Diaper References

I like to wear those , mega max diapers ,from north shore  , and , I can remember when you could buy a case , 40 diapers for 99$ delivered , but the quality has , greatly improved , and them tykables , waddler , they are supper thick , and the crotch is wider , and they can be had for 270$ for 2 cases thats 80 diapers , and I enjoy the cloth adult training pants from rearz , of which I have 28 prs. at around  16- 22 $ a pr! And they have held everything , I have put in them , and thats over 10-12 hrs. Plus I wear plastic pants , pul-up s from  Gary ,and if you buy them on sale they are about 22$ a pr. I have 2 dozen pair , and they hold up if you , wash them and let them bleach out in the sun , I have been wearing the same 12 pair for about 10-12 months , and they are still the same , as the day I bought them , frosty and they smell just like they did back then , but after I have worn them over everything , I use as a diaper , and they might turn messy and orange after I put them thur the washer , and soak them in the sun , they look a feel like they day , I got them , and they are all but silent when I wear them under my sweat pants , jean shorts and pants , which I wear and buy to fit loose , but in my jeans , and I have pooped them , the bulge right in the crotch , is a little visible 🤨, but I also take , these devrom pills , which knock that “dirty diaper stink” , right down , to where I can be wet and messy , in a conversation with somebody like in the grocery store , and they have never acted , like they could smell my wet or pooped diaper , at all !  I like to wear those , mega max diapers ,from north shore  , and , I can remember when you could buy a case , 40 diapers for 99$ delivered , but the quality has , greatly improved , and them tykables , waddler , they are supper thick , and the crotch is wider , and they can be had for 270$ for 2 cases thats 80 diapers , and I enjoy the cloth adult training pants from rearz , of which I have 28 prs. at around  16- 22 $ a pr! And they have held everything , I have put in them , and thats over 10-12 hrs. Plus I wear plastic pants , pul-up s from  Gary ,and if you buy them on sale they are about 22$ a pr. I have 2 dozen pair , and they hold up if you , wash them and let them bleach out in the sun , I have been wearing the same 12 pair for about 10-12 months , and they are still the same , as the day I bought them , frosty and they smell just like they did back then , but after I have worn them over everything , I use as a diaper , and they might turn messy and orange after I put them thur the washer , and soak them in the sun , they look a feel like they day , I got them , and they are all but silent when I wear them under my sweat pants , jean shorts and pants , which I wear and buy to fit loose , but in my jeans , and I have pooped them , the bulge right in the crotch , is a little visible 🤨, but I also take , these devrom pills , which knock that “dirty diaper stink” , right down , to where I can be wet and messy , in a conversation with somebody like in the grocery store , and they have never acted , like they could smell my wet or pooped diaper , at all ! 

Wow. Velvet really was a huge asshole before her rehabilitation! Now her selling out Audrey and Staycee makes a lot more sense... Very interesting; I'll have to skim through A&S again to refresh my memory of some of the details for everything to fully make sense.  Fascinating to see the early development stages of this hellish facility! They clearly do have a history of unconventional hypnotists/technicians, though. Colette was definitely too impressionable to be able to effectively deal with someone as egocentric and capable as Velvet! I'm glad evil Marlow found something to break down her determination a bit... The library was also a beautiful allegory of Colette's hypnotism doing its work.  Though not sure how I feel about Velvet as a character now after this; she's definitely still a difficult person with how arrogant she tends to be... 

I actually had a good weekend, so I could write.  I really enjoy writing this chapter.  It is a critical chapter.  I am curious about everyone's thoughts, so please leave feedback. Chapter 62 - A Visit to Tilly The drive to Tilly’s townhome felt longer than Avery would have liked. Avery sat in the back passenger seat, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the colorful gift bag containing the Scribble Scrubbie set that they purchased at the toy store. He had survived the outing in public in his diaper and childlike outfit.  He was glad that was over, but worried about Tilly not talking to him. Every time Darlene took a turn, the thick padding of his diaper shifted against the denim of his shortalls with a crinkle. He felt exposed, even behind the tinted glass of the SUV, even in the safety of the vehicle.  He wasn’t sure if he could ever get us to this, but Darlene was always there guiding him and never once making him feel uncomfortable, even though the surroundings did or the people around him out in public. Avery was almost in tears, his vision blurring as he worried that Tilly wouldn’t just dislike the gift, but that she was so mad at him she might actually throw it back in his face or refuse to let them in. He would do something like that if he were in the same angry state, his own volatile emotions often bubbling over into defensive lashing out when he felt cornered or ashamed. The colorful gift bag in his lap felt like a heavy, mocking anchor; he had spent so much time picking out the Scribble Scrubbie set, hoping the idea of a "fresh start" through washable toys would bridge the gap yesterday’s outburst had created.  “We’re here, sweetie,” Darlene said softly, turning off the engine. She reached over and squeezed his uninjured left hand. “Remember, she’s just as nervous as you are. Just be your sweet self.” Avery swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper. “I look like a toddler, Darlene. What if she laughs?” “That is an excuse to not go and see her.  