All Activity

"Yeah Im ready to go" he says letting himself be picked up smiling a bit himself

He absolutely did not have that as part of the agreement. He simply agreed to eat them. He never said he wouldn’t complain 😂 It’s totally because she treats her boyfriends/girlfriends like babies, duh 😝

Annie was surprised at first, but she realized it was the reaction of a baby. Her clothes got wet, but she didn’t mind it at all. Instead, she smiled at Kayla and pretended to scold her. “Don’t make mommy wet,” she raised a finger. She let Kayla play for awhile before washing the girl and lifting her from the tub and wrapping her into a large towel. “Let’s get dressed, sweetheart,” she carried Kayla to the bedroom and put her down on the bed.

I do know Everett, and that would be great. Attendance from anywhere would be accepted. As I was saying, this is an early stage idea

I only recently finished the story with the other two littles, so for me this is great timing! I am lé excite!

In the quiet days between guests after Christmas and New Year I was sorting a few things out around the house. One of my minor tasks was to transfer my nappy “travel” rucksack back to my car. I’d taken the opportunity to refresh travel supplies and was in the garage re-loading it into the small, semi-hidden compartment beneath the floor of my car’s boot (trunk). Historically, transactions of this nature were conducted hastily and/or furtively to escape my beloved’s gaze. She’s now well aware, and even supportive of the existence of this bag now however so I took my time to do some sorting out. I noticed through the gloom, for the first time in a while a small, anonymous, faded and dirty nylon duffel bag that had been squashed beneath my hidden nappy-rucksack in that compartment. It had most likely been there for years. It had actually started to disintegrate. I had no idea that nylon disintegrated. I’d always imagined that 31st century archaeologists would be painstakingly extracting artefacts made of the stuff, along with polyethylene terephthalate coke bottles and crusty dried disposable nappies, paint-brushing away regolith in carefully documented excavation pits whilst wondering just what in the hell we did with it all. This old, old bag was my original nappy “crash kit”: one that actually pre-dated the car that it was kept in. One that I’d established whilst experimenting with 24/7 nappy life back in late 2018. An airline tag still on a carry strap was dated 1998 so this bag was nearly 20 years old even back then. It had been mindlessly transferred from my last car (an SUV) to the hidden trunk compartment in my current car when I bought it. Hidden below the anonymous-but-newer black rucksack that replaced it, it had been forgotten about. I pulled it out and examined its contents. It was kind of a nappy time capsule; A heat-affected pair of single-terry lined nylon waterproof pants of a type that Babykins gave up making. A pair of dark jeans that in reality were probably too small to stretch over the bulk of full nappy anyway. Even an old pair of underpants in case I decided one day out and about that it was all too hard and I was going back into big boy pants, and lastly, two disposable adult nappies. An evidentiary snapshot documenting early logistical support of that fateful decision back in late 2018 that henceforth I would only pee in my pants. The waterproof pants *might* still be usable although I resolved to test them in a safe environment. Preferably over a hose-able surface. The jeans were fine albeit probably too tight for use given that I’d long since evolved into much heavier nappies, an outcome shaped by wet spots all those years ago. The underpants might be useful since my current sole pair of emergency underpants possesses elastic of an antiquity and inflexibility rarely seen outside Iranian theocratic dictators. The nappies I quickly identified as Tena Slip Maxi. Ah Tena. It’s an acronym you know: “Tinkle Everywhere, Never Again”. Back in my very early days I thought that they might work. They were after all adult nappies and were widely retailed. Little did I realise they were “medical” grade adult nappies and as such, they did not so much absorb pee as simply deflect or delay it on its voyage to the great outdoors via one’s clothing. I remembered my early adventures in 24/7 nappied life: it was a chocolate wheel of wet clothing and damp spots left on furniture. I recalled a particularly poignant moment in an anonymous suburban shopping centre when whilst peeing in a nearly-fresh Tena, I realised my right leg was getting wet. I was wearing shorts. At least back in the day then I could stop peeing if I needed to. I needed to. I stopped. Sure, they would offset the amount of pee that would otherwise soak everything around me but they did not contain it all. Not ever. They were untrustworthy and underperforming. I persisted with them for perhaps a month or so before, at the advice of others, switching to BetterDry: a vastly superior product that finally demonstrated to me that it was at least feasible to practice total urinary incontinence in public whilst keeping everything around me at least mostly unsullied. The BetterDry became my daily-driver weapon-of-choice for some years before succumbing to an insidious comorbidity of price gouging and en-shittification. I examined my “new old stock” Tena nappies. They seemed slightly puffier than factory spec but admittedly, they’d spent the last 7 years sliding around the back of a car. At least it was fairly dry back there, indeed regularly cooked. Oh a whim I decided that rather than simply bin them, I’d try one out. For old time’s sake. Just to see if they were as bad as I remembered them to be. They might work now. I was NOT as I remembered myself to be. Back in 2018 I had a 100% normal bladder function. Whilst I certainly peed in them whilst imagining I was cartwheeling towards a state of total incontinence that I should reach by the following Tuesday, the pee cadence was most likely quite normal for my age. I would “forget” that I was wearing nappies until I needed to pee at which point I would drown them. Seven years of full time nappies later things are very different. If I “forget” to pee now, I’m going to get reminded within the hour and that’s if I haven’t already dribbled a bit in them already. Unless I’m dehydrated, an hour is about all I have. Accordingly my nappies get used little and often and I’ve noticed that disposable nappies work much better under this use case. Reviewing my case notes from back in 2018 it seems that leaks were the rule rather than the exception. Today it is largely the other way around. Accordingly, I changed into it the next morning. It was a day nappy and I’d be at home anyway. Who knows, perhaps Tena might be awesome now? No. They weren’t. The good news was that the Tena Maxi Slip “Large” still fits me. I’m still too big but no bigger than I was 7 years ago it seems. I'm calling that a "win". Donned under plastic pants and a sober black compression pant, I then went about my day. It was comfortable enough, I thought it might well have proved to be efficacious. As is my habit these days, I largely forgot about my nappy’s existence and went about my day. It wasn’t until nearly dinner time, about 5 hours after I’d put it on (late change out of my night nappy that day thanks to decadent holiday time) that I took my keys out of my pocket to lock an outdoor shed in order to experience my hand getting wet. This because there was pee in my pocket: the front right pocket to be precise. Closer examination showed a substantial darker, damper mark at the right hand side of my crotch and above my right thigh on my (mercifully black) shorts. I’d leaked quite badly and not noticed it. Forensic examination at my nappy change told the tale. The Tena had not only done a dismal job of wicking (only the front portion of my nappy was actually wet) but the pee-wet padding had then disintegrated and slumped down (presumably Tena nappies are designed to be worn by people laying down quietly waiting to die) whereupon whatever they used for leak guards (if there indeed were any) had done little more than guide pee outwards into my plastic pants which then, in the face of substantial fluid, simply squished it out past its leg elastics at my crotch and into my shorts: specifically the right pocket. On the upside, the tapes held well. I’ve seen worse medical grade nappies but that’s not saying much. Ah Tena: still an example of how marketing and retail shelving occupation can overcome dismal product performance. It seems the good old days were just old. Not that good. Tinkle Everywhere, Never Again…

