#agere name help

[little-pup-pip]

agere blog reccommendations? xx

Hmm, that's a tough question, because I want to say almost every agere blog!! It's very rare I see actual agere accounts doing something I don't like. But, this is a great opportunity to talk about some of my personal favorites!

@/dino-boyo-agere is super nice, makes really fun posts and loves dinosaurs like I do!!

@/snailsagere makes really cool and inclusive boards! They were one of the people whose content gave me the idea to make moodboards on this account!!

@/tinyowlet makes the best dni banners ever! And creates really awesome moodboards (plus he's super cool)!!

@/plusie and I have never interacted, but they have a ton of cute plushie boards!!

@/tinikip is another favorite of mine! He's not online very often, but I'm always happy to see new posts when he's active!!

@/hyperfixated-maybe isn't necessarily an agere account, but he's so so cool! Seriously one of the best people I've met here! And, he has the best recommendations for things to check out!!

@/litlpawz is so so nice!! And he makes super cute stuff!! Seriously he has so much variety and answers requests a lot faster than I do!!

Finally, @/cgstuff reblogs a lot of stuff that's fun!! I like to look through her blog and see posts that didn't show up on my dash!!

I would do honorable mentions but truly it's just most people I didn't mention by name! There's so so many agere accounts that do cool things and I'd love to know and name them all!!

[wordy-little-witch]

Buggy should get to do Crocodiles nails and it should be a very comforting experience for both of them. For Crocodile because not only does he feel handsome in his body after transitioning to a point that made him comfortable, but he also now feels like this finally gives him the ability to enjoy something again that he had mixed feelings about when he hadn’t transitioned yet, beautiful, dark and harsh colors coating nails on a hand that felt too feminine in a way he couldn’t describe yet.

Buggy just likes to sit crosslegged between crocodiles legs on the couch, back touching his chest, as he instructs the man to lay his remaining hand to rest his hand in his lap and Buggy gets to debate with himself wether today a sharp crimson color or a more subtle, velvety plum kind of tone would be more applicable.

This originally was just about little!Buggy but honestly Buggy is such a fashionista that when he has finally widdled Crocodile down and proven that, yes, it actually DOES look really good, he probably could even convince him to do this once or twice a week

… That being said Buggy, age eleven doing Shanks nails with some polish they looted from the last marines and Roger walking into the room like “…. what’s going on here?” “C-Captain!?” “We… I … Buggy and I…. We were doing our nails- I ASKED HIM TO HONESTLY AND-“

“Me next.”

Cue Roger walking around with an incredibly amateurish and not specifically color matched manicure for the next few days or so.

Okay but honestly? I'm in love with this. Little! Buggy probably would have fun spa days with his crew, where they all do each other's nails and hair, and he's THRIVING there it's fun and he can stim and wriggle and laugh and it's amazing. Maybe the first time Crocodile caves is after a few times where he's joined them, maybe something about the gathering in question is Off or Buggy's struggling to drop. The Logia user makes a semi-rash decision.

"Here," he rumbles, reaching a hand out to tap Buggy's shoulder. "Don't make me regret this, brat."

It's the start of a frequent occurrence. Buggy, big or little, enjoys working with his hands and the focus can help him calm down and relax when he's a little too tightly wound. Sometimes Mihawk will give him a chance to do his nails, too - and Buggy hates that he thinks it, but he really prefers Croc's hands when he's regressed. The size difference and semi-gruff/semi-gentle way he offers it just takes Buggy to those precious few years when he truly felt safe and loved and it's only reinforced when they care about him so much. Mihawk is refreshingly new, but Crocodile is comfortingly familiar.

Speaking of familiar and the past, however, that bit with Shanks and Buggy? They really would. I have the weirdest suspicion they both swiped some bottles from the same place, and convened later on like "look what u got for yo-OHHHH!!!!"

They're up late, doing each other's nails by lantern light, trying to stay quiet but struggling between the giggling and excitement. And they both freeze when the door swings open.

"What are you boys doing up so late- oh. What's going on here?"

And Buggy chokes a little, so Shanks dives headfirst into babbling explanations, trying to take the prospective heat off of Buggy, both a little scared and-

Roger grins. "Can I be next?"

They blink, dumbfounded. But they nod. He settles down with an exaggerated groan onto the floor, complaining about his "old man bones", getting giggles from his boys. They look over the bottles, and Roger decides one can have a hand each - make it fair, he claims. Shanks does some solid color on each nail of his delegated hand, tongue out as he adds random embellishments. Buggy takes a few moments longer before he does a neutral coat, then carefully does his best at a mix between french tips and a wave pattern with white and blue. On the ring finger, he giggles nefariously to himself as he takes a toothpick and adds a red flower.

It's messy, not professional in the slightest but Roger wears it proudly, even if he choked on air when he saw Buggy's handiwork, threatening to noogie the kid when his nails dried.

((Bonus points, someone on the crew tried to make a snarky teasing remark to Buggy for his bright nails One (1) Time the next day. Shanks lunged into the exchange to gush about his own nails. Roger then got involved too, showing off his nails. Then he decided to "make it a crew bonding experience!!" The next island they docked at, he demanded they get "nail paints. All the nail paint!!"

"It's nail polish, captain."

"All the nail polish!!!!"

It's weird at first, but it becomes fun when everyone finally relaxes. Buggy turns out to be one of the best with the brushes, and the others let him practice on them frequently. It's a rare spot of harmless fun))

((Bonus points, the sentiment spreads to the Whitebeards too after one battle where Roger cries because the fight chipped his manicure and he begged Buggy to fix it. Sitting around the fire, Buggy just plops into his captain's lap, holds the man's hand in his own lap, and works on fixing it. Whitebeard chuckles warmly about it, and the captains make conversation about it. Newgate then drops a casual question of "do you accept new clients, little blue?"

So Buggy winds up getting passed over lap to lap, starting with whitebeard and including many others. Izou and he get into a spirited conversation about color theory and beauty tips.

He's very happy that Teach hard passed on it, and to this day he doesn't know if it was genuine disinterest or if the other declined due to the absolutely murderous waves of Haki coming from Shanks every time he got within several feet of Buggy. Regardless, he is grateful)).

Just. Buggy being a little fashionista and tiny Diva, Big or Little and the cuteness that ensues and just AAAAAAA

(Also whatever you do, don't imagine Buggy, regressed, laying on his tummy, kicking his feet and concentrating so hard while he carefully paints Ritchie's claws. Don't think about Buggy going Puppy's claws so they match and getting guavawani kisses during the whole thing which results in giggle fits and a messy but happy clown. Don't do it, buddy. You might die-))

[werefangz]

gay emo dogs <3

[lttl3babybug]

Valentine’s Day colouring date results as promised :3

[leos-regression-cove]

Little aesthetic that is rustic, rural, 70's-90's Americana, kind of country but also super cozy and kind of nostalgic that I do not have a name for:

Old American Girl Doll catalogs

Honey-oak cribs

maroon, navy, and off-white or even pale yellow

Moon and stars patterns

Embroidered quilts

Scratchy acrylic crochet pieces

Paper dolls

Cookie ornaments.

Kliban cat and old newspaper comic art

Hollie Hobbie

Country Living Magazine

Everything's a little dark

[cerealkiddie]

obsessing w the name charlotte,,, I have been wanting a new alias to use.. I've been using blitz/bibiana for a hot minute and feel I'm almost done w them

[thelittlekinghelios]

🩷 I found this brand of ball jointed dollies online, so I ordered one and she came home yesterday! I don't have name for her yet, but I love her a lot already! :D

[starry-agere]

how to make an agere journal! 🪐

🚀 supplies

anything will work, but here are some supply ideas to make your journal!

find a cute notebook to use! you can find journals for kids online or at most stores

gather pens, crayons and colored pencils! there are lots of sparkly gel pens you can find, including pens that are themed around kids shows

get stickers to decorate your journal with!

make a bookmark to help you keep track of where you left off

note: you don't have to buy anything if you want to make an agere journal! you can absolutely use a school notebook and whatever pencils, pens and crayons you have lying around.

🌠 about me! write about:

your favorite things to do while regressed

your favorite shows and books

what music you like listening to when small

what you liked to be called when little

your favorite little gear

what regression is like for you

what age you regress to

what you want to be when you grow up

do a “big me” vs “little me” comparison

💫 about my caregiver! write about:

your favorite things about your cg

what you and your cg like to do together

how long they’ve been your cg

your favorite memory with your cg

things you associate with your cg

your cg’s favorite things - their favorite animal, show, color, etc

if you don't have a cg, write about what you'd like in a cg!

🌌 my dream little gear! you can:

draw your dream paci

design a onesie

draw stuffies you want

design teethers and blankets

come up with fun toys! you can find inspiration online, if you want

draw your dream playroom or nursery. you can also print or cut out pictures and glue them into your journal!

