Summary:Severus Snape never asked for a distraction, but the one he receives the first morning of a new term will have to do.
Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (Physical Abuse; Black Eye; Professor!Severus Snape; Mentor!Severus Snape; Slytherin!Reader; Hogwarts Student!Reader; Implied/Referenced Child Abuse; Implied/Referenced Abuse; Implied/Referenced Sexual Abuse; Anxiety; References to Depression; Lily Evans & Severus Snape Friendship)
Requester:Anonymous
Request: “Please the one where se*ually and physically abused slytherin comes to Snape for help, without the detailed description of the assault plz. She suffers from anxiety and clinical depression. Snape is cold at first and then gets really protective and angry.”
Notes: Here’s another request from Tumblr, my first Harry Potter one. I’ve never written a platonic relationship between a student and teacher before (or a romantic one, for that matter)—and oddly this is only the first of a handful of these kinds of requests I have on my list now. I hope that I did a decent job.
Please keep in mind while reading this that some of things Severus says may not be the best thing to say in a situation like this. He’s a wizard, and not a trained Healer at that, so I tried to think of what he might say in this situation instead of what he shouldsay.
“Resourceful” Is Not a Dirty Word
Another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry began just as the ten prior for Potions Master Severus Snape. He ate a meager breakfast as quickly as possible so as to avoid spending any more time than necessary with students outside his house or classroom. He made forced polite conversation with Minerva until she finally handed over that year’s class schedule. And he settled at his desk at the back of the dank, cold dungeon to prepare for his first class in the last bit of peace and quiet he could expect until the Christmas holidays.
True, an undercurrent of anger buzzed throughout his body as he went through his annual routine. A typical year would find him more apathetic than furious before he had to deal with the odious task of teaching. But no matter what Severus did that morning, no matter what path he forced his mind to take, he could not keep his thoughts from turning again and again to the fact that Harry Potter now walked the castle halls. He tried to grit his teeth and bear it by manually writing the instructions for his first class’s assignment on the chalkboard. There was, after all, no reason to take out his temper until the boy himself reared his ugly head, and that would not be for some hours yet. Before that happy time, he had an O.W.L. class of Gryffindors and Slytherins and a gaggle of third-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to endure.
Then he heard the unmistakable sound of someone unlatch the door to the dungeon behind him. They opened said door only as far as they had to to slip inside, after which they pulled the door shut again with great care.
His hackles raised at once. Potter. The thought was ludicrous. Severus knew that as soon as it occurred to him. Potter would likely struggle to find his first class on time, let alone a place as out of the way as the dungeon. Yet Severus could not shake the feeling he’d had since he first set eyes on the boy at the Welcoming Feast the night before: James Potter’s son would not fail to torment him. James would have seen to that.
Severus spun, his black cloak billowing out ominously around him. The threat of taking points from Gryffindor was on the tip of his tongue when he spotted the actual intruder:
“Miss [Last Name],” he said in his softest voice. No one attempted to sneak up on him and got away with it, not even a member of his own house.
Sensing his displeasure, you frozen in the process of sliding into a seat at the very back of the room. Your expression was difficult to read that far away in the dim torchlight surrounding only Severus. He saw no reason to light the entire room up when only he occupied the dungeon. But one thing he could see very clearly: only one eye sparkling in the flickering flames. Vivid purple and green skin swelled the other shut.
“Good morning, Professor Snape,” you murmured.
He did not return your polite greeting. “I do not harbor students after they have been fighting in the halls. You may hide from Filch in your common room or you may turn yourself in to his tender mercies, but I shall not got involved.”
This being the start of your fifth year at Hogwarts, you ought to have known his feelings on misbehavior quite well. He did not care if Slytherins broke the rules so long as they showed brains enough to not get caught. Coming to him in the hope of help once spotted by another teacher or the caretaker would earn you nothing more than Severus’ ire.
Apparently this was one lesson you had not learned. You remained rooted to the spot rather than rushing away at this suggestion. Curious. After all, he made it a point to know the strengths and weaknesses of the students within his purview, and he had never noted you to be unintelligent. Perhaps a firmer hand was needed.
“I also do not appreciate when students come early to proffer their assistance,” he said. “I have no need for the aid of an unqualified witch. Your time would be better spent in the Hospital Wing, Miss [Last Name], and I expect that you will return from there at the proper time for class.”
Such a dismissal could not be mistaken for anything else. He returned his attention to the inventory list on his desk. Only a few lines in, Severus found himself interrupted once more.
“Oh, no, s-sir. I didn’t m-mean to—” The curl of his lips must have made you think better of stammering. You stopped, took a deep breath, and then went on a mite more calmly: “I didn’t come here to disturb you, sir. Or to help you prepare for class.”
“Then what is it that you do want?” he asked.
“Nothing, sir.”
“You would not have sneaked into my classroom while my back was turned for no reason. Spit it out. You are wasting my time.”
An inhale. An exhale. You looked nervously at the door.
“If you expect me to protect you from whomever you are fleeing from, you are sorely mistaken. You must be the one to finish the duels you choose to enter into.”
“I haven’t been fighting at all, Professor!” you protested.
Something about the pitch of your voice rang true. Things added up. He had never known you to pick fights in the corridors. Of course, the more boorish Gryffindors, such as their contemptible quidditch captain, would not care about that if they cornered you alone outside the Great Hall—but even that Severus doubted. Tensions between quidditch teams never rose so early in the term, and only two of the Gryffindors would dare to enrage Minerva before classes even started. What would they get out of doing so by picking on someone like you anyway?
