petey & co

sfw agere sideblog !! currently taking character hc and moodboard requests ♡ we will occasionally be posting about padded agere (in a completely sfw context) so if that makes you uncomfy pls be aware!

[pinkprincesspalace]

Friendly reminder that you CAN take your stuffed animals places !!! c:

I went to a COLLEGE interview yesterday and the professor asked me “do you want to put your little friend in a seat?” 😭 literally just take them with you and see what happens bro most people do not care!

[ur-fav-is-agere]

Robby Robinavitch from The Pitt

Is a padded/trauma/baby regressor/papa caregiver!

[r-o-s-e14]

Little Ilya!!

[caregivertime]

dr ryland grace who involuntarily age regresses from stress & rocky who puts on little puppet shows for him :)

[silly-angel-babie]

LATE AGEPRIL DAY 2: Bottles

TW FOR DEPRESSION AND LOSS

Oh baby Ilya hes so tiny(0-2 ish).. When Ilya has hard days, and after some coaxing from Shane, he regresses so small. He just needs his Shane to take care of him, and one of those ways is feeding! Usually it's just some milk or a shake with yummy protein powder in it. Baby Ilya also struggles with missing his Maмa a lot, so Shane tends to be Maмa! He learns some Russian words babies tend to use to make it easier for his baby to communicate and not have to worry so much <3

[finns-space]

smth smth smth, ilya regressing due to the stress of shane being in the hospital and hayden being forced to care for him

[littlecrybabydoll]

[babybrainedrambling]

I am so proud of you. you should be proud of you too. you have done so much, given so much. taken so much. you are so strong, so brave. you deserve so much, always. I love you.

[timelordtoddler]

i don’t wanna sleep i wanna play touys 😭 and by touys i mean blorbos

[babybrainedrambling]

i <3 playing with my fictional characters like they're dolls

[timelordtoddler]

this came to me like a prophetic vision. free to use

[timelordtoddler]

i don’t wanna sleep i wanna play touys 😭 and by touys i mean blorbos

[babybrainedrambling]

i <3 playing with my fictional characters like they're dolls

[tinytrax]

Trauma Regressor Dennis Whittaker Moodboard

[yourmamashark]

Hey you, yeah you!!! Use this cool picrew to show me what your little bag would look like!! I'd love to see yours in a reblog or dms or anything like that! This isn't mine.. huge credit to the artist! Picrew: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2494297

This is mine!

[carvingconstellations]

what my agere bag would look like if i had one !!

friends who’s agere bags id like too see : @babyonabroom @oldestfriend-invisibly @acorntrees @cryingatwindermerepeaks + anyone else !!

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

SO FUN!! Thank you for the tag <3

Npt: @cordeliya @babyonabroom @snugsongbird @teddybearcabin

[babyonabroom]

thank you Annie and Adi for the tags <3

Tags: @fuzzythia @wiserteriaoverbarefeet @oldestfriend-invisibly

[wiserteriaoverbarefeet]

thank you for the tag, this was so fun to do!! i was very excited to find things for tube feeds and my other medical devices - i never see them represented !!!

no pressure tags - @infinitelysilly @dennwhitaker @math-rocks-and-lizard-bats

[babybrainedrambling]

very full bag :3

[wiserteriaoverbarefeet]

My Dog Barks Wildly, To Protect My Infancy

little!trinity santos with roomie/best friend dennis whitaker cw: descriptions of dissociation , implied past abuse word count: 2393

description: trinity santos isn’t as hard around the edges as she may make herself seem

Dennis first notices the humming as he’s fighting with his key in the door. The sound is distant, quiet, and Dennis is far too preoccupied with his one-sided fight against the doorknob to pay attention. But it’s there just the same. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, finally retrieving the key. He sighs in relief and shakes out his sweaty palm before wiping it on his pants. 

Just one of the many perks of living in a century-old shit box, Trinity explained when he moved in. It was that, and hundred-degree winters because the building-wide heating system had one setting and that setting was hot. 

As Dennis tosses his jacket onto the hook in the hall, the humming gets clearer. It’s not a song he recognizes —if it’s even one at all— but the sound of it settles warmly in his chest. It reminds him  of when things were still simple back home, and how his mother used to sing while making dinner. 

Only this is different, Dennis knows. It’s Trinity’s voice, and Trinity never sings.

(Except, of course, that one time in the shower at 5am. She’d thought he was still asleep and when she saw him pouring a bowl of cereal in the kitchen, she shot him a look that told him everything he needed to know.

Speak of this, and I’ll kill you.)

Dennis peers behind the array of jackets, past the end of the tiny hallway, and sneaks a look at his roommate. 

Trinity is sitting on the carpet, legs folded in her lap while she leans over the coffee table. She’s writing something — no, drawing? Coloring? 

Dennis takes a step closer. When he sees it — his eyes widen. 

Trinity is coloring a picture of the Rugrats in Crayon. Her bottom lip is drawn halfway beneath her teeth in focus and she’s wearing an oversized Fleetwood Mac tee that’s actually just a picture of Snoopy playing an electric guitar below the band name. 

She’s calm and content and for a second, Dennis is reminded of coming back to his best friend’s house in middle school. His little sister always used to be in the living room playing house or watching cartoons. 

Dennis can’t help but chuckle at the connection. 

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks. 

Trinity’s head whips around.

The humming stops. Brows above wide eyes furrow, and before Dennis knows it, something fuzzy is hitting him in the head.

“What the—”

As he stumbles backwards, he sees the offending object fall to the floor. A stuffed dog with floppy brown ears and a spot around the eye. 

Dennis looks at Trinity, confused.

She’s staring back at him, pale as ever, and Dennis can’t tell if she’s terrified or fuming. All he knows is he’s never seen her like this. This frazzled, exposed part of her.

Confusion swirls as Dennis tries to work it out — his eyes darting between his roommate and the plush dog.

“Go a-way,” Trinity finally snaps.

It’s a voice that means to be sharp, but it comes out all muddled around the edges.

Dennis wants to protest it and explain he didn’t mean any harm — but before he can get a word out, Trinity is scrambling to her feet and making a beeline for her room. The door slams loudly behind her and Dennis shudders.

Still, he rushes after her. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he says, talking right to the door. “I didn’t mean to startle you or anything. I just— I don’t know— I was surprised, I think? But I- I’m really sorry, it came out wrong, and I swear, I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

He pauses for a moment, waiting for a response.

Annoyance seems inevitable and frustration feels fair. Maybe even anger, if he’d unknowingly invaded her privacy. Dennis would take it all if it meant they could just start back over and move on.

But nothing happens. 

“Trinity…” He says, his voice softer this time. “Are you… are you okay?” 

Still, nothing. 

“Look, I- whatever I did, I’m sorry about it. I just- can we talk about it or something? Figure out what happened?” 

Dennis holds his breath as he lets the request linger in the air. 

As it dissipates, the disappointment that sinks him is heavy and stiff. It twists in Dennis’ gut — the knowledge that this is on him. In an instant he still can’t comprehend, he wrecked things. He isn’t sure how or why but he knows it happened. He knows it was his fault. 

Then again, maybe it always is. 

—

Trinity stays silent on the floor, crouched behind her bed to keep herself hidden. She sits with her arm wrapped tightly around her stomach and her knees pulled close to her chest. Her thumb stays firmly planted in her mouth while hot tears roll down her cheeks. 

She doesn’t want this anymore, Trinity thinks. She wants to be big again — strong, like she normally is. 

But for once, Trinity can’t seem to will it out of herself. The dark cloud is looming heavy above her — she can feel it in the pressure in her skull — but the rest of her is gone. It doesn’t make any sense — it’s normally never gone — even when all she wants is to be left alone. But now, Trinity doesn’t know where to search for herself. Her mind is a void; empty of friends or foes. All she can do there is look to the screen in the back to see the world around her.

So she does. 

Trinity looks at the rug beneath her bed and watches her toes curl into the material. She can’t quite feel it right now, but she knows it’s supposed to be soft. Next, she looks at the wood floorboards and the nail sticking out by the radiator that she always trips on. Beside it is the pen she’d dropped. Behind that — the sweatshirt hanging off her swivel chair.

Trinity sniffles. Her chest tightens as fresh tears rush up through the rest of her, and spring into her eyes. She tries to breathe through it, but the air trembles on her lips, unable to fully find its way to her lungs. She fights to bring it back again and again, and still, the effort is fruitless. Eventually, Trinity accepts her defeat in a limp exhale. 

She can keep hiding here, she decides. It’ll keep her safe. 

—

Trinity isn’t sure how long it is before she realizes her stuffed dog is still in the hall.

All she knows is she’s still on the floor and he isn’t beside her like he always is. No — he’s laying on the ground where she left him and she needs him here with her. He’s always there during the hard parts, making sure she isn’t going through it alone. 

Trinity’s stomach twists at the thought. She can’t leave him out there. She just needs to figure out how to reach the levers in her brain that’ll tell her limbs to move again. If she can’t remember how to be big, she at least needs to remember how to be brave. Then, she’ll be able to move. 

Sucking in a breath, Trinity tries to summon the knowledge back to her. It brings back the same cloud from before — the one that hangs over the top of her head and presses behind her eyes or down the center of her skull. This time, when a fraction of herself returns, Trinity feels it toward the right parietal lobe.

It takes the form of a gentle voice, which Trinity is grateful for. From miles within, it reminds her what to do; how to climb back onto her feet and get to her dog. It tells her it’s going to be okay and reminds her of how strong she is. 

Trinity sinks into the words. She lets the presence hold her proverbial hand as she shakily rises from the floor, and on slow, wobbly legs, manages to walk into the hall. There, she pads across the floor and turns at the front hall, smiling when she sees her dog. 

Trinity quickly picks him up, cuddles him close, and whispers a quiet apology for leaving. 

Thankfully, her friend seems to forgive her. 

Trinity’s about to take him back to her room when she hears the sound of Dennis’ voice coming from the living room. 

“Trin?”

Trinity squeezes the plush and shakes her head. She can’t do this again. She isn’t ready — she can’t breach containment. 

“Are you okay?” 

Trinity doesn’t respond — she just lets her feet take off. But before she can get to her room, Dennis is calling out: 

“I um, I really like your Snoopy shirt.”

Trinity stumbles to a halt and hugs her dog to her chest. She knows she needs to get back to her room — that’s where it’s supposed to be safe — but the statement has piqued her. And now, all she can think about is how she wants to say that it’s not just Snoopy, it’s her Lindsey Buckingham Snoopy. She’d really wanted a Stevie Nicks Snoopy but she’d never been able to find one, and even though Trinity was, and always would be, Team Stevie, she couldn’t resist Snoopy shredding an electric guitar. So Lindsey it was. 

Trinity turns slowly on her heel and looks back at Dennis. 

“Do you uh… do you like Woodstock too?” he asks. “The festival or the bird.” 

Trinity frowns. 

“That’s not a good joke.” 

“Oh, r- right. Sorry.” 

As Dennis scrambles to find new words, Trinity tilts her head and watches. Her mouth hangs open ever so slightly, and she focuses on the feeling of her stuffies fur against her chin. 

“You say that a lot,” she observes, swaying from side to side. 

“Yeah, sor-“ Dennis stops himself and shakes his head. “I do… yeah. Bad habit.” 

He pauses, watching the movement, before asking — 

“Did something happen today? With you o- or with us? I just… I don’t really know what’s going on but I want to help. I want to — I don’t know — fix it if I can.” 

Trinity hesitates. She can hear various answers in her head — conflicting statements coming from each side. She needs to run back to her room and lock the door, she needs to explain that she’s just having an ‘off’ day but that she’s fine and they don’t ever have to talk about this again. She needs to breathe, she needs to stay calm, she’s going to be okay — Trinity tries to focus on that one, the nice one — but it’s all so overwhelmingly loud and the more they all argue, the further the words get from Trinity’s lips. 

“Um…” Trinity swallows. She wants it to stop. The big one is right, she never should’ve left her room. Now, all she wants to do is go back and keep hiding, then kick herself under the covers.

“I—”

The explanation gets caught in her throat. Words that aren’t hers are fighting to be forced out and Trinity is trying — trying with everything she has to say them. But somewhere between her brain and her mouth, essential wires have been cut. The translation isn’t working and all Trinity can do is stare as new tears fill her eyes. 

“Uh…”

Her fingers tighten around her dog. The air is too thin and her heart is too fast. Dennis isn’t supposed to see her struggle like this — no one is. But now he’s watching and he’s memorizing and— 

“Hey, it’s okay.” 

And his voice is so soft. 

“Do you um… do you wanna sit?” 

And his eyes are so kind. They’re filled with real kindness, as he guides Trinity over to the sofa and sits beside her, making sure to leave a safe amount of distance between them. 

“I promise, I’m not thinking anything bad,” Dennis says. “I just… want to understand.” 

Trinity sniffs and sucks in a breath. She holds it in her lungs, then quietly says —

“Just… been small.”

“Small?”

Trinity nods. She doesn’t know how else to explain it. She’s shrunk down in her mind and now the rest of the world is far too big. 

“Small as in…” Dennis pauses, carefully considering his words. “You— you feel younger, maybe?” 

Another nod. Trinity chews her bottom lip as she waits for his reaction. When all Dennis does is smile at her, she can finally exhale.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah— that’s cool. I get that.” 

Trinity looks up at him, unsure.  

“You don’t need to be embarrassed or anything, really,” Dennis continues. He pauses for a moment and gives a nervous smile. “But you um, you like coloring, right? And… Snoopy, obviously.” 

Trinity nods. There’s a twinge in her chest — an urge to tell him more. It’s like a switch has been flipped within her. Now, all she can think is that she wants him to understand.

Maybe, somehow, he already does. 

”And Puppy,” she adds, giving the dog a squeeze.  

“Yeah! What’s his name?” 

Trinity hesitates and makes a face. Maybe Dennis isn’t as perceptive as she’d thought.

“…Puppy?” 

“Right, of course,” Dennis corrects — quickly nodding along. ”He’s a really great dog.”

The statement is enough to get Trinity to crack a smile. 

“Yeah… he’s my best friend,” she says. “He just listens and doesn’t bite. See?” 

Slowly, Trinity extends her arm to hold out Puppy to Dennis. She touches the toy to his arm, letting its nose sit there for a moment before pulling back. 

Quiet and still, Dennis watches. He takes in the gesture and how cautious it is — Trinity moves with the type of care she has always tried to silently insist she doesn’t possess. But Dennis has known, in his own silence, that it has existed for as long as they’ve been friends. 

It was there when Trinity invited him to move in with her, only fifteen hours after meeting. It’s there each time she has a pediatric case and stays at the bedside just a little longer than she normally does — speaking just a little softer. And it’s there when she makes sure they get his favorite cereal whenever they go grocery shopping, even though she always makes a point to say she finds Corn Flakes bland and disgusting. 

As Dennis looks back at her, he realizes this version of Trinity isn’t different at all. 

No, this might just be the most Trinity he’s ever seen her. 

[confectionarchive]

random thoughts because I watched the Pitt ep7 today and am projecting :3

reg!Whitaker who tears up whenever he comes across the two headed cow poem

reg!Whitaker who cannot help the way he perks up when he hears a harmonica or banjo.

reg!Whitaker who finds himself falling asleep to season 3 of yellowstone and whose favorite character/dynamic is beth/rip

reg!Whitaker who gets gifted a jellycat Keychain by Santos and keeps it on his bag. (he even names it)

reg!Whitaker who listens to ethel cain and who's favorite album is Willoughby Tucker, I'll always love you.

reg!Whitaker who loves playing with wooden toys. big fan of play pretend.

[babybrainedrambling]

- that boy is obsessed with John Denver

- he also loves Kimya Dawson, especially Eleventeen, Wandering Daughter, and You Are My Baby

- he likes to put on wildlife documentaries to fall asleep. the critter sounds are familiar and comforting, especially the cicadas and coyotes

- he sleeps with a big quilt that Santos found for him that reminds him of the one he had as a kid. it's old and worn in and smells faintly like a campfire

- he has a little belt bag that he brings on walks to carry all the cool rocks and trinkets and weird bugs he finds

- he accidentally regressed once at Amy's farm. he was shearing a sheep, and the smell of lanolin immediately made him feel smaller

[babybrainedrambling]

teenage dirtbag regressor ilya rozanov moodboard <3

headcanons:

• ilya generally regresses to around 12-16, but rarely can go as young as 4 or 5

• shane generally watches him when he regresses, though he doesn't usually need much watching- he can do everything himself, he just gets lonely

• he is teaching himself how to skateboard

• he loves dogs. he never was allowed to have one as a kid, and his life is too busy and unpredictable now to be a good dog owner, but sometimes when he is practicing on his skateboard, he will go to the dog park. he always brings treats

• cooking makes him feel useful, even if it's something simple like sandwiches or pasta

• his favorite drink is duchess pear soda

• he collects cds and tapes from everywhere he travels to

• the smaller he feels, the sadder he gets. he misses his mom a lot, especially when he is younger

• he has a photo book from his childhood. there's not much in it, but every photo is treasured beyond belief and kept safe in the book

• most of the time, he doesn't tell Hollander he's regressed, or pretends like he isn't. shane can usually tell anyway

[cowboybarnes]

got bit by the pitt agere bug. here’s cg!jack x little!hucklerobby

Jack didn’t know why Dennis refused to call Robby by a special name when he was in his little headspace. Robby cared for Dennis just as much as Jack did. Hell, Robby had been the one to recognize that Dennis age regressed in the first place.

“Say Papa!” Jack would prompt, pointing over to Robby.

Their bright eyed little boy would look from Jack to Robby then back again before scrunching up his face in confusion and stubbornly shrieking. “Robby!”

Jack could tell it affected Robby. Even if his partner promised that it didn’t bother him. He could see how every time he prompted for Dennis to call Robby Papa and the little would refuse, Robby would be so tense or when Dennis would call Jack Daddy and Robby would look at Jack with wide watery eyes.

Jack had tried to discuss it with Dennis when he was big but Dennis would just give him an unimpressed look or tell him that little Dennis just didn’t see Robby as Papa. Maybe he should try another term.

It wasn’t until the evening after a particularly rough shift that Jack walked into the living room of their shared home to find an obviously very little Dennis with his paci tucked between his lips and a sleeping Robby’s head on his lap. Cartoons were playing on the TV and his fingers were gently carding through Robby’s hair like Jack always did when Dennis was upset.

Dennis met Jack’s gaze, holding a finger up to his lips before dropping his paci and whispering. “Shhh, baby’s sleeping.”

Oh, oh—

[ur-fav-is-agere]

Micheal Robinavitch from The Pitt

Is a baby/trauma regressor!