Out of all people you know, she won’t laugh,” Darlene promised, her gaze steady and full of maternal certainty. “Tilly understands this more than anyone, and you know that, and she is probably dressed in some cute dress.” The SUV was parked directly across from Tilly's unit in a block of identical two-story townhomes, the kind with beige vinyl siding and dark green shutters, separated by narrow strips of meticulously maintained grass. Each unit had a small, enclosed concrete patio out front. Tilly’s unit was distinguished only by a small, colorful wind spinner near the door, a slightly out-of-place splash of childish whimsy against the neutral, adult architecture. They walked up the short concrete path. Avery’s gait was wide and awkward, the sheer bulk of his high-capacity diaper making it impossible to walk normally. He felt the snap-crotch onesie tugging at his shoulders, a constant reminder of his regression. He forced himself to manage the clumsy waddle, the sound of the denim shortalls rustling with every motion. He knew he was going to need to pee soon,, but wanted to wait till the ride home, as he knew Darlene wouldn’t allow him out of the diapers. Darlene, a steady presence, rang the doorbell, and the chimes echoed inside the house, sounding to Avery like a countdown. The door opened slowly. Tilly stood there, and Avery’s breath caught. She wasn’t wearing her usual bright sundress, and she wasn’t dressed in work clothes. Instead, she was dressed in a pair of thick, fuzzy footed pajamas patterned with pink unicorns and purple stars. Beneath the fleece, the tell-tale silhouette of a bulky diaper was visible, creating a heavy, rounded shape that matched Avery’s own. She looked small, vulnerable, and completely at ease in her little-girl self. “Hi,” Tilly whispered, her voice barely audible. She didn’t look at Avery’s face, her eyes fixed on his denim straps and then to Darlene. Tilly slowly opened the door, still not looking at Avery, her gaze fixed instead on the worn welcome mat at her feet. The heavy door creaked on its hinges, revealing more of the townhome’s warm interior, which smelled faintly of vanilla and baby powder. Avery stood paralyzed on the concrete step, the colorful gift bag in his hand crinkling loudly in the quiet afternoon air as his fingers tightened around the handles. Darlene remained a steady, comforting presence just behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder to offer silent encouragement. Tilly finally stepped back, pulling the door wider to invite them in, though she still kept her chin tucked low against the soft fleece of her unicorn-patterned footie pajamas. “Hi, Tilly. Thank you for letting us come by,” Darlene said, stepping forward to bridge the awkward gap. She placed a gentle hand on Avery’s back, guiding him into the warmth of the townhome.  Avery felt small as he walked in.  He felt like a little child, not the adult he was.  Nervous and scared and wanting to be close to Darlene for his protection, even in Tilly’s home. The living room was a strange blend of adulthood and infancy. A sleek, modern sofa and a designer coffee table shared space with a scattered array of chunky crayons and a coloring book. A plush teddy bear and a plastic doll sat on an armchair as if watching the evening news. On the television, the bright, saturated colors of My Little Pony flickered, the theme song playing at a low, soothing volume. A glittery pink sippy cup sat on a coaster next to a stack of magazines.  On the floor, scattered near the coffee table, was a collection of colorful stuffed cloth building blocks, their soft edges worn from use, and a large, plush blanket with a childlike animal print that looked incredibly inviting. “Come sit down,” Tilly said, gesturing toward the sofa. She waddled slightly as she moved, the crinkle of her own diaper a soft, domestic sound in the quiet room. Avery sat on the very edge of the cushion, the denim of his shorts rustling loudly. The silence between the two was heavy, weighted with the memory of his outburst yesterday. Darlene sat in the armchair, smoothing her skirt. “It’s so cozy in here, Tilly. I love what you’ve done with the place. Those unicorn pajamas look so comfortable.” Tilly pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve, a flush creeping up her neck. “Mom got them for me. They help me feel… quiet.” She finally risked a glance at Avery. “You’re wearing your shortalls.” Avery’s heart hammered against his ribs. He looked down at the gift bag in his lap, his voice trembling. “Yeah. Darlene picked them. I… I’m sorry, Tilly.” The words came out in a rush, desperate and raw. “I was so mean this yesterday. When you tried to play with me.. “  Avery paused. It was hard to say the word out loud.. “In the play pen with the play Do and the snake. And the room. I was just overwhelmed, and I took it out on you, and that wasn’t fair because you were being so nice.” He thrust the bag toward her with his left hand. “I got you this. It’s for you.  You can play with them and then clean them again. Like… like a fresh start.” His voice quivered and was a little high-pitched, unexpectedly. He had rehearsed over and over what he was going to say, but this wasn’t what he wanted to say.  It was rushed and unpolished, and sounded like something a little child would say Tilly took the bag, her fingers brushing his with a feather-light touch that made Avery flinch instinctively before he forced himself to relax. She pulled out the Scribble Scrubbie set, the bright, playful packaging a stark contrast to the heavy silence that had filled the room moments before. She tried to hide her expression, biting her lower lip as she struggled to maintain her defensive wall, but she couldn’t. Her eyes widened, sparkling with a mixture of surprise and delight as she read the descriptions of the little fuzzy animals on the box. A small, genuine smile—the first one Avery had seen all day—finally broke across her face, softening the guarded lines of her features. She carefully took the box out of the crinkling gift bag and laid it on her lap, the weight of the toy grounding her in the moment. She wanted to be mad at Avery, to hold onto the hurt from his earlier outburst, but her resolve was crumbling as her hands ran over the smooth cardboard of the box, her fingertips tracing the colorful details of the characters she had seen in commercials and secretly longed for. “The ones you can wash? I saw these on a commercial! I wanted them so much.” Tilly’s voice was soft as you handed her the box and she looked up at him, her eyes shining. “You remembered I like coloring?” “How could I not. When you visited me at the hospital, you colored, and you seemed to love it.,” Avery whispered, looking down at the floor, his fingers interwound with his hand. “I wanted to get you something that wasn’t stupid.” Tilly stayed still for a while, her gaze fixed on the Scribble Scrubbie box in her lap as the silence in the room stretched out, thick with the unsaid. Darlene watched them from the armchair, her heart aching for both of them.  