Sprint for  thelostone in which his teddiursa character, Petie, has a close encounter of the adorable kind with an automatic closet that diapers him and dresses him like a girly infant.

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Story Text: (Download for better formatting)

Sprint for ThelostOne

“Now, Mrs. Ursaring,” the mankey salesperson said, standing on top of some crazy rectangular machine the size of a small bedroom and talking in a voice that was intended to be heard by the entirety of the thirty people or more that had gathered for the demonstration, “would you be so kind as to let me borrow your oh, so adorable toddler for our little demonstration, here?” he said, pointing to Petie, the Ursaring’s undersized teenage son who was, at that time, following along behind his mother, tethered to her by one of her large, furry paws.
“H-hey! I’m not a toddler,” Petie said, giving a shot of embarrassment up at the mankey, his cheeks flushing pink in the process.
The Pokémon salesman looked a little shocked, but raised an eyebrow and replied, “well, that’s no problem! The Jenny Auto Closet can change kids of all ages. How old are you, son?” he asked, drawing the attention back to the little toddler-sized teddy who, as he always was, was rather uncomfortable in the spotlight.
Petie blushed deeper, and replied, lying to make his answer seem somewhat less improbable, “I’m… seven,” he said, and his mother nodded a confirmation.
“That’s great! I’m glad we have a volunteer,” the mankey replied, hopping and swinging his way down to the front of the exhibit with ease and agility. Before either he or his mother could react, the salesperson took Petie by the paw and pulled him out of the crowd towards the machine. Petie dug in his heels, never having any trust for one of Jenny’s machines, but, given that he had the physical strength of a two year old, it didn’t do anything to stop the bigger, stronger Pokémon. The teddiursa had a deep sense of foreboding as he looked at the steel-supported glass walls of the rectangular cube. A stylishly trimmed door in one of the walls slid open and the salesperson, clearly desperate for a volunteer, hurried a hesitant Petie inside, clearly caring nothing for his concerns.
“Wait!” his mother said, stepping over the velvet rope and stomping up to the mankey, “he didn’t ask you to put him in that thing!”
“Oh, cool off,” the salesman said, casually walking over to the control panel, “it’s Jenny’s masterpiece. Nothing will go wrong.”
The door slid shut, locking Petie inside. “Now, ladies and gentlemen,” the mankey said, hopping on top of his control panel, “I give you, the Auto Closet 3,000!” There was some patchy applause, but most people, Petie’s mother included, simply sat and stared at it, curious to see what would happen next.
From Petie’s viewpoint, inside the box, he could see that the ceiling was metal, and had dozens of little holes in it. The floor, too, had the little holes, maybe half a foot wide, except these were covered with sliding shields to make sure you didn’t trip over them. A few crept open, and, out of the ceiling and the floor, six or seven mechanical tendrils with gloved robotic hands snaked their way out of their little holes and converged on Petie. He swallowed hard, expecting it to go wrong at any moment, but, against all the expectations he had, it didn’t. The hands carefully and courteously removed his blue, baggy T-shirt, and replaced it with a green, baggy T-shirt.
“And there you have it, folks! The Auto Closet 3,000 works like a charm. Sure to make your life easier. Remember, Jenny brings you the future of the consumer home, today!” A few people clapped, but most simply started to drift off from the machine to find better entertainment, elsewhere. The salesperson sighed, “Well, let’s get your shirt back on you, then I’ll get you out of there.”
Petie nodded, sighing with the reassurance that even Jenny couldn’t possible go her entire life without building at least something that was functional. The mankey hit a few more buttons on the console and the hands started to come back out of their holes, Petie raising his arms above his head in the stereotypical baby being picked up fashion, just to make it easier for them. The little Teddiursa didn’t know what it was, but something was peculiar about the machine, that time. It had been smooth and slow in its movements, before, but now it seemed all jerky.
“ERROR,” the machine blared, all the hands freezing, “ERROR. ERROR. EXPORT DESCR. AGE INCORRECT. RESET IN PROGRESS.” Petie went suddenly stern as the tentacles came back to life, a half dozen or more of them converging on him all at once. Two seized him by the ankles, another pair took him by the wrists and pulled him effortlessly off his feet.
“H-hey! What gi-“ Petie said, or, rather, tried to say. As he opened his mouth to object, however, he saw an arm slowly pull out from one of the holes: it had a pacifier in its hand, “oh crap…” he said, getting out the last word right as the hand popped the rubber nipple between his lips, the teddiursa suddenly starting to thrash in his bonds, helpless to escape.
“ERROR. EXPORT DESCR. AGE=2. COMMENCE DIAPERING PTC,” the mechanical voice that Jenny used on all her inventions said, Petie babbling his complaints around the rubber bulb in his mouth. He shook his head, having long prayed that he might go one day, just one day without his small size and cuteness being exploited. To make matters worse, tow of the hands took hold of Petie’s boyish cargo-shorts and tore them nearly in half, removing the shreds and revealing the little bear’s printed toddler-sized diaper to the world. As though that wasn’t enough, the commotion of the mankey trying to get control of the machine again had drawn the attention of some of the shoppers that had left, and the crowd was starting to grow again.
Petie shook his head in denial as a big square bench rose out of the floor, in view of everybody, and he was forced down onto it, his arms and legs spread-eagled by the grip of the mechanical hands, helpless. Two more hands added to the forest of activity above him, this one had a diaper in its gloved fist. The little bear’s face scrunched up, almost on the verge of tears as his pinched, padded behind was lifted effortlessly off the table by his ankles, and the second diaper, several times thicker than was necessary and pillowy beneath him, was pushed under his already padded behind.
The teddiursa whined into his pacifier, his damned suckle-reflex preventing him from spitting it out, and felt the tears start to well up in his eyes as he was pampered in front of everybody. He turned his head right at the right moment to see his mother push the mankey out of the way, growling, and start pushing buttons at random herself. The machine didn’t respond at all, clearly a bug having been encountered in the programming, and Petie was suffering the consequences. He wiggled feebly as yet another diaper, a third one, was set down, his butt already suspended a few inches off the table by the thickness of the first two, and this one was padded more heavily than the other two, put together. With his intimate knowledge of diaper thicknesses and their effect on his ability to move efficiently, Petie quickly realized that he would be helpless, absolutely immobile if that thing was taped onto him, which, of course it was. Within seconds, the giant Auto Closet had taped up a third diaper around the pouting, badly shamed teddiursa’s waist, spreading his legs far enough that the leg-restraints were no longer necessary, and, as such, were disengaged.
Petie, desperate to make any headway at all, took the opportunity to try and roll up and into a sitting position with the hopes that he might use his weight to get free of the arms, then hide under the table, maybe, bide his time until mommy could get him out... but it was not to be. Apparently with no concept of its victim’s discomfort, the machine lifted Petie suddenly and without warning into the air before standing him up, legs spread further apart than his shoulders from the tripled diaper, on top of what looked like a pair of foot-prints. Bowing to the inevitable, Petie set one clawed paw onto each of the platforms and watched as the metal panels to either side seemed to melt away, showing nothing but darkness beneath it.
The little teddiursa looked down, awed, always afraid of heights, but didn’t have the time to think because, no sooner had the path been opened, then the machine had pulled a pair of babyish overalls up from below him, Petie, immobile as he was, slid right into the snug fabric as though it were tailor made, the hands forcing his arms through the shoulder-straps before tightening them snugly in place.
“Mommy!” Petie shouted at the glass wall, wiggling around, still very much in the machine’s power, the outline of his outrageously oversized diaper like a beach-ball around his crotch area, “Geth me out of heeww!” His mother turned to face the glass wall, and pounded on it twice with her fist. It wasn’t glass, it was plastic: shatterproof. Afraid for her son’s safety, and frustrated beyond belief with this machine, Petie’s mom turned her anger against the plastic and metal of the control panel, which had dozens of vulnerable looking cords and wires sticking out the back. She started pulling them out by the handful, but, to Petie’s dismay, that just made the machine go haywire.
The loudspeakers started shouting ‘error’ again, and Petie pressed his ears against his head in frustration of his own, the childish, but at least masculine overalls and brown T-shirt suddenly being revoked, torn up and off of him by the mad mind of Jenny’s Auto Closet. What came next, however, was much, much worse. The thing that the machine presented him next looked something like a zip-up one piece sleeper, except that it was pink as a princess’s dress, padded all over the body, had snug little mittens and booties to keep his naughty little hands from playing with things, and a cute little hood with a kitten face and ears on the front.
Petie blushed horribly as the thing, unzipped and ready to swallow him, slowly got closer and closer, ever ready to seal his fate. As he touched it, dangling from his paws, he could feel the soft satin interior, and the inch of cotton padding to accentuate his chubby, babyish curves, and reduce his chances of being able to walk from little to none. As though that weren’t humiliating enough, the suit-thing had a carrying handle in the back, as though he were some kind of suitcase, and, as the hands dropped Petie anticlimactically into his sleeper-thing, it was by that that he was supported for the few short seconds before the tendrils, now dozens of them, bullied his arms into the arms of the sleeper and zipped it up to his neck, covering it with a Velcro strap that his hands, now balled up into cute little pink mittens, could not penetrate.
Now suited up like an infant out for a stroll, humiliated beyond belief and nearly at the verge of tears, Petie couldn’t help but shudder all over for his life. He hated how cute he was… and nothing, absolutely nothing on this earth was worse to him than having his adorableness taken advantage of. Now done with him, and its power cut by his mother, the tendrils retreated into their sockets, the airlocked door sliding open.
Petie’s mother rushed in, scooping the sobbing teddiursa up in her arms, “Petie, are you okay? Did that thing hurt you?” she asked, speaking so fast that her words blended into one-another. Petie’s sobs gradually subsided as he realized that he was no longer in the grasp of the machine, but of his warm, caring mother, smiling down at the little cub in her arms.
“M-mommy…” Petie murmured, his mother’s ears peaking, “C-can you get me out of this? Please?”
His mother looked a little shocked, and she blushed a bit, “just as soon as I can, sweetie… I kind of broke the console, and you don’t have any other clothes… It’ll be alright, just a few more errands and I can get you home, okay?” her face flushed a little deeper as Petie grumbled his acknowledgment. “Besides,” she said, grinning guiltily, “you look cute as a button in that, Petie.”