Regressive Ad Campaign: Part 6


By Sage Ann

By Sage Ann

This story is set in the incredible world created by AlteredStates14. Her universe is brought to life not through traditional written narratives, but through a powerful collection of images—advertisements, media articles, and other visual artifacts—that vividly capture everyday life in her setting.
All images associated with this story are her original work. Please consider supporting her so we can continue to explore and enjoy more of this fascinating world.
You can find her work here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/alteredstates14
Another author has also written a story based in this universe from a different perspective. You can find it here:
 https://www.deviantart.com/fatherfish/art/Pampers-and-Propaganda-1028729633



Kalie woke to cold. Not the pleasant chill of a winter morning safely observed from beneath warm blankets, but the insistent, invasive cold of wet fabric clinging to her skin. For a moment, she lay perfectly still, brain refusing to process what her body already knew. The dampness spread beneath her like a secret revealed, and with it came a wave of humiliation so intense it stole her breath. Her pajamas stuck to her thighs, the sensation both foreign and horrifically intimate. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening to her.
Across the hall, she heard Mary's door open, followed by a soft, defeated curse. The coincidence struck Kalie like a physical blow. Both of them. On the same night.
Kalie sat up, grimacing at the sodden sheets beneath her. At seventeen, she couldn't remember the last time she'd wet the bed—kindergarten, maybe? The wrongness of it curdled in her stomach. This wasn't normal. This wasn't random.
She peeled back her covers, wincing at the dark stain spreading across her mattress. Her fingers trembled as she pulled off her pajama bottoms, the wet fabric making a sickening sound as it unstuck from her skin. She grabbed a towel from her closet, wrapping it around her waist before stepping into the hallway.
Mary stood outside the bathroom, a bundle of sheets in her arms, her expression a complex mixture of resignation and concern. Their eyes met, a current of understanding passing between them.
"You too?" Mary whispered.
Kalie nodded, unable to form words around the lump in her throat.
Their mother's bedroom door opened before either could speak again. She emerged in her bathrobe, hair disheveled from sleep, eyes taking in her two daughters standing awkwardly in the hallway, both clutching evidence of their night's failures.
"Oh, girls," she said, her voice oddly unsurprised. She reached out, touching Mary's shoulder. "Why don't you both get cleaned up? I'll take care of the sheets."
Mary relinquished her bundle, eyes downcast. "It happened again."
"I know, sweetheart." Their mother took the sheets, then looked at Kalie. "You too?"
Shame burned across Kalie's cheeks. "I don't understand. I've never—" Her voice caught. "I've never done this before."
"Sometimes these things happen in families," their mother said, the platitude sliding off her tongue with practiced ease. "Don't worry. I was prepared."
She disappeared into Mary's room to strip the bed, leaving the sisters staring at each other in the hallway.
"Prepared?" Kalie whispered, something cold slithering down her spine that had nothing to do with her wet clothes.
Mary shrugged, looking defeated. "I'm getting in the shower."
Twenty minutes later, clean but still shaken, Kalie sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea she couldn't bring herself to drink. Mary sat across from her, picking at a piece of toast, her usual morning enthusiasm replaced by subdued movements.
Their mother entered, placing a shopping bag on the table. "Mary, I got these for you yesterday. They should help until we figure out what's going on."
She pulled out a package of pull-ups, the packaging decorated with subtle flowers and the TwenTeen logo. Mary stared at them, her face blank.
"They're the smallest adult size, but they should fit you fine." Their mother turned to Kalie. "I didn't get any for you yet. I wasn't expecting..." She gestured vaguely. "Do you think this was just a one-time thing?"
Kalie felt the question like a trap, though she couldn't articulate why. "I don't know," she admitted. "I've never had this happen before."
"Well, better safe than sorry. I'll pick up a small pack for you today, just in case." Their mother's tone was practical, reasonable—exactly what a concerned parent should sound like. So why did it make Kalie's skin crawl?
"I don't need them." The words came out sharper than Kalie intended.
"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to," her mother assured her. "But they're there if you change your mind. I just ask that you make sure you use the bathroom before bed tonight." She patted Kalie's hand. "No liquids after dinner, okay?"
