Personalias

Confrontation and conflict can drive stories.Go with what works organically with what you've written.

Apologies @HyperShark "Finding a lover is easy. Finding love? That's hard." "A tale of abuse, deception, anxiety, and yes...love."

Can we pitch subtitles?

So there's a lot about witch taboos in this chapter. It's taboo for witches to deal with life essences. It's also taboo for witches to reproduce with other witches, as it tends to leave the offspring...different. This is an interesting in story reason for why Witches still mingle with humans, even if now in the world it's a matter of subservience. They require humans to breed, and thus despite their feelings of superiority are dependent on them.

Lots of knee hugging little breakdowns and murmering of cryptic nursery rhyme type stuff. Mental case that you kinda gotta baby to get stuff out of.... Then she's a living weapon...or another odd quirk or unexpected skillset...but usually a living weapon...then she goes back to being a cute little girl mental case.

River Tam: She's a complete cute little hostage and liability for every scenario. Until something inside her clicks... Then she's the human equivalent of an AK-47: When you absolutely positively need to kill every mother fucker in the room. Accept no substitutes. No power in the (uni)verse can stop her. Then she clicks off and becomes quirky little hostage again.

Couple things here to consider that no one has mentioned here yet. 1. Troll blood. Rachel's got it in her. Probably how she managed to limp home with a Familiar on her back with a broken leg. Also...I don't recall her getting to mention that to whomever patches her up just yet. She might want to look into that...or buy more easy to read books and bigger clothing. 2. Faye isn't "chosen one", in my opinion. She's River Tam. Also, her powers seem to have something to do with the magic and others. Aurora's familiar not only lost her well of magic, but couldn't receive more magic to heal herself. Seems like it was burned out of her or something. Maybe it was drained out of her? Or worse yet, a kind of magical feedback. What if Faye is some kind of living magic EMP bomb? There's something there, I feel. 3. Looks like Aurora's gotta go see the bastards among the bastards now that she's broken a major taboo within her society.

Oh. I'm sorry then.

Looks like it's starting up again. Spreading the word. Date & Time:in 11 days Saturday, August 18, 2018 ·11:00 AM – 1:00 PM Location: Build-A-Bear, Oaks Mall 6419 W Newberry Road, The Oaks Mall @ map Cost: Whatever food or build-a-bear you buy Dress code: Little/Vanilla Description: Littles, ABDLs, Ageplayers, let's get together at the Oaks Mall food court and chat a bit, maybe eat something, and then walk over to the Build-A-Bear pop up in the mall and make some new stuffie friends! I'll be at the food court tables with a stuffie and my adult coloring book so I'm easy to find- come join me in coloring and nomming while we wait for our group to coalesce! I can't wait to make some new friends

All due respect, you're asking the wrong questions. You shouldn't be asking "what diaper type is more babyish?". That's irrelevant. Cloth. Disposable. Medical. Multiple Diapers. Adult Baby Diapers. Giant variations of baby diapers, regular sized versions of baby diapers: All of them can work if you make them work. The question you need to be asking is "how can I make them work?" You're a writer. Your job is to use words to evoke experiences, sensations, and feelings in the people who read your stuff, so that they can feel they are either witnessing the words you write as a show in their minds' eye; perhaps even living vicariously through the characters and world you create. The question should be: "What words can I use to invoke the feelings I want my readers to feel?" "How do I present these words in a way so that their disbelief is suspended and for as long as they're reading, part of them forgets that this isn't really happening right now?" Writers are con-artists. A good one can sell anything, even if it's something that the buyer doesn't need or doesn't think they want. You want double diapers? Fine. How would this make your character feel? Would they feel babyish because a message is being sent to them that they're going to be trapped in diapers for a particularly long amount of time or that they think they are intended to wet ALOT and use the diaper? Or would they question in and wonder if it was practical...double diapering very rarely happens outside of fetish stuff these days, since "Why don't you f'ing change the kid more often" is a viable option in a world where disposable diapers are commonplace and available at even gas stations." Would the scale of a much puffier diaper...making them smaller in terms of scale make your character (and thus the audience) feel more babyish? Or would the sheer size of it seem absurd and thus destroy your chances at immersion? The answer is both. It's all in how you sell it. How you build it up to that point and how your characters think and react to the presented stimuli and obstacles. How are you going to do that? That's the answer you need to be looking for.

