PeculiarChangeling

Chapter 16 I've been really bad about posting updates for this - Updates coming soon! ... The Archipelagon stood as a testament to, if nothing else, the sheer wealth of nobility. Neither an archipelago, nor a paragon of anything besides opulence, it nonetheless stood proud as the most ostentatious structure for a thousand miles in any direction. A shrine to Abadar, geometrically perfect, a hexagon wall around a circular temple. At a glance, Sandra could not identify the material it’d been made of–or perhaps, coated in. It seemed the whole structure had been painted a perfect, pearly white. “I don’t get it,” Quinn said, setting down Tarja for a moment and scratching his chin as they came over a ridge, into view of the Archipelagon. “What don’t you get?” Tarja asked, shaky on her feet. As bad as her dexterity drain had grown, she had been having trouble walking and even standing, but she could wobble for a bit on her own when Quinn needed a break from carrying her. “It’s a temple.” Quinn shrugged. “Well, for the ‘God of walls and ditches’, I expected…I don’t know.” “More ditches?” Hadrian chuckled, stretching his back. “Less walking?” “The owner said he’d give an audience to anyone who makes a pilgrimage to see the place,” Sandra said. “Pilgrimage means walking. As for the ditches…Eh. Abadar rules over other stuff. More to the point, all the real temples–sorry, all of the tithe-funded temples restrict access to their inner sanctums, and none of us are priests. So we’re going to play the game just long enough to have this chat.” “Pilgrims can have horses,” Hadrian said, kneeling to rub at the back of his legs, through a layer of latex. “My calves are killing me.” Sandra shook her head. Hadrian was just venting, they all knew why they were here. They’d drawn the attention of the gods, and all of them wanted to know what was going on. Priests could sometimes be persuaded to relay messages, but in this case, they needed a divine chat, and the nearest likely candidate was here. The Archipelagon. A structure built and funded by a politician-slash-businesswoman with far, far too much money on her hands. After a bit of soul searching, Sandra had proposed they needed more information. They’d been playing catch-up and fighting blind for too long. Making guesses and running fetch-quests to patch over the last mistake. The time had come to find a god and get some answers. “Let’s rest a minute,” Quinn said. “I need a little break.” Hadrian exhaled sharply through his nostrils, not quite a laugh. “Really?” Quinn almost let his request die, then straightened and shook his head. “Yeah, really. I’m tired. I need a break, or for someone else to carry Tarja.” Blinking, Hadrian said, “Oh, I–sorry. I’m just so used to you being Muscle Man, I wasn’t thinking about that.” “It’s fine,” Quinn said, moving to the edge of the road and sitting down. “It’s not so much the weight as the awkwardness–I’m as strong as ever, but it’s hard to hold a good grip and keep balance when she’s twice my size, and I’ve got to take twice as many steps as the rest of you.” “I–” Tarja said, a little pink. “I could walk on my own for a bit.” Sandra blushed sympathetically. Even though it allowed Tarja to bypass the dexterity drain she’d been cursed with, the side effect was humiliating: If Tarja wanted to walk, she had to choose to wet herself. Even with the option to put on a diaper beneath her cursed onesie, it was almost worse than simply having her potty training erased. “If you’re okay with that,” Sandra said. Tarja’s arms straightened, hands tightening into balls, and her blush deepened bright red. Nobody commented on the process, just waiting until the changeling relaxed, no longer wobbly or unstable in the slightest. “Let’s get a move-on then,” Sandra said, offering a hand to Quinn. He was remarkably light in his reduced form, and she added with a chuckle, “I could carry you for a bit, if you want.” He took the comment as intended: As a lighthearted joke disguising a genuine offer for help. Smiling, he shook his head. “I’m alright. Thanks.” The remaining mile to the Archipeligon went quickly. Ivory gates loomed, a large key embossed in stark relief, ensuring nobody with even a passing knowledge of religion or the arcane could miss the purpose of this temple. The four of them staggered up, dusty, dirty, riddled with magical curses that rendered each almost as laughable as the next–save for Sandra, who’d been purged of her curses and stood almost back at her normal self. Almost. With a shudder, the gates opened, slow and imposing. Sandra could make out the faint glow of a magical mechanism beneath them, turning the cogs that moved the huge alabaster-white gates. As the gates open, a short, slender halfling woman outfitted in a tailored suit of crimson and pale green fabric, raised her hands up to her sides in a gesture of greeting. Sandra knelt, and taking her lead, the others did as well. “Archbanker Blackdown.” “Please,” Praye Blackdown said, spreading her arms genially. “I’m merely a humble servant of Abadar, I’ve got no claim to the title of Archbanker.” “This is your temple, isn’t it?” Tarja asked, glancing up at her. “I built it with the wealth I’ve earned under Abadar’s grace, but I’m no cleric,” Blackdown explained. “Come in, I received your message, and we’ve much to discuss. Will you be changing into supplicant’s clothes now that you’re off the road?” Sandra looked over the party. Hadrian didn’t have anything on over his latex bodysuit–as he’d explained, it was hot and stifling enough without adding extra layers. Tarja’s onesie was covered by her normal travel clothes and armor, and the bulge of her diaper was mostly hidden unless one knew what to look for. Quinn had stayed armored on the road–meaning he had on his pink, ruffled dress full of petticoats. And finally, Sandra had worn her typical armor, with the addition of the tail she’d acquired in the dream realm, and… It didn’t particularly matter. “We didn’t bring any supplicant’s clothes, unless you have something for us to change into,” she said. “This is, generally, what we wear when working.” Blackdown’s smirk carried subtle condescension, but she didn’t comment on it aloud. “Well, come in.” They approached through the huge gate, so tall that the whole party could have stood on each other’s shoulders and not reached the top, and the enormous doors crept closed behind them. “Explain to me why you’re here,” Praye Blackdown instructed, as they walked across a wide, sandy courtyard separating the outer walls from the inner structure, a boxy white temple made of the same matter as the walls. Crates and carts full of trade goods were stacked out in the courtyard, and off to the right Sandra saw stables being worked by experienced animal handlers. This wasn’t just a temple, then, but a place of business as well. Or, perhaps, the business conducted was a part of the temple’s nature. The god of Merchants would have a place for mercantilism to be conducted in his home, it only made sense. “What do you need to know?” Sandra asked. “We explained as much as we could in the letter we sent ahead.” “I know what I need to know,” Praye countered. “I want to hear your pitch. Sell it to me.” “Oh.” Sandra started. “Well, we’re here because we need to speak with the gods, or at least one of them, to figure out if they’re willing to help us–” “I’m sorry,” Praye said, as a smaller door to the inner temple opened up, pushed by an unseen bit of magic. “Were my instructions unclear? Tell me where I lost you.” “You wanted me to explain why we’re here, right?” Sandra asked, following her inside. Within the doors, she paused, stiffening as she looked around. The interior was all pearly white, same as the exterior, lit by gilded sconces shedding magical light, but had the layout of a place of business–with space for secretaries and middle management to do bookkeeping. “I told you to sell it to me,” Praye Blackdown explained. “I don’t care what you want, unless it offers some benefit for me.” “Ah–” Sandra said, distracted, trying to repitch the idea in her mind as they were led deeper into the temple, past the desks and filing cabinets. “Well, if things go well, we could stop the Wizard of Paraphilia, and stopping him is good for everyone. Yourself included.” “Hmm,” Blackdown considered, leading them finally to a side hallway. “Work on it, and do better when we speak tonight. For now, your lodging can be here–I strongly advise you to make use of the showers at the end of the hall, but the beds and rooms are yours to rest in.” Off guard by the sudden dismissal, Sandra didn’t know what to say until Praye Blackdown was already five steps away. “Why tonight?” “Because I prefer to conduct business over supper,” Blackdown explained. “I’ll have a servant come fetch you when dinner is ready.” And with that, she left, dismissing the party and the conversation without another thought. “I don’t like her,” Hadrian said, quietly, as they walked into the lodging–little more than a barracks, albeit one with fine silk sheets and pillowy blankets on down mattresses. “The gods want to speak to us,” Quinn said. “Does it really matter that we didn’t bring the right robes, or whatever?” “Be polite,” Sandra warned. “She still has the right to refuse us entry to the inner sanctum, and without access, we can’t talk to Abadar.” “I can play politics,” Hadrian promised. “But I’m not going to hold my tongue when she’s not even around to hear me.” Tarja collapsed onto one of the beds, her legs buckling out from under her as they entered–her curse reinstated in full force once again. “What’s our backup plan if we aren’t allowed in?” “We don’t really have one,” Sandra admitted. “It’s this, or we find another religious site not overseen by a priesthood, or else one of us will need to be inducted as a cleric somewhere so we can access a real holy site. Both of those options could take months or years, so I really don’t want to screw this up.” “Serendipity is looking into the possibility of talking to Calistria at an orgy,” Hadrian added. “But it’d need to be…intense, for there to be a chance that it works.” “Like I said,” Sandra repeated. “I really don’t want to screw this up. We just need Praye to let us into the inner sanctum, then we’ll be home free.” “Well, in the meantime,” Hadrian said, rubbing at the back of his legs, “I’m not going to say no to some rest and a shower. My calves are killing me.” Sandra nodded, gesturing with her head towards the bathroom. “Good call. Anyone mind if I go first?” At the lack of objections, she ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door and taking a breath. She was filthy from traveling. Heat meant sweat, and sweat and dust had caked her in a fine film of grime, but more than that she needed a change. Checking her trousers, she breathed a sigh of relief. Though she had leaked, the wet spot around the leg gathers was barely noticeable, almost certainly overlooked by Praye and the party. She needed to get better about that. Though she’d been freed of the cursed diaper and clothing, that freedom hadn’t been perfect. Though no longer trapped in a diaper, her potty training hadn’t returned, and a private conversation with a Calistrian healer had confirmed her fears–she’d need to work to get that control back the old fashioned way. And, another hiccup–she no longer had a magical, self-cleaning diaper. She’d had to learn to change herself, and more importantly, to check her diaper regularly to make sure she wouldn’t leak. By the wet crescent-moon shapes on the inside of her pants, that diligence needed work. She’d almost considered putting the cursed diaper back on, since she was stuck with the incontinence