ⶠrandom things : astrology , black cats , baking , music , pretty things , fairies , the color pink , crystals n my stuffie bunny !
my agere twt is @ / usedtobesosweet :3
send me asks here !
dni + what i will / wonât write under cut :3
will write: agere , petre , almost any yellowjackets pairing , rilaya with whichever dynamic , sfw , hurt / comfort !! i am rlly open 2 anything as long as itâs sfw :)
wonât write: any nsfw at all. ddlg , abdl , ageplay r absolutely not . if u will take it that way , pls dni !!!!!! i will not write any physical punishments either i am v against that . nothin icky !!
DNI: anti agere , racist , homophobic , zionist . nsfw blog of any kind , if u post kink , if u post or interact w ed / sh , if u r mean , racist , homophobic , transphobic , terf , cishet men.
tags: age regression (not explicitly stated), caregiver!mark, little!hellyna, hurt/comfort, pain from reintegration surgery, stubborn helena
if u couldnt tell inconsolable is my favorite song (i listened to it like 300 this week from writing this) please do enjoy :3
Helena woke with a sharp gasp, whimpering as she brought her hand up to her head, the sound tearing out of her before she could stop it. The pain hit before she could even comprehend it, raw, electric, blooming behind her eyes and down the back of her neck where the incision still pulled tight under fresh stitches. She hadnât even meant to fall asleep, but Mark had coaxed her into it with the soft patience heâd developed since he began dating Helena. âJust close your eyes, Honey. Iâll be right here.â Sheâd argued at first, of course. She always did when it came to taking care of herself, especially in ways she deemed selfish. But eventually the exhaustion had won.
Now the room was dim, afternoon light bleeding gold around the edges of the blackout curtains, and she felt⊠wrong.
Small?
Her legs were curled up like a kid trying to disappear into the mattress. Her chest rose and fell with a panic that had nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the fact that she shouldnât feel like this. She was Helena Eagan. Sheâs survived worse than this. But right now her throat was thick and her eyes burned and the only thing that made any sense was that she wants Mark to comfort her.
âMark?â
It came out high pitched, almost a whine. High and cracked and humiliating. She clapped a hand over her mouth too late.
Footsteps in the hall. Soft, quick. The door eased open.
She shoved her face into the pillow before he could see, muffling the sob that followed. The fabric smelled like the detergent heâd started buying because the scent didnât make her headaches worse. She hated how much she noticed things like that now.
Markâs weight dipped the mattress. The bed creaked gently under him.
âHey,â he said, voice low and careful, like he knew she needed something, and she was trying to pretend she didnât. âWhatâs wrong, baby?â
The endearment landed like a match on dry grass. She twisted herself, burying her face against his thigh instead of the pillow, arms wrapping around his waist like she could anchor herself there. Sheâd moved too fast, causing her head to hurt, and she whimpered again, the sound small and high and entirely foreign to her own ears.
âHurts,â she managed weakly. Her voice was still fragile, and childish. She hated it. She pressed closer anyway, forehead against the warm cotton of his shirt, breathing him in like he might vanish if she didnât. âMark.â She repeated.
His hand settled on the back of her head, fingers carding gently through her hairâcareful of the incision, as it was still raw, sheâd only gotten her stitches out last week. âI know it does. Youâve been pushing yourself.â
She shook her head against his leg, a tiny, stubborn motion. âIâm fine. Iâmââ Another sob choked her. She was not fine. She was unraveling in a way she couldnât name, like the surgery had cracked something open inside her that had been sealed shut for decades. She felt five years old and thirty at the same time, and the mismatch made her want to scream. People like her didnât get to be small. People like her didnât get held. They got corrected. They got told to stop crying. They got sent to the breakroom and forced to read the compunction statement.
Markâs thumb stroked slow circles at her temple. âYou donât have to be fine right now. Iâve got you.â
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But the old reflex was louder: Donât need. Donât ask. Donât let them see. So she cried harder instead, the kind of crying that hurt her ribs and made her nose run and left her shaking so badly she couldnât even form words. Every time he murmured something soft, âbreathe, Hel. Iâm here. Iâm not going anywhereâ, it only made it worse, like kindness was a language her body had forgotten how to accept.
âI donât- I canât-â She hiccuped, fingers fisting in his shirt. âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry.â Snot and tears soaked into her pant leg.
