Story #144: Creating Content (Part 1)

Story #144: Creating Content (Part 1) (Part 6 to 'The Poo-Poo Doll') (Content tags: messy diapers, humiliation, intelligence loss, general grossness, creepy stalker antagonist, mushbrained antagonist, supernatural, ongoing story) What had been an attempt to casually sneak into his room had become a rather public fiasco and it'd only taken a matter of minutes. Marie's shrieking voice had summoned the youngest of their family, and he'd been all too happy to hear that his big brother was adopting a similar fashion choice to him. What tyke wouldn't be jazzed to have some solidarity with someone he looked up to? Between the Cookie Monster shirt, the vibrant shorts, and the plainly obvious diaper bulge, he could practically be 'twins' with Calvin! The primary difference between the two of them would be their age, and with that came size, maturity, and intellect; if Renard were to get his way, then at least two of those would soon become moot points. Explaining why he was wearing what he was wearing was troublesome. The clothes could be explained away as him having fallen in a puddle or some mud, but why wear the diaper? Why not just go commando? He couldn't explain it, not while he was frazzled. "Go away! Leave me alone!" Hadn't worked. His blushing cheeks and nervous stutter had accentuated the intrigue involved in his current wardrobe. Neither his sister or brother simply wanted to leave him be, without better elaboration, and Pascal wasn't willing to do that. Honesty would be a slippery slope down, where he'd have to admit not only the harrassment he'd endured, but the humiliation of the accidents as well. His parents already knew *why* their son had gone to 'tutor' this boy, and Pascal hadn't been completely truthful with them either. They'd gotten a call from the school about him using the slur and 'othering' his classmate, but Pascal had been too embarrassed to defend himself properly by talking about the inappropriate behavior. He'd have to think of something though, because his little sister had grown impatient with his fumbling of words, and she was bringing down the hammer: "Mom! Dad! Pascal's wearing a DIAPER!" Her tattling, like the shrill screech of a banshee, echoed off the walls of the hall. The girl folded her arms and offered a smug grin of victory, knowing now that Pascal would have to come up with some sort of real answer. They didn't come up the stairs, but they did call up and demand that he come back to the living room. Dejectedly, he heeded their words and slunk back down the stairs with his head down. Every bowed step giving a crinkle. They made him pull down his pants to reveal the padded garment, and looked pretty shocked when he did. Thus would begin a very awkward conversation about why he was wearing it and where he had gotten it. The 'where' was easy. He reminded them that he had gone to tutor a classmate with 'special needs'; he was careful in how he worded it, making sure to be as politically correct as possible. His parents had been appalled to hear that he'd said 'retard', which spoke to their much more liberal bent than most of the town they'd moved to. The 'why' was where he had to be more thoughtful. Pascal didn't want to talk about how he'd been strong-armed into drinking real milk, or that he'd messed himself more than once while at the tutoring session. He knew he wouldn't get in any trouble for it, since his issues with lactose were not his fault, but it was mortifying to admit. So he instead decided to appeal to their sense of empathy. Pascal told his parents a complete lie about how he had wanted to 'walk a mile in Renard's moccasins' and make him feel better about himself, so he'd dressed like him. It was much further than Pascal would ever be willing to go, but it'd make him look good, and hopefully that'd be the end of it. His parents seemed to believe his story, ir perhaps wanted to believe that their son was so upstanding. They commended his efforts and sent him back along his way. Pascal already realized a major problem with his story as he went back up the stairs: 'why hadn't he dressed back normally before coming home?' The streamer bit his lip, hoping that his folks weren't left thinking that this mile was actually going to be a marathon. The last thing he wanted was for them to expect that he'd be dressing like a giant toddler for the rest of the week. His two younger siblings had been further up on the stairs, so that they could eavesdrop on his conversation. They scattered whenever they saw Pascal coming back up and the older boy rolled his eyes at how nosy they were. It probably wasn't the story they wanted to hear, but one they'd have to accept. Getting back into his room had taken forever. This whole day had felt like it'd taken forever. Now as he stood in the middle of his room, with the door shut and being given merciful solitude, he was having doubts about streaming tonight. He felt mentally and emotionally drained from everything that had happened, and his gut still felt off too. He knew he had an obligation, but the thought of faking enthusiasm when all he wanted was to sleep, it was miserable. Besides his mental state, he was also terrified that he might accidentally crap himself on stream; that dinner at Renard's house had obliterated the delicate balance in his intestines. It felt so dodgy that he was contemplating keeping the diaper on. And then there was Renard. Gleefully, with slobber and snot marring his face, he'd told Pascal that he never missed a video. Was his biggest fan really a retarded pamper-packing creep? Would Renard be watching tonight while Pascal streamed? The delusion and obsession that Renard was characterized by was a toxic cocktail of crazy that made Pascal profoundly uncomfortable. The boy sighed and stripped down to just his diaper and socks. If he knew the username that Renard used, then he could at least block the weirdo, but that would hardly be an effective deterrent. Trying to talk to Renard's mother was also a non-starter. There was no defense that he could really employ here, except to hope that Renard grew bored and became obsessed with someone else. It was either plow through it or shut down all his hard work. The price of fame sometimes meant dealing with freaks. He couldn't allow Renard's vile behavior to determine what the fate of his online career would be; that would be giving the mushbrain far more power than he deserved. He started to get dressed, looking bashfully at the mirror in his bedroom as he did. While pulling on a shirt, his eyes kept getting drawn to the nursery-printed pillow between his thighs; it was a constant reminder of all the worse things that had come out of today. Pascal wanted nothing more than to peel it off, but the sour feeling in his stomach stopped his hands at the tapes. He put on some loose-fitting track pants over the garment and checked himself out in the mirror, to make sure that it wasn't noticeable. Pascal wasn't making content tonight that would show off the lower half of his body, but still, the self-conscious feeling remained. The boy went and sat at his computer. As much as hated to admit it, the diaper made for a pretty comfortable cushion to rest his rear on. If there wasn't a massive stigma, then he could see the function of these tardpants being for leisure, instead of for soiling. His computer turned on and he started to set everything up. The first thing he did was push through a notification that he'd be going online in the next ten minutes; that way, his viewers would have a chance to enter the stream before he started. Tonight would be gaming, which was one of the easier forms of content that he made; it would be perfect for how he needed to relax this evening. Parsing through the many options in his Steam library, his attention fell onto Hollow Knight. He'd played it a couple of times on stream already, so there wouldn't be any need to learn how to play; he could just pick back up where he left off and game for an hour or so. His confidence was far too shattered to be playing something competitive or social right now, so this game would be perfect to relax to. Pascal put on his headset and adjusted his camera. It was showtime! Meanwhile, Renard had been basking in the radiant warmth of his own dung-packed diaper. The 'poo-poo doll' had been placed in front of him as he sat in the closed closet, he sniffed deeply while he sat there, hot-boxing the putrid fumes of his fresh load and the less pungent smells of the other dirtied diapers. It was hard to stay focused, even more-so than it would be normally for him. The odor hanging so thick in the air, it just made his brain feel so much softer than normal; the contents of his diaper and of his mind didn't seem that far apart. He had to push himself to lock in though. Remembering how he'd once made the voodoo doll that'd made him like this was no easy task; bayou magic was complex stuff, and a wrong step could very well cause a rebound like last time. Something did feel different this time though, like failure had no punishments left to give. Last time had been like he was given a chainsaw to perform surgery with, but this time it was like he was handed a log instead to cut into. His practical skills and intelligence had slipped into oblivion, but that actually might work in his favor. This was no normal voodoo doll, after all. This was a 'poo-poo' doll! Crafted from the stained, smelly balled-up diapers he'd hoarded for this exact purpose. His goal was far more humble than mind-control, far less refined too. The feral feelings of 'want' that pervaded his every thought would work in his favor. He didn't want to control Pascal this time, he just wanted to ruin him. It was the difference between fixing a painting and flinging mud on it. Another wet fart spewed into his mushy seat and he let out a happy little moan at the surprise rumble. His only thoughts were about Pascal and poopies, and those thoughts would be sloppily inscribed into the construction of this doll. The balled-up diapers connected to eachother seemingly magically. Each one was not only filled with filth, but with purpose and intent, and that is what imbued them with the necessary magic. The bubbling muck inside his current diaper acted almost as a well of power too, giving him power to finish this first version of the doll. It took thirteen dirty diapers in total to construct the doll; twelve of his own and the thirteenth being the most important, which had come from Pascal. Once the final connection had been made, the diaper that acted as the 'head' gave a faint glow and a familiar face was drawn in a crude brown color. It was Pascal. Renard was downright giddy at the sight. His eyes got wide and he leaned forward to pick the doll up, "Poo-poo doll!" He exclaimed in victory, another wet toot sputtering out. Before he could enjoy his creation any further, he heard a muffled 'ding' from outside the closet. It was familiar and filled him with almost a pavlovian response; that was the sound that was made whenever Pascal announced an impending stream! It was something that he'd never forgotten in his induced idiocy. The lumpy-seated retard scrambled awkwardly to his feet and picked up the smelly doll to take back out with him. "Pascy gonna play!" Whether it was watching the boy play video games, or unboxing toys, or critiquing cartoons, Renard never wanted to miss a moment of it. He still had his computer in his room, even after the rest of his furnishings had become more juvenile; it was something that he didn't necessarily have the intelligence to use well, but more the memory. He could still click the mouse on the 'star' that had his favorites, and while he couldn't really read any more, he could still identify which links to click. Renard understood a lot less the things that the videos were about, but that wasn't the part of the content that he was enamored with. As long as it had Pascal, it would grip his attention. He waddled laboriously to his chair, which was one of the things that'd been 'babified' after his incident. No longer a sleek desk chair, but a colorful plastic one. Something that wouldn't be hard to clean in the very likely scenario where his diaper sprung a nasty leak. Renard's squishy butt slammed into the chair and he sat the doll in his lap, like it was a little tot. With his uncoordinated fingers, he rapidly tapped at the mouse to get into the stream that'd been announced. Luckily for him, he made it into the stream with a couple of minutes to spare. His eyes drifted down at the doll that crudely bore the face of his obsession. The doll was complete now, wasn't it? So surely that would mean that Pascal would appear on stream as a drooling moron that was as obsessed with dirty diapers as he was! Wouldn't it? Renard was excited to see that. A sense of victory tingled in his head. What kind of streams could the star now do, which would better suit his transformed state? Messing himself on camera? Or perhaps doing sniff reviews of dirty diapers? Showing off his pail and talking about which diapers were best to dookie in? The possibilities seemed endless. Perhaps Renard could even become a co-star! But then his dreams died in front of him. The stream started, and the very normal looking face of Pascal appeared on the screen. No drool, no boogers, no lack of comprehension in his eyes. "Hey! Your favorite pog-champ here! Tonight we'll be dipping back into the the land of bugs with--" Renard stopped listening, just watching with a shocked expression. The doll was obviously imbued with his magic and his intent, was it not? Even if that magic was rather...poopy, something *should* have happened! Pascal was talking in complete sentences, coming across just as normal as ever, save for maybe the less energetic delivery. Renard was angry. He furrowed his brow and got red in the face. "Nnnghhhh!" Spittle flew from his mouth onto the screen and he lifted his rear from the chair a few inches. **SPPPLLLART!** In his boiling fury, he let loose an explosive deluge of rage-fueled mush. The putrid muck flooded the back of his already badly pooed diaper and was forced to travel underneath the puffy road between the seat and crotch of the garment. "PASCY S'POSTA BE POO-POO TARD!" He shouted at the computer, as if berating the monitor for being unjust. He squinted his eye and again felt his body shudder as another tidal surge of sludge erupted from him and splattered his tardpants. How could he even enjoy being so stinky, when his boy-toy to be was still unaffected by his ritual? Something was still missing. Renard took another look at the 'doll' he had made, and wondered if there wasn't yet enough of a proper 'connection' being made between it and Pascal. It was difficult to recall anything about voodoo from before, but something told him that the doll was still too weak to reshape Pascal in the way that Renard wanted. Only one of the thirteen diapers belonged to the streamer, so perhaps it was only a fraction as effective as it could be? Maybe the doll also could use some more work? It didn't even have any 'clothes' to call its own! Renard got up again, his diaper sagging precariously as he did, and the contents noisily sloshing around with each step. He found a real baby doll and took the shirt from it, putting it on his precious 'Pascal', and now he just needed something to put on its lower half; it felt silly to put another diaper on something that was already basically a golem made of diapers, but it was proper, was it not? He considered getting a new one out of the drawer, or even a dirty one from the pail, but then he glanced down at his own current 'situation'. Nice and fresh! Only the best for his boy. With a deluded giggle, he fiddled with the tapes and took the heavy diaper off. It was going to go on the doll now, which was starting to look less like a pile of balled-up diapers. Something unexpected was about to happen on Pascal's little stream.