“Skye,” I called out as I marched up to her. “Can I have another quarter, please?” “Gavin, what’s that mess on your shirt?” Skye asked, pointing the stain the little brat left behind from the mud and the spit. “That’s...well…” I paused and waited for a suitable explanation to come to me. “Was somebody picking on you?” her eyes narrowed, examining my face for any tells. “No, just playin’” I lied, glancing to either side of me so I wouldn’t look her in the eye. How do you explain to your girlfriend that you just got in a fight with a three year old and were looking for revenge? “That doesn’t look like playing to me,” Skye decided. “Was that little boy with the orange balloon picking on you?” “NO!” I shook my head fiercely. “Just playin’. Can I have a quarter, now?” “Was that little boy picking on you because you’re wearing a diaper?” she asked point blank. I went quiet. Skye could read me like a book, but not saying anything was better than confirming or denying her suspicion. “What do you want another quarter for?” Skye asked, an obvious look of mistrust across her face. “Playin’,” Was all I told her. Skye’s mouth twitched a bit to the right side of her face. Her left eyebrow cocked up. She wasn’t buying it. She was bemused, but she wasn’t buying it. “PWEEEEEEEAAAASE!” I pleaded in my cutest lisp, my bottom lip stuck out, hiding my mischievous grin, and my eyes went wide like a puppy dog’s, concealing my malefic intent. “Heh,” she chuckled lightly. “Alright kiddo,” she reached back into her purse. “I’ll let you have a shot. But you call me if you need any help.” “Okay,” I quickly nodded. As if I’d need help teaching some punk brat a lesson. I took the quarter from Skye’s hand and put it into the animal food vendor. There was a slight grinding sound and a satisfying click as I turned the stainless steel knob and my ears danced with joy at the sound of feed dropping down into the little compartment beneath. I opened my right hand and used my left to lift the little metal flap on the feeder. It was like a gumball machine, really. Little bits of brown kibble, good for pigs and sheep and chickens-but especially billy goats-flowed into my waiting palm. Next, I crinkled across the petting pen, taking long strides to cover the most ground. There was no way I was going to be able to approach the kid silently, with all the noise the diaper was making. My only hope would be to act fast, cover a lot of ground quickly, and hope that the plastic in his training pants crinkled enough so that he didn’t notice my approach. He was feeding the baby goat that I had been feeding earlier; blissfully unaware of my approach That thing was a total bottomless pit. Good. It seemed providence was on my side this one time. I slid up right behind the kid, and squatted down on my haunches. Kibble in hand, I shook it by the brat’s left hip for the goat to see. It didn’t at first, as it ate the snot nosed spitter’s kibble greedily, but then out of the corner of it’s eye, it saw movement and jerked its head towards my hand. “Huh?” the brat stared at the kid. “Hey, goat, what are you doin?” The goat started nudging past my preschool aged antagonist for my hand, eager for more food. With the precision of a pickpocket I slipped the kibble into his shorts pocket, and stepped away. “Back off, billy!” the brat shouted. The baby goat, deaf to the little bastard’s demands, stuck it’s muzzle in deep. “Hey, stop it!” he demanded. The goat paid no mind. It had kibble to eat. I stood back and watched, my fingers crossed, waiting for what I hoped would be the inevitable to happen. RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP! YES! The little bastard’s shorts hung in the baby goat’s mouth. Now, just like me, the bully in the making stood naked from the waist down, save for his plastic backed undies, his mouth agape. “Chaz, baby!” a curvy woman with tight, frizzy blonde curls and an obvious boob job ran up to the kid. “Are you alright, Chaz?” Chaz? Chaz?! No wonder the kid was such a jerk at the ripe old age of four-ish; he had a douche name! Why did that woman look so familiar? Hadn’t I seen her before? “My...my...my” Chaz gasped, fighting back tears and failing. “My pants!” “I know baby,” the woman rubbed his back. “I know. Mommy will take care of it.” “Mommy?!” Chaz looked confused. “What do you mea-?” “YOU!” she turned around to face me. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little stunt you pulled.” “Me?!” I looked around nervously. “What did I do?” “Don’t give me that look,” Chaz’s mom wagged her finger in my face. “Just because you’re allowed to walk around without pants, doesn’t mean everyone has to!” “The hell?!” I exclaimed “That’s not why I…” “So you did do it!” She cut me off. She was so angry, everything but her obviously fake breasts were shaking. “Well, mister, I think it’s time someone taught you a lesson.” With surprising quickness, she grabbed my legs with her outside hand, and grabbed my waist around the back, picking me up so that I was bent over, and suspended by my midsection. Holy shit, what kind of steroids did this woman do?! Did I piss off an ex wrestler or something?! I kicked and flailed, trying to get this madwoman to let me go. I thrashed against her, barely managing to squirm, while she squeezed me harder and harder in response. The ground came a little closer, and I thought I was about to be freed, but no such luck. My oppressor took a knee and shifted my weight around so that I was laying across her upturned knee. My knees hit the dirt, and I squirmed and kicked, but I was doing little more than spinning my tires. My squirming transformed into shuddering as the realization that I couldn’t escape sunk in and became reality. I looked up and saw Chaz, smiling with glee, eyes burning with anger and hatred at me. “It’s past time you get disciplined, little man,” I heard her announce; manic, sadistic joy in her voice. Still shaking in fear, I looked back over my shoulder, and saw her hand raise into the air. Was she serious? Was I about to be spanked?! A cry rose up in my throat, unbidden as pure animal panic welled up inside me “MAAAA!” my voice erupted out as the blonde bimbo swung down towards my padded ass. I had meant it as a kind of war cry-something to draw power from; maybe make a final push to escape or blunt the pain. But it was more mewling than anything. If I was lucky, she’d hit there instead of my legs; at least the diaper would absorb some of the impact. I slammed my eyes shut bracing for impact. “That’s enough.” Skye’s beautiful voice rang out, clear as a bell. I opened my eyes and saw her, reaching out and taking the other woman’s wrist. Chaz’s mother screeched “Let go you little-” “You’re not gonna want to finish that sentence, honey.” Skye cut her off, her eyes burning with an intensity that I had never seen before. “Gavin’s mine. You have no right.” I felt the grip around my body loosen a little, and then let up completely. I wasn’t being pinned to this woman’s knee anymore “Get up, Gavi-poo. This lady and I need to have a talk.” Trembling, I did as I was told and rose up on my own two feet, backing away quickly, and hiding behind Skye for cover. Skye released her grip on the other woman’s wrist. “Do you know what your Gavi-poo did?” Chaz’s mom spat. “Yeah, I know,” Skye answered. “And it was wrong. I’m sorry about that. I’ll be happy to pay you for the shorts. Do you know what yours did?” “What?” Chaz’s mother cocked her head to the side. “He was making fun of Gavin’s diapers,” “HE WHAT?” Chaz’s mom turned her gaze on her little boy. “And,” Skye hammered in, “I saw him spit in Gavin’s face, too.” “Did he, now?” the rage was now directed at her own child instead of me. The volcano was getting ready to blow. “Uh...no…” Chaz mumbled, looking like a cornered rat. “I know when you’re lying, Chaz,” the woman was shaking again. “I’ve always known when you lie. “I’ll let you get to that,” Skye began walking away, with me in tow. “AND YOU’RE WET AGAIN!” I heard her shriek as Skye walked us out of the pen. “Come on Gavi-kins.” Skye directed me away as Chaz and his insane mom became so much white noise. “Let’s go have fun somewhere else.”

All I'll say here is, "Well done".

Hey! Thanks!

So here's something I've noticed about this story in particular: It vaguely reminds me of professional wrestling. I'm a big wrestling fan, as an art form. And when you watch enough matches, you start to see certain patterns in the matches; and I don't necessarily mean tropes. You start to see how the wrestlers read each other, and communicate and signal to one another about what moves to do next. How the heel takes the lead and is the ring general, but doesn't necessarily dominate the match. The ending is predetermined, but so much of the in-between is masterful improvisation and quiet (or loud, yet disguised) signals to each other on what beats to hit next in the performance. And, because I know this is a role play, and not necessarily a pre-planned and carefully revised character story or plot, I feel I can see and recognize different forms of subtly designed communications in different sections, each one cuing up, hinting at, signaling, asking, and suggesting in a "now?...no not yet...okay now." kind of way. But just like with wrestling, even though I'm aware of the artifice, doesn't mean it's not entertaining and that I"m not enjoying the match. I appreciate the improvisation and the way it is skillfully executed, even if I feel I can see it.

Hey Indolence. Wow, I feel like I must've evoked some particularly strong feelings in you if you used your first post to post here, and say what you said. I'm sorry that it was a negative experience for you. I actually would like to thank you for your critique and your civility. I define my work by the criticism it receives, as well as the praise. And while this is not an invitation to mindlessly tear down my work, I recognize that your comment in particular is more than just pedantry or negativity because something isn't made to your exact specifications, (especially if you didn't pay anything.) Some minor backstory to the creation of this particular piece: This was done as part of a Cushypen Request Thread. Normally, Cushypen is something of a group patreon (that existed before patreon was a thing.) Subscribers pay their money. We humble artists and writers put up our stuff for them to see. If they like enough of it and can afford it, they keep paying each month. If not, they unsubscribe. In this instance, I got to do a request thread, where for no additional charge, Cushypen subscribers submitted ideas for short stories, (Short for me is tyically 5k-10k words). I picked a handful and turned them into 1 shot stories. It's a fun creative exercise for me and subscribers get a chance to read something that they themselves specifically wanted to see from me. (Admittedly, because it's a "request", I can take some creative liberties, but I'm upfront about that.) Here's the prompt I chose to work with in this instance. "Would love to see this idea applied to a baby shower setting where a group of men are “cut down to size” by there “hyper maternal” wives thanks to magic or science. In this concept the men are turned into babies but really only in terms of perception. For example their wives and fellow male comrades can see each other as their true selves but to everyone else in the world they are just babies. This allows for more communication/banter amongst our main “victims”, where two characters in the same embarrasing predicament talk about said humiliating predicament…think “Dante Infantzia”…only this time with all males. Also would love the use of baby diapers just blown up to adult size. Prefer Huggies" So I had 10,000 words give or take to tell a story that met these basic conditions, which is quite a challenge, believe it or not. I normally do much longer ongoing stories, where characters are put into less than favorable conditions, and the focus is how they try to escape their predicaments, or at least make the best of them. Rarely do I play the "they deserved this" card, especially where something as arbitrary as "maturity", and with this kind of limitations of time, there just wasn't enough time to show the kind of character depth (or lack thereof) required to make this a true morality tale. So instead I used possibly unreliable narrators, a snapshot from their lives prior to upheaval, and unreliable villains. All that being said: I'm quite proud of how it turned out, and I stand by it. Thanks for the plug! Also, thanks for the compliment on Ink!