Hey everyone! Thanks for the comments and the questions about this story so far. There’s a lot going on here and some things will get easier, but some things are definitely going to light up pretty soon. I am trying to balance the usual elements from this site with the story I’m trying to tell here, but I also want to save a few moments for when they impact the story best… and not just an ordinary affair. I think you’ll see what I mean in this chapter, but for now, I’ll say in the future… just keep your eyes on Oliver and Katrina. Last but not least and as usual, I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter of my story! Chapter 3: A Reflection of What Was Addy saw the old man standing before her… her father… her dad… her daddy. It had been years since she had called him that, but coming back here, she couldn’t help but be flooded with memories of times long past now. Having grown up in this house, every square inch of the home held a deep place within her heart and head. The wood swing strung between two trees out back, the little herbs and flowers her mom and dad kept so neat and tidy while also serving as a testing ground for their new hybrids to last all year long… all of it was a swarm to the deepest most places in her mind. Her dad sighed, snapping her out of her near trance. Tall and warm, he exuded a kindness and strength Addy always found comforting, but the years had worn on and ever since her mom passed, the man before her was now showing the passage of time all around him. White-haired, his blue eyes seemed to only poke more from beneath his wrinkled skin and his limbs no longer seemed possible to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder anymore… but he was still there… still present… and still smiling back at her. “You know I don’t like that name…” she said at last, not thinking of anything else to say to him. A little smirk escaped his lips. “Called you that since the day you were born. Came in underweight, you were always smaller than the rest… probably why you clung and looked after all the Littles around here so much. You felt their pain directly… at least until you hit that growth spurt after fourth grade.” Addy could tell he was trying to make a joke… to make light of the first time they were confronting each other beyond some holiday greeting… and even then, they were buffeted by her brother, his family, and a host of his Littles and children. Being the dutiful aunt, she piled into each and everyone of them… careful to avoid any one-on-one interaction with her dad though. Both had noticed the strain and separation as the years passed… Seeming to acknowledge that his jovial nature wasn’t working on her, however, he sighed again. “Addy… please… it’s been too long since you and I…” The hesitant little girl before her father’s routine vanished like a puff in smoke. She could see his effort, but her heart was still hardened from their past. “Talked? Interacted for more than a minute since… since…” Despite her strength, she still couldn’t bear to say the words. “I know, honey. I shouldn’t have said what I said back then, but…” He moved a little and even feet apart, Addy could still hear his bones and tendon creak and crack a little. “I’m getting up there in years now. Even with all our company’s drugs and medicines in me… one never knows just how long they have to live…” Looking at her dad, Addy could see the subtle shift around him. Before, he was always so self-assured and confident with his life… his business… his family. After mom had died, a little of that was taken away, but after the Losantiville incident, he came back with a fury and seemed to find his footing again… while losing a little of what made him so jovial in the past. But Addy was firm in her convictions still. She could see his effort, but forgiveness still felt a long way off. Instead, she switched topics and went right to the point in order to avoid lingering here any longer than she had to. “Dad… I’ve come here about the board…” “You’ve come to take your seat at last…” he said wistfully with a full smile over his face now as it always did before. “Ever since your brother took over you mom’s seat… I’ve been waiting for the day that you would take over mine… It seems only yesterday that I brought you into your first board meeti…” “Dad… no.” Addy was firm in her stance against sitting on the board and had made that as apparent as she could over the years. “Mom resigned her seat not long after portal travel was established for a good reason. She saw how the Bigs were growing even worse with the influx of portal Littles and… that hasn’t changed today. I…” Addy winced when she saw the disappointed look on her dad’s face. “Sorry… I just… not today, okay? I don’t want to fight… I just…” Addy sighed deeply, knowing that speaking to her dad about this could be a risk… after all, the board unanimously voted for the drugs to stay in the Little’s food, but she needed answers. “I’m worried the board is changing… and I want to know why.” Unfortunately, her dad nodded and went to go sit on one of the built-in wooden benches by one of the flower beds. “Addy… the board is changing…” It wasn’t the news she was hoping to hear. It made sense but she was honestly hoping there was a fluke or maybe the drugs in the food at the very least meant more vitamins or something else to help heal the Littles better. Based on her dad’s expression though, that didn’t seem to be the case now. “I thought as much. So… what happened with the drugs in the food vote? I heard that vote was unanimous…” She made sure to look at him expectantly… like she was hoping and waiting for an answer to her question. Her dad didn’t say anything for a moment, but then ultimately hung his head low and nodded. “It was. I…” Addy could see his pain… the amount of disgust he had for himself for voting for it. “I shot it down the first vote and there was a tie, but then I talked with the others…” He looked up and seemed to scrutinize every detail of Addy’s face. “You see, being on the board, doesn’t always mean making the right decision morally. I voted for it the second time, because I could see how the board was swinging. I remember how you used to look at me when something like this came down the line… same look today. And it kills me… but I need to think long-term.” She always hated his politician’s words, but she couldn’t stop now. “Meaning…? “Meaning that a board member knows when to fight… and when not to,” he said confidently, though with a sting of self-hatred that was written all over his face. “I see the problems in the board. I know something more is happening… like it did back before the whole business in Losantiville, but now… I knew that if I had continued to vote against the others, they would have found a way to vote me out. There’s still enough support for Little’s right and all that I can fight on other topics… like not allowing pure hypnotic programs. Like Jasper and Jinx…” Addy’s heart sank over even just hearing its name. One of the most popular Little’s shows, its hypnotics were top tier from Diamond Technologies. An hour watching it could wreak near permanent havoc with a Little. A few days… they would never be the same no matter what you tried to do. “You didn’t let that one in… did you?” “Of course not!” Her dad almost seemed insulted that she would even think that of him… but it was naïve to think that a show like that wouldn’t be highly requested by prospective Bigs for their new leased Littles. As sad as it was, even with the contract in place, a show like that could cause a Little at Psyche to entirely forget about the only five-year term they agreed to. “I just…” He sighed. “I wanted to show you something that I fought against. If I’m voted out, something like that gets put into every one of our facilities guaranteed within a month. With me on the board though, there’s at least one person who can lead the vote against it and keep it away… at least for now…” It was nice seeing her dad this way. Passionate and fired up about the rights of Littles once more like he used to. Since he had gone back to the board, she felt that he was merely a stooge or a figurehead for the company to wheel out on special occasions, but this side of her dad… it was actually a little encouraging. Except for one thing… “But that still leaves the drug…” Nodding solemnly, he stood up and gestured her inside the house. “Come with me…” Dutifully following her dad inside, the smells of pine and lavender filled her nose. Pictures of their family hung everywhere where her mom’s paintings weren’t already occupying. She had been over to the other board member’s houses before. Near museums. Opulent and clean… but sterile as well. Here was more rustic… but definitely more of a home than those other mausoleums could ever be. It was another sign that her dad was still her dad… “Here…” He bent over and pulled a file from next to his recliner before her handing his daughter a stack of files pressed inside a manilla envelope. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the drug they lace into the food… the same the vote was about. There’s elements I don’t approve of, but I’ve at least pushed that it’s one of our milder drugs… only acting as a slight diuretic and increasing the suggestibility in Littles.” “That’s not nothing…” Addy didn’t like what she was seeing in the file at all. According to these notes, no Little stood a chance anymore of avoiding diapers by the end… Her dad let out a small chuckle. “You know… I know voting for something like this makes me seem like a monster still, but honestly… most on the board already consider me a pacifist and a Little lover.” It was the good news that Addy was looking for and then looked up at her dad. “But shouldn’t you all be? I mean… you always said the company was founded to save lives after the Great War… to heal all of us. Then…” Addy knew she needed to tread lightly next. “After you lost your brother to disease, you didn’t want to see that happen to anyone else and you pushed hard to cure diseases that plagued us for centuries… millennia even!” She could see her dad’s eyes grow misty… even after all these years, but she knew she still needed to push him a little more. “What happened to that company? Why such a focus on Littles and their humiliation and regression now? Why can’t we purely be healers again?” Unexpectedly, her dad smiled. “You know, as much as you don’t want to hear it, you would make a powerful ally on the board…” He held his hands up before Addy could object. “I know, I know… I just… the company is changing to match the times, sweetie. Portal business is changing… has changed everything on both sides. And simply put… companies follow the money… not their hearts or soul…” He smiled wearily. “If they have one still…” It was a solid answer for sure and Addy wasn’t naïve… but she also remembered when the company was profitable right after the portal first opened as well… back when they still helped everyone and Little regression drugs were barely a blip on their radar. “Dad… mom founded the division of Psyche to help Littles over there directly without violating the treaty. Heck, she founded the Crescentia location itself! She wanted to help Littles, Dad… not hurt them. And now… everything I’m seeing and there’s this new lady who…” “New lady?” her dad interrupted her, looking disturbed. “Yeah… Dr. Tracey… she just came in and… you should see how she’s treating the new Littles. Already babytalking them and giving them advice that is either going to get them in trouble, cause them to explode from frustration or anger, or they’re going to break down at some point… and don’t even get me started on her resume.” Addy had to let out a breath of air to keep from popping herself. “And then Xander…” She shuddered. Her dad looked deep in thought… at least until his name was mentioned. “I know… something is brewing in this company I don’t like. Those two are just the symptoms of something far bigger… and far worse, Addy…” He sighed and collapsed in his big armchair. “Ever since Losantiville… I’ve had a funny feeling about the company. What you’re seeing now, I’ve been seeing for seven years… more in some cases…” There was an air of defeat in his voice… but a strange mixture of defiance hidden in the back as well. “It’s why I came out of retirement…” “Wait…” Addy’s brain was finally catching up to what she was hearing today. “I thought those responsible went to jail from all that? It was all over the news and everything! It was the one reason the prosecutors said the company didn’t collapse right then!” Her father sadly shook his head. “Yes, and some did… mostly patsy’s though…” He paused, the weight of that dark chapter in Juventas’ history still clearly weighing on his mind. “Most however… escaped justice… still in charge if you can believe it.” Addy sat down herself, her thoughts a dark cloud over the company she loved so much. Her parents were founding members, and she had grown up with tales of their triumphs in the medical community. Life expectancy was said to have doubled under their watch and innovations and there wasn’t a hospital in this country, let alone at least half the world now, that didn’t have one of their products saving lives every day. But now… Her dad sighed and leaned over to his daughter. “Addy… I know you don’t want to, but please… let me teach you. Come with me and take my place on the board… take my spot and become a new leader… a fresh face to guide the company to something better…” If Addy was being honest with herself, deep down, she wanted to. Sure, the politics of being a board member would drive her nuts, but the outcomes… she wanted to get the company back to saving lives and curing disease… not regressing Littles to the point of newborn oblivion. But her patients… Oliver and Katrina now… Patrick and Cara and Mindy and so many others… if she wasn’t there, you’d have the likes of the impatient Erin, the sometimes seemingly sadistic Cassie, or worse, the traitorous Penny… just to name a few of whom would be left. ‘Then where would the… ‘my’ Littles be?’ So, for today at least, Addy shook her head and took her dad’s hands. “It’s a tempting offer… but not today, okay? I have patients I need to attend to and… I just can’t leave them…” Her dad nodded, but he slowly began to back away from her, his hands dropping as they quickly slipped away. “I understand… can’t say I’m not disappointed though… I thought you could see the bigger picture is all…” Looking away, he sighed, his eyes landing on a picture that Addy’s mom did when she first got sick. For Addy, his words were tiny but like little pinpricks to her heart. That kind of sentiment was what drove her away in the first place. When Mindy passed, he had pulled the same move, and it had cut her deep in a time where she wanted… needed comfort. Hearing those near same words again… they opened a wound she was still trying to close. “You know that’s not the issue, Dad…” she said with venom on her lips. “You just want things your way, and… and… damn it!” She tried to fight her anger, but his sentiment to her career was always just too much for her to handle. “You drove me away once saying the same thing. I thought you had learned that by now! You treated Mindy like she was just another Little rather than the string in my heart that came unraveled!” She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself stead. “And now?” Her dad turned to her, his heart heavy and his eyes calculating. “Now… you’re saying the same shit about my current Littles. They need me, Dad!” she yelled. “If the board you’re on is so corrupt, how long do you think they would last before their simply drooling on the carpet? I owe them more than that!” Her dad briefly winced. “Addy…” “No!” she shouted again. “I don’t want to hear it. Last time… last time… did you know that I almost resigned after I left here? Do you want that again?” Her dad stood up and shook his head. “No… and I didn’t know that…” Addy wasn’t cruel… she just didn’t like her parent’s careers to outdo her own, at least in terms of how important they thought them to be compared to hers. Her mom understood it more, but her dad… since her first inclusion in a board meeting, it was clear to Addy that he always wanted her to join the board with him in the early days, and now to replace him. At the same time though, unlike the last time, she saw a bitter sting of regret in his eyes. Something more fragile this time than the last when they spoke about Mindy. Seeing that, her heart opened a little more instead of completely storming out. “So just…” She let out a wave of hot breath that had been building up inside of her. “Just let that go… okay? Please dad… just let it go…” Her dad, not being a fool and the years having changed him, only nodded. Instead of rehashing his own stance though, he wandered over to the kitchen and pulled a note from his refrigerator. Coming back, he handed it to Addy with near trembling fingers, a sign of stress or his age hard to say… Addy took the note and noticed its intricate designs. “What’s this?” “I’m sorry for what I said, Addy. I really am, but… If you’ll accept this…” He cleared his throat. “It’s a ball… a gala…for the company a few weeks from now…” he said slowly, as if each word was like a mouse going through a maze of traps, each waiting to claim his life. “No obligations and I was going to go alone, but… come with me, sweetie. Accompany an old man to this thing. Walk with me… dine with me… dance with me like we used to when you were younger and you would step on my feet and we would just sway to the music…” They were the words of an old man wondering which sunset he saw would be his last. He was still strong and he had another 20 years maybe with modern medicine if nothing else barring an unfortune accident or mishap… but his words curled and kindled something in Addy she couldn’t deny. By design for sure, Addy could feel the bond they had once shared. Instead of seeing herself as a prop, she looked at the invitation for what it likely was from him… an olive branch. Addy pressed the note down and placed it in her purse. “Let me think about it, okay? I’m still a little mad at you, but… I’ll consider it…” Smiling, her dad reached out and Addy didn’t deny the gesture, both hugging soon after as father and daughter. There was still a tension in the air, but both seemed to set their own stubborn ways aside for the moment… choosing their love and connection over it instead. Hugging for a minute later, and then with an offer of tea and to simply unwind, Addy soon divulged her current life and everything about her new Littles that she could. For her, while she still felt her dad thought a board position was more important, he seemed at least engaged now… holding to each of her words like he used to do whenever she came home from school. Despite their earlier conversation, it was a pleasant moment for both of them and Addy soon left with a wide smile and a full heart. Things weren’t perfect… but her dad was changing. And that was something she knew not to take for granted. So, heading back on the superhighway right after lunch, she made a beeline straight to Sam and Lloyd’s place. Only a little north of the Psyche facility, many families had settled in the area. Addy suspected it was part to keep their Littles together as a sign of happiness… but she also felt strongly that it had something to do with the supreme daycare there. Catering to keeping Littles as they were and not regressing them, it was a sad notion of how rare it was. Regardless, Addy soon pulled up into the driveway, a single car there already… no doubt a sign of the extended maternal leave that Sam had taken after taking Patrick and Cara in after their choosing ceremony. Despite extremes in leaves with Littles though, Addy suspected that time was almost up… hence the urgency that Dr. Halgen had insinuated when discussing this situation. “Addy! You’re here” Sam nearly shouted, opening the door and quickly hugging her friend. “Yeah… sorry I’m late. I had to talk to the old man today…” Anyone who knew anything about Addy knew about the tension between her and her dad these days. So, it was no surprise that Sam grimaced a little. “Oh… are you… okay?” Addy smirked and nodded. “I am actually. A little tension there… usual stuff honestly… but there’s something different about him. In fact, he actually seems more interested in my Littles these days. Could be a ploy for all I know to get more insider information about Psyche… but I don’t know. Seems more… vulnerable, I guess?” “Well, he is getting up there in years, Addy,” Sam reminded her friend. “He’s what? 100? 105?” “112 later this summer,” Addy said, scarcely believing his age either. Even 30 years ago, that would have been considered impossible… her mom having just missed some of the latest cures being just one example of why, but now? Life expectancy could easily surpass 130… 140 in some parts. Sam chuckled. “Well, damn. I always forget just how old he was when he and your mom had you. Your brother is a little older, right?’ Addy nodded. “About ten years… and I had an older sister. She died before I was born though… I think she was one of the reasons my parents stuck with Juventas once it started catering towards Littles more instead of curing diseases. They say it was her dying wish for Littles to be treated better, but who knows…” Sam only blinked back a few times, clearly not sure what to say, so Addy made sure to switch to why she was here. “I’m guessing you know the real reason why I’m here though…” Sam slowly nodded her head. “I do… I was hoping this day wouldn’t have to come, but… I can’t even send her to the daycare that Patrick goes to. So, the only place I could send her right now would probably only end up regressing her.” While some could dismiss her worries as simple new mom fears, Addy unfortunately knew better. Most daycares partnered with Juventas and Diamond Technologies in one form or another and it was once estimated that after six months, 90% of Littles would likely be heavily cognitively or physically impaired to some degree or another. “I understand, but tell me… from your own view… not one from some of the daycares, how do you think she’s doing?” Addy asked slowly, knowing Cara was going to be a touchy subject throughout this process. “On her good days, not so bad. She still has trouble, but I see the spark of who I first met when she was playing with Patrick one day. On her bad days, like today, though…” Her lower lip trembled and it was evident that her bad days still weren’t improving. “I… I just don’t know. Some days I feel her bad days are getting better… others, just plain worse.” “Hmmm… well, I’m very sorry to hear that,” Addy noted plainly though doing little to hide the mixed and mostly saddened emotions on her face. “I was hoping she would progress further along by now, but mayb…” “But I’m a bad a caregiver!” Sam burst out, fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. “I feed her, I play with her, I sing to her… I even clean her every chance I get! But she cries and yells and seems lost and tormented no matter what I do. I want to help, but… but… but…” “But it’s not enough…” Addy had seen this before. Societal pressure combined with a large heart and hope for their Little to have fun in their new life were always a difficult combination. Lose one of those factors and you might be fine. Less heart and it wouldn’t matter if your Little couldn’t walk. Not care about them having fun… then just get them to the point where you wanted and not care how much further they would go. Sam shook her head, her messy hair and the dark circles under her eyes, exhibiting her stress and discomfort with this whole situation. It was a wonder she took in two Littles like she did, but unfortunately, she was now paying the price. “I just… I want her to be happy, and I just can’t seem to make that happen. She cries so much, and when she’s not crying, she’s lost in her own mind. What if… what if she’s regressing more on her own?” Addy had to make a quick decision about what to tell her. As her friend, she wanted to tell Sam that of course Cara would be fine, but as the nurse coming here to help her, she knew a balanced truth, no matter how difficult it would be to hear, was best. “Sam… I can’t lie to you.” Addy took a deep breath and braced her friend for the worst news at this point. “She could be regressing…” Sam quickly gasped, nearly looking like her whole world was about to fall apart. Addy lunged forward and placed a comforting hand on her friend’s knee. “But that’s why I’m here. You’re not a bad caregiver at all. You care deeply about her… I could see that before you even told me what you’ve been doing for her. And maybe there’s something I can do for her.” Addy wasn’t sure of that, but she knew she at least had to try. “But now… let me go see her.” Sighing, Addy stood up. “Now, I can’t promise anything, but… you are her mommy. I’m sure she knows that and trust me… that holds a lot of weight with her. It could be somewhat of a problem at some point… but let’s tackle that only if we need to.” Addy could see the confusion right away on her friend’s face. “The machine, Sam. The machine was cruel that did all this to her and those associations with you as her mommy could be clicking something in her mind to have more what you would call ‘bad days.’” Simply put, Sam looked horrified. Addy didn’t like giving bad news like that, but there was a reason that machine was becoming a classified product of Juventas, likely to rarely, if ever, see the light of day again. “But as I said… let’s not hit that right yet. Unless I have to, I don’t want to take away one of the few anchors she still has left.” Sam said a few more words, but Addy was already focusing on Cara. To be frank, she didn’t even have to ask where her room was located. The cartoon noises and seemingly mindless babbling inside were enough to point her in the right direction. Taking a breath and noticing the happily painted sign denoting the room as ‘Cara’s Nursery,’ she pushed the door open. Focused on her toys, the unmistakable smell of a wet diaper assaulted her nose. Taking that and her room in with all its pink infantile finery, there’s a fine line between Little care and what they truly need. For example, the little butterfly barrettes in her hair were used to keep it out of her face, but their style could have been something she requested or was placed on her by Sam. One scenario could be shuffled off… the other however, was more indictive of her condition. “Cara?” Addy asked cautiously, not wanting to scare the Little now before her while also trying to act casual at first. Seeing her like this, hair parted, pink babydoll dress, obvious thick and used diaper underneath, and her lovingly playing with her toys… there was just a part of Addy that wanted to hug her tight and promise her that everything was going to turn out right. Remembering her from the first day she came off the bus, she was one of the first to be so happy here. She was the bright spot in everyone’s lives and for her to be like this now, Addy wanted to cry and let loose her affection onto the lost Little. Instead, her instincts about her prevailed and she waited for the Little to turn. It took a second, and Cara almost looked like she had just imagined a voice calling out to her, but she soon turned. “A… Addy? You hewe?” Her speech came and went like a surging tide. For Addy, it was something she quickly made note of that she might be able to help with. Addy smiled and crouched down more to her level. “That’s right. It’s me Cara bear… how have you been?” She made sure to space her words out and say each clearly and forcefully enough. Some Littles after regression therapies could blend the words in their heads and just look back at you with confusion. After all, ‘doyouneedtobechanged,’ is terribly confusing, but the deliberate separation of ‘do you need to be changed,’ is much clearer… even for a regressed Little. “I… I’m okay…” she said sullenly, her eyes looking around and almost looking ashamed of where she was and what she had been doing. “I… I wasn’ playin’ jus’ den…” Addy scooched over and sat down closer to the Little. “No worries if you were. You know I never cared about something like that. Just if you’re happy… like your mommy wants. Cara… are you happy?” Cara seemed perplexed at the question for a moment but then nodded. “Mommy says I’m happy so I am.” There could be truth in those words in her mind, but they were so clear and so… rehearsed. Not from Sam, but the machine… but still something implanted in her brain. Addy worried that it could be the case, and it was a layer of all this she knew she was going to have to deal with. Still though, for the moment, she smiled wide. Playing along and not pointing something like that out to her was key. “Well, I’m glad to hear that your mommy says you’re happy, but… how about you? I want you to really think hard now. No wrong answers. Just the truth… are you happy?” Cara didn’t say anything for a while, but she was definitely thinking. In fact, at one point, Addy could swear that she might have been thinking a little too hard considering she noticed her diaper balloon out a little in the back, but eventually, the Little shook her head. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but maybe I can help…” Addy made sure not to bring focus to her now full diaper and to check the Little’s expression the whole time. Any sign of distress and she would slow down or stop altogether to prevent a meltdown or tantrum which would only delay their time together. Instead, Cara just looked back at her and occasionally nodded. “But first… do you mind if we do some tests?” Though Addy had to reassure her several times they wouldn’t hurt, Cara eventually agreed. So, with consent confirmed, Addy ran her through several cognitive and physical tests. More would be needed later, but for now, it could at least establish a baseline of sorts on one of her ‘bad days.’ Addy made sure to go slow and easy for her, but the results stacking up in her head were less than encouraging. Potty training… little or non-existent. Vocabulary… diminished speaking possibly a delay or removal of some comprehension. Dexterity and coordination… both massively hit. Imagination… active but immature. Reading comprehension, pattern recognition, spatial awareness, math and analytical skills… all were diminished to one degree or another. Worse… Sam was right and Cara had regressed a little more than the last time they had seen each other in several categories. Maybe better physically… but not by much. Calling Sam up next, the Big entered the room as if she was about to see a ghost. Addy saw and she knew that Sam was aware that at this point and with the current society and priorities of funding, if she couldn’t help Cara… no one else would. For a new mommy, that feeling had to be the worst. So, after a quick diaper change, Cara still fussed a little just as Addy started to explain, so she quickly gave her a doll that she had been favoring… especially in her times of crisis. Looking back at Sam, Addy sighed. “Well, you weren’t wrong. She’s worse off in some ways… but I don’t think she’s a loss. I still see a spark of her old self in there. It’s buried and I think it’s getting buried more under every day, but I think she’s still there.” “And that’s… important?” Sam questioned, her eyes occasionally flicking over to Cara, who was now totally engrossed in her doll and not them at all. Addy nodded. “It is. Think of her body like a jail cell. If she’s just locked behind a cell door, maybe I can get the door open. If that old person is gone though… opening the door would be pointless. Who came out would still be limited by whatever state their mind was in.” “But how can you tell? I mean…” She gestured over to Cara, now nearly fully babbling with her doll in her own little world. If Addy had to guess from listening briefly, she was likely a princess of some kind. “How can she still be there if that’s what she’s doing… or how she’s entertaining herself?” It was a common argument with most Littles lately. A Big saw a Little enjoying a toy and they automatically assumed them to be a regressed Little or used it as their justification to turn them into one. For Addy though, playing with a toy could mean boredom or simply keeping the mind active. “I need to run more tests officially, but I see some comprehension in her mind and actions. She failed my tests, though I saw a flicker of recognition. It was brief but there. Problem is though, then, like a pilot dive bombing, right after she would give me the wrong answer. Like her mind knew the answer… but would then refuse to say it.” “Oh… that… that explains a lot really…” Sam then looked at her new Little with a degree of hope… something that had likely been missing for months now. Looking back up at Addy though, her eyes were still full of desperation. “So… can you help her?” “I can, but…” Addy almost didn’t even want to ask. It was so touchy now, but with everything going on she knew she needed to before she continued her job. “Cara was… is in a program where she agreed to be her new caregiver’s Little for five years. After that time, she could go back to Earth. Now, I’m not sure if Cara will ever be better enough to the point of going back, at least without a lot of help involved… but all that means you very well could be her permanent caregiver.” “Oh… I hadn’t thought of all this that way…” Sam was one of the good ones. A lot of Bigs lately would seize on any chance they had at nabbing a Little, tricking them into a lifetime of staying in this dimension. It was almost cliché now… if it wasn’t so tragic. For Sam though, Addy could see she just wanted a happy Little. “That’s okay. I don’t need to know fully now but talk it all over with Lloyd. Just how far do you want me to go? I’ll have limitations, but… do you want her back as far as I can go? Until she’s happy? Until she’s running around on the playground without a top on in the sprinklers in summer? What?” She almost didn’t want to even tempt fate here… but she knew it was best to get this notion out of the way now instead of wait. “Yeah… let me talk it over with Lloyd, but personally… I want you to go as far as you can.” She paused. “Whatever that means, okay?” Addy nodded. “Okay. I’ll make up a plan with her in the meantime, and I can call you and Lloyd up to discuss it with you all. For now… I’m thinking interaction with others back at the facility would be helpful during the day. It would allow me to monitor her, get her interacting with others to flex out her skills in a familiar setting, and… I can even use my personal discount to get her involved with one of the PTs… just to see what we can do on the physical front.” Without another word, Sam, a few tears of joys streaming down her face, suddenly went in and hugged Addy as tightly as she could. Addy, loving the gesture and her willingness to help Cara no matter what… had to stop her though. “Wait… wait…” She sighed and looked at her confused friend. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m happy that you’re happy but… before we do this, if we’re going to do it right… we need permission from Cara first.” Nearly smacking her forehead, Sam winced. “Oh, of course! Ugh! Sorry, just… I’m so used to her relying on me for most of her decisions these days. But no, no… you’re absolutely right.” It was another little test that Addy had for her friend. Trusting her to be a good person, yes, but trusting her to be a good Big when a helpless Little was on the line… she needed to be sure first. But with that geuine response and willingness to get her permission, Sam had just passed Addy’s final mini test. Now though… was Cara. With her almost seeming to mindlessly play with her doll, Addy had a half a mind to let Cara be for the day and come back another to get her consent then… or have Sam bring her around and then get her consent at that point. But both options felt wrong to her. With the first, that was more time ticking away that could further cement her current mental status. With the second, it would be tantamount to tricking her… not the best way to start a new path of life. So, she gestured for Sam to nudge her a little instead. Sam was reluctant to disturb such peace, but Addy insisted. She knew by now that pretty much no matter what, Cara would be bonded on some deep level to Sam for years if not forever. She already depended on her Big for nearly everything, as evidenced by the heavy load of laundry to be done and the nearly full diaper pail, but the next steps would need to give Cara someone to trust to work with when she wasn’t at the facility. It could be others, but Sam seemed the most likely to take up the mantle. “Cara? Baby?” Her words were like little thin wires being plucked. Too hard, and it seemed like Sam was worried about snapping one completely. “Can you stop playing for a second and listen to us?” Cara’s smile dropped as she set her doll down and gazed up at both Sam and Addy. No screaming, and as sad as it was, that was still an improvement for her ‘bad days.’ With Cara now looking at Addy, and Sam looking helplessly at her as well, Addy sighed and crouched down to get more on level with her. Consent needed to be equal, and right now with the disparities between the two of them, equality was out the window… but an approximation could at least be strived for. “Cara… I know today’s probably been a lot for you, and that’s okay, but I need you to do one more thing for me, okay?” Cara looked back at her, and Addy could tell right away the sleep was coming to her quickly. Still, she nodded. “Okay…” she nearly whispered. Smiling, Addy nodded in turn. “Good. Now, your mommy wants me to help you out. That was the reason I was testing you today. I needed to see what you needed help with. Does that make sense?” The tired and slightly confused Little hesitated but soon nodded her head. It was another thing that Addy needed to store away for later… Addy definitely needed a nap during the day. “Good. Now… you can say no, but if you’re willing, you can come to me during some of the days of the week and we can work to helping you out. It’ll be hard work, but is that something you might be interested in?” Cara pondered the notion for a moment. A slight hissing could be heard, but neither Addy nor Sam batted an eye. It was just par for the course of a Little at this state and she wasn’t expected to stay dry for very long anymore… even if it was a little worrisome that Cara didn’t even seem to register the notion at all. Finally, she spoke up, her previous diction a little stronger than before. “Could I… read again?” Addy nodded. “I’ll try my best…” Simple books maybe, but it was still reading nonetheless. “What about the potty?” she asked, her hand briefly fluttering around the edges of her diaper bulge beneath her dress. Considering what just happened with the zero recognition she had displayed while wetting her diaper, it was doubtful, but Addy knew hope was important with her at least at this stage being so mentally fragile and all. “Maybe… we could try at least…” Sam stiffened for a moment, probably hearing the undertone of her friend stretching the truth a little, but Cara didn’t seem to notice. “How about… coloring?” It was so basic as to break Addy’s heart that it would even be on the list, but it had been one of the things she couldn’t seem to get straight earlier. A simple concept but the crayon earlier today kept slipping from Cara’s fingers, and even when it didn’t, splatter paint seemed to have more finesse than the final outcome of her art project. For Addy, above the other two requests so far, she knew this had to be a priority. “Of course, honey. We can try that first…” A Little’s emotions, especially ones that were as tightly bound as they were in Cara post her regression from the machine, were both spontaneous and strong when they finally popped. So, Addy should have been surprised when the Little before her nearly shot out and gave the biggest hug she could muster. Shocked but no less grateful, Addy made sure to hug her back. “I take that as a yes then?” Cara quickly nodded her head. “Yes, yes! Please help me, nurse Addy.” Sighing, she looked back at her friend. Sam, already on the verge of tears before, was now nearly bawling. Seeing her friend in need as well, she extended her arm and without hesitation, like mother like daughter she supposed, Sam embraced the two rapidly and without thought. It had been a difficult day for Addy. First with yet another night terror from Oliver, then the whole business with her dad and the notions about the board, then Sam with her self-imposed failures as a mom, and then to top it off, she had witnessed the full barbarity of what the machine had done to Cara… just another foulness in Juventas. It all saddened and burdened her heart, but it also stirred something in her she couldn’t deny anymore. A thirst for action. Something had to be done. Something needed to change. Her dad had offered her a seat on the board, and while the notion lingered in her mind, moments like these were like an anchor pulling her back. ‘How could I ever give this up? Oliver… Katrina… and now Cara all seems like unfinished business… how could I give up on helping them for a seat on the board?’ But Addy was also logical. She knew that she was a nurse. Not ‘just’ a nurse, but a nurse which in the grand scheme of a company like Juventas, was a very small little thing. No threat to anyone on the board… a speck ready to be just swept away if needed. Of course, her dad would never allow that, but his position seemed precarious at best from what he had told her. So, in that hug and seeing the larger picture to prevent what had happened to Cara from happening to other people, she knew something needed to change in the company. To dot that though, she needed power… she needed help. But for now, she needed to be a nurse, and for her and for today, there was nothing better than applying her trade to those in need. In this house, that skill was for Sam and Cara. Back in the facility, that was for Katrina and Oliver. Hopefully, within the week at least, both would begin their healing process, and the thought made Addy very happy. Today though… today she just squeezed the Big and Little in desperate need of a good hug.

