PeculiarChangeling

I don't know if she can remember how or what to do at work - Jean did comment on her poor performance, after all. She's slipping in more ways than one. ❤️ Truly, I stand on the shoulders of Amazons. Do they? Or is Jean just observing what's been happening? She's got a functioning nose, and Nicole isn't half so sneaky as she thinks she is. 😏 ... Day 10 Alphabet blocks were in Nicole’s thoughts, and onesies were in her wardrobe. The training chart on her door showed the blocks–all stacked in a jumble, spelling out nothing in particular. Vanessa had taken a glance at it and said that together they formed the words, ‘Baby Nicole’, but all Nicole could see was a jumble of letters. She worried what that meant. They’d woken up early. Vanessa had suggested the night before that they get a jump on things, so she had plenty of time to change Nicole and get her dressed without missing the bus. A lot of her clothes had changed overnight, but she still had some plain jeans and T shirts that were apparently juvenile enough to not be affected by the magic, and she was in too much of a hurry to mourn the lost fashion accessories. Nicole also had to admit, an extra set of hands getting ready for the day was nice–and having Vanessa wake her up had been particularly helpful, because Nicole hadn’t remembered to plug her phone in before getting into her crib the night before, and her alarm hadn’t gone off. Now, she was nursing the phone on a charger, waiting for it to boot up, wondering what had been taken from her that morning. Her phone chirped to life, the startup song jingled, and she looked down–three percent battery, it still needed to charge, and… “Poopie,” she said aloud, her words defaulting to a toddler swear. Even getting up early, she’d still be late–the clock read eight something-or-other, and her bus left at eight fifteen. She had to run. “Gotta go, V!” she yelped, leaping from the couch and sprinting to the door. “Gonna be wate!” Vanessa walked out a few moments later, too slow to catch her friend’s exit. “Late?” she asked aloud, checking her own phone for the time. “It’s only like eight minutes past seven, but...guess she wanted to get ahead of things.” … Nicole sprinted up to the bus stop, heart pounding as she leaned against the signpost. (The bus, where was the–) looking around, she saw it coming up the road, still a couple blocks away. She’d made it, barely, but she’d take the win. Withdrawing her phone for the bus pass, she frowned. The screen was black again, it hadn’t charged enough to survive her mad dash to the bus stop. Instead of using her prepaid app, she’d have to buy a ticket. Fumbling for cash, she watched the bus pull up, immediately noticing that something felt off. For one, the bus had a different driver today, a man in his forties who must have been subbing in for the typical driver on her route. Stepping on, she continued to dig in her purse, fishing out a few crinkled bills and some change. “Erm…” she said, looking between the pay terminal and the money in her hand. The pay terminal had a bunch of numbers printed on it, but they seemed to be floating off the label, dancing before her eyes. A six, and a one, and… a five? So it was six dollars and fifteen cents for a bus ticket? That didn’t seem right to her, but she hadn’t bought a regular ticket in a while, she always had her phone. Looking down at her money, though, she realized she only had… “Uh…” “Lady,” the driver said, “Are you getting on or what?” “Yeah, I just…” she tried to count. She had a few bills… one bill for each finger. Five bills. Ok, so she still needed a dollar, and– “Lady,” the driver insisted. “It’s a buck sixty five, just put the money in the terminal.” She swallowed. She’d read it wrong–that price made more sense, though. A buck sixty five, so one bill, and then…quarters. Three quarters? No, too much– “I can’t–” she stammered, holding out her handful of wadded money to the driver. “Help?” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Friggin’ kids, it must be that new math,” he grumbled, reaching out to take the appropriate currency. “Look, lady. A dollar, two quarters, a nickel, and dime. Got it?” “I’m not a kid,” she mumbled defensively. “Coulda fooled me,” he said, dropping the coins and inserting the bill for her. “Take your seat. You know your stop?” “Mhmm,” she said, blushing as she hurried to the back of the bus. He drove away, and she sat back, stunned and disoriented. Nothing felt right. She couldn’t read, and…that explained the baby blocks. But she still could read. She recognized letters, right? So she’d just have to take things one letter at a time. She could do that. She practiced on the LED sign reading out the next stop. “B,” she said aloud. “A, R, R, Y. Barry. D, R, I, V, E… Barry Drive? But…” The Barry Drive stop wasn’t anywhere near her office, it was practically in the opposite direction. Maybe she’d read it wrong–but that was almost as scary as if she’d read it right. Rushing to the front of the bus, she pulled the signal indicating her need to get off. The driver pulled over, and she stepped out, looking around–she’d ended up somewhere by downtown. Only a mile from her office, a walk she could make in twenty minutes, but she didn’t understand how. Catching someone waiting for a different bus, she asked, “Excuse…me…my phone is dead, can you pwease tell me the time?” The woman hesitated, caught off guard by Nicole’s lisp, but glanced at her own phone. “It’s just past seven thirty.” (Oh,) Nicole realized. (Okay. I left early, I got on the wrong bus.) Exhaling in relief, she said, “Thankies.” “You’re welcome?” That wasn’t too bad. She’d just need to catch a new bus, or walk. She could make that walk in time, and there was a thorough map posted by the stop. All she had to do was… Read the map and find a route. Just finding where she was on the map took her ten minutes, by which point she was sniffling in frustration. Tracing the road with a finger to where she knew her office was helped, but she couldn’t make out the tiny letters spelling the streets, and even after getting a stranger to read them for her, matching the names in her head to the street signs above intersections was downright impossible–there were just too many other letters floating in her vision. She got lost four times, and had to find a public restroom to change her diaper once. It took a good Samaritan stranger noticing her distress and giving her simple, direct instructions–‘Start walking down this road and turn when you see the big fountain with a mermaid’–that she managed to get to work. Gazing up at the office building, Nicole swallowed. She wasn’t that late, was she? Only a few hours. (Maybe someone covered for me.) Swallowing, she stepped inside, took the stairs–she didn’t trust herself on the elevator buttons–and got to her desk, plugged in her phone, and started plugging away at work. At least she managed to keep herself clean, mostly. She had to proactively check her diaper, and that constant paranoia meant she spent almost as much time nervously sniffing and reaching down to squeeze the padded crotch, but she didn’t have any more unnoticed messy accidents before lunch. She only managed to fill out one report in that time, mouthing out every letter and pecking at the keyboard to type, but it was something. It didn’t surprise her when Jean intercepted her immediately after lunch, but her heart still sank. Jean’s dubious sniff of the air around Nicole made her feel even smaller, even more helpless–she couldn’t be trusted to keep her diaper clean. “Let’s go talk in my office,” Jean offered. Nicole meekly followed. The door shut behind her. “Am I being fired?” she all-but whispered, looking down at her toes. “We’ll talk about that,” Jean said, walking to her desk and spinning the computer display around for Nicole to see. “Come look at this.” Nicole walked up, leaning in to look at the report. It was the one she’d filled out before lunch–just some expense sheets. The number at the bottom was really big. “Um…did I file too many enspen… expsen–too much stuff?” “The–it’s wrong,” Jean snapped, her weariness turning the last word harsh–she hadn’t quite snapped, but she was getting impatient. “Nicole, this is simple addition. How did you add a dozen expenses under a hundred dollars and add them up to be greater than our company’s entire gross sales? How did you not notice?” “I don’t…” Nicole stared, squinting harder. She knew the numbers were wrong, but she couldn’t find the mistake, the letters were just floating off the page. “And the labels–what even are these?” Jean asked. “‘Snackies’? ‘Choo choo’?” “Um–um–” Nicole stammered, trying to think, trying to form the words so that she wouldn’t sound like a babbling toddler. “That was…Employee meals… and tram fare.” “Nicole,” Jean said, sitting down at her desk. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you right now, but it’s clear you’re in no state to work. You’ve got two weeks sick time and eight personal days, after that we’ll need to see if I can convince management to suspend your employment instead of firing you outright.” Her eyes widened. “You’re not… You pwomise? I’m not fi-fied?” Jean sighed, almost sadly. “I like you, and you’ve given us good work. Go see a doctor, figure out what’s going on–once you show me you can keep your pants clean and your spelling neat, we’ll get you back to work.” Under her breath, she added, “Do not repeat this outside my office, but if I need to fire you so that you can collect unemployment, tell me. I want you to be OK, Nicole, you’re just…up until this past week, you were a mature, competent adult. I don’t know what you are now.” Nicole wiped at her eyes with her arm, wet tears sliding down her cheeks. “I…um…fank you…” “Get help, Nicole.” Nicole nodded. (Help. Right.) Taking out her phone, she called Vanessa, choking down her sobs. “V? Are you there?” “I’m here,” Vanessa’s voice came back, reassuring and solid. “What’s wrong?” “I… I need a ride.” ... Poor Nicole Support the author: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Consider this a sequel series - I found a direction for the character that felt like it had legs, and am following that narrative arc now! I plan on using a comic book format - short 'issues' that collectively make up narrative arcs which I'll be posting in clusters. Issue 1: Striking Favors The alien had ruined my life and given me purpose, and I didn’t know whether to love them or hate them for it. Haven owned me, and relished demonstrating that ownership. Pushing me to humiliate myself, delighting as I was forced to ruin diapers for their amusement and the public’s disgust. I’d managed to wrestle back only the tiniest amount of control, and even that leverage was tenuous, only available to me because I’d agreed to play Haven’s game–I couldn’t win, not really, but I could forfeit and spoil their fun. So long as I had my trump card, I could fight to at least bargain for bits of autonomy. I was a thing to them, a source of food and entertainment. But in exchange, they’d given me a power I could never have dreamed of. Superhuman, that was the only word for it. In the right place, at the right time, I could be incredible. Emphasis on ‘could’. Two days of waiting for trouble had left me restless, and though I couldn’t say I was bored, the only excitement came from Haven finding new ways to play with my body while we killed time at the hotel. (Haven,) I’d thought to myself, wincing at the strain on my elbows. (This isn’t working.) (I think it is–you’re at just the level of discomfort I prefer. Do you think you’ll be able to hold out as long as I’ve demanded?) The enema sloshing inside my system made it hard to stay focused, but that was just the start. Haven’s inky, nebulous body could form itself into most any shape so long as they had the mass to stretch, and they’d taken to forming elaborate bondage contraptions around me. At the moment, they had grabbed onto the ceiling and wrapped around my wrists, suspending my arms over my head and pulling me up so high that I could just barely stand on tiptoe. It was positively sadistic, but the distraction of a practical conversation helped me resist the bondage. (I don’t mean this, I mean this. Trying to fight crime.) (You do what I say in exchange for power,) they’d replied. (You’re doing what I say just fine–have I not provided the power?) (Only in theory–there’s nothing here for me to do. This town just doesn’t have enough danger for your strength to be useful.) I winced again, wishing I didn’t have so much weight on the tips of my toes and my wrists. I’d been instructed to hold my enema for at least thirty minutes, or else risk punishment–twenty had gone by, but I was struggling. If I held it, I’d get to sleep in a clean diaper, relaxed in my bed. If I lost control, I’d be bound and gagged through the night. (Then let’s go elsewhere. A city. That’s where other vigilantes work, isn’t it?) (What, to Central City? I don’t think I could even afford a shoebox there, let alone a place to live, and my bike doesn’t make for much of a commute.) (Hmm.) (What?) (Perhaps there’s a way to solve this problem. Last time we put you on the internet–) I shuddered. That had been one of Haven’s most devilish ideas–leaving my humiliations to be decided by horny strangers who enjoyed watching me debase myself. (–there were plenty of people commenting in shock that your performance was free.) Swallowing, I saw where Haven was going with this. Given the fairly extreme nature of what they made me do, it could potentially be a very lucrative source of cash. How much would people be willing to pay in exchange for total control over me? Hell, Haven gave me the ability to go beyond what anyone else could do–sustaining more masochistic punishment than might otherwise be safe, because they gave me durability and could heal my injuries in hours rather than weeks. I didn’t need to worry about rashes or infections, and, well–fears about having my face exposed were a bit moot, given that I’d done this once before. Haven certainly paid well enough, even if they did so with strength rather than cash. Surely the market had to exist. (So, what are you suggesting? Cam girl by day, hero by night?) (Something like that. Stay put.) (You know I can’t move–when did you get a sense of humor?) Slithering away, Haven kept my wrists bound but extended part of their body to my computer bag, working like an inky production assistant. The computer was whisked onto my desk, and Haven had no trouble logging in–with access to my thoughts, they also had access to all my passwords. It took them only a minute to queue up the cam site I’d used before, and in that time, I was left to my own devices. All my attention rested on controlling my bowels, keeping the heavy, sloshy enema from pouring out into my diaper, preserving the little bit of reward I had managed to earn. (Same rules as before,) Haven instructed me. (Anything they tell you to do, you do. Only this time, the instructions all have a price, one that I’ve set. I’ve typed it all out, so don’t worry–you don’t need to explain anything to anyone.) The stream went live. (Here’s a question,) Haven considered, body shimmering to more closely resemble ropes, so that their presence as my bondage would not be noticed by anyone watching. (Do you suppose anyone will tell you to fill your diaper in the next seven minutes?) (But–) I started to think, before forcing a smile as I saw the first comments pour in. (That would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it? If you had the control to avoid a punishment, but were instructed to fail anyways?) Trying to nip it in the bud, I faced the screen, doing my best porn-worthy voice, fake sultry tones but authentic desperation. "Oh, god, I really need to go, but I bet the longer I hold it, the worse it'll be–I just want to go right now, won't someone please let me?" A donation appeared on screen, the text large enough that I could just read the instructions from my bound position. I blinked, surprised at the number attached. ‘You want to go so bad, beg for it.' (Fuck me that's like three hours at my old job–) (You have a performance to give, my plaything.) (Right.) "Please, please," I babbled. "Let me poop my diaper–I just love having a full, smelly diaper, just let me go, please–" Another donation, for a positively eye popping amount. 'Let’s see you use your diaper, and tell us how much you like it’. That was as far as my reverse psychology got me, then. I'd bought ten seconds, then been told it was time to bottom out my diaper anyways. Cheeks flushing, it took me little effort to obey. All I had to do was let go and let nature take control, so I let the enema pour out into my diaper and knowing I’d just earned myself a punishment. The hot muck immediately made the seat sag, and in case it wasn’t obvious enough yet, I obeyed the second command. “Th-thank you,” I stammered, “I was just waiting to poop in my diaper–I just love filling them up like this.” More commands. Things I had to say, to do. Haven was right–this was my ticket, my way to get to Central City. For the price of my dignity, I would get what I’d asked for, and at this point I doubted I had a choice in the matter. And, finally, a particularly big donation: ‘Let’s get a spanking started–how hard can you hit?’ ... Support is always appreciated! It's readers like you that let me treat writing as seriously as I do, and I try to return that support and show my gratitude with consistent posts, early access, and exclusive content! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thank you for reading, too! And for your comments along the way ^^