Severus made his slow, calculated way down the aisle between tables to where you sat, back straight and stiff as a wand. Your bruise only grew uglier the closer he drew. Perhaps you knew this, for you ducked your head the moment he stood beside you.
“Look at me,” he ordered, and you reluctantly did so.
Your [color] eyes swallowed him whole. The entire process took a matter of seconds. He found himself standing next to you outside of the heavy door to the dungeon. True to your word, he could see no one in pursuit—and the ghastly muggle wound remained bright around your eye.
So he would need to go farther back.
He followed your memories backward through the morning, though your skipping breakfast, getting out of bed—Severus carefully skipped over your dressing for the day—sulking throughout the Welcoming Feast, and lurking alone in an empty corner of the Hogwarts Express. The black eye never vanished or faded.
“I see,” he said as he exited your mind.
The statement caused the color to drain from your face. “See what? Sir.”
“If you are not having problems with your housemates, I suggest you return to the Great Hall. Fifth year is difficult from the start. You will need your strength to get through my class today.”
“No, please, sir!”
You made a motion as though to grab his sleeve. Did you realize how lucky you were that he did not curse you on instinct for doing so? Severus doubted it. Narrowing his eyes, he took a small step backward and away from your grasping hands. At least you had the grace to look embarrassed for that disgusting display of desperation.
“Please let me stay here until class starts,” you murmured to your feet. “I’ll be quiet. I promise.”
“And how do you intend to keep such a promise?”
“I’ll read my textbook. You won’t know I’m here. Please, sir. Please.”
Upon the second please, you lifted your eyes to meet his again. The mark on your face reminded him unpleasantly of the face he used to see when he looked in the mirror during his days as a student—and more unpleasantly still of those who made his face look that way.
“Why?” Severus asked at last.
“I just…” Taking a deep breath, you plunged forward in as slow an explanation as he thought you could manage, “I don’t want the other students to gawk at me like they always do. Every time I get back from a holiday, it’s the same. I’m tired of it, sir. I just want them to leave me alone.”
I just want them to leave me alone. Yes, he could recall the same words coming out of his mouth once upon a time, and exactly who he said them to, if not who about. He’d had so many tormentors that even staying at the school for Christmas could not keep him away from all of them. Likely you had discovered that yourself over the past five years. What was it that he’d overheard one of your dormmates saying just last September? Something about the red blemishes [L Name] tried to hide as she pulled her robes on in the morning. At the time, Severus had dismissed the conversation as the cattish gossip so typical of fourth-year girls; now he realized it had been something more.
“How long?” he said in his softest voice.
“Excuse me, sir?” Your single huge eye betrayed your feigned ignorance without any need for him to resort to legilimency this time around.
“How long has someone been hurting you?”
“No one has been…” But you trailed away upon noticing his scowl.
“Do not try to lie to me. We both know you have not been fighting with your fellow students, so where else would you have received such a wound? Let me guess,” he went on over your attempted objection, “someone at home did not appreciate your being sent your acceptance letter.”
Silence. Given how still you kept yourself, Severus expected you were concentrating on not shaking in his presence. He could not see that you so much as breathed.
“Five years, then. At least. That answers my first question. Now on to the next: Who?”
“No one you would know, sir,” you said very quietly.
“A muggle, then.”
“No!”
“Then who? Spit it out, girl! Do you think I care to expose your lineage to your housemates? I have better things to do with my time than facilitate drama for my students.”
Your mouth opened—but only for a moment before your lips clamped shut. Perhaps he should have expected he would have to pull the answer from you millimeter by painful millimeter. He had not wanted to tell Lily, after all, and she mattered to him in a way that Horace Slughorn never could.
“Miss [L Name], I cannot help you unless you talk to me. And if you refuse to talk to me, this begs the question of why you felt it necessary to interrupt my work so early in the day. You have taken up enough of my preparation period. You may not stay unless you begin telling me what I want to know.”
Time passed. With no ticking clock on the wall of his classroom, Severus could not say how long your stare down lasted. He could have entered your mind once more while he waited. Instead, he looked down at you wordlessly. You would leave if you valued your privacy over your pride. It seemed you favored the latter, for in the end you finally replied:
“My father.”
The raw anger he felt at hearing these words must have shown on his face and terrified you far more than any of his threats had that day. You hastily went on:
“He’s not my real father. I don’t know who is. Mum married Edgar while she was pregnant with me, and she left when I was just a kid. It’s just been him and me there ever since.”
“And he does not approve of you or your mother being witches?”
“I think he’s just jealous. He’s a squib, you see. Mum’s family arranged the whole thing before anybody knew, and by then it was too late for her to get out of it. Please don’t tell the other Slytherins, Professor! They think I’m pure-blood. If they knew the truth, between that and my eye and the other bruising, the girls in my dorm would—”
“What other bruising?”
Your face darkened until it reached a shade nearly matching that of your swollen eye. “Things got worse this summer. He—”
Severus held up a hand to staunch the sudden flow of your confession. “I do not need the details.”
“Yes, sir.” Ashamed, frightened, or chastised, you cleared your throat several times before continuing, “Anyway, sir, I just wanted to sit down here in the mornings until my eye fades a bit. Is that all right with you, now that I’ve told you everything?”