She desperately wanted to interject, to offer a comforting word or a bridge between them, but she forced herself to remain a silent observer. This moment was a fragile, necessary exchange between Tilly and Avery, a quiet reconciliation that she could only facilitate by her presence as the transportation and support for Avery. Finally, Tilly looked up, her eyes glistening. Without a word, she slid over from the far side of the sofa and then close to Avery. She leaned over and gave Avery a quick, impulsive hug. The contact was brief, but in that small window of time, Avery felt the incredible softness of her fleece unicorn pajamas and the unmistakable, firm, supportive bulk of her high-capacity diaper pressing against his own. It was an awkward moment for two adults dressed like toddlers to be so close together.  It was more than just a physical embrace; it was a strange sense of forgiveness.  He wasn’t used to close contact but only with Darlene, which sent goose bumps up his back. “I wasn't mad at you, Avery. I was just sad. Sad I didn’t help.  Sad you didn’t like what I put my heart into.  Which made me cry and feel upset. I felt like I failed.” Tilly said softly as she pulled back, her voice barely a whisper. She shifted her weight. She got up from the sofa and sat cross-legged on the plush blanket on the carpeted floor, the plastic backing of her diaper crinkling rhythmically as she settled into her "little" space. “I know what it’s like when the big feelings get too loud inside your head, and you just want to scream at everything because it’s all too much. I do that to my mom all the time when I feel overwhelmed.”  She paused and held the box in her hand as she placed it on the floor. Darlene watched the two of them, her own eyes becoming misty as she witnessed the walls Avery had built around himself finally begin to crumble. She reached out and patted Avery’s knee, her touch anchoring him to the safety of the moment. “See? I told you she’d understand.”  Darlene said, her voice thick with maternal warmth. “You two are both very brave for being so honest with each other.” The peaceful atmosphere was punctured by the sharp, persistent vibration of Darlene’s phone. She pulled it from her pocket, her brow furrowing as she read the message from Laurisa: CALL  ME NOW. EMERGENCY. GET TO A PRIVATE SPOT. “Everything okay?” Tilly asked, looking up from where she was, patting the floor for Avery to join her. Darlene forced a tight, professional smile. “Just a work fire I need to put out. The corporation never sleeps. You two keep playing; I’ll just be a minute.” She stepped out onto the small patio, the cool evening air hitting her face as she dialed Laurisa. The call connected instantly, and a second later, the line clicked as Laurisa patched in Ashley. “I’m here,” Ashley’s voice came through, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. “Laurisa, what’s going on?” “John was spotted,” Laurisa said, her voice tight with clinical dread. “A Home Depot on the edge of the city. He was wearing a ball cap, sunglasses, and a surgical mask, but the height and gait matched. And he took off his sunglasses for just a second. Darlene, he’s likely hiding that shoulder injury you gave him under a baggy windbreaker.” Darlene felt a cold weight settle in her gut. “What did he buy?” “It’s bad,” Laurisa whispered. “He paid cash for a roll of heavy-duty black construction sheeting, a small collapsible utility shovel, ten feet of thick industrial chain, a roll of black duct tape, pty gas container, and a gallon of high-concentration bleach.”  The silence on the three-way call was deafening. Ashley was the first to break it. “That’s a body kit. Or a dungeon kit. The plastic for the floor, the bleach to scrub the DNA, the shovel for… God, Darlene.” “It’s ritualistic behavior,” Laurisa added, her professional persona masking the fear for her sister.  “He’s nesting. He’s preparing a new staging area or an evasion site where he can stay off the grid. He’s not running away; he’s digging in.” “I should have killed him,” Darlene hissed, her knuckles white as she gripped the patio railing. “I had the fire extinguisher. I had the chance to end it in that lab, and I let him walk away because I was so focused on Avery. This is my fault.” “Stop it,” Laurisa commanded. “You saved Avery’s life. If you had chased John, Avery would have been scared and very confused. You made the only choice a human being could make. But we have a problem. He walked out of the Home Depot parking lot into a heavily wooded area without cameras. The police lost the trail. He’s gone underground.” “We need a plan,” Ashley said. “If he’s nesting, he’s still thinking about Avery and Darlene. Predators don't just give up on their primary fix. This is the only thing we can conclude.” Darlene looked through the glass window between the curtains into Tilly’s living room. Avery. He looked so small in his shortails, finally smiling as he interacted with Tilly. The thought of John out there with a shovel and bleach made her want to scream. “I can’t rush back in there and panic him. He’s finally feeling safe for the first time in days. If I tell him John is buying burial supplies, he’ll shatter.” “You have to stay calm for him,” Laurisa agreed. “But Darlene, he cannot be alone. Not for a second.” “He won’t be,” Darlene vowed, her voice turning to steel. “I am not letting him out of my sight. Not tonight, not ever. If John wants him, he has to come through me, and this time, I won't be looking for a way to save him—I'll be looking for a way to finish it.” “Before we go back to Avery, I need to share what I’ve been able to piece together about