Truly, nothing is scarier than... the potty monster! The slow burn humiliation is one of my favorite parts of this one ^^ That sounds mortifying - I'll be happy to live the experience through vicarious enjoyment of fiction, thank you very much! That'd just be cruel! ... Day 9 “V?” Vanessa blinked awake, bleary eyed and thoughts still thick from dreamland. “Huh?” “V!” The voice came from outside her room, echoing across the hall. Vanessa sat up, wiping at her eyes to clear away sleepiness. She hadn’t set her alarm–she was off work that morning and typically slept in late when she could–so the early awakening surprised her. “Vanessa! Help!” That, she couldn’t ignore. Toppling out of bed, Vanessa scrambled to her roommate’s rescue. Throwing open the door to Nicole’s nursery, she saw her friend on the verge of tears. Her best friend’s diaper clearly needed changing from how it drooped and the smell that saturated her room, but it didn’t seem like that was the source of her distress–she was holding onto the bars of her crib like a prisoner begging for release. “What’s wrong, Nic?” Vanessa asked, walking over. “What changed?” “I can’t–” Nicole sniffed, wiping at her sniffling nose with her arm. A little snot came away, she didn’t seem to notice. “I can’ get da bars open, the latch is stuck. I’m trapped!” Vanessa stepped back, reaching out and pressing the latch. The crib opened normally, side gate swinging out so Nicole could leave. “It–nothing happened,” she said. “The latch works fine.” “It didn’t!” Nicole snapped, her teary eyes turning a little more red. “It wouldn’–why didn’ it work for me?” “You were probably just stressed and fumbling,” Vanessa said, excusing the issue for the moment. “Do you need help getting ready for work?” “No.” Nicole shook her head, looking rattled from the brief captivity. “I can’ do it myself. I wan’a do it myself.” With her roommate’s lisp, Vanessa wasn’t sure if Nicole had really said, ‘I can’, or if she’d actually admitted the truth–’I can’t’. Either way, she shrugged, she wasn’t going to argue with Nicole while she was this flustered. “Ok. Let me know if you change your mind.” Turning, she walked out of the room, pausing to glance at the new doodle on the chart. Storm clouds, day and night. No surprise there, Nicole’s potty training was long gone at this point. Below them, though, was a doodle of Nicole–sitting in a diaper, smudged and dirty, stink lines wafting off her. She was holding a square block in her hand, looking at a box with several differently-shaped holes, as though uncertain what she was supposed to do next–and to really emphasize things, a big question mark floated over her head. Vanessa didn’t try to guess what that meant. She thought she already knew. … Eighteen minutes. The bus schedule worked out in such a way that, if Nicole missed her bus, she would be eighteen minutes late. It’d only ever happened once before, in the whole time she’d been employed at her job. Or, twice now, because even changing her diaper as quickly as possible, slapping down the tapes and rushing out the door without even eating breakfast, she’d still missed her bus. Being stuck in her crib had cost her too much time, and there just wasn’t a fast way to clean up a poopy diaper. She’d made it in, though, and made it to her desk. She’d make it through another day. If anyone asked, it’d just been a rough night and she overslept, no need to explain that she’d been late because she had to change her diaper after being stuck inside her crib. (But nobody will notice. Right?) Nicole told herself that lie through the morning work, handling problems that’d come up overnight and generally keeping herself busy. As long as she had a job to do, she didn’t need to think about what was happening to her…even if she kept making typos and had to refill her coffee three times because she kept knocking it over–at least she had that one solace, caffeine, to keep her going when it felt overwhelming. Just after lunch, her facade shattered. She didn’t even make it back to her desk before her boss intercepted her, speaking five words that sent Nicole’s anxiety into a spiral. “See me in my office.” Nicole followed, she had no good excuse to delay. Jean shut the door behind her, walking over to her desk. Uncertain and afraid, Nicole just stood there. “We need to talk about your performance,” Jean said. “Nicole–I’ll be frank. Your work has been slipping horribly. You’re distracted, you came in late today, you’re clearly avoiding letting anyone see you while you work, and–” Her nose wrinkled, and she paused. Nicole flushed pink, raising her hands to cover her mouth. “Nicole…” Jean said, shaking her head in a gesture resembling maternal disappointment. “Please tell me you didn’t forget to change your diaper during your lunch break.” (No,) Nicole thought. (No, no, no…) “I’m not wearin’ diapees!” she exclaimed, shaking her head in mortified terror, as though the lie would hide anything. A moment later, a worse realization struck her–she’d just called them, ‘Diapees’ in front of her boss. (Nononono–) “I don’t have any issue with whatever medical condition you’re dealing with,” Jean said. “Incontinence isn’t something that I would judge you for, and neither is a lisp–and please don’t feel the need to lie. Once I realized you weren’t sneaking off to the bathroom to use your phone, that cleared a lot up for me. I had hoped that installing the changing table and bin in the women’s room would be helpful for you, too, and show that we didn’t have any issues with your new needs.” Face turning redder and redder, Nicole’s worldview collapsed. She hadn’t been stealthy at all–everyone had known. Jean had known. They’d just been too polite to say anything. “But,” Jean continued. “I expect basic hygiene from my employees. A medical condition doesn’t excuse you from being a nuisance and distraction around the office.” Nicole shook her head, taking a step back. (They all–they all know.) “And I have a functioning nose–You had already soiled yourself by eleven this morning, when I came by to get your TPS reports, and I can tell you still haven’t bothered to get changed. I don’t believe for one second that you didn’t notice, and that is unacceptable.” Her tone wasn’t cruel or mocking–Jean spoke professionally, not trying to belittle Nicole at all. It was a simple statement of fact; Nicole was too helpless to be treated as an adult. Because Jean was wrong about one thing: Nicole genuinely, truly hadn’t noticed her accident. “I–” she stammered. “I’ll–I’m going to go get changies.” “Do that,” Jean said, “and then go home for the day. I expect better from you tomorrow.” Nicole’s whole body was shaking as she staggered into the bathroom. She got herself changed–barely. The tapes didn’t seem to stick right, and even after using a dozen wipes, she still never felt clean. It was all she could do before wandering outside, trembling, to wait for a bus ride to get home. … Vanessa came home to find her roommate on the couch. She’d only been out for a few hours, and hadn’t expected Nicole home until well after five, which told her a few things. She’d been sent home, or she’d left early, or she’d been fired. Either way, Nicole was having a bad day. “You okay?” Vanessa asked, walking over to sit by her friend. “They know,” Nicole said. Vanessa swallowed, though she could guess. “Who?” Nicole wiped her nose, and just like that morning, didn’t seem aware of the mess she was making of herself. “Everyone. Heck, they know more than I do–I…I…I made poo–” Catching herself, she focused on her words, trying to phrase things in a dignified way. “I used my diaper for number two, and I didn’t even notice. For hours. I had lunch in the break room around everyone.” “Oh…” Vanessa said, reaching down to give Nicole’s hand a squeeze. “Hey, Nicole. Come here, it’s okay, I’m here, I can...” She felt wetness. Glancing down, she saw that Nicole’s jeans had identical crescent-shaped wet stains on them, as well as a few trickles that ran deeply down the denim. Nicole’s gaze followed V’s, and when she saw the leaks, her eyes went huge. “Oh no–” Nicole leapt to her feet, reaching down, struggling with the button. It was as though if she got the pants off, it would somehow reset time and prevent the leak from having ever happened. In her panic and uncertainty, though, the button wouldn’t budge. She fumbled, fingers slipping over it, growing more and more desperate by the second. “Nicole, shhh,” Vanessa said, standing and reaching to touch Nicole’s hand again. “Please, let me help?” Nicole sniffed, but nodded, pulling her hands away. Vanessa undid the button, pulled the zip, and slipped Nicole’s jeans away, revealing the diaper beneath. She’d expected to see something sodden and soaked, but in fact it was pretty dry–the shapes on the front had distorted a little, but weren’t faded. The leak hadn’t come from overuse, but from bad application–the tapes on one side were all crooked, and on the other, one hadn’t been stuck down at all. “Nicole,” Vanessa said, quietly. “You put this on all wrong, it’s not going to help like this.” Sniffling, her tears threatening to turn into a full sob, Nicole said, “I know. I know, and I can’t…” “Do you want me to help you?” Vanessa asked, squeezing her friend’s hand. Nicole nodded. Pulling her hand, Vanessa led her friend to the nursery. She didn’t try to speed things along, only offering gentle guidance and support. She didn’t want to make this feel weird, or condescending–she was just offering comfort to a friend. Sliding her hands under Nicole’s armpits, Vanessa gave her friend a boost and got her up onto the changing table, where she laid back, making her diaper accessible. “I think we can still use this diaper,” Vanessa said. “It’s barely damp.” Nicole nodded, while Vanessa undid the tapes, looking for what she suspected to find. Sure enough–Nicole’s bottom was dirty. Not filthy from an accident, but she looked like she hadn’t really wiped up during her last change, she was in desperate need of a good cleaning. So, Nicole took wipes from the warmer and got to work. She started on the upper thighs, gently working her way down, doing her best so that her sweet friend wouldn’t get a rash or just feel gross down there. Nicole crossed her arms over her chest, cheeks puffed out in resigned embarrassment. Noticing a bit of redness, Vanessa paused. “Hey, Nic? It looks like you’re starting to get a rash. Is it OK if I put some cream on you to help with that?” Hesitating, Nicole thought about it, seemingly reassured by Vanessa’s simple question. She’d asked, because no matter what was happening to her, Nicole still deserved to be in charge of her body. “Yes…yes, pwease,” she mumbled, nodding. Vanessa smiled, reaching for the cream. “Of course.” She rubbed it in tenderly, and finished it off with a sprinkle of baby powder to keep everything dry and irritation-free. “Thanks, V,” Nicole said, slowly, forming her words carefully. “I’m so glad you’re here.” “Me too,” Vanessa said, taping the diaper back up. “Me too.” ... Support the author, if you want to, even though I post most of my work for free! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Oh geeze, that'd be pretty awkward! That's a really good question - If only you could talk to the girls and explain the idea, they might have a shot at beating this thing. Agreed! Oof, mood ... Day 8 (Don’t worry about it.) Nicole told herself, repeating the words in her head like a prayer. (Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about it.) She worried anyways, because no amount of silent hope could ease her anxiety. It was her first day back to work since her lisp had developed. She had to be careful about every word she spoke–ensuring she said the right words, focusing on how to pronounce them. Speech had become a chore, but she didn’t operate phones, and she didn’t have any meetings coming up. She could do most of her job without talking, she’d just have to power through the few bits of conversation that were unavoidable. What worried her more was the doodle on the potty training chart she’d seen that morning. Storm clouds for day and night, of course; she’d lost all hope of making it to the potty, at least until they could get this curse resolved. No, the new fear came from the sketch, which still managed to perfectly replicate Vanessa’s art style, and showed Nicole sweating in distress in front of a toilet. Nicole didn’t totally get it, but she hadn’t had much time to puzzle it out, either–there was just enough time to strip out of her soggy bedtime diaper and get work clothes on before rushing out the door. Not knowing was worse than anything. She could guess, but her guesses hadn’t been consistent so far–would the toilet attack her? Could it just be the final nail in the coffin for her potty training, an indication that she’d never make it again? Or was it something far, far worse, something she couldn’t even think of? She got off the bus and waddled into work. This part, she could do–her business-casual dress hid the puffy diaper that’d replaced her panties, her purse had three fresh diapers and plenty of wipes stashed inside, and a few polite ‘Hello’s were all it took to get to her desk and start working. To any casual observer, they’d think nothing was wrong. She could still pass for an adult, if– (No, I am an adult. I can still pass for someone who’s not cursed.) Nicole took the time to mentally correct herself, to ensure she didn’t slip into thinking of herself as a baby. She managed to be stealthy thus far, and there was no reason that couldn’t continue. Nobody at the office had to know that her last successful attempt to use the toilet had been days ago. Nicole got through the early morning hours smoothly. Conversations, when they couldn’t be avoided, were bypassed with lots of nodding, and when she did need to speak, she hid her pauses and concentration by clearing her throat or finding other ways to disguise the lapses. Big words were getting harder–she still held all her technical knowledge in her head, but explaining it verbally took more thought, or the use of synonyms rather than proper words. But–with effort–she did it. She passed herself off as unscathed, as potty trained, as an adult capable of operating in society. At least, until just before lunch. She felt the pressure just moments before it happened, and glanced around surreptitiously–nobody was looking at her, thankfully. She still blushed, feeling herself push muck into the seat of her diaper, a tidal wave Nicole was helpless to stop. Saving her work, she got to her feet, glancing around. She’d just need to get changed before anyone noticed the smell–no big deal. Waddling across the office floor, she stepped into the women’s room, and– (Oh god, no, no–) Sitting next to the normal trash bin, under the sink, was a sturdy table covered in waterproof plastic, plus a new bin with a secure lid. Over it, a handwritten paper sign had been taped to the wall. ‘Please dispose of all incontinence products in the sealed bin - thanks, Management’ They knew. Everyone knew. Her heart dropped into her stomach, realizing that all her efforts of stealth had gone to waste. Everyone in the office–at least, everyone with access to the women’s room–had pieced it together, to the point that they’d installed a pail and a changing table in the bathroom just for her dirty diapers. “Maybe–” she said aloud, shaking her head. “Maybe it’s from the chart. Like, it changed my room, why couldn’t it change this room too? That’s it–nobody knows, it just appeared here from magic.” Staring at the… she had to call it what it was, the diaper pail, Nicole didn’t know if she believed her own excuse or not. She just had to hope, and in the meantime, she had a dirty diaper to change. And she flatly refused to use a changing table, not when any of her coworkers could walk in at any moment. She would use a stall, where she had privacy. Walking to the nearest stall, she pushed open the door and–her heart rate spiked and she stumbled back, squeaking out a terrified, “Shit!” The stall was the same as it’d always been, just a porcelain toilet and a roll of toilet paper on the side, but the sight of it sent a shock of paranoia through her. Inching towards the piece of bathroom furniture, she could just imagine it attacking her–a monster coming up from the pipes, or just dragging her down into the water. She stared for a moment, then slammed the stall door closed. She just couldn’t trap herself in a confined space with that… Thing. She tried the other stall, but her reaction was the same–she just couldn’t stand the thought of being near a–toilet–for more than a second. Which meant… Sucking up her anxiety, she hopped up onto the changing table. There weren’t that many people in the office; as long as she was quick, she wouldn’t be caught. Balling up her old diaper and sliding it away, she attacked the muck on her thighs liberally with wipes, got clean, and pulled on a fresh diaper, slapping down the tapes and yanking up her pants. As she dropped to the floor and reached to pick up her diaper, though, she heard the door handle click. In a rush, she threw open the pail and tossed her diaper in, releasing the yucky garment just before her coworker walked inside. They made awkward eye contact for a moment, and she prayed that they hadn’t seen what she’d just been throwing away. The bathroom certainly smelled pretty bad, but hopefully they’d chalk that up to just normal bathroom activity. “Um–” Nicole said, stepping aside to the sink to get out of their way. “Go ahead.” She had to catch herself before issuing a meaningless warning: ‘Watch out, there’s a toilet in there.’ ... Can things possibly get any worse for our hero? (Yes.) https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thank you so much for coming along this whole way!

Epilogue One month later. “Eighty, ninety… one hundred.” Brains counted out the cash, passing Skip’s winnings over without a hint of ill will. They’d won fair and square, even if nobody else had spotted the technicality that’d cinched their success. Skip, pleased, took the fruit of their gambling and slipped it into a pocket. “It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” Brains asked, putting away his wallet. “What’s that?” Skip inquired. “Well, you’re always saying how you’ve got no use for a partner,” Brains said, “But here you spotted the love connection before any of us.” “I didn’t spot the love connection,” Skip corrected, shaking their head. “I spotted the sex connection, and I don’t really think that’s ironic at all.” Brains tilted his head. “Why not?” “Because,” Skip explained, “Who’s going to be better at pointing out dangerous waters, do you think? Someone who’s a few inches from drowning, or a lifeguard watching from the middle distance?” Brains considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Fair enough, I guess. I wouldn’t say sex is like drowning, though.” “Yeah? What would you say it’s like?” Skip asked. “Because as a passive, disinterested observer–y’all get stupid when you’re horny. Give me a close friendship, but a relationship focused on making each other stupid? Nah, that’s not for me.” They didn’t comment on what had led to Grace getting ‘sick’. She and Pearce had chosen not to share that with the group, so Skip would keep their secret–goodness knows, Skip had secrets enough of their own. Brains was unlikely to deduce what’d happened, and even if he did, he knew how to trust in the words his friends told him. Brains wouldn’t ever know that Grace had poisoned herself, unless he got told to his face. Skip envied that, a little. It seemed simpler, and it seemed like it’d be more peaceful to just accept things at face value. Then again, if they could have traded their cynicism for a sex drive, they’d keep their cynicism: At least being skeptical came with its upsides. As best they could tell, the only side effect of getting horny was a steep drop in intellectual capacity. “I’ll take being stupid,” Brains said with a shrug. “Connor makes me happy.” Maybe, Skip envied that too. “Well, I’ve got to go make sure Melody’s good for her share of the pot,” Skip said, disengaging from the conversation. “And I’ve got some work to do after that.” They didn’t have work to do, but they wanted a stronger reason to break off from the conversation, so they threw that in at the end. (As though Brains cares.) Walking through the house, Skip passed by the lovebirds themselves, entangled on the couch watching TV. Today was a ‘Pearce Dressed Grace’ day, meaning she had on one of her myriad onesies, diaper bulging visibly beneath. She had been granted access to her regular wardrobe once again now that the bet was over, and leaving the house to run errands or work or just meet friends no longer required elaborate negotiation of rules, but Pearce still dressed her up in baby clothes as often as not. Things had settled down since Grace and Pearce had stopped being horny-stupid. Or, well–less horny-stupid, Grace was still voluntarily peeing her pants regularly. Still, Skip wouldn’t complain now that the unnecessary arguing and high-tension emotions had left their home. Pausing to glance at the TV, Skip raised an eyebrow at the colorful cartoon playing. “What’s this?” “Bluey,” Pearce explained. “Grace needed something age-appropriate to watch today.” Skip snorted, then smirked in response to Grace’s pouty face. The Bet was over, and the letter of the rules had generally been discarded, but the spirit had carried on. From a scientific, anthropological perspective, Skip was fascinated by which parts of their relationship had stuck around even as others got discarded. Pearce just wasn’t well suited to getting up early, so while he still tucked Grace into bed every night, they handled their morning rituals separately. Skip typically got home from work just in time to see Grace milling about in the kitchen, having cereal and coffee, her diaper sagging as she waited for Pearce to get up and change her. If Skip stuck around long enough they’d get to see Pearce come down and start rubbing his lips on Grace’s face while making mushy statements of affection, groping her pee-soaked underwear shamelessly before declaring she ‘Needed a change’. Curiously, that one rule had stuck around almost completely, even if it wasn’t called a ‘Rule’ anymore: Grace still didn’t ask for diaper changes. She’d regained the ability to just go use the toilet when she needed, and could change herself when she had to, but she just…didn’t. Even without the motivation of trying to win the bet by inducing leaks, Grace kept her mouth shut even when her diapers made her sort-of adult clothes sag. Instead, Grace waited on Pearce to check her, or if she needed a change more urgently, she found ways to communicate that without saying it quite so overtly. It was still pretty overt–Skip barely paid attention and could still see the changes in her posture and hear how her tone shifted when she was desperate for a fresh diaper, but she wouldn’t say the words, ‘I need a change’, and unless there were extenuating circumstances, she didn’t do it herself. It was part of their dynamic, Skip guessed. Grace didn’t care about the rule, per say–she wasn’t trying to avoid a punishment or live up to an arbitrary standard. She wanted to know that Pearce was there for her, that she had his attention and that he wouldn’t forget about her needs. It was…cute. Gross, and kinda weird, but cute. “Enjoy your show,” Skip said, looking at the screen a little longer. This was a part they just didn’t understand–the diaper thing, that was a way of showing reliance and trust. But the boring kiddie shows? They just didn’t get it. Excusing themself, Skip left the living room and navigated up the stairs. Arriving at the top of the landing, a few times on Melody’s door. Melody answered a moment later, wearing a disgruntled expression until they saw Skip. “Just get home?” “Leaving in a bit, actually,” Skip said. “Last night was an off day, but I’ve got errands. Just wanted to say–it’s been a month, and Grace is still getting her diapers changed, so…” “Right,” Melody said, rolling her eyes. “Lovebirds.” “You’re one to judge,” Skip said, doing their best to ensure that their tone said, ‘I’m teasing’ and not, ‘I think you’re being a hypocrite.’ “Oh, I absolutely am,” Melody replied. “I don’t do love. I just get the physical fun parts, all that emotional whining and getting heartbroken, that’s not my thing.” “Alright, fair enough,” Skip said. “Still–it’s time to pay the piper.” Melody shrugged, walking back to the table by her bed. “We said a hundred, right?” “Yup,” Skip confirmed. “Do you think they’ll last?” “Pearce and Grace?” Melody asked, looking around her purse. “Hey, I just have a few twenties–can I just send it with Buckshare?” Skip nodded. “Yes, to both.” “Nothing lasts,” Melody said. “They’ve got a weird thing, and that might keep them closer–it’s not like you can just go to a club and pick up a dynamic where one partner wipes the other’s ass day in and day out, but that’s not a good thing, either. It means they’ll be pressured to keep going after the fun part’s over.” “How long does the fun part last, for you?” Skip tilted their head. “Depends on how experienced they are,” Melody replied, withdrawing her phone to pay off the wager. “A good lay, that’ll keep me going for hours–give me someone who knows how to build, knows when to go for the cum, that’ll make me scream. Plus I love someone who’s not shy about toys, doesn’t feel like they’re inadequate just because I break out the leather. They’re hard to find, but someone with experience and stamina, they’ll… Uh, hey, I’m sorry. You don’t like the ‘detail’ stuff.” Skip just shook their head. “No, no, I don’t mind. It’s interesting, in a sort of…it’s like when Brains starts telling me about speedrunning drama–do I care about it personally? No, but he still makes it interesting, it’s still fun to listen. I don’t know who ‘Sleepytime’ or ‘Black Swan’ or whoever these people are, but a good story is a good story.” “So to you,” Melody said, pausing in the middle of pulling up the payment app, “good sex and nerd shit are the same thing.” “I’ve met too many horny nerds to think otherwise,” Skip snorted. “The only difference between a ren faire and a BDSM convention is the amount of turkey legs being eaten.” Melody laughed, then paused. Skip recognized the thoughts going on behind the scenes–Melody had an idea. Skip didn’t push, she’d share if she thought it was worth sharing. “Money sent,” Melody said, setting down her phone. “I still think that ‘Bet’s over/diaper change’ technicality is crap, but I’m not going to sweat it.” “I’ll probably just toss the money in the beer fund, anyways, once Pearce’s payout stops covering drinks,” Skip said. “My job hours kinda suck, but it pays nice, so I can’t complain.” Melody paused again–thinking harder. Seeing opportunity. Skip saw the question coming, though they didn’t know what it would lead to. “Hey,” Melody said, “I’ve got something in the works, something that might be able to make some cash.” “Yeah?” Skip asked. “I’m not really looking to quit, but how much cash are we talking?” “I don’t know, it’s kind of a self publishing thing,” Melody admitted. “It depends on how good I am at selling it. If you don’t want to, that’s totally fine.” Skip nodded along. Sure, I get that. More of a gamble than, like, a wage job.” “Yeah. I think it could hit big, though, it just needs the right angle, and I’ve been having trouble getting some parts off the ground.” “Alright,” Skip said, noncommittal. “Hit me. What’s the idea?” “A book,” Melody explained. “Or–maybe a web series, I don’t know. Some kind of educational content, at least, and I want it to be about dating.” Skip pressed their lips into a line. What do you need me for?” “Well, that’s the thing,” Melody said. “I have this issue–I go out, I want to have a bit of fun, and nobody knows how to do shit. If I go out with some guy who’s not heavily invested in sex, I spend most of my time just trying to coach him to get me to cum once and then he wants to take a nap. People within the community, though…there’s another issue there.” She trailed off, and Skip took a guess. “Not enough partners to go around?” “I’m to the point I’ve almost booty called an ex,” Melody admitted, saying it with a tone that implied the confession was shocking. “And…people talk, everyone kind of knows I’m flighty and so it’s getting harder to find folks that aren’t turned off by my reputation. I need a way to get people up to speed that doesn’t ruin date night. And there’s resources out there, but none that I like. I want a book I can hand to someone who’s never so much as had a dirty thought before, and by the time they’re done reading it, they’ll at least have a basic idea of how everything works–Safe words, protocols, safety, all that stuff.” “So I’m your pure, virginal control group?” Skip asked. “More like my co-author,” Melody said. “My writing style’s kind of…florid, I have a hard time staying objective. I need someone without a bias, who can look at what I’m writing and tell me if it seems more porny than educational.” “So… I’m your control co-author,” Skip clarified. Melody shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it.” Skip nodded. Had this come from a different source, they would probably have backed away, but they trusted Melody–or, at least, they trusted Melody to be true to her typical behaviors. Melody wouldn’t push Skip to actually get involved in anything. She was good about boundaries and wouldn’t step past Skip’s personal comfort zone. “Let me think about it,” Skip lied. They’d already decided to say ‘Yes’, but they wouldn’t tell Melody for a day or two. By the time they’d said it out loud, they regretted not just saying ‘yes’, but it was too late now to pivot back to candor. “But I think I could make that work.” The End … The Wasters will return in, ‘For Research Purposes Only’. ... It's finished. But it's not done just yet. This is the final chapter, but now begins the editing process - I'm going to go back through every chapter, make changes for continuity, foreshadowing, typo mistakes, and general polish, and then, when it's all said and done, I'll be posting this as a proper, complete ebook. (And, of course, the characters will be coming back in my next book!) In the meantime, I want to say thank you so much holy shit to everyone who's read along with this piece. Two years of work and a whole lot of sweat and (other bodily fluids) went into making this, and it wouldn't be here without all of you to read it. In particular, I want to thank my editor, Ezi, who came onboard partway through and I think can easily be credited with a marked upgrade in quality in the chapters after her arrival, and all of my subscribers and supporters who kept me financially solvent while writing this so I could give it the time and attention it needed. I'm so grateful that I can dedicate myself to writing as much as I can thanks to all of you. ❤️ https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

