#anyway. moving on... i'll block anon in a couple hours. just giving them time to maybe read this (i doubt they'll care though)

[light-lanterne]

just woke up from a nap. to the anon who within the last two hours sent me a link to a very explicitly graphic and bloody photo of what i presume is a dead individual,,,

nice try, but i've seen worse :]

don't try again, though. it's disrespectful and way more morbid than my writing on fictional characters (which, let us be honest, still has a lot of restraint and is not as dark as it could be -_- )

must say though. this part really made me laugh ~

it's the censored bits are what get me lol

[kalikalahansa]

Hi, Kali! I hope life has been well!

I have a few questions about messing untraining if you don't mind answering them.

So, I've always had this confusion about what to do when I start messing untraining. I understand the basics like reworking wardrobe to accommodate thicker diapers, getting thicker diapers to compensate for the increased absorbency usage that messing imposes, and of course, some diet changes.

My question lies within the lines of "how to."

I've read about some people being able to get their messing habits to be nearly cyclical; they've been able to mess nearly on-the-dot an hour after they have one of their three meals a day. Of course, I've also read that for some people, messing can be completely random and will happen pretty much whenever it needs to happen.

I understand that theres a big possibility that I dont have a choice over what kind of voiding habit I get out of untraining. But, I would really love it if I could end up having more bowel movements after meals rather than at random.

I wonder if there's anything I can do to try and encourage that to happen? Or does voiding eventually make it to a more predictable (not completely) schedule after a few months or years of random accidents on its own?

Second question, and I feel like I already know the answer to this question, but I guess sometimes it feels better when someone who's not me gives me the answer, lol.

So, when one begins messing untraining, is it really just a matter of voiding literally whenever you feel the need to? I guess I ask because, for me, I often end up in a situation where I need to "go" but there's something holding me back from ever doing it. For instance; I just changed into a fresh diaper, or I don't feel like the void is going to be, well, enough to justify ruining a diaper over it, or I'm in a public place that has either friends, family, co-workers or really anyone nearby and I don't have the desire to fill my diaper when I know I can hold it.

I feel like these are all results of a mental block, which I'll definitely need to overcome in order to make any more untraining progress. But, as you know, it can be really scary sometimes! And I could always use some words of encouragement if they're available.

Anyway, that's all the questions I have for now! Thank you in advance for answering them if you do so!

Hey, anon. I'm well. Thanks for the kind words and the thought-provoking question. Hope you're well too.

I would really love it if I could end up having more bowel movements after meals rather than at random. I wonder if there's anything I can do to try and encourage that to happen? Or does voiding eventually make it to a more predictable (not completely) schedule after a few months or years of random accidents on its own?

In my experience, once messing is primarily thoughtless rather than a product of conscious disinhibition and effort, then provided certain other conditions are met, moving toward a more-or-less predictable pattern of voiding is just a matter of time. The Twelve Month Diaper-Training Program says that it takes a matter of weeks after you achieve thoughtlessness. I wouldn't go quite that far; the point where I noticed that my messing was happening in a pattern was most of a year in, and happened a couple of months after I started having accidents. But it happens. My advice would be:

Messing whenever you feel the need is optimal. I know you've mentioned that that's not really something you're able to do right now, and I'm addressing that in full below. However, I found it was optimal partly because, for me and for a lot of other people who untrained messing, the biggest variation in messing timing was caused by control, conscious and otherwise. Once things were running entirely on reflex, timing got a lot more regular.

On that, I personally remember finding that the messing need signal was harder to get on top of than the wetting need signal. For me, I remember that, when I was continent, the wetting signal became noticeable and a little bit acute (albeit easily ignorable) well before the point where I was absolutely busting to pee, and then shaded up in a gradual arc over time from there. The messing signal, on the other hand, usually became acute like thirty minutes maximum before the point where my control would fail no matter what, but it'd always be present for at least some time, up to hours, before that, as a sort of dull roar that could be mistaken for lower back pain. But precisely because it could be mistaken for other things it was harder to get on top of. I remember having messing control more clearly than I remember having wetting control and I remember that the early stages of needing to mess didn't really feel like anything — I just didn't feel completely ~*~empty~*~. So, if you want to start messing whenever you feel the need (and, again, that's something I'll cover more fully below), actually knowing when you're beginning to feel the need is something you might have to invest conscious effort into.

If you have any reason to suspect that the way you already experience bowel voiding might be at all different compared to the average person's, see your primary care practitioner, and see a gastroenterological specialist if you can. Undiagnosed irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) or inflammatory bowel diseases (IBDs) can have a significant impact on your capacity to untrain. It's particularly important to see a specialist because for a lot of people, these conditions may have been internalised as simply either a personal failing or part of the inexplicable suffering of life. It wasn't until well after untraining that I was told I might have IBS; I have a friend who spent years tanking Crohn's.

Move your diet toward one that is known to be preventative of both diarrhoea and constipation. I've been meaning to do a post on this for years but I keep doing it in a stupidly labour-intensive way and wearing myself out on the topic before it's ready to post. That said, it's like the most common reason for dietary advice to be compiled, so it'll be pretty straightforward to just Google. Obvious gotcha tips are reduce red meat intake and increase dietary fibre intake. (Now I'm thinking about that Family Guy gag with Brian and Stewie doing a fibre commercial.) You should also be regularly drinking decent amounts of water; it'll keep your stool from hardening and drying out and becoming harder to pass, and as summers get hotter, it's probably a good idea anyway.

If you feel you're sensitive to particular foods, keep track of which ones they are and be conscious and informed about how much and when you want to consume them, even if your sensitivities don't rise to a diagnosable level. I'm clinically neither coeliac nor lactose intolerant, but I know if I have more than a moderate amount of bread or more than the splash of milk I put in my coffee, it'll make my stomach churn.

I can't guarantee this post will give you precisely regular voiding. But regular messing is really a case of tilt the odds in your favour as far as you can and whatever happens happens, and this is the best I can do in that regard.

Moving on —

when one begins messing untraining, is it really just a matter of voiding literally whenever you feel the need to? I guess I ask because, for me, I often end up in a situation where I need to "go" but there's something holding me back from ever doing it. For instance; I just changed into a fresh diaper, or I don't feel like the void is going to be, well, enough to justify ruining a diaper over it, or I'm in a public place that has either friends, family, co-workers or really anyone nearby and I don't have the desire to fill my diaper when I know I can hold it. I feel like these are all results of a mental block, which I'll definitely need to overcome in order to make any more untraining progress. But, as you know, it can be really scary sometimes! And I could always use some words of encouragement if they're available.

Voiding whenever you need to is the goal. I will say that older authorities often say something along the lines of it being necessary to make a hard transition from voluntarily messing in the toilet to exclusively voluntarily messing in your diapers the second you feel the need. I don't agree. I think it's not worth making people bounce off because they can't immediately jump from a standing start up to the level of challenge presented by that kind of messing untraining, which is formidable. I think it is completely acceptable and effective to phase in exclusive diaper messing over time, not least because I did that myself. However, I will say: the faster you can get to exclusively "messing your diapers and doing so the instant you feel the need," the better.

I sympathise with all your reasons for not messing your diapers. I've felt them myself, and indeed they were of varying importance to me up until I started having accidents, then having more accidents, and it gradually ceased to be something that was within my control. I will, however, venture comment:

I understand not wanting to mess when you've just changed into a fresh diaper. For what it's worth, though, that's what diapers are for. Your voiding becoming more regular will also make it less of a problem because you'll have more of a sense of how your body voids over a given period of time and thus when you will need to change given the optimal choice of diapers for you, which will also be something you'll discover.

I understand not wanting to "ruin" a diaper. For me, this was often a matter of cost, because while I was messing untraining I was a student and didn't have that much flex in my budget. In retrospect, I think that if you're messing untraining it is good to have a large enough on-hand stock of diapers that one or two extra here and there makes basically no impact. I also know that for people who are starting out, it often feels like a messy diaper is ruined because you have to change out of it immediately. My personal firsthand experience and secondhand understanding is that as you end up spending more time in diapers after they're messy, initially usually not by choice, you become more able to stay in them discreetly for a bit and more comfortable doing so — not so comfortable that your messy diaper should start affecting others, but enough so that it doesn't immediately feel like you have to drop everything and rush off in a panic.

I understand not wanting to mess around people you don't know. Keep in mind that they don't know you, they may very well not notice, and if they do notice, it's none of your business.

I very much understand not wanting to mess around friends, family, and co-workers. I didn't do it until I started having accidents and couldn't avoid it; it's just that there was so much time before that where I wasn't in one of those situations that messing freely during that time degraded my control to the point of having accidents. One thing to keep in mind is that if you are already wearing diapers around friends and family, assuming you don't cut ties with them, then, on a long enough timescale, it is virtually impossible that they won't find out about your diapers. Once people know you're wearing diapers, I think that they tend to consider anything beyond that to be a matter of a much smaller degree than we in the community do. The "they'll eventually find out" thing goes double if you're already wetting your diapers around them and triple if you're wetting untrained, partly because wetting imposes its own set of demands that dry diapers don't, and partly because I personally tend to feel that if you're wetting untrained, the effects are such that some degree of loss of messing control is inevitable. The sooner you start voluntarily messing around those whose opinion you respect enough to fear, the sooner you can normalise it and stop fretting about doing it, and the less pent-up stress you'll have to feel if it happens without you expecting it.

I hope this has been some help, anon. I know it was a bit of a novel of a post, but I hope it points you in the direction of the progress and fulfilment you deserve.

[victorsandvanquishers]

Hey, it's me again, the anon who requested a pitou and kite fic! Sorry for responding so late! I was thinking prompt #47 '' This place is creepy." Preferably shippy, but I'll leave that up to you! Thank you so so much!

Since this one was more of a scary prompt than an angsty one, this fic is a mixture of romance and horror, and rate T+. Thank you for sending in the last request! I hope you like it! (~˘▾˘)~

--

“This place is creepy,” Kite groused, trying to wipe the black dust off his fingers and onto Neferpitou's navy jacket, “and disgusting.”

Neferpitou purred into the taller man's neck, hands cold as stone underneath Kite's sweater and pressed against his stomach. Kite drew in a long breath as Neferpitou's lips ghosted over his collarbone and up his jaw. When his lover met his eyes, he finally exhaled.

Any other place, and Kite would have drowned in the liquid gold of their eyes.

“Are you listening to me?” Kite deadpanned when a hand went over to his butt and pinched lightly. He barely flinched. “This place is nasty, Pitou; there's filth everywhere.”

Neferpitou gave him a coy smile and went to press their chests together, only to be met with a firm hand to their chest. Neferpitou blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

Kite picked up his dirty finger and showed Neferpitou the remnants of the black dust. “I'm not having relations with you in the basement of a condemned building,” he said pointedly.

Neferpitou bit their cheek before answering. “Why not?”

Kite forgot how dumb his lover was. For an esteemed surgeon, he was surprised the shorter of the two had survived the playground, much less the grueling trenches of medical school. Alas, what would he know? He was just another poor scientist living off scraps academia threw his way.

“... because it's disgusting,” Kite said finally.

Neferpitou seemed to consider his answer. “It's just dust-” they began, but Kite was looming over the shorter of the two before they could get out another word.

Kite huffed and turned to leave, while Neferpitou groaned dramatically. “We can't have sex in your office again; it's too small!”

“We'll just have to hold it together until the apartment is finished,” Kite mumbled back listlessly. Kite was still living with roommates, and Neferpitou still lived with their family, and their shared lovenest wouldn't be ready for their arrival for another month, and motels were out of the question because Kite was poor but prideful, and refused to get a single single room unless they were splitting the costs in half.

Neferpitou knew Kite didn't have half the money since he put most of it on the down payment for their new home, and so they'd found random little places to drag Kite into so they could canoodle for a little bit, and occasionally go at it like bunnies. The first place was Neferpitou's office, but that was an almost-tragedy when Neferpitou's nurses almost walked in. The second place was the attic of Ging Freecss' pawn shop, but once they'd come downstairs, Ging had threatened to kill them both. The third time was in Kite's office, but the space was so small and cramped, a bookshelf almost toppled over and took Neferpitou's life (and Kite's underneath theirs) in the middle of their passionate lovemaking session.

And now they were in a dilapidated building set to be demolished over the next few months, and apparently Neferpitou had found it while driving around town in their brand new Cadillac Kite refused to christen with them because it was new and butt sweat could and would ruin the leather. It wasn't even Kite's car, and he'd been furious for it when Neferpitou had first asked.

Water dripped somewhere in the darkness and Kite shivered. A single bulb was the only bit of illumination in the room, and it was well past closing hours for the local shops. The nearest convenience store was a good four blocks up the road, and Neferpitou had parked their Cadillac next to it. Water dripped again, and Kite grabbed his partner's hand and began dragging them up the stairs, because to hell with late-night canoodling in some abandoned building, they'd just have to suck it up and brave it like all the other touch-starved souls of the world. At least they had Skype calls and dinner every Friday night at the Chinese joint next to Kite's current hovel.

Something skittered close by and Kite willed his fear to stay silent. It was a bloody basement in a bloody building, and they were leaving damn it, karma shouldn't so cruel. They hadn't even gotten to the raunchy part!

“Stay quiet, move slowly,” Neferpitou whispered suddenly. Kite almost jumped, but Neferpitou had somehow gotten a grip around his waist, and steadied him before he could make anymore noise.

Water dripped, and that eerie, skittering noise seemed to come from somewhere much closer this time.

Kite was frozen, his mind blanking to the hellish three months he'd spent stranded on a lonely mountain, in a tiny country close to the arctic, all for the sake of his bloody fucking research, alive now only because Neferpitou had been trekking through that mountain on a leisure trip since they'd lived mere miles away, all the while Kite had believed he'd been transported to Hell after the blizzard had separated him from his research party, and left him stranded in the cold little mountain that felt so, so much like an island.

“Count to three,” Neferpitou whispered softly into his ear.

Kite blinked back tears, but counted to three in his head and then exhaled. He counted to three again, inhaled, counted to three, and exhaled. He repeated the exercise until the fog in his head lifted and he could hear the water dripping again. The skittering had since stopped, but now there was something else.

Kite noticed a pair of rheumy, red eyes watching from some yards away.

“Pitou,” he whispered gravely.

“Slowly,” they warned, releasing Kite's waist. “Get to the landing, and then run.”

Neferpitou didn't turn to face the eyes, but Kite could barely tear his gaze away. The door to the basement had long since broken down, so it was a matter of six or seven more steps until they reached the landing, and after the landing, there was only a couple of yards until they reached the street because the building had lost its front door too, and most of its windows, and it was supposed to be abandoned, but instead-

“Kite,” Neferpitou whispered deadly soft into his ear, “up.”

Kite's feet moved slowly up the stairs, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the eyes watching their every move. He counted to three and leveled his breaths, blinked a few times, and yet the eyes didn't disappear. He should have been hallucinating, but he wasn't, and so he moved, up, up, and up until he reached the landing.

When one foot was on the landing, something flew across the room. It was only after Neferpitou yelped in pain that Kite broke out of his haze and looked down at the thin, wiry fingers wrapped around Neferpitou's leg.