🌙 about my stuffies! you can:

make an “about the stuffie” section for each one! what's their name, where did you get them, how long have you had them, what kind of animal are they, etc!

draw a picture of your favorite stuffies

write about the adventures you like to go on with your stuffies

come up with cute outfit ideas for your stuffies

🪐 things to draw:

you and your caregiver together

any pets you have

your favorite animal(s)

characters from your favorite show or picture book

fun things you did that day

things for holidays, like pumpkins for halloween, a bunny for easter, reindeer and a tree for christmas, etc

you as a superhero

you as a pet or animal

you in space, as an astronaut!

make up an alien! draw what they might look like

🌟 other ideas:

design a cartoon or picture book! make a cast of characters and write about their adventures

write notes for your cg or sibbies

write about your day! what did you do, who did you see, etc

you can print out activity sheets and glue them into your journal, if you want!

[eflen-n-reegee]

Caregiver Rosie Headcanons (Hazbin Hotel)

Heads up: this show contains death, violence, swearing, sexual assault, and various forms of depravity.

Rosie can spot a regressor a mile away, and she’ll start nurturing you before she even knows your name. It might be a little off-putting, but she has good intentions.

She loves to baby the absolute dickens out of you. No matter how old you are, she’s constantly pinching your cheeks and cooing about how adorable you are.

(And any argument about how you’re too old for that kind of thing is met with a cheerful hand wave. “Oh sugar, you’ll always be my baby, however big you get.”)

There’s all kinds of creepy confections at her store, and she’s happy to let you try them… but she’s also completely willing to make you more normal food. “It’s an acquired taste, sweetie, no big deal.”

She loves to dress you up in old fashioned outfits, and she goes on for hours about how darling you look.

She is GREAT with helping you work through big feelings. She’s a wonderful listener and always gives helpful advice.

She’s always watching for things she thinks you’ll like. Maybe she surprises you with a new toy, or maybe she points out a cool bug on the ground. She just likes seeing you excited.

If you like tea parties, Rosie is your gal. She’ll set out her best tea service, make all kinds of tasty snacks, and bring plenty of gossip to the table.

She’s a very hands-on person, constantly wanting to hug you or hold your hand or fuss with your hair. (And if you don’t like physical contact, she’ll respect that, but she’ll also try to find forms of touch you’re comfortable with. Maybe gentle tugs on your sleeve, or holding hands with a plushie? She’ll find something that works!)