âYou donât have to be sorry about being in pain.â His voice is gentle and caring, and she felt the shift in his chest as he let out a slow breath. Heâd been reintegrated now long enough to know what it was like when the walls came down. He still had nights where he woke up feeling like he was two different people at once. But he hadnât yet had to watch someone else go through it while being fought every inch of the way.
Helena tried to pull back, to wipe her face, to at least look like she had control again. Markâs hand stayed gentle but firm, keeping her right where she was.
âStay,â he said quietly. âJust for a minute. Let me take it.â
She made a broken sound that mightâve been an agreement. The pain in her head was still vicious, but the bigger ache, the one that lived behind her sternum, the one that had been there long before the surgery, felt a fraction smaller with her face hidden against him and his hand in her hair.
She didnât understand why she felt like this. Why her body had decided that today, of all days, she needed to be small and loud and impossible to console. She only knew she couldnât stop, and Mark absolutely wasnât asking her to.
Instead, he just held her while she cried herself raw, whispering those three words until they started to stick somewhere deep she didnât have a name for yet.
âIâve got you, baby.â
Mark kept his hand steady in her hair, slow strokes. Every time her shoulders hitched with another sob, he let out a soft shushing sound, barely louder than breathing.
âIâve got you,â he said again, the words low and even as he leaned down to press a kiss to her head. âJust let it out, baby. Youâre safe.â
She hated how much she needed to hear it. Hated how the words made fresh tears spill faster down her cheeks and soak into his shirt. Her fingers stayed clenched in the fabric like a lifeline, knuckles white. She tried to speak, to tell him she was being ridiculous, that this was embarrassing, that she was Helena fucking Eagan and she did not cry like a child in someoneâs lap, but all that came out was a broken, pathetic, high-pitched whine.
âMark⊠hurtsâŠâ
âI know, baby.â His other hand moved to her back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades, noting the tension knotted there. âItâs all still fresh. The doctor said the first few days would be the worst. You donât have to pretend itâs not bad.â
She shook her head against his thigh, stubborn even now. âNot just⊠that.â Her voice cracked again, sounding far too young, far too small. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, as if she could will the feeling away. âI feel⊠wrong. âN too small. I donât know why.â
Mark was quiet for a moment, processing. He didnât understand it either, not really, but heâd felt fragments of it himself after Gemma had âdiedâ, and again after his own reintegration: moments where the world felt too big and his mind felt too little, where old wounds he couldnât name rose up and choked him. He didnât try to explain it. He just kept holding her.
âYou donât have to figure out the âwhyâ right now,â he murmured. âYou just have to let me help. Okay?â
Helena made a miserable sound, half sob, half protest. She wanted to push him away. She wanted to sit up, wipe her face, and tell him she could handle it alone like she always had. But her body wouldnât listen. Instead she burrowed closer, pressing her hot, wet cheek harder against his leg, seeking more of his warmth, more of the steady pressure of his hand.
âI donât⊠I canât need this,â she whimpered. âIâm not sâpposed toââ
âYouâre allowed to need it.â His voice was soft but firm, the same tone he used when heâd finally convinced her to lie down earlier. âYouâre allowed to hurt. Youâre allowed to cry. Iâm never going to leave you alone with it.â
Another wave of pain hit her, throbbing, stronger than the last. She cried harder, the kind of crying that left her gasping between sobs, her whole frame shaking. The pain in her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, but it was nothing compared to the terrifying relief, and fear, of being held while she fell apart. No one had ever stayed for this. No one had ever rubbed her back and told her it was okay to be inconsolable.
Mark shifted slightly, just enough to pull the edge of the blanket up over her shoulders without dislodging her from his lap. He leaned down, pressing another careful kiss to the top of her head. âShh, Iâve got you. Breathe with me, okay? In⊠slow. OutâŠâ
She tried. The inhale was shaky and too loud, but she followed the rise and fall of his chest as best she could. It helped, a little. Not enough to stop the tears, but enough that the panic didnât swallow her whole.
âYou took such good care of me when I was first reintegrated,â he said quietly after a while, still stroking her hair. âLet me do the same for you now. You donât have to be strong every second. Not with me.â
Helenaâs grip on his shirt loosened just a fraction, then tightened again like she was afraid heâd disappear if she let go. Her voice came out tiny and muffled against his leg.
âDonât go.â
âIâm not going anywhere,â he promised. âIâm right here. As long as you need.â
She cried until her throat was raw and her eyes felt swollen shut. Eventually the sobs tapered into hiccuping whimpers, her body exhausted from fighting both the pain and the overwhelming need to be comforted. Mark never once pulled away. He continued murmuring soft nonsense, promises, reassurances, little praises for breathing slowly, for letting him hold her, until she was limp and trembling in his lap, too drained to do anything but cling.
The afternoon light had shifted, softer now, painting the room in muted golds. Helena still felt small, still felt the strange young ache in her chest she couldnât name, but for the first time since waking, the weight inside her felt a little less crushing.
v hyperfixated on her right now i love her so much shes so tiny !!!!! possible fic coming soon too :3
- Helly doesnât have words for feeling âsmallâ or âlittle.â She just gets overwhelmed by big emotions or the endless sterile hallways, and suddenly everything feels too loud, too bright, too much.
- Sheâll curl up under her desk or in a corner of the storage room, knees to chest, rocking slightly without realizing it.
- The first time it happens, Irving spots her instantly. He knows better than to tell her to get back to work. Instead he sits nearby without crowding her, murmuring calm nonsense like âthe refining can wait a minuteâ until she uncurls enough to lean against his side.
- She fixates on small, colorful things the way a toddler mightâbright post-it notes, excited to discover other colors hidden in the back of the storage closet, she liked the neon pink the most. Irving taught her to fold them into different shapes; her favorite one he showed her was a heart.
- He realizes afterward that she doesnât know most shapes, so he shows her how to draw them. âVery good, Helly! That one is an oval.â Helly looks down proudly at the paper she copied his oval onto.
- Heâd made her a paperclip chain to fidget with when she needs a break from the work, especially on the harder daysâlike when her outie denied her resignation.
- Mark found her playing with the paperclip chain once and tried to take it away because it was âdistracting her from work.â She got very distressed, tears forming in her eyes. âItâs alright, Mark,â Irving says quietly. âSheâs 64% done with her file. Itâs not hurting anyone.â Mark disagrees but decides not to push it today.
- When sheâs deep in it, her speech gets simpler and more blunt, like a very young child testing words. She might say âNo want work. Wanâ go homeâ (even though she has no real concept of what âhomeâ is, she just knows itâs where people go when they donât feel well), or sheâll just repeat âIrv. Irving.â until he comes over. He never laughs or corrects her, just responds in the same gentle, patient tone: âOkay, Helly. Iâm here.â
- Physical comfort is huge for her because her body remembers what touch feels like, even if her mind has no context for it. Sheâll lean into Irvingâs side during quiet moments or tuck her head under his chin if theyâre sitting together in the storage room. Itâs pure, instinctive seeking of safety. Irving wraps an arm around her shoulders like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
- She has big, tantrum-like meltdowns when the frustration hits its peak. Slamming her hands on the desk or yelling wordlessly at the elevator doors. Irving never scolds; he just guides her gently to the hallway or the stairwell, lets her stomp it out, then offers a hand to hold until the storm passes. Afterward she gets embarrassed and snappy (âIâm not a babyâ), but he just shrugs and says, âEveryone needs a minute sometimes.â
- Irving starts noticing patterns and quietly creates little âsafeâ routines without ever calling them that. He might suggest they take a walk together when he sees her getting fidgety, or heâll share his apple slices cut into funny shapes (a skill he doesnât even know where he learned). He doesnât think anything of itâhe just sees sheâs âhaving a hard dayâ and this helps.
- Helly clings to childish Lumon things in secret defiance. Playing with the finger traps, for example. She knows Lumon infantilizes them on purpose, and part of her hates it, but another part (the small part) finds real, guilty joy in it anyway. Irving catches her once and doesnât judge; he just joins in quietly, twisting the trap with her until she giggles.
- When sheâs feeling extra tiny, she might hide behind Irving, peeking out like heâs a shield. He stands a little taller without thinking, blocking her from view as much as possible. Itâs unspoken protectionâLumonâs childish language and control tactics make her feel dehumanized, but Irvingâs steady presence makes her feel seen as a person, even a very small one.
- She doesnât understand why she sometimes wants to be held or rocked after a long day of fighting the system. Sheâll mutter âThis is stupidâ even as she crawls into Irvingâs lap while theyâre hiding in the storage room. He just lets her, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back, saying things like âItâs okay if itâs stupid. Itâs still okay.â
tags: little!tori , caregiver!michael , inspired by inconsolable by katie gavin , hurt / comfort
why is there SUCHHH a lack of little!tori content âčïž we as a society need to make more ASAP . if any of u have any requests plsplspls lmk and i will happily try to do so !!! i wrote this while listening to inconsolable on repeat so . my airbuds is in shambles rn . 177 plays in a week is insane , i hope u all enjoy & lmk what u think hehe !!
The snow fell in slow, fat flakes outside Tori Springâs bedroom window, blanketing the road outside in a quiet that felt heavier than usual. It was mid-December, barely three weeks since the chaos of Solitaireâs fallout had settled, and Tori sat cross-legged on her bed, the hood of her jumper pulled tight over her head. The room was dim, lit only by a single string of fairy lights draped over her headboard, the soft glow doing little to lift the weight pressing against her chest. Sheâd felt this way since that day, since the fire, since it finally ended. But it doesnât quite feel like itâs endedâeverything feels wrong, and weird, like the quiet was never meant to come.
Sheâd barely left her room since. No school. No obligations. Just timeâtoo much of it. Charlie was worried, hovering and anxious, and her parents were starting to knock a little more often. Michael came over nearly every day, refusing to let her disappear completely. He never made her talk if she didnât want to. He just⊠existed near her. That was all she could handle.
There were two knocks on her door before it creaked open. âI brought gifts,â Michael called, his voice lighter than she felt. He stepped inside, carrying a thermos in one hand and a mismatched pair of mittens in the other, his glasses fogged from the cold. âTori Spring,â he declared, tossing his coat onto her desk chair. âI have arrived to rescue you from the winter doldrums.â
She didnât look up. Her arms curled tighter around her legs, fingers hooked into the cuffs of her jumper sleeves. Michaelâs presence always lit up a roomâbut today, it was too much. Too bright, too alive. Her head felt like thick cotton, muffling everything. His voice faded into static.
Michael hesitated, his smile faltering as he took in her posture. She looked like she was folding in on herself, smaller than usual. Not just tired. Fragile. A shape he was beginning to recognize.
A week ago, over a diet lemonade in his cluttered kitchen, sheâd told him about age regression. Not in those exact wordsânot at first. Just a few broken sentences about how sometimes she didnât feel like herself, sometimes she felt younger. She expected him to laugh, or worse, pretend he hadnât heard. But heâd listened. Really listened. Asked quiet questions. Didnât push.
Now, as he sat beside her, he noticed the signs heâd read about it on tumblr since then: the way her shoulders curled inward, the way her fingers fidgeted like they were searching for something soft to hold. The way her socked feet shifted against the bed like she didnât know what to do with them.
âTori,â he said gently, tapping her knee. âYou okay in there?â
She shrugged, the motion barely more than a twitch. Her hood slipped back a little, revealing red, puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks. âJust tired,â she murmured, voice breathy and high, like a much younger version of herself.
Michaelâs chest squeezed. âOkay,â he said. No jokes, no theatrics. Just soft.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a glittery lizard keychain, a silly squishy thing heâd found in a charity bin. âI brought you a friend,â he said, holding it out. âSparkle Lizard. One of a kind.â
Her gaze flicked to it, then away, then back again. She reached out slowly, like she wasnât sure she was allowed to want it. When it was finally in her hands, she gripped it tightly, squeezing the plastic and watching the glitter shift inside. Her breathing evened slightly. Her fingers stilled.
âItâs stupid,â she whispered, but she didnât let go.
Michael grinned. âYeah. Itâs stupid. Thatâs why itâs perfect.â
A quiet passed. Toriâs thumb ran over the lizardâs rubbery back. She sniffled.
âDid you know,â Michael said softly, âbaby lizards, when they hatch, just go straight to the river. No one has to tell them. They just know.â
Tori blinked slowly, tilting her head toward him. Her lip quirked. âWhat does that have to do with anything?â she asked, even smaller now.
âYou werenât shown comfort, you dont know how to be helped.â he said, his voice barely above a whisper. âYou think you have to be taught how to let people in. But some things⊠you just know. You donât have to earn softness. Or prove youâre small enough to need it.â
Her mouth trembled. She clutched the lizard to her chest.
Michael reached for the faded star-patterned blanket at the foot of her bed and carefully tucked it around her shoulders. âNow youâre Tori Spring, superhero of the winter haze,â he said gently. âAnd superheroes can have bad days. Theyâre allowed to need a sidekick.â
Tori didnât speak, but she noddedâbarelyâand leaned closer, her head brushing his shoulder. He stayed perfectly still, letting her lead.
She started rocking slightly, tiny motions like a child trying to self-soothe. âI dunno why Iâm like this,â she whispered, like her words slightly blurred together now. âFeels like Iâm too⊠broken or big orââ Her voice cracked. ââor not normal.â
âYouâre not broken,â Michael said. âYouâre just hurting. And hurting makes people small. Thatâs not weird. Thatâs just real.â
She nodded again, curling her knees tighter to her chest. âI feel⊠five,â she whispered, barely audible. âOr maybe four. Or littler. I dunno.â
Michaelâs heart twisted. âThatâs okay,â he said simply. âYou can be four. Or littler. Iâve got enough marshmallows for at least three toddlers, so youâre in good hands.â
He poured the hot chocolate carefully, filling a small ceramic mug she had used for a diet lemonade earlier in the day, empty now. It was a mug sheâd used as a childâit still had faded cartoon dinosaurs on it. When he handed it over, she took it with both hands, sipping slowly. The marshmallows clung to her upper lip. She didnât notice.
Michael reached forward, wiping the marshmallow gently away with the sleeve of his own jumper. She didnât pull back. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second.
They sat like that for a whileâTori nestled into the blanket, cradling the squishy lizard, her dinosaur mug resting warm in her lap. Michael stayed by her side, reading her breathing like a rhythm, steady and safe.
âMichael?â she whispered after a long time.
âYeah?â
âThanks for⊠not makinâ me feel weird.â
He gave her the softest smile. âNever,â he said. âNot ever.â
And outside, the snow kept falling, but inside, it felt a little less heavy, like maybe they could get by, just by going with the feeling.
dni if: youâre going to sexualize this, anti agere, if ur blog isnât suitable for kids !
- stuffie collector . she loves stuffies soso much , wolves are her absolute favorite
- doesnât regress too young , usually 9-12 , however sometimes she regresses younger , especially when itâs impure reg
- cuddles . she loves cuddles , and watching a comfort movie / show . she doesnât like playing as much because she always feels silly , but michael got her star wars legos one time , she she loved putting them together so much that he continued to get them every now and then to trick her into playing
- of course , star wars is a very big comfort to her . she loves it so much and she will happily tell you any fact that she can about it , especially when sheâs little !
- michael is her carer of course , and she calls him bear , neither of them really know when it started , but they love it . because of it , michael started calling her mouse because of how quiet she is , especially when sheâs regressed . so theyâre bear n mouse ! ^_^
- she loves to be read to , especially before bed . sometimes it makes her regress younger , but she doesnât ever admit that because sheâs still getting used to sharing this part of herself .
- MASTER at mario kart . she gets extra competitive about it when sheâs little , itâs super serious .
- if sheâs little and michael isnât around , nick & charlie usually are , and will babysit her for the time being . nick will playfully accuse her for cheating on mario kart and she gets super offended as she wins the game for the sixth time
- if charlieâs little at the same time she loves it , because she gets to baby her little brother more than she can when heâs big , even if he pouts and squirms when she ruffles his hair !
- her favorite stuffie is a wolf that charlie got her for christmas when he was 5 , that was when the obsession with wolf stuffies began . she calls him wolfie and thinks he takes away the bad dreams .
do not interact if ! : you post nsfw often , if you are anti age regression , if you will be rude , you post ed / sh related things . agere is not sexual in any way , shape , or form .
ages 1-4 !
nat was the first person misty allowed see her when she was little
was scared of the other girls finding out , and it giving them another reason to think sheâs weird
sensitive little , cries often & hates when people point out how sensitive she is .
she absolutely loves mlp & tells nat that sheâs pinkie pie and nat is rainbow dash ( because they Are )
big stuffed animal lover . she has so so so many and loves that build-a-bears have clothes , because she can dress them up in different outfits and she loves that .
very big autistic!misty , because of course i am . nothing can convince me sheâs not autistic .
because of this , i believe she definitely has sensory issues . that little bit on socks ? she hates it . it makes her want to scream .
she is also such a kitty ! THE kitty regressor ever . definitely meows expecting someone to meow back , and gets sad when people ( nat specifically ) donât meow back
speaking of meow , she thinks meowsty is the funniest thing ever and if shes writing her name , 9/10 she writes meowsty .
loves that colorful hair chalk because its pretty and always asks nat to do it for her
dad!nat with mama!lottie and little!misty . . . are you walking with me ?
they would be the best caregivers , especially for misty :(
always being gentle when she needs it , they help her calm if sheâs super anxious or having a bad drop . they never tell her sheâs a bad girl because they know it will only make her feel bad .
