I remember when I was a kid, lost and alone with my feelings.

I was a bed wetter at an early age, and had to wear diapers to bed almost every night. I don’t know what my folks thought at the time, maybe they just figured it was another part of raising an autistic kid.

And I found myself loving every second I wore them. The coziness, the noise they make, and yes, even the thrill of waking up wet. Padding has been one of the single most formative things in my life, to the point where I simply wouldn’t be me without the fixation.

I’m on the Asexual/Aromantic spectrum, people and their bodies either don’t interest or otherwise disgust me. But through my kinks, I’ve found and made lasting relationships like nothing else before.

I’m out now. Out as Queer, out as Transgender, and yes, out as a Little. My friends and family know and support me, even if some don’t fully understand it.

And I remember, making my own secret FurAffinity account, ages and ages ago. I remember following Talisment back when he was a Prinny centric artist, I remember when Found and Shine started, and I remember learning for the first time that Matt, my favorite character in a little web comic called Concession had a diaper fetish.

I spent years of my life, secretly logging into this obscure little account in incognito tabs. I remember changing the age of my account so I could admire ALL the art my favorite artists made. I remember feeling my first ever thrill reading a story about a guy crossdressing in a cheerleader outfit and being inducted into an inner circle of hypnotized femboys. My first ever experience of gender euphoria and envy, an urge to be more girly.

I remember the cringe fanart I made, the supportive comments from artists I admired, and I remember all the while thinking that what I loved was shameful, and that I would keep my secret with me to the grave.

It’s years later now, I’m older and wiser, nearing my 30’s, and accepting that I can’t change who I am, nor do I ever want to.

But now I’m watching as my community is being ousted. I’m watching artists get banned from patreon and having their livelihoods put at risk. I’m watching as FurAffinity and it’s new management is steadily banning countless accounts, and deleting countless works in their pursuit to scrub us from the site.

Make no mistake, this is bigotry.

And it’s nothing new. Outsiders look at us, feel a guttural sense of repulsion, and operate with the assumption it’s righteous to feel that way. They think “I have good taste, this seems tasteless, therefor these people deserve everything bad.”

If I may use some terminology from Judith Butler, we are Abjectified, made into non-people. Not alive, not real, not worth consideration or respect. Things to be seen as objectively evil. If anyone shows they care about what happens to us, that’s seen as suspicious. Because who would ever help THOSE “people?”

And now, as I watch the world continue to spin as it always has, and the winds change in ways they always do, I think about the future.

I think about where to go, and what to do.

When I wrote The Joys of Youth at the End of The World, I had the goal in mind of creating something that could be shared and appreciated by even people who didn’t share our interest. A story that used diapers for comedic effect, while giving an earnest look into WHY we like these things.

It is my hope, my dream, that this book will one day be finished. That it will be published. And through the right channels of public domain law, that it will be made open to the public. To artists. For iteration, emulation, redistribution, and contribution.

I want Joys to be something anyone can add to, that anyone can make something out of.

Free as in Free Speech, not free beer.

Open Source, to its core.

But to do this, I have to first make sure that what I make is visible to the public. I need people to see, to observe, and to help it grow through support and fandom.

And so I think to the future, and where I can go from here.

Because I can’t live on a sinking ship.

I can’t just let my projects stay in onedrive where google can decide it indecent and remove me. I can’t keep it here, where any wrong move will have me banned. And I can’t keep it on a flash drive, for something so small can be easily lost.

I don’t know where my art is going. I don’t know where it will be safe.

But I fear, my friends, that this is the end of my journey on FurAffinity.

The website that helped me to explore feelings no school could have taught me about. This website I used to hold dear. Has made it known that I and people like me are the enemy.

So. I search now for better places. Greener pastures.

In the hopes of finding the safe haven we all need.

I don’t know where I’ll be posting from here. If anyone knows any good alternatives, I’d welcome them.

I leave you with a poem. I don’t know if everyone will agree it fits. This poem is about fighting for a better life. Not just for better wages, to feed and house ourselves. Nor is it only about fighting for women’s rights to have these things as well. But rather, to have MORE than what you need. To not only live, but live comfortably. To feed your stomach, and to feed your heart as well.

When I think of this poem, I remember my past self, young and lost. I remember how she found comfort in art from her community, which made her feel like it was okay to be herself. Art that showed she wasn’t alone.

And I think of the next generation, and what art they will consume. I think of who they’ll look up to, and where they will learn to feel accepted. And it is my hope, dear friends, that their stories will not be unlike mine. And that they too will learn to live life without shame.

My name is Luna Stardust, and I thank you for joining me on this ride.



“As we come marching, marching, in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill-lofts gray
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing, "Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses."

As we come marching, marching, we battle, too, for men—
For they are women's children and we mother them again.
Our days shall not be sweated from birth until life closes—
Hearts starve as well as bodies: Give us Bread, but give us Roses.

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient song of Bread;
Small art and love and beauty their trudging spirits knew—
Yes, it is Bread we fight for—but we fight for Roses, too.

As we come marching, marching, we bring the Greater Days—
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler—ten that toil where one reposes—
But a sharing of life's glories: Bread and Roses, Bread and Roses.”

— James Oppenheim, 1911.