anyways, but disregarded the idea as impulsive. It might take a while, but her potty training would return, with practice and diligence. For now, she stripped herself naked and stepped into the shower. Her tail still hung between her legs–the counterspell designed to undo the Wizard’s curses had been fine tuned and specific to a certain frequency of magic, and any efforts to undo dream magic would need to be just as specific on an entirely different frequency. Still, she’d almost grown not to mind it. Unlike the humiliating curses from the Wizard, this felt almost more like…a gift, perhaps, if not one she’d have asked for. There was no malice behind it. Cleansing herself with hot water and fancy soap, Sandra dried herself off with a towel, then went about cleaning her clothes up with judicious prestidigitation. She’d found that the cantrip couldn’t quite clean a diaper while she wore it, but rinsed off and wrung out, the magic refreshed it to like-new. The leak stains vanished from her pants, and the dust melted off her clothes, leaving her clean and as professional as she could manage. It’d be good enough for Abadar, she expected–he’d already taken an interest in her activities. She just hoped it’d be good enough for Praye Blackdown as well. Returning to the room, she let Tarja go with Quinn to take the next turn in the bathroom, and for her free time she went with a nap for herself. Hadrian was right, the trip had been exhausting, and a little rest would do her good. “Sandra?” Quinn asked, nudging her arm. She sat up, surprised. “Huh?” She didn’t recall falling asleep, but she hadn’t heard Quinn or Tarja return, so she knew she must have dozed off. “Is it time for supper?” “No, but you were twitching,” Quinn said. “A nightmare, I’d guess.” “I don’t remember anything,” Sandra said, though she still felt a prickle of adrenaline, as though she’d been wary of a fight about to break out. The party had gotten ‘cleaned up’ as it were; similarly washing away the dirt and grime, cleaning up their clothes. Quinn at least looked less frilly, having removed his armor in exchange for simple traveling clothes, though he was still as busty as he was short. Tarja’s onesie was concealed, though the slight bulge of her diaper was not, and there was little Hadrian could do about his latex bodysuit save for wearing a fetching jacket overtop of it. Sandra stood and stretched, as much to untangle her muscles as her mind. She felt nervous for no reason she could pin down, save for the apparent nightmare she couldn’t recall. While she did that, a knock came at the door. Hadrian answered it, and a servant in a nicely tailored suit cleared his throat. “I’ve been sent to show you to the dining hall.” “Alright,” Sandra said, steeling herself for their greatest challenge yet: an awkward dinner. “Let’s do this.” … Dinner was served at a table of comical proportions. Long enough to seat thirty people, barely wide enough for one person to sit at either end, in a marble hall of equally grandiose design. Sandra briefly considered taking the bait and sitting at the far end, across from Praye Blackdown, but shouting through their conversation felt ill-advised, so she instead sat on Praye’s righthand side. Another complication presented itself: Praye had built this dining hall with her own body type in mind, and nobody else’s. The chairs were awkwardly short, with a table to match, and uncomfortably narrow, so that Sandra’s thighs were pressed up against the armrests. Quinn was right at home in his shrunken down body, but the rest of them sat awkwardly, legs bumping up against the underside of the table across from Tarja. Hadrian, unable to bend his legs quite far enough, just pulled the chair away and sat on the ground. Well-dressed servants poured wine into delicate glass flutes, while the first course, some kind of brothy soup, was laid out. “Did you work on your pitch while you rested?” Praye inquired, swirling her wine. “I gave it some thought,” Sandra said. It wasn’t totally a lie–she had considered it, at least. “The gods have already expressed interest in speaking with us. We know they’re watching. Were you to deny us access, you’d be risking the ire of several powerful deities.” Nodding, Praye’s lips played up in a slight smile. “That’s better, I suppose. But have you considered the alternative?” “What alternative?” Sandra asked, knees bumping against the bottom of the table as she tried to shift to get comfortable. “That, should you insult the gods with your presence, I could draw their ire for allowing you into my sanctum,” Praye explained. “So what assurances do I have that you’re going to perform well?” Sandra seethed, and she heard Hadrian’s latex clothes squeak as he shifted in annoyance. Before he could say anything cutting, she said, “We’ve gone up against the Wizard before and bloodied his nose, and come away from it alive and whole. He’s pursued us and been held off. Our information about his magic is greater than anything anyone else in the realm has learned. Who else do you know that can make such a claim?” Praye’s smile never quite reached her eyes, but she nodded. “Tell me of your pilgrimage.” As servants brought out the main course–roasted meat in an expensive-smelling sauce–Sandra fought back frustration. Though she couldn’t prove it, she knew in her belly that Praye had already decided what she would do, and this whole conversation was a show for her entertainment. “We walked here, on foot, as per your request,” she explained. “As we already established, we don’t have any other robes or fancy clothing.” “Have you thought about where you might acquire such clothing?” Praye asked, tilting her head. Quinn made a small sound. Dammit. “Something to add?” Praye Blackdown asked. “Where would we?” Quinn said, bluntly. “Unless you’re offering to give us some.” “Certainly not,” Praye said. “Though, if you’d be interested in buying robes from me, that could be arranged.” “Sa–” Hadrian started. Sandra bumped him with her leg. “We’re fine, thank you,” Sandra insisted, drawing the conversation to a rather harsh conclusion before anyone else could blow it. “We just need to use your sanctum. Please. I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with this test, but the gods have already shown that they’re interested in us. We’ve shown we can handle it. Give us leave, or don’t, but don’t bar us because we can’t play word games as well as you.” Praye tilted her head back in a slight nod. “As you wish, then.” Getting to her feet, Blackdown strode across the room, down the length of the table, and out the far door. That left the four of them alone, for a moment, uncertain where to go. “So, what happened to ‘be polite’?” Hadrian asked. Tarja chimed in, “Sandra, that was brash, you have to admit.” “She wasn’t going to let us win in the verbal sparring,” Sandra said. “I wanted to end the bout on our terms. And besides, we know Abadar wants to speak to us.” “Do you? Or was that an assumption made on incomplete information?” The voice that interjected was deep, and not particularly bothered, but also carried with it a sharp edge. It made Sandra think of her father, except that the subtleties in the tone were far deeper than any mortal. She looked down the length of the table. Fifty feet down at the far end, in the seat across from where Praye had been, sat a handsome man who appeared to be in his fifties, dressed in robes and armor of crimson and deep brass. Sandra faced him. “Lord Abadar.” “Sandra Cassidy,” Abadar replied. Though some forty feet down the table, his voice carried clearly. “You asked for this audience. Speak your piece.” Sandra didn’t allow herself to gawk, and cut simply and directly to the point. “We need something to allow us to defeat the wizard. He plans to make a new school of magic–and you know those plans could wreak havoc on the realms of mortals and gods alike if nobody stops him, and it’s clear you have a plan for us, so let’s lay it out. Hadrian can tell you what he’s learned of the wizard’s magic, and we can tell you everything we know about his tactics. What do you want us to do, and what can you give us?” He nodded his head. “And the reason you’re asking this of me?” “Because…” Sandra started. “Well, simply, because we could. And we couldn’t get to anyone else easily.” “Do you know the impact on trade and business that a new school of magic would cause?” Abadar asked. Sandra didn’t, precisely, but she took a guess. “It’d throw things into chaos.” “In what way?” Abadar inquired. “Specifically.” “I suppose–” Sandra started. “I’m not going to help you,” Abadar said, simply. “But, as a courtesy to my peers who would see you succeed, I will explain why.” Sandra swallowed. “Why did you–” “I did not request this conversation,” Abadar said. “We took note of your activities because you are acting against powerful forces, but notice is not the same as approval. Let me be clear, Sandra: Your goals are not in question here. Your ability to carry out those goals is.” “That’s why we need power,” Hadrian cut in. “Something you–or any god–can give us to even the scales. Surely–” His pacifier plopped into place between his lips, cutting him off. Abadar’s eyes narrowed. “You will allow me to speak.” “Did you–” Sandra started, glancing between Hadrian and Abadar. “You can control his curse?” He nodded slightly, approving of the question. “In a fashion. Magic is the lifeblood of all divinity. It shapes us, and in turn we control it. Now, may I continue?” Sandra kept quiet. She understood the implied, ‘If you interrupt again, I won’t be so polite.’ “You’ve only persisted this long due to a stroke of cosmic luck.” Abadar continued flatly. “You’ve shown cleverness, and tenacity, but cleverness and tenacity are not the only traits one needs when up against the wizard. Do you know why you’ve managed to survive against him so far?” “Why?” Sandra asked, vocalizing the hypothetical. “Because you’ve caught him by surprise, and you’re not worth his time.” Abadar let that statement hang in the air for a beat before he continued, speaking like a student to a child. “The Wizard of Paraphilia has amassed great power, and wrapped himself in defensive magic the likes of which you could hardly fathom. He is not incapable of destroying you, you’ve only found yourself in a position of being just strong enough that it’d be an inconvenience for him to do so. And were I to give you power–a boon, so you might go face him directly–he would suddenly find that inconvenience worth it.” “So get us more boons,” Sandra said. “So we can stop him for good. His power isn’t infinite.” “You are not the only mortal champions in the world,” Abadar countered. “Were it in my interest to face strength with raw strength, and simply overpower the wizard, I’d pick a paragon whose strength already rivals the wizard’s. That isn’t in my interest. The more power we bring into the mortal realm, the more we stir up trouble–we want the wizard defeated, yes, but not if his defeat brings forth greater danger.” “Hey now,” Quinn said. “We’ve kicked him where the sun don’t shine once before, we can catch him by surprise again. You’re acting like you’d have to bring in the full power of your divine strength to stop him for–” “Mmm,” Abadar raised a hand, and Quinn simply fell silent. “Please remember that my presence here is a courtesy. Waste my time again, and I will not hesitate to give up that courtesy.” “May I ask a question?” Tarja asked, quietly. He nodded. “You may.” “Would you?” she asked, quietly. It took Sandra a moment to jump back a few moments and recognize what Tarja was asking, but Abadar answered immediately. “It would take more power than I could bring into the plane without