PeculiarChangeling

Part Three I froze. I didn’t like to be cliche, but it was hard to think of another metaphor besides ‘deer in the headlights’. Hannah looked at me, I looked at Hannah, and while under her revealing gaze I could not bring myself to move. The idea of speaking, of saying, ‘I can explain’, occurred to me, but I quickly dismissed the idea. I couldn’t explain, even if I had the capacity to speak. “Is that my dress?” she asked. It wasn’t the detail I would have started with, but at least it had a simple answer. I nodded weakly. She stared a little longer, drinking me in, from my hair to my dress to my puffy diaper. I held my breath. (Fuck, fuck, fuck–) Blinking, I looked away, baffled. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” (I hoped–) “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hannah, assuming I’d directed the question at her, stepped forward. “I didn’t…oh. Oh.” Realization struck her. She began to laugh. “Oh my god,” she wheezed, leaning against the wall to catch herself from falling. I was falling, too, sinking into myself as my world crashed around me. (No, no, no,) the voice added, horror clear in the repetition. (Please, no–) “Are you wearing a diaper?” Hannah asked, wiping away tears. “Just a ‘widdle baby giwl’? And…you actually put on makeup?” “I…” She shook her head, the surface tension of her laughter breaking as she recognized something on my face. “I bet Ruth put you up to this, she can sound just like me,” she promised. “Let me guess, you got a call earlier today from ‘me’, saying I wanted something special tonight?” Blinking repeatedly to keep away the tears that threatened to streak my fresh makeup, I tried to follow what she’d said. Ruth, her sister. She thought this was all a prank. (This was a bad idea. I fucked it up. Don’t tell her the truth. Pretend it’s a prank, just go along with it, this isn’t going to go well!) “Oh.” I tried to keep my tone level. “I…I guess I fell for it.” “You’re a cutie pie,” she assured me, covering her hand with her mouth as another burst of giggles bubbled up inside her. “And I appreciate that you’re willing to try new things for me! What did Ruth say, I wanted you to dress up like a little baby doll and we could play ‘house’? If I’d have known, I would have found a briefcase and a suit somewhere so I could play into the bit.” “Um–” I stammered, still frozen in place. “Yeah.” (If that’s not an eggy statement, I don’t know what is.) Blinking, I looked down. “What?” Approaching another step, a grin still on her face, Hannah said, “I can see it now–I’d be the big strong daddy coming home from a day at the Business Factory, and then I’d find my naughty baby got into mommy’s clothes and started playing dress up, and I’d have to give you a spanking, then…well I guess we’d bang?” I tried to match her energy and chuckled nervously, rubbing at the back of my neck. (Okay, we can recover this. It’s fine. Nothing horrible has happened yet, you can still hear me, we’re just still at square one. Play it cool, and…who am I kidding, you can’t play it cool. Just don’t say anything.) Hannah hesitated. Her smirk faltered, then returned, and she reached down to dig into her purse. “Here, hold on…” Fumbling for a moment, she took out an eyeliner pencil turned away, marking something on her face. When she turned back to me, she had an obviously fake pencil mustache over her lip. Putting on a comically deep voice, she said, “Oh baby, I’m home!” I looked down at my toes. (Okay, say something, you can’t just go mute.) “Uh…” I started. “Come on,” she said, stepping closer and gently punching me in the arm. “It’s funny! I’m not laughing at you.” “Right…” “Though, you are cute when you blush,” she said, eyes tracing down to around my waist. “And that does make your booty super cute. I guess I know what the ‘baby’ in ‘Baby Got Back’ refers to.” My face burned more, shame making me feel like I would turn to lead and fall through the floor. “Sweetie, that was a joke too.” She tilted her head and looked at me. “Come on, let’s get you dressed in something a little more manly and we can go get dinner like we’d planned.” She took my arm and tugged me towards the bedroom. I almost fell, stumbling, caught off guard by the motion. Turning to face me once again, Hannah frowned. “Sweetie?” “I…” (No, I know what you’re going to say, just shut up, abort, don’t change things any more–) It was too late. Tears were welling in my eyes again and I couldn’t pretend. Words failed me, but Hannah got it. “...Ruth never called you, did she?” she asked. I shook my head. “So all this…” she gestured at me, at my dress, at my diaper. “What is this?” (You’re going to ruin everything, shut up, just–) Tears welled in my eyes and I shut out her voice in my head. “This is me.” Hannah’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?” “I think…” I began, struggling to find the words. (It’s not working!) I fell silent, not because the voice insisted I had to, but because I couldn’t find the words. Hannah put her hands on my shoulders. She had to stand up on the balls of her feet to reach me, but she put her lips on mine, kissing away my fears. When we parted, she whispered, “Whatever you are, you can be that person with me.” I felt numb, but the pins and needles disassociation had been replaced with euphoria, a druggy high. She hadn’t walked away, she hadn’t rejected me. The voice in my head seemed as shocked as I felt. (What?) “I love you,” I blurted, unable to think of anything else. “I love you so much.” “I love you too,” Hannah said. (God, he’s perfect,) the voice thought. (You’d better not lose him again.) I tried to mask my confusion, but there were enough conflicting emotions already coursing through me that I needn’t have bothered. “I don’t know if I can explain.” “You feel like a woman?” Hannah suggested, gently looking me up and down. “Trapped in a man’s body?” (...ugh. Almost perfect, but god that’s dated.) “Shut…” I started, before shaking my head. “Sorry, there’s an annoying voice in my head, I want it to shut up. I don’t know how I feel, I just…I’m still figuring this out.” Stepping back and glancing down, Hannah added, “I might need you to explain the diaper.” “Honestly, I wish I could.” a nervous chuckle escaped me. “I’m not sure I really understand it either.” Reaching down, she gave my butt a gentle pat, which produced a crinkling and made me squirm. “Well…do you need that stern daddy to come home and play house?” My eyes widened. “I…” “I won’t give you a spanking, I promise.” Her wry smile lacked the mocking mirth from before, the humor was purely flirtatious. “You seem like you were waiting for me to take the lead, is all. And…I think I don’t hate the idea, honestly. You’re a cute girl.” (Okay, this is…ugh. What is wrong? He’s getting it, but he’s not getting it. How are you going to mess this up now?) I paused. I wanted to respond to the voice, but I didn’t want to look utterly insane in front of Hannah. “Can you give me a moment? I need to…uh…use the bathroom.” She raised an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth curled up. “Aren’t you wearing it?” “I…” A flush rose up my cheeks, tingling with all sorts of emotions I couldn’t deny were pleasant. “Teasing. Of course. But when you’re done, I want to talk about all this.” She gave me a light smooch on the cheek and pulled away, giving me space to retreat to the privacy of my bathroom. Turning, I hurried away, turned on the circulation fan, and whispered, “What now?” (Nothing’s changed.) “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “Everything is different. Isn’t this what you wanted?” (No! You’re going to relapse, you’re going to shove yourself back in the closet–nothing is different here, so somehow, I’m still going to end up like this, and it’s your fault.) I turned and looked in the mirror again, facing myself. I felt crazy saying it aloud, but then again, ‘feeling crazy’ had defined my day. “You’re me, aren’t you?” I couldn’t lie to myself. (Yes.) “So you’re…what, the Ghost of Christmas Future?” I asked. “Trying to set me on a different life path?” Her voice…my voice, really, felt fainter. (Yes, and…you’re making this harder.) “How? Why didn’t you just tell me this right away?” (Because the more you change, the harder it is for me to stick around. It’s too difficult to explain, but if my history is too different from your future, I won’t be able to talk to you any more. I can’t control you any more, you’ve gotten too far away, I’m reduced to just feeling you.) That explained a lot, and yet cleared nothing up. “Then…that’s a good thing, right?” (No! Because I’m in your future, and nothing has changed. I still never started HRT, I still wasted decades, I still…lost Sam. I figured this all out too late, and I was too scared to act on it.) “Who’s–” (You’re calling him Hannah, still, but he’ll figure it out eventually.) I looked at myself. “I don’t know what to do with this information.” (You’re going to fuck it up. You’re going to relapse. If you were going to change things, I’d be able to see it, but my future is still just…nothing. It’s still too late to do anything.) I got a sinking feeling, sympathetic fear that I knew what the issue was. “Nothing has changed for you? Nothing at all?” (...no.) “Then I’m going to go get a tattoo tomorrow,” I said. “Of a…I don’t know…a Yin Yang on my ankle. I promise. That part of your timeline is changed, I’m going to do it.” (No. No.) “Is it there?” I asked. I knew the answer from my silence alone. “You aren’t changing your past,” I said. “You’re creating a new timeline. It’s Terminator 2, not Terminator.” (This was never going to work,) my future self said, despair creeping in. (I just…) “Hey,” I said. “It did work. You saved me.” (But I didn’t save me.) “You said a couple decades,” I said. “You’re in your forties now, right?” (Yes.) “Life expectancy is supposed to go up, so you’ve still got a ton of time left. Why can’t you use it?” (You sweet summer child,) I thought to myself. (I wish I could tell you what the future holds, but I’m already slipping.) “An hour ago,” I said, “I never even thought this was possible. You changed that. And if you can do it for me, you can do it for…well, me.” My future self didn’t respond, but I wrapped my arms around my body, squeezing in a tight hug, hoping that my future self could still feel it. I heard a sob in my mind, and squeezed the hug a little tighter. “You can do this,” I whispered. “You’re strong enough to do this, and you don’t need time travel.” (I can’t.) “You already did, to me. Just do it again.” I could read into my own silence, the familiar, paralyzing uncertainty I’d felt only minutes before. Pulling my arms as tight as they would go without discomfort, I said, “Thank you. I love you.” I hadn’t said that to myself before, but I meant it, and I knew I meant it. (I love you too.) I knew that I meant it then, just the same. (I can’t hold on much longer.) I smiled into the mirror, though tears were welling up in my eyes again. The woman who looked back at me was beautiful in her joy. “That’s okay. You did enough already.” (Take care of yourself. Don’t do the Atkins Diet thing, it won’t help. And don’t lend dad money when he asks in a couple years.) My voice had the tone of a concerned mother, giving advice before sending her child to school, giving whatever warnings she could before saying goodbye. Their voice was fading already, slipping with every word. “Okay,” I said, laughing. “Sure.” (Also, don’t be fashy about it, but when it comes out you should buy bitcoi–) The voice in my head went away, and I was left with myself, face streaked with happy tears. Hannah, or Sam, was waiting for me in my apartment’s living room. I didn’t know what my future was going to be, but I knew for certain that I was going to be me. The End ... Support is always appreciated. 