#Stormy regression

[littlebouncybunnie]

I am definitely using this from now on

Stormy Regression

Stormy regressor is a term for a darker regression, one where the regressor is sad and upset. One may throw a fit or be very upset when stormy regressing, no matter the age. Not a permanent regression— happens until the regressor is calmed down or happy. Better term for sad regression than “impure”.

Can also be a term for those who regress when sad or overwhelmed

[softpawpup]

— zeus regressor moodboard !!

for zeus !!! continuing my moodboards of mythos.... i wanna do all the olympians first... ive already done apollo and aphrodite so here is zeus !!! working my way through em... this one turned out really cute i think... like just being a stormy baby who falls asleep to rain and thunder, sleeping in the clouds and being doted on like a baby bird

[mother-athena]

Imagine, it's a cold and rainy day and you've decided to stay indoors to catch up on your growing list of holiday movies. While you're on the couch, sipping on a warm coffee, your little one toddles into the living room with their blanket dragging behind them. They rub their eyes and crawl into your arms, seeking your comfort and warmth. As you sip your drink, they watch curiously, inevitably asking to have some too. "Want, mama." But you softly shake your head and smile. "This is a grown up drink, baby. You're too little to have some right now... but, mama can warm up some milk in your bottle. Would you like that?" You ask and your little one happily nods as they wait patiently for your return. ☕

[the-crittercorner]

Stormy and Lilith got some new clothes and wanted to try them on! They are super excited for Valentines Day coming up it's going to be there first time celebrating together as a couple! ^.^

[rileys-castle]

doodlin on a rainy day ⛈️

[little-saw]

Hard day? Have a floof

STORMY!!!! thank you :3

[ryndusk]

Stormy care bear outfit ❤️

[bunnelbaby]

Here’s yet another list of miscellaneous children’s media to enjoy while you’re regressed or dreaming:

𐐪𐑂 Wow Wow Wubbzy

𐐪𐑂 I Spy

𐐪𐑂 Fifi and the Flowertots

𐐪𐑂 Bananas and Pyjamas (1992)

𐐪𐑂 Maisy Mouse

𐐪𐑂 Mofy

𐐪𐑂 Sherlock Hound

𐐪𐑂 Magic Adventures of Mumfie

𐐪𐑂 Toot and Puddle

𐐪𐑂 The World of Strawberry Shortcake (Miscellaneous Specials) (1980)

𐐪𐑂 Strawberry Shortcake’s Berry Bitty Adventures

𐐪𐑂 Raggedy Ann & Andy: A Musical Adventure

𐐪𐑂 The Last Unicorn

𐐪𐑂 One Stormy Night (English Sub)

𐐪𐑂 Super Mario Bros.: The Great Mission to Rescue Princess Peach! (English Sub)

𐐪𐑂 Ico, The Brave Little Horse (English Sub)

𐐪𐑂 Cinnamoroll the Movie (English Sub)

𐐪𐑂 Lamb Chop’s Play Along

𐐪𐑂 The Doodlebops

𐐪𐑂 Jack’s Big Music Show

𐐪𐑂 Between the Lions

𐐪𐑂 The Big Comfy Couch

𐐪𐑂 Fishtronaut

𐐪𐑂 Mega Minimals

𐐪𐑂 Bunnytown

𐐪𐑂 Fraggle Rock

𐐪𐑂 Wilbur

𐐪𐑂 Oobi

𐐪𐑂 It’s a Big Big World

𐐪𐑂 Pinky Dinky Do

𐐪𐑂 Polly Pocket

𐐪𐑂 Popples

𐐪𐑂 Pecola

𐐪𐑂 Boo!