fracturing it beyond recognition. The wizard has found ways to tap into primordial powers, the powers he needs to enact his plans, and matching force with force has ceased to be an option. Though we might lend you much strength, it will take more than strength to beat him.” Sandra exhaled. “So what do you want from us?” “Nothing. You’re not the champions I’ve chosen,” Abadar explained. “We are watching, but that is all–we have observed your quests, and your failures, and the way you operate, and we are simply unimpressed.” He let a moment pass, for an objection. Sandra didn’t answer; He was going to explain regardless of what she said. “You have had only one moment of triumph over the wizard, and then only fleeting,” Abadar explained. “Your first meeting with traps he had left behind, you were soundly humiliated. Your second, you could hardly protect your charge from his curses. Every moment of your lives has been spent cleaning up from him, scraping by to undo a little of his damage. Only once, with careful preparation and clever trickery, were you able to face him as peers and get away, but that cost you more dearly than any other encounter, before or since. “To put it simply and plainly, you do not have the focus, the clarity, the presence and planning to be entrusted with our power. You are reactive. Your ability to handle threats as they arise is impressive given your inexperience, but that is all that it is–handling threats as they arise, taking your lumps, limping along weaker than before. Even now, before me, you are demonstrating your inability to think ahead past your next fight.” He let his words end for a moment, staring quietly at her. “I don’t understand,” Sandra said, when it seemed that he was leaving an opening to reply without incurring his wrath. “What did we miss?” “My favored supplicant tried to aid you,” he explained. “To give you guidance. She wouldn’t simply tell you the best way to speak to me, what I expect of any who demand my presence so brashly, but she tried. You ignored her.” He stood up from the seat, and though he only stood at the height of an above-average human, his presence grew imatterially, until he took up all the space in the room with the weight of his words. “You though yourselves so important that you could demand an audience with me, in hastily washed traveler’s garb. You brought no offering. You ignored her suggestions. You burned a relic from my domain–in case you thought I didn’t know about your abuse of the ledger you stole. You presumed to know what I would do, and never once considered that I might give an answer you didn’t want to hear.” Sandra had no response, or no good one. She shook her head. “So what are you going to do about the Wizard? Pick another group of champions?” “That,” he said sharply, and the anger in his tone shone clear. “Is none of your concern. Step carefully, Sandra Cassidy, and should you demand an audience with me again, first know that my courtesy has met its limits.” With a gout of golden fire, he vanished, leaving the room empty. Quinn gasped as his voice returned to him, the powers of speech restored with Abadar’s departure. Hadrian, less lucky, needed Sandra’s help to remove his pacifier. Even able to speak, though, the four of them had little to say. Tarja spoke up first, sighing as she said it. “We’re done.” “I’m sorry,” Sandra shook her head. “This is my fault. I should have known.” “No,” Tarja said, shaking her head. “We’re done. We’ve been told as much by the greatest authority we could ask. The fight isn’t ours anymore.” “But you’re still cursed,” Sandra said. “We haven’t fixed anything.” “Honestly.” Hadrian spoke tentatively, feeling out the words as he said them. “That’s…that’s fine. Someone else will sort out the wizard. We’ll get the curses removed eventually. There’s got to be a substitute for the ledger out there somewhere, some way to get all this dealt with. We can get back to our lives.” “I’d be fine with that,” Quinn added. “Hell, most of what was done to me, the wizard isn’t even at fault. I don’t have to wear the dress armor, and he didn’t make me this size. Curses are a part of the job. They’ll get fixed sometime or another.” Sandra slumped back in her chair, uncertain. She’d failed, but her party was okay. They were safe. And maybe they were right–maybe their normal lives could be returned to, maybe they could let someone else deal with the existential problems while they went back to more mundane quest work. She smiled. Maybe they were right. “Well, it’s worth a shot.” ... I've been neglecting to update this properly, but new updates will be following soon! 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You are the first person to notice this! Very, *very* keen eyed readers who are also dedicated fans of mine might be able to spot something else - but I'm going to stay hush hush for now. Also - Guess who's got two diapers and is fucking back to being able to swear? This guy! ... Issue 3 The quality of my new apartment didn’t matter too much when I was bound, blindfolded, gagged, and deprived from all sensory input. Haven had been given my full permission to deny me pleasure fifty times, and my parasitic alien master had taken to that task with gusto. No part of my body was off limits, no inch of skin was mine to hold back. In concept, being edged repeatedly was bad enough. Being brought to the precipice of climax, only to be denied, would be pretty torturous on its own. In practice, Haven made things far, far worse. They knew me, they knew my limits, they could feel when I approached the edge. The level of precision went beyond human, Haven could have me gasping and moaning, nanometers from orgasm, and then pull me back with a flood of hormones that ensured I could never achieve the pleasure I so desperately wanted. I’d lost count, but I knew we were miles from finishing–it had been…fifteen? Twenty times? Enough that my thoughts were clouded by an inferno of arousal, that it was difficult to think about anything but my desperation to squirt into my diapers, but still an eternity from having this marathon come to any sort of conclusion. Haven’s inky body wrapped around my eyes and ears, and my limbs were pulled spread eagle, hitched to the frame of my bed by their amorphous pseudo-tentacles. I’d been stripped near-naked, save for–of course–my diaper, which was sodden, but not yet ready to be changed, not that they’d let me up even if I asked now. They had more important things to do. Inside my sex, Haven pulsed, and I knew things were starting to build again. Slick, warm pressure rubbed against my clit, and my back arched in anticipated pleasure, knowing things would reach an end soon–my logical brain had been buried by denial, I was willing to take any false hope, any lies about the joy I’d soon be allowed to experience. (Beg,) Haven instructed, and though I was gagged, mouth held open in a drooling mess, I tried. My words were nonsense–moans and garbled pleas that no listener would ever be able to comprehend, but I obeyed anyways, asking for release, for anything. Haven’s work moved faster, thrusting inside me beneath my diaper, stimulating me in every way imaginable all at once. (Please,) I thought. (I need–I need this, please, Haven, just let me–) A release came, but not the one I wanted. Instead, I felt Haven suddenly plunge into me from behind, filling my ass as heavily as any plug and spreading it wide. I was helpless to resist, helpless to even complain. All I could do was tense my body as, instead of the orgasmic release that I’d wanted, I instead was forced to release my bowels, expelling waste into the seat of my diaper in a helpless tide. Haven’s message bypassed rational thought, planting itself deep in my brain–this was the release I deserved. No orgasmic bliss, only heavy, humiliating shame that piled into my diaper, swelling the seat of the crinkly prison I’d been sealed into. Sweat and repression poured off me, and I sank into the bed as the wave of promised pleasure passed, ungranted. (Breathe, Mine,) Haven instructed. Whether this was to ensure I got air and could recover, or to ensure I got an intense shock from the smell that now radiated off me, I didn’t know. It could have been both, but one way or another, I inhaled sharply, panting to recover. (How many?) I asked, weakly, as I felt a trickle of cool water go down my throat–Haven had, at least, kept me hydrated, though I assumed it was a ploy so that I'd soak my diapers more thoroughly. (How many more? I don’t know if I can take it.) (Ten,) Haven told me, and I visualized their wicked, amused grin as they said it. (Ten? But–that–there’s no way it’s just been ten. How long has it been?) (I’m not cheating, plaything. It’s been ten near-denials in three hours. We can take a break for now, come back to it later.) (But I can’t sleep until–) (No, no. You can’t go to bed. If my toy wants to sleep, they can sleep on the floor tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll go buy you a cage.) Breathing a little longer, I weighed my options. This session alone had me so desperate and pent up that the idea they proposed–being forced to sleep in a cage–turned me on more. I feared how pliable I’d be if I had to endure this again, and again, five days in a row. Then again, as long as this had taken–I didn’t have the stamina for twelve more hours of this sort of torture. (A break, please,) I asked. Relenting, Haven pulled back, their inky body retreating. I blinked a few times–noting that day had turned to night, that I could hear the sound of Central City buzzing outside my window and of the neighbors shuffling around. The walls were pretty thin–had they heard my desperate moans? Did they care? Did I care? Relaxing a little, I asked aloud, “May–may I change my diaper?” (You can beg better than that, Mine,) Haven replied. “Please.” I knew he wouldn’t give in if I just offered words, but I tried anyway. “May I go change? I–I don’t want to go to bed like this.” (Like what?) (I–) I had an idea, but I didn’t want to consider it. (I like what you’re thinking, Mine. Do it.) Sitting up, I let my mess squelch beneath my bottom, spreading it, smushing it between my cheeks. Making it harder to clean up, harder to change. “Please,” I said, thrusting my hips forward a little, grinding my weight into the diaper seat, feeling every moment of the squelching sensation. I thrust a little harder, taking special note of how my slick, soggy diaper rubbed against me, how the sensations blurred, how my ruined diaper clung to my skin. “P-please, please let me–” (Stop.) I froze. (Clever Mine, but you don’t get to cum until your edging is all done.) “What?” (I knew what you were trying there. I’m glad to see you’ve already been trained so well that you thought to try and enjoy your diapers without so much as a suggestion from me–but it will have to wait.) I swallowed. Had I been planning that? Sometimes Haven’s insight into my motives was deeper than my own understanding. Or else they were lying, gaslighting me about my thoughts so I’d think I liked diapers more than I really did. “Well…may I?” I asked, sheepishly. (You may,) Haven thought. (There’s a twenty four hour convenience store a block away, with bathrooms available for paying customers. Buy something, and you can use their bathroom to change.) I nodded, getting to my feet and looking around for my clothes. “Okay.” (Okay, that’s all?) “Er…” Right. They’d given me what I asked for, I should be polite. “Thank you, Haven.” ... Financial support is always appreciated but never required - Thank you for reading! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling Oh heck, and check out this amazing cover art by LittleTheo!

