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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, here's a new story that shows the brutality of aliens if they ever met mankind. Here, we have I'm Not Saying It's Aliens, but..., a regression fic in a different way than I normally do things. The content is also quite different, and very mature. Firstly, this is set in an alternate Cold War era. There will be critiques about the respective governments of the United States and the Soviet Union, but they will be in passing, as this is not like Yet Another World War. This is a concept about alien abductions and how horrifying it could be to the abductees to be captured by creatures with more power than humanity will ever have. The aliens in question are quite sadistic, almost akin to Diaper Dimension, but not exactly, but they abduct and shrink humans down to the size of children to make them more "compliant". Humans are implied to be used as breeders for what amounts to puppy mills, lab rats for corporations testing new drugs and the like, and as often mistreated "pets". This includes teenagers being implied to be breeders, so please be aware of that before you delve in, and I promise to warn you when it happens. Humans are sold like Black slaves in the 1800s for the aliens, and there are lobotomy procedures, teeth-pulling, nerve-disabling, and genetic alterations, one in particular which happens to both of the main characters. 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. So, if the concepts in this story affect you in any way, please take heed of the warnings and don't read. The last thing I want to do is traumatize readers. But I promise, no matter how bad it gets, like with all of my stories on this site, there is a happy ending, even if it's not expected. So, if you're still with me, read on: - Chapter One: Abduction - Warrant Officer Felicia Paniagua smirked as she confidently stepped near the entrance of the space shuttle, her astronaut suit on. Of course, the necessary diaper (it was called a “Maximum Absorbency Garment”, but in reality, it was only a very absorbent diaper) was…annoying, and she wasn’t used to it, but she’d live with it for the opportunity to go into space. If her mom could see her now… She let out a sigh, brushing a loose strand of her long dark brown bangs, expertly done in a ponytail in the back, away from her oak-brown eyes. Now wasn’t the time to think about her family, her mother, her many younger brothers, sisters, and cousins, especially not with…her on board. She sighed again as she saw the other woman walking towards the shuttle in the German space station, dressed similar to her. According to the file she had been given, the other woman was a Praporshchik - a warrant officer, in Soviet Union military terms, the same rank she was - by the name of Lagle Ehasalu, born in Tallinn, the Estonia part of the Soviet Union. Lagle had not spoken a word since they had met, her worried sky-blue eyes appraising Felicia nervously as if she wanted to see what her thoughts on her were. Her blonde hair was smartly tied in a bun, and she was surprisingly tall; if Felicia had to judge her height, she was about 5’10”, and the Hispanic woman had to crane her neck to look up with her own 5’2” height. At least we both have the same boob size; double C-cup, by the looks of it. Felicia offered a handshake to Lagle, who took it with a bit of surprise on her face. “Well, I figure since we’re going to be crewmates for this mission, we should get to know each other,” Felicia said. “Pleased to meet you, Lagle.” Lagle merely shook her head and spoke in a foreign language (Felicia didn’t know which one.), before shyly going into the shuttle. “Doesn’t speak English. Lovely.” Felicia sighed for a third time, wondering what this was all about. The higher-ups had been very vague and had stated that she wasn’t to tell anyone about this mission, that she had been selected out of a very large pool of candidates to “foster goodwill between hostile nations”, hence why they were doing this in a neutral site in Germany rather than the United States or the Soviet Union. Other than that? Nothing. But how could they “foster goodwill” if neither of them spoke the other’s language? All Felicia knew was English, Spanish, and a bit of German. This woman, Lagle, definitely didn’t speak English, and she was probably a shy wallflower, judging by her actions. They were totally different. How could anyone expect proper chemistry? Only thing we have in common is that we’re both young women pilots. At least there won’t be any fucking sexism here. Now that was annoying. The talking down to, the snooty comments and sexual harassment, the slurs and bigotry, she had heard it all and still graduated top of her class in 1977. Now it was three years later, and all of that still hadn’t faded, unless it was the people who knew her (only a few). I wonder if Lagle experienced the same. The Soviets did use women as fighters in World War 2 after all. Felicia stepped into the shuttle, not having to duck her head like Lagle did, as the door closed. It was a smaller shuttle, cheaper than the earlier Saturn rockets, and such a thing made her nervous. As a pilot, she could at least control her plane; with a space shuttle, so many things could and did go wrong. She was nervous about the whole thing, when she saw Lagle talking in her foreign language to her superiors at their home base, obviously as scared as Felicia was. “Warrant Officer Paniagua, this is Houston, are you green?” Felicia sighed, checking all of the gauges. She had prepared a little bit for it, and she was smart enough to know how this worked. Thus far, everything looked good. Fuel and engines? Check. Thermal protection system? Sound. Altitude and navigation? Solid. Landing gear? Yep, that was good, too. She tapped into the radio beacon and said confidently, “Green as spring grass across the board, Houston.” “We’re clear for