Under ordinary circumstances, it would not have been all right with him. He could not risk all the students in Hogwarts starting to believe he would offer them shelter from the harsh realities of life. But as he stared down at you, he thought of his childhood and all the pain and ridicule it had brought him at the hands of James Potter and his merry men. If Horace had offered him respite, would Severus still hate him so? Obviously. The situations were, however, quite different, as Severus doubted Horace had faced a day of adversity in his entire life.
“I will consider your request,” said Severus, “if you also tell me what you plan to do about your situation at home nextsummer.”
“Do?” you echoed.
“Yes, ‘do.’ Do not be dense. It does not become you. No one else is going to ride to your rescue. You will therefore have to rescue yourself.”
“But—But how? I’m not of age! In a few years, maybe I can move out, but until then—”
“That’s not good enough! I have watched you, Miss [L Name], as I watch all Slytherins. You are ambitious, clever, resourceful, determined. That is what makes you a true Slytherin, not whether or not you were raised by a blight upon wizarding society. So what, I ask again, are you going to do about it?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Think then. Have you contacted anyone at the Ministry? There are people in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who might be able to offer you assistance.”
“Oh, no, sir!” Tears sprang to your eyes. “I can’t ask anyone for help. I didn’t even want you to find out. What will some random Ministry official think? They’ll laugh at me.”
“Such a viewpoint is narrow-minded and foolish to a startling degree. Asking for help is utilizing resources. Did I just not tell you that doing so made you a Slytherin?”
You gave him a hesitant nod. If he let you go now, you would surely promise to owl the proper authorities and never do so. Your tormentor would have free rein whenever you went home until such a day came that you could bring yourself to leave. Who knew what he could escalate to if allowed that kind of freedom? Severus needed to get you acting now.
“Very well. We will forgo the Ministry for the time being. How will you go about fixing your problem by yourself, then? I am sure that you are fully capable of doing so.”
“No, I’m not! Professor, even if I were as smart as all that, I can’t use magic outside of school. You know that.”
“Except in life-threatening situations, I believe the rule goes. It seems to me that you are more in need of the reminder than I. Be that as it may, you don’t need to use underage magic to brew a potion, now, do you?”
An eager light dawned in your eyes as the suggestion sunk in. He could see your imagination unfurling with a hundred different plots at the very idea. Though he did not necessarily disagree with the sentiment behind these plans, he did feel it was his burden as your head of house to dissuade you from the messier ones.
“You cannot kill him with a potion, much as the man might deserve it. That would attract the authorities, both magic and muggle. But you could use your skill in potions to keep yourself safe for the duration of the summer,” he said.
Safe. You mouthed the word rather than say it allowed, savoring the weight and taste on your tongue. Two of your fingers lifted to gently prod the blackened corner of your eye.
“What potions, sir?” Your tone sounded much more confident than it had all day. “Please tell me. I’ll study them. I’ll know them by heart before I get back on the train.”
“I will do better than give you a list. I will teach you myself.”
Your jaw went slack in a truly deplorable display of shock. Severus chose to be relieved you did not hug him instead of frustrated at your surprise. It was unusual for him to invite students for private lessons, especially for students doing adequate work in his class. A few seconds went by before you were able to control yourself enough to say, “Thank you, sir.”
“It will not be easy,” Severus warned. “I expect you to do exactly as I say exactly when I say.”
He allowed you a pause to accept this condition. You did so with a quiet nod.
“Very well. First of all, you will be here in my classroom an hour before class begins each week, starting next week. Arrive late, and our agreement will come to an end at once.”
“Yes, sir!”
“I also have one other condition.”
The happiness dancing in your eyes faded somewhat. “Yes, sir?” you asked guardedly. As though he would ever put you in the same position as that sorry excuse for your so-called “father.”
“You allow me to escort you to the Hospital Wing this morning. I cannot allow your current appearance to distract the rest of the class, now, can I?”
At first, he could tell that you wanted to argue. Accepting help from him was one thing; showing anything to Poppy would be quite another. Most students at Hogwarts knew she didn’t ask questions about whatever magical maladies plagued them—then again, this was not a magical malady. Perhaps you knew his presence would stave off any attempts on Poppy’s part to get to the bottom of things, because after a moment of mental struggle you said:
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good,” Severus said as he went to the door. He made it all the way there while you remained rooted to the spot. “Come along. Unless you want to run into your dormmates on the way.”
With a start, you stood, grabbed your book bag, and rushed right past him into the hall. Severus stopped only long enough to lock the door behind you both. Then the two of you headed side by side toward the stairway leading to the higher floors of the castle.
A tremendous waste of his time, taking a fully-functioning teenage girl to seek medical attention? Undoubtedly. But staying nearby to make sure you didn’t run off before Poppy finished with you did keep his mind off the imminent arrival of one Harry James Potter. And was it truly a waste of time to help one of his Slytherins get through a nasty childhood like his? As Severus watched Poppy tut over your black eye, he thought not—although no one would ever hear him admit it out loud.
Image: Five memes made from a photograph of a cheerleader on a field, wearing a blue puzzle piece “autism awareness” t-shirt and a sash that says “ABA therapist”, holding silver pom poms and kicking their leg enthusiastically above their head. The text overlaid reads, “How do I stay in shape? Mental gymnastics,” “I abuse children, yes I do, shut up or I’ll abuse you too,” “Together we can instill lifelong self-hate,” “A-B-A is how we say you could be a person one day,” and “Be aversive, B-E A-V-E-R-S-I-V-E.” The sixth image is the original photo with no text overlaid.
