Crinkley Chronicles

by Liar Ted

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Random, Slice of Life
Length: 12820

Thanks to a certain draconequus' curse has rendered all of Ponyville needing diapers. Now lets look at how the citizens have come to terms with their new world.

Thanks to a certain draconequus' curse has rendered all of Ponyville needing diapers. Now lets look at how the citizens have come to terms with their new world.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-05-29 21:00:08 UTC

Chapter 1

“Look, Rarity! I don’t need diapers anymore!”

I freeze mid-stitch, somewhere between being horrorstruck and sure I have something clogging my ears. I must have misheard. She can’t have just said she doesn’t need diapers anymore. It’s impossible. I force a smile, my mouth twitching rather badly.

“Sweetie? Would you mind repeating that? I don’t quite think I—”

But as I turn around, my worst fears are realized. Sweetie’s grinning widely at me and it’s not hard to see why. Gone is the thick diaper I changed her into earlier this morning; and instead, a pair of thin, stretchy, pinkish training pants are pulled up around her bottom. Unsullied training pants, I note with no small amount of despair.

I haven’t been quite so lucky today. I’m already on my second diaper.

“W-Why, Sweetie, that’s…”

I search for the right words; words of encouragement, support, praise, but they don’t come out. My mouth is dry as old canvas. I’ve got to say something, though, so I blurt the first positive thought that comes into my head:

“—th-that’s wonderful!”

Rather ungenerously, I say it while imagining myself being the one in the training pants instead. My bluff works, though. Sweetie proudly strikes a pose, the better to show off her big-girl pants. Funnily enough, I seem to recall her doing the exact same sort of thing when she used the potty for the first time, too. How far away that time feels now…

Well, enough of that. If Sweetie’s confident enough to be wearing trainers instead of diapers, something must have changed for her. She’ll probably tell Twilight all about it—and well she should! Poor Twilight has been working around the clock to find a counter-spell to cure everypony, and any new piece of information would help enormously. But that said, I have to say I’m curious… should I ask her? It’s not a polite question, but…

“Yes, they’re lovely,” I say, pretending to admire the shamefully foalish designs printed all over the stretchy, soft plastic. “But tell me, Sweetie, does this mean you’ve, um, been accident free today?”

“Uh-Huh!”

My stomach turns to water.

“Wh-What kinds of accidents did you avoid?”

“Firsts!” she chirps. I gasp.

That’s impossible!

“F-Firsts?”

“Mm-hmm! Twice!”

My admiration for Sweetie’s monumentous accomplishment mixes with a crushing sense of defeat, and my shoulders sag with the irrefutable realization that my little sister has more control over her bodily functions than I do. Far more, from the sounds of it. I can’t tell I’ve needed to… to go until I’m already going.

As my tail flicks back and forth in a sudden moment of self-consciousness, my diaper crinkles traitorously under my onesie. The body stocking does little to muffle the noise, and it does absolutely nothing to hide its bulk. If anything, the tightly stretched fabric makes what I’m wearing even more obvious. I surely would have died of sheer embarrassment days ago if not for all the orders; the sudden, overwhelming demand throughout Ponyville for concealing dresses and practical onesies and other such clothing to hide, disguise, and securely hold in place the shameful things we’ve all been forced into wearing. My sewing machine hasn’t slept for days.

Sweetie claims she made it to the bathroom twice without having an accident? That’s better than I’ve done. It’s better than anypony’s done! I want to be happy for her, but it’s so hard to keep my jealousy in check…

“Rarity? What’s wrong?” Sweetie cocks her head to the side, frowning like she always does when she knows I’m not being truthful. With not a small amount of effort, I swallow my bitterness and slap the fake smile back on.

“N-Nothing’s wrong! In fact, it’s… well, it’s certainly very encouraging. Is that all you wanted to show me?”

“Yep! Oh, and the girls wanted to know if you’ve got their clothes ready. They’re still in diapers, but I’ll wear mine anyway.” She puffs out her chest, smirking, and admires her training pants. They make hardly a rustle as she struts about. “I’ll have to cover them up. Everypony’ll be jealous otherwise.”

I want to rebuke her for falling victim to the sin of pride, but she has a point. Many of the ponies I’ve seen over the past few days would kill to cease soiling themselves. I would count myself among them if I weren’t the cultured, levelheaded pillar of the community that I am.

I float over the three small onesies I finished for the Crusaders earlier today. Personally, I think they look very tasteful; Sweetie’s is a pale off-white with light purple hemming. Solid colors, no absurd foalish designs anywhere. Not like Pinkie’s onesie. Why she insisted on it being decorated with little teddy bears, building blocks, and rock candies, I’ll never know... or rather, I have a suspicion, but I’m not going to ask.

I float over Sweetie’s new garment and her eyes light up; of course they do. Better to have your diaper covered than exposed for all to see.

“It’s perfect!” she squeals, and immediately starts squirming her way in. I help her get head and front hooves through the holes, then direct her attention towards the flap at the bottom; the part that would normally go over her diaper and snap shut. Since her pull-up is thin, that particular area is a teensy bit loose. I’ll have to adjust the sizing later.

“I’m sure you already know how this works, yes?”

“Yep! Just pull to make it unsnap when I need to go, and I’ll deal with the rest.”

Lacking anything else to say, I pat her gently on the rump and send her out the door. “Have fun!” I call after her, and she vanishes down the street with a promise that she will. Habitually, I glance around before going back inside.

Every single pony walking the street is taped, pinned, and otherwise stuffed into a diaper.

Every single one.

Though to say they’re walking is a bit of a stretch, mostly because none of us have been wearing long enough to compensate for the natural waddle a diaper produces. We’ve adapted to them with varying degrees of success, but adapt we have. Life goes on, the shops are open, ponies go to the market; but the laughter is always nervous, with many sideways flicks of tails and ruffling of feathers. Most ponies are traveling in groups, simply because it’s not so embarrassing when you’re with friends.

Not far from the boutique, two such ponies stop. The unicorn of the pair says something to her earth pony friend and ducks into a nearby movie rental shop, leaving the earth pony practically shaking with nervousness, exposed to every wandering eye on the street; which, I should point out, is practically nopony. We’re all in the same boat, and we have no interest in paying special attention to anypony else, but that’s not to say it’s easy convincing yourself you aren’t being looked at. The poor mare certainly looks stricken, standing there all alone. Her onesie is pale cream with pink hemming, pockets on the chest. Practical. When she ordered it, she told me she was going to make the best of things.

She shakes and sweats by the side of the road, glancing around fearfully. She looks sick; but then again, all of us are sick, in one way or another. I can’t stand it, and I’m very nearly on the verge of venturing out to keep her company until her partner comes back, but before I can, a strange, queasy look washes over her and she bends slightly at the waist. I know that look all too well. No, she’s not about to be sick, but on a public road like this, it’s almost as bad.

Her tail lifts, and her already-pale face blanches. It only takes a moment, and then it’s all over.

“Ugh… L-Lyra?” she moans through clenched teeth, shifting gingerly from one hoof to another. She’s trying to keep the contents of her diaper from rubbing against her bottom by standing in such a way where that won’t happen, an exercise as futile as picking out colored thread in the dark.

“L-Lyra! Can you hurry it up? I—” Bon-Bon makes the mistake of looking back over her shoulder to see how bad it is. Shock and disgust hits her like a physical blow and she has to screw her eyes shut against the horrors of the heavy lump under her onesie.

Her friend hurries back out of the shop, both her saddlebags empty. “Hey, sorry about that, Bon. They didn’t ha– hey, what’s wrong? Didja have another acci—woah!!” as Lyra comes into smelling distance, she clamps a mint hoof over her nose, both eyes watering badly. “Holy… you’ve gotta warn me first, girl! What’d you even eat?”

“Y-You know what I ate, and I tried to tell you, and…” to make matters even worse for poor Bon-Bon, while she’s talking her tail lifts back up and the bulge in her diaper grows even larger. She doesn’t even notice until Lyra taps her on the shoulder and points it out.

