#at least they’re not in diapers

[the-writer-mao]

I miss 3 or 4 eps and now they’re

BABIES⁉️⁉️

Y’know i find it very interesting that they’re hitting us with all these classic sentai tropes/formula episodes VERY late into the series, at the same time as writing story-rich episodes.

[fingertipsmp3]

I love the sims 2 because it will completely wreck your shit right when you’re least expecting it

[obesericewrites]

The first time S has to change a diaper should be hilarious.

“Oh my goddesses, S. You’re making me nervous—.”

“—shut the hell up. What am I supposed to do now.”

S is standing over their child with a dirty diaper in one hand and a napkin in the other. Erica is over their shoulder while some elders are doing the same. The baby wails become louder and S’s ears spasm. S throws the diaper in a nearby trash can and begins to clean the baby. But not without criticism from the elders.

“You missed a spot—!”

“—be gentle! They’re delicate—!”

“—make sure you keep the cloth under her!”

When S finishes cleaning their baby Erica begins to speak, “Add some of that lotion I bought you. It will help the child channel magic.” S sends a quick glare her way but still reaches for the lotion. “Bugger off with that magic shit—“

“—language.” One of the elders sigh, looking down at the child with pure affection in their eyes. S feels everyone’s eyes on them when they put the new diaper under their baby and begin to fasten it with some pins. It doesn’t take long before they’re shoved away by everyone in the room, “you’re being to rough! Look! Their little tummy is all squished!”

“They’re fine, look as long as they ain’t crying they’re fine.”

Erica pops them over the head. “Shut up! Be careful with them anyways.”

By the time the diaper gets changed, it’s been fifteen minutes. That’s about the last time you have them change a diaper unless you want to watch a funny argument between S and their family.

[harmonizewithechoes]

It’s my middle child’s 3rd birthday today 🥺

3 years ago my partner was deployed overseas and couldn’t come home for the birth because the military didn’t want to spend so much time quarantining their soldiers. Fortunately I had help as my parents were watching my son (at the time just a month shy of 2) for a few days before my due date and we had moved across the street from my partner’s parents when we found out about the deployment. So I had his mom with me at the hospital holding up her phone while we got to have a rare video call with my partner as we welcomed our daughter into the world after a very quick labor. I then had two months with our two very little kids by myself before he came home. It was an incredibly hectic time and I’m still not quite sure how I was able to get through all of that but here we are with the sweetest little 3 year old (let’s call her C) we could have asked for 🥰

C loves to play dress up and she has specific characters she’ll play as where you can’t refer to her as her name or she’ll get mad. She’s not C she’s Dr C or Baby or Baby Kitty or Princess Bucket (this was her first character and yes she does put a bucket on her head as a crown). Her favorite game to play is hide and seek and she loves dance parties and drawing and she’s obsessed with her 1 year old sister. We love C so much and I’m so excited to see how she grows and changes and learns over this next year ❤️

[circusclownproductions]

seeing a lot of videos that are like “I didn’t know babies couldn’t have water” so here’s an incomplete list of things you need to know before having a baby

- the obvious, they can’t have water bc milk is incredibly high in water already so excess water leads to over hydration

- babies cannot have honey until 1

- if ur breastfeeding your kid and saving excess milk, make sure you label what you pumped in the morning vs at night bc your body produces different melatonin levels throughout the day and giving your baby daytime milk at night can make them more alert and fuck up their sleep schedule

- idk why ppl keep saying this but swaddling your babies or getting them those baby straight jacket things is not abuse. It chills them out cuz it reminds them of the womb

- babies have a dandruff like buildup on their head called cradle cap, and it’s very easy to deal with and remove with just some baby shampoo, a gentle scrub brush (MADE FOR BABIES!!) and a comb. It does need to be removed tho cuz it can be very painful after a while. This can also continue to happen late into toddlerhood it’s normal

- you have to clean out the creases of your baby’s skin and hands and feet they WILL collect dust😭😭

- you cannot bathe your baby until their umbilical cord naturally falls off. Use a warm damp rag until then

- tummy time is actually very important

- your baby might have a misshapen head at first (not all the time but sometimes) this will either sort itself out or they’ll need a corrective helmet ask your doctor

- I wouldn’t recommend having your baby leave the house very much until they’re at least 6 months old, especially if they’re born near cold and flu season cuz the common cold can kill a newborn

- you’re not an awful horrible person for having postpartum depression and it’s always a million times better to let your baby cry a few minutes longer than normal while you regain your composure than to freak out and give ur kid shaken baby syndrome

- you’re not an awful horrible person for giving your baby formula milk either

- don’t put shoes on your baby it’ll compromise their toe box and balance

- babies put every single thing in their mouths

- the easiest way to burp a baby is to hold them straight up (spine straight) and hold their head a bit higher

- always support their head they barely have necks

- if your baby fights away food, fights tummy time, vomits every single time you burp them, is gaining or losing an unreasonable amount of weight at a time, wheezes after eating, or goes red after eating, chances are they’re probably allergic to the type of milk they’re eating (again ask a doctor but these are just some signs it’s not just colic)

- they will wobble a lot when learning to do things but you gotta fight the urge to help them every single time cuz they gotta learn

- they’re not always spitting out baby food cuz they don’t like it they just don’t know how to eat. Like they don’t know how to push food down they only know how to stick their tongue out so be patient

- babies craniums are broken up into three parts at first that later fuse together, this is to help make birthing easier but it results in a small EXTREMELY sensitive spot in the top of their head that has no protection. This puts their brain at a high risk. Always protect their soft spot

- read to your baby!! Get cute bright colorful sensory books with sight words and read them to your baby it makes such a huge difference in their educational growth and will help them acquire a love for reading early on. And talk to them never shut up just say whatever comes to mind all the time this will strengthen their vocabulary growth also.

- babies poop like a lot. A lot. an unreasonable amount. Bring back up clothes and more diapers than you think

- no pillows or stuffies in the crib and only use a muslin blanket unless it’s especially cold to prevent suffocation

- babies kick reflexively until they’re out of their newborn scrunch (they stay womb shaped for a while) and if your baby is crying and pushing at the swaddle try letting them flail around for a minute

- consoling your baby is not spoiling them ! They need comfort and they will learn to self soothe on their own

- singing lullabies actually works, they can recognize your voice a consistent place of comfort from the womb and the cadence of lullabies is literally engineered to create a calm headspace

- for the love of god do not get boring ass beige toys. Colors are important for their neurological development

- babies are very responsive to praise from a young age so be as supportive of them as you can

- babies get constipated a lot and you have to do like tummy massages to help ease their pain the easiest way is to lay them on their backs and hold one foot in each hand, kick their feet like bicycles, scrunch up, and then stretch their legs out

- holding them on your hip too much will not cause bow legged-ness if your baby is bow legged that was always gonna happen

- they drool so so much and you have to get bibs for them so they don’t get chest eczema

- don’t use scented products on their skin cuz their skin is sooo much thinner than ours

- when your baby first starts sitting on their own never walk away from them without setting up a nest of pillows and blankets around them. Even minor head trauma can mess them up sometimes

- this one is kinda morbid and scary but sometimes babies just die out of nowhere and it’s no one’s fault or anything it’s called sudden infantile death syndrome(SIDS) and it’s about 1.3k deaths on average per year in America so not super common but still very real. 90% of these deaths happen during the first four months however edit: apparently it’s bc of an enzyme deficiency which at the very least you can take steps to try and prevent

- smoking and drinking during pregnancy WILL affect your baby and your breast milk and also might contribute to SIDS cases

- babies sometimes have a big red mark on them somewhere called a stork bite immediately after birth but typically it goes away

- babies can’t see very well for a while after birth and they’re VERY wobbly so they’ll typically bonk their head into your chest and face a lot while trying to support themselves

- female babies might have smth similar to a period the first few days after birth, this is because of the hormone transfer that happens during the birthing process and the days leading up to it

- male babies get random erections for the first few days after birth(hormone transfer again) literally do not be weird about this it’s a baby

- things like weaning your baby onto solid foods, potty training, weaning off pacifiers etc, can actually be directed by the baby and will happen naturally will minimal guidance from the parent(some guidance is still necessary) although I would do individual research into baby led weaning for food to prevent choking

- get those chewy feeding pouches to help with weaning

- the most random things will scare the hell out of your baby don’t take it personal 😭

- baby carriers are life savers (tulas are one of my favorites)

- once babies hit toddlerhood they’re tougher than you think, and a lot of their reaction is based on YOURS. they’re always going to be looking to you for how to react to a situation. Remain calm and if they’re ok they’ll calm down but if they’re genuinely hurt they’ll keep crying

- babies will most likely get ridiculously attached to an inanimate object and you have to keep this thing intact at all costs until they’re old enough to abandon it or they will throw a FIT. I got a lemur plushie from a zoo once and every single one of the kids has bonded their soul with it until about 6 years old and once a month I have to stitch him back up

- don’t compare yourself to other parents. Maybe your kid isnt getting grass fed wild caught north Atlantic cheerios but at least they’re fed. If your kid is alive and healthy and happy you’re doing a good job

- you will need 3 car seats, an infant seat, a grow with me toddler seat, and a booster seat

- getting a good diaper bag is a MUST

- the hair a baby is born with will most likely all fall out or they’ll get a bald spot on the back of their head where they sleep cuz their hair is so fragile and thin but once it grows back it grows back thick

- get like 20 muslin blankets so you always have a backup when the main ones are covered in spit up

- the babies grip IS stronger than yours (keep your hair up and keep pets away best you can)

- your best bet for your teething baby is a pacifier you can put your finger in so you can massage their gums and some chewing toys numbing cream can be dangerous and should be used sparingly

- go ahead and come to terms with the fact you’re gonna have to use a Frida Baby to manually remove snot

- babies can get hair and thread wrapped around their toes and fingers that can cut off their circulation try to make a habit of checking

- don’t hit your kid please it’s nothing but trauma and fucked up coping mechanisms from there pls empathize with your child they’re a person too

- be careful not to pull too hard on their arms and legs(like during play or holding their hand while they walk) and NEVER pick them up by their hands this will very easily cause dislocation

- they might have a little tooth like callous on their lip from their pacifier. This does not hurt them and it will go away but it may hurt during breastfeeding

- breastfeeding will make your boobs different sizes

Yeag that’s all I can think of rn but yk i Will add as I remember stuff ppl are also adding things I forgot in the tags in case you’d like to look thru that as well <3

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. iii

now taking name suggestions for my joel's duck doodle. must rhyme with a curse word. most creative wins.

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: as your pregnancy progresses, you and joel are getting closer. dangerously closer.

warnings: reader is literally pregnant so typical pregnancy symptoms & descriptions of stuff like extreme nausea and gagging (reader throws up off-page, no graphic description past sore throat/esophagus afterward), body changing, nerves around birth/becoming mom, another sonogram (gender reveal...?), baby kicks felt, labor pains shhh, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), joel is dating someone who isn't reader, our girl hates nye (she's valid), tommy uses colors to represent gender (he is Wrong), joel is for sure emotionally cheating at this point and reader knows it, joel kisses someone who is not his partner again, f masturbation, memories of the hot dirty sex they had whew, a SPRINKLING of breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, another parent dies (i love parents i promise ????), jealous!reader, protective!joel, alcohol consumption, cursing, a LOT of angst, lots of fluff, lil bit of smut, and duckie has the best comedic timing of any character in this entire series. :) DISCLAIMER: this series covers some issues which i know may be sensitive and possibly triggering to some. warnings will always be as thorough as possible, but if there’s ever anything you feel i’ve missed, please let me know. feel free to drop by my inbox anytime.

word count: 11.4k (sorry. lots to cover lots to do.)

pt. i / series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

December.

The days are funneled by a quick pinch of dark, the breeze heavy in its sail. Houses lined with twinkling lights and windows pierced by pointed trees. Crooning from every radio station, teary-eyed movies on TV, and spiced apple everything.

You hate every fucking minute of it.

“Wait a second,” Tommy sits forward, leaning in, “you never do nothin’ for New Years?”

You shrug, lifting your eyebrows. “Nope. Just don’t like it much. That a crime?”

He considers it as he hands his empty tumbler up to Joel, his head lolling some. He’s on his…fourth drink of the night, right? Though, if you take into account his earlier argument – I’m eatin’ as I go. It don’t count. – it’s probably more like two. But it’s whiskey, so –

Never mind.

“Yeah,” Tommy finally decides, “kinda. The hell’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Tommy.”

Joel’s voice is a warning, edged by the sharp clink of three glasses pinched in his fingers.

His brother laughs amiably in response, though, nodding to your mock-offended expression. “At least you’re spendin’ it right this year. Last one before lil’ Dickie comes along, huh?”

Maria slaps his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s Duckie,” she hisses, glancing over to you.

“Shoot,” he says, chuckling. “I knew that. My mistake.” And then, hand out towards you in an apology which makes your shoulders jerk with laughter, “I did know that, I swear.”

Tommy and Maria flew in a few days ago; the younger Miller adamant that he’d spend one last New Years with his big brother before he became a father. The night they arrived, they showed up on your doorstep – a hamper filled with diapers and muslins and baby socks hanging from Maria’s arm. They’ve asked to hang out with you every day since.

They’re good fun. Tommy likes you, at least, enough to tease you as much as you figure a brother might. He’s definitely the louder of the two – sometimes you swear you notice Joel cringing at him, something caught between a laugh and a frown on his face. And Maria’s sweet; she’s asked probably six times every hour since she first saw you if you’re feeling okay, if you’re tired, if you’re hungry.

Joel text you yesterday morning. Tommy and Maria wondering if you feel like coming over for NYE. No pressure, he added, I lie pretty good.

A smile snuck its way across your lips before you had the chance to tame it. Sure, you typed, I’ll bring the newspaper.

What Joel’s told them, about the wedding and the baby and everything since, you’ve no idea. You guys almost talked about it when he told you they were flying down after Christmas, but before you got the chance to ask him, Vanessa pulled up out front.

Not exactly a conversation you felt like having with the dude’s girlfriend hooked around his right arm.

She smiles at you, now, as you shuffle to the edge of the armchair you’re curled up in. Joel’s armchair – the plaid blanket cradling you, the leather soft and crinkled beneath. Your eyes quickly drop from hers when his hand reaches for your mug, your fingers crossing as you pass it up. “Let me come help,” you say, pushing from the chair.

He holds up a palm, shaking his head once. “Stay. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, settling back. Vanessa resumes smiling. You wish she’d fucking quit it. You wish you’d fucking quit focusing on her.

Joel knocks the mug gently against your shoulder with a small, almost sympathetic smile, and heads for the kitchen – leaving you sat between Tommy and Maria on one couch, and Vanessa on the other. You tuck your heels under your thighs, picking at a hangnail as you wait for the conversation to thaw.

Maria makes some comment about Austin in the winter: how different it is to Jackson, and the three of you nod and hum in agreement before the chatter fizzles to nothing again. You glance over to the clock, watching the hands chase one another to twelve.

This isn’t what you imagined a get-together with Joel’s family would feel like. Tight, tense. So tense that you can feel the weight on your chest, closing your lungs. Talking about the weather and the holiday traffic, talking about nothing to avoid talking about everything.

Tommy’s chin lifts, after a second too long of silence. “Hey, Joel!” he barks. “You ain’t shown me this nursery yet!”

Joel leans around the doorframe, half-distracted. “Barely even started it, little brother. Crib only got delivered yesterday.”