She is very firm about rules and has absolutely no qualms about sending you to timeout. Don’t bother with the puppy eyes; she’s completely immune.

~~~~~~~~~

I’m finally back! I’m working on filling some suggestions from a few months ago, but I just had to get my thoughts on Rosie out there. If you like Hazbin Hotel agere content, I highly recommend @nottapossum

[mintyscuriocabinet]

Tumblr, we need your help!

Hi all, I'm making this post to inform everyone about a user that currently goes by the name @/basedhartman. This person is notorious in agere and therian spaces, however, they aren't so well known outside of these niche communities.

In the past, Basedhartman has shown their hatred towards multiple groups including disabled people, age regressors, LGBTQ+ people, anyone who isn't Christian, and many, many more. This user has been harassing others for many months now, coming back with a new account every time.

Most recently, they were banned after they exposed minors to real images of gore on their blog. As members of the platform, we can't allow this abhorrent behaviour to continue.

Please block and report this user. Reblog so we can spread the word and put an end to this. I'll be tagging a number of some of the more popular blogs (and some others too) on this site so this message can be spread to as many people as possible.

Thank you for reading; let's make Tumblr a safe place for everyone.

I'd also like to thank to my closest mutual @scary-friend for giving me the courage to post this.

- Minty

@mmartisttalent @staff @sage-writes-n-coins-mogai @badjokesbyjeff @i-am-a-fish @pukicho @sahbeetle3 @partycoffin @regressors-blocklist @rainbott @damagedcoda6669 @i-am-a-snom @theogclownboy @missevahpony @nottapossum @our-queer-experience @basedhartmanismypookie @cringehindwomen

[cherryredstars]

i loved the agere short fic for miguel!

may you please do more if you’re comfortable?? maybe routine headcanons?? could be throughout the day routine or just a bedtime routine; i dont really mind!!

tysm <3 you’re an amazing writer!! stay well rested tho

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Age Regression

A/N: Of course, love!

Unedited

Bedtime with Miguel would include…

Bedtime snacking! Miggy is a firm believer that you should never go to bed hungry. Doesn’t even get upset that you didn’t finish dinner and that you’re asking for a snack 30 minutes later. Just smiles and kisses the crown of your head before getting your favorite utensils out to serve you whatever you want. While he prefers to get you something healthy like fruit and maybe a topping of choice, he won’t say no if you so sweetly ask him for a bowl of ice cream or a mug of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows.

While he tries to get you ready and in bed at a certain time, he knows some nights you just have too much energy to even consider laying down. He tries to find things to help you relax, always so patient with you. He sits with you and colors until you’re yawning. Allows you to watch one more episode of your show and waits until you begin to nod off. He doesn’t even grumble that he’ll have to clean up the living room again. Anything to help you sleep.

He’s never complained about all the stuff animals on the bed. He’ll wait patiently as you pick one out for the night, nods his head and prepares to make room when you can’t decided and don’t want to hurt any of their feelings by subjecting them to the floor. He regularly helps you organize them, and he knows all their names by heart.

Definitely prefers to tell you stories while he’s laying in bed and you’re cuddle up again him. Helps him unwind too. He strokes your hair, fingers gently running up your back as he holds you. Whispers softly into your ear as he tells you a story that he used to be told when he was younger or one that he makes up on the spot. It makes him smile as your mumbles of what happens next? die down and you’re fast asleep.

[babyhatesreality]

The Book was Better

Daddy!Stucky x little f!reader

Warnings: SFW Agere (SSC), f! reader, reader is named but name used sparingly, pet names/nicknames, fear of disappointment, a little language, fluff (I mean really do you expect anything less from me? :D)

PLEASE NOTE- THIS STORY IS AGERE AND SFW, THE REST OF MY BLOG IS NOT NECESSARILY SO. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS ONTO ANY SITE. Likes, comments, and reblogs deeply appreciated! 

A/N- for @asittwas, who just gave me the loveliest compliment and reblog. Thank you darling!! To all of you- sorry to be gone so long. Life hopefully is going to ease up for a while.

"Alright puppy, you ready?" Steve said, grinning as he finished tying your shoes.

"YES!" you screamed with joy, flinging yourself forward into his arms. He laughed and tossed you in the air, before bringing you into his chest and nuzzling your cheek lovingly. "Can we please go now pleeeeease?"

"Yup, it's go time! Let's get Daddy and head out."

You wriggled with excitement. You all were going to the zoo today! The day was finally here! They'd been hyping you up for a while over it- not that you needed the help getting excited- and you were nearly exploding for joy, hence Papa carrying you to find Daddy. If he put you down, you were likely to run roughly 9000 laps around the apartment just on adrenaline alone. And while chasing you was a good workout for the both of them, Steve and Bucky had agreed to keep your energy reserved for the zoo.

"What animals are you most excited to see today, little one?" Steve asked, bouncing you playfully as you made your way together to the bedroom. They had asked you the same question every day for the past two weeks, and you had a different answer every time.

You tapped your fingers against your lips, thinking. "Ummmm..." you mumbled as you thought hard. "Da tigers, and da sheep, and...and..." Steve pinched his lips together in amusement at this new combo and waited for you to finish your thought, "....and the DRAGONS!"

Well. That was an entirely new one.

Steve carefully cleared his throat, wanting to get ahead of this now. "Baby," he said gently, slowing down his pace a bit. You frowned and looked down at his feet, speaking before he could gather his thoughts and patting him hard on the shoulder.

"Papa, go faster!"

"Baby, listen-"

"Go faster to Daddy!! Now!!!"

"Hey," Steve said sternly, stopping immediately. You bit your lip, looking contrite. "Are you allowed to talk to me that way?"

"I sorry," you said, abashed. "I excited."

Steve smiled gently and gave you a kiss on the temple in forgiveness as he resumed his journey. "I know you're excited. But I need you to listen right now and be a good girl. Understood?"

"Okay, Papa!"

"Good girl. So...so there will be lots of fun animals at the zoo today, and we'll see them all, okay?"

"Okay!"

"But there might not be all the animals you want. Sometimes that happens."

"But dat's where dey live. In da ZOO. Dey gonna be dere."

"I know, honey," he said patiently, praying that this didn't go off the rails. They had been reading the Hobbit to you, and you had become obsessed with the characters, especially Smaug. He was the ultimate villain in all your playacting recently. Steve and Bucky tried so hard not to destroy your make believe world, but he also didn't want you to get crushed when you didn't see anything close to the dragon in your mind today. "We'll see all the animals that live at the zoo. But some animals don't live at the zoo."

"I know! Dey live all over the world and den some live at the zoo."

"Right. So the zoo doesn't have all the animals in the world. But that doesn't mean that we're not going to have lots of fun, right?"

"Right!"

"Right. So if an animal isn't there, then that's okay, right? Because we're still gonna have fun."

"Yup!"

"Okay, then!" Steve said, knowing he had laid the ground work to help you if you mentioned "dragons" again, and feeling pretty good about it. You two walked into the bedroom just as Bucky was pulling on a baseball cap. You squealed in delight, leaning forward out of Steve's arms towards Bucky. He spun around and effortlessly caught you, giving you a huge kiss on the cheek.

"Alright, Trouble, you ready?" he asked as Steve retrieved his own ballcap. "You ready to see all the animals?"

"Yeah! We gonna see DRAGONS!"

Steve's nervous gaze swung to Bucky's face. Bucky was looking at you impassively, clearly in thought. He turned and smiled gently, and Steve's heart stopped racing for a moment. Surely Bucky would help and say the right thing to you.

"Well, you never know at the zoo," Bucky said with a shrug and a grin. You cheered loudly. He chuckled at the look of astonished betrayal on his husband's face as you all headed out the door.

*******************************************************

It became clear to the both of them that the idea of dragons had taken hold of your little mind and was not letting up. The entire way there, you chatted animatedly about how when you saw the dragon, Papa and Daddy could pretend to be the knights and the kings and the elves and the hobbits from Daddy's book and save you- the beautiful princess- from certain death and then you- who also apparently wielded a convenient bow and arrow- would save all the animals in the zoo and become the Princess of New York City.

When you all went through the front gates, there was a blessed time when they thought they might be off the hook from this whole dragon thing. All the sights captured and held your attention. You were instantly mesmerized by the beautiful tigers, you laughed at the silly monkeys, you followed the paths of the birds and the peacocks being very careful not to scare them, and your eyes had taken on a wonderous look when you actually got to feed a giraffe. The petting zoo part had been a huge hit. They were almost home free, thinking about lunch as you skipped in between them down the path, holding both their hands.

"Can we see da dragons now?" you asked politely out of the blue, after about three hours of not mentioning it once. Steve shot Bucky a nervous look.

"Well, Baby, remember how I said that some animals don't live in zoos?" Steve said carefully

"Yeah, but-"

"Well, love, dragons don't do well in zoos. And this zoo doesn't have any dragons."

"Yes dey-"

"No, no they don't. But we can go see other animals and keep having fun, right?"

"Go see da dragons!"

"There's no dragons to see here, baby. We could go look at the zebras instead, how would you like that?"

You shook your head, planting your feet, which caused them both to stop. You pointed to a sign on the left, letting go of Bucky's hand.

"See? Da dragons is DERE!" you said triumphantly. "I see da word!!" They turned and looked. The sign that you were impetuously pointing to listed reptiles, tortoises, and...Komodo dragons. "See? Dragons!" You snatched Bucky's hand again, pulling them in that direction. "We gotta go!" you hollered joyfully, yanking your daddies as hard as you could to follow you.

"She must have recognized the word from looking at the book," Steve murmured to Bucky as he let you drag him towards the enclosure. "Do you think she's going to be upset when...when she sees it?"

"Only one way to find out," Bucky said, failing to suppress his grin at your stubbornness and determination, and trotting willingly with you. Steve sighed, exasperated, internally grumbling and swearing to himself that if you had a meltdown it was all going to be Bucky's fault.

Once you all got closer, you excitedly asked Bucky to pick you up in a hushed voice, knowing that dragons could hear intruders into their caves. You wanted a better view for your first time seeing a live dragon.

Steve watched your face very carefully as the three of you approached the large viewing area. He watched as your brow wrinkled in confusion. He heard you whisper to Bucky.

"Where is da treasure?"

Bucky, to his credit, answered quickly, having worked on his game plan all along. "Probably inside," he whispered back. "You know, so the other dragons and zoo people don't steal it. He's got it hidden extra extra good."

