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faeriekit · 1 month

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The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

#dp x dc #Jazz fenton #tim drake #that one time Tim specifically hired a fake uncle so that Bruce couldn't adopt him #free to a good home #Jack Fenton knits btw #I'm not going to continue this but i thought it was a cool premise and needed its time. Have fun with it if you want to!#this is dedicated to all the fulltime nannies at the library who are fully just college girls raising babies #dpxdc #dcxdp #Jazz said is anyone going to raise this baby and was targeted by ninjas for it #I don't have any future plans BUT there is a moment where Dick tries to sneak into her apt to 'check it out' and she fully Gets Him with a #TBI and a Fenton CreepStickTM #also. parents who try to shape their kids by denying them every form of human comfort and access to their interests. You're dead to me #also also also I'm still a Tim Drake Autistic truther #not NOT inspired by the Say Uncle by Megarakles. This one's for you fellow fans #also. if he goes with her. He gets parented for the first time ever and it Sucks Ass lol.#faer fic

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mostlymaudlin · 8 months

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Andrew had shit to do this afternoon, but for the past hour, he’s been trapped in a beanbag chair by Neil’s sleeping body weight. He doesn’t even have the remote in reaching distance, so he can’t change the channel away from ESPN.

Neil — whose legs are across Andrew’s lap — is going to be so mad when Andrew fails his sociology paper and gets kicked off the team because their captain couldn’t locate his own mattress.

Whatever. Neil’s head is on his shoulder, so Andrew amuses himself by wrapping a particularly ringlet-y curl of Neil’s around his finger and stretching it, letting it spring back into place again and again. Neil’s arm is draped loosely over Andrew’s middle, so Andrew keeps two fingers pressed to his wrist, lulled into patience by the steady beat of Neil’s pulse.

Suddenly, Neil twitches. A short, startled whine punches out of parted lips, muffled against Andrew’s collarbone.

“Neil,” Andrew says firmly, and Neil curls in toward the sound of his voice, fingers gripping at the fabric of Andrew’s shirt.

“Baby gator bit my ankle,” Neil mumbles.

Andrew, who had been steeling himself for the resurgence of a gory memory or a dream-induced panic attack, finds himself huffing in amusement.

“No, it didn’t,” Andrew says.

The tension bleeds out of Neil immediately.

“Oh,” he says, and then his breathing evens out once again.

When Andrew looks up, Kevin’s imperious face is on the screen — ESPN has decided to torture Andrew with a segment on the National Exy League’s star rookie. Andrew sighs, rests his cheek on the top of Neil’s head, and resigns himself to the reality of the moment.

#that other scene reminded me that I put this on twt but not here #my writing #aftg fic #flash #inspired by real life events (i had a dream that a baby gator bit my ankle and it scared me so bad i woke up)

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naboosands · 9 months

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Perhaps you are the one who has changed.

#fistofridays #master fisto and baby nahdar #did I cry drawing this?#MAYBE #also the pose is inspired by qui gon in tpm #this took me WAY longer than it should have #how do you even draw mon calamari??#i might colour this later!#kit fisto #kit fisto art #nahdar vebb #star wars #sw fanart #tcw #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #tcw fanart #myart

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moonrpg · 2 years

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bug ol’ eyes lol

#hollow knight #hk #hollow knight hornet #myart #dont tag any spoilers in this im only like a few hours in ty ty #thank you bug game for inspiring me to draw again. even if its just something stupid. baby steps <3 #also sorry if this joke has been done i am too scared to go in the tags love and light #1k

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milkbreadandtadpoles · 4 months

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stsg x angel

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

snippet: measly 0.5k of an insight into my poly!stsg brain. reader is neutral!

warnings: stsg it it's own warning. suggestive language, suggestive dom/sub behavior and dynamics. reader being a pouty angel ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ also, proabably poorly edited

author's note: dawg i just had some inspo and had to put thoughts to paper. and i must share! please enjoy my brain rot, my little clan of followers and those who will be searching in these tags.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

“Would you suck the strap?”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru. Please don’t start right now.”

“But I’m serious!”