So I, uh, saw this article about cheerleaders wearing their “day jobs” instead of their uniforms. One of them was an ABA-ist in a blue puzzle piece tee shirt. Seeing as how I have no chill and too much Photoshop…
The last one is the original, in case anyone needs it. For reasons.
why “spanking is harmful” studies will, ultimately, never matter to parents who want to hit their kids:
@fandomsandfeminism wrote a great post recently about the fact that we have, essentially, a scientific consensus on the fact that all forms of hitting children, including those euphemistically referred to as “spanking”, are psychologically harmful. they’ve also done an amazing job responding to a lot of parents self-admitted abusers who think “I hit my child and I’m okay with that” and/or “I was hit as a child and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me” are more meaningful than 60 years of peer-reviewed research.
unfortunately, I’m here to tell you why all of that makes very little difference.
in 2014, a couple of researchers from UCLA and MIT named Alan Fiske and Tage Rai published a book called Virtuous Violence, the result of a major study of the motivations for interpersonal violence. Rai wrote a shorter piece about it in Quartz, which is a pretty light but still illuminating (hah, I did not see that pun coming but I’m gonna leave it) read.
the upshot of Fiske and Rai’s work is that most violence is fundamentally misunderstood because we think it is inherently outside the norms of a supposedly moral society. we presume that when someone commits a mass shooting or beats their spouse they are somehow intrinsically broken, either incapable of telling right from wrong or too lacking in self-control to prevent themselves from doing the wrong thing.
but what Fiske and Rai found was that, in fact, the opposite is true: most violence is morally motivated. people who commit violent acts aren’t lacking moral compasses - they believe those violent acts are not only morally acceptable, but morally obligatory. usually, these feelings emerge in the context of a relationship which is culturally defined as hierarchical. in other words, parents who commit violence against their children do so because they believe it is necessary that they do so in order to establish or affirm the dominancewhich they feel they are owed by both tradition and moral right.
when abusive parents say that they are “hitting children for their own good”, they are not speaking in terms of any rational predictions for the child’s future, but rather from a place of believing that the child must learn to be submissive in order to be a “good” child, to fulfill their place in the relationship.
this kind of violence is not the result of calm, intellectually reasoned deliberation about the child’s well-being. for that reason and that reason alone it will never be ended by scientific evidence.
history tells us more than we need to verify this. the slave trade and the institution of racial slavery, and their attendant forms of “corrective” physical violence, for instance, did not end because someone demonstrated they were physically or psychologically harmful to slaves - that was never a question in people’s minds to begin with. for generations, slavery was upheld as right and good not because it was viewed as harmless, but because it was viewed as morally necessary that one category of people should be “kept in their place” below another by any means necessary, because they were lower beings by natural order and god’s law. this violence ended because western society became gradually less convinced of the whole moral framework at play, not because we needed scientists to come along and demonstrate that chain gangs and whippings were psychologically detrimental. this is only one example from a world history filled with many, many forms of violence, both interpersonal and structural, which ultimately were founded on the idea that moral hierarchies must be maintained through someone’s idea of judiciously meted-out suffering.
and this, ultimately, is why we cannot end violence against children by pointing out that it is harmful - because the question of whether or not it is harmful does not enter into parents’ decisions about whether or not to commit violence in the first place. what they care about is not the hypothetical harm done to the child, but the reinforcement of the authority-ranked nature of the relationship itself. the reason these people so often sound like their primary concern is maintaining their “right” to hit their children is because it is. they believe that anyone telling them they can’t hit their children is attempting to undermine the moral structure of that individual relationship and, in a broader sense, the natural order of adult-child relations in society.
and that’s why the movement has to be greater than one against hitting kids. it has to be a movement against treating them as inferior, in general. it has to be a movement that says, children are people, that says children’s rights are human rights, that says the near-absolute authority of parents, coupled with the general social supremacy of adults and the marginalization of youth, have to all be torn down at once as an ideology of injustice and violence. anything less is ultimately pointless.
its actually very very easy to not like pedophilic ships and understand that enjoying fictional pedophilia is still like, actively partaking in enjoying pedophilia and that it doesnt cancel that out just bc the content in question is fictional
the thing that strikes me about this latest wave of anti-trans hate and legislation in the U.S. is that it feels like it’s *kind of* about trans people but really about a fear fundamental to all conservatives that a day will one day come when they will no longer be able to completely control their children
american conservatism is a death cult. trump made this incredibly obvious but it’s been trending that way for a while. it is spiteful, bigoted, cruel, morally bankrupt, and all evidence in support of it has either been fabricated, forged, deceptively edited, or disproven. being conservative goes against a fundamental human desire to be kind to those around you and I think on some level conservatives know this, and thus, they know that the only reason children would subscribe to these values is if they are indoctrinated into them with cult-like single-mindedness
Conservatives have been pushing for homeschooling for decades, they’ve been raising concerns about teaching evolution in schools since the early 20th century, they’ve made wedge issues out of sex ed, history textbooks, and now gay and trans teachers. They want a world in which children are taught to be conservative from birth and any attempt to teach them anything else is a literal crime. They want this because they know, deep down inside, that most children would not agree with them unless they were literally brainwashed into it.
