#wet caption

[k9effect]

Women ✨️

[Click for better quality, reblogs and tags highly appreciated]

[Available as a print here!]

[housemdenjoyer]

ducklings i'll be honest daddy's about to kill himself

[regressionschool]

Is there anything better than this? The quiet, intimate ritual of unsnapping their onesie, revealing what you already knew was waiting—a diaper so utterly soaked it sags heavily against their skin. A diaper you put on them. It’s not just a piece of padding; it’s a symbol, a quiet reminder of how much they trust you, how much they’ve given themselves over to your care.

You let your fingers trace the edges of the fabric, feeling the faint dampness where it’s pressed against them, and you can’t help but smile. There’s a strange kind of pride in it, isn’t there? You didn’t just put them in that diaper; you chose it, snugged it up perfectly, and secured those tapes with the full knowledge of what would happen next. And now here it is—proof that they’ve completely let go, literally and figuratively.

There’s no rush, no urgency to move forward. You savor the moment. That adorable onesie, now loose and pulled aside, was once perfectly neat and tidy. The contrast between its innocent look and the very not-so-innocent state of what’s underneath is… well, it’s delightful in a way words don’t quite capture.

And, of course, there’s the future. The wet diaper you’re admiring now is just one in a long line of many. It’s not the first, and it certainly won’t be the last. You already know what comes next: the warm scent of powder, the soft crinkle of a fresh diaper being unfolded, and the satisfying sound of tapes being smoothed into place. It’s a cycle, one you both share, and one you wouldn’t trade for anything.

So no, there’s nothing better than this. The quiet pride, the tenderness, the knowledge that another diaper is always waiting. Always.

[onebigsword]

Sad wet nun be upon ye

[gumbusmaximus]

"Alright baby girl, time to check your diaper. Awwww, you spread your legs so well for daddy! And your diaper is nice and full! I am so proud of you baby girl! We both know you will be in diapers for a very very long time. Now let's get that messy diaper changed."

[mommypof]

[selenasgirltiffany21]

[oldbutchdanielcraig]

andrew scott for interview mag, interviewed by olivia colman (x)

[regressionschool]

almost

The brightly lit store buzzed softly with faint chatter and the hum of fluorescent lights. Ava bounced alongside Daddy, her steps light and eager. Her eyes darted across the shelves, the colorful packages of diapers and pull-ups gleaming under the harsh lighting. She felt proud—Daddy said she'd done well enough during the day to earn this special treat. Pull-ups! She was finally getting pull-ups!

Her heart thumped as they reached the aisle. Ava’s face lit up at the sight of the packages adorned with cheerful cartoon characters and pastel patterns. She tugged at Daddy’s hand, her voice spilling over with excitement. “Look! That one has little unicorns on it!”

Daddy smiled warmly, giving her a playful nudge toward the shelf. “Go ahead, princess. Pick your favorite.”

Ava nodded enthusiastically, her pigtails bobbing, and crouched down in front of the lower shelves. The cutest pack—bright pink with sparkly rainbows and unicorns—was tucked just out of reach. Her tongue poked out in concentration as she stretched forward, the hem of her floral hoodie riding up as she squatted.

And then, it happened.

The faintest, almost imperceptible moment of release. Ava froze, her eyes widening. A telltale warmth bloomed in her diaper, followed by a heavy, unavoidable sensation settling in the seat of it. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she whimpered softly, shifting her weight uncomfortably. The squish of the sudden mess was unmistakable, betraying her to anyone within earshot—or smell.

"Oh, Ava…" Daddy chuckled, shaking his head as he knelt down to her level. His tone was soft but dripping with amusement, and he gently tipped her chin up to make her look at him. "You didn’t even last long enough to pick the pull-ups, did you, baby girl?"

Her cheeks burned crimson, and she squirmed in her squat, the fullness of her situation unmistakable now. “I… I didn’t mean to, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He kissed her forehead with a grin. "I know, sweet pea. Almost made it, though. Almost."

[veelilee]

the way is not always perfect there are many difficulties but we're going to keep moving forward

this is not the end, there is still hope, rwby will find a new home and crwby will continue the story 🤍

+ not gif version

[beemo-boppin]

This is why Etho doesn't stream

(Transcript and video credit below)

Transcript --

Etho (wet cat-like): Oh no everybody's sad. I gotta go guys! I can't- I can't do this forever *Minecraft cat meows* Etho (pitifully): I'm sorry ... Noo so many sad faces, noo Etho (holding back tears /j): Bye bye. Snack time! Ohh! ... It's the end, bye bye! ... Sad faces ... aand I'm hitting stop streaming! *Minecraft dog barks* Etho (feigning normalcy): goodnight, bye bye *bark* *meow*

Clipped from an Anonymous upload of "Etho's Secret Stream: 4/3/2015" Original source material credit to EthoTV on Twitch.

[hypnocatabdl]

Sometimes my girlfriend wakes up before me and snaps a picture just to remind me what a sleepy little bedwetter I am 🫠 At least the sheets stayed dry this time..

[selenasgirltiffany21]

[hyunpic]

HYUNJIN | SKZ CODE EP. 57 + bonus fish flop

[diaperdino77]

Matching diapee🧷, onesie👕, and baba🍼

[regressionschool]

The Challenge

You’ve worked at Regression School for over a decade. You’ve seen all kinds of Littles—reluctant ones, rebellious ones, even clever manipulators who smiled sweetly and plotted potty escapes the moment your back was turned. But none—none—had ever been quite like Melanie.

She didn’t cry when she was admitted. She didn’t protest during orientation. No, Melanie had stared you down, pacifier clipped neatly to her alphabet-print shirt, and simply stayed silent.

Day one had passed uneventfully. She’d sat quietly through nap time, toddled obediently through the halls in her light-up shoes, and even colored neatly within the lines. But she hadn’t asked for the potty. Not once.

You made a note of it in her chart, just like all the others.

But day two had been… different.

The scene replays in your mind like a snapshot—Melanie in the middle of the reading circle, crinkling just slightly in her training pull-ups, legs crossed daintily and an air of defiance in her every motion. The class was quiet, listening to Miss Jenny read "The Little Bunny’s Big Day", and Melanie had shifted once… then again… and then—

A soft hiss.

You weren’t the only one who noticed. Her pull-ups bloated subtly under her sundress, then darkened. You watched the creeping stain, the slow sag. By the time she stood up, it was clear—too clear.

“Oh no, sweetie,” Miss Jenny had said gently, taking her hand. “Looks like you need a change.”

Melanie’s eyes found you across the room.

It wasn’t an accident. That much was obvious.

She wanted you to see.

There wasn’t embarrassment or shame in them. Only a glint of challenge.

And so, on day three, you did what any seasoned caregiver at Regression School would do when confronted with such behavior—you removed the option for rebellion.

No more training pants. No more pull-ups. Melanie was returned from the changing room swaddled securely in a thick white medical diaper, double-taped at the hips, with a telltale yellow wetness indicator running down the center.

She didn’t say a word about it.

But her eyes found yours again.

Still challenging.

Still daring you.

You called her to your office after lunch. Not because of misbehavior—she’d followed every rule to the letter—but because you needed to understand her. Littles who gave up too easily were boring. Ones who resisted forever were exhausting. But Melanie… she was something else.

The door to your office clicked shut behind her with a quiet finality. Melanie didn’t flinch. She didn’t even glance at the plush pastel posters or the stack of reward stickers lined up like medals on your shelf.

She flopped into the chair across from your desk with practiced ease, legs parting carelessly, the thick white diaper beneath her riding high and proud, crinkling as she settled in.

“Well?” she asked, eyes steady on yours. “Gonna give me another sticker for coloring inside the lines?”

You folded your hands on the desk.

“No,” you replied, voice calm but firm. “That’s not the point. Most Littles need days—sometimes weeks—before they finally let go. They cling to their old habits, clutching at that last shred of potty training like it’s sacred. But you…” You let your eyes travel down briefly to the faint yellow bloom beginning to show on her diaper. “You gave it up from the start.”

Melanie didn’t look away. But the corner of her mouth twitched half amusement, half bitterness.

“So what do you want?” she asked, voice low and cool, though her fingers fidgeted slightly on the soft pink arms of the chair. “A tantrum? Some tears? You won’t get them.”

You leaned back in your seat, studying her.

“Why you’ve surrendered so easily… but still look at me like you're winning.”

That cracked something. A flicker behind her eyes. She sighed and reached up to brush a lock of auburn hair off her cheek, the pacifier bouncing lightly on its clip.

“You think I had a choice?” she said finally. “We both know what Regression School is. No one gets enrolled and leaves with their potty training intact."

“So that’s it, then?” you asked softly, watching her shift again in the chair. “You’re just going to go along with it? Play the perfect Little, as long as you get to pretend you’re still in control?”

Melanie’s eyes sparked again, her lips curling—not sweetly, not submissively, but with a slyness that could cut.

“I never said I was pretending.”

The silence was punctuated only by the quiet hum of the overhead fan. And then—

She shifted her weight with deliberate slowness, planting her feet on either side of the plush chair, knees spread wide. The pacifier on her clip bobbed gently with the motion. Her hands slid to the cushioned arms, steadying herself, and her gaze never left yours.

Then came the sound.

It started soft. A barely audible grunt from Melanie, low and unhurried, followed by a sudden crackle, muffled by layers of thick padding. Her brow furrowed slightly, not in discomfort, but focus. A long, hot breath escaped her lips, and the unmistakable squish and squelch of her diaper filling echoed faintly between the walls.

You watched as the pristine white bulk beneath her dress puffed outward at the back, sagging visibly, discoloring slightly around the edges. The wetness indicator had already begun to blur from yellow to green, but now—now it was joined by a bulging distortion that left no doubt. The smell followed quickly, sweet and sour, familiar.

And Melanie?

She grinned.

“Oops,” she said, voice syrup-sweet and mock-innocent. “Guess I really am settling in.”

You stared at her, half in disbelief and half in awe.

Most Littles hid it the first few times. Curled up, covered their faces, whimpered. But Melanie—Melanie leaned back, legs spread, a fresh mess ballooning softly in the seat of her now thoroughly used diaper, sagging and squishing as she shifted her hips just a little more.

“This what you wanted to see?” she whispered.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Because this—this wasn't surrender. It wasn’t defeat.

It was power.

And Melanie knew it.

“Well,” you said finally, rising from your seat and circling your desk slowly. “I think it’s time for a fresh diaper, little one.”

Melanie just smiled wider, utterly unashamed. “Then you better bring the thick ones. I don’t think I’m done yet.”

She wasn’t embarrassed.

She wasn’t broken.

She was in control of this, of you, of the moment.