Hush, Little Penguin

When You've Got To Wear Your Bunny Pajamas

Peso's fashion, for as long as the Octonauts could remember, should have been the pinpoint of his forever childhood and innocent behavior.

When they'd first met, Peso seemed to hate everything about himself. They'd see him looking at himself in the mirror, clearly wishing he could see something else, hating his reflection. They'd see him glance at a reflective surface and push a flipper into his pudgy cheeks, watching it sink into the soft baby fat, which was somehow determined not to go anywhere, to humiliate him until the end of time, protruding his stomach and making it hard for him to participate in physical feats. 

Of course, his size didn't help most things. it was the thing Peso hated most about himself. He was too small for normal teenage clothes, so he had to wear the stupid little clothes that fit him, consisting of adorable little boy clothing. His father thought he deserved it. His mother was no help at all. Being a seamstress, she should have been able to make him some normal clothes in his size. But no. Quote unquote; "You look so sweet!"

Peso didn't WANT to look sweet!

Looking sweet had ruined his social life.

They'd noticed how he asked if they thought he ate too much. They'd all seen the hopelessly innocent-looking clothes hanging in his closet, which they assumed was why he stuck to blend-in cold suits. They'd seen him react, blushing adorably, to a stranger who mistook him for a child. His annoyance as clear as day, gently but firmly pushing away the paw that patted his head or pinched his cheeks, flushed with embarrassment and only adding to his sweetheart appearance. 

And it was very easy to mistake Peso for a child. Even his attempts to act grownup and mature were sweet and childlike. He looked, on the outside, like a little boy tying to mimic the grownups. They could tell this frustrated him to no end.

So, needless to say, it was particularly confusing why he turned to the things he detested as comfort.

Kwazii had asked him about it one day in his playpen.  His already helplessly childish style had increased in adorability, leaving Peso pretty much trapped in a state of outer infancy. But now, surprisingly, he didn't mind. He had a family who loved him for it and supported him, and he felt safe and comfy.

And embarrassingly, he kind of liked looking cute. The thing that had gotten him hated by so many people was actually making him loved. The Octonauts had helped him see that.

His fluffy feathers were allowed to grow out until the tumbled past his shoulders and were easily pinned back to conceal. But when put down, they would flow onto his shoulders and rest there in pretty, soft waves, looking like clouds. Today, he was wearing a purple set of footie pajamas with a bunny patch on his heart, and those plushie-soft, fluffy locks were allowed to decorated his shoulders and frame his cutie pie little face. His bangs had been trimmed, letting the soft tufts rest on his forehead and some of the locks had been pulled back with a pink ribbon onto one giant curl for a ponytails, which lay on the back of his head, making a fluffy waterfall out of the hair that was free of the ribbon.