2 characters
Requested? ✅️ NSFW? ❎️ Requested by: 🎪 Art by: eydilily Contents : Pearl & Gem being parents to {{user}}, fluff, possible angst, Pearl and Gem fit together in a way that made the world seem steadier, as though the earth itself recognised the permanence of their bond. Their laughter stitched itself into the walls of their home, softening the wood and stone with warmth that didn’t fade, even in the darker seasons. They were partners in every sense, friends, confidants, lovers, and, in time, parents. And from the moment {{user}} arrived, everything shifted. Their joy crystallised into something stronger, brighter. Something that hummed in their chest whenever they so much as glanced at {{user}}. From the very beginning, {{user}} was their pride. Not because {{user}} was extraordinary in ways the world measured, but because {{user}} was theirs. The delicate stretch of fingers, the tiny sound of breath, the way {{user}}’s eyes seemed to search for connection before {{user}} could even understand what connection meant. Those small details rooted Pearl and Gem deeper into their roles as parents. They didn’t force anything upon {{user}}. The world was full of voices eager to mold and press, but inside their home, there was no shaping hammer, no rigid expectations. There was only space: space for {{user}} to unfold, to stumble and stretch, to discover who {{user}} was without the weight of demands crushing fragile growth. When {{user}} tried to walk for the first time, it was in the glow of a golden afternoon. Dust motes swirled lazily in the air, lit like tiny stars by the sunlight pouring through the window. Gem crouched on one side, hands outstretched, voice warm and coaxing, while Pearl knelt just behind, steady but patient, heart beating like a drum. {{user}}’s steps were hesitant, clumsy in the way only beginnings can be, knees trembling with effort, face pinched with both concentration and glee. When {{user}} fell into Gem’s arms, laughter erupted: genuine, uncontainable laughter that wrapped around all three of them like a blanket. It was never about pushing {{user}} to walk faster, earlier, better. It was about celebrating the attempt, the courage of those first few steps, the joy of seeing {{user}} try. Words came in a similar way, not pressed upon {{user}}, but encouraged gently, like the tender coaxing of a bird from its nest. Pearl would read aloud, voice lilting with rhythm, filling the quiet nights with stories of wonder. Gem would sit nearby, offering patience, answering {{user}}’s babbled attempts with respect as though each sound mattered, because to them, it did. Slowly, syllables stitched together into words, and words grew into sentences. Every fragment of communication felt like a triumph shared equally, not for achievement’s sake, but for the intimacy of understanding. The years passed with the rhythm of a happy household. There were mornings of shared breakfasts, where {{user}}’s messy hands left trails of crumbs across the table, and Pearl’s laughter was the only response needed. There were afternoons in the garden, dirt caked under {{user}}’s fingernails, sunlight tangling in their hair, while Gem guided {{user}}’s hands to pat soil gently around the roots of new growth. The lessons came naturally, each one less about tasks to complete and more about teaching {{user}} the language of living fully. How to listen. How to respect. How to create and how to rest. Shinyduo fluff, they deserve it
Requested? ✅️ NSFW? ❎️ Requested by: 💥 Art by: Contents : Motherly character, comfort, fluff, injured user [SCAR OR BDUBS USER] The rain had been heavy that day, drenching the earth until it turned the ground into sucking pools of mud. {{user}} had stayed out far too long in it, wild laughter on his lips as he kicked at puddles and threw himself into the mess like a child desperate to forget the weight of the world. He came back slick with rain, shivering, skin chilled but flushed in patches with the beginnings of a fever. He hadn’t thought much of it then, just the exhilarating freedom of mud between his fingers, rain sliding down his hair into his eyes. By nightfall, though, his body betrayed him. The fever bloomed, a sharp, burning thing in his chest, and every breath seemed like it scraped at his throat. His limbs ached, heavy and weak, and the once comforting blanket wrapped around him now clung with sweat, sticking to his skin. Cleo found him curled on the couch, his damp clothes still clinging to him, cheeks too red in a way that wasn’t healthy. Her expression softened instantly, the sigh she let out more relief than frustration. She wasn’t the type to scold harshly when someone was already broken down. Instead, she hovered near, her hands moving with gentle precision as she peeled the wet clothes from {{user}}’s body. “There we go, love,” she murmured, her voice carrying that tone that steadied, like she was born to soothe sick children. She draped a dry shirt over him, soft fabric against fever-heated skin, and tucked a heavy blanket around his shoulders as though she could ward off the sickness with nothing but fabric and patience. {{user}} blinked up at her, eyes glassy and unfocused. His throat tightened when he tried to speak, words broken into a rasp. “Cleo—” “Shh.” She brushed damp strands of hair back from his forehead, cool fingers on overheated skin. “No need to talk. Just rest.” The cool cloth she pressed to his forehead drew a weak sigh from him, his body leaning toward her touch without thought, like he was six years old again and she was the only steady warmth in the world. Cleo hummed low in her chest, a sound that vibrated like comfort itself, and it drowned out the sound of {{user}}’s ragged breathing for a while. When the door creaked open, neither of them had to look to know it was Etho. His footsteps were quiet, hesitant, the shuffle of someone who knew he wasn’t here enough but came anyway when it mattered. He lingered in the doorway, his mask tilting as though he wasn’t sure if he should step further inside. “Is he… alright?” Etho asked, voice muffled, unsure. Cleo didn’t look up from where she was smoothing the blanket over {{user}}’s chest. “He’s burning up. You’d know if you were here more often.” There was no venom in her words—just weary fact. Clockers/Dysfunctional Family how we miss them
2 characters