I touched on this in Chapter One, but it's worth more clarification: Haven eats hormones. The complex emotional results of blending humiliation with pleasure taste particularly good, and Haven selected Charlie as his food supply. As for how he got the fetish - he borrowed it from Charlie, looking through her memories for examples of what left her feeling particularly humiliated and selecting that as his tool for embarrassing her. Mixing in pleasure was the next obvious step, and then once they had internet access, the details of ways to engage with this fetish became pretty clear.

I noticed that on my latest story update, some language was automatically filtered with no option to edit it. This wasn't the case with the previous chapter of the same story. "f**k" got automatically changed to 'f**k', and an attempt to fix it didn't change the censorship. What's going on there?

Issue 2: Autonomy Arbitration I wasn’t sure how to handle Haven’s new sense of humor, especially as they got more comfortable navigating the internet. They’d handled apartment hunting while I slept–using my phone, something I’d have objections to if they hadn’t already invaded my privacy in far more significant ways. All I had to do was read the chat log on Crissie’s List after the fact. CharChar72:I saw your post. You’ve got an apartment available? Dylan: I didn’t post about an available apartment. CharChar72: I’m talking about this: [Plumber Needed - Urgent] Dylan: Yeah, the toilet’s wrecked, last tennant poured cement down the pipes. Needs a whole rework, and it’s gonna cost my left nut and take a billion years to get it done. You want it once it’s fixed? CharChar72: I want it now. I don’t need a toilet. Dylan: What? CharChar72: I wear diapers. Is that an issue? Dylan: I guess not. CharChar72: Give me a ten percent discount, I can move in tonight. Dylan: Hell, you can’t be worse than my last tennant. You’ve got a deal. Rent’s due every Monday. I was moderately relieved that Haven hadn’t tried to make a deal trading sex for cheap rent. Still, the lack of a toilet symbolized something pretty clearly–Haven had no intent of letting me regain my potty control. It’d taken only a few minutes to get my things. I slipped by the house when my parents weren’t home, grabbed the possessions I needed, and departed for the nearest intercity bus stop before I had to explain to mom and dad why my potty training had been set back twenty years. I left a voicemail explaining I was heading back to college early for some vocational training, then put my phone on mute so I wouldn’t have to answer any of their replies. Nearly my entire life packed neatly into three suitcases–one of which mostly just held diapers and the sex toys Haven had required me to purchase. The only thing that didn’t fit in a bag was my bicycle. With a one-way ticket to Central City, I got onto the back of the bus, excited and terrified at what awaited me. I was going to be a superhero. Like the kind on the news. (I’ve done some thinking,) Haven told me, as we sat in the back of the bus. (Yeah?) I asked. (What sort of thinking?) (I can see into your mind and taste your endorphins. I know what you really like. I know where your limits lie.) Haven purred for a moment, something I felt as a rumble between my thighs–they’d retreated their form and were currently acting as a diaper cover. (I’m returning your control to you.) (What control?) I asked. (All of it. I will compel you to do nothing, except for what you agree to do, what you ask of me.) Though they had no form, I could still picture a Cheshirian grin forming on Haven’s imagined face. (You’re not going to make me…like, use diapers?) I asked. (No catch?) (Not unless you ask me to,) Haven replied. (Well…I don’t have a toilet. Because of you.) (You’re welcome to find another apartment, or a public restroom close by.) I swallowed. There was a trick here, a trap somewhere, but I couldn’t see it. (You’re betting that I’ll give in and use diapers because it’s convenient, or because you think I enjoy it, aren’t you?) (Possibly.) (It’s unfair that you can read my thoughts but I can’t do the same.) (Who ever said I would be fair to you? You are Mine.) On that note, they fell silent, leaving me to do little but stew in my own boredom for several hours. Haven was, unfortunately, immediately proven right in at least one aspect–given the choice between trying to use the dingy, gross toilet at the back of the bus or wetting my diaper, I peed in my diaper. It was purely a matter of convenience and sanitation, but I felt Haven’s amused satisfaction nonetheless. I sighed in relief as the bus finally came to a station and I was able to get up, stretch my legs, and seek out a bathroom. I needed to do more than pee, and I wanted to test Haven’s promise. I was going to find a toilet, sit down, and use it like a continent adult, and if they kept their word, they wouldn’t stop me. The bus station’s bathroom was dingy and ill maintained, but it was at least a bathroom. A real bathroom, not a shaky, awful craphole like the one on the bus. Walking to the nearest stall, I pushed it open– (Did you notice?) Haven inquired. (You know I don’t know what you’re talking about, so just tell me what I missed,) I shot back, rolling my eyes. Here came the catch. (You’re in danger.) The door behind me opened, and two figures walked inside. I turned–they didn’t have the posture of travelers looking for a john, and as soon as they were inside, both faced me directly. Both women were taller than me, more physically fit, and the one on the left wore a jacket that did little to hide the pistol concealed inside. Time froze for a moment–not completely, but my thoughts had accelerated, making it seem that the other women’s motions were in slow motion. (Did you set this up?) I asked. (No, but it’s a happy coincidence. You’ve found your first muggers, so soon after arriving.) (Okay, let’s take them out.) (No.) I blinked. (What? But–) (Not for free. Give me a reason to help you.) (I–) It hit me, then. Haven had given me privileges back, just so that they’d have the ability to take them away. (How about if I don’t use the toilet for three days?) (No, no. That’s not how this works. You don’t negotiate, you just give me control, and I’ll decide if I want to help you.) I swallowed. The woman on the right was saying something–I’d missed it completely–and reaching for her gun. I didn’t have much time. (Please–) I started, trying to be quick about it. (Make me use my diapers for the next three days. Don’t let me use the toilet.) (Alright.) (Will you help me now?) (No.) (Er–um–f**k. I don’t know what to–this is hard when I’m panicking, okay?) (Then stop trying to be coy and give me something good.) (Please, Haven–) trying to think, I came up with a desperate number. (Edge me thirty times before I go to bed?) (Gladly.) (But–okay, fifty times.) (Since you asked so nicely.) My peril was getting closer, and Haven hadn’t yet fully complied. Her hand was inches from the weapon, getting closer with each passing thought. (Make me beg for diaper changes.) (Of course.) (And–f**k. Okay. You like it when I’m embarrassed in front of people, right? Make me change my diapers in public bathrooms.) (Aaah, that’s wonderful–I think that’s enough.) (Will you help me fight now?) (‘Help’?) Before I could ask what they meant, inky blackness shot out and both my attackers, striking their faces, covering their mouths and noses. The woman on the right stopped going for her weapon, and both clutched at the tendrils cutting off their oxygen supply. The struggle took twenty seconds, and when it was done, they slumped to the ground, unconscious. I didn’t have to do a thing. (So,) I asked, heart pounding. (This was your plan all along?) (No plan, I just wanted to see what you’d do.) (And?) (And I think I’ve got promises to keep, Mine.) (f**k. How much edging did I agree to again?) (Fifty times.) (Right… is that even doable?) (I will ensure you've got the physical stamina.) (f**k.) ... The story's up to Issue 6 over on Patreon! If you can't wait to read ahead, you can support me and check it out all in one fell swoop! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Part Two Though Sam could barely recognize his life anymore, he could identify where it had all shifted, where the slide into his new role had turned into an inescapable avalanche. It had all begun with two keys. The first key locked his new chastity cage. The second key unlocked Tim’s front door. The cage wasn’t because Timberly wanted to deny anything from Sam–obviously not. She explained how she didn’t mind him having fun, she wouldn’t even mind if he masturbated, but his ‘special times’ were becoming so frequent lately that it was becoming a problem. They couldn’t snuggle on the couch or even hold hands without one of his accidents interrupting. A pink, plastic, locking shell, something to keep his cock isolated and unstimulated, might mean he didn’t go through quite as many pullups in a day. She’d even let him keep the key, right in a special spot in her dresser. Still, Sam couldn’t exactly shake the feeling that this escalation was more than just practical. She’d proposed something intimately disquieting at the same time that she offered him a major life improvement–getting out of his parents’ basement and into her house. So, after taking a few days to think about it, Sam added two keys to his life. One to Tim’s home, and one to his own cock. She helped him put it on–just fumbling with his dick for a moment had been enough to make Sam spurt into her hands, but in the post-coital limpness that followed, she got him all locked up inside the pink plastic chastity device. Then he got to see his new place. No more basement apartment, no more paying rent to mom, no more dependence on his parents–he was his own person, with his own home. Or, well, with his own room in Timberly’s home. Her former office, in fact, but who was checking? An attempt had been made, but sleeping in her bed was off the table–every time he rolled over and brushed his skin against hers, he woke up to startling bliss, and he’d been so crabby and sleep deprived the next morning that Tim decided he needed his own space. It was a nice room, too–Tim’s old desk was huge, a great work surface for him to work on projects; it was nearly as big as the old single mattress in his basement abode. He’d initially seen the appeal of the work