“Pitou!” Kite barked, and without thinking, he pulled Neferpitou up and dragged the creature's hand up the stairs with them.

Kite saw blue, emaciated fingers in the dim moonlight, too thin to be human. It almost looked like a certain hand he'd encountered on the lonely mountain, a hand belonging to a thin, wiry creature too tall to be considered human, and yet it had offered Kite its hand anyway, and Kite had almost taken it... Almost.

Just then, Neferpitou yanked their own foot straight, and stomped on the creature's hand with all their might.

A screech rang throughout the building, but the creature let go, and it only took those two fateful seconds for Kite to yank on Neferpitou's hand one more time before they reached the landing together, booked it across the abandoned first floor, and jumped out of the rectangular hole where the door used to be.

Its screams followed them well into the streets, and only after they were in the Cadillac and speeding away did Kite finally realize that the creature's eyes hadn't been red after all.

They'd been bleeding.

*

They'd cocooned themselves in Neferpitou's room at the royal estate of the esteemed House of Chimera, the oldest money in the city, and one Kite would have declined entering any other time, but not tonight.

Kite had wrapped a bandage over the red imprint left on Neferpitou's pale white skin. They'd pouted and held a pillow close to their chest while Kite had finished dressing the wound, but as soon as the first aid kit had been put away, Neferpitou had tossed the pillow aside and wrestled Kite into a comfortable spoon.

Kite held Neferpitou's hands to his chest while they grumbled about how they didn't give a damn if their mother walked in to see them canoodling their lover, they were thirty years old, damn it, they'd earned the right to canoodle. Kite could have grumbled along, but he found his thoughts drifting back to those bleeding red eyes and those wiry, thin hands, and the bone-chilling cold he'd felt when he'd thought Neferpitou was going to be snatched away.

“Kite,” Neferpitou whined. “I'm sorry. I'll keep my hands to myself until the apartment is ready,” said the person who was currently feeling up Kite's chest as if their hands were made solely for that reason.

Kite sighed in response, softly squeezing Neferpitou's hands. Then he closed his eyes and laid still.

Soon, Neferpitou's snores drifted through the room, but Kite dwelt. With his eyes closed, and his back to his lover's chest, he dwelt on the rheumy, bleeding eyes and the emaciated hand, and he thought, and he thought, and he thought – and he remembered.

Kite's eyes shot open when he heard a skittering sound move across the wooden floor of Neferpitou's room. He didn't even have to move because slowly, a pair of bleeding red eyes emerged from the shadows, and Kite could only scream while it reached out its hand.

��Rise and shine!”

Kite's eyes shot open. Bright rays of light filtered into the grand room while he took deep, loud breaths.

“... Kite?”

Neferpitou was already up and dressed. Kite blinked back the fatigue and picked himself up. Before he could trudge his way to the bathroom, Neferpitou pulled him into a hug.

They barely reached his chest, and yet, they'd saved him – over and over again.

“I'm fine,” he assured the shorter of the two, but Neferpitou didn't believe him, and merely grumbled into his chest.

“Pitou,” Kite said, “I promise.”

“I'm sorry,” they mumbled into Kite's chest.

Instead of repeating his words, he wrapped both arms around his beloved and hugged them back. The red eyes and wiry hand clawed at the back of his mind, but it didn't matter if they reminded him of the dead bodies he'd discovered lined against each other in the snow on that lonely, as if one day they'd all decided that enough was enough and let the mountain take them together. It didn't matter if those bodies looked alive, with their red eyes and blue hands, those frost-caked lips that looked almost as if they could still speak. It didn't matter if the creature they'd found in that basement was likely a wraith that refused to depart their world. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered – nothing, but Neferpitou.

“Let's make out,” Neferpitou tried, and instantly, Kite bonked the shorter of the two on the head and made his way to the shower while Neferpitou wailed about their broken skull.

And Kite smiled.

*