"Dat makes sense," you said, nodding wisely. You craned your neck, holding tightly onto Bucky as he tried to hold in a snicker. "How's come we see outsides and not a cave like da book?" was your next question.

"Because we don't want to go into the cave and get burned up, do we?"

"OH! No, don't want dat."

"I didn't think you did."

"But den how's he gonna come out?" You pointed to the opening in the rock. "Is too small."

Bucky was saved by a lizard in that moment. He didn't have a good answer to that one, but luckily the Komodo dragon chose to make his appearance right then. Both Steve and Bucky turned their faces to watch you as your jaw dropped in utter astonishment. The Komodo dragon took his sweet time stepping out of the enclosure, his long tongue flicking the air around him.

"What's he doing?" you asked in an awed voice.

"He's got the scent of something," Bucky whispered back, actually knowing the real answer here. "He senses and tastes something in the air and he's trying to figure out what it is."

"Ohhhhh," you breathed in wonder. Your eyes took in every inch of that Komodo dragon, your little body jolting with surprise or glee anytime the lizard moved. After about three minutes of you being nearly catatonic with joy at finally seeing a dragon, you turned to Bucky again, confusion crossing your face.

"Is bigger in da book," you commented as you tried to figure out why this dragon was so small.

Bucky couldn't help the snort of laughter at that moment, but as your little frown deepened just a bit, he passed it off as a cough then turned very seriously to you. "This must be a baby dragon," he explained in a lofty voice that was clearly supposed to be a stab at a scholarly approach. "A big dragon probably wouldn't agree to live at the zoo."

"But, den where is his daddy dragon? Is he gonna come back?" you asked anxiously.

"Oh yeah, of course," Bucky said without missing a beat. Steve suppressed a smile, knowing that NOW Bucky was mentally sweating bullets. Then, damn it all, Bucky once again dug himself out of the hole. "You know what? This is probably a distraction," Bucky whispered conspiratorially to you.

"Distra...districta...a what?"

"A distraction. The daddy dragon is guarding the real treasure, while the baby dragon makes everyone come look at him because he's so cute and sweet. No one will think to go looking for their treasure because the baby dragon distracts them!"

"Dat is so SMART!" you gasped in agreed. "Smart dragons! Like da books!!"

"Yup, exactly like the books."

You looked back at the Komodo dragon, smiling ear to ear, then turned back to both your daddies.

"Da book was better," you declared happily, then nodded sagely as if the matter was now closed. "Can we go see zebras?"

You all had a delightful rest of the day at the zoo, seeing all the animals, and that night you cheerfully went to bed without a fuss at the promise of a story with your daddies starring as the knights of New York who saved you from the dragon.

And for the rest of your lives, occasionally Steve or Bucky would turn to each other and quietly say "Eh, the book was better," making the each other laugh to the point of joyful tears.

[adventuringblind]

A Little Lost

Liam Lawson x Reader x Oscar Piastri x Logan Sargeant

Genre: fluff and hurt/comfort

Summary: With her ADHD driving her mind into a whirlwind, she ends up slipping in public and unable to find the one person she needs. Luckily Oscar and Logan are there to help.

Warnings: non-sexual age play, agere/age-regression, panic attacks, implied trauma, non-sexual use of daddy

Notes: I needed this for myself, honestly!! I hope the requester finds comfort in it like I did!

Side note: age-regression is NOT a kink. If you're going to request it, please don't make it a smut request. It gives ya girl mixed signals. AGEPLAY is a kink and has dd/lg dynamics. Please remember this when requesting... I'm begging T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Everything is overwhelming at the moment. He thoughts are running in a million different directions. The noise and bustle of the paddock is pulling Her every which way.

She needs Liam. Without a shadow of a doubt, she needs him right this second.

Her mental state is dancing between headspaces. Her little self is attempting to break free of the confines she's put the girl in. To young and to alone to be out in this environment.

The alphatauri garage feels so far away. It's an endless walk she's been attempting to make for what feels like hours now. Liam, she just needs to get to him.

Panic rises every time someone bumps into her. She squeaks out a sorry, only to be met with annoyed grunts. She needs her daddy to make it better. No - Liam - she needs Liam.

The catalyst is someone shoving her away and complaining that she should pay more attention. She is paying attention. Her brain just has thirty tabs open, three of them have commercials playing, another is driving her senses wild, and where the heck is her da- Liam?!

The shove sends her tumbling to the ground. Her elbow hits the hard ground on impact. It's bleeding, and she's officially offline.

Her little self takes over, tears welling in her eyes as she hides around the corner and tugs at her hair. A desperate attempt to settle the whirlwind of her thoughts.

She needs her daddy.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Logan and Oscar are animatedly chatting about the race as they walk through the dwindling crowd. Liam had texted about a longer debrief and had asked them to check up on his girlfriend since she wasn't answering her phone.

They'd been an item the last couple of years like Oscar and Logan have. It's an interesting and often tense dynamic. The four of them are all extremely close, but neither of the couples have openly talked about any kind of open relationship.

Oscar and Logan have. It's often a source of interesting fantasies and warm fuzzy feelings. They say nothing, though. Scared of losing their closest friends in the pursuit of something mildly taboo still.

Logan is lost in his thoughts when Oscar stops suddenly. He hushes him and listens intently. It's then that Logan catches the muffled sobs.

They take off in the direction of the crying. Neither of them are ones to let somebody suffer when they can help it.

They turn the corner, and there sits their original target. She curled up with hair in every direction, and her fingers rake through it in a violent manner.

Logan approaches her like she's a wounded animal. He's not at all hurt when she curls farther into her corner.

"Osc, we're gonna need to call Liam."

"Already on it!"

She perks up at hearing Liam's name. Eyes wide and teary, but at least she doesn't look scared of the Logan for the moment. "Daddy? Are callin' daddy?"

Oh. Oh.

She's - how did they put it? - regressed, in age. They talked about it in passing but never elaborated. Logan and Oscar had never bothered to look into it. They were protective over it and they wanted to respect that.

He's regretting that decision just a tad now. He might be more prepared on what to do if he'd bothered to figure out what it is that happens to her.

The obvious thing is that she's vulnerable and scared. "Yeah, we're calling him." He smiles warmly at her. "Can you tell me what happened? Why you're so sad?" He keeps his tone calm to hopefully ease her into a less anxious state.

She untucks herself and shows Logan her red and bleeding elbow. "Was pushed."

It's not a terrible scrape, not one to be worried about, but it is getting on all her clothes. He'll have to ask about the pushing later.

Oscar comes back and sighs in annoyance. "He said another thirty minutes at least of debrief. I feel bad for worrying him now."

Oscar sees where the two are crouched and throws Logan a confused look. "Is everything alright?"

"Well, I think someone needs a band-aid for her elbow and somewhere to wait for daddy." Logan tries to communicate that there is more going on here. Oscar looks between the two, and then his face lights up in some kind realization.

"Lando already left for the day, so my room should be safe. And I know he has crayon band-aids in his room."

She considers the idea. Carefully studying both of their faces for some hint of malicious intent. "Daddy said no strangers."

Logan exaggerates a pondering face. "Are me and Osc strangers? I thought we were best friends!"

She shakes her head yes and moves closer to the American. A reassurance that she does consider him a friend. "More then friend!" She leans up to Logan and motions to lend his ear so she can whisper into it. "Daddy says loves." She giggles, and Logan has to use all his strength not to look dumbfounded at the confession.

Oscar and Logan wrangle her the back way to the McLaren motor home. Their success in going mostly unnoticed has both males breathing in relief as they step into the saftey of Oscar's room.

The Aussie ducks out to grab the band-aid from his teammates' room, and Logan is left to sit with the girl currently looking confused and intrigued. She hesitantly grabs the stuffed koala sitting on the shelf. The one Logan had gotten for him as a joke before they started dating.

"Has name?" Her fingers stroke the soft fluff of the toy.

"I'm not sure. Should we ask Osc when he gets back?" She nods once, then comes and sits on the couch with him. The stuffed koala cradled in her arms like it's the most precious thing she's ever seen.

Logan is still trying to comprehend what she meant earlier. Is it just her small brain misinterpreting something Liam said? Or is this an honest confession that she doesn't currently understand the implications of? He doesn't want to get his hopes up and settles on the second option for now.

Oscar sneaks back in the door and starts unwrapping the bangade. It is, in fact, shaped like a red crayon. Her eyes light up even as he washes the cut and places the band-aid on it.

"There we go, all better now." Oscar smiles at her as she hugs his koala.

"Thank you."

She's completely entranced in the stuffed toy again. Logan taps her on the nose to get her attention. "Did you want to ask Osc your question?"

She makes an 'o' shape with her mouth. "Does koala have a name?" She looks up at him with expectant eyes.

Oscar considers. "Hmmm, I don't think he does. Would you like to give him one?"

She takes careful consideration, weighing all the possible options. "Koko."

"Love it."

"Very creative!"

Her expression changes into something sad. Her eyes once again glassy like before. "Will daddy like?" She curls up in Logans lap with the toy.

"Yeah, he'll love it. Certainly not as much as he loves you."

She hums and closes her eyes. It's adorable and peaceful. "Do you think Liam might let us do this with her again?"

"If he doesn't kill us first. Speaking of, I should let him know where we are."

♡♡♡♡♡

Liam likes to think he's relatively quick. He runs often enough and has good stamina.

This is the fastest he's ever moved in his entire life. He grabs all their stuff with a speed that shocks both Daniel and Yuki.

"What's got you in a hurry, mate?"

"Just eager to see my girl, is all."

Daniel shoots him a wink. "Have a good time!" Liam can only laugh nervously in response. It's certainly not the good time he's thinking of. No, he'd promised her a nice dinner tonight.

Now he's thinking he might have to shift plans. Which - he's not upset about. Liam loves when she's in headspace because it gives him an excuse to do things he wouldn't normally. As in, she's obsessed with cars, and he gets to spend time building the most intricate tracks with household items, blocks, and an ungodly amount of Legos that they have at home. She's always sad when they have to leave them for long periods of time, but he brings a portion with just in case.

He makes for the McLaren garage and is greeted by Oscar out front. It's odd, knowing that their secret is out and yet the Aussie is looking at him affectionately.