also worth pointing out that most child abuse (sexual or otherwise) takes place within a “traditional” family structure or a “traditional” religious institution and I have to wonder if people who want to abuse kids have a fundamental investment in preserving strict hierarchies in which adult men have unquestioned authority over children
Like I’m not saying *every* conservative is like this but perhpas their emphasis on “groomers” is a wee bit of projection
Anyway abolish the family trans rights are human rights institute fully automated luxury gay space communism now
This tweet sums it up pretty well:
This is another big reason why most conservatives bitch about higher education; a lot of younger people (myself included) undo their conservative upbringing brainwashing after being exposed to new ideas, meeting new and diverse people, and getting a higher-quality education when they attend college.
This is also, of course, why conservative lawmakers constantly seek to undermine public education and make it shittier so the kids who go through it are more ignorant. An educated and well-informed populace is the GOP’s worst nightmare.
Note: Just a nice fluffy story between 2 children. Absolutely no whump found here. :D
“Pavi, come back here now!”
Pavi just ran. He could hear her behind him. He had to get out of there. She was angry. Mama Irene was really angry. He didn’t know where he could hide. If he hid in his room or anywhere else in the house, she would find him. And papa didn’t allow them to go to the medical floors of GeneCo. He didn’t want to disturb papa either.
Maybe…
He hit the ground floor on the lift. The door slid shut on Irene’s furious face. She was really angry. He was going to pay for it if she caught him.
The lift doors slid open and he ran past legs. There were annoyed ‘hey’s but no one stopped him. He ran out the front door and stopped. Where could he go? He didn’t know anywhere to go.
Oh. Luigi brought him to the park once. Maybe he could find his way back there. Yes. He would hide there until Irene calmed down. He would hide there until dinner; she wouldn’t dare do anything if papa was there.
***
“Mr Largo, have you seen your brother?”
Luigi looked up to see a Gentern at the door. “No.”
“That’s odd. I haven’t been able to find him anywhere. Dinner will be ready soon.”
“Ok.” Luigi closed the book he was reading and headed towards the dining room. Carmela and her mother were already there. Luigi sat at his usual spot without sparing a glance at them.
The same Gentern came in, “Mrs Largo, I can’t find Pavi anywhere.”
“Leave him. If he doesn’t want to come for dinner, he can starve.” Luigi hated how callous Irene was towards Pavi. Isabella never treated him that way. He didn’t understand how Irene could be such a bitch.
“Pops wants us all here.”
Irene rolled her eyes. “I’m not your brother’s babysitter. It’s not my job to know where he is.”
Luigi seethed. No, she was their fucking stepmom. It was her fucking job to care for them. But she only had eyes on Carmela and even that was the bare minimum she did. “Did you see him today?”
“Yes. He broke my favourite make-up set. Instead of apologizing, he ran off. You should teach your brother common courtesy.”
Maybe if he had a fucking role model for it. “Did you see where he ran off to?”
“He ran into the lift and it headed to the lobby. I didn’t see him after.”
Luigi froze. “He went outside?”
“Please. Your brother wouldn’t dare go out by himself. He’s probably hiding in the lobby.”
He turned to the Gentern. “Call security at the lobby.”
She obeyed and shook her head. “They didn’t see him. They checked the cameras. He left early this afternoon and there’s no footage of him coming back.”
Luigi stood. “Why didn’t you fucking say something earlier?”
“It’s not my job to baby-”
“He’s been gone the whole day. You let a 9-year-old boy wander the streets by himself. It’s fucking snowing outside.” Something in Luigi’s chest twisted. He gripped the back of the chair. He had to calm down. He took deep breaths. He couldn’t get angry. He couldn’t get an arrest now. He needed to find his brother.
Luigi left the dining room. He headed towards the lift. He grabbed his winter coat from the rack. He froze when he realized his brother’s coat was still hanging there. Damnit. He took the lift to the ground floor. He ignored security telling him that they would search for Pavi and to stay inside.
He opened the front doors and he shivered. It was fucking freezing out here. Where the fuck did his brother run off to? Where would he go? Pavi hardly went outside. He…he couldn’t be just wandering the streets by himself. It was so cold. Could he have gone to a shop to wait out the cold? That was it right? That had to be it. Pavi couldn’t be walking around in the cold like this.
***
Luigi looked around the park. It was empty. He didn’t know where else to search. He’d search everywhere in a walking radius from GeneCo. Fear clenched in his stomach. What if someone took his brother? Easy ransom or worse… Luigi shook the thought off. He didn’t want to think about it.
Luigi pulled the coat tighter around himself. The snow was getting heavy. He had to get out of the cold. No. He needed to find his brother. “Pavi!” There was no one here. “Paviche!” Where else could he look? If he was just wandering the streets, where would he go for shelter? “Paviche!”
“Fra…fratello?”
Luigi looked around. He swore he heard his brother’s voice. It began to storm harder. The wind blasted in his ears. Maybe he was just hearing things. “Pavi!”
“Fratello.”
Luigi followed the sound to a large concrete pipe underneath the slide. His brother was there hugging himself. “Idiot! Where the hell have you been?”
“He…he…here.”
“Come on, Pavi, we have to go.” The boy didn’t move. Luigi cursed and climbed into the pipe. “Paviche, did you hear me?”
“Mama Irene is…is…is angry wi…wi…with me.”
“Fuck her. Who fucking cares what she thinks?”
Pavi didn’t say anything. He was holding his left wrist.
Luigi pulled the hand towards him and pulled up the sleeve. A bruise the shape of a handprint greeted him. “Did she do this?” Luigi growled.
“Sh…sh…she was fu…furious.”
“I’m going to fucking kill her.”
“I…i…it’s ok, fratello.”
“How is this ok? Has she done this before?”
“No.” Pavi looked down. “It…it was m…my fault. I br…broke her things.”
“She still had no right touching you!” Something twisted in Luigi’s chest once more.
“Fratello!”
Luigi closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He was fine. He just had to calm down. He just had to keep his temper in check.
“A…a…are you ok?”
“I’m fine, Paviche.” Luigi sighed. He leant on the wall on just focused on breathing.
“Fratello…”
He hated that worry, that concern. “We should head back. I won’t let that bitch touch you.”
Pavi nodded slowly.
Luigi felt his heart slow. “Let’s…” Luigi froze. It was storming like hell outside. Luigi couldn’t see anything further than 5 feet. “Maybe we should wait for the snow to slow down first.”
Pavi nodded again.
“Are you ok, paviche?”
“Cold.” He shivered.
Pavi was just wearing a t-shirt and pants. GeneCo was well-heated. He must have just ran out with whatever he had on.
Luigi removed the coat and draped it over his brother. “Better?”
Pavi nodded and pulled the coat around him. “Wh…wh…why does she ha…ha…hate me so much?”
“She doesn’t hate you. She’s a bully. You’re an easy target for her.”
Pavi curled deeper into himself. Luigi could see his breath from where he was sitting. “I tr…tr…try so ha…ha…hard to be nice.”
Luigi sighed. “I know. Some people are just assholes like that.”
Pavi shivered and hugged himself.
“Are you ok, Paviche?”
Pavi nodded but shivered more.
Luigi placed a hand on his wrist. “Fuck Pavi. You’re fucking freezing.”
“I…it’s ok.”
Fuck. Pavi was stuck there the whole day dressed like that. Of course he would be freezing. Shit. Luigi looked outside again. They couldn’t go through that storm. GeneCo was too far on foot. Luigi cursed himself for leaving his watch at home. He watched his brother shiver harder. The ground was freezing; the walls were freezing as well. He needed to minimize contact with anything cold. The warmest thing in here was…Luigi himself. He was an idiot. “Pavi, come here.”
Pavi just looked at him questioningly.
“Come here.”
Pavi cautiously approached him.
Luigi pulled his brother towards him; his skin was freezing against his. He pulled the coat tighter around his brother. “Better?”
Pavi nodded and curled tighter against him. “Does…does this mean y…y…you’re not angry w…w…with me anymore, fratello?”
“I’m not angry with you.”
“B…b…but you won’t t…t…talk to me anymore… Not si…si…since your arrest l…l…last year.”
Luigi sighed. “It’s complicated, Pavi.”
“Wh…wh…whatever it is, I…I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you, Paviche.” He just didn’t want Pavi to get attached. “Why did you come here?”
“It…it…it was the last place we had f…fun. I thought I…I…I’d be safe here.”
Luigi sighed. “Don’t you have fun with Carmela?”
“Si but… sh…sh…she’s so small. I…I can’t te…te…tell her anything.”
Luigi sighed. He knew Pavi was lonely but… “I’m sorry Paviche.”
“F…f…for what, fratello?”
“Pops being so busy all the time. I know you’ve been feeling neglected.”
“Neglected?”
“Left out.”
“A little. B…b…but I had you, fratello. But then y…y…you stopped talking to me too.”
“You need to find someone else, Paviche.”
“Why?”
“Because I won’t be…I won’t…” Luigi sighed. “I won’t be here forever, Paviche. You need to get used to me not being around.”
“No.”
Luigi sighed. “I know it’s not easy to understand Paviche but-”
“I understand, fratello. Papa to…to…told me.”
So everyone knew he was a goner except for him.
“He al…al…also told me that it was my j…j…job to keep you c…c…company. To ma…ma…make sure you we…we…weren’t scared or lonely. And…and I fa…fa…failed that, fratello.” Pavi buried his head into his chest and sobbed.
“Idiot. That’s…that’s too much to put on you.” Luigi held his brother tighter. “You’re too young to be dealing with this.”
“So…so are y…you, fratello.”
Luigi was silent. It wasn’t like he had a choice on this matter. And he was 14, he was practically an adult.
“Y…y…you ca…ca…can ha…ha…hate me, if…if…if you wa…wa…want, fratello. Ju…ju…just don’t hi…hide in your room a…a…anymore. Don’t…”
“Don’t what Paviche?”
“Don’t stop living.”
“It’s better this way Paviche.”
“Fo…for who?”
“Everyone.”
“It’s n…n…not better f…f…for me; Carmela is…is…is sad wondering why ‘Weegee’ won’t pl…pl…play with her anymore; Papa is…is…is worried. S…s…so better f…f…for who? Are you ha…ha…happy, fratello?”
“No.” Luigi hated how perceptive Pavi was. He was forced to grow up too fast. “I’m sorry.”
“I…I believe papa. He’s go…go…going to save you, fratello.”
Luigi sighed. “Maybe.”
Pavi’s eyes fluttered close.
“Pavi, stay awake!”
“Sleepy.” Pavi refused to open his eyes.
He tapped his face none too gently. “Eyes open, Paviche.”
“Ow.” Pavi glared at him.
His brother was not warm enough. He…skin to skin. That’s what they did in the movies right. Luigi’s hand moved to the buttons on his shirt. Why was he still wearing his gloves? He pulled off the gloves and placed it on his brother’s hands. They were too big but they had to do.
“Aren’t y…y…you cold, fratello?”
“No.” Luigi undid the buttons of his shirt. “I wasn’t as long out here as you.” He removed his shirt and cursed as his back pressed against the freezing wall. “I know it sounds weird, Pavi. But I need you to remove your shirt.” Pavi obeyed. Luigi wrapped his shirt around Pavi’s neck. He pulled his brother back towards him. He was still too cold. The storm still wasn’t slowing. What more could he do?
Pavi shivered against him.
“It’s going to be ok, Paviche.”
“Your sh…sh…shivering, fratello.”
“I’m not cold.”
“Fratello…”
“Just stay awake, Paviche. Pops will find us soon.”
***
Luigi blearily opened his eyes. Fuck. Did he fall asleep? It was so fucking cold. He looked at his brother in his arms. Pavi had fallen asleep too. He lifted his hand; it was stiff. Luigi opened and closed his hand to force the blood to flow. “Paviche, wake up. We shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”
Pavi didn’t stir.
He placed a hand on the back of Pavi’s head. It was so difficult to move. “Come on Pavi.” He shook his brother gently. “We need to stay awake. Conserve heat.”
Pavi still didn’t move.
Luigi was fully awake now. He shook his brother harder. “Pavi, open your eyes, now.” He tapped Pavi’s face roughly. “I mean it Pavi. Wake up, now.”
Pavi still didn’t move.
Fear filled Luigi. No. His brother wasn’t… Pavi was just being stubborn. That was all. He was just a deep sleeper. “Pavi, wake the fuck up now.” He shook his brother.
Pavi refused to stir.
Luigi felt something catch in his chest. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. His heart pounded. “Pavi, please. You have to wake up now.” His brother was so cold.
“Pavi! Luigi!”
Pops. “Here.” His voice was quiet. Luigi swallowed. “We’re here!” Luigi heard footsteps running. Luigi held his brother tighter. “Pops is here. Pops found us. We’re going to be fine.”
“Luigi!” Rotti’s face appeared at the mouth of the pipe.
“Pops. Pops, it’s Paviche. I…I don’t know how long he’s been asleep. I…I can’t wake him. I…”
Rotti reached into the cave. “Give him to me.” Rotti gently took Pavi from him.
Luigi just stared after his father. His father was here. They would be alright. Pavi would be alright. His heart skipped a beat. He had to be alright. He had to be alright.
Luigi heard Rotti talking with someone outside. There were people there; doctors maybe? Pavi would be alright. Pavi was safe now. Pavi was safe.
Luigi felt the freezing ground burn his side. He curled into himself. It was so cold. His heart pounded erratically in his chest. It was getting hard to think. He was so tired. He could rest now. Pavi would be find. Pavi would be…
***
The doctors took Pavi from him. They wrapped him in think blankets and brought him to the ambulance.
“He’s not breathing.”
Something clenched in Rotti’s chest. No.
One of the doctors climbed onto the stretcher and started performing CPR.
No. Not Pavi. Why hadn’t they found them sooner? What were they doing out here in a snowstorm?
“Mr Largo, we will take Pavi to the hospital first. The second ambulance will arrive shortly for Luigi.”
Rotti just nodded weakly. “He…He’s allergic to zydrate.”
The doctors nodded and pushed Pavi into the ambulance. Rotti numbly watched the ambulance speed off. Rotti took the thick blanket from the doctor that stayed behind. He shook. Pavi would be fine. Pavi would be alright.
Rotti turned back towards the pipe and froze. Luigi was lying in a foetal position on the ground. “Get off the ground boy, it’s cold.”
Luigi didn’t reply him.
Rotti turned the boy onto his back. His lips were blue. The boy was talking and moving just minutes ago. He couldn’t have deteriorated so fast. Rotti searched for a pulse. It was his heart. It was another arrest. “help me.” Rotti choked out to the doctor. He pulled Luigi out of the pipe and laid him on the ground. He pressed Luigi’s chest desperately as the doctor called for the ambulance to hurry.
Rotti felt numb. He couldn’t lose his children like this. Why did it take him so long to find them? Why didn’t he find them sooner? Rotti continued pressing Luigi’s chest. The ambulance would arrive and take Luigi to the hospital and restart his heart like they did so many times before. He would be fine. They would both be fine. They had to be.
Note: So I asked myself many times if I would kill a 9 year old boy. The answer was: I’ll let you decide. ;)
Hurriyet Daily News reports that Albayrak had been hired to photograph the July 5th wedding at Turgut Özal Nature Park in the eastern Turkish province of Malatya. On the day of, when he noticed that the bride-to-be didn’t look like an adult, he asked the groom her age and learned that she was only 15.
“The groom had come to my studio some two weeks ago and was alone,” Albayrak tells the Daily News. “I saw the bride for the first time at the wedding. She’s a child, and I felt her fear because she was trembling.”