“Shut up, Suguru is still sleeping.”

“I’m not.”

You palm your face, glaring at Satoru through your fingers, “You woke him up.”

“I doubt me talking about your sexual tendencies woke up the household princess.”

“Can you just flip the pancakes?”

“Oh, you’re making pancakes?” Suguru murmurs, gruff and syrupy. His hair is haphazard, yet silky and smooth. The frizzled strands frame his angular, gaunt face. It’s too cold for there to be color in his face, kissed by late moonlight instead.

“Yes, like the mother hen I am.”

Suguru has a sleepy, languid smile on his face when he watches you roll your eyes. You’re in the prettiest pajama set- cozy and warm and accentuated, eyes still riddled with sleep, head of hair a little out of place. But the light flooding the kitchen makes your cheeks glow.

“We don’t need a mother hen in the house.”

“Oh, please,” Satoru snorts, waving around a spatula with chunks of gooey batter threatening to splash against the back of the kitchen wall, “‘Toru, please make me some breakfast. Toru, I’ll give you a kiss if you-“

“I didn’t say that.” You bark, brows furrowing. Placing your hands on your hips, you frown.

Satoru beams. “You might as well have- it was with your eyes.”

“My eyes?” There’s a pout on your face when Suguru has the audacity to smile. “They were half closed when I walked into the kitchen this morning-“

“They wouldn’t have been if you drank the tea I made you-“

“I did drink it.”

“Oh?” Satoru’s lips quirk, satisfaction apparent in his shrewd smile. “You’re such a good pet for listening.”

Your cheeks burst into flames, mortification further trailing into the deep lining of your gut when the little, white haired freak has the audacity to coo. Suguru holds a hand up, and both of you quiet. Submission is a small word compared to what authority he can pull from the two of you.

“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru.”

And you smile, looking at the man who might as well have hung the moon and stars and sun himself. Shit, he might as well be the sun. The gravitational pull of the planet of you and Satoru that make it bearable living together.

That shatters briefly when he murmurs slyly to Satoru as he flips a partly burnt pancake, “Give it at least an hour or two before you start making her look like that.”

“Suguru.” You whine and he smiles the type of smile that melts your insides.

Huffing a breath, he tells you about going to get ready, to be good before he leaves the kitchen- abandoning you and Satoru in a vice like silence. There’s a pout on your face, laboriously crawling onto the kitchen counter to swing your sock-covered feet while the devious little shit continues to stack up pancakes as though there were four more of you in the house.

But they have an insatiable appetite, so it's a comment you hold with a bite of your tongue.

#thank you to the babs i follow who post this #you've inspired me!#i think i wanna make a tiny like small little series who knows!#lol i love posting all my little ideas #it's my baby diary #anyway #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #satosugu #satosugo #satosugo smut #satosugu x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #my works

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galaghiel · 7 months

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How tommy found shroud in the runaway au

#runaway au #dream smp #tommyinnit #c!tommy #shroud the spider #inspired by maquia: when the promised flower blooms #go watch that movie yall if you want to bawl your eyes out #fantasy setting where an immortal adopts a human baby during war its great its good its devastating #me doods

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harrywavycurly · 6 months

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Random Eddie Concept: You live next door to Eddie and y’all have said the casual “hello” and “good morning” to each other but haven’t properly met, you don’t even know each other’s names. But over the course of a month or so Eddie has learned that you love your plants, he can always count on seeing you standing on your back patio with your watering can every evening and sometimes if he has his windows open he can hear you talking to them and he won’t admit it but he thinks it’s adorable.

That’s why when he notices your flowers wilting he gets sort of concerned because you love your little make shift garden, but his brushes it off to maybe you’re out of town or something. But a few days later when he’s out on his patio having a smoke and he looks over and sees all the plants have gone completely brown and are slumped over in their pots he can’t shake the feeling that maybe something is wrong, so he just takes it upon himself to get his hose out and spray some water on them from his backyard hoping he’s not disturbing you.

He does this for a few days until he finally gets them to show signs of life again, that’s also when he gets the courage to walk up to your front door. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous but his hand is all sweaty when he reaches up to knock on your door. It all makes sense as to why you’ve all of a sudden abandoned your little garden when you answer the door in a robe that has a spaghetti stain on it with your hair in the messiest bun he’s ever seen but he’s also slightly impressed it’s still sitting on the top of your head, it’s all very clear to him that you’re going through a rough patch.

“Uhm I’m Eddie.” He gives you a soft smile and a little wave as your cheeks get red as the realization of how you’re dressed hits you when Eddie’s eyes look you up and down. “I’m your neighbor and I uh just wanted to let you know I’ve uhm been…watering your plants for you.” He explains as you try to adjust your robe so he can’t see the week old pajamas you have on.

“My plants? Oh god my plants.” Your eyes go wide as you remember all the flowers you have on your back patio. “They must be in such bad shape by now.” You run a hand over your face in an attempt to hide your embarrassment and Eddie just shakes his head at you.

“No no they’re fine really uhm most of them have kinda sorta turned a weird shade of green so I think they’ll be okay.” You let out a sigh of relief. “I just figured I’d introduce myself to you in case you look out your window and see me..I’m also uhm always around if you…ever wanna talk or uh…anything.” You give him a little nod as he rubs at the back of his neck clearly nervous and you can tell he means everything he just said so you just smile at him.

“Thank you Eddie that’s really sweet of you.” He just smiles as you introduce yourself and nods as he looks down at his feet for a moment before turning to head down your front steps. “I really appreciate it.” You add as he looks over his shoulder at you.

“You’re welcome…it’s nice to finally meet you.” He states as he gives you a small wave before he heads back over to his house.

Over the next few days Eddie notices you have slowly began watering your plants again and one day he gets home to find a few potted plants of his own sitting on his porch with a little note that says “Water daily and make sure they get sunlight and if you ever need someone to look after them for you let me know” followed by your name and number.

#this isn’t at all inspired by me and the fact I have been in a funk and not watered my plants in a week lol #eddie munson concept #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson au #neighbor!eddie #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson #stranger things au #my little dungeon master baby

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azul-marie · 1 year

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— what’s in a name?

their favorite pet names for you. fem. reader. feat. leon, luis, ashley, ada.

leon —

very traditional. he likes the classic pet names the most: baby, sweetheart, darling are just a few of his favorites. he likes the sappiness behind the simplicity. and the way you light up when he addresses you as such. depending on his mood, he’ll even whip out some eye rollers to tease you with (honeybun, lovebug, mama). this is especially true when he wants to distract you and/or snatch your attention from what you’re doing. leon never uses pet names to demean you, however, and would instead use your actual name/nickname during serious circumstances.

luis —

very romantic, very suave. he calls you by nearly every affection in the book, should you manage to keep count. bonita, corazón, cariño, are his go-tos most of the time. luis also uses possessive labels such as mi vida, mi amorcito, mi linda when he’s feeling especially clingy. or when he’s hit with with a spot of jealousy and wishes to let everyone else know you’re taken. (it happens more often than not, as it were). he’s the type who uses pet names to annoy you during arguments only because he thinks he’s slick enough to charm you out of being upset with him. (he is, but that’s not the point). he seldom uses your name/nickname in most cases.

ashley —

cutesy and food oriented. she isn’t shy about calling you the sappiest, fluffiest pet names even around others, which in turn leads to plenty of cooing and awing over your sheepish reactions. sweet pea, pumpkin, cupcake are her faves. she reasons that because she loves sweet things, it only makes sense to call you by their names since she loves you even more. that, and they sound super cute to say. ashley tends to call you by name/nickname just as often though, therefore balancing the sweetness perfectly.

ada —

sultry, on the cusp of leading to more. she’s taciturn and cautious, but reserves just a little bit of herself for you and you alone. kitten, doll, beautiful are her usual choices. always spoken to you in a whisper, like a secret she wants heard by your ears only. ada hates to share, so she can’t have just anyone thinking they can address you the same way she does. she finds herself reserving these pet names during more intimate moments spent together. she uses your name/nickname the majority of the time, but will indulge you in a murmur should you ask politely.

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