This is just a place for all my little thoughts Probably will post about my fictional cgs... a lot {I have a lot of them }
I have been trying to write more, I love writing hcs, I love to make moodboards too 🙂↕️
If you have any hcs about anything similar to what I post or same fandom then PLEASE SHARE!! I would love that :)
Send asks whenever! Also feel free to send moodboard or writing requests I wanna practice and get better! {Don't know how fast i'll be at responding we will see!}
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖
I will only post kid safe stuff. If I happen to post anything else (like a vent maybe or anything that deals with issues a little bigger) there will be a tw {All vents will have a tw probably}
Please DNI if you are going to be disrespectful, anti agere, or anything nsfw.
Age regressor Grace who secretly loved the idea of Rocky watching him sleep because he's been alone for so long and if he presents hard enough he can imagine Rocky reading him a story, or narrating whatever little project keeps his slaws busy. He's always tinkering with something.
Rocky who notices that Grace, in his sleep, presses his quilt to him mouth, and at first Rocky perceives this as unconscious hunger. And he could be right.
But, when he decides to search more into this human sleeping habit, he is met with human pebbles. 'This isn't right. Grace is not a pebble.' He thinks, feeling frustrated. The human thinking machine is tricky, he realizes.
This, of course, leads him down the rabbit hole of age regression. 'Perhaps it's involuntary, since he is sleeping. Will have to ask difference.' Rocky thinks, noting a lot of things that could probably help his human friend.
"It helps calm and destress people, a safe and effective way to cope with anything, most commonly are from everyday stress to trauma. There's no correct way to regress, as everyone is differently unique."
He reads article after article, fully intended to bring it Graces attention, as he already takes care of his human friend along with Armando, for the handy work. No pun intended.
When Grace wakes up, Rocky is still watching, though working on something new.
"Good morning." Graces voice is groggy, and he's still lying down, watching through the wall as his buddy tinkers. "What are you working on?"
Rocky moves his body contemplatively, as if choosing his words.
"New project for Grace. Did lots of research while sleeping." He explains, quite obviously vague.
"Oh? What is it?" Grace asks, catching on quickly that it's something the other might want to hide.
"Mouth soother, for adults. Look on human thinking machine about oral fixation in sleep. You are using your quilt subconsciously in your sleep, this can lead to protection choking or asphyxiation. Am making item to help prevent, since I cannot come over just yet."
Grace blinked at him, surprised and intrigued.
That was a lot of information at once. A soother? For adults?
"Like a pacifier?"
"Need word."
"Pacifier? It's a soother typically made for babies and children, to soothe and help their teeth grow in." Grace explained with a little shake of his head. "You're making a pacifier?"
"Yes, will be right size for Graces mouth. Measured myself, will help." Rocky says this with confidence, which makes something in Grace shine.
Part of him feels like he ought to argue, defend himself, even fight and deny it, but he when he turns his head towards anger it feels... lackluster. Not the way anger can feel good, this felt icky.
That promise that sweet headspace promised was nipping at his heels. Tempting indeed.
Grace takes a deep breath and sighs.
"Wow... uhm.. thank you. Rocky." He coughs, clearing his throat as his face flushes. It feels embarrassing to suddenly exist, and he wants nothing more than to hide.
"You are welcome. Will be done soon."
He stares and stares at Rocky until Mary quite loudly announces it's time for breakfast.
"Up time." Rocky announces, getting into his ball and leaving the station. It makes Grace a little sad. Rocky must notice this because he makes a reassuring song.
"Will finish before next scheduled meal, I am quick worker. Come," He's rolling his ball into Graces knees.
I love you regressors who cherish fandom as a huge part of your regression. Whether that means playing a beloved childhood video game to feel small, shipping and writing fanfics with the same glee you did as a teen, regressing as a fictional species, finding comfort in a fictional caregiver, and more!!
rocky get many many ask for sleep watch, statement!!!! rocky watch all human pebbles sleep who want!! happy happy happy to keep squishy leaky pebbles safe!!
The loud bell rings over Grover Cleavland middle, erupting the whole school suddenly. Every students is shuffling around: pushing in chairs, zipping up bags, and running towards the nearest exit to get away from the building.
When they all clamber out of each and every classroom, taking about ten minutes before the whole school becomes completely silent. Most teachers leave their rooms straight away, being as hurried as the kids are to get to their own homes. The majority leave their classrooms in a wreck, relying on the cleaners to tidy it all up.
Ryland Grace is currently bending down on his hands and knees, trying to scrape up another dried up piece of gum under a table with a random rewards card he found in his wallet. He makes sure to be careful where the lump lands when freed. It falls straight into the paper towel he strategically put on the floor, making a small think next to the other balls accumulated with it.
He could've been cycling to his apartment right this second if he had rushed over to his bike straight after school and cycled steadily. This is what the other teachers do anyways. They run away from the place as if the bell was a warning for a bomb to fall down from the sky and hit them. But Mr. Grace never really minded staying the extra while to keep his room spotless. Which translates to his colleagues that he loves his work so much to the point that he stays half an hour behind just to do a job that's not his.
After scraping the last remnants of any weird substances under the tables, he gets up and gags a few times while holding the paper towel as far away from his person as physically possible, before putting it in the bin. A quick hand wash in his sink at his desk with some extra soap, and he's almost done his checklist of what needs to be done on his own accord.
Ryland turns around to start wiping down the whiteboard. It's his favourite part to do, so he saves the best till last.
Taking out a microfiber cloth he keeps in his drawer, he takes an all-purpose cleaning spray and generously coats the board with it. His nostrils flare at the scent of it. He can smell the chemicals through the citrus smell. No mater what cleaner one buys, it will always be a citrus smell. Why don't manufacturers make different scents? Like vanilla, or forest wood, or other frui-
Mid wipe, Ryland's head whips around to see who is ringing his phone. The cleaner starts to drip to the bottom of the floor, the cloth slipping from his hand and landing all bunched up on the floor. It might be a co-worker wanting him to do them a favour, or his water company asking if he needs an upgrade on his boiler. But it's most likely a scam call.
He peers over to his desk, and instantly answers the phone when he sees who it is. He puts the device to his ear, his voice trying to sound all cheery despite being exhausted by being bugged by students for the past six hours.
"Heya Colt!" He says, picking up the previously forgotten cloth and resuming wiping down his board, making sure to get the corners and dripping edges. He doesn't dare miss a spot.
On the other end of the line, Ryland can hear a lot of rustling. Then a weird sound. Almost like a drawn out whine and-
Oh.
Crying.
The teacher's brow creases as he listens to the undecipherable mumbling broken up by sniffles. He can clearly recognise that that is Colt's voice. He just doesn't know whats wrong. What he does know though, is that his brother is regressed, and needs some help.
After Colt is done with his spiel, Ryland puts his cloth away and sits down at his chair. His heart strains against his ribs, knowing that he can't help him by being there physically.
"Colt. I can't hear what you're saying. I need you to give me a few deep breaths, okay?"
Another cry can be heard from the phone, before an attempt at following the instructions. He gives up a few times, but Ryland insists that he gives another go at it.
When his breathing isn't the only thing he can hear through the phone, he tells his brother to explain what's wrong. His face contorts as he hears the story, and nods along.
"Okay. That's alright. I know. That must've been so hard. But it's okay now, yeah? You're okay?"
"Mhm."
"That's good. Are you home? I don't hear anything else."
Another agreement.
"I want you to go and get your blankie, yeah? You're gonna get your blankie, and get nice and comfortable. If there's something uncomfy, you get it away."
Ryland can hear more rustling around. To pass the time, he checks around his classroom to see if he has missed anything. Then he checks his bag. When that's done he stares outside. It was raining a few minutes ago, so the concrete is slightly wet.
"Can' find my binky."
He perks up at the voice, getting lost in space for a second.
"Is it not in your nightstand? Not in your case?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. He knew that Colt wasn't that organised of a person, but he knew that he always kept his regression stuff in their designated places. He could close his eyes and walk to each item easily. He knew his house like the back of his hand.
"Nu uh."
This was worrying. If his big brother (not by much) was looking for his binky, then he must need it. It could be in the bathroom, or in a bag, or misplaced somewhere else.
"Do you have a spare anywhere?" He offers, pulling at straws to try and keep Colt from bursting out into tears again. That would truly break him.
"Bathroom."
"Alright. Can you walk over to the bathroom and get a nice fresh binky? Make sure to clean it first, and then you can slip back into bed with your blankie and relax."
The line goes silent again, and this time Ryland turns around to take a whiteboard marker out and starts to doodle whatever. He draws a star. Then puts a face onto it. Gives him a friend. And limbs. And a pet meteorite.
"'m back!" He hears that familiar voice again, and Ryland sighs out of relief.
He can hear the bed creaking, along with some loud, rythmic suckles. His sibling clearly needed this. He can picture him right now, curled up in his bed, his nose buried in his blanket. He loved that thing to death.
"Good job Colt! Do you want me to stay on the line with you while you relax? I'm still in school, but I'm gonna be cycling home."
Colt let's out a huff, before mumbling around his pacifier.
"Come home?"
Ryland smiles softly, wiping his doodles off quickly before slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"Yeah. Yeah I can come home."
I hope I haven't mischaracterised Ryland nor Colt. I'm not the best at writing, since I practically don't write at all outside of this. I'm trying to get better though!
The thought of Colt Seavers calling me "Tiny" as a nickname makes me so happy. When you are little he would be so good at noticing even when you are trying to hide it. A simple "Hey Tiny" when greeting you... stop stop stop I want baba
Please DNI if you are going to be disrespectful, anti agere, or anything nsfw.
Hmmmm kinda wanna make a cg blog. I'm thinking im thinking....
Should we do it...?
cg Mama Adrian blog? I love him and thought Mama Adrian yes please. Ft Papa Rocky...
or or cg colt seavers??? 🤔
or or or cg colt seavers ft. mama jody, uncle ryland, cousin/papa/uncle/friend/parent rocky, bubba simon, and auntie/uncle/mama/cousin Adrian sometimes???? All of the Above.
opinions opinions please..
Please DNI if you are going to be disrespectful, anti agere, or anything nsfw.