They make light conversation while they venture into the building. It feels normal still, nothing to awkward aside from the fact Liam goes on rabbit trails every ten seconds. It's the reason Oscar knows how to handle Lando and his chaotic communication tactics.

Liam mentally slaps himself. Now is not the time to be drooling over his friend's stability and emotional intelligence. He should really just confess. They'd talked about it, they both want it, but that could result in rejection.

Oscar opens the door and slips inside. Liam takes a second to observe the scene in front of him. His girl, happily laying her head in Logan's lap rambling about the koala in her hands.

"Look who I found!" Oscar gestures to Liam. Her head perks up and she scrambles off the couch, slipping to the floor before throwing herself at Liam.

"Hi, love bug." Liam attempts to get on the floor without falling as she clings to him. He fails miserably as the topple over. "Were you good for Oscar and Logan?" She hums something into his chest that he can't decipher.

"She was an angel, honestly." Logan leans forward on the couch. It looks like he's contemplating something, shooting stead looks at Oscar.

With effort, Liam finally gets them situated on the floor. "Do you know what might have triggered this?"

"She scraped her elbow, was that it maybe?"

Liam ponders the suggestion. His eyes find the crayon band-aid that wasn't there the last time he saw her. He sighs, hopefully she was just overwhelmed, and this wasn't an altercation of some kind. "She's struggled with - uh, being shoved around - I guess. You know, home life things."

"Maybe she was shoved and fell which caused the panic attack." Oscar eyes them sadly.

"Well, you two feel up to helping us get out of here?"

♡♡♡♡♡

Oscar doesn't understand how Liam makes this look normal. HAs this been going on under their noses this whole time? If only he could go back in time, rewind a bit and do some research. He and logan could help out if they wanted.

She was falling asleep in the car and still looks like she might clock out in the elevator. Still, Oscar can't help imagining the four of them together, like this.

Liam twirls her around as they walk until she almost falls over. She falls into him, laughing and smiling, the injury from earlier forgotten about.

Their space is comfortable and lived in. The two even slip into a routine, pulling out food for dinner. He whispers something to her, and she skitters off.

They pull chairs out from around the small table. Liam offers them water and something to eat. "So, about... this."

"Which this? The four of us or her specifically?" Logan raises an eyebrow.

"Both."

The girl returns and climbs into Liam's lap clutching a notebook. She flips open to a page and excitedly hands it to Liam to hand to the two across the table.

Oscar isn't sure whether to laugh or melt, so he mixes the two together. The pages are lined with drawings of the four of them. "She's quite the artist."

"You've no idea. Our fridge is covered in artwork." Liam chuckles a bit and wraps his arms around her.

"Told you! More than friends!"

"Do you know what that means, love bug?"

"Three people to cuddle!"

Oscar really does laugh this time. "Well, you're not wrong!" He shoot a look to Logan.

"Count us in." The American smile.

Liam sighs heavily in disappointment. It's a confusing reaction that Oscar wasn't expecting. "She's going to murder me later for not having this talk when she's big."

"Can't be mad if you make me dessert!" A devilish grin spreads across her cheeks.

"Only this once."

"You said that last time."

[python333]

soft spot — python333

— — — —

synopsis you've been having a bad day, and ghost feels like being extra nice to you. plot twist you're an age regressor and him being so nice is NOT helping.

relationships platonic agere cg!ghost & gn little!reader.

characters ghost.

word count 6.7k.

warnings a victorious reference, age regressor reader, usage of c/n [call sign/code name], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself]

note please feel free to attack me as much as you want if this is inaccurate. i don't even care if it's not constructive criticism. i am begging for everyone's thoughts and opinions on this!! this is also the longest oneshot i think i've ever written!

“Having fun there?” 

You turn in your seat and find Ghost leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eye slightly wider than the other—an indication that his eyebrow is raised. 

“Not really,” You answer, setting down your gun. You’d been disassembling it, trying to take your mind off of the slowly growing headache that’s been building up for the past few hours. You don’t think it’s a migraine or anything, but it still bothers you greatly. 

“Yeah, no, I can tell,” Ghost chuckles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking over to you. He eyes your gun for a moment, the magazine already removed as well as any live rounds left in the rifle ejected, and the bolt locked to the rear. You were only maybe a quarter of the way through your disassembly, even though you started around thirty minutes ago. 

For some reason, you woke up upset today. You were too tired, you felt awfully sluggish, and there was a throbbing pain clustered in the back of your eyebrows. So, in short—you were reasonably very upset. It showed visibly in the way your eyes twitched every so often, and in the way you felt the need to pinch the bridge of your nose to distract you from the pain that was still building up behind your brows. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, leaning on the table. 

“I have this headache that won’t go away,” You respond, sighing as you move your gaze from your gun to Ghost. You can barely see it, but from his eyes you can tell that his face scrunches up beneath his mask. He knows a thing or two about bad headaches, being someone who frequently gets migraines himself. 

“Have you taken any meds for it?” You shake your head ‘no’. Ghost holds up a single finger in a ‘one moment’ motion and rummages through the pockets on his tactical vest for a moment, before he pulls out a small bottle of ibuprofen no bigger than his palm. He hands it to you. 

“Here.” You blink at it for a moment. 

“Thanks,” You take the bottle gingerly and Ghost nods, watching you as you struggle with the child-proof lid for a second before getting it open. You shake out a small tablet, one the size of a low-dosage aspirin, and pop it into your mouth. You don’t have much of an issue dry-swallowing it, and it only takes one attempt before you successfully swallow the tablet.

“You’ve been feeling pretty bad this whole week, haven’t you?” Ghost frowns underneath his mask. 

You think for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I guess. I think it’s mostly just stress.” 

You know it’s not just stress. 

For a while now, you’ve used something called ‘age regression’ as a form of stress relief. You don’t know exactly when it started, but you do know that it was before you were recruited for the 141. And originally, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t regress while on base, and you kept that promise for maybe a month before you broke it. 

You think it was Ghost that was the trigger, actually. You can vividly remember the first time you regressed while on base; you had just finished talking to Ghost, and he called you something—you think he called you something similar to ‘kid’—that made a flip in your mind switch immediately. You can remember excusing yourself from the conversation quickly, leaving your lieutenant slightly confused but otherwise unbothered by the strange action. 

And, worst of all, you can remember being in your quarters and practically burrowing under your blankets. You were curled up into a fetal position, trying to fight the urge to suck on your thumb or at least chew on something, but ultimately lost the fight and succumbed to your urges. You spent maybe a few hours like that, wide awake when you just wanted to try and sleep it away, thinking about that interaction you had with Ghost over and over again. 

You’re not stupid. You know that Ghost has some sort of soft spot for you—albeit, you don’t know exactly how soft that soft spot is, but it’s definitely soft. Soft enough that he goes the tiniest bit easier on you compared to other recruits, soft enough that he spares you more time than he does for others, and the most obvious of all—he initiates most of your conversations. 

Contrary to popular belief, he’s not the scary super-soldier most people think of him as. Sure, maybe he is kind of scary, and maybe his mask does jumpscare you when you’re doing missions in particularly dark spaces sometimes, but other than that he’s not scary in the slightest. If anything, he’s awkward. Awkward enough that he’s almost never the first person to talk to someone—except for you, of course. You don’t know why he acts so differently around you, but you don’t complain about it. 

“That’s rough,” Ghost looks down at you with concerned, empathetic eyes, “Sorry you’re so stressed. Mind me askin’ why?” 

“I don’t, but I also don’t know why I’m so stressed,” You huff out, even though you know the answer completely. You stand up, “I think it’s just me being sleep deprived. I’ve been having the tiniest bit of trouble falling asleep lately.” 

“You should’ve told me earlier,” Ghost tuts, “I have melatonin.” 

You give him a confused look. “You do?” 

“‘Course I do.” 

You blink at him for a moment before sighing, “Could I have some then?” 

“What’s the magic word?” You give him an unimpressed look, ignoring the way the words make your stomach twist, and his eyes crinkle in a way that lets you know that he’s grinning under his mask. 

“Could I please have some melatonin?” 

“The magic word was lotion, but I’ll let it slide,” Ghost hums, “There’s some in my office. I’ll grab it for you later.” 

“M’kay,” You look over at the door, unintentionally zoning out as you do. Your vision goes unfocused as the throbbing pain behind your eyebrows grows and something else grows inside of you. 

Jesus. Why can’t you choose any other time to get the urge to slip into a younger mentality? Why does your headache have to make everything worse for you? Why does Ghost have to be so nice and helpful? 

“Hey,” Ghost frowns, tapping a finger on your shoulder to snap you out of whatever trance you’re in, “[c/n]?” 

Oh God. 

Your eyes—that you try desperately to keep neutral—meet Ghost’s, his eyes soft and his eyebrows dipped downwards in a confused manner. His eyes are searching, flitting over you, trying to find something. The way he looks at you makes you want to squirm, and you can’t help but just slightly shuffle in place. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks, voice as concerned as his look. That should be the breaking point for you, but you remain as big as you can be, and nod affirmatively. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You try to assure him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel, “I think I’m just a little tired.” 

Ghost doesn’t look convinced. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder, the act like a hammer putting another dent in the wall you had put up. The leather of his glove is warm even through the thick material of your shirt, and it feels like hot metal against your cold skin, the clothing covering your shoulder be damned. 

“You can tell me if you’re not okay,” He tells you—what is he doing? Does he know something I don’t?—while his thumb starts rubbing circles into your shoulder, “I feel like you’re more than a little tired.” 

You stay silent for a little bit. You don’t know how to explain yourself, the words seeming to liquify and leak right out of you, making you speechless. He seems to notice this, sighing and letting his hand slip down to your hand, holding it and giving it a quick squeeze. 