I don't normally get to post this fast because I typically post stuff, roughly, as fast as I can write it - this is a special case where I wrote the whole dang story and am now posting it after the fact. I'm liking how it's going, though it's not exactly sustainable. Good luck to her! Yup - that was deliberate, putting partial spoilers on the art but keeping the second half a mystery. *Insert Terrible Dr. Who Joke* Thank you! ... Day 7 Bonk. Nicole felt her head bounce off against something solid and blinked awake, confused. She sometimes rolled into the wall while she slept, but this didn’t feel like bumping her head against the wall, more like a table leg. Blinking awake, she took in her surroundings, and was so alarmed that she sat upright. She wasn’t in her room anymore. The walls were a different color, so that a mural of baby animals was on one side, and glow-in-the-dark star stickers were adhered to the ceiling. Where her dresser had once been was now a scaled-up changing table, big enough to support her through diaper changes, and in place of her bookshelf was a shelf full of toys and plushies. But most noticeable of all, her bed was gone; she’d woken up in a solid, framed crib. The four sides were made of wooden bars, secure enough to stop her from getting through them, and a large mobile spun overhead, gently turning so that plastic toys moved in a hypnotic pattern. Clambering up, Nicole grabbed the sides of the crib with both hands, clambering awkwardly over it. The bars were high enough that she couldn’t easily push off with her feet, and without vertical rungs, she had to flail her legs and struggle to get over. As her weight shifted, she lost her grip, falling onto the floor outside the crib with a heavy thump. “Nicole?” Vanessa’s voice carried from across the hall, and in a second, she opened the door and came inside, to find Nicole on the floor. Feeling a bit dizzy from the fall, Nicole sat up. “Uh… hi, V,” she said, blushing. “My room…” She was about to say, ‘My room disappeared’, but as she looked around, she realized it wasn’t quite true. The dimensions were the same, the little corner next to her closet that stuck out to make room for an air vent was the same, the window frame, the placement of the door to the hall–it all matched. Even the camcorder Vanessa had set up was gone, replaced with a brightly colored plastic baby monitor; the paired receiver screen sitting right next to the camera. Her room hadn’t gone away, it’d been changed to match her new clothes. “Yeah, you’re telling me,” Vanessa said, looking around. “Your chart shows a doodle of a crib on it–I’m guessing this is what it was referring to. Are you okay, though?” “Yeah, I just…feww,” Nicole admitted. “I couldn’t get out otherwise.” Looking between the crib and Nicole, Vanessa frowned, then reached over and fiddled with a latch. Undramatically, the side of the crib swung out like a gate, making it easy to get inside. “Oh,” Nicole said, feeling stupid. “Um…” Sniffing the air, Vanessa changed subjects. “Smells like you need a change–I’ll go make breakfast while you get cleaned up, okay?” Nicole blushed–she had noticed her accident, but barely thought anything of it, already used to the sensation of a dirty diaper. “Um…thanks. I’ll go…yeah…do that.” She began her waddle to the door, in a rush to get clean and put these new discoveries behind her. She stripped out of her soiled diaper, eyeing the toilet enviously–she just wanted to be able to sit down and use it like a grown u–(Like I’d been able to before.) (I’m still a grown up,) she reminded herself, disturbed at the new direction her thoughts had taken. (Did…did that come from me?) The new fear worried around and around in her thoughts. She was losing control of herself everywhere–her potty training, her voice, her environment–but the one thing that’d been protected so far was her mind. If she couldn’t even trust her thoughts, that cast the curse of her potty training chart in a whole new light. She tried to think it through, but once the fear had set in, she couldn’t logic it away. After all–if her thoughts couldn’t be trusted, how could she trust her own logic? Drying off and getting into a fresh diaper, Nicole settled on just a robe, too anxious to get dressed properly before talking to Vanessa. Her roommate picked up on the anxiety right away, looking up from the stovetop. “What’s wrong? Did something else change?” “I–I don’t know,” Nicole admitted. “Erm–when I was in the bathwoom, I thought about trying to use the toilet like a ‘gwown up’. As in, somefing distinct from what I am. I’m worried it’s getting into my head.” “Oh,” Vanessa said, nodding seriously. “I see the concern. Have you noticed anything else like that?” Nicole shook her head. “No, but–would I? Could I even tell?” Pursing her lips, Vanessa didn’t respond right away. “If it’s gettin’ into my head,” Nicole continued, “If my bwain is–if I’m actually turning into a baby, or if it’s making me go crazy, I mean…I don’t want to wake up every morning wondering how much of me is still weft.” “Okay, I…” Vanessa chewed on the thought for a moment. While she thought, she poured a mug of coffee for Nicole; Black, no sugar, in her favorite pea-pod mug. “I have an idea. Can you try something with me?” Nicole wasn’t so confident, but nodded. “Sure.” “Just answer a few questions. What’re you wearing?” Vanessa asked. “A…um, a diaper,” Nicole said, blushing. Vanessa nodded, thoughtful. “And what’s the thing in the bathroom that you sit on when you have to go?” “A toiwet,” Nicole confirmed. “What do you call a glass or plastic object with a nipple on top that someone can drink milk out of?” “A baby bottwe. Bottwe. Bottle.” Nicole said. “Some of this’s hawd to say.” “And you’ve answered them all like I’d expect a grown-up to,” Vanessa explained. “No toddler language, just a bit of a lisp. You’re still in there.” Frowning, Nicole asked, “Then…why did I think of ‘grown ups’?” “Because that’s the language we’d use anyways,” Vanessa shrugged. “I’d say, “Big kids are potty trained,” but I wouldn’t normally say, “Adults are potty trained,” because it doesn’t come up in context. It’s like how you might call a child’s parent, ‘Dad’, even though that parent isn’t your dad.” Nicole didn’t know if she totally trusted that explanation, but she did trust Vanessa, and if Vanessa thought she was fine, Nicole wouldn’t question things further. “Thanks.” “Of course,” Vanessa said. “Now–pancakes or waffles?” ... Woah-oh, we're halfway there, Woah-oh, Nicole needs mommy's care, She doesn't need a diaper, she swears, Woah-oh, Nicole needs mommy's caaare! Support the author (me) on Patreon and get early access to my original stories for just a couple bucks a month! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

At least the weekend is coming up - two days should be plenty to solve this, right? Day 6 Vanessa stared at the chart, trying to decipher what the latest stickers referred to. She wanted to be there for Nicole, to at least be able to warn her what was coming with no more surprise humiliations. At least Nicole had the day off, she wouldn’t be risking humiliation at work. That would be better than nothing, not that it really solved any of the issues. The storm clouds for day and night seemed unfortunately clear, if the pattern could be trusted. Nicole’s potty training was all but gone–maybe she’d get a little warning, but based on the stickers, she’d regularly be making thunder boom-booms inside her diaper going forward. But the doodle on the bottom was more opaque, resisting Vanessa’s attempts to decipher it. The cartoon depiction showed Nicole, with a little speech bubble over her head. The word didn’t give Vanessa anything–it just said ‘Hello’–but instead of being written in simple letters, it’d been spelled out with alphabet blocks. (Huh…) Vanessa wondered. The door opened, and Nicole stood in front of her, arms crossed sheepishly over her chest. The smell wafting from Nicole’s bedroom was unmistakable, and even if it hadn’t been obvious from that alone, Nicole’s blush told all. She’d had another poopy accident overnight. “I gotta…” Nicole mumbled sleepily, nodding towards the bathroom. “Um. Gotta shower.” “Okay,” Vanessa said. “I’ve got someone coming in a couple hours to help figure this out. Okay?” Nicole nodded wordlessly, waddling to the bathroom to get freshened up. Vanessa frowned at the chart one last time, then waved it off and walked to the kitchen, making pancakes from premade mix and frying them up on the stove. By the time Nicole was cleaned up and waddled into the kitchen, freshly diapered and dressed for the day, she had a stack of fluffy pancakes ready to go, butter melting on the top of the pile, and a mug of coffee in Nicole’s lucky mug. “Tanks,” Nicole said, pulling up a seat in the kitchen. She smiled when she saw the cartoon pea pod decorating the mug, holding up the brown elixir that was strong, straight coffee. “‘Pweciate it.” Vanessa blinked. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” “I ‘pweciate the pancakes,'' Nicole repeated. Now that Vanessa was listening for it, she easily picked up on the distinctly juvenile cadence–letters falling over one another in a verbal jumble. Nicole didn’t seem to notice, though, and just cut into the pancakes with her fork. “Nicole…” Vanessa said. “You’re lisping.” Nicole looked up at her, eyes widening. “Nuh-uh.” “Yes, you are,” Vanessa repeated. “Or, not just lisping, but it’s like…your words aren’t fully formed. Like you’re learning to talk.” Brow furrowing, Nicole focused for a moment before she said, “I sound o-tay to me.” “You just said, ‘Oh tay’,” Vanessa pointed out. Nicole’s eyes widened. “Nuh… I din’ hear that at all. I said o-tay, not ‘Oh tay’.” Vanessa stared at her, and Nicole blushed. “I said it again, din’ I?” she asked. Vanessa nodded. “Well…fudge.” “Well… Don’t worry. With any luck, maybe the feng shui guy who’s coming over won’t be…” … “...a complete waste of time,” Vanessa groaned, sinking into the sofa. “I’m so sorry, I thought he’d at least have any idea.” “You could’n’a known,” Nicole replied, pulling up her legs to her chest at the other edge of the couch. “Is… is otay.” “It’s not okay.” Vanessa shook her head. “It’s–I need to be doing more, and I’m not. Even my ideas aren’t helping–the guy, the camera, it’s just proven that we don’t know what’s happening. This isn’t normally my thing, but like–that’s not an excuse. You need help, it’s on me to step up.” Nicole hesitated. She wanted to be the supportive friend, the one who solved all the problems, but Vanessa was right–Nicole was struggling to try and be proactive while her body betrayed her left and right. “I still appweciate the help,” Nicole said. “I feel stupid about the box, though,” Vanessa said. “I hadn’t even thought to check the attic, it didn’t occur to me that the box I found the chart in would just be totally empty. It’s like it just vanished!” That had been a troubling realization, even if all it really confirmed was that something strange and paranormal was happening beyond their understanding. A long moment passed. Nicole felt very small, with her knees tucked against her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. Thoughts blurred in her mind, fears and anxieties about the future. “Vanessa…promise me somethin’?” “Anything,” Vanessa said. “Dere’s…there’s…more dan a week left on da chart,” Nicole said. “And I dunno what’s gonna happen. I’m scared. I tout… I thought it was just gonna be potty stuff…but now I can’ tawk right, an I dunno if it’s gonna keep getting worse too. So…promise, if I keep getting worse, you won’t weave me?” Vanessa’s eyes widened, and she scooched across the couch, wrapping her arm around Nicole’s shoulder. “Oh, Nicole–I’m not going anywhere. Not for anything. You’re my best friend, and I don’t care how long it takes to figure this out, I’m here. We’re in this together. Okay?” Nicole sniffed, but didn’t start to cry. “Oh… okay. Tanks you, V.” Pulling her into a tight hug, Vanessa nodded. “Of course.” ... Did you know I've got a whole bunch of ebooks? Compilations of my work, novellas, and a few zines I am a contributor to can all be found over on my Gumroad page! https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/

Happy to oblige! Did they put it in the attic to get rid of it? Or did it appear in the attic, waiting for its next victim? Thank you - I've had a lot of fun playing with tropes I consider to be 'classic' in the ABDL sphere, and then trying to execute them as well as possible within my own style! ... Day 5 The mornings brought Nicole no anticipation of a new day, no restfulness, only anxiety about what would be taken next. She shouldn’t have been surprised. She barely had knowledge of when she peed anymore–there was little of her bladder control left to take. No amount of wet beds or new diapers in her dresser could shock her at this point. So, she’d known it was coming, but even still she dreaded the change. Half the night she tossed and turned. Even still, when her alarm blared at her to wake up so she wouldn’t be late to work, she thought maybe–just maybe–her fears wouldn’t come true. She sat up in bed. Her diaper squelched, no news there, but she also felt a a distinctly new, different sensation–a muddy squish, and when she sniffed at the air… There was no denying it. She’d pooped her diaper in her sleep, robbing another bit of dignity away from her. Setting her jaw, Nicole got to her feet. Her room had a diaper pail in it now–of course it did. Picking the bin up, she carried it with her to the bathroom, so she could strip out of her diaper and step right into the shower. On her way into the hall, though, she bumped into Vanessa. “V,” she said, face turning pink in spite of herself. She knew that the curse wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t be blamed for the magic, and yet… Vanessa sniffed the air, nose wrinkling automatically. “Oh…jeez, Nicky, I’m so sorry.” Nicole wanted to ignore it, but she couldn’t help but steal a glance at her chart. Thunderclouds everywhere for the day, and the bottom square, the one she hated most, had a doodle of her with green stink lines wafting off her. The indication was clear. “I know like, a…I guess like a feng shui person who might be able to help?” Vanessa offered weakly. “I’ll call. Just hang on till the weekend.” “Just one more day,” Nicole agreed. “Right, we can solve this.” She almost–almost–believed it when she said it. Her shower took longer than usual–more muck to clean up–and her mood that morning was almost as foul as her nighttime diaper. She begrudgingly wore a long purple skirt, an attempt to hide the diaper she couldn’t choose not to wear, and hated the fact that she couldn’t just put on pants without leaving an obvious, humiliating bulge. (Just one more day,) she repeated to herself. … Vanessa hated feeling helpless. Her friend was in need, and Vanessa had arguably contributed to that need, but her usual brand of help just didn’t do much good here. V was the encourager, the lifter of spirits, the nice words and positive vibes friend–Nicole had always been the fixer, the problem solver in their relationship. There wasn’t much she could do beyond offer words of support and do a bit of research online. The camera idea hadn’t done much–pointing a cheap camcorder at Nicole’s door had only proven that nobody went in or out her door in the night. It confirmed that something paranormal was going on, but little else. She’d see if Nicole would be okay recording her sleeping that night, but doubted they’d learn much more from that. Aside from that, the feng shui person she’d found didn’t seem like that good of a lead, but it was better than nothing. They’d promised to disperse ‘bad energies’, and this was as bad an energy as Vanessa could imagine. At their request, Vanessa walked out into the hall to photograph the chart. Maybe there was some detail she hadn’t noticed that they would, a clue, or… “Hmm,” she said, frowning as she noticed something. The doodle of Nicole for the day–the one with stink lines radiating off her–pictured a white top and a purple skirt. Specifically, a very clear depiction of the purple skirt Nicole had left for work in. She looked back at the clouds–today had two thunderclouds, one for nighttime, one for day. The little lightning bolt coming off each marked the doodles as distinct from the previous days, which had only rain clouds. (A thunder boom-boom,) she realized. But a mark in the day meant it wasn’t just Nicole’s bedtime diaper that would end up smelly, and… “Oh no,” she said, raising her phone to text Nicole a warning. … Nicole’s phone buzzed in her pocket, but she couldn’t answer it. Not while she sat under her boss’s cool stare. Jean didn’t look upset, per say, but her expressions were typically unreadable. “We need to talk about your performance these past few days,” Jean said, simply. “I wouldn’t bring this up if it’d only been a single day, but you’ve been distracted and your reports have been sub-par.” “I’m sorry,” Nicole said, feeling intensely small under her boss’s unflappable stare. “I don’t–I can get back to normal, I promise.” Her phone buzzed again, the vibration just loud enough that Jean could hear. “If you’ve got problems at home, something that requires your attention, you’re welcome to take a few personal days,” Jean continued. “But slipping off to the bathroom every twenty minutes to check your phone isn’t an acceptable compromise.” Nicole felt a cold shock of embarrassment as she realized her ‘discreet’ trips to the potty had been noticed, though at least the purpose had been misunderstood. Jean thought she was being lazy, not realizing that Nicole had been taking proactive steps to avoid pissing her pants. Blushing, she said, “I promise I’m not just checking my cell–” Her phone started to ring, cutting through her words like a razor. She felt a weight settle in the pit of her stomach, a realization that this meeting wasn’t going well. Jean raised an eyebrow. “Do you need to get that?” Shaking her head, Nicole reached down, tapping the off button on her phone to silence the ringer. “I’m sorry I’ve been unfocused these past couple days,” she said, simply. “But I promise, my full attention is going to be back on my work starting today. Everything is settled, and… eh…” The sinking feeling in her belly grew lower, and she realized with a horrified start that it wasn’t an emotion, but rather, her body taking over control of yet another function. Her blush spreading up her face, she couldn’t even form words as she felt the inevitable push, and the spread of muck forming in the seat of her diaper. Jean noticed her expression. “I don’t want to be a hardass here, but we need all hands on deck for the deadlines coming up. You’re sure you’re back with us?” “Yes ma’am,” Nicole said, nodding quickly. A little sniff told her that the accident would be extremely noticeable any second now, and that she had to get out of the office as soon as possible. “May–may I be excused? I need to go use the bathroom.” Jean raised an eyebrow, as if to ask, ‘Really?’, but she nodded her head. “Go ahead, Nicole.” “Thanks,” she blurted, getting to her feet and waddling hurriedly to the door. She could feel her diaper sag beneath her skirt and tried to keep her legs wide so she wouldn’t squelch the mushy mass weighing it down, though a bit of squeezing was impossible if she didn’t want her awkward walk to be noticed. Toddling into the bathroom, she locked the door behind her, eyes watering from humiliation. She couldn’t–accidents like this at work were too far, and– Mind racing for a source of stability, she finally checked her messages. All were from Vanessa. ‘Nicole, you need to go to the bathroom.’ ‘The chart says you’re going to poop your pants again today.’ ‘Call in sick or something. Get out of there!’ Too late to do anything about it now, she sheepishly responded, ‘Thanks for the warning.’ Ensuring the door was locked, and the fan was on, she dug the baby wipes from her purse. Or, really, her diaper bag. She had to get changed so she could get back to work. ... Support the author, and get discounts on commissions just like this one! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

It's the balancing act - Better to end on a high note then peter out like the seventh season of so many TV shows. That said - just because this story is ending, doesn't mean these characters are going away forever. ❤️ I know exactly what you mean ^^