𐐪𐑂 Rainbow Brite (1984)

𐐪𐑂 Moondreamers

𐐪𐑂 Muppet Babies (1984)

𐐪𐑂 Happy Monster Band

𐐪𐑂 Maya the Bee (1975)

𐐪𐑂 Count Duckula

𐐪𐑂 Sylvanian Families (1987)

𐐪𐑂 The Adventures of Teddy Ruxpin

𐐪𐑂 A Pup Named Scooby-Doo

𐐪𐑂 Madeline (1989)

𐐪𐑂 Postman Pat

𐐪𐑂 Rescue Heroes

Previous lists: x x x

[nichelink]

Pet+Owner (General) Nichelink: a 16+ rated nichelink relationship/relationship dynamic where one person in the relationship takes the role of a pet, and the other/s take the role of their owner.

i'm not sure how i should rate this. please tell me if you have opinions.

this may include, but isn't limited to:

the owner serving as a caretaker for the pet when they pet regress/have pet thoughts/have kin shifts

the pet getting atypical euphoria from the idea of being a pet

the owner giving the pet training to do tricks, whatever that may mean for the people involved

the pet being an introject/kin/etc of an animal character, and the owner being an introject/kin/etc of that character's ower from their source

the owner being dissopet/another dissodic label, or the pet being dissoconnopet, envicaninsti, envidog or any similar labels

the pet being a recovering r*dqueer and the owner helping them express their want to be "owned" in a risk-aware and safer way

orientation/teritary attraction/alteraffectis attraction like petaffectis, dogbutch4femme, eldritchaffectis, presentation terms like feral/domesticated/stray, etc

nichelink coining page

tagging: @radiomogai | @stormy-caffeine | @a-agere-archive | @dissodic-archive | @sage-thee-herbmaster // ask to be tagged in similar terms or to be untagged

the bell symbol used in the alt flag is by @neopronouns (i believe?)

[sharkycare]

um hi hi, sorry if this is kinda a weirder ask, but can I please have a cg post for a flip who's been struggling to regress and feels bad about being small?

also, can I have 🏳️‍⚧️🍼 anon please? thank you

little guppy, i can see those stormy thoughts swirling inside you. i know you've been struggling, feeling caught between big and small, not sure where you fit. but listen to me, my pearl. you don’t have to earn being little. you don’t have to be perfect to deserve care. You just have to be.

being small isn't something wrong, something shameful, or something you have to fight against. it's just another part of you, as natural as the tide coming in and out. sometimes the waves rush in, pulling you into that tiny, safe place… and other times, they ebb away, leaving you standing on the shore. no matter where you are, you are real. you are valid.

if the waves feel far away, you don’t have to force yourself into the current. let’s just sit together in the shallows, maybe wrap up in a cozy blanket, listen to soft music, or hold something small and comforting. no pressure, no rush. just warmth, safety, and my love, always waiting for you.

and when you're ready, when the tide carries you back to that soft, little space, i'll be right here, arms open like the endless ocean, ready to keep you safe. 💙

[coinger]

remade personal agere flag

Pale purple- neu reg Pale blue - masc reg dark magenta - fem reg white - Happiness Gray - sadness (aka “stormy regression") pale burnt Orange - regressors of all types Yellow - age ranges Bright orange - involuntary Bright lime - voluntary Bright blue - Permanent

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Losing Streak

Summary: After their failure at pixie village Icy wonders when they had become so weak.

Embarrassing. 

Failures.

Pathetic. 

Losers. 

She has thrown those words around quite generously. And every single one of them applies to the three of them. 

To her. 

Really their failures are on her. She’s the leader of their ridiculous little group. As the Winx grow stronger, they regress. Further and further. And the comparisons that she draws between their two groups instill a sense of rage that she has no release for.

No release for until it is time for the next battle and then the cycle begins; another fight, another loss. Another loss, another new level of resentment. Of envy. 

Bloom as the dragon fire. The source of ultimate power, the most powerful magic in all of the realms. 

What does she have? 