surface, but it’d taken some advice from Tim for him to decide what to use it for–since there wasn’t any more pressing work just then, he found an old lego kit that’d been languishing in a storage box of his for years for lack of time and space. Sam had space to arrange every piece, and Tim didn’t say a word about his hobbies being juvenile or a waste of time. He tried not to be embarrassed by the diaper pail she’d installed under his new desk. It was for practical reasons; even with the cage he still went through a couple pullups every day. It’s not like he’d have to bring guests in here and explain to them why he had the pail. Timberly was still out and about a lot, so they spent more time chatting than speaking in person, but that wasn’t new–they’d always spent more time messaging each other than face-to-face. Occasionally she’d ask him to do specific chores around the house that’d been languishing, and he was more than happy to do so–it’s not like she was asking him to pay rent or anything, and he just wanted to see her smile when she came home to a clean home. If anything, the notification chimes that came when she had a little job for him became highlights of his days off–they were an opportunity to make Tim happy. Their time in bed got more interesting, too–his cage didn’t really stop him from dribbling out into his pants when things started to get hot, but his chastity at least made it so he lasted sixty seconds instead of six. After ten days of this new arrangement, Tim had another idea. He was bringing in barely minimum wage at his dead-end job, so why bother going to work? She made enough, so she could pay him an allowance to do chores, and he wouldn’t have to spend all his time doing something soul-crushing. Sam wasn’t about to say no to an offer like that, not when he’d fantasized about quitting a thousand times. Maybe it hadn’t been mature for Sam to tell his manager to go f**k himself with his ‘World’s Best Boss’ mug when he went to pick up his last check, but he didn’t care about burning that bridge. He had Tim. Then something else…changed. Tim’s house was nice, but it wasn’t massive, and it only had one bathroom. One morning, while Tim was getting ready for work, Sam found himself needing to pee, and the bathroom door was locked. He knocked, shifting his weight from side to side. The need to go had come on fast. “Eh, Tim? Are you in there?” She replied sweetly, unaware anything was wrong. “Yeah, do you need something?” “I have to pee,” he explained. “Oh, sorry. I’m on the toilet right now.” And that was that. He paced, he tried to think of something else. He let seconds drip past, but he had to go, and the need wasn’t getting any better. It’d come on strong and without warning, like his bladder just forgot to tell him how desperate he was until the need was at a Ten. He knocked again. “Tim?” “Yeah, Sammy?” “How much longer?” Bouncing from toe to toe in a dance of desperation, he fought the urge with all his determination. “I, eh. I really need to go.” “Oh, well…” She paused, then made an absurd suggestion with the same tone and cadence she used when she asked him to do the dishes. “Just use your pullups, sweetie. They’re meant for that, anyways.” (She can’t be serious, can she?) But before he could contemplate the suggestion anymore, his body decided, ‘Yeah, that’s a great idea,’ and gave up fighting. He froze in place, mortified as he felt urine flood into his pullup, soaking the garment front to back. It didn’t go quickly, either–his bladder had been full to bursting, and once the trickle started, it didn’t let up. Terrified something might spill out into his jeans, he just stood there, frozen and acutely aware of the humiliation dribbling into his technically-not-a-diaper. A moment later, Tim flushed, and after a brief hiss of the sink, she pulled open the door. Drying off her hands, she said, “Okay, it’s all yours.” He stared at her, cheeks flushed bright red. “Um…I don’t need to go anymore.” Her eyebrows raised, but Tim didn’t laugh or tease, she just smiled. “Oh, okay–well why don’t you throw that soggy pullup away and you can take a shower?” Natural. Like nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. Looking back, it was as though she’d expected this outcome and been prepared for it. Sam was too mortified for that level of scrutiny just then. Nodding, he hurried to clean himself up. But, just like his other accidents, these didn’t stop happening. And, just like when spurting into his boxers, piddling his pants always managed to happen in front of Tim: They’d get in her car to go somewhere, and as soon as they were on the highway his bladder would suddenly be desperate for release. They’d be over at her friend’s house, and the bathroom would be occupied. They’d be out for a walk, or any one of a half dozen other problems–it was as though his body had decided that it only needed to go when the bathroom was unavailable. The pullups held up most of the time, but occasionally, he’d have to deal with crescent moon stains around the leak guards, marking his accidents for everyone to see. What Tim suggested next didn’t even surprise him, though it caught him off guard that she didn’t even wait for his approval or confirmation. She just came home from work one day with a package of puffy, white adult diapers. He didn’t recognize the brand, but it’s not like he spent much time wandering the diaper aisle at the pharmacy–he’d just have to trust Tim’s judgment and assume that “Trests” would be effective for the job. When protests were made by Sam, Tim had silenced them with ten words. “Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?” After that, he wore his diapers obediently, and never looked back. His bladder didn’t look back, either–once he had somewhere to go potty wrapped around him at all times, he didn’t seem able to make it to the toilet at all. Something in him had accepted his diapers wholesale, and now it was hard to even think the word ‘Toilet’ without feeling an immediate release. After only a few days, it became hard to even notice when he’d gone. After a few days more, it became hard to even notice when he was wet. Eventually, when Tim came home to find Sam had leaked through his diapers and onto her couch without noticing, she declared she’d had enough. If he wasn’t going to keep track of his diaper’s state, she would, and so a new part of their dynamic got added: In the morning, she’d check him, and when she found him inevitably soaked, she laid him out on his desk and changed his diaper. He’d have to change himself around lunchtime, but it took Timberly texting him a reminder to get him to do it, and once she got off work, she simply deprived him of pants so she could tell when he needed a freshie at a glance. That was good, though, because checking him with touch had its own side effects. All it took was Tim’s hand cupping his crotch, and he’d have the same reaction as always–brief, humiliating bliss. He’d already grown to associate the feeling of his soggy diapers with orgasms, and that was a correlation he didn’t want to reinforce in his thoughts. The plastic sheet she got to go over his desk made it look distinctly like a changing table, which Sam found to be an odd coincidence, but he didn’t point it out. What he did point out was that he could no longer use the surface for his hobbies. To that, Tim suggested he simply play on the floor–it’s not like he was using that space anyways, and there was plenty of room down there. Really, though, as long as Tim didn’t mind his accidents, Sam didn’t either. After a month living together, Timberly suggested just one more change, sandwiching her proposal between idle commentary about work and a question about what he might want for dinner: ‘Do you want to try a strap on?’ Sam had taken it with surprise–he doubted he could handle a strap on. Occasionally when they’d started fooling around, Tim had tried fingering him, and just a second or two of anal play was enough to make him dribble in his diapers. How was he supposed to deal with being fucked? But then, Tim had clarified, and it all made a lot more sense. ‘You’d wear it. Don’t get me wrong–I like your mouth–but I’d also like to be fucked, and since you can’t do it yourself, maybe you could use a substitute? I’d really like that, sweetie.’ He got it, then–his own cock was kind of useless, trapped in a cage, and ready to spurt helplessly at a second of contact. It felt good for him, at least when he wanted that reaction, but wasn’t much good for Tim. So, they got a strap on. Or, ‘they’ didn’t. Tim picked it out for him. It felt awkward putting it on over his diaper; a puffy layer of padding between him and his new cock. Still, Tim liked the look, pulling him in for a bliss-inducing kiss that had him needing to sit down for a couple minutes before they tried the strap. Once he’d caught his breath, though, Tim pushed him down onto the bed, slid out of her panties, and began to ride his store-bought cock like she’d been the one locked in chastity for weeks. Being inside Tim like this felt nothing like the sex he’d had before. Intimate and apart, slightly demeaning but full of connection at the same time. He was fulfilling his role in a way that he felt like he should, and yet…in a way that was focused all on Tim’s pleasure, because his own was already guaranteed. He just focused on having his ‘cock’ inside her, giving her pleasure, and imagined they were having real sex for the first time in their relationship. What he didn’t expect, while Tim’s breath grew quicker and she began to grind her hips harder, was the sudden pressure that exploded out of nowhere in his belly. It was without warning, without any sort of chance to hold it or wait–he needed the bathroom, now. “Tim, I–” he blurted, but before he could finish the words she’d bent forward, the back of her hand on his head, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss. He didn’t have the words, or the sense, to finish his objection. Feeling her tense and moan into his lips was enough to bring out his own comparatively delicate orgasm, and all in that same instant, the unexplained and unexpected pressure won out. They held each other tight through the simultaneous climax. The whole time, Sam felt heavy, solid mush spill out of him and into the seat of his diaper, enough to make it crinkle as it swelled. Whether she noticed the little grunts that escaped his mouth, or the shifting of his body that happened automatically to help facilitate the humiliating accident, Sam couldn’t say. After a long, quiet moment, Tim pulled away, and Sam had to look her in the eyes and admit what’d happened. “Tim, I–” he started, eyes huge. “Shh,” she said, looking down on him. “It’s okay, baby. You couldn’t help it.” She was right. He couldn’t, and even though it didn’t make any sense, her acceptance–her radical willingness to take every demeaning, humiliating thing that happened to him and laugh it off with a smile–made him melt. Timberly smoothly got up off his strap-on, off his mucky diaper, and rolled next to him in bed, snuggling close so her head was against his. “I love you,” he said, with the full vulnerability of exposing how he really felt. “I love you too, baby,” she said. “I knew you’d be perfect, once I was done with you.” Sam didn’t know what she meant by ‘done with him.’ He didn’t care, either. It didn’t matter. He was in love. ... Author's note: Sorry this took so long to upload! I forgot. If you'd like to be kept abreast of future mistakes by yours truly, you can go check me out on Patreon! (How's that for a sales pitch? 🤣) https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

The book is now available to be downloaded for ereaders and such! https://peculiarchangeling.gumroad.com/l/PottyDraining It was a hard decision - I appreciate you taking it in the intent it was written with! ❤️ And who knows - Maybe she will go back to normal. There's no telling what magic might do, but what matters isn't the future - it's the friendship in there here and now. The wide publishing world is hard - You need to be really good at marketing, not just writing, to stand a chance. I'm trying, but it's not easy. 😥 Thank you! I always am! ^^ That's cruel and mean - I love it! Thank you 🥰 Whatever happens, they have each other ❤️ I really enjoy reading everyone's interpretation of the work. Thank you ^^

As soon as I figure out how to make the display on DailyDiapers shrink when I post the last chapter, y'all are in for it. All good things must come to an end, but that makes them all the sweeter, doesn't it? I think Nicole hopes that everything goes back to normal, but she doesn't get to decide. For all the problems in her life, she's got one good thing going for her. ❤️ That's a story all in its own - "Wanted, babysitter for adult who's been magically reduced to the capacity of a baby. Must be able to operate around cursed relics." Thank you for reading! Just a little bit left It's true she's in the room - but it's not her name on the chart, now, is it? The Final Day Vanessa woke up early, morning birds and dawn light filtering into the nursery. Nicole’s diaper had filled up in the night, which offered no surprises; just another task for her to take care of. Her body was a bit sore, but that offered no surprises either–she’d slept in a different bed, and after rolling over in bed, her chest had been pressed up against the crib bars. A slight tenderness in her breasts was to be expected. Deciding to let Nicole sleep a little longer, she gingerly stood in the crib, working the latch and pushing the bars open. Stepping over her sleeping friend, she hopped to the ground, wobbling a bit, surprised to find herself off balance. “Woah,” she said, pulling her arms in after she caught herself. That was…odd. Waving it off, she walked out of the nursery and to the bathroom, getting herself ready for the day, enjoying the early dawn time when Nicole was still asleep, where she had a little time to herself. Reaching for her toothbrush, she glanced down at herself. She was just in a T-shirt and panties, the same clothes she’d gone to bed in, but something about it felt a bit…off. Her breasts looked larger than they had the night before, standing out in the baggy shirt more than normal. She could feel the fabric roughly against her nipples, more sensitive than they normally felt. Looking at herself in the mirror, she laughed it off. “Oh no,” she said sarcastically, reassuring herself. “Nicole got turned into a baby, you just got a nice rack. Truly, I’ve been cursed–get over yourself, Vanessa, the magic didn’t do anything to you.” She could have looked at the chart on the way back to confirm, but she didn’t want to admit to herself that it was possible she’d been affected somehow. It was bad enough watching the regression happen to her friend, let alone to think about what transformation might afflict her next. Vanessa kept her eyes well clear of the chart, refusing to check what it said. Walking back over to Nicole, she shook her friend awake. “Hey, Nic–time to get up, you need a change.” Nicky rolled over sleepily, blinking up at Vanessa. Her eyes had taken on a slightly glassy look, like she was perpetually surprised and shocked by what she saw. Taking in new information. At least she was able to crawl after Vanessa and help herself up onto the changing table, and she knew to lie still while her mucky diaper was cleaned up, tossed out, and replaced with a fresh one. While she lay there, she just stared up at Vanessa, suckling her thumb, gaze looking a little down, not at V’s face, but lower. At her chest. “Do I look different today?” Vanessa asked. “Or… do I seem different?” Nicole shrugged, spitting out her finger for a moment. “Okay, well…I’m going to go make breakfast,” Vanessa said. “How does oatmeal sound?” Genuinely thinking for a moment, Nicole shook her head and made a face like she’d just been offered steamed brussel sprouts. “Eh…okay. Pancakes?” Again, a very firm ‘No’. “Cereal?” Sticking out her tongue, Nicole said, “Blegh, gwoss.” Vanessa hesitated. “Nicky, you need to eat something. What sounds good?” Nicole shook her head and said, “I’unno,” but her thumb drifted back into her mouth, and her eyes locked with Vanessa’s tender, swollen breasts once again. Finally, Vanessa got it. “Oh, no…” Turning, she walked to the door, throwing it in so she could check the chart. On it, she saw the doodle, and her heart sank. It pictured her, clearly, sitting with Nicole in her lap. Vanessa had been drawn with her breasts exposed, and Nicole was…nursing. Sucking on V’s tit with an expression of bliss. “Nicole,” she said, uncertain and worried, suddenly acutely aware of the weight in her breasts–they weren’t just bigger, they felt swollen. Full. “Er…I think I know what you’re going to want for breakfast.” Nicole sat up on her elbows. “Wassat?” Flushing, Vanessa said, “How does just…milk sound?” Eyes widening, Nicole nodded. “Mhmm!” That confirmed it. Nicole had been fully regressed–barely able to speak, unable to walk, fully dependent on her diapers, and now back to the point of needing to be nursed. There wasn’t much to be done about it. Helping Nicky off the changing table, Vanessa led her to the living room and sat down on the couch, where they’d be able to sit comfortably next to her. There was no way to do this that didn’t feel intensely awkward, so she just got it over with–lifting off her shirt, Vanessa sat back, allowing Nicole access to her breasts. Her friend pulled up onto her lap, lips sealing hungrily over Vanessa’s nipple. She began to suck, and V felt the milk trickle out of her, into Nicole’s waiting mouth. Tenderness subsiding, she laid a hand on Nicole’s head, sitting back. It felt good to have that pressure released, the tenderness subsiding. Based on her expression, Nicole, too, was enjoying herself–utterly satisfied with her meal. They sat together, in an intensely intimate embrace. Nicole seemed unaware of the sheer awkwardness of it all, and while Vanessa initially felt awkward enough for the both of them, eventually her initial shock wore away. After a while, Nicole moved to the other breast, working on it too, hungry and focused on satisfying herself. They were close, and they were together. Vanessa had never expected this, never even expected that between the two of them, she’d be the one managing their responsibilities, but… she could live with this. The chart had pushed them to the limits, but not beyond them–Vanessa could still care for Nicole like this, and as long as she had the capacity to be there for her friend, she would. “Today’s the last day on the chart.” She spoke much to herself as to Nicole. “I don’t know what happens when it fills up. Maybe it clears out, and all this goes away. Maybe it just refreshes and we get two more weeks of…new things. I don’t even know what those would be. I just don’t know what’s going to happen.” Looking up at her, Nicole pulled away from her meal for a moment, milk dribbling down her lip. She made eye contact with Vanessa and smiled, reaching down so she could take her friend’s hand. “Fwiendth,” she lisped. “Nuh madda what.” They didn’t know what the chart would do next, what the future held, but Nicole was right. Whether they were peers, bantering and teasing and talking about boys, or whether they were caregiver and infant, one watching out for the other, caring for the other, they would be in each other’s lives. “Friends.” Vanessa pulled her friend close again, in a tight, loving hug. “No matter what.” The End. ... Thank you all for reading. Here soon, I'll be putting together an ebook file, in case you want a copy of this on your e-reader of choice - Once that's ready, I'll post the link here for you to download, no purchase necessary, just a nice, contained way for you to take this story with you. I'm really proud of this story, and floored by the response. I can't express how happy I am at the outpouring of comments, replies, theories, and conversation it's spurred on. If you would like to support my writing, and you've read all the way to the end, you probably know about my Patreon - Just a couple dollars a month is a massive help to me, allowing me to dedicate dozens of hours every month to writing AB/DL fiction that I'm very proud of. My supporters get early access to all my writing, exclusive content just for them, and I also attach downloadable .doc files to all my story posts for those of you who prefer to download and read offline. https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling ❤️ -Peculiar Changeling