Chapter 33: Winners and Losers Grace, as in Loved Unconditionally, surveyed the scene. Three of her best friends were already in the back yard, sitting around their fire pit. Skip had a lighter in hand, trying to get the kindling to catch for their traditional Wasters weekend. Brains was on his phone, texting–no doubt his new beau. He’d been all aflutter the past couple days, ever since they became official. Melody was looking back at Grace, making a long moment of eye contact before returning her attention to whatever conversation was happening around the fire. She knew something was up, even if they’d said nothing overt as of yet. Stepping up behind her, Pearce wrapped his arms around her waist. “Are you sure?” “They deserve to get the full rundown,” Grace had her own arms wrapped around plush hedgehog, and she gave him a little squeeze to soothe her anxiety. “And it’ll be better if we explain before someone figures it out and starts complaining that we cheated.” It’d been three days since her case of supreme impulsivity, since their confession of love. The first day had been spent in a haze of fatigue, with Pearce nursing her slowly back to health as the drugs purged themselves from her system. Between the love and the pain, neither of them had found time to sleep that night. Pearce had only half explained to the others: “Grace is sick.” She was grateful for that. Some things could be left unsaid. All night, he’d stayed with her. Her body couldn’t keep down fluids–anything she drank came out the other end almost as quickly–but he kept her supplied, kept her hydrated as best he could. Painkillers and electrolytes helped ease the agony, and by morning, her body had finally, mercifully, given up its fight with itself. Then, finally, she slept. Pearce put her to bed, and she didn’t set an alarm. Pearce had her phone, and promised he’d let her know if any clients started texting, but it was the weekend. She’d probably be fine. Even that rest wasn’t perfect–she woke several times, to find that she’d ruined her diaper in her sleep. That was new–no matter how long she’d worn, even when she suspected she may have gotten wetter overnight, she’d never pooped the bed. Still, her diapers did their job admirably, and so did Pearce, cleaning her up, bringing her food and drinks and ibuprofen, easing her discomfort until she dozed again. Any time he wasn’t there, she had John to snuggle instead, not only her plush,but her closest confidant. She still hadn’t told Pearce the stuffy’s name, and still hadn’t decided if she would: Some things were too embarrassing to admit. By the time night came, Grace was still exhausted, and Pearce was barely upright–he hadn’t even napped through the second day. He’d been there for her, every moment she needed him. And when he had no energy left, he got into her crib with her, and–together–they both finally got their restful sleep. On the third day, then, they’d finally had to talk. So, after more than their share of heavy petting and making out, they did, ultimately, get to the important business: Fucking like rabbits. Once that was done, they talked. This was what they’d decided on–it was bonfire night already, they’d have everyone there to listen. It would be the best opportunity they’d get to set the record straight. Then again, that would mean admitting to more than a few embarrassing secrets. Looking out at the bonfire, Grace anxiously added, “Maybe we should just keep the bet going and pretend.” “Come on, you might be a baby, but don’t be a baby,” Pearce said, kissing the back of her head. “We know you’re not going to talk yourself out of this.” She nodded, reassured by his presence, and set aside John–she didn’t want her favorite plush smelling like a campfire. In the plushy’s place, she took Pearce’s hand and pushed open the door. With him there, with his calming presence sitting next to her around the fire, it took Grace only one beer to work up the courage to speak. “We have something we need to tell all of you,” Grace said, with a slight blush. “Pearce and I do, that is. It’s…about the bet.” “What, you’re fucking?” Melody asked, smirking from across the campfire. “No, that’s not it,” Brains corrected. “I think one of them’s quitting.” Skip shook their head, cutting to the center of it. “You’re both wrong. They’re in love.” Grace spluttered, the wind taken out of her sails. “I–well–I mean…” Rather than confirm it with words, Pearce leaned over and demonstrated the truth nonverbally, kissing Grace without a scrap of hesitation. Grace flushed, and that blush only deepened when her friends opened up with a chorus of cheers and hooting applause. “We’re calling it a draw,” Pearce said, pulling away. “Nobody wins, nobody loses.” That got the opposite response–boos and jeers. “What, after all that?” Melody asked. “Seriously? Anticlimax.” “Also that makes the bet kind of moot,” Brains added. “I had my money on you, too, Pearce.” “Hold on,” Skip added. “Let’s be specific here. I might have some cash to collect yet.” Everyone looked at them. “What do you mean?” Brains asked. “We placed a few bets,” Skip said, eyes locked on Grace. “Who won and who lost, that one’s moot. But after a couple weeks, we opened up that second bet–duration.” Brains shrugged. “Well, sure, but it’s only been two months, and you said it’d keep going for three. Melody bet less than a month, so–oh, I guess that means I win. More than a month, less than three.” “Hold it,” Skip said. “Let’s be specific here. I believe what I said was, ‘I bet Pearce will still be changing Grace’s diapers in three months.’” Brains tilted his head, looking at Skip. He didn’t notice the way Grace’s face turned bright red, shrinking back into her camp chair, but Skip saw it plain as day. “Erm–” Grace started. “Well–” Pearce added, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t get it,” Brains said, looking between them. “Brains,” Melody said, “I don’t know how you’re not internet poisoned enough to figure this one out, you spend more time online than any of us.” Brains blinked a couple times, then got it. “Oh! Grace has a diaper fetish.” Grace could swear she felt steam coming out of her ears, embarrassment burning its way to the forefront of her expression. “Brains.” “What?” he asked. “Is that not it?” “You don’t just say that,” Melody shot. “Even if it’s…I mean, yeah, you’re probably right, but–” “Skip said it first,” Brains pointed out. “How come it’s okay to imply she likes diapers but not to just say, ‘Grace likes diap–’” “It’s not about the diapers,” Grace snapped. “It’s–agh. I need a drink. Pearce, may I?” Raising her baby bottle of beer, she made a screwing motion with her hand. Reaching over, Pearce popped it off, so she could drink normally–and quickly. Something Grace hadn’t considered–it’d been months since she’d drank out of a cup, and she wasn’t quite used to the motion. Rather than chug the beer, as intended, she poured a good splash of it down her chin, staining her plain onesie top. Pearce smirked, and wordlessly took her bottle away. Filling it up with his own, he popped on the rubber nipple again and passed it back to her. “Okay, lid stays on.” Feeling ridiculous, Grace shook her head. “It’s like…I like having him to take care of me. The diapers are just incidental.” “So you’re going to stop wearing them?” Brains asked. Grace looked away, refusing to answer. “Give it another month,” Skip said, sitting back. “I’ll be collecting my winnings then.” “We’re changing a lot,” Pearce interjected. “No more punishments, for one, and…we’re still deciding whether she’ll be ‘allowed’ to use the toilet.” He passed it off as a joke, but there was a secret hidden excuse behind the comment: Grace was still having trouble holding it, and he wanted to give her an excuse to still be messing her diapers that didn’t involve any additional embarrassing admissions. It was one thing to admit she kinda liked the diaper thing, and another thing entirely to explain that she’d failed to read any warning labels and overdosed on laxatives. She’d made a call to her physician, and it sounded like she’d recover, but in the meantime, her diapers had become more necessary than she would ever admit. “This doesn’t…bother you all, right?” Grace asked, glancing between her friends. “I mean, it’s not even a bet any more. I know it can be awkward when you have friends over and I’m dressed up, or…like…” “Grace,” Melody said, “Please. Let your freak flag fly, not one of us cares.” “But…” Grace bounced her leg, arbitrarily worried that there was a ‘but’ coming. “You got so annoyed, and–” “Yeah,” Melody said, “Because you were being a faker. Starting arguments. I never cared what you were wearing. You like bottles and stuffies? Neat. When I start acting like I can judge you, just remind me what happened prom night and I’ll get my senses back.” Smiling slightly, Grace reached out and touched Pearce’s arm, squeezing him for reassurance. “Are you two going to share a bed now?” Brains asked, interjecting. “Oh heck no,” Pearce said. “I like sleeping in, and this one snores like a chainsaw. We’re keeping our rooms–just expect lots of sleepovers.” “Brains,” Skip said, “Were you asking because you wanted to call dibs on the spare room opening up?” Brains glanced away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied. “But, I’m just saying–Grace’s room is bigger than mine, and, y’know–” Grace snorted. “Well, if we change our minds, and that becomes a possibility…hey, I’ll let you know. We’re still figuring a lot of this out. Figuring each other out, too. But…” Turning, she looked at the man who’d driven her crazy in more ways than one, the man she loved, the man she knew would always do his best to be there for her. “He makes me happy.” He looked back at her, smiling with a warmth far deeper than the campfire. “You’re sappy when you drink,” he replied, smirking at her. “You want sappy?” Grace asked, smiling back at him. “I named my hedgehog.” “Oh? When did that happen?” Pearce asked, expecting a joke, or at least something cutesy. “Like…a month ago,” Grace conceded, taking a moment to build to her reveal. She could be as dramatic as him, when she wanted to. “Hah! I knew it,” Pearce said. “So, what’d you decide?” “I named him John. Y’know…like you.” Grace finally admitted. Nobody in the Wasters used Pearce’s given name, it was impossible to miss what that name choice meant. “How’s that for sappy?” Pearce’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was left without words. He leaned in, communicating more clearly with his lips than he could have with words. For the second time that night, they kissed, and this one lasted til they were both breathless and worked up. Pulling away, Pearce looked her in the eyes. “You make me happy, too.” ... Just one chapter left to round this out - the epilogue, which I'll be posting here in about a week. Thank you, so much, so so so much, for reading this far, for coming along this story with me. I can't express my gratitude enough for your time and for all the comments that've been left along the way, as well as the support of everyone who helped me financially so I could write this. I'm so grateful to be able to tell stories for such a great community. (Psst but I'm writing some really porny stuff over on Patreon if you want early access! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling )

Heck, that would have been a good idea Nicole: Takes her door down The next day: The chart is stuck to the wall 🤭 Happy to oblige! Day 4 Nicole knew better than to hope that the chart would stay gone. When she woke up, her diaper–(No, it’s not my diaper, it’s just a diaper)–was well used and swollen. She waddled to her door, anxious about what she might find, and her heart sank. The chart had returned, and the rainclouds now marked out both night and daytime. The doodle in the final column this time showed a stack of diapers lined up neatly inside a dresser–in her dresser. She had to get to work, though, so she gathered up work clothes, ripped the tapes off her sodden diaper, and went to take a shower. She washed, dressed for the workday, and put one of Vanessa’s pads for protection. When she got done, she found V in the hall, inspecting the chart. “This doesn’t look good,” Vanessa said, glancing up at her. “Are you sure you want to go to work like that?” “What do you mean?” Nicole asked, frowning. “I’m using a pad.” “Sure, but…that’s not meant to hold back the flood gates, if you get my meaning,” Vanessa replied. “I hate to suggest this, but…do you think you should wear one of your diapers?” Nicole glowered and shook her head. “No, no way. It hasn’t gotten that bad.” V blushed, glancing away. “Um.” “What?” Nicole demanded. “You’re–” Vanessa said. “You’re leaking.” Looking down, Nicole’s eyes widened as she saw the truth–urine was running down her jeans, away from the overwhelmed pad. Quickly, she stepped back into the bathroom, rushing to get at least some of it into the toilet, but all she could really manage was sitting down on the toilet seat and flooding her jeans the rest of the way from there. Humiliated, but unwilling to admit defeat, she stripped out of the wet jeans and went to get a fresh pair. “I’m not wearing a diaper to work,” she told V, bending to go through her dresser to find new panties. “I’m just not.” … Nicole didn’t have any more major leak-throughs, but only due to sheer discipline and persistence. Every thirty minutes or so, she took a break to hit the bathroom, emptying what little was in her bladder–though, even with such consistent stops, she still had to replace a pad almost every time. Deep in her heart, she knew this wasn’t sustainable, but the alternative seemed worse. The diapers that’d appeared in her dresser were absurd; bulky pillowy things that’d render all her jeans unwearable for all the poof. She’d make the pads work, no matter how inconvenient the constant restroom trips were. That is, until The Meeting. She had to hustle into the conference room late, blushing as she gave a mumbled, “Bathroom,” as her excuse for missing the opening minute or so of her boss’s presentation. She didn’t feel any pressure in her bladder building, which was the worst part. There was no warning, no indicator of when she might have another accident, just an apprehension of trickling liquid overwhelming the pad in her panties. She watched the clock on the wall–twenty minutes passed, then twenty five, then thirty. (They know I just went,) she thought, anxiously weighing her options. (If I get up to use the bathroom now, they’ll wonder what I ‘really’ needed to go for.) More minutes slipped past, and her fear built, knowing she’d leak through any minute. She couldn’t feel a thing, and stealing glances down only told her she hadn’t begun to dribble through her jeans yet. How soon the dam would begin to crack, though, she couldn’t say. The meeting lasted fifty minutes. It would have been barely an inconvenience to her last week, but with her new potty control it felt like a miracle. Relieved, she waited until the conference room was almost empty–just in case–then stood. Sag. The sensation of her underwear weighing down inside her jeans didn’t feel right, and she looked down, puzzled. She could see her jeans straining, slightly, puffed up. (Did the pad really absorb that much?) she thought, scurrying off to the bathroom. Entering one of the two stalls in the women’s room, she locked it, set her purse on the toilet tank, double checked the lock, and finally slipped down her jeans. The answer she got wasn’t the one she wanted; her pad hadn’t absorbed anything at all. Rather, it’d vanished along with her panties, replaced with a puffy, pink, baby-print diaper. It was worse than if she’d worn one from home–at least the diapers at home had been plain white, medical looking. These were downright cute, or at least they would be if the teddy bears and building blocks hadn’t made her blush from head to toe and send a shock of mortification through her. She couldn’t be seen in this, but she had no real way to cover it up. She had, at least, thought to bring spare panties, along with her extra stack of pads. Opening up her purse… “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no–” Her panties were gone, and her pads. She found only a diaper and a tube of baby powder. All she found aside from those two objects was an implied message. (I don’t get to wear panties anymore.) There was no getting around it, no fighting the magic or curse or whatever that had done this to her. She could go out and buy panties, maybe, but in her gut she doubted that would work. Her choices were diapers, or ruined jeans, and she’d already flooded her current diaper to capacity. Triple checking the lock, she undid the tapes on her diaper and got to work changing herself. She’d just have to hope that the one fresh diaper she’d been given would last the rest of the day…and that nobody in the office would guess that the diaper buried deep in the restroom trash can came from her. ... Things aren't looking good for our poor baby-to-be, but maybe she can get out of this with a little dignity intact! Want to help support the creation of more stories like this one? https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Oooh, that'd be pretty cruel revenge! I can't take credit for the premise, that was all Salwatore's idea! But I'm very proud of my execution. Day 3 Nicole wouldn’t be tricked a third time. The only food she ate was takeout, she drank water from a reusable bottle she filled at work, and she locked her bedroom door. Vanessa wouldn’t have another shot at ‘pranking’ her, even if it meant painstaking vigilance until Nicole could find a new roommate and move out. And, in the morning, she felt a surge of triumph when it paid off. Upon waking, she reached down immediately, half paranoid, and felt dry blankets, dry sheets. No wet bed for her, she’d– Squish. Sitting up, she felt the dampness around her crotch, something warm and wet squelching over her privates, between her thighs. She yanked back the covers in alarm, shocked. She still had her pajama bottoms on, but beneath them, the waistband poking out clearly, was something she decidedly hadn’t dressed herself in when she went to bed. She pulled her bottoms down to be sure, and revealed, unmistakably, a diaper. Worse, she’d soaked it through, leaving only a fuzzy blue line down the middle, distorted by pale yellow pee. She stumbled out of bed, the weight of her abused diaper making it sag heavily against her thighs, almost putting her off balance. “H-how?” she blurted. It made no sense–Vanessa simply could not have done this. Even if she’d somehow picked Nicole’s lock and snuck inside, Nicole could not fathom a world in which she had her clothes removed, replaced with a diaper, and was redressed without waking up for even a moment. Waddling to leave her room, she almost tripped over the open package of diapers on her floor, kicking the plastic package and sending more of the garments across the room. Diapers scattered over her rug, eleven of them, all pillow thick and puffy, plain white save for a set of yellow wetness indicator stripes. Fumbling, she unlocked her door, threw it open, and yelped, “V!” Vanessa didn’t reply immediately. Nicole had to cross the hall and knock on her door, needing some kind of answer. “Vanessa!” she pleaded, pounding her fist repeatedly against the flimsy wood. “Come on, I need to talk to you!” The door flew open. Vanessa, in her own PJs, looked acutely cranky. “What? What did I ‘do to you’ now, Nicole? Do you have something else you want to blame me–is that a diaper?” “I didn’t put it on when I went to bed,” Nicole said, desperate for something to make sense. “Well I sure as shit didn’t,” Vanessa said. “So if you even think about blaming me–” “I don’t blame you,” Nicole said quickly. “I’m sorry, I–this doesn’t make sense. I think I’m losing my mind, and…V? What are you looking at?” Vanessa stared past Nicole, confusion plastered on her face. “Nic…why did you put that back up?” Nicole spun. Her potty training chart was back on the door, with rain clouds at night, half-clouds at day, and a loose sketch of herself in a puffy, safety-pinned diaper, like something out of an old Loony Tune. “I didn’t,” Nicole said. “I threw it away in a dumpster by work.” “Well I didn’t put it back,” Vanessa said. “I don’t even know how I could have.” They looked at each other, utterly perplexed. “Do you think…this could be like…a ghost?” Nicole asked. “A haunting or something?” “Ghosts aren’t real,” Vanessa said, though she only sounded half-convinced by her own argument. “Maybe this is some fucked up trick by the old tennant or the landlord or something. I…I don’t know.” Nicole took down the chart, staring at it with a mix of uncertainty and terror. “I…yesterday, I started dribbling and almost had accidents at work. I thought it was because you’d drugged me or something, I was so mad, but…” “We’ll figure something out,” Vanessa replied. “Here. Give me the chart.” Nicole passed it over, and Vanessa broke it in half, snapping the plastic board into two pieces in her hands. She then broke those into quarters, and eighths. “There, it’s broken. No way someone’s putting that back as is. And…let’s set up a camera in your room so nobody can sneak in, okay?” Nicole nodded, wiping her nose. She’d started sniffling. “Okay.” Fully in problem-solving mode now, Vanessa continued rattling off ideas. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll…one of my exes was pretty spooky, she might be able to do some sort of exorcism or whatever.” “I thought you said it wasn’t ghosts?” Nicole asked. “Well I don’t know!” Vanessa threw up her hands. “I’m covering all my bases here. And…I know you use tampons, but I’ve got some pads you can have. For any leaking today.” “Ugh,” Nicole said, shaking her head. “I hate pads, they just feel like I’m wearing a diaper.” Vanessa looked down at the sagging, sodden garment drooping between Nicole’s legs. “Really? Because that seems a little more intrusive to me.” Nicole blushed, and they made eye contact, before bursting out into shared giggles. “I’ll use the pads,” Nicole said. “And…thanks, V. I really appreciate it.” She didn’t need to add the, ‘I’m sorry I blamed you.’ It came implied. Vanessa just smiled in response. “Of course, Nicky. That’s what friends are for. I’m sure you’ll figure this out and we can get everything back to normal, okay?” Nicole didn’t know if she believed her, if she believed that ‘normal’ could be achieved when everything made so little sense. Her friend’s confidence made her want to believe, though, and she smiled, sniffled a little more, and nodded. “Okay.” ... My ability to write is supported by readers like you! Donations are never mandatory but always appreciated ❤️ https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

It'll be hard for these two, but they just might be at the point where they can concede to a little emotional honesty

Day 2 Tuesday morning brought the death of a friendship. Nicole could almost not process the sheer hurt and betrayal she felt, waking up to another wet bed. Yesterday’s prank by her once-friend had been too far, an incredible breach of trust, but something she could move past. But the fact that Vanessa had gone and done it twice, after being called out for it? If Vanessa thought this was funny, Nicole could not fathom what was going on in her ex-friend’s brain, and if it wasn’t intended as a joke… Getting up, Nicole peeled out of her wet pajama pants and stripped off her sheets. The wet stain on her bed had two rings now, one where last night’s accident had left a subtle watermark, another much more obvious one from the urine still actively soaking her mattress today. Nicole wouldn’t be demanding any cleanup or laundry from Vanessa this time. Their relationship no longer had room for asking anything of each other. She took a shower, allowing the hot water to bring her rage down to a simmer, so that she wouldn’t simply scream at Vanessa the moment she saw her. An absence of rage didn’t mean forgiveness, though. She couldn’t forgive this. Vanessa had drugged her, twice, or done something else to the same effect. Vanessa had overtly ignored Nicole’s requests, even knowing how upset it made her yesterday. With a bathrobe on and a towel on her hair, she walked back to her room, finally noticing that the potty training chart was back on her door. Yesterday’s doodles were still there, and today, new ones–another raincloud in the bedtime, identical to yesterday’s, and this time, a sort of, ‘partly cloudy’ design, with a sun half-hidden by clouds in the daytime. And, in the special column at the bottom, a doodle of Nicole, sitting on the ground, having a sobbing tantrum. Nicole immediately clocked it as Vanessa’s handiwork–she recognized her friend’s cutesy, chibi-style doodles. (She has the gall to do this to me, then label me the crybaby?) Nicole thought. She was about to walk to the kitchen, when Vanessa’s door opened. She stretched, yawned, looking utterly unconcerned. “Morning, Nicole–how did you sleep?” “Seriously?” Nicole snapped, wheeling on her. “Fucking seriously?” “Woah.” Vanessa put up her hands by her sides and took a step back. “Someone’s pissy.” (Was that a pun? Is she really behaving like this?) “Fuck you,” Nicole said. “You dug the chart out of the trash and–whatever, drugged me, made me wet the bed somehow, again, and you don’t even have anything to say for yourself?” Eyes widening, Vanessa shook her head. “I didn’t–Nicole, I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t do any of that.” “Then how did the chart get back on my stupid door, huh?” Nicole demanded, jabbing a finger at it. Her eyes were hot, her cheeks wet–none of this made sense, she just couldn’t understand how her best friend would do this to her. A wet bed by itself, that didn’t mean much, but the betrayal ate away at her. Vanessa looked at the chart, utterly confused. “Nicole, I…I didn’t put that there.” “Well then who did?” Nicole demanded. “Huh?” Stammering, Vanessa had no response. Nicole ripped the chart off the wall, then shoved past her, walking to the kitchen. “That’s what I thought.” Vanessa didn’t follow her–even if she had, it’s not like she could argue against the obvious. No third try, no repetition this time. Nicole kept the chart on hand, and took it with her when she left for work, jamming it into her purse as best she could–it stuck out, some, but just looked like a whiteboard at a glance. Getting off the bus a couple blocks from her office, she found a dumpster and tossed it in, wishing good riddance to the object that had started this all. She had texts waiting for her when she got to the office and finally checked her phone while she rode the elevator up. She had messages from Vanessa. ‘I’m so sorry, Nic–I really don’t know what’s going on. This wasn’t me.’ ‘I want to know what happened as much as you do.’ ‘Please just text me back so we can talk.’ Nicole almost gave in and replied, but before she could, she felt a sudden pressure in her bladder. Shockingly fast, and entirely out of the blue, she desperately needed to pee. With a choice between soaking her jeans or rushing, she chose to rush, lunging out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, blowing past the janitor waiting to get on. She got a few surprised glances from her coworkers, but made it to the bathroom. Fumbling with her jeans, she got the button undone, but felt a little spurt of pee escape her before she could pull them down, staining a tiny dark splotch on her white cotton panties. She clamped down on that, sat down on the toilet, and let loose. It took her only a few moments to be done. She hadn’t needed to pee a lot, she just needed to pee badly, and that was the final nail in the coffin. Whatever drugs or crap Vanessa had done to her, it hadn’t just made Nicole wet the bed, it’d screwed with her bladder. It had done serious, genuine harm to her body, harm that almost humiliated her in front of her coworkers. She ignored Vanessa’s text and muted the number. Vanessa didn’t deserve a response from her. The rest of her day was punctuated by similar flights to the restroom. Twice that morning, she had to stop in the middle of things to rush off to the potty. Worse, just before lunch, she couldn’t end a phone call in time and very nearly didn’t make it at all–her jeans were dropped around her ankles, but her panties were up when the flood gates opened, and she could only sit down and fight back sobs as she ruined the underwear for good. How could her best friend have done this to her? Vanessa, who rarely had the attention span to stick to a hobby for more than a couple days, had gone through all this effort to…what, prank her? Make Nicole feel like crap? It genuinely made no sense. and the more she thought about it, the more it hurt. Wadded up toilet paper helped dry them out, and an additional folded layer stuffed into the front drank up dribbles throughout the rest of the day, but every time she had to replace the pee-soaked toilet paper with a new wad, she felt another sting. Even the best toilet paper protection didn’t help her completely. By the end of the day, enough urine had soaked through even with her constant rushed to the toilet that a dark, damp spot was visible just below the zipper of her jeans. In most lights, it could be mistaken for a weird shadow, but Nicole knew. ... Support the author - y'know, me! - and get early access to all my writing :)

