Fluttershy Green

>Fluttershy
>Early teenage years
>Ever since you fell through the clouds and found the world below, full of animals, you've wanted to move out and learn to care for animals
>There's just one problem
>You may have your cutie mark, but you're still a bedwetter
>Mom and dad usually aren't assertive, but this is one thing they've put their hooves down on: if you're going to make your own world in the world, you need to wake up with dry sheets seven days in a row
>You know from experience that you are nowhere near being able to accomplish this normally
>But you have a plan...
>One of your bird friends chirps you awake - your little alarm to take care of things before mom comes in to check your bed
>Groggily you pull yourself up and slide a hoof down your sheets. Dry. After a moment of hesitation, you pat your diaper. The soft cushion around your crotch is bloated with urine, but the seals have remained true. Even now, your padding is warm - perhaps insulated by the sheets.
>You hear mother's approach, and a renewed sense of urgency presses you to quickly tear the tapes, roll the diaper, and, after only a moment's anxiety, drop the balled garment through the cloud layer that makes up your floor, a payload promised for the land far below.
>With a quick swab of your special regions - one that sends a shiver of delight up your spine - there is no evidence left. In any other room, perhaps the scent of urine might betray you, but the stench has lingered so long in your chambers that the morning's duplicity makes little difference.
>Mom arrives and, after a quick survey, congratulates you on three nights of success
>It would have been the perfect crime
>If not for the interference of "baby bro"
>The epithet was particularly regrettable in light of events to come, but hindsight is twenty-twenty.
>Four dry nights remain
>Even here in the clouds, there are places to pursue an interest in animals - an arboretum where the birds rest their tired wings. With seed, you've found fast friends who make up your alarm system
>But for an introvert like yourself, they also serve another function - they're the only ones you can vent to. Trust with your secrets. The anxiety of keeping a secret wrapped up to yourself normally would make you a nervous wreck, but after telling your animal friends - not likely to speak your secrets - you feel much better.
>And so you return to your room for the night. Your ritual begins. Curtains, drawn. Door, locked. You secret your diapers from their hiding place - submerged in the cloud layer, impossible to detect.
>Shivering with anticipation, you gingerly run a hoof up and down the thick, plastic backing
>After relishing the thickness, you lay your diaper down on the bed, spreading its wings and, after a deep breath, you turn and slide back onto it, drawing the packaging over your region and to your belly
>You pause, uncertain. The diapers have been causing you to rash slightly. It's not enough to cause a problem, but if it became more noticeable...
>Coming to a conclusion, you right yourself without sealing your garment and retrieve a bottle of baby powder.
>With an uncertain shake, a puff of powder bursts forth from the container - eliciting a brief cough before you quiet yourself. A small mound of powder has formed on your hoof, and, turning your attention to your nethers, you bring the white substance to your own mound
>With a slow, experimental rub, you coat the sensitive flesh around your marehood
>Stifling a moan of surprise, you bite your lip -- throwing the earlier caution to the proverbial wind in favor of an urgent, almost reckless series of strokes over your body
>You recline like that for a time - laying on an open diaper, the fine edge of your hoof running circles around your hood
>Steps outside your door jolt you from your haze, however, and you squirm in panic
>Half off the bed, diaper half open, covered in baby powder, far from the concealment of the covers - your heart flutters in uncertainty as you picture your mother walking in on you now
>The sounds fade
>Your door was locked anywayy
>Letting loose a sigh of relief, you draw up your diaper, securing the tapes in place
>You take a moment to appreciate your handiwork - this is only your fourth real night of being diapered, but already you feel you've attained a reasonable level of mastery over securing the material. Leaks are a constant source of fear in your mind, after all. A few drips wouldn't be noticed on your long-since yellowed mattress, but any moisture significant to remain the night would certainly reset your day count
>Finally, satisfied that you are securely padded for the night, you ease yourself under the covers.
>It was the last night you would feel truly safe and secure in your diapers
>Because by morning they would become a source of stress in an entirely new way