#being incontinent is normal

[skyloftian-nutcase]

For the ask game, migraine with Sky?

Ah, Sky, my baby. <3 I love him so much, I took some liberties, so I hope you don't mind.

Let's have some fun.

(Click here to read on AO3)

The night air was cool, though it felt much warmer and more humid to Sky now that they had spent a few days on Skyloft. The group had just departed his home through a portal, and Sky was eternally grateful that he’d had the opportunity to show them the sights and come to know that no monsters had attacked his home. Although it had taken his brothers a few days to physically adjust to the altitude difference, they’d managed to have a week of peace and relaxation before they had to leave once more. Sky still prayed in thanks for it.

Except now that they were wandering the dark woods in search of a place to camp, Sky felt strangely off. It made no sense, really – he’d just spent the last week relaxing and not doing anything strenuous; there was no reason for him to feel this way. His body felt tired, shaky, ill… he was coughing for no reason, his head was pounding, and his vision was blurred. Maybe he’d walked too much? He’d been taking it easy all week, and his body was downright pathetic in comparison to the others in his group, so he supposed it was possible.

Time mentioned something about trying to find a place with a better clearing rather than the brier they were forced to cut through in their current location. It made sense to Sky; they had a large group, they needed some more space. It would be nice if they could just clear this area for themselves rather than look for something naturally produced, though. Not that he wanted to cut any of the flora, he found it all very beautiful and fascinating, but goddess his head—

Sky lurched forward, stumbling on a root, and his world spun. He crashed into a tree, leaning heavily against it, blinking spots out of his vision. His head felt like it was being stabbed by Ghirahim’s daggers, his stomach felt like it was about to riot, and he couldn’t see.

He was hurting so much and he was so tired.

“Sky?”

The voice was loud, concerned. Sky cringed, mumbling, “’m ok… jus’ need a min…”

“Sky, what’s wrong?”

Sky hissed, sliding to the ground, cradling his head in his hands. Couldn’t they just be quiet and leave him alone for a minute? He could get this under control, but everything was too much. The stabbing sensation in his head only heightened as pressure built up, his eyes welling with tears and his sinuses running.

He felt hands touch him, and he shriveled into himself. He felt awful. He didn’t know what was wrong; Sky didn’t really get migraines, he didn’t suddenly get sick for no reason. Sure, he’d gotten very ill before, but not out of nowhere and not so quickly.

His head was screaming too much for him to piece anything together, but in the back of his mind some kind of nagging, urgent warning screamed.

Skyloft. Altitude sickness.

Surface sickness.

Oh. Oh, oh, oh, oh, no.

“I… I’m going to…” he tried to explain, tried to piece together words and grit through the pain to say that he needed less air, that his body had adapted to the Sky far more than any of theirs, that—

Sky blacked out.

XXX

A strange scent entered Twilight’s nostrils.

He wasn’t really sure how to place it. He’d never smelled anything like this before, but something about it was nagging and it made him nervous. He turned, barely able to pick it up, and decided he should track it to be certain it wasn’t anything bad.

Grabbing his crystal, he said quickly to Time, “I’ll be right back, I need to check something.”

He shifted before Time had a chance to answer, and the scent hit him like a moblin’s club. Following it, he moved to the back of the group where Legend and Hyrule were clustered around Sky, who was leaning against a tree. That’s when Twilight abruptly realized the scent was coming from Sky himself.

But never mind the scent, Sky didn’t look well at all.

Twilight immediately shifted back into his Hylian form, and just as he was about to speak, Sky collapsed. Legend let out a yell of surprise and Twilight and Hyrule both dove to catch their friend. The rest of the group noticed the commotion and rushed over, but the rancher barely registered it.

Sky didn’t just pass out, he was convulsing.

Twilight put a hand on his arm to steady him, worried words on his lips. Sky was so tense, his arm would stiffen and relax and his entire body followed suit. The teenager grimaced but no matter what any of the heroes said, he didn’t acknowledge them.

“What’s wrong with him?” Wind asked worriedly. “Sky, why won’t you talk to us?”

Warriors walked around to Sky’s other side and motioned for Twilight to follow. The rancher did so, reading the expression on the captain’s face as something akin to recognition. “You know what’s happening, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Warriors muttered, and everyone honed their attention in on him. Rather than explain, though, he said, “Help me get him on his side.”

Twilight did as instructed, though it was surprisingly difficult since Sky’s entire body was fighting the motion tooth and nail. It wasn’t even like he was trying to push them off or anything, but he was so rigid that it was like trying to roll a misshapen, heavy wooden plank. Just as they got Sky onto his right side, his entire body suddenly relaxed, and he let out a deep exhale and stilled.

And stopped breathing.

“Sky? Sky! Sky!” Legend yelled, shaking him as everyone became alarmed. “What the hell did you two just do, he’s—”

Sky’s chest rose and fell.

And everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“What the hell was that?!” Wild asked no one in particular.

Legend immediately glared at Warriors. “You said you know what’s going on?”

The captain watched Sky as he knelt behind his back, a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Seizure. One of my men back in the war got a bad head wound and started having them, so I’ve seen a few. Looked just like that.”

“A head wound?” Hyrule asked, immediately running his hands through Sky’s hair, feeling over his scalp for any sign of injury. “But he’s not hurt. Has anyone seen him get hurt recently?”

“When would he have gotten hurt, we’ve been on Skyloft this whole time!” Legend noted, throwing his hands in the air.

Four looked at Twilight, eyes distant in thought. “Do you think it has to do with the altitude?”

Everyone quieted, looking at the smithy.

Upon noticing their scrutiny, he shrugged. “We got sick from being up there, could it be possible he gets sick when he first comes down to the surface? I’ve felt a little ill all morning, and I know you guys haven’t felt the best either. Nothing compared to when we were up there, but maybe it’s opposite for Sky?”

Time hummed thoughtfully. “It would make sense. He is far more adapted to being on Skyloft, after all.”

“So what do we do?” Legend asked, cutting to the chase. “There are no sky islands here.”

“Well, if we’re going off that logic,” Four continued. “Then what he needs is to rest so his body has time to recover and adapt.”

“And clean him up,” Twilight noted softly, seeing the moist stain on his clothes. He looked at Warriors. “Is that normal?”

The captain nodded. “Yes. He’s going to be unconscious for a bit, and he’ll be disoriented when he wakes up. It’s best someone be with him the whole time so he doesn’t wake up alone.”

Time looked around, and the calm, commanding expression that settled on his face helped everyone focus. “Champion, you and Traveler scout ahead and find a place to camp. We’ll take Sky to the river to the east. Contact Sailor when you find something.”

Wild nodded, determination gleaming in his eyes, and rose to his feet from where he’d been kneeling by Sky. Hyrule, hand still on the knight’s head, also shot to his feet and followed the champion farther into the forest.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Warriors asked skeptically. “They’re going to get lost.”

“They’re the best survivalists we have,” Time answered. “They’ll find a safe place for Sky to rest. Rancher can find anyone, and they only need to contact Sailor through that slate of his. I’m not worried about it. Let’s get him to the river.”

Twilight reached to roll Sky into his arms when Legend swatted his hands away.

“Let me get his sailcloth off first, he’ll throw a fit if it gets filthy,” Legend fussed, working with the brooch that kept it around their brother’s neck.

“I’ll get a change of clothes for him!” Wind piped in, clearly finding ways to diffuse his nervous energy. He grabbed Sky’s adventure pouch and nearly dove into it with gusto.

“Will he stop breathing again?” Time asked Warriors, his face paling a little at the thought.

“He shouldn’t,” the captain answered.

“Should… should we wait to move him?” Four looked between Sky and the captain. “Will it hurt him?”

Warriors’ face, which had been stony with everything happening, softened and he smiled. “No, Smithy, it won’t hurt him.”

Legend finished removing the sailcloth, allowing Twilight to hold his brother in his arms. He carried him close to his chest, his entire body relaxing at the proximity and at the thought that he could do something to assist. He’d felt entirely too helpless and overwhelmed watching that seizure. Time practically fished Wind out of Sky’s adventure pouch as the boy was only visible from waist to toes, his entire torso digging through the interior. When the sailor was plucked out, he had a change of clothes at the ready and a disgruntled look set upon his face.

“I was looking to see if he had extra blankets!” he protested.

Twilight chuckled and Warriors ruffled the boy’s hair. The group set out for the river.

The cool water did nothing to awaken the Skyloftian knight, making Twilight’s stomach churn with worry. When he looked at Warriors, though, the captain didn’t seem overly concerned. Unable to assist with the bathing, Wind preoccupied himself by getting into a splashing competition with Four, leading Time to take Wind’s pirate’s charm so he could listen out for Wild and keep watch. Both young teenagers were as soaked as Sky by the time Twilight, Legend, and Warriors were finished cleaning him up.

Sky was halfway redressed when his eyes started to flutter open.

“Sky?” Legend placed a hand on his bare shoulder as he shivered. Saying his name caught the entire group’s attention, and everyone hastened over. “Sky, how are you feeling?”

Sky’s breathing quickened and he grew anxious, trying to wiggle out of Twilight’s hold from behind him as the rancher was propping him up. Twilight took Sky’s arms and tucked them to his chest, giving a hug from behind. “It’s okay, Sky, it’s just us. You’re okay.”

“Link.” Warriors knelt in front of him, brushing wet curls out of his face. “You’re safe. You had a seizure. We’re taking care of you, you’re okay.”

Sky settled a little at the words, though from Twilight’s vantage point the teenager still looked confused and scared. His eyelids drooped and he nodded off shortly thereafter.

Time glanced at Warriors for guidance. The captain sighed, leaning back. “Yeah, he’s going to be like that for a while.”

Wind put his hands on his hips. “He’s cold, come on, get his shirt on him!”

Time glanced at Wind, caught off guard at the boy’s commanding tone, and then smiled.

As the group finished getting Sky dressed, Legend shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t think he’s had seizures before and then just not told us, do you?”

Twilight shook his head. “No. No, he hasn’t. Something in the air changed, he smelled different right before it happened. I’ve never smelled that before.”

“You could smell a seizure?” Warriors asked, eyebrow raised.

Twilight shrugged. “I mean I guess that’s what it was. All I know was it was different, and it was coming off him.”

Before anyone could comment, Wind’s pirate charm glowed, and Wild and Hyrule were excitedly telling them they found a place. Before either could even take a breath they were immediately asking about Sky’s condition, and Time quickly interrupted their interrogation.

“He’s doing okay,” he explained. “Just resting. Now where is this place?”

“Oh, it’s just south of the funny shaped boulder—”

“No, no, it’s southeast of the funny shaped boulder, but it’s south of the owl family with those cute little owlets—”

“Yeah, and there’s a tree that’s bent funny that looks like a portal but isn’t and that’s just like twenty paces away from the site—”

Twilight was grabbing his shadow crystal before Time even threw an exasperated look in his direction.

XXX

When he came to, he was… beyond disoriented. And confused. Because why did his head hurt? Why was he on something soft? Where was he? What happened? Why did his whole body feel like it had been stepped on by Koloktos, run over by Scaldera, and punched by Demise? Why did he feel so completely and utterly drained? Why was he on his belly? What was rubbing his back?

Sky groaned, trying to open his eyes, but he was so tired.

Something warm and gentle massaged his neck, and he involuntarily sighed as the tension was released. A gentle voice rumbled, “You’re okay, Sky. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

A little less anxious, Sky still tried to open his eyes. The voice sounded familiar. When he finally started to gather the strength to lift his eyelids, he flinched as something soft tickled his right eye. He kept it closed, opening his left, and he realized he was lying prone with his head turned to the left. The soft material tickling his face was a fur pelt.

Fur. Fur?

“Rancher…?” he mumbled.

He heard shifting on the ground, and then he saw a pair of knees before Twilight dipped down to be at eye level with him. He watched Sky silently, eyes warm and concerned, and then smiled. “Hey, Sky. Welcome back.”

Welcome back? “Where’d I go?”

Twilight chuckled, laying a gentle hand on his back. “Somewhere we couldn’t reach you for a while. You scared us. Smithy worked out that you probably got used to being up in the sky. We all did, in a sense; the Old Man even admitted to feeling kind of woozy when we got to the woods. But you just like to outshine all of us when it comes to the sky, don’t you?”

Sky smiled absentmindedly at Twilight’s low, gentle laughter, not quite catching everything.

Twilight’s hand went back to his neck, massaging it a little more. “Go back to sleep, Sky.”

Safe in his brother’s care, Sky settled, letting himself go.

[cripple-woe]

Some of the people crying about cripplepunk being gatekept haven’t been through this life. You just fucking haven’t. You never will.

You’ve never fed your friend their breakfast. You’ve never held that friends hand and said hey, it’s okay, it’s okay the treatment didn’t work. It’s okay. You’ve never let them curl into you and sob. You’ve never been friends with someone who was terminally ill. You’ve never been friends with someone who has bladder and bowel incontinence. You’ve never changed an adult. You’ve never stood outside of the disabled bathroom desperately trying to bust it open because your friend fell down and started to cry.

You’ve never struggled to chew or swallow, or move. You’ve never sobbed into someone’s chest ‘WHY CAN’T MY BODY BE NORMAL?!’ You’ve never watched a friend die so far before their time. You’ve never had to use adult diapers. You’ve never had to feel the shame of incontinence. You’ve never laid on the floor of a dirty accessible bathroom screaming, sobbing, gasping for air, unable to reach the emergency alarm.

Because if you had. You’d know why we keep this to ourselves.

Abled people like you just don’t fucking get it.

Fuck you.

[mellowsadistic]

The Magician's Game - Chapter 12

Abby didn’t enjoy her first morning as a woman with no bladder or bowel control. She let out an ear-piercing shriek when she woke up to find the big-breasted ‘Nanny’ from the day before bending over her with a finger slipped inside the leg-band of her soaking wet night-time diaper.

“Don’t be frightened, sweetie,” the woman cooed. “Nanny’s just checking your nappy. It looks like someone made lots of wee-wees during beddy-byes, didn’t she? Yes she did! Yes she did! Wittle Abby-wabby’s got a very soggy bum-bum!”

Abby felt herself burning with humiliation. “You can’t tawk to me wike dat!” she squealed, sitting up in bed and feeling her clammy wet diaper squishing unpleasantly beneath her. It was only then that she realised her thumb was in her mouth. She yanked it out at once.

The woman tittered. “You’re a big baby who can’t even wipe her own bottom, sweetie,” she said. “I can talk to you however I like.” Her motherly expression turned a little more sinister. “And if I don’t like your tone, I could leave you in that nasty nappy all day, no matter how wet and messy you make it. Is that what you want?”

Abby went cold. She couldn’t change herself. If she didn’t do what this bitch said then she’d have to stay in this disgusting thing for who knows how long – and she needed to keep her mind on the challenge today, not on the state of her pants. This would be the final one, the most important of all, her last and only chance to get back to normal and avoid the Magician’s sick, twisted punishments. And if she won, she’d get three wishes. Anything she wanted!

Her lower lip stuck itself out in a pout. “Sowwy Nanny,” she mumbled meekly.

Nanny smirked. “Good girl. Now let’s get that yucky-wucky diapee off your cute little tushy!”

Abby’s second nappy change as an adult was no less humiliating than her first. Nanny took her sweet time, making sure to coo at her in sickeningly sweet baby talk and tickle her tummy at random intervals. “P-U!” she cried theatrically, pinching her nose as she held up Abby’s sodden, yellowed diaper. “This icky thing is absolutely soaked! What a little pee-pee pants you are, Abby! I’d never have guessed you used to be a sexy, grown-up woman. You look just like a smelly little baby to me!”

Abby cringed and clenched her eyes shut, trying to block out the sounds of Nanny’s taunts as the older woman got to work wiping her clean with a pack of baby wipes.

“And here’s a nice, new nappy,” Nappy said happily, slipping one under Abby’s bottom, “for the next time you need to make a pee-pee, or drop a stinky load in your pants.”

Abby couldn’t prevent a pathetic, whimpering sob from leaving her lips as Nanny finished taping a fresh diaper around her waist. But at least it was over. Nanny helped her off the bed and got her dressed – tugging a pair of white, semi-translucent tights over her bulging diaper-butt and pulling a tight pink t-shirt over her bare chest. Her tits were constrained almost painfully in the tiny thing. A pair of frilly socks, black schoolgirl shoes, and a bonnet later, and Abby was fully dressed for the day.

Nanny escorted her, toddling, to the kitchen, where Becky and the Magician were already seated. In front of Becky, and in front of the large highchair that was awaiting Abby, were two enormous bowls full of baby food. Feeling sick, but knowing there was much worse at stake, Abby allowed herself to be sat in the highchair and fed the bland-tasting mush. She barely even fussed as Nanny pushed spoonful after spoonful against her lips, smearing her lower face. She was too busy worrying about what the final challenge would be.

Becky, too, was nervous. She spooned her meal into her mouth by herself. At least she didn’t need someone to feed her, she thought, looking up at the mess the busty woman was getting all over her fellow contestant’s pretty face. She didn’t want to end up like that. It was bad enough being incontinent. She turned red as she remembered how she’d woken up that morning, right in the middle of messing her nappy. How could she ever think of herself as an adult if she was doing that all the time?! She couldn’t stand the thought of spending even one more day in diapers! She didn’t want to be an overgrown, pants-filling baby anymore! She wouldn’t, she couldn’t, spend the rest of her life waddling around in smelly Pampers like some horrid brat in daycare. She forced herself to get through the bowl of baby food, even knowing it would bring about a messy nappy sooner rather than later – it would be the last, she told herself firmly.

Once Becky was finished eating, and Nanny was slipping the last few spoonfuls of mush into Abby’s mouth, the Magician got to his feet. His handsome smile was more terrifying than ever. “Alright girls,” he said, the awful bright light dancing once again in his eyes. “It’s time for the fourth and final challenge. Three silly young ladies have already headed off to live their new, and much altered lives, and now it’s time to find out which of you will be joining them in their fates, and which will earn herself three wishes. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that unless you win, the changes you have at the moment will be permanent.” He savoured the last word, and Abby and Becky both shivered. “The final challenge,” he continued, “is very simple. The two of you will have a competition to see who can act the most babyish over the next few hours. The one who I decide has been the silliest, most ridiculous overgrown baby will win my little game.”

Abby and Becky stared at him wide-eyed, their mouths open. They could only win their adulthood back by outcompeting the other at being a stupid baby?!

The Magician cocked his head at them. “What are you waiting for?” he asked, grinning.

The two young women looked at one another, and then Becky immediately got off her chair and dropped to her hands and knees, babbling in meaningless baby talk. “Goo goo gah bah bah!” she prattled, dribbling down her chin. She started crawling over to the Magician.

Feeling mortified, Abby imitated Becky and hastily extracted herself from her highchair and sank onto all fours too. “Gah gah buh buh buh!” she babbled, drooling down her own chin and crawling towards the Magician herself. She could see the evil satisfaction in his face as he watched them approach.

Becky reached him first. She plopped back on her diapered bottom and looked up at him with her best, desperate, puppy-dog eyes. She raised her hands into the air and made little clenching movements. “Up!” she squealed. “Uppies, Dada!”

The Magician laughed delightedly. He reached down and, with surprising strength, lifted the babbling baby-woman into his arms, settling her on his hip and holding her tightly against himself. Then he looked appraisingly down at Abby, who had just reached his feet.

Abby sat back on her nappy, and was about to mimic Becky again when she stopped. That wouldn’t work. She couldn’t just do whatever Becky was doing – she’d lose for sure that way. She’d have to do something else. A loud, childish temper tantrum seemed like a good idea, as if she was jealous of Becky getting held instead of her. The sick freak would undoubtedly like that. She hated the Magician. She hated him more than anyone else in the world for what he’d done to her, for what he was making her do. But he was dangerous, and she’d play along with his perverted fantasies if it meant winning his insane game. She was a little girl who wanted her Daddy’s undivided attention, she told herself, and that stupid little brat Becky was stealing him away from her!

She hardly had to pretend. The changes the Magician had made to her the day before had ruined her ability to control her emotions like an adult. Angry that Becky was already beating her, and terrified of the consequences if she lost, the tears came in no time at all. Her bottom lip wobbled beneath her thumb, and Abby started to wail. She scrunched up her beautiful face, tears pouring down her cheeks, sobbing hysterically and taking great heaving breaths as she pounded her free hand petulantly against the floor. “WAAAAAAAAAH!” she wailed. “I WANT MY DADA!”

Suddenly, she felt his powerful arm scooping her up, supporting her under her thickly padded bottom and holding her close against his chest, just as he was doing with Becky. “Shhhh,” the Magician hushed her gently, and Abby actually felt a pleasant tingle run down her spine at the unexpected gentleness of his voice. “Shhhh, it’s okay, baby. There, there… Daddy’s here, little one. Daddy’s got you.” The Magician carried them out of the kitchen and further into the house, into a brightly decorated playroom littered with baby toys.

He set them down on the soft, carpeted floor, and Abby immediately got to work. With some difficulty, she yanked off her tight t-shirt and started bouncing and shaking her boobies, giggling like she’d found her new favourite toys. She could feel the Magician’s eyes on her, and she blew a dribbly raspberry that made a line of drool to spill down onto her bare breasts.

Becky started to strip as well, but her adult clothes were harder to remove while she was sitting on the floor. An idea occurred to her, and she looked up, pouting at the Magician. “Wanna be nakie giwl!” she cried.

Chuckling, the Magician knelt down and started taking off Becky’s jeans and tank top, until she too was dressed in nothing but her nappy, her perky tits wobbling stupidly on her chest as she crawled around the room playing with the infantile toys.

They played for some time, working as hard as they could to keep the looks of childish idiocy on their faces while they bashed blocks together, shook rattles, and snuggled with teddy bears. Abby didn’t even have to fake it – after only a few shakes of a rattle she was staring at it avidly, cooing and gurgling, utterly entranced. It sounded so pretty and tinkly! Pretty, tinkly sound… She might have sat there all day playing with her rattle, had she not gotten the sudden, overpowering urge to shove it in her mouth. She came to her senses the moment before it happened, blushing scarlet at the thought of how enamoured she’d been by this stupid baby toy (she had to get back to normal), but there was nothing she could do to stop her body cramming the rattle between her lips and sucking on it enthusiastically. Her eyes rolled back into her head with pleasure.

Right at that moment, Abby’s bladder released without warning, and she felt her diaper getting soggier and soggier beneath her bottom as she pissed into it helplessly. It felt revolting, but she made sure to keep a blank, babyish look on her face as the front of her nappy discoloured. The Magician was surely watching for any sign of un-babyish behaviour, and babies didn’t care if they went pee-pee. She popped the rattle out of her mouth and let out another stream of ridiculous baby babble. But then, as she started crawling over to a large, fluffy teddy bear, something else happened. Something more than pee. For the second time in her adult life, Abby’s bowel’s rumbled into action beyond her control. Before she could really register what was about to happen, it was already happening. Her mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ shape as an enormous yucky mess filled her diaper, making her padded pants sag halfway down her thighs with the weight of her load.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, exactly the same thing was happening to Becky. She was more used to the sensation of her pants filling with poop without warning, but it didn’t make it any less disgusting. Still, as poo-poo filled her nappy, she was able to keep her face relatively blank and dopey, as though she’d barely even realised what had happened. A grown woman who couldn’t even tell when she messed herself – the Magician would love that, she was sure.

Although she was trying as hard as she could, unlike Becky, Abby wasn’t able to keep the look of revulsion off her face. She knew the Magician must have seen. Babies didn’t think sitting in dirty diapers was disgusting. They didn’t care. She had to do something to make up for her mistake, and quickly. She had no idea when the challenge might end! Putting on her best bratty, mischievous face, Abby grinned up at the Magician. She hated him with all her heart. She knew she would never be able to look at herself the same way in the mirror after what she was about to do, but if it meant avoiding a terrible, terrible fate, it would be worth it. She sat back firmly on her full nappy, feeling the horrible mess in her pants squish against her bottom. It took all her self-control not to gag. Then, with a moronic giggle, she started bouncing up and down on her bum, squealing loudly and clapping her hands.

Becky watched, but didn’t move. She could see the Magician looking at her, waiting to see whether she’d copy Abby. But she couldn’t… she couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t stand it! The mess beneath her bottom was so disgusting! She couldn’t bounce up and down on it like some mucky baby! Those were the worst kind of diapers she had to change at daycare, the ones where the awful little urchins decided to make the mess in their pants even messier, and make the job of cleaning them up an absolute nightmare for her. The other daycare workers, the stupid women who’d chosen to look after smelly, snot-nosed brats as their whole career, actually thought it was cute when the babies “made bouncies”. But Becky found it nauseating, and the idea of doing it herself was out of the question.

“All right, little ones,” the Magician said suddenly. “I’ve made my decision.”

They both stopped what they were doing and looked up at him fearfully. The Magician took each of them by the hand and pulled them to their feet. The two women stood there, tits out, legs pushed awkwardly apart by their full, sagging nappies, waiting for his judgement. The evil man looked at Abby, who felt her stomach lurch horribly, and then he turned his gaze to Becky. Abby was trembling. Was he going to tell Becky that she’d lost, or that she’d won?

“Sorry Becky,” the Magician said, “but I’ve decided little Abby was the most babyish, and that means, unfortunately, that you’re the loser.”

Abby took a deep breath. Wonderful relief was flooding through her body.

Becky, however, was shaking. “No…” she whispered, so quietly that Abby barely heard her.

“I don’t know what you were planning to do with your life, Becky,” said the Magician pleasantly, advancing on the quivering girl. “Maybe you were planning to go to law school, or train as a doctor, or maybe you just wanted to live an average life, but I’m afraid whatever it was, it won’t be happening now. You’ll be spending the rest of your days as a diaper-dependent adult toddler, a grown woman who stomps about with a smelly, loaded nappy swinging about between her legs. You’ll be dependent on real adults to check and change you, of course… and I know just the place to send you.” He waved his hand lazily, and a canary yellow frock with a smiling cartoon bee on the front appeared on Becky’s body.

Slowly, stiffly, Becky looked down at her new clothes, and recognised the uniform of the Buzzy Bees baby class at the daycare where she worked. Her poopy diaper was peeking out of the bottom.

Becky lost her mind. She started screaming at the top of her lungs, clutching her head in her hands, her eyes wide and horrified.

Abby stared at the woman in horror, but the Magician just chuckled, as if the sight of the twenty-year-old woman’s mental breakdown was merely amusing to him. Becky looked utterly mad. She was screaming inarticulately, and staring straight ahead of her, as though she could see something they couldn’t – as if she was looking at her own future laid out in front of her, a life of stinky nappies and baby food and naptimes, a life stuck in nursery school forever, trapped in the one place she’d wanted desperately to get away from. In a way, she was getting what she wanted – she’d never have to change another dirty diaper again. She’d be too busy filling them. Becky screamed and screamed and screamed.

“That’s enough of your little tantrum, missy,” said the Magician, still sounding amused. “Time for you to go and join your new peers.” He snapped his fingers, and Becky vanished.

[princescribbler]

ADULT DIAPER BAG BASICS:

Enough diapees for the day....+2. Never do the bare minimum or you might find yourself in trouble with no backups left! For me, that usually means 4 to 5 in case I need them, even though I normally only need to change in the morning, shortly after lunch, and in the evening once usually, but I still bring more!

DISCRETE stuffies are good. One slightly larger one or a few small ones is enough for me, but your mileage may vary!

An actual BAG! First, almost anyone can get away with a backpack unexplained these days, but even if not, at least have it in the car if you've got one! Either way, a bag is key so you're not smuggling diapers under your shirt and thinking that's somehow sneaky!

Disposal bags, especially if you're a diaper Messer. I'm not generally, but even i know it's not good form to just dispose in a random bin, please bag and close up your diapees to the best of your ability changing in public!

Powder or cream, even if it's not always your thing. Very good to have when you DO need it! Better safe than sorry, and better avoiding rashes if possible!

Extra wipes, and ideally good-sized ones. While expensive, the Northshore brand wipes are nice for me and mean I don't need SEVERAL smaller wipes with less tensile strength. Very good to have!

Change of clothes, seriously.. if you're in 24/7 diapees you need to prepare for the possibility of a bad accident or leak. Some folks even suggest 2 spares of clothes.

Your paci or other cutesy little items (but only if you're sure your bag will stay private). Having a change of diapee can be explained with incontinence... having an adult sized paci that says "Mommy's boy" might be a bit more work!

Extra juice or liquid... because the easiest way to get noticed from diapees is being dehydrated and reeking of concentrated peepee, or making a messy diapee. Avoid the stinky peepee by staying well hydrated!

Did I miss your favorite addition? Anything you consider an absolute requirement that I've missed? Let me know and leave a comment, or share what you include in YOUR diapee bag!

And as always, stay happy, stay healthy, and stay kinky!

-Scribbler

[janeaustentextposts]

In regency times when someone would convalesce at someone else's house or at an inn, especially if that included them being unconscious for some amount of time....how did they handle that person's bladder and bowel stuff? Was that just considered a normal part of care from the woman of the house and her servants, like were they taught linen changes the way nurses are today? Or were they all left to just figure it out once it happened do you think?

The thing with being unconscious for a long time is...you're not really going to be eating and drinking much. Like they might wet your lips to try to hydrate you, but they won't risk you choking on anything more, and don't have ways of giving nutrition by other means that we have today, so normal bowel and bladder function would cease pretty rapidly, and at that point you've got bigger problems than what happens if you wet the bed, like you're gonna be dead soon.

Housekeepers and servants would definitely have a handle on changing bedlinens and maybe absorbent padding for invalids with bowel-control issues, (or say for people who have given birth/having post-partum bleeding or other uterine discharge issues while bedridden,) but they'd probably have some kind of bedpans or focus on getting someone up and moving enough to at least get onto a chamber pot ASAP.

I'll be honest, I work in healthcare and when it comes to incontinence, if you're not keeping someone clean and dry and repositioned while they're also bedridden, you're very quickly going to get bedsores, and if THOSE aren't kept clean, you're going to get an infection, and again, in the Regency era, you're very soon not going to have to worry about long-term incontinence in a bed.

Back then, if you largely stop moving/pooping/drinking on your own, you're going to be very dead very soon.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then…Gigi

Part 4 - A Big Daddy Elvis Fanfiction

Previous chapter link for context, picking up where we left off

I owe so much thanks to my friends for all their help and input and the joy they bring me, thanks to them and my precious followers this fluffy/wacky little universe even exists. I’ve never had so much fun on a collaboration before in my life, I love y’all so.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content and heavy themes… ok so this is smutty and fluffy, right? But still there are some things that might be offensive regarding narrator’s voice so I want to warn about those and distinguish them from my own opinions. For much of this part we are in Elvis’ head and, due to it being summer of ‘77 -it’s a bit of a rollercoaster in there. Please be warned there are throwaway lines reflecting poor self esteem, depression, misogyny, severe health issues and the use of the word fat to describe oneself negatively.

Enjoy

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Elvis feels a pang of sympathy for his boys’ hysteria when he runs into a crowd of fans as he himself sits panicked in the Stutz, engine off and his shades on, watching Gigi check that the coast is clear on the sidewalk and buzz into her apartment building -in just his jacket and panties. Her sandals are gone somewhere, too, probably back at Graceland. Only that anklet left on like some harem jangle.

Her sooties must be burning on the sunbaked concrete, maybe that’s why she’s skipping everywhere she goes like a damn foal. His blood pressure feels like it’s skyrocketing just watching this show and the fact she looks like she’s in her element terrifies and excites him and -getting to know Gigi is a dangerous hobby.

As shameless as a toddler that one, and every bit as unpersuaded about needing to give a shit about things like flashing her butt cheeks for all of Memphis.

Her tanned butt cheeks.

Which brings up all sorts of questions he’s too scared to ask and will have to address with Tammy. He’s sure she’s to blame for nude sunbathing, he just hopes that wildcat has enough decency to do it privately. Very privately. Hopefully in a bullet proof bunker if Gigi is with her. This girl has been directionless and fatherless for too long; Elvis’ mouth dries out in anticipation of being that guiding, molding, firm hand in her life -the rest of his body too sedated to respond normally although he feels that weird ass dribble his pecker has recently started to do when it’s very much willing but can’t physically swell to poke a gal. He thoroughly regrets not wearing underpants to catch some of this… horny… pre-cum…incontinence…the baby blue of his tracksuit showing a small stain on his leg. Just the size of a penny. Maybe a quarter.

He takes his glasses off and rubs at his sweaty eyes.

Gigi is standing in the opened doorway, waving him in with a huge, expectant smile on her face, and feeling something he hasn’t felt since 1955 sneakin’ into Barbra’s room, he lumbers out his side of the car and doesn’t even bother to make sure no one’s looking, even though she whipped her head around to clock their surroundings like top paid security for his sake. If someone sees and thinks he’s going into a college girl’s dorm to corrupt her then they’d be right, and it'll make far prettier gossip than what’s coming out in Red’s book next month.

He slips past her and she runs her hand along his chest as he goes by, giddy and fond. She waves to someone behind his back,

“Hey Paolo! Good afternoon!” Elvis turns just in time to see an old shriveled man in an undershirt waving wildly at her as the door shuts.

“Who’s that?”

“Our repairman. Sweetest little man.” Gigi gushes and Elvis motions for her to lead the way up the stairs while speculating with nauseating surety on what Gigi might be found wearing -or not wearing- when dear sweet shriveled perverted Paolo makes up a problem with her sink and comes into her apartment. “He’s taught me how to make Limoncello jello! You won’t find anything more refreshing!”

“How very epicurean for a regular, ole handyman.” he can’t help but grumble, usually highly self-aware and unbiased for the potential learnedness of common folks. He knows he’s one. But right now he wants to make a carpet from Paolo’s nose hair.

“What does epicurean mean?” Gigi doens’t without missing a beat as she unlocks her own front door.

Now they’re back on solid, Elvis-worthy ground, he can smile indulgently as he enters her space and explain, “Somebody who likes to in-duuulge in the luxurious and the sensuuaal, it was a whole philosophy.”

“Oooh, that explains why I didn’t understand.” she giggles, “I’ve flunked philosophy twice and I’ve got a whole pile of papers over there that’s supposed to be homework but a hero of mine invited me to go swimming at his place so, there they sit!” she shows off a rather alarming stack of papers next to the poorly made up bed, half hidden by the swim suits and cut offs strewn about the carpet. “Sorry for the mess, a lotta the girls got ready over here and wrecked it. Half of it is mine though, you should’ve seen the things they suggested I wear for you! Thongs, Elvis! Actual thongs! And here I was unsure if you felt just fatherly towards me or what so I- I didn’t wear a thong.”

Elvis takes a seat on her bed since he figures they’re now past being modest about what they’re gonna do and asks, “What’s a thong?”

“You don’t- it’s this sorta thing.” Gigi is a little shocked that this man of the world doesn't know such a thing and spins around a few times before finding a very small scrap of fabric and bending over, she picks it up. Elvis forgets what she was getting off the floor for a few minutes before she starts spreading the fabric strings apart and pronouncing, “This is a thong!”

Elvis squints his eyes as if trying to see a ship on the edge of the horizon or something, “I don’t get it.” he says at last, “How’s it work? Go around your neck?”

“No, silly!” she giggles even harder in shocked exasperation, “It’s panties.”

“No way in hell.” he sounds awed, “No way, how in tarnation does that work?”

“They’re like…very little, small, tiny panties!” she explains with a hyped tone as if the more enthusiastic she is the quicker he’ll get the mechanism.

“That -those ain’t gonna hold or cover nothin’.” he insists, “Now you’re the one pullin’ my leg.” he notices there’s a magazine with his face on it stashed under the teetering bedside lamp and makes mental note of that before leaning back against her massive stuffed bear.

“They’re not supposed to work, they’re supposed to be sexy?” she tries again before playfully putting them on her head and striking a pose.

“Sexy, hmm?” he rumbles, his eyes twinkling and she knows she’s got his interest at least, whether he’s fibbing ignorance on knowing about thongs or not, she can’t tell. Suddenly it strikes her that Elvis Presley himself is lounging on her bed, leaned against the stuffy she grinds herself on to the thought of him pretty regularly. Suddenly having his jacket zipped at all feels oppressive from the rush of heat that sight floods her with.

“If they were for comfort we’d just go without.” she laughs, “They dig up into your…” she looks about before dropping her voice and taking a couple steps closer to him, “butt crack.” she blushes furiously at having to name it and his fingers itch to do unspeakable things to this little girl.

“Show me.” he says, low and steady and a little removed, just cool enough to be commanding, just warm enough to make her feel (very) admired. He sees her sweet blush turn into droopy lidded arousal before his very eyes and with meek acceptance she hooks her fingers into her swim bottoms without a pause.

They drop to the floor in a nylon puddle between her legs. Just like that. Simple as that, her bare little pussy lips are peaking out from his jacket at him and she smiles gently at his shock as she hooks her legs through the thong’s leg holes and shimmy’s the stupid excuse for lingerie up her stems. “It’s just you, daddy.” she explains in a confidential whisper that melts his heart.

“Yeah, jus’ f’me, baby girl.” he makes a pronouncement of his own, hushed and boyish and her own heart feels too big for her chest at the way his blue eyes somehow soften in wonder at her exposed self. She had expected something rougher, ravenous, impetuous. Not this revenant appreciation that bends his whole frame towards her with open mouthed puffs of longing. He aches, wishing he’d brought his Polaroid to snap this memory forever, add it to his collection. A little something tangible he could thumb at it in the future and remember this night when an terribly hot, painfully young, big tittied woman had wanted him.

“Will ya do a lil spin f’me? Wouldn’t want that wedgie to go unappreciated, now would we? So sweet to try it on for me.” he coos and then hums deep and appreciative as she does a couple slow spins for him, that humm she’s only ever heard in amplified concert footage sending sparks to her very toes.

“You like them?” she asks, toes curling in nervousness for his verdict.

He lounges back and strokes his mouth a few times while cocking his head to the side. She’s breathing so heavy he thinks if he even blew on her she’d come. “They’re practical.” he decides definitively.

“Are they?” she sighs with relief.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles soberly, “quite. For what we’re up here to do, they’re practical.” he adds this slowly and doesn't miss her shudder or the way her eyes light up in relief that they’re getting to the point. He likes that she’s letting him lead, she’s a good girl. “Step closer baby.” he stays lounging so she does all the work and when she gets to the edge of the bed he keeps motioning with his fingers until she’s kneeling on it herself, clambering forward over his lap. “See, when a man makes a meal of a lady’s lil garden, s’real important to have unrestricted access.” he proves his point by slipping his index finger along that abominably small seam of fabric that’s poofy and filled out with bare labia lips.

“Daddy.” she wails at the contact, shaking apart already and that along with her little place has his head thudding some kinda way. She’s gripping onto his neck, near clawing whatever part of him she can grab, close to tears again like a child not getting what she wants. The art of the tease seems lost on her, she’s so hungry.

He’s gotta ask. “Honey, y-yo- honey you ain’t actin’ younger for my sake, are ya?”

“Oh no,” her face turns down again and he’s done it again, insulted her somehow, “you find me immature?”

“No!” he shouts and then tries to moderate himself, “No, no it’s jus’ that -you’re a baby, thas all.”

“Well,” her grin is guileless, “you’ll just have to bear with me, big daddy, I’m all so excited I’ve got Elvis Presley in my room! Elvis Presley! You’re Elvis Presley.”

“I-I-I am.” he admits, perturbed, “What’s wi- why Big Daddy?”

“Cause that’s what you are!” She says it like she’s assuring a pageant queen she won the prized title. “Elvis Presley’s about to eat my pussy.” she murmurs to herself as she kicks her feet and he recalls yet again that he is sat down on her fluffy pink bed for a reason. He tips her over into the sheets.

“So uh, you’ve thought of this before, hmm?” he smirks slyly and reaches out to clasp an ankle in his big, ringed hand, his tanned digits encircling it entirely and he thumbs at the veiny soft spot beneath the ankle.

Gigi moans at his slight pressure.

“That’s a pressure point for the reproductive system, did you know that sir?” she is as eager about information as he is, and clever too.

“So that’s why all the girls lose it.” he hums with a laugh, “No, Gigi, I didn’t know tha’, you like gettin’ rubbed?”

“YES!” she sighs so loudly it’s like a little wind tunnel through the room, “Though it doesn’t happen much.” That makes his heart hurt in sympathy and he adds his other hand to knead her toned calf, those legs of hers spreading jello, just like he calculated they would, “I love to rub folks though! Love givin’ people rubs.”

“Who do ya rub?” Elvis is cross at this new information.

“Oh, anybody who needs it!” she makes it worse.

“Lotta demand for that at Uni?”

“Yeah, so many sore athletes after games.” she is perfectly sober about it, while so enthused he wants to murder every person those sweet hands have descended upon in soothing kindness. “But I think you’re the best I have ever had do it to me, oh Lord you’ve got magic in those hands.”

He’s tempted to tell her how true that statement is but he can’t bear her laughing at him right now so he leans further across the bed and inches towards her knees with his squeezes and tries to elicit more of those moans.

“Oh god I can’t believe Elvis Presley is rubbing my legs.” she gasps again to the ceiling and it’s this youthful narration of her life happenings that makes him think of his Yisa and if he could he’d put both of these little darlings back into their fragile eggs to keep them away from the cruel world.

“So, you done thought of this before, baby girl?” he asks, casting a little smug look over at that ponderous stack of his records and the TV set stationed right at the foot of her bed. He knows the answer already, thanks to Tammy, but it nags him, the question of which Elvis she was touching herself to after her first visit to his house. Her closed eyes and near drooling mouth give him the idea that if he’s good enough at this, puts enough effort into being what he used to be naturally, she can keep those pretty eyes closed and he can morph back into whatever daydream she’s once had. He could give this pretty little girl a little time capsule and before she’s fully awake, slip away again, leave before she recalls it was the gift of an old man, his potency gone to seed but his love for women and their secret parts just as strong.

He bends over, gut digging into his diaphragm and knocking out his wind, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Tell’me ‘bout when you thought of me.” he murmurs into her warm skin. He notices he leaves goosebumbs in the wake of his touch.

“Mmm?” she’s goners with just this firm kneading of her limbs, breathing heavy and sedated from lust.

“Have ya thought of me when you’ve played with yourself?” he’s a little sterner than he should be, just because he knows the answer and wants an honest reply.

“Oh yes.” she gives it, unabashed.

“Is it my movies? Ya watch my movies when ya touch y’self?” he prods, working up to that baby soft stretch of inner thigh that still seems like the most fragile of all God’s creation, like cotton Candy holding ligament and muscle together by some miracle. “Or ya prop up that record right there?” he pulls his head up long enough to point at the foremost record cover in the stack -Live From Madison Square Garden, it reads, and features him silhouetted against black, crouched in a white jumpsuit.

A more mature option; interesting.

Gigi opens her eyes and cranes her head to see what he’s pointing at. “Oh, yeah, sometimes that one,” she nods, “it’s the closest thing I could find.”

“Closest to what, the genuine article?” he snickers in judgment, “It’s goddamn cardboard, at least watch a movie like a normal pervert.”

“The closest to how you are now!” she pouts adamantly, “You’re so…smooth… in all your movies. Nothing like how I know ya when you drive past on the street.”

Well, that’s something else, even if Elvis doesn't quite get what that something is. It’s absurd, the fact she existed all along on some sidewalk he sped past. “How’s that now, honey?” he asks.

“I couldn’t find anything closer to what you are now!” she explains, “Nothing since Aloha and -well I like that one, don’t get me wrong but I,” she bites her lip and a skittish flinch settles into her eyes.

“What about that one, darlin?” he begs softly.

“Well I like how hairy and strong ya look but,” she doesn’t look down or away when she gets to her point, instead she bends forward to be nearer to him, to hold his hands as they lay on her legs, to peer into his eyes gently, “you seem too sad in it for me to -to use it like that.”

He’s touched, so much so he swallows hard and dips his head to kiss her knobby little kneecap. “T-that were a rough time in my life.” he admits and his voice has gone wrecked. It is odd beyond words how he feels like she’s a child to be protected but just like a child at a sleepover he can duck under the covers and admit his worst fears to her.

It all goes back to being proportionally heartbreaking as Gigi leans forward and makes him lean back, clambering methodically back into his lack as if she owns the damn space, holding his furry cheeks tenderly as she licks those luscious lips and slots them against his. This he is familiar with, nothing odd at all about this age old ritual of him being seductively depressed and a girl soothing it away with her tongue and hands in his hair.

He allows himself the liberty of stroking her bare back beneath his jacket, figuring if he’s gonna lick beaver he might as well do a little seducing beforehand, cherish her like she deserves, give them both the works. As much as he can give with this dull headache and the meds making him feel so leaden he could fall asleep in seconds. He takes a breath and tries to clear his head, focusing on kissing her well, kissing her better than any of those stupid young jocks ever managed.

Back at making a case to her that he could make her happy. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying that argument when a couple decades worth of broken hearts and homes behind him suggest otherwise.

“Wanna see what I used to pretend it was you?” she tempts against his lips as they surface for air, sounding so demure yet utterly unrepentant even as she confides, “After you petted me and sent me home I needed you so bad, couldn’t find anything that felt like you now, so I shut the tv right off. Grabbed my stuffy ‘cause he was fuzzy and had a belly like you and then I grabbed…here, wait here, don’t you move now!“

Her little butt is already bouncing out the room into the en-suite before she finishes the sentence and he is left to sit on the bed and await her return, processing the fact she had wanted hair and a corpulent figure.

Bizzare taste, definitely dealing with father issues, painfully sweet.

He groans in recognition that she’s entirely to his own taste.

She comes back holding the most bulbous bottle of shampoo he’s ever seen in his life. The size of his damn fist easily, bright yellow and shaped at the top like like a lemon an- hell it’s even named “Lemon-Something-Or-Other”.

“I used this!” she proclaims with a giggle that jiggles her whole body.

Elvis just stares, torn between impressed and horrified. “You’re tellin’ me that…thang…fit up your lil cooch?”

“Well, no,” she admits, mood immediately deflating in disappointment with herself, “but I’m working on it! Or maybe I don’t have to, now that I’ve got the real thing, as you call it!”

Gigi bites her lip and winks in an attempt to be seductive and it’s the most ludicrously jarring thing Elvis can imagine, he roars with laughter at her art of being a cock tease without trying and a total clown when she does try.

Oh fuck he’s in love. Yeah, already established that awhile back but, it’s just, it’s hitting him again.

“I think you’ll find the real thing a bit disappointin’ by comparison.” he wheezes, too amused to be insecure.

“Oh really?” she perks up in palpable relief, “Oh thank jesus! That thing’s huge and I was gonna try for you but- but -but it’s huge! And I was just gauging from what I saw floppin’ around in your tracksuit that night and I was trying to not be obvious, so I couldn’t exactly clock it real good but it looked awfully wide, like a paper towel roll when it’s halfway gone and this was the only thing I could find like it, I wasn’t going to use anything of Tammy’s and besides they weren’t fat either so I just…” She trails off with a shrug, still standing there before him holding the fuckin’ Lemon Drop Shampoo.

She’d tried not to be obvious, she says, but he’d caught her staring well below his belt half a dozen times in two days. “So,” Elvis is still wiping the tears of amusement from his eyes, “so ya used a shampoo bottle and a teddy bear.”

“Yeah.”

“And did it work?” his eyes darken at the prospect of hearing her tell him this naughty story.

“Sorta.”

“How can it ‘sorta’ work?”

“I came,” Gigi sighs, “but I felt so empty..after. Cried myself to sleep” her embarrassed giggle does not deceive him from the certainty that she’s telling the truth.

“Oh baby, what’re we gonna do with you?” he asks her and God Almighty all at once.

“Hold me, please?” she whispers.

“Course, baby. Nothin’ I’d rather do, get over here,” He holds out his arms and she cruises in at a deceptively fast speed, colliding back into his chest and tucking her face into the crease of his neck, she’s pressing kisses there into that sweaty fold and he rubs her back, traces the dip of her waist, the slow curve outwards of her hips, thumbs at the flimsy material of her panties. Feeling her soft skin and treasuring it. Wondering what she’s thinking and not knowing she’s thanking God she gets to be held by him.

“You make feel so safe.” her breath ghosts over his face and he’s not sure how it’s so fresh and lovely after scarfing down burgers and cherry coke but he can’t get enough and he grabs her face as gently as he can manage with this much wonder filling him in a rush.

He’s pretty sure she ain’t ever had a chance to kiss with tongue, she’s eager to slip hers in but she’s got that petrified immobility of a gal who’s never gotten the chance to give and take, just give while some stupid rash boy slobbers and knocks her teeth.

Elvis is quite good with his tongue.

He flicks at her tongue, he waits, taps her butt until she gets his prompt. She flicks. He trails it alongside her own, he waits. He taps. She mimics. They get a good commerce going and soon she’s squirming and writhing in his lap while he stays put, his patience and experience a buoy for her as she flounders with so much desire she doesn’t know how to cope beyond undulating against him and tugging at his hair, their mouths wide and uncaring, devouring.

It’s fun with a girl leveraging down on him from his lap, one might think it would put him at a disadvantage but it doesn’t, he turns her silly head with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, and she’s just a dolly up there for him to work against his mouth. Rather like how he’s gonna work her pussy if they make it that far. For now, there’s this age old dance and her pretty breaths.

He sucks her tongue and she lets out a cry that’s distorted by the absence of any control over her own tongue and suddenly he can feel her move more frantically, fumbling between them until he hears the zzzz of the zipper as she undoes her jacket front and frees her full breasts like the thin cloth was suffocating her. It becomes clearer what she needs when she continues to fumble between them, unsatisfied, until he feels his own taught closure opening and the fan air hits him and goosebumps spread and shame flares and then it’s unity. Their chests meeting, pressing, soft and warm and she shudders against him like she just touched a force field.

She mewls into his mouth again and traces his puffy lips with the tip of her tongue while he breathes. “Feels so right.” he realizes in a mumble.

“Mhmm.” she says as she presses more kisses to his panting mouth. Gigi reaches between them once more and he watches cross eyed from the closeness as she hefts one boob up and presses it between them more firmly, before repeating the procedure with the other until, until they are smashed to her satisfaction. Then she starts grinding, those fat titties of hers, against him with the rest of her- against his hairy, saggy man boobs, she’s dragging her nipples across him and worrying them red with his rough texture, her toes curling from the friction. Her nipples are pebbled and she’s crying out, can’t stop moaning or calling for God because he feels so good against her. Cradling her boob her fingers press selfishly against one of his own nipples and lil Elvis wants to fight against his induced state, desperate to twitch for this pretty girl’s attention. “Oh god, you’re so hairy, like a nest! So perfect and manly and, I’m gonna, let me, let me please, please oh god, feels so good!” she’s working herself up to a squealing frenzy going over one particular patch of ratted curls… from…rubbing her pretty nipples on his chest hair.

Elvis just sits there and computes, watches, like a green boy, Gigi’s cradled boobs, her gaping mouth, her long throat and her cramping widdle sooties. God, what he’d give to suck those curling little piggies.

He’s hot as a furnace, this man, and those coarse, wiry curls are zapping her already throbbing nipples until Gigi can’t seem to breathe, so much sensation crowding her senses but not where she needs. She grinds down on him, where they’ll join so perfectly, and she feels that perfectly fat cock of his wedged on top of his thick thighs that he can’t manspread for once with her on top of him. She reaches down and positions him through the silky track bottom until she can slide along, feeling the width of him parting her pussy lips even with the thong’s fabric obstructing. His pants are sticky to touch, even though he feels too heavy and floppy to be fully hard.

Elvis should kiss her again. Warn her he ain’t good for nothin’ before she gets her hopes up and he gets to humiliate himself like some useless old fuck.

“Daddy, daddy fill me up, daddy.” she beats him to it in the prettiest little beg he’s ever heard.

“Oh Gigi.” he groans compassionately before grabbing her hand and bringing it up away from his messy lil pecker, “I’s gone lick you, don’t you recall?”

“Yes but I’m past that, I need you inside me!” she gasps, grin growing by the second.

“Ah, yeah, well baby it’s a big deal, takin’ innocence and uh-“ he scratches the back of his head and she escapes his hold and her hand is back to it, squeezing his cock and it really does feel nice, in a head scratch sorta way. “Look, Gigi, honey, I’m sorry but lil Elvis is shy tonight.” he holds his breath as she slowly processes this.

She doesn’t retract her hand as she registers what he’s saying. “Aww, but I can kiss him!”

“M-m-maybe some other time?” he pleads like he’s asking a child to please let him get away with just five bedtime stories. Six is overkill and Daddy has work tomorrow.

She pouts briefly before bringing her sticky hand up to her mouth and licking her fingers like a barbarian. That sight alone almost fixes his damn ED. Gigi likes the light taste of him, humming in approval at the first taste like a baby trying candy for the first time.

“T-t-that means he likes ya, though.” he assures her like an idiot and she smiles around her digits.

She’s very sober and a little mournful, the way she keeps looking at him, not at all petulant or even the slightest bit contemptuous, just concerned and it primes some pump inside him to explain more than he ever should but he can’t seem to stop the words as they come out, “Had a migraine this mornin’ before ya came over and I wanted to be in ship-shape for some fun -fun with you- so I had to take some lil helpers for the head and they, well, they, they mess with…that.” he motions to his lap.

“Awww,” she laments, heartbroken as if he had to endure having his head sawn clean off, “you had a migraine? And you still had us over? Oh poor, sweet daddy!” she shifting in his lap to rub at the back of his head and into his hair and he tries to mumble assurances that it’s better now but they get lost in the glorious blubber of her frankly unnecessarily huge breasts that happen to be smashed in his face as she attends to his head. “I’ll put some oils on it- I’ve got a bathtub, we could put you in tha-”

“-Baby girl,” He laughs, excavating his chin from her cleavage, “it’s better now, I was just explainin’ the faulty mechanics. I ain’t always so stove up, didn’t want you thinking-“

“Oh I wouldn’t care!” she gushes intensely and he’s very worried that streak of the insane fan in her is larger than he thought but it’s too late, she’s caught him in her big tittied, huge nippled, anklet wearing trap, “I’d lick you and suck you and wiggle you inside me soft no matter what, all my days! I don’t care!”

“T-that’s real touching.” he murmurs in a daze. She’s perfect, every man’s wet dream - and he’s the damn lucky bastard that gets to have her. And he can’t even make full use of her.

“I’m gonna give you a back massage with some marjoram oil-“

“No, no you’re not.” he grabs at her to keep her forcefully on his lap, “I don’t need no hippy potions, I ain’t no witch’s experiment or an ole man. I’m here to eat beaver. Or…baby seal, with that bald thing.”

“You sure? I-“

“Gigi, be good.” he puts his finger to her lips and she freezes like a chastised bambi. “Good baby girl. Now you lay back f’me and spread those pretty legs. A man needs room to work his magic.”

“Ok.” she agrees in an excited whisper and tips out of his lap sideways onto the sheets, giving him a full view of her -nearly- naked self for the first time, completely serene and without artifice. He knew she'd be even worse without clothes, worse for his obsession and his indulgence and everything else but this -this is an Angel.

God, he really adores women. Best idea ever to make ‘em, and to make them with fat boobies and lil holes to rub peckers into and sweet faces to paint slimey and cute widdle toes to rub your balls against.

“Ok, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.” he smirks and gets on his belly with a grunt, heaving himself up the bedsheets and in between her long legs, taking his fingers and moving aside that stupid little string they call underwear these days. “Oh lord, look at that.” he appreciates the pretty pink beauty of her and the smooth pale skin of her kitty, so delicate and girly and -he’s a little smitten. More than he expected. Which was an oversight with the way she keeps blowing his hopes out of the water.

“You’re the prettiest thing I ever did lay eyes on, sweetheart.” he swears with his whole heart, shuffling in closer and kissing her thigh.

Gigi cranes her neck and unsatisfied with the narrowed visuals says, “Wait, lemme prop up.” and stuffs a few pillows behind her back and sits up, legs spread wide and her smile pleased like she’s about to watch her favorite film, “Ok, now I can watch you. Go ahead, daddy.”

“Umm, alright.” he clears his head once more at the thought of her wanting to watch and dives in. Somehow he gets the feeling if he doesn’t go for it she’ll come in seconds anyway she’s so high strung and then he’ll have barely gotten his taste.

Furry, silky, warm -that’s how his hair and head feel beneath her hands, his fuzzy sideburns and his hair so little styled after the pool fluffs and tufts adorably and his cheeks puff out with his vigorous exertions and his sideburns chafe her thighs and his hands are everywhere at once -Gigi watches all these things and marvels in her heart at it. He’s very voracious about it while still having a great deal of -nuance- to it. Like a man who is in a watermelon eating competition, he may look rabid but if he’s won a few then he must have a calculated method down amid the mess.

The predominant feeling is comfortable intimacy. They are both surprised by it, she by the naturalness of watching the most famous face on planet earth smeared from her pleasure and rapturously content with her taste, he with the pleasant rightness of her legs squeezing his shoulders snuggly and her hands petting his hair away from his sweaty forehead. His scalp sweats the more he works and she rubs his neck as if mindful of the lurking migraine, as if she can only thank him for his touches by returning them.

She praises his tongue in breathy awe, “so long and pink and wet and oh-“

Nose buried in pink and wet and sweet womanliness Elvis hums his agreement. Peeking up through his lashes he can see the one hand not cradling his head is industriously tugging on those dark, large nipples of hers. He grinds himself against the bed on pure instinct. Another day, another night, he’s gotta get those large nipples of hers in his mouth.

She calls him beautiful. Again and again. “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, worse in person, more than I ever imagined, in my wildest-“

Again and again. Beautiful, she says. More than dreams. More, he’s more and more till Gigi’s praise dissolve into shrieks and pants, screams that whimper out into the low apartment ceiling as the afternoon sun dims, as he keeps going until they build again. And again, her hips are nothing if not insistent on grinding up against his mouth. The room smells of sweat and pleasure and sun-in. She’s vocal in her gratitude, persistent in returning his touch, petting him to say thank you when she finds she can’t form coherent sentences.

Eventually there is no more.

Just peace, and him, heaving back his breath against her thighs in a pussy-drunk stupor, and her shaking from seizing one too many times. His scalp is burning beneath her hands, his neck too. Inflamed and angry, she thinks of how much he loves to give. Wished she’d looked at the clock, something to tell the girls about. Just how many minutes, hours, days? he’d spent pleasing her.

“Good?” he asks in a hopeful little slur and the pink of his cheeks and the shiny glimmer on his nose is so childlike and content in his pouty snooze that her heart melts and she curls over him as best she can and squeezes.

“It was everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes into his burning ear, “I’m hooked.”

His laugh rumbles the whole bed, “Me too, baby girl.”

Their skin is sticky and tacky, they adhere to each other in their embrace. He is soothed by such a clasp as theirs while the longer he lays on his stomach the more keenly aware he is of how it hurts. Now’s the time to roll over and mention something about needing to get back. Now would be it, but for some reason the words don’t come and he lays on his knotted gut, suppressing winces and biting his lip against the pinches, trying to recall the sweetness of her, what made this worth it. Her breath fans his neck, wafting across his cheek -cuddle bug, he thinks, fond. Home, he should go home, but never has it felt so utterly foreign. Like a figment of what he wants and needs, like Christmas morning without your mama. A house is just a shell without heart. He wonders if his boys have got the front den cleaned yet of barbecue and would-be-in-laws.

“Do you need to get off your…head?” Gigi whispers softly and it startles him. She’s got a point, all his blood is rushing to his brain the way he’s laying.

“Probably should.” he grunts and slowly, like a pair of cats, they uncurl from around each other to be face to face for the first time since they shared such pleasure. They’re both a little pink and their smiles are too wide. He wonders at the happiness she’s releasing, marveling that he put it there. He’s got to be careful or it won’t be too long before this little girl realizes she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.

She rubs her nose against his. Another way to kiss.

She asks him if he needs a drink.

“I’ll help you with your philosophy homework.” He promises instead, it’s a reason to see her again. And soon. A reason to see her again and a hint it can’t be tonight.

Tonight he needs his pills, his bed, an enema and god knows what else just to make it till morning. He could cry from how badly he wants to be spontaneous, to go to a girl’s place, make love, cuddle like this and when he says he has to go and her eyes well up with tears at the prospect of his absence -he’d like to be able to say he can stay.

“Hush it’s alright, I’ll stay. I’ve got you, no one’s gonna ever leave you cold again.” something like that. Instead he says he can help with her test. Instead he tries to fool himself into being something less than heartbroken at how even the simplest thing in his life has to be a big production.

“Will you really?” Gigi’s face lights up at his piss poor offer.

“Promise.” he repeats.

“And will you promise me you’ll let me repay you?” She presses slyly, her hand petting down his chest and over the swell of his gut. Some childlike weariness in him wants her to rub it better. He remembers feeling the same way as a child regarding his mother’s touch and despite the fact that Gigi’s a baby girl - his baby girl - he trusts she’d make one Gladys Love Presley proud, doing her best to take care of him.

“Mmmaybe.” he looks down at her with playful suspicion.

“Promise me!” she demands, kicking her feet and flipping over to look down at him, swinging a leg to straddle him again.

He can’t help the wince his face flashes at the pressure of her hands from that high vantage. She flings them off him like she’s been burned, likes she’s the one who got hurt. “Oh shoot, sorry, sorry.” she gasps, her eyes wide and blue and tearful, “It’s bad, huh?”

As if not being able to get it up weren’t chastisement enough for his ego, now there’s this. “Uh huh.” he grits and the stab passes for the moment.

“Do you have something for it?” she hopes, “Do you need to go home?.”

There’s the out he needs. Didn’t even have to say it himself. Melancholy descends like fog over his soul but he reminds himself it is what is, he’s better off than most. So what if he can’t have sleepovers on whim or shit like a normal human or skip having his blood pressure checked every goddamn morning -he has a lot, and he got to eat Gigi’s silky smooth bare pussy. Today was a good day. Not even a wash, it was a good day, she made it a good day.

“Yeah, I need to get home.” he sounds every bit as despondent as he feels about it and he hopes she’ll take that as the compliment intended.

“Ok!” she chirps without missing a beat, jumping up in nothing but his open jacket, skipping out the bedroom door, left turn into what seems to be the kitchen.

Well, she handled that better than expected. Elvis almost hopes she’s still orgasm-happy and it doesn’t reflect her readiness to have him out of her place. He idly flicks at the stack of papers to get some impression of where the test is stumping her. He fidgets with his zipper and closes his jacket back up, coloring at the memory of letting her expose him like that.

She comes bouncing back within the minute holding a glass of water and presenting it with authority, “Now you just drink this daddy, it’s got fennel tincture in it and will help your stomach. You just drink that while I pack my bag. I’ll be fast, don’t worry,” she goes on as he tries to compute what she means and sniffs her concoction warily, “I pack light anyways and we can always come back for the rest of my stuff later.”

Come back. For her stuff. Don’t worry -she packs light.

The fennel wafts around him, the smell of licorice and fairgrounds and his mama’s hand in his and daddy winning him that stuffed tiger. Fennel, for his stomach. He shakes his head. His tongue feels fuzzy.

Come back. For her stuff. She packs light.

She is coming with him. That’s what she must mean, he realizes as he drinks her awful drink and watches with teary eyes her bare ass bend over to grab jeans from a dresser and throw them in a duffel bag. Like Graceland is summer camp.

Come back for the rest later, she’d said. She is coming back with him, just knowing she’s welcome. He didn’t even have to beg, to ask, to suggest, to hint. Send a limo, nothin, just eat pussy and now she’s gonna live with him. Let her press her skin against his own just once and suddenly, he’s never gonna be lonely again.

She bounces into the bathroom and comes out with the damn lemon shampoo, to match the lemon conditioner abandoned on the floor.

Cheap drug store shit.

“Hell no, you’re not bringing that stuff into my house.” he lays down the law, his one condition and the first time he’s vocalized any acknowledgment of her entitlement to his hospitality, “You’ll use mine till we get you sorted.”

“I like the way you smell.” she admits, dropping the bottles there in the middle of the floor. That's that sorted.

It’s still not sunk in fully as Elvis drives his quite recognizable beast of a car through Memphis’ now dark streets, while Gigi sits beside him with her white stack of papers catching the street lights glare as they pass. His giddy joy at her willingness and her entitlement to stay with him is overshadowed by the cold lump in his throat, panicking about how to keep a shred of dignity intact or retain an iota of her attraction for him when she becomes aware of his routines.

“You’re gonna teach me how to help, right?” she asks very soberly from her side, as sober as he’s ever seen her.

“Whatcha mean, baby doll?” he tries to keep his tone light.

“You’ll teach me and show me how to care for you, right?” she presses again, “I wanna take care of you, like you take care of me.”

Simple as that -for her. He grunts out something she mistakes for a yes.

Elvis puffs harder on his lit cigar and feels like he’s gonna choke, ends up rolling his window down, gulping in fresh air as Gigi does it on her side too, hanging her head out the window and whooping into the night. He wonders what might distract her while he slips away this evening, maybe a movie or maybe the hot tub or maybe the horses. Maybe Tammy is still there like a bad penny and will keep her distracted. Tonight Elvis would welcome that. Only tonight, and his hand tightens on the steering wheel in frustration over his own worn out body and how it just can’t walk this stuff off anymore.

She’s still hanging out the window, she looks so young like that. His vision blurs.

Somehow Gigi’s feet have ended up in his lap by the time Sam’s letting them into the front gate. She wiggles her toes under his belly, rubbing at the soft skin. Grinning at him suggestively, like a fat man’s belly is the most sexy thing imaginable. He wants to snort.

“Think they saved us any barbecue?” she grins.

“No, it’s all in Gingersnaps’s hair and I ain’t touchin’ that ever again.” he allows himself to be a bit of bastard, it can’t be wrong when it makes Gigi giggle in maniacal glee in the passenger seat, secure now in having her Daddy’s attention. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter anyway.” he retorts.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@helen06dreamer

@returntopresley

[yrfemmehusband]

Female reproductive health terms you should know!

(terfs not welcome)

Dysmenorrhea: Period pain that isn't normal, i.e. any pain more than Mild cramping.

Dyspareunia: painful intercourse

Oligomenorrhea: lighter, shorter menstrual flow.

Menorrhagia: heavier, longer menstrual flow.

Ovarian cysts: a mass on or in one's ovary, can be resolved on its own, or can remain and cause complications such as a rupture.

Polycystic ovary syndrome: a chronic condition causing cysts to reoccur on the ovaries and enlarging them. Symptoms include:

Irregular periods

hormonal imbalance

facial hair

weight gain

painful periods/ ovulation

infertility

People with PCOS are at higher risk for endometrial cancer, type II diabetes heart problems and high blood pressure.

Endometriosis: A chronic condition in which a tissue similar to, but different than, the endometrial lining grows outside of the uterus instead of inside. During menstruation this tissue sheds and has nowhere to go, thus irritating surrounding organs.

Symptoms include:

Irregular periods

Dysmenorrhea

Widespread pain

Painful ovulation

Vomiting, fainting, chills, sweating, fever and brain fog during menstruation

Infertility

Severe bloating

This also puts people at a higher risk for endometrial and ovarian cancer. There are four stages to Endo as it is a progressive disease, with 3/4 being more severe. The average time it takes to be diagnosed is 7 years.

Adenomyosis: A chronic disease similar and comorbid to endometriosis in which a tissue similar to the endometrial lining grows inside of the uterine wall. Symptoms are nearly identical to endometriosis but more difficult to detect.

Many people are diagnosed post menopause, by fault of the medical system, but it can and does develop much before then.

Ovarian cancer: cancer of the ovary(ies).

Endometrial cancer: cancer of the endometrium, the inner lining of the uterus.

Endometrial cyst, or chocolate cyst: cystic lesions from endometriosis.

Tilted uterus: the uterus is positioned pointing towards the back or severely to the front of the pelvis instead of a slight tilt towards at the cervix. Can cause painful sex and periods.

Pelvic floor dysfunction: inability to control your pelvic muscles. Comorbid with many things and is highly comorbid with endometriosis. Can cause pain and incontinence.

Vulvodynia: chronic and unexplained pain at the opening of the vagina.

Interstitial cystitis: a chronic condition where cysts form on the inside of the bladder and urinary tract and cause symptoms similar to that of a UTI.

Pre-eclampsia: a condition occurring in pregnancy where the blood supply between the fetus and the pregnant person is affected and can cause irregular blood pressure, swelling, and in more severe cases headache, nausea and vomiting, a burning sensation behind the sternum, shortness of breath and potentially death if untreated.

Endometritis: an infection or irritation of the uterine lining. Is not the same as endometriosis and is treatable but can cause pain, bleeding, swelling, general discomfort and fever, and more.

Pelvic inflammatory disease: an infection of the reproductive organs

Ectopic pregnancy: a pregnancy that is attached to the outside of the uterus. Can be fatal if left untreated.

There are many more I could probably add but if you see something missing, please add it!

[andhumanslovedstories]

I’m looking for a second career after working corporate. I’d like something away from a computer, workin with people, in demand, and more flexible. I do have some autistic traits though (one therapist floated it but never officially diagnosed). Do you think nursing would be a bad choice?

Here's a useless answer: it depends! I'll also give my usual caveat that nursing is a very broad field and a school nurse versus a dialysis nurse versus an ICU nurse versus a home health nurse vs a community health nurse are all going to have different experiences. You'll probably spend more time at a computer than you might like (documenting......), but if you get efficient at it, you can blast through it alright. Except when you can't.

And you will work with people! In any part of nursing, you'll be working with people, often in intimate and vulnerable ways. You meet a lot of cool people and get to be there for a lot of cool moments, cool and funny and profound moments. Working with people when they aren't at their best can be exhausting. Working with people when they aren't at their best and also you're understaffed and also someone is complaining of new onset chest pain at the same time someone else is calling to be cleaned up because they've been incontinent--it's really easy to exhaust yourself out of compassion. You have to care and actively engage with people's often tragic situations, but you also have to protect yourself from secondhand trauma. It's okay if this is not something you're comfortable or good with, but if so, you should probably think critically about whether nursing is for you.

And flexible--maybe??? Again, different jobs will have different perks. A lot of nurses work prn which means they have to pick up a certain number of shifts a month, but they aren't on the schedule normally. You just pick up as you want. Very flexible! But also a lot of these nurses are getting their healthcare elsewhere, usually a partner. Like any shift work, you can always swap shifts with a coworker if you can find one who'll do it. When I worked in home health, it was very hard to adjust my schedule because there wasn't necessarily another nurse that could fill in. And often units in the hospital will have various schedule stipulations--work every other weekend, work a certain amount of holidays, work night shift until you get the seniority to go to days or become a nocturnal little freak (me). I currently work in float pool, which makes it way easier to call out and adjust schedules because I'm not assigned anywhere specific until like ten minutes before the shift starts.

And with regards to the last bit, the autistic traits, I don't know exactly which ones you mean, but none of them are an inherent obstacle to being a nurse. We need neurodiversity in nursing. Some patients might find you cold or awkward or weird or whatever way you worry you might come across. Other patients will resonate with those exact same traits. No one's the perfect nurse for all people. Some people want to that extra care, some people want competent work and then to have space for themselves, some patients want to learn everything about their situation, some patients don't even want to know what pills they're taking. Think of yourself as a specialty nurse. An oncology nurse can take care of a variety of patients, but they're most well suited and situated to take care of cancer patients. There's a patient type that is a perfect fit for you. And the same way cardiac nurses deal with strokes, and orthopedic nurses deal with respiratory infections, you work competently outside your specialty because you have a good base for your practice, but you also know that you have specialties that you are uniquely equipped to handle. Specialties like cheerleading through physical therapy, calming down dementia patients, knowing the shit out of telemetry, making sure patients get a bed bath and clean sheets, using a machine to pump a patient's blood outside your body--whatever you most like, you're most good at, what gives you energy to work. I think mine are working well with "difficult" patients, managing pain, and stealing cranberry juice from the patient fridge. for me.

I'll say too if you're worried like a lack of empathy or easy understanding of other people will be an impediment to care--I'm not saying I'm autistic, but I don't think I'm particularly empathetic. I NEVER know what people are thinking or feeling. I struggle to tell when patients are like "talk to me more!" versus "I am being polite to you, but please leave." I have never once been comforting a crying person and thought, "I am NAILING this. I am making them feel better." But I don't think I'm a bad nurse. I reverse engineer empathy by finding a situation that I was in that's similar to the situation a patient is in, and I think about what I would have wanted and appreciated in that situation. I think about what evidence says is a good thing to do in this situation. I think about what experience tells me has worked in this situation in the pas. I also just ask patients what they're feeling and what they want and why they do what they do instead of assuming I know. (That last one is so choice, we should all do it more.)

The job puts you in a lot of Situations that are hard for anyone to manage. So you can study up for a lot of Situations. I read conflict resolution books and writing by sick people, I think about how adherent I am to my own treatment plan when I get judgy, I ask patients a lot of questions in part so I can understand them but also so I can understand the next patient like them, I practice difficult conversations I can predict before I go into rooms, and I make sure I have certain phrases and reactions in my back pocket in case I'm caught by surprise. I've figured out my safe topics of conversations that I can chat about with patients that are personable but not intimate (cats, how long you've been in the area, how hard it is to sleep in the hospital at night). I periodically try out new conversation styles and topics to see how those work. I find people I admire and I try consciously to emulate them.

I make a shitload of rules too that help me structure my behavior so I can act like a person I'm proud of. If I can't get something for a patient, I have to go back and tell them that instead of just never returning to the room. Whenever I leave a room, before I go, I make sure the call light is within reach and I ask if there's anything I can do before I go. If someone is sad, ask if they want hot chocolate, and if they say yes, ask if they want it with hot water or milk. If I have a patient that is very chatty and always on the call light, allot conversation time with them like I'm scheduling wound care in case they're lonely. Whenever I tell a patient that they can't do something, I explain the clinical reasoning for that. If the only reason I can think of to tell a patient why they can't do something except "it's against hospital rules", I reconsider the refusal. I've got so many rules and guidelines I've developed for myself so I can best act in a way that I think a good nurse should act.

(usual disclaimer that this does not mean I always accomplish this or that I always behave in a way I'm proud of. but I do think developing these rules and following them makes behaving like I want to more habitual.)

All this to say--I care tremendously about my patients when they're my patients, but I don't take most of them home with me. I feel often feel very distant from the emotions of the situation. I used to feel like I was watching the world through glass. Now I still feel like that, but not in a bad way. I don't get mad when patients yell at me. I can view their problems as quests to solve. I'm engaged but I'm not flustered by distress.

look alllllllllllllllllll that to say is have you considered making nursing a special interest? works for me. oh and YEAH. The job security is AMAZING. It's such a weight off my mind to know that if I don't like my current job, it's so easy to get another somewhere else.

[rotationalsymmetry]

The social model of disability is incomplete on its own -- it was never intended to completely explain disability. But it is also really important to give the concept time to sink in if it's new to you I think.

Twenty story buildings have elevators. Because most people aren't up for walking up twenty flights of stairs on the regular. But most people ARE up for walking up one or two flights, so one to two story buildings only have stairs. If everybody could climb 20 stories easily, or teleport or something, 20 story buildings wouldn't have elevators and anyone who couldn't would be screwed.

(I'm expressing this in terms of "most people", but it's less a majority/minority thing and more some people are seen as normal and some aren't. Most people don't have any one specific disability at any given time. But everybody spends some part of their life disabled. We were all born incontinent.)

I have an ongoing daydream scenario involving aliens. These aliens happen to be sort of centaur shaped (ok, probably sort of Andalite shaped, whatever.) They don't do stairs, at all. So their society just doesn't have any. At all. And they can't access places that require stairs in ours -- someone who is not disabled by their standards is by human standards.

But the reverse is also true. My made up aliens have sort of built in texting (you can think of it as telepathy if you prefer) and it's just normal to be able to communicate vocally and by text, either in broadcast mode or one to one, at the same time, and their media often relies on multiple channels to convey information. Humans don't really do that. A human who's fully abled by normal human standards is cut out of a lot of this alien society's culture in a way that's somewhat similar to being blind or deaf or maybe just colorblind in human society.

Anyways, I find the sci fi thought experiments helpful but you don't gotta do it that way. You can also look at history, or compare across cultures. In the modern day, being unable to read is a significant disability. It'll mess with your ability to get a job, to navigate cities, to drive, to date, to enjoy a lot of media, all sorts of things. But in say medieval Europe, it wouldn't be a disability, it would be normal. Most culture is passed along orally. Your local bar has a picture on its sign, not words. Your local church has stained glass windows specifically to help tell Bible stories without words (you're not going to get them from worship, that's happening in a language you don't speak, because reasons.)

You can look at animals. A hawk that can't fly is severely disabled. You've never flown a day in your life.

[morbidology]

16-year-old Sylvia Likens was the daughter of two carnival workers, but when her parents' separated and her mother was jailed for shoplifting, somebody needed to care for her. Ultimately, Sylvia and her sister, Jenny, were sent to live with Gertrude Baniszwewski and her family, paying them $20 to take care of the two girls.

When the payments were late, Baniszwewski would turn on the girls, particularly Sylvia. She would hit the girls with paddles, and whip them. Being fragile and asthmatic herself, Baniszwewski recruited her children and neighbourhood children to subject Sylvia to horrendous abuse over the period of three months.

This abuse included putting cigarettes out on her skin, burning her with scalding water, beating her, rubbing salt in her wounds, forcing her to eat things which would cause her to vomit and on at least two occasions, she was sexually assaulted with a Coca-Cola bottle. On another occasion, a neighbourhood boy, Coy Hubbard, used her to practice his judo, which as a result, caused her to become incontinent. Baniszwewski responded to this by forcing her to eat her own faeces as well as her one-year-old sons.

Jenny, Sylvia’s sister attempted to get help and contacted their older sister, Diana, who came to the house yet did nothing to help. Shortly before her death, Baniszewski took a hot needle and carved “I’m a prostitute and proud of it!” on Sylvia’s stomach. A neighbourhood boy, Richard Hobbs, helped. He also helped 10-year-old Shirley Baniszewski burn the number “3” into her chest with an iron poker. The night before Sylvia died, she attempted to escape the house of horrors. She was caught by Baniszewski who threw her down the stairs into the cellar which had become her home.

The next day, on October 26, 1965, Sylvia’s body gave up after the countless beatings, burnings, sexual assaults, and lack of food and water. She died of a brain haemorrhage, shock, and malnutrition. She had suffered unimaginable torment. Her body was covered in wounds, bruises, and burns. In her final moments, she had almost completely severed her lips with her teeth from the beatings.

Gertrude received a life sentence while the younger assailants received petty sentences and were all released and went on to lead normal lives, something Sylvia could never do. Disgustingly enough, Gertrude was released for good behaviour after just a measly fourteen years in prison.

[mellowsadistic]

“Hi, sweetie! How have you been doing since I last saw you?”

Chloe looked up vacantly, drooling around her piece of candy. There was a grown-up leaning against the garden railings, smiling down at her.

Chloe smiled back at him around her paci lollipop. But then she frowned. The grown-up looked familiar. She’d seen him before, hadn’t she? Where did she know him from? She blinked. Something was different. She was thinking in words. She was thinking properly for the first time in… how long? She looked around, taking in the sight of her playmat, her teddy bear, the books Mummy and Daddy read to her, things she suddenly had names for. She became conscious of the thick disposable diaper bulging between her thighs, and a blush crept across her cheeks. That wasn’t right, was it? She was way too old to be in nappies. She glanced down at her long legs and lifted a hand to her chest, feeling the breasts beneath her shirt. She wasn’t a baby… Then it all came back to her in a rush. Oh God, she thought. She looked up at the man standing above her and pulled the rock candy out of her mouth with a wet pop. “You!” she said.

“Me,” the man agreed. “You seem to be enjoying your new life.” He looked up and waved at the house behind her. Chloe looked over her shoulder to see her mother waving merrily back from the porch. “Just a little spell to stop them worrying,” said the man, the magician. He winked at her. “They think I’m a family friend stopping by to say hello to their special girl.”

“You… you turned me into… into this!” Chloe’s face was scarlet. “Oh my God,” she said, as the reality of the past year of her life began to truly sink in. A year since this man had caught her stealing trick or treat candy from a bunch of stupid kids. A year since she’d been dropped off at her parents’ doorstep with the mind of a one-year-old, prattling nonsense, with her jeans soaked with pee and a load in the back of her panties. A whole year of messy feedings in her highchair, of going potty in her own pants, of having her Mum and her Dad and her smirking little sister coo at her and tickle her tummy and change her diapers on the living room floor. A year of having her friends as babysitters, having them try to wake her up from her breakdown or her accident or whatever they were calling it, only for them to wrinkle their noses in disgust as she pooped herself in front of them, grinning like a moron all the while. “Change me back!” Chloe demanded, dizzy with shame. “Or I’ll… I’ll… I’ll call the police!”

“Seriously?” the man laughed. “By the time you reach a telephone, I’ll have you babbling in baby talk and dribbling down your chin, Chloe. Don’t presume to threaten me, girl. But as it happens, I’m here to give you a chance to be an adult again. I did promise, remember? I told you I’d come to see you again in one year’s time, and if you were good, I’d let you grow back up.”

“Please!” said Chloe, changing tack at once. “I’ve been good! And I’ve… I’ve learned my lesson! Please let me be normal again! I don’t want to go back to… to that.”

“Hmm...” said the man, looking thoughtful. His eyes were twinkling. “Are you sure, sweetie? Look at that yummy candy you’ve got! It seems like your parents spoil their big baby daughter rotten. You can have all the Halloween candy you can eat now. No need to steal it from anyone! Sure you don’t want to stay as an overgrown baby, Chloe?"

“No, please!” Chloe begged, looking desperate. “I just want to be normal again! I won’t steal anymore, I promise!”

“Well, alright,” said the man. “I’ll let you keep your adult mind then, okay? But I’m not giving you back your potty training, little lady. I think being stuck in diapers permanently will be a good reminder for you of the consequences of bad behaviour.”

“What?!” Chloe squealed in revulsion, looking down at the bulky, crinkly thing wrapped around her bottom. “No! You can’t!”

“It won’t be so bad,” the man said reassuringly. “Lots of adults deal with incontinence, Chloe. I know it might be a bit embarrassing for a pretty young woman like you to go around trying to live your normal life with soggy, stinky diapers bulging out from under your clothes, but-”

“No! No! No!” Chloe banged her fists down on her playmat furiously. “I’m not gonna be some diaper-dependent freak! Turn me back to normal! Make it so all this never happened!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” said the man, “but I’ve made up my mind. And in any case, it’s not possible to just undo everything that’s happened like that.”

“Yes it is!” Chloe screeched. “You’re a wizard! Undo it! Undo it all now!”

“Now, now, don’t get grumpy,” said the man. “I can hardly go around altering everyone’s memories, can I? Do you know how much work that would be? Sorry honey, but even if I let you be an adult again, all your friends and family are going to remember that year you spent as a drooling, pants-pooping rugrat.”

“No!” Chloe squealed. She'd never be able to look anyone in the eye again! She felt an intense rage building up inside her. Just because she’d stolen some candy from some dumb brats on Halloween, this man thought he had a right to ruin her life?! “Fuck you!” she shouted. “You did this to me! You fix it!”

The man sighed, shaking his head. “Such a silly girl,” he said. “I can see just one year as a cute little baby hasn’t improved your behaviour at all. This time, I think I’ll wait two years before I give you another chance. Hopefully you’ll have changed your attitude by then. If you don’t learn your manners soon, Chloe, you’ll end up spending the prime years of your life crawling around as an oversized infant!"

Chloe felt her blood turn to ice. “No, wait!” she said at once. Her anger was quickly being replaced by fear. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” But she could already feeling a funny tingling in her head. “No, pwease! I don’t wanna be a bubu… Abububu… Abababa goo! Goo goo gaga bababa!”

Chloe shoved her candy back into her mouth and began sucking on it eagerly. She felt a twinge in her bladder, and she let it go at once. Warm pee-pee flooded her nappy, and she giggled, bouncing a little on her bottom, enjoying the feeling of the squishy padding beneath her.

“Bye-bye, baby Chloe!” the man said in a sweet, syrupy voice. He gave her a little wave, and Chloe responded clumsily. What a friendly grown-up. “See you in two more years!”

[princescribbler]

5 Common Misconceptions of ABDLs!

To be clear, these are common misconceptions ABDLs have, not common misconceptions ABOUT us ABDLs!

1. "My kink is so rare!"

Really? Because candidly, abdl, ageplay, and diaper fetishism intersect in a fascinating way. There are diaper fetishists who despise any form of ageplay or regression, there are ageplayers who get off on the Ageplay, or the diapers, or the humiliation, teasing, or any other aspect of the kink. And candidly, you can tell ABDL really isn't that uncommon when the communities that show up are this large and varied. Heck, there's entire communities on reddit with tens of thousands of abdls, and that's just one site (and not the most kink friendly space to begin with.) Add in the fact that many people are very embarrassed or worried about this kink and you've got an even better explanation for why it can FEEL very rare or isolating... but it often comes down to just being hard to find, at first!

2. "Nobody vanilla will accept me! They must all think I'm a freak" (or similar negative expectation setting)

Except.. they do, all the time, every day. I've personally avoided most vanilla relationships, but I know MARRIED abdl couples who started with one partner totally vanilla, and some of the biggest and most successful content creators in this space are well known for having partners not into ABDL.

Simply put, if you assume it'll go wrong and you'll be judged, your body language, words, and tone can be much more nervous and defensive and make your partner feel ill at ease. Try to not go in with negative assumptions!

3. "I have to find a caregiver to feel little!"

Uh... no you don't. Your kink might involve a partner, your desires might include one or more people around to care for you or dominate you or join you in diapered submission... but none of that means you can't enjoy still, and have a GREAT time. You can try to foster your own regressive or littlespace mindset, happily. And you don't need ANYONE else to enable that. If you're expecting that just having sometime else around will fix things, you're sadly incorrect! You need, at some level, to be comfortable enough to not just rely on EXTERNAL enforcement of your abdl side!

4. "I should get rid of [x] because I feel embarrassed/bad/upset!" (Or any similar variant of the binge/ purge mentality)

Binge and purge cycles happen, and can be very emotionally destructive. Try to instead put the object in storage instead of throwing it out, because often your emotional negative response will only get worse when you later regret it or judge your own reaction.

Try to give yourself the space to struggle, but don't just throw things away or destroy them if they're kink items... instead, realize you might feel differently later and give yourself the grace to be allowed to change your mind without any further fear or judgment!

5. "Everybody can tell if I'm padded/ little/ going out discretely!"

No they can't. I could stop there but truly let's consider this: you realize that incontinence is common... shockingly common. You've passed people in adult diapers, pull ups, discrete pads, you've likely even been in a room with another heavily diapered adult and NEVER realized. Because unless you're being obvious, have leaks, or make a point to wear very form fitting clothing, nobody will notice or likely even look! You're much less exposed than your brain makes you think!!

My point is this: be nice to yourself, and work hard to challenge those negative self talk moments that come up for so many abdls. Your interests and desires aren't as rare as you think, more people are ok with it than you realize, nobody can usually tell even if you are padded (and would be more likely to assume it medical than kinky even if they noticed), and struggling with this is normal too!

BE NICER TO YOURSELF: THAT'S THIS PAPI'S ORDERS! You don't deserve to feel bad about something that helps you feel good!

And as always; stay happy, stay healthy, and stay kinky!

- Scribbler

[briarpatch-kids]

(Tags say # yep! # and you guys are amazing! # you're totally not less human #disabilities are normal)

This is kind of what im talking about, nobody anywhere on the post said anything about us being less human for using incontinence products. This was a "hey this is a more common issue than you thought and if you know 3 women who gave birth you probably know somone with incontinence" type of post not even positivity or talking about stigma. Just "this is totally normal"

But no, the person leaving these tags had to remind everyone that they totally don't think we're subhuman. And that's so awkward and uncomfortable like you might as well be the lady at the farmers market who said "bless you for coming outside" to me last week.

[turtlesandfrogs]

I'm gonna share one of those tips you hear about, and practice for like 18 years, and then realize really helped you out.

Little baby me, years and years ago, when she first emerged from homeschooling and came across feminist thought for the first time*, found an article that told you to look in the mirror, naked and bare faced, and find something about your body that you liked. And make a daily practice of it.

See, the underlying thought is that we live in a society where lots of companies are competing for your money, and one of the ways they do it is by telling you your body has some flaw that you need to rid yourself of or disguise. Some chub, some off-white teeth, too much hair, too little hair, etc etc. Companies make you want their products by undermining your self-image and confidence. We are surrounded by advertisements that attack perfectly normal and healthy aspects of being alive.

That and really unhealthy and non-inclusive beauty standards.

Anyway, I started doing this in college, and I still flex in the mirror every night, because I love my arm muscles. Maybe you really like your eyeballs, or that one freckle, or your hair, or whatever. I really recommend finding at least something, daily, about your body that you appreciate. It's been great for my self esteem and relationship to my body and health.

Also, you'll buy less, which is fundamentally eco-friendly.

*mom did have one element of feminism, which was to never allow yourself to be financially dependant on a man if you can at all help it. However, she also had beliefs like (tw for misogyny and religious sexism) women are inherently less smart and less strong, women are bad at math, uteruses will fall out if you lift too much and you'll become incontinent, and a man should always lead the household. Etc.

[jacksdinonuggets]

Hell's Little program Chapter 3

Thank you to @onceuponahotel for letting me use their Oc

After Vaggie put all the little ones to sleep, she sat in the rocking chair and sighed. She was worried about Blake. All charlie had said was that he had a panic attack. What would’ve caused it? Vaggie knows what it’s like to deal with them, being a caregiver to Rhea, another traumatized little there.

About 15 minutes passed since she put them down for a nap, the door opened. She looked up and saw Hez, one of the nursery workers. He was another fallen angel so they got along pretty well. He was a flip so sometimes he would regress while trying to help the babies. It was fine though, Vaggie didn’t mind taking care of him as well. She took care of him most of the time with Rhea. He was basically her big brother.

Hez walked in and closed the door slowly. He was carrying a big box in his hands. Charlie said that they were running out of diapers and pull ups and needed a refill soon. So he was on errand duty. Once he finished stocking up the changing/bathroom, he changed his pull-up (incontinent) and walked out again into the nursery.

“Hey, Hez? Can I ask you something?” Vaggie whispered to him.

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” 

“A little had a panic attack today. We don’t know why but it’ll be beneficial if we did so we can stop it from happening again. Since you’re familiar with panic attacks, do you mind talking with him? Or get him to open up?” She asked. He often had them and she usually was the one to help him calm down. However, he was even better at helping Rhea calm down, if they are both little.

“Sure, I can do that, who was it?” He asked, wanting to know which one had it. He knew Rhea wanted to play with the older kids and was worried that it was her who had it.

“A new little. His name is Blake, 16 years old, trans male. From what we know, he had abusive parents and regresses to cope with that,” Vaggie gave a brief overview about him. Hez was a bit relieved it wasn’t his baby sister.

“Poor kid, so young too. Hellborn?” Vaggie nodded

They waited a bit for the babies to wake up. Hez looked over Blakes crib. He noticed a few scars along his arms and frowned. He studied him a bit more and saw a few tears leak out of his shut eyes. Most likely he was having a nightmare. Hex didn’t want to wake him up, as he heard it wasn’t good to wake up someone having a nightmare/terror.

After a few more minutes had passed, they woke up. Blake was the last one to wake though. While Vaggie was in the bathroom, changing the other littles, Hez decided he should try talking with him.

“Hey, baby, I’m Hez, I work with Vaggie. I got word that you had a panic attack earlier today, do you want to talk about it?” He asked, taking him out of his crib and setting him on his lap.

Blake hesitated, not saying anything. He just hugged his stuffy

“That’s a cute bear you have there, what’s their name?”

“Huggies…” Blake answered.

“That’s a cute name. Does he give good hugs?” Hez asked.

Blake nodded and hugged it tighter.

“I understand that it may be scary, but I’m not here to judge,” Hez ruffled his hair a bit.

Blake didn’t know why but he felt safe with him. Like he was there to help. He sounded really kind and caring.

“Omebody ma’e fun of me…” He mumbled, “nd my bwain got mean…” 

Hez looked at him with concern. It wasn’t normal for other littles to make fun of each other. 

“I’m sorry, Blakey, do you know who it was? I can talk with them?” Hez suggested.

“My fault. Was too annoying…” He curled in on himself. Hez combed through his hair with his fingers

“It wasn’t your fault, sweetie. Babies are just more high maintenance. It's not your fault though,” He promised. Blake felt a bit better and hugged Hez.

As the last little came out of the bathroom, Hez picked Blake up and carried him in, not wanting him to miss getting changed. It would be bad to leave him in a wet diaper all day. Once he was finished, he carried him back to the floor where they were going to do crafts. They would be making spaceships out of toilet paper rolls and construction paper. Blake was really excited for it.

Blake was having a blast while doing arts and crafts. He loved making things, no matter how young or old he was feeling. He even got a cool sticker when he finished. He had completely forgotten about the mean words the person had said to him.

[bitchfitch]

so my family dog, Bailey, is nearly 18 and still going strong despite having memory and incontinence issues. he's blind and deaf but still lives his life to it's fullest, barking at his cataracts while he sits outside.

and i haven't lived in the same house as him in 3 years, but I'm watching him tonight, and he still remembers my bed time. 3 am exactly he started whining at me to get me to go to bed because my dad normally wakes up at 4 and would get upset with me for still being up when he got up. Idk if Bailey knew that was why i went to bed at 3, but he remembers that's where I'm supposed to be at least.

anyways my dog said it was my bed time. gn