies this theme in full is W3D2, the Shoka/Ayano day. I think it should be emphasized that Shoka and Ayano DO genuinely care for each other; their actions show that off incredibly well. However, it’s a relationship that’s been broken down by the events that happened around and between them. Ayano, unable to decide who to trust anymore in the chaos that’s happening around her, latches onto Shoka as a security blanket (she even names her iguana after her!) and tries to do everything to keep her at her side, even gaslight her, out of fear that she will abandon her too. An aspect of her that only gets worse as she gets possessed by Plague Noise.

She’s convinced herself that Shoka is just being led around by her emotions, not being able to see that she’s denying and suffocating Shoka’s agency, and that she’s secure in the choices that she’s made (though it’s understandable given what happens to former Reapers in the end).

On the other side of the coin, Shoka isn’t able to see for herself until the end that Ayano deeply, deeply misses Shinjuku and that trying to show her what life in Shibuya can be like has only depressed her even more, with Shibuya Survivor showing this in detail. She was simply content to have Ayano by her side, never fully thinking deeper about their relationship and its issues. And when Ayano is too far gone to the influence of the Plague Noise, Shoka throws all caution to the wind and tries to save her only to get herself killed.

All of this shows the limit of trusting your partner for both sides. Ayano can't see that Shoka’s made her own decision and is going to stick with it, and Shoka can't see with a lot of convincing and support that Ayano can't simply be talked down. In a way Ayano's trying to give her life to Shoka by "saving" her and dragging her back to the Shinjuku gang and leaving Shibuya to be destroyed but she can't or doesn't care about the city due to her trauma, so she can't realize that is what Shoka cannot and wouldn't want. We as people can always do our best to trust and understand as much as possible, but there's a hard limit to how much that can work. Some people are NOT going to agree or come to a conclusion and in a lot of cases, it can be painful and tragic but we hit the limit of that.

So what we CAN do is to try and soften the blow and trust and be kind/understanding to Shoka and in this case, the motif of "trust your partner" gets built up again via showcasing Rindo and Shoka’s relationship. These convos show off what it means to be a true friend, to listen to them when they tell you how the situation they’ve been through has affected them, and how that has to be enough, with Rindo assuring to Shoka multiple times that he trusts her and that he won’t abandon her. Maybe he won’t agree with what she decides but he helps her to feel secure in her own agency and come to decide what she truly wants to do, reinforcing what Neku had to learn: becoming emotionally strong enough to deal with what happens next.

And the game showcases that the original lesson still holds true: it was possible to talk Shiba down by appealing to his humanity/better nature and Rindo still gives Motoi a second chances even in spite of what he had done to him.

Having faith/trust in the inherent goodness of others is NOT a weakness but just like how there are people who act with good faith in mind, there are also others who WILL try to screw you over for their own intentions or mistakenly think that what they believe is best for you. And in a time where topics such as parasocial relationships, false information, and isolation are explored more and more, I think it’s an especially important lesson/topic to explore.

#neo twewy #the world ends with you #neo the world ends with you #twewy #ntwewy #shoka sakurane #ayano kamachi #rindo kanade #analysis post #neku sakuraba

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