That's a lot to lose with only two days left - But then again, a lot can change in two days. Now I'm hearing that tiktok trend sound in my head 🤣 Who knows - There's still two changes yet to come! Day 13 It struck Vanessa that things had become routine almost as soon as the shock had worn off. In just under two weeks, they’d learned that magic existed, and had a cruel sense of humor. They’d seen Nicole devolve from a fully capable woman to a person with the memories of an adult but the physical faculties of a particularly stunted toddler. And, already, she was…used to it. Not unconcerned, of course. Vanessa still spent her time scouring the internet for solutions, looking for cures or counterspells or witches who could fix everything, but it had lost its sense of shock. Even the doodle for the day–showing baby blocks scattered and an utterly broken, jagged speech bubble, didn’t carry much shock, just an indication of what new problems to expect for the day. Now, she just worried for Nicole in a way that could only be described with one word, but it was a word Vanessa refused to say out loud; one that began with an ‘M’ and rhymed with ‘Blaternal’. “Buh!” Nicole called. “Vee-vee!” Vanessa hurried into the nursery. “What is it, Nic? You need a change?” “Hungie,” Nicole said. “Pwea?” (Her speech is getting worse,) Vanessa thought. (And she’s not even forming adult thoughts, at least not any that she’s communicating to me.) “I’ll make something.” She had to sit Nicole down, giving her juice in her Pee Happy bottle so she had something to drink while breakfast got made. Once food was finished, Vanessa fed Nic macaroni one spoonful at a time, working her way through the bowl. At least it was the weekend–trying to juggle baby care and work a full time job already left her exhausted, and she’d only been doing it for a couple days. As she set aside breakfast, she sniffed. “Nicky, you stink.” “Nuh-nuh, no poopies,” Nicole mumbled, shaking her head. Then, uncertain, she reached back and prodded at her diaper with a hand. Confident again, she said, “Nuh!” “Not what I mean,” Vanessa said. “You need a bath, silly–it’s been too long already.” She almost suggested Nicole do it herself, but given how clumsy she’d been, Vanessa worried she’d end up hurting herself. So, she helped Nic down from the kitchen table and walked her friend to the bathroom. “Eeep!” Nicole winced, alarmed. As quickly as she could on all fours, she crawled behind Vanessa’s legs, cowering. “Wha–oh,” Vanessa said, looking between Nic and the toilet, remembering how her friend had described an irrational fear of the porcelain seat. Unfolding a couple towels, she draped them over the toilet, hiding it away for now–enough that Nicole no longer hid from it. While Nic sat on the floor, suckling her thumb, Vanessa got the tub going, testing the water with her hands–not too hot, not too cold. On impulse, she added a bit of shampoo to the mix, filling the tub with sudsy bubbles. “Time to get clean,” she coaxed, holding out a hand to her friend. It was getting easier to just think of her as a baby–Nicole may still have some of her adult traits left, but not many, and the potty training chart had taken so much that she may as well have been just a large infant. Nicole was able to stand for just long enough to get into the tub before her legs stopped supporting her weight again, dropping her into the bubbly water with a splash. She giggled, and Vanessa tried not to be too annoyed about the water splattered on her shirt. “How’s the water?” she asked, rubbing a washcloth down with soap and starting the scrubbing process. Nicole just nodded and smiled. That was all the words she’d be giving on that topic, apparently. Arms, back, butt, down to her legs, and then up again to get her chest–Vanessa cleaned her friend up from bottom to top, ending with her face, careful not to get any soap in her eyes or mouth. “And behind the ears,” she said aloud, narrating as she washed–Nicole seemed more interested in the bubbles than in the cleaning itself. Once Nicole’s body was clean, it came time for her hair. Shampoo, scrubbed in and then rinsed out, followed by conditioner, and then a little time to soak. “How are you feeling, Nic?” Vanessa asked, filling time while they sat in the bathroom. “Wadda’s ni,” Nicole replied. “Sure, but I mean…there’s only one day left,” Vanessa said. “And then I honestly don’t know what could happen after that.” Nicole paused, thinking about it. Her expression soured, a little, but then her eyes came to rest on Vanessa and she smiled again. “You stiww be hewe?” Her tone was half a question, half a request for reassurance. She wanted a promise. Vanessa smiled and nodded. “Of course, Nic–I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.” “Den it’ll be o-tay.” Nicole raised her arms and gave Vanessa a sudsy, wet hug. Vanessa squeezed back, not caring at all that her clothes were soaked. The rest of the day went by. Vanessa had to be on babysitting duty the whole time, but Nicole was able to self direct for a lot of it, and her nursery was stocked with learning primers and baby-level puzzle books that kept her engaged. Food, diaper changes, and occasional attention during playtime were all that was needed. As they wound down for bed, though, Nicole’s confidence wavered. As Vanessa got her changed into a nighttime diaper, she asked, “V?” “What’s up, Nic?” Vanessa asked. “Not goin’ any-way?” It took Vanessa a second to realize she meant, ‘Anywhere’, not ‘Anyway’. “Of course not,” Vanessa assured her, taping down the double-thick diaper. “You ready for bed?” Nicole nodded, then paused. “V?” V tilted her head, helping her friend sit up. “Yeah?” “Can you sweep obah toni’?” Vanessa’s expression melted and she nodded. “Of course, sweetie. Just let me get ready for bed too, okay?” “O-tay.” After her own nightly ritual–toilet, toothbrushing, getting her phone on charge–she put Nicole down in her crib, then got in after her, curling up next to her friend. The gate shut on its own, but Vanessa checked and ensured she could open them without issue. Confident they wouldn’t be trapped, she got cozy under the covers. With the bars penning them in, she had to be right next to Nicole, spooning against her, arms wrapped over her friend’s waist. Nicole snuggled a little closer, yawned happily, and they both fell asleep together. ... Support the author and help with the creation of more stories like this one! https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

A "Gaba" modulator is also what causes baby talk amongst scientists. I think she'd disagree, but it is a popular opinion That does raise a question - I don't know if scientific readings would note anything amiss. It's not that parts of Nicole are being suppressed in a scientific way, after all, they're being altered. What would that look like? 🤔 Counterspell, Heightened 9th Level, with Permanency Day 12 “Hey there, Nicky, it’s time to wake up.” Nicole rubbed at her eyes. She hadn’t set an alarm the night before–why bother? She didn’t have anything to get up for. Yawning, she looked around the room. Everything looked the same, no obvious changes to the decor or anything–though by the smell, she had an obvious need for a change. “Wha’ time ith it?” she asked, sitting up. She barely registered the squish of her diapers anymore. V had left the crib gate open and was already getting changing supplies out. “Around nine. I’d have let you sleep longer, but I didn’t want you getting a rash.” Sliding off the side of the bed, Nicole said, “Aren’t you–woah!” Stumbling, she fell onto all fours, her balance wavering badly. Vanessa appeared by her side, supporting her with a hand. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” she mumbled, “Jus’...still wakin’ up.” “Okay,” Vanessa said, helping her to stand. “What were you saying?” “Are you gonna be late for work?” Nicole asked, holding Vanessa’s hand for stability so she could waddle to the changing table. She felt off, but tried to dismiss her weak balance and shaky legs as just nerves. “I told my boss I’d be working from home for a while,” Vanessa said. “Other than meetings and stuff I can’t do out of the office.” “Oh.” Getting a leg up, Nicole sat down, then looked at her friend with a wavering smile. “Thanks, V…” “Now, let’s deal with this bottom and get some breakfast in your belly, okay?” Vanessa asked. Nic smiled and nodded. A fresh diaper would set a good tone for the rest of the day. Once she was clean and taped into a fresh diaper, V got her dressed–all her remotely grown up clothes were long gone, so it was onesies or nothing. Nicole couldn’t bring herself to even feel embarrassed about that change. Then, it was breakfast time. Nothing fancy, just Froot Rings and a coffee in her favorite mug, one with a cartoon depiction of three peas in a pod and the text, “Don’t Worry, Pea Happy!” printed on it. Something had gone wrong with her food, though–it felt heavy. Whenever she got a spoonful of cereal and milk, it made her hand shake, fingers trembling so badly that she lost half the loops and most of the milk before the spoon made it to her lips. Her coffee was a little better–if she gripped her mug with both hands, she could sip out of it well enough. She made it work, leaving over her bowl so the dribbles only got onto her chest a little. The back of the cereal box had a maze, with a smiling, colorful Hornbill inviting her to solve it–she had to set aside food and trace the lines with her finger, but she found the right path with only two tries. “You okay, Nic?” Vanessa asked, glancing up from washing dishes in the sink. “Mhmm, why?” Nicole asked. “You’ve got more cereal on your onesie than on your bowl,” V said. “Pay a little more attention, sweetie?” Nicole nodded. “Sure, okay.” Finding stuff to do ended up being a new challenge. With so much time off, Nicole wanted to engage in her hobbies, but reading was too hard to be any fun, and all her favorite video games had a bunch of text in them. Her renovated room had some solutions, though–a coloring and puzzle book on her shelf ended up providing a lot of fun, engaging challenges. Vanessa left Nicole with a clean onesie, her coffee, and a box of crayons before getting back to work, and Nicole went to town. Color matching, trace-the-line puzzles, and even a word search–though she gave up on that one after a few tries. It even felt like learning. She was getting her grown up skills back, one by one. Solving this booklet, she’d be a grown up again in no time. (No, wait,) she corrected. (I am a grown up, I just need my grown up skills back.) A bit rattled by her own thoughts, she reached for her mug, hoping that a sip of coffee would get her the buzz needed to get back to work. Instead, she picked up plastic. “Huh?” Looking over, she found her mug missing, replaced with a green baby bottle. On the side, the cartoon depiction of a pea pod remained, but all the peas were in diapers and suckling pacifiers, and the text now read, ‘Don’t worry, pee happy.’ She read it twice, ensuring she hadn’t misread. “Bu–” she sat up. “No, no–” Going into a panic spiral, she began to stand, but her legs betrayed her. Toppling backwards, she fell, landing with a thunderous poof on her puffy bottom. Getting up again, she trembled, held her balance for only a second, and fell forward this time, landing on all fours. (You’ve got this,) she told herself. (It’s just standing up.) One more try. Pushing off the floor, she spread her legs. Knees wobbling, arms out, she got upright. “Yes!” she declared, too excited by the accomplishment to care how minor it was. Pumping a fist in the air– Her legs gave out once again, suddenly losing all their strength. She lost her balance, falling right back onto the ground. Overwhelmed, reality broken once again, she began to sob. … “Nicole?” Vanessa asked, pushing open the door. She’d heard the sobs clearly enough, and just had to hope it was something minor–something she could soothe away. She found her friend on the ground, wiping away tears with both arms. “I–” she stammered. “I can’ walk no more…” Drawing her lips into a line, V tried to seem surprised. She’d pointedly been silent about that day’s doodle, hoping not to worry Nicole, but it’d been pretty unambiguous: A doodle of Nic on all fours. “Hey.” V crossed to her friend and gave her a gentle pat on the back. “It’s okay. Just one more thing to learn again, right?” Nic shook her head, lifting up a green baby bottle. “My mug’s a ba-ba now, too…an’ is juice. My coffee wen’ away.” Vanessa swallowed. “Well…I can make you a new mug, okay?” Nicole nodded, sniffling. “Otay.” “And we’ll get you some lunch, too, how does that sound? It’s about that time anyways.” Again, Nic nodded. “Fanks, V.” Unsure which would be better, helping her friend walk or letting her crawl, Vanessa went to the kitchen, microwaving some chicken fingers–something easy. With another pot of coffee brewing, and food ready in moments, she helped Nicole into a seat. Nic seemed able to wobble on her legs for a few seconds, at least, just enough that Vanessa didn’t have to physically lift her up. “Wait here, ok?” V asked. “Ok,” Nicole said, looking down from her seat at the ground like it was a mile away. “I dunno if I could get down…” “I’m sure you could,” Vanessa lied, briefly returning to the nursery to retrieve something she’d spotted that morning. Coming back, she tied the bib around Nicole’s neck without drama or comment. Nicole didn’t argue–they both knew she needed it, after what a mess she’d made at breakfast. Setting out the chicken fingers, Vanessa let Nic get started on the food while she transferred the coffee into a bottle. Hopefully, whatever magic had turned the last coffee to juice would allow the beverage to stay the same, as long as it was in the right container. “Vee-vee,” Nicole said. “I can’... I can’t pick up the food.” Vanessa turned back. Another sad, frustrating not-surprise. “Do you need help?” “Mm…” Nicole frowned, unwilling to admit the truth. “Maybe coffee first.” Seeing no reason to push, Vanessa gave her the bottle. Excitedly, Nicole raised the nipple to her lips, took a single long suckle, and… “Eugh,” she groaned, dropping the bottle and putting a hand over her tummy. “Um…ucky…tummy hurts…” Only a few seconds passed between the drink and the soft, quiet sounds that came from Nicole’s bottom as her belly released the sudden pressure and discomfort. Nicole sighed in relief, glad to have the discomfort over with, before realizing the truth. “Oh…” she said, sniffling. “But…that means…” No more coffee. No. More. Coffee. Vanessa knew what it meant. Nicole couldn’t feed herself, which was a frustration. She couldn’t walk, an unparalleled indignity. Her diaper dependence was pure humiliation. But for Nicole? All of that paled in comparison. Without coffee, she had nothing of her big girl self left. ... Just three days left - I'm sure they'll restore all her grown up abilities and everything will be okay, right? Support the author: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Thank you!

HECK Here's the chapter! ... Day 11 Vanessa’s hand hovered over the door handle, uncertain how to approach her friend. Yesterday had been a doozy. Nicole was pretty much a wreck, distraught and sobbing when Vanessa showed up to take her home. And there were still four days on the chart left, four opportunities to take more away. Vanessa had trouble imagining what could be left, Nicole had already fallen so far. This was all out of her wheelhouse. Vanessa was practically taking on the role of a new mom–giving Nicole rides, helping her with diaper changes, making all the food–and it was hard. She’d make it work, for Nicky, but she had never been the responsible one of the pair until circumstance had forced her to adopt that role. Today’s doodle was simple; Nicole had a bit of drool on her face and a crayon gripped tightly in a fist, laying on her tummy as she worked on a craft project, alphabet blocks floating over her head with no apparent words or meaning. That didn’t seem so bad, all things considered. “Nicole?” Vanessa asked, pushing open the door and coming in to check on her friend. She’d gotten used to the smell of dirty diapers in the morning–thunderclouds had become a staple of her chart, filling up every available slot for both night and day. Whatever force drove this curse, it apparently wanted Nicole in dirty diapers. Nicole was lying on her back, a stuffie tucked under one arm, still dozing. Her sleep seemed restful, at least–for the past week, she’d been sleeping like a baby. Crossing to her, Vanessa opened the side of the crib and nudged her friend’s arm. “Hey, Nicky, it’s time to wake up, OK?” Nicole rolled over, blinking and yawning. “Dun’ wanna, five more minutes?” “I want to get you changed and cleaned up before I head to work.” Vanessa extended her hand. “I’ve got a short day, but I’ll still be gone ‘til around lunchtime.” “Okay,” Nicole mumbled, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She took Vanessa’s hand and wobbled out of the crib, towards the chart. “So,” Vanessa said. “I’d been thinking. There’s only a few days left on the chart.” “Uh-huh,” Nicole nodded. “What’s it showin’ today?” “You’re drawing on today’s doodle.” Vanessa helped Nicole up onto the changing table and selected a fresh diaper. “But…everything it’s taken is stuff we can get back. A speech therapist can fix your voice, and–hey, we could get a real potty training chart and you could learn to use the toilet again.” Nicole shuddered. “Toilet’s scawy.” “We’ll work on that, too,” Vanessa continued, untaping the smelly diaper and quickly pulling it away, dropping it into the pail by the table. “But you’re still Nicole, you just need a little help getting all your skills back. It’ll be hard work, but I know you can do it.” “Wha’ about my job?” Nicole asked, squirming at the sensation of baby wipes against her bottom. “Jean was weally mad…” “Once you’re better, I’m sure she’ll bring you right back to work,” Vanessa promised, sprinkling powder onto her friend’s thighs. “It’ll all be okay.” Nicole smiled as her new diaper got taped on. “Thanks, V. I betcha once I show I’m a grown up, she’ll be weally happy, too.” … Vanessa returned from work at around one, fast food in tow–she didn’t feel like cooking, and wouldn’t trust Nicole in the kitchen until her friend had recovered her motor skills enough to hold a knife safely, so it’d been a drive through day. She’d briefly considered getting Nicole a happy meal, but thought better of it and got her a regular combo instead. “Nicole, I’m home!” she called, dropping her purse on the couch. “I got lunch!” Nicole’s voice carried enthusiasm and cheer that Vanessa hadn’t expected. “Hiya, V! Come see what I made!” (This would be the coloring,) Vanessa guessed, setting aside lunch for a moment and strolling to the nursery. Nicole was lying on her tummy, a dozen crayons scattered around her as she drew on a piece of construction paper. She didn’t seem aware of the dirty diaper smell floating in the room. (That’d account for the daytime thunderclouds, then.) Vanessa hesitated. “Nicole, how long have you needed a change?” “Dunno,” Nicole shrugged. “A while.” “You didn’t try to get yourself cleaned up?” Vanessa asked, concerned. “Couldn’ get the tapes,” Nicole admitted. “But is okay, I got this done!” Beaming, she held up the paper so that Vanessa could come and see. Uncertain what to expect, V walked across the room, crouching to take the paper. It was…a cover letter, sort of. Written in crayon, with letters about an inch tall and very squiggly, with many written backwards. The words were littered with misspellings and some were completely illegible, but Vanessa did her best to read it. “Jean,” she read aloud. “I promise I am gonna be a…what’s this word here? Egg salad?” “Excewent,” Nicole clarified. “Excellent grown up worker, very soon. We can be friends again and I’ll even use the potty. I just have to learn how to count again. See you soon, Nicole.” She sighed. (And this accounts for the alphabet blocks. She’s practically illiterate now.) Beneath the crayon writing was a stick figure drawing, with curly Q lines for hair and a bright yellow sun smiling in the background: Nicole and Jean, holding hands, grinning at each other. “What do you think?” Nicole asked, excitedly. “Can we show it to Jean?” “I think…” Vanessa had to ponder for a moment, how to be honest without shattering Nicole’s feelings. “First, we should go put this on the fridge–just as soon as we get your diaper changed. Okay?” Nicole nodded. “Okay! Thanks, V, you’re the best grown up ever.” ... Poor Nicole Support the author: https://www.patreon.com/PeculiarChangeling https://subscribestar.adult/peculiarchangeling

Yeah, this one was definitely pretty heavy hitting ❤️ Suuuure, I'm sure that's what will happen! If nothing else, it would be very funny for this story to suddenly transition to being an SCP file about containing a magical cursed object 🤣

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 ^^