“Sheesh,” Maria’s eyes widen, “you sure are prepared.”

Vanessa laughs when Joel rolls his eyes and vanishes again. “You got no idea,” she says, “I have never seen him so…pedantic, right?” She looks to you, still smiling. So sweet, you worry your lips are pursing at the sight of it. Your neck tensing. Your eyes watering.

“Yeah,” you reply, nodding shyly and swallowing back the saccharine. “I think he’s more nervous than he’s letting on.”

Joel’s voice calls from the kitchen again: your name. When you answer, he says, “Why don’t you take Tommy up, show ‘im what we got so far?” and then, leaning back around the door, “She picked the color ‘n whatnot.”

“Ah,” Tommy says, palms pushing down on his knees, “so you’re the brains, then?”

You mirror him, accepting Joel’s request. As though you had any choice in the first place. Standing beside the younger Miller, you mutter, “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

He holds a hand out to usher you ahead, following you upstairs. Past the tousle-haired boy in grayscale, past the German shepherd, past the Christmas Day portrait. Wandering like you know the house inside out, like you might’ve picked the exact coordinates of each nail the picture frames hang on yourself.

Like the photographs pinned to the walls aren’t still as alien to you as they’d been that day you first set foot in here, the dress Joel would come to tear from your body slung over your arm.

You twist the gold handle and unveil a homely little room, painted by you and Joel just last week. The soft blue drying into his knuckles, random splatters on your palms and your jeans. The giggles drawn from your chest; the thief either the chemicals from the paint, or the man rolling it over the walls – and you’ve a pretty good idea of which.

Tommy sniffs roughly, nodding. Taps the toe of his boot against one of the two bulky boxes leant against the wall, a crib printed on one and a rocking chair on the other. His tipsy head bob bob bobbing. “Alright. ‘s nice, ain’t it?”

You settle against the window, the glass cold at your back. “Real nice, yeah. Be even better once it’s done.”

“What’s yours look like?”

“Mine?”

“Nursery at your place. Your one pink, ‘case it’s a girl?”

You snort. “Mine is a little greener. More…I guess it’s duck egg. Had some leftover paint.”

He clicks his fingers and points to you. “See what you did there. Duck egg. Duckie.”

“Hm. Wish I were that poetic. I just like the color.”

Tommy stuffs his hands in his pockets, wanders around the bare room. The faint lingering of whiskey putting up its best fight against the clean bite of fresh paint, the sweet scent shaking from him when he nods some more at the blank walls and naked windows. He clicks his teeth and asks, “How you holdin’ up, anyways?”

“How am I holding up?”

“Yep. With, uh…” he nods to the door, eyes wide, “…Vanessa,” he whispers. Louder than he must think – probably echoed, if anything, by the palm he curves around his mouth.

You cross your arms protectively, shoulders bunching. “She’s fine,” you say, voice deliberately low. You both ignore the crack in it when you add, “I like her. She’s – she’s taken this all like a champ.”

Tommy leans on the window ledge, a rugged hand you reckon you’d know was a Miller’s just by looking at it. Same rough-cut quality as Joel’s, like they’re torn from the same sheet of sandpaper. He props the other on his hip. “But, boy – it’s gotta be complicated, right?”

“I guess. But she’s real sweet about it. And Joel’s been great, too.” You sniff, the memory of your kiss flashing behind your eyes. The steady drum of Duck’s heartbeat, the gleam in Joel’s eye when he looked down at you. The guilt seeping from your skin like beads of sweat, prickling along your spine and fizzling against the cold windowpane.

Tommy blinks at you, liquor-glazed eyes scanning. His shoulders jerk, a loud huh propelling from his throat. When your head cocks in confusion, startled from your daydream, he spills. “He ‘n I had a mighty long talk when he told me.”

You feel yourself leaning in, magnetized to him – body hunched as though you’re gossiping in the corner of a house party. Inhaling secrets with the tinge of alcohol on Tommy’s breath. “Oh, yeah?”

Tommy hums. “Just wanted to make sure he’d thought it all through. Not you – I always knew he’d take care a’ you and Duck. But…involving Vanessa,” he lowers his voice again, glancing over to the warm light spilling in from the hallway, “I just wanted him to be sure.”

Your blood begins to warm, heat flooding through your body as you step closer, murmuring, “What’d he say?”

He flicks his head, seeming to toss his initial response to the wind. “You know Joel. He is his own man.”

Your face screws, head jerking back. “What’s that mean? He is his own man?”

A voice from the doorway interrupts. A shadow swimming in the golden light. “Who is?”

Tommy steps away from you, loosening his arms as his big brother drifts into the shadowy room. Dusting the conversation under the rug. The smell of whiskey backs off. “Speak of the devil. Nice paint job, Joel. Missed a couple spots, but – I’ll let you off.”

“Uhuh.” Joel’s eyes thin, his body slanted against the wall. Arms crossed, bottle of beer hanging from his fingers.

Tommy swaggers forward when Joel holds the bottle out, taking it with a wary glance at the tall figure. A dog meandering back to his owner, tail between his legs and ears flat. It takes his gritty voice to jolt you back to the room, splintering your gaze from Joel’s toned arms and huge chest. “Looks real good, you two. ‘s one lucky kid.”

Joel’s jaw lifts, his eyes landing on you. Dogs are terrible liars. “He talkin’ your ear off?”

You smile; recognizing the softer Joel you’ve grown used to over the last three months replacing the stern, cold version you once knew so well. “Only a little.”

“Tommy,” he says then, “Maria needs you for somethin’.”

The denim-donned Miller nods knowingly and heads out of the room, thud of his boots receding downstairs.

“Maria okay?” you ask, making space for Joel as he settles beside you.

He shrugs. “Only said that to get him outta your hair.”

You frown. “You sent me up here with him in the first place.”

“So I could come up ‘n check on you. Know this must be a lot – the two of them, tonight.”

“I’m fine. Promise. I’m a big girl.”

You both sigh, turning to look out at the dark street. Your arms cross, sitting somewhere above the tiny slope of your bump – a new development you’re still getting used to. Your stomach feels tighter, a little more solid than usual when you touch it. A little more…real. There’s someone in there, right? Like, actually there. They’re changing the way you look, the way you feel.

“This is it, right?” you say, staring at the white lanterns illuminating Alice Brown’s rose bushes. “This is the year.”

“The year,” Joel agrees.

“Mhm. Become a mom. Become a dad.”

He purses his lips. “Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve had bigger years, kid.”

“Let’s hear it, old man. Let’s hear about your biggest year. God knows you’ve had plenty to choose from.”

He sucks a deep breath in, eyes tracing the silhouette of the houses across the street as he thinks. “Senior year, nineteen ninety-three. Asked Stacy Moore as my date to the prom ‘n she said yes. I was so nervous that I forgot my bow tie. Was a pretty good year.”

You hum, agreeing, and then, “I see your ninety-three, and I raise you: two thousand and one. There was this bike I wanted for-fucking-ever; it had, like, little beads on the spokes – would make this ratatatat sound whenever it moved. Tassels hanging from the handlebars, all iridescent. I begged my mom the entire year for it, and on Christmas morning I woke up, and…” You lift your hands, air puffing from between your lips. “Santa Claus delivered that year, dude.”

“Well,” Joel clicks his teeth, shell hardening only a little, “thanks for making me feel old as hell.”

“You’re welcome.” You beam back at him, breaking into a laugh when he does.

The two of you stand a little distance apart, denying yourselves the innocent brushing of shoulder against shoulder, the nudging of elbows and swaying of hips. Admiring the empty sky and emptier street, bathing between the cold moonlight of outside and the warm lamplight in.

And from somewhere deep in your belly, somewhere tucked behind your ribs, beneath your slow-growing womb: an urge to ask about her. To bring her up. To tend to the curiosity that Tommy poked a clumsy, drunken finger straight into, tearing it apart at the seams.

Like pressing on a new bruise, satiating the hungry need to know where you were hurt, how you were hurt, when you were hurt. A bent fingertip, pushing heavily into a sensitive splatter of dark purple; the burst blood vessels hissing in response, whispering, You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.

But you defy them. You do want to know. Want to satisfy the disturbed thrill you felt, leaning into Joel’s brother. Hands turning over one another, wet bottom lip trembling as he rounded the corner on some sort of…what was it, a secret? Some sort of truth, a long-buried revelation about the other woman. She’s a witch, have you spotted her crooked nose? She’s plotting something, I swear. She’s up to no good.

Your eyes lift again, focusing back on the dull color of the outside world. The bland canvas of reality. She’s not a witch, nor some genius mastermind. She’s a boring, relatively normal woman. Kind, thoughtful. Naïve and a little too eager to please; too willing to forgive a situation which warrants no such kindness or empathy.

She’s just…fine. Lukewarm. And you’ve no idea why that pisses you off so much.

Which, incidentally, makes the bruise sting all the more.

“Maria, Maria,” Tommy’s voice claws its way upstairs, “turn it on, turn it – Joel? Joel! It’s midnight, Joel, you two better come on down, now! Have we missed it –? Have we –?”

The sound of cheering slowly bubbles to life behind his drawl as the TV volume picks up, the tittering of Maria and Vanessa chiming in.

“…five, four, three, two, one…Happy New Year!”

Joel’s looking over his shoulder, waiting for footsteps or voices or a girlfriend who never shows. And he ignores his brother, for he is his own man, and turns to you instead. Bracing himself on the ledge, he blinks down with a plain grin on his lips. “Happy New Year, Mom,” he whispers.

You return his smile, taking his hand when he reaches out to you. “Happy New Year, Dad,” you reply, squeezing his palm.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing your cheek briskly as you hook your arms over his shoulders. His beard scratches your cheek, grazes the curve of your shoulder, and you don’t mind. Your small, swollen belly presses against his; the tiny curve safe in the midst of your embrace.

Outside, the sky crackles to life with the distant spatter of fireworks, color shattering across the black canvas – red, blue, green and gold, dissolving as quickly as they explode into the now-January night. A burst of purple light washes between the two of you, and you turn your head on Joel’s shoulder to watch as the sparks rain over your neighbors’ roofs.

“I should get goin’,” you whisper, feeling his heartbeat a little too strongly against your own. Becoming suddenly aware of the weight of your frames locked together.

“Glad you came,” he says as he leans away. “I know this ain’t…I know we’re all tryin’, but you’re tryin’ the most, and I appreciate it. I hope you know that.”

“I know it,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. “Now, go. Go kiss your girlfriend.”

He chuckles, making for the door. “You want me to walk you home?”

Your eyes close serenely, the image of him doused in flickers of gold burning behind your eyelids. “I’ll survive the walk across the hedgerow, Miller.”

Joel nods once and leaves, plodding downstairs to be greeted by his open-armed girlfriend, a peck between them, arms crossed behind his neck. The lyrics of Auld Lang Syne slurred against his lips.

And you think – You know what? If it’ll rip you apart from her, if it’ll keep her bright red lips and her shining curtain of hair away from you, if it’ll stop her sucking in your air and your smell and your attention for thirty fucking seconds –

Then, yeah. Walk me home. Stay for a drink. Sleep in the goddamn guestroom.

Walk me home.

You slip out of the front door when the two couples are in the kitchen, missing Joel’s calling your name – or perhaps just ignoring it altogether.

“Spread the love at St. David’s this Valentine’s Day…”

Joel slows alongside a wall of cerise hearts, each one fluttering like wings whenever the hospital doors slide open and the breeze sneaks inside. Slips scrawled with names and messages: Love you M! and J + A, crude drawings of stick figures holding hands. Your lips curl into a smirk, watching him flick through each one as you palm your round stomach.

You just saw Duck for the second time. The last time, Freya was kind enough to mention, before they’re tearing you in two. Sorry, she mouthed when your expression dropped, and went back to twisting the probe over your stomach. Silently.

You’re getting better at it, you think. Playing Mom. Like some little game of make-believe, which is only real for as long as you’re looking it square in the eye – attending doctor’s appointments, updating the neighbors on your newest list of symptoms en route to your mailbox.

A little surer on your feet, now that you’ve found a balance to it: taking it as seriously as it warrants, a dry little pill stuck on the cliff of your throat, and making it easier to swallow with humor like water, a huge gulp anytime the fear claws its way up your spine.

And no more panic, since at least before Christmas. Only a little flustered this afternoon when Freya asked if you wanted to know the sex.

It felt too big a thing to hear, too real. You’re only just getting used to the backache and the bleeding gums. (And why didn’t you know that your gums would bleed? Isn’t that something they should fucking warn you about? Congrats, you’re pregnant: prepare for blood seeping from your jaw.)

No. No, thanks. Your head shot around to Joel. No, right?

He shrugged. Makes no difference to me.

Are you sure?

I’m sure, kid. Promise.

‘cause we can find out. I mean – if you want to.

He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, tapping you amiably on the shoulder. I don’t. You’re good.

You don’t?

No, I – He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair. If you want to, I want to. If you don’t, I don’t. Alright?

Freya bit back a laugh, the closed fist over her lips doing little to hide it. You guys should write a book on co-parenting.

But then she left the room again, closed the door on that same old little bubble – the three of you perched on the bed, you and Joel blinking up at the grains of your child onscreen – and you cried. Again. More.

Everything clearer, everything even more human than before: the globe of their skull, the tiny slope of their nose. All glowing in the dark waves of your womb, twinkling like the most beautiful constellation you could ever come across. Their ankles were crossed, feet forming a tiny heart shape in the top corner of the sonogram. Your hand lifted to point it out to Joel, and before the words found voice, you choked and broke down again.

He held you, lips to your hair, body solid as a rock as you melted into him in waves of salty tears. Smiled that honey-glazed smile and said he was so proud of you, said, look what your body’s doin’, darlin’, look what you’re growin’ – which only made you weep more.

And you pretended not to wait for it – for the moment when you might tilt your head up and your lips might line with his, and he might close the achy space between you again, might shush your cries by stealing the air from your lungs and the beat from your heart.

But he didn’t.

Which is fine.

Right?

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” he asks now, eyes still glued to the sea of hearts.

Your stare snaps from him instantly, unaware it was even held there. You tug on the hem of your sweater and pull the sleeves over your hands, mumbling, “Fine, I’m – I’m just…Come on, man. I’m hungry. I didn’t eat lunch today.”

“’n whose fault is that?”

You glower at him. “How considerate,” you seethe, “Vanessa’s a fucking lucky woman, you know that?”

He ignores you, a dumb smile on his face. The usual. “Let’s leave one for ‘em.”

A hot temper begins to boil below the surface of your skin, squeezing between your teeth in a fist-swinging breath. Also the usual these days, apparently. “For who?”

“Duckie. Somethin’ to mark the second scan. Last time we see them, before –”

Your hand flies up, eyes closing with a wince. Shut the fuck up. “Enough. I know.”

Joel hms, still smiling to himself. His beard has grown out a little: thicker, darker, gray sewn through like little whip stitches lining his jaw. He fishes a heart shape from the tub along with a pen, which he twirls annoyingly around his fingers as he thinks.

You sink back against the clinical white wall, an offensively bright color, holding your cheeks up in something of a smile when a nurse wanders past, nodding to both of you. Your face drops back to a scowl as soon as she’s over Joel’s shoulder, and your eyes meet his again – his brows raised, expectant.

“What?” you ask, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

He holds the slip up. “What we gonna write?”

And whatever charm the moment may have held, withers instantly. You throw your arms up petulantly. “You wanted to do it! Pick something. See you soon, or something, I don’t fucking know.”

“I don’t fucking know,” Joel muses, creases by his eyes when he smirks. “Poignant.”

“That’s what you should write,” you step closer, shoving your shoulder into his as you study the trembling hearts on the board, “if you can spell poignant, write that.”

“Hilarious,” he mutters, bending to scribble onto the shape, shielding his work from your view when you hang around his shoulder to pry. Cupping over the message until he’s straightening up, tossing the pen back to the desk, stealing a pin from the tub.

“Let me read,” you protest, tugging on his flannel sleeve.

“I will,” he says, shaking you off. “Patience, darlin’.”

Joel turns to the wall and pins the heart higher than the rest, in a spot clear of its own on the corkboard – thick arms stretching higher higher higher and pulling your gaze with them. As he steps back, he takes you gently by the waist and positions you in front of his body, your shoulders brushing against his chest. Your ribs hold your heart back from hammering into his.

You push up onto your tiptoes and squint at the note, which quivers when the hospital doors pull open again. “Mom and…Mom and Dad f…You fucking…”

Joel dodges your batting arm, snickering with you as he turns to make for the exit. “You don’t like it?” he tosses over his shoulder.

The heart stares down at you, black ink carved into the paper, watching as you turn and hurry after him, giggling. “Mom and Dad fuckin love you? So much for my potty mouth. And the –” another wheezing laugh you’d otherwise be ashamed to let him hear, “– the drawing? It looks – it looks more like a giraffe than a duck. Or, like, you know those long-necked dinosaurs?”

Joel’s head tips back, his own laughter caught up by the breeze when you wander outside, slipping your wrist around the crook of his elbow. Something infectious about it, something which stirs your own laughter until you’re walking arm in arm to the truck with a man who, six months ago, you’d barely look at twice over the fence.

The blind rage bubbling from your empty stomach seems to dissipate, dwindled to nothing in the face of that same man – his swollen cheeks and crows-feet eyes. And you say, “You’re disgustingly sentimental, you know that? Like, sickening.”

And Joel smirks, the way he always fucking does, and says, “You love it. Can’t lie to me.”

“I love it,” you concede, nudging into him as he opens the door for you.

The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s another thing you’re getting good at: being around Joel without need for snide remarks, without feeling your tongue curl under the weight of some snappy quip, loaded and aimed. Being around him and talking about Duck, asking how Tommy and Maria are. Forcing your teeth and tongue to carve out words which ask how Vanessa is, what she’s up to, when he’s seeing her next.

None of this is ideal, that’s for sure. Joel’s girlfriend aside, you’ve spent the last five months cohabiting your body with a stranger who lives most peacefully in the eye of a raging tornado of hormones – flitting between fits of giggles and pulsating joy in your veins, to waves of tears and an anger so hot beneath your skin that you wonder if your emotions might dry up completely by the time this is all through.

It's tough. It’s scary. And some nights you lie in bed, alone, wet eyes fixed on nothing, waiting for someone to burst into the room and announce that it’s all a prank. Just a silly joke. You and Joel can go back to tossing newspapers and casting glowers.

But for now, sat in the passenger seat of his truck – the seatbelt warped around the curve of your belly, the Eagles lilting softly from the radio – it feels like you’re making a home out of that tornado, too. Feeling the swirling walls of wind toss your hair like the breeze through the truck window; the chilled caress of the evening around your outstretched arm, soaring down the highway.

Yeah, you think. I can make something outta this.

“You know what I’m craving?”

Joel’s watching the light, waiting for green. “What’s that?”

“A fucking bagel. Cream cheese, pastrami,” you groan.

He snorts, cringing when he adds, “Pickles?”

A moan tears from the base of your throat, head lolling against your seat. “I could orgasm just thinking about it.”

The light turns, and Joel swings right. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he mutters, turning the wheel with one palm. “I got bagels back at the house, if you want one.”

You stare at him, jaw loose, saliva pooling behind your bottom lip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Let me make you one, ‘fore you go home. Big day, ‘n all.”

And you hate it – hate the way your cheeks fill with a genuine happiness, something swollen and achy, impossible to ignore when it lifts your eyes and hurts your teeth. Appreciation, or admiration, perhaps, that you figure you’ll only ever have for him. You don’t know what the fuck to call it.

So you sum it up into three words. “That’d be nice,” you whisper, and Joel places his hand over your knee, shaking it lightly as he drives on.

It stays there, until he’s pulling into his driveway.

He pushes the front door open and steps back, an arm extended to let you by first. An after you, ma’am, between his lips. And you turn to make some mocking joke, the beginnings of some comment about how gentlemanly he is, when you’re socked square on the nose by a heavy-fisted, bitter scent.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, stumbling backwards across the threshold and onto the porch again. Your throat constricting around nothing, your tongue twisting, your stomach lurching.

Joel catches you just in time to stop you from falling on your ass. “The hell’s the m–? Oh.”

“Hi!” Vanessa calls from the kitchen, leaning around the doorframe to wave you both in. “Almost ready! Take a seat.”

“V–? Hey, sweetheart?” Joel calls back, one hand around your wrist and the other between your shoulders. “What – what’s cookin’?”

She pauses, glancing back at the stove. Pulls the dish towel between her hands taut. “I…I made pasta.”

“Yeah, what kind, sweet?”

“…Bolognese.”

He can’t cover his own sigh quick enough. Thick with something which feels like anger. “Shit,” he turns back to you, “I am so sorry.”

You pull in a deep, unsteady breath, your lungs struggling to separate night air from tomato juice. A weight rolling at the bottom of your stomach, your entire body beginning to tremble with it. “I feel like I’m gonna – Joel, I’m gonna –”

“Breathe,” he whispers, voice urgent, palm slipping to cup your jaw. “Just breathe for me.”

But your throat’s tightening, swallowing hard around gags which come stronger and quicker the more you try to fight them down. “I can still fucking smell it –”

Her shadow blocks the stretch of light from the house. A nervous little thing, a timid creature’s shadow stretched wide across the porch floor. “Is…everything okay?”

“It’s – it’s fine,” Joel sighs again, torn between comforting you and letting Vanessa down gently, “it’s just – tomato is one of her…her aversions.” He’s unable to pull his eyes from you, privately asking, “Are you okay?” when Vanessa turns back to the kitchen.

“I didn’t – I didn’t know,” she mumbles, thumbnail between her teeth. “I am so sorry.”

Suddenly, your will not to throw up is overpowered by your will to tell her, “It’s fine,” sucking in a deep, sickly breath before adding, “I’m just gonna – I should go.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Joel says, his teeth guarding the words from his girlfriend.

“I’m gonna clean up in here,” Vanessa points over her shoulder, and you think she must’ve heard him, “get outta your hair. I’m so sorry, again. I would’ve never…”

Joel lets go of you as you stagger backwards, the cold air tearing down your throat to meet the burning acid tickling up your esophagus. “Please don’t apologize,” you lift a weak hand, “how could you have known? I’ll –” another sharp gasp, “– I’ll see you guys around.”

He must say your name, must try once more to pull you back to his side, but the blood’s rushing through your ears, and your heart’s pounding at the back of your tongue, and your stomach’s notching its way up your spine. You make it to your kitchen sink just in time.

He keeps you waiting all of one hour before he’s calling you. Your arm reaches over to your nightstand, fumbling in the dark for your heavy phone, the screen cold against your cheek.

“Mhm?”

“Are you okay?”

Your lungs pull a deep, slow breath. The acid painted across your throat tickles as the air passes by it, an uncomfortable, scratchy feeling.“Mhm.”

“That a lie?”

“Only a little. Is Vanessa okay?”

He takes a second to answer. Lets go of whatever he was going to say with a sigh, replacing it with, “She just left.”

“Is she mad at us?”

Another second. “Just me. Not you.”

You massage the slope below your breasts, the ache in your esophagus throbbing when you move. “Why just you?”

Ruffling, like he’s settling back into his couch. Sinking into the cushion, his body as heavy as yours feels on your mattress. “I should’ve told her you didn’t like tomatoes. ‘cause now I’m a goddamn mind reader. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t my girlfriend be in my house cookin’ a damn pasta dish while I’m out, y’know? Jesus Christ.”

“Joel,” you turn slowly onto your back, bravely waiting for the waves of nausea still lapping around your stomach to turn with you, “it was a nice thing, what she did. She didn’t mean to…She probably thought she was helping.”

“Naw, I know,” he replies, the sharp bite of his words softening again, shrinking under yours. “I don’t care about her and her helping, though, darlin’, I care about y –” He barely catches it in time. “I care about you carrying my child, and I care about making sure you don’t spend your nights fuckin’…throwing up tomato sauce.”

You gulp, neck convulsing. The backwash of bile swallowed back. Your chest floods with a heat of quick panic. “Can we…maybe…not use the word? I just –”

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. This is just – it’s a lot easier if she would just…”

Your eyes close over, a salty sting sweeping behind them. If she would just lay off. Back off. Fuck off. “…but she won’t, Joel. She loves you. ‘n you…”

The words drift off, taken by the tide, swept off into silence. And neither of you bother with trying to retrieve them – you just watch, stood safe on the shoreline, as they fold under the waves of something too big for either of you to acknowledge. Too dark, too dangerous.

So, you say, “I get it,” instead; say, “I get why you’re mad. Just – let’s forget about it, okay? Sorry for…ruining dinner.”

Joel scoffs, that old, pissed-off Joel scoff. You can see his deadened expression on the back of your eyelids. You may as well have just thrown his newspaper to the end of the earth. “You know damn well that you didn’t ruin anything. How you feelin’?”

“Tired. Throat kinda hurts.”

“Still feel like that pastrami bagel?”

“Not really. Sorry. Appetite’s gone.”

“How about a water?”

“I got some here. Thanks.”

“Okay,” Joel sniffs, “how about: you take the hint and let me come over there to see you?”

You giggle, hand over your eyes to mask your expression from the dark. “I hate you. Yeah, come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Date night – six month anniversary or whatever. Call me if you need anything.

And I mean anything. OK?

Your thumbs hover over the two gray messages, an awkward jig as your brain scrambles to offer words back. Where are you guys going? Too interested. Too weird. OK, what if I’m bored? Delete delete delete. Trying too hard. Sure, have a good n–

The ellipsis pops up and you freeze. A stupidly polite swish delivers Joel’s third text.

Boredom counts as anything, by the way.

And the fucker steals another smile from you. You notice it when you look up, clocking yourself in the mirror. Accompanied by a warmth which drips down your spine, swirls around your tummy; a fluttering you’re not sure is Duckie or something else.

Have a good night, Dad, you type back, tossing the phone to the end of your bed when you hit send. Swiping for a pillow, holding it firm to your face. Pressing so deep into the plush that even the linen won’t be able to see your grin.

Joel told you about this six-month anniversary last week. He wasn’t too thrilled about it then, either. Dinner to celebrate six months? A year, fair enough. But six months?

You swallowed your pride, swallowed the same throttling ecstasy which seeped through your pores on New Year’s Eve, on that February evening she cooked– never mind; a desperate desire to tear apart the very notion of Vanessa and her cutesy little date nights and candlelit dinners. I think it’s a fun idea, you said. Y’all should do it.

And Joel listened. Because he always fucking listens to you, these days. Listens when you tell him that you like the watermelon Sour Patch Kids best, and picks them up anytime he’s at the store. Listens to you when you tell him he should move the crib away from the window, in case the streetlights shine on Duck while they sleep.

Listens when you ramble about how sore your feet are, how heavy your belly feels, how there’s a clammy heat lingering under your skin at all times, bubbling and bubbling and never rising to anything more than steam collecting on the underside of your flesh.

Listens when you tell him to go spend time with his girlfriend. And neither of you pay attention to the jealous shadow behind your words, the hesitant quiver behind his.

He replies almost instantly, the ping like a gunshot at the beginning of a race. Pillow slammed into the mattress, body lunging forward.

You too, Mom. Don’t have too much fun without me.

You lock the phone and slide it back under your covers, smiling dumbly.

There’s still a small part of you waiting for the big reveal: none of this is really happening. A dream, maybe, something you’ll wake from with a tiny throbbing headache, a dry mouth and a new reason to avoid your neighbor at all costs.

But it seems that, each time that thought crosses your mind, you’re quicker and quicker to quash it. Realizing each time that what lies ahead – Joel, your baby, this future version of yourself that you’re yet to meet, still just a little out of reach – fills you with more excitement and wonder, than it does fear.

Mom.

It’s not something you ever imagined for yourself. Not someone you ever thought you’d be. And yet, each time you say it out loud, each time you look in the mirror and picture a baby in the crook of your arm, a toddler perched on your hip, a kid stood by your side, tugging on the hem of your shirt – she feels a little closer. A little clearer. She just has to look over her shoulder, notice you waiting. I’m right here, she says. Come find me.

Mom. Mom and Dad.

You imagine Joel right now, sat in some ritzy restaurant with jazz music and stained-glass lamps on every table, ordering Vanessa some glorified lentil soup and slapping his card over the bill before the waiter has a chance to reveal the damage to him. Your lips twist at the thought – her jewels and her long hair and her sweet little smile laced with a smug possession.

And then you slap your own wrists, hissing to yourself to shut the fuck up.

“She’s nice,” you argue out loud, thin air holding no debate. “She’s kind, and I like her. She’s good for him.”

And then the air replies. Good for him, it swirls, but you could do it better.

Your arm lifts, lingering for a beat before batting the thought away.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks, between pushing yourself out of his embrace in bed, and pulling yourself back into it – armed with a pregnancy test and a chest full of fear. Three weeks of dodging him, of your cheeks bubbling with embarrassment and regret anytime you thought of it; of hoping to God that Alice or Diane or Steve and Kris across the street wouldn’t clairvoyantly know what had transpired that night and corner you on your own front lawn.

A one-night stand. That’s all it was. Two lonely bodies, excitement enough to convince you both that it was a good idea; a fitted suit and a backless dress crumpled together on the floor. Liquid courage lacing it all together.

Three weeks, then, of reminding yourself how it felt: how amazing you were together. Your hand between your legs and Joel’s name between your teeth.

Fuck. If only he knew. Goodforhimgoodforhim she’s so good for him but I’m better.

You did it better. You know you did. The sun was cresting the horizon by the time the two of you stopped. You hauled yourselves down to breakfast and sat at least three people apart, made forced conversation with Maria about the DJ stumbling off with one of her cousins, while the ghostly ache of Joel’s body churned somewhere deep inside you.

It travels through your veins the way that everything does right now: urgent and unforgiving. A need to be dealt with, immediately. Coursing through your body, an arrowhead pointing somewhere you know it shouldn’t. But your hands lift anyway – following it, loosening the waist of your sweatpants and skimming beneath your underwear.

Your body lights at the first touch. The first dip of your middle finger against the plush over your clit. Knees bend, thighs part. You push your underwear down your hips, settling your bottoms loose on your legs. You’re already wet. You’re already there.

Good fucking girl. She’s good but I’m better, right? Take it, baby. Does she take it like I take it? Take it. Can she take you like I did?

Quicker and quicker and quicker, your fingers heavy on your clit. The other hand sifting between your folds, dipping to collect a glimmer of wet. Yeah. Just like that. Do you fuck her like you fucked me? You feel what you do to me? Fuck no, you don’t. You’ve never fucked anyone like you fucked me.

Head back, eyes fluttering closed, lips parting to breathe answers to a man who isn’t here. To a man who, as he dips sourdough into an overpriced soup, sure as hell isn’t thinking about that time he fucked you so good he got you fucking pregnant.

Well. Maybe he is. You are, right?

Voice without body, drawl etched in your memory. Think she can take it all? You hum in amusement, waiting for him to answer his own question. Yeah, she can.

Attagirl. Your legs spread further, knee lifting as you insert two slick-coated fingers. His hands are on your thighs, following the dip of your hips, holding your waist as you guide him back inside. Attagirl. That’s my – Fuck, Joel, you’re so b– That’s my fuckin’ girl. Take it. Touch it. His thumb on your clit – his, not yours. You like that? Yeah, that’s nice, ain’t it?

The flesh of your breasts filling his palms, squeezing and nipping and rolling between. The warmth leaking between your legs: his and yours and fuck, he’s so deep and he’s filling you again and he’s groaning as more dribbles from where he splits your body around his own, holding you still until he’s done. Until he’s empty.

“Joel,” you whine, a third finger pushing in.

Between your hips. Headboard hammering against the wall. The sun hanging loose at the bottom of the sky. Gonna make me come again, baby. Do it. Do something irreversible. Change me forever. Fuck me fuck me fill me and then pull out, push back in with the wet squelch of your come mixing with mine and changing me forever. Making me brand new. Making me yours.

Another moan. Louder. Sharper.

Yours yours yours. All mine? All yours. We’re good at this. I know we are. Who fucks you like this? No one – No one – just you – just me. It’s so big, fuck, but I can take it. Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. All I do is think about you. All I fucking do – You gonna come for me? – is think about you.

Know you need it. Let ‘em hear you, downstairs.

Fuck, I’m thinking about you. Come home. I need you to come home, need you to –

Fuck me, Joel, I’m –

Good girl.

– fuck me.

Atta fuckin’ girl.

She’s good but I do it so much better.

We’re good at this. ‘s do it again.

She’s not as good as me.

Again? Again.

She’s not as good. She’s no fucking good.

Your walls clamp around your fist, entire body shuddering to a stop. Breath held by something shaped like the hook of his accent, two fingers either side of your throat. The same smirk on his lips that convinced you in the first place. Fuck, baby, fuck me.

“Joel,” you cry out, the sound ripping between your vocal cords, punching against the ceiling and reverberating in your ears. Your body convulses on the mattress, back arching and slackening again. “Fuck, I’m – oh, my –”

Just feel it, baby. Feel me. You got it.

Let go.

Your lungs lurch open again, breath flooding in like waves spilling over the gunwale and rushing down to pool at your feet. A lulling rock to your movements, chest rising and falling like the steady tide. Soothing, coming down. Foam and salt carrying the flotsam away, the jagged glass of his name disappearing to sea again.

And then he’s gone.

And you’re just alone in your bedroom.

Last you checked your phone, now face-down on the carpet at your hip, it was eight p.m. Streetlights on, the sky painted by the pale dregs of daytime.

Now, you lie in near-darkness, blinking up at the ceiling. Hand sifting through a bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, comparing the different sizes, considering where to stick them, and then tossing them back in frustration.

Your front door clicks open, a pause between the sound and his voice.

“Anyone home?” Joel calls, and you lift your wrist as though he can see it from the bottom of the fucking stairs.

“Up here,” you eventually announce, knuckles rubbing your tired eyes until Catherine wheels spatter across your eyelids.

His shadow splits the light from the hallway, the long rectangle crossing over your swollen belly. “The hell are you doin’?” he asks, wandering in.

You lift the bag. “Decorating. The hell are you doin’?”

He pulls your nursing pillow from its temporary home in the crib and tosses it down on the carpet, bending to lift your shoulders and slot it underneath. “Scooch,” he says, groaning as he lays back beside you. He smells like whiskey and cologne. All woody, pine and spice.

“You got a bad back,” you warn him. “You shouldn’t be all the way down here.”

“You’re seven months pregnant,” Joel clicks his teeth, “neither should you.”

“What if you get stuck ‘n can’t get back up?”

Offense pulls his brows together. “What if you do?”

You smile in response, feeling the heat of his shoulder against yours. Sucking the scent of him through your nose. The pair of you exchanging smirks and batting eyelashes, wrapped in the cool darkness of the room. It’s juvenile and intimate.

You’re trying not to think too much about it.

“I can’t fucking figure this out. I put two of the big stars over there,” you point to the far corner of the room, streetlight splintered by the shades on the ceiling, “but it looks stupid having two so close. So, then I thought,” moving your arm to the right, “a cluster of smaller ones, right over the crib. But I couldn’t move the damn thing to climb up, so…I’ve been down here ever since.”

Joel lifts his hand, stopping your train of thought. “Please do not climb on anything, bein’ that you are…with child.” And then, when your eyes roll to meet his, he grins, adding, “Nesting got you good, huh?”

“You should see my kitchen cupboards. Never been tidier.” Your expression dissolves, voice quietens – your most desperate plea since that morning you shook hands on his doorstep. Your broken wardrobes and his lonely wedding invite. “Will you help me?” you ask.

He thinks it over less than once, dragging his gaze from the twirling star in your fingers. A quick shake of his head, like it’s obvious. “’course I will. ‘s what I’m here for.” And then he yawns, lowering a hand absentmindedly to settle on the curve of your stomach; a gentle pat in greeting to Duck.

“How was dinner?”

“Good,” Joel lies.

“Vanessa okay?”

“Good,” again.

“Sorry.”

Joel’s eyes roll, fingers pausing. “Why do you always gotta be sorry for som’?”

You shrug when you realize it’s not a rhetorical question. He’s genuinely asking. “I don’t know. Just tryna be polite. I know you’d probably rather be at home right now, not…deciding where some plastic fuckin’ stars should go.”

“For my kid’s bedroom? For you?” He huffs something shaped like disapproval. “Do me a favor – stop with the sorrys, alright?”

“I’m not even done with the last fucking favor I said I’d do you.” Your eyes flit down to your bump.

He stares blankly. You know there’s a laugh gathering like hot air on a windowpane behind his eyes, threatening to shatter the glass.

“Fine,” you concede, “dickhead.”

“Better.”

You sigh, looking back down at the phosphorescent shape in your hands. Turning it over and over and over, matching the rhythm of his fingers tensing and then untensing on your belly. His fingers, matching the rhythm of your chest rising and falling with breath. The room quiet. The night’s eyes averted, even just for this moment.

“If it’s anything,” Joel says, “I think the stars look alright.”

Another stolen smile. Another defiant show of teeth. You place your hand on top of his: a thankful gesture, an invitation. Something in between.

Joel blinks back at you, his eyes flitting from yours to your lips. The dim light in the room swallowing the two of you whole, secluded in the upstairs of your home. And you think, Kiss me, kiss me kiss me kiss me, and you will the words over your tongue in a ragged breath – hoping that Joel might breathe them in and feel their sharp edges as they absorb into his bloodstream, each cell flipping like the star in your hand and whispering the same two words to him: Kiss her kiss her kiss her.

But right then –

There’s a burst of movement. Under your fingertips. A fluttering, like bubbles popping right below the surface of your skin.

Your eyes snap down at the same time Joel’s do; your fingers separating and hovering over your tummy.

“Did you – did you feel –?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Uhuh. Was that –?”

“I don’t know. Was it?”

He takes your hand, pressing it back against your stomach with his on top. Your knuckles safe in the canopy of his palm. Both staring into space as you hold your breath.

“They’re not…they’re not doin’ it, now…”

“Maybe it was just –”

“Wait! Did you feel that?”

A second burst on your womb, a tiny beat on the other side of your bump. A wide grin breaks across your cheeks, a disbelieving laugh escaping.

Joel laughs, too. “Is that – is that the first time they’ve ever –?”

“Yeah,” you sniff, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “that’s the first I’ve ever felt ‘em, anyways.”

“Wait,” Joel says, lifting his hand and holding a finger up. Just yours on your belly. “They doin’ it?”

Your head shakes.

When he lowers his hand, Duckie kicks again. The two of you lean in to one another, exchanging laughter. You lift your own hand, watching his expression as he waits patiently.

But then his head shakes, too. “Nothing. They’re only doin’ it when it’s both of us.”

“What the fuck?” you laugh, replacing your hand and waiting for the baby drum. “How can they even tell? What the f–?”

You shift your hands around the globe of your bump, pausing every so often to feel for Duck’s movements. A tiny fist punching, or a heel kicking, or an elbow shoving right above your navel in a way that’s bordering on painful, but numbed by the sheer thrill of it.

And for a while, it’s all you do: play tag with your unborn baby, giggling when they respond to your tapping fingers and cooing voices.

Joel sits up, leaning on his elbow to talk to his kid; runs two fingers across your shirt like a pair of legs scaling a cotton covered hill. And he laughs, and you laugh at his laugh, as if he’s a kid himself again – tearing apart gifts on his birthday, gasping and throwing his head back with glee at whatever he uncovers.

“It feel weird?” he asks, glancing up at you.

“So fucking weird,” you tell him.

“Does it hurt?”

“More…ticklish, if anything. Might get kinda annoying, if they start doing it when I’m tryna sleep, or somethin’…”

Joel lowers his jaw to your stomach, whispering, “You know what to do, Duckie. Make your daddy proud.”

You slap his shoulder, muttering, “Asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, splintered by a laugh. He pushes himself to his feet, swiping the bag of stars from your side. “Let’s get these up so you two can get some sleep.”

You groan as he pulls you upright, one last pat on your stomach, looking at you a second too long and a touch too meaningful. Too warm, too inviting.

It’s the calm before the storm, though you’re still stood motionless. Still trying to work out whether the tornado is moving away, or headed directly for you.

At five in the morning, Vanessa’s sister calls her.

“Heart attack,” Joel tells you a few hours later, the rustle of paper crinkling in your ear. The truck hums in the background. He speaks through a mouthful of sandwich. “Her dad always had a condition, but they thought they were managin’ it with medication,” another crinkle, and then, voice even more obscured, “but he got rushed to hospital durin’ the night, and…”

“Poor Vanessa,” you reply, nail drawing shapes on the curve of your bump in attempt to lull Duck into a more relaxed state than the sharp kicks they’re throwing at your ribs. Now big and strong enough to do considerable damage, your voice falters each time they swing. “Is she – son of a bitch – is she okay?”

“Shaken up,” he says, turn signal ticking over his voice. “She’ll be alright. She’s pragmatic like that. Problem is – they’re in Houston. Her whole family. So I guess that’s where the funeral’s gonna be.”

You swing your legs off the couch, heaving your awkward, nine-months-pregnant body to your feet – the irritating scratch of hunger suddenly gnawing at your stomach. “Yeah?” you say, waddling through to the kitchen. “So?”

“So,” Joel takes another bite of sandwich, “she has to – I mean, we have to…go. To Houston.”

“We?” You slot the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you fish out a couple slices of bread.

“Me ‘n Vanessa.”

“Uhuh,” you carve a knife around a jar of peanut butter, “you gotta be there for her.”

Joel sounds a little defensive. “I know. And I am. I’m goin’ to be. ‘s just – I gotta be there for you, too. For – for Duck.”

Your stomach swirls, a fire catching which lights your chest in a trickle of flame.

“You are. You will be. Houston’s only, like, three hours away.”

He sighs.

The turn signal fills the silence between you, between Joel and an appropriate answer. Clicking like the sound of a tennis match, his head spinning between his grief-stricken girlfriend, and the third-trimester mother of his child.

“I’m here,” he says, and you hear the squeal of brakes out front. “Give me a sec.”

The door pushes open as you sink back into the couch, balancing the plate on the planet beneath your breasts. Joel crumples his sandwich paper in his fist and lowers his hand over the back of the couch, scrunching his fingers over your belly as he passes.

“Thought you hated that stuff,” he calls over his shoulder, disappearing into your kitchen.

“I had a craving,” you say, ripping the first bite from your sandwich. “You made me hungry.”

He returns a minute later with a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table in front of you. He lifts your legs, letting them fall gently in his lap when he collapses into the opposite end of the couch, heels of his palms pressing against his eyes.

You tap his thigh with the ball of your foot and he turns to you, placing a hand over your ankles. A sticky paste of peanut butter and bread between your molars, you ask, “What’shup?”

Joel holds back a smirk at your chipmunk cheeks. “Just – just worried that you…you know, while I’m gone, is all.”

You scoff, gulping. “Come on. I am not gonna go into labor in the, what – two days? How long would you even be gone?”

He seems to wince at the thought, fingers sifting through his hair – a gray sweep sat casually over his left eyebrow; flicks following the curve of his ear towards the hinge of his jaw. “Less than that, if I can help it.”

“Joel.”

He turns to you, saying your name just as deflated in response.

“You have to go.”

He rolls his eyes, thumb and middle finger massaging his temples. Crosses his arms and huffs like a teenager. “Well, I ain’t happy about it.”

You snort, unable to hold it in as you take another bite. “I ‘on’t think Vanesha’sh too happy about it, either, to be honesh wih ya.”

Joel’s jaw slackens, a choked laugh bursting from the back of his throat. He lifts a cushion and swings it in your direction. “Heartless. That’s heartless, you know that? Jesus, baby.”

He leaves on Saturday morning.

You stand on your porch, watching him shove a suitcase into the backseat of his truck, squinting in the sunlight as he stalks across your front yard. Joining you in the shade, he leans into you, shoving you lightly.

“Quit it.” Your hand locking with his, steadying yourself. Something in the back of your mind begging him not to let go.

And as if he can hear the thought: “I can stay. You know I can stay, right?”

“I don’t want you to stay,” you tell him, sweeping the hair from his forehead. “We will be fine. We’ll stay up late, eat junk food and watch TV; I’ll do audio description for Duck…”

He scoffs, glancing across the street.

“…and then you’ll be back home, back to buggin’ the hell out of us. It’ll be Monday before you know it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. “And what if…?”

“You really think that’s gonna happen? You think your kid’s that much of an asshole?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah,” he shrugs, tongue in his cheek, “they’re half you.”

“Alright,” you click your teeth, turning away from the simper on his lips, “why don’t you just fuck off to Houston now, asshole?”

“I’ll fuck off, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Uhuh. Here’s hoping you don’t break down, or get a flat, or get struck by lightning, or anything.”

“You’re so funny,” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Hm. Now go.”

His jaw turns, beard grazing your skin. And then his lips; soft and warm, damp when he kisses your cheek. A moment too long. And he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t lean back the way you both know he should. No, he lingers – his lips by your ear, eyes flitting up to the street to make sure nobody sees.

“Joel –”

“I know.”

“We shouldn’t –”

“I know.”

But your arm is hooking around his neck, asking him to do it anyway, and his lips are lowering to yours, submitting to your request, and what’s supposed to be a goodbye kiss lasts at least a few seconds too long for it to mean anything less than a don’t go kiss.

You pull away when you feel the wet dab of his tongue against yours, realizing with an ice-cold shock where you are, and who he is, and what’s happening. Realizing how fucking stupid it’d be for both of you, how catastrophic and terrible the outcome.

A one-night stand.

A one-night stand.

A one-night –

He leans his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

Your arm loosens, letting him go.

Just – letting him go.

Saturday Night Live ends just after midnight.

You arch your back into the couch, your swollen belly pushing forward. It’s an effort to get to your feet, what with the steady ache in your back all day, the weight on your front, and the fucking human being smushed into every vital organ inside you.

A deep breath feels like it inflates your lungs only halfway, Duck using the bottom half as a fucking ass cushion, and scaling the stairs takes another ten minutes – by the end of which, you’re slumped against the handrail, pausing before making off for your room.

You sink into the mattress, creasing the cool, smooth sheets. Duck stirs inside you, stretches out and throws a right hook against your bladder. You curse under your breath, hoisting yourself back to your feet.

“We gotta sleep, baby,” you hum, swaying back and forth with a hand under your belly. “Shh, ‘s okay. Take your fuckin’ fist outta my bladder, you little asshole.”

Whichever traits of yours and Joel’s have blended into the human cocktail growing in your uterus, you know one thing for certain: this kid has your stubbornness. The weight remains on your bladder, regardless of how much swaying, or pacing, or rubbing, or threatening you do.

You growl, wandering through the upper floor of your house in attempt to shift Duckie, or distract yourself, or, at the very least, tire the two of you out enough to fall asleep.

From the nursery door handle hangs a little wooden star, a tauntingly sleepy smile painted on it. You push the door open with two hesitant fingers, stepping into the still bedroom, the weak wash of streetlight meeting moonlight on the greenish walls.

You suck in a deep breath, floorboards squealing as you take your first step. Over the crib hangs a plastic mobile, soft plush shapes twirling slowly. The matching changing table slotted alongside it, a rocking chair over by the window.

You pad across a fluffy rug and lower yourself into the chair, tilting back and forth on your toes as you glance around one of the two rooms you and Joel have spent the most time in since that October morning bonded you forever. A baby duck ornament perched on a shelf above the dresser, its orange legs dangling. A multi-photo frame Joel’s mom bought you, both scans in the first two slots and the third empty, lying in wait.

Your breathing fragments, struggles, eyes slipping over to the baby clothes hanging in the closet. “You know, little Duckie,” you whisper, rubbing your bump and thinking back to Tommy’s words six months ago, “you are a pretty lucky kid.”

The hooded towel robe on the back of the door, the perfect size for a newborn. The framed prints sat atop the chest of drawers, waiting to be nailed to the wall: a rainbow, a frog, a starry sky.

“You got two houses. Two bedrooms, all to yourself. You got two parents who already love you more ‘n the whole world. And,” you gulp, “you got Vanessa. And she loves you, too.”

You glance down, watching the tiny pulse of movement when the baby stretches in your womb. Your hands scoop them up, as if holding them closer than they already are. As if already cradling them, forcing yourself to feel less alone.

Duck seems to quieten, to still; seems to consider what you’re avoiding. Reads between the lines, hears the words you’re not speaking.

Two of everything, you think, and I barely even had one.

The most evidence you have of being loved by anyone in your life is the house you live in. Four brick walls and three decades’ worth of belongings, more inheritance than memories. But they roll around like marbles – they echo against the walls when they hit them. There’s nothing binding them, no thread of love, or family, or anything real enough to hold it all together.

You’re the only living organ inside a skeleton’s cage. A lonely little heartbeat, making noise for no one to hear.

And that’s the way it has been, at least since you were eight. The absence of warmth and safety isn’t anything new to you – it left the second your parents did. The last scrunch of your mom’s nails on your head, the last kiss of her lips to your plump little cheeks. The passing over to your grandma, like you were cargo, like you were a box to be checked.

Maybe you found some distant flicker of heat in the way Joel looked at you, the day you told him you were pregnant. Maybe you saw the same glimmer of a flame that you used to see in your mom’s eye. The rosy smell of her perfume, the feel of her finger inside five of yours. Maybe, for the first time since you were a kid, you felt safe.

We’re gonna work it out, he said. I’m here. We’re in this together, alright? I am not running out on you.

Together. And yet, now, sat in your child’s nursery – a room built from scratch by Joel’s two hands and strung together by every beat of your heart – you’ve never felt more alone. The same two hands that are wrapped around Vanessa right now, consoling her, wiping her tears away, massaging her shoulders and sweeping her hair from her eyes.

And the same heartbeat which quickens now, fueled by an angry desire, an impulse scratching deep into your flesh to march all the damn way to Houston and tear the pair of them apart. Like he’s yours; like the way he touches you and looks at you and talks to you means anything more than his child growing inside you.

Like it’s you he’s touching and looking at and talking to, and not Duck. Like his attention won’t cease to shine on you, the second this little baby leaves your body.

And then, washing over the scorching hot sand of anger: a foam-lined wave of guilt. Of shame, for wishing for the breakdown of something that clearly makes the two of them happy. That makes Joel…happy.

He doesn’t owe you anything – he was never yours to begin with. Just one drunken night, a mistake until you noticed the two pale lines on the pregnancy test. And by that point, he was already hers again. You had missed him without even knowing it.

You sigh, pushing up from the rocking chair and reaching for a tissue from the changing table. Turning back, giving the room one last teary glance before closing the door, you sniff.

“You’re just…the luckiest little kid who’s ever gonna live.”

At one twenty a.m., cicadas chirping and trees rustling, the low breeze carrying the sounds through your half-open window – your back begins to ache. A blunt, gnawing pain. Feels like your period, and in your doze, you stuff a pillow between your legs and pray you don’t stain the sheets with a show of blood.

The realization comes over you as if that stifling breeze flips to freezing. You slowly come around, eyes peeling open as you think it over twice, then three times, then four. Duck shifts somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you’ve never felt them shift before.

“…No. Not right now, Duck. You gotta give me, like, twenty-four hours. Just – wait until your dad gets ho–”

A blinding pain interrupts you, the moonlit-blue room fading out of focus for half a second before you’re wide awake, clutching the bottom of your spine where you’re sure the kid just tore a fucking hole straight through your uterus.

“You’re a fucking dick,” you whimper, fingers clenching in tight fists around the bedsheets. “You’re a fucking – dick.”

One twenty-three. You go into labor.

[cradle-quill]

Baby Ballerina, an ABDL Story by CradleQuill (18+)

Disclaimer: All content is fictional, consensual, and intended only for mature audiences. All characters depicted are adults aged 18+

Image Credit: The adorable @nottellingu777, used with her permission <3 _

I know you’re embarrassed, sweetie, and honestly, you should be. You’re the only girl in your dance class who still has accidents and has to wear Pull-Ups. Your ballet instructor told me all the other girls have been teasing you, and I mean, can you blame them? I mean, honestly, it’s ridiculously immature to still be wetting yourself at your age, and not just at night, but during the daytime as well. It’s no wonder you can’t help but hide your face. If I were you, I’d be embarrassed to be seen like that too. Make sure you thank your instructor for allowing you to bring your stuffed rabbit to the classes. That was very kind of her, and I know it makes you feel better.

No sweetie, I’m not taking you out of your dance classes. You wanted so badly for me to sign you up, so now you’re going to make sure Daddy gets his money’s worth. You should have thought about how revealing the leotard was before you begged to attend. It’s nobody’s fault but yours that you still wear Pull-Ups, and that they’re too obvious to hide. You could always try being a big girl and not wetting yourself like a helpless little toddler, but something tells me that’s just too difficult for a little girl like you.

Did you think your instructor was going to keep letting you pee all over the floor while the other girls were dancing? Come now, honey, you know better than that. She was very kind to allow you to still attend, even if she required you to wear your Pull-Ups from now on. I should never have let you talk me into going without them in the first place. We’ve been down this road so many times. You insist you don’t need them, only to wind up with tears streaking down your cheeks and pee flowing down your legs. I know all the other girls saw your pee puddle, and they teased you, didn’t they?

Well, now you won’t have to worry about leaving puddles everywhere anymore. Sure, everyone can tell you’re a toddler who isn’t potty trained, but at least no one expects anything more from you now. You don’t have to try so hard to keep your pants dry when we both know you’re just going to fail at it, anyway. I know you’re worried about the other girls treating you differently, but they were going to treat you like a baby no matter what after repeated accidents. Now, you can be like a little sister to them, and while they’re learning their dance moves, you’ll be over in the corner learning how to act like a big girl and keep your pants dry for more than twenty minutes at a time.

I’m just glad we’re finally putting you in your place. You need this wake up call if you’re ever going to make it to big girl undies, and if you aren’t going to make it there, well then there’s no point in delaying the inevitable. You’ll just have to prove to me that you’re big and responsible enough to stay out of diapers, and then maybe we’ll see if you’re ready to try potty training again. Until then, you just go ahead and keep on being Daddy’s little baby ballerina, his potty-pants princess, alright kiddo? _

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[humansofnewyork]

“I never go in for the kill. I know what I look like. I’ve been 6’4” since I was nineteen. When a guy my size makes a move, it can be frightening. So I let the woman lead. I know that when she’s ready, she’ll let me know. She’ll give me the cues. Only when that happens will I pull out the magic wand. This is important. I always ask: ‘If you had a magic wand, what would be your perfect man?’ I let them tell me how they want to be treated. And then I follow instructions. I can’t tell you how many women have told me: ‘Wow. You don’t go down on me like a guy.’ Most men just put their whole face in it. Way too much. Especially if there’s stubble involved. I’d personally recommend shaving your face right beforehand. Shave that shit down until it feels like a baby’s ass. If you’re not gonna do that, at the very least you’ve got to lead with the lips. Use the tongue gently. And don’t go straight for the clitoris. Aim for one o’clock. You can’t go wrong with one o’clock. But don’t just park at one o’clock. Travel around. The entire area is sensitive. With men it’s all about the penis. But with women,  it’s all about everything. Except the butthole. This one is so important. The balloon knot is not for you to touch. Ever, not even once. Unless you’re asked. Even then there’s got to be preparation unless you want the whole house smelling like baby diapers. So always ask. Always, always ask. Ask if she’s comfortable with fingers. Ask if she’s comfortable with penetration. Ask if she’s into verbal. A lot of women don’t want to hear a fucking word. It scares them. So you better ask. Also, and this one might be surprising,  a lot of women don’t want to go face-to-face. If you’re kissing them, or being too intimate, they might lock up. They’ll make it very clear that the intimacy scares them. It’s a heartbreaking thing, because it usually means there’s been some trauma. If that happens, just stop. Stop everything and hold them. Don’t ask them to explain, unless they choose to tell you. Just hold them. Maybe the sex will come later when they’re more comfortable. Maybe it never comes at all. And that’s fine. Just be a gentle soul that they can hold for as long as they need.”

[wittlesissyb4by]

"Okay, so remember, once we have them in their diaper, it's really important that we praise them. They're going to be very averse to their new lifestyle at first, but they have to get used to it.

So we want them to associate their diaper with good things, at least in the beginning. Tell them they're a good boy, that they look super cute in their wittle diapurrs. Pinch their cheeks, boop their nose, and talk to them in your little singsong voice. Guys aren’t used to getting compliments and affection as much, so if they receive that sort of praise and physical touch while they’re in a diaper, they’ll warm up to the idea a lot faster than you think.

Now, once we’ve got them pampered and praised, I like to put a pacifier in their mouth. I find it really helps them regress a few years, makes them more docile, and it keeps them quiet other than their adorable little whimpers. It’s hard for them to do much arguing or fussing when they’re suckling a binky!

After they’ve been praised and regressed a bit, it’s time to *really* get them enjoying their diapers. That means: we’re going to make them cum.

I know, I know, this whole thing is supposed to be a ‘punishment’, but trust me, the ends will justify the means. If it makes you feel any better, the only time they will get to cum from now on will be when they’re in a diaper. That means no sex, and constant supervision to prevent masturbation. You control their orgasms, just like you control where they go potty.

So when we make them cum in their diaper, we never want to reach into the actual diaper. That kind of defeats the purpose. We want them to feel the padding, hear the crinkles, all while changing the way they traditionally garner sexual stimulation.

So what I like to do is place my palm right here on the outside of the diaper, right between their legs, and feel around for their winky. Those of you that have hubbies with little nubbies may have a harder time finding it, but honestly, even if you’re not directly on it, that’s okay. You’ll find they’ll aim their hips the right way for you.

Once you’re on it, you’re just going to do a simple kneading motion back and forth just like this. Long, slow movements at first. Don’t start too fast. You want them to really take in the feelings and sensations. You’ll even see them get a little desperate for more, and it’s up to you if you want to speed up and go a bit harder, keep that same pace, or just take your hand away and watch them wiggle and whimper.

But the most important thing is that this entire stimulation process is never silent. In addition to the crinkling, you want to continue praising them. Really dial up the baybee talk here. You should be reminding them what a good little boi (or gurl!) they are. Remind them what they’re wearing. Obviously they know they are in a diaper, but you need to vocalize it.

‘Wook how cute the wittle baybee is in his diapee!’

‘Hubby wooks so adorwable in his Huggies!”

Things like that.

If they have an erection—which I’m sure they will from all the rubbing—point that out to them: ‘oh my goodness! I didn’t think these pampers could make your pee pee so pointy!’ or ‘somewon sure is getting hard in their Huggies!!’

If they have messes, praise them for that as well. Nothing like getting complimented for pissing or pooping in a pamper. Again, we’re just trying to emphasize the state at which they’re in.

Another way to do that is to have them tell you. Make them vocalize these things:

“Tell me what you’re wearing little boi!”

“Why is it so plump? Did you do something in there? Tell me what you did.”

“Is that something a big boi would do??”

Make them use their little baybee voice, make them lisp, make them make it high-pitched, and make them do all of it with that pacifier still in their mouth!

If they do it properly, reward them with rubbies, if they’re stubborn or not performing up to your standards, pull your hand away. You’ll have them babbling like a baybee in no time!

I know some Mommies that will only do the rubbies while their hubby is jiggling a rattle. If the rattling stops, so do they. Feel free to be creative, as long as they’re being patronized while they’re pampered, you’re doing the right thing!

Alright, so after a few minutes—or maybe even a few seconds—they’re going to be ready to cum. Make sure you emphasize that they have to tell you when they’re close, and they have to do it in baybee talk. I like to have them tell me they have to make a ‘goo goo’. But you can use whatever term you want.

At this point we’re gonna do what’s called a ‘ruined’ orgasm. For those that don’t know, that’s where you get them right up to the edge when they’re babbling and rattling and goo goo ga ga’ing, wait until you see them first start to spasm—then lift your hand away. If you do it right, they’ll be past the point of no return, and all their little stickies will leak out, but they’ll only have a fraction of a pleasurable orgasm.

This is important, because it puts them in this sort of limbo. Where they’re a little satisfied but also still a bit horny and desperate. Don’t be surprised if they whine and cry about it either—you know how men can be. But that’s when you tell them one of your most important lines:

‘Maybe next time!’

That will leave them literally cumming back for more. They’ll be desperate for their next diaper, their next rubbie, or the next stage of their training.

But another important step here is to make them sit in their shame. Keep them in their sticky diaper for a bit, at least an hour or two. Let them feel the warmth of their little load that they made—all while they were in a diaper. And the only way they get to make a load like that again is…in a diaper. We really want to drive this point home. They are not going to cum without the constant sound of crinkling coming with it. They don’t get the love, touch, and affection while they’re in silly boxers and big boy clothes. The only way they get pleasure is when they’re in their pampers.

Wives never believe me, but i promise you, eventually, they’ll actually beg you to put them in a diaper, just so you can make them cum again.

But what we’re not going to tell them is that we’re eventually going to wean them off. They’re not going to get to cum every time they put on a diaper. For the first dozen times or so, yes, they get an orgasm (even a full one) every single time. But then it becomes “well only if your diaper is wet”, which makes them feel good about wetting, cause then they get a rubbie reward. But then they’ll grow used to that as well, so we have to constantly find ways to push their limits.

Wait until you see their face when they push their first poop into their pamper. They’re sooo embarrassed, but they’re willing to do it, all because you said you would give them a goo goo if they make a poo poo. But of course, what you don’t tell them, is that they’re gonna have to cum while they’re still inside their messy diaper. Don’t worry girls, if you get too disgusted, just make them turn over and turn their rubbies into humpies!!

Ohh I just love helping wives turn their useless/ungrateful husbands into helpless and desperate diaper dumpers! I know some that have their husbands wearing huggies 24/7, and sometimes even in dresses too! Even the most homophobic, chauvinistic pig can be turned into a pamper packer, all it takes is a little TLC.

Men are so easy, you can literally control their whole life, as long as you control when and where their balls get emptied. Which reminds me: next week, our workshop is going to talk about a little thing called a ‘chastity device’!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote a caption very similar to this a while back on one of my old blogs, but it was lost in the purge. I tried to recreate it as best I could, but I may have missed the mark. If you like my captions, please consider supporting me so I can keep making more. Go to allmylinks.com to follow me on other sites!

[babywriter]

When people are very young, they tend to say that they can’t wait to get older. This was not the case for Lexi, she knew what getting older meant. And today was her 22nd birthday. Seemingly, the years were going by faster than she wanted.

“What did I even do last year?” she thought to herself.

Still, today was a good day, a fun day, with friends and family coming over for dinner. And she had a great time! She was happy to see all those people.  Then, her mother brought the cake. The guests singing Happy Birthday was depressing to Lexi, because it just meant another year going by.

“Why are there so many candles?” she thought. Twenty-two candles, one for every year. It was hard for her to look at.

“Make a wish!” said her mother. Lexi half-smiled to be polite, but she did wish something. She wished that she could stay twenty-two forever and when she blew on the candles, time froze. People were stuck mid-clap and mid-cheer.

A man in a suit had appeared. “Hello, Lexi. Happy Birthday.”

“Who are you?” 

“Me? Don’t worry about me. I’m just here to make a deal.” He took a dramatic pause. “I know what you wished for Lexi and I can give it to you.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Smart girl. If you want to fulfill your wish, and I assure you I’ll keep my side of the bargain, you’ll need to empty your bowels right here and now in front of everybody…once they’re back to normal.”

“I-I don’t think I understood.”

“Yes, you understood just right. But that’s really the least of it. Because once the wish is activated, and you can’t take it back, you will need diapers. You will need them because you will have very obvious and public accidents. In fact, you’ll never use the bathroom again. Any time you need to go, you’ll stop what you’re doing, announce it loudly and do it. That’ll be out of your control. But, you will be twenty-two forever, as promised. No, no, stop pinching yourself, this is real. You can tell this is real. So what will be Lexi? You’ll have just a few seconds, so be quick.”

“No, no, wait!” cried Lexi, rising from her seat.

With that, the man snapped his fingers, disappeared and everything else returned to normal. Lexi hesitated for a moment, but felt the pressure in her stomach and decided to push. 

“Are you okay, dear?” asked her mother.

It was surprisingly easy to push. She did have to grunt and turn red, but it certainly was coming out.. 

“I did it.” Lexi mumbled to herself. “Oh god.”

Everyone was coming to the realization of what had happened. Needless to say, they were all stunned. The smell hit them too.

“Thank you all for coming.” Lexi’s mother said. “We’ll just do some clean-up. Come on, Lexi.”

The guests looked at each other as Lexi left the room to change. 

“Uh-oh! I’m making tinkles!” Lexi shouted from her bedroom. And instead of doing anything to stop it, she stared at the puddle forming at her feet. What an odd sensation. She hadn’t been able to stop herself yet felt it thoroughly as it was happening. 

Soon enough, Lexi was back in diapers announcing she was making “oopsie-daisies”, “messies” or “accidents” to anyone within earshot. Like telling her boyfriend “Daddy, I had an accident!” when they were shopping at the mall, or saying “Mommy, I went in my diapie!” to her mother while eating at a restaurant. So much for being twenty-two.

[just-a-ghost00]

Who is your secret admirer? 👀

If you feel like someone’s been eying you and you would like to check if your intuition about them is right, then this reading is for you. There will be a part two covering whether you know them or not and what this person admires about you.

There will be three sections for each group :

1. Their physical traits

2. Their personality

3. Complementary info using key words based on the letters you get

Group 1 🌹

Their appearance - 10 of wands, The Sun, 9 of pentacles, 2 of swords, Queen of cups, The Fool, Strength, Death, Movement, with a special appearance of the 7 of swords

This person is a busy bee. They look really tired or like they’re constantly in a rush. This person tends to avoid your gaze. They are quite charming and cute, their body has a good balance. They are rather slender and slim. They look strong though. Like they lift weights or something. This person can be quite intense if they want to, especially because they are so athletic and well off financially. But they are super humble so even though they know they look good, they do their best not to brag about it. So this person tends to dress casually, they wear clothes that don’t always fit them or bring the best out of their looks. They wear sporty clothes often like some kind of camper’s bag or running shoes. Their eyes is a key feature of their looks. They’re sweet yet bold. A fair mix of flirty and shy. This person could be really versatile in how they look around you. They are the sexy cute type, the type of person that attracts people with their brains more than their body. Though they look like a snack in this case. This person could be a swimmer so their arms and torso/back could be something that stands out compared to the rest of their body. They look like they would give the best hugs ever. 🤩

Their personality - The Tower, 4 of cups, The Hierophant, The High Priestess, The Lovers, 8 of wands, The Sovereign, Dare to dream, Transmute

Let me tell you, this person is hot AF. There is a stark contrast between their looks and their personality. This person looks so innocent but deep down they are soooo horny and dominant. No wonder this person wouldn’t look you in the eyes : they were too busy looking at your chest. They love it to a fault! They fantasize about you a whole lot. When it comes to who they are on a more general basis, they are very confident. They are a leader. They are wise, they know their worth. This person is a loner and they have strong boundaries. They don’t lose their time with what they’re not interested in. Same goes for people. They only engage in conversations with people that can match their intensity or bring something to the table. If they deem you unworthy, they would have no problem cutting ties. This person is very clever. They are constantly thinking. They are also super intuitive. Like the Hierophant and the High Priestess combo is super connected. This person definitely believes in a higher power, no matter how they label it. With the lovers and the 8 of wands, this person is quick to fall in love and very passionate once they know where they stand with you. They enjoy the banter a lot. They’re a sapiosexual. Not only are they excited by your looks but they also love your sassy and witty nature. The Hierophant / High Priestess / Lovers combo makes me think that this person is engaged but would gladly have a sneaky link with you anytime. The Tower and 4 of cups combo tells me that they like to challenge perceptions of others but don’t like theirs to be challenged. Let me tell you this person was not mentally prepared to meet you. You have put their world upside down to say the least. They can’t control their desire but they try really hard to repress it.

Complementary info - G I E A T Z I C R Y D A P L U

Words I’m picking up on : gay, guy, crazy, day care, guitar, cry, play date, icy gaze, player, age, gap, duty, large, diaper, price, duality, cage, pirate, trail, page, trace, guard, place, Italy, palace, rule, party, lace, Gael, Gail, Gaelic, Zac, Celia, Alice, Alicia, Ciel, Dalia, Ali, Lyra, Lydia, Craig, Giulia, Caty, Zara, Algeria, cute, cutie, prize, prude, girly

Group 2 ❣️❣️

Their appearance - Two of wands, White Numen, 7 of cups, King of cups, four of pentacles, 9 of wands, Power, Fate, Get creative

Okay this can be quite specific but for some this person is a farmer or someone that creates with their hands in a more general sense. Their hands, arms and upper body area are key features of this person’s look. They look intimidating, a bit stern, guarded for sure. Like the type of person that shouldn’t be messed with. Everything about them is meaty and juicy, even the D / the C. Their sense of style is pretty flowy. They like oversized clothes. Things that are practical and that they wouldn’t mind getting dirty 😉😉 They have a daddy / mommy vibe to them. They look like they’ve been through a lot and they can’t be bothered. Like you can’t fool them. They look mature. We got some DILFs and MILFs here lmao If they’re a man they got the full beard and grey hair sticking out here and there, if they’re a woman they got the long lucious hair and flowy sundresses that enhances their beautiful clivage. I’m specifically picturing for women their beautiful fuppa born from the birthing of beautiful children. This person is very sensual. And their sensuality comes from years of experience and knowledge, of working on themselves and providing for their family. They look very trustworthy and clean. Very healthy. Those are the type of people that are active on a daily basis, either because of their job or because they indulge in a lot of outdoor activities. They could like running or gardening. We also have artists here. Painters, musicians, sculptors, writers even. They kind of have an other worldly appearance. Like a Greek god/goddess that would have decided to walk among the mortals.

Their personality - knight of cups, queen of cups, Hierophant, page of swords, king of swords, page of pentacles, Love, The Sage

This person is very sweet. They are understanding, kind, patient. They love everyone. They are very contemplative. They like to make their own mind when doing something for the first time or meeting new people. They aren't the kind to gossip or take gossip seriously. They value traditions and respect more than anything else. They were educated quite strictly but it has done this person good. If they're a man, they were taught how to treat women fairly and consider them as their equal. If they're a woman, they were taught to support and uplift other women. They have a lot of knowledge and like to learn. They like to be challenged and mentally stimulated. They enjoy psychology, reading, writing. They know how to set boundaries and be ruthless in certain situations but they're also empathetic, able to compromise and find solutions that are beneficial to everyone. They feel very feminine. They take after the feminine figures in their life, especially their mother. They are nurturing and protective. They like to value others but also inspire and be inspired. They aren't afraid of being vulnerable, of making mistakes or stepping into the unknown. They have a lot of love to give. They are very romantic, even idealistic and naive at times. This person coul be a teacher or a healer of some kind. They were taught never to judge nor to belittle, never to think of themselves as superior to anyone, never to deny anyone of their love, respect or help. They gladly share what they have, help people out, show the way when needed. They are a chosen leader. They don't aspire to be one but people end up following them because of their sincere and pure nature. They have a lot of charisma and natural charm that doesn't feel forceful. They're in tune with their emotions and understand others' well. I'm getting that for some of you, this person enjoys poetry and/or romance novels.

Extra info - S E L I M A T A I I T U I R A

Words I picked up on : Selim, Selima, Rituals, trials, meat, Islam, rate, mates, teams, salute, émirats (French for emirates), emails, Italie (Italy), sutra, tiramisu, restau ( short for restaurant in French), amitié (French for friendship), Mauri (people from Mauritania), militaire (French for military), Mistral, Australia, Lisa, Asia, Israel, serial, laser, taser, Semirat, Rasul (Arabic for Prophet/messenger), Sami, Sam, Salima, Salim, Salem, Salam, Ismail, Smail, Islem, Tiamat, Tiamut, Mali

Group 3 👑♥️

Their looks - queen of pentacles, 6 of swords, 10 of wands, ace of pentacles, Death, The Lovers, Get Curious, The Sovereign

They look athletic and agile, a bit like a monkey. I thought of pirates for this group. I'm kinda picturing Monkey D. Luffy. This person could be a One Piece fan. They may have some similarities with this character. For those of you that don't know who this is, here's a GIF of the character to kinda get an idea (it's the guy in red).

Their limbs could be super stretchy lmao They just appear very trustworthy but also a bit reckless. But more than that, they look like they've been through a lot of stuff. Despite that, they're still pretty optimistic and want to believe in humanity. Just like the character, I guess. They look like the world's weight relies on their shoulders. They could have dark hair and eyes. They also look really young and unique. Their style can be a bit surprising. Like maybe they wear stuff that's not considered typical for people like them. They like rather flowy clothes that make them feel at ease. They also like contrast. They experiment a lot with their clothing style. So they can switch from one extreme to the other depending on their mood. It's like everything suits them. There's always something regal about them. They have a long neck or the way they stand and carry themselves makes them look like they come from a noble family. They always walk or talk slowly, they have an intense gaze. Key features of this person could be arms and eyes. They have this mischievous glint in their eyes, one that says "life is fun and if you don't think like that then I'm gonna make sure you do when you're with me". Honestly they're mostly a goofball and people might not take them very seriously based on their looks.

Their personality - 4 of pentacles, king of pentacles, Death, 2 of swords, Wheel of fortune, King of cups, The Pillar, Compassion

This person is deep. What they show is nothing compared to who they are. They are so mature and wise people would be shocked once they know them. They hide a lot of their scars, their doubts, their wealth and abundance. They don't trust people easily. They have to make sure you're worthy first. But once they trust you they give you their all. They have a happy go lucky personality with the people they trust the most. But they are ruthless with the ones they don't like. They have a strong moral compass and support their loved ones whole heartedly. This really matches Luffy's energy. If they feel like someone was unfairly treated, they would do anything in their power to get retribution for them. They may have a savior complex. They think rationally and take everything seriously, even the little things. They are dedicated to their work and their loved ones. They are an example for people around them. They like to take under their wing people that have been hurt, left behind or misjudged because they know what it feels like to be rejected or misunderstood. Their mind can get a bit negative sometimes. They tend to be harsh on themselves but extremely kind toward others.

Extra info - M U R R A K E A A Z E Y O N B

Words I picked up on : bronze, key, year, Amazon, bear, aroma, Kobe, Azurro, Manabu, bee, Roza, Zakary, Zakarya, Ryuk, Ruben, Roy, Akon, Marzo(March), May, Bron, Ryan, Marny, Zayn, karma, Roma, mabrouk (Arabic for blessed/lucky/prosperous), amaze, amen (either the Latin expression to end prayers), aman (Kabyle for water), Mary, Mauro, Amano, Arman, Armen, Korea, Zara, armor, amore, Kenya, Keny, Mokran, Yen, Ben, zen, yakuza, Kurama, Yan

[grindsta]

GAME FEATURES

THIS IS A REALLY LONG POST

There are SO MANY features in The Sims 3 that I keep learning more and more each day, so I decided to start keeping track of all of them. Some of these I've known myself, but most of them come from Reddit and TS Forum.

I'll keep on updating everytime I find new things.

Features are under the cut!

Gameplay

Careers/University/Skills

You can sign autographs as a rock star by clicking on a random building (bookstore, theater, stadium, etc.) and make cash. You can only do it once a week and have them perform the action yourself (similar to the vaccination event you do as a doctor).

If you send a Sim to college, you can get a financial aid grant every 24 hours. Just click on the administration building and select “apply for financial aid”. The better your grades, the more money you’ll get.

Traveling to the past with ambition’s time machine, random events will change your household’s present. (Change careers or add family members).

Sims who reach the highest criminal career level glow red. This is bad for relationships with Sims with Good, Friendly, and Family Oriented traits.  Having maxed out the Charisma skill will mostly prevent it, or even throw “Jar of Friendship” potion at them. Although it is good for relationships with Sims with Evil and Insane traits.

When some rectangles of one (or more) skill is highlighted, it’s because it’s the requirement for the Sim job.

If you protest about low wages, you have the possibility of increasing the wages of everyone.

Parent Sims can have a wish for their kids to have specific careers.

You will get gifts for working on your job for 5 years.

 Singer Sims could sell their albums to other Sims.

 If you click on your Sim work building when they’re at work, you can demand a raise. but if their mood is bad or their relationship with their boss is bad, this can get them fired. You can also go out with your boss and ask for a promotion.

Sims can die while you’re lifeguarding.

Your Sim can get caught if they call in fake sick.

Sims in the medical career can follow up with patients by calling them.

You can fry beetles if you are an evil private investigator (if you have a magnifying glass).

Your Sim can be an evil politician.

Ghost hunters can “appease ghosts” at the graveyard.

Lifeguard and firefighter sims can “demonstrate CPR” on another Sim as a romantic action.

You can select what type of sandcastle to build if you have a high enough skill.

Your Sim can get tattooed and tattoo other Sims. It’s a hidden skill that, if low, tattoos will look like child drawings. You can also get the tattoo removed.

Maids

Some maids actually don’t do their work, you have to fire them so a new one comes up, and is, hopefully, better.

Most Maids will have at least neat and/or perfectionists, brave and flirty, or charismatic traits. Some Maids are also Kleptomaniacs. Exceptions to this are: Delicia Hoover from Bridgeport and Simon Swift from Barnacle Bay, they are Slobs, which means they will never actually clean your House.

Maids will quit if they see Bonehilda in your house.

Toddler/Child/Teen

Kids will gain skills if someone reads them skill books to sleep.

When a witch sim does their homework they accidentally get it done all at once by magic. They grab the blue notebook, but the green bar completes itself immediately and they look confused for a second. In case they fail to do homework by magic, their whole body gets burnt. 

When children and teens are asleep, you can click on them to select a dream, and then they’ll wake up with a moodlet related to it. While the moodlet is active, you can get a special moodlet if their dream comes true. While still sleeping, the game will notify if the dream turned into a nightmare and they will get a negative moodlet.

Toddlers and Kids can build hidden skills with certain toys.

You can put kids in time out and they will stand in a corner crying.

Toys can go on the crib.

Babies can get diaper rash if using the changing station from The Sims 3 Store.

If you take a child of the bouncer, they get bratty and mad.

Children can hold a bear while talking to an adult.

Kids can read the newspapers to see what baked goods sell better.

When you get robbed children can get the lifetime wish to become a cop or a thief. They can also want to become a doctor after seeing someone dying or getting a new sibling, become a musician after seeing someone jam, become a creature robot cross-breeder after seeing a ghost. become a firefighter after a house fire, become a magician after seeing a sim use their magic, become a singer while singing with their imaginary friend.

Child witch Sims have stabilizers on their brooms.

Kids can get sick from prison food.

Your Sim can chat with toddlers through their Teddy Bears.

Parents can play with their toddlers in the ocean.

Children inherit the effects of some Genie Wishes.

Your Sim can get detention if they slack off in school.

You can create custom and random baby DNA at the hospital.

Children can fight teens. 

Parents will have a higher friendship level with their baby with an at home birth than a hospital birth.

Traits

Inappropriate sims can take sponge baths from a sink.

Your Sim can have a hidden trait called “advanced art training” earned by completing the “Skilled Painting” opportunity acquired through working in the art appraiser career. Sims with this trait can paint paintings of any skill level (0 to 9), instead of paintings appropriate only to their painting skill level.

Bookworm sims can join the book club by computer and get mailed books.

Unlucky Sims can’t die. But they can die of transmutation and leave a golden statue.

Party Animals Sims can dance on top of the counter.

Mermaids with the Evil trait can spawn sharks.

Sims with the Green Thumb Trait can Revive Dead Plants.

Brave Sims can ask for a raise.

Frugal Sims will cut coupons from the newspaper.

Daredevil Sims can “play with fire”, and will stick their hands in the fire and pull them back out until their fun motive is full.

If your Sim has the hydrophobic trait they cannot Woohoo or Try for Baby in the shower.

Being in Bot mode (Bot fan trait) will keep your sim from aging.

Sims with the daredevil trait can eat bugs.

Sims who have the childish trait have the option to read a toddler’s book like any other. Others will get the message “Sim can only read this book to a toddler.”

The Good trait Sims could accuse of being meanspirited.

Sims with the Good trait can donate to charity.

Sims with the “Never Nude” trait shower in their bathing clothes.

Moodlets

If you click on a negative need moodlet, the game will have the sim do the activity to fill that need.

If you gift your child Sims too many times in a row, they get a “spoiled” moodlet.

The creepy magical gnome (the one that kinda looks like a devil) will sometimes spawn next to your Sims bed at night with glowing red eyes. Your Sims can get a creeped out moodlet.

Buy a baby, toddler, or child a teddy bear because it gives them a special moodlet when they sleep while having it in their inventory.

You get a moodlet when you have a blog and something from the blog’s theme happens in your Sims real life.

The “rejuvenated” and “completely at ease” moodlet prevents the horrified noodlet from exploring the catacombs.

Sims can make snow angels face down, and when they do, they get the frosty face moodlet.

Mourning over the dead Sim’s gravestone would reduce the negative effect of “Mourning” moodlet.

If you send too many secret admirers texts to the wrong Sim, they will receive a negative “being stalked” moodlet.

You get a moodlet saying “Brrrr! This is cold!” when your Sim sits on ice furniture.

When swimming in the snow you will get a moodlet saying “Polar Bear Club”.

Romance/Woohoo

You can woohoo or make out behind the scenes at the theater hall if you have two romantically involved Sims visit at the same time. It works for any rabbit hole you can visit (town hall, military base, science lab…).

Using the Time Machine to Try for a Baby in the past will result in a biological teen showing up later that day.

Try Online Dating on the computer.

If your Sim is dating someone and that someone is dating someone else, you can tell them they are cheating.

Sims gets a fertility boost after getting a romantic massage.

Sims can get kicked out of theaters for woohooing.

You can give a cinnamon kiss when you flavored your food with it.

If a Sim marries a plumbot the creator of said plumbot officially becomes their parent-in-law.

If your Sim feels betrayed from an unfaithful marriage they can rebound kiss.

Money

To make money, go to the science skill tree until you have enough skill to take samples from gems, and then clone them using the science station.

Adopt a bunch of dogs or have a werewolf Sim and make them hunt.

Go through the trash of wealthy households.

Experiment on bugs until you get a plasma bug then sample and clone it. A cat with high-level Hunting skills will also catch them occasionally.

Master the Martial Arts skill and break space rocks on the board breaker and get lots of valuable gems.

Paintings appreciate in value over time and are the best sold when the Sim dies.

Miner holes are treasure chests. You can also make several holes into a cave system. 

If you have a philosopher’s stone, you can turn pretty much anything into gold. You run the risk of your sim turning into gold and therefore dying. However, if you have a death flower in your inventory you don’t die and you get to keep the gold statue of your sim - making tones of money because of it.

Pets

If you’re cooking food and have a pet, you can throw scraps to them that they will eat.

You can have a rock as a pet.

You can breed fish.

If a pet bowl is outside, any other animal can eat from it.

Gnomes can encourage and discourage cats and dogs on your lot.

Your Sim can pet their dog while they are lying on the couch.

Horses will eat and destroy the newspaper.

When pet birds die, their bodies don’t disappear, they lay there until cleaned up.

Two small dogs can eat from the automatic feeder at once.

Pets can eat garden plants.

Dogs can howl and cats can meow along with instruments.

Your Sim can drop a fish from your inventory onto the ground and their cat can eat it.

If your Sim dog uses the guard-the-house interaction, it will actually bark at any strays that happen to come by your door.

Foals will get a negative moodlet if their mother isn’t around. However, if a Sim gives lots of love and feeds it when it’s hungry, in a couple of days the moodlet changes to a positive one saying that it’s not missing the mother anymore because of all the care you provided

Death

There are only two graveyards in the game with fully unique and custom graves, and no generic ones. They are the graveyards of Sunset Valley and Riverview. Appaloosa Plains is unique in that it has a pet graveyard.

Burning, electrocution, and starvation are by far the most common causes of death among the preexisting graves, with old age being surprisingly common. 

If you make a ghost Sim as a playable Sim and have them paint, all their paintings will get the Simoleon bonus to value from the painter being dead.

Your pets can save your Sim from death.

You can have funerals when a Sim from your household dies.

Small tombstone: Dies before 75,000 lifetime happiness points. Medium tombstone: Dies between 75,000 and 149,000 lifetime happiness points. Large tombstone: Dies at 150,000 and above lifetime happiness points.

Sims Graves have different emblems on them depicting how they died; flames, hands reaching out of water, shark jaws, etc. 

Expansions

You can discover islands on Island Paradiso.

Isla Paradiso is full of hidden chests on secret islands.

Sunlight charm spell changes a wolf to their human form.

Some Supernatural portraits & paintings (marked with purple border in Build Buy) change during a Full Moon.

Vampires can raid the hospital and the grocery store. 

Misc

When out in the ocean, the Kraken can appear. It can attack and sink your Sims small houseboat. It can spawn into Sunset Valley & Lucky Palms if you go out to the furthest point of the water.

If you have a microphone from university life in your inventory, your Sim can greet other Sims by shouting in their face.

You can plant cheese and eggs.

You can upgrade umbrellas.

You can store elixirs in the fridge.

You can waterski.

Sims can mess up an alchemy spell and become a toad.

Birthday cakes can catch on fire.

There are types of objects that aren’t in the catalog that you can make in the toy machine.

If your sims mess up the weather stone, it can rain flowers.

You can open a tab at a bar and if you can’t pay it, they will add it to your bills.

Aliens can steal space rocks from the science lab.

If you steal someone’s clothes after skinny dipping, they’re too mortified to go again.

If your sims are on fire, they can put themselves out in a shower or bathtub. They also put themselves out in dive wells from World Adventures and if you have a shower in a can.

You can upload your Sim sketches and paintings to the digital frames.

Sims can send thank you notes after receiving wedding gifts.

You can place snack bowls on island countertops.

You can announce aptitude test results to other sims.

Not all adult sims get a Midlife Crisis and there are variables involved.

You can go to therapy during a midlife crisis.

Sims who have body hair can get it waxed.

If you place a professional bar at a gym, with a mixologist, they can make protein shakes for your sims and a weird wheat grass-type drinks, graveyards have the tombstone topper and others. The library has basic drinks but one is “alien brain” and is a skill drink and stacks on the library moodlet and the supernatural bonus, so reading skill books takes way less time. 

Sim can free criminals from jail with the mining tool.

Celebrities can’t be abducted by aliens.

You can throw herbs at the fireplace, and it will give you a moodlet that varies depending on what herb you have.

Selling objects in the Consignment store is something you can improve over time.

Your Sim can sue people for slander at City Hall when you’re a celebrity and they spread rumors about you.

You can get arrested for harvesting someone else's plants.

Details

The stones at the bottom of the fishbowl change depending on what you put in it.

Artistic, Can’t Stand Art, Computer Whiz, Evil, Genius, Gloomy, Insane, Neurotic, and Virtuoso Sims all have different and unique painting styles.

Fish can spontaneously breed if you put them in fish tanks.

If you are being robbed, and the police come to put the burglar in handcuffs by their car, while they search your house, you can click on the burglar to set them free. They will even thank you for doing so, promising to make it up to you, although they never do.

Cats can jump onto Sim’s lap and they can pet them.

You can drag the greeting card into a big digital frame.

You can get a “wrong number” call.

Clones will be attracted to the cloned Sim.

Cats can sleep on newspapers.

Sims can get a dirtbag reputation if caught cheating. If caught a lot of times, they get a slimeball reputation.

You can “Play in Sand” in the spots where you painted the terrain with sand.

If you have a big dog and a puppy or a cat and a kitten, they can cuddle together in a big pet bed.

Different bars will serve different food depending on the lot type. You can get onion rings, nachos, and hot wings at the normal lower-tier bars but olive platters and shrimp cocktails are reserved for fancy places like exclusive lounges, vampire lounges, and art galleries. 

Sims can get sick eating bar food at the lower-end bars.

You can preview a house before you buy it by clicking on the magnifying glass.

Sims can chat on the bunkbed and interact on the playpen.

Try using “Disco tags” in the cheats menu (Ctrl+Shift+C) and go to the map view.

Sims can read lying on the beach towel.

You can style the time machine.

Bonehilda will fight robbers.

Hydrophobic sims won’t accept a fishbowl as a gift.

Simbots have 0’s and 1’s instead of zzz’s.

Male Sims can leave the toilet sit up.

Sunglasses have the reflex of the world.

There are 6 types of snowman - classic, evil, tragic clown, hockey, Grim Reaper, and alien.

With no couch, sims will play video games sitting on the ground.

There’s a city in the background of the university world.

Sims can have different sitting positions.

When your Sim spouse dies and comes back to life, they come back divorced.

Horses can ride boats.

When Plumbots pee themselves, oil is what gets on the floor.

If you place a rubber duck on the bathtub, Sims play with it while they bathe. If you place “World’s Brew Bubble Bath”, they will have a bubble bath.

You can change the colors of the street lights.

You get a popup when a pregnant Sim enters a costume party (it reveals the number of hours left for the pregnancy to end).

Store items come with new skills.

You can expand the inventory and relationship tab by dragging it.

Your Sim only earns LHP when your Sims mood is in the “bubble” on the Mood Meter,

If a Sim’s mood drops all the way to the bottom (-100), the Sim may simply refuse to do anything, even if directed to by the player. You can send them on vacation but if they become depressed on their vacation, it will be necessary to send them home.

The volcano in Sunlit Tides can erupt.

Ants crawl in and out of a public picnic basket carrying food.

Every time a Sims learning the Painting skill sells a painting directly from the easel there is a 20% chance that the painting will replace a wall decoration item in the local art gallery.

You can spy on neighbors with tab mode.

Your Sims can get bitten by mosquitos.

Sims can chat with other sims while cooking.

Friends can bring their kids over to play with yours.

Resort Staff NPCs sweep the floors of the resort.

Sims can get nauseous from foods with herbs.

Sims with the Asian Culture trait use chopsticks to eat rather than knives and forks.

Ghosts can swim in swimming pools but you can’t see their body under the surface of the water.

You can double-click on the save file you want to play on the main menu screen and it will start the game.

When you have the cheapest washing machine and your Sim tries to stop it from shaking, you will get a “Victory Over Washer” moodlet.

Magic gnomes spawn at random when you do related activities.

The trash bed in buydebug makes you stinky.

If you put your bird cage outside it might fly away.

The doors on cars matter, if a car has 2 doors, 2 Sims will get in, if a car has 4 doors, 4 (or 5) Sims get in. Also, babies and toddlers will be held by their parents inside the car.

You can wax your Sims, and when you do, their body hair will appear again after a while.

If lightning strikes vehicles during a storm, it will completely destroyed them.

If a Sim is performing an interaction related to a trait, the trait will be highlighted.

You can get a graduation gnome that “hides in your books” during university classes.

Create-a-style

You can drag the whole palette to other objects so they get the same style.

You can swap patterns by dragging one of them onto the dividing line next to the other.

You can randomize patterns + colors by right-clicking on the swatches.

Right-clicking on the color above the color wheel, the game will give you a more appealing color (a different shade) than the one you have selected.

CAS

Right-clicking the icons at the top of CAS randomizes that part of clothing you are on.

You can have hairstyles in different outfits.

Build-Buy

Plants change in size as you place them.