The shame of soiling herself right in front of her friend is too much for poor Bon-Bon. Her bottom lip trembles, her eyes well up, and two fat tears roll down her cheeks as a desperate, terrified whine builds in her throat, Lyra’s smiles and half-hearted jokes to no avail. All the passers-by keep their heads down and don’t look. I want to look away, but I can’t.

Bon-Bon’s trembling legs finally give out and she collapses onto her mushy rump, bawling into her hooves like a small child. Faced with a near-complete meltdown, Lyra gives up trying to make light of the situation and grabs Bon-Bon and holds her close. Bon crumples into her shoulder. Her quiet, angry sobs carry far on the morning breeze. Lyra gingerly rubs Bon’s back, gently cooing reassurances far too private for me to hear.

I’ll give credit where it’s due. Lyra’s a quick thinker when she wants to be, and her thinking often results in solutions I’d never think of. Like right now, for instance, as she spreads her hind legs apart with a look of grim determination.

She’s not going to…?

Still hugging Bon-Bon tightly, Lyra scrunches her face up with effort. A yellow stain spreads across the back of her diaper, the thirsty padding swelling rapidly as it soaks up the not-quite accident—but that wasn’t what she was going for. Simply wetting herself wouldn’t be obvious enough. More than ever I want to look away, but a feeling of horrified curiosity keeps me watching. I want to see how this will turn out. She’s still straining, still concentrating, cheeks all puffed out. At last, her tail lifts up high, and…

I avert my eyes. I can’t watch this again.

It’s a beautiful sunny day and the birds are all singing. Somewhere in the background, a dog barks.

Ten agonizing seconds pass before Lyra finally breathes a huge sigh of relief; or maybe it’s a gasp for air, I can’t tell. Either way, Bon-Bon hears it. She hiccups, blinks, frowns, wrinkles her nose, looks down at Lyra’s waist, and when she sees what her friend has done—at how much of it she’s done—her mouth falls open and stays that way. Lyra grins widely, almost like she’s proud of herself for filling her diaper so completely.

More words, a quick kiss on both cheeks to dry Bon’s tears. A whisper. Bon-Bon nods shyly and smiles, Lyra takes her by the hoof, and both of them waddle off together down the street. As they turn the corner, Lyra drapes her tail over Bon’s back in just such a way that it conveniently hides her friend’s accident, while doing absolutely nothing at all to hide her own. Crisis averted.

I make a hasty retreat back into the boutique. Even after being presented with such a heartwarming display of true friendship, I can only think that it’s going to happen to me too, and…

I shake my head violently. I’m not going to think about it. I refuse to think about it. Think instead on how the worst of times bring out the very best in our true friends… Yes, that’s better. Put myself in Lyra’s position. Would I be able to do the same thing, if it came down to it?

…I don’t know if I could, honestly. I would like to believe the events of the last few days haven’t changed my generous nature, but soiling yourself intentionally is a lot to ask—Oh, shame on you, Rarity! Letting doubt enter your mind so easily? A dirty diaper shouldn’t bother you in the slightest! At least the mess is contained, and not… not. Besides, it’s not as if you aren’t used to it by now…

**  **  **

It all started four days ago. I wasn’t present when the curse was cast, but I remember well how the effects of incontinence first started to show on me. I was just coming out of the shops with a few new exciting patterns and bolts of fabric and other small things, quite pleased with myself and my purchases. I hadn’t gone ten steps out the door when I suddenly felt a warm trickle of something running down my inner thigh. Luckily I made it to a bush before anypony saw—but imagine my humiliation! Imagine my confusion! I hadn’t had an accident like that since I was… well, never you mind how old I was. Cider was involved, it doesn’t count.

I hadn’t noticed any signs of magical foul-play that morning—no earthquakes or evil skies, no sudden, irresistible urge to play the harpsichord—and thus it seemed presumptuous to assume the worst. Being the rational pony I am, I deduced my accident was a lingering side-effect of my recent visit to the Day Spa. I’d tried their new bath salts… yes, no cause for alarm. I decided to think nothing more of it, and made it home without any further difficulties. Understandably, my first wish was for a shower.

While I was busy shampooing my mane, it was there that the other thing happened.

Naturally, I fainted.

The water was quick to revive me and I awoke to find the evidence already washed down the drain. My hope that I’d dreamed the whole thing was shattered a half-hour or so later, when Twilight and the other girls arrived in a fine state of panic. Somepony threw a large, fluffy diaper at my head and told me to put it on right away. I didn’t think to question them. Even Rainbow was thickly padded.

I don’t remember much of that first accident, which is good. The second time it happened, though, I remember every sordid detail… which is exactly why I don’t want to think about it. It’s always the same disgusting sensations, the same tired descriptions, same spreading stickiness and same offensive, penetrating smell. It isn’t worth describing, because it lost all its shock value a long time ago. Messing is now just another part of my day, and that’s exactly what makes it so horrifying.

All I can do—all any of us can do—is wait for Twilight to come up with a cure. I certainly can’t stop it. I never can. I’m not lucky like Sweetie.

Oh yes, I seethe, Sweetie is such a lucky pony, isn’t she? She used the potty like a big pony, didn’t she? Did she have to be so insufferably pleased with herself!?

Jealousy, however, is among the very least generous of all emotions, so I push those wicked thoughts off dear Sweetie and focus them elsewhere. They recenter on the culprit behind this mes– ah, this unfortunate business. I burn his image into my mind and grind my teeth for good measure. The yellow eyes, the hooked snaggletooth, that constant knowing smile…

It’s all Discord’s fault! I whinny angrily, stamping my hoof in justified indignation. The sheer cheek of that brute, I swear! To lie, boldfaced, about it being the result of a failed prank! And he had the gall to claim there wasn’t a counterspell! ...Not that I believe him. I find it exceedingly difficult to believe that he can’t somehow undo what he did, and that he’s not just chuckling while we all scurry about with our tails tucked under our padded posteriors. Perhaps while sipping a refreshing milk of chocolate glass.

I’d like to believe that, but I can’t. He has to have forgotten the counterspell, or something along those lines. Why else would he be suffering the same fate as the rest of us? Would the great Draconequus of old, the former Lord of the Seven Isles and master over all things weirdly absurd, allow himself to be seen in the same sort of compromising position poor Bon was just in? I very much doubt it, and yet he was. And is. Perhaps it’s all part of his plan, assuming a being of chaos would have need for a plan.

Oh, I can only imagine the absolutely delightful shock the two sisters felt when they saw him all padded up on Fluttershy’s couch. I’ll never forget how their faces lit up when they suddenly and unexpectedly witnessed proof that it wasn’t a joke, contrary to his theatrical stammering, his cries of “No, really, it wasn’t an accident! I meant to do that!”

Since Luna was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, Celestia answered him. To her credit, she managed to keep a straight face throughout the whole exchange.

“You meant to do it?”

“Y… Yes! Of course I did. All the cool ponies are doing it, didn’t you know? You should try it sometime, Celly. Being padded would suit you well, but why stop there?” He crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “We can do one better; how about you change me?”

“What?” said Twilight. Discord ignored her.

“Dear oh dear, how this must look. I always make such a mess of things, don’t I? And your little ponies are always the ones cleaning up after my accidents.”

“First time I’ve ever seen an accident like that,” said Rainbow, wrinkling her nose. Celestia just stared at Discord, eyebrows raised with mild curiosity.

“Excuse the terrible metaphors, but it’s only fair that you take some responsibility for me this time, Celestia. After all, it was by your infallible foresight that you saw fit to have me reformed, but didn’t give me anything to do after your ponies had gone and done it.”

“And this was your way of combating boredom?”

“No!” says Twilight. “We were arguing and he started casting a big spell so I tried to put up a shield and—”

“Her shield fractured my spell, and here we are. Not that I’m saying she’s entirely to blame—I carry some too for using the wrong spell. I wanted to embarrass our eager, new Princess, but not with incontinence. I was going for something more along the lines of musical flatulence.”

“That’s a lie! You—”

Fluttershy coughed a very small cough.

“Um, sorry for interrupting, but I don’t think Twilight did anything wrong, Discord. She didn’t do this, you did.” Discord flinched at her words. Not so obvious that the normal eye could see, but I have an eye for details. “So, um… you cast the spell, so can’t you undo it? Please?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. We’re stuck like this for the foreseeable future.”

“O-Oh. Does that mean it’s… permanent?”

She blinked up at him, big tears welling in her eyes.

“No! Absolutely not! At least, erm... I don’t recall it being permanent?”

A silence fell on the room.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “Twilight tried to block my spell without understanding how my magic works. You ponies can’t blame me and only me this time, no matter how much you’d love to.” He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging just like the equally terrible metaphor taped around his waist, and turned again to Princess Celestia. “Look at me, wallowing in my own filth. I’m a victim, too. Where’s your sense of pity, Princess? You must admit my oh-so-obvious incontinence is proof this was all an acci—”

He was interrupted by a low-pitched gurgling from his stomach, followed by a shifting of bowels so grotesque it gave me nightmares for two days. He staggered backward and flopped on the couch, nearly melting into the cushions with purest shame, but stopped because he probably realized it would have made the diaper leak and cause more trouble for Fluttershy.

Angel and Applejack ran around the house frantically throwing all the windows open, but not even the morning breeze was enough to kill the pervasive stench. I would have helped them, but it’s difficult to run with both hooves clamped over your nose.

Amidst all the chaos and confusion, Celestia just chuckled, like she’d made up her mind about something, and said something that surprised everypony.

“Very well. I’ll permit you to stay at Canterlot until a... cure is found, under one condition.” Discord shuffled around with a barely audible squishing, looking all the world like a stabbed puppy. Celestia smiled. “What you said earlier. Say it again, slowly, so I can remember it. You soiled yourself on purpose? ...Twice?”

He tried to answer, he really did. But after the near-total decimation of his poor diaper, he couldn’t say anything at all. Fluttershy hopped up next to him and nuzzled him in the side, her own thick padding crinkling under her.

“Awww, there there. It’s okay! Would my little Discikins like a changey-wangey now?”

Discord sheepishly pressed his index fingers together, and…

Well, I may not know what actually happened between Discord and Twilight—she’s been reluctant to talk about it since, and I can hardly blame her—but I know Discord needed to be humbled somehow, and I’d say he was. Suffice it to say Celestia has him under very close supervision right now, and mercy be to poor Fluttershy. Yes, Element of Kindness, I know—but to think she’d insisted on going with him, on changing him…

Deep breath, collect myself. I’ve a long day ahead of me, and I refuse to spend it focusing on unpleasant bodily functions. Everypony is depending on me to do my part during this crisis, and I want to work. I want to be distracted.

I step back up to the marrequin and resume pinning Lily’s summer dress together. It has to be light, but it also has to have volume in the back; Lily wears cloth instead of disposables. Cloth tends to be thicker, harder to hide. I have things well in hoof; if nothing else, this catastrophe has made me a sort-of expert in this type of clothing. After this is all over, I think I’ll continue making these onesies and other such cute things for The Buckled Harness in Canterlot. I’ve a feeling they have a set of clients that will appreciate them.

On the subject of cloth diapers, I’d considered wearing them in lieu of disposables, perhaps in a floral pattern to match the season. I’m told that when I was very, very young, mother and father had me wearing cloth of the brightest colors, and I do so like to carry on traditions of fashion where my family is concerned, especially considering how infrequently the words fashion and my mother and father fall into the same sentence, but that was then, and this is now. I didn’t have to think very long to realize cloth wouldn’t work for me; diapers you have to wash afterwards? It’s enough to make one’s skin crawl! It simply won’t do, and I’m afraid no amount of clever stitch work will change my mind.

I finish Lily’s dress without too much trouble and do the chalks for two more onesies. Lunch is two fresh mangoes and a tall glass of lemonade. As I sip my drink and tug at my collar, my thoughts inevitably stray to the current state of my diaper. I haven’t had a single accident since Sweetie left to play with her friends. Or at least, I don’t think I have. My diapers wick the wetness away so well, it’s mercifully hard to tell. But I’m not going to check. Checking would make me feel uncomfortable, and I’ve only just gotten comfortable. I’ll check myself once Sweetie gets home… or no, scratch that, I’ll do it just before she’s due to come home. As her role model, I should always present a picture of maturity and cleanliness.

Grrrr… Not that she needs me to show her how to stay clean…

For some reason, that thought conjures up the image of a smiling Pinkie Pie cheerfully informing me I’m being neurotic and paranoid about nothing. However, I don’t think my dream image of Pinkie is terribly credible in that regard, seeing as how she’s in desperate need of a change and yet doesn’t seem to care; in other words, she’s acting exactly like the real Pinkie. The last time I saw her, she was prancing around in diapers so thoroughly soaked that she genuinely needed her onesie to hold them up. I say diapers and them, plural, because I’m fairly certain she was wearing two at once. Possibly three. Or more. I don’t see how she could make a single diaper swell enough to almost make the buttons pop off her onesie. I made it stronger than that.

Like I said, I have my suspicions (more like unspoken deductions) about her, but… no, it’s not my business. Pinkie is Twilight’s affair, seeing as the two are having one, and if Twilight is accepting of Pinkie’s unusual tastes, I should be too. Based on what I’ve seen this past week regarding Twilight and thickness of padding, it’s even possible that Pinkie’s obsession with thickness can be directly traced back to our dear princess. Four at once? I was there to see it, and I could still hardly believe it. That’s another story for another time, though.

For now, I suppose the best I can do is invent onesies for Pinkie and Twilight with extra room in the back and strong elastic in the leggings… Hmm… Ooh, that’s an idea. A combination onesie and diaper cover, perhaps? With a waterproof lining sewn in around the bottom?

I pop the last chunk of juicy mango in my mouth and chew slowly. Hmm… a refinement to a truly classic, functional piece of nurseryware? It wouldn’t just work for Pinkie and Twilight, it would probably work for foals, too. Mothers would love something like that.

“Hmm,” again. Food for thought. Naturally, they’ll need two onesies each; one normal sized, one extra-large in the back for when they need to accommodate that considerable bulk they seem to enjoy so much. I’ll think on it later.

Yawn, drain glass, refill, and start toddling back to my idea corner. After a moment’s thought, I take the pitcher of lemonade with me, too. Thinking is thirsty work.

This week, my idea corner is the one on the far left behind three dusty racks of evening wear from last season. I’ve a small table and chair set up, with rolls of marking paper, chalk, and oil pastels in neat little racks, just how I like them. There’s a sewing machine, plenty of thread, and a few marrequins squeezed in against the wall. I settle onto the chair with a muffled crinkle and get comfortable.

So much extra work, and all over these puffy, white, disposable things. Things! I refuse to refer to them as ‘garments’, as I’ve heard one or two of my customers doing, because these are not garments. I refuse to acknowledge what the dictionary says on the matter. ‘Garment’ is a word reserved for silk dresses and princely robes, not something meant to be soiled and disposed of.

Disposed! When I think of it like that, the thought of me wearing something, anything meant to be thrown away after being worn just one time should offend my finer sensibilities, but it sort of… doesn’t, actually. Not completely.

Oh, I’ll readily admit that I don’t hate being trapped in them as much as I thought I would—providing they remain clean, of course, but this isn’t just about the alternative of not being diapered being markedly more unpleasant. Silly as it sounds, they have a pleasant fit to them; a soft tightness I wasn’t expecting. They’re far more comfortable than any disposable thing has any earthly right to be. They keep you nice and warm, without being restrictive like a dress. I like how soft and squashy they are, like big pillows.

Guilty admission? Given the circumstances, I also rather like how they let me concentrate. I used to have to take breaks. I don’t have to anymore.

Another sip of lemonade. I reach for the chalks and paper.