Ice that melts so easily. She is beginning to think that Darcy and Stormy are stronger than her. The more that she thinks about it  the more that she knows it is true; Stormy has raw power and destruction, Darcy has versatility and variety. Icy’s own powers? They have no range, no versatility, she is limited to variations of the same useless spells. And they aren’t nearly as bombastic as anything that Stormy produces. She thinks that she has always known it and that’s why she craves the dragon fire so terribly. 

She hates her own magic. 

She shouldn’t, she should appreciate that she can use magic at all. 

And maybe, ages ago, when they were freshmen, she had thought herself powerful. She sure felt that way, as Griffin’s star pupils. 

But then they started losing to a bunch of freshmen. 

Once. A fluke.

Twice. A coincidence. 

Thrice. A streak of bad luck. 

But that was the difference between then and now; after all of their losses they had managed to steal the dragon fire. And they managed to summon an army of rot. And they had come so close…so very close to finishing what their ancestors started and realizing their destiny. 

Only to suffer the ultimate defeat. 

And now they are only slipping further and further. 

She can’t remember the last battle that they won. 

As the faeries collect transformations, they collect defeats and humiliations. 

They had only had their disenchantixes for a day…not even…. 

They hadn’t even been strong enough to keep those.

And this had come almost directly after their defeat at the hands of pixies.

Pixies!

They had been bested by pixies.

It is no wonder that the Winx girls think that they are a joke. 

.oOo.

“Come on Icy, what’s wrong!?” Bloom calls. It is both a taunt and a genuine question. She is missing that boldness, that cockiness that Bloom has grown oddly fond of. That she almost looks forward to. A battle of wits to go with their battle of magic. 

“There’s nothing wrong!” Icy snaps but Bloom can tell that the witch is lying, she hasn’t thrown a singe taunt or insult her way throughout this whole battle. And it has been going on for at least twelve minutes now. Her attacks lack their usual force and spunk. 

“I can tell that you’re lying. Your attacks are kind of pathetic today!” Her words were meant to prompt Icy into action. Instead they coax her to let the magic die on her hands.

Icy gives a bitter sniff. “Just today?” And then she utters a laugh that is twice as bitter. “More like every day!” 

Bloom crinkles her brows, “what are you talking about?” 

“Oh come on, Bloom! Don’t pretend like you haven't noticed!”

“Noticed what?” And Bloom lets the fire in her palm dissipate into smoke. Something like rage flashes across Icy’s face but then it subsides for a new emotion to settle in. And Bloom swears that that emotion is sadness, hurt even.

“You said it yourself, Bloom. My attacks are pathetic. Why do you think I need your powers? Why do you think that we’ve been hiding behind Valtor?”

To Icy’s surprise Bloom laughs. And it causes her to flinch to see that on the witch’s face that she thinks that she is laughing at her alleged cowardice and not the absurdity of the statement. “You three? Hiding behind Valtor?” She tilts her head. “I’d say that Valtor is hiding behind you.” 

Icy furrows her brows as though she never considered the possibility. “We’ve been firthing you more than him.”

“And when was the last time that we actually won, Bloom? We’re here to keep you entertained. We’re distractions.” She counters plainly. “And we know it. Or I do.”

“I—” Blom falters. 

“We’re weak, Bloom.” Icy shakes her head. Bloom swears that she can see exhaustion in her eyes. 

Defeat.

“Weak!? You think that the three of you are weak!?” She practically shouts. “THere’s no way that you actually think that! I’ll have to jot this day down—the day that Icy admitted that she isn’t all that!” 

But Icy still doesn’t return the banter. Doesn’t have some clever come back. Rather she sighs and seems to deflate, shoulders slightly hunched, posture slightly slouched. At that the last of Bloom’s humor fades. She is so used to seeing Icy stand so tall and proud that anything less than perfectly upright seems strange. 