Albayrak then reportedly refused to continue as the wedding photographer and attempted to stop the wedding.
The argument soon turned physical when the groom attacked him as he was attempting to leave, Albayrak says. The photographer ended up breaking the client’s nose in the fight, according to local reports.
Albayrak confirmed the reports in a Facebook post, which has been met with widespread approval, attracting thousands of Likes and hundreds of overwhelmingly positive comments.
“I wish this had never happened, but it did,” Albayrak writes. “And if you were to ask me if I’d do the same thing again, I’d say ‘yes.’ Child brides are [victims] of child abuse and no power on earth can make me photograph a child in a wedding gown.”
The legal minimum age for marriage in Turkey is 18-years-old for both sexes, and child marriage is punishable by imprisonment for men who marry underage girls. Despite being outlawed, however, child marriage is still prevalent in the country and remains a controversial political issue.
btw - let’s remind ourselves, americans, that unlike turkey, in the US the legal minimum age for marriage is only 18 in two states. in alabama, you can be married as young as fourteen years old if you have “parental permission”. in california, you can get married under 18 if you go to counseling, have a parent with you when you apply for the marriage license, and appear before a judge. in some states, there isn’t even a specific minimum age for marriage.
the minimum marriage age for girls in new hampshire is 13 years old.
child marriage is not an “over there” problem, it happens right here, legally.any one of us might find ourselves called upon to break somebody’s nose if we encounter something like this occurring. we also have a responsibility to support groups and laws trying to end child marriage in this country.
here’s the first installment of @amonthofwhump’s Mafia Madness! I really hope to complete all of the prompts, but I’m not sure if I will able to since my senior trip this week. nonetheless, this series will be the prequel to my original story, The Devil’s Playground, and will include some characters from it. this first one is about Beth’s (from the first few chapters of my masterlist/Harper’s best friend and roommate) and Nate’s (character I haven’t introduced yet, but another whumpee of Dark) parents, and Ida’s father (the main boss of the Jaguars, the gang Dark works for). hope you all enjoy!
CW: child abuse, modern slavery, minor whumpees (16 and 17 y.o.), degradation, implied torture, mention of rape, death threats, waterboarding, shoe kissing, defiant whumpee
–
The silk covered hand lifted up to the young girl’s face, brushing away a strand of her platinum blonde hair and tucking it behind her ear. She saw herself in the mirror and smiled, admiring her carefully constructed face. If her mother was here, she would say the same thing she always said; “You look liked me before the wrinkles.” Then her father would make a comment saying she always had wrinkles, or something or other.
Maybe that’s why their marriage never worked out.
Not one to dwell on the past, the girl got up from her chair in front of her vanity and threw on the fur coat hanging on the wall. It was from the skin of a blank panther, expensive, but can help her remain undetected on her date.
A rock then bounced off her window, making the young girl turn around. Speak of the devil.
Once she opened up the latch, sure enough, the young slave boy whom her father owned was waiting for her down below. The boy waved brightly, making the girl return the favor before she went back inside and grabbed the chest underneath her bed. Inside, there was a bundle of woven rope with a latch on one end, which she attached to the wall next to her. Carefully, as to not fall three stories down and die, the young girl made her way down the mansion.
“Ida,” the young boy breathed once she got done, running up to hug her.
“Harold,” she whispered, a smile on her face.
“You look beautiful,” he said as he grabbed her hand, and the two began running across the courtyard.
“Thank you, where are we going?” Ida asked, looking behind her in case anyone could see them and alert her father.
Harold led her behind the large pool house, to the gazebo located about two hundred feet away from it. The location was perfect, it was hidden behind some large trees and hedges, and already far enough from the mansion’s view.
was cleaning up my drafts & found this post about gilly i wrote months ago that i chose not to share then; will share now:
Gilly is distressed, in deep depression, Sam wonders why that might be. Maybe the sea is scaring her. Maybe the child is hurting her. Maester Aemon tells us the truth: “Sam,” the old man whispered, “you have two good eyes, and yet you do not see. She is a mother grieving for her child.” This, of course, is a revelation about Jon. It also makes a claim about Gilly. Gilly, we learn, is in distress because she was forcibly separated from her infant child– every mother would be as distressed; Gilly’s distress is that of a mother. That is certainly true, though I remember thinking then, as I do now, of the many other problems Gilly is facing that remain uncommented on–unthought about–by the men that tell her story.
house lannister really is one of the most deeply sick families in the series and I think it really needs to be acknowledged when analyzing any of the siblings but especially tyrion & cersei. tywin’s penchant for sexual humiliation and violence as punishment (what he did to his father’s mistress, what he did to tysha and tyrion), the way kevan takes after him with similar methods (cersei’s walk of shame), kevan marrying a girl who was his hostage and was quite possibly a child, kevan reminiscing about and sexualizing pubescent cersei, cersei sexually abusing tyrion as a baby at least once (and I doubt it was the only time), obviously the twins’ toxic codependent incestuous relationship but also the fact that this was probably the first relationship tyrion was exposed to and grew up around….. the cycles of abuse and unhealthy sexuality really permeate the family like rot
yeah this is exactly what I mean! I see people talking about tyrion saying this and being like “that’s fucked up” without looking at the full picture and being like, wow that’s actually 100% in line with what he’s seen from his own family and what has been done to him and damn. that is even more deeply fucked up