You can make custom object collections.

If you typed in the cheat moveobjects on you can move sims by just clicking on them (on Build Buy mode).

You can set seasonal decor on your home lot to auto-change if you place the debug marker and then decorate accordingly.

 If you press alt when building a foundation, you can change the height of it.

You can paint ceilings.

Mods

If you play with NRAAS Story Progression, no vampires or celebs will be in your town unless you specifically say you want them.

[mellowsadistic]

Once your wife/girlfriend is back in diapers, don’t be coy about them. Don’t call them “protection” or “incontinence briefs”. Always refer to them as nappies/diapers, or else by the brand name of a baby diaper like Huggies or Pampers (even if they’re not actually that type). Don't let her act like a grown woman with a medical problem. You want her to feel like an overgrown toddler who's too immature for potty training.

Similarly, don’t use mature-sounding euphemisms for what she does in her diapers. She hasn’t “gone number two” or “had a BM”. She's pooped her pants. She's made a stinky. Don't be discreet if you think she needs changing either. Nappies are a core part of her life now; people are going to find out sooner or later anyway, so check her Pampers frequently, even in public, and be sure to comment loudly on what you find. “Oh sweetheart, you wet yourself again? Honestly, you’re as bad as a two-year-old!”

Lastly, when it comes actually using her diapers, don't let her toddle off to find a quiet corner and some privacy. Make it clear she's expected to put on a show, at least when it’s just the two of you. She should be embarrassed, but not shy. Have her march up to you and announce what she’s about to do in her pants. Have her say it proudly, with a big smile on her blushing face, before she squats down, sticks out her bottom, and makes a humiliating spectacle of herself for you. I guarantee all that pesky pride of hers will be gone in no time.

[adverbally]

Think of the Tender Things

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Keep breathing, please.’” | wc: 773 | rated: T | cw: hospital, premature baby | tags: adoption, new parent anxiety, hopeful ending | title from “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” by Simple Minds

———

The NICU has its own window, far enough from the regular nursery to seem intentional. It makes sense to Eddie, theoretically speaking— keep the preemies and the sick babies away from the healthy ones so the comparison isn’t so startling. It just doesn’t work that well if they have to walk past the full-term nursery anyway.

They pause to observe the fat, happy newborns who will be going home in the next day or two. They’re all chubby cheeks and chunky limbs, round little tummies swaddled tightly with matching caps on their heads, just like the parenting books advertise.

Steve’s hand squeezes his, and Eddie knows he’s feeling the same thing: that’s how it should’ve been, and all of the guilt and fear and bitterness that goes along with that line of thinking.

They keep walking down the hall until they reach the door indicating the special care nursery. The glass there is smaller, since fewer babies fit in a room when they’re surrounded with incubators and ventilators and monitors galore.

The second bassinet from the right has a card with a stork that says “Baby Boy Munson” and wow, that’s going to take some time to get used to. Eddie gets closer, almost pressing his nose against the glass, to get a better look.

“He’s so small,” Steve says beside him. “I figured he would be, but…”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. It says right there on the little card: three pounds, thirteen ounces. Sixteen inches long. Not the smallest baby there but noticeably smaller than the ones they just walked past. “A lot of hair, too.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet after that. There’s not much they can comment on before they have to acknowledge the fact that they’ve just become adoptive parents a full two months ahead of schedule.

Their son (holy shit) seems even smaller with the tubes and wires obscuring him. Eddie identifies an oxygen cannula, a feeding tube, chest leads, an IV, and a blood pressure cuff, plus a few other lines he doesn’t know the purpose of. When you factor in a diaper that seems to dwarf half of his tiny body, there’s barely any skin visible. And from what Eddie understands, they’re lucky that more serious care isn’t necessary.

“Thirty-two weeks. That’s not… it could be worse,” Steve said after they got the call from the adoption agency that morning. The whole drive to the hospital, he rambled about lung maturity and the suck/swallow reflex and birth weight, going into one of Eddie’s ears and out the other as he tried to focus on the road.

Steve was the one who read all the books. Even the parts about premature births and what could go wrong throughout the pregnancy. “I’d just rather know and be prepared,” he explained. “Just to cover our bases.”

Eddie had skipped those chapters. It felt like bad luck, like tempting fate or something, as if avoiding it would prevent anything from happening. In retrospect, he wishes he had more of a clue about what’s going on, what their future will look like.

Any future seems far away when the present is so uncertain. Eddie watches his son squirm, with his too-long limbs and his too-big head, and he watches his chest rise and fall with each breath. His tiny lungs are working and he’s moving and none of his machines are beeping, and that has to be enough for now.

Just keep breathing, please, he thinks desperately. Keep growing and getting stronger and we’ll worry about the rest later.

When Steve breaks the silence, his voice is small. “Do you think we can hold him? Or, or touch him, at least?”

Eddie doesn’t want to. He knows it’s just his anxiety talking, but he’s terrified that he’ll pull some essential line or do something wrong. He was supposed to have another two months to prepare for this. How do people prepare for this?

“Ed, are you okay?” Steve’s voice startles him back into awareness.

“Yeah, just…” He pauses to think about how to say it without alarming Steve. He settles on, “I’m scared.”

Steve throws his arms around Eddie’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m scared, too,” he confesses in a whisper. “I think we’re gonna keep being scared for the next eighteen years, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Eddie tucks his nose just under Steve’s ear and breathes him in, sweet shampoo and hints of spicy cologne in the collar of his jacket. They stay like that for long moments before Eddie sighs and pulls away with a decisive nod. “Okay. Let’s go meet our son.”

[regressionschool]

BBQ and pull-ups

The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the backyard as two daddies sat comfortably in lawn chairs. The smell of grilled burgers filled the air, but their attention was focused less on the barbecue and more on the two women crawling around the grass nearby, playing with colorful plastic blocks. Their wives, dressed in matching pastel rompers with thick, crinkly diapers peeking out from beneath, giggled and babbled softly as they built little towers, completely absorbed in their play.

David leaned back in his chair, a cool drink in hand as he watched his wife, Claire, carefully stack one block on top of another. She was concentrating so hard, her pacifier bobbing gently in her mouth as she worked. Beside her, Mike’s wife, Lucy, giggled as she knocked over Claire’s tower, clapping her hands in delight. Claire pouted, but only for a moment before joining in on the laughter, the playful energy between them contagious.

Mike chuckled, shaking his head. “They’re always like that, aren’t they? One minute building something, the next tearing it all down.”

David grinned, glancing at his friend. “Yeah, it’s like they never get tired of it. You’d think after playing with the same blocks every day, they’d be bored, but nope. They’re just happy to do the same thing over and over again.”

Mike nodded in agreement, watching as Lucy crawled over to a nearby stuffed bear, hugging it tightly. Her diaper crinkled loudly with every movement, the unmistakable sound a constant reminder of their little roles. “Speaking of the same thing,” Mike started, his tone shifting slightly, “I’ve been thinking about trying to reintroduce potty training with Lucy.”

David raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Potty training? Really? After all this time?”

Mike shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I know it sounds crazy. She’s been in diapers for over two years now, but I don’t know, I’ve been thinking it might be worth a shot. Maybe pull-ups, just to see how she handles it.”

David leaned forward, intrigued but skeptical. “Pull-ups? I don’t know, man. Why would you want to go through all that hassle? Diapers work perfectly fine. No mess, no fuss. She doesn’t even think about using the potty anymore.”

Mike scratched the back of his head, clearly conflicted. “I get that, but... part of me wonders if she could handle a little more responsibility, you know? Maybe give her a chance to grow up a bit, see if she’s ready for it.”

David smirked, shaking his head. “Trust me, Claire’s been in diapers just as long, and I wouldn’t dream of going back to potty training. She’s too far gone at this point. It’s just easier this way. Besides, you know how many accidents they’d have in pull-ups? I’d be changing them constantly.”

Mike laughed. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right about that. But pull-ups could be a nice middle ground, don’t you think? They’re still padded enough for accidents, but it would give Lucy a little more independence. At least she’d feel when she’s wet, instead of just going and not realizing it.”

David leaned back, crossing his arms. “That’s the thing, though. Do you really want her to feel when she’s wet? I mean, the whole point of diapers is to keep them blissfully unaware. It’s part of the appeal, isn’t it? They don’t have to worry about accidents because they don’t even realize they’re happening. Why give her a reason to think about it?”

Mike thought for a moment, his eyes drifting to Lucy, who was now happily stacking blocks with Claire again. Her diaper crinkled loudly with every little shift, the soft bulge beneath her romper proof that she had already wet herself at least once since they started playing.

“I guess that’s true,” Mike admitted. “But don’t you ever wonder if maybe they could handle just a little bit more responsibility? I’m not talking about making them fully potty-trained or anything. Just... seeing if they could manage pull-ups, at least during the day.”

David chuckled, shaking his head. “Honestly, no. I’m perfectly happy with Claire in diapers. She’s comfortable, I don’t have to worry about accidents, and she’s completely dependent on me. Why change that? Potty training is just going to stress her out.”

As if on cue, Claire glanced up at them, her pacifier still in her mouth, and crawled over to David’s chair, pulling herself up on the armrest. She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, her diaper crinkling as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Hi, sweetie,” David cooed, reaching down to stroke her hair. “Are you having fun?”

Claire nodded, her pacifier bobbing as she sucked on it contentedly.

David smiled, glancing down at her diaper. It was obvious she had wet herself a while ago, the padding around her waist swollen and slightly discolored, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. It was just part of her life now, something she didn’t think about.

“See?” David said, looking up at Mike. “She’s perfectly happy, even though she’s wet. No fuss, no tantrums. She doesn’t even realize she’s had an accident. That’s what diapers are for, to keep them comfortable and carefree.”

Mike watched the interaction, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just... I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one who feels like it’s time for her to grow up a little.”

David grinned. “If you want her to grow up, that’s fine. But you have to ask yourself, is she really ready? Or is this more about you wanting to see if she can handle it?”

Mike sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re probably right. Every time I think about trying pull-ups, I remember how much easier things are with diapers. No accidents to clean up, no stress for her. And she’s so used to them now...”

David chuckled. “Exactly. Why make things harder for yourself? Besides, can you imagine the chaos if you tried potty training and it didn’t work out? You’d be dealing with accidents everywhere, not to mention how frustrated Lucy would get.”

Mike smiled, glancing over at his wife, who was now lying on her back in the grass, hugging her stuffed bear and babbling softly to herself. Her diaper was clearly wet, but she didn’t seem to care, completely lost in her own little world.

“Yeah,” Mike said softly. “She does look pretty happy like this.”

David grinned, watching as Claire crawled back to the blocks, joining Lucy in their game. “Exactly. Diapers keep them happy, comfortable, and stress-free. Why mess with that?”

Mike nodded, his mind now clearer. “You’re right. Maybe I was overthinking it. Pull-ups might give her more responsibility, but honestly? I kind of like her like this—carefree and innocent. I don’t want her to worry about accidents.”

David smiled, satisfied. “That’s the spirit. Besides, do you really want to deal with all that extra work? Potty training sounds good in theory, but diapers are way easier. No need to rush them into growing up.”

Mike laughed, shaking his head. “You’re right. Diapers it is, then. I’ll leave the potty training for another lifetime.”

The two men shared a chuckle, the debate settled as they watched their wives play happily in the grass, their thick, crinkly diapers on full display, proof that they were right where they belonged.

As the afternoon wore on, Mike felt a sense of relief wash over him. Watching Lucy babble away, her face filled with innocent joy, he realized that David was right—there was no need to push her to grow up. Diapers kept her safe, comfortable, and blissfully unaware of any accidents she might have. And in the end, that’s all that really mattered.

Just then, Lucy crawled over to Mike’s chair, her diaper sagging slightly as she looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. Mike reached down, ruffling her hair gently. “Hey, princess. You having fun?”

Lucy nodded, her pacifier still firmly in place.

Mike glanced down at her diaper, noticing the bulge. She was definitely wet. But just like Claire, she hadn’t noticed. And that’s how it should be, he realized. She was happy, carefree, and completely dependent on him—and there was something deeply comforting in that.

Smiling to himself, Mike decided then and there: no pull-ups, no potty training. Lucy was his baby, and diapers were exactly where she belonged.

[here-comes-the-moose]

Bad Batch As People on a Family Road Trip

Hunter

The driver. It used to be Tech but he was banned from driving on long road trips, so Hunter had to take over.

Made them leave twenty minutes later than schedule because he decided that when they were getting into the car was the perfect time to use the restroom.

In charge of the music (he’s playing typical American dad on a road trip music). To everyone’s horror, he sings along (I headcanon that he cannot sing for shit).

Regularly reaching his hand back for snacks.

Will get annoyed at least once and threaten to turn the car around.

Somehow knows which route will take them by the best spot to stop for food.

Constantly checking on his siblings to see how they are doing. Mostly Crosshair.

Wrecker

Sitting in the back with Omega.

Constantly asking Echo for snacks and sharing with Omega.

Got bored halfway through Sleeping Beauty and decided to try and annoy Tech.

Kept trying not to laugh with Omega after Hunter yelled at them, but was actually solemn when Echo yelled at them.

Lets Omega rest on his shoulder.

Encourages Hunter’s singing and sings along with him occasionally.

Falls asleep in the last half hour of the trip.

Tech

Banned from driving because the last time he drove on a road trip he made Crosshair throw up twice and gave Hunter a migraine.

Just listens to podcasts now and stares out the window, occasionally pointing things out to Omega. Also texting a lot with Phee and occasionally smiling at his phone, causing Echo to tease him a bit.

Starts the most random conversations out of the blue. He’s just like me fr

At one rest stop he noticed Crosshair looking particularly pale, so he wordlessly disappeared to buy some cold cans of ginger ale for him to have in the cooler if he needed them.

Got so annoyed at Wrecker kicking his chair that he actually snapped and said some curse words. Echo and Hunter were not impressed.

Crosshair

Passenger Princess because he gets carsick.

His carsickness is the reason the AC is on full blast and everyone in the car either has on a sweater or sweatshirt or a blanket draped over themselves.

The only one who gets to ask to take a break outside of Hunter’s pre-planned schedule.

Was very touched by Tech buying him some soda when he wasn’t feeling that great.

Doesn’t talk much during the trip, mostly just stares at the road in front of him, drinks the ginger ale Tech got him or eats some crackers, or tries to take a nap until they get to wherever they’re going.

Complains about Hunter’s singing and music, but secretly enjoys it since it helps to distract him from how awful he feels.

Echo

Has a large bag with everything they might possibly need, from medicine to snacks to essential oils to hand sanitizer to barf bags. His brothers started calling it the diaper bag. He points out that they’re the ones who use it the most, so what does that make them?

Only person fussing over Crosshair more than Hunter. Constantly asking if he needs more ginger ale, meds, crackers, or a bag. Crosshair would find it endearing if it wasn’t so annoying.

Lost his cool and yelled at Tech and Wrecker for fighting, which made the whole car sit in tense silence for about twenty minutes.

Brought a cooler full of snacks and drinks for the car and to have at their final destination so they don’t need to go shopping.

Omega

The reason for the road trip.

Watching Disney movies with Wrecker in the backseat.

Ends up taking a little nap after lunch on Wrecker’s shoulder.

Convinces her brothers to get a sweet treat from a random drive-thru after lunch.

Also points out things she sees through the window, mostly so she and Tech can chat about them.