Of Cats' Dreams and Coddled Cutie Co-Hosts (Patreon)

Author’s Note: The following was an entry into a contest for the Dear Jazzie Podcast (where we answer all of life’s kinky questions).  The rules were to write a 1-5k Short story featuring the show’s titular host, Jasmine Starshine and her Co-Hostess with the Mostess FawnyABDL.  Now that the contest has passed, I am free to share.

https://www.atoddswithgod.com/

https://www.patreon.com/jasminestarshine

***********************************************************************************************************
Gentle Reader,

Atoms may be the building block of the universe, but it is conscious thought and whimsical fantasy that reality itself is built upon. If enough sentient beings agree on something, then the universe itself makes it true.  Platypi are mammals because enough people think they are, despite the fact that they lay eggs.  Birds are living dinosaurs only because we conceptualize them being so, or else they would otherwise have remained distant strangers who have maybe only vaguely heard of one another.

It’s more than just a matter of scientific categorization, too. Reality itself has been retroactively rearranged (or retconned as the young people prefer to call it) in and out of existence an innumerable amount of times.

The world was once ruled by giant house cats till a hundred tiny naked humans dreamt otherwise. Presently, they have never ruled and are relegated to being handheld bundles of fluff that serve few if any practical purposes save to ruin furniture and weigh down laps . Should a hundred house cats all dream the same, they will have always been our rulers once more and Gumbie cats will teach us to sing and dance before eating us whole.

How fortunate it is that getting even a hundred cats to all do the same thing at once would require yet another miracle of reality altering proportions.

The strings of truth and reality are not always plucked in such radical and world altering ways, either, Gentle Reader.  

Zeus and his ilk did not reside upon Olympus until the Greeks thought so in unison. Then when they got over the notion and moved onto other, bigger deities, the gods left and had never been there, (though not without complaint).

Nor is this phenomenon limited to the ancient world or require the population of an entire civilization to manifest. If as few as two people can agree on something and their thoughts, wishes, desires, and whatnot sync up accordingly at precisely the right moment, entire lives can be resculpted.  As recently as 1971, a mother and daughter have switched places due to their mutual jealousy and desire for one another’s lives.  Granted, said documented occurrence was later novelized and then adapted into a mediocre Disney Movie, but the point still stands.

For magic to happen, no more than two people need to broadcast the exact same thought at the exact same time out into the heavens and aether.  It’s harder than it sounds, but on the rare occasions when it happens, the stuff of dreams and nightmares comes to pass.  Everything else is simply a matter of show and spectacle. Spellbooks, incense, magic rings, lamps, and circles of salt or piles of entrails are exactly as useful as a crow’s feather held aloft by a baby elephant’s trunk.

It doesn’t even have to happen on purpose or with intent.

None of this flashed through Fawny’s mind. She had much bigger concerns; like getting her panties back.

“Daddy!” She whined. “I don’t wanna wear diapers!”

Her Daddy flipped over the first stack of pancakes.  “I’m well aware, dear.”

Wearing nothing but a baggy sleep shirt and a crinkly pink diaper poking out the bottom, Fawny did not look like the beacon of maturity she knew she was. Her forehead was almost as hot as the pancake griddle, and it took considerable willpower not to stamp her foot in frustration.

Who could blame her for being so put off? Daddy had come into her bedroom first thing in the morning, and instead of cleaning her up and popping open a pair of panties the way he usually did, he kept her laid down and slipped a new diaper underneath her.

She’d had her diaper changed. Like a baby. It was enough to make any big girl properly cross.

“It’s not fair,” she said. Her lip pouted out despite her best efforts to contain it. “I’m not a baby!”

Daddy pivoted around and set a stack of pancakes down. “No one said you’re a baby,” he corrected her.

Despite her reservations, Fawny was drawn closer to the breakfast table by the smells of the delectable flapjacks. Only when she was seated did she need to raise her head to maintain eye contact with her Daddy.  “Then why do I have to go to a daycare?” she asked, a hint of whining despair coloring her inflection.  “Why do I have to wear diapers?”

Calmly, her Daddy smeared butter and poured syrup all over the morning’s feast. With the patience of a saint and the coordination of a hibachi chef, he cut the stack into neat bite size pieces as he explained.

“Because school’s out,” Daddy told her. “Daddy still needs to work and you need someone to look after you.” He handed the fork to her and doubled back to pour some milk to wash it all down with. “So you’re going to daycare. It’s not forever. Just for the summer.”

Fawny took a forkful of pancake pieces and stuffed them in her mouth. She chewed them daintily with her lips closed and swallowed.  “But why diapers?” she asked again. “I don’t have to wear diapers at school.”

Daddy put a bendy straw inside Fawny’s glass and placed it beside her plate. At least it wasn’t in a sippy cup. “Diapers aren’t allowed at school,” he told her. “They are here.”

“But everyone will make fun of me,” the girl fretted. “They’ll call me a baby!

“No they won’t,” Daddy reassured her. “All the others will be in diapers, too. You’ll be the biggest kid there.”

Fawny took another bite of pancakes, despite her appetite waning. “Okay, but that’s worse,” she replied. “You do see how that’s worse, right?”

Daddy sighed and tried another tack. “You’re not a baby, Fawny. No one thinks that, I swear.  Just sometimes you get so preoccupied with what you’re doing that you forget to go to the bathroom on time. And the teachers at this daycare are really busy taking care of the actual babies that they might not have time to remind you.” He waited a beat for his words to sink in. “I’m just having you wear them to make it easier on everybody.”

At the mention of her past potty problems, Fawny eyed the straw as though it were a poisonous snake. “So I don’t have to use my diapers?”

A soft smile from Daddy. “Not at all. They’re ‘just in case’ diapers.”

Fawny stuck out her tongue involuntarily in disgust. In her experience, ‘just in case’ never meant ‘just in case’.  

Daddy kept talking. “Nobody but the teachers will even know you’re wearing one,” he promised.  “If you need to go, just find a teacher and they’ll take you to the bathroom, just like at school.”

“And if I forget?”

“They’ll help clean you up.”

Flashbacks as recent as fifteen minutes ago flashed across Fawny’s mind. Images of her on some daycare changing table with her skirt hiked up and her diaper fully exposed made the pancakes in her mouth turn to sand.   A resentful eyebrow arched up above the rim of her glasses. “You mean like you did this morning?”

Daddy had the good grace to look ashamed when she said that.  “You’re right, I shouldn’t have surprised you like that.” He finally took a seat and started to eat the remaining pancakes. “If you have an accident, they’ll just quietly take you to the bathroom, and help you clean up, and then you can get back to playing.”

Fawny supposed she could live with that, as long as nobody tried sticking their fingers down her pants or anything. Fork still in hand, she leaned over and took a long sip of milk.  “Will I have to take a nap?”

“Yes,” Daddy answered without hesitation. “You’re not in first grade, yet.”

Damnit.  Oh well.  It was worth a shot.

Fawny blinked to herself. She wasn’t supposed to know that word.How’d it get into her inner monologue? For that matter, how did ‘inner monologue’ get into her inner monologue? How old was she again?

The oldest kid in daycare and still in diapers. That’s all that mattered.

A new thought came to the forefront of Fawny’s mind. “I’m going to be the biggest kid at daycare?”

Daddy nodded and swallowed more of his breakfast.  “Yep.”

“Does that mean I could…” she tried to search for the right word, “...help?”

“Help?”

“As in…babysit?”

“I think you’re too little to babysit, honey,” Daddy chuckled softly. “And I don’t think they’d want your help changing diapers or feeding lunch.”

Fawny’s nose wrinkled. Ew! Not what she wanted, anyways. Still… “But I could tell a teacher if a baby needed a change…?  And I could pass out snacks to some of the bigger babies…? Or give them a bottle…?”  She did that thing that adults do when they were both making a statement and asking a question at the same time, with the last word of every sentence going up a note.

Daddy’s brow knitted in contemplation. “Yeah. I suppose that’d be alright. We’ll have to check with the teachers, though.”

More possibilities were starting to build up inside of her. “And I could play peekaboo with them. And make funny faces!  And read some books to them! And show them my dollies!  And reach stuff up high for them!”

There was no hint of uncertainty here.  Fawny might be the biggest kid still in diapers at this place, but she’d still be the biggest kid. That came with privileges and responsibilities!

“I could play with them!” she rambled on excitedly, bouncing in her seat. “Show them how to be big like me! Help take care of them!”

And if she got so busy that she forgot to go potty it would just be because she was doing something more important. Like legos, or dollies. Or teaching the little ones about different kinds of bugs.  It wouldn’t be like any of them could make it in time either.

Daddy scratched his mustache lightly with his thumb.  “Sure,” he agreed. “You can be a good example at nap time, too. Lay down without a fight so they know not to be fussy, either.”

Fawny rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she droned.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now go back to your room and start getting dressed. You’ll want to look your best.”

Fawny’s eyes widened and a smile crept its way back onto her face. Babies definitely couldn’t dress themselves. Nor did they have her inimitable sense of fashion.

‘Inimitable’. There was another word the Kindergartener didn’t know how she knew.  How odd.  As she got up from the breakfast table and skipped back to her bedroom, Fawny ignored the intrusive crinkle that came with every step. She ignored certain intrusive thoughts as well.

**************************************************************************************************
Something was off about today, but Jazzie couldn’t quite put their finger on it.

That morning, Jazzie woke up in a sopping wet diaper. That was pretty normal. It was the same one she’d gone to bed wearing, so that wasn’t what was off.  Daddy had come in, lifted her out of her crib, cleaned her up and put her in a new one followed by a clean purple onesie.  

Said diaper was now presently wet, because it had been almost forty five minutes since her Daddy had changed her and fed her breakfast.  Wet, but not soaked. Very familiar. Fairly standard.

For some reason, however, Jazzie couldn’t help but feel something was deeply wrong about their situation.  All the way to daycare that morning they felt as if they’d forgotten something.  It made their temples itch with anxiety and guilt, the way anxiety and willful procrastination tends to.  Like skipping band practice or putting off an editing session for a well paying but utterly annoying client.  

Oh gosh!

“Daddy!”  She called up from her carseat. “Speckles?! Is Speckles okay, Daddy?”

Jazzie’s Daddy gazed lovingly at her from the rear view mirror, dark eyes smiling with adoration.  “As far as I know, Princess,” he said. “Why?”

No! Something was wrong!  “Where is he?” Jazzie was shaking so hard that she was practically vibrating against the tight straps of her car seat (and not in the fun way).

“Last I checked, he was back in your nursery,” Daddy replied matter of factly.

Jazzie closed their eyes and tried to remember the way her nursery had been set up this morning. Crib? Check. Changing table? Check.  Speckles? Okay, yes. Speckles had been right in the corner where he belonged.

Eyes closed, Jazzie tilted her head back and exhaled, newly content to doze until she got to daycare.

Daycare?

Something about that thought stuck in Jazzie’s craw. Did they normally go to daycare? They certainly went to something a lot like daycare, with lots of people just like them, waddling around and playing. And there were dear friends and people who took care of them instead of Daddy so it certainly felt like daycare. However, that was…seasonal.   

Daycare was everyday.

What would Jazzie be doing normally? She didn’t know, but she felt she should.  Something about taking her dick and taping it to her thighs?  That didn’t make any sense.

“Uh oh,” Daddy chimed in, breaking Jazzie’s concentration.  “Someone’s got a case of the morning grumps!”

Jazzie’s eyes popped open, bewildered. “Wha-?

“I know how to fix that!” Daddy cooed. “One…two…three!” A big strong hand pointed backwards at Jazzie and Daddy shouted in the most teasing yet loving way possible: “BAAAAAAAAAAABY!”

Jazzie shrunk down in her seat, blushing and covering her face. “Nuh-uh.” she said, loving all the blushy attention he was giving her.

“Oh really?” Daddy said back to her. “Then what are you?”

Jazzie peaked out from behind their fingers. “BARK!”

“Bark?” Daddy pretended not to understand. “You’re a bark?”

“Mm..mm…!”  Jazzie shook their head. “BARK!”

A flash of understanding in the rearview mirror.  “Oooooh!” Daddy said. “You’re a puppy, now. Is that it?”

Jazzie nodded and wiggled her butt in her seat.  “BARK!”

“Okay,” Daddy said. “You can be my little puppy.”

“BARK!”

Existential crisis forgotten, Jazzie ‘barked’ and ‘woofed’ all the way to daycare, as she did most everyday.
*****************************************************************************************************

“And this must be Fawny!” The daycare teacher said. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Fawny!”

Fawny took her dress and performed a curtsy. “It’s nice to meet you, too, ma’am!” she chirped.

The grown-up reached out and gave Fawny a pat on the head. This seemed odd considering she was at about the same height as the girl, but Fawny couldn’t articulate why that was odd. This was forgotten the instant the teacher said, “I love that cute little dress of yours.”

“Thank you!” Fawny beamed, and gave another curtsy. “I made it myself!”

The teacher put her hands to her cheeks and gasped. “Oh my! Really? All by yourself?”

Fawny flashed a toothy grin and nodded, feeling terribly proud. “Yes, ma’am.”

“My goodness you’re such a big girl!” the grown-up praised. “Sewing all that all by yourself? How old are you?”

Fawny started to tell her but then froze. “I’m…!  I’m… I’m…”   Her smile melted like wax. “I forgot.”

“She just graduated Kindergarten,” her Daddy explained.

The teacher bobbed her head up and down appreciatively. “That is big!” she agreed. “Are you ready to be a big helper for us here today?”

Fawny’s smile immediately returned to her. “Yes, ma’am!”

The new teacher opened the door and bid Fawny enter. “Then go on in and make yourself at home.”  Fawny trotted in but paused at the threshold.  She looked back over her shoulder and saw her Daddy handing over a pink backpack filled with Fawny’s ‘just in case’ diapers.  “Go on,” the teacher shooed. “I just need to check with your Daddy about a few things.”

Daddy blew her a kiss, sending her on her way.

“Why couldn’t I remember my age?” Fawny whispered to herself.  “Why can’t I still?”

The kindergartener walked into the daycare, scanning for playmates and toys. Little girls and boys ran around screaming joyfully in various states of undress, all obviously padded and oblivious to their lack of modesty.  Plastic toys were being smacked together as impromptu musical instruments.  Little babies rolled aimlessly on the floor, racing crawlers. Toddlers played ‘Restaurant’ with artificial food.

This all felt familiar.

Vaguely familiar.

Kind of babyish, but fun.  Fawny could learn to like it here. Being a big girl fish in a little baby pond could definitely have its advantages.  It certainly seemed better than a positively ‘mid’ coke orgy.

Fawny gasped. How did she know that? She…she…

“Thirty,” Fawny gasped in realization. “I’m thirty!”  Neither the teacher nor Daddy had needed to stoop to pat her on the head or make eye contact because she was the exact same height as them.  Upon closer inspection, she realized that none of the other ‘children’ actually were, either.

“Fuck…” the young woman hissed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”  Without hesitation she pinched the top of her hand as hard as she could.  Imagine her disappointment when the pain did not cause her to awaken in her house in Canada, safe in her bed.

To borrow and bastardize from far more eloquent wordsmiths: There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in most philosophies, and after one has eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever’s left must be the truth no matter how batshit improbable it seems.  

“I’m in a story,” Fawny realized. Just thinking of herself as ‘Fawny’ made that part seem obvious.  And considering that this wasn’t sensual and delightfully poetic yet realistic fiction, she highly doubted Darleen Lattle was involved.  That likely meant…

Oh no!

Equal parts terrified and annoyed to the point of numbness, Fawny couldn’t think of anything else to do in that moment of revelation other than to nervously bite her lip and stare down at the floor. She had a bad feeling that she wouldn’t be making it to the potty after all.  “At least I’ve got a ton of chapters and an erratic release schedule…” she muttered darkly to herself.

Who knows…maybe this was just a Sophie & Pudding joint. They sometimes had happy endings.

“Could be worse,” Fawny said in order to keep herself sane. “At least it’s not the Diaper Dimension.”

Her sardonic pondering as a defense mechanism was disrupted however, by the sound of sobbing.  Not just any sobbing, either.

***********************************************************************************************

Jazzie spent the first few forevers that day losing herself in the joy of play.  Running. Spinning. Rolling. Building things up. Knocking them down. Playing fetch. It was so fun being little! One of the best things in the world!  

At some point, Jazzie planned to take the daycare’s mega bloks and stack them into a giant space marine.  She might even snatch the finger paints and customize them like her miniatures at home!