John,” Laurisa said, her voice dropping lower, taking on the tone she used when relaying highly sensitive casework details. “Bryan was a wreck earlier, feeling guilty, and while Julian was making his calls to the CEO, I managed to get him talking. He gave me some background, context that changes how we look at John’s state of mind.” There was a pause. Darlene was afraid to ask, but Ashley’s desire to understand said. “Lay it on me. I want to know what makes a man buy a shovel and bleach instead of just fleeing the country.” Laurisa continued on the phone, “Bryan confirmed John wasn’t always like this. In fact, he was the model employee—and, for a long time, the model person. He was considered brilliant, very intellectual, and one of the most patient teachers in the entire R&D division. He helped establish the company in its early days, and he and the owner were genuinely good friends. The staff loved him. He’d stay late to tutor the new hires, and he had a reputation for kindness.” Darlene scoffed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Kind? Patient? The man I saw was pure, distilled hate. He was a psychopath who tried to torture a broken boy.” “Exactly,” Laurisa stressed. “Bryan said the break was sudden and absolute. The John we see is a post-trauma manifestation. The best I can tell so far is  it all traces back to one single event, about three years ago now. His brother and his brother’s wife died in a strange accident—a gas leak in their home.” Ashley gasped.. “In a gas leak? That’s awful.” Laurisa continued in her typical clinical voice. “The tragedy was compounded: the brother’s wife was pregnant. They lost the whole family unit in one day. Bryan said John had been extremely close with his brother—they were his only remaining family. They went to the funeral, and when John returned to work, the switch had flipped.” “He was never the same,” Darlene repeated, a sense of morbid understanding dawning on her. She thought about the kind of grief that could shatter a person’s identity, especially someone who seemed to value control and intellect.  And her own grief over her own loss, how she grew distant, but still that was no excuse for what he did to Avery. “Never,” Laurisa confirmed. “Bryan said that after the funeral, he developed a temper instantly. He started drinking heavily, partying hard. He’d skip days of work, and when he was in the office, he was abrasive, cynical, and impossible to work with. He had been meticulously private before that—never mentioned his personal life—but then he started posting pictures of himself with women at bars, beaches, and parties. Bryan said he was never a flirter before, always stayed focused on work, but suddenly he became reckless, desperate for attention.” Ashley, even still on the phone, slid her half-eaten muffin away, suddenly losing her appetite. “So, he went from a good, quiet guy to a total mess. And then that mess metastasized into… this.” Her eyes were wide with a chilling pity. “Avery’s not dealing with some born villain, but a guy who just broke and weaponized his own devastation.” “It’s a catastrophic shift in self-identity coupled with unmanaged trauma,” Laurisa explained, using her clinical language to process the horror. “The rage he felt over losing his family, possibly coupled with survivor’s guilt, was externalized. He shattered, and in his broken state, he started preying on people he saw as weak or controllable—like Avery.” Darlene leaned back, clutching the warm cup of chocolate. A profound weariness settled over her. “This doesn’t make it better,” she said, her voice strained. “It doesn’t excuse what he did to Avery, but it explains his lack of humanity. He stopped seeing people as people when his own family was taken from him.” “It explains why he fixated on Avery,” Ashley mused, tapping her finger on the table. “Avery is vulnerable, quiet, and intelligent, and he challenged John’s. He managed to overcome his trauma to some extent. Maybe it’s a sick, twisted desire to exert control over a broken life, the kind of control he lost when his brother and his pregnant wife died.” “Or maybe,” Laurisa interjected, her eyes narrowing, “he saw Avery’s state as an offense, a mockery of the innocence he lost, or the child he would never see born. His cruelty to Avery, the systematic torture—that’s often a reenactment of powerlessness. He’s trying to gain control over a victim, the way fate took control over him.” Darlene felt a fresh wave of despair for Avery. If John were truly this damaged, this driven by a core trauma, he wouldn’t stop. The purchases at Home Depot weren't just about escape; they were about finality. “So he’s not just a sad, broken man who turned into an aggressor,” Darlene concluded, a steel forming in her tone. “He’s a man who has lost everything and is now trying to take something—or someone—else to replace the empty space his loss created. He’s digging in, Laurisa, and he’s coming for Avery.” There was a moment of silence on the line, broken only by a sharp intake of breath from Ashley. “Wait,” Ashley whispered, her tone changing completely—it was raw, unnerved, far from her usual bravado. “I remember something. Something I didn’t think was important at the time.” Darlene frowned, pressing the phone harder to her ear. “Ashley? What is it?” “The night I… the night I  set everything up at the bar with John and then moved to the office,” Ashley began, the memory clearly making her physically recoil. “We were—I was pretending to be someone else. And we had our clothes off. I was on his chest for a minute, and I noticed something weird. It’s coming back to me now because of this talk about violence.” Her voice dropped almost to a tremor. “He had scars. Not fresh cuts, but old, raised white lines—like thin, ragged lightning strikes—across his chest and near his shoulder blades. I remember thinking how strange it was for a man who spent his life in labs, dedicated to knowledge and science. He was marked.” Darlene’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm. "Scars? How many? Was it old surgery?" “No, Darlene. Not medical. They looked... aggressive. Like he’d been in a serious fight or injured badly, years ago. I remember tracing one on his shoulder—it was deep. I put it down to a bizarre past hobby or something, but with the brother in Afghanistan, the trauma, the violence... What if he wasn't always just the academic? What if that military side of the family history touched him, too?" Ashley’s voice was laced with dawning horror. Laurisa’s response was immediate and clinical, cutting through the shock. “Ashley, this is critical. Could they have been burn scars?  