“I think,” He looks around for a moment before turning back to you, “that we should head to my office so that nobody can bother us, and then you can tell me all about how you’re feeling right now. Does that sound okay?” 

You nod wordlessly, not trusting yourself to talk with how heavy your tongue feels, and you let Ghost lead you back to his office. It’s only a hallway away, but that’s still enough time to overthink everything that could possibly happen. How does he know something’s wrong? What gave it away? Did I do something bad? What did I do? Wh—

The creak of his office door opening snaps you out of your thoughts, and Ghost steps aside to let you enter his office first. Hesitantly, you take a few steps inside, and you hear the door click shut behind you as Ghost walks in. He takes your hand again, making you look at him as he guides you to a chair. 

You sit in the chair that’s in front of his desk, and he quickly drags out the chair that’s behind it so that it’s right next to yours. He sits down. 

He’s looking at you expectantly. 

“Uh.” You’re not sure what to say. He’s looking at you so reassuringly, it’s hard to keep yourself sitting upright. 

“I know something’s wrong,” Ghost says, leaning forward the tiniest bit, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” 

He’s got to have at least some idea of what you’re experiencing, You think, trying to form some sort of explanation, He’s being so… weird? 

You swear there’s some other word you could use, but your vocabulary feels so limited, and you would mentally curse if you could because you know that now your explanation is gonna sound weird. You can’t use the words you want, you’re gonna be forced to use simple words, ones that can’t convey exactly how you feel. Words that—and it physically pained you to admit this—were childish. 

You can explain your situation. Just, now it would be more… blunt. And short. And also you’d feel like killing yourself afterwards. You won’t, obviously, but you can predict that you’ll come very close to doing so.

Okay, I have to say something because Ghost is looking more and more worried the longer I stay silent. 

“I feel…” You trail off for a moment, trying to get your thoughts in order for the next two seconds to actually say something that makes sense, before continuing in a far less confident tone, “… small.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret it. Ew. Ew. Ew. What. Why? Why that word? It leaves a sour taste on your tongue and yet you can’t think of any other word that would better suit how you feel. Still. Ew. 

Your thoughts are a jumbled mess ranging from fleeting thoughts of disgust to thoughts lodged in the back of your mind begging you to go anywhere else just so that you can stop having to have this conversation. This conversation requires words bigger than you have access to, and a sort of control over yourself that you can’t grasp. You can feel your hands twitching, wanting something to hold onto, anything to keep you distracted from the overwhelming urge to just regress. 

Ghost blinks. He didn’t expect that answer. 

“Small?” He repeats in a questioning tone, eyebrows furrowed, “I mean, compared to me, I guess you’re kind of short—” 

“No, no, not like short small,” You try to clarify, feeling just slightly discouraged by Ghost’s confused words, “Like…” 

You struggle to find the words that properly describe how you feel, only finding words like small and little in your current vocabulary. Your findings are making you increasingly upset, and you can feel your face start to grow hot with frustration and embarrassment. 

Oh my God. 

“Like…?” Ghost nudges your knee with his, trying to encourage you to talk, “I’m not leaving until you tell me.” 

There’s still a level of care in his words, no matter how confused he seems, and that adds all the more struggle to your predicament. Not only do you not want to tell him, but you can’t describe how you feel in a way that’s acceptable for someone your age to describe anything. At least, not in a way that you deem acceptable for yourself to describe anything. 

You’re far too old to be describing yourself as small. 

“[c/n]?” Ghost nudges you again, and you blink at him. Your eyes are flickering all over his mask, going anywhere but his eyes, since eye contact with anyone would make everything significantly worse for you right now. 

“It’s just—” You try to take a deep breath but your breath hitches. Everything is starting to make you feel so frustrated, and you’re starting to think that you might just throw a tantrum if you can’t do at least one thing right. You try to find the words you want to use but your throat is disobediently closing on you. Your mind feels like straight mush, and the quickly softening look that Ghost is giving you isn’t helping you at all. 

To your horror, in your inexplicable inability to talk in the way you normally do, you let out a small whine. It sounds obnoxious to your ears, and worst of all, sounds like something a little kid would do. 

You put your head in your hands, the quickly reddening skin of your cheeks getting cooled by the cold of your palms as you try and hide your face from Ghost. You can picture how he looks right now—somehow more confused than earlier, possibly annoyed, weirded out—and all those mental images make you bite your tongue to prevent another noise. 

“What was that?” You don’t answer him. 

To your non-answer, Ghost sighs, and you think, This is it, this is where he kicks me out of his office, oh my God I’m gonna get dishonorably discharged and he’s gonna give me a really mean look on my way out—

“Look at me.” You shake your head negatively. 

“Why not?” He sounds so confused, it makes you want to cry. There’s still a level of worry in his voice, and it adds to the fog that builds up in your brain. 

You move your face just slightly up so that your eyes peek out from above your fingertips, your hands covering the rest of your face. Ghost reaches out both of his hands, and ever so gently removes your hands from your face, uncovering your red cheeks and your lips—the lower of which quivers, like you’re about to cry. He notices this quickly, and you can practically feel the level of his worry shoot up. 

He doesn’t say anything, instead just holding your hands in his for a moment, before he sets them down into your lap. He looks at you, concerned, and asks, “Is it hard to talk right now?” 

You nod. His gaze shifts to his computer, and then back to you. 

“I’m gonna go look a few things up really quick, okay? I’ll just be right over there,” He nods over to the space behind his computer, “and I’ll be right back here in a few seconds.” 

You reluctantly nod again, and Ghost gets up from his seat. He grabs the back of the chair and drags it back around behind his desk, sitting down in it and powering on his monitor. It turns on almost immediately, much to his relief, and he goes to his browser and searches up a few things. You can’t tell what he’s searching up, only hearing the clacking of keys and the occasional final click that indicates that he’s hit the enter button. 

He stays there for maybe a minute or two. It’s a long few minutes, and you can feel yourself slipping more and more the longer he stays at his computer. And the more you feel yourself slipping into that younger mindset, the more you start to crave Ghost’s attention. 

The way his eyes are glued to his computer starts to irritate you. You’re aware that he’s doing something important, he must be, because why would he be so intent on looking something up otherwise, but still—you manage to feel the tiniest bit jealous of the computer. You know you’re too far gone when you can’t find it within yourself to realize that you’re jealous of a computer. 

Your eyes linger on him and he must notice this because he looks up from the screen of his monitor and looks over at you. As if he can read your mind, he reassures you, “Just a few more seconds.” 

But you said you were gonna be back in a few seconds a few minutes ago. 

You don’t voice your thoughts. Instead, you nod, because God forbid you annoy Ghost with your need for attention now when he’s being so patient with you. He looks at you for another moment before going back to his computer and looking something else up, this time with a little more fervor. 

Another few seconds pass and, true to his word this time, Ghost stops and gets up from his chair. He walks over to you, and your eyes follow him intently. He kneels down in front of you.

He looks hesitant to say something to you. That’s a first. That adds to the exponentially growing blob of fear that lives inside your mind, one of the only things that’s still prominent in the fog that conquers your brain. 

“Are you…” You feel like you know what he’s gonna ask you. You’re bracing yourself for the question, and he looks like he’s bracing himself just to ask it. 

“How, uh,” He’s trying to find the right wording, and you’ve never been able to relate to him harder than you do in this moment, “How… do you feel right now? How old?” 

How old? You don’t really like that question. As much as you like that you’re now getting attention, you’re starting to remember how little you actually enjoy this type of attention. The question is pretty vague, but at the same time so specific, and you’re almost ashamed to know exactly what the answer is. Or, at least, you would feel ashamed if there was room in your mind to feel so. 

“You said you feel small, right? Not like short small, just small?” He sounds more unsure of himself now, and you don’t think you like seeing him so reluctant to say something, “I looked up what it means to feel like that. Took some time, but I got to some person’s… website, and the person who wrote it was talkin’ about feeling like that. Something about regression, feeling a little bit younger than usual?” 

He’s being so awkward about it, and while you typically find his awkwardness funny, now it’s anything but that. 

“Uhm,” Your voice comes out as a mumble and you see Ghost perk up at it. You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you’re silent again, before you get over your embarrassment for a quick two seconds and force yourself to say, “Four.” 

“Four?” Ghost asks, before quickly realizing, “Right. Four. You feel four?” 

You nod, and your hands instinctively start moving back up to cover your face. Ghost swiftly grabs them, keeping his grip gentle as he keeps them from reaching your face. 

“Hey, don’t try to hide again,” He says, tone softening as he holds your hands, “everything’s fine, okay? Do you— what, uh— do you need me to do anything? Do you want me to leave you alo—”

“No!” You quickly answer, a little surprised by your own volume, before you clear your throat and answer in a much more quiet voice, “Don’t leave me alone.” 

“Okay, okay,” Ghost’s thumbs rub across the back of your hands, a soothing gesture that makes you the tiniest bit more relaxed, “what do you need?” 

You sniffle, and you can see an immediate look of panic cross Ghost’s eyes. You don’t know how well he is with crying children, and don’t want to impose such a situation on him, but you also can’t stop the tears that begin to well up in the corners of your eyes. 

“Hey, don’t cry,” He borderline begs, “everything’s gonna be okay, okay? Please do not cry. Take a deep breath.” 

You try to take a deep breath, you really do, but your breath just hitches and gets caught in your throat. It only makes you more distressed, adding to the urge you have to just disappear. Ghost notices your failed deep breathing and lets go of one of your hands, before taking the other and holding it to his chest.

You can just barely feel his heartbeat, his thick tactical vest and gear in the way of it, but you can still feel it. Ghost takes a deep breath, holding it for a second or two before slowly exhaling. 

“You copy me, okay?” He tells you, his words an order but his tone suggesting otherwise. He takes another deep breath, this time hoping you’ll follow his lead, and you do. 