Day 1 “What the fuck?” Shock and fury battled for control of Nicole’s mind. First, she felt only a startled sense of confusion: (How?) And then the dawning, horrified realization: (Oh, that’s how.) And finally, anger at the betrayal: (How could she think this was funny?) Nicole had wet the bed, for the first time she could remember. There was no denying it–she’d soaked her pajama pants, her covers, her sheets, and she could even feel the soggy squelch coming up from her mattress. She simply wasn’t a bedwetter, but she also knew this was no fluke, no coincidence or bit of bad luck. This had to be her fault. Vanessa was a prankster sometimes, sure, but this was beyond the pale. So, she rushed across her room, stormed into the hall, and pounded a fist on her roommate/hall neighbor’s door. “V, what is wrong with you?” It took five seconds of furious knocking before she heard a confused, “I’m coming, Nicky, just gimme a sec…” Standing there, Nicole let her anger simmer until Vanessa opened the door, wearing only a T-shirt, rubbing at her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Launching into her tirade, Nicole chewed her best friend out with all the fervor she could muster. “Vanessa, this is way too far. Pranks are one thing, but–” She hesitated, catching Vanessa’s confused expression. V was looking down at the wet crotch of Nicole’s pajama pants, and she seemed uncertain. “Did you piss yourself?” “Of course I did, you did it!” Nicole snapped. “Sorry, I–” Vanessa hesitated, rubbing her eyes. “I’m still waking up here, Nicole. What are you talking about?” “You made me wet the bed,” Nicole explained, exasperated that she even needed to say it out loud. “What, did you sneak into my room and dip my hand in a bowl of water? Jesus, did you drug me with something?” Vanessa’s eyes widened, finally understanding the accusation being thrown at her. “Come on, I wouldn’t do that. Why would you think that?” “Because,” Nicole snapped, turning to rip the potty training off her door from where it’d been stuck with an adhesive strip. “Of this!” Tilting her head, Vanessa looked at the chart. It had the rain cloud doodle she’d made on the nighttime row, but she couldn’t remember making the sunny sky doodle in the daytime row, or the loose doodle of Nicole with a cartoony red ‘angry’ face in the star row on the bottom. “Uh…Nicole, I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.” Those words stung Nicole more than the betrayal. Vanessa hadn’t just hit her with a humiliating and frustrating prank, now she was trying to lie about it. “Fuck you,” Nicole snapped, getting up in Vanessa’s face. “This isn’t funny, and if you’re not even going to apologize–” “Easy, there,” Vanessa said, taking a step back, until her back bumped into her own door. “I’d apologize, if I had done anything wrong, but I’m telling you: This wasn’t something I did. Maybe you were just tired from the move and it’s a weird freak coincidence?” “I don’t wet the bed, not when I’m tired, not ever,” Nicole glowered, fuming. “I need to get ready for work.” She turned and stormed towards the bathroom at the end of the hall, and once inside, tossed the chart into the trash bin by the sink. Vanessa watched her go, confused, trying not to take the accusations personally. “You’re doing my laundry,” Nicole shot, before slamming the door. ... Did you know I admin a discord for sharing and reading ABDL fiction? You can join it here!

Thank you! There will be! The whole story is going to be posted over the next month or so ^^