On the other end of the line, Ashley was already distracting herself with frantic action, clicking and searching, trying to find an external anchor to the swirling chaos. “Hold on, hold on, I’m trying to find anything else, anything John wouldn’t have thought to scrub from the deep corners of the internet,” Ashley muttered, the click of her keyboard faintly audible. “Ashley, focus,” Laurisa warned. “I am focused, I’m just multi-tasking this crisis. Something to me doens’t make sense.  I know men. I sleep with them and all their problems.” Ashley snapped back. “Okay, I found it. An old, unused social media profile—looks like a professional one. Hasn't been touched since, yep, three years ago, right around the time the brother died.” She started scrolling, narrating her findings. “It’s mostly boring stuff, Darlene. John talking about work, his research, promoting the company… Complimenting the research team. Standard egghead stuff. This is the guy Bryan described—brilliant, kind, totally focused on science.” “See, that’s the John everyone knew,” Laurisa said. “The trauma changed him so violently, he shed that identity entirely.” “Wait,” Ashley said, her voice tightening, losing its detached tone. “Scrolling… scrolling… found a photo album. Looks like the wedding album of his brother and his wife. Okay, here’s a shot of the happy couple and the best man, John.” A sharp, terrified intake of breath pulled Ashley as she looked at the picture.  She felt like she was going to pass out. “Shit,” Ashley whispered, the sound laced with absolute dread. “Shit. Shit... Shit...” “Ashley, what is it? Talk to me,” Darlene demanded, her heart pounding. “They are identical twins,” Ashley breathed out, the realization dropping like a lead weight. Her voice was shaking now, high and frantic. “Darlene, they are standing side by side, John and his brother, and you cannot tell them apart. They are totally, perfectly, identical. I’m taking a screenshot of the photo and sending it to both of you right now. Look at it.” Darlene pulled up the image on her phone, her thumb shaking as she waited for the data to load. When the photo popped up, her breath hitched. Two faces, the same eyes, the same jawline, the same faint widow’s peak. One groom, one best man, utterly indistinguishable. “Oh my God,” Darlene whispered, staring at the face of the man who had tortured Avery, now duplicated. “This changes everything.” Laurisa’s voice, which had been calm and clinical just moments before, cracked with a deeper, more chilling horror. “Darlene, look closely at the men in the photo. The man standing next to the bride—the brother, the military hero—and the man who became the post-trauma monster… look at the eyes.” A terrible, sickening thought solidified in Darlene’s mind. It wasn't that the real John broke. It was something far more calculated. “The one who died in the gas leak... the intellectual, kind John... he was the victim.” “Yes,” Laurisa confirmed, her words cutting through the air like ice. “The military brother, the hero, the one who was decorated, the one with the capacity for physical violence and training—the one who, according to Ashley, carried those aggressive scars—he didn't die. He orchestrated the gas leak to kill his twin, his twin's pregnant wife, and then slipped into John’s life, taking his identity.” Ashley let out a sound of pure disgust. “He murdered his twin brother, his wife, and an unborn child, just to steal a life that was stable? Why?” “Because he was the academic, Darlene's John was the academic. The brother, the soldier, was the one who went to war, who got the scars, who was prone to violence,” Laurisa explained, rapidly constructing a new profile. “He was likely suffering from extreme isolation and trauma after returning from Afghanistan. The life he was living—the hero soldier—was unsustainable and painful. He saw his twin’s life—the settled, respected, intellectual life—as an escape, a clean slate.” Darlene leaned her head against the glass, overwhelmed by the sheer, cold brutality of the betrayal. “The post-funeral break wasn’t trauma; it was a failure to maintain the stolen identity. The brother could keep up the academic facade for a few months, but the internal rage, the PTSD, the drinking, the inherent violence—it started bleeding through. He couldn't sustain the personality of the kind, stable John. He had to revert to his true, damaged self.” “The man hunting Avery is not John Taylor, the victim of trauma. He is John Taylor's brother, an incredibly dangerous individual suffering from a profound and malignant identity disorder,” Laurisa stated, her voice now completely devoid of emotion, operating purely on professional assessment. “His core pathology is not grief, but the complete, hostile takeover of a stable identity. He sees the world as a threat and his brother’s life as a prize. The murder was necessary to seize that prize. This suggests a capacity for planning, long-term deception, and sociopathic detachment. He killed his own twin—the ultimate self-betrayal.”  There was a long pause as everyone listened. “The scars Ashley saw are likely remnants of combat or sustained violence, giving him a physical history that the real John, the academic, never possessed. This means he has training, endurance, and comfort with brutality. He’s not a heartbroken intellectual; he’s a trained, violent man pretending to be one.” “Avery wasn't targeted because he was vulnerable, but because he was a project of the real John. The smart one.  The one that would challenge his position.” Ashley shivered visibly, even through the phone. “A man who kills his twin to steal his job and his house... God, he's a monster. A premeditated monster.” “Yes, and he’s out there with a shovel, bleach, and a military mindset,” Darlene concluded, the chill replaced by a burning resolve. She looked back into the window between the curtains. Avery, who was giggling at something Tilly said. “He wants to erase Avery to erase the real John. Avery survived the attack and unknowingly threatened John’s brother's new life.” Darlene tightened her grip on the phone. “I’m going back in. I’m going to act normal. But Ashley, send that photo and Laurisa’s new assessment to Bryan and the police immediately. Tell them we are looking for a highly trained killer with an identity complex, not a broken scientist.” “God, Avery,” Darlene whispered, her voice cracking with fresh concern. She imagined John’s scarred hands wrapping around Avery, the cruelty in his eyes. “He was dealing with a predator who had trained for this. Who knew how to hurt someone without blinking.” “Which is why we need to move fast,” Laurisa insisted. “This new detail about the scars and the military brother elevates the threat level again. John is not just reacting; he has a calculated reserve of brutality. Darlene, stay calm. Go back inside, act normal for Avery, but this man is not stopping. We will get this information to Julian and the police profiler immediately. We need to focus on securing Avery right now.” Darlene squeezed her eyes shut on the patio, gripping the phone, the cold metal a small grounding point amidst the chaos of the revelation. “I’m going back in,” Darlene said, her voice a low, fierce vow. “I’m going to act normal. But Ashley, send that photo and Laurisa’s new assessment to Julian immediately. Tell them we are looking for a highly trained killer with an identity complex, not a broken scientist.” “We will, Darlene. Be safe. Keep your focus on Avery,” Laurisa commanded. Darlene hung up, slipping the phone into her pocket. She leaned against the glass for a final moment, composing her face, before opening the door to re-enter the warm, My Little Pony-lit room. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Inside the townhome, the frantic drama unfolding outside was completely unknown. The tension had vanished, replaced by the soft, domestic sound of plastic markers tapping against faux fur. Avery and Tilly were sitting cross-legged on the rug, heads bent over the Scribble Scrubbies set that Tilly had opened cheerfully. “I just don’t get it, though,” Avery admitted, using his left hand to gently wash a marker-covered cat under a tiny stream of water from the kitchen faucet. He was feeling more comfortable now, the crinkle of his high-capacity diaper against the denim shortalls feeling less like a costume and more like simple padding. “Why… why do this? I mean, you’re so smart. You have a degree. You have a job. Why the footies and the diapers? Is it… do you just really like being a baby?” Tilly looked up, her expression calm and open. The unicorn footie pajamas, soft and pink, seemed to wrap her in an aura of complete innocence. “No, not really, just a baby. It’s the feeling,” she explained, holding up a small purple dragon she had just finished cleaning. “It’s about being safe and simple. My life is complicated, Avery, but when I put these on, I can only worry about whether my blanket is soft enough or if my cocoa is too hot. The world shrinks to this room, and I don’t have to be the adult who has to fix things or fight things.” She set the dragon down on a towel. “But why you? You were trying so hard to fight it yesterday.. You didn’t want to be like this. How is your regression going? Is it… is it making things harder for you?” she asked, her blue eyes earnest and empathetic. Avery felt a flush creep up his neck, a nervous tension tightening his stomach. He picked at a loose thread on his shorts. It was hard to talk about this part—the shame and the fear were always overwhelming. But Tilly didn’t look judgmental; she looked like she genuinely needed to know, and her being there in footed pjs and in a diaper made her possibly the only person he could talk to. “Darlene… she saved me and takes care of me,” Avery managed, his voice soft. “She’s the only person who has ever made me feel completely safe when I let my guard down. She holds me, and she reads to me, and the diapers and clothes… they’re like a shield but only with her. They make me feel small enough that the bad things can’t touch me. The security is the best part. I don’t have to worry about anything but what she tells me to do.” He swallowed, the vulnerability making his heart race. “I’ve never had that before. I’ve always had to be the adult, even when I was little. I lost my parents as a baby, given to foster parents. They gave me up after a few years because I had… issues. I was in seven foster homes between the ages of one and eighteen. I learned really fast that no one was coming to save me. I protect myself.  My studies were all I had that didn’t judge me.” He paused, looking at his cast on his right hand. “So when I'm with Darlene. She is  taking away eighty percent of the fear I carry every day.” Tilly nodded slowly, processing his history. “That makes perfect sense, Avery. You’re finally getting the childhood you were robbed of with her. But let me ask you something, and I want you to play the psychologist back at me, okay? Be honest.” She scooted closer, her voice dropping. “Do you think I’m wrong for wanting this? For being like this? Do you think I should be embarrassed?” Avery looked at her, at the genuine peace radiating from her. Her face, framed by the pink fleece of her pajamas, was entirely relaxed, free of the hard tension he saw on every adult’s face. “No,” he said firmly. “No way. You look so comfortable in it. You seem so relaxed, innocent, and playful. You found what you needed to keep your head above water, and that’s what matters. I love your kind and playful spirit. I never once judged you otherwise.  You were so kind to me in the hospital.” A profound sadness crossed Tilly’s eyes. “I needed it because I was drowning,” she admitted, her voice soft and confessional. “My whole life, I tried to be the perfect, successful adult. But my dad was never there, and my mom was always working. I felt like I was constantly failing. My depression, emotions, and anxiety… it was crushing. I tried to kill myself twice.” Avery flinched, pulling his knees up to his chest.  Trying to understand how this kind, playful spirit could have been in such a dark place. Tilly’s eyes hardened with the memory, her hands twisting the fuzzy fabric of her pajamas. "It was a deep, black pit, Avery. Not just sadness, but this smothering void where the air felt thick and heavy. Every day was a fight just to breathe, and I always lost. I'd look up and see the light, the world moving on, people being normal, and I was stuck at the bottom, clawing at the slick walls but getting no purchase. I wanted to scream, but the darkness had already filled my lungs. I truly believed the world would be better off without me, and I was so tired of trying to crawl out of a place that was built to hold me." Avery was almost in tears thinking of her like this. “I can’t believe you tried to kill yourself.” “I did,” Tilly confirmed, meeting his gaze bravely. “The guilt was terrible. But through all that darkness, I was always drawn back to acting like a little toddler, having fun, just coloring, being silly. It was the only time the guilt would shut up. I kept fighting it, kept feeling like a freak, and kept attempting suicide, until about a year ago. That’s when I realized that this regression isn’t letting me escape my life—it’s letting me live it. It was the only thing that worked.” She smiled faintly. “I don’t let it rule my life. I work in marketing for a major toy company—I write the reviews and get to watch kids play with the toys all day. It’s amazing. And yeah, I wear a diaper all the time, even to the office, but no one at work knows. But when I’m here, at home, it’s full-on being a toddler, and it makes me happy. I’m comfortable, Avery. I’m safe, and I am able to help others, like you.” Avery smiled back, a genuine, unforced grin that transformed his nervous face. “I’m really glad you found that. Seriously. You deserve to be happy.” “You do too, Avery,” Tilly insisted, a knowing look in her eyes. She stood up, her footed pajamas making her movements seem deliberately slow and small. “Come on. I want to show you something. You’re still tense. You’re fighting it, and you don’t need to.” She led him out of the living room and up her narrow stairs, looking worried but composed. Tilly waddled down a short hallway and pushed open a door. Avery stopped dead in the doorway. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a star projector on the ceiling. It was a nursery, but for an adult. The centerpiece was a low, oversized wooden crib with high bars, decorated with a mobile of soft, hanging plushies. The walls were painted a comforting pale blue, and one corner was piled high with collected toys, soft stuffed animals, and dolls. Everything was neat, organized, and utterly peaceful. The air smelled faintly of baby powder and clean linen. “This is another part of my sanctuary,” Tilly whispered. “I need to see it to feel it. That it’s okay to be small sometimes.” Avery walked further in, mesmerized. He reached out and touched a giant, fluffy, blue whale toy on the bed. “It’s… beautiful, Tilly.” She watched him, noticing the way his shoulders finally slumped, the tension dissolving as he was surrounded by the palpable safety of the room. “Look around, Avery. Look at the comfort. Look at the innocence. That’s why you’re here, too. You’re not just accepting Darlene’s care because you have to; you like it. You need the security, the simplicity, and the permission to let go of all that pain from your foster homes and John.” Tilly gently took his uninjured hand. “I sense it in you. You think you’re being weak, but you’re just being brave enough to finally let someone care for you, and brave enough to be the boy you were never allowed to be.” Avery looked into the comforting pink of the room, then at Tilly, and finally at the open door. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the crinkle of his diaper a reassuring noise in the silence. He didn’t just like this. He needed it. And for the first time in his life, he didn't feel guilty about that need.  He was beginning to understand this but still it wasn’t easy to let go of his guard. They went back down to the living room, their movements accompanied by the rhythmic, heavy crinkle of their thick diapers. Tilly paused at the top of the stairs, her unicorn-patterned footie pajamas soft against her skin as she reached into a wicker basket and grabbed one of her favorite stuffed animals. It was a plush, dotted stuffed pony with a silky mane. “Here, you can borrow this while you're here,” she said with a warm, toothy grin, thrusting the toy into Avery’s uninjured left hand. Avery took it gently, the softness of the pony providing an unexpected layer of comfort as they descended the narrow staircase together. Once back on the plush living room rug, surrounded by the gentle flicker of My Little Pony on the television, they sat back down on the floor to continue their playful fun. The atmosphere was thick with a sense of newfound understanding and domestic peace. Tilly began showing Avery how to use the special washable markers on the little fuzzy Scribble Scrubbie animals he had gifted her. She guided his left hand with hers, encouraging him to embrace the wobbly, imperfect lines that came with using his non-dominant hand. As they colored, Avery's defenses started to melt away temporarily. The shame that usually trailed his regression like a shadow was gone, replaced by the palpable safety of Tilly’s sanctuary. He was no longer a man pretending to be a child or a victim hiding; in this quiet, powder-scented room, he was simply Avery. He felt forgiven for his earlier outbursts and safe for the first time in his life, finally understanding that letting someone care for him wasn't a weakness, but a way to find his way home. Tilly showed Avery how to use the markers on the little fuzzy animals while My Little Pony played in the background. For the first time, Avery didn’t feel like a man pretending to be a child. He just felt like Avery—safe, forgiven, and finally, home. He was so relaxed in that moment, lulled by the rhythmic tapping of the markers and the soft, repetitive melodies of the television, that the heavy tension he usually carried in his core simply evaporated. Without a conscious thought or a second of warning, he began to unconsciously pee, the sensation starting as a distant warmth that rapidly bloomed into a heavy, spreading heat against his skin. The thick, absorbent padding of his diaper worked instantly, pulling the moisture away, but the sheer volume made the plastic swell and tighten against his denim shortalls. He suddenly froze, his hand hovering mid-air with a bright blue marker, as the reality of what was happening crashed through his peaceful haze. Tilly, who had been leaning in to suggest a pattern for the fuzzy elephant, stopped as well; she could see something was wrong by the way his entire body went rigid and his breath hitched in his throat. He looked down at his lap, his face flushing a deep, burning crimson. Tilly could see he was almost in tears as Avery felt the warmth of his diaper fill up, the physical evidence of his regression becoming impossible to ignore in the quiet room. The shame he had fought so hard to keep at bay threatened to return, a cold tide rising to meet the heat in his diaper. He felt small, exposed, and utterly vulnerable, his eyes blurring as he waited for a judgment that, in this sanctuary, would never come. Tilly’s expression softened into a gentle, knowing smile as she realized what had happened. She reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Avery’s trembling knee. “It is ok, Avery,” she whispered, her voice a soothing balm against his rising panic. “I peed while we were upstairs showing you my nursery, and you didn’t even notice. It is ok. It is what we do when we are having fun and relaxed. It is your body’s way of saying you’re finally comfortable and safe enough to let go.” Avery still felt a lingering sting of shame, the physical weight of the wet, heavy diaper pressing against his shortalls a stark reminder of his vulnerability. However, seeing Tilly’s total lack of judgment allowed a wave of relief to wash over him. He realized he finally had a friend who truly understood the complexities of him. Just as he began to relax his shoulders, the front door creaked open, and Darlene walked back into the living room. She tried her best to maintain her usual composed, maternal mask, but the shadows in her eyes and the tight set of her jaw made it impossible to hide her distress. The professional steel he had heard in her voice on the patio had left a lingering residue of tension in her movements. She looked at Avery and Tilly sitting on the rug, her heart breaking at the contrast between their innocent play and the dark reality of the "body kit" John had just purchased at Home Depot. Tilly looked up, her blue eyes searching Darlene’s face. “Is everything okay, Darlene? You look like you saw a ghost.” Darlene forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She smoothed her skirt, trying to shake off the mental image of industrial chains and black plastic. “Oh, just a work fire, sweetie. The CEO  is being a bit of a jerk about some deadlines. Nothing for you two to worry about.” Avery looked up from the floor, clutching the plush pony. He saw the tension in Darlene’s shoulders, lulled by the safety of the room and Darlene’s practiced maternal tone, he chose to believe her. “Stupid work,” he muttered, his voice slightly higher than usual. “They shouldn’t bother you at night after hours.” “I agree, Avery,” Darlene said softly, sitting back in the armchair. Watching him settle back into the rug, his heavy diaper crinkling as he shifted, sent a pang of warmth through her chest that momentarily pushed back the dread. She needed him to have this peace, even if she had to carry the weight of the truth of what she learned. The next thirty minutes were a blur of soft colors and gentle laughter. Tilly and Avery became fully immersed in the world of the Scribble Scrubbies. Tilly took the lead, designating the little bathtub as the "Magic Spring." “Okay, Avery, the bunny has to be purple because she’s a royalty bunny,” Tilly declared, handing him a marker. “But she’s been playing in the mud, so we have to give her a royal bath!” Avery focused intently, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully colored the fuzzy white surface. Using his left hand made the lines shaky, but Tilly only cheered him on.  When it was time to wash the ink away, the rhythmic sound of the tiny scrub brush against the toys became a soothing percussion. Avery laughed—a real, bubbly sound—as the purple ink swirled into the water, leaving the bunny white again. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about John, the police, or his own broken history. He was just a boy playing with a friend. Darlene watched them, her hand over her heart. Seeing Avery’s face light up with genuine delight, and seeing him waddle over to show her a "cleaned" cat, hardened her resolve. She would protect this innocence with everything she had. Finally, Darlene glanced at her watch. “Alright, my little ones. It’s getting late, and someone has a very important date with his pajamas and a storybook. It’s time to head home for bedtime.” Avery’s shoulders slumped slightly, but he didn't protest. He felt the heavy, sagging weight of his wet diaper and knew he was tired. Tilly stood up, her footie pajamas rustling. “Thank you for the gift, Avery. It’s the bestest start ever.” She gave him another quick hug, then turned to Darlene.  “Thank you for bringing him.” As they moved toward the door, Darlene reached out and placed a hand on Avery’s hip, discreetly feeling the outside of his denim shortalls. The plastic was tight and warm, the padding significantly swollen from his earlier accident. “Oh my, someone is very full,” Darlene whispered with a playful wink. “We definitely need to get you home and into a fresh, dry diaper before bed.” Avery’s face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. He looked at his feet, the crinkle of his movements sounding deafening in the hallway. “Darlene!” he squeaked, half-embarrassed and half-comforted by her attention. Tilly just giggled, giving him a final wave as they stepped out into the cool evening air, the suburban silence feeling a little less heavy than it had before.

No humble bragging!

(Straight up went missing for like 2102910 gazillion years) "Just be "wucky"? awwww you can't even speak proper now can you sweetheart?" Asana would tease without holding back.