The Rainbow's End


by C.K. Cute Kitten

“This was disappointing.” A cold wind blew, snowflakes and green shamrock confetti fluttering down onto the crowd. Bridget pulled her green scarf tighter and wished she’d just stayed in her warm dorm. The parade had featured bagpipers in kilts, Irish step dancers in green and gold costumes, people dressed up as leprechauns and throwing out chocolate coins to the children while the crowd was a sea of green.

On the surface, it had been fun, but deep down, something was missing. Bridget frowned, deep in thought as she moved with the green sea of people. Now that the parade was over, they headed off to various nearby pubs for green beer. The day felt like a sham, an excuse for idiots to drink themselves stupid. What had she been expecting? A celebration of Celtic pride? Getting in touch with the culture her ancestors came from? She was just a foolish Plastic Paddy, yearning for a culture and country she wasn’t part of.

Bridget shook her head and side-stepped a group of noisy young men in silly clover hats. As they brushed past, she could already smell the alcohol on their breaths. A hand reached out to grope her butt through her green woolen coat; she smacked it away and scowled. Perverts. That was just one of the reasons she didn’t like men much. Occasionally, there was a specimen she found attractive, but on the whole she was more attracted to women.

“Can you believe those shirts? ‘Kiss me, I’m Italian’, ‘Kiss me, I’m Puerto Rican’. How stupid. If you want the luck o’ the Irish, then you have to kiss an Irish girl on St. Paddy’s Day. Particularly one of the Fae. Like us, eh, Moira?”

That heavy Irish brogue caught her off guard. In this small college town, there was only one girl with a heavy Irish accent. Her heart sped up and her cheeks blushed. Bridget stood stock still, nervously looking around at the sea of faces, searching for her crush.

Moira stood a few feet away, pressed up against a lamp post as people walked past. The wind blew her golden curls and fluttered the hem of her knee length white dress. Bright metallic green thread in the shape of embroidered shamrocks glimmered on the hem in the weak March sunlight. The Irish girl wore a hunter green leather jacket with matching fringed boots and green stockings embroidered with gold shamrocks.

Moira was in one of Bridget’s classes. They’d spoken a few times, even worked on a project together once, but Moira was shy and reserved. She barely spoke. Bridget was crushing hard- the more she pushed and tried to get to know Moira, the more Moira recoiled. She only answered emails and texts relating to school work, and that had only been during the duration of their group project. She never wanted to hang out, no matter how many times Bridget asked. The only personal information Moira had shared was that she didn’t like men, and that was when a boy from class asked her out.

Yet here shy Moira stood, talking and laughing with another girl. Red ringlets poked out from the girl’s lime green beanie. The hem of her green skirt was embroidered with shiny golden shamrocks and she carried a violin case.

“Deirdre, you’re the one who wanted to watch the parade.” Moira stuck her tongue out and swung around the lamp post. “Besides, we need to get going. Oonagh promised turf from Tir Na Nog for the fire, and I don’t want to miss that!” She grabbed Deirdre’s hand and tugged her into the crowd.

A gust of wind burst upon the crowd; people grabbed their hats and pulled their coats closed. Moira’s white skirt flew up, revealing a glimpse of bulky mint green underwear peppered with darker green shamrocks. Two big shamrock-shaped tapes fastened to the front panel.

“Eep!” Moira bent over, struggling to hold her skirt down. Deirdre laughed, her own skirt whipping around her calves.

Bridget’s mouth went dry and her heart fluttered. Her vision tunneled in to the two girls. To Moira’s waist. Such bulky, bulging underwear. Almost like a diaper. She recalled all the times she managed to sit next to Moira in class, and all the faint crinkling sounds the girl made. She was certain Moira was in a diaper. The thought made her pulse skip a beat. Bridget herself was a closet diaper lover. Why did Moira wear diapers- for fun, or because she needed them? The question only fueled her flame for Moira higher. She needed to talk to Moira, to connect with her, like she needed air to breathe. She was in love with Moira.

She drifted closer to the two girls. Their talk of Fae, of Tir Na Nog- the Irish Otherworld, the land of the Fae- gave her no pause. She brushed it aside as them being silly.

“I’d like to see how Oonagh’s going to pull that one off. Besides, my feet are itching to spin a reel and my fiddle’s tuned for playing.” Deirdre held her hand out to Moira, red curls bouncing as the wind died back down.