You try to breathe with him, your hand on his chest helping, but your breath keeps getting caught in your throat. Ghost notices this, but continues his breathing anyway, hoping you’ll catch on soon. You do, thankfully—after a few more attempted breaths, you finally manage one almost identical to Ghost’s. The next few after that go similarly, and that’s when Ghost decides you’re alright to take your hand off of his chest. 

“I need you to tell me what to do,” He says, keeping your hand in his hold, “or at least tell me how all of this works. I want to help you.”

 You really don’t want to tell him what you need right now, but you also don’t think you have a choice. 

Wordlessly, you stand up from your seat, balance just slightly off-center before you quickly get your footing right. Ghost watches you, not moving, before you tug on his hand to try and urge him to get up as well. He obliges, getting up. 

“What—” You interrupt him by taking another step forward and letting your head thump right into his chest, ignoring the itchy uncomfortable feeling of his vest against your face. You don’t bother to wrap your arms around him to at least try and form some sort of hug, preferring to just smush yourself into him and hope for the best. 

After a moment of stunned silence, he wraps his arms around you. 

“You mind if we move behind my desk so I can look up some more stuff on all of this?” He asks, voice quiet, “Unless you want to just tell me?” 

“Desk,” You simply mumble into his vest, making him nod. 

“Alright, but you’re gonna have to stop hugging me for a second,” Ghost warns you. You reluctantly step away, and Ghost smiles softly down at you, bringing his hands away from your back and instead holding one of yours. 

He leads you behind his desk, and lets go of your hand before sitting down in his chair. Pausing, he quickly realizes you have nowhere to sit, and thinks for a moment before getting back up. He drags his chair just slightly to the side and looks back at you. 

“Sit down,” He nods to the chair, “It’s only gonna be a minute or two, alright?” 

You nod, hesitantly moving to sit in the chair, not really liking how far away from Ghost it is. It's not that far, You try to rationalize, I’m gonna be fine. 

Ghost can see your hesitation and tries to work as quickly as he can, grateful that he didn’t turn his computer off earlier, typing away on his keyboard. You don’t care to see what he’s looking up, more focused on looking at the time on his monitor. 21:44. 21:45. The time ticks by and even though it’s only been a few seconds you already want Ghost’s attention again. His attention has actually turned into good attention, and that’s the type of attention you’ve been craving for the past week. 

The clock reads 21:47 once Ghost is done, and he powers his monitor off this time, the small whirring the device makes dying down to a low hum before going completely silent. He turns to you, and somehow can sense that you need more attention. 

“Am I not paying enough attention to you?” He teases you, making you conflicted on whether you should be annoyed by the teasing or happy you’re finally getting attention. As if he can read your mind, he chuckles, and kneels down to your level. 

“I’m gonna give you as much attention as you need, alright?” He promises, “I just need you to stay in this room.” 

— 

Ghost watches you nod non-verbally, and it only adds to his softening expression. 

He’s always had a soft spot for kids. He knows that you aren’t technically a kid, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still see you as one. You’re young for someone in the military, much less someone in this 141, and now that he’s found out that you’re an age regressor, that you’re a little—well, that doesn’t help how he sees you at all. 

He thinks that maybe the reason he has such a soft spot for kids is a few encounters he’s had with them in the past. He’s seen far too many in compromising positions while on missions; positions like being held hostage, being held as prisoner, or just generally being mistreated or even just living in bad conditions. 

He looks at you, and he just sees another one of those kids. 

He sees how you act around him. He’s not stupid. When he talks to you, you’re actually engaged in the conversation, compared to when anyone else tries to talk to you—maybe excluding Price, or Soap, or Gaz, heavy on that maybe—you’re more likely than not brushing them off every chance you get. You’re standoffish with everyone else, but with him, you’ll always accept any conversation he initiates. 

He can also see the way you look at him. It’s like you’re looking at your idol, or your savior, the way you look up at him. He can see that curious glint in your eyes when he tells you about a recent mission, or when he tells you anything, really. He can see when you try to mimic how he holds his weapons, and when you try to copy his techniques. 

He remembers catching you one day in the shooting range trying to mimic how he aims at the targets—looking through your scope with one eye closed, the other focused only on the dot centered on the scope, taking a deep breath in and out before shooting, and keeping the gun exactly like that even seconds after the shot’s been fired. 

In fact, the copying has gone from guns to melee weapons recently. Ghost swings only his forearm when he uses a knife, thumb resting on the very end of the knife’s handle, and entire arm stiff as he does. He does a slow windup when behind someone, a fast one on the off-chance that he’s in front, and buries the weapon to the hilt in whoever’s flesh he’s penetrated. He’s already seen you do the same on a recent mission. Not only that, but he caught you using a knife almost identical to his. 

And now, you’re still looking at him like that—except, different. Sort of like how a kid might look up to their parents. 

“What do you feel like doing, kiddo?” He asks, hoping the pet name isn’t too much. 

From the way your eyes light up, he suspects it isn't. 

“Mmm…” You hum, thinking for a moment, before requesting, “Coloring?” 

“Coloring, huh?” Ghost looks around for some blank paper and some sort of marker or pen thick enough to act as one, but can only find some highlighters. He turns to you, frowning, “Sorry, but I don’t think I have any paper, kid. Anything else you wanna do?”

You shake your head, and Ghost is just about ready to jump off of a bridge before you point to his arm and repeat, “Coloring.” 

He looks at his arm for a second, confused, before he remembers a conversation the two of you had a month or so ago. 

“If you ever wanna get tattoos, I know a guy in Brighton,” Ghost said, reclining his chair back so that he can lay down in it. You were sitting across from him in front of his desk, fiddling with one of his pens. 

“Good to know,” You hummed, “You have any tattoos?” 

“Yeah,” You perked up at his admission, and he sat up for a second to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing his usual gear, only one of those standard issue army-green shirts. 

“Here,” He pointed to a large tattoo covering his whole arm like a sleeve, a few designs you could point out to yourself being a skull, a few Roman numerals, and some kind of scythe. 

“Very emo,” You commented, making Ghost snort, “I like it.” 

“I’m glad,” He rolled his sleeve back down. 

There’s a lot of blank space in the tattoo, despite it being a sleeve, and he can already tell that you mean you want to color in that space. He thinks about it for a moment, a fleeting thought of is that even safe? crossing his mind before he ultimately decides that he doesn’t care and would rather kill himself than see you disappointed because he denied your request, his own health be damned. 

“Alright,” He hums, grabbing a few highlighters from a mesh cup on his desk in the colors pink, yellow, and blue, “Go for it.” 

You give him a small smile and if he cared about if he’d get ink poisoning two seconds ago, he sure as hell doesn’t care now. You gingerly grab the highlighters from his hand, your grabbing not too secure and sort of clumsy but secure enough that the markers stay in your hand.

You hold them with both hands, and it makes Ghost realize how small your hands are—sure, you could hold the highlighters with one hand, but he’s glad you aren’t because now he can admire just how small you are as a whole. 

You set the yellow and blue down on his desk, making sure they don’t roll off for a moment before uncapping the pink and hesitantly holding out a hand for Ghost’s arm. He rolls up his sleeve and obediently holds out his arm for you, watching curiously as you press the cold tip of the highlighter to his skin. You’re starting by coloring in the skull a neon pink, much to his amusement, and you’re starting in the dead center of its forehead. 

You’re so much more quiet than you usually are when you’re little, and you’re so much more hesitant, it makes Ghost want to just wrap you in a blanket and keep you safe and in his sight forever. 

Your tongue slightly pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on coloring in Ghost’s tattoo, making him grin beneath his mask. The ink of the highlighter doesn’t stay within the black bounds of his tattoos at all, but he doesn’t care one bit, and he doesn’t think you care either. You finish up the skull quickly, and move onto the scythe that’s right next to it, this time capping the pink highlighter and grabbing the yellow. 

Ghost is pretty sure this is gonna stain his skin for a day or two, but he couldn’t care less.

He can’t help but notice how much more relaxed you look in your regressed state. More at peace, he should say. There’s no longer a hunch in your shoulders, your eyes aren’t twitching from your headache, and you’re not bouncing your leg like you usually do when you’re sitting down somewhere. It’s like any anxieties you had pre-regression had evaporated, like slipping into a younger mentality had taken away most of your worries, if not all of them. 

He also can’t help but wish he could see you like this more often. Not necessarily the regressed part, but the relaxed part. Well, maybe the regressed part too. You’re being such a sweetheart right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live through this experience. 

“You having fun there, darling?” Ghost asks, his grin evident in his voice. The corners of your lips quirk up at the pet name and you nod silently, and now Ghost is starting to think you’re actually trying to kill him. You’re being so uncharacteristically shy, and you’re being so quiet, and you’re just being so sweet. 

It seems you’ve moved onto the blue highlighter now, coloring in the last bit of his tattoo. He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash it off—or, at least, he wouldn’t if he had a choice. He knows that he has to shower sometime soon, but surely he can put that off for a bit, right?

Once you’re finished with your coloring, you cap the highlighter, and set it down next to the others you’ve discarded. You turn Ghost’s arm the tiniest bit towards him so that he can see your work better. 

“‘s it good?” You ask quietly, watching intently for Ghost’s reaction. He looks over your coloring job and hums approvingly. 

“It’s amazing, I love it,” He assures you, smiling down softly at you, “You did great.” 

You seem to preen at the praise, and you take your hand off of Ghost’s arm, moving to put in your lap. You’re keeping yourself very contained, Ghost notices, Why? 

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when he hears you yawn, and you quickly move to cover your mouth as you do. He’s reminded that it’s almost twenty-two hundred, and while that usually wouldn’t be an issue for him, it’s an issue for you. You originally came to the 141 as someone who had a sleep schedule almost as fucked up at Ghost’s, but soon developed a habit of going to sleep somewhat early considering the training you had in the morning. So, now you get tired anywhere from eighteen-hundred to twenty-one hundred. After that, your only goal is to find somewhere to sleep. 