Mary took the package, her fingers tracing the edge. "These look... young."
"They're made for teens," their mother said. "See? It says right there—TwenTeen. For young women like you."
The word choice—"young women" rather than "girls"—struck Kalie as calculated, though she couldn't say why.
"I have to get ready for work," their mother continued. "There's lunch money on the counter. Have a good day at school, both of you."
When she left, Kalie leaned across the table. "Don't you think this is weird? Both of us, on the same night?"
Mary shrugged, her fingers still worrying the edge of the pull-up package. "Maybe it's something we ate?"
"Or something we drank," Kalie said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Has Mom been making tea for you before bed?"
Mary's eyes widened. "You think Mom is doing this to us? That's crazy, Kalie."
"Is it? Don't you think it's strange that she already had these"—Kalie pointed at the package—"ready for you?"
"She said she bought them yesterday, after the second time it happened to me." Mary stood, tucking the package under her arm. "I need to get ready for school."
At school, Kalie couldn't focus. Her history teacher's lecture on the Progressive Era faded to background noise as she mentally replayed the morning's events. The coincidence felt too perfect, too calculated. And her mother's preparedness, her lack of surprise...
In the cafeteria, the television mounted to the wall played the midday news. Kalie wasn't paying attention until the words "age of majority" cut through her thoughts.
"...debate continues on Senator Langford's controversial proposal to raise the age of majority for women to thirty," the anchor was saying. "Proponents argue that the female brain continues developing well into the late twenties, and that additional protections would benefit young women in an increasingly complex society."
Kalie stared at the screen, fork suspended halfway to her mouth. A panel of experts—three men and one woman—nodded along as the anchor continued.
"Studies suggest that many young women feel overwhelmed by adult responsibilities," the female panelist said. "Our proposition simply acknowledges biological reality and provides appropriate safeguards."
"What would this mean practically?" the anchor asked.
"Young women under thirty would require a guardian's permission for major decisions—financial contracts, medical procedures, certain types of employment," the woman explained. "It's really about protection, not restriction."
Kalie's appetite vanished. She glanced around the cafeteria, wondering if anyone else was listening, if anyone else found this as disturbing as she did. But the few students watching seemed indifferent, more interested in their phones than the gradual erosion of rights being casually discussed on national television.
In her next class, Kalie overheard two girls discussing the news segment.
"My mom says it makes sense," one said, adjusting what Kalie now recognized as the waistband of a pull-up beneath her jeans. "Like, our brains aren't even done developing until we're like, twenty-five or something."
"My sister's twenty-seven and she still can't balance her checkbook," the other agreed with a laugh. "Maybe they're onto something."
Kalie felt like she'd stepped into an alternate reality. First the sudden normalization of teenagers in diapers, now this proposal to effectively extend childhood for women into their thirties? The connections formed in her mind like a conspiracy wall, red strings linking seemingly disparate events into a pattern too deliberate to be coincidence.
Walking home, Kalie couldn't shake the feeling that the world was shifting beneath her feet. Mary walked beside her, unusually quiet, lost in her own thoughts.
"Did you hear about that debate? About raising the age of majority for women?" Kalie finally asked.
Mary nodded. "They talked about it in social studies. Ms. Perez had us debate it."
"And? Don't you think it's crazy?"
Mary hesitated. "I don't know. They made some good points about brain development and stuff."
Kalie stopped walking, staring at her sister. "Are you serious right now? They're talking about treating adult women like children, and you think that's reasonable?"
"I didn't say I agreed with it," Mary protested. "Just that I understand the argument."
Kalie started walking again, faster now. "The whole world's going crazy," she muttered. "First teenage girls in diapers, now this."
"They're not diapers," Mary said automatically, the same defensive tone she'd used before.
Kalie didn't respond. Her mind was too busy connecting dots, assembling pieces of a puzzle whose picture was becoming increasingly clear—and increasingly terrifying. Something systematic was happening, something that went far beyond coincidental bedwetting or advertising trends. She just couldn't figure out why.