Worlds! Biggest! Miniature! How sweet would that be?

The baby stopped and furrowed her brow, confused. Why did ‘being little’ sound temporary in her mind? If Jazzie had always been a baby, wouldn’t they lack any competing experience to compare it with?

These thoughts all felt…not wrong…but incongruous with something a baby might think.

How the hell did they know the word ‘incongruous’?!

A rumble from inside her brought more immediate matters to Jazzie’s attention.  “Teacher!” Jazzie called out for help. “Teeeeacher?!”

One of the daycare’s teachers practically glided into view. “Yes, baby?”

“Teacher…teacher!” Jazzie said, holding her stomach. “Can I…” their face turned bright pink. “Is it okay if I make pushies?”

“Pushies?” the grown-up mused. “What do you mean? Are you saying you want a turn on the baby swing?”

“No,” Jazzie said, then corrected herself. “Well, also yes, but that’s not what I was asking about.” She took a deep breath and did her best to communicate her needs. “I mean…is it okay if I…y’know…?” One look at the teacher told Jazzie that the grown-up didn’t know.  “Poop my diaper…?” she choked out.

“Oh, Jazzie!” the teacher laughed. “Of course it is! Why are you even asking? You’re far too little to even hold it in! Are you trying to pretend to be a big girl?”

“No!” Jazzie gasped. “I just didn’t want to violate your consent, is all.”

“Awwww,” the teacher said and pinched Jazzie on the cheeks. “How precious! Babies don’t understand consent!”

Two things happened then and there:  The first was that Jasmine Starshine came fully back to herself. The second thing was that her body gave out and she uncontrollably filled her pants, pushing a steaming behemoth into the seat of her already wet diaper.

Jazzie was gazing off into the middle distance as the mess expanded in the back of their diaper, ballooning out her onesie as more and more of her personal mud forced its way past cheeks unable to clench.  With each push and exhale, came a deluge of memories from another life; one interrupted if not stolen.

Their legs started to wobble, and with a final grunt, Jazzie lost balance and landed sitting spread eagle on the daycare floor.

Completely overwhelmed, Jazzie did what was perhaps the most natural thing for anyone to do in this present situation, regardless of age. “Great!” Jazzie sobbed. “Now I need some crazy magic bullshit AND a diaper change!”

********************************************************************************
Gentle Reader,

The primary reason why so many children’s stories feature a singular protagonist is that the world is a fundamentally scary place when you’re by yourself, and much less so when you’ve someone else to turn to.  Hansel and Gretel conquered the Witch of the Black Forest solely because they had one another. Wendy Darling had her brothers and the puckish Peter Pan as a guide through Never Land. Perhaps Alice wouldn’t have found Wonderland quite so mad if she’d been able to turn to another little girl like herself and ask “Are you seeing the same shit that I’m seeing?”

Jazzie was sobbing like a banshee, terrified out of her mind. She wanted her job. She wanted her life. She wanted her Daddy! Her real Daddy! Not the mindfucked facsimile that had driven her here.

In her fear and panic, she needed comfort and certainty. A familiar face. An understanding ear. They wanted Grey. Or Nif. Or Joe. Or Chloe. Or…or…

“Jazzie?”

Jazzie lifted their head.  She lifted her glasses and wiped tears from her eyes.  She knew that voice.  She’d heard it long before she’d met its source in person, but it was near and dear to her in so many ways.  “Fawny?”

Standing over her, and dressed like a Kindergartener to Jazzie’s baby, was Fawny.  Her co-host and partner in crime eyed her wearily.  “Is it really you?” Fawny asked.

Jazzie sniffled and wiped her nose with her forearm.  “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

As if by instinct, Jazzie lifted a hand up from the carpet and reached out toward Fawny. Thumb angled out and down and fingers bunched together and crooked like a claw. Fawny’s eyes sparkled with recognition. She mirrored the gesture and touched her hand to Jazzie’s, thumbs pressing against each other at the tips, and fingernails and first knuckles of each hand kissing.

Two halves forming a whole heart.

“It is you!” Jazzie shouted!  She gathered her legs underneath her and shot up.

Fawny met her friend halfway, practically picking Jazzie the rest of the way up off the floor. “It’s you, too!”

They cackled in nervous relief, just glad to be two sane people in a world gone mad.

“So,” Fawny said when they finally had the nerve to let go of one another. “I think we’re in an AR trap.”

Jazzie’s face fell.  She’d reached the same conclusion, but hearing someone else say it made it all too real. “What kind?” A beat. “Darleen Lattle?” she asked hopefully.

Fawny put her hand on Jazzie’s shoulder as a gesture of comfort. “I think it’s Pers.”

The fear of imminent ego death gripped Jazzie by the heart. “Oh noooooo!” they howled. “We are so boned!”

“Yeah,” Fawny sighed dejectedly. “And not even in the sexy way.”

Well past denial and anger, Jasmine Starshine barreled through to bargaining.  “Maybe this will be okay,” she said. “Perpetual Change has some wholesome vibes. What if this is like Perpetual Change?”

“I haven’t touched it,” Fawny admitted. “Does it have a happy ending?”

Jazzie sunk back down to her knees, her tears and anguish renewed. “I don’t knooooooow! I’VE NEVER FINISHED IT!”

The two renewed their embrace, seen by the other residents of this cursed place as nothing more than a toddler giving a slightly older toddler a hug.

“It’s okay,” Fawny promised. “I’m here.  You’re here.  We’ll get out of here.”

“How?” Jazzie squeaked.

“I don’t know,” Fawny admitted. “But we’ll figure it out.’

Jazzie hugged her back for what felt like the thousandth time. “Okay…” she whimpered. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“And who knows,” Fawny added. “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah,” Jazzie agreed. “Yeah. You’re right. This could be fun.”

“Sure it could.” Fawny said. “But um…Jazzie?”  

“Yeah, Fawny?”

Fawny leaned up closely and discretely whispered in Jazzie’s ear. “I think you need a change.”

“Yeah,” Jazzie whispered back.  “I really do.’

Fawny, the bigger girl (at least in this version of reality) stood up. “I’ll go get a teacher.”

“Thank you,” Jazzie sniffled. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”
*************************************************************************************
And so it came to pass that the duo spent that summer together, living in an altered world where they were seen as different yet no less true versions of themselves.  It wasn’t bad at all, actually.  After about a week of futile escape attempts and baseless theorizing they eventually began to enjoy themselves and share a summer of childhood fun neither one had gotten to experience the first time around.

Sleepovers were had.  Games were played. Tea parties attended. Elaborate improvisational concerts and plays using classroom instruments and finger puppets were created on the fly and then promptly forgotten after the curtain dropped.  

On the weekends, water wings were adorned near pools that inflated and only required a garden hose to fill. Cuddles and hugs were aplenty, but only the sort that two innocents might share together.  

There was even a ‘time out’ or two with smirking grins and hissed declarations of “worth it”.

And yes, ‘accidents’ and the resulting natural consequences of said events occurred, but it really wasn’t all that exciting after day three or four.  The whole bizarre shebang ended up feeling normal. Blessedly, blessedly, normal. Enough for them to forget their troubles for a time.

But as so many things eventually do, the pair found themselves back in our world. And just like the gods of Olympus or the mother and daughter of Freaky Friday, when the pair found themselves back in their (relatively) mundane homes one late July evening, finding that no time seemed to have passed, they assumed it had all been a dream and it quickly faded back into their respective souls’ subconscious.

It was real, Gentle Reader. It was real. Where do you think I get my stories from? My imagination?

Ha!

It is to laugh!

Still, it felt right to share this with them. Let them know what really happened. They are both very good friends of mine and I’d like to think they’d appreciate knowing about the events that transpired; even if it is all just a so-called silly story by now.

How did I do it?  How did I send them on this wonderful whimsical reprieve?

There’s the secret: I didn’t.  Writers are but the receivers and recorders of the worlds other than these. We are the scribes of the histories that no longer happened, not the architects.

If not me, then who, you ask?

To topple the human race in favor of the felines, it would require a hundred cats all having the same dream at the same time.

For a summer’s worth of daycare in a world without responsibilities or shame, it would only require two very special people accidentally thinking the same thought.  

The same two thoughts, actually:  “Gosh, I need a break” and “I can’t wait to see them again.”

-Personalias