“Sleepy?” You nod tiredly, making Ghost coo, Ghost, the man who quite literally haunts some people’s nightmares, coos at you, “Aw, of course you are, sweetheart. Pretty sure it’s way past your bedtime by now.” 

“Nuh uh,” You deny, making Ghost chuckle. 

“‘Nuh uh’?” He asks, amused, “What d’you mean ‘nuh uh’?” 

“No b’dtime,” You shortly elaborate. 

“Ohhh, okay,” Ghost feigns realization, “You think you’re too big for a bedtime, huh?” 

“Mhm. Way too big.”

“I dunno about ‘way’ too big,” Ghost hums, checking to see if the highlighter on his arm has dried before he pulls his sleeve back down. “You seem pretty little to me.” 

“No,” You whine, dragging out the ‘o’, “Not lil’.” 

“Hmm… you sure, kiddo?” Ghost asks, “So if I ask you if you need to go to bed, you’re gonna say ‘no’?” 

That makes you hesitate, and Ghost almost thinks he’s won, before your own pettiness wins and you nod affirmatively. He raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta sleep at some point,” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. 

You think this over for a second, and he watches as you look over him for a moment before looking down at his lap, then looking back up at him. He can already tell there’s some sort of plan forming in your mind.  Wordlessly, you get up, and Ghost does nothing to stop you as you decide to just plop yourself down into his lap. You straddle his thighs, moving until you’re sitting comfortably on him, and then let yourself slump forward so that your face is resting in the crook of his neck. It takes him a moment to process what just happened, before he laughs lightly and wraps both of his arms around you to keep you in place. 

“Oh, okay,” He grins, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you just wanna cuddle with me until you fall asleep? Is that what this is?” 

He feels you nod against his neck, and his grin grows as he rubs one hand against your back, trying to soothe you to sleep. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to distract you from your attempts to sleep anymore, simply letting you stay slumped against him. Your breathing wasn’t too fast-paced to begin with, but as you relax even more in his arms, he can feel your breathing even out. 

You’re falling asleep fairly quickly, and the only complaint he has is that he didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as he wanted to with you while you were awake and regressed. 

Once he’s sure you’re barely awake, he murmurs, “You’re such a sweetheart, you know that?” 

— 

You don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by the slight rustling of clothes, and then you feel yourself moving up. 

Your mind still feels foggy and you can tell you’re still somewhat in that younger mindset of yours, but now you’re significantly less bothered by it than you were before. You’re awake enough to be aware of what’s happening, always having been a light-sleeper, but not awake enough to know exactly what’s happening. You don’t dare open your eyes, and try to keep your breathing even—though that isn’t much of a challenge. 

That headache that had been building up earlier has fully disappeared, thank God, and you no longer feel the tension in your shoulder that you’d been unconsciously carrying. 

You can sort of feel someone’s arms snaked under your back, and you know that you’re being moved somewhere. Quickly, you remember that it’s Ghost carrying you, and that you had fallen asleep on him, much to your embarrassment. Or, at least, it would be much to your embarrassment if you had the mental capacity to feel embarrassed about that right now. But you feel so comfy and so safe that it really doesn’t matter to you right now. 

You can hear the clicking of Ghost’s boots against the concrete floors of the hallway, and he’s carrying you off somewhere; you imagine that somewhere to be your sleeping quarters. He’s walking pretty fast, not hurriedly but still at a somewhat fast pace. 

Soon, he reaches a stopping point where he has to awkwardly put one leg up to support your back on his thigh as he quickly reaches one arm out to turn the knob of the door to your sleeping quarters and pulls that arm right back to support your back again. He sighs as he puts his foot back down, kicking open the door and walking in. 

He’s quick to reach your bed, and he pauses as he considers what to do. You can practically hear him thinking, wondering how he’s gonna get you under the covers while he’s still carrying you, and for a second you think about showing him you’re awake so that things are easier for him before he sets you down on the bed. 

He pulls the covers up and stops when he reaches the part your body covers, and picks you back up, before dropping you right back off where the blankets have been pulled away. He pulls the covers back over you. 

After a few moments, you think he’s left the room, before you hear the rustling of fabric and feel him leaning down. He gently presses his lips to your forehead and pulls away after a second or two, before quietly mumbling, “Night, kiddo.”

He stays there for a moment before you hear his footsteps leave the room, and then the door clicking shut behind him as he leaves the room entirely. 

You’re quick to fall asleep after that.

[thelunarsystemwrites]

Why I recommend age regression as a way to cope.

If you're stressed the F out, feel like you missed out or lost your childhood, or have terrible coping mechanisms? Then this is the post for you. (Maybe.)

Also before we jump in—Just wanna say that I'm not a psychologist, I'm just sharing tips and advice from my own positive and negative experiences. And that age regression may not work for you after you've tried it, but I say give it a shot! Especially if your current ways of dealing with life aren't.... great.

With all that our of the way—Post beneath cut!

So here's some resources for a TLDR version! But I'll be explaining age-regression, it's benefits to me, and why I encourage others to try!

Remember it is ALWAYS sfw! (Which means agere isn't a kink, never has been and never will be!)

So age-regression, or it's shortened name Agere (Takes Age, and the Re from Regression and combines them!) Is a form of dissociation in which someone mentally reverts back to a younger age! This can be anywhere from a few years younger, such as a 17 year old regressing to a 15 year old. Or it can be many years younger—Example being a 17 year old regressing to a 4 year old!

During this state: they are mentally younger, either fully or partially depending on the person. And do think like said age. And often their behaviors correspond with their regressed age, assuming they aren't masking it!

Sometimes you are aware you're regressed, and other times you're not—Both are completely fine!

It's a wonderful way to relive your childhood in a safe environment, feel young and cared for again like a child, or express your inner child!

Okay, but why would I use that to cope?

Don't worry, I hear your questions!

The reason it's a good coping mechanism, for me atleast, is regressing allows you to process your emotions at your own pace. Though they might still be overwhelming, I find it much easier to let my big emotions calm down when I feel small, because it's like they slowly burn off rather than going boom!

If you're stressed a lot, it's a good way to temporarily remove yourself from your burdens! Like you don't have any worries other than 'should I use the pink or blue crayon?' Vibes! Pressure slowly bleeding off rather than having an outburst.

And, for fun! It can be fun to connect with your inner child, do the things you liked as a kid and reunited with that mindset! You don't need to have missed out on your childhood to regress, it can be completely for fun!

Now now, age regression isn't always all fun and games. Because you do think like whatever age you've regressed to, you might have temper tantrums or get cranky or confused if something triggers it.

That's okay.

Yeah, it can feel icky—But me personally, i much prefer these occasionally than letting my emotions boil over and having a breakdown when I'm not regressed!

I've lost and wasted a lot of my childhood. This is my way of healing and re-experiencing childhood joy. Please, don't ever forget that type of wonder, it's so magical and so nice and cozy.

It's a way to cope because it can be an outlet, a comfort, a way to regulate emotions, a way to escape, a way to just relax. And, while not everyone turns out liking it, that's okay! But it works for me, and so so many others. I've had atleast 6 or so friends start regressing and they're still doing it to this day!

And the best part is it's temporary, so if there's more mature things you enjoy? You don't have to give those up, okay? You can find time to regress and relax, and come back to your normal routine later!

It's benefits can be:

Destressing.

Processing lots of emotions at once.

Enjoyment.

Getting to do things you were denied as a child.

Able to let out emotions via tantrums or fits in a much less destructive headspace.

Reliving a simpler mindset.

Helping with sleeping. (I find it much easier to nap/go to bed if I'm regressed!)

Getting a fresh feeling after you're done regressing.

Stimulating if understimulated.

Can help if you're also overstimulated.

Healing inner child.

Coping with trauma/stress in a healthy way.

Help with doing chores. (It's way easier to make chores fun if you're regressed in my experience, but some hate doing chores while regressed and that's cool too!)

And it can be different for each person!

It is absolutely okay to have a different experience, struggle regressing at first or even always, or not do it often!

I recommend if you want to start regressing—Find something that makes your inner child happy, indulge in the best things you liked or would've liked as the age you wanna regress to, find ways to incorporate your current interests into it!

Also things that you like, or positive things can help too!

It's honestly my best coping mechanism, it isn't 'weird' or 'wrong' especially if it helps you. And I can guarantee it's far better than plenty of unhealthy coping mechanisms!

Sooo... yeah! If you want, I recommend looking more into it! There's a whole community for you here on Tumblr, and other sites!

And this post mainly only covers the positives, but it's what I wanted to focus on!

Byee!! (Pssstt BTW agere doesn't have to be all pastels and cute and stuff!! Do what makes you happy! Use whatever colours and vibes you want!)

[sillyboystimms]

Agere ask game!!

Tried to put in some interesting questions in here!! Reblog if you'd like these in your inbox!! ^^

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Blanket- what age or age range do you regress to?

Bumblebee- do you regress voluntarily or not? Both?

Nightlight- what names to you like to be called when you're little?

Plushie- what are your favorite little activities?

Slinkie- what are your favorite foods/safe foods?

Raincloud- do you ever take naps?

Finger paints- do you use pacis? Feel free to share pictures!

Cookies- any characters you headcanon as regressors/caregivers/flips?

Apple juice- what fictional caregiver(s) would you want to take care of you?

Playground- favorite little shows/movies/games/books

Playhouse- do you have anything you're scared of when you're little? (ex, the dark, thunderstorms, a certain movie)

Bubbles- favorite song(s)

Lunch box- do you have any favorite toys? Feel free to share pictures!

Butterfly- favorite seasonal activity (ex, playing in leaves in the fall, snow, sidewalk chalk, going swimming)

Bird- What activities do you get help with? (ex, tying your shoes, using a computer)

Swing- can you read books on your own or do you like someone to read them to you?

Ice cream- Do you like playing outside or inside?

Rainbow- do you have any drawings on your fridge or that you're proud of? Feel free to share pictures!

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