Chapter 2

The hours fly by. I finish three more normal onesies, two hoofed sleepers (one foal sized, one not), a few more dresses, and a gem-studded saddle for a Canterlot client who likely has absolutely no idea what we in Ponyville are going through, and I wish her all the joy of her ignorance. Half the lemonade is gone.

Since I’m all caught up on my orders, it’s time to do the chalks on the Waterproof Onesie for Pinkie. If it goes well, I’ll make one for all the girls. I’ve recently finished a sort of… gift for Rainbow, as a surprise, so I’ll try out my improvements on that, first. I’m sure Rainbow won’t object. Before I do that, though, I get out a fresh sheet of paper and a crisp piece of chalk and start on the basic shape. Even I don’t cut fabric without a guide.

The work goes fast. I’ve drawn so many outlines for onesies over the past few days, I could do it in my sleep.

The elastic in the legs is the most important part. Stretchy, but tight and firm. Just like the elastic on a diaper, but better. Let’s see… yes, like that. I’ll never admit this to anypony, but I’ve worn so many diapers over the past few days, I know their every shape and curve, too.

I dab at my forehead with a lace handkerchief. The air in the Boutique’s grown stuffy as the day’s worn on and my onesie’s feeling a bit tight and warm, especially in the back. That’s the one thing about these disposables I don’t like. They’re warm and comfortable because they trap heat, but sometimes they trap the heat a little too well. Not that I’m complaining. As a filly, I can only remember diapers being cold and clammy, constantly leaking into my crib. I remember tantrums, lots of coddling, frequent changes. I’d always assumed all diapers felt the same—and yet, these aren’t any of those things. I’ve already admitted I like how a clean diaper feels, and when they’re not clean, they never leak. Thank goodness for that!

Even so, there’s something about these disposables that’s been bothering me for a while—nothing serious, really, not nearly important enough to bring up in polite conversation, but I simply can’t understand how it’s possible for a diaper to be so comfortable. Soft. Snug. No disposable anything has a right to feel this good! And why can they hold so much? Compared to my old cloth ones the difference is day and night, no offense to Princess Celestia. It’s not her fault that our night diapers need to be thicker.

What changed between then and now? Are these just that much better than my cloth ones were, or does the fault lie with the diapers mother and father had me in…? Probably the latter. Judging from the state Lily’s diaper was in when she made her order, cloth diapers are perfectly capable of holding just as much as these are… or maybe the cloth ones come from the same source as the disposables? I very much doubt Lily had a stash of cloth diapers in a box in the back of her closet, waiting for the day when they’d be put to use.

It almost seems like these disposables are meant to be worn for long periods of time—longer than just one use, I mean. Sort of like what Pinkie’s doing. That can’t be right, though; Pinkie is Pinkie, but why on earth would anypony want to wet and soil themselves, let alone sit in it…?

I give my head a little shake and refocus on my drawings. Bodily functions are forbidden topics, and I shan’t let myself think about them—although, the entire town being padded has made those functions all but impossible to avoid, both in thought and in form, as I seem to be aptly demonstrating right this moment. I can only hope the standards of good taste don’t suffer as a result. It would be terribly awkward if we all started being as candid about the bathroom as a group of toddlers.

Anyway, the fact that these disposables feel so good isn’t what’s bothering me. Not really. What’s bothering me is how Twilight got her hooves on them right after the spell was cast. We six plus Discord were the first to be diapered, and they didn’t come from anywhere in the market—I know, because I checked. Why did Twilight have them in the first place? I can only think of one or two possibilities, but it still raises the question of why on earth anypony would want to wear diapers.

Although… if the diapers weren’t actually Twilight’s and were Pinkie’s instead…? Or maybe if they were a mix of both? Better still, if they play secret games at night… I know they do all sorts of private studies together, and I know there’s lots of stuff Pinkie isn’t telling, since she always blushes and acts real innocent whenever somepony brings it up.

Perhaps those two would like a few extra things in addition to better onesies? I’ll ask Twilight for permission first. She’d know best. Goodness, it’s warm in here.

I fan my face and tug at my collar to get some air down my front, but as the fresh air hits my skin I realize I’m… damp. Down there. Near my stomach, where the diaper’s taped around my waist…

My diaper is soaked.

With a wail of alarm I leap to my hooves, a million questions firing off in my head all at once. How long have I been wet? How could I possibly not have noticed?

Eeeew, it’s… heavy! This can’t have been from just one accident! No wonder my onesie was feeling so tight! My diaper is all warm and squishy and swollen and it wants to sag but my onesie is holding it up and actually pressing it into my skin—that’s why I didn’t realize I’d wet, because it was pressed too close for me to notice the heavy, moist feeling wrapped around my nethers—and as I gape in horror I feel a mild tingling sensation and my diaper seems to grow even heavier and warmer but I don’t know, I just don’t know if I’m actually wetting again or if I’m imagining it and Ugh!! This is The. Most. DISGUSTING thing I’ve ever done!

...Well, no, actually that’s a fib. It would be the most disgusting thing if I’d also done seconds on top of the firsts. I’ve never done both at once, never ever, I always change the moment I use my diaper, but this is still awful! I’ve been wet for hours! What was I thinking!? Of course I would be soaked before Sweetie got home. Anypony’s diaper would be after all that time!

Deep breath… Alright Rarity, ease off the hysterics. Urine is sterile. Twilight swore it was. You didn’t feel it happening. Nopony will think ill of you for not noticing sooner. Others have had far, far larger accidents of this nature, you can be sure of that.

I try to ignore the real truth behind why this is so upsetting; I was wet even while I was preparing to get back to work after lunch, and I simply didn’t care enough to confirm it. Not only that, but when I said I like the feel of a nice, clean diaper, I was actually talking about the warm, squishy, immensely comfortable wet diaper I was already wearing. I was sitting in a wet diaper, and enjoying it.

My hooves fly up to my mouth. Sweet Celestia, I’m a freak!

But as that black thought tries to take hold of me, my inner voice of reason calmly objects, No Rarity, you are not a freak. How could you enjoy the feel of a wet diaper if you weren’t even aware you were wet? You thought it was clean, therefore you enjoyed it as if it were actually clean.

…Y-Yes, that’s right. I’m not a freak! It was an easy mistake. Nopony has to know and nopony ever will know. I turn and head for my room. I’ll simply trot upstairs, quick shower, and change into a nice, fresh, clean—

But I don’t get any farther than clean and halfway up the staircase, and I don’t get into a clean diaper either, because at that precise moment there’s an urgent rapping on the door.

“Hey, Rarity!” cries a familiar blue-pegasus voice, muffled slightly. More tapping. “Rarity, are you in there? I’ve got more… y’know, stuff!”

My ears perk up. More diapers? Just what I need, actually, but if I let her in, Rainbow will surely notice my current predicament, and I… I can’t. I simply can’t!  Being stuck in diapers has ruined my image enough, but to let Rainbow see an accident of this caliber? She’d tease me about it for years! I’d be a laughingstock!

I trot in place on the stairs, eyes darting up towards the safety of my bedroom and the promise of a change and back down to the shop, where awaits nothing but tears and laughter. Ohh, what do I do, what do I do?

“Look,” cries Rainbow, her voice cracking magnificently, “I can’t just leave it out here, so open up!”

R-Right. She can’t. Thanks to a mixup at the Post Office two days ago, a lot of diapers ended up being delivered in the wrong sizes; foal sized to homes with no foals, that sort of thing. The poor postal ponies are still scrambling to make things right, with the result that pegasi across town have been recruited as emergency delivery ponies. Thus, Rainbow knocking on my door. If I don’t answer, the package will be gone by the time I’ve finished changing. Incontinence makes ponies desperate in more ways than one, after all…

The rapping grows faster, more impatient. What do I do? I need to change, but I’m also running frightfully low on fresh padding. I should just go down there and let Rainbow in. I could… I could make an excuse, something on the stove, some reason I can’t stand around and chat. With my onesie covering things, she might not notice anything is amiss. It isn’t as if she’d see any… discoloration, or… come to think of it, I was right. Based on the evidence between my legs, Pinkie was definitely wearing more than one soaked diaper at once. There’s no way one diaper could be so… bulgy, and…

Not really the time to think about that, you. Stay focused! There’s got to be a way. I bite my lip and look over the Boutique’s showroom in a last-ditch attempt to find a way to defend myself and my dignity, and—Ah, of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?