“I didn’t mean…you’re not weak Icy. And neither are Darcy and Stormy.” Bloom reaches for her hands. Actually manages to take them. But Icy snatches them right on back and turns her back on the fairy. “You think that losing a couple of battles makes you—”

“A couple!? More like a couple dozen. We haven’t won a battle against you idiots since our senior year. And we were losing then too. To freshmen. To someone who didn’t even know how to use her powers.” She shakes her head. “Our ancestresses had given us a mission and we couldn’t achieve it���”

“I don’t know if you know this but I happen to have the most powerful magic in the magical universe. Like it’s the magicest magic there is.” Bloom declares earning herself a groan and an eyeroll, a small touch of the Icy that she is used to. “I also have five really powerful enchantix fairy friends.” She adds. “And you still managed to beat us once or twice.”

She offers another eye roll, “hooray.” She tosses in a hand gesture that is likely meant to imitate throwing confetti. “I’m so proud of us. We can win one fight and a half out of ten fights.” 

“You should be!” Bloom states firmly. “Do you know how many fights out of ten that most people win against us?” She doesn’t let Icy answer. “Zero! Darkar was all menacing and scary but he didn’t win once. The only reason that he was able to unite all of the pieces of the codex is because you, Darcy, and Stormy got most of the pieces for him.”

“Well he was a loser and a poser.” Icy shrugs. She is probably still pretty bitter about that.

“You’re not though.” Bloom promises. 

“Honestly, you’re strong even when you don’t win!” Bloom dares to claim. “You three take so much damage, I’m surprised that all of you are still in one piece. It’s kind of incredible how fast you recover and how long you can fight after taking a serious hit.” She points out. 

Icy purses her lips and Bloom hopes that this means that she is considering the proposition. But Bloom should know better by now; Icy loves to argue. “We only had our disencatix’s for a day! Not even. You six fools have a new transformation for every day of the year.”

“Are you sure that you’re not mistaking Stella’s wild wardrobe for new transformations?” Bloom tries for another joke that Icy just is not in the mood for. “You only have your base transformations most of the time and you can still hold your own.” She tries. “I remember you fighting all six of us and some of the boys on your own at one point and you were still able to hold out for a while. Pretty sure that we had enchantix too.”

“Pretty sure that we rendered your enchantix powers useless. We can’t win unless we cheat and we still lose.”

“In a fight that is like nine against three.” Bloom points out. “And you have won a few battles where we had new transformations and you only had your old ones. You don’t think that it’s impressive that you can beat people with power ups using just your regular powers?”

“Not really.” Icy replies. 

“Okay, you’re either just being stubborn right now or you’re reveling in how you just tricked me into arguing that I suck.” 

At last she gets a mischievous little smile. It is a very small one and it is there for only a flicker but Icy had definitely smiled at that.

“Why do you care if I think that I’m weak?”

Bloom shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess that it’s just kind of weird to see you so…so…” unconfident, self-deprecating. Withdrawn. “Not like yourself. We’ve been nemeses for a long time now and I don’t want to lose that special bond that we have. Ya know?”

Icy blinks twice before muttering,  “ugh, even when faeries are being petty they are so nauseating compassionate.”

“I wasn’t finished! I also might just look forward to trying to punch you in the face with magic and our battle of wits.”

“A one sided battle. You have none of those.”

There it is! The kind of sass and spunk she was waiting for. 

“Next time you come to fight me, I expect you to actually try!” She takes a step closer to Icy, “And I don’t want to hear any of this—” Her legs swoop out from under her and her rear end collides with the ground. Icy cackles as the ice shatters.

“Glad that I could help.” Bloom grumbles as she stares at the clouds drifting overhead. She wonders if it is weird to feel happy for her enemy even if the woman’s joy is at her own expense. She wonders if they are even enemies at all or if this is just the dynamic that both of them feel comfortable in. She can’t say that she knows many rivals who are invested, in any capacity, in the others’ wellbeing.

She wonders if Icy feels the same way. She recalls that Icy has always coaxed her to bring her A game. Has held back on delivering literal killing blows that could have earned her the victories that she craves. 

