ducky

He/him pronouns :)

I've been writing/reading agere fics for about six years (though I am by no means a prolific poster lol)

#1 hurt/comfort glazer

Favorite shows/media/etc: BNHA, The Boys/Gen V, Hazbin Hotel, idk I'll add more later

I love superheroes :0 (pls give me superhero show/book recommendations)

while I do like 'dark'* agere stuff, nothing I post that is agere-related will ever be sexual, ever (or anything I post that is non-agere-related, for that matter)

in a similar vein, I'll never post any agere in which there is a romantic relationship between a caregiver and regressor. Though there's nothing wrong with that sort of thing, it's just something I'm personally not a fan of, so I won't be writing/reading that kind of dynamic. (Again, nothing wrong with it---just not my thing! If you like it, more power to you.)

As they continue to walk, they turn the day’s events over in their mind, and it soon dawns on them that wherever they are, it’s not home. This city may resemble their home, but something is wrong—and it’s not just that their physical house is nowhere to be found or that none of the names of anything looked familiar, despite physically being familiar. 

So, Reader thinks, trying to ignore the frigid air nipping at their fingers, I’m either in a really weird city on the other side of the woods that I never knew existed and which never showed up on any maps, or I’m in some sort of alternate dimension. Neither option seems plausible, but one is far easier to fix than the other; just find a place to charge their phone and book a car ride home. 

Yes, Reader considers as they come across a warmly-lit cafe with a late closing time advertised on the door, find a place to charge my phone and then get home. With shaking, shivering hands, they pull the door open and are immediately greeted with a warm gust of air on their face that instantly works to thaw their aching body. 

There’s only two other customers in the cafe; an older man intently tap-tapping away on a laptop, sat in a plush armchair in the corner with a half-eaten scone on a ceramic plate next to him, and a young woman thumbing through a book, nursing a cup of something steaming. Taking a breath to steady themself, Reader nervously treads to the counter. The short-haired barista catches Reader’s eye, and she smiles, though there’s a strange, almost confused quality to her expression. 

“Hi,” Reader starts, fidgeting with their hands. “I’m so sorry, this is sorta weird but—do you happen to have a phone charger I could borrow for a little bit? I just–it’s dead and I don’t have any other way to get home, you know?”

The barista, whose shiny nametag reveals her as Angela, blinks for a moment as she processes. “Um, yeah! Of course. I’ll, uh, go grab one from the back. There’s an outlet at that table there,” she points to a table in the back of the cafe, nestled in a cosy corner with a couch and chair next to it, “if you want to wait there while I get it?” 

“Oh my gosh, thank you so, so much!” Reader says earnestly, genuinely relieved. They settle on the couch next to the outlet, sinking into the squishy cushions. It’s only until after they’ve sat down that they realize just how tired they are; their feet ache from all the walking and despite it still being relatively early in the evening, they feel as though they could fall asleep right then and there. 

The faint clatter of a plate has Reader’s eyes shooting open—wait, when did they close them? They blink, rubbing their eyes before plastering an apologetic expression on their face as they look up to face the barista now in front of them.

“I found a charger,” Angela says, holding up a cable and block with a smile. “Will this work with your phone?”

Reader pulls out their phone and takes the cord, thankful when the charging bit fits in their phone’s charging port, and plugs the block into the wall with a grateful smile. 

“Oh, and I brought you a little something!” Angela says, gesturing to the plate in front of them. It’s a large muffin—raspberry, by the looks of it—with a perfectly-browned streusel topping and polka-dotted wrapper. Reader’s mouth waters just looking at it, but they hold themself back.

“I don’t have any money on me, I’m sorry!” They exclaim, biting their lip, but Angela just shakes her head. 

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house.” She says, waving a hand. “Also, if you want to call someone while your phone charges, you’re free to use mine. You seem like you want to be home sooner rather than later, no?” Her tone is friendly, but there’s an underlying implication in her words that Reader can’t entirely parse out.

“Ah—no, but thank you for the offer. I’m just going to book a ride home once my phone turns back on. ‘Sides, I don’t really…have anyone to call,” they admit, unsure as to why they’re being so open with a stranger in the first place; maybe it’s because they’re so tired, or because Angela seems so nice, so soothing, and she smells very much like lavender and it’s very relaxing…

Angela’s eyes are wide. “No one?” She asks, voice low and concerned in a way that has Reader shifting uncomfortably. 

“I mean—not no one, I guess, but I don’t think any of my friends are available right now, you know?” Reader tries to amend the situation; for some reason, there’s this insurmountable urge to make her happy and unconcerned again that’s clawing at their insides. Just seeing her frowning lips and drawn eyebrows makes Reader want to cry.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to pry, but…don’t you have, like, a caregiver?”

There’s that word again. Caregiver. Hearing it again should freak Reader out  more than it does, but at the moment, they’re just confused and too tired to be scared. The cafe is warm, and Angela is nice, and she hardly seems like a creep. 

“What do you mean by that?” Reader asks evenly, though that familiar feeling of wrongness has started its swirl in their stomach again. “What’s, um, a caregiver?” 

If her eyes were wide before, it’s nothing compared to how they are now. Her mouth opens and closes for a half-second, chin moving like a fish. “Are you—” she stops herself, the crease between her eyebrows deepening as she pauses. “Oh my god, you’re not joking. Oh, oh, honey. Where on earth do you live? How did that even—I mean, surely someone—…wait here. I’ll be right back.” Angela wastes no time to hurry behind the counter and into the backroom, door swinging shut behind her. 

Both of the other cafe patrons look up at the barista’s outburst, confused, before zeroing in on Reader as the cause. Reader stares back at them, wide-eyed, and raises their hands palms-up to signal their shared confusion. 

Just as the two patrons return to their previous activities, Reader’s phone buzzes with life; good timing—they really, really want to get home, and preferably soon. But as they open their newly revived cell phone, another problem quickly makes itself known: no service. What a total piss off, because Reader knows they paid for the unlimited plan. Luckily, the cafe has free wifi, and Reader’s soon reconnected to the sweet, sweet internet. Breathing a sigh of relief, they open Maps.

Nothing loads. The entire digital world is infuriatingly grey and no amount of zooming in and out has any effect. 

Where am I?

“Hey, kiddo,” a gentle voice sounds, startling Reader from their thoughts. It’s a man, on the shorter side, also donning a barista apron; his silver nametag says JJ. 

“Um, hi,” Reader responds, too distracted to notice the nickname. 

“Can I sit with you?” JJ asks, gesturing to the empty seat across from the couch Reader is sitting on. 

“Yeah?” Reader is confused. 

“Awesome, thanks.” JJ slides into the chair. A dark cherry scent flows into Reader’s nose—must’ve been his cologne—and it has a strangely calming effect. “How’re you liking your muffin?”

As if on cue, their stomach grumbles, and Reader blushes. “I haven’t tried it yet. I’m sorry.” 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for. You should try some, though—the raspberry is my favorite.” JJ nudges the plate closer to them. 

The muffin is excellent, just as it looked; fluffy and moist, bursting with flavor from the raspberry pockets inside, and decadently sweet. It takes maybe thirty seconds for Reader to devour the entire thing. 

“You liked it, then?” JJ teases lightly.

“Sorry,” Reader says sheepishly, realizing how unmannerly they must’ve looked. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was.” 

There’s a twitch of a frown that flickers over JJ’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “So, Angela tells me you live all by yourself?” He says it casually, but Reader stiffens. What are these people’s problems? So what if they live alone—Reader’s an adult. It’s perfectly fine for them to be by themself.

“Um, why do you ask?” Reader says cautiously, trying to gauge the man’s reaction. 

“Well, you know, it’s not exactly…typical…I just wanted to see if you were okay, you know?” 

“What do you mean, ‘not typical’? Tons of people live by themselves?” 

JJ looks suddenly very uncomfortable; Reader is glad they’re not the only one. 

“Look, kid…I didn’t want to say it, and Angela kinda told me not to, but…you reek of Little.” His tone is gentle, cautious, but his words make no sense. 

“Little? A little what?” 

Reader is seriously getting sick of shocked expressions. 

A/N: Hope the OC names don't bother y'all too much; I literally put zero thought into them and went with whatever popped into my head first. Would you guys mind if I made permanent OC caregivers for this? I'm still not entirely sure where I'm going with this LMAO

Also hope y'all don't mind the like, scent thing too much - I used to dislike that sort of thing but one fic I read made me love it and I wanted to try writing it loll

“Hey there, little one,” one of them says, bending down just slightly at the knees, “do you know where your Caregiver is? It’s awfully late to be out here all by yourself, you know.” 

Reader is confused. “Caregiver?” They ask, not failing to notice how the two adults’ faces contort into pity at their question. 

“Ah—your mommy or daddy? Or maybe older sibling?” The other pipes up. 

Reader’s eyebrows furrow. “Excuse me? Is this some kind of joke?”

The adults give each other a look, and there’s a tense pause before one of them speaks up again. “Where are you headed? We can help you get there.”

Reader is beginning to sense that something is very, very wrong here. “I’m just on my way home, thank you—and that’s alright, I can manage myself.” They say, taking a tiny, cautious step back. 

Both of their faces are deeply concerned now. “I don’t think it’s very safe for you to go out wandering by yourself at night, dearie. Do you have a phone number of someone we could call to come get you? Or an address we can help you find?” One steps a bit closer. 

These two are really, really starting to creep Reader out. Their mouth opens and closes like a fish for a moment as they try to think of a response before realizing the best course of action may just be getting the heck away from these two. 

So they break out into a run.

Would love to see more Classification AUs where the consequences of suppressing/neglecting one's headspace are not just somatic or self-deprecating, but also potentially really harmful for the people around them. Like if a Little goes without regressing for too long, maybe they become incredibly irritable and prone to violent outbursts.

Maybe in the world they live in, Littles are heavily monitored due to the damage they can cause when they don't properly fall into headspace. Perhaps there's a physical component to it too --- I've seen a lot of works where Littles are physically smaller or weaker than their Caregiver/Neutral counterparts, but I think it would be interesting if, after neglecting their headspace for too long, their body was able to gain sudden bursts of crazy strength to match the violent outbursts. Biologically, the advantage of this would be that when the Little is in a high-stress situation for a long period of time (long enough to go without regressing for, say, six months or longer), they're able to fight off/protect themselves from adversaries (or whatever the body/mind perceives as such).

Assuming the Little hasn't been kidnapped or something, though, this feature isn't super helpful in the modern day. The stressors of the past (wild animals, wars, etc) don't generally apply, and so instead of fighting off attackers, they end up accidentally destroying a desk or their computer after they get another work email asking them to take on more work than they already have. This is very bad for shareholder value, so there are strict standards set by most governments to prevent Littles from neglecting their headspace (all Littles must have a guardian/caregiver, and they must regress for a total of twelve hours per month every month, or else they risk intervention).

Of course, this doesn't mean Littles aren't still a vulnerable population. After all, the ability to briefly possess crazy strength is only reached after a long period of headspace neglect (which comes with other issues like fatigue, headaches, depression, etc.) --- anybody with malicious intentions just has to ensure a Little reaches the minimum threshold of regression in order to avoid headspace neglect and thus also avoid the temporary "power-ups". Plus, short high-stress moments or sudden trauma could still trigger (involuntary) regression, so if someone were smart (and evil) enough, they could theoretically still get away with lots without pushback.