takeoff,” Houston said, while the Soviets instructed Lagle in their own language. “Just relax, Warrant Officer Paniagua. It won’t take long.” Then an ominous gas entered the shuttle. It was hot pink, suffocating, and enveloped Felicia quicker than she could snap her helmet shut, and she saw Lagle panicking, trying to snap her own helmet shut. “Sorry, Warrant Officers,” Houston’s voice said regretfully. “You were chosen for this-” Chosen? It was the last thing she thought of before everything went black… Then she could hear two crackling voices in the blackness after a prick on her neck, although it felt like a fog was in her head, making it fuzzy, impossible to think, impossible to decipher the exact intent of the speakers. “Yelpka, we’ve got the package. Two young females of the lesser species.” “Young females, haha! Yorsha, how much do you think they’ll sell on the Lottery? About one-hundred thousand krysts?” “One-hundred thousand? Try one-hundred million krysts, Yelpka. They’re young, female for potential breeding, and they don’t have the behavior issues the other lesser breeds do.” “Ah, those types. Yorsha, they’re still lesser breeds. You just replace them if they’re broken; there’s plenty on this backwards planet.” “Yelpka, these are the ones we chose for the Lottery. These ones, we’ve made sure have no defects.” “Why don’t we just take more, Yorsha? This world’s filled with them.” “Yelpka, we made articles with this world, like we have with others. We are the dominants, they are the lesser, but our higher-ups have made deals for millennia with other worlds.” A third voice. “You two, are you done with the lesser species extraction for the Lottery?” “Yes, Commandant! Shrinking process will begin on your mark.” “...Mark!” Felicia felt an excruciating pain, like getting wisdom teeth pulled out with pliers without anesthesia, mixed with a spinal destruction, like she was being completely crushed into a much smaller shape, but no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t scream, such was the fog around her head. She felt her bladder and bowels empty into her Maximum Absorbency Garment. “Disgusting creatures. The smell…” “If it bothers you so much, Yelpka, put on your mask. We need to clean them.” “Why should we? Disgusting things can do it themselves…” “They are under sedation for the transportation to our home world. And…” A cruel chuckle. “It’s not like they’ll be able to do it after the Lottery winners are through with them.” “Heh. I hope they pull all of their teeth out. It’s always fun to hear these filthy creatures screaming in pain.” “Yelpka, nobody needs to hear that. Yorsha, clean them. Yelpka’s obviously useless aside from the shrinking process.” “Understood, Commandant.” Felicia felt her suit being taken off, along with her bra and undergarment, felt a pair of furry hands roughly clean her before another Maximum Absorbency Garment was put on her. She wanted to struggle, wanted to open her eyes, but everything was a blur as she was shoved on a cold metal surface, still unable to move or make a sound, no matter how much she tried. “Done with both. Can I go back to the bow? I want to see the home world.” “You can. Set a course for our home world. We’re done for now.” “What about getting other specimens?” “Yelpka, you cavlet, if we obtained other specimens, that means less room for these. Warp travel is always dangerous to specimens, and we want to make sure these survive. The Lottery demands it.” “...Understood, Commandant.” “Warp on my mark. …Mark!” Then lights painfully exploded in Felicia’s head, and she knew no more. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Well, isn't this surprising: I came up with yet another new story. This story is actually quite wholesome compared to a lot of my other stories, a recent dream that came to life yesterday. This is babyfur; if you don't want to read it, you don't have to. I hope you will give it a chance, but I won't force you if it's not your cup of tea. 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. Anyway, let's start the show: - Chapter One: Alpha(bet) Bitch - Kezia Byles ruled Volkenburg/Lauttener University (commonly known as VLU), and she knew it. The sophomore raccoon dog was the captain of the cheerleading squad, a straight-A student majoring in psychology, with one class in her major left to go for her early degree. It was an easy class as well, Child and Family Development. So what if it lasted all year? So what if it was half of her grade? She was prepared for anything and everything. Her two friends, Robyn and Faith Thornton - fraternal twins: Robyn was a common genet and Faith, a Malayan civet - were right by her side, as close as a sister to the two…and since she was adopted by their parents, they pretty much were her sisters, and the only ones regularly spared from her bitchy side. The others weren’t as fortunate. Kezia was a clownish personality in class, and the teachers were annoyed by her antics…but they couldn’t doubt that she was smart, that her grades were straight A’s, that she knew the coursework better than anyone other than the teachers themselves. And the others, especially the other cheerleaders who weren’t Robyn and Faith? Fuck them; she would go to war against them to put them in their proper places. Especially the ones who were annoyed by her captaincy. Speaking of which, Kezia saw her two rivals for the captaincy as she headed for class. Erin Chinnock the gray wolf and Zoey Coates the clouded leopard. Now, normally, cheerleaders tended to have only one main rival and the rest were beneath notice, but Keira and Zoey were thick as thieves, two peas in a pod, impossible to mention one without the other. Plus they had both stolen a potential boyfriend from Kezia, and she was pissed and out for blood. “Hello, Kezzi,” Erin said, her snout coming close to the raccoon dog’s face. “I hear we’ve got a new teacher for this class, since Mrs. Williams retired.” “I know, Eri,” Kezia sneered, not backing down for a second. “A Miss Keira Hagan, by her roster name. Just try to not to copy my notes with your girlfriend; I don’t want to have to cover for you two in cheer practice.” “We don’t need to copy your notes,” Zoey growled, her whiskers twitching in annoyance. “Apparently, this is a year-long project. All hands on deck for everyone.” “Aww, you can read, Zo-Zo!” Kezia said mockingly. “I didn’t think you could.” “Kez, let’s just…go to class?” Robyn asked timidly. Genets and civets were really small compared to the size of the two rivals. Of course, raccoon dogs were around the same size, and Kezia was admittedly on the smaller side for one, loathe as she was to admit it. “Yeah, listen to your adopted sister,” Erin said. “Maybe-” “Say that again, and you’ll regret it!” Kezia snapped, as she was held back by Robyn and Faith. “Kez, just…ignore them,” the civet said calmly, directing the snarling raccoon dog away from them, and into the class. It was not like the other classrooms, having been larger. There were pastel pinks and blues everywhere decorating the room with surprising color. Artful cartoon designs were on the walls, a giant playpen in the corner with babyish toys and blankets and the carpet was surprisingly soft on her shoes. Looked more like a place where new mothers could put their babies than a college classroom. “Hello, señoras.” Two birds, a barn owl and a red-tailed hawk, had greeted them suavely and simultaneously, as they entered the room at the same time as the girls. Kezia merely rolled her eyes. Freshmen, by the look of it, thinking they were the biggest hot shit in high school and now in a bigger lake and floundering. “Are you trying to flirt?” Kezia asked coldly. “You’re not doing a very good job at it.” “We’re just trying to be nice, mis queridas,” the barn owl said despondently. “You’re the best parts of today, hermosas,” the red-tailed hawk echoed his friend, looking just as despondent. “You’re trying way too hard. My suggestion is that you just don’t try,” Kezia said in an even colder tone than before. Both of the freshmen looked hurt…but they didn’t argue as they went to their assigned seats, close by each other, right next to her adopted sisters in the back. Kezia noted the names next to her on her seat: she was right with her two rivals in the front of the class. Fuck that noise. She sat next to Robyn and Faith, waiting for the teacher to arrive. The boyfriends of her rivals arrived instead. Stan Spellmeyer, the star impala quarterback and Jason Deloatch, the star elk linebacker. Somehow, she had struck out and missed on both of them, with Erin and Zoey, respectively hanging on their arms. Zoey planted a kiss on Jason as she looked at Kezia with a smirk. The cheerleader captain merely flipped her a middle claw, growling to herself. She’d get Zoey back at practice for this, she swore. The rest of the students in the class - seventeen in total, including herself - piled in, and Kezia wondered where the teacher was, what she was like, and how best she could mess with her. Each teacher was different. Some could take a lot of abuse, while others were more sensitive. Now, Kezia wasn’t cruel; the latter, she’d just lightly tease, while with the former, she’d use first names, cause distractions. It was an artform, to see how best to play her mischievous game, and it was one she had perfected, starting from elementary school on. “Why does it look like a daycare?” Robyn asked. “Yeah, that playpen looks like it could even fit Zoey or Erin,” Faith muttered to herself. “I hope it does fit Zoey and Erin; I could use a laugh,” Kezia said loudly enough for the two rivals to hear. They merely glared at her, but she puffed her fur out with pride. “Hellooo, my students!” a new giggling voice came in. A surprisingly young (if Kezia had to guess, she was a recent graduate of some teaching college at around twenty-nine) female hyena had come in, smartly dressed in a white blouse, knee-length black skirt, and flats. There was a kind, yet playful smile on her face, and Kezia could tell from her scent that the hyena probably had a recent baby or something because she was clearly lactating. But what surprised Kezia the most was the female raven in a little black dress and heels, her shining black feathers immaculately groomed. The Dean herself, Renee Stroughter, had come to this class. “Hey, Keira, Renee,” Kezia said with a smirk. The raven looked annoyed, but the hyena had a huge grin on her face as she said, “Oh, good morning, Miss Kezia Byles. You’re in the wrong assigned seat, but I can let it slide for today. Tomorrow, though, I expect you to follow directions on where you need to sit.” “I’ll sit where I fit, Keira,” the raccoon dog replied. “And I think I fit right here with my sisters, thank you very much.” “Goodness, you did tell me about that, Dean,” Ms. Hagan said, the playful smile - not a smirk, but an actual smile - still on her face as she giggled at the stoic raven. “Don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of time to spend with them; you do live in the same dorm, right?” Kezia froze. How did she know that? “Dearie, I do research on all of my students,” the hyena said with a giggle before a serious smile crossed her face. “Now, let’s get straight to the point before introductions: I need a single volunteer that wants to, ah, play a role the whole year without exception for other classes, extracurricular activities and home life for families, hence why there was a waiver sent to your parents to sign before taking this class. This volunteer will be the focal point of our class, Child and Family Development. It focuses on raising a child that’s at the most important stage of growth, and how a healthy community can positively impact a child’s psychological health. Of course, this volunteer gets to do less homework than the rest of the class, gets full credits, and is reimbursed monetarily for the year…” Kezia raised her right paw before anyone else did. “Wait, did you say less homework with full credits?” she asked. “What about the tests-” “Oh, so you’re volunteering, Miss Byles!” Ms. Hagan said cheerfully. “Wonderful! We have ourselves a real go-getter, asking the questions, although given that you’re a cheerleader and top-notch student, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” “Indeed. I think you volunteering for this is fitting,” Dean Stroughter said bluntly. What scared Kezia the most was that the dean had the faintest hint of a smile on her face - and the raven never smiled. The sophomore blushed. “But the tests at the end of the semesters-” “Oh, don’t worry your little head about the tests. This is a two semester-long project in the fall and spring. The tests will, if you haven’t read the coursework, will be at the end of each semester, except for you, Miss Byles; you get one single tiny test at the end of this time next year. But most importantly, I expect everyone to have fun with it! After all, studying can be fun as well, and if you’re forming a family, well, having fun with your child is important as well and is important to develop a healthy, happy baby.” “Baby?” The raccoon dog was completely confused. “I don’t understand…” “And you don’t have to, Miss Byles; you’re the one who volunteered to be our little focal point, and I talked with Mrs. Stroughter to prepare for this throughout every class you’re taking. Now, I need two more volunteers…” Erin and Zoey raised their paws at the same time as Faith and Robyn; the other students had been hesitant. Of course, since most of the students were athletes, it wasn’t much of a surprise that they'd want to do the least amount of work possible. “Wonderful, four volunteers! Of course, I can only choose two for the roles, but babysitting is also an important part of any parent’s duties. Let’s do a game of rock/paper/scissors to decide! I always find that having fun, whether it’s in a family or even a classroom setting, is important.” As her sisters began to compete with her rivals, Kezia was confused as hell. What the fuck was going on? Roles? Volunteering for what exactly? What had she gotten herself into? None of this was even on the fine print of this class - and she had read it up and down. This was a surprise; it had to be, considering that the Dean herself was in this class at the beginning. But less homework? Only one test at the end of the year instead of cramming sleepless nights in? With full credits even with the lack of homework? Monetary payment? And all this for half of her grade and one step closer to her dream of becoming a psychiatrist? How could she turn it down? Shit, this might be the easiest class I’ve taken the whole time I've been here. “OH, looks like Miss Chinnock and Miss Coates won the game!” Ms. Hagan’s voice exclaimed giddily. “This works perfectly; they’re right by the front so they can watch their little one, Kezia-” What. What? What?! WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK?! The enormity of everything that she volunteered for hit Kezia like a hydrogen bomb. That’s why she couldn’t back out once she did the volunteer role. That’s why there was only one volunteer. That’s why two other volunteers were needed. That’s what the whole fucking “roles” were about! Erin and Zoey were taking the roles of the parents. And she was taking the role of the baby. For the whole year. No exceptions, even in her other classes, even in cheerleading, even in her dorm, even when she went home for the holidays! Her adoptive parents had to be okay with it, if they signed a waiver knowing this could happen. The dean was perfectly fine with it, probably even happy about it! And worst of all, she couldn’t back out at this point! Fuuu- - Hope y'all enjoyed~

To explain first and foremost, this isn't my world; you can thank the creative and talented @Panther Cub for this idea that we (and by we, I mean mostly him) hashed out recently, and this story is me trying to combine two RP elements that he came up with. He could probably make a story that best fits both; it was his awesome idea after all, but the crux of it is this: a world where a deity (unknown as of yet) gifts children caregiver powers over certain adults in their lives for amusement, with real-world Avatars (this one being an immortal Greco-Roman woman who has all of the signs of recent birth) delegating powers to children for their patron deity's amusement and sometimes interfering directly when indirect means won't work. The immortal mother "reenergizes" her powers via the emotions gathered at places called "Bright New Beginnings": abandoned daycares all across the English-speaking world with the ghosts of caretakers that lure in young people to regress. This combines them both, and I will apologize to Panther in advance if it's not quite right. As this is babyfur, if you don't feel like reading, you don't have to. This is a lot softer than most of my other works as well, so feel free to read or not read based on 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. Anyway, let's get to the story, shall we? - Chapter One - It was a typical weekday spring morning in the suburbs of Newaardvark, New Jersey, a heavy rain pouring from the sky, as the animals stayed inside for the most part. There was only one exception: a young woman who sat on a bench under a bus stop station, unmoving, her eyes closed as if in thought. To describe her depended on the creature in question, for she took the shape of whomever was staring at her, a beautiful eighteen-year-old female of the beholder's specie in a long, sleeveless white dress, almost Greco-Roman in design, her breasts enormous, lactating, and protruding through her nursing bra like twin towers. Her shoes were white stilettos that covered her feet entirely, covered in mysterious symbols. She shouldered a plain, yet large diaper bag as easily as one would carry a blanket. Overall, she looked like a recent teen mom dressed for a Greek reenactment party. She was on the hunt, not even needing to look as she sensed her targets: a young bird couple in their late twenties and their adopted daughters below the age of ten. She preferred to use children as conduits through her strength, mostly playing through their mischief, willingness to be troublemakers towards authority, or, in too many sad cases, victims of abuse or neglect. Not these children: they were well-behaved young girls, treated with the utmost kindness and love by both hard working parents. She would have to work directly. Iuvenis Mater did not know if that was one of her favorite things to do, but it would make the game with her patron deity more…interesting. That was what their deity cared about, in the end: the Hunt to turn normal adults into little babies, albeit temporarily, for amusement. And there was definitely cause for amusement when it came to both of the parents. Erik Hellstrom was a handsome golden pheasant, twenty-eight, a skilled engineer who worked from home to support his daughters. Oh, she’d have fun with him, especially with his hidden…issues when it came to family. And then there was Gaiana Hellstrom, his wife. Twenty-seven, quite a stunningly beautiful blue-and-yellow macaw, working long shifts as a firefighter, but embarrassed by her past when she was a child. Another extremely fun target that she could work with. Their adopted daughters were the key in the door: Gaiana was planning on having a celebration party at the fire station alongside her peers with Erik joining her, and the girls needed a babysitter. Well, more than just the girls would need a babysitter after today. It had been a simple matter, even with the oddities of the modern age. This “Internet”, in particular, had been a long time spent learning for Iuvenis, but now that she knew, she was capable when it came to the worldwide Web. Quite frankly, it might’ve been even easier searching for targets via the Internet than it was in the olden days. A simple matter of the other typical babysitters gaining new things to do or new places to go all of a sudden, a bit of reality warping to make her seem like she was the only other babysitter available in the area, things like that were simple, including two typical babysitters who seemed…interesting in their own right. The Hunt, on the other paw? Not as much. Her patron deity needed to be entertained, not just for these temporary three days, but for a lifetime, to make it amusing to watch. One never knew how a Hunt would end, merely how it began - and the Avatar of her deity would make sure that they had plenty of amusement with this one. And so this Hunt began as she got up from the bus station and walked over to their house. - Erik preened himself in the mirror, looking at his appearance. The people at the fire station didn’t really care for appearance, true, but he always tried to dress to impress, like his uncle taught him: a full-sleeved white polo shirt, black slacks, black dress shoes, his father’s silver watch on his left wing, his mother’s handkerchief in the dress pocket of his shirt, a polished pair of glasses perched on his beak. He fluttered over to his wife, dressed extremely casually with a simple white T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, and her own horn-rimmed glasses on her beak, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. “Hey, honey,” Erik crooned in a pleasant song, as he gently wrapped his wings around her. “Hey, baby,” Gaiana whispered back with a grin, returning the kiss. “The girls prepared for their babysitter?” “I’ve let them know that there’s a new babysitter,” the pheasant said, his feathers fluffed up in pride. “They’ve taken it surprisingly well. It’s a shame that the Boggs sisters are going through college applications; they were the best of babysitters…” “Well, that’s life, honey; we all grow up,” the female macaw answered. “We grow old, not necessarily up.” “And both are technically true.” “Two different words.” “Ah, semantics.” The two birds kissed again, their love for one another showing through the slight teasing, before they fluttered down the stairs, looking for their girls, who were likely playing Aliemon Orange and Purple on their GameMales, judging by the sounds of the arguing. The games were two of the most kid-friendly ones they could buy for them with the limited money they made on Christmas. “OH, come on, Tali; you know that the mind type beats everything! Play as something else!” “It’s not my fault that Avadakazam is cute as heck, as well as powerful!” “It’s not! It’s literally a green orc with a big head and huge beard, and you had to trade with me to get it!” “Excuse me, Avadakazam is my favorite Aliemon, and I will brook no argu-” “Goostoise is the cutest!” “Avadakazam!” “Goostoise!” “Avadakazam!” “Goostoise!” “Girls, girls, both Avadakazam and Goostoise are equally cute,” Erik said, defusing the argument by hugging the two young girl birds, a brown pelican and a scaled quail. “Whatever, Goostoise is still cuter,” the younger quail, Zita, grumbled. “Avadakazam,” the brown pelican, Talita - known to all as “Tali” - said with a smirk, to which Zita responded with her tongue sticking out. Gaiana gave them both a stern look, but it belied the smile on her face. “Are you two going to behave for the new babysitter?” “Yes, Mom!” the two girls chorused. “You’ll do your homework and everything?” Erik asked gently; he didn’t have it in him to be stern. “Of course, Dad!” they chorused again. The doorbell rang, and Erik got it while Gaiana talked to the girls further, seeing an eighteen-year-old golden pheasant in a long, sleeveless white dress smiling at him, a diaper bag hefted over her shoulders. Her breasts were enormous, and demanded attention, but the analytical pheasant merely noted them as being slightly larger for what seemed like a teenage mom; he took his marriage vows very seriously, more seriously than a lot of men. “Hello, Mr. Hellstrom,” she said politely, holding out a feathered wing for him to shake. “Good morning, Miss, um…what’s your name again, ma’am?” he asked, shaking her wing. She smiled mischievously. “I’m Miss Ivi Mater. You can call me ‘Mater’, though, little Eri.” “Huh…okay…Ivi…” The pheasant felt himself grow smaller in her presence, a wet spot quickly growing around his slacks, as he began to unconsciously drool. “Oh, dear, looks like we’ll need to go to this earlier than I expected,” Ivi said cheerfully, getting out a white fluffy…thing from her bag. The word was escaping Erik’s quickly diminishing vocabulary, but it seemed oddly…familiar in a way. He felt his shirt, his shoes, his drenched boxers and slacks being taken off him by the girl, and even though his mind was inwardly screaming for his wife to intervene, he continued to lay on the floor in a docile manner. And then he saw her go through her bag, sprinkling powder over his nether parts, raising his bottom, and slipping the thing under him, taping up both sides, threading his tail feathers through the back, with the odd teenager moving him as if he had been much smaller than her. The pheasant’s mind was still there, and a part of him was telling himself that something was very, very wrong, but he couldn’t imagine what it could possibly be. Then his wife’s voice echoed. “Oh, Eri? Where did my baby Eri go?” “Here, my dear!” he sang, only for dread to grow when his wife’s frame entered the scene. “Oh, Eri, you little stinkypants, you know you’re not allowed to sneak out of your playpen,” Gaiana said, nuzzling the pheasant, acting like he was much smaller than her. He froze. He was a lot bigger than his wife. For her to think he towered over him meant… No, this can’t be right. Think logically, Erik, these things don’t happen in real life. “You’ve already got a fresh diaper on him! You came prepared for my little baby boy!” Gaiana cooed, handing him back to the pheasant woman, the… “He is certainly going to grow up to be handsome, will he not?” Ivi said with a knowing smile, and he began to fuss. “Oh, he misses his Mommy already.” The female pheasant came close, allowing Gaiana to cuddle with him. “It’s going to be okay, Eri. Mommy’s just got to go for a short bit.” He froze. Those words. A short bit. That was what his parents had said. That’s when- He began to bawl, thinking of the worst night of his life. No, no, no, no, no! Please, God, please, don’t let her leave! Not now! I need her, I need Mommy! Then he saw his daughters, rubbing his feathered head, and singing nursery rhymes to him to calm him down, and he realized the horrible truth. Everyone thinks I’m a baby! My daughters think I’m their baby brother! Oh, God, why?! Erik desperately tried to convince his wife that she was still his wife. He tried to speak to his daughters, tried to get out any code he could. They just cooed at him, as if he was an infant. “Oh, he’s trying to talk!” Zita said excitedly. “Say ‘Sissy’!” “Oh, honey, it might be a bit early for that,” Gaiana said to the disappointed quail. “He’ll be old enough for talkies and flighties soon, but he’s still too young for that at the moment.” Erik then saw the watch - his father’s watch wrapped in his mother's handkerchief - in the older female pheasant’s wing, and he attempted to grab at it with his feathers. “No, you’re a little too young for that; we don’t want you putting this in your mouth and swallowing,” the female pheasant cooed, putting the watch and handkerchief out of his reach and into the diaper bag as he whimpered. “Here! I have something better for you!” She brought out a light gold pacifier, teasing him with the tip, until he instinctively grabbed at it with his feathers and began to suckle on it, his inner adult feeling horrified dread at how easily it soothed his terrified thoughts, but the baby that dominated the main part of his brain reacting as if it was as natural as breathing. “Good job, Eri!” Gaiana cooed at the confused bird. “Now I really do have to go, but I’ll be back before you know it!” All the pheasant could do was suck on his pacifier, feeling a trickle of liquid warmth flow through the front of his (surprisingly comfy) diaper, his mind feeling horror that his body didn’t feel, before his wife - the last bastion of hope of stopping this intruder from potentially hurting his daughters - leave out the door, enter the car, and drive away. - Hope you 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, this is a different sort of story. I had the idea of combining a babyfur story...with the Golden Age of Piracy. Weird idea, but I've researched a bit, figured out how things worked, and it just...took hold. It's a lot less mature than most of my stories, actually (surprising for me), buuut I maaay include some things that are a lot more AB and regression themed than I normally do (which is normally a lot). Also, there will be a bit earthier stuff, like a brothel and tavern wenches (as was in the times. Don't worry, no sexual themes aside from...motherhood themes.), so consider that the warning. I'm also admittedly not sure where the story's middle and climax are, but I have an idea about the end; I just don't know where it'll go before then. EDIT: 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. Okay, here's the first chapter: - Chapter One: Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls - The ocean in 1595 was a treacherous place, especially when one didn’t know what they were doing, and even more so when it was an area rife with danger already; the broken ships, names long since lost to the pounding waves, howling winds, and sea spray proved that without a shadow of a doubt. Fortunately for Florence Goodluck, the feared - at least, she hoped she was - black-furred fox captain of the seven seas, she and her small crew knew exactly what they were doing...or so they hoped. She wore few fripperies; while she and her crew were regarded as pirates, welcomed at Tortuga by fellow pirates, they weren’t a very wealthy or successful crew, having gotten few prizes over the time they were active. She and her crew wore simple, short, homespun dresses, ragged and torn from years on the sea. “Tack to port!” she called out in a high soprano, as she took the lookout point, seeing her crew of big cats maneuver the Catastrophe (her idea to let the crew, having known her lifelong friends since they all lived on the docks of Dover, England as orphans, know how much she appreciated them, especially since they unanimously voted her captain.) with Emma Everard, the stoic snow leopardess helmscat at her customary spot at the wheel. Not that the fox minded the lookout and rigging jobs; she never ordered her crew to do anything that she wouldn’t do, and she knew that Emma was better at the wheel than she could ever be. “Move port, bring the riggings up!” Grace Wythinghall, the powerful pantheress roared out, as was her right as quartermistress, helping the crew move away from the bow of a half-sunken ship, the stench of rotting wood in the air as a cold, heavy mist began to roll in. Florence sniffed the air, with most everything, even the familiar sea spray scents, fading into the furling mists. She realized that it could be a quest that ended all of their lives. No pirate had ever gotten this treasure, mostly because of silly and stupid superstitions that the older folk believed in. But she truly believed that she and her crew would be the first, and it would propel them to fame, glory…and mostly peace. Maybe because we’re the most desperate, that we have absolutely nothing to lose, she thought to herself. They were all veterans of the seas for a decade, and yet none of them were over the age of twenty-three, having lived hard lives as pirates, spending almost all of that decade in the bosom of their small frigate, rocked to sleep by the waves, avoiding privateers (those damned hypocrites, no better than they were…only with a letter of marque by the kings and queens of countries allowing them to prey on those weaker than them), fellow pirates, and legitimate navy ships that could’ve sunk them and sent them straight to Davy Jones. All Florence wanted was to retire. She was tired of the sea, tired of the dangers, tired of starving, and she wanted to put down roots somewhere on an island where the most she’d see of the ocean was occasional fishing, with more money than she knew how to spend. “Florence, I can’t see anything in this mist!” Agnes Coulthurst cried out, the cougaress’s tail lashing in annoyance, bringing her back to the moment. “Hold steady!” the black fox called. “Are you absolutely sure, Flory?” Denise Parkham called out; the lynx boatswain's voice tinged with terror. This was not a natural mist; the conditions for mist weren’t there; hell, it was far too cold for the normal spring weather of the Caribbean, and frost began to creep on the sails. “Do NOT call me ‘Flory’!” Florence snapped. “Hold steady unless I say!” A cheetah was scratching her claws on the ship deck, whimpering, “We’re going to crash into one of those ships-” “AVIS, WE ARE NOT GOING TO CRASH! TRUST ME!” the black fox shouted. “That goes for everyone! We are going to make it through! Have I ever led you wrong before?! Hold - damn - steady!” “You heard the captain!” Grace roared; the fox had to admit that the vocal cords of the quartermistress was a much louder sound that almost seemed to cut through the mist. “Hold steady until she says!” All eleven animals held their breaths, as if the very act of breathing would cause the water to hear and consume them. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a sword. Then Millicent Huchenson and Winifred Daundelyon, a serval and caracal as close as twin sisters (even though they weren’t actual sisters like the Rowes) heard a faint roar coming in front of them, their especially keen ears pounding with blood, and both of them screamed in terror, holding each other. Florence heard the faint roar as well, heard the sailmaker and cooper scream, and immediately bellowed, “DROP ANCHORS AND FURL SAILS RIGHT NOW!” Her crew reacted quickly, knowing that their lives depended on it. Whether Lady Luck existed or not, they knew one thing: they were lucky, for the roar was coming from a waterfall that plummeted down into nothingness - the anchors had managed to cling to rocks just in time to save them from going over. “This has to be the goddamned end of the world…” Isabel Hornboldt moaned pitifully, the jaguaress who served as the navigator unsheathing and sheathing her claws. “There’s nothing on my maps that says anything about a goddamned waterfall!” “That means we’re close to The Dying Night!” Florence shouted, her eyes alight with recognition. “Don’t you girls remember what the legend said?” “Other than some voodoo witch that cursed the pirates who killed her husband?” Sybil Rowe asked curiously, the tigress carpenter looking straight at her lioness sister, Cecily's eyes. “And they were never heard from again? And that everyone who tried to find this treasure died?” the gunner finished in a dour tone. “Cecily, Sybil, curses aren’t real!” the fox captain snorted to herself. Curses? Ridiculous. And they were a much better crew than those that had died; hadn’t they proved it by surviving until now? “Anyway, it’s at the bottom of the waterfall.” “Well, unless you plan on jumping off, I’d love to hear ideas, Flory!” Agnes snapped. “Always grumbling, Agy, always grumbling about something!” Florence retorted, inwardly seething about the childish nickname uttered by the cook. “Don’t you know that there are tributaries that lead downward? Or did you forget about the legend entirely?” The cougaress’s face flushed in annoyance, but Avis Ballett was quick to say, “But we can’t see anything in the mist!” Florence sighed, quickly wrapping a rope around her paw and stepping off of her perch, down to her crew from the crow’s nest, using her weight to counterbalance and land safely on her paws. Her crew had seen her do it so many times that they were no longer afraid for her safety…but they didn’t dare try it themselves. They would follow her anywhere…except with that; some things were just a death wish. “That’s why the legend is called ‘The Dying Night,’” the fox explained, mostly to the cheetah musician, but to the rest of the crew as well. “We wait until dawn; that’s night’s death, that’s when the mist will clear up and reveal the tributaries. Then we go down to them, find the ship, get the loot, divide it, and get out as rich women.” “You’re placing an awfully big bet on a mere legend, Flory,” Denise mused, her paw drumming on the side rail. “Enough with that stupid nickname! We know it’s real, Denise, there’s enough evidence to prove it, especially since it's here in front of our eyes.” Florence’s green eyes were desperate. “You’re my crew; I’d go down with and for you any day, and you know that, but we can’t be pirates forever. This could be the one. This could be the treasure that we could retire with and live like queens.” “I’d settle for a family.” All heads turned to face Isabel, who looked sad. “We’re family, Izzy,” Grace gently coaxed. “No, I meant…we stole this ship from the privateers together, and we're as close as we can get without being blood…but I want something…tangible,” the jaguaress said with a sigh. “No insult meant to you girls, but we see each other every day, every time I wake up on this ship. I’ve heard every argument we could ever hear. I want a different voice.” “Get enough money, and you could buy a family,” Florence said with a smirk. “Florence, not everything’s about scoring that big loot.” To the black fox’s shock, it was Emma that said those words, the normally quiet snow leopardess having a faraway look in her eyes. “I’d love a family myself. We all grew up as orphans; I wanted to know my mum for years. She died, you know. Died in childbirth. Dear ‘Dad’ left me on the docks. We all have similar stories, Florence, even you. Haven't you ever wanted someone to hold you, to love you, no matter what?” Florence sighed angrily. “Look, you want a mummy to feed you, pay a damn wetnurse. Those times are done, and you can’t ever go back. What’s done is done. We’re here right now, so let’s focus on our goal right now." She took a deep breath and rubbed the fur on her temple - a tic that she had when she was trying to calm herself down. "Anyway, we’re all tired, so get some sleep until dawn. Millicent, Winifred, take the first watch.” The fox’s crew looked at her…and let out collective sighs, knowing they weren’t going to change her mind; she could be quite stubborn. It was the trait that brought them this far, and the trait they loved and hated. But she was right, in a way: she had never steered them wrong, had always kept them safe. “Yes, Cap’n,” they chorused. They gathered their ragged blankets, shivering as, one by one, they fell asleep in the cold mist, their dreams right in front of them…one way or another. - Okay, quick explanation about the specific jobs of this crew on their frigate (a smaller ship used in the Golden Age of Piracy): Captain - Democratically elected on pirate ships, believe it or not, although they could just as easily have command stripped of them. In most cases, the captain was the brains, the one who got the ship through fair or foul means. The most successful captains could install rules on the ship. Quartermaster (quartermistress, in this case) - Also democratically elected, the quartermasters were the seconds-in-command of the ship, unlike the various legitimate vessels (even though the pirates had first and second mates). They were the crew's answer to the pirate captain, sharing their concerns, and being an intermediatory for the captain to give orders to the crew. If the captain had taken another vessel and wanted to start a fleet, the quartermaster would be the captain of that ship. Navigator - Even though the captain and quartermaster often had knowledge of navigation, a pirate ship might have a dedicated navigator. With a good navigator, the captain would know where merchant ships struck, could navigate islands and shallows, that sort of stuff. Boatswain (bosun) - The supervisor of the various seamanship stuff around the ship, monitored the stores, and ensured sails, anchors, and rigging were in good condition. On larger ships, they'd have people under them. Carpenter - The carpenter was the one who was responsible for fixing leaks around the ship, making various repairs, and refitting captured vessels for the purposes of the pirates. They were also responsible for a lot of the, ah...immediate surgeries (i.e., amputations) in the absence of a surgeon. Cooper - The cooper was responsible for assembling barrels, used to keep wet stores, dry stores, gunpowder, water, rum, etc. from spoiling, making them airtight, fixing buckets, etc. Normally on larger ships, but I figured I could make a slight exception. Sailmaker - Sailmakers were basically the chief engineer on a ship, used to stitch and make sails, which, without them, ships went nowhere. In the absence of a surgeon, sailmakers were also responsible for stitching wounds shut. Gunner - The gunner was responsible for the cannons, how much gunpowder was necessary for to hit the target, who shouted the order to fire. Gunner teams (four to six men) were required to be accurate and speedy, and they were outfitted with a lot of guns. Cook - Yes, even pirate ships had cooks. Normally, they were ones with amputations (not here), but while they stole food stores from the ships they captured, and ate from taverns, yes, cooks were needed to prepare food and rum. Musician - Yes, pirates had musicians like fiddlers and trumpeters. Like in others, they created rhythms for shanties, to aid in manual task, and to entertain, but they also contributed to a cacophony of noise during attacks.