She thinks that the both of them hold back on each other. Their powers are both lethal…

Bloom gets to her feet. “You ready for a real fight!?” 

And Icy surprises her again, “not particularly, not today.” She pauses. “I just wanted to see you land on your ass.” She shrugs. 

“Alright, but next time I see you, you better kick my ass!”

Icy rolls her eyes. “Moron.”

[kipkoh]

Pre canon Hunter getting sick but having nobody to take care of him.

Also read on AO3.

Warning: Emotional Hurt/No Comfort

There was an orchestra inside his head; uncoordinated and cacophonic yet confident in their tone, pounding away at their instruments enough to oddly time their abuse of his skull with the sound of the rain hammering against the window.

Hunter wasn’t scared of stormy nights, per say, but there was something about being sick that made them feel more sinister. He was weak; vulnerable; pathetic; and the shadows cast by the unstable moonlight took advantage of that, wrapping around him and hugging his feeble form tightly enough to restrain him to his bed, making him barely able to move without them digging their claws into his skin to push him back down. The boiling rain set a putridness to the air that seeped through the cracks in his window and into his lungs, setting them ablaze as he continuously failed to choke out the smoke. The lightning outside was nauseating as it passed, bright and intrusive behind his closed eyelids at regular enough intervals to make falling asleep become a cumbersome task and ensuring he couldn’t just rest until the sickness finally subsided.

Sometimes, he wondered what dying felt like, and if it was much the same as to how being sick felt. As he lied there in bed, soaking the sheets with rolls of sweat and tears, he wondered if death might even be preferable. If he died, there would be no more suffering, no more pain, no more worry. If he died, he would never have to spend another miserable night in the still quiet of his bedroom, all alone with no one to feed him warm soup and tell him stories to keep his mind off the ice storm weathering through the veins beneath his skin despite the fact the room outside his diseased vessel felt just as boiling as the rain.

Sometimes, he envied kids in stories – kids with moms and dads who hugged them and kissed them and soothed their fevers. Sometimes, he imagined his mom, whoever she might have been, and wondered if she would have done those things for him had she gotten the chance. He imagined her wiping the sweat off his brow, or tucking him in, or lulling him to sleep like a baby with a soft, hummed lullaby that would reverberate around his head as he drifted off into a restful, dreamless sleep. He imagined her soft hands stroking his cheek and her lips on his forehead and could just almost trick himself into thinking it was real.

But Hunter didn’t have a mom. He had Belos, and Belos played a different role. Hunter understood that. The Emperor had been kind enough to take him in, shelter him, and feed him, but of course he couldn’t drop the weight of an entire empire on his shoulders in order to wipe snot from his nephew’s nose. That didn’t mean that Hunter didn’t sometimes wish he could. It didn’t mean there were never times when the door would crack open and he’d get his hopes up just for it to be dashed by yet another nameless scout bringing him his rations.

He’d tried once, and only once, to seek out his uncle’s comfort during a harsh bout of illness when he was much younger. He’d tiptoed across the castle and managed to evade the scouts somehow to slip into Belos’ room. He should have known better. It should have been obvious that disturbing the Emperor’s rest was disrespectful, especially for such a stupid and childish reason, and yet Hunter’s mind had been so clouded with thoughts and desires he had no right clinging to that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Of course Belos wasn’t just going to let him crawl into bed and cuddle with him. Of course the Emperor was just going to send Hunter back to his own room, albeit with a new, searing pain on his cheek to add to his discomfort.

Hunter couldn’t keep wishing for someone to baby him. He was the Golden Guard, for Titan’s sake! He was meant to be strong willed, powerful, and brave, but everytime he got the sniffles it was as if he’d regress into a child. He certainly felt that way now as he curled into a ball under his covers and hugged his plush toy crushingly against his chest, the poor thing absorbing the wettened emotions careening out of his eyes.

