PeculiarChangeling

This was a commission/request, so it probably won't be seeing a sequel. I wish all of my micro fiction could get sequels, but there's just not enough time in the day.

Chapter 21: Overthinking “Mhmm. Mhmm! I agree,” Grace said, nodding along as she failed to retain anything she’d heard in the last five minutes. It was her own damned fault–her bladder was aching, but she refused to wet herself in front of a client. She doubted anyone would notice the faint pee smell–her client had far too much of a lingering B.O.-Plus-Old Spice smell to pick up anything else. But even if they’d never know, and even if her diaper would hold it all perfectly, she found it simply too undignified. But, as a result, her aching bladder distracted her from listening to a single word that’d been said in the past five minutes. The meeting had already dragged on far longer than she expected, and her bladder didn’t seem to have as much fortitude as she’d expected–in the past twenty minutes, she’d gone from not having a need at all to bursting at the seams. “So, I was thinking,” her client continued, oblivious to Grace’s distraction. “If you’re on board with it, we should just have the launch be a full on party.” She blinked. “The website launch?” “Yes, that’s the idea. Get people really excited about the Web3 integrations by throwing a rager!” he continued. “In the metaverse space, of course.” Grace didn’t know how to respond. She’d clearly missed something. “Can you excuse me for one moment?” she asked. “Just–one moment, I need to go use the bathroom.” Her client nodded, a bit taken aback but understanding. Grace stood, hurrying off to the cafe’s bathroom and locking the door behind her. Once in privacy, she muttered, “This is stupid.” Leaning against the bathroom wall, she shut her eyes and released her bladder, soaking into her diaper. Having the modicum of privacy helped, even if she’d be waddling right back out to finish the meeting in a soggy diaper. Sighing, she turned. This client was already a pain just from insisting on an in person meeting, and now this, just an extra nuisance. Resting her hand on the door handle, she braced herself to get back out there– … Grace stumbled inside, grumpy and fuming. She was glad to be busy, but a basic design meeting had no reason to last three full hours. But for now, she needed a beer and a good, old fashioned bitching. Walking towards the stairs, she passed Brains heading the opposite direction. He gave her a nod, sliding to the side to let her pass. “Hey, how’d your meeting go?” “Pain,” Grace replied. “Is Melody around?” “Off on a date, I think,” Brains replied. “I’m actually headed that way too.” Grace perked up. “On a date?” “Yeah, you remember that guy from before?” he grinned. She rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, the one you didn’t know you were dating?” “That’s the one,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows dramatically. “I’m apparently a ‘hot ticket’ or something. Don’t wait up!” He turned to walk towards the door. Grace smiled. She couldn’t help but be happy at her friend’s happiness, though the overall ‘Grump’ of her afternoon still wore down on her; By the time she reached the top of the stairs, the burst of cheer had largely deflated. Melody was gone on a one night stand, Brains was gone on a date, and Skip would be at work. If she wanted someone to complain to, only one real choice remained. Rapping on Pearce’s door, she said, “You there?” He answered a moment later, opening it to reply rather than just calling from across his room. “Yup. How’d the meeting go, soggypants?” “Awful,” she replied. “How many times can you tell a client, ‘Using copyrighted characters in your banner is going to get you sued’ before you’re legally allowed to slap someone? I don’t think he understands trademarks, or web design, or, like…basic hygiene, for that matter.” “Ugh, the worst,” he said, rolling his eyes in response. Leaning over, he gave the front of her jeans a squeeze, testing her diaper through the denim. “Well, I think you could wait a little bit before your change. Let me slip you into something less comfortable, and then I’ll get you a bottle of beer if you promise not to brat and leak on purpose?” She smirked. “Sure, that sounds nice.” The ‘something less comfortable’ ended up being a onesie with a whole entire pillow shoved down between the legs, which made her bottom puff out like a comic exaggeration of a diaper bulge. It did the least to hinder her walking of the various waddle-inducing garments Pearce had recently picked, but perhaps the most blush-inducing. She had to toddle down the stairs, with Pearce snickering at her all the while. Splaying out on the couch, she stretched her arms, waiting for Pearce to return with her beer. He waltzed in with two bottles a minute later–one glass with a long neck, the other plastic, wide, and with a rubber nipple on the top, but both full of fresh, frosty beer. “So tell me about the awful scrooge of web design,” he said, passing her beer down. “And scoot, I want to sit.” She accepted the bottle, and shimmied butt-first towards the edge of the couch, throwing her legs over the armrest. That placed Pearce on the other end of the couch, sitting right by her head. “Ugh, it’s just–a garbage client, you know?” she said, taking a long suckle of her beer. “Yeah, I’ve had a few like that,” he said. “Getting paid well, at least?” “I’m getting paid,” she said, stopping to get another sip. The nipple only allowed a slow trickle of beer, adding long pauses to her speech, but Pearce waited for her to finish. “I’m actually giving him a discount, though.” “Why?” Pearce asked. “He caught you on a sale?” “No, I just wanted the job,” she admitted. “I knew they were talking to a couple other clients, and I thought it wouldn’t be this much of a pain. It’s going to be like, a full week of work, and I am not looking forward to the client back-and-forth.” “Have you done any of the work yet?” he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him. “No, we just did the initial design meeting–which absolutely could have been a phone call, let me tell you. But when I couldn’t meet him in his ‘Web Three Metaspace Zone’ bullshit whatever, he insisted we talk in person.” “So…why not just drop the client?” Pearce asked. Grace stared up at him, almost choking on her sip of beer. “What?” “Are you super pressed for work?” he asked. “Struggling to pay your bills?” “No, I–I mean, I’ve got other projects with looser deadlines I could be working on,” Grace started, shaking her head. “But–” “And are you worried that dropping him might tank your career or something?” He tilted his head. “Does he have lots of connections in the industry that could cause you trouble?” “Not connections I care about, just crypto bros,” she replied. “But–” “I’m not hearing any good arguments to keep him around,” Pearce shrugged. “I can’t do that!” Grace cut in, finally, sitting up and spinning around to face Pearce. “Are you serious right now? Just toss out work like it’s yesterday’s jam?” Pearce snorted. “Yesterday’s–never mind. Yeah, just drop the client.” “I already sat through that whole meeting with him,” Grace said, feeling her heart rate rise just at the thought of it–(Drop a client? Just because he’s annoying?) “Sunk cost fallacy,” he replied. “Would you rather suffer for another week or two to justify a couple bad hours? You’re overthinking.” “I’m not overthinking,” Grace shot back. “You’re always overthinking, crinkles,” Pearce said with a smirk. “Okay, but…you don’t turn down work just because it’s kinda shitty,” Grace said. “I’ve got to do it. I promised.” “Sure,” Pearce said. “Or, well. You don’t.” “You do?” she asked. (I knew you were lazy, but–seriously?) “Not just because it’s hard,” Pearce said. “I like a hard job, if anything. The challenge is fun. But if the client’s an asshole with unreasonable expectations? Nah, screw ‘em. I know what my time’s worth, and it’s not worth being shit on.” “Don’t you worry about…like…money?” Grace asked. “I mean, yeah, but I get my bills paid,” he replied, stretching an arm over the side of the couch and sipping his beer. “We’re splitting a mortgage and utilities five ways and I don’t have any dependents. I’m okay on money. I’ve got a little savings, enough for an accident at least.” Grace almost couldn’t wrap her head around it. “But…” “Hey,” he said. “If you want to keep working with this dick, you do you. I’m not going to tell you how you live your life, it just seems like you’d be happier without it.” She took a breath, cautiously reclining a little next to Pearce, putting up her feet on the coffee table. “I just don’t get you, sometimes.” Putting the bottle back into her mouth, she took a long, thoughtful suckle. “Yeah?” he asked, looking down at her, taking another pull of his drink. “What’s not to get?” “You just–you never care about anything,” Grace said. “You don’t get stressed. You don’t worry.” “I don’t think that’s quite true,” he said, frowning and furrowing his brow as he thought about his answer. “I care, I’m just pragmatic. When I get stressed, I know how to talk to myself, how to walk my anxiety down to reasonable levels.” “That’s called ‘rationalizing’.” Grace rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t make the problems go away.” “What problems?” Pearce asked. “Seriously. If I’m keeping myself taken care of, what’s there to worry about?” “But it only gets taken care of because someone else is doing it,” Grace said. “Like–let’s say I got in a car wreck and got hurt really bad, insurance didn’t cover it, and I couldn’t pay my bills because I didn’t have enough saved up.” “We’d take care of you,” Pearce said, tapping his chest with a bird-flipping fist. The club salute they’d had since Junior High. “Wasters for life.” “Right.” Grace nodded. “You’d have to take care of me. I’d be dropping a burden on you because I didn’t save enough.” Pearce’s face softened, eyes widening. “Grace–that’s what having friends is for. We support each other. Nobody’s mad at you because you aren’t entirely independent all the time.” “You don’t complain about it, but you still notice,” Grace corrected. “Nobody likes cleaning up someone else’s mess. But nobody likes doing someone else’s dishes, or gathering up their garbage, or picking their hair out of the shower trap. And if I don’t do it, I’m forcing someone else to take that on for me. There’s a reason why acts of service is a love language–it’s because you wouldn’t do that shit for someone if you didn’t care about them.” “Grace, you’re overthinking it again.” Pearce shook his head slowly. “You’ve got it all wrong. You’re not an obligation that we’ve taken on begrudgingly. Picking up after each other isn’t a responsibility, it’s just…it’s just kind of part of life. We’re here, right now, together, and it’s nicer to be doing life stuff with friends and to have each other’s back than to do it all alone.” Grace didn’t respond right away, covering her silence with another suckle of her beer. She looked up at Pearce, at his face, not so much reading his expression as just looking at him. “You seriously think that?” “I mean, yeah,” Pearce said. “You want proof?” “Duh,” Grace snorted. “It’s a big claim.” “I’ve been taking care of you for, what, a few weeks now?” Pearce asked. She nodded, supplying, “Three weeks and four days. So?” “I have to make all your food, run your baths, deal with your clothes, wipe your butt,” he said. “And yeah, it’s work. It takes time. Sometimes it stinks. Sometimes, you’re an enormous brat, and you make the work harder than it needs to be.” “You’re not making your case,” Grace said, curiosity building, along with a certain tension in her chest. “What’re you getting at?” Pearce glanced down at his beer, and took another swig, draining the rest of the bottle. He set it aside on the coffee table, and turned his head to look at her. “At any point has it seemed like I’ve stopped caring about you just because I’m caring for you?” (Oh.) (Oh.) “Mmm,” Grace said, looking down and away from him. “Does that make sense?” Pearce asked, sitting forward a little. “Yeah, it…I guess.” She started drumming her fingers on her leg, then stilled, then started drumming again. “Grace?” Pearce’s tone rose just a touch, with concern. “What’re you doing?” She took a breath. “Overthinking.” Before he could ask what she meant, she turned her head to face him, eyes huge. Then, before he could respond to that, she leaned in and kissed him. ... If you can't wait to find out what happens next, or you just want to help support the creation of a story you like, you can chip in a few dollars on Patreon and get early access to all of my original work, including the next chapter of The Baby Bet! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thank you for the comment! I'm really looking forward to more of this story too. :)

At long last, we have Chapter 4! I've also changed the title from "Witch's Bane" to "Vivian: Diaper Witch" because I think that has a nicer ring to it. Chapter 4 Vivian awoke to the whistle of morning birds, chittering woodland creatures, and a loud, insistent squelch. “Ugh,” she mumbled, sitting upright. Her diapers, now three soaked layers one overtop another, radiated a stench that had permeated her dreams, giving her strange not-quite nightmares about being trapped in a nursery. The real world wasn’t much better. Her bladder was full to bursting, and she knew holding it would lead to more discomfort later. Without much further thought she released it, feeling the hot pee soak into her layers of padding, slowly trickling in, adding to the weight between her hips. The wizard, her ‘Master’, still snored off to her side, and she eyed him. If she just sat around, waiting for him to waken, she’d have a full day of backbreaking chores, and her diapers–already full to the brink after her latest use–would only grow heavier and thicker, the bulk swelling until all fear of her had been replaced with giggles at her impressive waddle. If she could escape, though… The Wizard’s traps and wards would certainly stop her if she simply ran, but maybe with help she could get away. She still had her tattoos, her binding to the dread demon Imperionus who had given her the power to convert fear into raw magic. If any being in the world would or could help her, it would be him. Idly, she traced a couple runes in the dirt, symbols of sending. Something to deliver a message, a plea for help. (Maybe…if I can send the message without words, while the Wizard sleeps, he won’t know?) She filled out half of the rune she’d need, then wiped it out with her palm. The method of escape posed too many risks, and if she tried and failed, the Wizard would be on high alert going forward. A moment later, the Wizard yawned off to her side, sitting awake. “Good morning, Vivian,” he said sleepily, standing and stretching away the tiredness in his bones. She stayed half under her blanket, uncertain if she was expected to do anything, while he shuffled around and got ready for the day. Before long, he had a little breakfast cooking; fry cakes on a hot stone over their campfire. “I hope you rested well, and that your diaper didn’t keep you from sleeping,” he said to Vivian, watching her rub at her eyes. “Come have a bite. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll fill your belly well enough.” “We could have brought something from my larder,” Vivian grumbled, getting to her feet. The weight of her diapers made her wobble and nearly fall as she toddled over to the campfire, wincing at the enormous smush between her thighs when she sat down. “It’d be better than this.” “That food is stolen,” the Wizard said. “We’ll be returning what we can to the proper owners, and giving out the rest to the needy. Have your cake.” He used a wooden spoon to scrape two cakes free, into a wooden travel bowl, and passed it over to her. She accepted the bowl, picking up the fry cake with her fingers. “Careful,” the Wizard said, reaching out. “It’s hot, it’ll burn–ah, hmm.” She picked it up, uncaring of the heat. She could feel it, but she resisted fire like a duck’s feathers resisted water, a small perk of her pact with Imperionus. An indicator that, even with all of the Wizard’s bindings to keep her magic suppressed, the pact persisted. “Well,” the Wizard said. “That’ll go away, with time. When none are left who fear you, the pact will naturally fade, and you’ll be free of his influence.” (I don’t want to be free, I want my power back,) Vivian fumed. (And…and I want to know how you do magic like you do.) “You’ve got over half the town left to apologize to, but a full day’s light to do it,” the Wizard mused, while she ate. “If you’re studious, and diligent, then you may earn a fresh diaper before nightfall yet. My powder will protect you from rashing for a good long while, but I’m uncertain if it can handle three full days’ output without refreshing, so I advise you not to dally.” Vivian groaned, but otherwise didn’t back-talk. “Yes, sir.” Done with her breakfast, she set aside the bowl. “Now lay back.” The Wizard to his feet. “You’ve filled your current diapers, you need another layer.” “I’m already having trouble walking straight,” she protested. “More diapers, I won’t even be able to work.” “Nonsense,” he replied. “They aren’t even below your knees yet–you can work in three, even four more before it starts to be an impediment, and if you have to work slower, that’s a problem for you to solve. Now, lay back, I won’t ask again.” She obeyed, laying down as best she could–though with the smushy bulk beneath her bottom, there were a couple inches of air between the small of her back and the ground. Lifting up was an effort, as her diaper wanted to droop down to the ground and she had to do some heavy duty acrobatics to get the sodden, sagging seat up high enough for a fresh layer to be slid beneath. Finally, though, the Wizard was able to stretch a fresh diaper over the three old layers, magically sealing it on to ensure maximum absorption. Then, it was back to town, for her tour of hard work and humiliation. She’d been tasked with giving a sincere apology to each person in town, an apology which had to be accepted. If they needed any favors or chores done, Vivian had to do them, at least until the point that the Wizard declared her work sufficient and allowed her to move on. The humiliation was not without purpose–seeing her on her hands and knees scrubbing tile or crouching to try and sweep dirt into a dustpan while dragging a large, poopy diaper was the perfect antidote to terror. As each and every person was cured of their fear of Vivian, her power shrank, and–according to the Wizard–the world was moved closer back to its natural balance. For her, it meant dealing with the incessant giggles and sneering sniffs from people who wanted nothing more than to see her dead, and would settle for seeing her suffer as best they could inflict. Some made her do work in their yard or on their porch, so her humiliation would be on display. Chores that had her on her hands and knees, in cramped spaces, or that were otherwise particularly difficult, tedious, and uncomfortable were chosen at almost every stop. A few had labor ready to go–it seemed that rumors had spread since yesterday, and knowing that free labor and entertainment would be coming to their door, the villagers had prepared tasks. Few villagers were left who simply asked that she move on and leave them in peace, they all knew the chore Witch had come to town. Adding insult to it all, a running joke peppered her morning work: Vivian, clean the outhouse. Vivian, muck out the stables. Vivian, feed the pigs. All followed by some variation on, “It’s not like you’ll even notice the smell.” Before the sun was halfway to its highest point, she was almost as filthy outside of her diaper as in it, sweaty and exhausted, and she still had far, far too much work to do to even consider a break. She’d only made it through nine houses in three hours–slower than half the speed she’d gone yesterday, now that the villagers were waiting for her. At this pace, she wouldn’t just be going another day without a change, she’d need two days or even three. She knocked on yet another door. A young man answered, smirking. Nobody was even respecting Vivian with an expression of quivering fear upon recognition, now. They knew she was coming, they knew what she was wearing, and they knew she was helpless as a kitten while the Wizard stood by. “The diaper witch,” the young man said, wearing a malicious grin. “Great–my chimney needs scraped and swept, and you’re just in time.” “I’m too big to fit in a chimney,” Vivian said. “Oh, nonsense,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s an old style–narrow at the bottom, but it gets wider as it goes up, so the smoke goes the right direction. Go in from the top, you’ll be fine.” The task he described sounded filthy and claustrophobic, but she already had mud and grime caking her dress, her hair, every bit of exposed skin. “From the top?” “I’ll even help,” he said, genially. “Safety rope around the waist, so I can pull you up when you’re done.” Vivian looked back at the Wizard, who stood a few paces back, letting her apologize on her own terms. She gave him a pleading look, hoping he’d say that the request was unreasonable, but his expression remained placid. (Ugh, this is going to take all morning,) she thought. Aloud, she responded, “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” “I’ve got the ladder out back already,” he said, smirking triumphantly. She followed him around that way, to where a rickety, narrow ladder led up to the top of his home. It was one of the nicer houses in town–stone walls, a brick chimney, a shingled roof–and given how the fineness of his home contrasted with the precariously cheap ladder he had, she almost wondered if he’d asked his poorest neighbor to borrow their ladder just to spite her. “I’ll go up first,” he said, scaling up quickly, taking the top of the ladder and holding it with both hands. “Okay, I’ve got it steady. Come on up!” She knew the trick, and saw it coming a mile away, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. He had all the power here. Shooting a desperate glance at the Wizard, she received nothing from him except a placid nod. Groaning, she put a step on the ladder, and then went up one more rung, her diaper swaying heavily off her bottom, and then she took another step– “Woah!” she yelped, falling sideways off the ladder as it rocked to the side. She landed with an enormous squelch on her diaper, an impact that managed to hurt even through all the padding and muck she’d packed inside it. “Sorry!” the young man called. “I lost my grip!” “You did that on purpose!” She snapped. “You made me fall!” “What, me?” He touched a hand to his chest, feigning offense. His smirk was so posed it could have been etched into a mask. “You clearly fell because your diaper is so heavy it threw off your balance, but now you’re blaming me because you’re too embarrassed to admit it? That’s rude.” “I’m not–” Vivian fumed. “It wasn’t because of my diaper, it was because of you!” “I’m insulted,” he said, tone dripping with condescension. “Apologize.” “Sir!” Vivian snapped, turning to face the Wizard for support. “Seriously–” “Ahem,” the Wizard said. “We’re around others.” She’d forgotten how she was to address him when around strangers. Another rule designed to maximize her humiliation and rob her of dignity. Her tone took on a pleading aspect, and she dropped the volume, whining at him. “Daddy, please…” The man on the roof burst out laughing. The Wizard only said, “The man asked that you apologize. You owe him, Vivian.” She looked up at him, eyes burning. She wanted to hurt the man, to make him suffer for this, to show him what his obvious little games earned, but instead she mumbled, “I’m sorry I called you a liar.” “And?” he said. What he wanted was obvious. She pouted, trying to spot a way around it, but nothing came to her. “I was too embarrassed to admit that I fell because of how heavy my diapers are.” “There we go,” he said. “I think I’ve got a better grip on the ladder now. Why don’t you come on up?” Her eyes were wet from the rage and indignity. She was ready to run, to fight, to do anything, but she sucked it in. (Remember this rage. Remember it when your power has returned, and you come back to this village to see it burn. You spared their lives last time, so you could savor their terror–you won’t do it again.) She clambered up the ladder, careful to keep her diaper from swaying, lest the man take it as an opportunity to tip her over again. Once up, he laid out her tools–a scraper, to remove caked on soot, a brush to get the finer dust, a scarf to wrap over her face and nose, and a rope to tow her up once the work was done. The ‘safety rope’ as it were, was fashioned in a loop that went under her armpits. She saw the problem right away. “I’ve got to trust you to pull me out?” she asked, peering down the chimney. It was wide enough for her to drop down to the bottom, but only barely. He gave her a smug grin. “That’s right. You’ll be completely dependent on me.” Sniffing, he looked at the scarf and added, “It’s a shame that only filters out dust, not odors. You’ll barely have air to breathe down there.” Grumbling, Vivian pulled the rope beneath her armpits, stepped over the side of the chimney, and lowered herself down. Every part of the work was as excruciatingly difficult, exhausting, and grimy as she expected. By pressing her legs against the far side of the chimney, she could keep herself from dropping lower, but she lacked the strength to pull herself higher. It was a constant slide down, deeper, into grimier and grimier sections. She scraped, an exhausting process that took painfully long to get the caked on char free, with barely enough room to move her arms. Once scraped, she brushed, then she moved on, further and further down, getting the three facings of the chimney she could reach and see with her back covering the last. And, as she lowered, the space got tight enough that her enormous, bulging diaper pressed against the walls, pressing against her more tightly, smell floating up. There was no fresh air, only the stink of her diaper fumes concentrating in the air around her. The scarf, as she’d been warned, did nothing to help with the odor, and no amount of wrinkling her nose could help in that regard either. She grunted, and worked, every part of her aching. She lost track of time, all she knew was the stupid, damned, awful chimney, and the squelch of her diaper, which seemed to grow heavier as it was pressed tighter and tighter by the walls, until her feet felt ground. Vivian breathed a sigh of relief. She’d made it all the way. She couldn’t see the floor–glancing down, she only saw her own body, her dress and diaper pressed against the four walls of the chimney, but she was done. She’d finished it. Only a few bricks to go, and they went by in a breeze, and then she called up, “I’m finished! Pull me up!” Nothing. Not even a tug on the rope. She called again. “Hey, I’m done! You can let me up now!” And then she saw a smug, smirking face look down at her. The man wrinkled his nose, making a show of waving his hand in front of his face. “Ah, yuck–I can’t imagine how bad it must smell down there.” “I’m done,” Vivian repeated. “Let me up.” “Hmmm…” the man smirked down at her, a massive cocksure grin plastered on his face. “I don’t know–are you sure you got every corner?” “Yes, I’m sure!” she shot back. “Let me out!” He scratched his chin. “Well not if you’re going to throw a fit–why should I help you?” Rather than continue the charade, Vivian tried to see if she could pull herself up, climbing against the bricks, but with the weight and friction of her bulging diaper, she couldn’t make more than a step of headway up. Even totally free of obstruction, she might not have been strong enough. “Please let me up,” she fumed, balling her hands into fists. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I don’t think you did a good enough job.” Crusted in soot and sweaty from tip to toe, Vivian couldn’t help it. She screamed, roaring up the chimney with wordless, murderous fury. This was worse than the Wizard, at least he’d bested her with skill–the man leering above her was a worm, a pathetic little mewling rat, and he had the arrogance to mock her. When her voice ran raw, he just smirked down at her. “Well–if you’re going to throw a fit, I’m going to go make myself some lunch. Maybe you’ll have calmed down a bit more when I get back, and you can try again.” (I will rip the bones out of your body and boil them to stock, then drown you in the stock,) Vivian thought. (I will make you suffer for this until storytellers fear to even whisper your–Hey!) “Hey!” she blurted, as he slid the flue cover over the top of the chimney, sealing her in darkness. He’d trapped her there, in the chimney, horribly uncomfortable and more acutely humiliated than she’d ever felt. She couldn’t see, and she could barely hear, trapping her in a sensory deprivation chamber where the only input came when her diaper squelched between her legs, or when sweat dribbled down her body from the sheer hard labor she’d been forced into. A minute passed, and the man didn’t return. Likely, he wouldn’t be coming back for hours, maybe longer, so she pleaded for help, hoping the Wizard had a listening spell ready. Mumbling, she asked, “S-sir? Can you hear me?” His voice replied. Not through a psychic whisper, but from the other side of the chimney. “I’m here, Vivian. I won’t let him hurt you.” Feeling a spark of hope at his promise of aid, she said, “I don’t know if I can climb out through the bottom. Can you go pull me up?” “He hasn’t hurt you,” the Wizard clarified. “Just left you in a compromising situation. If he tries to take advantage, I’ll intervene, and if he leaves you without food or water for too long, I’ll do the same. For now, though, you’re safe, so it’s a good lesson in respect.” “He doesn’t deserve my respect, he’s just lording borrowed power over me,” Vivian fumed. “He isn’t the one who took my power, he shouldn’t get to–” “How is your demon?” The Wizard asked, cutting her off. “The one who gave you your power. Your borrowed power.” “I didn’t borrow that power,” Vivian shot. “I bought it. I earned it!” “And this man earned the power he holds over you as a payment for the damage you dealt to his home,” the Wizard replied. “Play word games all you want, it won’t change anything.” (Was that a pun? I hate you, I hate you, I hate you–) “What do I have to do, sir?” she asked. “He’s standing right next to me, so we’re in company,” the Wizard chided. “I won’t punish you, because you didn’t know, but address me properly.” Cheeks burning hot in the darkness, Vivian mumbled, “What do I have to do…d-Daddy?” The man’s laughter rang through the bricks. He loved her degradation. This wasn’t even about revenge for him–he just enjoyed having her in humiliating situations. The Wizard whispered something Vivian couldn’t make out, and then the man said loudly, “Hmmm. Ask me nicely with baby words,” he said. “Really grovel, and I’ll come let you out.” “Daddy?” she asked. One last plea for a chance at freedom. The Wizard offered no aid, so she mumbled, furious, “P-pwease wem me oud…” “Not good enough,” the man sneered from the other side of the chimney. “Why do you want out?” (Oh gods. He’s going to make me say it.) “Be-tuss is dark an’ scawy, and–” (I look forward to my revenge over this.) “And my diapee is weally, weally squishy…” “I suppose that’s good enough,” he said. “Just stay put–oh, but then again, you’re not going anywhere, are you?” She buried a hot retort. He’d likely make her say worse things if she got mad. So, she waited for him to get back on the roof, pull the flue cover back, and tug her up on the rope. His snide comments as he pulled bounced off her, she was too mad to even listen. “There,” he said, looking down the chimney. “I suppose that’ll do. Thank me.” Setting her jaw, she removed the soot scarf. “Thank you. What’s your name, sir?” He laughed, and shook his head. “I’m not telling you that, witch. And I’m only lodging in this house for the summer, lest you think you can just come back here–even if you get your powers back, I’ll be long gone.” She eyed him, trying not to visibly pout. (As if that’ll stop me.) Then she realized, (Wait, you weren’t even here when I terrorized the village!) “Vivian!” The Wizard called down. “You’ve got much work left to do!” Sulking, she clambered down the ladder. “If anyone else does that to me–” she started, under her breath. “You’ll thank them for teaching a valuable lesson,” the Wizard replied, leading her away from the home. “It’s not nice when someone uses their power to make you feel bad for fun, is it?” “Hmph,” she grumbled, diaper squelching as she waddled behind him. “Where are we going?” “Town square,” the Wizard explained. “There are some cobblestones that need replaced.” “It’s almost high noon,” Vivian objected. “Practically the whole town will be out and about.” “And?” the Wizard asked, as though her objection weren’t obvious. (And you’re going to have me on my hands and knees, diaper fully exposed, for them to mock,) she thought. “Speak your mind,” the Wizard said. “You’re doing this to humiliate me,” she said. “Acutely. It’s malicious.” “I am not,” he replied. “But I’ll say no more as to my motives.” She wiped her face and sniffed, and was pretty sure she only accomplished getting more soot on her cheeks in the process. “So…how hard is replacing cobblestones?” … Replacing cobblestones was hard. Worse than cleaning the chimney, worse than mucking out stables, worse than any of the other awful manual labor she’d been forced to do. On her hands and knees on hard rocks, pulling up heavy, cracked stones and replacing them with heavy, uncracked stones, while villagers giggled at her sagging bottoms. The Wizard sat off to the side, in the shade of an awning out in front of the town’s general tavern, sipping a chilled drink from a glass. Vivian, meanwhile, had to sweat into her diaper while the sun beat down. (These paving stones would be good for bludgeoning your head in,) she thought. (I wonder if he can counterspell a rock?) While she contemplated, wondering if a small chunk would be better for speed, or a nice, hefty one for maximum damage, she saw a familiar emotion ripple from the far side of the courtyard. Something she normally recognized as a response to her own presence: Fear. As a communal emotion, Fear followed a current not dissimilar to the path of lightning. It could ripple through a space, from person to person, looking for the shortest path to jump inside its next victim. Vivian breathed in, hoping to sample a little of the flavor, to get the deep sweet pleasure of terror even if she gained no power from it–but all she smelled was her own mucky backside. Villagers backed away or whispered, not turning to flee but not confident either. The pre-terror uncertainty at the approach of a threat. Another rival sorcerer perhaps? Maybe if they distracted the Wizard, she could use that opportunity to bludgeon him. Or, maybe, a beast from the woods, come to maul the village, or… A moment later, she saw the source of the fear, and felt disappointment. It was a pack of three grungy looking children carrying pointed sticks. That wasn’t quite fair. They were men, with spears, and they wore polished breastplates, but to Vivian it was about the same. The fear was of a mundane, mediocre threat. One of the men shouted at the restaurant. “Payment’s due, Crystal!” Another of the thugs grabbed a man walking past, shaking his arm, barking an order in his face. Hand trembling, the man reached to the pouch on his belt and took out a copper coin. The armored man sneered, and instead snatched away the whole coin pouch. At first, Vivian assumed thugs, thieves, brigands. But looking more closely, she spotted the badge on the leader’s armor, a shiny sigil symbolizing the power of office. He was a soldier. Vivian looked at the Wizard, curious if he would intervene. The Wizard watched, quietly. From inside the tavern, a woman walked out. “I don’t have your money, Cain,” she said. “I tried, but there’s only so much business in a week–” “You don’t have enough to pay the lord’s taxes?” the lead soldier–Cain–asked, stepping towards her. “Oh dear, oh dear–perhaps we’ll just have to find some other way to get paid then, hmm?” Vivian didn’t care for the wellbeing of this woman, or indeed of the town. If the guards were to cut down every single one of them and create a fountain of blood, she might even applaud, but she needn’t voice that thought and have the Wizard punish her further. Besides… This posed an opportunity. Dropping the paving stone she’d been in the process of laboring on, Vivian got to her feet, diaper drooping in the noonday sun. “Hey,” one of the soldiers said, pointing over to her. “What’s this, then?” The others looked, Cain’s focus taken away from Crystal. “Some bitch that never learned to use the toilet?” “That’s–by gods, that’s the witch!” the third soldier shouted. “The terror of the plains!” Cain’s eyes widened, and he glanced at the tavern keep. “What’s going on here?” “The witch’s been pacified,” Crystal stammered. “A Wizard–took her power, he’s humiliating her as punishment.” “Hah,” Cain said. “Used to strike terror in the hearts of men, now she’s filling her britches?” “I’ve got something she can fill up,” one of the other soldiers snickered. The other shot him a glance, and the first paused, confused. Vivian just glanced at her Wizard, looking for approval. He gave her the tiniest nod. Wheeling back towards the soldiers, Vivian took a squishy, mushy, humiliating step forward. Time to make her play. “Cain,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Soldier for Lord Tyshon’s armies? Have they sent you all the way from Eastgate by the river to harass little towns for tax money?” “Aye,” He snorted. “What of it, little witch?” She took another step forward. Eight paces away now, and doing the best power stance she could take while weighed down by a hefty, swollen quadruple-layered diaper. “I’m going to threaten you with power, fool. Do you think the wizard who has briefly brought this down on me can bind me forever?” “I think anyone who’s got you dressed in baby britches can bind you till I’m old and grey,” he replied. “And besides–what’ve you got against me?” Another waddling, squelching step. “These people are mine to strike fear in, not yours,” she said. “And even should my magic stay bound, I’ve got other ways to make you suffer.” “By making me change your diapees?” he leered. His cronies were chuckling now, wearing stupid grins. “By use of my allies,” Vivian shot, waddling forward once more. “I’ve got allies of kings and demons. Powers you could not even describe. The ability to make you scream in pain without ever lifting a finger of my own.” “While you can’t…even…” Cain started, but he lost his words. “One word from me, one letter sent, and you’ll be stripped of your post and flayed in the streets,” she said, waddling forward once more. Only four paces now. “You think you’ve still got sway?” he asked. “You’re…uh, the only thing swaying is your diaper!” His quips were suffering. Perhaps she’d properly intimidated him. She took another step. “Maybe not, but ravens and postmen can travel quick, quicker than rumors. Before word of my defeat is carried, your execution can already be scheduled.” He hesitated, but needed to save face in front of his men, and so braced himself. “I’m not afraid of your words, witch. Could you do that, you’d have done something to free yourself already.” “Maybe,” Vivian said. Another step. So close he was wrinkling his nose now. Almost close enough. “Maybe not.” “So?” he asked. Another step. “So,” she said. And then the final step, and she grabbed the collar of his breastplate, pulling him close enough that she could whisper. Voice so quiet it was barely a breath, she said, “Please, please help me. I’ll pay you. I’ll give you enough gold to buy a castle, I’ll suck your cock, just deliver a message for me.” She pulled back, enough to see his eyes, and saw shock, as well as interest. Good. She could finish her please. “There’s a soothsayer in Eastgate named Moon. Find them, tell them to contact Imperionus and deliver this message: My message is, ‘I’ve been bound. Come free me, for my power is yours.’ Do you understand?” Her face was so close to his ear, she felt his nod more than she saw it. “I’ll pay you once my powers are returned–it shouldn’t be long. Pretend to be afraid, so that the Wizard doesn’t know what I’ve told you.” Cain staggered back, eyes going wide. “Gods–my gods, she’s insane!” he said. “Run–Run!” (Okay there, no need to over-egg the pudding,) Vivian thought, rolling her eyes at the overacting. Still, it worked; the other soldiers bought it and turned, spinning, following Cain out of the city as he sprinted away in ‘terror’. The courtyard fell silent, and then a pair of hands came together in a clap. And another. And then applause. Vivian’s heart swelled, just for a moment. She’d–she’d saved the town, even if it had been only as a byproduct of her real goal. The soldiers had fled. For all the villagers knew, she’d protected them. She felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched, but it was the Wizard. “Impressive work,” he declared. “All done without an inkling of magic, too–do you understand?” Vivian glanced back at him, and then got it. This had been his plan, to see how she’d interact with the guards. “I…I think I do,” she said, speaking what he wanted to hear to the best of her ability. “They were bullies. Bad, bad men. No good jerks.” “You want a diaper change, don’t you?” he chuckled. “As a reward for learning your lesson?” He’d caught her insincerity, but misplaced it, so she leaned in and let her eyes widen into a plea. “Y-yes, Daddy.” The Wizard smiled. “Alright, then, I think that can be arranged–you’ve done enough for this town, and learned much in two days. Once you’re in a clean diaper, I think it’s time we go home. After that, it’s time for us to start your next lesson.” Vivian smiled, more to herself than to him. He’d bought it, and her message had gone out. Her power would be back, and she’d have this Wizard in the palm of her hand before he knew what’d cursed him. All of my writing is, one way or another, made possible by the support of my readers - whether by commission or by pledging a couple dollars on Patreon - and I'd like to think that the perks I give in reply are totally worth it! If early access, bonus content, and discounts on commissions like this one sound like something you'd enjoy, consider donating a few dollars over at: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

I'm stealing that quip

This story was written for @FFU as a prize for the Virtual Fiction Story Contest! The request was fanfiction based off of their submission, which can be read here: “Hey, Boss,” Candice said, leaning back and removing her headset. “You got a second?” The late evening grind had her uncomfortable in all the worst ways–back stiff, headache setting in, ears buzzing from the slight noise of dozens of computers. But that was crunch time for her, the game had to ship in a week and if Candice didn’t start the final render and import for the in-app item purchases, they’d be releasing ‘Janthak: 2552’ without a key revenue stream. “Sure thing,” Benny said, pushing off his desk, his own rolling chair skittering on the floor as he sailed to her side. “What’s up?” “You notice anything odd about the latest batch of items we’re making?” she asked. “Like–just seems odd.” He spun around, looking at her screen. “Stuff for pets and NPCs–decorative stuff, skins. That all seems straightforward enough to me.” “Sure, but–” she cleared her throat. “Well. This list came in from Deanne.” Benny nodded, leaning in to peer more closely at the items. Deanne was known for being a bit kooky, even eccentric. She always had on a very particular necklace, and one of the IT jockeys had found it being sold online as a ‘day collar’–leading to more than a few rumors and jokes that Candice didn’t much care for. That might have been the end of it, if she hadn’t insisted on coding in an erogenous zone for kobolds, just at the small of their backs. When asked why, she insisted, ‘Historical accuracy’. And now, the list of items had her suspicions raised to full alert. “Like,” she said, pointing to one. “Diapers for child NPCs.” “That makes sense, I suppose.” Benny scratched his chin. “I mean…” “There’s programming in the file to make them…eh, functional,” Candice added. “Not just cosmetic. I skimmed the code, there’s not just the usual texture mesh and sensorium information, there’s inputs for absorbancy and capacity, so it’ll soak up fluids realistically.” “Huh.” Benny’s attention had been grasped fully, and he stretched his back out, eliciting a loud pop, so he could give this his full focus. “What else?” “Just other oddities, like…a ton of the pet accessories have way more interactivity than needed. Last VR game I worked on, pet accessories were just a toggle option. These are fully interactive, though–you can adjust them, flip them around. In theory, a player character could wear one. One of them has a lock.” “Uh…huh…” Benny continued, pursing his lips. “Okay, yeah. Weird.” “So,” Candice continued. “Like…what should I do?” “I guess load them in,” Benny shrugged. “It’s weird, but that’s not really our job.” “Sure, but–” She shook her head. “Benny, a reminder: I’m doing QA. I need to test everything.” He got it. “Ah. Well, I guess…just model them onto the in-game pets and make sure they work correctly.” “And the diapers?” she asked. “They’re absorbent, but our NPCs don’t have…those functions. Only player characters do. And I’m supposed to record the results of the tests.” They both knew who had insisted player characters have those functions–together, they both said quietly, “Deanne.” “Alright,” Benny said. “I guess…I’ll sign off on you just taking written notes instead of recording that test. Ok?” “Ugh,” Candice replied, reaching for her VR setup. “Okay.” Some found the transition from real life to VR to be a bit of a headache, even jarring, but she’d grown used to it after hundreds of trips in and out to test and debug different sims. There were, mercifully, only a handful of diapers she had to test, so as the VR sandbox spawned in around her, she loaded the first model, spawning it into place. Looking down at the puffy white garment, she unfolded it, feeling the realistic crinkle of plastic beneath her fingertips. Groaning, she unfolded the diaper, slipping out of the simulated pants she’d spawned in. The diaper folded up comfortably between her thighs–of course it did, it spawned in at exactly her measurements. Fumbling with the tapes, she moved from standing to sitting to get a better grip, and then to laying on her back, finally sticking it down properly. “Ugh,” she said, trying to pee. Her body wouldn’t let her, so she summoned a debug menu with a gesture, accessed the bladder slider–Deanne–that’d been programmed in, and turned it all the way up. She lost the ability to hold it, flooding the diaper instantly. The program worked as advertised, and the simulated diaper soaked up, swelling between her thighs. She prodded at it a few times, sat up, checked to ensure there was no clipping or masking issues. Everything seemed up to spec, so she waved a hand and dismissed the VR, popping back into reality. “Alright,” she said, leaning to her keyboard and typing up notes. Let’s– Squish. Eyes widening, she sat back and looked down–her jeans were soaked through, and as her weight shifted, she felt her office chair squelch, dribbling urine down onto the ground. “Um…oh. Right. ” she said, blushing. Raising her voice, she called out, “Barry, I need to go on break.” ... Most of what I write is released a full month in advance over on Patreon, and I am currently releasing a short story and a serialized long story monthly over there as well - that's two updates a month that never get released over here on DeviantArt! If you'd like to support my writing and help keep the lights on over here at Diaper Smut Inc, you can do so on Patreon or SubscribeStar: www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

There are some words I’ve heard a thousand times. A million, even. So many repetitions that they lose all meaning, except as signifiers of something else. “Things could be worse,” to say, “Stop complaining.” “Millennials,” to say, “Anyone younger than me who I disagree with.” And, “We saw you from across the bar, and we really dig your vibe,” to say, “We’d like to use you as a sexual object, but have no understanding of how to maintain a healthy nonmonogamous relationship.” The speaker of that last line was a woman, maybe thirty or a bit older, with a chintzy necklace and long, blonde hair. I could see her partner, a man a few years her senior, sitting at the end of the bar nursing a pale blond beer. Meanwhile, her comment was directed at another girl sitting next to me who was barely old enough to be drinking. From my little chatting with the girl, Katrina, I knew she lacked experience enough to recognize the threat in front of her. Already, I knew the dynamic. His partner–the woman–would be bait, the friendly face to reel in girls for a one night stand, or perhaps a few flings, before discarding the girl the moment she became too much of a burden. Maybe the girl would need help with something, or just talk about herself too much, or assume that their emotional sharing was a two-way-street. Either way, she’d be dumped like hot garbage, and the couple would be on to a new target in a day. I didn’t like couples like that. “Here, let me get you a drink, have you had a ‘Red Headed Gabriel’?” the woman said to the girl. “Oh, and I’m Esmay, my husband’s name is Louis.” The girl, flattered by the attention, smiled. “Katrina.” Names. Useful. I filed those away in my brain and got to my feet, shuffling down the bar. Pulling up next to Louis, I said, “You’re new, aren’t you?” He looked me up and down. I could tell he had no interest–he was here to find a pretty young girl, threesomes with another man were off the table. “I saw the event post on Fet,” he replied. “We’ve been poly for about a year now, though.” I nodded. Another useful detail. Good. “How’s it treating you?” “Oh, great,” he replied, grinning as he sipped his beer. I saw the brag coming a mile away. Retellings of his sexual conquest, and he opened his mouth to confirm my assumption. “I’ve had more girls…” I tuned him out. I didn’t need to hear those details. I looked down the end of the bar, to where Esmay was wooing Katrina, plying her with a cherry-red drink that was far more alcoholic than it tasted. “...of course, she does all the work,” Louis continued. “Can’t complain about having twice as many girls in bed.” I knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from his lips, so I asked, “Always girls?” “Absolutely,” he confirmed. “Sorry, buddy–you’re not our type.” “Don’t worry,” I replied with a smile, one that I hoped would be interpreted as friendly and innocent. “I wasn’t suggesting that.” “That’s the rule, anyways,” Louis continued. “Esmay can date any girls she wants, and so can I, but I’m the only man in the relationship. It keeps things simple.” I hid my disgust with a sip of my drink. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m one of the event organizers here–if you’ve ever got any issues, you can send me a message. Can I add you as a friend?” He nodded, taking out his phone. I got his contact info–his username, ‘SirDominant7’, caused me to hide an eyeroll, but I added him anyway. “I’m Davis,” I added, shaking his hand. I had his profile, his face, and his name. I didn’t need much else except time, and a bit of effort, but I did need to do one more thing. Walking back to my original seat, I planted myself next to the girl, and the woman. “Sorry to interrupt, Katrina,” I said, getting in the way of her flustered conversation with Esmay. “But I do need to leave soon, and we’d talked about getting you vetted for the next dungeon meetup–would you like to do that now?” “Oh, sure,” Katrina said, glancing back at me. “When did you say the beginner hypno instructional was?” Esmay’s smile flickered at the change of topic, but she said, “We can talk later, Katie–come down and see us at the end of the bar!” I took Katrina to the side, and explained the birds and the unicorns to her. I didn’t tell her not to go with the couple, but I did warn her what to expect–emotional negligence–and ensured that dear god please she had to use a condom and make sure they’d been tested. Katrina didn’t go home with the couple. She was safe for the night. Now I just had to handle them so the community would be safe at large. … I’d expected things to be simple. With a bit of digging, I could typically find red flags, enough to put out a general warning to the poly community, at least those in my circle. Enough ostracization, and most unicorn hunters got the point. What I found was far, far worse. Louis wasn’t just the head of a crappy one-penis-policy polyamorous relationship, using women as threesome fodder. He was, to put it bluntly, a bastard. Through the grapevine, through my relationships, I was able to count the number of people Louis had slept around with on the sly. He wasn’t claiming to be poly with these people, but pretending to be single, cheating on Esmay at every opportunity. He openly bragged about being a dominant, masculine figure, disparaging any man he saw as lesser, while slinking around behind his wife’s back. Esmay, for her part, just seemed negligent. She didn’t seem to understand their relationship dynamic beyond being something Louis required to keep their marriage together. I couldn’t find a single partner she’d had as part of their ‘polyamorous’ relationship that wasn’t simply threesome fodder. She didn’t even seem particularly interested in girls, which made the, ‘You can’t date any men,’ rule all the more odious. Maybe I could have done my usual routine–put out a general warning through my social grapevine, ensure that as many people as possible knew to stay away from this couple, and leave it be. But then Louis made The Post. The Post was six thousand words deriding kink, deriding kinksters, claiming that anyone who enjoyed anything not to his own personal taste was a degenerate–with a particular focus on calling out diaper fetishists and ageplay. My usual methods wouldn’t suffice. I needed to try something stronger. So I went back to the bar at the next meetup. I doubted that the couple would be discouraged by one success, and my suspicions were confirmed–the two of them were at the end of the bar once more, eyeing a new girl who wasn’t even there for the poly meetup. I waited for Esmay to make her move, then walked down to the end of the bar once again, sitting next to Louis. “Hey,” he said, scowling at me. “What did you say to Katie last week?” No need to be subtle. Taking a coin from my pocket, I held it up, so he could see the silvery metal shimmer in the barlight. “I showed her this. You know what this is?” He hesitated. I had his attention. “No.” “Take a look at the polish,” I said. “It’s… …and drop.” The induction took minutes, but the script was so familiar to me, and his mind so weak, that he folded like a cheap suit. When I said ‘Drop’, his expression fell, and he stared at me without comprehension. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said. “When Esmay returns, you’re going to tell her you want to try something new. You’re going to invite me home, but when we get there, you’ll be feeling too under the weather–your drink won’t be sitting right with you. You’ll go out and lie on the couch, listening to whatever Esmay and I get up to. You won’t touch yourself.” His eyes widened, but his mouth couldn’t respond. He stammered. A little beer-spittle dribbled down the edge of his chin. “You won’t touch yourself, period,” I continued. “You’re going to find yourself flaccid, no matter how much you try, no matter how much you want it. Your dick is closed for business. When Esmay wants sex, you’ll tell her to call me instead, or she can simply please herself. For all I care, she can find another partner–but she won’t get anything from you.” He blinked. I could see the fear, even in a face that couldn’t move beneath the layers of hypnotic control. “And another thing,” I said. “I’ve decided I want control of your dignity–someone as immature as you doesn’t deserve respect. You will forget how to use the potty. You’ll understand what it is, that it’s something most grown ups have control over, but not you. When you ruin your pants, you’ll need my permission to clean yourself. You’ll need to go buy diapers, and when you do, I will control those too–when you change, and when you don’t. If you need a fresh diaper, you will ask me. Only when I respond–and not a second sooner–will you be able to clean yourself up. If I don’t have my phone on me, you may need to wait for a long, long time.” There was one thing left to do. I thought this might be a bit too much–we were in public, after all–but in the moment I couldn’t resist the temptation. “When I snap my fingers,” I said, “You’re going to stand up, squat down, and poop your pants. As you do, you’ll feel my control taking over in your head–with every push, you won’t just be loading the last pair of big boy underwear you’ll get to wear, you’ll be pushing out all your potty training, your dignity, your ability to get hard. You’ll know that it’s all gone when your pants begin to sag and you can smell what you’ve done.” Smiling wickedly, I admired the way his lips trembled–I’d scared him so much his emotions were coming through even beneath the space I’d dropped him into. “Are you ready?” I asked. He tried to shake his head, his eyes darting back and forth. I snapped my fingers. Gasping, unable to control himself, Louis got to his feet. He was staring at me all the while–eyes burning with helpless, indignant rage, pleading for me to stop him, wanting any sort of interruption. I offered no such reprieve, and his furious, pouting blush warmed my heart. Squatting down, he puffed up his cheeks, stifled a grunt, and began to push. I saw it leave his face–the knowledge of how to control himself, to be considered an equal amongst adults, to achieve sexual satisfaction–and the stain that bulged out the back of his pants told me when he’d bottomed out. Even a dribble of pee escaped him, though I hadn’t required that, staining the crotch of his jeans a dark, wet blue. He stood, eyes darting to the bathroom, but I hadn’t given permission. He could not clean himself up, no matter the stink wafting up from his sagging, stained bluejeans. Esmay returned, then. “Hey, babe, who’s…um…” Nose wrinkling, she didn’t disguise her smirk. “This is Davis,” he said, stiffly. “I want to try something new tonight–why don’t we take him home instead?” She seemed uncertain, so I stepped in. “Louis said he was having some stomach troubles–Louis, why don’t you go get cleaned up in the bathroom while your wife and I talk?” He nodded, eyes bulging with humiliation and impotent frustration. I took his seat, and Esmay sat next to me, while her husband waddled helplessly to the bathroom to clean up his poopy bottom as best he could. “So,” I said. “Would you be interested in another man? Louis told me you’ve only had girls over until now.” Esmay’s expression was confused for a moment, and her face had screwed up from the smell, but at my question her eyes flashed with delight. “If he says it’s okay, absolutely, I just hadn’t expected him to change his mind on that.” “Good.” I smiled. “I expect Louis is going to be changing a lot in these next few days.” ... I hope you enjoyed ! If you want to support the creation of stories like this, you can give me a couple dollars on Patreon, and get early access and exclusive content to boot: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

What ever gave you the impression that her physical exercise habits have changed? She was never much of one for the gym.

Chapter 20: Moral Fiber Contains: Teasing, messing, crawling, mild bondage clothing ... “Yuck,” Grace said, pulling her face back from the sludge on Pearce’s spoon. “What is that?” “Oatmeal,” he replied innocently. “Breakfast, in general. Something wrong?” She eyed it, swallowing a little to clear her mouth. “It’s gluey. You cooked it wrong.” “I cooked it just right,” Pearce replied. “Now. Say aaaa, you’ve got breakfast to eat.” Grace felt a sliver of suspicion, and tried to cut through Pearce’s innocent expression with her eyes. Had he cooked it poorly on purpose, to make it gross and unpleasant? Was this another ploy? He’d made oatmeal in the past and it hadn’t been this claggy, this gelatinous. Clearly, something was up, but she couldn’t puzzle out what. “Aaa,” she said. Another spoonful might help her discern the taste, what went wrong in cooking. It just felt…too thick. Like he hadn’t added enough water. The taste was the same–a bit of brown sugar and a little cream, pretty pleasant, the only objectionable element was the taste. But Pearce had on a suppressed grin, an expression of amusement. He liked that she didn’t like the food. Swallowing, Grace demanded, “What did you d–mph–” A spoon interrupted her question, jammed between her lips, more sludgy oatmeal. A little got on her chin, and he scraped it up with the spoon, waiting for her to open and swallow. She did, swallowing, then raising her hand to block another oatmeal assault. “What did you do to the oatmeal?” “Nothing you need to worry about,” Pearce replied. “Do you want me to add anything?” “It’s gross,” she said. “Maybe more milk to un-glueify it?” He considered her request and shrugged. “I suppose that’s fair.” While he did as she requested, she suckled on her bottle of coffee. She hadn’t even needed to ask this morning–instead just providing her with coffee just the way she liked it. Maybe a bit stronger than normal–did he want her to have a caffeine buzz? (What the heck is he planning?) He thinned out the oatmeal with another splash of milk, then picked up her bottle, topping off the coffee. Lifting another spoonful of less-offensively textured breakfast, he said in sing-song, “Alright then–no more fussing. Here comes the airplane…” … Pearce continued to behave strangely that morning. More attentive than normal–regular diaper checks, and he at least walked by her room once every ten or twenty minutes. When her coffee ran dry, he refilled it right away, ensuring she had water to drink as well. (Is he trying to over-hydrate me?) she wondered, sipping coffee while she reviewed some code. (I don’t really mind being wet, and a change is as inconvenient for him as it is for me. Could he really just be acting nice for the sake of being nice? Does he want to ensure I can’t leak, hence all the checks?) She couldn’t figure it out. He had gone through the trouble of souping up her diaper situation to prevent leaks–each change now came with an additional layer of puffy padding stuck inside with an adhesive back, a ‘stuffer’, and yesterday there’d been plastic pants overtop the diaper. Today, though, there was no cover, just the stuffer. Her outfit had included fewer inconveniences–he’d left her diaper exposed, giving her a T-shirt and stockings. When she asked why, he’d said it was for easier checks. The only issue was the booties, which had their feet lined with metal triangles. Trying to walk in them was like walking on lego–an issue that didn’t matter while she sat down, but it made walking more inconvenient than even the spreader bar. While she worked on two projects, her programming job and the puzzle of Pearce’s behavior, she felt her stomach grumble. The pressure came stronger and faster than usual. She’d been generally holding it until the end of the day, shortly before she expected Pearce would administer her evening bath. It made cleanup easier for the both of them, after all. She eyed the coffee. (Maybe I’ve had enough.) Then she eyed it again, eyes narrowing. (Is that his plan?) Pushing up from her office chair, she dropped to her hands and knees. She needed to go see something, even if it meant crawling all the way across the house. Maybe she’d been wrong to think this outfit was getting off light. Crawling meant sticking her butt up in the air, and her butt being up in the air meant its moderately soggy state was extremely visible. Pearce saw her through his open bedroom door and snickered, though he didn’t otherwise comment. Stairs were harder. Crawling down seemed like a recipe for slipping and falling, so she turned around, crawling backwards, butt-first down the stairs. While she shuffled down, one step at a time, Melody met her on the way up. “Hey,” Melody said. “That’s…a look he’s got you in.” “These booties are a pain,” Grace agreed, blushing as she reached the base of the stairs. The rest of the crawl saw no interruptions, and she felt glad that the window curtains were pulled, so that her crinkly, soggy bottom wouldn’t be on display to the neighbors. She got to the kitchen, pulled over a stool so she could get height without standing, and clambered up, kneeling on it to get a look in the cupboards. She found the evidence she needed. In Pearce’s section of the cupboard, a big plastic tub of powdered fiber supplement. “That ass–” she started to say. “Feeling snacky?” Pearce asked from behind her. She whirled, slipped, and nearly fell off the stool. Pearce jumped to help, but she caught herself on the counter before she could tumble down, and she snapped at him, “You’re drugging me?” “Not even a little.” Pearce smirked triumphantly. “Just making sure you get your fill of nutrients–I don’t think anyone would say fiber is a drug.” Her bowels gurgled again. Definitely too much coffee. “You want to make me use the diaper more so I get annoyed and quit.” “Duh,” he replied. “I know you don’t like being Little Miss Stinkypants, so what better way to force your hand?” She shot him a glare, but couldn’t argue against the tactic. He had a point. Only, there was a counterpoint. “I’ve never known you to like changing my…dirty diapers,” she shot back. “I believe the rules call them your ‘Little baby poopy diapers,’” Pearce replied confidently. “But we’ll see who balks first.” “We’ll see,” Grace said, glowering. It seemed prudent to assert her lack of caring just then, so she leaned forward on the stool. (Fuck it. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it–) She would never have described the feeling as triumphant, but when Pearce’s eyebrows raised in surprise, she did at least feel a little surge of dominance. That was undercut by the swelling of mush that bulged out the back of her exposed diaper, and a blush bloomed on her puffed-up cheeks as she pushed, but she didn’t back down. “Okay then,” she said. She almost demanded, ‘Change me’, but that’d be in violation of the rules, so she just said, “We really will see, won’t we?” He hesitated, just for a moment, but his confidence returned and he took out his phone. Tapping a few buttons, he turned around the screen so she could see it–a timer for fifty five minutes. Just shy of an hour. “Have fun, poopy pants,” he replied, turning to waltz away. She grumbled, dropping to the floor, sticking her butt in the air, and scooting on hands and knees back towards her room. The crawling was easier going up the stairs than down, but every shift of her thighs back and forth made the mush in her diaper squelch. Back in her room, sitting down in her office chair with a squelch, she realized his other trick. Without clothes, without plastic pants, there was little to contain the stink wafting off her diaper. Her bedroom was going to smell awful if she just sat around and waited almost an hour for Pearce to come around. (I could open a window,) she considered. (Or…) Unplugging her laptop, she rolled her office chair away from her desk, pushing against walls and furniture with her hands for locomotion. Rolling out into the hall, she scooted right on into Pearce’s room, moving a halting foot at a time. He glanced up at her. “What’re you doing?” “I’m feeling very mischievous,” she said, dragging herself forward until her chair was right next to his, setting her laptop on his desk. “I need supervision, I’d say, so I don’t get into trouble.” The smell wafting off her diaper struck him, and he wrinkled his nose. “I think you’re fine in your own room.” “Well,” she replied. “I’d rather be here.” To Pearce’s credit, he didn’t take her gambit lying down. Standing, he grabbed the back of her office chair, dragging it towards the edge of his room, towards the exit. Grace simply flopped out of the chair, crawling back towards his desk. “I can sandbag better than you can wrestle me,” she smirked up at him. “You know your options. For me to smell, you’ve got to smell me.” He checked his phone, looking at the timer, then groaned and walked over to his chair. “Well, don’t let me keep you from working,” he said, sitting down. Grace wished he’d just capitulate then and there, but he lasted an admirable fifteen minutes before pushing away from his desk and throwing up his hands. “Fine!” he said. “Let’s get you changed.” She smirked up at him. “If you insist!” There was no bathtime before lunch. When he got out the wipes and a fresh diaper, Pearce realized he’d have to be thorough this time–he couldn’t just let the bath deal with getting her a hundred percent clean. And, relishing her victory, Grace didn’t help in the slightest. She played the sandbag, laying on the ground, only following his instructions to lift her hips after coaxing and whining and complaining. It took him ten minutes to get her clean, and his face was screwed up in response to the stink the whole time. Half a box of wipes later, though, she was clean, powdered, and freshly diapered. “Thanks!” she said with a smirk, crawling back to her laptop. “Or, I guess, you’re welcome–this is what you wanted, right?” He glowered, discarding all the changing supplies into a sealed trash bag. “Do you still want my ‘supervision’?” “Hmm,” Grace said, thinking. She had another trick up her sleeve, one to really cement things. When she’d gone in the kitchen, she hadn’t completely gone. A little pressure still remained. A little need. She briefly pondered how long to wait. Five minutes? Ten? (Let’s do this now. He doesn’t get a break.) Leaning forward in her computer chair, Grace almost let out a giggle as she mucked her second diaper in as many hours. Not a lot–just enough to smell awful and be a pain to clean up, all that she had in her. Pearce stared down at her in shock. “Seriously? I just changed you.” Grace giggled for real this time. She didn’t care about the state of her diaper, just about the triumph. “Your face…It’s priceless.” After that day, there were no more concerns of fiber in her food. ... I'm not going to spoil anything, but the next chapter of this story - which you can read over on Patreon today - has so far been a fan favorite, because something happens that readers have been waiting for since chapter one. If you can't take the wait, or if you'd just like to support my writing and help put food on my table, you can support me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

? ? ? ? ? Y'all are very sweet, thank you!

To be honest - I hadn't initially planned on a part two, but so many people are asking for one I think I can come up with something. Watch out for a public post sometime next month!

December. The month of Christmas, the month of Solstice, the month of holiday cheer. And the month of Finals. Snow blustered in windy circles as I trudged down campus. I wanted to be out having fun–relaxing, taking the time off, maybe indulging a bit in a little kinky fun while my roommate was gone for the weekend–but I had papers to write. I’d compromised. I wouldn’t blow off work entirely, but I’d at least put something puffy and absorbent on, and if I hit my study goals, I’d give myself a little time to have fun in the diaper. It made the day a bit more exciting, and helped incentivize me to focus. Being cooped up in my dorm would have been too painful, so I’d passed on that. The library was only a few blocks away–and despite the snow, it wasn’t too cold, just wintry. With a couple layers on, I almost found it comfortable. Outside the library, something unusual struck me. A girl–I thought she was a student, though I couldn’t be certain–had on bright red and fluffy white robes, with a floppy red hat atop it all, standing behind a table. She was chubby enough to fill out the Santa role perfectly, with red cheeks and a smile that could infect anyone with mirth from twenty paces. In front of her table, tentatively secured with overstretched duct tape, was a posterboard sign advertising hot chocolate for two dollars. I stopped and looked it over. She had thermoses ready to go, paper cups inside plastic packaging that had a small rock set inside it so they wouldn’t all blow away, and for only two dollars it barely felt like it cost anything. “Spare a couple bucks for charity?” The Santa girl asked. She’d dressed for the weather–leg warmers over insulated leggings, and her hat came down over her ears. “I’d spare a dollar for hot chocolate anyways,” I replied, smiling. “What’s the charity?” “I’m raising money for the Dearby Animal Shelter,” she said. “If I can sell forty cups, that’ll cover a puppy’s adoption fees.” I glanced past her, through the library’s glass entry doors. “Do you know if they allow drinks in there?” “As long as you stay in the seating area at the front,” Santa said, gesturing with a cheerful smile. “I asked a couple days ago to make sure.” Digging in my coat, I produced my wallet. “Are you going to be out here all morning?” “All day!” she replied. “If it doesn’t get too cold, at least–I’ve got a sandwich and all the hot cocoa I can drink, so I’m gonna be out here till it gets dark.” Maybe it was just already on my brain because of the diaper crinkling between my thighs, but I joked, “Well, be sure to squeeze in a bathroom break in, here or there.” She giggled and–blushed? I expected a reply like, ‘Oh, of course’, but she demurred and said nothing. Was she not planning on taking bathroom breaks? How, unless…? (I’m reading too much into this,) I thought. (She’s flushed because it’s cold.) Drawing out a ten dollar bill, I said, “Keep the change, I’m happy to help out some puppies.” She beamed, pouring me a cup of cocoa. I expected the kind made from generic-brand powder, but the slurry she poured into the cup was rich and thick and smooth. She passed the cup to me, and I took a sip. “Holy shit,” I muttered. She raised her eyebrows, in the middle of placing my ten bucks into a metal box. “What?” “That’s delicious,” I said. “Two dollars is a steal.” Santa smiled. “If you wanted to say that to everyone walking by, it’d probably help sales.” I paused, smirking, and slung my backpack off my shoulder. “I have an idea.” She tilted her head. “What’s that?” Producing a fat-tipped blue highlighter, I moved to her hand-written sign and added in my own handwriting, “Five stars, Delicious, Homemade, Two Dollars is a steal - A Satisfied Customer”. She stepped forward to read my note, and her eyes sparkled. “Thank you!” “You’re welcome,” I said. Hefting my backpack, I added, “Good luck–I’ve really got to get to studying, but I hope you sell plenty of cocoas.” “If you want a refill, please come get one,” she replied. I raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I will absolutely come take you up on that, so be sure to cut me off before I drink your whole supply.” We both giggled, and I walked into the library, my day a fair bit brighter than it’d been twenty minutes before. I settled into one of the tables, took out my laptop, and got to work. Chocolate nectar sweet on my lips, and Santa’s giggle echoing in my ears, I was ready to take on the world. Or, at least, ready to write essays. My focus lasted a solid ninety minutes. My diaper helped–when I felt the need to pee, I didn’t need to interrupt my work, I could just let go and keep going, though the sensation of warmth spreading between my legs did make me squirm with delight. Nobody could tell beneath my clothes, it was my secret. And my gaze kept drifting to Santa. We could see each other through the library’s glass doors–she was sipping cocoa, chatting with customers. And she didn’t take any breaks. It’d only been ninety minutes, though–that wasn’t an unreasonable amount of time to hold it, not in the slightest. I had to be imagining things. I had to. As I finished up the easy essay on my list, my cocoa cup ran dry, and I chose to reward myself with a refill. Stepping out, I pulled my arms close, holding up my cup. “About that refill,” I said. She smiled, lifting her thermos. “Of course! How’s the studying going?” “Thousand word essay is done,” I said. “Next one’s the real beast, though–I’ve got to write five thousand words on the history of potatoes.” “Ooh, exciting,” she snickered. “I plan on titillating readers with the thrilling tale of starch,” I snarked back. “I’m not taking too much if I come back for one more cup later, am I? I’d hate for you to run out.” “Oh, please,” she replied, gesturing with a foot to the big canister thermoses at the base of the table. “I’ve got more cocoa than I have cups. If running out were an issue, I’d be the real problem–I’ve had about five cups already.” “Ooh, they say you’re not supposed to sample your own products,” I said. She laughed, her tummy jiggling–don’t think it, don’t think it–like a bowlful of jelly. “Oh, I’m not sampling, I’m a full-blown addict,” she explained. “How do you think I got the recipe just right?” My cup refilled and my soul refueled, I said, “I should get back to it. Thanks for the refill.” “Of course,” Santa replied. “Thanks for helping the puppies.” “And seriously–” I added. “If you don’t cut me off, I will be back for more.” What passed next was two more hours of good, solid focus. I didn’t just drink cocoa–I also detoured to the water fountain so I wouldn’t die of a sugar headache–but the hot, creamy elixir kept me sustained. Now that she’d pointed it out, though, I also noticed her own fluid consumption. She was drinking a cup or two an hour, while I sipped mine and made it last. I couldn’t begrudge her–it was cold outside, the cocoa was warm, there was nothing wrong with it–but I had to wonder where it was all going. I’d had to pee twice since arriving, but she seemed to have a bladder like a steel trap. (Or…) I couldn’t see even the tiniest hint of puff around her butt, but it was concealed by long crimson robes and layers of insulated clothing. If she had on a diaper, it’d be as invisible as my own. I’d brown-bagged my own lunch, same as her, and this time, I timed my break around her own schedule. When I saw her take a sandwich out of her bag, I saved my work, closed up my computer, and walked outside. Holding up the paper bag with my own sandwich and some chips, I asked, “Mind if I join you?” “Sure!” she said, eyes sparkling as she stepped to the side so I had room to set the bag on her table. “What’ve you got?” “BLT,” I said. “You?” “Oooh, that sounds tasty,” she said. “I just made a PB&J.” “Want to share?” I asked. “Halvsies?” She snickered. “What, are we in middle school?” I almost rescinded the offer with an abashed comment, but before I could, she added, “That sounds nice, actually.” Removing half of her sandwich from its cellophane wrapping–she’d cut it into two rectangles–she gave me one. I gave her a triangle of my BLT. “How’re sales going?” I asked, eating the savory sandwich first. “Great,” she said. “Your note is really helping, people keep stopping to ask who wrote it.” “I wondered why everyone kept staring at me,” I joked. “I figured they just recognized me from the wanted poster.” “But seriously, thanks. I’ve sold like sixty cups already!” “That’s a puppy and a half, right?” I asked. She beamed and nodded. “Awesome!” I wanted to ask. I desperately wanted to ask, but I wasn’t going to be a creep, no matter how much the curiosity burned. Instead, I said, “So are you a student here?” “Guilty as charged,” she replied. “I haven’t picked a degree yet. Kind of want to be a vet, but like–I don’t know I want to do that, you know? So I’m just collecting credits for now.” “I get that,” I replied, finishing off the BLT and moving to the half-PB&J I’d received from Santa. “Have you considered going into toy delivery?” She laughed. “I almost didn’t dress up, y’know. But this was warmer than my other jacket anyways, so I figured–why not?” “Next time you can bring coal too, for people who don’t buy the cocoa,” I suggested. Santa smirked, picking up her cocoa to sip it. “So what about you? What’re you doing here?” “Disappointing my parents,” I replied. “Or, well–I’m a theater major. English minor.” Snorting, she sprayed cocoa out of her lips mid-sip. A little got on me, and she blurted, “Sorry!” “It’s fine!” I replied, wiping off my jacket with the palm of my hand. “I timed that quip pretty unfortunately. Don’t worry about it.” “Well, here,” she said, picking up her thermos. “Let me at least treat you to a bit more, since I’m getting it all over your clothes anyways.” “Do you have any napkins? You got some on your robe too,” I added, pointing to a little dark stain on the red. She shrugged. “I’ll rinse it out later. Trying to sop it up in the cold would be pretty pointless–my clothes are too absorbent.” Giggling at her own joke, I definitely saw her flush rise a little more. (That’s–that’s definitely a blush. Is it because she said her clothes were absorbent? Would she be that brazen? Why am I thinking about it this much?) I felt myself struck by a clumsy tongue, unsure how to speak without blurting, ‘So are you wearing a diaper?’. She noticed my apprehension, and we ate in a slightly awkward but otherwise pleasant silence. “Whelp,” I said, hefting my backpack. “Back to work.” “Good luck,” she replied. “I’ll be here a few more hours at least–I know there’s a big club rally meeting something-or-other here at four, and I want to be here to get them all coming through. That might be as many sales as I got the whole rest of the day!” This time, I really buckled down. Really. I wasn’t constantly glancing up, wondering if–or when–she might finally take a break to come inside and pee. There was no way she could hold it this long. Not as much cocoa as she’d drank. She had to–(stop thinking about it, you’ve got work to do)–but then she’d said her clothes were absorbent, was that a coy joke, or–(shut up, horny brain. Study.) I got a couple more pages done in a couple more hours, wrapping up around three thirty. Enough to be satisfied with the day’s work, and by this point, my diaper had become saturated. Much longer, and I’d have to start worrying about leaks, about my discreet padding becoming an indiscreet stain on my pants. I had to pee, a little, and wanted to get back to the dormitory to change before the inevitable happened. Coming to a stopping point, I started to pack up. That’s when calamity struck. It was terrible timing, really, and just bad luck. The wind had picked up, a little, with more flurries twisting in little cyclone circles. While Santa was crouched, getting a new thermos of cocoa, the tape holding her sign in place finally lost its stickiness, a mix of cold, wind, and snowy damp. The sign flipped up, caught in a gust, and knocked over the plastic bag over her stack of paper cups, sending them flying like bowling pins. The weight inside, the little rock, wasn’t enough to do a thing–cups scattered into the wind, spilling across the ground. Santa stepped back in shock. Desperately, she tried to grab a few off the ground, but even the ones she picked up were contaminated with dirty sidewalk snow, unusable. I ran out the door, trying to help. There was nothing to be done. A handful of cups were still in the bag, but only a handful, and the ones that had scattered were useless even if they hadn’t blown away. Eyes turning to huge puddles, Santa whispered, “No–” “Jeez, I–” I started, looking for words. With little else to do, I at least ran over and grabbed the sign, sticking it back down onto the table. “I’m sorry. But hey, you got a bunch of sales already, right?” “Yeah, but… the club meeting. I’m going to miss the club meeting. That’s why I came here today.” Her eyes began to water, and her sniffle had nothing to do with the cold. I recognized the ‘I-don’t-know-what-to-do’ panic, while she whispered, “It…I…” Time to be helpful. “Okay, no problem. You’ve still got a few cups left, and there’s a gas station a few blocks away from here–I think they sell solo cups for the party kids. I’ll go get a box and be right back, okay?” Her panic froze on her face, melting into surprised relief. “You’d do that?” “For puppies? Any day,” I said, smiling as confidently as I could. “Thanks!” She said, “And–hurry, please!” “Of course. Be right back.” Turning, I half-jogged down the sludgy sidewalk, hustling through snowmelt to get the cups in time. Easy. No problem. I wouldn’t be getting back to my dorm before I had to pee again, but that didn’t matter–my diaper could hold a little more, and it was worth the inconvenience to provide a little Christmas miracle. I got a hundred cups for eight dollars from the gas station, paused to pee somewhere without wind or cold, and then hurried back to the library, my diaper squelching warmly with every step. I barely noticed, too task-focused to care. A car was pulling up to the front of the library as I ran up, bag of cups in my hand. Santa was looking around, concerned, not a single cup on her table. She saw me, and her eyes lit up. “Merry Christmas!” I called, running the last half block up, just as a few students looked over the table, doing the math, recognizing the deal, and dubiously figuring out which of them had cash to pay for the hot chocolate. Stepping up, I announced, “I’ve got cups for the pups–let’s get this cocoa sold.” She smiled. I smiled. Then I set out the cups, and we went to town pouring out cocoa, collecting cash, and chatting with customers. We made a perfect Christmas team. The club rolled through like a storm. Almost a hundred people, enough to completely fill up the library’s ample meeting spaces, and more than half of them got cocoa. Some got two cups. Some passed over wadded twenty dollar bills, just wanting to donate to charity. I chalked it up to the quality of the cocoa. Santa said it was all due to Christmas cheer. In half an hour, the last stragglers had gone through. Santa and I were laughing and giggling. She still hadn’t taken a bathroom break, even with me there to help. I knew I had to ask, even if I was nervous about the results. “Hey…” I said, anxious to say the words. “I need to ask you something.” She looked me up and down, her giggle dying as her expression turned shy. Not concerned, just uncertain. “Oh, yeah?” “Um…” I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Can I get your number?” Smiling, she nodded. “Sure. And my name’s Emily.” “Right! I’m Sam.” My eyebrows shot up, and I blushed. “Shoot, I–I’d just been thinking you were Santa herself.” She laughed. “Well, Sam–if you want to get coffee sometime, I’d love to.” “I’m more of a cocoa person, really,” I admitted. “But thanks.” I didn’t need to ask about what she had on. It didn’t matter–I liked her, and she seemed to like me. Maybe the rest would work out, maybe it wouldn’t, but for now it was coming close to Christmas and I felt happy. I helped her pack up, and we polished off the last thermos of cocoa together. “Do you need help carrying this anywhere?” I asked, gesturing to the box of empty thermoses, the folded up table, the bag of trash and various remaining supplies. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up here soon,” she replied, “But thanks.” “Happy to help,” I said, smiling. “So…see you later?” “Sure. But…” she added, blushing and glancing away as she stood back. “Maybe pull your jacket down. I didn’t want to say anything before, while other people were around, but you, erm, leaked.” My eyes widened, and my face turned bright pink. “O-oh!” “I don’t mind,” she said. “And you can only really tell if you’re looking down at the back of your pants. Just thought you’d want to know.” Bright pink, I said, “Um…thanks. I–um–I was–erm, thanks.” “You’re welcome,” she replied, shyly, before quietly confessing. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only one.” She stepped up to me. She had to get on her tiptoes and lean forward, but she planted a kiss on my cheek. “Merry Christmas.” I looked at myself in the mirror–I had a big lipstick mark on my cheek. I didn’t want to wash it off, not for the world. I beamed. “Merry Christmas.” ... What's this? A Christmas Story in January? Well, sure, this was released in early December for my supporters on Patreon and SubscribeStar, so they got it just in time for the holidays. That said, I hope the cuteness holds up and you enjoyed my spin on a cutesy, Hallmark style AB/DL romance! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

I might at some point! It got a ton of votes in a recent Patreon poll but didn't quite take first place, so it's on the backburner at the moment - but the possibility exists if I can find the time.

Y'all didn't make this easy on me, did you? I decided to add a second place prize, of 40$ prize/donation in your name or a micro fiction commission. Everything was just so close - it really came down to the wire, and I had a very hard time choosing. Going down the list, though, I really want to give shoutouts to everyone, because every story was very good and the different variations on the theme were wild and fantastic! @PaddedWarriorPrince, you ended your story with a heck of a twist, but one that was foreshadowed and made sense given the world you'd set up - props to you! @ImprobableLemon - way to hit me in the feels. The emotional impact and the way you showed intrusive thoughts and mental self harm off in the story, the way it was balanced against ageplay and the calming regressive experience, it hit very well. @willnotwill, I really enjoyed the world building of yours, and in particular the way that the ageplay and diaper elements were worked into a military setting with a plausible, if fantastical, excuse! The concept of having to fly missions with only VR to protect the pilots from nightmarish mental scarring is a really cool idea, and one that seems almost akin to more classic horror. (Take away a bit more control from the pilot and I could start making comparisons to Iron Lung.) @FFU, put simply: Yours was just a whole lot of fun. Well written throughout, and the ongoing sense of, 'Oh no, what's this boy gotten himself into' was palpable. It felt very tightly paced without being rushed, and I really enjoyed the combination of Streamer Gaming style energy with the VR. I'll deliberate a bit later down, but first, I'm just going to announce the winner: @ImprobableLemon, congratulations on winning First Place! @FFU, congratulations on winning a very close Second Place! It was so, so close. I knew when I set this up that the hardest thing is having to tell someone that they didn't win, and you made that absolutely true - this was a difficult decision. Anyways - congrats! I'll be messaging the winners to work out details!

Awesome! Submissions are now closed - I'll get all of these read and have my final decision within the next week!

I've read both submissions so far, and enjoyed them both! There's about forty six hours left if anyone else wants to sneak in under the wire!

I forgot to update the title of this to mention that Part 3 was out, but it's out! Also - Over on Patreon, my subscribers voted overwhelmingly to get an additional sequel to this. It's going to be a backer exclusive, so if you want to check that out and support me, please go take a look on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/posts/magic-collar-76568945

Chapter 19: New Digs Grace hadn’t known what to expect, only to expect the worst. Pearce’s wicked grin as he pulled in his newest packages were enough of a sign of danger–there would be no more Mr. Nice Babysitter. And then out came the spreader bar. Grace stared. “Wait–” “Bottoms up,” Pearce replied, waltzing in with a box under one arm, a spreader bar in one hand, and a full bottle of milk in the other. “Babies don’t need to walk, anyways.” “Hold on, we said outfits,” Grace complained. Her pillow-packed onesie was one thing, she’d been forced to waddle around all morning on account of it, but a spreader bar? “That’s not an outfit, it’s a–” “It was listed under ‘apparel’ on the website I ordered from,” Pearce replied, waving the bar in a baton-style gesture. “Apparel means outfits.” “But–” “You know what else technically qualifies as clothing?” Pearce asked, reaching into his pocket. Grace hesitated. “What?” He produced a pacifier. “If you don’t stop complaining, I might decide you need to wear this between your lips–so hush, and lay down, and let’s get you changed.” Rolling her eyes, Grace got onto her bed. The bars of the crib frame had been set aside, so her bed could be used as a changing pad. Legs splayed from the pillow crammed into her current onesie, she rolled onto her back for Pearce to get at her, blushing at the awkwardness of it all. The onesie was annoying and made walking clumsy, but otherwise fell into the juvenile-but-comfortable she’d grown accustomed to. She’d hoped Pearce would keep the clothes choices to ‘merely annoying’. No luck there, it seemed. Pearce unbuttoned her onesie, removed the pillow to get at her soggy diaper, and began ripping off tapes one-by-one. With the pillow gone, her legs relaxed, and she became aware of the extra effort she’d been putting in to keep her legs apart. He had, at least, been more vigilant about changes–and he’d begun dissolving some kind of capsules into Grace’s baby bottles, which’d had the effect of making her need to pee a couple times an hour. Her attempts to hold it until she could flood and leak were thwarted by plastic pants and a constantly-running bladder. Wadding up her old diaper, he set it aside and produced slightly-warmed baby wipes, cleaning her up. “Sog monster,” he snickered. “Your fault,” Grace pouted, sticking out her tongue. A gentle dusting of powder applied, Pearce wrapped her up in a new diaper. It felt even fluffier than normal, and also, just slightly warm to the touch. “Did you heat this up?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ran it in the dryer for a couple minutes to puff it,” Pearce replied, sticking down the tapes. “Okay, you’re all changed. Sit up, and let’s get you dressed.” She did, raising her arms so he could pull off her onesie, so that her only remaining clothes were a bra and her diaper. Smirking, he went into his new box of tricks and produced a striped footed sleeper, one that looked…fairly normal. “Okay, what’s the catch here?” Grace asked. “Just that it’s tamper proof,” Pearce said. “So that fussy babies can’t wriggle out of it. The zip in the back locks.” “I’m not allowed to take off my clothes anyways,” Grace pointed out. “Why bother?” “Because,” Pearce gloated, setting his things down on her desk. “Now you’ll know you really are stuck.” That logic had an unfortunate sort of solidity to it, and Grace swallowed. He was right–even if it literally had few practical results, the psychology of feeling trapped made her squirm a little as he unfolded it and pulled the legs up over hers. “Hold still,” he said, while she stuck out her legs. “I am,” she said. “You’re–just let me do it.” “No,” he insisted, as the snug elastic got caught on her feet again. It took most of a minute, but he got her legs on, feet wrapped up in the bottoms–it just had a sort of grippy rubber on the bottom instead of soles. Grace had to stand so he could pull it into place, pull her arms through the sleeves, and finally zip up the back, pulling on little parts of the sleeper to get out any pinch points or bunched-up areas. With two little ‘clicks’, he buttoned down the zipper, trapping her in the outfit. “How’s that feel?” he asked, patting down her sides and pulling the fabric around the front of her, in a gesture that felt almost like a hug from behind. “It’s fine,” Grace said, glad he was behind her, that he couldn’t see her blush. “Alright, lay back down,” he instructed. Grace didn’t know what to think of his more gentle touch. She’d grown used to the dressing ritual being a nuisance, but he was really taking his time now, making sure she was comfortable, being almost… nurturing? (He’s probably just taking the time to gloat,) she decided, laying back down on the bed as instructed. Pearce lifted her legs and, with a grin that did nothing to dispel Grace’s assumptions about him, clicked the collapsed bar into place, soft, plush-lined cuffs tightening around each ankle. When fully shortened, the bar was only a little over a foot long, but as he pushed her legs wider, it moved to compensate, extending to two feet, and then three, holding her ankles far enough apart that standing wouldn’t be even remotely possible. Testing the latch to make sure the bar wouldn’t retract, Pearce let go. “Alright,” he said. “Have fun crawling, crinkles. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” Grace’s heart skipped a beat, and she had to ask herself why. She came up dry of answers. “Is that it?” “What, were you hoping for more?” Pearce asked. She shook her head, sitting up. Legs forced apart by the bar, it made it even harder to hold her bladder, and she felt a dribble of pee escape her involuntarily as her body decided to give up on holding it. “No, I just–it’s not very creative,” she said, grasping for an excuse. Grace didn’t know what she wanted, she just didn’t want Pearce to leave yet. Wasn’t he going to watch her crawl around a bit, maybe tease her over it? Take the time to lord over how much his new plan was annoying her? “I’m going to go take a nap,” Pearce said. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you leak–not that you would mind that, you seem to enjoy having soggy clothes lately.” “I don’t enjoy soggy clothes, I enjoy making you pay up,” Grace shot, in a final attempt to rile him into some banter. “Sure thing, potty pants,” Pearce said, turning and waltzing out of her room. (Jerk,) Grace fumed. And then, (Why am I mad?) She stood to move to her desk, stumbled, flopped onto the floor in a pratfall. Glancing up at the door, she looked, and– Pearce wasn’t watching. He’d genuinely left. (Ugh.) Planting her knees on the floor, she crawled over to her door, slammed it shut, and then moved to take a seat. Even seated, though, the spreader bar was still a nuisance–she couldn’t get her legs under her desk, the space wasn’t quite wide enough unless she turned her hips awkwardly, so she had to move her laptop off her desk and move over to bed, propping her back up on some pillows so she could work in a seated position, even if her legs were splayed out in a V. Her focus lasted about thirty seconds before she was glancing at her door again. Waiting for Pearce to come back in and reveal he had something else up his sleeve, that he hadn’t just given up after dressing her. She wriggled, feeling uncomfortable already–between the spreader bar and the all-encompassing footed pajamas that wrapped her up, and… (He didn’t cut off the tag,) she noted. The tag was a little offset since the zipper was in the back, but it itched at the back of her neck. She didn’t mind, much, but it was a nuisance that had nothing to do with babying her, so she set aside her laptop, dropped to the floor, and crawled on all fours out to the hall. “Pearce,” she demanded. “Hey, Pearce!” No answer. “HEY!” she called, pounding on his door. No answer. “Pearce!” Grace called again. “Open the door!” Grace sat on the ground, arms crossed, pouting up at the door. Pearce threw open his door. “I just changed you, you got a bottle–what?” “This onesie still has a tag,” Grace said. “And you were ignoring me.” “I’m allowed to take a twenty minute nap,” Pearce complained. “And I’m allowed to whine about it, babysitter,” Grace shot back. Pointing with a thumb at the back of her pajamas, she said, “Tag. Deal with it.” “And then you’ll let me nap?” he asked. She swallowed. She wanted to hang out more, to… (What do I want? For him to make fun of me? Why?) “Yeah,” she said. “Unless you forgot something else.” “Fine, wait here,” he grumbled, turning to march back into his bedroom to find scissors. It was attention, but it wasn’t what she wanted. His attitude was begrudging, annoyed. Not mirthful or triumphant. (But…I want him to be annoyed. To give up. This is good, isn’t it?) He returned with a pair of old scissors, reached down the back of her pajamas, and snipped the tag. “Alright. Bye.” Walking away, he shut his door–he didn’t slam it in her face, exactly, but that’s what it felt like. Pursing her lips, Grace crawled back into her room, straight into bed. Her laptop was still there, but she pushed it aside, lying back, pulling a cover over herself. She felt tired, inexplicably tired. Pearce had made her coffee that morning, and if the bet did one thing well, it ensured she got a solid amount of sleep every night. There was no reason to be this tired, so… why? The idea of demanding that Pearce make her another coffee crossed her mind, but that just came with a pang of guilt. He did actually deserve a nap–unlike her, his sleep had been cut short every morning, forced to wake up so he could wake her up. He was putting in the effort. She felt mad, and ashamed of being mad, and the frustration at herself made her want to curl up in a ball. (What the fuck is wrong with me?) Grace couldn’t, in fact, curl up in a ball; with her legs spread apart, her only marginally-comfortable options were laying on her back or her stomach. Choosing her back, she pulled the blankets over herself. Maybe a nap was what she needed, too. Even if she couldn’t fathom a reason for it, the fatigue and feeling of being drained had overwhelmed her. She sniffled. Her eyes were wet. (Am I crying? Why am I crying?) She sniffled again, louder, and– The door to Pearce’s room opened, and he stepped out, holding a plastic cup. He glanced over at her. She hadn’t shut her own door, he could see her clearly, see her red eyes, even as she tried to wipe her face and appear fine. “What?” she asked, half glaring at him, half pleading with her eyes. Nothing made sense, her body didn’t seem under her control. “I had to, uh, get some water,” he said, pointing to the bathroom and holding up the cup in his hand. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, wiping her face with an arm. “Just…I don’t know. I think I’m sick or something, I feel really tired. I was going to sleep.” He paused, and set down his cup. “Hey,” Pearce said, after a moment of thought. “If you’re taking a nap, let me take off that bar. That’s got to be a pain to sleep in.” Grace nodded. “Sure. Thank you.” He walked over, removing the cuffs from her feet. They weren’t properly locked, just fastened in place, and he jimmied them free in a moment. “Okay,” he said, setting the bar aside. “Scoot over.” “Why?” she asked. “I’m gonna do the babysitter thing,” he said. “And that means you do what I say. Scoot over.” She did, and to her surprise, Pearce sat down on the bed next to her, kicked up his feet, and lay down next to her. Taking out his phone, he scrolled for a moment on the internet, cleared his throat, and started, “Once upon a time, there lived a very ugly duckling…” Grace raised her eyebrows, smirking. “Wait, seriously?” “Storytime.” He grinned over at her. “It’s what every baby needs, right? I’ll try and do voices, but my duck’s a little limp.” Giggling, Grace said, “Say that again, I think I misheard.” He rolled his eyes. “So there was this super ugly duckling–like, hideous. Ugliest little featherball you’ve ever seen, and…” By the time his nursery story was done, Grace was asleep, arm stretched over his chest. Pearce had dozed off a minute later. ... Did you know I admin a Discord channel for ABDL fiction of all stripes? Not just my own, but by any author who wants to contribute - it's great for discussion, hanging out, and just generally being a part of a cool writing-focused community. discord.gg/FvyTkRu I've also got a newsletter! Subscribers get all my public content sent straight to their inbox, no worrying about any social media algorithm burying it, and you also get a free novella that's otherwise for purchase only, "Delta Lambda's Little Stinker", a story about a magical college fraternity hazing their newest pledge in a very, very smelly way. www.subscribepage.com/n5a2u3

That also assumes a certain level of trust on the part of users that - For example - DailyDiapers' security is solid, that there won't be any mistakes, and that whatever it shows as on credit card reports will truly be 'anonymous. I have that level of trust, and it doesn't bother me, but expecting that from new users as a baseline is, I think, a bit too much. That works, but is a lot of effort to put in just to donate a dollar on an annual basis if that's what's on the table.

An issue with requiring even a tiny donation is that it requires members to link their credit card or bank account to the site, which many don't want to do for various reasons - privacy concerns being the largest. Also, part of what makes this community great is that there's enough people to really call it a community!

Special thanks to DollyJKazoo for the awesome art! ❤️ This one is so precious and cute

Chapter 18: Skip Skip yawned as the bus rolled to a stop, stepping off and shuffling towards home. It’d been a long night–ten hours on their feet, all go-go-go the whole time. Now, the sun had just begun to creep up over the horizon and their day had come to an end. At least they had a three day weekend coming up. The four-days-on three-days-off pattern worked for Skip, even if the night shift meant they started their day as everyone else was ending theirs. Long days meant fewer days, they were content with that. On the other hand, coming home to a house divided…that was getting wearisome. A large cardboard box sat on the porch when they arrived, Pearce’s given name printed on the label. Based on the size, it couldn’t just be a couple outfits–there had to be a lot in there. Skip pushed the box aside with a foot, opened the door, and waltzed inside. Giggles echoed from the kitchen when they walked inside. At least Grace and Pearce had been in a good mood lately–though the tension still stood, there’d been fewer shouting matches, just bickering. In the kitchen, Grace was in her high chair, bits of breakfast on her face. The smell of breakfast mingled with something more foul, though, somewhat muting the pleasant food smells. “Package,” Skip said, maneuvering around them and wrinkling their nose. “Grace needs a change.” “I know,” Pearce said. “Hasn’t been an hour yet–I decided it could wait till breakfast was over.” “Jerk,” Grace said, but her lips were played up in a half smile. Glancing at the stovetop, Skip saw the scattered remains of pancake preparation. “Any left?” With a flourish, Pearce reached to a plate covered in a tea towel and yanked the cover away, revealing a stack of fluffy pancakes. “I thought you might want some.” “I thought you might want some,” Grace corrected, rolling her eyes. “I told Pearce to make extra.” “Thanks,” Skip said, retrieving a fork. Breakfast for dinner. “Whipped cream if you want it,” Pearce added, sliding the can over to Skip. Coating the pancakes with cream, Skip left the kitchen, getting away from the mild stink coming off Grace and heading to the living room. More giggles. Even a little laughter echoed from the other room. “Be right back,” Pearce said, walking up, past Skip, to the front door. He towed in the box, picked at the tape with a fingernail, and ripped it open. Curiously, Skip looked over from the couch, though they didn’t ask what it was. “Let’s see what she thinks of this,” Pearce said, pulling the first plastic-wrapped parcel from inside. Skip saw fabric, though the specifics of what they were looking at weren’t immediately obvious. It looked like clothing, maybe, or possibly a pillow–until Pearce removed it from the plastic and unfolded it, revealing a onesie that seemed to have a pillow crammed in around the bottom, comical bulk. Raising an eye, Skip asked, “How’s she going to walk with that on?” “That’s the secret,” Pearce snickered. “She’s not. Oh, Baby Gracie, I think it’s time for your change!” The last part of his words were projected across the house, not for Skip’s benefit but for Grace’s. He whisked the outfit away, and the sound of amused protests and complaints echoed from the kitchen to the living room. Setting aside the pancakes, Skip got up, looking through the other contents of the package. “Hmm.” It was, without a doubt, not just cutesy clothing. Pearce had ordered in full-on BDSM wear, albeit BDSM wear with a juvenile coat of paint. They spotted a spreader bar, some sort of chest harness, booties–all told, probably three or four ways just to keep Grace from walking. While they finished up breakfast-dinner, Pearce led Grace by the hand through the living room, up the stairs, his expression triumphant, hers annoyed but in a way that implied she really didn’t mind. Skip ate the rest of their pancakes, dealt with their dishes, and went to bed. … “HEY!” Skip sat up, blinking blearily. Their alarm hadn’t gone off, but Grace’s shout didn’t discriminate–even if she intended it for Pearce, it still woke Skip up, even with a fan, white noise, and blackout curtains protecting their daytime sleep. Checking their phone, they saw it was almost five PM - just about time to wake up anyways. Getting to their feet, they yawned, sighed, pulled on a pair of baggy pants. “Pearce!” Grace called again. “Open the door!” Her tone wasn’t amused anymore. Great. They’re bickering again. Exiting their bedroom, they glanced down the hall. Grace sat on the ground, legs splayed. She didn’t have on the pillow onesie thing–instead, there was a pink-painted spreader bar forcing her to crawl, and her actual clothes were a striped set of footed pajamas. Pearce threw open his door. “I just changed you, you got a bottle–what?” “This onesie still has a tag,” Grace said. “And you were ignoring me.” “I’m allowed to take a twenty minute nap,” Pearce complained. Not my problem, Skip said, walking past. The argument continued, loud enough that the two of them could be heard throughout the house, but Skip put on headphones and shut it out, preparing their dinner-breakfast. They put on an extra helping, too, anticipating Brains’ arrival home from work a few minutes later. “Morning,” Brains said. “Evening,” Skip replied. “What’s up with the bet?” “Argument a couple days ago,” Brains said, peering at the bubbling soup on the stove. “You want the short version or the long one?” “Short one,” Skip replied, answering the unasked question as well. “There’s enough soup for two.” Brains pumped his fist just a bit in soup celebration, then explained, “They’re escalating since neither were looking like they’re going to back down. Pearce ordered a bunch of extra crap to mess with Grace, Grace is going to be more of a brat to try and wear him down. Maybe we’ll see this thing finally come to a conclusion here soon.” Skip shrugged. “You’ve already swept the betting pool on duration, now it’s just a matter of who wins.” “Want to go double or nothing?” Brains suggested. “New bet on how long this’ll last, now that they’re escalating?” “If Melody’s on board,” Skip replied. Brains checked his phone while soup simmered. As it finished, and Skip dished out the dinner, Brains supplied, “She’s in. Her bet is five to ten days before they fall apart. She’s sticking with the same winner.” “Under,” Skip said, sliding a bowl across to him. “You think so?” Brains asked, blowing on his spoon. “I’m going over.” “I figured you would,” Skip said. “Just taking the option that’s left. Plus, you didn’t see what was in that box. When are they just going to fuck already?” Brains choked on his soup. “W-what?!” “You don’t see it?” Skip shrugged. “No I don’t see–they hate each other,” Brains shot. “You see how much they argue?” “I didn’t say it was healthy,” Skip replied. “But it’s there. They don’t hate each other.” Brains shook his head. “I don’t believe it.” “Ask Melody,” Skip suggested. They didn’t need Brains to believe them, but Brains was a good friend, and he deserved a solid, straightforward answer. He sent another text, and they ate together in silence until his phone dinged and–“Melody says, ‘oh yeah, they’re totally going to fuck’. Does everyone know this except me?” “Everyone except you, and Grace, and Pearce.” Skip picked up their now-empty bowl, walking over to the sink to rinse it out. “Hmm.” Brains rubbed at his chin. “Okay. New bet?” Skip blinked. “No.” “Come on,” Brains said. “If you all think it’s so inevitable, surely–” “Crossing a line, Brains,” Skip said. “That’s too personal.” He sighed. “Thanks.” A few moments passed, and he added, “Can I ask about it, though?” “Sure,” Skip sighed, as they began to clean up from dinner. “What’s got you confused?” “How can you tell?” He asked, leaning back. “Like…how is it that you all figured something out that they don’t know and I didn’t notice?” “That’s complicated,” Skip said, avoiding the longer answer. Brains shrank back, took a breath, and shook his head. “‘That’s complicated’ is what people say when they don’t want to explain shit to me.” “Sorry, sorry.” Skip rubbed at their temple, considering how to answer. “You know we’re all fucked, right?” “Right.” He tapped his chest. “Wasters for life.” “Grace is a big ball of neuroses and she’s got a stick up her ass about everything, and Pearce–let’s just say we tried to get high on adderall once in high school and he sat down and did his homework.” Skip leaned up against the counter, resting on their hands. “And both of them are stubborn, and stupid. They can’t get over the superficial stuff. We’re all friends for a reason, but they’re both so fundamentally incapable of introspection that they can’t just sit down and figure out how they’re feeling. They have to blame someone else, and they’ve picked each other.” “Okay, I follow all that,” Brains nodded. “But how does that lead to the two of them fucking?” “Because you don’t get that mad at someone for being inattentive if you don’t want their attention,” Skip said. “And, well…just listen.” They pointed up at the ceiling. Brains paused, listening, and heard another giggle echo down from the other side of the house. “They like each other, even if both of them are too dense to realize it,” Skip said. “When they’re not both in their heads, thinking that they hate each other for reasons they haven’t really stopped to consider, they’re almost sickeningly cute. Plus, like…okay, this is crass, but Pearce just bought a bunch of fetish wear for her. Let’s not ignore that part.” Brains sat back. “Huh. Thanks for filling me in.” “You’re welcome,” Skip said, smirking. “And by the way–I’m not going to place a bet on it, but if I were, I’d say two weeks.” ... Thank you for reading! In news, I've re-opened taking commissions for the time being! If you're interested in getting a story commissioned, the details are in the form below: https://forms.gle/hiXUs9Pa3X5yyuLp6

As an update, my commissions have re-opened again!

I've taken to using parenthesis for internal dialog, simply because several places I post stories to screw up my italicized formatting and it's less work if I just don't use italics for anything important, rather than manually fixing all internal dialog! Just a minor detail I thought I'd add.