So the take-away from all this is that you're "wetting the bed" 2 out of 3 nights now 🤣

In WA state. Would possibly be interested in some kind of meetup. I am in Everett if you know where that is

Chapter Sixty Five John slowly came into the waking state, finding himself splayed out on top of Mommy with his head propped up on her left breast. With a little stretch of all his limbs, he scooted his head side to side a bit until he found exactly the right spot in the middle of them. Only when he yawned did he even realize that she had apparently put the pacifier in his mouth. Or at least she put it at some point, and apparently he had kept it there in his sleep. Trying to squirm out from under her arm wasn’t working out, since it was locked in place over the small of his back. How does she do that? Once he finally gave up on squirming free, he gave up and laid his head back down to doze off. Only, as he started to drift back off to dreamland did she wake up with a slight stretch herself and start to sit up. Figures. With a groan, he tried to articulate that he already started to go back to sleep,and had just gotten comfortably. But since all he got out was “Uuuuuuhhhhhssssleeeppp” his point may have been a bit lost. All he got was a kiss on top of the head and he felt himself being transferred to the playmat and the waiting dog that smelled all over his face before settling down. Yawning now while rubbing his face with his left hand, John spent a moment getting comfortable to try and drift back off to sleep. Until the nipple of a bottle poked his lips. Opening one eye to peek, he could see Mommy kneeling down and offering him a bottle of coffee milk. So begrudgingly he put one hand on it and when she didn’t move her hand away, he took the hint and accepted the nipple of the bottle and started drinking it. After he instinctively started sucking down the milk more enthusiastically his body went to auto pilot, demanding the incredibly addictive milk and took the bottle with both hands did Mommy let go and let him have it. Completely out of control of his own movements for several minutes, John eventually found himself sucking air out of the bottle as if his taste buds were still demanding more. Mommy took the bottle and lifted him up onto her shoulder and started patting his back. ‘So this is how this day is going to go’ he thought to himself as he let out a series of small burps. Not allowed to be grumpy about it, he felt a kiss on the left side of his head and was carried to the table and slid down into his booster seat. There was already a plate with a couple of scrambled eggs and a big piece of toast waiting for him, with a bit of steam still coming off of the eggs. Looking over the bounty, John simply said “Huh. Okay.” before one last big stretch and picking up the little-sized plastic fork and started scooping egg onto the buttered toast. Before making it even halfway through the breakfast he started to run out of steam. And despite having nothing on his hands of face, Mommy was there with a napkin to give him a wipe down. As she unbuckled the lap belt on the booster seat, Mommy had to lean him side to side a bit to pull his slightly swollen diaper out of the seat made to keep a little stuck in place. “John?” Amanda asked while holding him up on her left arm. With a look up he simply asked “Yes?” “Do you want to … try to go in the potty? I know you like to try that so you still feel like an adult. I’m willing to respect that, but we need to act fast …” John didn’t even let her finish the sentence “Yes!” As she started carrying him toward the bathroom and opening the child gate, he started to feel the familiar bubbles that started almost exactly the same time after having coffee milk. ‘Oh crap!’ John thought to himself. He held onto her arm as she took a moment to balance him on the rim of the toilet before using her free hand to rip the tapes open one and then the other, and then he felt himself being lifted and the diaper being quickly tugged out from underneath him before it could flop into the water. (THAT would have made things more complicated) And then she just stayed there with one hand around his left shoulder, waiting patiently. “Umm… Mo… could … you look away?” He stammered. Seriously, how do you go when someone is not only holding you, but watc… By the time Amanda even turned her head John wound up with his hands gripping the toilet seat so hard his knuckles turned white. And for a full minute John stayed balanced there with his abdomen cramping HARD to expel stuff it wanted out more than he wanted to not be embarrassed. By the time it was done and Amanda was wiping him clean, he was honestly sort of in shock about how embarrassing the entire moment had been. And when he was laid on the changing table and being wiped down more and powdered, she finally chimed in while he was laying there on the changing table with an open diaper under him. Waving a hand over his face she asked “Hello? Are you still in there?” “Oh!” He said, snapping out of his own headspace. “Yes. Yeah. I’m here. Yeah.” The questioning look she gave him with one eyebrow up, with him pinned to the changing table, wearing just a onesie bunched up to his chest, an open diaper under him and his knees up and spread wide, baby powder on his nethers, and having just experience what he had … John almost felt like something inside him mentally cracked a little. “Sweety?” She asked simply. “I umm…” and after a pause, he mumbled before finally admitting “That was embarrassing.” With a nod she set back to getting the diaper adjusted under him while she spoke softly. “Sweety, we don’t have to do that anymore if you don’t want to. I want to be supportive of you, and if that means trying the potty sometimes, we can do that. And if that’s hard for you, then it’s perfectly fine to just use your diapers. That’s what they’re for.” By the time she was done talking, she’d closed the little-proof snaps on the onesie and was holding him up against her chest. Between the effects of the milk and the feeling like he was giving up on something, John didn’t even notice the pacy being poked into his mouth. He just absentmindedly suckled on it as she wormed a pair of shorts onto him without even having to put him down. She was getting more proficient at this mommy thing. In fact, he was so lost in his own headspace trying to figure out how he was supposed to feel in this moment that he didn’t even notice that she put socks on him. Not that they would last, but he was ‘off in la-la land’ as the saying goes. Being carried into the living room, Rupert was waggled at him. Instinctively reaching for the stuffie, he held Rupert to his chest with his left arm and immediately felt a bit more relaxed in that moment. She even started to pat him idly on the padded bottom as she walked toward the couch. He was being carried by his Mommy, he had his pacy, and he was holding his stuffie. This was the exact circumstance where he was being trained to be the happiest, calmest, and most comfortable. Before either of them could enjoy the moment for long, Xerxes stood bolt upright and stared at the door. John could see that the dog had one paw slightly raised and he gave one low bark to get their attention. Not bothering to put him down, Amanda simply walked over to the door and opened the door and child gate. As soon as she opened the screen door Xerxes slipped right past her and stood on the stairs. Despite how serious he was being as he did his job, his tail started wagging back and forth excitedly. Pausing only to step into her boots, Mommy went ahead down the stairs and John found himself deposited on the edge of the porch with a crinkle. The crinkling continued as she moved him slightly to put his shoes onto his feet. As she was finishing with his shoes, the gate opened and a tall man with short brown hair stepped into it. John looked over to see that he was wearing jeans and a long sleeve flannel shirt over a T-shirt. The man did stop as Xerxes ran over to him and sat up between him and his people on the porch. “Well!” The man exclaimed with a smile aimed down at the dog. “You must be Xerxes! You’re famous where I work!” At the mention of his name, the dogs tail started moving, but his butt stayed parked. Finally, as John was picked up and hoisted back onto what he had come to feel like was ‘his spot’ on a left arm, the two giants were close enough that he could see them shaking hands. As they shook, he said “Miss Taylor, I’m Diano. I work for your father. We have some lumber to deliver, and Mr Taylor said that it should be placed along the fence behind your shed. Would you care to show us just so that we are certain?” “Absolutely!” Amanda said before they cruised out of the gate casually faster than John could jog. Once outside, John could see a large work truck with a pipe rack on the top backing a trailer piled high with lumber down the driveway toward the fence. When Mr Diano gave one loud whistle the truck stopped. Moments later they were being joined by a tall blonde man with a well trimmed beard. John missed the introductions because he was spaced out looking at all of the lumber on the trailer. There was a pretty good amount of it. What brought his attention back around was hearing “So is this the little guy that rides the dog?” He couldn’t help but laugh as he rolled his eyes. Apparently he was developing a reputation among people that he’d never met. Mommy leaned down and whispered “Do you want to ride Xerxes for a few minutes?” Why would that even be a question? So of course he nodded up at her. “Xerxes: Heel.” was all she said and moments later he was being lowered onto the dogs back and she took Rupert from him so that he could hold onto the dog with both hands. Mr. Diano and the other man took turns leaning down to give John a high five before they put on gloves and set to work by placing long square shaped 8x8 boards spaced out on the ground. As they started unloading the boards onto them and working together without any words, it was obvious that they had been doing this for quite a long time. Without any way of steering the dog, Xerxes followed Mommy back into the yard and he insisted on holding onto his collar to see if he could ride up the stairs on Xerxes. Mommy insisted on staying right beside him to catch him if he fell, but he made it up onto the porch still on the dog. It was a bit treacherous and she was probably never going to let him do it again, but it was good to know that he could do it. He was told “Stay put for a moment.” before the dog was told “Xerxes: Keep.” and he knew that he wasn’t leaving that porch one way or the other. He was tempted to see what the dog would do if he climbed down off the front of the porch, but he was certain enough that he would get dragged back onto the porch by his shorts, so he didn’t even try. To entertain himself, he tried walking as normally as he could manage to the corner of the porch where his now almost forgotten tent had been shoved against the wall. Before he could even start setting it up, Mommy came back out and held his toddler cup out to him. He took it and started drinking from it without waiting to be told to, since that was what was expected of him anyway. He was left to his own devices as she brought two mugs of coffee out to the men working, so he decided he was going to set the tent up. After he took off his socks and shoes. The tent had been packed away with the poles perfectly untangled. So naturally they were tangled up again when he tried to use them. John spent so much time untangling the poles and trying to get them back through the canvas loops that by the time he was almost done, he had apparently been almost an hour and he was being picked up again before he could finish. As he was carried away, the poles slid out of the tent and the entire thing returned to the crumpled mess that all tents strive to return to. Pausing to put his socks and shoes back onto him in the never ending back and forth, Mommy then carried him out through the gate where he saw that the trailer of lumber was gone and a large truck with a big tank was backing in. Apparently today was busy. Soon they were greeted by an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair who held out his hand to Amanda to shake, and then he gave John a little wave with a smile that made it immediately obvious that this man was the stereotypical Grandpa of this dimension. Amanda put him down for a moment so that she could take a piece of paper and pull out her phone. John hadn’t really paid attention to see if there was an introduction, but they didn’t exchange names so apparently they had done this before. He did get to stand there and watch as the man used a little tool to pull some sort of ring off of a connector bigger than his fist. Now watching in fascination, John could see the veins in the giant hands for a moment as he worked the connector in small circles until it came out. It was immediately obvious to John that he would never have been strong enough to do that without tools. And this older man just casually did it like he’s been doing this for years. Noticing that John was watching, the man waved again and asked “You been good for your new Momma?” Not really sure how to respond to that, John just nodded a yes. Now with a smile, he was asked “Do you want to help?” Of course John nodded again! “Okay!” the kind grandfatherly man knelt down as he held out a little metal can with a lid. “This sealant has to be shaken up until it’s time to use it. Can you shake this for me?” Feeling a bit silly, John took the 12 oz can that looked tiny in the hands that offered it, and started to shake it up and down awkwardly. “That’s the spirit, but it has to be well shaken!” The big man said with a chuckle. So John started shaking it harder. While John was standing there starting to laugh at how ridiculous this felt, he watched the man take a tool out of his pocket to scrape the inside of the hose out and then slide some sort of ring down over the outside of it. That same welcoming smile beamed down at him “Okay little man, now I need someone to brush that compound into the hose while I hold it still, do you think you’re up for it?” Once John nodded, the big man reached down and opened the can to reveal a cloth ball attached to the bottom of the lid. As he pulled it out, the adhesive inside was the brightest blue color he had ever seen in his life. At the mans directions, John then carefully smeared it inside the end of the hose and onto the very end. With a quick point, the man this asked “Okay, now can you hand me that connector?” Quickly waddling over to grab the heavy, round metal connector and hold it up, John found himself fascinated as it was taken from both of his hands with just the fingertips of one large hand. The man immediately lined it up into the hose and started working it in small circles to press it back into the hose. By the time the man had pulled the ring up into place and hammered a U-Shaped piece of metal in place to hold it all together, Mommy had come and picked him up again. Once the nice man had finally put the hose back onto the tank, he hooked it up to his truck and carried the small* tank (*still bigger than John) to the storage shed for Mommy. After it was all said and done, the man was able to get Mommy a total and she used her phone to pay the bill with one hand, while using the other arm to hold John up. Finally, before he left, the man waved at John and asked “Does he talk?” Only then was John realizing that he hadn’t even bothered to talk. Post-milk he was just sort of on autopilot and kind of relaxed and happy. And apparently soggy. … just like a toddler. He would have frowned more at that if he weren’t idly sucking on a pacifier. Amanda laughed “He definitely knows how to talk! He’s just shy around new people. John, do you want to say thank you to the nice man?” Biting down on the pacy in his mouth, it took more willpower than he was happy about to keep from just burying his head against Mommy’s chest. But after a moment of indecision he finally let the pacy fall out of his mouth to dangle on the strap and spoke. “Thank you.” was all he really got out. Why was he feeling like this? Either way, the nice man reached out to offer a high five, which John leaned to return with his left hand before putting his pacy back in his mouth and burying his face in Mommy’s chest, still completely oblivious to whatever was making him act a bit more like a shy child around bigs he didn’t know. Before they even made it to the porch, Mommy stopped and lifted him up and squished his diaper a bit through his shorts and onesie, mumbled “It’ll last until nap time.” and ultimately sat him down on the playmat, sans shoes, with his toddler cup full of water. His socks were off of his feet by the time she turned around. With a ruffle of his hair, he was left to his own devices, so he wound up crawling over to the edge of the playmat, grabbing a couch pillow, and dragging it back to the playmat. Getting himself comfortably propped up comfortably, he tapped his thumb against the tablet and started up his pipe game. Only to find out that the pipe game had a prompt asking him to repeat the first levels to see how he would do on them. It gave him the option to continue where he left off, but he didn’t see the harm in starting again. At first he was just zipping through the levels as fast as they would load onto the screen, but after five minutes he started to sort of zone out. Which turned out to be a nonissue as Mommy came over and picked him up again. Briefly going limp out of frustration, John gave up as the socks were put back onto his feet, he was carried outside and his shoes were put back into him, and they walked out of the gate to see yet another truck hauling a trailer full of equipment. Okay, this trailer was cooler than the others, because it had a tractor on it. Tractors make everything cooler. Perking up a bit, he watched as four people, all wearing jeans and loose fitting plaid shirts, got out of the truck and started unloading equipment. He couldn’t help but notice that two of them were men with brown hair, and two were women, one blonde and one brunette. And the blonde woman was TALL. Almost a full head taller than the others. One of the two men walked across the field and came up to Mommy and held out his hand. As she shook his hand, Mommy greeted him “Welcome back Mr Operarius. Is the field okay for you to work now?” Without even looking, Mr Operarius nodded “It looks great, we will be able to make a pathway today and line it all out, then fill it in tomorrow. Hopefully the weather holds.” When she chuckled, John looked up at her just in time to see her smirk “According to Mr Tempes, the weather will be clear until Tuesday.” Looking back over now, he saw Mr Operarius’ eyebrows go up as he asked “Didn’t Mr Tempes retire?” Pivoting his head almost comically now was makign him dizzy so he flopped his head back against her chest as the conversation went on. Apparently Mommy knows the weatherman. Which is neat, but not something John found entertaining in that moment. No, John just wanted to drive the tractor. Actually … John looked parked up and when they had a break in conversation, John chimed in. “Hey, can I drive the tractor?” he asked with a completely straight face. “Oh! He -can- talk! Hello little guy!” Mr Operarius exclaimed, yet another Big surprised to learn that he wasn’t completely nonverbal. That was starting to feel weird. With a nod, John continued “I can also drive!” That got a laugh from both Bigs. “Well … Maybe Linda will let you ride on her lap while she drives it for a bit. If your Mommy will allow it. It’s not really dangerous or anything.” John looked up, grin practically splitting his face enough to hurt. “I don’t know …” Mommy didn’t seem certain of the idea. “Mommy, I promise to be good. I’ll leave my shoes on. I’ll … I’ll eat one carrot.” He stammered trying to think of a way to convince her. The offer to even eat a carrot definitely caught her off guard. He went straight to his version of the nuclear option. After a moment of John looking up at her with a big smile, she finally spoke up. “You will eat one -serving- of carrots? I’ll slow cook them in butter to help with the texture?” she half said/half asked. John involuntarily made a face as his right eyebrow came down and scrunched up and he did a full body shudder… but finally he managed to nod. “Okay, but you have to go over and ask her yourself. Are you brave enough to do that?” Of course he nodded! Mr Operarius pointed over to the gigantic Blonde woman that was busy undoing straps holding the tractor down. Mommy carried him over there and put him down teen feet from the large blonde woman. After noticing them, the woman turned around and asked “Yes? Do you need something?” Mommy reached down and patted john on the padded butt, whispering “Go ask.” Taking a few waddling steps in the more than half full rough pup was embarrassing, but it had to be done. When he got halfway to he, he looked up. And he had to look UP. He was used to being thigh height on Mommy. He was level with this giants knee cap. Between having to look up and realizing how small he felt, John instinctively reached for the pacy hanging from the strap on his top and squeezed it. He immediately wished he had Rupert with him. “Ummmmm…” He froze up. The tall woman looked from him, to Mr Operarius, to Mommy, then back down to him expectantly. She didn’t exactly seem ready to gush over a little standing there looking like he was going to pee himself. Well, pee himself more. Mr Operarius came to the rescue, sort of, by saying “This little one was hoping to ask you something.” The woman leaned down, but only a bit and asked “What did you want to ask?” It was impossible to ignore the suspicion that he had just peed a little, but he finally stammered out as he tried pointing with his right hand. “I umm… Can … Can I … ride on the … ummmm on the tractor?” he struggled to ask, so nervous that he felt his eyes starting to water. “Hmm.” The woman said as she stood up to look around. She watched the man and woman off in the field marking out a path with stakes and bright orange rope. Then looked way over John to his Mommy and asked “I guess it’s okay if I take him for a lap or two around the field while they mark out my path. Mommy, are you okay with this?” Spinning to look, he saw Mommy as she explained “He was so interested in the tractor that he offered to eat carrots on his own.” Turning back, he watched the tall woman as she pursed her lips for a moment. She finally went down to kneel on one knee and looked at John appraisingly. “Carrots, huh?” she said simply. All he could manage was a nervous nod. After a moment, she finally said “Yeah, I don’t like them either. Arms up.” As her hands came over to him he held his arms up. When she picked him up, it was hard not to notice the different between her hands and Mommy’s. Where Mommy picked him up and felt soft and familiar (unless he made her mad) this woman had hands like they were chiseled out of marble. As she got him up onto her left forearm like he weighed no more than an ounce, he held onto her upper arm and it, too, felt almost rock hard. John looked in awe. This woman didn’t seem to have grown up, so much as had been chiseled. Looking down at him she spoke frankly “I’m going to be honest, I’m not too fond of littles. You aren’t a screamer, are you?” John simply shook his head no. “No tantrums?” Again, shaking his head no. “If I let you ride, you are going to keep your hands off of anything I do not tell you to touch?” Now he nodded a yes. Seemingly begrudgingly, the giantess finally took a deep breath and sighed. “You get two laps around the field. If you’re good you can pull a lever. Understood?” Now John was nodding enthusiastically! Rolling her eyes, she pointed “Wave to your Mommy and we’ll do this.” John waved to Mommy as he was carried to the tractor by a thirteen foot tall stone golem of a woman. As she climbed the tractor with just one single large step and sat down, she stopped and felt his diaper mid air. Holding him there she tapped her finger on his hip as she thought. “You aren’t going to leak on me, are you?” She asked, fairly given the circumstances. John shook his head and managed to say quietly “No Ma’am. Mommy says I’m good til’ … uhh… nap time.” Finally she lowered him onto her thigh and loosened up the lap belt to wrap around both him and herself. Pulling a comically large hard hat out of a compartment to her right, she looked down at him as she tapped the side of it thoughtfully. She tried to put it on his head, but gave up as she said out loud “You look like a ridiculous turtle.” and the hard had went back into the storage box on her right. With her left hand on the steering wheel, she said very firmly as she pointed “Hold onto my arm, I’ll hold you. You get squirmy, you get off.” Johns left arm immediately wrapped around her left arm just below her elbow and he gave her a thumbs up. Finally, she reached out and turned the key. John jumped a bit at the loud sound of the tractor starting up as she held the key for several seconds to bring the engine to life, but after a minute the sound died down to a somewhat quiet rumble. Her right hand came down to a lever by her thigh and her foot came up off of a clutch as she moved her right hand up to slowly pull a throttle lever under the steering wheel and the steel Tuboka beast eased backwards down the ramp of the trailer. It seemed like just a few seconds and she was moving the lever by her right thigh again and they started to roll forward. From up high where he was, even being at armpit height on the giantess, he could look around and even see the porch over the fenceline. He could even see his tent that had collapsed into a tangled mess. A Tentularity, if you would. The Tractor wasn’t going fast, and he could tell that she was trying to go nice and slow because she had a passenger that she thought was fragile. Which was true compared to her. After one big lap of the field, he started asking questions “So what does that lever do?” “That’s the throttle.” “It doesn’t have a gas pedal?” “No, it doesn’t have a gas pedal.” “I guess the lever is cool too.” That got a chuckle and she reached out to pull the throttle back just a bit more. On the second lap, she actually turned and let the tractor lumber along by the stream for a little ways before turning it around, giving him a bit more of a ride. Which he definitely appreciated in the moment! Pointing now at the machine at the front that had two big arms and some metal drum shaped thing between them, he had to ask “What does that thing do?” Lowering the throttle back down to quiet the tractor some, she tried to explain “It’s like a peeler for the yard. I call it the scalper, so let’s go with that. It makes a roll of the sod that we can move out of the way.” Looking back and forth between her and the machine, he asked more pointedly “So it makes it into a roll?” She simply nodded “Yep!” Unable to keep from blurting out what he was thinking, he said out loud: “So you’re telling me that machine makes a roll of single ply yard?” After a moment of blinking, her left foot came down on the clutch and she pushed the throttle lever all the way up. The tractor chugged to a halt as the engine quieted. She didn’t even look at him, she just looked off in the distance toward the stream. Finally, after almost a minute, she mumbled “I can never unhear that.” It was another half a minute before she looked down at him and said “That’s the smartest and dumbest way I’ve ever heard that described.” With a nod John explained “That’s my specialty.” and he held up a hand for a high five. She looked at his hand and shook her head. So he switched to a fist. She begrudgingly returned the fist bump as she said “Your Mommy must have the patience of a saint.” before putting the tractor back in gear and driving the rest of the way back to Mommy and the man from the company. Once she had the tractor turned off, and before she even unbuckled him, she waved over both of the people waiting. “Before I hand you back, why don’t you go ahead and tell Mr Operarius what the machine attached to the front of the tractor does?” she insisted. With a shrug, John looked over at the large brown haired man and said “It makes a roll of single ply yard.” Mr Operarius stood completely still and blinked for a moment before saying quietly “He’s not technically wrong.” Ms Linda said from above him. “I hate it. I’m going to write Charmin on the side with a marker, but I hate it so much.” With a nod, they finally got the lap belt unwrapped from the two of them and before he could be passed back, he made sure to mind his manners and said “Thank you Miss Linda!” With a sort of neutral look for a moment, she finally smirked and said “I still don’t like littles. But you get one point.” and she held up a hand for a high five. Which of course John returned happily. Once he was passed down to Mommy, he instantly appreciated the feeling of her hands and body against his. He felt safe on Miss Linda’s lap, like he was being held by a statue. But not comfortable. Finally free to put his pacy back in his mouth, he was able to sort of tune out a bit. He was pretty thrilled with how that turned out. Yes, everyone today treated him like he was a toddler. No, he wasn’t allowed to actually drive the tractor or pull any levers, but it was still fun. It was a tiny bit demeaning, but since his coffee milk this morning he hadn’t minded the treatment quite as much. It still sort of bubbled under the surface, but he just couldn’t quite seem to grab at the reason why it would make him angry otherwise. Once his shoes were off, he had his socks off before they made it into the house. Mommy gave him a big kiss on his right temple and said “I’m so proud of you! Now, let’s get you cleaned up and I’ll fix you a chicken tender and some buttery carrots for lunch before your nap. … Oh right, he had agreed to that. He looked up at her. “You still plan to keep your promise?” she asked. He simply nodded. “… you’re not going to complain about them, are you?” “Oh.” he said plainly, letting the pacy fall out of his mouth. “I’m absolutely going to complain.”

Here's my current sensor setup. I wear a condom catheter attached to a plastic connector that would normally be used to attach drainage tubing. That connector has two, thin, stainless steel pins that I've pieced through the connector and soldered on the sensor wires. I use another wire wrapped around it to hold everything down. I cover the whole thing with hot glue to fix it all in place, insulate the wires, and just make everything smooth and not pokey. Soldering a regular wire onto stainless steel can be tricky and needs a very acidic flux. The other optimization I've made is that I pulse the sensor, so it is only on for 10ms every second or so. That means I get far less corrosion. It lasts a month with regular cleaning before the connecting wires just get flakey from too much bending. Then I rebuild the whole sensor.

Yeah it's just an early stage idea, but something I'd like to try

Wa wa wa

Chapter Ninety-Eight: The stereo played S-Club 7’s “Don’t Stop” like it was trying to convince the car itself to smile. The song was bright—too bright. A bubblegum beat stitched to a chorus that didn’t know how to sit quietly. But the speakers were worn and the volume was low, so the whole thing sounded softened around the edges, like a memory of a happy day instead of the real thing. Paul sat in the front passenger seat with his knees angled toward the door, one sneaker braced against the floor mat like he needed leverage just to exist. His phone screen glowed in his lap. A single message sat there, unchanged, like it had been pinned to the inside of his ribcage. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m just… overwhelmed. Please talk to me. —Amber Thirty minutes ago. And still, he hadn’t typed a thing. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Because he knew too much. Paul’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, motionless. He stared at the words like they were a stage direction he didn’t want to follow. Overwhelmed. He understood that. God—he understood it better than anyone. But the ache didn’t care about fairness. It still hit. Because Amber being overwhelmed didn’t erase the way her voice had shifted in rehearsal. Didn’t erase the little slip—little guy—the way it had landed like a joke she hadn’t meant to tell. Didn’t erase the way she’d pulled her hand back when he’d reached for her. It wasn’t cruelty. It was distance. And distance, after everything he’d done to keep her close, felt like the cruelest thing of all. His mind did what it always did when pain showed up: it rewound. Amber’s laugh in grade school, leaning over his shoulder as they wrote lines on scripts in the hallway. Amber’s face when she’d cried at Rachel’s memorial and didn’t understand why she was crying so hard for someone she barely remembered—only that Paul was breaking and she couldn’t stand it. Amber in the wings, whispering, We’ve got this, Jem. Don’t you dare faint on me. He’d always assumed there would be time. Time to ask her out properly. Time to stop orbiting. Time to stop being “best friend” and become something else. But time had passed while he was waiting. She had a ring now. A life. A future that didn’t include him the way his heart had always quietly believed it might. And Paul could admit that without hating her for it. He could even be happy for her—some version of happy that didn’t feel like swallowing glass. Still… it didn’t stop the regret from rising like bile. If I’d asked her out sooner… If he’d been braver when he still had a body that didn’t betray him in public. If he’d said I want you instead of I need you. If he’d been honest before honesty became something he had to confess like a crime. His eyes dropped to the message again. Please talk to me. The part of him that was still twelve, still sixteen, still that stubborn boy with the rebellious spark Amber always loved—wanted to text back something sharp. Something unfair. Something that would make her feel what he felt. You’re overwhelmed? Try being me. His fingers even twitched like they might do it. Then his throat tightened and he swallowed it down. Because the older part of him—the part he’d fought so hard to keep alive—knew something his anger didn’t want to admit: Amber needed time. Just like he needed time. He couldn’t expect her to absorb diapers and babysitters and regression schedules in a single night and come out the other side perfectly calm and perfectly loving and perfectly unchanged. That wasn’t human. That was fantasy. And still… the resentment came anyway, quiet but real. Because he hadn’t been given time. Not by his body. Not by his diagnosis. Not by the world that looked at him and decided his “best version” was smaller. Paul exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead back against the headrest. Harley drove like she belonged on this road. Like she’d done this route a hundred times. Like the park ahead was already waiting for her. She glanced up and turned towards him, eyes flicking toward Paul’s reflection. He was quiet. Too quiet. Harley had taken kids to parks before—dozens of them. Some cried the whole drive. Some kicked the seats. Some demanded snacks and music and the exact same story told three times. Even the grumpiest little ones usually cracked the second they saw the playground. Paul didn’t. Harley’s grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel, not out of anger—out of calculation. This isn’t how he’s supposed to act. Then she softened her shoulders again, reminding herself of what Lilly had said. Let Paul lead. Harley’s mind slid backward—back to the house, back to the beginning of today, back to the moment she’d been let inside. Harley didn’t knock like a stranger. She knocked like someone who expected the door to open. Three quick taps—light, almost playful—then the faint shuffle of sneakers on the porch as if she was already preparing to step inside. Like she’d already rehearsed this entrance in her head. Inside the Goldhawk house, Lilly stood with her hand on the lock a beat too long. Her eyes flicked to the hallway, then toward the living room where the house still carried the faint scent of dinner—garlic, marinara, warm bread—mixed with something else she’d come to recognize as part of their new normal: baby powder, laundry detergent, and the soft, lavender scented cleanliness of wipes mixed with a hint of wet & messy diapers. It was the smell of care. It was also the smell of evidence. Lilly smoothed her blazer once more, fingers pressing down the lapel like she could flatten the day into something presentable. She looked put together—cream knit top, espresso trousers, camel blazer, gold jewelry that didn’t sparkle so much as signal. It wasn’t vanity. It was armor. Then she opened the door. Harley stood there with her bubblegum confidence turned up just high enough to be disarming. Baby-blue booty shorts, frilly ankle socks, baby-pink tennis shoes. And zipped halfway, a Bluey hoodie—the character’s smiling face bright across her chest, the hood’s little ears bouncing as she shifted her weight. Under it, a baby-pink T-shirt peeked out, soft and innocent in color even if the cut of everything else was… not. Harley looked young. Not childish. Young in the way that made people soften. Lower their voices. Assume harmlessness. And the fact that she could pull that off while still looking sexy was exactly what made Lilly’s stomach tighten, because she saw a younger version of herself at that age. Lilly kept her smile anyway. Perfect. Polished. “Harley,” she said warmly, stepping back. “Hi. You made it.” Harley’s face lit up. “Hi! Oh my God—Lilly, you look amazing.” It came out easy. Too easy. Like Harley knew compliments were currency and she spent them like she’d never run out. Lilly’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her eyes sharpened. “Thank you,” Lilly said. “And you’re… a cutie.” The words were sweet. The tone wasn’t. Harley caught it. Of course she did. She laughed lightly, as if she hadn’t noticed. “I was going for… approachable.” She stepped inside with a little bounce. “Like… not scary.” Lilly closed the door behind her with the soft click of finality. “Mm,” Lilly hummed. “Approachable is good.” “Paul’s at Bishop’s Gate Academy right now,” Lilly began. “He’s in rehearsals until twelve-thirty. He already has more than enough credits to graduate, so after rehearsal he can either stay for class or he’ll text you for pickup.” Harley nodded quickly. “Okay. Easy.” Lilly glanced over her shoulder. “You’re familiar with Bishop’s Gate?” Harley’s smile brightened into something genuine. “Very. I went to Breaker High. Our volleyball team played at their gym at least twice a year.” “Good,” Lilly said, relief slipping into her voice before she could stop it. Harley heard it. That relief wasn’t trust. It was practicality. She needs this to work, Harley thought. She needs me to work. And that felt like power. Harley followed half a step behind, careful not to walk too close, careful not to look like she was trying to be Lilly’s equal. Harley’s eyes flicked to Lilly’s back—straight posture, confident stride. The woman moved like she’d learned how to command rooms without raising her voice. Lilly spoke as they climbed, tone turning instructional. “We gave you the phone already, yes?” Harley patted her hoodie pocket. “Yup. Got it.” “And Paul has your number programmed in,” Lilly continued. “If he needs you, he’ll text. If you need me, you text me first. If it’s urgent, call.” Harley nodded, still sweet. “Of course.” Then, because Harley couldn’t help herself, she added softly, “He’s okay with me picking him up, right?” The question was innocent on paper. In reality it was a probe. Harley wanted to know what Paul had said. How he’d framed her. If he’d sounded nervous. If he’d sounded excited. Lilly didn’t answer immediately. She kept walking. That pause was its own answer. “He understands he’ll have support,” Lilly said finally. Not babysitter. Not caregiver. Support. Harley smiled wider. “Support. I love that word.” They reached Paul’s door. Lilly opened it without knocking. Harley noticed. Noted it. She doesn’t ask permission in his space, Harley thought. Because she’s the mother. Then the room opened up around them. Paul’s bed was made neatly. The lamp on the nightstand was off. The curtains were half-open, letting in afternoon light. And nestled between the pillows, dead center, like a secret shrine—Batman. And beside him—The Long Knight. Harley’s giraffe. The ridiculous baby-giraffe with its absurd diaper and its goofy face and its stupid pun name. Harley’s breath caught. Not from surprise. From satisfaction. A warm, private thrill spread through her chest like champagne. He kept it. Not shoved into a closet. Not hidden under the bed. Not thrown aside. Kept. Centered. Chosen. Harley’s eyes lingered too long. Lilly saw and felt it. A small flash of something bitter sparked under her ribs—not jealousy in the romantic sense, but the kind of jealousy that lived inside this ever-changing motherhood she herself was trying to weather: Why is he keeping something you gave him like it matters? Lilly forced a laugh. “It seems like Paul agreed his Batman needed a sidekick after all.” Harley’s smile turned soft, almost reverent. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I guess he did.” But inside, Harley’s thoughts were loud. Good boy. My good boy. And that thought—private, possessive, too intimate—made something cold run down Lilly’s spine even though she couldn’t hear it. Lilly didn’t know the words. She felt the intention. She then walked Harley into the closet first, “Okay,” Lilly said, pointing. “These are the pre-school diapers. These are for day use. Velcro tabs. More discreet. You can refasten them if needed.” Harley nodded, eyes wide, attentive. “Okay. My bother’s Huggies have the same kinda tabs, I guess even the biggest babies need the bestest of diapees” “These,” Lilly continued, sliding her hand to another pack, “Safari and Critter Caboose. Home use. Comfort. Less discreet.” Harley smiled faintly. “They’re sooooo puffy and simply will look adorable over any tushy.” Lilly’s gaze sharpened again. “They’re functional.” Harley nodded quickly. “Right. Sorry.” Lilly reached toward the back, pulling out a third stack. “And these are the Steps-Ins. These are important.” Harley leaned in. “For what?” “For activity,” Lilly said firmly. “Basketball. Working out. Anything where we want him moving. We encourage those but plastic pants are a MUST.” Harley nodded. “Got it.” Then, because Harley’s curiosity couldn’t stay quiet, she asked softly: “Does he… like basketball?” Lilly’s face softened for real this time. “He loves it.” They moved through the rest of the room—diaper supplies, wipes, creams, powder. The diaper bag on the dresser, fully stocked. Harley reached toward it instinctively, fingers hovering. “And the diaper bag is fully stocked,” Lilly said, gesturing to the dresser. “If you ever go out. Or keep it downstairs to change him there instead of coming up constantly.” Lilly led Harley out of the room and down the hidden stairs behind the false bookcase. Harley’s eyes widened as the secret passage opened. “Oh my God,” she whispered, delighted. “This is like… a movie.” Lilly didn’t smile. “It’s for convenience.” Harley nodded. “Right. Convenience.” But she was already imagining it—Paul slipping through here, guided, hidden, safe. The house built around his needs like architecture had bent for him. And Harley—Harley wanted to be part of that architecture. They emerged in the kitchen. And that’s where Harley saw it. Not the bib. Not the sippy cups. The bottle. Adult-sized glass. Safari print. Sitting on the counter like it belonged there. Harley’s eyes locked onto it. Lilly noticed instantly and her body tensed, then softened again like she was forcing herself to choose calm. “That,” Lilly said, voice dropping into something quieter, more serious, “is only for emergencies.” Harley’s gaze stayed fixed. “Okay.” “If Paul is melting down,” Lilly continued, “and grounding exercises, plushie, paci—none of it works… warm milk helps.” Harley nodded slowly, absorbing every word like it was a spell. “Holding him in your lap,” Lilly added, and here her voice changed—less clinical, more… relieved. Like she’d found something that worked and it had saved them. “Feeding him that way. It’s kind of the fix-all.” Harley’s throat tightened. Not because it was sad. Because it was intimate. Lilly exhaled, and without thinking, without realizing she was giving away softness— “He looks… adorable with a baba in his mouth.” The slip landed in the air like a dropped glass. Harley’s eyes flicked to Lilly’s face. Lilly didn’t notice what she’d said. She just kept talking, as if she hadn’t exposed anything at all. “But only if it’s an emergency,” Lilly repeated quickly, as if repeating it could erase the softness. “Tracker red.” Harley nodded. “Okay. Red only.” Inside, Harley’s mind whispered: She thinks he’s adorable. She loves it too. Lilly opened the fridge next. “I made dinner,” she said. “Pasta bake. Ground beef, vegetables, garlic marinara, mozzarella.” Harley leaned forward, impressed. “That smells so good.” “It’s in here,” Lilly said, pointing. “You’ll make a Caesar salad with it. And you’ll need to bib him up for this one.” Harley nodded quickly. “Oh I bet.” Lilly’s tone turned firmer. “I’m serious about that.” Harley’s smile stayed bright. “I’m serious too.” Lilly’s eyes held hers. “Good.” A beat of silence stretched. Harley tilted her head, voice softening into something almost childlike. “Can I ask a question?” Lilly’s expression didn’t change. “Sure.” Harley’s voice went careful. “When he… melts down… is it fast? Like, does it come out of nowhere?” Lilly’s jaw tightened. There it was. Harley was fishing. Not maliciously, maybe. But intentionally. Lilly chose her words like she was defusing a bomb. “It escalates,” Lilly said. “We usually see it coming. His tracker shifts first. His breathing changes. His hands shake. He withdraws.” Harley nodded slowly. “Okay.” Lilly added, sharper now, “And we intervene early.” Harley’s eyes stayed wide. “Right.” Lilly studied her. Because Harley wasn’t just listening. Harley was learning Paul’s patterns. And Lilly couldn’t decide if that was comforting… or terrifying. She then grabbed a tiny handbag from the counter, slipping it onto her shoulder like she was putting her life back on. “Okay,” Lilly said, turning toward the entryway. “After dinner, wind-down starts at six-thirty.” Harley nodded. “Six-thirty.” “No more screen time,” Lilly continued. “Light play, reading, whatever keeps him calm.” Harley smiled. “Okay.” “And then get him ready for beddy—” Lilly caught herself. Her lips pressed together. She corrected quickly, voice smoothing. “Get him ready for bed.” Harley’s smile twitched. Just slightly.Because she’d heard the slip. And she’d loved it. Lilly kept going, determined not to show weakness. “I should be back before seven,” Lilly said. “I’ll call if anything comes up.” Harley nodded obediently. “Okay.” Lilly hesitated at the door. Her hand hovered on the knob. Then she turned back, eyes narrowing a fraction. “And Harley?” Harley’s smile stayed bright. “Yeah?” Lilly’s voice dropped lower. “Let Paul lead this afternoon.” Harley nodded instantly. “Of course.” Lilly didn’t move. “We need to keep him on the big side,” Lilly added. “We have a doctor’s appointment in the morning. He needs to be big enough to participate and understand his care.” Harley’s smile held. But something inside her flared—hurt and pride tangled together. Because Harley didn’t like being told what to do. Not when she believed she was better at this than Lilly was. Not when she believed she could calm Paul faster, easier, deeper. She needed the job. So she nodded again, sweet as sugar. “Okay,” Harley said softly. “Take Paul’s lead.” Lilly watched her for a long beat. Harley’s eyes were wide. Her smile was perfect. Her voice was obedient. And Lilly still didn’t trust her. Because obedience without sincerity was the oldest trick in the world. Lilly opened the door and stepped out. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she turned back one last time. Not fully. Just her head. A mother’s final scan. “Thank you,” Lilly said, quieter now. Realer. Harley’s expression softened into something almost genuine. Harley smiled brightly, sweet as a promise. “You go do your thing. We’ll be great.” Paul sat in the passenger seat with Amber’s text still open on his screen, thumb hovering over the blank reply box like it was a ledge. The message had been there for over thirty minutes now: It shouldn’t have felt like an accusation. But in Paul’s body, everything that wasn’t clear felt like a risk. He’d read it once. Twice. Ten times. Each pass carving a different version of meaning into him. She’s apologizing because she feels guilty. She’s apologizing because she’s trying to be kind. She’s apologizing because she wants to wrap this up neatly and move on. He hated how fast his mind could turn one sentence into a funeral. Harley glanced over at him at a red light. Not a long look. Not a babysitter look. Just… a real one. The way someone checks the face of the person beside them when the air changes. Paul’s shoulders stayed tight. His jaw stayed set. He made himself stare out the window at Jacksonville slipping by—the palm trees, the sun-bleached signs, the flat Florida sky that always looked like it had too much room in it. Harley clicked her turn signal. Paul’s head lifted. “Harley, what’s going on?” She slowed the car down a fraction—no sudden movements, no drama—and pulled over into a safe spot on the side of the road where the shoulder widened near a line of scrubby grass and sand. The kind of place people stopped to take phone calls they didn’t want to have while driving. She put the car in park. Then she turned slightly toward him, one hand still resting casually on the steering wheel like she wasn’t about to change the whole tone of his day. Harley smiled—not bright, not performative. Small. Honest. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she said gently. Her voice was different now—still Harley, still sing-song at the edges, but softened into something that didn’t feel like a tactic. “You look like you just lost your best friend.” Paul blinked. His big side—the part of him that liked being the calm one, the capable one, the one who could walk out of a blue door looking fine—reached for the nearest lifeline and grabbed it. “Yeah,” he said, the word catching in his throat before it could become something worse. “Something like that.” For a moment, that could’ve been enough. But then the tightness returned, that old reflex that insisted he couldn’t be seen needing anything without paying for it later. He swallowed, eyes still pinned to the phone. “You,” he added, too sharp and too tired all at once. “Hell—nobody really understands.” Harley didn’t flinch. She didn’t go syrupy. She didn’t baby-talk it away. She just nodded like she’d been waiting for him to say the quiet part out loud. “You mean about Amber,” Harley said, still gentle. “Your new normal wasn’t exactly an easy conversation, was it.” Paul’s throat tightened so fast it felt like his body was trying to shut the door on the whole topic. One tear threatened—just one, stubborn and humiliating. He blinked hard and kept his gaze forward like if he didn’t look at her, he could pretend he wasn’t cracking. “No,” he said softly. Then, like his nervous system couldn’t hold the thought in one piece, the rest came out quick—almost incoherent, almost too fast to be controlled. “And during rehearsals something was off,” he said, words tumbling. “I think it was me. I think she—she thinks I’m a freak now. Like she’ll be happier with Marcus and she’ll just want to ignore me.” The sentence landed in the car and stayed there, heavy and exposed. Harley’s mind flickered—not to Paul-as-little, not to the softer version she liked when the world made him smaller. It flickered to Kat. Her sister—only a few years younger, loud and sharp and secretly tender, the kind of girl who looked fearless and then cried in the bathroom over a boy who didn’t deserve her. Harley saw Kat’s face in her memory so clearly that for a second her chest tightened. Kat would hate this, Harley thought. She would hate him thinking he’s disposable. And then another thought, quieter, more unsettling, slipped in: He sounds like the teenager he looks like. Not the version that melted into nursery rhythms. Not the cute toddler Harley had needed and still wanted to cradle. This Paul was raw. Proud. Smart enough to be cruel to himself. Old enough to think love was a train he’d missed. A challenge. An achievement. A person. Harley didn’t say any of that. She shifted in her seat and reached over slowly, careful—like you approached a skittish animal with an open palm. She started rubbing his back in a steady, grounding rhythm, not too intimate, not too light. Just there. Paul stiffened at first—his big side wanting to reject comfort out of principle. Then his shoulders loosened a fraction despite himself, like his body recognized something safe before his pride could argue. Harley’s eyes flicked down to the tracker again. Yellow as the midday sun. So Harley asked the question like it was a logic problem, not a trap. “So,” she said softly, “is that what she wrote in the message? That you’re a freak and she’s done talking to you?” Paul took a breath and tried to make it slow. Tried to make it his. “No,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “She… wants to talk.” Harley’s expression brightened—not in a childish way. In a human one. Like someone seeing a door that wasn’t locked. “Okay,” she said, letting the word land with warmth. “Then it’s a start.” Paul’s eyes stayed on the phone, thumb still hovering like the reply box might bite him. “Why don’t you text her back something?” Harley suggested. Paul turned his head slightly, a bitter laugh escaping without humor. “Like what?” Harley didn’t answer for him. She asked the better question. “Well,” she said, voice patient, “what do you want to say?” There was a pause. Not a small one. A real one—where Paul’s jaw clenched and unclenched like he was swallowing an entire second conversation he couldn’t risk saying out loud. The one that had been living in him since last night. Since the firepit. Since the ring around Amber’s neck that had changed the rules of the world. Paul shook his head. “You don’t want to know what I really want to say,” he muttered. Harley’s hand stayed on his back, steady. “Try me.” Paul exhaled, heavy—like the air came out carrying weight with it. “There’s no point,” he said, and the words sounded older than him. Like resignation dressed up as maturity. “It doesn’t matter.” Harley let that sit. She didn’t rush to fix it. She couldn’t fix the fact that Paul still had feelings for Amber—feelings complicated enough to make him feel ashamed of wanting anything at all. She couldn’t unmake time. And she didn’t try. Instead, she shifted the conversation gently—not away from his feelings, but away from the cliff edge. “Then,” Harley said softly, “why don’t you just put the phone away for now.” Paul’s eyes flicked to her. Harley gave him a small smile. “Let’s get some playtime in to clear your head.” “Play time?” Paul echoed, skeptical. The word still tasted wrong in his mouth when it was pointed at him. Harley shrugged lightly, a little grin tugging at her lips. “Play time, exercise, stretching your legs—whatever you call it. It’s obvious you and me both need it.” Paul stared at her, caught off guard by the us. Harley didn’t talk like a caregiver in that moment. She talked like a person. She leaned back in her seat, eyes forward now as if she was painting the picture for herself too. “So I wanted to surprise you,” she said, casual and real, “by bringing you to a park that—one—has a basketball court.” Paul’s attention sharpened immediately, like his big side had heard language it respected. Harley continued, “And two… it’s not just where I bring the kids I sit for.” Paul blinked again. Harley’s voice softened with something like nostalgia—careful not to reveal too much, careful to keep it sounding normal. “It’s where me and my own sister Kat still go sometimes,” she admitted. “We sit on the swings and talk about boys and life and whatever’s stressing us out.” She glanced at him, and for once the look wasn’t measuring him. It was offering him something simple: a place to breathe. “Plus,” she added, tilting her chin toward his phone, “if you text Amber while you’re calmer, it’ll probably come out better anyway.” Harley’s hand drifted toward him—palm open, not grabbing. An outstretched hand asking. Not taking. And that mattered. Paul looked down at the phone again. Amber’s message still sat there, quietly waiting. He felt the sting in his chest—hurt, regret, the stupid ache of why didn’t I say something sooner, the shame of did I ruin this by letting her see too much, the anger of why does everyone get to move forward except me. Paul swallowed. Then, slowly—deliberately—he handed the phone to Harley. Not like a child being supervised. Like a teenager choosing to set something down before it shattered him. Paul exhaled again, and this time it wasn’t just heaviness. “Okay,” he said, voice steadier. “We can play at the park.” Harley’s smile widened, soft and bright at the same time. “Okay,” she echoed, and then, with just a hint of her sing-song cadence returning—gentle, not infantilizing—she added, “That’s my smart boy.” Paul’s cheeks warmed at the words, annoyed at himself for reacting at all. But the world didn’t end. Harley put the car back in drive. Chapter Ninety-Nine: The park she chose wasn’t some sad little patch of swings beside a road. It was a whole world—a wooden fortress that rose up like a storybook set dropped into Jacksonville Beach: tall timber towers with pointed roofs, a maze of ramps and bridges, bright plastic slides curling out from the sides like tongues, and a low fence that made it feel contained—safe—without feeling trapped. Shade sails stretched over sections of sand like blue sails on a ship. The air smelled like salt that had drifted inland, pine needles, and sun-warmed wood. Somewhere near the entrance, a trash can overflowed with juice boxes and the wrappers of snacks parents promised would be “just one.” The place hummed with the particular chaos of children being children—squeals echoing off planks, thuds of sneakers on ramps, the metallic rhythm of chains and laughter and someone calling, “Don’t climb that—okay, fine, climb it but hold on.” Harley rounded the front of the car and hugged him—quick, bright, unselfconscious. Not tight enough to pin him, not long enough to make it weird. Just a hello that had warmth in it. “There he is,” she sang softly, like she was greeting a kid she liked, not a chore she’d been assigned. “Okay—tell me the truth. You hungry? Thirsty? Mad? Secretly thrilled?” Paul huffed a laugh despite himself. “I’m fine.” “I heard fine.” Harley pointed at him like she was calling a bluff. “That means you’re either actually fine or you’re about to dramatically collapse like a Victorian poet.” Paul hesitated—only long enough for the disappointment to poke at him—then nodded. “Can we just—” he started. “Play?” Harley finished, grinning. Then she held her hand out again like an invitation, not a command. “Come on. Five minutes. Then basketball. Deal.” Paul hesitated—only long enough for disappointment to poke at him. “Deal.” And because the diaper bag wasn’t slung over Harley’s shoulder, because nothing in this moment screamed care plan, it was easier to let his feet move. Harley’s smile softened—like she’d just seen a version of him choose something hard and wasn’t going to mock him for it. They walked through the gate and into the wooden maze. The sand was pale and fine, already full of footprints: tiny shoe stamps, drag marks where knees had skidded, the shallow trenches of someone running in circles because their joy had nowhere else to go. The structure rose in tiers—ramps and platforms and towers—weathered boards worn smooth where a thousand hands had grabbed for balance. Posts were nicked with little half-healed scars from keys, rings, toy cars. Someone had painted tiny hearts on a beam near a ramp. A faded sticker clung to a corner post like it refused to give up on being part of the place. Palm trees framed the edge of the playground, fronds flicking in the breeze like they were applauding the chaos. You could hear the ocean in the distance if you stood still long enough—just a hush of surf behind the squeals and the thud of feet on planks. A little kid dashed past Paul wearing a cape, absolutely convinced he was saving the world. Harley’s gaze tracked the chaos with ease—like she belonged in it. Like she understood the rules. Energy, impulse, comfort, attention. Not a strategy so much as a language. She didn’t steer Paul to the swings first. She played. They hit the seesaw and Harley flopped onto one side dramatically, throwing her head back like she’d been mortally wounded. “Oh nooo,” she groaned. “I’ve been defeated. Paul the Mighty has crushed me.” Paul blinked. “You’re… heavier than me.” “Lies,” Harley said immediately, bouncing her side, pushing him up. “It’s because you’re powerful. Like a superhero. Like… Batman’s—” “Don’t,” Paul warned, but there was a slight glint of play under his warning. Harley’s eyes lit. “Batman’s tallest sidekick.” Paul groaned out of sheer cringe, but he saw what she was doing—taking the edge off the word play by making it stupid on purpose. Making it survivable. The seesaw rose and fell, slow at first, then faster. Harley started counting in a ridiculous announcer voice—“And in the left corner, weighing in at absolutely none of your business—Harley the Unbeatable!”—and Paul played along in spite of himself, pushing harder, trying to make her squeal. She did. Not a performative squeal. A real laugh that broke out of her like she couldn’t help it. That mattered. It softened something for Paul—something that had been clenched since the school pickup, since the car, since Amber’s name had become a bruise in his mouth. The park was still a test he hadn’t agreed to take… but Harley wasn’t grading him. She wasn’t correcting him. She was just there, laughing like the world wasn’t fragile. And for a moment, he let himself borrow that. Harley insisted on the swings next. Paul sat, gripping the chains, feet dragging slightly in the sand. Harley sat beside him, pushing off once, twice. For a brief moment—just long enough to tease him—it felt normal. Two people swinging. No hierarchy. Harley kicked her legs out, hair bouncing, and started talking like she couldn’t help it—like chatter was her love language. “Okay—pizza toppings,” she declared. “This is the real compatibility test, by the way. Mine is spicy sausage, crumble-dip bacon bits—yes that’s a thing—artichoke hearts, and mushrooms.” Paul’s face twisted. “That’s… aggressive.” “It’s sophisticated,” Harley corrected. “It’s the taste of a woman with hobbies.” Paul snorted. “Mine is shredded BBQ chicken, steak, green peppers, onions—garlic butter crust.” Harley gasped, delighted. “Oh my God. That’s… actually kind of elite.” Paul didn’t know why that tiny approval hit so hard, but it did. Like a normal teen conversation landing inside a body that had been stuck in medical and management for too long. Harley swung higher, then asked, “Movies. Two favorites that AREN’T about a superhero. Go.” “I—” Paul started, caught off guard, then the answers came out like they’d been waiting. “The Shawshank Redemption. The Firm. The Breakfast Club.” Harley’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, okay—taste. Taste. My top two are T2—because obviously—and The Devil Wears Prada.” Paul gave her a look. “Of course.” “And,” she added, voice turning shamelessly soft, “The Princess Diaries. Don’t judge me.” Paul’s mouth twitched. “I’m judging you a little.” Harley laughed and leaned forward as her swing arced, like she was sharing something secret. “Now…what’s one of your favorite and underrated Disney movie. I’ll go first. The Aristocrats .” Paul hesitated, like the answer made him feel too visible. Then he exhaled through his nose and admitted it anyway. “The Rescuers Down Under.” Harley’s whole face brightened. “Stop. That is SUCH a good one.” Paul blinked, surprised by how sincerely she meant it. Harley swung slower now, eyes shining like she’d just found a piece of him that wasn’t heavy. “Okay,” she said, warm and conspiratorial, “that would be a perfect after din-din movie later tonight, honey bunny.” Paul groaned immediately. “Please don’t call it din—” But the sentence died as Harley hopped off her swing. And stepped behind him. “I’ll give you a push,” she chirped. Paul’s spine stiffened. “I can—” Too late. The swing moved. Not hard. Not violent. Just enough to steal the decision from him. Harley’s voice went a little lighter—carefree in a way that made Paul’s stomach tighten. “Up you go, sweet boy,” she sang, gentle. “There we go.” The words landed heavier than the push. Paul’s jaw tightened. His body did the thing it did when choice was removed—not panic, not yet. Just withdrawal. He let the motion carry him, eyes fixed on the ground passing beneath him, pretending not to notice the woman smiling nearby, the dad watching from a bench, the casual glance of another parent. To them, it was nothing. A babysitter and the baby/kid she was paid to play with. A normal scene. That was the problem. Harley leaned in closer, voice warm like praise. “Nice and calm, there’s my wittle swinger” she murmured. Paul swallowed. He wasn’t scared of the swing. He wasn’t even embarrassed—yet. But something inside him folded inward, quiet and automatic. His feet dangled. His body stopped making decisions. And he hated how familiar that felt—how his nervous system could do that without asking his permission. Harley pushed again. “Good job, look at you swinin all byes himself” she said softly. Another woman walking past smiled. Another parent glanced over, amused. Paul stared at the ground rushing beneath him and let the moment pass over him like weather. When Harley finally stopped, he hopped off faster than necessary, brushing sand from his palms. His face was warm—not shame exactly. Something closer to being misread. Harley didn’t grab his hand. Didn’t narrate him. Didn’t make it into a lesson. She just jogged backward a few steps and called out: “Race you to the castle!” Paul’s instinct was to say no. Then he said yes with his feet. They sprinted across the sand toward the wooden structure, Harley’s ponytail bouncing, her laugh trailing behind her. She was fast—but not too fast. She let Paul catch up. She let him win the first turn without announcing she’d done it. Like she understood pride needed space. Inside the structure, the sound changed—more echo, more thump, the smell of warm wood stronger. Kids darted past them on ramps. A toddler clung to a post and stared like Paul was a giant. Somewhere above, a kid shouted, “I’m the king!” and someone else immediately yelled, “No you’re not!” Harley hopped onto a low platform and pointed down a corridor of planks. “Okay,” she declared, “hide-and-seek rules. You hide. I seek.” Paul stared at her like she was insane. Harley’s grin sharpened. “But I’m warning you— I’m like the Terminator of destroying hiders of ANY and all ages.” Paul scoffed—because the image of her saying that in her ridiculous outfit was absurd, but as weird as it was for a 19 year old to wear a Bluey hoodie, she was playing with a soon to be 18 year old wearing adult diapers, wait scratch that wearing wet adult diapers—and yet something deep and aching in him wanted the thrill of the chase. Wanted movement that wasn’t rehearsal. Wanted a moment where his body could just be a body. So he took off. He ducked behind a half-wall, slipped along a ramp, climbed toward one of the towers. His lungs burned in a clean way. His legs remembered this kind of movement—simple, physical, non-performative. He wasn’t thinking about how he looked. He wasn’t thinking about who might be watching. He was just… moving. For a few seconds, he felt almost like his old self. The one who would’ve done this without measuring his pulse or scanning for eyes. The one who didn’t need to “manage” his own existence. Harley’s voice rang out through the structure, playful and dramatic. “Paulllll,” she called, “I’m coming to find you, you sneaky little goblin.” Paul grinned, then froze. Little. The word shouldn’t have mattered. It was said like a joke. It was said like a nickname. It was said with affection. Still, something in him flickered—an old nerve touched. He shifted, and his gaze landed on a “busy box” embedded into one of the wooden walls: spinning gears, sliding beads, a little latch with a tiny door. A toy meant for small hands, meant to keep kids occupied while bigger kids climbed. Paul stared at it like it was ridiculous. Then his fingers reached anyway. The gears clicked under his touch. The beads slid back and forth with a satisfying clack. The latch opened and shut. It wasn’t shameful. It was… soothing. And because the diaper bag wasn’t here, because the ball wasn’t here, because nobody had put him into a routine or named him as anything—Paul’s “little side” rose up just enough to breathe. Not to take over. Not to humiliate him. Just to take that tiny, quiet sip of relief. Behind him, Harley made a delighted sound, and when Paul turned, he saw her hanging from a pull-up bar like a bat—knees hooked, arms dangling, hair swinging. “Behold,” she said in a mock-serious whisper, upside down, “Harley the Cave Creature. Capturing another win as the BEST seeker in the da worrllldddd!!!!” Paul stared, then laughed—an actual laugh that shook his shoulders. Harley smiled wider, still upside down. “There it is,” she murmured—soft enough that it almost sounded like she was saying it to herself. Then, brighter again, “What’s that thing?” “A busy box,” Paul said before he could stop himself. Harley swung slightly, still hanging. “Busy box.” She tasted the words like she liked them. “And is it… busy-ing you?” Paul rolled his eyes, but his hands stayed on the gears. “It’s just… whatever.” Harley’s gaze slid to his hands—not assessing, not clinical. Just noticing. And in her face, Paul saw something that wasn’t control for the sake of control. It was… satisfaction. Not because she’d “won,” but because she’d found a way to get him here. In this moment. In this calm. She dropped from the bar lightly and landed in a crouch beside him, peering at the busy box with exaggerated fascination. Harley tapped one of the gears. “If I turn this, do we unlock the basketball court?” Paul’s head snapped up. “Basketball?” Harley stood, brushed imaginary dust off her shorts, and held her hand out again—this time with a grin that was less sing-song and more real. “Yeah,” she said. “Basketball time. You’ve been patient. You’ve been fun. You’ve been… mildly tolerable.” Paul exhaled—one long breath that felt like his body unclenching. Because he could feel it now: not just his “little” side having fun. His whole self. His big self too. The part that needed competition and sweat and the clean smack of a ball on pavement. The part that needed proof he could still be him. He started moving before he even answered. And the word that came out of him wasn’t cautious. It was bright. “Okay,” Paul said, already stepping into the sand, already looking for the way out. “Okay. Let’s go.” Harley’s smile followed him—warm, proud, and just a little too intent, like she was saving the sound of his happiness for later. And Paul—still learning how to live in a slower, softer pace his body could survive—didn’t notice that part yet. By the time they returned to the car, Paul’s body carried the afterglow of movement—looser shoulders, steadier breath, tiredness that felt earned instead of defeated. Harley leaned into the back seat and said quietly, “Okay. I’ve got everything you need to change yourself. Bathroom. Private. No drama.” Paul lifted his head. His stomach fluttered, nervous and relieved at once. “You do?” Harley nodded. “ You’ve been doing really good. Lets keep this winning streak going” From his diaper bag she pulled out the Step Ins, wipes, powder, plastic pants, shorts, a trash bag—and slid Paul’s mostly empty backpack into view. “We’re using this,” she said. “No one needs to see anything.” She packed it quickly, neat and deliberate, then handed it to him like she was handing him agency. “Go change,” she said. “Then come back and I’ll trade you.” Paul frowned. “Trade me what?” Harley tapped the basketball with her hand. “This.” Paul’s mouth twitched. “Deal,” he said. He headed toward the bathroom—shoulders tense, then slowly easing as he realized: he was being trusted. Harley watched him walk and couldn’t help smiling at the bow-legged waddle he tried to pretend wasn’t happening. It hit her, unexpectedly, like tenderness and victory at the same time. Not cute. Not little. Just… him trying. When he returned, he looked proud—like he’d climbed out of a hard thing without witnesses. Harley’s grin broke. “Well look at you,” she said softly. “Handled.” Paul shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but his eyes betrayed the relief. “Basketball.” Harley placed it in his hands like a ceremonial prize. Then she handed him a sports bottle filled to the brim with bright green-orange juice. “And hydration,” she said. “Fresh apple, kale, carrot from home.” Paul took a sip and made a face like he’d been insulted by nature. Harley laughed. “Drama king.” “I hate it,” Paul said. “Nah your mom and Dad say you absolutely love it. So you’re drinking it anyway,” Harley replied, smug. Paul rolled his eyes, but he didn’t give it back. He tucked it under his arm like it belonged there. And then, like he’d been holding himself together for the right reward, he stepped away from the car and started bouncing the ball—testing the rhythm, hearing it echo on pavement. Thump. Thump. Thump. A clean sound. A steady sound. A sound that didn’t care about his tracker or his texts or his complicated heart. Harley turned toward a trash bin at the edge of the lot and disposed of the rolled up wet diaper quickly and discreetly, replacing Paul’s backpack with the diaper bag on her shoulder. The diaper bag landed beside her on the park bench like it belonged to someone else’s life. She sat down and watched him on the court. Paul moved like someone returning to his true language. His shoulders loosened. His feet found pattern. He dribbled hard, then cut, then stopped on a dime like he wanted to remind himself he still had brakes. Harley sipped her own water and let her eyes track him with steady focus—protective in a way that didn’t feel maternal so much as… possessive-adjacent. Like a lioness watching the edge of the field. Not hunting. Guarding. He’d been tense earlier, brittle in that silent way teenagers got when they didn’t want to admit they were hurting. On the court, he wasn’t brittle. He was real. Harley’s thoughts slid, uninvited, into something darker and more intimate than she should’ve allowed. He’s happier when the world gets smaller, she thought. Not smaller like humiliating. Smaller like manageable. Smaller like safe. And if she could be the person who made it safe— Harley blinked and forced herself to breathe. She watched him make a clean shot—swish—then rebound his own ball, grin flickering across his face like sunlight breaking through cloud. Paul’s nervous system felt wrung out in the best way—tired, but stable. He followed Harley through the entranceway of the house with the basketball tucked under one arm like proof the day hadn’t been a total loss. He stepped inside and paused, then cleared his throat. Harley’s face brightened instantly—not in a babying way, not a performance. More like genuine approval. “Good call,” she said warmly. “Go ahead. Take off the Step In, do what you need to do, and meet me back out in the living room.” Paul nodded and headed off, relief stirring again—because independence still mattered to him. He still needed it like oxygen. While he was gone, Harley moved with practiced quiet. She unfolded a changing mat on the couch area, laid out a fresh diaper, wipes, powder—everything in a neat line, like preparation rather than control. Then she paused and looked at the couch cushions. Right in the middle—set like a stage picture—were Paul’s Batman plushie and the giraffe. Batman on one side. Long Knight on the other. Two “witnesses.” Two “special guests.” Harley’s mouth quirked, pleased. Paul returned and froze. A blush rose fast, hot. Harley didn’t let it turn into shame. “Hey,” she said softly, gesturing to the plushies like she was letting him in on a joke. “We have company tonight.” Paul’s eyes flicked from Batman to the giraffe, then back to Harley. Harley kept her voice steady, deliberately adult—complying with Lilly’s request to keep him “big.” No baby talk. No sing-song. But still soothing, still narrated—because narration steadied Paul’s anxiety like rails steadied a train. “Come sit,” Harley said. “We’ll do this quick and calm. Then movie night.” Paul exhaled and obeyed, letting himself be guided onto the mat with the smallest surrender—less defeat, more trust. He hated that he needed help sometimes. He hated that his body demanded routines. But he also hated melting down more. Harley changed him efficiently—no lingering, no drama—then reached into the diaper bag and pulled out the outfit she’d bought him before. It was becoming one of her favorites but she had other’s that would compete for that number one spot soon enough as the soft gray caught the afternoon sun, simple in a way that felt intentional rather than plain. The shirt roomy. The shorts forgiving. And stitched into the front, gentle and friendly, was a rounded animal face—soft ears, a warm yellow nose—inviting without being loud. Harley helped him into it, then guided him into the kitchen like she was escorting him to a normal night instead of a carefully managed one. She set his Safari sippy cup in front of him and secured his bib—calling it a bibby at first out of habit—then caught herself and smoothed her tone. “Nice and neat,” she said, purposeful. “Your… mom doesn’t want any mess on your clothes.” Paul’s cheeks warmed at the word mom. He didn’t correct her. He didn’t have the energy to untangle that emotional knot tonight. The kitchen was already full of Lilly’s work: the smell of pasta bake—ground beef, vegetables, garlic marinara, mozzarella bubbling into browned edges. Garlic bread on a plate. A full bowl of Caesar salad glowing green under the light like it had been placed there to prove life could still be normal. Paul sat down and felt a wave of gratitude so sharp it almost hurt. He got to feed himself. No argument. No coaxing. Just… him, a fork, a plate, and the chance to be big. Harley hovered nearby like a responsible adult, not a puppeteer. She made one teasing comment—about the “Yum-Yum express” being available if he didn’t finish—but it was light, clearly a joke, and it never came to pass. Paul ate. His bib caught a few stray speckles—tomato sauce, lettuce, a drip of juice—but his outfit stayed immaculate. And when dinner was done, something unexpected happened: Harley let him help. Clear the table. Rinse plates. Load the dishwasher. Small chores he used to avoid like the plague—now relished like proof. Tonight, he wanted every chance to stay big. He wanted to feel useful. He wanted to feel like a teenager who could still participate in his own life. The day had scrubbed him raw in places. The park had sanded down the edges. Basketball had wrung tension out of his shoulders the way a towel wrung water. And now, sitting on the couch, he felt the fatigue that only came when your body finally believed it was safe enough to be tired. Harley lowered herself beside him with a blanket—one of the softer ones from the basket by the TV stand, the kind that always smelled faintly like laundry detergent and old movie nights. She shook it out once and draped it across both of them like it was a normal thing to share warmth. “Alright,” she said, pretending to be casual even as she scooted a little closer. “Rescuers Down Under. You picked. If this movie is secretly terrible, I’m blaming you forever.” Paul exhaled through his nose. “It’s not terrible.” Harley angled her head. “You sound emotionally invested.” “I am,” Paul said, then immediately regretted the sincerity, as if sincerity was a loose thread that could unravel him. Harley didn’t tease him for it. She just smiled, reached for the remote, and pressed play. The TV filled the room with bright colors and the old comfort of animation—voices that didn’t demand anything from him, storylines that didn’t require him to perform. The opening music washed over the carpet, over the walls, and Paul felt the tiniest, most surprising thing: relief. Harley shifted again, settling, then—without making a big deal about it—she held her hand out with the pacifier balanced on her palm like an offering rather than a demand. Paul stared at it. His big side tensed automatically. The paci wasn’t just a tool. It was a symbol. It was proof. It was the thing that made him feel safest and most humiliated at the same time. He didn’t want to need it. He also didn’t want to spend the rest of the night grinding his teeth while pretending he was fine. Harley kept her tone adult—soft, not sing-song. “No pressure,” she said quietly. “But you’ve been running on fumes. And your body likes what it likes.” Paul swallowed. His fingers twitched. Then he took it. He didn’t pop it in right away—like he was trying to preserve dignity for a few more seconds. He held it, thumb brushing over the silicone, feeling how stupidly simple it was. Then, when the movie hit a calmer moment and the room felt quiet enough, he slipped it into his mouth. The effect was immediate and almost unfair. His jaw unclenched. His shoulders softened. His breath dropped lower in his chest like someone released a belt. Harley didn’t comment. She just resumed watching the movie like nothing changed—like this wasn’t a huge, private surrender. Paul hugged both plushies automatically—Batman under one arm, the giraffe tucked in close on the other side like a ridiculous security detail. The blanket was warm over his legs. The paci bobbed slightly with each slow suck. The movie’s glow played across his face, and he felt his eyes growing heavy. Not little-space heavy. Just… human heavy. Harley’s fingers lifted and began stroking his hair with slow, absentminded care—like she was doing it for him and for herself, like the motion soothed both of them. Her touch was intimate in the way caregiving could be intimate: gentle, repetitive, anchoring. And Paul’s heart did something confusing for a second time like it did with Savannha’s. This too felt uncategorized and in the empty space where Amber used to sit in his chest, something flickered—small and dangerous and honest: If someone stays long enough, the heart starts writing new stories. Paul hated that thought. He also felt comforted by it. By both of them. The movie continued. Harley occasionally whispered commentary like she couldn’t help herself. “Okay wait,” she murmured, leaning in, “why is this bird kind of iconic?” Paul mumbled around the pacifier, voice muffled. “Because he is.” Harley smirked. “You’re a nerd.” Paul didn’t argue. He just let his eyelids lower. Around seven, the front door opened softly—keys, a quick shuffle, the hush of someone trying not to bring the outside world in with them. Lilly stepped into the entryway and paused. Not because she was suspicious. Because the scene hit her unexpectedly—like walking into a photograph you didn’t know you needed. Harley and Paul on the couch. Blanket over both of them. Paul’s head tilted slightly toward Harley’s chest, not fully resting, but close enough to be comforted. His cheeks were warm from the TV glow. The pacifier sat between his lips. His eyes were half shut. Batman and the giraffe were clutched to him like proof of a softer day. And Harley—Harley was still, almost reverent, stroking his hair as if she understood the fragility of the moment. Lilly felt her chest tighten. A pause, in the most positive way. Because Paul looked…settled. Harley glanced up, spotting Lilly, and her expression shifted into polite professionalism immediately, like she was snapping a mask into place. “Hey,” Harley whispered. “He did really well today.” Paul’s eyes blinked open slightly. He turned his head a fraction and saw Lilly. His mouth made a small sound around the pacifier—an instinctive enthusiastic “welcome back” even before anything happened, like his body didn’t want the moment to end. Lilly walked closer, slow. “Hey, baby,” she said softly—then caught herself mid-word and corrected quickly, too late to pretend she hadn’t said it. “Hey, Paul.” Paul didn’t seem to care about the correction. He just blinked, heavy-lidded, and sucked a little slower. Harley reached for the remote and paused the movie, the screen freezing mid-frame. “It can wait until next time, honey,” Harley said gently—then winced slightly at herself because the pet name slipped out too easily. Paul didn’t fight it. He was too tired. Harley gave him a half hug—light, brief, like a goodbye that didn’t claim too much. Paul stayed on the couch, voice muffled, sincere. “Thanks,” he said around the paci. “For… today.” Harley’s smile softened. “You’re welcome,” she whispered. “You were really fun.” Paul’s eyes fluttered at that, like the compliment mattered more than he wanted it to. Harley stood, gathered her things, and walked toward the door. She turned back once more and looked at Lilly. “He stayed big all the way until the couch,” Harley reported, like she knew it mattered. “He earned the wind-down.” Lilly nodded, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Thank you,” she said again—this time with more weight. Harley’s grin flashed bright and swee.Then she stepped out. The door shut behind her with a soft click. And as she walked away, two thoughts threaded through her—one that made the reader feel good, and one that left a shadow behind it. He’s learning, she thought, warm and honest. He’s really learning. Then, quieter—like a secret she enjoyed too much: And he learns best when I’m the one holding the map. Lilly turned off the TV Paul whined immediately—sharp, instinctive, the sound of someone losing a warm current. “Hey,” Lilly said calmly, holding her tone steady. No scolding. No panic. “I know.” Paul’s jaw worked around the pacifier, a frustrated little sound vibrating in his throat. Lilly extended her hand. Paul stared at it for a second, then took it. His grip was warm and slightly sticky from juice earlier, and Lilly felt the simple reality of him: he was tired, he was regulated, and he was still—always—one wrong move away from tipping. “Come on,” she said softly. “Bed.” They went upstairs together. In Paul’s room, Lilly did a quick, dignified check—efficient, practiced—and decided no change was needed. His diaper could hold until morning. Lilly sat on the edge of the bed and patted the blanket. “Come here.” Paul climbed up, still sucking. Lilly brushed his hair back from his forehead. Her voice softened. “How was your day with Harley?” Paul’s eyes brightened despite sleep. Through the pacifier, he talked in excited, muffled bursts—words pressed around silicone. “Park,” he said. “An’… basketball. An’… she—she let me change. Like… myself.” Lilly’s heart pinched. “Yeah?” she said quietly. Paul nodded hard. “She… kept it adult,” he added, as if he knew that mattered. “Most of day.” Lilly felt guilt bloom—complex and sharp. Because she didn’t trust Harley fully. Because Harley’s outfit still read as a red flag in Lilly’s brain: young and sexy and disarming, like bait dressed as harmlessness. Because Lilly had seen the way Harley’s eyes sometimes held on Paul a second too long, not lust—something stranger. Something possessive. And yet. Harley had followed instructions. She had delivered calm. She had—at least today—balanced him. Lilly swallowed. “That’s good,” she said, voice careful. “I’m glad you had fun.” Paul’s eyes flicked down, then up again, vulnerable. “I… didn’t want to at first,” he admitted. Lilly’s thumb stroked his temple. “I know.” Paul’s face tightened slightly, then softened again. “But… it didn’t… end,” he mumbled. “Like… the world didn’t end.” The words were small. Massive. Lilly felt her throat tighten. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I’m proud of you,” she whispered. Paul’s eyelids fluttered. Lilly sat back. “Do you want your bottle?” she asked gently. “Or the rocking chair or…” Paul’s eyes snapped open with sudden conviction, like he’d been waiting to claim something. “Sleep sack,” he said, clear—even around the pacifier. Lilly’s smile spread, warm and real. “Sleep sack it is.” She crossed to the closet and retrieved it—the familiar softness that had become ritual. Paul, already moving on autopilot, stripped off his outfit without ceremony, leaving only his diaper. No shame, no fight. The pacifier kept him anchored. His tracker—quietly, beautifully—was nothing but green. Lilly helped him into the sleep sack with practiced hands. Then she turned off the overhead light, leaving only the dim glow from her phone screen as she sat beside him in bed. She pulled him close—tight, protective. Paul melted into her like his body knew how to be held even when his pride didn’t. Lilly stroked his hair and whispered a few lullabies—not theatrical, not perfect. Just soft sounds, imperfect comfort. Then she spoke, quietly, like she was laying out the next day as a promise instead of a threat. “Tomorrow we’ll visit Mindy in the morning for a checkup,” Lilly whispered. “And then we’ll get lunch with Martina.” Paul made a sleepy “mmhm” sound around the pacifier. Lilly continued, the words shaping the day ahead like a gentle plan. “And then… Mommy—” she caught herself, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her chest tightened. She waited for Paul to flinch. He didn’t. From behind the pacifier came a sleepy little sound—“hmm… umm”—like it was natural. Like his body didn’t mind the comfort of the label. Lilly swallowed around the emotion that rose unexpectedly. “…Mommy has to film another day at the bakery,” she finished softly. “So Martina will take you back to her home for dinner… and I’ll pick you up from there.” Paul was out like a light before Lilly finished the last sentence. He might not have heard the plan at all—his body already sinking into rest, the pacifier doing its quiet, faithful work. She watched him for a long moment, phone glow catching the soft curve of his face, the green calm of his tracker. Then she whispered, more to herself than to him.“We’re going to be okay.” Tomorrow would be a day nobody would forget. Especially Paul. And Amber.

Hii I’m 15m TBDL! I’m from Indiana and I live my brain as mushy as my pamps, I’m open to anything and just tryna meet new people!

I don't see any correlation between diaper wearing and homosexuality. What i more see is a lot of straight males acting creepy towards females resulting in them being more quiet because they don't want to be objectified and harassed by a bunch of horny males.

Rei blushed heavily before saying “I think Ms Claire would have to check me first.”

“Can’t I? Is it not part of y-you job description to listen to your superiors? And I most certainly am your superior!” Louise reasoned, her face burning hotter by the second. “This is an order! You must do it! And tell no one! This is a discreet mission, you got it?” She ordered, bringing back in some of that old Louise that Marie used to respect not even ten minutes ago.

Bump

Marie sighed and shook her head. "That's crazy, Louise, you can't just make me do something like that." She mumbled quietly. Her own face was growing a bit red now, but her usual obedience to authority seemed to be kicking back in as the words "boss" and "ordering" were thrown in the mix.

Sally politely asked ‘Want to go ahead of me? My diapeys almost dry.’

@astrodiaper I’m the win

I wind.

I've always had a way with words. Not a good way with words

Unfortunately for him, Liza was planning on hitting two birds with one stone as she pushed him along the street, making babytalk commentary as they went. It was a fairly busy morning, with many other Amazons out and about, many of them stopping to coo over the cutie in the stroller.