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Part Two My fingers trembled as I hooked my thumbs inside the waistband of my pants, dropping them to the floor of my bedroom. I couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t convince my hands to disobey the voice that’d taken over, I could only strip one layer of clothing away at a time until I stood naked in my room. Discomfort flooded me as my boxers fell to the floor, and I heard something like sympathy from the voice as she shared in my disquieting nudity. (I’m sorry about this.) “Then stop,” I pleaded. (I’m not that sorry. It’s for your own good.) I stepped to my bed, where the package of pink women’s diapers sat waiting to be worn. Under the voice’s control, I ripped open the plastic packaging and took out a diaper, turning it over in my hands. The plastic backing crinkled softly under my fingertips, soft and smooth and charged with static. Unfolding the diaper out on the bed, I smoothed it with a strange sense of care, spreading it out into an hourglass as though I were laying out a blanket for a baby. I checked the tapes to ensure nothing had stuck to itself or folded over oddly, then I creased the padding down the middle to fluff it up. (You’re going to be a good baby,) the voice explained. (And you’re not going to argue. Understood?) “If anyone sees me like this, I…I don’t even know what I’ll do.” I stammered. Positioning myself, I laid down on top of the diaper, adjusting it so that it sat evenly beneath my waist. (You won’t do anything.) “You’re going to let me go, right?” I demanded, pushing up onto my elbows. The moment of resistance only lasted for a moment, and I flopped back down onto my back almost instantly so that I could focus on pulling the diaper up between my hips. Pulling it over my nakedness, I smoothed it out, then held things in place with one hand while I tugged on the tapes with the other. “You can’t just…control me forever. I won’t let you!” (Ugh, I should have expected brat behavior. No, I won’t be here forever, just…stop squirming.) The diaper sat around my hips, snug and secure, and I stared down at it, shame and uncertainty washing away any coherent thoughts. I looked ridiculous. A grown man wearing a pink women’s diaper, lying there on my bed like some stupid doll dressed up by my invisible puppeteer. “What do you want?” (I want what’s best for you.) “You’re ruining my life!” My body stiffened and I sat rigidly upright, turning to face myself in the mirror tha sat atop my dresser. I could see fury in my eyes, and though I didn’t speak, I saw my lips move in the reflection to match her voice. (I’m ruining your life? Bullshit. You’re ruining your life, that’s why I have to do this–so you don’t waste it.) Lips quivering, I tried to reply. “I don’t understand–” (No, you don’t,) she interrupted. (Look at yourself. Right now.) I couldn’t disobey. Staring at myself in the mirror, I saw a disquieting portrait of my body: Awkward, ugly, unkempt. I didn’t need the diaper to feel humiliated by my appearance, that only added emphatic shame to the rest of the look. I sniffled, tears welling up in my eyes. (Oh, goddammit. No, this…no. Stop. You’re going to like this, we just have to keep going.) She used my hand to wipe at my eyes, but that was all the comfort I was allowed. She stood, and without another word, walked to my dresser. At least I would get some clothes, something to cover up… I knelt. “Wait–” I reached for the bottom drawer, the one I’d reserved for my girlfriend, Hannah. The voice didn’t waste time. Pulling the drawer open, she selected a pastel yellow sundress. I stood and let the dress hang in front of me, inspecting myself in the dresser mirror. I was taller than Hannah, but lanky. The dress would go over my shoulders, but it wouldn’t fall much below my waist, barely functioning as more than a blouse, exposing the puffy pink diaper beneath for all to see. “Please,” I whimpered, but I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled the dress over my head, arms sliding through the short sleeves, and the soft fabric fell down over my body. Turning to face myself in the mirror again, I, b Oi xoivjha Fdwe084y23t1qh0 … An error has occurred. To continue: Press Enter to return to body. … Fuck Fuck I was crying again. The voice in my head spoke up. (You get it now, right?) “No,” I said, but it was a lie, and I couldn’t lie to myself. (You’ve known since you watched To Wong Foo. You’ve known since you first saw Xena. You’ve known since you were old enough to know the difference between boys and girls.) “I’m not…” (You are. This is you.) “No–” (Yes. Look at yourself. This is you. You are a woman, and you need to stop acting like you’re not, or you’re going to waste the next twenty-four years of your life waiting for something to change. It’s not going to change.) I was on my knees, my reflection blurred by tears. She wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t lie to myself, not when the truth was staring me in the face. (How do you feel?) None of this made sense. It was like a fever dream, or a messed-up drug trip. I couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t fight. My entire world had just collapsed like a house of cards, and now she was asking how I felt. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” (Oh, goddammit.) I wiped at my eyes and wrapped my arms around myself, squeezing in a close semblance of a hug. (Look, I…if I explain, you have to stop fighting me.) “Am I fighting?” I demanded, incredulous. (Yeah, but…look. You don’t know, you can’t possibly know, but you asked for this. Once I’m done, it will make more sense.) “When did I ask for this?” I demanded, sniffling. “And what even are you? A ghost? Or am I just losing my mind?” (Shh. Just sit here for a minute.) “Fuck you!” I wanted to rip away, to throw a tantrum, to rip the dress off my body and deny that this had ever happened. I couldn’t, I could only sit there, quietly holding myself, rocking gently back and forth. (The more I tell you, the harder this is. I just need you to trust me. I love you. I want what’s best for you.) The tears sprang up again, choking sobs that I couldn’t control any more than I could control my arms and legs. (I wish I didn’t have to rip the band-aid off like this, but there was no other way. The longer I’m here, the harder it is to stay, and we’re too stupid to get subtle hints. You needed this.) “I wish I didn’t know. I wish you hadn’t told me. I…I can’t do this.” (You can. Sa…Hannah will be there to support you. You’re a girl. You’re a Little, too. This is how you’re supposed to be.) “What the hell is a Little?” (Figure it out.) I wiped at my face. I wiped at my face. Not her. My arm moved under my own power. Sniffling, I said, “Thanks.” (I didn’t do that.) “Thank you for letting me.” (...right.) I looked down at myself, then up in the mirror again. Even with my hair around my shoulders, and the dress, and the…women’s underwear…I still didn’t really look like a girl. It didn’t look right. “I hate this.” (The makeup will help.) Waiting for a moment for the voice to move me, I frowned. “Are you going to…?” (I can’t make you act. You’re…too far along, now. You’ll have to do it yourself.) “So I could rip this all off and walk away?” I asked. “You wouldn’t be able to stop me?” (Please…please don’t. We both need this.) For a long moment I considered it, staring at my reflection. I could put this behind me, I could pretend that this was all a bad dream and never think about it again. But…I couldn’t lie to myself. “You’re not real,” I said. “Not like…really real. You’re just me, aren’t you?” (I’m you,) she replied. (But I’m real.) I scooped up the plastic bag from the pharmacy and poured its contents out on top of my dresser. I still didn’t know how to apply most of it; whatever self-discovery I’d undergone, being a woman didn’t endow me with instinctual makeup knowledge. I stared for a few moments, helpless, then asked, “Which…what do I do here?” A twitch in my fingers compelled my hand forward. “I thought you couldn’t move me any more?” (I can’t make you do anything. I’m not gone.) Hesitating, I relaxed and let the tension fall out of my arms. “Then, could you just show me?” The voice tone took on a hint of warmth, the first note of kindness I could recall from her. (Of course.) Reaching out with steady hands, she guided me through the makeup products, slowly building shadows and altering my features. It felt like watching a sculptor in timelapse, carving out the face one pencil mark or brush stroke at a time. With more deft control of my hands than I could have managed myself, she took out the hair ties and gave me a pair of loose pigtails, completing the look. It was…me. Every part of the image in the mirror. (There’s a lot more you can do, but you’ll have to learn some of it for yourself.) “Why can’t you help?” (The more I change things, the harder it is to stay. It’s like pulling out jenga blocks while standing on the tower, eventually it’ll collapse out from under you.) “You’re…not just a voice in my head, are you?” I asked. It felt stupid, and impossible, but if I was really just going crazy, there wouldn’t be anyone to hear me ask the absurd question. “You’re…my future.” I felt something in my mind slip, and her voice sounded a little fainter. (Yes. And no, I can’t tell you what it’s like. I’d lose you immediately.) “Why were you so cruel?” (I had to do it this way, you needed the shock.) I couldn’t lie to myself. “That’s not everything.” (It is,) she–I–lied. I wanted to interrogate her, to keep questioning, but the opportunity vanished when I heard the sound of gentle footsteps and jangling keys. Hannah. “Oh–” I started. “Wait, but–” (Let her see,) the voice promised me. (She’ll support you. I promise.) I didn’t believe her. It wasn’t a matter of trust, but of simple impossibility. How could Hannah see me, like this, and do anything except reject me? (Oh, and…) “What are you–” I started, but I didn’t want Hannah to hear me talk to a voice in my head, so when my front door opened, I shut up. Hannah called my name, and in that same moment, my bladder released, prompted forward by my future self. Warmth splashed into the diaper and spread between my thighs, quickly soaking the diaper, staining it visibly and obviously. I turned, surprise and shame burning on my face, but even if I had time to cover myself up, I didn’t have the capacity to move an inch. Hannah’s keys jangled as she set them in the bowl by the door, and she called out my name, feet creaking on the wooden floor. “Are you in here?” she continued, swinging the bedroom door open to find me. Eyes huge, wearing makeup and a diaper and one of Hannah’s own dresses, I stared, watching my girlfriend as she in turn saw me for the first time. ... Support for this program is sponsored by readers like you! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Written in collaboration with Joanna. This work wouldn't be possible without her. ... This story contains very strong themes of gender and self identity. ... Part 1 “I need a haircut.” Half-dressed and still damp from the shower, I stared into my bathroom mirror and debated my appearance with myself. I’d made a sport of that, volleying back and forth, never letting the ball drop until I was out of time and didn’t have to decide anything. My hair was the big sticking point. I couldn’t decide how I wanted it cut, so it just continued to grow into a tangled mop. If I shaved it all off, I’d just look like a flabbier Slim Shady, and I didn’t trust myself to do any grooming or maintenance to make a more fashionable cut look decent. If I could have managed that, I could have managed to actually get to a barber and get it cut. I hated how it looked long, but I hated the idea of cutting it short even more. Besides, my strategy had worked. I only had about an hour before Hannah would arrive, that wasn’t enough time to go out for a cut, now I just had to make myself look vaguely presentable for date night. Turning away from the bathroom mirror, I– (–coming through any moment now.) “What the fuck?” I blurted, stumbling back when I heard the feminine speaker. “Who said that?” (Oh, good, you can hear me.) I spun like a top, looking for the source of the voice, though it didn’t sound like it was in the room anywhere–she was in my head. “Hear–how did you get into my apartment?” (I’m not in your apartment. Look, I can’t really explain, but I know some things you don’t, and I need you to do what I say.) I raised my arms and balled my hands into fists, trying to look tough. I could see my reflection still, and I knew that the act wouldn’t fool anyone, but I had to try and keep up appearances, didn’t I? “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are, but I will mess you up–” (Oh right, you’re in your martial arts phase. God, you’re annoying.) I hesitated. I’d been meaning to go take a karate lesson for months, but I hadn’t told anyone about that. Was this the girl from the Blockbuster? She would at least know I’d rented all those Jackie Chan movies, but why was she here? (Look. Just do what I say, and this will all go smoother.) “But–” (Get your hairbrush. We’re going to see what we can do with that rat’s nest of yours.) I frowned. “I don’t own a hairbrush.” (Yes you do. Bottom drawer, underneath the towels.) My eyes widened. How did she know that? (I know where you keep your stuff. If you keep fussing–) “Get out of my head!” I screamed and spun, rushing to leave the bathroom. Before I could take two steps, I froze, body paralyzed mid-stride, and the voice piped up, (You asked for the hard way, then.) I turned, rotating back towards my bathroom cabinet against my will. It wasn’t like being puppeteered, exactly, but it felt like I was moving in a dream, unable to stop myself as I knelt to open the bottom drawer and take out the hairbrush I’d hidden there. Standing, I looked in the mirror, fingers shaking as I raised the cheap dollar store brush and, without wasting a second, began to pull it through my hair. It immediately caught on a tangle, but my hand refused to stop, pulling and tugging through the dark, tousled locks to straighten them out. “Ow!” I yelped, as the sting of pulling hair prickled down my scalp. (Don’t be such a baby,) the voice replied. (Or do, I don’t care, but we’re fixing this either way.) I moved–or they moved, it wasn’t totally clear–quickly. Working one section at a time, I detangled my hair, pulling it straight and smooth. With every tug of the brush I winced, but my hands continued to work of their own volition until my hair hung down to my shoulders in a loose but even halo. I hadn’t brushed it out in I-didn’t-know-how-long, but it looked… Different. Not better, but longer. Almost girly. Maybe I could pass it off as Kurt Cobain-esque, if I had to, but this just emphasized that I needed to get it cut. (Okay, that’s a first step. I don’t think you have any hair ties, so get your keys, we’re going out.) I felt the pressure on my body slacken, momentarily able to move under my own power. “I don’t have a car.” (Right, you don’t even have your license yet, you’re such a passenger princess.) “A what?” (Fine, the pharmacy’s not far. We’ll walk.) Before I could object further, my legs began to move, compelled to start marching. I tried to fight, to grab onto the doorframe or dig in my heels, but my body moved like an automaton, ignoring all my efforts to make myself stop. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “Who are you? What do you want?” (I can’t tell you any of that.) “Hannah will be here soon, she–” (We’ll deal with… your date when they get here. You first.) I had enough control to swallow on a dry throat, though that’s about as far as my own impulses could get me. The force possessing my body retrieved my apartment key from the hook by the door and marched me down the stairs, off to buy…hair ties. As I was made to stroll down the street. My block wasn’t the most trafficked in the city, but nor was it abandoned, and I felt acutely aware of the fact that this voice had control over me. She could run me out into the street, or make me strip, or anything, and I couldn’t stop her. “Please, I’ll give you whatever you want.” (You’re going to,) she replied. (You just have to trust me here.) Her walk had more confidence than mine, something I could feel in the subtle movement of my hips, in her posture, in the way she kept her head up. It felt like she was trying to strut my body out on a runway, to make sure everyone could see what she was doing. She forced me into the pharmacy, and I darted my eyes back and forth, wondering if I could somehow get help. I could still talk, but what would I say? ‘Help, I’m being possessed?’ I didn’t even know if this was a ghost or a government experiment or just a psychotic break, how would I ask for help? The voice grabbed a cart, then walked me up the hair care aisle and nabbed a pair of hair ties as well as three kinds of shampoo. (You’re using this from now on, that forty-in-one garbage is not cutting it.) “From now on?” (Shut up and listen. Haircare, skincare. If you don’t do this now, you’ll regret it later.) Moving down the aisle, she made me reach out and select a set of creams and another of moisturizers, and then she got to the makeup. My heart began to beat faster. “What are you doing?” (I’m not wasting time.) Foundation, concealer, powders and creams and nonsense I didn’t even know what to call. I never came down this aisle, it wasn’t for boys, just standing here sent spikes of anxiety down my back. The voice moved quickly. She knew my skin tone at a glance, apparently, because she didn’t need to compare anything, she just selected what she needed and used my own hands to toss it into the shopping cart. “Is that it?” I whimpered. I shook my own head, and she replied, (Not even a little bit.) Sashaying my hips between different shelves, she checked the different signs and turned into the aisle labeled ‘Incontinence’. “Hold up.” I managed to throw a hitch into my step, but that was the totality of my resistance. The voice in my head steered me towards the diapers, and I could do nothing to resist. Moving with purpose, I scanned the available offerings and scoffed. (God, store diapers are awful. You’ll have to make do, I guess.) “Why are you buying diapers?” I hissed, struggling to keep my hands from reaching out for a pack of pink ‘heavy duty’ diapers with a stylish woman modeling on the package. It felt like resisting the pull of an infinitely strong magnet, and the more I fought, the harder the force against me grew. (You’re not this stupid. Tell me you were never this stupid. You can’t figure it out?) “No!” I blurted, loud enough that my shout echoed through the store. A passing shopper glanced down the aisle at me, and I could only blush as I held the package of diapers and stuck them in my cart while he stared. (There, you threw your tantrum, now everybody’s watching. Are you happy?) “No,” I repeated more quietly, as the voice made me deposit the diapers in my cart. After nabbing a package of wipes and a tube of powder, they steered me towards checkout. I recognized the cashier by face, though not name–he was a bit on the old side, though not quite yet in the ‘grandpa’ zone, and he beamed brightly when I rolled my cart up to his register. In return, I could only burn red, blushing until I thought my long locks of hair would catch fire. He noticed the diapers, and I caught a sympathetic curl of his lips, but he didn’t say anything as he stuffed the package into a thin shopping bag. Through the sheer plastic, the label, ‘Adult Incontinence Briefs - 24/7’ shone through as plainly as if it were in neon, and I recalled the block-and-a-half between here and home. “Can I…get an extra bag?” I asked sheepishly, and the voice even let me rub at the back of my neck. He glanced up at me and smiled, in what I’m sure was supposed to be a reassuring way. “Here, let’s do this.” Reaching beneath his counter, he took out a newspaper-print coupon page and tucked it into the bag, using one to cover each side of the diaper packaging. The top still poked out visibly, and his action had only called attention to the humiliating packaging. It was about as useful as… (That’s as helpful as a tissue paper parachute,) the voice in my head thought, finishing the thought before I could complete it. Shuddering at the realization she could hear my thoughts as well, I reached out and took the package from the cashier. My dignity had been shattered in front of him, but at least he’d tried to be considerate. I mumbled a weak ‘thanks’ as I paid, then took my bags and began the trek home. My hands trembled as I walked out onto the street, knowing what came next. This…voice, whatever she was, hadn’t been coy about her intentions. She wanted to march me home, put me in makeup, and make me wear a diaper. And yet…I wasn’t fighting her. I told myself that fighting would be useless, that I couldn’t resist. I had a bad poker face, and I argued with myself too often to believe my own bullshit. I was a moth, reaching out towards a candle flame. I knew it was going to burn, but some part of me refused to back away until I’d touched it, because I had to know what it felt like. Fiddling with my keys, I reentered my apartment building. A neighbor was checking her mail as I walked past, and I felt certain she could see the pink package of puffy diapers poking out from the shopping bag, but she didn’t seem to react. Once back in my home, I dropped the bag to the floor. (We’re getting you dressed,) the voice explained. (It’s your choice whether we do this the easy way or the hard way.) “Will you just tell me why you’re doing this?” I whispered. I felt the pause in my mind, like a long sigh. (I guess I can’t blame you for asking.) “So are you going to tell me?” (If you promise not to drag your feet.) I didn’t see that I had a choice one way or another, and I wanted answers. I had to know, to regain some sense of control. Besides, I needed to get out of this before Hannah arrived, and I couldn’t do that by stalling. “I promise, then.” (I’m making up for lost time, fixing things before it’s too late. You’re going to thank me, someday.) “That…” I began. “That doesn’t clear anything up.” (Too bad.) “We had a deal!” (Then I lied, because that’s all I’m telling you.) Forcing me to crouch, the voice and I picked up the bag of diapers. (It looks like we’re doing this the hard way.) ... My subs get early access, and financial support helps me write more stories like this! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 14: Hot & Bothered “Oh my god.” Melody’s eyes were wide and her grin was broad as she pulled out onto the street. “Skip, that was…” “It’s fun to tell someone to fuck off,” Skip confirmed, downplaying the swell of satisfaction they felt. Nobody got to go after Melody like that, even if Melody maybe deserved it. “No, I mean,” Melody said. “I’m saying this in a purely platonic way, but that was fucking hot.” Caught off guard, it took Skip a moment to catch up to Melody’s thought process. “Because I went to bat for you?” “Because, like…” Melody thought for a moment. “‘Fuck you’? ‘Get in line’? Jesus christ, Skip, if you actually wanted to act on it, you’d be unstoppable. You have game.” Skip flushed at the compliment, and immediately sought out a way to deflect and undercut the tension in the conversation. “I think the kids call it ‘Rizz’ now. I’m what you could call a Rizz Master.” Melody snorted, a laugh devoid of self-consciousness. “And then you say stuff like that, which is the opposite of horny.” (Perfect.) Skip laughed along, relaxing into the passenger seat. “Anyway, I was only half-serious about ordering in, but we should probably figure something out for food.” “Tim Hortons?” Melody suggested. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have any exes that work there.” Skip nodded. “Perfect.” Full of confidence, they pulled into the coffee chain’s parking lot and went inside, both bubbling with infectious giggles. Waltzing to the counter, Melody said, “Can I get two large double doubles and a couple breakfast biscuits?” “You’re hungry,” Skip quipped. “And thirsty, for that matter.” “I’m ordering for you,” Melody said. “You always get the same thing.” Skip almost ordered something else just out of pure contrarianism, but they shrugged and let it go. Melody wasn’t wrong, and there was nothing wrong with Melody pegging their breakfast preferences. While they waited for their food, Melody took out her phone, and her fingers blurred over the keyboard. The specifics passed by too quickly and at too steep an angle to read, but Skip was certain they saw the word ‘diaper’ flash by. “Who are you texting?” They inquired. “Grace, I’m asking where she got those diapers,” Melody replied without looking up from her phone. “I don’t imagine we’ll need many more, but I don’t want to have to pester her anytime you break a rule.” Skip pursed their lips. “Ah.” Melody paused, then looked up. “Sorry. I don’t think anyone would overhear us in here, but I can keep my voice down.” Skip looked away, choosing not to press the issue, but it was too late–Melody was watching them, and saw their face. “If you don’t want to keep using that as a default punishment, I’m happy to find something else,” Melody assured them, though in a ‘I can trade shifts if you want’ way, not a ‘I recognize this caused you serious distress’ way. “It just seemed like it worked pretty well.” “No, that part’s fine.” Skip looked back at the counter, momentarily hoping that their food would arrive and provide a diversion, but they had no such luck. “I kinda wish you hadn’t gotten Grace and Pearce involved, is all.” Their own candor surprised them, but Melody just tilted her head. “Oh? I don’t think they’ll be weird about it.” “Oh, definitely not, at least on purpose,” Skip said. “But Pearce runs his mouth when he gets high, and you know how catty Grace can be when she’s drunk–it just seems like it’ll lead to some weird moments if we keep involving them. Plus, I told Pearce we weren’t really going to be doing any ‘Uwu baby small bean’ stuff in the book, and I don’t want to look like a liar.” Melody was about to respond, and Skip’s fears spiked, half expecting her to shoot down the concern out of hand and ignore Skip’s protests. Before she could say anything, though, the guy behind the counter set out two tall cups of coffee and a paper sack and called out, “Two coffees and two breakfast sandwiches!” “Hold that thought,” Melody said, waltzing to scoop up their food. Holding one coffee in each hand and pinching the paper sack between a couple fingers, she scoped out a table, nodded, and moved towards it, assuming Skip would follow. Skip did follow, of course. What else would they do, go sit somewhere else? Sliding into the booth across from Melody, they waited, shifting from side to side as she got out the sandwiches and passed one over. Biting into her own, she said, “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.” (Can you respond to what I said, please?) Skip asked, mellowly replying, “Yeah, that happens.” Melody chewed, swallowed, and took a long drink of her cream-and-sugar laden coffee. Finally, mercifully, she said, “Sorry if I made things weird, I didn’t really think about how it might be when they get inebriated.” That wasn’t really the point, but the important thing was that Melody took their concern seriously. “It’s not a big deal,” Skip hedged. “Really, I just like that this project is between us.” Melody smiled up at Skip, her expression warm and pleased, and– (What the fuck?) Eyes widening a touch, Melody asked, “Hey, are you okay?” “Uh…yeah, I just feel a little weird. I think I need to eat something.” “Did you have night lunch?” Melody asked. (That’s it. I didn’t eat anything because I was sitting in my room all night, like an idiot.) “No, it’s like you said, I didn’t realize I was hungry.” “Well, eat,” Melody pressed, concern plain on her face. She rarely looked that defensive, that protective. “And since I feel slightly responsible, if you are still hungry, I’ll definitely get you a second sandwich.” “Responsible?” “Well…I typically don’t feel hungry when I’m grossed out, and you said the diaper felt gross,” Melody surmised, casual and pleasant. “That’s probably why you weren’t thinking about food.” “That makes sense.” Melody’s eyes were bright and her smile pulled up at the corners of her mouth. It created tiny laugh lines, something Skip rarely noticed since Melody typically wore makeup. Skip ate, though the process felt mechanical and distant as confusion sent pinpricks down their limbs. They felt lightheaded or giddy, like they’d taken some mushrooms without realizing and were at the very start of an unexpected trip. As they worked through the greasy breakfast sandwich, Melody kept an eye on them, looking up from her own food every couple seconds with wary caution. “Is the food helping?” she asked. “Yeah.” It wasn’t helping. Once they’d finished the sandwich, Melody asked if they needed any more food, but they declined. Though they’d ordered a coffee–or, at least, Melody had ordered it for them–they didn’t drink it, expecting that the caffeine would only spike their anxiety to new heights. They retreated into their phone, trying to manage the strange, uncomfortable emotions flitting in their belly. Fingers touched Skip’s arm, and they looked to see Melody hand outstretched. Her face was warm and reassuring, like a nurse about to give bad news but without the condescension. “Let’s go back to the car.” “Okay?” Skip followed her away. Only once they were out of the coffee shop and in the privacy of the vehicle did Melody continue. “I know that you know, intellectually, what sub drop is, but I don’t think you’ve experienced it before. This is sub drop.” “I’m fine.” They were ready for an argument, to have to insist on their okay-ness, but Melody didn’t disagree. “You are. Feeling this way is normal, it’s not a mistake, it’s just something we need to watch out for and deal with. Like…stretching after a run.” The fluttering in Skip’s chest rose a bit. They felt sick and giddy, all at once. “I think I might barf.” “That might be from inhaling the breakfast,” Melody conceded. “Unless you caught something from that bitch at the diner.” Whatever was going on, that broke the spell. Skip laughed and the tension in their body unwound, relieving the pressure. “Probably food poisoning, not sub drop. It wasn’t a real scene.” “No, but you can still get tennis elbow without playing tennis,” Melody said. Skip laughed again. “You’re on it with the sports metaphors today. What jock are you, and what did you do with Melody?” “I know you were always the sporty one in school,” Melody said, “But I learned a few things from hanging around back then.” “Yeah.” Melody put a hand on Skip’s knee and squeezed gently, reassuring them of her presence. “You’re looking less like a sickly Victorian child now.” Skip stretched their leg, gently rebuffing the touch without pushing Melody away directly. “Damn, I was hoping for an extra serving of gruel.” “My offer to buy you seconds still stands, if you need more food,” she promised. Shaking their head, Skip searched in their emotions for a moment. “No, I think I really am doing better. Thanks for watching out, though, I don’t want to strain my anterior cruciate ligament due to repeated stresses without taking the proper preventative care. Metaphorically, of course.” Melody burst out with an undignified gulp of laughter, and Skip smiled with private pleasure at the reaction. They liked making her laugh. But… They still felt wrong. Less sick, less off balance, but still lightheaded. Like…hunger, except emotional, or maybe excitement without anticipation. “Let’s get you home, and you can rest,” Melody said. “Doctor Sports says you need to take some You Time, stat, and give your head a chance to decompress.” Skip nodded, and felt the need to offer one more compliment. “You’re good at this.” Melody beamed, glancing over at Skip as she pulled out of the parking lot. For whatever reason, the praise seemed to hit closer to home, and Melody glowed with Skip’s assurance of her competence. “Thanks. You are, too.” (I…) (Oh no.) (Oh no.) Skip had an inkling as to what they were feeling, and they didn’t like it. As they drove home, though, the sinking feeling of certainty rose in their mind, and they couldn’t shake the idea. Raising their phone with the screen slightly tilted so that Melody couldn’t catch the display out of the corner of her eye, they moved to incognito mode before making an anxious search. ‘What does it feel like to have a crush?’ ... Oh, oh no, oh no no no no-- (I'm so sorry to break this to you, Skip, but you don't fully understand yourself.) ... https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

Chapter 28 Daniel held Jen’s hand as he looked around the corner, glancing both ways to make sure that the coast was clear. After their encounter in the hall, the simple contact of their hands felt different–he wasn’t just keeping her close, he was holding hands. “It’s not against the rules to have guests,” Jen pointed out. “I’m sure it’s fine if–” “If Rachel hears?” Daniel replied. “I’m not worried about having a friend in my room, I’m worried about her using that information to screw with us.” “Right, I’m following you.” Giggling, she added the punchline to her own statement. “I mean, I’m following you. That’s the idea, since you don’t know what your room number is.” Daniel rolled his eyes, but pulled her into the hallway and crept the last few paces to his dorm. “It’s weird that you don’t have a roommate,” Jen said, stepping in as he held the door for her. She twirled with her arms out, her skirt spinning like a parasol. “You have so much space to yourself!” “I guess,” Daniel said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s…fine?” Crossing to the closed curtains against the wall, Jen asked, “What do you have set for your view?” A blush rushing to his cheeks, Daniel extended an arm to stop her, but it was too late. “Don’t–” She pulled the curtains wide, revealing the portrait Rachel had plastered there: Daniel, blushing as he held up his skirt and showed off his diaper. Jen stared for a moment, blinking in bafflement, then said, “Oh, crap, I remember you mentioned she did this. Do you want me to change it for you?” “Yes, please,” Daniel replied. Producing her wand, Jen asked, “How about a beach view? Or maybe a forest?” “Sure,” Daniel said, before thinking better of it. “Actually…make it a city street. Somewhere in New York.” “Like…Times Square?” “Nah, like something more…where people live,” Daniel said. “Like you’d look out the window of a brownstone and see a street bustling.” Jen cocked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t live in New York, I don’t know what that looks like.” “...Times Square is cool.” Daniel shrugged again, shifting from side to side uncomfortably. Now that she was in his room–now that anyone was in his room other than Daniel–he noticed how messy the place was. The bed unmade, the diaper pail full, his books and study notes spread haphazardly on the desk. He had not planned on having a girl over, let alone one that he’d just… “So we should talk about what we’re going to do now, right?” Jen asked, as the image on the wall warped and vibrated, turning from a humiliating portrait to a busy street scene. “I don’t want to mess with our friendship,” Daniel said quickly. “Oh, of course, like…how do I put this? I enjoyed making out, and I’d like to do it again, but I was serious when I said I didn’t want anything serious.” “Yeah, no, for sure,” Daniel agreed, though he mostly just didn’t know what he could even say ‘no’ to at that point. “I don’t want to be one of those people who gets into a relationship in college, then that becomes the only thing about them that matters. Studies still come first.” “And I’m happy to keep helping you with your control.” Jen glanced at his only chair, the one currently holding several books as though it were a pull-out shelf, then she sat down at the end of his bed. Rubbing the back of his neck, Daniel leaned against the far wall. “I guess…can we just–” Three loud THUDs cut him off as a fist pounded against his dorm room door. “Daniel–come out, I just want to talk.” Daniel felt his stomach drop as his flight-or-fight instinct rose. Rachel had come to him sooner than he’d expected. Facing Jen, he mouthed, ‘Hide!’ Brow furrowing, she mouthed back a message. He couldn’t read her lips, but he could understand her expression clearly enough: She didn’t know what to do, and she was panicked. Crouching, Daniel pointed under the bed, trying to make his point with gestures before he called back, “I–gimme a minute!” The sinking sensation in his guts took on new meaning a moment later, when Daniel realized that it wasn’t just an emotion or a vague sense of things. He was, literally, feeling weight drop out of his body, shifting to fill up the seat of his diaper instead. “No, no, no–” he mumbled, as Jen stared at him with wide eyes before finally getting it and dropping onto the floor so she could roll under the bed. Her hat was too big and bulky to remain in place as she crawled into her hiding spot, but she reached out and grabbed it like an occult archeologist. “I’m allowed to inspect your room, so open up before I do it myself,” Rachel snarled. Once certain that Jen was out of sight, Daniel turned, shame and fear mixing into a cocktail inside his brain. He reached out for the door handle, but found that he couldn’t turn it. A few seconds passed in paralyzed panic, and Daniel could only watch his hand tremble and feel his diaper sag as his body prepared to run from a predator. Before he could overcome his own better judgement and force himself to act, the door opened of its own accord and Rachel stepped in. His prefect’s triumphant grin only grew broader when she stepped into his dorm and wrinkled her nose. Daniel’s accident couldn’t be hidden, and the glee she took in watching him squirm was obvious. Pinching her nose for emphasis, Rachel asked, “Oh, are you one of those people who can’t go if there’s someone else in the room? Or–I’m sorry, you can’t help it at all, can you?” “Just…leave me alone, so I can get cleaned up, okay?” Daniel asked, avoiding eye contact with her. “Hardly. You were in the restricted section of the library, and now you’re going down.” Daniel thought about denying it. Then he saw the malice dancing in Rachel’s eyes, and decided to take a different tactic. “Yeah? And who, exactly, is going to believe you?” Rachel’s satisfaction flickered with uncertainty. “They trust me more than they trust a dweeb spark like you.” “Will they believe a spark can get past wards that are hundreds of years old?” Daniel asked. “Or will they think you’re just trying to get me in trouble?” “I–” Rachel began, before huffing in frustration, collecting herself, and producing her wand. “You want me to argue with you, but I don’t need to–you’re coming with me.” (I miscalculated again, didn’t I?) Daniel thought to himself, before a telekinetic force seized him by the ankle, hoisted him into the air, and flipped him upside down. His skirt flopped around the waist, diaper fully exposed, and Rachel’s satisfied grin grew back to its full strength. “How about we make a deal, spark?” she asked, dangling Daniel so that he was just high enough off the floor that his hair brushed against it. “You admit the truth, and I’ll stop reminding you what a pathetic excuse for a warlock you are. This low to the ground, Daniel could make eye contact with Jen, who had both hands over her mouth to stay silent as she watched the ankle-height drama she could draw line of sight to. Daniel couldn’t look weak in front of an audience, so through gritted teeth, he replied, “Screw you.” “Hard way it is,” Rachel replied casually. Shrugging one shoulder, she raised him up a bit higher, spinning him in place like a piece of meat on a vertical spit. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just wanted an excuse to show off your gross baby bottoms.” “You already cursed me, what’s the worst you can do now?” Daniel demanded. “That’s a stupid question, even coming from you,” Rachel replied. “Though I notice you haven’t given up and gone home yet–is that because you like huffing your own dirty diapers, or because you think you’re clever enough to lift the curse? Because let me tell you, you are not clever enough to lift that curse.” “I know I can’t counterspell it,” Daniel grumbled, kicking his legs in a feeble attempt to shake off her magic. “Oh, so you do like huffing your own dirty diapers,” Rachel completed. “That’s very big of you to admit.” “We both know I’m not going to tell you anything,” Daniel demanded, trying to remain tough. “This is a waste of time.” “And why’s that?” Rachel asked. “You think I can’t make you crack?” “I think there’s no point,” Daniel explained. “No teacher is going to believe that I broke through their wards, and you know I’m too crap at magic to even try. I could sing a confession off the top of Mount Everest, nobody would think I actually pulled it off. My word counts for shit, but I’d still win in a ‘He said, she said’ because nobody will think I am capable of beating the school’s wards. So…stop playing pretend. You’re just a cartoon bully, looking for an excuse, and claiming to be mad about whatever library crap you’re on about.” Tilting her head curiously, Rachel flicked her wand to the side. “A cartoon bully? You don’t have any lunch money, but I suppose I could give you a wedgie.” Daniel’s eyes widened. “No, wait–” The telekinetic force holding onto his ankle vanished, and the tight fist of her magic instead seized the back of Daniel’s diaper. He fell, and though the garment didn’t ride up between his cheeks in a painful, stinging way, all the weight of his body fell into the seat of his diaper and onto his groin, hitting Daniel with a humiliating squelch at the same time as a shock of pain. Dangling, weight fully supported by his diaper, Daniel kicked his legs but found no purchase, no support to take the pressure off. If he leaned back, it caused his most recent accident to smush around against his skin, but that was still better than leaning forward and experiencing an acute ache in his balls. Whimpering, he tried to reach for Rachel’s wand, to force her to stop, but she just pulled her hand away. “You’ve got a point,” she said. “When we’re in private, there’s really nothing at all you can do to stop me, is there?” “Wh–” Daniel began. “That’s not what I was saying!” “Nobody would believe you in a ‘He said, she said’,” Rachel continued. “And this is just an excuse. What can you do to stop me?” “I’ll–” Daniel’s objection was halted immediately by a sudden jostle. Rachel flicked her wand up, and Daniel bobbed up to match, bouncing in mid-air and falling back into his diaper with a painful splgihdlch. He gasped, and Rachel laughed, continuing to bob him up and down, rocking Daniel as though he were trapped in an invisible baby bouncer. “You’ll what?” she asked. “Blow raspberries at me? Go tell the dean that I was being a big ol’ bully? They hate you, spark. As long as I don’t do a whole song and dance in front of them, they’ll turn a blind eye.” Whimpering, Daniel kicked his legs wider, though all he accomplished was banging the side of his foot against the bed while he bounced up and down in an uncomfortable, degrading rhythm. Every rise gave him a moment of relief, but every fall landed him down in the diaper wedgie again, sending new shocks of pain up from his groin and reminding him more than ever of the mushy mess he’d made mere minutes before. “Let’s talk this through,” Rachel said. “You could go admit the truth to the dean, tell them you broke into the library, and then you could resign and go home. You’d get your potty training back sooner or later, and you’d get to go on with your life. People might even forget about this, eventually…though I doubt it at this point.” “Bitch,” Daniel managed to grunt, though his voice cracked and he bounced halfway through the word, so it sounded more like a pathetic squeak than an insult. “Or, you can keep on insulting this school, and all the witches who go here,” Rachel continued, wrist keeping a rhythm up and down, bobbing to a beat as she maintained the levitation spell. “And, since you’ve so excellently demonstrated that you are utterly helpless to stop me, I’ll continue making your life a living hell. Which will it be?” “Mghg–” Daniel mewled. “What’s that?” Rachel asked, finally ceasing the constant bouncing. “Ow…” Daniel repeated, before summoning his courage. “You can’t break me.” “I’ll think of something,” Rachel replied, twirling her wand in a circle. Daniel spun in the air once more, and though it was a relief to have the weight removed from the focal point between his legs, he didn’t feel any relief. “For now…I think a classic ‘cartoon bully’ move is the swirlie, but you don’t have a toilet in here, so this will have to do.” Rachel extended her arm, and Daniel moved with her gesture, floating towards… “No, no, no!” he began to plead, as Rachel lifted him over his own diaper pail. “Last chance,” Rachel offered, stepping forward to place her foot on the pedal, so that the lid lifted up. The stale smell of baby powder overpowered by ammonia hit Daniel immediately. “Ready to drop out yet?” “Let me g–” Rachel released the magic and Daniel fell face-first into the pail. Cold plastic squished against him, though his body weight immediately sent both himself and the pail into a sidelong tumble. He gagged and pulled away, spitting and wiping at his face with his hands. Scrambling up to a seated position, Daniel took shallow breaths, disgust and embarrassment rising as he surveyed the mess Rachel had made of his room, scattering old diapers across the floor in a testament to his many, many accidents over the past few weeks. “I’ll leave you with a parting thought,” Rachel said, her hand lingering by his door. “You’re supposed to be a big, tough warlock, right? Because if you can’t even do the littlest thing to stop me…how the hell are you going to convince anyone else to take you seriously?” “You’re going to regret this,” Daniel glowered. “I doubt it.” Throwing open the door, Rachel sauntered out. “Oh, and by the way–I like the new portrait. Tell Jen I think she did a great job.” ... Support is always appreciated, especially given the financial instability going on right now, and my subs get early access to all my kinky writing! https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

Chapter 13: Brunch Melody woke early, an unusual energy washing over her as she rolled out of bed. Before anything else, she checked her phone and sent a text to Skip. “Are you up?” She wanted to finish the scene. To keep things going, to resume the play. Anticipating. Excited. Skip’s response came quickly. “Yeah.” “When you’re ready, come to my room.” Melody didn’t need to get dressed. She’d gone to sleep in her underwear and a loose tee, but Skip didn’t care what she wore, it didn’t matter if she had on anything sexy. Her bedroom door opened only a couple seconds later, and Skip stood in the doorway, one hand squeezing their other forearm. Baggy sweats and a hoodie concealed their diaper, but it wasn’t as though Skip could go without peeing for nine hours, and their posture gave away anything that Melody couldn’t have guessed. Melody smiled. “Did you learn your lesson?” “Don’t untie myself without permission,” Skip replied, their gaze cast down at the floor. “Don’t disobey,” Melody clarified. “When you submit, you’re not the one in charge–and if you start thinking you’re allowed to ignore my decisions, this is what you’ll get.” Skip glanced back at the hallway, then shut the door. “Can I go clean up now?” Melody shook her head. “Proof first. I need to see your diaper, to make sure you didn’t cheat.” Skip shifted their weight from foot to foot for a moment, a warm blush rising on their earthy cheeks, then they hooked a thumb under the waistband of their sweatpants and lowered it just enough to show the rustling waistband of the diaper. That could have been enough, but their reaction drove something in Melody, and she walked across the room to stand right in front of them. “Hold on,” she said, placing her hands on Skip’s pants and sliding them down so that the diaper was fully exposed, sagging with obvious water weight. “How does it feel?” “Kinda awful,” Skip said. “The part around my thighs chafes, and it’s incredibly irritating. I hate it.” “So it’s an effective deterrent against misbehaving?” Melody asked. “And if I use it as a threat again, I won’t have to worry about you slipping up a second time?” Skip looked away, fuming for a moment. “...yes.” “What was that? A little louder,” Melody taunted. “Yes, it’s an effective punishment,” Skip insisted. Melody extended her hand down and touched the tapes, ensuring they were all stuck down and secure, even the replacement duct tape patch. “You didn’t try and cheat, did you?” Skip flushed further. “No, what would be the point?” “Good.” Melody took Skip’s hand in her own and pulled her towards the bed. “Come here.” “I want to go clean up.” Skip resisted her pull and used their other hand to pull their sweats back into place. Melody paused for a moment. Skip had completed the terms of their punishment, they could go clean up if they wanted. “Yellow,” she said. “I want to improvise a little here. Can you trust me for a couple minutes?” Skip looked back at the door, then at Melody once more. “Okay. Just a couple minutes.” “Green, then.” Melody pulled once more, and Skip followed to the bed. “Lay down, with your chest on the bed.” Skip obeyed, spreading out slightly. Face down, the arch of their back made the bulge around their hips more pronounced, but Melody’s aim was higher up. She leaned over and pressed her hands into Skip’s shoulders, squeezing with gentle, firm pressure. At the touch, Skip exhaled sharply, tensing and then relaxing. “You did good for me,” Melody praised, massaging their shoulders. “And I thought you deserved a reward for that obedience.” The tension in their back was unbelievable, muscles bound up in knots tighter than anything Melody could do with rope, but she rubbed in small circles, working the tension free. Skip took deep breaths, hands clenching and relaxing, but they didn’t object or ask for her to stop. Melody worked her fingers down, pressing into the fabric of the hoodie and following a line down Skip’s spine. “Your muscles are tight,” she commented. “Probably from standing too much at work.” Shaking their head facedown, Skip moved the pillow below them with their face, though any response they tried to give was muffled into a mumble. Melody didn’t have a plan, but this felt right. Skip deserved a reward for facing their first punishment, and a future promise of dinner was too distant. She didn’t have chocolates, but she knew how to make a body feel good. She kept the massage short, sticking to her promise of only a couple minutes, then rested her palms against Skip’s back. For a moment, she searched for words of praise–’Good girl’ and ‘Good boy’ didn’t work, she needed something gender neutral. “There’s my good little doll. When you let me play with you, it’s nicer than fighting, isn’t it?” Instead of replying, Skip rolled onto their back and looked up at Melody. They looked tired. For anyone else, Melody would assume they hadn’t slept the night before, but in this case, she didn’t need to assume–Skip was a night owl, they always stayed up through the night and slept while the sun was up. “Are you feeling okay?” Melody asked, sitting down next to Skip. “We’re moving into aftercare–how can I care for you?” Skip looked away, out the window, then seemed to make up their mind about something. “I cheated.” Melody paused. Of all the responses she could have imagined, that wasn’t one of them. “What do you mean?” “I…I tried to, at least. I tried to take the diaper off,” Skip admitted. “I couldn’t without breaking the tapes, but if I could have, I would have. I cheated.” That surprised Melody, if for no other reason than that Skip had no reason to confess. They’d failed to take the diaper off and Melody couldn’t possibly have found out about the attempt, so what was the point? Squeezing Skip’s hand, Melody said, “Don’t worry about it.” “But,” Skip started. “It was just luck. It’s not like the rope knots we use actually tie someone up–the fact that I couldn’t get out was coincidence, not part of the scene.” “It’s possible to get out, and it would have been possible to take your…thing off,” Melody corrected. “The toys are there to help reinforce behavior. It’s an aid, it doesn’t enforce anything. You did fine.” Skip didn’t seem to believe her, but they sat up and shook it off. “Okay. If you say we’re good, then we’re good.” “We’re good,” Melody promised them. “Go get cleaned up, then we’ll go get breakfast.” “Breakfast?” “You didn’t quite earn dinner, but I’m hungry, and I think you did enough to deserve a treat,” Melody said. “I’m thinking waffles.” “Right. Waffles.” Skip stood frozen for a moment, uncertain, then turned and waddled away. Melody got ready for her day while they showered, picking out a brunch-appropriate outfit and checking her messages. Once Skip was out of the bathroom, she took over and took a shower of her own, applied makeup, and generally freshened up to be out in public. Skip was still doing something in their room when Melody finished up, so she shot over a quick text saying that she was ready whenever, then sat down to make a few notes about how the scene had gone. A few minutes later, Melody’s phone buzzed with a text from Skip. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘There’s a new place down on Main street, I thought it’d be fun to try. It’s called the Green Tomato’ ‘Cool. I’m ready whenever.’ Melody grabbed her purse and keys, met Skip in the hall, and together they left in her car. “Hey,” Melody said, as they drove. “I wanted to say thanks for all this.” Skip looked up from their phone and tilted their head. “It’s a shared project, isn’t it?” “Yeah, but it was my baby to begin with, and you’re really going the extra mile to make sure it’s as good as we can get it. I appreciate that,” Melody explained. “I think the book’s going to turn out really good, and you share a bunch of the responsibility for that.” “Oh, yeah. Sure,” Skip replied. “It’s good to have a project outside of work.” “Just…don’t think of the breakfast as purely a reward. It’s also a ‘thank you’,” Melody explained. “Thank you, too.” Melody fell silent until they got to the restaurant, which had all the charm that a quick paint job and a ton of antique store art could bring to the place: random knick knacks on the shelves, quirky paintings and photos printed big on the wall, and enough decoration to make you forget that the building it was in used to be a Taco Bell. It was the style where you ordered and then found a table, but the line was short and there was plenty of space to sit. When they walked inside, Melody froze, then turned away and raised a hand to shield her face. “Dammit.” “Problem?” Skip asked. “The chick behind the register,” Melody muttered, nodding towards the front of the restaurant. “She’s my ex.” “Here, I’ll order, you just get us a table,” Skip suggested. “Waffles?” “Blueberry waffles and a coffee,” Melody confirmed, scanning the room for an open seat. Her explanation to Skip had been true, though not complete–the girl behind the counter wasn’t just an ex, she’d been a particularly messy breakup. Then again, maybe ‘Breakup’ wasn’t the right word. Patricia had gone with Melody out for dinner, they’d fucked, and it’d been enough fun that Melody even took her out for a second date. That was it, though, and after Melody had gone radio silent, she thought that things were done. …until she was out with Brendan a week later, and they’d bumped into Patricia at a cafe. (Was he Brendan? Brandon? It was definitely a B name. Braxton–no, definitely not that.) Melody found a table where she could face away from the counter and kept her head down. She didn’t expect anything to happen, but all the same, she didn’t want another screamfest to ruin the morning. The table was exactly the same as a thousand other diners, with a little napkin dispenser and a holder full of sugar packets for coffee, as well as a paper display showing off the weekend specials and offers. Skip pulled up a seat a minute later. “Blueberry waffles, coffee, plus you get an egg on the side. I said scrambled.” “I like scrambled,” Melody confirmed. “And–” A solid thunk stole her attention as a coffee cup hit the table, placed with enough force that the hot liquid sloshed over the side. She looked up to see Patricia over her, glaring down sharply over her nose. Glancing over to the register, she saw someone else had taken over, giving her ex an opportunity for this confrontation. Looking between her and the drink, Melody said, “You spilled my coffee.” Patricia didn’t address Melody at all. Instead, she faced Skip. “Don’t trust this bitch. You might think you’re special–you’re not, you’re just another notch on the bedpost for her.” Skip stared at her. “Do I know you?” “No, but it’s just a word from the wise,” Patricia replied. “You do not want to spend time with this girl. You should walk away right now.” “Just–” Melody began. “Oh, wait, I do know you,” Skip cut in. “You’re that girl who decided to stick her ass in someone else’s business and get mad because her assumptions didn’t come true.” Patricia blinked. “Excuse me?” “Wait, sorry,” Skip said. “None of that’s special. The only thing that makes you unique is that you think anyone cares about the shit coming out of your mouth.” “If you like being cheated on,” Patricia began, “then–” “Cheated on? Oh, honey, that implies someone actually liked you enough to call you their girlfriend.” Skip showed teeth, though whether it was a grin or a snarl, Melody couldn’t be sure. “You were a notch in the bedpost, and it’s nobody’s fault but your own that you thought you were anything different.” Patricia’s voice rose, though she kept it below a yell. “Fuck you.” “Get in line,” Skip shot back. “Melody has dibs.” Bright red and furious, Patricia jabbed a finger at Melody. “She–” Skip upturned the coffee cop, splashing hot, dark java all over the table. It spilled out towards Patricia and splattered her apron, with the excess dribbling down onto the floor where it pattered like rain. “Come on, Melody,” Skip said, pushing to their feet. “Let’s go back to your place already, we can just order in.” Melody only realized in that moment that she’d been silent and slack-jawed for the whole exchange, staring between her ex and her friend. She rose as well, satisfaction building as a result of Patricia’s spluttering shock. She was vaguely aware that the rest of the restaurant had begun to stare, but Skip’s fiery attack on Patricia made it difficult to care. As one final insult, Skip nabbed every packet of sugar and sweetener in the holder on their table and tossed them onto the floor, adding to the mess they’d already made. Patricia looked ready to scream, but they turned their back and walked away, pausing by the counter where they took a twenty dollar bill from their wallet and dropped it in the tip jar. To the other cashier, Skip said, “Sorry about that. This is since you have to clean up her mess.” ... Oh, right - Skip can be pretty incisive, I'd almost forgotten! Support for the author - (me) - is appreciated! https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 12: A Late Night Conversation Skip lay in bed, aware of two things. First: They were a monumental idiot and a general fuckup. Second: They had to pee. They’d tried to shimmy out of the diaper, but the tapes were already flimsy enough, as demonstrated by the one that’d already ripped when Melody trapped them in it. It would come off easily enough, but there would be no putting it back on–not without considerably more duct tape, at least. That left them with no choice but to wait, and every second that passed only swelled the ache in their bladder, and that physical discomfort only served as a reminder of their mental discomfort. If Skip gave in, or if they lost control, there’d be no hiding it, no pretending. If they fought the growing pressure, they’d be stuck with the throbbing, pulsing pain of an overfull bladder. At the same time, hunger gnawed at their stomach, and their throat burned. They hadn’t had anything to drink in the past five hours, not wanting to add to the pressure, and if they had food, they knew their thirst would only get worse. That, at least, they could do something about. The ache was already terrible–so it couldn’t get any worse. They disguised their body with baggy sweats and an oversized hoodie that, together, would completely conceal the bulk of the diaper, then took their phone and left their room, tip-toeing into the dark hallway. Skip didn’t turn on the lights. They didn’t need to, and they didn’t want to wake anyone up. Sweatpants or no, they didn’t want to talk to anyone just then. Moving silently through the dark, they crept down the stairs and shuffled across the floor, cautiously avoiding creaky boards. Only a little light filtered in through the windows, thin rays of moonlight slipping through the blinds and curtain in the living room, and glowing LEDs pulsed gently on the TV and stereo system, pinprick indicator lights that did nothing to illuminate the room. Once they reached the kitchen, Skip relaxed a little. Nobody was up. They cracked the freezer door, peering inside for something to eat. A frozen microwave Peckish Person brand dinner would be fine. Selecting a veggie pot pie, they carried it to the microwave and set the timer, waiting impatiently, shifting from foot to foot as the pressure in their bladder reasserted itself with new force. “Fuck, fuck,” they whispered under their breath. The clock on the stove read two AM–they had to put up with this for several more hours if they wanted to last until Melody woke up. A floorboard creaked and they froze. They weren’t the only one up. Someone else was walking towards the kitchen. Their heart began to hammer in their chest. Skip knew they weren’t doing anything wrong, but they couldn’t stop the panic response, frozen as they waited and hoped the anonymous Waster would turn and go back to their room. Instead, Pearce swaggered into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes. “Hey, baby girl,” he said. “What are you doing out of b–oh, fuck, uh–” His expression turned from bleary to alarmed as he recognized Skip. “Shit, sorry. I thought you were Grace.” Skip’s eyes widened, but the faux pas broke some of their tension. Facing his silhouette, they asked, “Why would you think I was Grace?” “I heard…” Pearce trailed off, and though it was too dark to see his expression, Skip could read his body language clearly: Awkward discomfort. “Uh, crinkling.” (Dammit.) “Candy,” they said immediately. “I…had a candy bar.” A stupid lie. A very stupid lie. Pearce didn’t even treat it as a deception–he laughed, assuming Skip was joking. “Grace actually started taking candy bars with her whenever we’re in public, just so she can use that excuse.” (Have I ever been good at tricking people, or do my friends just patronize me?) They at least kept their mouth shut, clamping down before another lie could spill out, insisting on the truth of the candy bar story. “What are you doing up?” “I fell asleep on the couch,” Pearce admitted. “But only like, sort-of-asleep. I was about to drag myself up to bed when I heard you go by.” Skip shuffled in place, battling their bladder. “Okay.” Walking into the kitchen fully, Pearce flicked on the light and got a glass from the cupboard. When he turned on the sink, the hiss of rushing water sent Skip’s discomfort into overdrive, compelling them to press their thighs together as much as the diaper would allow. Pearce noticed–he had to have noticed–but he didn’t say anything about Skip’s obvious distress. “Have you spent much time with Connor?” “Brain’s boyfriend?” Skip asked, as though the question needed clarification–they knew who Connor was. Pearce just nodded. “Not really, except when he comes over for bonfires sometimes.” “Super cool guy,” Pearce said. “We ended up talking tonight after Grace went to bed, and, shit, if I wasn’t with Grace and Brains wasn’t with him, I’d want to date him.” “You’re straight, aren’t you?” Skip asked. “Well, yeah, but that’s not really the biggest hurdle there. He and Brains are super cute together, I wouldn’t want to split that up.” Pearce shrugged. “He offered to take me jousting next weekend.” Skip blinked. “Like…knights? Horses? That kind of jousting?” “I guess he’s big into medieval stuff.” Pearce reached for his pocket and produced his phone. “He owns a sword. A sword.” Smirking, Skip said, “Cool.” “No, you’re not getting it.” Swiping to get to his images, Pearce showed them a photo of Connor wearing some kind of padded jacket and holding a long, sharp blade. “He owns a sword, Skip. Like Conan.” “You’re high,” Skip guessed. They were admittedly intrigued, but now was not the time to make a big deal out of that curiosity. “And easily impressed.” “Yeah, maybe.” Pearce set his phone down and shrugged. “Still. Swords are cool.” Skip leaned against the counter. Pearce finished his water. “Night,” he said. “Night,” Skip replied. He started to walk away. “Wait,” Skip interrupted, before he could leave the kitchen. “I–can I ask you a question?” Pearce looked back at her and nodded. “Just piss. It’s not as gross as you’re worried about.” Skip hoped that their burning cheeks wouldn’t be too visibly red. “That’s not what I was going to ask.” He shrugged. “Okay, then that’s a freebie, what’s the question?” Now they had to think up another question. “What about this is horny to you? I at least sort of get the ‘being tied up thing’, at least on a cognitive level, but introducing more bodily fluids doesn’t seem to get anyone anywhere.” Leaning against the wall, Pearce scratched his stubbly chin. “That might be a better question for Grace, to be honest.” “Well, she’s asleep.” Skip shook their head. “And I don’t want her opinion, I’m asking you.” “Well, for me, it’s Grace’s thing more than anything,” Pearce admitted, staring at the ceiling while he thought about it. “She’s–fuck, she gets so cute when she’s blushy.” “So it’s the humiliation,” Skip surmised. “You like it when she’s embarrassed.” “Not really. I mean, yeah, but that’s not…” Pearce rambled. “Man, why do you have to give me the hard questions when I’m this stoned?” “If you don’t have an answer, that’s cool.” “No, I just…words. I mean, there’s a confidence boost, right? She trusts me enough to let me take care of her, and that’s not something she does with anyone else, so that’s part of it. But it’s also like…there’s no pretending. When she’s all in baby mode, it kinda strips away a lot of Real Life stuff. Am I making any sense?” Skip understood his point, but his point was crap. BDSM involved more playacting and pretend than real life, and the baby girl/daddy dom thing that Pearce and Grace had going on was no exception. Pretending that she wasn’t potty trained, pretending that she needed a bottle to drink, pretending that it wasn’t gross. They didn’t call him out on it. “Yeah, that all tracks.” “I don’t know. It’s just…I like caring for her. She likes being cared for. Sometimes it’s not a thing you can logic out, it just is. It’s like riding a bike, you have to do it on instinct.” Pearce shook his head and pushed away from the wall. “I hope that helps.” “Sure. You should get some sleep, you look like you’re having trouble staying upright.” Pearce chuckled. “Night, Skip.” “Night.” He wandered away, just as the microwave beeped, indicating that their dinner was done. Skip shut their eyes and exhaled. Pearce’s answers hadn’t been all that helpful, but he’d been right about one thing. They weren’t going to be able to hold it until morning, and they would be better off just letting go. They closed their eyes and exhaled slowly and released the hold on their aching bladder. Warmth rose in their cheeks in tandem with warmth that spread between their thighs, rushing out of them and into the waiting diaper in a tide they could no longer stop. The relief washed over them and they– Creak. Pearce walked back towards them and Skip froze, paralyzed once again, unable to dam the rushing flow that hissed into their diaper. “Forgot my phone,” Pearce said, gesturing to the counter as he walked back into the kitchen. “Okay, for real, night.” “N-night,” Skip replied, voice cracking as they tried to sound normal. He glanced at them and didn’t try to hide the curl of his lips as he recognized what was going on inside their diaper, though he didn’t tease or make fun. It was humiliating enough that he knew, without him adding any fuel to the fire burning on Skip’s face. He left again, but the trickle continued for another twenty seconds. Waterlogged weight swelled up beneath their sweatpants and their diaper sagged with the heavy load. Skip thought they might explode. They’d just– They– Were fine. They felt okay. Their body tingled slightly with the cathartic release of pressure on their bladder, and maybe that was it, but the expected shame and self loathing didn’t come. (It’ll be back, once Melody is awake,) they knew. For the moment, though, it wasn’t an issue. The wet diaper was warm, and it squelched when they turned to face the microwave, but it wasn’t full of acid or anything. It was really just water and a bit of carbon, ammonia, and other trace elements. It wasn’t any different than being sweaty. They took their dinner from the microwave and got a glass of water. Now that their bladder no longer ached, the other physical discomforts–hunger and thirst–burned more strongly, but those were handled quickly. A glass of water, a Peckish Person pot pie, and they felt almost human. Stable. No longer trembling, no longer ready to melt down. Ready to prepare for the morning, for the inevitable judgement from Melody. That was still coming, but Skip had made it to the eye of the storm, and they had a moment of relief. Once they’d eaten, they returned to their room. Walking around the house did produce a slight waddle, unless they wanted to press their thighs together and make the diaper squish more than it already did, but nobody was awake to see them toddling around, so that was okay. They were okay. For now. ... Twelve chapters in and we have our first wet diaper. Thanks to Personalias, I don't think that's an ABDL fiction record or anything, but it just might be a personal best. Support the author: https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

Shit. That's a great idea. *Quickly jots it down.* Of course the faculty forms a coven!

