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[It is already implied in the story, but for explicit clarity all characters herein are adults over 21 years of age.] [EDIT: This is just to give potential new readers an idea of what to expect. This story presents a variety of (primarily ABDL) themes, and more keep appearing as it gets longer, but infantilism is a reoccurring one, as is sexual tension between the characters and peeing/pooping diapers. If that combination turns you off, probably not a good fit. Otherwise, and especially if you enjoy a variety of themes and situations rather than a story that focuses on just one, I hope you'll give it a try. There IS a proper story here too, I promise, and actual character development, but it's taking me a few chapters to really get it going. I need to go back and edit the first chapters for stylistic and voice consistency, but I haven't gotten there yet. But problems aside, I hope you'll enjoy my humble first attempt at writing for others to see:] [EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL POST: UPDATED TO SECOND DRAFT] The Wild North CHAPTER ONE (MACADAMIA) Only frozen foothills lay behind. Only towering rock and a fool's death lay ahead. This was a barren, sharply-sloping land of white. It was broken, only occasionally, by harsh black stone upthrusts. Plants did not grow here. It was not a place for life and living things. It was a land of sleeping giants and the black wings of carrion eaters soaring across the muted gray heavens. A giant hand of unforgiving granite blocked the entire horizon in the distance ahead, thrusting up towards the heavens with a sheer vertical face that might have been carved by the gods themselves, and for the specific purpose of thwarting the curious, and crushing the spirits of the brave. Yet in between what came before and what stood ahead were two curious figures, tiny by comparison and huddled against the blowing wind beneath an overhang of rock. Both were wearing light, draping furs over tunics, with thick wool covering their legs and vanishing beneath the lower folds of their tunics. A young woman, her posture bold and unbent, stared forward from beneath the meager shelter, her gaze sizing up the mountains before them as if judging an upstart adversary rather than a force of nature, her unrestrained shoulder-length dark hair dancing freely in the breeze. Behind her, huddling bent against the rock wall as if to become a part of it, a young man with short-cropped sandy hair followed. Macadamia, the young woman was called back home, for she was hard -it was said- like the nut. No one would ever see the woman beneath the shell, they would whisper. She had never been bothered by it. She even embraced the nickname, and no longer went by any other. She was not antisocial exactly, for she saw no value in unkindness, and she was free enough with smiles and a kind greetings, it was simply that people had never been one of her interests. She spent years, long after passing the age of adulthood, gobbling up every story she had come across, written or oral. She worked her family’s farm during the day, but spent zero time courting a suitor, or other such things that were expected of a woman her age. It had earned her the enmity of more than one man who, having spent years admiring her somewhat petite but athletic figure develop into the curves of womanhood, had no-doubt looked forward with longing for the day they might win her heart. Occasionally a man would still try. “I want to love you forever,” a handsome young man had once said to her. “We’ll… raise sheep and be happy!” She only smiled at the clumsy but well-meaning attempt. “No one should live forever,” she had replied quite matter-of-factly. A couple of women had tried as well, hoping her reasons for rejecting men was the one they wanted. Unfortunately for them all, any such feelings rode in the back of the wagon while she steered her life elsewhere, towards fantasies and books, far away places and mysteries unsolved. Each time she found a trader with a new book it was all she cared about until it was read, and read again, only to be forgotten by the next one that came along. She followed her whimsy like the northern star. There was another reason as well. She knew that few would truly want her once they knew everything about her, and she felt no need to invite stories to spread. Against all odds she did one day find a man around whom she wanted to spend time. He too had passed into adulthood but refused to play the game. With his body more graceful than muscular, and his golden skin smooth rather than worn, he was handsome to be sure - but not in the way that so many women wanted. He had no accomplishments about which to boast, would never emerge victorious in a contest of strength, had no interest in winning fame through tournaments or distant wars, and was a stalwart recluse. What interest women might show went unrequited. He was quiet and shy and had -to the best of everyone's knowledge- never actually started a conversation other than to ask a necessary question or make a purchase at the market. Yet one day he had done the unthinkable – and with Macadamia of all people. It seemed they shared an interest in history and lore, and after overhearing one of her inquiries to a book dealer he had approached her with open, unprovoked questions. The two talked, and were friends thereafter. It was only later that she discovered the poor man's father was a monster. Though seldom home, he had taken to beating his family when he was. When the father was home the son was never seen. Macadamia had met the family’s matriarch but felt only sadness for the woman with the empty eyes and forced smiles. The town frowned on the whole unhappy business, but their disapproval meant nothing to the brute of a father. Not the inflated prices from the merchants, not the cold looks or quiet stares, could draw a reaction from him. No one dared challenge him openly; the man was a mountain on two legs - so unlike his son in every way. In fact, many rumors had spread over the years about alternate leanages for the boy. Some were as fanciful and ludicrous as an affair with a visiting prince in disguise. To Macadamia he seemed nothing more, or less, than an ordinary young man who had secrets, and she understood perfectly well having secrets. She did not fancy him out of pity, but for his mind and -if she was being honest- perhaps his sculpted body just a bit as well. When she finally embarked on a worthy adventure, she knew she could not leave him behind. Not to go from day to day hiding his bruises, ever sinking into sadness in a world that did not appreciate him. Not while she was alive. His name was Elm. It was not a nickname, his mother had simply found elm trees beautiful. The irony of naming a boy 'Elm' amidst the bows of deep, green, fir-covered evergreen forests was apparently lost on the woman. Or perhaps her mind simply took comfort in imagining places far away. Macadamia and Elm had spent many nights gazing at maps and books, scribbling by candlelight and sharing ideas, to the point that rumors had spread about Macadamia taking a man after all, but refusing to claim him. The truth would have bored them all to tears. The two met for only a couple hours here and there, usually in a neutral but private setting, and frequently as the sun was waning and the affairs of the day were done. They studied obscure legends. One in particular stuck and became a lasting shared interest: a legend of a gateway, strangely persistent in its retelling across spans of history. It purported to be a path to a land without sorrow. One without poverty or hunger or hardship. A land of eternal summer. The two talked of books, shared research, did absolutely nothing romantic or sordid as the townsfolk imagined, and then went home. Until the day they did not. It was dawn when they looked back on home for the last time. They turned their gazes to the horizon as the orange rays of the morning sun kissed the dew with gentle hews. The market was closed that day. They were alone as they sat before their maps, spread out on one of the old wooden tables. The dew made its surface slick, shiny, and cold but neither took notice. They had finally uncovered what they believed to be the path to the fabled gateway, their breath coming out in puffs amidst the cool morning air, their voices hushed but excited. They considered provisions with glances and short yeses and nos. They had never properly agreed to go at all, it simply happened that they both fell silent, having said their peace, met each other’s eyes, packed up their things, and walked away. She wondered if their respective families would ever come looking for them, though she doubted it. Such sudden departures were not unheard-of. Sometimes lovers would run away, or those unhappy with the harsh northern life would spend their meager coin to leave on a trader’s cart. Sometimes entire families would have a bad harvest or lose their animals to disease and hardship, then pick up and leave one day without a word. Guilt nagged at her thoughts, for she held no resentment towards her family and knew they would worry about her, but she pushed it aside. If all went well they would return with stories of their own to tell, and discoveries that would open doors for them far away from their home of gossipers and dark secrets. There would be plenty of time for apologies then, after the worthiness of their quest could not be denied. They would be scholars, she would think whimsically, a soft smile warming her features. They could write books of their own. In her wildest moments of fancy, she wondered if they should return at all. What if there really could be such a land, and they could live there? They both knew the quest would not be an easy one. Not even leaving in the early spring as they were. Not even if their most optimistic theories were correct. It would be a long, hard journey. They had agreed. Somehow that knowledge failed to alleviate her aches and pains. It seemed that facts would forever fail to prepare her for experience. The ground had gotten steadily steeper as they neared the great cliffs. Although the snow had relented, a spiteful wind tapped the existing drifts and blew the weaponized ice crystals into her eyes like coarse sand. Their clothing had proven thoroughly inadequate for the pernicious winter weather. Apparently no one had informed the mountains that it was now spring. At least the exercise of lugging her heavy pack up the slopes kept the cold from causing more than discomfort. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Elm was still standing, then frowned; he looked likely to fall over at any moment. Concern gripped her heart and she pulled him further into the meager shelter of their shallow cave. "Elm," she chided gently after worming her way out of her pack’s clingy straps, "why didn't you say something? Here-" She dug out the thick fur she had brought along for sleeping and tossed it around his shoulders, then kneeled, and pulled him down to her until he was sitting on her lap. "We'll wait here until the wind calms," she assured him, rubbing his arms briskly. Would the wind calm? Who knew, but it seemed best not to voice that worry. Nor the other worries creeping up from the shadows of her mind, such as the one that said this whole plan might have been a tad misguided. Especially not that one. He nodded. "I'm fine," he insisted despite his tacit agreement to delay. "I won't hold you back." "I know you won't." She kept to her most reassuring tone, then said nothing as he pushed himself more closely to her, his bottom now resting firmly on her thighs as they both pulled the blanket as tightly around them as it would go. Her taller frame accommodated the posture, as if their bodies were meant to fit together, with his head coming to rest comfortably on her left shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body, so close now, and realized she had never been this close to a man. This wasn't how she imagined it. The story books left out the part where the prince and princess were more interested in not freezing to death than dancing with endearing chipmunks and getting lost in each other's eyes. Even so, she felt as if the heat of her own body had grown just a bit too. Just two bodies close together in a warm blanket, she decided firmly, nothing more. His shivering began to subside and she felt a wash of relief, which then turned to surprise as he started... snoring? He had fallen asleep in her arms. Clearly the journey was taking a great toll on him. She mentally shrugged and let him sleep; there didn’t seem to be any harm in taking a couple of hours to nap. It had not been nearly that long when a new sensation kindled her surprise - a sudden, intense heat was spreading out across her thighs. Her heart fluttered in a brief panic. Had she..? Surreptitiously as she could manage, she tilted her head and looked down, but his round, innocent eyes were still closed in slumber. Her left arm was underneath the furs, and she nervously used it to explore. In the northern lands of her home, it was a common style of dress for both sexes to wear leggings that stopped at the mid thigh. They were usually made form-fitting and with rigid ornamentation throughout, the purpose of which -beyond vanity of course- was to force them to retain their shape rather than sliding down and bunching up at the knees. It was a strange custom for a land so cold, but proud northerners embraced it conspicuously, showing off glimpses of skin as if to prove how little the climate affected them. What they did not volunteer is that the fabric of the leggings was thick and warm, and that most people wore equally thick, warm underwear underneath their thigh-length tunics, never mind their thick fur cloaks with hoods. Northerners, it seemed, were just as vulnerable to the cold as anyone - but only the unwise would be caught leaking that secret to a southerner. Her hand explored the increasingly wet fabric of her leggings, and upwards towards her crotch. She reached inside the thick puffiness of her own undergarment, holding a tense breath, but found that it was dry. Relief warred with confusion. Her hand explored -ever so gently so as not to wake him- Elm's underwear. The frontal regions were already soaking, and the warm moisture was spreading steadily outward around the sides and bottom. Without her conscious direction her hand moved forward to the source of the flow. The bulge of his dormant manhood was like a hot spring in the cold winter air as his underwear absorbed all that it could and was forced to let the rest flow freely around her fingers and onto her lap. For a few moments she sat, unsure what to do in this situation, as the flow soaked more of her leggings, and it was during her hesitation that he blinked awake - her hand still resting on the front of his underwear. He blinked. She blinked. "What's going..?" His eyes shot wide open. "I'm afraid you're peeing yourself," she explained unnecessarily. Some dormant instinct took over and she felt a cool confidence. "But it's nothing to lose sleep over," she said soothingly, dismissing the situational irony with a frown. "Don't worry, alright?" "I can't believe this is happening," he said miserably, lowering his head to avoid meeting her gaze. "Father would..." His voice had drifted off, but her own anger suddenly flared to life, like an open fire doused with grease. "Is this why your father always acts so ashamed of you? Why he always treats you poorly and keeps you out of sight? Because you... have accidents?" "I... I kept wetting the bed," he said in the voice of one resigned to a cruel but well deserved fate. "Father used to humiliate me for it... you know, to try and get me to stop. But it only made things worse and I started having accidents during the day. But I thought... I thought..." His voice was growing even more miserable. He had omitted the beatings, though the whole village knew about them. "It's alright," she kept repeating softly. The smell of pee and wet fabric started to waft out from underneath the thick fur in which they were huddled, while she pretended not to notice. He did not seem able to stop. The odor was strong, but strangely not unpleasant. It smelled uniquely of him. The gusting wind subsided, and in the sudden quiet she could hear the hiss of his stream penetrating the fabric of his underwear before finally running out. The sudden lack of hot pee washing over her fingers made her realize where her hand still sat, and she hastily relocated it. "There now. I know you feel better. It really is alright." He grew quiet for a time, and when he spoke again his voice sounded closer to its normal even tones. "I've been getting better since I met you. I thought... I thought I could control it. Now I know I shouldn't have come..." "Don't you dare say that," she scolded him gently, "I..." She stumbled over how to reassure him, and went with the simple truth. "I wouldn't have made this journey without you anyway, and I'm so glad you came! I don't want you to worry about this at all." When she continued to hold him and he didn’t pull away, she was struck by a feeling of rightness to the situation – of caring for him and reassuring him. She had been doing it almost instinctively since they had met, she now realized, and the instinct was only becoming stronger. The cold weather and blowing moisture prowled only feet away as the wind resumed its hunt. Wet clothing would only make its bite stronger, but their warm northern wool would provide some protection even when wet, and she saw no more reason to depart right now than she had before. She said as much and gently persuaded him to get some rest. When her persuasions failed she tried something new: she started humming a soft, gentle tune just as her mother had always done for her. It felt strange to share experiences so innocent and yet so intimate with a man who was close to her own age, but his youthful manner and appearance might have allowed him to pass for a younger brother. Did she want to think of him that way, as a boy? Or did she prefer the man? Perhaps all men had a dual nature, a vulnerable child still hiding within. She leaned back against the rock, unable to completely deny her own exhaustion. Did she really mind so much if that were true? Maybe his strange innocence was something she liked about him. Nothing wrong with that. Was there? Sleep took her by surprise after several minutes of stroking his coarse, sandy hair, still humming that same, mellow tune. A voice whispered in her dreams. It said that they would soon need to find their legs, and their courage. It said that far more than wind and weather awaited them out here, in the wild north.

There's not enough FFXIV in diapers. Have a warrior of light that's just exhausted. Sesena's Day Off It was a cold and raining evening in Shirogane by the time Sesena Sena made it back to the small home owned by her and some friends. It had been a long day for one of the heroes of the realm. It hard started easily enough. She'd been delivering a new journal filled with stories to give Khloe something to read to the younger kids before an innocent question about a 'plot hole' one of the kids heard sent the Lalafell on a frenzied trip searching for something that one of her Retainers had been holding on to. "Anyone home?" Sesena called out as she entered the free company's house. The diminutive Dark Knight haphazardly took her sword off her back and set it against the wall. She flopped onto one of the Lalafell sized chairs in the house. Normally she'd take the couch all to herself since no one answered her call, but she was soaked. She also didn't feel like climbing down the Hyur designed stairwell to get into the hot tub to clean off. Instead, much like her sword, her armor also found its way into a pile in the corner. At least the tunic she had on underneath was only slightly damp. She'd forgone the greaves though, so her pants were absolutely soaked. Aw, did the little champion have an accident? A familiar voice rang out in her head that made her glad no one was there to see her blush. Fray Myste was once an aspiring dark knight who died. His soul merged with the job crystal, and Sesena's own aether mixed with the remains of his. This left her with an extra voice in her head that was only mostly her own. Useful in a fight to help process strategies and pay attention to more of the battlefield. Less useful when tired and exhausted. Especially after their earlier conflicts had been resolved. Frey was a quiet, constant companion who only ever wanted what was best for her. His voice was also one that encouraged her to do things for herself. Sesena hated to admit how quickly she folded under a certain sort of encouragement. Fortunately for her none of her company mates knew about this particular button of hers. "That's not what happened and you know it!" Sesena exclaimed, ignoring the rush from the thought of having done just that. Of having been one of the little ones she helped tell stories too. Of getting carried off for dry pants because of an entirely different reason. Of being cleaned and caressed and not routinely having the literal weight of the world on her shoulders. You can pretend can't you? Frey asked, knowing that's exactly what she was doing. None of your friends are around, you've had a long, pointless quest, and there is nothing ending the world in the next few days. "But what if…" Sesena started, but she found herself unable to finish her train of thought. Not because of any external distraction, but because she was tired, wet, and Frey was right. There really was no reason for her not to indulge herself. "Is anyone else home? I've got Archon Loaf?" She didn't, not really. No one in their right mind would willing eat that garbage, and she thought that said a lot about Sharlyan. After about thirty seconds, Sesena giggled to herself. Far, from the confident tone that she normally carried, this was a light and airy sound. It was just as much another piece of armor removed like her sword and chest piece. Without really thinking about it her legs began to sway back and forth beneath the chair. "Hey Frey?" She asked mischievously. Yes sweetie? "I think I had an accident." She felt her heart beat race faster than it did when she faced down Leviathan for the first time. Saying that out loud always sent shiver down her spine. Especially when she knew what would be next. That's okay. Let's go get you cleaned up. Despite lacking the focus and will to summon him as Esteem, Sesena couldn't help but pretend that instead of walking to her bedroom door; that she was pickup up carefully, and carried over to her nursery. The little Lalafell's room was easy to find, if only because the handle was at half the height of all the other doors. She barely took the time to close it behind her as she walked inside. Honestly, from first look it seemed like a room more befitting a child than a champion. The walls had a soft blue wallpaper with bouncy looking clouds spread across. Her floor was a mishmash of colored tiles, and on it was spread a variety of stuffed animals she had picked up as souvenirs during her travels. Her favorite was clearly the Ruby carbuncle which had an honored place atop the bed. A bed which Sesena practically dove under to retrieve her prize. A small, brown, unmarked chest. As she opened it, she couldn't help but hum the traditional song of victory under her breath. With care and reverence, she set the contents onto her bed. It was a diaper, albeit one sized and fitted for Rogenden toddlers. Sesena had been so glad that Faded Shine, the company craft master, never bothered to ask just why Sesena wanted to learn how to hem cloth. The Viera had just been happy to have another person interested in the disciplines of the hand This meant that after the wet pants had been tossed into a corner, she had a perfectly fitting alternative to wear. Sesena jumped onto her bed. She'd done this so many times now that it was practically second nature, but that didn't stop her excitement. With the same level of reverence she had pulling out the diaper Sesena pulled the front half over herself. She made sure it was perfectly aligned before pinning the sides into place. Once it was on, she let out another giggle as she tried and failed to close her legs. There we are. Feeling better, little champion? Fray asked. Sesena's only responded was to pull out another piece of contraband. A pretty pink pacifier she kept hidden in her pillow case. With her stuffie in hand, paci in mouth, and diaper on butt; it finally felt like the stress of the day was vanishing away. The little champion rolled off her bed and attempted to waddle. It was incredibly difficult given the size of the diaper, and Sesena didn't fight the urge to just fall back onto her diaper. It's okay, little champion. You don't need to worry about right now. Just go play. Sesena practically melted from the words. All her life it felt like she'd been pushed to succeed, pushed to Excel. The pressures only increased after awakening to the echo, and it multiplied once joining the Scions. So with immeasurable glee, Sesena began crawling around to all her stuffed animals on the floor. There was the Coeurl from Costa De Sol, the Gobbue from the rising celebrations from a few years ago, and a stuffed red dragon made in the Firmament. Sesena accessed her inventory to take out a pitcher of ice tea that she'd been magically preserving and poured herself some as she sat in a circle with her other plushies. "You would not believe the day I've had," Sesena told them. Of course. Through the pacifier it sounded more like "Ou uld ot eleeeebe a ay I ad". Luckily for her they were well versed in translating babble. She got as far as talking about the collapsing tower before she realized she needed a visual aid for the story. Her now empty cup was dropped on the colorful carpet without a second thought so she could crawl over to her secret building blocks hidden at the base of her dresser. It was when she was halfway there that a familiar call came. She smiled as she crawled around and barely gave it a second thought. The absorbent cloth between her legs began to grow warm and wet. Slowly at first, though much faster as her body realized it was okay. She couldn't help it after all. She wasn't some great hero. She wasn't a noble champion. She wasn't even an adventure. Right now she didn't have to be any of those things. Sesena pushed her small collection of blocks back over to her stuffed animals, delighting in the damp padding. Soon even that was forgotten as she first tried to show her audience just how big the tower was before it fell. Then she got distracted by the simple joy of building something up just to knock it down. Sadly, all good things must come to an end. This one was punctuated by a small, yet mighty yawn. Time for bed, little champion. Fray told her. Sesena pouted at that, if only because she wanted to pout. "But I'm not tired." She grumbled as she crawled over to her mattress. Sesena stood only long enough to walk up the short step stool near the bed. "Can you tell me a story?" She asked as she curled around her carbuncle. It was warm enough that the shirt and diaper were plenty comfortable for the evening. Once upon a time… Admittedly, the contents of the story didn't really matter. Sesena just wanted to hear the stories that led her to adventure in the first place. She wanted someone else to do the telling, and the adventuring. She wanted to be safe away from the marathons and God slaying, tucked around her stuffie. And more than anything. She was asleep before he even truly began. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Faded Shine stretched out her back as she left the company workshop. She'd been tinkering with the exploratory airship. The Viera tucked her oil stained gloves into her belt before using her personal armory chest to change into a much more comfortable casual outfit. Her grease covered ears twitched as she became accustomed to the lack of the deafening sound of her forge. She was just about to truly kick back and relax for the evening before she saw the gear she once spent hours making for the tiny tank piled carelessly in a corner. "Sesena…" Faded grumbled. After all, there was only one person in the company that used that size gear. It was careless and irresponsible to leave it out without caring for it! Faded had a reputation amongst the company as the mom friend. A gifted healer in her own right, Faded's was able to create almost anything she needed as long as she had the materials, and was well equipped to get whatever she needed. It was through her market and crafting prowess that the company was even able to afford to buy the lot their house was on. Creating the gear that her friends used to protect themselves when she wasn't there to heal them herself was her way of protecting them from afar. So naturally, the armor and sword potentially damaging the floor was somewhat irritating to her. Of course, if the gear was left like this, it probably meant Sesena was in her room. Faded smiled to herself. It was time to lecture that lalafell about proper maintance! Faded marched down the halls, only to slow as she heard a soft snore coming through a door that hadn't been entirely closed. Of course, Faded thought. Sesena was the most active adventurer of the group, and often the first to answer the call for help. She put so much effort in to every quest that she often forgot to even get under the blankets before she slept. Faded carefully opened the door, planning on tucking the deepest sleeper in the company properly into bed. The lecture could wait until morning. Or so she thought. Faded eyes went wide once she was close enough to see what Sesena was wearing. Was that… Faded thought before the faint scent of ammonia hit her nose. Her irritation at the poor girl vanished. "Oh Sesena Sena Sena," she whispered to herself. The Lalafell remained entwined with the plush carbuncle that was almost bigger than her. Faded was remarkably young for a Viera, only a hundred or so. Still, this wasn't the strangest thing she had ever seen. With more care than she initially planned, Faded picked up Sesena. She froze as Sesena let out a soft whine and started reaching for the plush left of the bed. Faded quietly picked it up and handed it over. Sesena let out a happy hum as she snuggled back into it, and Faded practically died from her inability to verbalize how adorable she found it. She lifted the blankets and set Sesena under them with her prized carbuncle. Without really thinking, Faded carefully squeezed the front of the Lalafell's diaper to confirm what her nose already told her. While tempted, Faded didn't want to intrude on what was clearly a personal thing. For the moment at least. She had already changed into her weaver outfit. The hemwork on that diaper was amateur at best, and she had so many idea for outfits already in mind. Best way to relax from crafting was to craft more after all!