Moira laced her fingers in Deirdre’s and followed the other girl into the crowd. Deirdre looked over her shoulder, her eyes sliding past Moira to skewer Bridget. She smiled. “So come, let’s go to the Rainbow’s End. There might not be a pot o’ gold, but the beer’s still golden. Along with some other liquids.” She giggled and Moira’s cheeks burned a rosy red.

Bridget quivered. Although the red headed Deirdre faced Moira, it felt like she was talking to Bridget. Inviting her to some pub called The Rainbow’s End.

Did she go? Did she stay? Something in Deirdre’s smile made Bridget feel like she was being invited to her doom. She shivered, and not from the cold. Deirdre and Moira took off, hand in hand. Bridget watched their retreating backs. Moira started skipping like a little child. Her shamrock-embroidered skirt flipped up, giving teasing glimpses of her thickly padded bottom.

Bridget licked her lips. She had no choice- she followed.

Re: The Rainbow’s End

This is a really cute start to a nice St. Patty’s day story. Can’t wait to see how it progresses!!!

Thank you for starting a new story!!! :slight_smile:

Re: The Rainbow’s End

So I read this at first thinking it was finished, and I was really confused by (what I thought was) the ending. It makes so much more sense realizing that that’s just the beginning…

Re: The Rainbow’s End

I knew those topic prefixes were useless…

I kid, I kid. :slight_smile:

Re: The Rainbow’s End

People pressed in on all sides as Bridget followed Deirdre and Moira down the street. Music blared from various bars and restaurants they passed. Most of it was modern; only one bar played Celtic rock, and none of them played traditional Irish music. So much for Celtic pride Bridget thought. It’s all just an excuse to drink. Like Americans need that.

Occasionally, Deirdre threw a glance over her shoulder to make sure Bridget was still following. The red curls peeking out under her lime beanie bounced with every toss of her head. Bridget’s gaze stayed glued on Moira and her blonde curls, but Moira never looked back.

Instead, Moira talked to Deirdre in Irish. Bridget moved closer so she was right behind them, focusing on the Gaelic lilt and trying to ignore the loud voices of tipsy passersby. She spoke very little Gaelic; she’d taught herself over the internet. Gaeilge, as the Irish called it. She couldn’t place their accents to any dialects- Munster, Connacht, Ulster. She didn’t detect any Scottish Gaelic or Manx intonations, either. This was a Gaelic accent she’d never heard before.

Deirdre looked back, saw Bridget’s confused face, and giggled. Her and Moira turned a sharp left after a row of shops. Bridget paused, blinking. She knew this block well; she passed it several times a day. Bookstore, sandwich shop, coffee house, music shop then nothing. Yet there stood a small, shabby pub she’d never noticed before.

Outside the door, a girl sat on a battered stool, smoking a long-stemmed pipe. A tweed flat cap sat upon her faded, dyed blue hair. Small braids interspersed the tangled curls.

Deirdre and Moira headed straight for her. Bridget hesitated, looking behind her at the sea of people on the sidewalk. No one glanced at them; no one noticed the door and the strange girl. Bridget had the strange sensation no one could see them.

“Katie!” Moira called out, skipping ahead of Deirdre. Her skirt flipped up, showing off her green diaper. Bridget’s heart fluttered. “What are you doing out here?”

The blue haired girl puffed her pipe and rocked back on the rickety stool. “Just playing doorman for Oonagh. I had nothing better to do.”

“Keeping the human’s out?” Moira looked at Bridget for the first time. Something hard in her eyes made Bridget flinch in surprise. She’d never seen Moira with that kind of expression. Moira was quiet, evasive, timid, but so soft and gentle. It was that coy sweetness that charmed Bridget in the first place and made her fall hard. Now lamb-like Moira gazed at Bridget like a lion sizing up a gazelle.

“Yeah, something like that.” Katie followed Moira’s gaze, looking Bridget over. Bridget froze, Moira’s sudden animosity an arrow in her heart. Katie’s gaze was mildly curious, as if she was surprised a human had even approached the door.

“Since when have humans been completely forbidden? Besides, she’s got a drop o’ Fae blood in her. Can’t you sense it? She’s not bone of our bone, but somewhere- probably far back- in her lineage, there’s a tad bit of our blood. Just a little drip, but it’s all she needs. I invited her, and she’s followed. Blood of our blood, bone of our bone. So she’s allowed in. We can always summon Oonagh if there’s a problem.” Deirdre stepped towards the door, a clear challenge to Katie.