Tbh, I thought about including this explicitly as a story beat, (at least the waffle-stomping,) but decided that from Daniel's POV, one wasn't really more gross than the other, and he was worried about getting caught. 😅 Chapter 27 Lacking the ability to actually do anything, Daniel got to tour the suite of physical sensations that hit him all at once. In the first moment, Jen pressed her lips into his, sinking into the kiss, but within a heartbeat she had stiffened with alarm. She jerked away, arms raised in front of her body as she pushed Daniel back. “What the–” “I’m sorry!” Ismella yelped, quickly growing a blush that burned like icy hot on Daniel’s cheeks. “What were you thinking?” Jen demanded, calling up a little light from the tip of her wand. “I mean, come on!” “I–” Ismella shook her head. “I just–I know like half the girls here bat for the other team, but–” “Yeah, no, not that,” Jen interrupted. “I don’t care that you kissed me. You made Daniel kiss me.” Daniel felt a surge of shock, remembering that he was a part of this conversation. (It’s fine–tell her it’s fine!) “He says it’s fine,” Ismella assured Jen quickly. “I want to hear him say that,” Jen demanded. “Cuz, honestly, not cool.” “I can’t leave right now,” Ismella said. “Like, if he kicks me out…I don’t think it’s supposed to be good.” “Then we’re going back to your room, now.” Jen’s brow furrowed in frustration, and if he’d been able, Daniel would have shuddered. Wheeling, she started to walk down the hall, though after two steps she stopped and sheepishly looked back. “I have no idea where we are.” (If we follow this hall, then take a left, we should get back to kinda near the cafeteria I think?) Daniel explained. (That at least gets us pretty close, and we shouldn’t run into Rachel.) “Oh no,” Ismella said. “Rachel–we need to figure out how to make sure Daniel doesn’t get in trouble for this.” “That can wait,” Jen said. “You’re not stalling on this, we’re getting you out of him. Honestly, Daniel, if you just kick her out now, I wouldn’t blame you.” (I’m not going to do that,) Daniel thought. (Tell her it’s fine.) “He really says it’s fine,” Ismella promised her. “Yeah, well, when he’s able to say that for himself, I’ll listen. Come on, where are we going?” Ismella pointed down the dark, narrow corridor. “This way.” The silent tension was palpable, laying thick and heavy in the hall as Jen stomped in the direction she’d been told, and Daniel couldn’t even crack a joke or break the tension properly. It was like watching a movie, wanting to scream at the characters not to go in that door, but being unable to do anything except stew in the discomfort. “I’m sorry,” Ismella whispered under her breath, almost subvocally, so that it could only be perceived by Daniel. “I didn’t…I messed up.” (I’m not mad,) Daniel promised her. (We’ll talk this out.) The back hallways were still and silent, and Daniel felt his heart rate slowly return to normal as they walked through the narrow, abandoned corridor. There were no signs of any animals or pests, not even any dust–it could be have been ten minutes since the last person went down the hall, or a hundred years, and Daniel didn’t know which idea was more unsettling. He wanted to bring up what they’d found–or, rather, what they hadn’t found–but neither Jen nor Ismella seemed to be in a mood to discuss history books, even if that had been the whole purpose behind this venture to begin with. Everything, from finding the books to escaping Rachel’s pursuit, had been undercut by the kiss. Then again, Daniel couldn’t get the embrace out of his own head either. He wanted to turn his thoughts to the practical side of things, but the memory of Jen’s lips against his own kept reasserting itself, reminding him of what had happened. It took a few minutes to navigate through the hall, even with only one turn on the way, and when they got to the end of the corridor, Jen pressed a hand against the wall. “Just a sec–you just opened this with kinetomancy, right?” “Right,” Ismella explained. “Don’t forget to check, to make sure there’s nobody out there.” “I’m not stupid,” Jen said, with more venom than Daniel could remember hearing from her before. “It’s clear.” The doorway slid open with a hum that reminded Daniel of Star Trek, and they stepped out into a side corridor near the cafeteria. After glancing side to side to make sure nobody was coming, Ismella hurried towards her own hall, leading the way back to her ghostly residence. The bulk of the dinner rush had faded, so the only students out and about were those making their way to the library or meeting up for social groups, which left the halls open and clear as they snuck through. Once back at the former classroom Ismella occupied, Jen faced Daniel with balled fists. “Alright. We’re here. Out.” A cold rush ran down Daniel’s spine as Ismella slipped out of him, and he stumbled for a moment before recovering his balance and control. “It’s fine,” Daniel said immediately. “I–it’s not like I didn’t…can we just not make a big deal out of this?” “No,” Jen insisted. “We’re going to make a big deal out of this. Daniel–did you tell her to kiss me?” “No,” Daniel said quickly, before realizing how that might sound. “Not–I mean, I didn’t not want to kiss you, just–” “So she just did it,” Jen insisted, turning, then hesitating. “Where are you?” Ismella’s voice piped up near the dusty desk. “Here.” Jen turned her angry gaze on the desk. “You don’t get to take my friend for a joyride like that! Like, yeah, I know he gave you permission to help with the library thing, but that doesn’t just mean you can do whatever you want!” “He said he was fine with it!” Ismella shot back. “I said I was sorry, he’s okay with it, you don’t care that I kissed you, so what’s the issue?” “The issue is–” Jen began. Daniel didn’t need any of this. Jen arguing on his behalf, unasked and unwanted, or Ismella fighting back. He just wanted out of this conversation. Turning on his heels, he left the rom, shuffling down the hall towards the prefect’s dorms. A moment later, Jen stepped into the hall behind him. “Daniel, wait.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to get into a big argument about this, okay?” She jogged to catch up with him, quickly getting to his side. “I’m sorry for what she did.” “It’s fine.” “It’s really not.” Jen caught his arm, and he jerked away. She flinched back for a moment, but he just kept walking until she said, “I know you like me.” His step caught, and he finally stopped. “What? I…but, no, I…what?” “When we’re connected, to practice magic,” Jen explained. “It’s…kind of obvious. Boys aren’t very subtle about that kind of thing. But I mean, it’s okay, I just know that makes it weird for you.” Caught in a verbal trap, Daniel tried to think of how he could respond. He didn’t want to deny what she was saying, and he doubted she’d believe him if he tried, but confessing a crush didn’t rate as an option either. “Why didn’t you say something before?” “Well, you know.” Jen rubbed at the back of her neck, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Your…diapers.” Daniel blushed in turn, but tried to hide it with an exasperated sigh. “Saying it in a stage whisper just makes it worse, you know.” It didn’t surprise him to learn that his chances had been ruined by Rachel’s revenge against him, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. “I just mean–you’ve got a lot going on, and I didn’t want to make you feel like you were on the spot, and so I’d just let you kinda feel out how you wanted to do things,” Jen continued. “Like…it’s cool that you don’t want to make any moves right now, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by mentioning it, so…my point is, it should’ve been your choice to make, not hers.” Blinking, Daniel tried to parse the soup of words she’d just poured out. It seemed like she was saying… “Wait, what do you mean?” “Deciding who you want to kiss is a you decision,” Jen insisted. “If she decides that for you, she’s no better than Rachel.” “No, I mean…before that,” Daniel said, trying to remain coy with his question in case he’d misread the situation. “Huh?” His blush rose another shade, and he said, “You aren’t against me…making moves?” “Oh!” Jen brightened and shook her head. “No, I mean, not at all. Like…I’m not looking for anything serious right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m not open.” Daniel felt a new kind of embarrassment wash over him, completely disconnected from the regular humiliations he’d gotten used to over the past weeks at the university. He looked for words, but his throat was suddenly dry, and anything he could think to say felt hopelessly awkward. “I’m mad that Ismella took the choice away from you, as to if or when we were going to kiss,” Jen concluded. “That’s all.” “I, well…” he said, shifting from foot to foot as he faced her. “Would you…like to try again?” Jen smiled. “Sure, as long as you’re both okay with it, but we’d need to go over ground rules with Ismella first.” Blinking, Daniel took a moment to catch up to Jen’s comment. “No, not with her, I just mean–” “Kidding,” Jen interrupted, before leaning forward and planting her lips on his. They embraced for the second time, and this time, Daniel was able to push his lips into hers, to wrap his arms around her back, to savor the taste of her cherry chapstick. Jen pulled away after a long moment of connection, and with their faces so close together, Daniel almost missed her smirk. “What?” “Nothing,” she said, before adding, “You’re…new to this, aren’t you?” “Oh.” Shame began to creep into his thoughts, but Jen cut in again before the self-doubting spiral could take over. “It’s fine,” she said quickly. “Kissing takes practice.” “Sorry,” he replied, glancing away. “I haven’t really had much opportunity, and…” “I’m telling you to kiss me again, dork,” Jen teased. “I’m your tutor, after all, you need to get better at it.” Eyes widening in pleased surprise, he took her instruction and kissed Jen once again, watching her face while they kissed for signs that she was enjoying it. When the kiss ended, she opened her own eyes, and they shared a moment of extremely close visual contact. “Close your eyes, you don’t need to stare at me,” she explained, whispering quietly against his skin. A spike of embarrassment ran through Daniel’s mind, but he saw on Jen’s face that the admonishment was a suggestion, not an attack. She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Here, do it like this.” He closed his eyes, trusting his body to find her. They kissed again. “Better.” And again. “See? You’re a fast study.” Jen took his hand in her own, moving it down to her breast. He could feel that her nipples were hard beneath the fabric of her university uniform. Adding verbal instructions to the motion, she added, “You can touch me.” She was wonderful. Soft, sweet, tender beneath his touch. He tentatively explored her breasts, squeezing gently with his fingers, not wanting to go too far. Lost in the pleasure of her touch, he felt himself grow hard, surging with desire that his damp diaper could do nothing to suppress. Jen pressed him against the hallway wall, leaning against it for support. He felt her tongue brush against his lips, and tried to match her motion. A giggle interrupted the kiss, and Jen pulled away, mouth covered with a hand. “Sorry!” Crestfallen, Daniel asked, “What?” “You…that tickled,” Jen said. “No tongue on my teeth until you know what you’re doing with it, okay?” Self consciousness threatened to rear its head, but Daniel couldn’t feel too bad about himself when Jen attacked him with another kiss. Any naivety or inexperience didn’t matter as long as she was enjoying herself and he didn’t seem like too much of an idiot. Taking a moment of initiative, he groped her breasts more tightly, eliciting a pleased breath halfway to being a gasp. “Good,” Jen whispered. “Just like that.” Searching for something to say, he spoke softly in reply. “Yeah? You like that?” Again, Jen had a moment of snickering hesitation. “Yes, that’s why I told you to do it.” He blushed, and she pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh–you don’t need to say anything, just do what I tell you, okay?” Stone silent, Daniel nodded enthusiastically. With their lips locked, Jen took his other wrist and moved his hand down, past her breasts, arranging his palm so that it was pressed into the front of her skirt, touching her through two layers of fabric–the skirt, and her panties. “You can touch me here, too,” she whispered, turning any coherent thoughts he might have had left into a jumbled mess of TV static and dial tone noises. He touched her, and she seemed to like it, so he touched her more. Through the clothing, he could feel the outline of her, and he traced his fingers up and down, trying his best to do as he was told. “Good,” she repeated. “Good boy, just–yeah–” It was his turn to gasp, though he couldn’t place his finger exactly on why. All the sensation, the touch, the unfamiliar intimacy, it made him feel like his skin was on fire, and wherever Jen’s skin brushed against his own, the flames only burned more brilliantly. Desperate need surged inside him, and he felt so hard that it made him light headed from the arousal, dizzy and overwhelmed with pleasant sensation. Jen rocked against him, grinding, fabric rubbing against the palm of his hand, then reached to touch him in turn. Hand exploring beneath his skirt, Jen pressed into the front of his diaper, providing something to grind against and– “Aaaa–” Daniel gasped, eyes widening as, at the moment of her touch, he exploded into climax, spurting suddenly into his diaper. He stiffened, and Jen hesitated, then whispered a surprised, “Oh!” and held him all the tighter, squeezing his body and pressing her lips against his as he rode out the orgasm. Ten seconds passed, then twenty, as bliss slowly melted away into self criticism. A single touch had been all it took, with his diaper on no less. Jen looked at him, radiating calm and quiet pleasure. Her full-moon spectacles were a bit disheveled, pushed to the side of her face from the intense embrace, but her blue eyes were pure joy. “Did you cum?” He nodded, panting for breath. “Did you?” She giggled again, but while it made him blush, it was only light embarrassment without any shame. Straightening her lopsided glasses, she reassured him. “No, but that’s okay. Was that your first time? With someone, I mean, I assume you’ve…by yourself, y’know.” He nodded. “Yeah.” “We can practice that too,” Jen replied, squeezing his hand. “P-practice,” he stammered, excitement battling the sudden post-coital wave of fatigue that hit him. “I…” “I’m your tutor, aren’t I? It’s my job to make sure you learn,” she flirted, batting her eyelashes before breaking and giggling at her own comment. “Sorry, that was so cheesy.” “Cheesy is good,” he whispered. “Good, cuz I’m all about cheesy.” Jen leaned in and gave him one last kiss, a gentle, small gesture. “And I’m glad you were up for trying again.” ... Consent is hot, amirite? Give me money and help me write! https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl

I mean less "Spell check" and more "Scanning a document and filtering word repetition, conflicts between British vs American English, etc." Or for a stronger grey area, there are tools that can analyze a document and return a description of basic themes, how it's paced, what the ratio of dialogue is to prose, etc. I think both of these are fine, but they're definitely more intense than just spell checkers. For me, it starts to blur if you get things like "Grammarly suggesting different words to 'improve the sentence'. I think that kinda stuff can still be fine, as long as it's just suggesting alternative words and pointing out weak sentences to rewrite, but if the software starts writing *for* you it goes into ai writing.

To the first question: I won't say if Rachel is being honest or not about how the curse works, but based on the available information and assuming nobody has gotten details of it wrong: Tampering with the curse makes it permanent beyond just removing the two week cooldown, it somehow makes it permanent in a way that even Daniel could never undo. If Rachel were to be caught and it could be proved she did him permanent damage, she'd be in trouble, though the 'proving it was her' part would be difficult. To the meta-question: Yes, that's why I gave it that name. Changing it when I do the final is probably a good idea. Those observations are very apt! Also, "The Ghost Haunting My Bikini Area Also Wants to Have Sex With My Girlfriend" sounds like the title for a light novel.

I think the rules for the AI section are good, though they could use a bit of clarification regarding editing tools. Products like Grammarly sometimes advertise that they use AI, (though I don't believe it's an LLM,) and there's some ambiguity there in the current rules post. Including a caveat like Oznl suggested, ("Machine generated spell, grammar and format checking are permissible") might be a good edit just so it's clear.

I am cheerfully in favor of all four of those things! As long as you're not taking early access content and just saying what happens, I'm not worried about spoilers or speculation, either.

Chapter 26 Continuity note, for the final edit: I need to establish that, in addition to the rules of not being able to enter the restricted section, the library also has magically-enforced rules about talking loud, running, checking out books, etc. In the final version of the book, these changes will be included. “So…Jen is cute.” Ismella whispered under her breath as she flipped through books, quiet enough that her voice wouldn’t carry outside of the restricted section. It was hard to play coy in his own mind, so Daniel didn’t bother. (She is, but I haven’t really been thinking about dating since I got here, it’s kind of hard to worry about romance when I’m stuck in baby pants.) “Oh, sure.” Ismella turned the page, flipping through the appendix. “I’d forgotten how books smelled.” (In a bad way or a good way?) “No, I mean…they smell with their noses, silly.” Ismella giggled–a sound that felt strange coming from his own throat–but shook her head. “But, no, it’s nice. Just…touching things is nice.” (Hah, you’re a comedian. You should sell that joke to Laffy Taffy.) “I think that’s a compliment, and if I’m wrong, don’t correct me.” Running a finger down the page, she said, “Here, blueprints.” The announcement wasn’t exactly necessary. Daniel could see exactly what Ismella was looking at, down to the places on the page her eyes focused. They could only read as fast as Ismella dragged her gaze across the page, but they got to have two minds go over the information in tandem. The pair of them were on the fourth–and final–book in the restricted section. The first three had all been a bust, and skimming through had only revealed elements of the school’s history that Daniel didn’t much care about. The history of the school was, unfortunately, not very complicated. As best as Daniel could tell, the location had been chosen purely out of a drive to avoid mundanes, burying the school deep in the arctic so that only apparition magic could reach it. There were no secret power sources, no deep bubbling energy sources welling up, it was just a school locked in a block of ice. This last book had to be it: Unlike the others, it was from the very founding of the school, and instead of being a history text, it was a compilation of documentation and notes about the construction of the school itself. Ismella turned to the page indicated and pored over copies of the blueprints, looking for any mysterious source of power or danger that might be hidden in the school. She and Daniel both looked it over twice, flipping back through to ensure they hadn’t missed anything, but again, they turned up bupkis. (Check the index again, you probably missed something.) “You’re reading the same index I am.” (The voice said this school was ‘built’ on something. So what was it built on?) Ismella shrugged Daniel’s shoulders. “You’re asking me like I’d know.” He was about to make a petty comment, when Daniel noted an element of the school’s design he hadn’t been aware of. An entire second set of hallways and corridors ran through the school, with doorways and passages that, as best as Daniel could tell, were built into the walls, hidden seamlessly amongst marble and stone. Several passages even ran into various faculty rooms, including the dean’s office. (Did you know about these back halls?) “Nope,” Ismella whispered, checking over the same parts of the page. “But when’s the last time you just saw a faculty member wandering around the hallways with the rest of us regulars?” (There’s no way that door to the dean’s office is just unlocked, is there?) Daniel wondered, as much to himself as to Ismella. “They have this book back in the restricted section for a reason,” Ismella replied. “They probably don’t want just any student to know there’s a secret backdoor to the dean’s office.” (Okay. But there’s no wellspring, no special magic power, the school itself is pretty normal.) “You’re reading the same stuff I’m reading, pal.” (…so what the hell was the danger?) “Look, are you sure there’s some kind of evil plan going on?” Ismella asked. “This isn’t a ‘Conspiracy Theory’?” (Why did you say it like that?) “Say what like what?” (The way you said ‘Conspiracy Theory’, it felt like you wanted to raise my hands and do air quotes.) “My point is–maybe we’re getting all worried about nothing?” (I know what I heard. It was not nothing.) Ismella returned the book to the shelf and shrugged. “Well, whatever secret foundation is here, nobody’s written anything about it. I don’t know what to tell you.” (I guess it’s better to at least rule this out,) Daniel conceded. (I think the only thing to do now is figure out who the people in that room were. I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck with remembering from when they were in your room?) “No, sorry. It’s…hard. We’ve interacted enough times that even though I kinda struggle to remember the order, I still have a good concept of you in my head, but if I’ve only bumped into someone once, like a janitor or just another student running through the hall, it’s hard to pull them out of the mess.” (Okay. Just grab the big one, I might go through it in more detail and see if there’s anything I missed.) Ismella paused. “You’re going to try and check it out? Won’t it look weird when a first year comes along and tries to take a book from somewhere he can’t access?” (I had just planned on taking it.) “You haven’t tried to sneak out a book yet, then, right?” Ismella asked. “It’s like trying to run in here, you just can’t do it. Even I can’t help you there.” Daniel looked reluctantly at the book. (I guess we can always come back if I need to check something.) “And, hey, you can always ask me what was there–an advantage of being a ghost, it’s always going to be about as fresh in my mind as it can get.” (That’s–) A muffled whistle echoed from outside the restricted section. Jen. They were in trouble. (Crap. Run!) Ismella turned, quickly shuffling down the corridor between bookshelves, speedwalking as best she could. “I can’t run, dummy.” (Double crap.) Jen’s voice echoed from the entryway to the restricted section. “Can I help you, Rachel?” “I saw you were loitering back here,” Rachel replied. “Peeking around corners, acting funny. Where’s your boyfriend?” “I’m allowed to be in the library, that’s not against the rules.” “Maybe, but I can tell you’re up to something.” (Is there another way out?) Daniel asked. (A second exit?) “I don’t know!” Ismella hissed back at him through his own lips. “I came back here like twice, ever.” (What about the blueprints? Was there a back hall in here?) “No, it’s pretty much sealed off–the nearest one I saw was outside the library entirely.” Ismella pressed her back to the far end of a bookshelf, breathing slowly as she listened around the corner. (At least she won’t guess I’m in here, she wouldn’t think I could get past the wards.) “Were you back here making out?” Rachel demanded. “What is your obsession?” Jen shot back. “At this point it’s just creepy–not everything revolves around Danny!” “I know he’s back here.” “Yeah, well, do you see him anywhere?” Rachel fell silent, but her footsteps turned, growing louder as she entered the restricted section. (You don’t need to say it,) Daniel thought. (I shouldn’t have tempted fate.) Spinning on her heels, Ismella turned, walking further away from the door. “I don’t know how you got back here,” Rachel called, at a volume that seemed too low for her tone. “But if you come out, I won’t push to have you expelled.” (Liar.) Ismella stood on tip-toe and peered over a row of old tomes, whispering to Daniel. “Where’s your wand?” (I suck at magic.) “I don’t.” (Pocket.) Reaching into his pocket, Ismella fished around and came out with his short, ergonomic wand. “I thought this was like…a pen case.” (Problem?) “No, just–” She froze for a moment, Ismella holding her breath as Rachel walked past two shelves over, glancing side-to-side like a velociraptor on the hunt. “Why is your go-to dinosaur a velociraptor?” (Oh, shit. You have got to see Jurassic Park.) “Later. Right now, give me some power.” Daniel hesitated for a moment–their minds were already about as close as he could imagine them getting, but he still tried to extend himself, reaching out with his power so that Ismella could channel magic through him. (This won’t piss off the Librarian, will it?) “Not if I do it right.” Extending Daniel’s wand, Ismella waited for a long moment, timing her spell. Just as Rachel got to the end of a row, Ismella flicked her wrist and twisted her hand, sending a wave of force that lashed out and caught Rachel around the ankles. The prefect stumbled and slipped, pinwheeling like a cartoon character who’d stepped on a banana. Once she was down, Ismella took off at top speed: A couple miles an hour, give or take, as fast as she could walk with the library’s protective compulsions laid over her. (Don’t look back,) Daniel thought. (Don’t let her get a look at your face.) “I know, I know.” Sliding past the aisles, Ismella beelined towards the exit. Behind and to their side, they could both hear Rachel quietly shriek in frustration and get to her feet, footsteps clacking on the marble floor in hot pursuit. Ismella couldn’t help herself, though. As they made it to the exit, she shot a glance over her shoulder, and for the barest moment she shared eye contact with the furious third year. Rachel’s eyes bulged and she reached into her book back. A long ribbon trailed as she produced her wand, leveling it right at Daniel. “Stop,” she shrieked, though it was only her tone that indicated the scream; her volume remained at an even pitch. Instead of obeying, Ismella raised a hand and thumbed her nose, fingers waggling at Rachel. (What are you doing?) Daniel demanded. (She’s going to be pissed!) “She already saw us, so–ack!” Rachel’s wand flicked out and her ribbon cracked like a whip. Energy flew towards Daniel, and though Ismella attempted a counterspell, the bolt struck home between his eyes. Instantly, he felt the urge to stop what he was doing and drop. His body was numb, all pins-and-needles, and he couldn’t even tell his legs to keep his body upright. Fortunately, he wasn’t the one in charge. Ismella barked out a laugh and spun, rushing out the door. “I–what?” Rachel fumed. “How?” Passing Jen, Ismella gave her a wide-eyed look. “Can you buy us time?” “Yeah,” Jen replied, holding up a thin textbook on rune construction. “I have a plan.” “Hitting her with a book?” Ismella asked, shuffling past and looking over her shoulder. “You’re going to want a heavier book.” Jen giggled but shook her head. “Just go–I’ll slow her down. Don’t stop!” Ismella nodded and ducked around a corner, using the shelves upon shelves of books to put a wall between them and Rachel. The prefect was only twenty feet behind them, but as she left the restricted section, she slammed into Jen. Daniel could only make out fragments of the collision, but he saw his clumsy friend stumble back and catch her balance by grabbing onto Rachel, pawing at her for support. “Watch where you’re going!” “Out of my way,” Rachel snarled, moving past her. “You nearly knocked me over,” Jen snapped. “A little ‘excuse me’ wouldn’t hurt! And besides, you…don’t ignore me, I’m trying to distract you, get back here!” Rachel was already gone, utterly unconcerned. (She saw us,) Daniel thought. (She can just tell an administrator.) “That’s a problem for once we’re not in the library,” Ismella replied. Weaving through back shelves, they could clearly hear as Rachel followed behind, keeping pace. Unable to run, their speed was dictated purely by the length of their stride, which meant Rachel and her long legs had the advantage: With every step, she grew a little closer, and Jen’s attempt at a diversion had only bought a couple seconds at most. (Once we’re out of the library, go right,) Daniel thought. (We can’t beat her in a foot race, we need to lose her.) “I’m pretty fast.” (Yeah, well, it’s my legs you’re using, and I’m so-so.) She risked another glance over her shoulder and spotted Rachel just as they went around a bookshelf. They were almost to the end of the library, they just had to get past the assistant librarian’s desk and the book return cart, then they’d be in the hall and home free. Ismella tugged Daniel’s pointy hat down, hiding his face as best as she could as she strode purposefully towards the exit. It wouldn’t help with Rachel, but it might at least make sure nobody could corroborate Rachel’s story. (Come on, come on, come on…) They pushed through the heavy oak doors, and the compulsion fled as they stepped out of the hall, but Rachel was right behind, her wand out, ready to slow him down with a spell that wouldn’t bounce off. Ismella started to run to the right, Daniel’s wand clutched in her hand, ready to try and throw a counterspell. Looking over her shoulder, she waited, watching as the doors flew open a second time and Rachel stepped out into the hallway. Then, just as suddenly, a force yanked Rachel back as though she’d been towed with a rope. She yelped in surprise, voice muffled somewhat by the spells overlaying the library, and didn’t come out again. “What the heck?” Ismella wondered aloud, breathing heavily as she jogged. (No time,) Daniel replied. (Quick–the wall over to the left.) She followed his instructions. “Are you trying to get into the back halls on the blueprints?” (Yup. Fifty feet off the library’s main entrance door, it was marked plain as day.) “Smart, but I don’t know how to open this.” The library doors opened again, and Jen came out, quickly taking on speed as she rushed to catch up. “Why aren’t you running?” “Secret passage,” Ismella explained. “But I don’t know how to get in. Daniel says it’s right here on this wall, though. What did you do to Rachel?” “Shoved that textbook in her bag,” Jen replied. “You can’t leave with books you didn’t check out. Once she figures it out, though, she’ll be on us in a second.” “Do you know how to open secret passages?” “No. Does Daniel?” (No.) “He says no.” “Just–” (Wait, I’m stupid.) “No you’re not.” “What?” “Talking to Daniel.” (We’re magical. Just open it with a spell.) “What spell? I don’t know how the door is sealed.” (Kinetomancy!) “Oh. Right.” Ismella lifted her wand and reached out with her senses, providing a trail that Daniel could follow. Though the door didn’t have any visible seams, it stood out as its own object, and when they touched it with their power, Daniel felt the whole mechanism shift–there was no secret lock, just an unseen doorframe and a panel that could be slid from side to side. Ismella threw the doorway open, revealing a plain, evenly lit hallway, and together the three of them rushed inside. Before Rachel could catch up, Ismella spun and slammed the door shut, concealing them inside. Daniel felt grateful he wasn’t the one steering the situation, since he would have likely frozen up and gotten them caught, especially when it came time to actually do a bit of magic to escape. Sweating from the exertion, Ismella faced Jen in the narrow space. “You think we lost her?” “Yeah,” Panting heavily, Jen put a hand on his shoulder, leaning forward as she caught her breath. “Nice move with the tripping spell.” (Agreed, that was clever.) “Nice move with the book.” Ismella’s cheeks grew a bit warm, flushing with embarrassment. “I…that was really cool.” “Thanks.” The warmth grew, and Daniel hesitated, wondering why she felt embarrassed, but Ismella only said, “You’re really cool.” In the tight confines of the back hall, Daniel felt Ismella move his body forward slightly, almost as though… (Uh, Ismella, what are you–) Leaning in, Ismella steered Daniel’s body forward and pressed her lips into Jen’s in a sudden, passionate kiss. ... Support is always appreciated! My subs get early access and exclusive content. https://reamstories.com/peculiarchangelingabdl https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling