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Okay, this is really my first (and thus far, only planned, although I'm Not Saying It's Aliens, but... is rather similar in a way) foray into Diaper Dimension stories, so I'll try to do my best to adhere to the whole thing. Basically, though, I will warn you of this: there is a war in this particular part of the Dimension, and neither country involved has their hands clean. That's the moral of this story: war sucks, every country has their dirty laundry, and nobody's innocent. The focus on Littles is also pretty far away; I'm focusing more on one particular Little and her perspective on the whole thing, and while Littles will appear, I'm not planning on them being the focal parts of the story for story reasons. If any other characters are really focused on perspective-wise (possibly; I have an idea how the story ends, but everything else is a work in progress, and I apologize; bipolar disorder makes it hard to focus on...well, anything, and I wanted to get something done to help with the depression.), it'll likely be the Amazons and Middles who are a part of that war. I will mention that I am not a member of the armed forces and not a marine, so while I'm trying to research the absolute shit out of this, I cannot promise to be perfect. If there is a marine here who wants to correct me, feel absolutely free, and I will apply those corrections to this story whenever possible. Likewise, I cannot give a specific schedule of when Semper Fi gets updated; I have a very busy four weeks ahead, and my mental health is likewise unclear, and that's why I'm updating this at the moment and trying - key word is trying - to get my other stories done, I promise. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. But if you're not scared away by the numerous content warnings I've posted, read on: - Chapter One: Where is my Brother? - Corporal Clover Hope was so desperate to find her missing older brother that she had gone AWOL from the United States Marine Corps, all the way from Camp Lejeune to the last location he had been sighted: Nevada’s Death Valley. First Lieutenant (Marine Corps like her, semper fi!) Graywind Hope, tall and well-built at 6’4”, with his short black hair, his warm gray eyes the color of smoke on the breeze, his tawny skin denoting him (and her) as a member of the Navajo, his normal stoicism belied by the fact that he gave her all of the soft smiles he wouldn’t give anyone else, laughing at all of her bad jokes, and giving her all of the biggest hugs a big brother could ever give a little sister. He had gone missing a month ago, and whenever she brought it up with her superiors in the Marine Corps, they told her that they didn’t have answers, that she’d have to bring it up with the chain of command, who delayed her constantly, without remorse or empathy, every time she tried to go through normal channels. Clover was fucking sick of the chain of command, fucking sick of every noncommittal answer on normal channels. She wanted to see his smile again, hear his voice again, and nothing was worth more than that. She wanted her brother - her only family member with both of their parents dead - back, screw the military, and screw what everyone else thought. She was positioned just outside of the latest sighting, getting as much information as she could from the Nevada natives outside of Death Valley, close to another base that was very much like Area 51, but even more secretive in what they did. The United States military had been testing various things above her paygrade; that she knew, as she took a sip of water from one of her two two-quart-sized plastic flasks she had brought along for the ride. Clover had ditched her uniform a while back, going for a cowboy hat, a tank top, leather gloves, a pair of jeans, and muddy combat boots to go along with her huge backpack, all crudely painted black with a stolen paint can now in the vehicle she stole - being conscious of the environment was the reason she didn’t use spray cans - and stolen from different places; she wanted to spare what little cash she had for necessary things like food, water, and gas for her car. Said backpack was stuffed with her other water flask and an aluminum canteen cup, a case containing her Nintendo Switch OLED model with various games, charger, and a Power Bank for portable charging (to prevent her getting bored), a tactical flashlight (she had left her iPhone at the base so as to avoid being tracked, so she had stolen the flashlight), binoculars (military grade and yes, it was stolen), a bunch of canned and preserved food from a gas station (expensive and not particularly edible, but better than MREs, and she’d make do), a jacket and a beanie for the cold desert night (also stolen), a first aid kit (stolen again), and a military grade sleeping bag (to nobody’s surprise, stolen). Her M18 Modular Handgun System - a pistol based on the SIG Sauer used by the Marines - was holstered on her thigh with two extra magazines on her belt, along with a standard KA-BAR knife stored in a custom made (thanks to Graywind for her most recent birthday, her twenty-second two months ago) waterproof vegetable-tanned cowhide leather sheath, as she peered through the binoculars, her gray eyes cautious. The building had snipers posted on top, and she’d never be able get close to the place unless, maybe, when it turned to night - a massive problem since she was wanted by the Marines, local and federal police, and probably the fucking FBI and CIA at the rate she was going. Clover had dug herself a small hole into the rocky hill using her KA-BAR knife. It had been exhausting work, taking the whole of the day and sweat poured down her tawny skin and black ponytail, but she kept at it, even when bits of sand filled the hole, thinking of nothing more than her brother, safe, back with her, ready to face whatever consequences so she could see him again. When she finished, it was dinnertime: canned hash (basically salty beef and potatoes), canned corn, and canned black beans with a snack of trail mix and a quickly-browning banana. It was what she had been living on in the past three days that she had been AWOL, and she hated it…but it was still better than the military’s Meals Rejected by Everyone. She shuddered, remembering the first time she had tried the chili and macaroni MRE; she had nearly vomited the whole thing up, and it gave her severe constipation, taking for-fucking-ever to shit it out of her system. Good news is that prison food might be a bit better, Clover thought pessimistically as she chewed on the canned hash, drinking a bit more water to go along with it. Then a deep male voice, close, far too close, shouted, “Don’t fucking move!”, and she saw a bunch of red dots line up on her body, with three very tall, fully armored men pointing M27s at her. Bitter tears escaped her eyes. She was close, so fucking CLOSE to finding Graywind, and she had been denied it. “Who are you?” the speaker, a huge man in body armor that had to be at least 6’9”, demanded in a Southern drawl. “Specify the reason why you’re here!” She answered, like she had been drilled into countless times at boot camp, “Sir, Corporal Clover Hope, USMC, Service Number 8839754669, sir!” The speaker paused. “Where did you go to boot camp? What is your MOS? Where were you stationed? And what are the parts of the EGA, and what do they mean?” “Sir, MCRD San Diego, MOS is 0311, stationed at Camp Lejeune, and the parts of the EGA are Eagle, stands for United States, Globe, stands for global service, and Anchor, stands for our naval traditions, sir!” Clover saw the man smirk, could almost see the amusement in his eyes behind his sunglasses. “You expecting a Big Chicken Dinner for going AWOL?” he drawled. “To find my fucking brother, asshole!” she snapped. The man paused for a few moments. “...Semper fi,” he said. “Oorah,” she answered quietly. “Yeah, he was here,” he said, holding his hand up to signal his men to stand down. “Far above your paygrade.” “I don’t give a single shit, or I wouldn’t be here,” Clover growled. “Sir, we don’t have time for this,” the second marine said. “Just put her in the damned brig and be done with it.” “I wonder, though…” the big marine murmured, his finger scratching his blond beard. “Corporal, how much do you know of dimensional travel?” “Sir?” she asked, suddenly confused. “You’re talking aliens?” “Of a sort, yeah.” She got the feeling he wasn’t being entirely honest. “You’re about the right size for…yeah…if it were a Middle, it would be a different story, but you’re about 5’1”, should be enough for…” “Sir, what the fuck are you talking about?” Clover interrupted, completely confused about the reference to her height. Her boob size wasn’t much to brag about either, probably AA cup, maybe A at the absolute most, but she almost preferred it: the less staring and catcalls from the men, the better. “Take these.” The big marine handed her an earpiece (which, while she was confused about it, didn’t hesitate to put it in her left ear) and an odd gray device, circular in circumference and the size of her palm. “You’re going to want to get rid of your weapons - every weapon - and grab your backpack before you click the bottom button.” “I’m not relieving my weapons,” Clover said stubbornly, as she palmed the device. “Your funeral,” the big marine said with a shrug. “You come in with weapons, and the Amazons won’t be very fucking happy, but you asked for it; we’ve got plenty more where you come from.” She looked at the big marine like he was crazy. “Amazons? The fuck kind of aliens are those? Do they do deliveries and shit, too?” “Remind me to laugh at your shitty jokes if you ever get back,” the second marine growled, and she could almost hear his eyeroll. “Sir, you’re not seriously-” the third marine began before the big marine cut him off, saying, “Every Middle classification, including her brother, has disappeared without a trace, has immediately been cut off from radio contact. We’re not part of their world, so we can’t be Amazons. There’s only one classification left we haven’t tried, and we haven’t tried a woman yet.” “Littles!” the second marine spat. “She’d be useless to them!” “And she doesn’t know shit about this! Why not try someone else on base; hell, anyone else?!” the third marine snapped. “She has a personal stake in this. Motivation enough to risk a prison sentence.” The big marine sighed as Clover quickly devoured her meal, not even bothering to clear off the remnants of food from her face before she packed up her sleeping bag in her backpack. “Sometimes, that’s what the greatest of us lack: motivation and a reason worth fighting for.” Clover hefted her backpack over her shoulders and clicked the button on the bottom of the gray device, which lit up bright silver in the desert, whirling in her palm, burning as miniature tendrils attached themselves to her hand. She felt every fiber of her body react, her blood, sinew, and bones almost boiling like a bad morphine overdose. She wanted to scream, but it quickly died in her throat. The device emitted an ear-piercing shriek, and she may have as well before everything went black. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Well, I watched Deadpool & Wolverine...and I loved every moment of it. I also love The Boys for their gritty, somewhat, realistic take on superheroes. Along with the current situation and...real-life events, I think I'd try my hand at a superpowered individual adult baby story! There are also similar elements taken from The Handmaid's Tale and Dragon Age's mage situation (a very fun video game series). As such...a lot of mature themes will be in this story that, quite frankly, delve just as deep into the potential of a new Gilead, and the content warnings are as such. There is sexism by not only the men leading the country/world towards women - both trans and cis - but by the goddess towards men as well. It will be handled delicately, but at the same time, punches will not be pulled; to do that would disrespect everything that's happening in the world today. If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy this story~ - Chapter One: (Another) Brand-New Day. - “Wake up, lovelies! It’s time for a brand-new day.” The melodic feminine voice of Mommy snapped Kirsteen Calhoun’s - better known to all as “Chrissy” - eyes wide awake, peering at the room around her. Pastel pink was everywhere, the mobile hanging above her crib. She let out a yawn and rubbed her sage-green eyes with her mitten-clad hands, noting her pacifier falling from her mouth, the soft fuzziness of her pink-footed sleeper she was dressed in. Then crying echoed around the room, and she knew that some of the other fifteen-year-old girls in this place had realized that their diapers were utterly soiled. Of course, she knew that her diaper was far from clean as well, but she wasn’t going to cry like…them. She was a big girl, she could hold it in. She remembered…remembered a time where that would be unthinkable…but that time was when she had a male body, male expectations…none of which felt right to her, and those days were blurry, like a whisper in a fog, ghost-like and silent. She had been transformed on her tenth birthday, utterly transformed from boy to girl in her sleep. The Nullifiers came immediately after, took her away, sent her to one of the many Classrooms across the United Region of Biblical Interests…Urobi, for short. Thirty girls to a Classroom, basically an overgrown daycare and nursery for those girls who were Dicers, girls with supernatural powers, chosen by the roll of a dice. The Goddess had cursed them with it, they had learned; the Goddess, under a cruel whim, had decided to babify a third of girls around the world, take away their ability to control something a simple toddler could forever. This was a kindness, Mommy said, until they could grow up into big girls again. But Chrissy knew that something was missing, knew the story was just that: a story, only made to frighten little girls like her. Her powers weren’t fancy: she had the constantly active ability to discern anything, through walls, through different floors, even through the truths and lies of people themselves, but her powers, her curse, was efficient enough to know that something…something… Her brain wasn’t functioning again, and the uncomfortable squelch in her diaper told her she desperately needed a change, so she did the only thing she could: cry along with the twenty-nine other girls. A large group of adult women - the Aunties - then entered the room, all of them wearing floor-length dresses, some of them bearing the obvious baby bumps of pregnancy. Soon enough, Chrissy and the twenty-nine others (including her cribmate, a girl named Briar Droney) were quickly and expertly changed. An Auntie with her brown hair expertly braided in a bun (in contrast to Chrissy’s dark-brown pigtails with beautiful pink ribbons in pretty bows to pin them) put a bib on her before she realized that the morning bottle was next, filled with breast milk made by the numerous breeders. As she was wearing mittens, it was all but impossible to grasp the bottle, so the Auntie fed her. A large bit of the milk dribbled from her mouth to her bib, but she managed to finish it all. She could tell that the Auntie didn’t particularly care for the job, for her or any of the other girls. None of them did, really; it was just an upgrade compared to the rights of most women in Urobi. There was even something off about Mommy… Chrissy’s brain immediately became fuzzy again, as the big girl thoughts vanished, as she drummed her legs and squealed excitedly for the day to begin, not even caring about the spurt of pee that entered her very thick diaper, as the Auntie set her back into the crib. “Chrissy?” She turned around to see Briar again, talking to her, the brilliant green eyes of her cribmate complimenting her curly flaming-red hair. Even dressed as infantile as she was in a pink footed sleeper with a pacifier clip spelling out her name completed by a pacifier that stated “Princess”, the obvious thickness of the diaper around her big hips, her cribmate looked genuinely beautiful with a much bigger bust than hers (not that hers was small in the slightest), a nice butt (even if it was covered by a diaper), and a heart-shaped face with cute freckles. “You okay?” Briar asked in a pure Scottish drawl. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Chrissy mumbled in her own Irish brogue, while chewing on her pacifier, forcing herself not to blush. “I hope we all learn something today,” Briar said wistfully. “Like ABCs, 123s, and that stuff? Nah.” Chrissy knew - she knew she knew - that males were taught more than females, more than the stuff that girls, and especially Dicers, were taught…but what were they? What were they… “No. The story about…the Goddess.” The redhead had a dreamy look on her face. “You mean the bedtime story we’re read every night?” Chrissy rolled her eyes at the thought of it, the same stupid story that she knew wasn’t true. “A fairytale?” “Every fairytale’s based on something. I wanna learn more.” The two paused the conversation. It was the same conversation they always had when they woke up, always about learning something new, even when nothing new was really learned…but Briar was Chrissy’s only real friend. The other girls didn’t like her as much, she thought, as it was too easy for her to discern their true thoughts, if they were telling the truth or lying. Nobody liked having a living lie detector around them, nobody wanted their secrets spilled, and thus, trust and kindness was an option they couldn’t, no, wouldn’t afford her. Briar was different. She was the smartest girl Chrissy knew, but was fun-loving, hid nothing from anyone, and cared about everyone. And she didn’t treat Chrissy any differently because of her powers. Like everyone else. The other girls. The Aunties. Even Mommy… With those thoughts, she felt an Auntie pick her up and set her in a giant pink stroller with Briar, ready to be whisked away for a new day of learning. The hallways were that of a typical daycare for girls: pastel pink, with cutesy female human doll caricatures all around them. The strollers were fun and had nice toys to play with as the long stroll from nursery to daycare began. But there were no stuffed animals, nothing that could define anything other than humanity. Chrissy could remember having a stuffed animal a long time ago, but the animals - both stuffed and real - were all…gone, except for the usual hideously mutated farm animals that she had seen a few times outside of the walls - animals so horrifying that they weren’t even really animals to her, just…meat. What was the word…gone? No, not exactly right. Bye-bye? No, definitely not that. It started with an “e”. What were words that started with “e”...? What was “e”...? Her thoughts were quickly regressing into infancy again, and she let out a soft babble through her pacifier as she batted at one of the toys. Then Briar poked her. Gently, yet still a firm poke that brought her thoughts back to...well, not exactly adolescence, but close enough. “What did you poke me for?” Chrissy said with a slight pout, feeling her comforting pacifier fall out of her open mouth. “Because you look adorable,” Briar said, sticking her tongue out before she grabbed at her pacifier with both mitten-clad hands to put it back in - a skill that Chrissy had yet to master, as she realized that with another pout. Then the long hallway ended at a pair of barred doors, and the Classroom’s daycare began, the start of another brand-new day. - Hope you enjoyed~ I'll see when I can update this story, hopefully soon (as well as my, admittedly, numerous other projects).