He had to be stronger. It wasn’t like he’d never been in pain before, so surely a small fever shouldn’t be able to render him useless, right? His body would fight it off and in the meantime, he just had to power though and prove he was as strong as Belos wanted him to be. That was why he couldn’t see the healers, nor take any potions, because if he battled the ailment on his own and came out the victor on the other side, then he could confidently say he was worthy of… whatever it was he was meant to be. And, if he wasn’t strong enough, well, he just supposed it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

He wanted to prove he wasn’t a child. Adults surely didn’t imagine their dead moms babying them over nothing more than a case of the sniffles. Adults could surely handle the waves of nausea and the blinding migraines with ease all on their own. Adults surely didn’t sob in agony over the hammer under their skin slowly chiseling away at their muscle. Adults surely didn’t hold tightly onto childhood toys for lack of other options in the hopes it would bring them even a minuscule amount of comfort.

In a fervent daze, Hunter sat up and forcefully chucked the stupid plush across the room, watching as it hit the wall and slid down to lie in a heap on the floor. He glared into its eyes until he realized what he’d done and immediately changed tone. He wasn’t sure if it was just the illness making his rational thought hazy, but he could’ve sworn the toy looked stricken by the abuse, and he understood the feeling.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, choking out the words past strangled sobs as he wobbled out of bed to go pick up the toy. He dusted it off and carried it back to the bed, carefully tucking it in beside him as if he were its parent. At least one of them could have that.

If he allowed himself more expression, he wondered if he really wanted to be an adult after all. It would make Belos happy if he acted like one, and his maturity would surely mean respect and adoration from the scouts and Coven Heads. But why couldn’t he have any of that regardless? Why did he have to age beyond his years just to gain anyone’s approval? How was it fair he was forced to become a man before he’d ever even gotten the chance to be a boy?

There was yet another crack of thunder outside and he buried himself underneath his covers as if the thin fabric would do anything to protect him from the monsters cast by shadows on his walls. The night seemed never ending, carried on by the storm, and Hunter wondered if it was possible to get through it alone. He’d done it before, but every time felt worse than the last, so it was impossible to say if he could persevere again. For all he knew, it was worse than just a mild bug and he’d somehow managed to catch a deadly illness. For all he knew, that night really would be his last.

Maybe he was more scared of death than he originally thought. He didn’t want to close his eyes and have to face the unknown. Would anyone even mourn him? Would Belos regret not taking the time to make sure he was okay? Or would no one care at all? After all, he was just some pathetic kid leaving behind no legacy whatsoever, sure to be replaced the second his body was extracted from his bed. 

He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to. He wanted someone, anyone, to acknowledge him – to help him like the child he really was. He wanted someone besides himself to care whether or not he survived.

He started humming to himself, low and out of tune, wishing he knew even a single lullaby. He’d never actually had someone sing him one, and so he just made up a tune and went with it, relaxing ever so slightly at the reverberations in his chest. He wondered what it would have been like to feel those vibrations from someone else as they hugged him close and swayed him to sleep. Would he still hear their voice in his dreams or feel their warmth wrap around him like a blanket in his sleep? 

Why did he have to be so alone?

He curled himself tighter into a ball and clenched his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to block out the light of the storm. He forced himself to focus on his breathing instead of the itching of his flesh and prayed that the Titan would take mercy on him and allow him to recover. 

[the-crittercorner]

Happy Valentines Day from the critter corner! Not too many couples this time of year just two! But Kit, Snowball and Cupid joined in the photo since they love the Valentines Day aesthetic

[agere-flaggs]

Stormy Regression

Stormy regressor is a term for a darker regression, one where the regressor is sad and upset. One may throw a fit or be very upset when stormy regressing, no matter the age. Not a permanent regression— happens until the regressor is calmed down or happy. Better term for sad regression than “impure”.

Can also be a term for those who regress when sad or overwhelmed

[little-saw]

I wish I could send videos, Stormy was “trying” to get her tail

Is that a cat on a blanket of cats