“She’d be better off out there, with the humans.” Moira frowned at Deirdre.

“Doesn’t matter to me. You invited her; she’s your responsibility.” Katie shrugged and blew out several smoke rings in the shape of four leaf clovers. The smoke shamrocks drifted to Bridget; she coughed and stepped back, waving her hand to clear the smoke.

Deirdre grinned, opening up the door. Moira shook her head in defeat and walked inside, passing Deirdre without a glance.

Deirdre held the door open. Bridget didn’t move. “Well? Are you coming, or not?”

Uncertainty rooted Bridget. Moira- her crush, her love- clearly didn’t want her to follow. But why? What had she done to push Moira away? All she wanted was to know her better. Maybe Moira was just embarrassed to be caught role playing? Granted, this group went all out with their cosplaying. The parade had been disappointing, but this little game could be fun. Maybe she just had to show Moira she could play along; that would help the shy girl open up to her.

With a nod of her head, Bridget took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, smiled and walked past Deirdre, into The Rainbow’s End pub.

Re: The Rainbow’s End

There’s clovers on ya face! A total waste! The Fae remember Romans kicking Celts all over the place!

We will, we will, Shamrock you!

Re: The Rainbow’s End

I wonder. :slight_smile: If CK has been watching Lost Girl lately… Or if it’s just the timing of the year.

It was the strangest pub she’d ever seen. The interior looked like it was ripped out f a medieval fairytale. Heavy stone and thick wooden beams made up the walls. Metal chandeliers were draped in white, green, and gold streamers. Tables and chairs were rustic and appeared hand carved while the floor was scuffed flagstone, chipped in a few places. A huge area around the fireplace had been cleared for an improvised stage and dance floor, tables and chairs shoved aside, leaving no clear walkways.

Musicians played lively jigs on traditional Irish instruments- the bodhran drum, fiddles, flutes, tin whistles, and Uilleann pipes. People got up to dance while others sat back down, tired from jigging and reeling.

Now this was what she called a proper St. Patrick’s Day party. Along with the Celtic music, people dressed in green shouted, laughed, talked, and sang as they drank mugs of foamy green beer. Irish pride everywhere.

The fireplace stretched the length of one wall. The mantle was hand carved with the snarling heads of mythical beasts from around the world. Flames licked at bricks of dark, packed dirt, filling the air with heat and the scent of scorched earth. A peat fire; Bridget knew the Irish called peat turf.

The warmth from the fire was welcome after the March cold outside. Music drowned the fire’s crackling and snapping. She’d always wanted to smell an authentic Irish peat fire; ones just like her ancestors used to burn. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and coughed.

“It’s a good fire, isn’t it?” Deirdre’s heavy brogue spoke right in her ear. Startled, Bridget jerked and opened her eyes to find Deirdre’s face so close to hers their cheeks nearly touched.

“Ah. Um. Y-yeah.” Bridget stepped back, putting space between them. She glanced around; Moira was the only familiar face. The blonde deftly wove between the crowded tables to snag a recently vacated table by the fireplace.

As the distance between her and Moira grew, unease fluttered in her stomach. She looked over her shoulder at the door, but it was gone. A solid wall and grimey window were in its place. Outside the window, snow fell on tree limbs and a fence posts. No concrete; no buildings; just countryside.

“Where did the door go? The city?” Bridget didn’t remember turning around, but she must have. The door had been behind her, but now it was another wall. Her brain struggled to come up with a logical explanation for the city and country switch.

Deirdre wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Have you been drinking? Of course the door’s still over there.” Her hand waved vaguely at a far wall across the room. Maybe Bridget really had gotten turned around somehow without noticing it? “Doors don’t just vanish, you silly goose. Now, let’s go sit down with Moira and get warmed up.” She took a step forward, her arm muscles stiffening and dagging Bridget along.

The feeling of unease grew. Bridget dug her heels in and ducked under Deirdre’s arm. “I think…I should go. Moira doesn’t want me here, and I don’t know you.” Bridget looked around for the door again.

“You’re going to give up that easy? At the parade, I saw how you looked at Moira. Like a moonstruck calf. You’re that girl from her class. You worked on a group project together. She’s mentioned you. You should know, she’s very shy; social anxiety or something. You like her but you won’t even try to get to know her? Fight for her? Coward.”

“E-excuse me?” Bridget stood stock-still in shock and growing anger at being spoken to like that by a stranger who hadn’t even introduced herself.