If you'd like to read this story in ebook form, you can download a free copy of the ebook here: https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/PottyDraining The Potty Draining Chart Cover art by FlashyFlesh Day 0 The Potty Draining Chart - Day 0 “And just…like…that!” Vanessa announced, turning on the lamp by the couch, “We are, officially, moved in!” The bulb shed off slightly pink-tinged light, though at the push of a button, the whole room could be changed in tone to any hue on the rainbow. “That’s great, V,” Nicole said, turning to stretch her back. “Really appreciate you plugging in the lamps while I moved the furniture.” Vanessa put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. “Excuse me! Good interior design is what makes a house into a home. Sure, maybe you did more heavy lifting, but I provided that je ne sais quoi that we needed.” Truth be told, Nicole agreed–now that everything was done, with the last easy chair moved in and all of Vanessa’s decorations complete, their shared rental house did feel like a place where they belonged. The move in process had been a drag, starting a couple weeks earlier with mattresses flopped on the floor, working evenings and weekends to drive over what they could in Vanessa’s tiny car and trading beer for use of a friend’s truck on weekends for the big stuff. But now they were done. They could relax, and take the night off. Except… “One more thing,” Nicole said, sipping wine out of her favorite cup–an old novelty mug that read, ‘Don’t Worry, Pea Happy’ with a trio of cartoon peas in a pod printed on it. “The junk box.” “Right, right.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. While moving in, they’d been left with little bits of random crap–stuff that they didn’t quite want to throw away, but nor did they need it around. Christmas decorations that’d been stored under the bathroom sink, old cables and adapters that probably didn’t go to anything, a box of home movies from the previous tenant that Nicole felt bad getting rid of. They had set aside a cardboard box, slowly filling it with crap until it was full to bursting. “We can stick it in the attic for now.” Stepping up to her, Nicole poked a finger into Vanessa’s chest. “You can set it in the attic for now. I’m done lifting boxes for the day–heck, I’m just about ready for bed.” “Fiiine,” Vanessa groaned, more in play than in serious discomfort. Sidestepping the couch, she crouched, hefted the box, and carried it from the living room down the back hall–on the right of the hall was her room, on the left Nicole’s, and at the end, their bathroom. Above, though, dangled a rope for attic access. Fumbling with the box, propping it up on her knee so she wouldn’t have to set it down, Vanessa half-hopped to grab the string and pulled it down. She stepped back as a wooden staircase flopped towards her, snapping into place so fast it almost bonked her head. “Jeez,” she said. “Okay, note to self, springs on this are broken.” Scooting up the creaky stairs one step at a time, she made her way into the crawlspace, an area just high enough for her to stand if she was right in the middle and stooped just a touch. She set down the box, glancing around. Half a dozen cases were already up here. They hadn’t needed any attic storage yet, so this was all from the last resident–a lot of junk, probably, but still, a trove of things to dig through. “Huh. More stuff up here than I expected,” she said. “Hey Nicole! Someone left a bunch of garbage up here!” “Sounds like a problem for tomorrow!” Nicole yelled back. “I’m done moving boxes!” “Sure, sure,” Vanessa said, setting down the jumbled junk she’d carried up. Curiosity overtook her, and she opened up the first box she saw, digging through it. It looked like stuff from someone’s kid–at the top, a highschool yearbook, but as she pulled it out, she saw beneath it journals, and then a diary with a heart shaped lock, and then a handmade scrapbook. Digging further, she found an old dry-erase potty training chart. This box held the history of someone’s life, which could be interesting, but the potty training chart was what spread a smirk across Vanessa’s face. It had two weeks listed on it, one over the other, with three columns for each calendar day. One row had a bed, another had a clock face, and one with a star symbol next to it. The first two, for tracking nighttime and daytime accidents, were pretty obvious. The third, though, Vanessa couldn’t guess the purpose, beyond maybe just special rewards. That’s when they caught her eye–the markers stuck to the side of the board by a magnet. Smirking mischievously, Vanessa took the chart with her when she left the attic, hopping down the old fold-out stairs and closing it up behind her. She glanced down the hall–Nicole was on the couch, not paying attention, so Vanessa uncapped the black marker and wrote in the name box at the top, in big, flowy letters, surrounded by sparkles and hearts. Nicole Then, with an artistic, cutesy flourish, she doodled a rain cloud in the top column for Monday, the one for tracking any accidents from the previous night’s sleep. A wet bed indicator if ever there was one. Finally, using the adhesive strip on the back of the chart, she stuck it to Nicole’s bedroom door. “Oh, Nicole,” she said in her sing-songiest voice. “I added one more decoration!” Nicole looked up, curious and prepared for a dumb joke. Getting up, she walked over, glancing at the chart on her door. “What’s that?” “A potty training chart, so you can stop having accidents!” Vanessa snickered. “I found it upstairs and thought it’d help you!” Nicole rolled her eyes. “I don’t have accidents.” “Are you sure? The chart says you wet the bed,” Vanessa said, pointing to the rain cloud. “Yeah, it says that for tonight, which hasn’t even happened yet!” Nicole shook her head. Snickering, Vanessa quipped, “Well then, maybe take an umbrella to bed, because the forecast is for a wet one!” “Very funny, Vanessa.” Nicole opened her door, and though her expression was deadpan, Vanessa knew she didn’t mind the joke. “I’m going to bed, I’ve got work in the morning.” “Don’t let the bed bugs drown,” Vanessa replied. Nicole shut the door in her face, and before long, Vanessa went to be too. The next morning, though, Vanessa woke up to a shout from her across-the-hall neighbor. Nicole, screaming, “What the f**k?” ... I wrote this as a commission for one of my Patreon subscribers! It's a complete 17,000 word novella, which I'll be posting over the next month or so! If you'd like to support stories like this or get discounts on a commission of your own, you can find me here: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 32: Confessional Grace stared at Pearce, her brain frozen in disbelief. (He–) “You don’t love me,” she said, unable to think of any other response besides the flat truth. He might love the parts of herself that she made available, but Pearce couldn’t love the whole of her. Not the parts that hung around his neck like a weight, not the parts that had him playing nanny and nursemaid instead of enjoying his day off. She saw the hurt in his expression when she rejected his confession, the barest flinch. He couldn’t love that, either. “I do,” he insisted anyway, despite all evidence to the contrary. “I love you.” A wracking pain shot up through Grace’s abdomen, and she clenched her jaw, groaning through it. Her hands tightened around the bottle of warm herbal tea, gripping it just to have an outlet for the tension building in her, but she powered through. The pain stole her opportunity to respond, because Pearce continued once it’d passed. “I don’t know if we can work together.” It was the first true thing to come out of his mouth since his confession. “But I can’t–you’re so important to me, Grace. I feel like I can’t even do this right but I’m here anyways, I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere while you need me.” Grace couldn’t tell if his eyes had taken on a wet shine, or if her vision had just blurred too much from the tears in her own eyes. “You’re here,” she said, “But–but you can’t even look at me. You can’t be around me.” Leaning back against the tub, Pearce took a deep, ragged breath. “That’s because I’m a fucking fool. We’re–we’re like two magnets, we’re bad for each other, but I can’t walk away from you, I can’t stop thinking of how much I’ve missed you this past week–I want to move on, and I can’t.” Grace finished the thought for him, taking shallow breaths to make it through another round of fruitless cramping. “Because you don’t love me.” “Because I do love you, and because we hurt each other,” Pearce corrected, looking at her. “I can’t be the person you want. I can’t be Mr. Perfect, I’m too screwed up in the head, I can’t focus, I’m zero good to anyone unless you hold my ass over a fire and tell me it’s urgent. If we tried to work this out, I would fuck up again, and you’d end up hating me again.” “I don’t hate you,” Grace whimpered, guilt striking at her heart. (How could he think that?) “I–ah–” Her body had found something to process, and her words faded into pain as liquid shame voided into her diaper. Wincing and whimpering, Grace took shallow breaths, nostrils flaring, trying to just make it through. “I wish I were a little dumber, a little more naive,” Pearce said slowly, thoughtfully, like he’d scripted these words out long in advance. It wasn’t an impulsive reply, it was something that’d run through his head countless times before this conversation. “Because then at least I’d be able to be selfish here, but I can’t. It doesn’t matter how I feel, it doesn’t matter what I want. I’d live with the pain, I’d do anything, but it wouldn’t be healthy, and if we tried to keep it going long enough, we’d blow up everything.” Grace’s own words sounded distant in her ears. She was slipping away from her body, retreating inward, to get away from the pain. “I hurt you that bad?” “Grace–fucking hell,” Pearce said, running his hands over his hair. “I overslept, and you stabbed me in the back to win the bet. What did you want me to feel?” “I–I didn’t–I wasn’t trying to make you pay that much…” Grace started to say, but her defense felt hollow even as she said it. “It’s not about the money.” Pearce shut his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing to speak hard truth. “It’s that you cared more about the bet than you did about me. I can’t… I want to just get over it, to suck it up, but then you went and did this, you nearly put yourself in the hospital to win, and I don’t know how else to react. If you’re willing to do this to win, to prove I can’t be responsible, to be ‘right’, I don’t know how we could ever be together.” Grace’s throat felt hoarse and dry, but she couldn’t stop to get a drink now. Her world was collapsing, what help could a sip of tea offer her? “I don’t care about the bet,” Grace whispered, words ragged and weak. “I didn’t do this to win.” “Then why?” Pearce asked. “I know you weren’t just looking for some candy in my cupboard.” “Because,” Grace shot, volume raising, “You wouldn’t even look me in the eye, and I couldn’t think of anything else to make you spend thirty seconds in the same room with me!” Pearce fell silent, and Grace thought she saw a flash of guilt in his face, the same she felt in that moment. “Being around you,” she continued, “Doing diapers, and food, and bathtime, and all that other shit but without having you, it made me want to just curl up into a ball and stop existing. The only thing that felt worse than being around you was being alone.” “Then why didn’t you forfeit?” The question didn’t sound like a ‘Gotcha’, a trick to show she was lying–Pearce looked confused. He genuinely didn’t understand, but he wanted to. “I…” Grace started. “If I quit, if I walked away, you’d think I was giving up on us. I know what it’s like to…to feel abandoned. I couldn’t drop that sort of bombshell on you, because then I’d never…” Pearce’s eyes widened a little in half comprehension of what’d pushed her, why she’d behaved like such a complete and utter fool. “When you woke up, that morning,” Pearce said, realization dawning. “You weren’t just upset because you’d missed work.” “No!” The word came out as half a sob. “You left me, and–I was alone, and hurt, because you–” “I didn’t mean to,” Pearce said quickly, half in defense, half in apology. “I know. I’m not–I don’t have any right to be mad, but…” Weakly, she admitted, “I want to be selfish, too, but you’re right. We wouldn’t work. I’m stupid and I can’t get over myself and–and I hurt you because I was mad. If we tried to be together, I’d just keep taking from you, and you’d just start to hate me.” “Grace…” Pearce shook his head ever so slightly, almost unconsciously. “There’s nothing in the world you could ever do to make me hate you.” Grace shook her head in earnest, stopping only when a burst of pain made her lie still. “You say that, but it’s not true. It’d already started. You can say you’ll ‘always’ be here for me no matter what, but every safety net has a breaking point.” Taking a long breath, she put it as simply as she could. “It’s too late, I already asked for too much, it already broke everything. Maybe you don’t hate me, but you also know you can’t really love me, not while I’m this much of a weight dragging you down, but…” She trailed off. Grace wanted him to interrupt her again, to stop her before she got too candid, before she sealed off their relationship for good. “It’s like you said. I can be selfish, or I can accept the hurt, but it’s doomed either way. One way or another, I’m just going to wake up one day, needing you, and you won’t be there anymore.” That was it. The truth, unvarnished and painful but impossible to deny, and Grace had nothing else she could say that would fix it. Shutting her eyes, Grace laid back and let the pain overwhelm her. She couldn’t even cry, she felt too dehydrated. Warm rubber pressed against her lips, and Grace tasted bitter herbs and sweet honey running down her tongue. The tea wasn’t too hot, just warm enough to be relaxing without burning her weak throat. For all the agony she was in, emotional and physical, that bit of relief was nectar from the gods, and she drank it gratefully. Pearce’s hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her up ever so slightly, so she wasn’t lying flat on her back while she drank. Propped up, sniffling, she drank the tea and let her feelings stream down her face. Eventually, she drained the first bottle, but as it emptied, Pearce switched smoothly to the second. He didn’t press, he didn’t speak, but he sat there with her, propping her up, but he helped her hydrate, healing her hurt. Her body’s revolt continued, but in that moment, with Pearce there to hold her up, it felt a little easier to bear. The second bottle ultimately ran dry too, and Pearce pulled it away, but he didn’t leave. He stayed with her, kept his hand on her, silently supporting, his thumb moving in gentle circles through her hair. She felt his hand shift, and heard him inhale before speaking. Tensing, eyes still closed, Grace prepared her heart for the worst. “What did we expect would happen?” Pearce asked quietly. She expected more, but he left it at that for a long pause, letting the words marinate. “Of course we’d be a flaming disaster. We’re Wasters.” Grace opened her eyes just a crack, looking wordlessly up at him. He was smiling, in spite of everything. “You and me,” Pearce continued. “And the rest, all of us–we’re the fuckups that will never amount to anything. More disasters than people. Of course this was where our relationship would end up, we’re both too bad at being people for any other outcome.” Heart sinking, Grace saw the truth in his words. They’d been doomed from the start. “But you know what?” Pearce asked. “That coin’s got two sides. Yeah, we’re fucked up, we’re generally socially incompetent, we’re so in our own heads that we couldn’t navigate society with a GPS and a park ranger to guide us, but still–we’re Wasters. When was the last time we let ‘General Social Incompetence’ stop us from doing something?” Grace frowned, shifting up a little bit. “Pearce, what are you saying?” “We made a life for ourselves. Five grown adults sharing a house, not because we can’t make rent, but because we just wouldn’t want a life where we’re not together? It’s weird, it’s kind of hard because it’s not something anybody else really even wants to try, but that didn’t stop us.” He glanced to the side, then back down at her, looking Grace in the eyes for the first time in a week. “So why the hell are we giving up so easily?” Shaking her head, Grace tried to fight the sudden possibility of love, pushing it away with her best arguments. “Because I’ll hurt you again. Because we’re bad for each other, and it’ll explode, like you said.” “Maybe,” Pearce admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Grace, but I’m willing to muddle along, to keep on working until we get it right. The only relationships that are perfect are the ones that don’t last long enough to matter, everyone else has to work for their love if they want it to last. I want ours to matter, and I’m willing to do the work. As long as we both promise to do our best, it’s worth a little hurt along the way.” “But–” Grace started, shaking her head. She sat up, a little, and before the cramps could send her right back down, Pearce got an arm behind her and caught her. “I’m not worth that much work. I don’t even get why you’re here right now, it’s not like I can’t get myself water, you could have walked away once you got off the phone with poison control.” “You’ll heal.” Pearce shrugged. “But you’ll heal faster with a helping hand.” “But it’s not just today,” Grace continued, looking down, counting anxieties on her fingers. “Next time I freak out, next time I overreact, it’ll be just as bad–worse.” “Are you going to try and have a freakout overreaction?” Pearce asked. She shook her head. “No, but–” “Then we’ll apologize and try and do better next time.” Pearce put his hands on her shoulders, addressing her directly. “Grace, I don’t care how much work it takes. I don’t care how much effort, how much time, anything, all I care is that we’re in this together. There’s nothing not worth fixing.” Something was wrong with Grace’s eyes–Pearce had vanished, everything was so blurry she couldn’t see straight. Fresh tears streamed, falling down and making puddles on her shirt, and she felt a choking sob build, but these were fresh tears. Not from hurt, not from heartbreak, but from bittersweet relief. “I–I love you,” she babbled, reaching forward, searching half-blind for him. “I love–” Pearce took her, pulled her in close, met her lips with his. He held her there, in the perfect embrace on the floor of their shared bathroom. Her diaper was sagging, abused by the drugs she’d taken, and her shirt was damp from perspiration as her body tried to sweat it out. The cramps hadn’t gotten any better, and the wild shifting balance of fluids in her system had brought on a headache that would only get worse. Grace was as physically uncomfortable as she’d ever felt, and a mess, and a ball of nerves. Through their embrace, she could feel Pearce’s heart pounding at a thousand miles an hour and knew he was as anxious as she was, wracked by all the same emotions, if not all the physical discomfort. None of that mattered. They were in love. ... I want to take a moment, again, to thank my editor, who's helped make this story shine, and to all my supporters, who help me pay for my editor! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 21: A Rose Would Smell as Sweet Author's note: This chapter is one that I feel is important to the narrative of the story, but that I neglected to write chronologically. It's the 'Real' chapter 21, the chapter currently published as 21 will become 22 in the final publication, and so on and so forth. To those of you who need a refresher, this is one chapter before Grace kisses Pearce for the first time, but several chapters after they get high and fall asleep in the same bed together. Sorry for the out of order posting! We will resume chronological chapters next Friday - and hopefully there won't be any more late posting until the story is complete. ... Some traditions didn’t change. As the sun dipped down for the evening and smoke wafted out of their firepit, Brains lifted his glass in a toast. The Wasters, plus one, responded–Five high, glassy clinks and one plastic, sloshy, donk. Pearce had granted his approval for Grace to have beer, but the drinking vessel was non-negotiable, so she’d be sipping it through a rubber nipple. Given the company, he’d even allowed her a fairly discreet outfit–her onesie was plain and could pass for a T-shirt, and the shorts she wore hid the bulge of her diaper well. They were arranged in a rough pentagram around the fire pit in their shared backyard, in five disparate chairs they’d managed to scavenge from garage sales and straight up trash piracy. Melody had a bench instead of a seat, making room for her oft-rotating partners, but Grace had a comfy butterfly chair that sat a little lower and was immensely more cozy than the others. “You can thank Pearce for the beers,” Melody said, taking a sip from her bottle, snuggled up against her conquest for the night on a reclaimed patio bench. They’d indulged in the good stuff–that is, a few six packs of Yuengling, instead of a case of Hamms. Hardly premium, but a step up. “Yeah?” Melody’s date–some guy, Grace didn’t even know his name–said. “Thanks, Pearce, that’s awfully decent of you.” The five of them–all the Wasters, Pearce included–chuckled. When Melody’s date still looked confused, Pearce explained, “I lost a bet.” “Well, he is participating in a bet and had to chip into the beer fund as part of the terms,” Brains added, supplying all the unnecessary context anyone could ever not ask for. “Well, if it means I get free beer, I’m not going to complain. That why you’re drinking from a bottle, uh…don’t tell me, I know this…” Pressing his palm into his forehead as though trying to extract thoughts from his hand, he guessed, “Hope?” Lowering the beer-filled baby bottle from her lips, Grace decided on giving the short answer. “It’s Grace, but, yeah about the bottle.” “Grace, Hope,” he said, “I knew it was some Puritan thing. Let me guess, you’ve got like eight siblings, and they’re all, like, Peace, Chastity, Humility, whatever?” Pearce puffed out his cheeks and exhaled before taking a long sip of his beer in a here-we-go way, but Grace wasn’t going to take the slight. “It’s just Grace,” Grace said. “I’m an only kid, and my parents are atheist hippies.” She was lying, but Melody’s one night stand didn’t get to know her life history. It didn’t matter where she’d come from, what mattered was that she was Grace, now, and she’d found the right family for herself. “It’s not her birth name, anyways,” Brains added. “None of our names are.” (Thanks, Brains,) Grace thought. (Nobody asked.) Curiosity piqued, Melody’s date leaned forward. “Really?” “It started out as a joke, but it stuck around,” Brains said. “Nicknames, sort of.” He nodded. “You picked them yourself?” Brains shrugged. “Kinda sorta. More like…they found us in highschool, if that makes sense.” “Gotcha, so…Brains, came up with it in highschool, that’s easy–you’re some kind of genius.” He smirked. “Right? Straight A student, teacher’s pet, kind of a keener?” “Oh, no, it’s because I was an alleged smartass,” Brains explained, snorting. “My grades were ass, but I always knew the right question to absolutely infuriate my teachers.” “Nice, man, fight the system.” Leaning forward, Melody’s date offered him a fist bump. “I’d feel a lot better about it if I had been infuriating the teachers on purpose,” Brains admitted. “And heck, maybe my grades would have been better if I ever got answers to the questions I was asking.” The fistbump offer went unrequited, and after an awkward moment, he pulled it back, shifting focus. “Skipper, right? How’d you get that?” “Just Skip.” They’d been so quiet, it was easy to forget they were there, but Skip spoke up when their turn came around. (Here we go,) Grace thought. If it were just Brains, that would have been fine, but now that Skip had responded, the conversation was turning into a trend, and that trend was unlikely to die until they’d made the full circuit. Speaking with the tone of a camp counselor trying to keep everyone involved, Melody’s date asked, “So, how’d that come around? Were you a hopscotch enthusiast?” “It’s a bit unfair to say I got the nickname in highschool,” Skip explained. “Because I spent as little time in highschool as possible. I cut class so often, they had to open up special detention hours to fit me in. Rules, roles, people telling me when I can eat or go to the bathroom or just be a person–that kind of stuff makes my skin crawl.” “So, skipping class, just became ‘Skip’?” The date asked. Skip nodded, sipping their beer thoughtfully, and the date just continued down the line. “Okay, Pearce, Pearce…I’m not coming up with anything for Pearce.” “Hint, then,” Pearce said. “I changed the spelling, but it should be with an ‘I’. Pierce, like with a spear.” “Oh, okay.” Nodding, he thought for a moment. “Another class smartass? ‘Piercing wit’?” “Right word use, wrong direction,” Pearce said. “One of our teachers was fond of saying, ‘Nothing can pierce his skull’ every time I was just barely in earshot. I guess he thought I wasn’t good at paying attention or remembering information.” The date the obvious followup question: “Were you?” “Oh, absolutely, it took me three times hearing it to realize he was even talking about me,” Pearce said. “But hey–institutions, you know? I just wasn’t in an environment I could thrive in.” “Oh, I’ve heard about those,” he said. “Let me know if your environment’s got room to spare–I hear ‘thriving’ is nice.” Pearce laughed and shook his head. “I’ll let you know when I get mine, I’ve heard the same thing.” Chuckling, the intruder amongst their social circle faced Melody on their shared bench. “What about you, babe?” (Babe?) Grace thought, struggling to hide her eye roll. (They’ve known each other for like a day. Hell, they haven’t even fucked yet, and he’s calling her ‘Babe’?) “It’s embarrassing,” Melody said, egging him on, goading him to make her tell. “Oh, it can’t be that bad,” her date replied. “What, were you a glee club nerd?” Looking at her, Melody’s date kissed her forehead, getting obscenely mushy with the PDA around the bonfire. “No,” Melody said, giggling as he started to get handsy. “Come on, it’s silly–” “Oh no, not a glee club kid–you were in the band, huh?” He needled. Melody fully laughed as his motions reached a point between fondling and tickling, and she yelped, “Keith!” (Right, that’s his name,) Grace thought, finally interrupting the show. “She ratted out a bunch of cheerleaders who were smoking pot in the bathroom.” The giggling stopped, and Melody shot Grace a look that said, ‘Buzzkill’. “I didn’t care that they were smoking pot,” she clarified. “But they were a bunch of catty bitches who had to be taken down a peg.” “And that leads to ‘Melody’ because…?” her date asked, tilting his head. Interrupting again, Grace said, “Think old private eye, mobster type stuff. She ‘sang a song’ to the principal.” Melody furrowed her brow and opened her mouth, looking past her one-use lover with an expression that read, ‘What the hell, Grace?’, but her date kept his cool. “I guess that leaves you,” he said. “Grace. Not Hope, not Chastity, hippy parents, so…hmm.” “No,” Grace said, sitting back in her butterfly chair and suckling her beer petulantly. “Gonna make me guess? Okay…well, we could go literal, like Skip. Ballet dancer, cheerleader–but you don’t strike me as the cheerleader type. So, maybe it’s ironic. Super clumsy?” “No,” Grace repeated. “I’m not playing this game. I’m Grace, that’s my name, that’s all it needs to be.” “Come on,” the date pushed. “Everyone else shared.” Digging in her heels, Grace just said, “Good for them. Take no for an answer, Ken.” “Keith,” he corrected nonchalantly. “You were pretty comfortable sharing my history,” Melody pointed out. “When I’d said, ‘No’.” “You were playing hard to get,” Grace said. “I’m saying No. Highschool was shit, and I’m not loving the walk down memory lane, reminiscing about the worst times of our collective lives.” Raising his hands to placate her, the date said, “Okay, that’s cool–” “I’m sorry,” Melody said, sitting upright, interrupting him. “Did you say, ‘Playing hard to get?’ What are you, some horny jock trying to justify a boner on prom night?” “Weren’t you?” Grace asked. “Or was all the giggling and fake protests because you really, super didn’t want him to know the story?” “Grace…” Pearce said, glancing down at her. “I think maybe we should cool off–” “I’m fine,” Grace snapped at him. “I just don’t get why we’re dredging up old shit for mayfly man here.” The date–Ken, Keith, Grace didn’t give a fuck–raised his eyebrows. “Mayfly? What does she mean?” “I’d say, ‘Ask Melody tomorrow’, but it’ll be hard to do that after she deletes your number.” At his expression, she added, “Don’t take it personal, you’re not special.” “Grace!” Melody snapped. “Are you fucking serious right now?” “Grace,” Pearce added, not harsh, but more assertive. “Let’s go inside, okay?” “I’m fine,” Grace shot. “You don’t seem fine,” Brains threw in. Skip just took a drink–they had no commentary to add that would help. “Look,” Ken-Keith-Kyle-Whatever said, “I don’t mean to be the asshole here–I don’t know what’s got your panties in a twist, but if you’re going to be pissy–” “She’s not wearing panties,” Melody sneered. “Pissy is probably accurate, though. She’s crabby because she’s got this asinine bet, and instead of being a big girl and dealing with her own shit she’s making it our prob–” “This isn’t about the bet!” Grace yelled, sitting forward. “I just didn’t want to talk about this and your fuckdoll kept pushing, and–” A hand touched her shoulder. “Grace,” Pearce said, simply. “We’re going inside.” “No we’re not,” Grace snapped. “You’re not the boss of me, and–” “Grace,” Pearce repeated, firmly demanding her attention. “Do you want me to explain this out loud?” It took Grace a second to understand, but Melody wasn’t about to let it stay silent after things had escalated. “Make sure her diaper change takes a while, I want some fucking peace out here.” “Her–” The date started, eyebrows raising as he looked between them. “Diapers?” “I’d say, ‘Ask her’,” Melody grumbled, “But she’d probably just start yelling at us again.” “We’re going,” Pearce said, standing up. Grace wanted to object out of sheer stubbornness, but then she’d just be resigning herself to a time-out instead, so she begrudgingly stood from her butterfly chair. “Do you get it, now?” she shot at the date, unable to resist getting in the last parting shot. “‘Grace.’ Take a look at how tonight went, and take a fucking guess where that came from.” With that, she spun on her heels, following Pearce inside. “I’m completely dry,” she said, once the door was shut. “I really don’t need a change.” “You do,” Pearce said. “Grace–you’re not okay. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but staying out by the fire was just going to make things worse.” “I shouldn’t be the one leaving,” Grace grumbled, glaring out the window at Melody’s date. “He should, he’s the one who started this.” “Well,” Pearce said, refusing to rise to an argument. “I can’t make him go anywhere, but I can make you go upstairs. If you’re feeling better when we’re done, maybe we can go back out, but I will happily just rotate diapers all night if it keeps you from getting into a verbal self-harm session.” Grace reeled for a moment, surprised by Pearce’s words, almost disbelieving that he was just trying to keep her out of trouble. “But then you don’t get to hang out, either,” she pointed out, testing the waters. “That sucks for you.” He shrugged. “You come first.” Grace’s anger broke. She couldn’t maintain her fiery indignity, not removed from the source of her anger, not when Pearce was being this patient. Her shoulders slumped. “Fuck it, it’s too cold out for a fire anyways.” “Let’s just stay in, then,” Pearce said. “Okay?” “Okay.” Looking down at her bottle, she added, “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself; There was no ‘Verbal self harm’ or whatever.” “I believe you.” Pearce assured her. “You weren’t trying to, but you get impulsive when you’re mad. If things kept going the way they were going, you and Melody would be on pretty thin ice, and I don’t think you wanted that.” He was right, as much as Grace was loath to admit it. She would have to apologize to Melody, even if she doubted Melody would apologize for bringing another jackass sex toy around to their personal gathering of friends. Looking down at her bottle of beer, she asked, “It alright if I keep this?” “I’ve got something a little more herbal upstairs, if you prefer,” Pearce said. “Something to calm down, take the edge off?” Exhaling in something approaching the shadow of a laugh, Grace said, “Sure. Just remember you’re responsible for making sure I’m fed, and I get snacky.” Pearce laughed. “Okay–I promise snacks galore. Head upstairs, I’ll be right behind you?” Grace nodded, but hesitated after taking a step. “Hey, Pearce?” “Yeah?” he asked, looking back from his cupboard. She didn’t particularly like admitting when she was wrong, but she was able to compromise, just a little. “Thanks for looking out for me. I know I was kind of having a tantrum back there.” “Of course,” he replied, so casually it seemed like he really didn’t mind her behavior, or that she was dragging him away from their bonfire ritual. “It’s what a good babysitter would do.” ... I appreciate any and all support of my writing, and try to make it worth it for my supporters! I have several ongoing stories exclusive to my Patreon and Subscribestar, as well as giving my readers early access to all my writing. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 31: The End? Gurgle– (I’m such a fucking–) GURGLE– “Ow–dammit. Dammit.” GURGLE– (–fucking, fucking idiot.) Blrblrbl– Molten, putrid fluids poured out of her, into her fourth diaper of the hour, staining the seat a pale brown. She just lay there, on the bathroom floor, staying on her changing mat–why leave, when she’d just be right back on it in a minute? Her intent had been to take an intense dose of laxatives and purposefully induce repeated messy accidents, so that Pearce would have to change her every few minutes until he gave up. Technically, that had worked, but that was just the start. Grace hadn’t bothered to read the box, she’d just taken the laxative chocolate and committed to her plan. Four rectangles of slightly chalky almost-candy, swallowed in a few bites, because she didn’t want to risk chickening out and sulking for another week. She had to end the bet immediately–or, at least, that’d been her thought at the time. She’d been impulsive, and stupid, and not considered the side effects, not planned on how hard it would hit her. By the time she realized she’d made a mistake, it’d been far, far too late to back out. Now she had to lie on her back and try to decide which aspect of her situation made her more miserable. The pain, obviously, was a strong contender–she’d never felt cramps this bad in her life. Even before she started birth control, when her periods had been regular and painful, the cramps had never been this bad. Even compared to the worst day she could remember, it was a walk in the park compared to this. Her intestines felt like they wanted to come alive and strangle her, and since they were regretfully trapped inside her tummy, they’d chosen instead to self immolate in protest. Every few moments, she’d feel a spasm, and her body would uncontrollably release into her diaper, an act as painful as it was humiliating. She was thirsty, and sweaty, and overwhelmed by signals all over from a body in revolt. The only thing that could challenge the pain for the top spot in her personal hell was the deep, personal, and utterly consuming shame. She’d proven herself as thoughtless and selfish as Pearce probably assumed she was, and she’d pulled herself into a self destructive spiral. A whimpering, crying mess on the floor, in need of constant attention, constant care, constant disgusting diaper changes. If her point already hadn’t been proven, it would be now. She’d become the perfect burden, the kind nobody would care for. Pearce was going to hate her after this. And he’d be right to do so. Another cramp hit her, but her body was out of contents to drain, so nothing poured into her diaper–though the cramps did force tears down her cheeks. (Fuck. Fuck.) She wanted to get creative with her vulgarity, to at least come up with a cleverly phrased tirade, but she lacked the mental bandwidth for that. Too much of her brain was overtaken by one-note ideas and impulses; Hurts, and Cry, and Shame, and Push, and (I’m so fucking stupid.) “Grace?” Pearce pushed the door open, phone in one hand, and a bottle in the other. “I just talked to poison control. Good news is, you’re going to be OK.” (No I’m not,) Grace thought. Out loud, she asked, “How long?” “It’s…they weren’t sure.” Setting down his phone, Pearce rubbed at the back of his neck. “A few hours. Maybe, like…a day? We just have to wait it out, there’s not much else to be done. The guy said to make sure you get plenty of fluids and electrolytes, you’re going to get really dehydrated. And diaper rash is a concern.” Grace’s eyes widened and she sat up suddenly–a move she regretted as another cramp sent her right back down to the bathroom floor. “You told him?” she asked, sniffling. “About the bet?” “No.” Pearce knelt by her, nose wrinkling slightly as he got a whiff of her latest sloshy accident. “That was unprompted, but…I mean, the bet doesn’t help. Here.” He passed Grace the baby bottle, which had milky white fluid inside it. Grace eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this?” “Formula,” Pearce admitted, reaching into his pocket while he spoke. “It’s got electrolytes and calories, and you need something to keep up your strength. I have a delivery coming with more stuff for you, pedialyte and gatorade, but we needed something now, and I had this ready to go. Drink it.” “Pearce…” Grace started, wincing between words. “I don’t know–” “I do,” he responded confidently, taking out a little bottle of painkillers, shaking one into his hand. “I am responsible for making sure you’re fed, hydrated, and healthy. I say you need to drink your bottle, and swallow one of these. Instructions on the bottle say to only take three a day. I know you’ll probably want to take seventy two of them, but we’re sticking to the guidelines this time.” “I don’t–” Grace started, confused. “I wasn’t that stupid, I only took four.” Pearce stared at her blankly for a moment, incomprehension slowly dawning into shock. “Grace…the recommended dose is two squares, you ate four bars. There’s twelve squares in a bar.” Grace stared back, realizing just how fundamentally brainless she’d been. She hadn’t just been reckless and impulsive, she’d almost… It was a good thing she’d been working with ‘Gentle’ laxatives. Meekly, she accepted the pill, dry swallowed, and lifted the bottle to her lips. The cool, milky liquid down her throat helped quench her thirst and ease her discomfort, but it didn’t help her feel any less pathetic. Pearce had cut a bigger opening on the head so that it wouldn’t take fifty to get through a single bottle, but she still had to suckle like a newborn to get the refreshing fluids. Lying on the ground, sniffling and crying, she worked through the formula and helplessly ran through diaper after diaper: The consequences of her own actions had rendered her into more of a baby than all of Pearce’s teasing and tricks put together. She heard a tape rip, and looked down to see Pearce working on her diaper, a fresh one already ready to go. Lifting the bottle from her lips, Grace started to ask, “What’re yo–” Reaching over, he pushed it right back down, silencing her words. “Grace, I’m serious. You need fluids. Drink all of that, and when you’re done, that tea should be ready and you’re going to drink that too.” Grace wanted to protest, to argue. There was no point changing her diaper, not when she was cramping and voiding everything in her multiple times a minute, but Pearce wasn’t willing to listen. He took away her old diaper, wiped her clean, and squirted a dollop of anti-rash zinc cream into his hands, rubbing it in around her bottom and thighs. She cramped again, and though she couldn’t see and her senses down there had been numbed to the differences between cramps and squelches and pushing, she was pretty sure she got something on his hands. Shame coursed through her, and she watched for Pearce to flinch, to pull away in disgust, but he just reached for a baby wipe and kept working. Cream applied, he wrapped the new diaper between her thighs and taped it down. “There,” he said. “That should at least help a bit with the rashing. You finish that bottle, I’ll be right back.” She nodded and kept suckling, working to drain the formula–what else could she do? Pearce got to his feet, washed his hands in the sink, and left her there, alone with nothing but her thoughts and the soft whirr of the exhaust fan. He hadn’t given up, yet, but that was no surprise. Pearce wasn’t an asshole, and she required medical aid. Her plan had centered around exhausting him with full diapers, not a call to poison control and a price check on ambulance fees. That didn’t mean this could be counted as a success. She felt like a kid. Not a baby–well, a bit like a baby–but not really. Instead, the helplessness, the feeling of stupidity, the awareness of how badly she’d fucked up, how she was self-sabotaging and pushing everyone around her away… It made her feel like a fourteen year old, ear pressed against a door, eavesdropping for clues about punishment she already knew was coming. “It’s just a cry for attention. Obviously we need to stop the behavior, but you can’t let her have what she wants. When she acts out, you can’t coddle her, you need to show discipline.” “Where do you think she even got–” “It’s those friends of hers, I told you they were no good.” “Do you think she’ll be able to get her grades back up?” “Maybe, but you’re thinking too short term–what about when she’s grown up, when you aren’t there any more to keep her behavior in check? What if she thinks she’ll always have a safety net? You cannot respond to this sort of behavior with positive reinforcement.” “She’s never acted like this before.” “If I had a nickel for every time I’d heard that, I’d be able to count class sizes by nickels. She’s a teenager. It happens. But she won’t learn to stop behaving like this unless you teach her.” “Still…she’s always been such a good girl. Do we really need to be that harsh?” “I can tell you’re trying to do your best here, and I can see from her file that she’s stayed out of trouble until now. I suppose, given the circumstances, it might be alright to show a little grace.” She’d been stupid then. She was stupid now, too. She’d jumped without looking, without seeing how far it was to the bottom, and expected Pearce to be there to catch her. And Pearce, damn him, was there–ready to catch her, even though it meant he’d be crushed. If he’d just been a crummier person, this would have been easy. When he fucked up and abandoned her, she’d made sure the consequences fell squarely on his shoulders. Now, when she fucked up, he was taking it on himself, letting the consequences fall on his shoulders again. He was doing the work. Making phone calls, bringing food, ensuring her physical safety, and that was all. Like the previous week of emotionally distant diligence, only worse, because she knew what was coming. Pearce couldn’t take this any more. Burnout was inevitable, he already seemed exhausted every time they spoke. She could see it–he was struggling. She could see it in his slumped shoulders and defeated expressions: Every time he had to change her diaper, feed her, give her any kind of care, he had to fight to keep up the act. Grace knew the truth, because she knew how to read Pearce. His thoughts were incredibly obvious: (Is my distance enough to keep Grace from hurting me?) (Would it be so wrong if I just left her to fend for herself so I could go and focus on myself?) As soon as he thought she was safe, as soon as he didn’t have to worry that she’d literally shit herself to death, he’d say, ‘I’m forfeiting the bet, I can’t keep putting up with you anymore’. Maybe he’d put it better than that–find some tactful way to rephrase, ‘You’re a selfish, demanding burden whose recklessness and perfectionism are burning my life away from both ends,’ but he’d be thinking it, and she’d know what he really meant. She’d wanted him to forfeit, but not like this–her intent had been for him to get tired of responsibility, not for him to get tired of nannying a stupid, selfish, idiotic little girl who needed everyone else to clean up after her insecurities. Another cramp wracked her as she finished the bottle of formula, and her body’s spasm was timed to hit just as Pearce walked in, carrying two bottles of warm tea and a fluffy pillow tucked beneath his arm. “Hey,” he said, walking over to sit next to her, crossing his legs and getting down by her head. “Any help from the painkillers yet?” She shook her head–every cramp was as bad as the last. “Here, head up,” Pearce said, guiding the pillow to give her a little comfort. Once she’d rested her head on the cushion, he passed her one of the bottles of tea. “Drink this, too. It’s supposed to be an herbal calming thing that eases upset stomachs–I don’t know if it’ll do much here, but it can’t hurt to get you more fluids.” She took the bottle, watching him. He was glancing away, avoiding eye contact, lips moving slightly as he prepared what he was about to say. It was coming. She knew it, and her stomach dropped in a way that had nothing to do with the laxative overdose. “Grace,” Pearce said, voice trembling a little. “I…after tonight, I’m going to forfeit the bet. You win.” There it was. She’d gotten what she wanted, and what she feared the most. Swallowing, Pearce added, “I know you want it, bad, so there you go. I can’t have you hurting yourself like this, even if it was by accident. Nothing is worth this, nothing is worth pushing you to do this, so if it means you’re safe, if it means you won’t hurt anymore, you win. Your safety is all that matters.” Grace stared up at him, eyes widening. She’d already felt teary, but now her eyes felt wet for an entirely different reason–shock, not pain. He looked away again, lips twitching so much it looked like he was wrestling with the words he wanted to speak. “I–” Anxiety and fear struck her. The unknown of what he was about to say, how he’d let her down gently. Finally, he won the fight with his tongue and got it out. “Grace, I love you.” ... This is not the end! More is coming. My patrons and supporters have made this story possible, and continue to make it possible. Thank you so much for reading. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 30: Hurricane The following chapter features an instance of behavior comparable to an eating disorder, resulting in accidental self harm. This self-harm is not intentional and the results are not life threatening, and the parallels to ED are merely a coincidence and not the focus of this chapter, but it could still be upsetting to some readers. If you want to know precisely what happens so you can be better informed, feel free to message me asking for a spoiler and I will respond as promptly as I can. ... “I’m–I’m sorry, Daddy, I had…I had a accident!” “After I told you not to use your diapers that I put you in? What a bad girl–I think it’s time for your sp–” The door handle to Pearce’s room jiggled, and he threw his phone down, jolting straight up. Trying to act casual, he crossed a leg over his lap, clearing the pornographic images from his head, of the cute girl in a soggy diaper, showing off her lack of dignity to her daddy. If he crossed his eyes, the girl looked almost like Grace–even if Grace had better diction and infinitely better banter skills than whoever wrote that porn script. He shouldn’t even have been looking at that stuff, the surface level enjoyment wasn’t worth the deep sense of ache it left him with afterwards. Grace opened the door, and Pearce’s insides did backflips. She was wearing a plain T-shirt and her patented, ‘I really want to ask for a diaper change but I know I’m not supposed to’ expression. Her eyes avoided his, her lips were pressed into a line, embarrassment radiated from her whole being. He’d learned to recognize the meaning of that expression at a glance, because it had once offered prime time for teasing. Occasionally, she’d just be acutely soggy, but most of the time, she’d come to him wearing this embarrassed expression because she’d pooped in her diaper and wanted to be clear of it as quickly as possible. A week ago, this would have been the perfect time to fluster Grace. She was embarrassed about having used her diaper, despite it being a daily occurrence, and primed for further teasing because she needed Pearce to notice. Strictly speaking, her patented ‘change me’ expression was an attempt to skirt the rules, to ask without asking, but it involved such willing self humiliation and was a mild enough request that he didn’t mind. He would sometimes pretend to be completely unaware, which made her fuss and stomp and blush, or he could really draw out the check, making her wriggle and squeak as he squeezed the seat of her diaper, weighing how badly she needed a freshie. It felt silly to admit, but flustering Grace had become a highlight of his days, and diaper checks were an excellent tool to get that done. This all led to the less-fun part: Actually changing a messy diaper. He just hadn’t gotten over that, no matter how many times he had to do it, it was always just as gross as the first time, the only difference was the speed with which he got the nasty part over with. He’d do it, but if he had to pick one part of the bet to get rid of, it’d be the dirty diaper changes. A part of him wanted to get back to the teasing, the checks, the things that made Grace red-faced and fussy, but it was just like the porn: It might have been fun in the moment, but the long-term hurt wasn’t just worth it. Grace didn’t mean to hurt him, she just did, because her problems had to be pushed on everyone else. She was like a storm. Thrilling, wonderful, beautiful. A storm could bring life to the world around it, and energy, and even magic, but if Pearce tried to enjoy too much, he’d be swept away. “Hey,” Grace said, arms crossed over her belly, looking down at her toes. She looked shaky. (“Hey, baby, are you okay? You don’t look so good, how can I help?”) The response he wanted to give stuck in his throat. If he gave in, if he let himself be vulnerable, he’d just get hurt again. “Hey,” Pearce replied, noting that the anxiety and turmoil had at least killed his awkward boner. “Do you need a change?” She nodded. “Er…yeah.” Nodding, Pearce glanced back at his desktop, at the work he’d been doing. It could wait. Getting up, he said, “Okay, I’ll meet you in the bathroom.” She nodded, turning to waddle away, and for a second, it seemed like she winced. Even despite his attempts to shield himself from vulnerability, the ache struck again, bypassing all his emotional shelter. (Is my distance hurting Grace that much?) (Would it be so wrong if I left my defenses behind so I could go comfort her?) Never mind the potential fallout, never mind that he couldn’t regulate her emotions for her, never mind that she’d lash out like a hurt animal the next time he wasn’t perfect. He wanted to go wrap her up in a hug, kiss her, find out why she was shaking and make it better. Logic, though, told him the truth: He couldn’t. Last time he’d made himself vulnerable, she’d turned a mistake into a tempest. If he opened himself up again, he’d get hurt just the same every time, and enough injuries stacked one on top of the other only build resentment. He’d be trading his own comfort for Grace, and that would burn them both in the long run. It wouldn’t just mean the end of their relationship, it might mean the end of the Wasters entirely. If only he’d been a bit more like Brains, it would have been easy. Once Brains knew the logical, smart, correct choice of action, he could pursue it without hesitation. Pearce, on the other hand, knew himself. He was too impulsive and selfish to do the right thing every time, and even when he was committed to the right course of action, the pull of impulsivity called to him like a siren. Sighing, he walked out of his room, following Grace to the bathroom. He couldn’t provide for her emotional needs, but her diaper still needed changing. Wipes. Powder. A fresh diaper. A bin to dispose it all. The physical stuff, that was easy…if a bit nasty. Avoiding eye contact with Grace while he did it all, though, that took something out of him. He knew she was right there, his hands were touching her skin, he could hear her breathing and the gurgling of her tummy. He could just acknowledge her as something beyond an object in need of cleaning. He kept his mouth shut. She did, too. She’d figured out that he wasn’t interested in conversation. He wiped her thighs and skin free of muck, piling the wipes next to her old diaper. Messy changes always took about a billion wipes–if he could have, he’d have always timed them right before bathtime and used the shower to wash her off, but it rarely worked out that conveniently for him. Under his fingers, he could feel her tremble–she was shaking. (Just talk to her.) “I’m planning on making dinner in about two hours.” Sheepishly, looking for something to add, he appended, “Pasta.” “Okay,” she said. “I–mm.” Pulling her arms tighter around her body, she put on another pained expression. “Are you feeling okay?” Pearce asked, before he could stop himself. He didn’t want to care, but he couldn’t not. “Mmm…” Grace whimpered, before choosing to lie to him. “I’m fine.” She didn’t expect comfort, so she wouldn’t show vulnerability. He couldn’t blame her. Sliding a fresh diaper beneath her, Pearce dusted on powder and taped it up without further commentary. He had escaped the diaper change without making himself vulnerable, he’d call that a win. (“There. Now let’s see if you can keep this one clean for more than thirty seconds.”) He bit down the teasing comment and said, “You’re clean. Do you need a refill on your bottle, or are you good for now?” “I’m…for now, I’m okay.” She was definitely hiding her feelings. Physical or emotional, Pearce couldn’t quite tell, but he knew there was something up. Maybe she’d had another plan, another scheme and it’d fallen apart without him even noticing. Either way, he could wash his hands of the business. Wrapping up the diaper in a trash bag, he did just that, scrubbing his hands in the sink, before heading back to his room and dumping the diaper in Grace’s pail. Diaper changes had been hard, lately, and Grace hadn’t made that last one any easier, even if she didn’t actually fuss or cause any problems. Leaning over his desk, Pearce tried to get his focus back. What had he been doing? (Right. Porn, but there was work, too.) He stared at his computer, already knowing he was about to lose an hour to nothing–his focus was shattered, and there were no pressing work deadlines to drag him back in. He tried to fight it, pulling up a couple client emails to direct his thoughts, but he was too aware of his own failings in focus to think he’d be able to power through when he was feeling this emotionally hazy. The door handle to Pearce’s room jiggled. He looked over–Grace was in the doorway. She was wearing a plain T-shirt and her patented, ‘I really want to ask for a diaper change but I know I’m not supposed to’ expression. Pearce frowned. He’d literally just changed her. She couldn’t have needed to go again that quickly, unless this was a stunt–she’d only half gone, and waited, so she’d need two changes. And while it wasn’t wet, her diaper definitely had the telltale sag of a dirty accident. He could delay. Strictly speaking, he had most of an hour before he needed to actually change her, but he stood anyway. “Do you need a change?” She nodded. “Er…yeah.” This time, he caught her stiff diffidence, the anxiety in her words. This was definitely a stunt, unless she had food poisoning. “Did you go all the way?” he asked, deciding to rule out the possibility of a stunt then and there. She shrugged, then screwed up her face in…discomfort? Embarrassment? Regret? He couldn’t quite tell, and he just barely caught her whimpered words. “I’m sorry.” “We’ll get you cleaned up.” He tried not to sigh too heavily as he marched past her, to the bathroom. Grace waddled meekly behind. If he didn’t like changing dirty diapers, she hated wearing them just as much–he just had to deal with the ick for a few minutes, she had to wear it. Laying her out on the floor for the second time in ten minutes, Pearce pulled out the changing supplies from the cabinet. Wipes. Powder. A fresh diaper. A trash bag, for the old one. Her stomach gurgled as he untaped her diaper, an angry, rumbly sound. And, though he didn’t particularly feel like playing CSI, he noted that things looked…not great in her diaper. This was less a solid mess and more a swampy mudslide. Maybe it was food poisoning. Pearce frowned. He’d had all the same food as her. He wiped her up, and he couldn’t help but ask again. “Grace, are you sure you’re not feeling sick?” “I’m not s-sick,” she said, making a squeaking sound in the middle of the last word. She was straight up pale. Something was wrong. “I’m going to make you tea after this.” He compromised with himself as he spoke. “Okay? Something to settle your stomach.” Her face registered another mixed, muddled emotion. Not disappointment, but maybe regret? Pearce had a guess why. He’d started showing affection again. (Dammit.) Even if it was only for her physical needs, he just couldn’t help himself, he wanted to take care of her, and that little sliver of comfort stuck out like a sore thumb. He had unintentionally reminded them both of a past relationship that was too painful to resume. Wipe. Clean. Move on. Don’t allow any tender lingering touches, no physical affection, the words were bad enough. He’d already poked his head out of the shelter, and if he showed any more vulnerability, he might as well get in a pickup truck and go driving after the tornado. She was messing with him again, right? Grace was nothing if not tricky, she loved her ploys and her schemes. Making her diaper leak so he’d take a penalty, or pretending to fuss over food so he’d dote on her, or taking advantage when his phone died, letting Pearce sleep through four work appointments so he’d resign from the bet– (Don’t mistake the damage for the intent. She wasn’t thinking about the work stuff, she just didn’t care. Don’t get close.) A fresh layer of powder, a fresh diaper, a definitive nod. “You’re clean.” He washed his hands, dumped the diaper, washed his hands again, and went down to make that tea. If this was a stunt, it had to be one taking advantage of circumstance. She really did seem sick–sweaty, uncomfortable, and it looked less like she’d used her diaper on purpose and more like it’d saved her from ill-timed diarrhea. (She couldn’t have given herself food poisoning, right?) He knew her. He knew what she looked like when she felt low and he knew what she looked like when she was up to something. Now, she looked both ways at once, and he couldn’t parse the difference or reasoning behind either. Crouching to go through his section of the kitchen’s cupboards, he pushed aside the fiber he’d purchased for Grace’s food, the jars of baby food, and a few other nasty surprises he’d planned for her. A jar of Grandma’s Turkey Dinner paste just seemed too mean for Grace, even if he had wanted to see her fuss and squirm when he spoonfed her, so he’d stuck to only serving fruit pastes and apple sauce. He made a mental note to find someplace to donate the baby food, since he’d stopped bothering to serve it to Grace. Soup or pizza or just a microwave dinner didn’t take any mental effort and didn’t open him up to banter. It was the third time he’d made the mental note, but maybe he’d actually act on it someday. Reaching for the herbal tea in the back of his cupboard, he paused. Pearce didn’t pride himself on being observant, but his section of the cupboard seemed off. Like someone had rifled through it, looking around. (Grace? But why would…she…) “Oh,” he said aloud, looking around a little harder, hoping he was wrong. It wasn’t there. Praying that he was just being paranoid, he closed the cupboard and walked to the trash can. “Grace,” he said, quietly, “Please, tell me you didn’t…” But she had. Buried under a few things, but easy enough to fish out, was the wrapper of a chocolate bar. Flipping it around, he read the back. Directions for use: Take two squares orally. Do not use more than eight squares in a twenty-four hour period. Stop and talk to your doctor if constipation is not relieved after twenty four hours. The laxative chocolate bar was gone. There’d been forty-eight squares there when it was new, and he’d never used a single one. That meant, unless Grace had just hidden them away somewhere… “Pearce…” He’d been so caught up with his discovery, he hadn’t heard Grace waddle up behind him. Turning, he saw her–diaper drooping, arms crossed over her chest, eyes wet. She sniffed, and when she winced again, he knew why–he could hear the cramp hit her from across the room. Doubling forward, Grace’s body made a few undignified sounds, and she looked away from him. Grace had poisoned herself. Maybe to make him forfeit after getting tired of the changes, maybe just so he’d have to spend time in a room with her, hands on her body, but he didn’t care about her motivations. She was hurting. He would help.

Chapter 29: Slipping Author’s note: Haven’t done one of these in a while! I realized that I criminally neglected giving Grace a stuffie at any point, so she has one that she got early on from Pearce to be her a crib companion. Despite his needling and teasing her about it, Grace won’t admit to having named the hedgehog. Brains. “I’ll see you later, okay?” Connor said. “I’ll call you after this meeting.” Brains hovered on the porch, fingers interlaced with his–boyfriend? Partner? The guy he was dating? He still hadn’t asked if they’d gotten to the point of labels yet, even after a month, and he didn’t know when it would be appropriate to ask. Still, he waited. He blushed, but needed to ask something else. “Erm. I can kiss you, right?” His boy-part-dating-guy laughed. (He’s got such a nice laugh.) “You’ve got such a nice laugh.” “You don’t need to ask every time,” Connor said, leaning in to press his lips on Brains. As always, Brains’ brains deadlocked, freezing up when their bodies came together. He half expected his hair to stand straight up and smoke to start coming out his ears like a cartoon, but no hijinks played out around his head, and after a moment, they separated. “But,” Connor continued, “I think it’s cute that you still do.” “I love you,” Brains blurted, before he could catch himself. (Agh, no, no, it’s too soon–) Connor’s smile deepened. “I love you too, Barry.” It still felt strange that Connor used Brains’ real name and not his social group moniker, but he’d gotten used to it. And– (He just said it back! He said it back!) A stupid grin spreading on his face, Brains leaned in and kissed his love. They held the embrace until they both needed air. Not wanting their romantic gesture to get Connor in trouble, Brains whispered, “Are you going to be late for your meeting?” “You really are just constantly thoughtful, aren’t you?” Connor smiled so warmly Brains wondered if he should apply sunscreen. “You’re right, though, I should rush. Wonderful afternoon, can’t wait to see you again, I love you–text me?” “Mhmm,” Brains said, in a daze. “Bye…” “If your head’s still in the clouds in four hours, talk to your doctor,” Connor quipped, turning to scurry down the front sidewalk to his car. Floating dreamily, Brains turned, hovering into his home. The state of euphoria lasted about three seconds, then he saw Grace. She was on the couch. Alone, wearing only a onesie and her diaper. Surrounded by a slight pee smell–nothing unusual for her of late, of course. Aside from all the normal, though, he could sense she was upset. If he could sense she was upset, then something was definitely wrong. Her eyes were red, and she had a runny nose, though if she’d been crying she must have suddenly decided to wipe off her face and stop just before he walked inside. Regardless, she needed him, so he left his giddy headspace and sat down to help a friend–she needed it, and even if it was a bit of a bummer, he didn’t mind. “Something wrong?” he asked, taking up the opposite side of the couch from her. She glanced over at him. He could see the thought playing in her head–she was asking herself, ‘Is it worth it to explain this to Brains’. He got that expression a lot. “Sorry,” Brains clarified. “I know something’s wrong. I’d like to know what it is, and if there’s any way I can help.” “Can you do magic?” Grace asked. Though he expected her question was hypothetical, he answered, “No, sorry.” “Do you have a million dollars?” He shrugged and shook his head. “I’ve got some money in savings, but not like, that kind of money.” Grace crossed her arms. “If I said I needed to borrow a hundred bucks, right now, no questions asked, would you give it to me?” Reaching for his phone, Brains scrolled, looking for his banking app. “Let me check my balance–” “Hypothetical, Brains, I’m not asking for money,” she said. (She just did, twice, but…okay, sure.) “I’d give it to you, if I had it,” he said. “Uh-huh. And what if I didn’t pay it back, and said I needed to borrow more?” That seemed like a good enough time for a joke–something to lighten the mood a little and make her feel better. “I’d ask what drug dealer you pissed off.” Her expression flattened, and she looked away. (Ah, beans. Wrong time for a joke.) “I’d give it to you,” he said again. “And maybe ask if you were in trouble, if you needed something else.” “Okay. How many times?” Grace asked. “How many times could I ask for help before you decided I wasn’t worth the expense and gave up?” He actually did check his balance, then, doing a little math. “I guess, five. Then I’d have to find something else to help you, because, like…If I lend you money and can’t make rent, I’m not exactly making things better, I’m just digging a new hole.” “Brains,” Grace said, “You’re not getting it.” “Yeah,” he agreed, trying not to express too much annoyance at her refusal to be direct. “I’m not. You don’t actually need money, so what are you actually asking for?” “I’m making a point,” Grace said, exasperated–Brains could tell by the way she threw her hands in the air for a moment. “There’s a certain point where, if someone asks for too much, you stop giving.” “Yeah,” Brains said, “Because I’d be out of money. If a friend asks for help, you help them–until you can’t, at least.” “No, it’s–You know what? Never mind. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.” Brains knew she was lying, but also doubted he could get her to open up and admit the truth. Shrugging, he got up. “Okay, well... Let me know if you do need any money, okay? I can–” Grace shot him a look that communicated, ‘Seriously?’ about as well as any body language could, and he nodded. “Right. Sorry. Bye.” … Melody. “Muah,” Melody half said, breaking off from the kiss before leaning in for two more. Tilly was a dream, a delight to hang out with, and an excellent kisser–she’d been an excellent way to spend a Friday evening. Melody got two more quick pecks in before finally pulling away for good. “Fantastic night,” Tilly said, checking her lipstick in the mirror and making a little pinkie-thumb phone gesture. “Call me?” “Absolutely,” Melody promised, getting out of the car. Tilly had dropped her in the alleyway out back, and Melody blew kisses at her most recent paramour until Tilly turned the corner, at which point she took out her phone, pulled up Tilly’s contact info, and erased it, strolling cheerfully to the back door. No second dates. No attachments. Attachments brought complications, and she didn’t want to mess up her life. Then again, she’d started to blow through the eligible dating pool in town… but that would be a problem for future Melody. Tonight, she just wanted simple relaxation. Instead, walking into the kitchen, she found Pearce. “Hey,” she said, walking past him to get to the fridge. She wanted a beer and something for a late snack. “Hey,” Pearce said, looking up from the dishes he’d been scrubbing. “Grabbing a drink?” “Yeah,” she said, grabbing the bottom shelf crap they always purchased–it didn’t matter about the taste, it was sixteen bucks for a twenty four pack. “Grab me one too?” he asked. “Sure.” Popping two tabs, she passed him one and sipped the other, giving him a slight side eye. He noticed, unfortunately. “Don’t worry, Grace is asleep. I’m off the clock until morning.” “Not what I was thinking,” Melody replied, throwing back her drink. If they were going to talk about this, she’d want a second beer. Lowering the can, she added, just in case, “Your bet isn’t my problem.” He considered, flicking suds off his hands to pick up the can and take a sip. “Mind if I make it yours, just for a minute? I’m not asking you to care, I just want your opinion.” “Ugh,” Melody said, rolling her eyes. He shrugged, turning back to the dishes. “Fine, I won’t–” “No, no, it’s fine, you just had to be polite and thoughtful and actually ask so now I can’t feel righteously pissy about it–and I’d been looking forward to feeling righteously pissy about it.” Melody admitted, setting aside the can and opening the fridge again. “Yeah, of course I can listen. What’s up?” “It’s complicated.” Pearce stopped and wiped his hands off, abandoning the dishes for a moment. “You know the whole blowup a few days ago?” “On Monday, right?” Melody grabbed a takeout box, peering inside–fried chicken, and still good. Perfect. “Only kinda, I steered clear of that whole mess.” “I’ll summarize, I guess,” Pearce said, taking another sip of his beer. “So–ugh, okay. It’s like…so, she and I–” Melody smirked, dumping chicken onto a microwave safe plate and popping it in. (Get to it, you’re almost there.) “We…” Pearce started. “On Saturday, we fucked.” He looked at her, waiting for the glimmer of recognition or surprise. Melody just shrugged. “Took you two long enough.” He blinked, and his look of surprise was enough for Melody to no longer regret the conversation. “You knew?” “I mean, duh,” Melody said. “You’re like–how do I put this? You two are a couple magnets. The only states you can exist in are repelled as far apart as you can get, or stuck together grinding all your bits together. Anything else is unstable and just going to fall apart as soon as the pressure goes away.” Turning slightly pink, Pearce avoided answering, buying time with another swig of his beer. “So, anyways–I left, to go sleep in my bed, and I forgot my phone. I didn’t wake up on time.” Melody winced. “Grace isn’t exactly a fan of things not sticking to schedule. You apologized, right?” “I’m not done,” Pearce continued. “So she wakes up, and she noticed I’m asleep, and she just didn’t do anything. She left me sleeping until almost five in the evening.” Wincing harder, Melody took her chicken out of the microwave. “Ouch. That’s a pretty harsh reaction.” “Still not done,” Pearce continued. “Oh, hell.” “So when I am awake, and trying to figure out what I’m going to do after I lost a whole day, she just won’t get off my back, insisting that I broke a ton of rules, and I need to pay penalties for each of them.” He sighed, draining his drink. “It was like four hundred bucks.” Melody whistled, returning to the fridge one last time and taking out two more beers. Extending one to Pearce, she waited. He initially didn’t take it, so she added, “Hey, you filled up the beer fund–at least get your money’s worth. That’s messed up, buddy.” He accepted the can, popped the top, and let the foam drip over his fingers. “Still not done.” (Seriously?) She widened her eyes, waiting for him to continue. He obliged, using the can to gesture. “So–I was mad, right? I was pissed, and she was pissed, and she wouldn’t leave me alone, so I said she’d broken a bunch of rules and put her in time out.” “Uh-huh.” Melody nodded. “So that’s when Brains texted me. Okay. Is that everything?” “I guess.” Pearce sighed, leaning hard against the counter, looking like a balloon that’d started to deflate. “So what do you need the opinion on?” Melody asked, sitting down to her microwaved dinner. “We’re–we’re bad for each other, right?” Pearce asked. “She’s… she’s so focused on winning this stupid bet, she did that. I don’t know what to say, like, she had so many opportunities to make it better, and she kept taking the low road, and–fucking hell, am I crazy here? Is that not unreasonable to do?” “Oh, no, she’s definitely unreasonable,” Melody agreed. “I’d point out that you’re still competing, though–hard to call her out too much when you won’t just walk away.” “Sure, but like…” Pearce looked away, sighing for a moment. “Sorry, words. Trying to think how to say this. Yeah, I’m being selfish–I don’t want to prove her right. I give up, she’ll never let me hear the end of it, and…” “And you can’t give her the satisfaction after she fucked you?” Melody raised an eyebrow. “Metaphorically. Not literally. Though, if you haven’t tried a strap–” “That’s not it,” Pearce said. “I just, I thought she was starting to actually like me, you know? That we could be friends. Like you said, with the whole magnet thing, I thought we were starting to stick, and then it turns out that when it’s a decision between forcing me to lose this stupid bet and showing me a tiny shred of decency after a mistake, she’d rather win the bet.” Melody whistled, but didn’t respond right away, busy chewing. Pearce gave her a slightly pleading look, hoping for validation of his feelings, but she didn’t give in until she’d swallowed–not because she needed to think about her opinion, she just didn’t like talking with her mouth full. “So what’ve you been doing?” she asked. “Since Monday.” “Treading water,” he admitted. “Or, not treading, I’ve been doing my job like a champ. She’s not going to catch me on any more rule breaks, not ever–I can’t give her more excuses to stab me in the back. I’m keeping her at an arm's length, not getting close again, because otherwise it’s like trying to hug sandpaper.” “Right.” Melody frowned to one side. “Look, you want my advice? Forfeit. Give up, walk away, let her have her internal victory, and then once it’s over, I’ll tell her to stop talking about it. Only way to get this over is to rip the band aid off once and for all.” “I can’t do that,” Pearce said. “Even if she’s not saying it out loud, it won’t feel like walking away, it’ll feel like losing.” Shrugging, Melody said, “Okay, whatever. Keep wiping her ass, if you want. But you seem miserable right now. You’re trying to stay emotionally distant from a person you interact with like fifty times a day. That’s not going to change unless you change it. Attachment sucks, so just walk away.” Pearce sighed, set down his beer, and turned back to the dishes. “Thanks, Mels.” “Welcome,” she said. “Anytime.” … Skip “Yes, yes, yes–” Skip’s smile spread across their face, pleasure building into a total climactic explosion, vibration pulsing up from their fingertips as their favorite toy seemed to celebrate with them. The haptic controllers on their Nintendo switch really helped with immersion–and they’d just achieved a new highscore, to boot! Removing their earbuds, they– Sob. (Oh no.) Grace was crying, and they’d be an awful friend if they didn’t go talk to her and see what was wrong. Or, well. Skip knew what was wrong. They needed to go talk to her anyways, and ask, and be told some half-truths from their friend, otherwise Skip’s conscience would eat away at them for a whole lot longer than the evening. Aside from their conscience, though, it was the right thing to do–even if Grace wouldn’t learn much from the conversation. Maybe. And if not today, someday–she was thickheaded when it came to emotions, but enough repetition would get to her eventually, and until then, well… Skip would just keep trying. Rolling out of bed, they fumbled for their cell phone, turned on the flashlight, and walked to their door. With blackout curtains, it didn’t matter if it was the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday–it may as well have been pitch black midnight, without a flashlight, they couldn’t see a thing. Swinging their door open, they followed the sound of sobs downstairs to the couch, arms wrapped around a plush hedgehog the size of a particularly poofy pillow. She looked up at Skip’s entrance, wiping her eyes. “Sorry, I thought–I didn’t think you were home.” “I was just doing some reading,” Skip lied. (Why do I do that? She doesn’t care that I play video games.) “I’ll be quieter,” Grace sniffed. “Sorry.” “No, don’t apologize,” Skip assured her. Since Grace was laying across the couch on her back, there wasn’t any good place for them to sit, so they crossed their legs and plopped down next to her. “What’s wrong?” “It’s dumb,” Grace insisted, looking down at the hedgehog. Her expression turned just a touch embarrassed, and she tossed it to the side. It bounced off the coffee table, rolling onto the floor beside her. She winced, glanced at Skip as though to see if they’d notice, and sheepishly picked the plush back up and set it off to her side. “It’s not. You’re upset, you need to feel your feelings and process, otherwise you’re not going to feel any better,” Skip pointed out. “Just talk to me, okay?” “It’s Pearce. I messed it up, I messed it up bad, and–” swallowing, she said, “And now I can’t fix it back the way it was.” Pursing their lips, Skip said, “I don’t know if that’s true. What happened?” Staring at the ceiling, Grace took a few breaths before explaining. “He stopped caring. I asked for too much, and…” Tears started welling up. “He realized I’m too much, and…” Sobs, but good sobs. The sobs of processing, of finding herself and figuring out what she needed. Skip didn’t believe there was such a thing as bad crying, not unless you didn’t have anyone there with you to make things OK. Once the crying had lowered, Skip promised, “You’re not too much.” Grace took her plush and squeezed it tightly, pinning the hedgehog against her as though it might try and escape. “I am to him.” “Really?” Skip asked. “Has he said that?” “Basically.” Glancing at Skip, she opened her mouth, then looked away. “Can I tell you something stupid?” Skip shrugged. “You can tell me something, I don’t believe it will be stupid.” “I named the hedgehog,” Grace said, looking at the plushie on her chest. Smiling, Skip said, “That’s not stu–” “I named him John.” Skip blinked. “John. That’s Pearce’s–” “We don’t ever call him that,” Grace shot back. “He’s just Pearce, he’s only ‘John’ when he has to sign checks, so it’s not even really like I–” “Grace,” Skip said, reaching out to touch her arm. “You need to do something. You clearly care about him, and just waiting around isn’t helping.” “I tried!” Grace said. “I talked to him–twice. He shot me down. He’s not interested; as long as he has to keep being in charge of me, keep caring for me, he’s not going to be interested.” Skip frowned. “So quit.” “And make him think I don’t care?” Grace sat up, recoiling at the idea. “That I want him to stop?” (Stop…making you wear diapers?) Skip wondered. “I don’t know what you have to do, but like… come on. Either do something or walk away. You’re not going to be happy until this is over, not if you’re constantly having to rely on a guy you’re this hung up on.” Grace wiped her eyes and shook her head. “How can I make him stay with me when he won’t even stay for more than a conversation? Literally the only time he gives me attention is when he’s changing my diapers.” “I don’t know.” Skip stood. “I hope you can figure that out.” Looking up at them, a light flickered in Grace’s eyes, and she said, “Actually…I think I might have an idea.” ... Read ahead on Patreon, and help support the author at the same time! It's a win win! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Chapter 28: Opinions Changed Grace had heard that time heals all things, but if that was the case, she didn’t have the patience for the cure. Pearce had taken her lesson to heart, finally acknowledging the responsibility it took to care for someone else. Over the past two days, he’d been meticulous, always early for meals, always getting her up on time, Johnny on the spot for diaper changes. He’d stopped pretending that he could casually laugh his way through this. Grace had proven her point. And she knew Pearce had learned something else, too: Dependence breeds resentment. He could talk a big game, say that he didn’t think of her as a burden, claim it’s all ‘Just part of life’, but as soon as he got hit with reality, his song had changed. He could enjoy Grace’s company, or he could dependably care for her needs, but he couldn’t do both. Grace just wished she wasn’t right all the time. There’d been no affection. Barely a joke. Diaper changes were done with all the intimacy of a janitor cleaning toilets. She wanted to scream at him: (If you hate me this much, just give up. Walk away from the bet. Stop treating me as a dependent so we can be friends again.) But Pearce was stubborn, and, unfortunately, he had more discipline than she’d given him credit for. He wouldn’t be forfeiting anytime soon. And if she forfeit, she’d be admitting something that she didn’t want Pearce to have any place in her life, be it reluctant caretaker or confidant and benefits-friend. She couldn’t wait on him, and she couldn’t walk away either, not if she wanted him back. There was only one tool left in her arsenal, one surefire way to get any man’s interest back. Her plan didn’t take much thought. She waited until they had the house to themselves: Skip was at work, Melody was on a date, Brains was–surprisingly–also on a date. (Good for him.) They had privacy. If she had full control, she’d dress up in something particularly sultry, but obviously it wouldn’t do much good to ask Pearce to change her clothes, he’d know something was up. She could make it work with just a T-shirt and diaper, though–it gave her room to work. Trying to talk to him just anywhere would be a no-go, however. She had to wait until she had his undivided attention, until he couldn’t simply walk away from what she had to say. Biding her time, she waited until he came into her room around eight in the evening. Setting a bottle of water on her desk, he leaned over and gave the front of her diaper a squeeze. He came to the conclusion she’d hoped for. “Seems like you need a change. Come on.” Taking her hand, he pulled her out of her desk chair. It was the closest skin contact they’d had lately–a good sign, or perhaps just an indication he didn’t care much about the act of touching either way. While he led her, she worked towards her goal. “Hey, Pearce?” Pausing in the bathroom doorway, he glanced back at her. “Yeah? What’s up?” She pulled down on the edge of her shirt ever-so-slightly and bit her lip while he led her inside the room and helped her onto the floor. She gave him her best ‘Cute and helpless’ eyes, too. Laying it on thick, maybe, but Pearce sometimes needed her to be direct. Trying to catch his gaze, she made her pitch. “I was wondering… do you want some company tonight?” He shrugged, taking a fresh diaper out of the bathroom cabinet, along with a new box of wipes. Fiddling with it, he got his nails under the plastic seal and peeled it open, never sparing her a second glance. “No thanks, I’ve still got some work to do once this is done.” Not an outright rejection, at least, though she didn’t like that her charms had to compete with a plastic sticker on a pack of butt wipes. Pushing to be more direct, she clarified. “I don’t just mean hanging out.” “I don’t want to watch a movie.” Still shutting her down indirectly, Pearce unfolded the new diaper, bending it over his knee to fluff it up a bit. With everything ready to go, then, he finally reached for her old, soggy diaper. (Don’t chicken out,) Grace thought, waiting until she was untaped and exposed, naked from the waist down. (See if he can say no to this.) “Let’s have some real fun tonight, okay?” Pulling off her shirt, she exposed her chest, watching carefully to see if Pearce’s gaze would move from her thighs to her breasts. Of course it did–he couldn’t resist the sight of a beautiful, naked girl exposing herself beneath him. She set the garment aside on the floor, scooting on her back towards him, to wrap her legs around him and– Pearce stood and stepped away from her, stepping around the bathroom so he could pick up her shirt. “Grace.” He lifted her top, crouching and holding it up, waiting for her to raise her arms. “You’re not supposed to change your outfit.” Grace recoiled as though struck. (Seriously?) She shook her head. “Pearce. I’m not here to argue about a crappy tee.” He didn’t lower the shirt. “Pearce,” Grace repeated. “You’re the one insisting we follow the rules to the letter.” Pearce glanced away for a moment, inhaling heavily through his nose–halfway to a sigh of frustration. “So if you want to talk, put this back on, because you’re not going to get what you want sitting in time out.” It was an attempt to protect her. It had to be. He wanted her, but he wanted to follow the rules. Hence his frustration–he didn’t like this any more than Grace, but he wanted to live up to her expectations. She could accept that, even as the thought sent a pulse of insecurity into her brain. Grace mimicked his breath–in through the nose, out through the mouth. Releasing her frustrations into the air, she complied with his instructions and raised her arms. Pearce pulled the shirt back over her head. Once ‘properly dressed’, she looked up at Pearce, demanding his attention with her eyes. She had to get to the point, to explain that she didn’t mind a little slack if it meant having Pearce back. Not the to-the-letter-but-not-the-spirit boring Pearce she’d had the past couple days, and not the lazy, inattentive slacker from before the bet, but her Pearce. The Pearce who went out of his way to make every outfit an event, even the repeats, fussing over her to get it perfect–perfectly humiliating, but perfect nonetheless. The Pearce who could go from silly to charming like a light switch flip, who made her laugh more than anyone else she could remember. The Pearce who sat her down and told her in no uncertain terms that he’d never stop caring for her no matter how much of a burden she represented. The Pearce who she had fallen in– (Just tell him what you’re offering,) Grace thought, as he knelt between her naked thighs for the second time. She took a breath. “So, we’d agreed that ‘Friends with benefits’ was the right term. Do you want to try out some of those benefits?” There it was, in plain terms. Even if Pearce had realized that casual time with Grace was too much of a burden, that his babysitting duties turned all their interactions into tedious chores, he couldn’t turn down an offer like that. No babysitting stuff, no chores, no burden, just an invitation to fuck. Pearce hesitated. He pursed his lips as he wiped down her skin–she knew him well enough to tell when he was using busywork as an excuse to think. (What’s taking him so long? There’s nothing to think about, just–just answer. Please.) Pearce tossed a wad of baby wipes in the trash, then spoke slowly, still constructing the sentence in his thoughts. “Grace.” She didn’t need to hear the rest. She knew a ‘No’ when it slapped her in the face. She could have kept her mouth shut, handled her own shit, never asked for anything that imposed. Instead, she’d tried to get Pearce to prioritize her, and she’d broken it all. “The last time we slept together,” Pearce continued, dusting down her front with powder, using the action as an excuse to avoid eye contact. “We broke a dozen rules between us, caused a bunch of problems for our jobs, and I cleared out my savings to pay for penalties with the bet.” “Well we won’t get that elaborate this time,” Grace grasped at straws, trying desperately to make her pitch work. “It doesn’t have to be a marathon session, we can just roll around a bit.” Pearce pursed his lips and set aside the bottle, finally looking at her for just long enough to point out the distinct lack of appeal in her offer. “So we’ll have abridged sex?” “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Grace fumbled for words. “Pearce–I want you.” Sighing, Pearce shook his head. “Do you? Really? Or do you want to be in charge of me?” Grace blinked, caught at a loss for words. He slid a diaper beneath her hips. Time was running out. “This bet cuts two ways.” Pearce said, barely adjusting the diaper before pushing each sticky tape down, sealing them down with four quick, sharp motions. “You wanted to be right? Prove I can’t be responsible? Look at me now. I’m being responsible. But don’t forget the other half. Whether or not you can give up control. Whether you can follow someone else’s judgment. For someone who’s supposedly being cared for, you’ve been making a lot of decisions.” Shaking her head, Grace tried to offer a defense. “I’m just–you weren’t doing what you’re supposed to!” “Sure.” He leaned away, turning to hide his face–nominally, so he could get up and wash his hands, but he hadn’t put away the wipes or the powder yet, and any other night, he’d do that before standing. “Whatever. Maybe I wasn’t, but I am now, and you’re still asking for more control. Deciding which rules we can handwave because it’s inconvenient for you, telling me what you want, not accepting ‘no’ for an answer.” Breath quavering, Grace sat forward, talking to his back. “Well…I… You never said no.” “I’m saying it right now.” His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, the only sound was water splashing over his fingers. “We tried the friends with benefits thing. It blew up and left us both in a shit position, and for as long as I’m supposed to be in charge of you, the problems that came up aren’t going to go away.” Grace nodded. Her face felt numb, blank, like she couldn’t summon the expressions she wanted. “I’m not mad at you, Grace.” Pearce turned off the water. “I just can’t juggle all these roles like you want me to, there’s not enough of me to go around.” “I get it,” Grace said, forcing her head to nod a few times. “It’s fine.” She’d asked for too much. She’d asked for care and affection at the same time, and one had strangled the other. “I need to finish this work,” Pearce insisted, drying off his hands on the towel. “Is there anything else you need from me?” Grace shook her head. He crouched, taking the powder and wipes off the floor so he could toss them in the cabinet. She got a glimpse of his eyes, just for a second. They’d gone red in the past few moments since he’d turned his back, shimmering ever so slightly in the light. She was out of ideas, out of plans. Pearce had turned her down completely. He’d already begun mourning the impossibility of their friendship when he accepted her as nothing but a list of chores. Now Grace could see his thoughts clearly: He’d given up. She’d been right all along. ... You know the pitch. Support is always appreciated. Thanks for being an awesome reader and coming along this story with me. More to come soon. ❤️ https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling