Transfem, sapphic, audhd Little in her 30s. I like CGL stories and getting lost in littlespace. I enjoy erotic and non-erotic ageplay and age regression. This blog is 18+ and kink positive. Minors DNI
I don’t have the motor skills for this! The glue is way stronger than I expected, it’s difficult to navigate putting the teeny tiny fake nail on, some of them are crooked, and the superglue got on my skin around my nails instead!
Who left those supplies out where you could get to them?!
I'm amazed such a little one managed not to superglue her fingers together! A little one like you should only be playing with temporary stick-on nails or washable nail polish.
I hope you have a good cover story prepared for when your Mommy finds out. Otherwise I have a feeling you're not going to be seeing those pretty nails under your locking mittens for quite some time. We can't have you hurting yourself with such big-girl activities, after all.
Caring for other littles is so easy. You see their softness, their healing, their individuality. You can make anyone feel valued — any shape, size, color, or gender — because their worth is obvious to you.
But the second you try to be little yourself, everything gets harder.
Self‑criticism gets loud.
You don’t feel “cute enough.”
You don’t feel deserving.
Letting someone else care for you feels almost impossible.
It’s not because you’re unworthy.
It’s because receiving care means trusting your own needs — and that’s the part no one taught you.
You can hold others with compassion.
Learning to hold yourself the same way is the real work.
The steering wheel is slick under your palms, the late afternoon sun glinting off the windshield as you pull into the driveway. The house is exactly as it looked in the photos cozy, welcoming, with a swing set in the backyard and a pastel-colored door that seems to whisper, This is where you’re supposed to be. But your stomach is a knot of nerves. You’ve talked to her for months, shared your fears, your desires, the way your little side aches to be let out, to be seen. And now, here you are. David, 28, a man who pays bills and attends meetings and pretends he doesn’t spend his evenings curled up with a stuffed animal, is about to walk into a world where none of that matters.
You kill the engine and sit for a moment, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping you from bolting. What if it’s not what you thought? What if she laughs? What if you’re not little enough? The doubts swirl, but beneath them, there’s a flicker of something warmer, something that feels like coming home. You take a deep breath, grab your bag from the passenger seat, and step out.
The door opens before you can knock.
She stands there, leaning against the frame with a smirk that makes your knees weak. She’s even prettier in person, soft curves, a knowing glint in her eyes, and a voice that wraps around you like a blanket. “Took you long enough, baby boy,” she teases, arms crossed. “I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”
You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of how tall you are, how big you feel in your jeans and t-shirt. “N-no, Mommy. Just… traffic.”
She laughs, low and warm, and steps forward to take your bag. “Uh-huh. Traffic made your hands shake?” She nods at your white-knuckled grip on the strap. “Or is it just the thought of what’s waiting for you inside?”
Your face burns. You want to argue, to play it cool, but the way she’s looking at you, like she already knows every secret you’ve ever had, makes the words die in your throat.
She doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she reaches out and takes your hand, her fingers small and warm against yours. “Come on, David. Let’s get you settled.”
The contact sends a jolt through you. It’s so simple, so natural, like she’s done this a hundred times before. And maybe she has. But not with you. Not like this.
The house smells like vanilla and something faintly powdery, like baby lotion. The walls are decorated with framed photos of other littles, some you recognize from her stories, others you don’t. A stuffed elephant sits on a tiny chair in the hallway, watching you with button eyes as Mommy leads you past the living room, down a short corridor, and stops in front of a closed door.
“Here we are,” she says, pushing it open with a flourish.
Your breath catches.
The nursery is more than the photos. The crib in the corner is white, with a mobile of spinning stars above it. A changing table stands against one wall, stocked with wipes and creams and a stack of diapers so thick it makes your pulse race. There’s a playpen, a rocking horse, a shelf overflowing with stuffed animals and board books. And the colors, soft blues and yellows, the kind of pastels that make you feel small just looking at them.
You step inside, your sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, and suddenly the room feels both enormous and suffocating. This is real. This is happening.
Mommy watches you, amused. “Like it?”
You nod, but your voice betrays you. “It’s… a lot.”
She chuckles, stepping closer. “Good. It’s supposed to be a lot.” Her hand lifts, and before you can react, she’s booping your nose. “You’re a big boy out there, David. But in here?” She gestures around. “You’re a little boy. And Mommy takes good care of little boys.”
The words settle over you like a weight, but not an unwelcome one. It’s the kind of pressure that makes your chest tighten, your thoughts fuzzy. You want to argue, to remind her that you’re a grown man, but the way she’s looking at you, like she’s already stripped away every layer of adulthood, makes it hard to remember why that even matters.
“Now,” she says, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get you out of those icky big boy clothes, hmm?”
Your stomach flutters. You’ve talked about this, of course. Boundaries, expectations, the way she likes her littles to look. But talking about it and doing it are two very different things.
She doesn’t wait for you to move. Instead, she starts unbuttoning your shirt herself, her fingers deft as she peels it off your shoulders. You stand there, frozen, as the fabric pools at your feet. Then her hands are at your belt, popping the button on your jeans, tugging the zipper down.
“Lift your feet,” she instructs, and like a good boy, you obey, stepping out of your pants as she pulls them away. You’re left in just your boxers and a t-shirt, feeling absurdly exposed.
Mommy hums, tilting her head as she eyes you up and down. “Much better.” Then she reaches for the hem of your shirt. “Arms up.”
You raise them, and she pulls the fabric over your head, leaving you in nothing but your boxers. The air is cool against your skin, but the heat in her gaze more than makes up for it.
“Cute,” she murmurs, and you know she’s not talking about your face.
Your boxers come next, and for a second, you hesitate. This is the point of no return. But Mommy doesn’t give you time to overthink it. She hooks her fingers in the waistband and tugs, letting them fall to the floor. You step out of them, bare and vulnerable and hers.
She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease. Just smiles, soft and proud, like she’s unwrapping a gift.
“Now,” she says, turning to a dresser and pulling out a thick, white diaper. The crinkle of the plastic is loud in the quiet room. “Let’s get you into something more appropriate.”
You watch, mesmerized, as she unfolds it, the padding so thick it looks like it could swallow you whole. She pats the changing table. “Up you go, baby boy.”
The surface is cool against your bare skin as you lie back, your heart hammering. Mommy moves efficiently, lifting your hips to slide the diaper beneath you, then pulling it up between your legs. The tape is tight as she secures it, the snugness a constant reminder of what you’ve agreed to.
“There,” she says, smoothing the front with a satisfied pat. “All nice and cozy.”
You wiggle your toes, feeling the bulk between your legs. It’s… a lot. More than you expected. But it’s also right. Like a piece of you that’s been missing has finally clicked into place.
She grins, patting your diaper. “And no pants.” She waggles a finger as you open your mouth to protest. “I want to see that cute nappy bum, remember? Besides,” she adds, tapping the front of your diaper, “it’s easier to check on you this way.”
The thought of her checking on you sends another wave of heat to your face.
Next comes the shirt, a soft, short-sleeved Sesame Street tee, the fabric soft and cozy. She pulls it over your head, adjusting the collar with a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”
You look down at yourself. The shirt is snug, the diaper hug your hips, a constant, crinkly presence. You feel… small. Not in stature, but in mind. The worries, the doubts, they’re still there, but they’re quieter now, muffled by the warmth of her attention.
Mommy seems to sense your thoughts. She cups your face in her hands, forcing you to meet her eyes. “Nervous, baby boy?”
You nod, because what else is there to do?
She smiles, thumb brushing your cheek. “Good. You should be. This is a big step.” Then her expression softens. “But you’re safe here, David. I promise. No one’s going to judge you. No one’s going to laugh. You can just… be.”
She takes your hand again, leading you toward the crib. The bars are tall, the mattress plush, and for a second, your breath hitches. Locked in. The thought is both terrifying and thrilling.
“You can nap if you want,” she says, patting the sheet. “Or we can play. Or we can just sit and talk. Whatever you need.”
You glance at the crib, then back at her. “What if I… what if I don’t like it?”
Mommy chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Then we’ll figure it out. But I have a feeling,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper, “that you’re going to love it.”
And as she helps you climb into the crib, as the mattress dips beneath your weight, as the familiar crinkle of your diaper fills the silence, you realize something:
I know, I know. You're picturing a big, dramatic scene where I pull down your pants, spank you into submission, tape you into a thick diaper and lock it into place.
You know what's so much more delicious to me? Diaper humiliation as routine. As lifestyle. As background noise.
You come home from work and swap out your house keys for a big pacifier, which you clip to your collar. You pull out your phone as you walk to the living room, casually removing your pants and underwear with your other hand. You lie down on the floor and spread your bare legs in the air, assuming the expected position as you submissively wait for your nightly diaper. Your legs dangle there stupidly as you suckle and scroll.
I let you dawdle like that for a minute or two before coming to oil and powder your bottom. You tell me about your day, drooling a bit through your paci, and I tell you about mine. I fold up the diaper nice and tight against your waiting bum and seal it.
No scene. No roleplay. No taunting or threats. Peeing in diapers and sucking pacifiers are just your everyday home life, as much as Netflix and takeout would be for a normal couple.
Because every once in a while, when you're not expecting it — as you're waddling to the kitchen in your soggy pampers or feeling a rope of drool ooze onto your dinner bib — it hits you like a ton of bricks: What a silly diapered dummy you are! When did being drooly, padded, and humiliated become so natural to you? So unremarkable? Your face will get hot, you'll feel squirmy in your tummy, and it will be so delicious, because it came out of nowhere.
And once it's made routine for you, you will sometimes forget that it's *not supposed to be*.
You'll lay down in the living room for a diaper after a long day of work, not realizing that Mama's friend's car was in the driveway when you got home and they walk into the living room while you're just lying there, oblivious. Mama's got you halfway changed into your diaper before it registers that her friend *hasn't seen you like this before* and is acting like this is totally normal.
You'll walk up to Mama while she's on the phone and after telling her something you'll realize that your paci was still in and the person on the line heard you lisping adorably around it and you'll have to pray Mama can come up with some excuse for what they just heard.
Your adult friends will come over and you'll be scrambling at the last minute to make sure you didn't leave any baby toys stuck in the couch cushions or a bottle in the drying rack ... again.
"Baby" will eventually become your everyday state and you'll have to work to remember what real adults talk about with each other. You haven't *forgotten*, you just haven't thought about it in a while so the memories are a bit *fuzzy*. Harder to recall. Buried in your memory under an ever growing pile of stuffies, bottles, and diapers.
Slowly slipping further and further into this "new normalcy" and each time you come up for air, finding it a bit harder to find the surface and shift back to your grown-up mindset. And when you do, how beautifully red your face will get as it dawns on you just how long you had stayed under that time.
looking back at my new years resolutions and i feel like such a failure. how does one stop the wrong hyper fixations without burning myself out on the creative process.... fuck me. I'm sorry for failing a lot of you
Real talk, you rethink what the purpose of a new years resolution is.
CGP Gray has a video where he talks about how new years resolutions don't really work and he recommends choosing a "theme" for the year as a way to help shift behavior patterns.
The year of fitness, of happiness, of connection, etc and then try to allow that theme to nudge you in the direction of making choices that are in line with it.
So if it's the year of fitness, choosing the stairs over the elevator a couple times. If it's the year of connection, choosing to meet up with friends despite being exhausted at the end of the day. Or reaching back out to people you want to rekindle a connection with.
It's way lower stakes, nearly impossible to fail at, and still helps drive you in the direction of the outcomes you want.
https://youtu.be/NVGuFdX5guE?si=xjgudaF2bAKBYpce
So...maybe the answer is to cut yourself some slack? You're not a failure for not keeping up with your new years resolutions. They were aspirational, but they aren't an exam that you can fail at. As a former "gifted student", failing new years resolutions (or failing to establish healthy habits for things like my sleep routine, eating, exercise, etc) are really painful. But I'm also neurodivergent and I'm working on accepting that for me that means those kinds of routine shifts are really hard and require a lot of spoons that I just don't have most days. And that's okay. And it's okay for you, too.
You're doing okay, Rini. You didn't accomplish the goals that you set out for, but (I suspect) you have passions that light you up and hyperfixations that bring you joy. Those are remarkable achievements, all on their own.
So maybe cut yourself a little slack? The same amount of slack you would give to a friend who had "failed their resolutions" the way you feel you have? If you would be kind and reassuring to that friend, then I think it's okay to be kind and reassuring to yourself too.
Oh little one. Why don’t you go back to your nursery and leave all these big kids thoughts to the adults. You’re pretending you’re such a big kid 🤭 when we alllll know the truth. You’re just an adorable little tinkle tot 😘
See when anons say things like this they might as well just string together a bunch of baby babble. Because in my head it’s just some pamper packer using all their energy to be a big kid for a bit.
And it makes me laugh thinking about it.
So if you want to make me squirmy, don’t be anonymous. Please. Because you can literally say the perfect things to get me subby but if I imagine it’s from a silly little, it can never work.
Gem was positive there had been times in her life when she had felt an even more visceral combination of fear, anxiety, and inevitable, inescapable doom.
She was certain that she had felt more hopeless at some point than she did now as she was led on all fours into that brightly colored room with the cushioned floor, alongside the twenty three other pets-to-be.
She was sure of it; she just couldn't think of a single example right now.
That probably shouldn't surprise her anymore. Recently, her life had been such a blur of intense, overwhelming emotions that she had a hard time bringing up any coherent memories of the time before. It was like everything else was drowned out by the feelings that had choked the breath from her lungs ever her since her capture. As she and the other potentials were corralled into the room, her emotions helpfully played reruns of the most impactful, most intense moments in recent memory. Like it too was punishing her for her failure to do better.
The wave of dizziness from the drugs her captors had slipped into her drink.
The confusion when she awoke and found herself naked, confined to a cage alongside her new litter-mates.
Her burning shame when she grew overwhelmed by fear and lost control of her bladder during her first "training session" and was forced to wear her new "puppy protection" afterwards.
The feeling of helpless frustration as she tried to form even the most basic of phrases but half of the words came out as unintelligible grunts and whines.
The disappointment when her trainers patience wore thin with her slowness to respond. When day after day, she wound up banished to the side of the training room in punishment while her litter-mates were taught more and more advanced tricks when she couldn't even handle the basics.
The anger and sense of betrayal overhearing her trainers talking like she wasn't even there, saying things like "slow learner", "might be a lost cause", and "there's always one".
Ptifully crying herself to sleep at night as her litter-mates snatched her blankets away, displaying her shame for them all to laugh at. It didn't matter that none of them had a stitch of clothing on. Her "protection" was infinitely more embarrassing than their nakedness. Pets were supposed to be naked, after all. She couldn't even do that right.
And now it was here; Adoption Day. She and her litter-mates were in this familiar room full of puppy toys and play structures; an abundance of thing for playing with, in, or on. Their trainers said to be the best puppies they could and, if they were lucky, they would be going home with a new owner afterwards.
The others had bound into the room on all fours, scouring the room for balls to push around with their noses, ropes to play tug of war with, squeaky toys, and laying claim to all manner of objects they had been trained to perform with.
As Gem crawled into the room, it was all she could do to keep herself from breaking down in tears. She watched them all playing and her heart sank into her stomach as she suddenly knew how the day's events would unfold. Her litter-mates might get adopted, even the less talented ones, but not her. She had no chance.
She was too stupid. Too broken. Her diaper would tell any potential owner that she was too much trouble, too much work to care for. She didn't know any unique tricks. She couldn't give them anything that one of her litter-mates couldn't do better and easier. She could barely remember the tricks she was taught and she messed them up half the times she tried. She kept fidgeting when she was supposed to be standing still.
None of them were going to want her. She was going to be stuck here forever. After most of her litter-mates had been adopted, her captors would take her and the other handful of rejects back. Then tomorrow, they would keep breaking her down until she learned how to be a good puppy. Or maybe they would just find some way to be rid of her so she would stop wasting their time and resources.
Sniffling, tears starting to fill her eyes, she crawled over to a stuffed bunny and dragged it with her teeth underneath one of the play structures. There, curled up with her bunny while the others were busy performing, she finally let herself fully break down and weep. She stayed there, partially hidden, while the first few potential owners were brought in.
Over the next few hours, more and more of her siblings were taken away and adopted. The first to go were the ones who had mastered enough tricks to dazzle their new owners. And the ones who knew how to follow, obey, and learn new instruction without delay. They were the ones capable of being "good pets". They got adopted. Obviously they would.
But not Gem. Never Gem.
From the moment they laid eyes on her, each of the potential owners had dismissed her as not worth their time. She was a diapered disappointment of a pet with her eyes red from crying and her stuffed bunny clutched to her chest. She wasn't surprised they didn't want her. She wouldn't want her.
The room slowly grew emptier as, hour by hour, the newly adopted pets crawled out the door following their new owners. Their collars proudly attached by leashes to their owner's hand, leaving for a life Gem was sure she'd never have. A life she knew didn't deserve.
And why would she want to be adopted anyway! A few weeks... months?... ago she hadn't wanted to be a pup. She'd had a life! It hadn't been glamorous, but it had been hers. She didn't want to do tricks. She didn't want treats or head pats. She wanted freedom! She wanted to escape! She wanted to go back to being a person again! She wanted -
Gem recoiled as she cut off the rebellious, "bad dog" thoughts. Her body remembered the punishments she had received when she had tried voicing those objections. She was supposed to know better by now. That was one lesson she thought she had finally learned! She wasn't supposed to want that stuff anymore. She wasn't! She didn't! She was supposed to want to be a good puppy. Why was she so stupid? Why couldn't she just be a good puppy like all the others?
She curled back up into a ball, continuing to cry quietly as her litter-mates were taken, one after another. She briefly had the thought that she should try to impress an owner now that the best pups had been claimed, but she just couldn't find the motivation. Why bother? No one would want her. She wasn't worth their time. She was useless.
And then she heard a new voice say "And who is this little cutie?"
Gem raised her head and looked into the eyes of someone she was sure must be a goddess. Even crouching down, several feet away, the woman towered over Gem. Gem rubbed her tear-staines cheeks with the back of her hand and stared up at the woman in wonder.
She crouched there, ignoring the playful behavior and performances of the other pups, waiting patiently as Gem hesitantly crawled out from under the play structure. As Gem crawled forward, the woman's perfectly manicured hand reached out in front of her. Gem stopped in front of the woman, staring blankly at the hand. The woman waited long enough to give Gem a chance to sniff at it (which she forgot to do! Stupid!) before the woman placed her hand on Gem's head and started scratching behind her ear.
Gem let out a small moan as the woman immediately found a spot that made Gem's leg twitch. The moan slowly became a contented growl coming from somewhere deep inside her chest. Gem had never heard herself make that sound before. If she hadn't been so enraptured, she might have found that remarkable.
She vaguely overheard one of her trainers explaining to this woman that Gem was the runt of the litter. They told her that Gem was a bit slow on the uptake and struggled with following even the most basic of commands and instructions. They suggested that maybe one of the other Pups would be a better fit for her. Gem would have expected to feel shame and resentment at their words, but a finger from the woman's other hand had somehow found its way into Gem's open mouth and it was gently stroking the roof of her mouth. Gem's brain was overloaded as the waves of pleasure coarsed through her body. She had an urge to suck the woman's finger, but stopped herself just before doing so. The woman turned and caught her eye and Gem felt the heat rise to her face and she realized that somehow, the woman knew exactly what she had been about to do.
The woman paused for a moment, stopping her scratching and removing her finger from Gem's mouth. Gem heard a pitiful whine escape her throat. She looked up, worried that this woman was going to dismiss her and move on as Gem deserved. Just like all the other prospectives had.
But she raised one finger to silence the trainer while she held Gem's gaze firmly. With a voice full of certainty, she issued a simple command that resonated with something deep inside Gem.
"Sit."
Gem's body shot upright into a sitting position, her posture nearly perfect. The woman held her hand outstretched, palm up.
"Shake."
Gem placed her hand on top of the woman's. The woman let Gem's hand go, looked her in the eyes again. She spoke.
"Roll Over."
Gem scrambled to drop back down and roll to the side, coming to rest with her tummy on the ground, looking up at the woman, a hopeful look on her face.
"Good girl" the woman said, and Gem felt a new wave of heat and pleasure course through her body. As it passed, the heat remained wrapped around her lower half and she realized with horror that she had wet herself again. Right in front of this goddess. Gem's face fell. She had ruined things! Now this nice woman would see she was disgusting! She was going to give up on Gem now, for sure. She was going to -
"Oh that's a very Good Girl" the woman said, looking down at Gem's drooping protection. "A very good girl, indeed". Gem's face contorted with shocked confusion as she felt another wave of pleasure course through her. She...wasn't moving on from Gem? But -
The woman returned her finger to Gem's mouth and commanded "Suck". Without thinking, Gem closed her lips around the digit and began to suck.
The next hour passed in a blur.
Later, Gem would remember the woman, Kira, explaining to the trainers that sometimes new puppies just needed a lighter touch. Especially the littler ones, like Gem.
She would remember Kira replacing her finger with a pacifier, and feeling heat returning to her face until Kira commanded her to "Suck" again. After that, someone would have needed to fight her to pull the silicone bulb from her mouth.
She would remember Kira asking the trainers for a fresh diaper for Gem, handing her the stuffed bunny to cuddle, and expertly changing Gem into the new padding on the floor, in front of her former litter-mates.
She would remember the unexpected feeling of security as Kira looked into her eyes, counting out loud as she placed each of the tapes and smoothes them out.
She would remember the pride she felt as she was carried out of the room in Kira's arms, collar in place but no leash in sight, and brought to the woman's car where a puppy carrier with a safety harness waited in the back.
She would remember the blissful feeling of the drive as Kira told her all about the new life she was going to have.
And she would remember the feeling of contentment as she crawled into her new cage, in her new home. Her paws clutching her stuffed bunny, pacifier still firmly stuck in her mouth, bobbing away as she curled up on the cushioned bottom of the cage and Kira draped a heavy blanket over her body.
The next morning, she would awake to find it hadn't been a dream after all. She wasn't broken. She wasn't unlovable. She wasn't a disappointment. She had just needed Kira to find her.
The doorbell rang just as she finished folding the last bit of laundry.
She was still in her light-wash jeans and the soft pink cropped sweater she’d picked out that morning. The kind of “big-girl” outfit that made her feel almost normal for a few hours.
Underneath, of course, was the usual plain white diaper. Snug and unremarkable.
Daddy opened the door himself and signed for the enormous brown box. No labels. Just that plain Amazon smile.
He carried it straight to the living-room rug and set it down like it was something precious.
“Big surprise for my baby girl today, princess,” he said. His voice was warm and low as he pulled her into his arms for a quick kiss on the forehead. “Daddy ordered some very special things because he knows exactly what his little one needs. Come sit. We’re going to open it together, nice and slow.”
Her stomach fluttered.
Special things.
She already felt the blush starting.
He sliced the tape open with careful, deliberate cuts. Tissue paper rustled. Pastel colours spilled out like candy.
First item: a thick stack of diapers in clear plastic. The label faced her immediately.
“Read it out loud for Daddy, sweetheart.”
She swallowed hard. Her cheeks were already heating.
“Rearz Princess Pink… ultra-absorbent overnight diapers for heavy incontinence… size medium…”
Daddy’s hand rested gently on her lower back.
“Mmm, that’s right. These are for heavy wetters like my princess, aren’t they? Remember a few days ago when you leaked right through your pretty plaid skirt at the mall? I had to tie my jacket around your waist so none of those teenagers would see. These pretty pink ones are going to keep all those accidents safely hidden. Because that’s what babies need, isn’t it, honey?”
A deep crimson blush spread across her entire face. The words landed soft but heavy.
She squirmed on her knees. The denim of her jeans suddenly felt too tight over the padding she hadn’t even noticed was warm.
Next came the onesie. Pale mint cotton. Tiny cartoon bunnies hopping across the front. Snap crotch already winking at her.
“Keep reading, baby girl.”
Paralysed and struggling to find her words, she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times before she finally let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding in.
“LittleForBig Pastel Bunny Onesie… soft stretchy cotton… perfect for daytime play or bedtime cuddles… reinforced snap closure for easy changes… designed with ABDL babies in mind…”
Daddy smiled. His eyes sparkled with gentle teasing.
“I picked this one because it’s the most age-appropriate thing for my baby. Easy snaps mean Daddy can check you whenever he wants, dress you, undress you, change you without any fuss. No more struggling with big-girl clothes when you’re fussy and soggy. This is what my little princess wears now.”
He handed it to her.
“Take off your jeans and sweater, princess. Let’s see how it looks.”
Her fingers trembled as she peeled the cropped sweater over her head. Then she shimmied out of the light-wash jeans.
She stood there in nothing but her plain white diaper. Suddenly so aware of how full and warm it felt. She hadn’t even realised she’d had another accident. It just… happened.
Daddy’s eyes dropped to her padded bottom.
He stepped behind her. Wrapped his arms around her waist. Hugged her close from the back. His chin rested on top of her head. His voice was soft and loving right against her ear.
“Ohhh, sweetheart… look at that. Someone’s already soggy and she didn’t even notice, did she? That’s okay. That’s exactly why Daddy buys all these things. Because my baby girl can’t hold her tinkles in can she? Say it for me, honey. Tell Daddy what you are.”
She could feel the warm, heavy bulk pressing against his front through her diaper.
“I’m… I’m a baby,” she whispered. Her voice was tiny and shaky.
“Louder, princess. And tell me what happened.”
“I’m Daddy’s baby… and I had an accident… and I need changies.”
He kissed the side of her neck. Squeezed her gently.
“That’s my good girl. So brave for admitting it. That’s why you get the bunny onesie and the thick new diapers. So you never have to worry again. Babies need protection, don’t they? And Daddy loves dressing his baby up cute and easy to change.”
He slipped the mint onesie over her head. The fabric was impossibly soft. When he snapped the crotch closed over her soggy diaper, the bulk pushed her thighs apart. The bunnies stretched wide across her tummy.
She caught her reflection in the hallway mirror. She felt another hot wave of humiliation roll through her. Ridiculous. Adorable. Little.
Daddy didn’t let her hide. He turned her gently so she faced him. One hand cupped her blushing cheek.
“See how pretty my little girl looks already? And we’re only just getting started.”
Next he pulled out the oversized paci. Baby-pink silicone. Heart-shaped shield engraved with Daddy’s Girl.
“Open up, sweetheart. Babies get fussy when they’re embarrassed, and this will help you stay calm while we finish unboxing.”
She parted her lips. He slid it in. The weight and rhythm instantly soothed something deep inside. Even as fresh blush flooded her cheeks.
Then the sippy cup. Pastel purple with tiny stars. The words No Big Drinks for Little Girls printed on it.
“Read that part out loud for Daddy.”
She did. Muffled around the paci. He chuckled softly.
“That’s because big drinks make my baby leak even faster, don’t they? This is for your nap-time baba now. Warm milk, no spills, just like a proper little one.”
Last big item before the thickest diaper: the high-chair tray. Adult-sized. Padded vinyl with a cute animal border.
“We’ll use this tonight for dinner, princess. Babies eat in high chairs so they don’t make messes. Daddy wants you safe and contained.”
She whimpered around the paci. Her thighs pressed together instinctively. The onesie crinkled loudly with every tiny movement.
Daddy reached back into the box. Lifted the final pack of what looked like the thickest diapers she had ever seen. Rearz Mega Critter Caboose. Boasting up to a 11,000ml capacity… this diaper is unmatched for absorbency… sure to provide you the best solution to manage your heavy incontinence.
He held it up. His eyes were soft but teasing.
“And this one, baby girl… this is going on you right now. Because my princess is already wet, and she needs the protection she deserves. Tell Daddy again. What are you?”
She sucked harder on the paci. Her voice was small and trembling but honest.
“I’m… your baby.”
He smiled. Proud and loving.
“That’s right. Now let’s get you changed, honey. Daddy’s got you.”
Daddy guided her down to the soft rug with one hand on her back.
“Lie back for Daddy, princess. Let’s get that soggy diaper off so we can put something much safer on you.”
She lowered herself slowly. The mint onesie crinkled loudly with every shift. The snaps were already undone from earlier. He peeled the front down with careful fingers. Cool air hit her damp skin. She whimpered around the paci. The sound was muffled but unmistakable.
“Look at that, honey,” Daddy murmured. His voice was low and loving as he unfolded the wet padding. “So full already and my baby didn’t even realise. That’s why we need the thickest ones now, isn’t it? No more leaks ruining your pretty outfits.”
He lifted her legs gently. Slid the soggy diaper free. The faint warm scent of her accident filled the air. Not strong. Just enough to make her cheeks flame hotter. She squeezed her eyes shut. But Daddy’s hand found her tummy. Rubbed slow circles.
“Eyes open, sweetheart. Daddy wants you to see how much he loves taking care of you.”
She forced her lids up. He was smiling down at her. Soft. Proud. No trace of disappointment. Just love.
He reached for the wipes. Cool and soothing as he cleaned her carefully.
“Remember last week when you woke up soaked through your favourite pyjamas? Daddy had to change the whole bed while you cried. These new high capacity diapers are going to keep all those nighttime tinkles locked away so you can sleep safe and sound in Daddy’s arms.”
Powder puffed into the air. Sweet. Babyish scent that made her head spin.
He unfolded the thick Critter Caboose diaper. The plastic backing crinkled like wrapping paper. Cartoon animals danced across the front panel. It was obscenely thick. She could already tell it would force her legs wide.
“Lift your bottom, baby girl.”
She obeyed. Trembling. The new diaper slid under her. Cool. Plush. Impossibly cushy.
Daddy pulled the front up between her thighs. The padding pressed firmly against her. He fastened the tapes one by one. Top left. Top right. Bottom left. Bottom right. Each rip of the adhesive sent fresh tingles through her.
“There we go,” he said. He patted the front gently. “All snug and safe. Feel how much thicker that is, princess? No more worrying about leaks. Just my perfect padded baby.”
He snapped the onesie closed again. The pressure was intense. The bunnies stretched taut over the new bulk. The snaps strained but held. She could barely close her legs. Every tiny shift made a loud, unmistakable crinkle.
Daddy helped her sit up. Then pulled her straight into his lap. Her padded bottom settled against his thigh with a soft squish. He wrapped his arms around her. Rocked slowly. One hand rubbed her back in slow circles.
She nestled against his chest. Paci bobbing gently between her lips.
The room felt smaller now. Softer. Like the whole world had shrunk to the space between them.
The open box beside them seemed far away. All she could focus on was the steady thump of Daddy’s heartbeat against her cheek. The faint lavender scent of the fresh diaper powder clinging to her skin. The strange, warm floatiness starting to spread through her tummy like honey.
He really ordered all this… for me.
Thick padding. Bunny snaps. A paci with his name on it.
Because he sees me like this. All the time. Every day. Not pretend. Not sometimes. Always.
The thought made her cheeks burn hotter.
Part of her still hated how exposed it felt. Hated the way the onesie hugged every bulge. How the snaps pulled tight over the bulk. How there was no hiding anymore.
But another part. The fuzzy, little part that was growing stronger with every gentle rock. Felt something else entirely.
Warm. Safe. Cherished.
She squirmed a little in his lap. The thick padding shifted with a soft, crinkly rustle that echoed in her ears. The sound made her want to hide her face forever… and at the same time made her want to stay right here. Wrapped up in him. Forever.
Daddy felt her tense. Then melt. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
“Mmm, there’s my baby girl,” he murmured. “Settling in already, aren’t you?”
She pulled the paci out with a soft pop. Looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes. Her lower lip trembled into a pout.
“Daddy…?” Her voice was small. Babyish. “Do I… do I weally need all this baby stuff?”
Daddy’s expression softened even more. He cupped her cheek. Thumb brushed away the single tear that had escaped.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said gently. Then carefully placed the paci back between her lips. “Yes, princess. You really do.”
He rocked her slowly. Hand sliding down to pat the padded seat of her onesie.
“You need thick diapers because your little bladder gets so urgent and can’t hold it. Not during the day when you’re playing or distracted, and definitely not at night when you’re fast asleep. You need onesies because they’re soft and cuddly and let Daddy check and change you easily whenever you need it. You need your paci because it helps calm my fussy, blushy baby when big feelings get too much. You need sippy cups and bottles because big-girl drinks make accidents happen faster, and Daddy wants his princess safe and spill-free. And you need the high chair because babies sit contained so they don’t make messes while they eat.”
He kissed her forehead again. Voice dropping to that soothing, teasing whisper she loved and hated in equal measure.
“And Daddy loves every single bit of it. I love picking out these cute things just for you. I love seeing you all padded and helpless in your bunny onesie, knowing you’re exactly where you belong. In Daddy’s lap, safe and little and mine. You’re not broken, honey. You’re perfect. My perfect padded baby girl.”
The words sank in. Warm and heavy and true.
They wrapped around her like the onesie itself. Soft. Inescapable. Comforting.
The last stubborn threads of resistance frayed and snapped. She didn’t want to fight anymore. She didn’t need to.
She buried her face in his neck. Sucking harder on the paci.
The crinkle of her diaper mixed with the steady beat of his heart. Every breath made the padding shift against her skin. Thick. Plush. Secure.
It felt ridiculous.
It felt right.
Daddy shifted her gently so he could reach the purple sippy cup. He’d already filled it with warm milk. Prepared earlier, of course. Always one step ahead.
He brought it to her lips.
“Nap-time baba for my brave girl,” he whispered. “Drink up, princess. Then Daddy will tuck you in for a little rest in your nice thick overnight diaper. We’ve got plenty more unboxing later… but right now, just let Daddy hold his perfect padded baby.”
She nodded against his shoulder. Lips closed around the spout.
The milk was warm. Sweet. Soothing
As she drank, the last of the tension drained away. Replaced by that fuzzy, floaty feeling only Daddy could give her.
Her eyes grew heavy.
The gentle rocking. The soft crinkle with every breath. The warmth of his arms. The steady rhythm of the paci in her mouth.
It all blended into one perfect, safe cocoon.
She was small.
She was safe.
She was loved.
And as her lashes fluttered shut, one last sleepy thought drifted through her fuzzy mind:
Trans people of Tumblr. If you could go back in time to when it all sorta started for you, that first time you went out in those clothes, the first time you had that moment of trying to be yourself and not just hidden away in your room, what would you say to yourself?
I'll start: "Don't let anxiety distract you from having fun" "Your outfit looks fine, stop worrying." "Your friends love you."
I wouldn't want to turn back time so I never became a Little.
There was certainly a time in my life when I would have said yes, but now?
I see how hard it is for some of my more vanilla friends to access any kind of restoration in their lives. Any sense of comfort or security. And I don't have that problem anymore.
I didn't truly accept my Little side until my 30's, so I would certainly turn back the clock to help coach a younger version of myself through accepting myself for who I am (same as with being trans or neurodivergent), but I wouldn't want to take away this part of myself.
It gives my life flavor. It gives me a perspective that many will never fully understand. It suffuses my life with a sense of wonder and joy and bone-deep connection to people I have this in common with.
It's terrifying at times, sure, wondering what would happen to my life if some of the more backwards thinking people in my family or my community were to find out, but barring physical or social harm being done to the people I love ... I don't even think that would be enough to make me wish I'd never had this piece of me. "Those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."
It's brought my partner and me closer together. It's not been smooth or easy, but we worked through the rough patches and came out the other side more connected. More "us". And it's helped me grow into a more open and understanding and accepting person.
I truly love this part of myself, even as it feels so cringe and silly at times. It's just as much "me" as the rest of me. I don't want to wish it away.
Consent is important. They have to be okay with it. I know that.
I know that, if I were to push too hard, I could cause them to clam up and repress again.
I know it takes time and patience to coax a wounded puppy out of hiding or to help a scared child feel safe again. It takes time for someone to relearn their relationship to their own body, their own gender, their own brain. I need to give them that time to adjust.
I know I have to be patient.
I have to wait and support and plant seeds and water them and then slowly, painfully slowly watch them bloom into the amazing flower they have always been inside. So many pretty petals I can't wait to see collecting dewdrops and shimmering in the morning sun.
I know I have to wait. And listen.
I have to!
I know that lasting change takes slow adjustments. It takes baby steps. Agonizingly small baby steps. Terrifying baby steps. I have to let them tumble and fall. I have to wait, holding my breath, to see if they ready to get back up and try again. They need time to feel their feelings and find their security and cry away the fear and push their boundaries slowly. So, so slowly.
They need to do that. I need to listen and follow their lead.
I need to encourage and support, but not coerce. I need to guide gently, with a soft touch but let them keep their hands on the steering wheel.
They need to be allowed to write their own story. I need to bring them pencil and paper and a blanket and give them time to think and imagine and recreate themselves. To learn to see themselves the way I see them.
I need to wait until they are ready.
I *need* to.
I. Need. To.
I know I need to!
But, damn it all! I don't *want* to!
I *want* to jump ahead to the part where I can see her happy and content and smiling and wondering what she was so afraid of. I want to overwhelm her with acceptance and love and joy and deep, embodied, visceral *rightness* so she can't help but accept this part of herself. I want to get to the part where she feels whole. Complete. At peace.
I want to show her the future I know can be. The her that is possible. No more fear of her own desires, no more shame, no more self-rejection, no more wishing she were someone else. No more wishing she were gone. She will know what it means to love herself, to accept herself, to want to be herself. To crave more time as herself. She will be happy. I will make it so. I just want her to be happy! Is that really such a bad thing?
I want to take my Little-to-be by the hands, look her in the eyes and speak reality into being with my words.
"You're not an adult. You're just a baby. And you're my baby".
I want to ignore her objections, forced from her lips by a sense of obligation and fear. Afraid of the desire and hope she feels. Afraid to smile and hope again. Afraid that she will be let down again. But she needn't be afraid. She'll learn that lesson in time.
I want to take her to her new home and tape her into a diaper covered in flowers and ladybugs. Lock it with a cover if she isn't ready yet to be a good baby. Put a paci in her mouth and stare her down when she tries to remove it until she puts it back in. Set her up with progressively littler and littler activities. Coloring books, pillow forts, ball pits, block towers.
I want to cradle her in my lap while I feed her from a bottle, stroke her hair, and tell her what a good baby she is. Because she is a good baby. A very, very, very good baby.
I want to read her a bedtime story and put her down for a nap. I want to watch her drift off to sleep while I gently rub circles on her back, her breathing growing slow and steady, smiling behind the paci bobbing in her mouth. Stuffy clutched in her arms like she'll never let it go.
And in time, I want to watch her body language change as she accepts the truth, her weary eyes more eager to smile as I peel away the years of pain. That unseen weight that time has so unfairly burdened her with.
I will pry open those walls she clutches so tight around her heart. I will climb inside and find that scared child at her center, buried deep, hiding after years of being told she is shameful, isn't enough, isn't worthwhile. Hiding and wondering why no one ever came seeking for her.
That part of her that fears the light she glimpses through the crack in the door as it slowly opens. She's trembling, unwilling to run out because the unknown out there is scarier than the monsters she imagines under her bed. And because she fears her own reflection most of all. She's crying even now for want of comfort. Waiting, wanting desperately for someone to wrap her up in a big hug and tell her things will be okay while she cries and cries and cries.
I want to liberate her from that windowless, joyless room surrounded by lessons drilled into her by trauma. I want to carry her out, cradled in my arms, shielding her from the searing light with my body until her eyes can adjust. Protecting her from the intrusive thoughts lurking, waiting to pounce on her. Soothing away her fears with my gentle words and knowing smile. And never ever ever ever letting her get lost alone again in such a scary place.
She'd be so much happier as my baby than she ever was before. I can bring her so much more joy than adulthood or responsibilities ever could. She can be free from it all! And when I'm done with her, I know she'll want it just as much as I do. I know it. She may not see that now, but what does that matter? A baby can't be trusted to know what she needs. That's my job. I'll help her. I'll teach her. She'll learn in time.
And if I just decide to never let her leave, would that really be such a bad thing? I'm sure she wouldn't complain at that point. And what heartless monster is going to tell me I should just let her grow up again and subject her to the pains the outside world brings with it? Who would be so cruel to my baby? She will know better than to listen to them by then. They don't know what she needs. Only I do.
Abigail slowly drifts into dreamy half-consciousness as she hears tapes rip. A shiver runs through her body at the cold air when gentle hands peel open the front of her diaper. Warm wipes slide along her skin, drawing a soft whine from her lips. Her brain feels full of quiet static as she struggles to remember how being awake works.
She rubs sleepies from her eyes with the back of her hand and feels her Mommy lift her legs and set her bottom back down on a fresh, thick diaper.
Too thick.
Another nighttime diaper?
That thought sends a spike of alarm through her body. Mommy only puts her in a nighttime diaper in the morning when she leaks or when she is being punished. But her onesie doesn't feel wet, so ...
Blinking open her eyes, she is surprised to find her nursery still cast in shadows, lit only by her nightlight. Why is Mommy changing her so early in the morning? Hesitantly, she slips her purple bunny paci from her mouth and leaves it dangling from its clip. She watches as her Mommy reaches for the powder on the shelf above her changing table.
"Mama?" she asks, feeling her worry and apprehension creep into the question. Mama is fully dressed and moving faster than usual. Something is clearly wrong. The alarm bells in Abigail's head only grow louder.
"Shhhh. It's okay sweetie," Mommy coos in a soothing voice, using the back of her hand to gently stroke the worry lines that had sprung up on Abigail's forehead. "It's still sleepy time. Mommy's work called and there's an emergency so they need her to come in today. I just want to get you nice and dry before I go, in case I'm gone a while."
"Oh" Abigail replies, nibbling her bottom lip. Part of her is glad she isn't in trouble, but her worry shifts into a growing sense of vague disappointment. Then the implications of that snap into focus. If Mommy has to go into work, the she is leaving! She won't be at home today.
Abigail bristles at the realization she'll be without Mommy today. It's supposed to be an extra special Little day! This is so unfair.
Mommy sees the gears turning in her baby's head and spots the growing tantrum in her eyes. As Abigail opens her mouth to complain, Mommy slips the Little girl's paci back in her mouth. Mommy holds the soother firmly in place with one finger, staring into her baby's eyes. After a moment of resistance, Abigail reluctantly starts to suck. By the time Mommy removes her finger, Abigail's eyes have taken on a glossy sheen, her protests ebbing away with the rhythmic suck, suck, sucking.
Stifling a sigh of relief, Mommy quickly finishes sealing her little one into into her fresh diaper. Satisfied with the fit, she snaps up her onesie. In a fluid motion born from experience, she slips her arm under her Little and lifts her, cradling the girl against her chest.
Abigail lets out an involuntary "meep!" from behind her paci. For a few seconds, she hears her Mama's heartbeat. Its slow, reassuring beats synchronize with her paci and she feels her thoughts grow fuzzy. Mommy gently places her down in her crib, the back of her hand brushing her little one's cheek.
Abigail rolls over and grabs Beary, hugging him to her chest and curling into a ball around him. Leaning down, Mommy kisses her on the head and whispers in her ear.
"I'm hoping this won't take long, but if it does, you can either be my big helper or if you get too lonely ... "
No. No no no. She knew that tone. Mommy was going to suggest -
"you can call Susie."
Abigail's contented smile evaporates at the mention of her "big sister". Susie knows all her buttons and is always trying to maneuver her into ever more babyish acts. The last time she came over, she got Abigail talking in a babyish lisp without her paci and she forgot to stop when Mommy came home! It wasn't until she and Mommy had been talking for a while, with Mommy smiling at her the entire time, that she realized what she was doing. That was also the day she learned her ears turned bright red when she was mortified.
Of course Mommy found it all adorable and still teases her with the idea of hypnotizing her to only be able to talk that way. At least, she thinks it's just teasing. Her cheeks grow warm at the thought even as storm clouds one again start forming in her eyes. She wanted to be Mommy's baby today, not Susie's!
Mommy places a finger under the frowning Little's chin and lifts Abigail's face to meet her own.
"There's nothing wrong with letting someone bigger help you be little." She says, her tone leaving no room for disagreement.
"I will be very proud of you if you decide to call your *Big* sister because you're feeling too Little and want some help." Abigail wishes the bed would just swallow her whole.
"But even if you choose to be a big helper while I'm gone, you are still my baby. Diapers and bottles, not trainers and sippies. Okay, sweetie?"
Abigail's heart melts at the words and she squirms under her Mommy's gaze. Her thoughts grow blushier as her emotions wriggle out of her control. Susie may know how to push her buttons, but the only person who can make her brain melt so completely is Mommy.
"Promith you'll play wif me when you ged back?" The Little negotiates from behind her paci, looking up with glossy eyes.
Mommy smiles. "Drink your bottle, use your diaper, and stay out of trouble while I'm gone. And maybe we'll do some buzzy time when I get back. Okay, cupcake?"
"Otaaaay, Mamaaaa" Abigail replies, the tumult of emotions finally settling, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion. Abigail feels her eyes closing.
She could be a good girl.
Good girls use their diapers.
She likes buzzy time.
She'd be the bestest girl.
Mommy would be so proud of her.
Her lips curl into a smile around her pacifier as she drifts back to sleep, and Mommy slips quietly out the door.
The drive to Clair’s apartment took forty-three minutes.
Rose spent most of it with her forehead pressed against the cool passenger window, knees drawn up in the seat, one of Jack’s spare stuffies clutched against her chest. Jack kept the radio off and only spoke when they needed to point out turns or ask if Rose needed to stop for anything. Every few minutes they reached over and gave her knee a gentle squeeze.
When they pulled into the driveway of the cozy house with a light blue paint job and a bright red front door, Rose’s breathing had gone shallow again.
Jack parked, killed the engine, and turned in their seat.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Rose slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed from crying on and off the whole ride.
“You don’t have to agree to anything tonight,” Jack said firmly. “We can just meet with her. See the space. Eat something. Leave if it feels wrong. I’m staying the whole time unless you tell me otherwise. Okay?”
Rose nodded once—small, trembling—then whispered, “What if she sees me and… changes her mind?”
“Then we walk right back out and I take you home with me. No questions. No guilt. You’re not auditioning for anything. You’re just meeting someone who already said she wants to try.”
Rose swallowed hard. “Okay.”
They walked up to the front door, Jack knocked twice. The door opened almost immediately.
Clair was taller than Rose had pictured—maybe five-ten, broad-shouldered but soft around the edges, auburn hair pulled into a loose braid. She wore a charcoal sweater and light-wash jeans, barefoot, sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Her smile was warm but careful, like she was trying very hard not to overwhelm.
“Jack,” she said, pulling them into a quick, firm hug. “Thank you for bringing her.”
Then her eyes found Rose. For a second neither of them moved. Clair leaned in slowly so she was eye-level instead of looking down. Her voice dropped to something gentle and low. “Hey, Rose. I’m really glad you’re here.”
Rose couldn’t quite speak. She just nodded, hugging the Jacks bunny tighter. Clair didn’t push. She stepped back and opened the door wider.
“Come in whenever you’re ready. No rush.”The house was open and bright—lots of natural light, plants everywhere, a big sectional couch piled with blankets and pillows. A low coffee table held a wooden tray with a teapot, two mugs, and a small pastel box tied with lavender ribbon. The Emergency Little Kit.
Clair gestured toward the couch. “You can sit wherever feels safest. Floor, couch, beanbag in the corner—whatever you want.”
Rose hesitated, then shuffled over and sank onto the very edge of the couch, knees together, bunny in her lap. Jack sat beside her, close enough that their thighs touched.
Clair settled on the rug across from them, cross-legged, keeping plenty of space.“I thought maybe we could start with the kit,” she said softly. “Only if you want to. It’s not a test or anything. It’s just… information. For me. So I can try to understand what you need.” Rose’s fingers twisted in the bunny’s ears.
Clair reached for the box and carefully untied the ribbon. She lifted the lid.
Nestled inside, in individual plastic wrappers, were four large, hard candies like Life savers—each a different color clear, red, blue and purple.
“These are special,” Clair explained, voice calm and even. “They’re from the same company that makes most of the approved relaxant treats for Littles. Very mild, very safe. Each help tell me where your body particularly lands in qualification. I'd like you to try each of them and tell me your favorite.”
She lifted them one by one so Rose could taste them .“Red is for littles in the newborn range and lose the most muscle mass, emotional maturity, and physical abilities, such as walking. Most lose the ability to say more than a few words. They are, for all intents and purposes, babies. Lots of rocking, bottles, being held like you weigh nothing, swaddling if you want it. Total surrender, total care.”
Rose spit the red one out gently. “Blue is for the Littles who are commonly referred to as Toddlers. They are mobile, able to walk and talk, but lose all continence. They, like Level One Littles, are in diapers full time. They lose much of their emotional maturity, though retain all their previous mental faculties.”
Rose sucks on this one too and gently spits it out too. Clear next.
“Clear means the Littles are the most independent of the Classification. They often have decent potty control, with some requiring Pull-Ups in case of accidents, and some even able to go without any protection—provided they can get to the bathroom in time. These Littles are permitted to attend simplified college courses and even hold some jobs, provided their Caregiver permits it.”
Rose spits this one out instantly, the flavor tasting gross. And finally, Purple.
“purple is for those few Littles that fall between the Red and Blue stages some days being more toddler some days more infantile. Many, having days of nonverbal communication, heightened emotions, maybe some desire to nurse.”
Clair had watched Rose try each candy and spit them all out until landing on the purple.
“There isn't that nice. You can finish that one. It'll help you relax a little and it’ll tell me what range your body is leaning toward. That’s all.”
Her thumb crept toward her mouth; she caught herself and pulled it away, cheeks burning.
Jack watched quietly as Rose’s eyes gently began to relax, the lids gently un-tensing. Very slowly, she reached out, patting their best friend's hand.
Rose looked up at Clair, eyes heavy and shining loving “Purple ish nummy”.
Clair’s whole face softened.“Okay, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Purple it is.”She reached out—slowly, telegraphing every movement—and cupped Rose’s small hand in both of hers.
“You’re allowed to be you tonight. You’re allowed to let go completely. I’ve got you.”
Rose’s breath hitched.
The purple candy tasted like warm strawberries and cream.
Rose’s shoulders dropped. Her mouth slackened around the dissolving candy. A tiny whimper escaped her.
Clair moved without hurry.
She slid onto the couch beside Rose, opened her arms, and waited.
Rose stared for one more heartbeat——and then she dove forward, burying her face against Clair’s chest with a broken little sob.
Clair wrapped both arms around her, strong and steady, one hand cradling the back of Rose’s head, the other rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades.
“There we go,” Clair murmured against her hair. “There’s my girl. Let it all out. Mama’s got you.”
Rose cried—deep, hiccuping, sobs—while the purple candy finished melting on her tongue and the mild relaxant spread like warm honey through her limbs.
She felt tiny.
She felt safe.
And for the first time in three days, she didn’t feel like she was falling apart alone.
I'm in love with this story so much. The Classification universe has always been one that's I have a complicated relationship with (five parts want, one part fear) and this story is pulling all my heartstrings.
Okay brother bear, mister jack of all trades, you.
Would you rather:
Never get to be dominant/caregiver-y again. I’ll be reallllly generous and give you the occasional big brother moment, but you’re someone’s (or maybe multiple someones) special little man. Does that mean you’re a tiny little baby? Bratty middle being bullied by their tinier younger sibling? Something else entirely? Only your mama and/or papa know for sure, but at a bare minimum it’s guarantee that no matter what you’re at the bottom of that food chain.
Or
Never be submissive/tiny again. Always steering the ship whether it be as the fun older sibling or a calm and collected Papa. Riling up your little ones, making them squirm, methodically picking apart their adult facades one little piece at a time. Making sure to discipline them when they step out of line. Cooing and cuddling them when they insist that maybe you’re being a little harsh. But Papa’s know best don’t they?
Livi! This ask cuts me to the soul!
You're asking me to give up a huge part of myself one way or another!
My little/middle side helps heal me! It gives me an outlet to set free the emotions I have to repress and let go of the appearances I cultivate for myself.
It lets me feel important, cared for, and prioritized, when, it's in my nature to give that up for other people.
On the other hand, the dominant caregiver is sort of who I am. So much of me is defined by loving and caring for others and by putting others first! It's my natural state, and I can't imagine myself without being able to care for others.
Given all that, if I had to pick, I would pick only being a big. I would miss my little side, but I don't think I am me without my big side.
Trying to learn that it's okay to ask for care, affection, and coziness that makes me feel little even when I'm doing okay. Don't like the way I've associated asking with the times I'm struggling.
Really want to figure out how to associate feeling small and vulnerable and cute with something positive again. For myself and for my partners. It would be nice to feel like it's something other people want, or maybe even like. Not just a coping mechanism of mine that people are glad I have.
Right now, I think having someone offer to read me a bedtime story out of the blue on a day when I'm otherwise doing well would destroy me.
I found my Littlespace at a time in my life when everything felt like it was overwhelming and I had no way to cope with the weight of life pressing down on me. I had finally rediscovered my emotions after repressing them for so long (this was during my first year of transition).
In Littleness I found the relief and restoration I had been craving for years but could never seem to find. The first time I was held by someone in Littlespace, it felt like a vice around my lungs started loosening. It was so healing and I felt so much relief.
But after a while, that same heaviness started seeping into Littleness for the exact reason you said; I was only coming to it when I was in distress. It took on this emotional association of "If I was in Littlespace, then something must have been wrong".
So I made a point of letting myself be Little even when I didn't need it. I would get diapered before bed even if my day hadn't been exhausting. I would ask for cuddles just because I wanted cuddles, not because anything was wrong. I let myself dress just a bit more juvenile on a day to day basis in ways that no one else would notice, but I was aware of.
And it helped. It gave me back some of that feeling of Littlespace being a place for fun, not just a place to escape to when things were bad.
I hope the same thing happens for you. 💜
Littlespace Astronaut @littlespace-astronaut - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