“You heard me. You’re a pathetic coward. I’m Moira’s friend, Deirdre. But you already overheard that.”

Bridget refused to be ashamed of eavesdropping. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and looked at Deirdre with a carefully blank face.

“I was trying to do Moira a solid and hook you two up. But if you’re going to be like that…”

“Moira’s never shown any signs she’s interested in me.” Bridget’s face turned red.

“Of course not. She doesn’t communicate well. She’s socially retarded. Hell, she dumps in a diaper.” Deirdre rolled her eyes. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now. Moira told me you were smart. I guess she was wrong about that. But it doesn’t matter, does it? You’re leaving. So, go.” Deirdre waved a hand at her dismissively.

“W-what?” The word diaper was a bucket of cold water that doused her annoyed anger.

“My friend deserves better than a stupid coward.” Deirdre ignored Bridget’s verbal stumble. She rocked back on her heels and crossed her arms in a casual pose, her violin case swinging from one hand. Her gaze levelled a cool challenge to Bridget.

Cool setting. I know very little about Irish folklore, or St. Patrick’s day, but I get the feeling it’s not a prerequisite to enjoying this. Deirdre seems a really cool character so far. Can’t wait to read more!

I am loving this so far, and am very much looking forward to seeing where you take it!

“You said d-diaper. Moira wears diapers.” Bridget’s mouth went dry. Her cheeks pinked at saying that word out loud.

“So? It’s not exactly a state secret. She’s not the only one. Haven’t you looked around at the crowd?” Deirdre’s arm swept out over the green-clad crowd.

Bridget followed the motion, taking a look at for the first time at the individuals who made up the sea of green. No children, but several adults were dressed as young children, or babies. Her eyes went wide and her heart skipped a beat. “What’s this? Some kind of kink party? Ageplay? How can you invite someone to something like this without telling them?!”

“Consent sucks half the fun out of. You saw Moira’s diaper on the street and still followed like a love sick puppy. I saw it, so don’t bother denying it. Don’t worry, everyone here’s cool with it. Here, let me introduce you to some of the bigwigs, who really shouldn’t need an introduction. You’re just a human, so I’ll forgive you for not knowing who they are.”

Bridget’s brain struggled to figure out just what kind of game these people here were playing. Before she could form a thought, Deirdre’s arm shot past her face, pointing at a table. Bridget’s eyes followed. A lanky Japanese boy with green eyes and dyed orange hair gelled up in spikes sat with a petite Japanese girl on his lap. The girl had a brace on one leg. She wore a white sweater decorated with green ribbons, and her frilly green skirt flipped up to reveal a bulging green shamrock diaper, swollen with pee. A bib hung from her neck, and she sipped a green juice from a sippy cup.

“That’s Ichiro Nakatomi and his fiance, Yukihime. They’re yokai- Japanese demons. They’re highborn- nobility or some shit. Make sure you call him Lord Ichiro. The yokai are very particular about shit like that. But see those eyes? He’s half Fae. His mom was Oonagh’s mom’s cousin or sister or something. They’re distantly related.”

Deirdre turned, pointing to another spot in the crowd. Bridget turned with her. Ram horns curled out of her riotous black locks and large, cloven hooves peeked out from under the hem of her long, dark green skirt. She held a sippy cup of green juice to the lips of a - girl? boy? Bridget wasn’t sure- but this big baby wore a bib, a frothy green dress, and braces on both his? her? legs.

“Azrael Ruprecht and Nicholas Klaus, but he likes to be called Nicky. No relation to the Fae, but Azrael’s part demon, so she’s probably got some overlap somewhere in her bloodline.”

“That’s a boy? Why the hell is he dressed like a girl?” Most of what Deirdre said when over Bridget’s head; a flood of information she tuned out. She stared at the girly boy, fighting the urge to lift her upper lip in a sneer of distaste.

“Cuz he likes it? Is that a problem?” Deirdre’s tone was light, mildly curious. She gazed at Bridget without blinking.

“…No, of course not.” Bridget forced a smile; Deirdre smiled back. Maybe this was why Moira had been so standoffish. These people created elaborate roleplays and mixed some age play in. Moira would obviously be ashamed and embarrassed for a classmate to find out about her odd hobby. Bridget just had to prove to Moira she was cool with all this and totally accepting. Bridget had never been to any type of age play or kink parties before. She’d never even worn diapers out in public.

I love that you added characters from your others stories into this one. So far it has me very curious.

Thankies for posting :slight_smile: