Search the Community

Hey-lo, and welcome to my medieval fantasy (with dragons) version of an adult baby story: Drakevisions! Now, our dragons are quite different in this story (and it will be explained later on), but I wanted an exciting first chapter to start with. Now, there are numerous content warnings for this story. This is definitely under the realm of mature for a very good reason. In this chapter alone, there's implied war crimes, stated sexual assault (including one case of a teen) and implied abuse stemming from this, implied baby dragon killing, major violence (including blood and broken bones), and implied murder and mass murder, including that of baby dragons. Later on, we'll be delving into a few more of those themes plush brainwashing and gaslighting, transphobia, bullying, sexism, bigotry against small town people, war crimes, animal (dragon) cruelty, abuse of both humans and baby dragons, character death, implied intentions of genocide, and various other topics. I advise people to ONLY get into this if you're willing; I will never ask people to read this if they don't want to. Please remember: VIEWER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVISED. 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. Thank you in advance! And now, for the first chapter of Drakevisions! - Chapter One: Visions of the Past - Ermendrud was nervous for her first day at her job for Queen Dominica, First of Her Name, Ruler of the Five Realms, The Beauty of the World. Well, technically, it wasn’t just the Queen that needed it; it was the entire city of Deofolmece and everyone in the Light Realm from the evil drakes in the Shadow Lands and the treacherous, loathsome Oathbreakers who led them. It was the job of the Immortals, the Queen’s famed major army, to protect the villages, but after the drakes had torn through Blodham, the second-largest city in the Light Realm, slaying all in their wake, it was almost becoming a necessity to find a weapon that could stop them. Not that it was easy, because even wounding a full-grown drake was considered almost impossible. No, Ermendrud wasn’t in the Immortals; only those big enough, strong enough, fast enough, and brave enough were capable - and she was none of those: only a girl of seven-and-ten, shy and gentle as a flower, and the Immortals did not allow women in their ranks, by order of the Queen. Her job was egg raising, drake egg raising, to be precise, along with many others who either intended to join the Immortals or make drake bloodletting a career. Drake blood had a potency that was unmatched. It was said to cure any sickness, no matter how much it spread, any wound, even mortal ones. It could even cure deformities in babies and children. And thus, even with how dangerous fully-grown drakes were, the eggs - and the little drakes inside of them - were immensely important. It was a blessing and a curse, then, that drakes were immortal…in a manner of speaking. Kill one, and its body would simply return to being an unbreakable - yes, unbreakable; swords, hammers, axes, spears, all of them would shatter on impact - egg, which then hatched it into a baby drake all over again in two years. Out of all five species of drakes, only the rare phoenixdrakes would ever remember any of their previous lives, sure, but it meant that nothing would ever put them down for good. And so Ermendrud was to harvest the blood of baby drakes, she pondered, as she walked over to the gatehouse where she was to sign up, all the way from her small village of Blaecham. She kept wondering if that was a good idea, to kill babies of any kind for blood, but drakes were cruel to humans, were they not? “Hey, Ermy! Are you listening?” “Are you ignoring us on purpose? I’m hurt, Ermy; I thought we were friends?” “Realm to Ermy, are you there?” Ermendrud turned to her three lifelong friends - all from the same village she was from, all seven-and-ten years of age, and all staring at her - startled out of her thoughts. There was Faramund, a six foot, five inch and somewhat heavyset man at nineteen stone exact with oily, caramel brown hair that was slicked back to the nape of his neck, a patchy beard with slight ginger hints on a face with a jutting jaw and high cheekbones, and cautious green eyes, his muscles showing from his short brown shirt and breeches. He was the smart and serious one, wise beyond his years, always the one with a solid plan to do things every day, stoic and always reliable, even with his analytical mindset. Second was Widogast, a tall and gangly man at six feet, five inches and fourteen-and-a-half stone, with shoulder-length strawberry blond hair, a thin mustache and the hints of a wispy goatee, and mischievous gray eyes on a rodent-like face, his long dyed blue shirt and brown breeches baggy on him. He was always ready with a joke that nobody else seemed to get, a constant grin on his face, always positive and willing to cheekily argue with the more dour Faramund, constantly keeping up their spirits. Finally, there was Wulfgifu, a woman taller than any of them and most grown men at six feet, seven inches weighing fourteen stone, with large breasts and hips showing through her long homespun brown dress, long and curly burnt-orange locks falling to the small of her back, and icy-blue eyes filled with surprising warmth on her chubby face. She was brash and bold, confident and dauntless almost to a fault, but stronger than any man she knew, despite being a woman, never to be bettered by any man. And yet, she was a very kind and nurturing woman as well. All stood there with bags carrying their meager possessions (it wasn’t that they were poor; they just didn’t have as much as the castle inhabitants did), seemingly waiting on her to pay attention. Ermendrud shuffled her bag on her shoulder nervously, her long auburn hair pinned into a bun, even though lengths of it still fell into her hazel eyes, shifting from the lightest brown to a brownish-green in the light, each with gold flecks. She was small for a woman at 5’1” and slightly heavier than seven stone. Her plain brown dress purposely hid her breasts, large for her size, even though her petite frame would do her no favors on the childbearing (partially why she wanted not to have children, along with not wanting the responsibility). She and her friends called themselves “The Four Routiers”, having known each other since early childhood. They protected each other (well, it was mostly her three friends protecting her, but she helped dress their wounds afterwards; she was slated to be a healer early on before the interest in drake-keepers grew and her profession was changed), they sang together, fought together, did everything together. And now they were becoming drake-keepers and moving to the castle together. The thought was a lot for her. “Well, um, I was just thinking about the drakes in question,” she answered, her thoughts on the potential hatchlings. “It just seems like a lot, you know? Coming from Blaecham all the way to Castle Tungol…who would’ve thought?” “Who would’ve thought it would be us?” Wulfgifu answered kindly. “Why shouldn’t it be us, Ermy? We’ve more than earned our way, learning how to read, even in our small hamlet, learning as much as we could. Isn’t this what it’s supposed to be?” “And it’ll be fun!” Widogast said eagerly. “I want to see what the drakes are like as well!” “You mean before we kill them?” Faramund finished. “That’s what they’ll be expecting. I don’t like it one bit, and neither does Ermy; I can tell.” “Fary dour, ever sour,” Widogast snarked before finishing in a dark tone, “There’ll probably be Immortals that do that. I never want to be one, even if they demand it. Not now, not ever.” “Never is right,” Faramund agreed with vehemence in his tone. “After the Sack of Wolcenham? After everything we’ve lost? Never.” “Even if I was a man, never,” Wulfgifu echoed, her voice raw with fury. “Never, ever, ever.” Ermendrud felt empathy towards all of her three friends, as they stood outside of the castle gatehouse, thinking about the Immortals. All of her friends’ fathers and mothers had died while in service as infantry to the Immortals against the drakes (which led to the law that no woman could join the Immortals after they had been killed by the drakes). Widogast had lost his older sister after she got into a fight with an Immortal when he was eight, and Faramund had lost his older brother during the sack. Killed in battle, was what he stated an Immortal said to him, but he knew that was a lie. As for Wulfgifu’s anger against the Immortals, all of her family, down to the newborn baby, had been butchered by what she believed were Immortals when she was a child, the only survivor of the attack. The Immortals said the murderers were bandits, but she never believed them. Meanwhile, Ermendrud was the product of a brutal rape by some horrible excuse of a man, her mother being younger than she was when it happened, having barely survived the birth, according to the midwife who had told the story to Ermendrud. Her mother always said she never wanted her, that she hated her child, that her eyes reminded her of her rapist every single time, to never come back after permanently kicking her out of the house when she was a child. Her gentle heart knew that her mother was just traumatized from what had happened, and others wiser than she had said her mother was far too young to properly care for her. She had no idea who her father was and never wanted to know, if that was the kind of “man” he was. The four had been mostly raised by a kindly friar by the name of Ealhstan (now Brother Ealhstan); a compassionate man who helped them along with the nuns of Blaecham, keeping them from the more unsavory orphanages and telling the four that they were a family and to hold onto those bonds for their days…and so they did. “HEY! Are you four just going to stand out there gawking?!” All four of them jumped when they heard the sound of a gruff woman, part of a group of three women who revealed themselves. The speaker was a bit taller than most women, willowy, clad in leather armor, a dagger at her hip. A scowl was on her freckled face. The other two women were also tall and more portly than the speaker, but clad in the same armor. Wulfgifu answered for all of them. “We’re supposed to be drake-keepers. This is where we sign up, right?” “Drake-keepers? You four? HAH!” The woman spat on the ground. “You and everyone in every small backwater town!” “We had letters that told us to sign-” “Nobody cares!” the speaking woman snarled. “Nobody cares about you fucking poor hicks!” “Who says we aren’t wealthy?” Widogast asked cheekily. “Your clothes, smartarse,” the woman growled. “Cheek me again, and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out.” Widogast gave a sneaky look at the woman before touching his right cheek, then his left, before he finally stuck his tongue out. “Fucking cocksucker!” The woman rushed at Widogast almost faster than Ermendrud could blink, her dagger drawn. One of them drew her own dagger, while the other had a sword, both rushing Faramund and Wulfgifu, obviously saving the smaller Ermendrud for last. Widogast dodged the initial knife swipe, landing a solid blow on the woman’s nose that broke it, leaving her gasping in anger. Ermendrud, seeing Wulfgifu holding the arms of the sword-bearing woman to prevent the two-handed sword from coming down, gave a quick kick to the woman’s leg with her heavy boot that sent her crumpling to the ground with a crack, howling in pain, before Wulfgifu knocked the woman out with a blow to the head. Faramund had disarmed the other dagger-wielding woman with a hard twist, breaking the woman’s wrists as she screamed, before kicking the dagger away from her. The willowy woman flipped the knife to her other hand, stabbing at Widogast, who merely sidestepped the attempt and landed a blow that knocked a few of her teeth out, leaving her stumbling before he finally disarmed her and held her arms behind her back. “You fucker!” she spat, blood pouring from her nose and mouth on the ground, trying to squirm out of the skinny teenager’s grip like a bucking horse. “All your hands will be mine for touching knights! And then I’ll have your tongues, and then your cocks and tits, too, you fucks!” “What do our cocks and breasts have to do with anything?” Widogast asked, rolling his eyes. “We don’t want to fuck you or nurse you; we just wanted to know where to sign up for the drake-keeper occupation.” “You fucking hicks will never get it! And I’ll still have your fucking hands, tongue, and cock!” “Really know only those words, don’t you?” Widogast said, rolling his eyes again before he nodded at Ermendrud, to which she quickly gathered the swords and daggers away from the three knights. “Listen, you dumbarses, you attacked us for no good reason,” Faramund said coldly, still holding the other woman’s arms behind her back. “We only wanted to know where to sign up, not deal with you idiots.” “What the Hell is going on? Who are you four?” Ermendrud noticed the people coming in with a sinking heart. More knights. Men this time, a score and a half of them, in full plate armor. Half of them had arrows notched on longbow strings aimed at them, ten of them had swords, while the other five were on horseback with spears. We’re so fucked… - Some of the names have been taken from Anglo-Saxon English. There's a whole list of words that I used for the towns and stuff, so keep that in mind. With that, I hope y'all enjoyed~

Well, came up with a new story on the fly. Welcome to Method Acting, a brand-new AR story. Yes, there's a lot of tags, but I figure it needed them. It's sort-of based on the Me-Too movement, given the subject matter, particularly young female actresses going up against a rich and powerful man. Obviously, all characters here are not based on anyone in real life; just the situation. As for the content, the tags do not include what the MC actress thinks happened to her fellow actresses: sexual assault; while what he did to the MC is a sexual crime and while there are implied threats, he did not assault the others in terms of forcing himself onto others. This story will not include sex crimes against children or grooming; he's not in it for that. He's a disgusting excuse for a person, don't get me wrong, though; just not...that. 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 still with me, feel free to read on: - Chapter One: Cynthia's Interview - Cynthia Nachtnebel was seriously pissed off, as she sat in the media room in the El Cid Theater, waiting for the exact time for security to open the door so that the media could come in, her long fingers steepled over the conference table, close to the microphone. Yes, she was a twenty-six-year-old up-and-coming actress, and yes, she knew that such a profession entailed a certain lack of anonymity. Yes, she was used to creeps by now - directors, actors, media, fans, all types - and she knew how to deal with them without trashing her budding career. Yes, she knew of the salacious rumor mill about whom she was dating, where she was dating them, and why she hadn’t sealed the deal. She didn’t care about any of that as much; she almost expected it, being a fairly tall (last time she had gotten measured, she was 5’9”; never ask a lady her weight), athletic (to the point of doing her own stunts) and beautiful (long and curly platinum-blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and a body that most women would kill for) woman. Wasn’t her fault she hit the genetic lottery, after all, and people could get jealous of that. She knew that from middle school on. But there was absolutely no excuse for what this…motherfucking sleazeball did! What that fucker, A-Bomb or whatever his name was, did was despicable, degrading, and didn’t just cross the line; he leapt well over it. Cynthia had no issues raising hell against him, no matter how filthy rich and obscenely powerful he was - and he was absolutely loaded with both, especially for a paparazzi. Her fellow actresses and actors, the directors of her films, her agent, all of them had advised her against meeting him head on. But someone had to make a stand, right? If it wasn’t her, some other poor girl would have to do it - and Cynthia Nachtnebel was not the type to let someone else get hurt while she stood on the sidelines. The media were outside, waiting for her to start with bated breath: she had made it quite public on social media that she had a big announcement before she would take any questions. Some assumed she was pregnant. Cynthia was far from ace/aro (pan would be a more fitting description), but she was always careful with birth control and the like; she would wait for the kids until later on in her career. Her actress mother, Nikole, with Cynthia being an only child, wanted grandkids. Her mother would have to wait for that. Others thought it was to promote one of her movies. Cynthia never had regrets for any of the movies she played a role in, getting her start at seventeen in a horror film (which she played so well as a method actress - even though her character ended up dying at the end - that directors immediately lined up to get their piece), rising through the ranks and movies for eight (would’ve been nine, if not for…the incident) years, going from romance, to comedy, to action, and everything in between, never being afraid to dive deep into a character study. Even if the movies bombed, people still raved about her acting and how respectful she was to the character and the film. Still more thought it would be a minor thing that she thought was major news, making a mountain out of a molehill. Cynthia had no idea why some would think that of her, even after everything she did in her career, but she supposed there were skeptics for everything. She was always respectful to her fans, making sure to stay long hours for autographs, and respond to all of the social media posts and letters she received personally. She got along famously with the stuntmen and stuntwomen; her German-born father, Hans-Jurgen was one, and it’s what got her interested in doing her own stunts. She got along well with everyone involved in the film industry, from the cameramen, the costume designers, the makeup artists, and everyone, even to the most menial janitors, but the stuntpeople were whom she was closest to from childhood on. She always treated her peers with respect, even with other actresses, always trying to take the peaceful route, and ended up making a lot of lifelong friends with actors, actresses, agents, and many others…including two that she wanted to talk about today. Even the media, for the most part, she was cordial with, even when her anxiety caused her to have panic attacks around the scrums at first. The media was still a little scary for her, but most of them were accepting, she thought. None of those theories were close to the truth of the matter. Cynthia breathed. In, out. In, out. She was never comfortable with the attention; she just wanted to play roles, disappear into them, forget who she was for a moment in time. But she accepted that things were never going to go the way they did again. Not after what he did, and not after what she was going to do. The last nine months, from January on, were hell on earth. The disappearances of fellow actress and close friend Bethany Grassman and her agent, Nancy Leighton in the December before were bad enough…but then…it happened. The photos. The porn sites. The Photoshopping. The words of “slut”, “whore”, “cunt”, and many more uncreative variations wherever she saw her picture. The death and rape threats - including THE BIG ONE from HIM. The loss of respect and the shattering of her safety. The immense anxiety and numerous panic attacks. Checking voluntarily into a private psych facility from early February to late March (even though she never talked to a counselor about what had happened), and the stalking of her there by HIM. Disappearing out of Hollywood to the small town in Germany she was born in, becoming a recluse for four more months, and being forced to cancel her movies for the entirety of the year- something she had never foreseen herself ever doing - in tears, just so she could get away from it all. And worst of all, forcing herself off the computer for those nine months, just so that she didn’t start hysterically sobbing all over again from the horrible speculation, nasty comments, and all of the threats. Cynthia was going to show A-Bomb just a bit of that hell: by exposing his fucking ass for the world to see. And oh boy, did she have a fuckload of evidence to expose him. She’d go to court and everything if she had to. She’d get him locked away for the rest of his sad, miserable life. And even if her friends were… Tears poured from her eyes, and she wiped them away before a steely look came over her face. This was not the time to cry; she had done all the crying she had to do. This was the time where she had to be strong. Cynthia nodded to the security guards to open the door for the media storm, aware of the flashing cameras, aware of the shouts, but she was perfectly, shockingly calm. She knew that she had to do this. Nobody else needed to get hurt by A-Bomb. She tapped the microphone to make sure it was working, holding up her hand for silence before she began after taking a deep, long breath. “I’m aware that all of you have questions, that everyone has questions, and I promise that I will answer all of them in turn,” she began, making sure her slight German accent wasn’t breaking into her voice, “and I know it has been a very long time since I’ve publicly spoken. I’ve been asked not to speak out by directors, by the stuntpeople I know, by my agent, by fellow actors and actresses, by…well, everyone I’ve talked to. They’re afraid of what might happen to me if I do. But if not me, who? And what would it cost them, in turn? “I speak, of course, on the conduct of one man in particular: Adrian Naposki. You may know him as the famous paparazzi ‘A-Bomb’.” Cynthia’s fingers clenched the papers in her hands. “You have known me for a very long time. For the longest time, you have known that I have promoted myself as family oriented, even with my anxiety and panic attacks. I do not pose for nude pictures of my breasts while asleep in my bed. I do not pose for pictures spreadeagled so that my vagina is showing. And I don’t send said pictures to porn sites so that impotent whack jobs can jerk off on them and call me a slut or a whore. “For the longest time, you have seen that I do not partake in drinking or illicit substances; fellow actors, actresses, stuntpeople, directors, everyone who knows me knows that I do not partake in anything of the sort. I have never once tasted alcohol after what I saw it did to my grandfather and learning how he beat my dad when he was drunk. I have never been interested in marijuana, much less heroin and crack-cocaine. “Then where, you ask, did all of those pictures come from? Where did all of those drugs come from? Mr. Naposki, of course. I have video records of Mr. Naposki’s visits to marijuana parlors, liquor stores, even street corners where he made numerous purchases. I had to pull a lot of strings and spend most of my earnings to get the evidence necessary, but I got it. But more importantly, I have my house cameras…where he trespassed at night, took numerous pictures of me naked, and placed the illicit substances in my home.” She placed a large file of the papers on the desk. “You are free to read them at your leisure: because I’ve already sent it to every newspaper, every news website, even the tabloids - and the police. Especially the police. “I also have the digitally recorded kidnapping, rape, and death threat - and the implication that he did the same to Bethany Grassman and Nancy Leighton, two of my closest friends - of Mr. Naposki here.” Cynthia bit her trembling lip, brought out a tape recorder, and pressed play on the microphone, the New Jersey accented words of the paparazzi coming clearly out of the speaker. “Lissen, sweetheart, I’m gonna give yew a one-time offer: yew go public with what I say or do, I will screw with yew and what little remains of your pride. I will screw with yew so hard that your screaming and crying will echo in my house, like with Bethy and Nani. An’ if I ever get bored of yew, well, I might just make yew have an accident an’ have fun with that. Got it, sweetheart? I’ll be seein’ yew. Bye for now, cutiepie! Love your tits and pussy!” The room was so silent that one of the reporter’s phones dropped on the carpet with a thunderous crash…and nobody said anything of it, the horror in their eyes clear at what was a rich and famous media personality essentially admitting that he had raped and murdered two women - and was apparently more than willing to do it again. Cynthia’s eyes were dripping with tears as she paused the tape recorder. “That day, realizing that Bethany and Nancy were raped and murdered, was the worst day of my life,” she continued, trying to keep her voice from shaking, trying to breathe as she brushed her tears away. “I went to the police. For whatever fucking reason, they said they couldn’t help. My friends, two of the kindest women I knew, were murdered, and they couldn’t help me because this…monster was too rich and powerful for them to deal with. I was terrified of him, especially after I learned that he stalked me and took pictures of me when I was in psych. I left for Germany. I couldn’t handle the constant torment. “It took me too long…but I realized that Mr. Naposki would just hurt someone else if not me. So, I went higher than the police, pulled as many strings as I could. You can talk to CIA Agent Francis Fortier if you need more information; he’ll be more than willing to answer any questions you have. “I will not be cowed. I will not stay silent any longer. Mr. Naposki raped and murdered two of my friends and possibly many others that we don’t know of yet. He threatened to rape and murder me. And if this ends with me disappearing or dying, I’ll be glad to sacrifice my life so that he goes down for good. I will not leave it to another woman to suffer from him in order to for him to be put down like the rabid animal he is. “I have absolutely no problems with the media; you have embraced me even with all of my shortcomings, all of my flaws, all of my moments of weakness, and I love you for it. I have no hatred for the paparazzi as a whole; it is something that comes with being an actress, being well-known, and they have to make a living as well in this business, too. It is just this one monster, Mr. Naposki, that has gone way too far. “And to my fans who have been waiting for my name to be on a movie for almost a year, to the directors I’ve had to turn down offers from, including sequels to movies I’ve made, to my agent who has been in the dark with this, only knowing that I have a problem with Mr. Naposki, to the many people I’ve grown to know and love in the film industry, I am truly sorry that I have nothing to say except for what I’ve just said. This is something I had to get out, so that Mr. Adrian ‘A-Bomb’ Naposki cannot hide, cannot run, and most importantly, never harms anyone ever again. “With that, you may ask any questions you wish.” - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Well, this is a new story (I swear, I'm not abandoning any of my older stories! I just have bipolar mania, and when I'm manic my mind flits to other ideas, and I can't control where it goes.) set in Hong Kong in 1995 for...political reasons. This is about a granddaughter of the head of the Sun Yee On Triad who is a Red Pole (basically, a commander in the organization) who goes undercover in a high school to root out drug dealers. Things don't turn out well, even though she makes six new friends. As such, there's going to be heavy topics that I promise to warn you about. 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. Now, without further ado, let's get into the story (and I apologize in advance for the first chapter being shorter than others I've done): - Prologue: Lockpicks are a Girl's Best Friend - The early summer moon was beginning to rise in the sky over the Kowloon District of Hong Kong. It was the first day and night of St. Joan’s Secondary School, and Mandi Jiang couldn’t sleep in her dorm room - although, technically, she wasn’t supposed to be there because she was a year older than the oldest students at nineteen years of age, lying that she was two years younger. She was undercover for the Sun Yee On, one of the Triads of Hong Kong. The Mountain Master - her grandfather - had tasked the Red Pole commander with a mission that only she could do: infiltrate a school where opioids were being illicitly sold to teenagers, something that he absolutely refused to tolerate. To her grandfather, white collar crime - harmless vices - was the way of the future. Counterfeiting, money laundering, insurance fraud, stuff like that was acceptable. But a fair few of the Red Poles - the people in charge of the day-to-day parts of the Triad - still thought that the old ways of prostitution, drugs, and even human trafficking was quicker, cheaper, more lucrative. Even then he was lenient…so long as the victims were adults. He refused to allow children to be harmed by the Triads that were supposed to be quietly in the life of Hong Kong. Mandi stretched her tiny 121.92 cm. frame. Small though she may be, young though she may have been, she was respected and feared amongst the Red Poles, and not because of who her grandfather was; she was cunning, pragmatic, and ruthless toward her enemies. She was not known to police and the underworld as “Little Dragon” for nothing. Ironically, the police didn’t know her English name, and that was the saving grace of her being undercover. The school insisted on silly English names to differentiate the various girls who came from all over Hong Kong, from many different country backgrounds to this school. Not that she was a part of any school for very long, she mused as she curled a strand of wavy black hair away from eyes as dark as teak; she had dropped out at a young age…to be closer to her grandfather. He had probably secretly desired for her to be educated, to not be forced into crime like he was, but school bored her. What use was mathematics when she knew how to disassemble and reassemble mechanical devices as easy as breathing? What use was history to a woman who already had a body count of opposing Triads when she turned fifteen? Why should she care about making friends at school when none of them knew her for who she was? Of course, the typical male response was this: woman = housework. She sucked at housework. She could burn a simple seafood soup, she was more interested in taking the vacuum cleaner apart than actually vacuuming, and the only thing she bothered cleaning in a house was herself. And raising children? HAHA, no. But her grandfather never showed any disappointment towards her for the life she chose, so long as she was willing to accept it for everything it was. He loved her unconditionally, and she loved him with the same fervor, ever since… No, that’s in the past. Never look to the past when the present moment is there to be seized. Mandi looked out the window in boredom, and something immediately grabbed her attention: six silhouettes in the rock garden, clearly not supposed to be there. Well, looks like my job got a lot easier. I was supposed to just find out who the dealers are and report back to the Mountain Master, but if they’re right there, and I can catch them, easy. She snuck out of the dorm room with a gentle use of her trusty lockpick (never leave home without one…even if you’re undercover at a secondary school) unlocking the various doors in her way. Soon enough, she was in the rock garden, as well, close enough to see…six girls, all of whom were at the same school she was infiltrating, given the uniforms they were all wearing: an emerald-green blazer with ties signifying their ages (they were in the seventeen age-range, judging by the ties), white blouse, knee length black skirt, black dress shoes, and black tights. She could also tell that while they weren’t drug dealers (dealers wouldn’t be bitching about the day and which girls were acting like what bitches to each other): just clearly looking like they were troublemakers at heart…like herself. “Hey, you!” Mandi swore under her breath as one of the girls - clearly Chinese Uyghur - saw her, causing the other five to turn around and take in their breath. They all looked to be from different ethnicities, and she could tell from her first glance that their families had been as broken as hers was…before her grandfather stepped in. “I’m not here to bust you or whatever,” Mandi said calmly, stepping into the girls' sight. “Unless you happen to be dealers.” “What? Those assholes?” A Vietnamese girl was the speaker as she snorted contemptuously. “Nah, I wouldn’t touch what they’re selling with a twenty-meter pole - and you shouldn’t either.” “Fair enough. What are you doing here?” Mandi asked. “First, your name,” a Thai girl - one Mandi nailed down to be the leader of the group - snapped. “Mandi Jiang.” “Oh, the new girl!” a Cambodian girl said excitedly. “Hey, we don’t know anything about her!” the Thai girl protested. “If she’s out here, she’s liable to get in trouble like us,” a Hmong girl said. “How did you get out of the room?” a Burmese girl asked. “You’d need a-” “Lockpick?” Mandi finished, holding out her lockpick. “Come on, I’m not going to out you girls. I may be new, but I know when people are on the margins…like I was.” The Thai girl sighed. “Fine. I guess you could hang out here. Not much we do anyway aside from talking freely.” “Can I have your names, now that you have mine?” “Not the stupid English names,” the Vietnamese girl groaned. “I hate when they make us-” “Not that bullshit,” Mandi said bluntly. “Schools like this, they just want to get rid of culture. Personally, I prefer the English name I was given by my grandfather, but I won’t use the English names given by the school when you clearly prefer your own.” The Thai girl gave Mandi a smirk. “In that case, I’m Achara. Achara Noi. Call me ‘Angel’.” “Phượng Hà,” the Vietnamese girl said calmly. “Known to my friends as ‘Phoenix’.” “Veasna Keo, or, ‘Destiny’, if you’d prefer,” The Cambodian girl nodded her head. “Duabntxoo Fang,” the Hmong girl said quietly. “Shadow.” “Thang,” The Burmese girl shook Mandi’s hand. "These girls call me ‘Storm’.” “Aynur Cebrail, or rather, ‘Moonlight’,” the Uyghur girl introduced herself last. “Well, if we’re going by nicknames already…Dragon.” Mandi knew she was taking a risk revealing a bit of her identity…but she felt a kinship with these girls, as she forgot all about what she was going to ask and just…talking to them about the school, the other girls, everything except what she was here for. These girls are like me. Broken homes, awful parents, cast aside like they were nothing. Snap out of it, Mandi, an inner voice chided. You’ll forget them as soon as you’re done with this assignment. They’re younger than you, minors, kids. So was I when I joined. They’re…me. Me at a younger age. She knew that she shouldn’t think that way. She was ruthless to all, pragmatic, not prone to sentimentality with anyone but a few. So, why them all of a sudden? Why them? - 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).