With my legs slightly forced apart by the sheer girth of my diaper, I waddle back downstairs, grab Lily’s completed summer dress off its marrequin and slip it on over my onesie. Neckline, good. Shoulders, good. I give the ruffles in the back a little shake and the folds of fabric cascade down over my diaper, completely hiding it and my onesie from sight. Perfect. Now she’ll never know, and I won’t even have to be rude and look for an excuse to make her leave—

“Rarity!!”

“Comiiing!” I sing in my best I’m being creative today and feeling good about it voice, and sashay over to the door, throwing it open. Rainbow hovers on the other side, legs crossed over her chest, fuming. An impossibly thick, white diaper is taped around her stomach, crinkling with each swish of her prismic tail.

Rainbow bustles her way in and drops a large cardboard box on my nice clean floor, her huge poofy diaper brushing up against some of the marrequins as she lands. She scowls at me, wings rustling with irritation, and waits for an explanation. Dark circles have sunk in under her eyes. It’s plain she hasn’t been sleeping well.

“So sorry I didn’t hear you calling, dear.” I simper all apologetically, giving her a flutter of the eyelashes. “I was occupied.”

“Why?” snaps Rainbow. “What was so important that you couldn’t let me in? I’ve got four more of these things to deal with, and they’re heavy!”

“I was occupied,” I say in as sweet and firm a voice as I can manage.

Rainbow has more than one good reason to be irritated. Being a pegasus, she has to wear a diaper that’s at least one… no, at least two inches thicker than mine. How she manages to walk at all beyond me. On the other hoof, it’s necessary. If a pegasus had a leaky diaper in mid-flight… well, you know. Unfortunately, the Emergency Pegasi Padding measure made all the pegasi in town targets of harsh scrutiny as far as diaper-cleanliness is concerned. One or two have had nervous breakdowns, the poor things.

Rainbow, though, is not delicate, nor is she prone to having nervous breakdowns, nor is she being singled out for unfair reasons. Considering all that, and especially considering the current state of my diaper and the very obviously clean, pristine state of hers, I can’t possibly see what she’s so worried about.

Resisting the urge to bare my teeth and butt heads with her, I smile sweetly and undo the string holding the package together. Lifting the flaps, I prepare to gasp in surprise—Why Rainbow, it’s just what I always wanted!—a little joke to lighten the mood, that’s all, but instead my gasp comes out loud and genuine. There aren’t any diapers my size in the box! All of them are for little fillies. Diapers for Sweetie. Diaper’s she doesn’t need.

No! This can’t be happening! This isn’t happening! How could it possibly be any worse?

“R-Rainbow,” I squeak helplessly. “Th-These are… where are mine?”

Rainbow rolls her eyes, sits down, and promptly falls over. Her diaper must be so awkwardly thick it’s throwing her off balance. I lend her my hoof and help her flip back over onto her stomach, but that isn’t much better because her bulky padding is forcing her derriere into the air. When I try to help her up again, she swats my hoof aside with a wing. “I’ll just stay like this,” she grumbles, glaring from the floor. “Not like it can get any worse, right?”

Hmm. I take that back. Perhaps she does feel like a victim, and moreso than me because her delivery duties require frequent public appearances… and I can’t say she’d do well with being embarrassed. Lesson learned.

“About the diapers?” I ask hopefully. “Can you at least give me a guess when they’ll arrive?”

“Sometime this evening, don’t know when. I’m so done with this.” She closes her eyes for a moment, sighs heavily. Without opening them, she asks, “What’s with the dress?”

“Ah, I… felt like being different today.” I tousle my mane and strike a pose, somewhat hampered by my pampers. Dash snickers.

“Yeah, right. Admit it, you just didn’t want anypony to see you in one of these things. At least you have a choice.”

“You have a choice too, you know,” I sniff, willfully ignoring how close her first guess came. “Whatever happened to the onesie I made you? If you can fly in…that,” I say, lightly poking her diaper, “then I’m sure you can fly in anything.”

“Red ain’t my color,” Rainbow mumbles almost indistinctly, but we both know that’s absolute rot. She’s probably just overcompensating for her padding and avoiding the onesie because she doesn’t want to be seen in anything even remotely foalish, practical or not. It seems like the sort of thing she’d do.

I shrug. “Technically it wasn’t red, it was burgundy, but—say, I’ve an idea! Would you like something to cheer you up? It isn’t finished yet, but perhaps it doesn’t need to be.”

“What, you’re gonna show off something less than perfect? That’s a first.” Rainbow struggles to her hooves and pulls her diaper up tighter around her stomach. “Alright, I’ll bite. What is it? Where is it?”

“Right over th—”

But at the same instant I point in the direction of the mock Wonderbolt suit on display in the center of the shop, a loose feeling runs through my bowels. A very loose feeling.

Oh no. No, not now! Not nowww…

Rainbow doesn’t notice the slightly green tinge I imagine is tainting my cheeks, because the moment she saw the Wonderbolt costume her eyes went wide and she forgot I existed. She prods and pokes at the suit, grinning, her foul mood and sleep deprivation all but forgotten.

I squirm around, clutch my stomach, pray to whichever deities are watching to spare me, but they don’t listen, they never do. There’s no pressure, no pain, just a faint tickling as something warm and soft starts slipping out. In desperation I try to clench, but I can’t close my legs tightly enough. My tail slowly lifts up.

Nonononono…!!

I resolve that my last act as a lady will be to soil myself with dignity. I will not cry. I will not moan. I’ll keep my chin held high till’ the very end. I…

There is no contracting, no squeeze, no sensation of using any muscles at all as the seat of my diaper fills with hot, sticky, mushy, icky—Oh sweet Celestia, make it sta-ha-haaawp! but it doesn’t stop, it just keeps pushing out, wave after wave after…

My accident, from the moment I feel it coming to the moment when I finish filling my diaper, takes no longer than ten seconds to conclude. My legs tremble, but I dare not let them go out from under me. Under these circumstances, it seems unwise to faint.

“Sweet baby Celestia, this thing’s awesome!”

Rainbow still hasn’t noticed anything is amiss; she examines the Wonderbolt suit in the same way the cultured ponies of Canterlot might examine a piece of fine art, except with more tugging, touching, testing the stretchiness and smoothness of the nylon fabric. It’s a brilliant blue bodysuit with gold fabric across the stomach and a brass zipper that goes right down the middle, exactly like a real Wonderbolts flightsuit. In fact, everything about it is exactly like a real Wonderbolts flightsuit, except for one small detail, which she discovers when she pokes the rear of the suit and her hoof vanishes in a mass of poof.

“There’s a diaper under here?”

Indeed there is. Not only is it a diaper, but Rainbow recognizes the ultrathick padded prison as one of her own—actually, I borrowed it from Twilight, but same difference. They’re meant to be pajamas, and you wear a bigger diaper at night, so…

“Wow,” she whispers. “Under this thing it almost looks normal. Like yours, I mean.”

I d-don’t think you want a diaper even remotely close to mine…

Rainbow steps back, slackjawed. Yes, she can cover up her shame and look awesome doing it. Yes, I made it for her for that specific purpose. Yes, I can be awesome when I try. “Awesomeness” is fashionable, after all. Pity I don’t feel very awesome right at the moment. I feel like I’m going to mess again; or perhaps this is what being sick with dread feels like. My onesie is so tight around my swollen, bulging diaper, it’s forcing the slimy contents up against my– Urp…

I suddenly feel a bit lightheaded. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…

“This is for me, right? Right?” When Rainbow sees me weakly nod yes, her smile grows even wider and she bounds about with glee. “It’s perfect! It’s almost too awesome to wear! Maybe after I get in the Wonderbolts for real though, huh?”

I blink. “Won’t the curse be lifted by then?”

“Oh… oh yeah! Right, I forgot.” She laughs nervously and pulls at her oversized diaper’s waistband yet again. “Sorry, I’ve been in these stupid things too long. Why’d you say it wasn’t finished yet?”

“What? Oh. It, ah… I was going to sew in a waterproof lining, put some elastic around the legs…”

“So like a thinner version of a blanketsuit, right?”

“...Blanketsuit?”

Rainbow stutters, just for a moment.

“Yeah, a blanketsuit. Pinkie showed me hers. It’s like… like pajamas, but it’s got this really heavy fabric and tons of layers in the back, like this—” she makes a big rounded shape with her hooves. “So you won’t… leak. Or smell. Pretty neat, but too heavy to fly in. This thing, though,” she says, turning back to the WonderSuit. “Oh man, this thing. I can’t even—can you take the hood off? Like on a real one?”

“It… it should…?”

“And it’s got a zipper down the front, and the trim’s all the right size, and—”

As Rainbow fangirls over the suit and all the little details I’ve put into it, I ask myself why she’s doing all this talking, and yet hasn’t actually said anything. Surely she must have noticed a smell by now? Or maybe…

Before I can question the wisdom of this, I take a deep breath through my nose. Nothing. No pungent, sickly-sweet smell of mess, no sharp scent of urine, nothing. Curious, I pull back the neckline of Lily’s dress and give my onesie a good whiff. The stench almost knocks me on my backside. The only thing keeping me safe is a few millimeters of fabric. Good to know.

If Rainbow hasn’t smelled me yet, then maybe I can get her out before she does! All I have to do is usher her out without her realizing that I’m trying to usher her out—and I absolutely cannot allow her to get close to me! I…

But as I watch Rainbow dance around and practically worship this article of clothing I’ve made for her—this piece of clothing meant to disguise, conceal, hide a pony’s diapers—it suddenly occurs to me that I might have been making a huge mistake all this time. I don’t know why the realization chooses that particular moment to make itself apparent; perhaps in Rainbow, I see a little of myself.

I still haven’t moved from my spot near the cardboard box of useless diapers, out of irrational fear that if I do, Rainbow will “discover” my accident. Why am I so worried about that, honestly? It isn’t the first time I’ve messed myself. It won’t even be… ugh… the last time. It begs the question; if messing is just another part of my day, why am I so afraid of it? Why am I so worried about Rainbow ‘discovering my shame’? She messes herself too, after all. Everypony in Ponyville knows it. Everypony in Ponyville knows I mess myself. And Twilight does it, and Pinkie, and…

What exactly is my plan? To never be in a situation where somepony else might notice I’ve had an accident? By their very definition, accidents can’t be planned for or planned around. Does that mean I’m trying to do something impossible…? Certainly, whatever I'm trying to do, I've tried very hard to do it. I've barely shown my face outside all week. I haven't had a hooficure in days!

On reflection, it seems obvious. The instant I start letting my diapers take over my life, that’s when I’m going to lose it—my freedoms, I mean, not my actual… though I wouldn’t be surprised if I do actually die of shame before all this is—

No! I refuse to think that way! If, Celestia forbid, Twilight can’t actually find a cure, I won’t spend the rest of my days locked in here with my sewing machine. I’m not going to let the chance of having an accident stop me from doing the other things I love. I can’t help it, so why should I be worried? Why should I be embarrassed? Why should I be so focused on hiding, covering up, living in fear every day? I’m not going to let my incontinence control my life. I won’t. I won’t!

Funny thing, really. Lyra understood all along.

I’m going to have to move eventually, and now seems as good a time as any. As I take my first step, I feel something soft and mushy grind into my backside, and I… I take another step, and another. Mess or no mess, wet or not, I refuse to stand here and be the victim.

I’ll simply be very straightforward. ‘Well Rainbow, it’s been a delight seeing you, but I’m afraid I really must be changing soon. Would you please excuse me?’ I’ll say, and whether she decides to stay or not, that’s none of my concern. She can have lemonade while she waits. I rehearse the lines in my head a few times, and they sound good.

“Well, Rainbow! It’s been such a delight having you here, darling, but I’m afraid—”

Rainbow suddenly goes a bit stiff and rigid, like she does whenever Pinkie nails her with her hoof buzzer. She tucks her tail between her legs, much like a dog who’s been caught doing something unpleasant on the carpets. Is she messing? I quickly avert my eyes, but… no, can’t be that. No smell. Wetting, perhaps? …No, her diaper remains as clean and white as before. There’s plainly something wrong, though. Rainbow reaches back and presses her hoof into the mass of padding around her rump, wincing.

“Uh, hey, Rarity?” She continues with much pausing and aversion of the eyes. “I… I sorta need a change. Now.”

My eyebrows vanish up into whorls of prim, curled mane. “You what? But you’re perfectly clean.” Aren’t you?

“Well yeah, but y’know… sweat. Feels nasty, so I wanna change.”

Sweat? It would certainly account for the cleanliness of her diaper, but… that still seems odd. Surely she’s used to sweating? Maybe… Hmm. Her padding is awfully thick… she could be…

“There’s no reason to hide it, dear. Are you wearing two at once?”

Rainbow’s hoof jerks away from her diaper and she stumbles backwards into the marrequin holding the suit. She loses her balance and flops down on her personal mountain of poof. With my ears up and alert, I hear a faint, muffled squish as rump meets with carpet, followed by an equally muffled pop!

Rainbow’s hair stands on end.

“Aw... crap.”

Her wings tremble with embarrassment, her cheeks flushing almost as darkly as the red in her mane. She knows she’s caught and holds her hooves over her face, but it completely fails to hide her blush in any way.

“How’d you…?”

“Relax. I’m merely curious. It won’t leave this room.”

“You swear?”

“Hoof on heart and pastry in eye,” I say, making the familiar motions to the unbreakable oath.

After a moment of scrutiny, Rainbow nods and, with effort, gets back up. The big, puffy diaper swings around between her legs—with some weight, I note, not at all in the light, airy way a clean diaper does. Habitually, she reaches back and begins tugging at the waistline, then pauses—I nod and reassure her once again that all is well, and after a moment’s hesitation she chooses to believe me and lifts the hem of her diaper so I can see what’s hidden under it.

Of course, I can’t make out much, but I do see the faint, dark outline of a second, much smaller and thinner diaper. Much thinner than mine. It looks... flat, plasticy, especially around her tail. Did all the gel fall down and clump up around the bottom? I’ve heard of such things happening, but never to any of my diapers, thank Celestia. No wonder Rainbow was so cranky. I’d be cranky with a diaper in a state like that… ah, well, glass houses. I already had my moment of crankiness.

Rainbow lets the elastic snap back into place, and her pathetic, thin diaper is completely hidden from sight.  She refuses to look me in the eye, but that’s alright.

“Well. That’s certainly one way of going about it.” Not something I’d be able to do.

“Yup. I got the idea from Pinkie. Only thing is, she cuts slits in hers so she can use all of them. I don’t, or… well, I didn’t.” She twiddles her front hooves awkwardly, shifts around with soggy squishings. “Shaddup. Nopony caught on before you.”

“Like I said, hoof on heart. Rather clever of you, deception hidden in plain sight.”

“Yep, I thought so, too. Can’t have my fan club see their hero in a dirty diaper, right?” She chuckles to herself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen me and Scoots the other day. I was safe on a cloud and she was sitting down there with Applebloom and they were both talking about how great and awesome I was for not using my diaper, and I’d just taken the biggest—”

“I don’t need to know!” I shriek, stuffing my hooves in my ears. “We’re adults, not toddlers! We don’t need to announce it!”

“Oh. Sorry. You’re right, it’s just…”

“If it helps you cope then do what you must, but please don’t inform me as to the state of your diaper. Now, run along. You’ll find my spares on top of my boudoir.” I sniff primly and give my mane a little toss back.

Rainbow thanks me and bolts upstairs towards my room. Once she’s out of sight, I reach up and slip Lily’s dress over my head. I fold it neatly and set it on the bench; it will need to be washed before it’s ready for her. Certainly, my onesie will need washing. A faint, sickly-sweet stench surrounds me like an invisible miasma, penetrating straight through the tight body-hugging fabric. When I tug at the bits around my shoulders, it pulls and I feel a warm squish in the back of my bulging diaper. I swallow my revulsion and simply resolve not to do it again until after I’ve changed—

“Hey, Rarity?” comes the call from upstairs. “Are you really cool with me taking one?”

“Of course I am,” I call back up.

“I don’t think you are. There’s only one.”

Only one…? Only one left? No!! No, it’s not okay! It’s not! That one is mine! I need it! I…

“It’s quite alright! It’s yours!”

“Thanks Rarity!” she says without a moment’s hesitation, and the door to the bathroom slams overhead. Within seconds, I hear the shower running.

She wasn’t even messy, and yet she needs a shower? I suppose it’s possible there are ponies who detest wettings even more than me. Or perhaps she’d simply been in hers too long for comfort. I suppose I understand either way.

I step over to my idea corner, pick up the chalks, and scootch the chair back. I look at the chair, feel the warm, heavy mess in my diaper shift around as I move my tail. Am I really about to do this? I suppose I am.

I must be crazy. Absolutely crazy.

I’m not going to make it into a big deal. Everything will work out, I know it will. In the meantime, I can do the chalks for three, four more outfits, and why should I have to do them standing up? That would be less comfortable. I should just sit down, do it, follow my own rules. I promised I wouldn’t hide anymore, remember? I won’t leak. Cleanup won’t be any worse, because I’ll just use the shower as I always have. I won’t…

But is this a different kind of hiding? I’m not convinced it’s ‘hiding’ at all. Just because I won’t hide anymore doesn’t mean I have to force myself into doing unpleasant things—

The front door to the boutique slowly creaks open behind me, and a little filly’s shadow casts itself on the wall.

“H-Hey, Rarity?”

Sweetie?

My moment of soul-searching is promptly forgotten, the chair pushed back under the desk. It is Sweetie, and she sounds more hurt and worried than I’ve heard in a long time.

“R-Rarity?”

“Right here, Sweetie.” I step out from behind the rows of marrequins and see Sweetie standing in the doorway. Her face is dirty and streaked with tears and pine sap. Her onesie has an all-too familiar bulge in the back. “Oh dear,” I murmur, softer this time.

Sweetie’s eyes brim with tears.

“We were playing and having lots of fun and then I noticed my clothes were all wet and I thought that was weird c-cause we hadn’t been around the water, and then I started leaking everywhere, an-and…”

Without thinking, I sit down and open my hooves to her. Sweetie dives in and nuzzles into my chest, sobbing, “It j-j-just started c-coming out and I couldn’t s-stop it, I couldn’t, I…”

“Shh. It’s alright.”

I’ve completely forgotten to be disgusted about sitting on my heavily fertilized diaper. I have something more important to worry about now.

After a minute or two, Sweetie sighs, a great childish sigh full of all the humiliations a foal can experience in a single afternoon. “Sorry about the stink,” she mumbles. “If you… if it’s okay, I’ll just go change...” She starts pulling herself away, but I hold her tight.

“No, absolutely not.”

“Huh?”

“Firstly, I’ll be the one changing you. Second, that stink you happen to be smelling isn’t you. It’s me.”

Sweetie’s eyes grow wide. “No! You didn’t—”

“I did. Being me doesn’t make me immune to the laws of nature, you know.”

To prove my point, I shift around a bit and my diaper squelches softly under me, warm mush. If it wasn’t full of what it was, it would actually be quite pleasant. Like a mud bath. Positive thinking, that’s the ticket. A temporary mud bath, that’s all messing is.

Sweetie giggles and clamps her hoof over her nose.

As we collect the box of padding from the floor, she tells me the rest of the story. Apparently, The Crusaders had given up trying to get their cutie marks in continence ages ago— “Who would want a cutie mark for that?”—but Sweetie, being stubborn, found herself able to make it in time, twice, simply by virtue of already being in the bathroom when the urge hit. And without padding to yank down.

I should have known. I tricked myself into thinking the exact same thing when I was potty-training. Mother never quite got the stains out of the carpet.

We waddle upstairs together, me floating the box of Sweetie-Sized diapers behind us. “I’m surprised a single pull-up lasted as long as it did.”

“Um, actually this is my third.”

“Ah.”

As we reach the landing and Sweetie takes the box from me and hurries into the bedroom to prepare the changing mat and toss her onesie in the hamper, the bathroom door across the hall cracks open and Rainbow steps out amid a cloud of shower-steam. The towel is draped across her neck and her bangs and chest glisten with dampness. She grins widely at me, her fresh diaper crinkling loudly as she wags her tail, and she runs up with toddling steps and hugs me in a very un-Rainbow way.

“You have no idea how much I needed that, Rare.”

“Oh, I think I have a fairly good idea.” I smirk to myself as Rainbow sniffs the air. Her grip around my shoulders loosens.

“What the—?” She takes another sniff, a bigger one, and coughs. My diaper sags heavily, obvious for all to see. “No,” Rainbow murmurs weakly. “No…! No, I-I didn’t, I didn’t mean to, I—”

Her eyes shrink to pinpricks, the color drains from her face, and I’m pretty sure her wings only do that when she’s either scared out of her mind or spending the evening with Applejack. Before she has a chance to hyperventilate herself into asphyxiation, I put my hoof to her mouth.

“It happened before you went upstairs, Rainbow. Long before. I knew full well what I was doing.” Rainbow opens her mouth to say something dumb and heroic and I shush her. “I didn’t say I liked doing it, I merely did what needed to be done. I knew you wouldn’t laugh at me. I suppose I knew all along you’d never laugh. We’re in this together, after all.”

If Rainbow understands the deeper philosophy behind what I’m saying, notices Sweetie Belle stretched out waiting expectantly on the changing mat in the bedroom, remembers seeing a show of friendship similar to the one I saw this afternoon outside the Boutique’s front door, she doesn’t show it. She races to the nearest window. “I’msorry I’msosorry I’llfixthis just hang on, okay?” and leaps through and flies off as fast as her padding will allow without ripping off and sailing gaily into the bushes.

“Rarity?” call’s Sweetie from her position on the floor. “Uh… you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” I say, wiping away a tear of happiness. Such good friends.

I change Sweetie in much the same way I changed her when she was still a really, really little filly; clean and fast, with two ticklings thrown in for good measure. I’m just taping the last tab closed when there’s a rustling of wings outside the window and Rainbow stumbles awkwardly into my bedroom with another large cardboard box balanced on her back.

“Here,” she says breathlessly, shucking the box off onto the floor. “These are mine.”

Sweetie peeks inside and frowns. “How come yours are all colorful?”

Rainbow gasps, and she and I look into the box so fast we almost knock heads.

Indeed, the box is full of colorful diapers, some with prints completely covering the plastic, others with cute designs on the front taping panel. A few have Rainbow’s cutie mark on them, and some have Twilight’s, and some have Pinkie’s—I knew it!—and some are… some I can barely even recognize as diapers, because they’re oversized monstrosities that would be impossible to hide under even the frilliest of dresses. I can’t even begin to guess how thick they are. They make Rainbow’s pegapadding look like a dishtowel.

Rainbow makes a noise like “Bwuh—?” upon realizing the box’s contents and her heart leaps into her throat. That much is apparent by how she suddenly loses the ability to soliloquize, stammering out disjointed syllables and broken syntax. All this excitement and shock simply can’t be good for her system, so I step in to the rescue and shut the box back up.

“Rainbow doesn’t care for these plain white ones, Sweetie. They’re too medical, too boring. It’s no wonder everypony wants to cover them up.”

“Uh… yeah!” says Rainbow, eyes darting from her box of colorful padding up to me. “What she said.”

“Oh.” Sweetie scrunches her face up for a moment, then shrugs. “Can I go play now? Pleaaase? It’s still an hour to dinner!”

I’ve barely had time to nod before she’s vanished down the stairway with a resounding Yaaaaay~, diaper rustling in tandem with the clattering of small hooves. I turn back to Rainbow’s box and the contents wherein.

Surely these diapers can’t be real, can they? No disposable article would be so well made. But… no. They feel real. They look real. The tapes are oversized, the leak guards are oversized, the absorbent material feels exactly like it always does. I’m reminded once again of Pinkie; I suppose she wasn’t doubling up after all.

There must be more to it. They can’t be intended for use, can they? But if they are… and if they’re as comfortable as they look…

While I’m musing this, Rainbow regains enough sense to flatten her ears and bare her teeth in a show of mock tough-girl attitude, but she’s still blushing red enough to make Big Macintosh jealous.

“Rarity, I swear, if you tell anypony—”

“You’re an absolute dear, Rainbow. I knew you’d come through!” I lean over and give her a nuzzle under the cheek. Unwise, perhaps, because being close to me makes her cough, but she’ll get over it. I peer back into the box. “My word, how many of these do you have?”

“Uh. Enough?” Rainbow shrugs her wings uncertainly.

Enough to make Pinkie jealous.

I dig deep into the box and spy an especially thick one with little smiling clouds on the front taping panel. Thinking it’s cute, I reach in to pull it out and immediately correct myself. No, it’s not especially thick; it’s enormous. Easily the biggest diaper I’ve ever seen. Folded up, it’s thicker than my body, and yet weighs hardly anything at all. Rainbow winces as I hold it up.

“Oh. That one, huh?”

“Oh, yes! What’s it called?”

“Uh, they’re called Cloudies, but I really don’t think you want—”

“Oh, hush. Of course I do. I’m never one to turn down quality. Whatever it is, it’s much better than what we’ve been wearing, hmm? In style, certainly, in size, definitely, but are they as good as the one you had on before? The small one, I mean.”

“Are you kidding? That’s worth fifty of those wimpy little—uh, I mean it looks like it’s worth fifty of them, but…” But she knows she’s been caught. Rainbow sheepishly rubs her hoof against her leg. “...I grabbed the wrong box.”

“I can see that, and I’m very happy you did. Do they come in smaller sizes? Sweetie and her friends might like a few like these. I know I might. It looks comfy.”

Rainbow practically drops to her knees, begging, “Please, if anypony sees you wearing that and asks where you got it—”

“I don’t know who you are, and even if I did, I wouldn’t care one bit about what you do in your spare time.” I lightly boop her on the nose with the fluffy diaper. “I expect no less from you, naturally.”

Rainbow grins weakly. “Thanks, Rarity.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner, if you like. Would Applejack like to join us? Sweetie’s friends?”

“Yeah, that sounds great! Just—ehhm!” She flaps her wings, but even that’s not enough to clear the air. I take the hint and duck into the bathroom. “It’s just, I’m going to a sleepover later tonight with Pinkie and Twilight. That’s no problem, right?”

“Not at all. I hope you have fun,” I say with a wink. Hmmm… I turn around and grab the door just before it shuts. “Actually, speaking of plans, I’m thinking of throwing a picnic tomorrow at the park. I’ll ask Applejack tonight myself, of course, but can you ask Pinkie and Twilight if they’d like to join us, too?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Excellent. And Rainbow? Do reconsider what you’ve been doing, with this doubling up nonsense. It’s plainly not what you want.”

“I—wait, what?” Rainbow frowns. “Why do you care? You hate wearing diapers, right?”

“Of course, but this isn’t about me. Don’t you think you’d be happier if you stopped wearing those dreadful flimsy ones and used these instead?” I rub the supremely fluffy diaper against my cheek, purring. Strange thing for me to do, but… but it’s so soft! Like it’s filled with clouds! “I may not be thrilled with the idea, but if I must wear diapers, I’d rather wear the best I can, and what is this if not the best diaper? You could probably have one or two accidents in this, and nopony would ever know.”

“More like twenty.”

I pretend not to hear that.

“Be honest. If you think thicker diapers like these are ‘cool,’ shouldn’t you be wearing them all the time?”

“Maybe?” she says, a slight rustle running through her feathers. “But if anypony out there saw me using ones like that, I… it’s different, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know. Explain.”

My tail swishes back and forth. The movement shifts the contents of my diaper around, and Rainbow waves her hoof in front of her nose again.

“I don’t have to explain jack. You’re doing it for me.”

“You aren’t embarrassed by wearing them, but you don’t want anypony to see you using…? At that rate, you might as well stay inside forever. Even I know there will times when it can’t be helped. You’d let a little thing like that get in your way?”

“No, but—it’s hard to explain, okay? It just is.”

“Why? If you can’t help it, then don’t worry about it. If you need a change, then excuse yourself and change. I hardly see how hiding a used diaper by covering it with another diaper is any better. You might as well just wear a onesie. Why would one thing bother you, but the other wouldn’t?”

“Because one is, like, discreet, and the other is… more obvious?”

“A onesie is more obvious than an uncovered diaper? Your logic is staggering, Rainbow.”

Rainbow pinches the bridge of her muzzle. “Look, I don’t need to explain anything. If I like something, it’s cool. I make things cool just by liking them.”

“Alright. Let’s say diapers are ‘cool.’ So what?”

“So how many ponies besides me think that? Do you think that?” She points to the huge diaper in the grip of my magic. “Would you wanna see me prancing through town in one of those? Would you be okay with me using it? It’s meant to be used, so even if I didn’t I’d still be saying I want to, and that’s just disrespectful to everypony. And with a onesie, it’s, like, you don’t know if you’ve used your diaper or not, so everypony’s just gonna assume you have, and it’s weirder!”

Hearing that, I tug at the snug fabric hugging me around the shoulders, making my diaper squish. I don’t even notice. “It’s nothing of the sort! If you were the only pony wearing one, certainly, but you aren’t. In fact, I’d say you’re only assuming these things because that’s what you think when you see somepony else wearing a onesie, and the reason you think that way is because that’s how it is when you spend time doing this with Pinkie and Twilight.”

Rainbow looks stunned for a moment. She opens her mouth and closes it. She laughs weakly. “Maybe you’re right. Pinks and me are always… y’know, after an hour passes…”

I swiftly ignore the mental image that attempts to pop its way into my head.

“I’m only saying the rules you’ve learned with Pinkie and Twilight don’t apply among ponies who don’t like the things you three like. I don’t like soiling my diaper, so I simply don’t think about it. It’s good you don’t want to offend anypony, but just because you like something I don’t doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it. Play it up for all it’s worth! As long as you don’t throw it in my face, you’ll be fine.” I give her a smile and pat on the shoulder. She deserves it, poor thing. “Covering up your diaper is a good first step; at least that way, nobody can see at a glance if you’ve had an accident. If you want to do that, I can still help you.”

“Ah, yeah, I sorta gave the onesie you gave me to Applejack instead. Too small, in the, uh… you know, the flank...”

“Hm! Then I’ll make you another.”

Dash’s eyes practically light up. “Really? That’d be great! I’ve kinda already got another one, but I, uh, can’t really wear it around town…”

Ah.

We talk for another minute before I leave to shower, and I might have let slip something about the design Pinkie requested, and Rainbow might have done a happy little dance at the thought, so we’ll see what happens.

It’s a strange feeling, knowing these private things about my friends, but it doesn’t bother me to know. They aren’t forcing anything on me; I can show as much or as little interest in their fetish as I please, and it makes Rainbow happy to talk about it. Maybe I’ll have to talk to Twilight and Pinkie, too. There must be some merit to it, if Rainbow’s not the only one…