#I might scrap it. I’m not sure. ugh. it’s a frustrating process. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foxtophat · 3 years

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MERRY CHRISTMAS IN JANUARY EVERYONE yeah i know ~nothing is fixed~ but whatever, fuck you, have some fanfic

so anyway i’ve been planning this for a while, i’m kinda shocked tho b/c i finished writing it in like less than 3 days??? (aside from editing) usually it takes me longer to at least figure out how to wrap things up, but at least this one was easy money. i’m sure none of the other ones will be so kind to me

this one takes place a month or so after the last one; it’s set in spring 2028 (omfg finally on a new year!!!!) and it has a little something to do with carmina finally getting some chickens!!!! one thing about new dawn that i think was really lacking is the explanation of how life... restarted before the highwaymen. i definitely remember a few houses having chicken coops, too, so i know i’m not crazy putting these feathered friends in. to me, chickens are the most sensible post-apocalyptic pet outside of a dog; easy to care for, provide food while alive AND after death, and they can reproduce easily enough if you’ve got a rooster on hand. i can imagine a family making quite a life for themselves as a poultry farm in the apocalypse!

ugh idk what else to say so i’ll just say it: thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos on this series. i am so stoked to know that my self-indulgent trash is delicious to more than just my possum ass! i’ve had a lot of fun worldbuilding in ubisoft’s playground, and i hope to continue doing more fun stuff that other people will enjoy too!!!

with all that said, i hope you enjoy the fic :) i’ll put it below the cut for you if you don’t wanna leave tumblr, but ao3 looks so much better. anyway, thank you and have a great jan 20th!!!!

Winter melts away the same way it does every year, leaving in its path wet dirt and green buds of spring growth. John, nursing what's likely the last cup of coffee they can wring from this batch of grounds, stares out over the back yard and idly marvels at how quickly the snow had disappeared. Montana had been his first experience with white winters; even though he's gotten used to the changing seasons in theory, though, he can't help but be distracted by it year after year.

Across the yard, situated just in sight by the hangar, John can plainly see Carmina's new chickens looking for breakfast. They're the newest addition to the homestead, but so far John has only had to watch from afar as the Ryes worked to adjust them to their new home. He's not sure who's raising chickens out here, but at least they were willing to barter. Fresh eggs are going to mean a lot more than the dwindling supplies out of Jacob's cache.

The misty-gray of early morning has almost evaporated in the rising sunlight, and still the chickens haven't been fed. John watches them from where he stands, their frustration leading to subdued crows as they scratch at the dirt. He doesn't know who's noisier — them, or Nick and Kim arguing at the table behind him. Thank Christ the wet end of winter is over; John doesn't think he can tolerate much more of their married nagging. On some level, he's glad they don't make a habit of yelling at him instead of each other, but Jesus, he can't wait for them to both get some space from one another.

"This is why we said we weren't gonna do pets, remember?" Nick says. "Because if she got a pet, we would end up taking care of it. Remember?"

"Yes, Nick, I remember."

"Yeah, and here we are!"

Kim sighs. John doesn't have to look to see the exasperated eye-roll that comes with it. "It wasn't me who kept her up late last night! Which one of us was egging her on when she should have been asleep?"

This is exactly why John has never owned a pet. They're more trouble than they're worth, and the only thing they seem to be good for is teaching shitty life lessons to kids who don't care enough to learn. The only good thing about the chickens is that they provide something in return other than obnoxious crowing.

Carmina thumps around upstairs. John isn't looking forward to having to listen to Kim lecture her on responsibility, but he's not thrilled to listen to much more of this bickering, either. If his choices are to stay inside and fester or go out into the first nice day of the year — well, that's not much of a choice, is it?

"Fine," John sighs before either of the Ryes can set their sights on him, "I'll do it."

"Nobody's asking you to do it," Kim replies. "It's Carmina's responsibility."

John shakes his head. "Of course it is. Where's the feed?"

Nick points out a white plastic container sitting on the pass-through to the kitchen. "Not gonna wait for us to boss you around?" he asks.

John picks up the container and rattles it to make sure it's full. "I'm streamlining the process," he replies. "Unless you enjoy giving me orders."

Sure enough, implying Nick might like being a bossy piece of shit is enough to get him to shut up. He sighs with a deep frown at John, who ignores him as he heads out to the coop. It's a petty satisfaction to take the rug out from under Nick's feet, but John's not above it. Not by a long shot.

Some of it might be compensating for the disintegrating peace that had come with winter. Before the blizzard set in, they'd had enough on their collective plates as they prepared for the worst of the season. Afterward, the snow had prevented them from doing much more than what was necessary to survive, and the resulting downtime had settled like a comfortable blanket. Even now, with a few weeks of grating interpersonal interactions, John feels more focused, more rested than he can ever remember feeling. Living underground for eight years, he'd naively thought that he'd gotten enough rest to last him a lifetime — but he'd been strung out on Bliss and trying not to suffocate, and he hadn't known what he was doing. He's starting to suspect that the Bliss might've had a worse effect on him than the myriad other drugs he'd ingested. Hell, he's not sure he's clean even now — but he's managing, and that's what matters.

It's only once he's halfway across the yard that John realizes Kim forgot to argue about him going off on his own. Sure, he's only going as far as the hangar, but it's become something of a pleasantry she uses whenever John pretends to have the freedom to go where he pleases. Her irritation at Carmina and Nick probably made her forget. She's gotten so used to trusting John that she's finally found other things to take up her attention.

Weirdly enough, the casual disregard for his potential backslide irritates him. It really shouldn't. He should be thrilled that he can finally disappear from view for an hour without somebody calling out a search party. He's more than earned it, he thinks, but their trust highlights their naivety. Luckily for them, John means it when he says he's changed — but it's a line they're going to hear time and again from people far less genuine than he's been. They're so willing to help everyone and anyone that they don't even realize how much of a target they're making themselves. John's had to hold his tongue whenever Nick gives free supplies to shifty-eyed tweakers who are "just passing through," and while he trusts Kim not to let anyone obviously suspicious into the house, he doesn't trust her to recognize a cunning liar.

The last thing John needs is for the Ryes to put their trust in the wrong reformed psychopath. At least he's capable of picking up their slack. After all, John has his time at law school and years of psychological abuse under his belt — plenty of real-world experience dealing with unrepentant garbage. He'll notice it when somebody cases the hangar or acts too erratically, and hopefully the Ryes will listen to him if he gets the nerve to voice his concerns.

Not for the first time since summer, John is struck with a newfound respect for Jacob and the role he'd inhabited in the Project. It used to be his job to look out for insurrectionists, and he'd taken on that burden even when John and Joseph would openly dismiss his concerns. John can't imagine how many fires Jacob must've put out while the rest of the family was distracted by the Bliss. Looking back on it now, it's honestly a surprise they maintained their operation as long as they did, considering only one of the four of them was ever sober.

The chickens are hopping at his arrival, scuttling around the dirt and crowing as John reaches the pen. They don't notice him so much as the bin he rattles on approach, full of vegetable cuttings and strange white worms that come out whenever it rains. John doesn't mind one lick — he's never been much of an animal person, and he certainly doesn't care if Carmina's so-called pets notice his existence. Of course, knowing Carmina, she's going to use this as an excuse to shift breakfast duty to John full-time, and John won't have much of a say in the matter.

Well, that's not strictly true, but if Carmina asked, he knows he would do it, if only to give his day more structure. Truthfully, he's grown to depend on routine, when before it was impossible to keep to a schedule that didn't involve other people's expectations of him. There's probably a metaphor to be made about trains on and off the tracks, but John has never been particularly interested in locomotives.

John shakes the dead bugs and scraps out into the pen, watching the hens as they race to be the first to eat. They're perfectly happy now that they've been fed, cooing and clucking as they peck the dirt. They certainly seem content with safety and food — not entirely unlike the survivors living day-to-day in the town and beyond. Sure, John might not always be satisfied by bare sustenance, and one day he'll chafe under the grind of surviving week to week, but for now, he might as well be a dumb chicken crowing in the morning sun.

He throws some more feed into the pen, watching the three hens waddle after their meal. One of them lingers by the fence, freezing for a moment as her head swivels back and forth. She pecks at the dirt away from the feed before hustling after her two companions. John watches as she stops again; when he tosses a few worms in her direction, she pecks briefly at them before lifting her head to survey her surroundings.

The primal sensation of something being wrong nearly overtakes John's reasoning, before he manages to remind himself that a chicken's predators aren't exactly his to worry about. Still, he rattles the container to bring the hens scuttling towards him; all three are easily distracted by food now, but John can't shake the feeling that he'd missed something they hadn't. A fox, maybe? A snake? Anything could be lurking in the woods on the other side of the wash. Not a whole lot that could hurt him , of course, but he's not about to be blamed for Carmina's chickens being eaten by a wild dog.

The fence-line is... nebulous past the hangar, sure, but John's positive Kim doesn't consider the rest of the old airport off-limits. Then again, she might be in the mood to lecture him once she gets through with Carmina. It's a risk he's not sure he's willing to take.

Two chickens continue to eat as one keeps watch, their heads bobbing up and down as they switch off. Their unease mirrors his own, and John can imagine Faith giggling at him for being swayed by some dumb birds.

"Very well, ladies," he sighs, shaking the remainder of their breakfast onto the ground. "Don't let them say I don't care."

The chickens don't give three shits about John's motivations, of course; they watch him go, pecking at the food with increasing carelessness as the distance grows. John rolls his eyes at their sudden fearlessness, half-convinced to let whatever animal is lurking eat them out of spite.

There's a wide swath of dirt behind the hangar, separating it from the mostly-overgrown remnants of Rye Aviation that couldn't be saved. John can see the edge of the chicken pen from here, but the hangar is blocking him from the house. Even though he knows the Ryes trust him not to run off, he still feels distinctly uneasy going somewhere where they can't see him. At this point, Nick would probably only tease him for it, but John's not about to linger out here and risk turning Kim's irritation on himself.

To the right of the derelict hangars is a sparse wedge of trees that have grown in uninterrupted. John knows there's a path cut between the trunks, one he'd made himself while hauling the tire-planters for Kim last year, and there's a long stretch of unused runway beyond it. It isn't a great place for anything bigger than a fox to lurk in. That doesn't explain the feeling of being watched that comes over him as he stops halfway across the empty dirt lot; he looks around, but there's no place for anything to hide out here. The overgrowth on the old hangars can't be more than two feet high, and the bushes in the copse are brambly and sparse. The only place anything could hide would be in the trees, which is why John approaches them with more caution than they're worth.

The thinned underbrush is easy to explore, but John goes carefully as he picks through the trees and bushes. He doesn't know exactly what he's looking for — some sign of predators, whatever those might be — but he doesn't find much. There are some hoof-prints clear in the dirt, curving sharply away from the Rye homestead and back out to the airstrip, which tells John that the goddamn deer are back, probably looking to eat their hard-grown crops. Other than that, there's no sign of anything that might be stalking the hen-house. The ground is still somewhat soft from the rain a few nights ago, but it barely takes the imprint of John's boots as he explores the small grove.

That's why it's such a shock to see the tread of a narrow boot in the dirt by the trunk of one of the trees, well off the beaten path. It's an old print, he thinks — but he doesn't remember the last time any one of them had been out this way. Certainly not since the last time it rained.

An electric shock conducts itself down his spine. Somebody had been out here, hiding here in the trees, and it's only been two, three days since the last rain. John turns, and from his vantage point, he can clearly see the coop and the back of the hangar, but not the house. For that, he'd have to move out of the trees, into direct view of the porch.

It has to be Grace's boot. She's the only one he could imagine creeping around the property with good intentions. But even that explanation doesn't settle the anxious flip of his stomach; he tries not to let it show as he marches from the trees, intent on dragging Nick over and proving to him once and for all that they need to be more goddamn careful about who they let around the property. Somebody is going to want the copper fixtures they've salvaged, even if there's nobody to sell the metal to these days.

John gets halfway back to the coop when he catches something in his peripheral vision. Terrible, primal terror grips him as he fixes his gaze on the trick of the light that had scared him, ready to catch Grace peering at him over the abandoned hangars, or maybe a pack of wild dogs. What he sees instead turns his blood to ice, caught like a deer in headlights as the low-hanging shrubbery and thick vines shift and part for a rising mass of dark brown fur. The shape that rises from the underbrush is a tall, dark smudge against the blue sky, and John nearly swallows his tongue when he sees its face — or the horrifying absence of one, replaced with white, flaking skin and two huge, empty eye-sockets that are fixed on John's position.

It doesn't move. Neither does John, frozen to the spot as the chickens begin to crow and fuss. He can't fathom what he's looking at — a bear, a person, a fucking mutant? — but whatever it is, he suspects it's infected with Bliss. Who knows how many angels ended up underground after the Collapse? What might've happened to them in the years since? All John knows about them is that they're dangerous to everybody but Faith, and Faith died a decade ago. If this is an angel — God, there'll be no stopping it. And if it isn't — then what the hell is it ?

There's no way for John to get from here to the house without the thing chasing him. The hangar is blocking his brutal oncoming murder from the two people who might actually be able to do something about it. He doesn't have to look to know the distance from here to the house is insurmountable.

The creature lifts its arm, and the situation that couldn't get any worse takes an even more horrifying turn as it reveals its weapon of choice: a crudely fashioned bow, the same kind of handmade weaponry that Joseph's followers have been seen with.

All at once, Nick's voice is ringing in John's ears, warning him of what's going to happen if this gargoyle takes him away. The things John hadn't considered before — the Ryes' reputation, Carmina's safety, the hard-won trust John's gained from the survivors — it's all in jeopardy. The situation barrels into him all at once — the realization that whatever Joseph did to create this thing , he won't hesitate to turn on John.

He tries to shout a warning, but his breath is caught in his throat. Faith's voice, faint on the breeze, laughs and whispers sing-song into his ear:

They've found you!

The monster barrels down the slope of the hill as if prodded into action by a hot poker. Its gait is wide, bringing it towards John at speeds impossible to outrun. This time, John's shout comes out clear as a bell, panic screaming through him as he turns and bolts for the house. He nearly clips himself on the pen as he hangs a sharp right turn, the porch coming into full sight —

Something snags the back of John's shirt, and his momentum briefly chokes him. A thick arm bears down across his neck before he can rip free, the creature grunting in exertion as it yanks him backward. John feels his boots scrape on the dirt as he's dragged towards the trees, away from the safety that's plain in sight.

Animal instinct kicks in. John gnashes his teeth but there's nothing to bite, so he kicks out his feet instead, first in front of him and then harshly backward until he can hook his shin behind his assailant's and trip them both to the ground. The creature goes down with a surprised grunt; John does his best to roll away, only to be yanked back by his hair. He's distantly aware that he's spitting like a cat in a sack, clawing and biting, the two of them rolling in the dirt as John screams profanities and heresy at the monster trying to pin him down, anything to convince the universe to take mercy on him for once in his fucking life!

The creature manages to grab him by the shoulder, throwing him into the dirt before backhanding him violently across the face. It's enough to daze him; for one horrible second, he's unable to do anything as the monster begins to drag him across the dirt by the legs.

There's a commotion coming from the house. For a split second, the creature looks up, and John realizes his opening at the same time the monster realizes its mistake. It looks down just in time for John to kick it square in its barky, hollow-eyed face, sending a split down the wooden facade.

" John !"

The monster reels backward as if burned, grabbing at the mask as it falls away. John catches sight of a single dark, wild eye behind the broken wood before he kicks out again, sending both boots into his assailant's chest. As soon as the creature staggers back, John bolts, scrambling towards Kim as she races toward him with the rifle drawn. Nick is hot behind her; he grabs John's shoulder and drags him partway back to the house. John doesn't need the escort, and so Nick quickly leaves him to scramble up the porch as he goes after his wife.

John gets all the way to the stairs inside before he realizes there's no safe place to hide. He'd found out this winter just how flimsy the prisoner story had been; if somebody wants to take him, all they have to do is climb onto the roof and jimmy the lock on the nearest window. Whether it's through the broken window in his room or a gap in the roof leading to the attic, the Project will find him. He can't possibly outrun them forever. He'd be stupid to even try. God, he'd been a fool for thinking Joseph wouldn't send someone looking for him, that he wouldn't want to snatch John back from the clutches of apostasy. There's no way Joseph will leave a loose end like him untied.

John sinks to the bottom steps in his mounting despair, only to realize for a second time that he's being watched. The realization is less of a shock as Carmina peers at him around the kitchen archway; she jumps at the distant rapport of gunfire, staring owl-eyed at John as though she expects him to do something.

"Stay down," John hisses, setting an example as he keeps low on his way into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Carmina asks, frantic, "Is mom gonna be okay?"

"Yes," John replies, although he can't possibly know that for sure. He waits a beat, listening for more gunshots, then carefully lifts his head to check out the window when none come. He lets out the breath he'd been holding when he sees Nick standing with his hands on his hips, staring at Kim further down the yard. Whatever the danger had been, it's not pressing enough to warrant immediate action.

"Seriously," Carmina whines, as if that could hide her fear. "What was it? Was it a bear? Grace says there are bears in the woods but I've never seen —"

John sinks to the ground, his mind reeling even as the panic passes, leaving him numb. "It wasn't a bear."

Carmina chews on her lower lip, looking up towards the window as though she might try looking for herself. "Are the chickens okay?" she asks.

"They're fine," he sighs. He pushes his hair from his face, only to realize that his hands have started to tremble with run-off adrenaline.

"Are... you okay?" she asks, frowning as though she can't decide whether or not his wellbeing is her problem to deal with.

Goodwill must be genetic, John laments. "I'm fine," he tells her. She gives his shaking hands a hard look; he sighs and reiterates, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"I'm not," Carmina huffs. Apparently, Nick's attempts to teach Carmina how to bluff haven't worked out.

John is saved from needing to reassure her as Nick abruptly appears in the kitchen arch, out of breath and red-faced. His shock gives way to relief at the sight of the two of them huddled by the counter. He's out of breath and visibly bewildered.

"Shit, John, you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, although he doubts Nick will believe it any more than Carmina had. His foot jogs uselessly against the floor. "Kim — did she...?"

Nick shakes his head. "She tried," he says, "But it was too fast. What the fuck was it ?"

"Somebody from the Project."

"No shit. But — look, it wasn't an angel , was it?"

John shakes his head. "I don't know."

Kim storms into view, making her way to the pass-through from the living room side. She sets the rifle down on the counter, catching John's eye with a glare. John hurries to explain himself, as if he could possibly apologize for bringing the cult back to her doorstep.

"I was checking for foxes," he tells her, "I didn't think it — if I'd known what it was, I wouldn't have gone on my own."

Despite the fury in her eyes and the hard edge to her voice, Kim seems to mean it when she replies, "As long as nobody's hurt."

But the damage is done, and John can't help but babble on uselessly. "I wasn't looking in the right place. But I shouted as soon as I saw it. I just — couldn't outrun it. I wasn't fast enough. And I wasn't — it was stronger than I expected, stronger than..." Even he can hear the panic edging into his voice, cutting himself off with one last worried question. "Do you think it's gone?"

"It better be, if it knows what's good for it," Kim replies. "Are you sure you're okay?"

At any other time, John would be irritated to have to reassure every single Rye individually that he isn't in the throes of a panic attack. Right now, he's only grateful to realize that Kim doesn't blame him for the thing's appearance.

"I am," he says. "Thank you."

Nick groans, covering his eyes with one hand as he leans against the counter. "So much for it being safe to go out alone. Damn it, we got too comfortable."

" I got too comfortable," John says. "It wouldn't have cared about either of you."

"What about the chickens?" Carmina asks, "Are they safe there?"

Kim crosses her arms. "What I want to know is what the hell the Project is doing out here."

Her question is the only one John has any insight into, although he doesn't know how realistic his theory is. "They might be hunting deer," he says. "The only thing I saw, other than — than that , were deer tracks."

"All the way out here?" Kim asks skeptically.

"The hunting can't be any good in that swamp they're hiding in," Nick points out, frowning as he considers the idea. "And there are more survivors around the river these days. I'd bet that'd make for slim pickings."

"I doubt we'd even know they come out this far if I hadn't been the one out there. At least we've confirmed they're actively searching for resources beyond their compound — and they're relying on traditional methods to do so. Most likely because the armory was destroyed."

"Thank God for the Deputy," Nick sighs. "Okay. We're just gonna have to... I dunno, be willing to shoot, I guess." He doesn't sound so sure about it, and he quickly softens the intention. "At least a couple more warning shots. Once they remember guns outstrip arrows every way but sustainability, they'll probably keep back."

"We can push the fence-line out, too," Kim says. "It won't necessarily stop them, but at least it'll give them a line to cross. They're not cavemen — they remember property laws and how those get enforced around here."

"We'll have to start checking the traps more often. They might be living like bloodthirsty Mennonites right now, but that doesn't mean they aren't willing to steal to survive."

"They'll justify it one way or another," John sighs.

"So I guess we don't have to move the chickens after all," Nick says, "So long as we establish a perimeter. Sound good, Carmina?"

Carmina must have slipped out at some point during the conversation because she's nowhere to be found in the kitchen. Nick glances over John's head and out the window, swearing loudly.

"What the hell is she doing out there?"

John gets to his feet as Nick and Kim take off. He watches them through the window as they chase after Carmina, who's stopped to look around partway towards the coop. Either she's dumber than she seems, or she's inherited both of her parents' reckless streaks. Either way, she's going to leave herself open the same way John had. She's too confident that nobody wants to hurt her. The only way John knows how to teach that lesson, though, is not one that Kim or Nick would approve of — and so he sidelines his worries in favor of sticking with whoever is more armed than he is.

By the time John comes outside, Kim is knee-deep in the middle of a heated lecture about safety and responsibility. Carmina scowls at her feet, her face turning red as she's scolded. John ignores them, passing them by in favor of catching up with Nick, who's come to a stop a few yards past the coop. He's staring out into the unoccupied land — land that used to be his property, once. Now Nick is as much a stranger here as John is.

"Check it out," Nick says, holding out a thin, white-barked piece of wood. John takes it and recognizes it immediately as part of the mask he'd broken in two. The hole for the eye is a roughly cut gouge in the soft wood, and the bark flakes as he wipes his thumb across it.

"I hadn't even considered a mask," John admits. "I thought it was a monster."

"You and me both," Nick replies. He heaves a sigh. "Still waiting for the mutants to crawl out of the sewers, I guess. But I think we can handle a couple of jackasses with arrows."

John squints across the clearing, as if maybe his assailant has hung around waiting for them to reappear. "Next time, it might be Joseph," he points out grimly. "That hunter recognized me immediately. They'll tell him I'm here, and he'll want to find me."

"Come on. Like Joseph's gonna risk crossing enemy territory on foot. I'd be more worried about those goddamn hunting parties you used to send out."

John unconsciously reaches up to rub his throat. "Yeah," he says. "You're right. One of them clearly wasn't enough, but if Joseph decides I'm worthwhile, they'll come as a pack. If he's still manufacturing Bliss somehow, it would be easy to subdue me. And then..."

He's surprised out of his would-be reverie as Nick slaps his shoulder with a heavy hand. "We're not gonna let that happen," he says. "As long as you put up the same fight you did today, Kim and I are gonna come running."

Despite the reality of hidden archers and surprise ambushes, John allows himself to be reassured by the sentiment. At the very least, he pretends for Nick's sake. "I suppose you two were quick to the rescue," he drawls. "But if they get me to the tree-line, I'd rather you just put me down before I get dragged all the way back to the compound."

Nick chuckles. "We'll try to avoid that for now."

Looking over his shoulder, John catches Kim crouched down in front of Carmina, hands on her shoulders. Whatever she's saying, it's too quiet for John to hear, but Carmina's sniffles are a loud precursor to a lot of tears.

"I guess she believed you when you said the Project wouldn't care about us," Nick sighs. "At this rate, we're gonna have to put a bell on her."

"I could tell her about the child soldiers from the summer camp, if that would prove the gravity of the situation."

Just the mention of it makes Nick look a little queasy, and John immediately regrets bringing it up. "I don't want to scare her that badly," Nick says. "She's a good kid, she means well. She just needs to stop going off half-cocked, is all." He rubs his hand across his forehead and complains, "I thought we taught her to be smarter than this."

"She's still your kid," John says. Nick gives him a sour look, but it's the truth no matter how bitter Nick might feel about it. "You can't expect her to be utterly obedient, given her genetics."

"I guess ." He sighs, shaking his head. "At any rate, it's time we stop sugar-coating the cult for her benefit. She's obviously not taking it seriously."

John looks again and sees Kim embracing Carmina tightly. He can't help but worry about what might happen if the hunters come back. When he'd been with the Project, he'd understood Joseph's motivations — at least superficially — but now he's completely in the dark. They used to fill their ranks with abducted children and their desperate parents. He has no idea if Joseph is in a position to expand his flock, but if he is... John does not doubt that they'll start with the young and impressionable. Carmina, being young but not as impressionable as they'd like, probably wouldn't make it back to the compound before she got herself killed. He can't imagine anyone having enough patience to break her.

"You... uh, think we should be worried?" Nick asks after a brief stretch of silence.

"Not yet," John replies grimly. After all, the Ryes have a bargaining chip like no other, in case their daughter is ever taken. John can see to it that she's left alone, but it will only work once — and after that, who knows which brother will be sending hunters after her.

"Good thing we got ourselves a couple of extra guns," Nick says. "You and her are gonna have to start carrying pretty much everywhere."

"I'm sure people will love that."

"Fuck people, man, did you see the size of that fucking guy?"

John can't help a wry smile. "They weren't so big. If I were a couple of years younger, I would have taken them."

"Yeah, sure. "

The lecture must be over with for now, as Carmina's attention has turned back to her chickens. Kim watches her from a distance; John can't read her expression from here, but her posture is tense and defensive. John can't blame her — he doesn't have a parental bone in his body, but the stress of raising a child in these conditions isn't lost on him. Trying to instill a sense of fear into somebody who lived their formative years without a threat in sight can't be easy. Doubly so, considering Carmina can no doubt outgun the rudimentary weaponry the Project is utilizing. Hell, maybe they really are only a threat to him. Maybe it doesn't matter if Carmina sneaks out of the house.

"She won't leave unnoticed again," John decides, because it's the only promise he can genuinely keep.

"Oh yeah? You're gonna eat those words when she's a teenager."

"I'd hope she would be smart enough to bring back up by then."

"Me too." Nick exhales loudly enough to get Kim's attention, stretching one arm over his chest, then the other. "Well, I guess we better get started if we want to have anything to show for it by nightfall."

Even so, it takes Nick another moment before he brings himself to move. John lingers behind, unable to help himself as he eyes the trees distrustfully. There's nothing saying that hunter isn't still out there, watching them from a safe distance. If Jacob had a hand in training them, it's unlikely that John will ever see them coming again. He's likely lost the one chance at a level playing field, and he hadn't even realized it was something he could lose.

Fuck it. It doesn't matter. John has adapted time and again to every disaster in his life, and there's something to be said for the person who he's become. If this is the next catastrophe that he'll have to weather, then so be it. If he isn't capable of dealing with Joseph by now, then it's likely he never will be — and if that turns out to be the case, he can only hope that Kim is as quick on the trigger as she seemed to be today.

#far cry new dawn #fcnd #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #carmina rye #far cry fanfic #my fic #ugh tagging sucks on this site #mercyverse

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fleetofshippyships-archive · 5 years

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WIP tag meme

aaah, I was tagged over 2 months ago by @parkkate O.O sorry for not doing this sooner @parkkate XD I’ve been offline for a few months! Just now catching up on everything I missed! but I’m ignoring asks for now because my inbox is a mess

The Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I’m gonna cheat and only do this for my drarry wips, since I post everything else on another account now, and tbh I have so many drarrys it’s still gonna be a long ass post XD

Oh man *sweats nervously* I’m a bit of a hoarder in all aspects of my life...I don’t even know where to begin!

I’m not tagging anyone cos I was tagged 2 months ago and I have no idea who has and hasn’t done this and don’t want to be a pain. But if you wanna do it, go a head, and please tag me so I can be nosy and hopefully find someone with a wip problem as bad as my own so I can be less embarrassed XD

Also I’m putting this under a cut for reasons

1. 4th year au idea

Sooooo, right off the bat, I often open a new file to jot down an idea even though I have docs specifically to dump ideas...and then at some point during the process of jotting down basic details of the idea...I start writing it....? This is one such occurrence...but I had to open it to check...and now I want to keep writing it XD

But also yikes it’s super dark

2. ... 4th year au idea

I swear, this is an entirely different wip and I am going ‘wtf’ at myself because wtf that’s confusing! I had also totally forgotten the existence of this before opening it....probably because of the name of it and the only reason I apparently have 2 files the exact same name is that one is a word doc and one is a libre office doc XD

3. drarry character death idea

Soooo, I need to stop turning idea files into wips without changing the names because I actually forget they are wips apparently

Also, I really want to finish this RIGHT NOW IT HURTS SO GOOD GIMME GIMME GIMME

4. Veela fic followup

LOL LOL LOL I’m rewriting my veela fic so I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to end up doing with this XD I might have to try and merge it with the re-write if the story has a similar outcome when I’m done. or maybe I’ll just turn this into its own thing....

5. Veela fic present tense

I really need to get back to working on this, this is actually the full re-write that re-doing the tenses spawned...I was binge writing this before my life went to hell but then my life went to hell and I went offline for like three months and didn’t do any writing or anything XD

although, the last time I looked at it I got the itch to change it back to past tense so who fucking knows what I’ll do with it now

6. Veela fic Draco pov

Curse my obsession with alternate povs of the same story and Draco for being such a good angsty pov

7. Veritaserum idea start

At least this one has ‘start’ in it so I know it is in fact a wip and not just an idea outline XD

7. Veritaserum

So, turns out I started that fic over in a new file and just left the old one lying around XD I do that too often. I should delete that other one...

Also...this better not turn into another ‘Amortentia’ with me unable to think of a fucking title and going with the file name because lame

This is also my first time trying to do god’s eye 3rd person instead of 3rd person pov...also first time trying to do this weird structure thing...I dunno but I like it XD

8. CTS followup

9. CTS sequel

Two separate followups set at different times in the same story verse... I hate myself. I love them both. I can’t pick which one to stop writing so I’m gonna keep them both around and try and make them merge at some point...

10. MMB saying sorry

11. another erase the shame

12. next erase the shame

I work on followups and lose interest so often (usually because people bug me for followups and I get very ‘fuck you’ about it and stop writing them...but I keep them around and tinker with them every now and then soooo they’re still technically wips

13. Tea and Coffee oneshot series (Tea and Coffee, Coffee and Dark Marks, The Cottage Kitchen, next untitled one)

There’s also a present tense version of the first one of those *sweats nervously* first 3 are finished, of course, but my original purpose is lost to them becoming a long fic soo....gonna merge them into one long fic soon...once I decide what tense I like better......kill me now

14. Communion of the Soul (folder name)

This is the sequel to One Touch and this is spread across 5 files because apparently I did that and even though each time I got to work on it I have to figure out which file holds which part of the sequel timeline and which I feel like working on...I have yet to merge them into one file to make my life easier...

15. Crumbling Facade

ugh working on this always makes me want to re-write restraint and actually put in the major plot line, or what was supposed to be Harry’s major plot line before the relationship crap got away from me and I had to cut out all the plot stuff because by the time I got around to addressing it, it started reading like a completely different fic and I had to cut a huge chunk and end it instead, because back then I sucked more than I do now and couldn’t juggle

sooo...I still work on this in starts and stops and then get frustrated for having to stick to Restraint’s chain of events when I have better ideas now for working in Harry’s plot about his damn magic problem and ARRGEHGEHGFVEDHDBVUIOFNBFKDB EFBVJ

I should just let Crumbling Facade take me where it wants to take me and fuck Restraint

16. Potter’s Insatiable Heart

This is my longest wip at 130k XD and I’m stalling now because if I keep going with it where I was intending to go it will end up my longest fic and I’m getting intimidated by the length and how much work it will be to edit that long of a fic so I just go in and write a few paragraphs now and again, get scared of the length and move on to another wip XD

I also periodically binge read this bitch because I love it to death even though it’s severely flawed XD

17. Corset Drarry

oh boy, when I started writing this this I was weirded out by writing a kink I didn’t understand and kind of tailed off and left it...then I did kinktober for voltron and now I’m laughing at myself because corsets and lingerie is so fucking tame after that kinktober list and all the the crap I wrote for it XD

18. Music in the Periphery

Emily bugs me about finishing this a lot...I bug me about finishing it, progress is non-existent because I have a clear plan for it and when I have a clear plan I can’t write for shit

19. Saying Sorry (Round 2) (MMB)

I gotta kick that habit of starting over with something but keeping the first attempt and still working on it parallel to the second attempt, because then I wind up with 2 fics too similar to each other to post both and I’m completely unable to pick which one I like more *facepalm*

Also, MMB is dead if I can’t stop turning the next fic attempts into angst, I just look at that big fluffy mess and want to angst it all up

20. scrapped MMB ficlets - theo’s letter

not technically drarry thought the greater series is drarry...torn between making it mmb or making it its own fic for a rare pair

21. Weather the Storm

*cries* my 6th year war au, I have such plans for this, but the plans get in the way of writing =(

22. Soulmate AU (folder name)

fucking hell, this is 10+ files and I’m not naming all of them, current count is 5 completed versions 60k+ each, 1 incomplete alternate version, all of which I’m seriously unsatisfied with, none of which I can bear to delete, all of which I periodically go and tinker with, thus leaving them all wips i’m such a fucking hoarder but also I have never gotten over all the awful comments that were on the original soulmate fic on ffnet before my purge and now I can’t ever be satisfied unless it is perfect and wont result in such horrible comments again

23. Turnabout (folder name)

Once again, multiple wips in here of the same 60k finished fic I’ve been unhappy with since the moment I finished it and keep trying to fix by starting over and changing things here and there to change the course of the story. Honestly ready to hit the delete button with this one unless my latest attempt pans out, liking it so far buuuut I’m a mess about my writing so who knows

In the Ways that Matter was based off this fic XD

24. Dependency

Oh boy, I abandoned this cos it was so dark I got too uncomfortable writing it...I’ve since started revisiting it after being in the Voltron fandom gave me a new tolerance range for dark content XD

Plan on posting this on anon if I ever finish it, obviously changing the title XD it stopped being relevant after the first 30k anyway

25. Dependency V2

LOL light version of the above that removes most of the dark aspects while maintaining the core plot, but I’m finding it a bit dull XD not sure how long I’ll keep trying to chug along with it

26. *censored title*

hahahaha omg why is this in a different subfolder, this is actually one of the soulmate au ones only it’s actually a spin off au of the original soulmate one I from ffnet and therefore it’s new ground and I’m less unhappy with it

.....I’m probably going to stop working on turnabout today and work on this instead now

(censoring the name because I might post this on anon because I’m too scared to post another drarry soulmate fic under my own name)

27. Retrospection

Sooo, I’m always on and off this fic cos it triggers my anxiety and depression, but fuck that I want to write it so I keep trying XD

I’m also thinking of splitting the two main plots and only going with 1 and using the other to write another story....see if that eases how difficult it is for me to write without self triggering

28. Sequel to mornings

29. Sunrise (loose prequel to mornings)

30. Surrender

I had no idea what this was, opened it and then holy shit THIS BITCH, THIS SLOW BURN FRIENDS TO LOVERS PIECE OF BULLSHIT. I DON’T WRITE SLOW BURN! I DON’T WRITE FRIENDS TO LOVERS. I REFUSE.

but also I really really really love what I wrote so far and now I’m itching to write more *cries* making this list is leaving me with so many open files to work on

31. day 2 ass worship

32. day 3 sensory deprivation

*laughs nervously* the kinktober oneshots that starting turning into a long fic hahahaha cos I really needed more wips

33. Perception of Angels

*wistful sigh* one day I will be able to finish a heavily plot driven story full of fantasy elements and creatures and magic I made up, and when that day somes, Perception of Angels....or that timetravel war au drarry fic idea I have sitting around.....which isn’t on this list only cos I’m not stupid enough to start writing it

So that’s all the drarry files in my wip folder.... I also have heaps more for other ships and fandoms, but I’m keeping that separate =)

And...now I have some writing to go do, cos after 2 months of being unable to write thanks to the bullshit in my life, I started binge writing again 2 days ago =) and opening a few of these to remind myself what they were has a lit a fire under my ass

#*#tag game #wip meme #i have too many wips #and this is only the drarry ones #and tbh there's another folder i didn't check because i'm pretending it doesn't exist #because they're all super plotty things and i do.not.have.the.time #i wish i could feel more secure in my writing so i could just post some of the completed things #and stop messing with them in a vain effort to make them perfect

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postedbygaslight · 6 years

Text

You’ll Be the One to Turn - Part 6: The Engineer

Don’t ask me how I’m doing this so fast. I don’t know. Again, we’re in a non-Reylo POV, but for those of you who love FinnRose, here’s your dose. Thank you again for all of your kind words and support, and enjoy this second interlude chapter. We’ll be rejoining one of our mains in the next part.

The night sky on Vedic III was hardly night at all. The brilliant blue of Vedic Prime filled a third of the sky, and it’s reflected light imbued everything with a ghostly, dreamlike hue. The days were far different, with the light from the sun blasting over the horizon of the gas giant, changing everything from a chilly blue to stark and cloudless white. One of the techs had said it was because the geothermal vents of the moon had seeded the upper atmosphere with too much sulfur dioxide; that made the sky bone white during the day, but it also kept heat conditions on the surface a survivable, but less than comfortable, temperature.

Rose Tico crouched beneath the fuselage of one of the newly requisitioned transports, elbow deep in wiring and detached hoses. Wherever they had dug up this heap, Rose knew it was going to take a miracle for it to ever leave the tarmac. As it was, Rey and Chewie had towed it into atmosphere four days earlier, and there it had sat, mocking Rose from a distance. She’d never shrunk from a challenge before, and she wasn’t going to start now. The dim light of the Vedician night was a blessing: it afforded her the opportunity to work late, and to avoid the often scorching heat of the days.

That heat was taking its toll, though. At that very moment, Rose was chipping the hardened residue of melted wire casings off of one of the fuel lines. It would take her a few hours to disentangle the electrical mess inside the maintenance panel, refit the casings, and apply coolant foam to the interior. All of the ships and vehicles were a little worse for wear. But the location was remote, nestled a good distance from the major hyperspace routes, in the unaffiliated regions between the Mid and Outer Rims.

As for the crew members and soldiers of the Resistance, the heat was a nuisance, but the nights were cool, and the ground tended to become damp with a slight mist. Spirits were generally good, and their recruiting efforts had lately borne fruit. Still, some accidents had happened, and today had seen the most significant of those.

Rose hadn’t been there to see it. She’d been arranging tools in the equipment shed when the hue and cry went up throughout the base. Rey had collapsed in the training yard.

It seemed a ridiculous thing to suggest. Rose had watched Rey fight; the young Jedi was a marvel of technique, efficient and brutal. She’d managed to collect an impressive array of weapons for training— her lightsaber had been nearly destroyed during the Battle of Crait, and she now primarily used monomolecular blades appropriated from the First Order to stay in practice.

Rose had helped Rey assemble her first practice droid from the decommissioned scrap of positively ancient HK units and some astromech parts. Together they’d worked through the peculiar challenges presented by having to design something that could be hacked to pieces, easily reassembled, and made to return to working order within an hour of the initial disassembly. The results had been decidedly mixed, but Rose loved the process of it, and it had allowed her to get to know Rey better.

That was why it had seemed so strange as Rose rushed from the other side of the base, arriving at the med bay just in time to see Rey wheeled in on a gurney. She was pale and clammy, and she had a dark red abrasion on her temple. She’d taken a nasty spill, that much was sure.

While people clustered around the entrance to the triage unit, Rose had jogged to the training yard, sure that one of the droids had malfunctioned. Must have exploded, or shorted out suddenly, caught Rey off balance, she remembered thinking. But no. Nothing out of the ordinary. So, she busied herself initiating the reassembly protocols, and returned to the base as the sun was disappearing behind the hazy cerulean mass of Vedic Prime.

She had run into Finn, who was trying to convince a very faint looking Rey to stay in the med bay, or at least let someone watch over her in the Falcon. With Chewbacca off-planet on a supply run, she would be alone in the old freighter. Rose couldn’t blame Finn for his worry; Rey looked awful. But Rose could also tell she was looking for the kindest, but most expeditious, way to tell him to sod off.

Rose had waited for a tactful opening, slid in beside him, taking his arm, and said, “Finn, Rey’s a big girl. And though I’m sure she appreciates the concern, you should respect her privacy.” When Finn opened his mouth to protest, she quickly added, “And even in this state she could probably throw you through a wall. So, let’s let her be, okay?”

Finn had stood gobsmacked, and Rey had walked by mouthing a soundless “thank you” to Rose as she left through the main base doors and onto the landing pad.

And now Rose was out on that same tarmac, two hundred yards from the Falcon, covered in carbon resin, spent from another day fighting the good fight. Finn had not been particularly pleased with her, she knew, but he would get over it; if there was one thing Rose had learned about Finn, it was that the man had a boundless capacity for understanding. Sometimes it just took him awhile.

Rose pulled her arm from the mass of wiring, spit a curse, and carefully re-secured the maintenance panel. She shimmied out from under the transport, dusted herself off, and headed back to the base.

***

“Something’s wrong. I know it.”

Rose must have dozed off. She snapped back to consciousness to find Finn standing at the dusty barracks window, looking out at the blue-gray haze. With the windows being made of six inch transparisteel, capable of withstanding ion cannon bombardment, seeing anything through them was next to impossible. But it was better than nothing.

“Ugh,” she groaned, “come to bed. I’m cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Finn said, turning toward her. “It’s just— Something’s been off. For awhile. And what happened this afternoon. It isn’t like Rey.”

Finn’s face was the picture of sincere concern, and Rose couldn’t be frustrated with him. To be fair, she was worried about Rey, too. But Finn’s protectiveness of his friend had never really waned, even after it became clear that she was in no need whatsoever of protecting.

“Fine,” Rose said gently, sitting up. “Let’s talk about it. But come to bed.”

He gave her a soft smile, his eyes still half-squinted with worry, and crossed back to the bed, climbing under the blanket. He stayed sitting up, and drew his knees up partway to his chest, his arms draped over them. He let his head droop a bit and let out a heavy sigh.

“Finn,” she said, careful not to make it seem like she was scolding him, “have you ever considered you might not know Rey all that well?”

His head snapped up.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s,” Rose began, but stopped short. She let out a sigh of her own and started again. “Maybe this is how she is. She spent a long time alone. Being around so many people all the time can’t be easy.”

Rose had seen Rey at her most buoyant and indefatigable. She was bright and inquisitive, quick to laugh, and fierce when challenged. But Rose could also sense a guardedness to Rey’s cheerful demeanor, and, more than once, she’d caught her staring off into space, her eyes sad and distant, as though she was privy to a world all her own, entrusted with a secret only she could comprehend.

“I guess I never thought about it like that,” Finn said. It was the way he said things when he really hadn’t considered something. It was a frank and endearing trait, and Rose cherished it.

“She’s got a lot of responsibility on her shoulders now. And I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to have those powers.” Rose had often wondered what it would be like to be able to move objects with a thought, or to sense the feelings of others. “It must be very lonely.”

Finn’s face fell slightly, and his lips pursed.

“What is it?” she asked. “There’s something else.”

“It’s not important,” he said in that way that meant that, yes, it was indeed important.

“Finn.”

He looked at her with those soulful eyes, and Rose might have been inclined to let him off the hook. But she could sense this really was important, and gave him a serious glare.

“Spit it out, soldier,” she quipped. “Or I’ll stun you again.”

For a second, he didn’t react. But then his face screwed into genuine apprehension, and his eyes darted to the bedside table, and Rose couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“The look on your face!” She doubled over, gasping for air. Through tears, she could see him kicking himself for being so gullible. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, her hand on her chest, regaining her composure. “Oh, you’re so cute.”

“Ha ha ha,” he deadpanned. “Very funny, Tico. I’ll show you cute.”

“Oh, don’t you dare!”

But it was too late. He was already on her, his fingers under her arms and between her ribs, tickling mercilessly. She squirmed and shrieked, and wrestled with him before finally getting her own hands under his arms and giving him the same treatment. She wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but gradually the tickling came to a stop, and he was pressing his lips against hers. They stayed like that for awhile, both of them bone tired and sleepy, and just enjoyed each other; slow kisses, soft touches.

They might have drifted off to sleep. Rose couldn’t be completely sure. But the next thing she knew, he was looking at her with the boyish earnestness that made her fall for him almost as soon as they met.

“You’re not upset that I’m worried about Rey, are you? You’re not, you know—“

“Jealous? I was. A little. At first.”

“You know it’s not like that. Right?”

“Hey,” she said quietly, her hand cupping his cheek, “I do know. She’s your friend. You were there for each other through a really, extremely dangerous experience.”

Finn’s expression turned resolute and serious, tinged with a sadness Rose still didn’t entirely understand.

“She was the first person who ever looked at me like I was worth fighting for. But you,” he said deliberately, lending each word its due weight, “you were the first person who ever looked at me like I was worth dying for.”

“You know,” she said, planting a chaste kiss on his upper lip, “you can be pretty charming when you try. For a bucket head.”

“And you can be pretty sweet for a wrench-jockey.”

He smiled and leaned in for another kiss.

“You’re not getting out of answering me that easy,” she whispered, just before their lips met.

“Huh?”

“The other thing, dummy. The thing that’s bothering you.”

“Oh,” he said, sitting up, “right.”

Rose scooted up on her pillow to a half sitting position and straightened the rumpled blanket.

“It just doesn’t add up,” Finn said after a moment of contemplation. “Her story about being on the Supremacy. She was taken prisoner, but she never said how she got captured. She said she was able to escape in the explosion, but she came back with cuts and bruises and her lightsaber torn in half. And she’s never said what happened.”

“Maybe she’s not ready,” Rose replied, though she knew he had a point.

“That’s what has me worried,” he said, looking straight ahead, focusing on nothing in particular.

“You’re going to have to explain what you mean by that.”

“She’s been his prisoner. Twice.”

Rose didn’t need to say the name. They both knew it. But she said it all the same.

“Kylo Ren.”

“Yeah.”

Rose studied Finn’s face. He was still looking straight ahead, but his brow was knit, and his eyes were hard and flinty. She let her gaze drift to his bare back, and there it was: the mottled, jagged scar that cleaved a rut in his skin, two and a half feet long, right next to his spine. The wound he’d gotten from Kylo’s lightsaber. The wound he’d gotten defending his friend.

“So, why—“

“Because no one was ever Ren’s prisoner twice,” Finn said darkly, “Poe’s the only one I’ve ever known of that got away. And he was only captive for a few hours.”

“What happened to the others?”

“Phasma would order a squad up, march them into the hangar bay and have them executed.” His cadence was different than usual: grim, mechanical. “Or they’d be airlocked.”

“No, what would he do to them?”

“I only ever heard stories. Poe said he was strapped to a table and Ren pulled memories from his mind with the Force. As for the others,” he trailed off for a second before concluding, “I don’t know.”

Rose tenderly placed her hand on his shoulder. He turned toward her, and his expression softened.

“Finn,” she said, her voice quiet and knowing, “when she wants to talk about it, she will. On her terms.” Her hand drifted to her medallion, and she gripped it, tracing her thumb around its edge. “Sometimes it takes awhile to accept that something really happened. That it wasn’t just a bad dream.”

Finn leaned into her and slid under the blanket. He closed his arms around her, kissing her forehead. They lay together like that a long time, gradually drifting off to sleep.

#reylo #reylo fanfic #finnrose #star wars fic

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conifertwins · 6 years

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Armed and Ready - 4/?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Star sat at her desk, poring over Stories of the First People a second time, then a third, trying her best to look for any scrap of useful information. Each story – if you could call them that – seemed like little more than nursery rhymes or fables. The longer ones had weird endings, but nothing indicating where older, wild magic might exist.

She slammed the book closed, grunting in frustration. “Why did I think this would help,” she moaned. “Of course, it’s nothing more than a bunch of children’s stories. It’s a children’s book. Now what am I going to do?” She zapped a pillow onto her desk, letting her head rest on its fluff as it materialized. She enjoyed landing on pillows just as they started to take shape. They were always so soft and cool in that moment before becoming corporeal.

“Globgor?” Glossaryk crawled across the front of the book, looking intently at the gilt scrollwork.

“Globgor,” Star sighed. She felt tired. She felt useless. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, mistaking her weary face for her mother’s for a split second before realizing it was her reflection. Huh. I wonder if this is what it’s like to be queen.

“Call from… Tom.”

Star let her lips flap together as she exhaled. Resigned to the call, she flopped like a rag doll to an upright position. “All right, mirror. I’m answering.”

Tom’s image popped into view. “Star! It just so happened that I was headed out to the Sandwich Dimension, and I was wondering if you’d like to… hey, wait. Is everything all right?”

Aw, he really does care. She smiled at the thought. She’d really come to appreciate how much he’d grown over the past few months. “Yeah, Tom. I’m… well, I guess I’m not all right. I’m trying to help Marco with a pretty big problem.”

“Oh yeah? What trouble did he get into now?”

Star let out an indignant huff. “He’s not gotten himself into any trouble! Most of the time, he doesn’t get himself into trouble at all! He gets other people – like me – out of trouble! He’s… he’s not some goofball sidekick, Tom!”

“Whoa, whoa. Hey, Starshine… c'mon. I was joking.”

“I’m sorry, Tom. It’s not your fault,” she said, leaning her head against the mirror. “It’s mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well….” She started to gesture with her hands, as though the words would come if only she could corral them. In the absence of that, she decided to simply let herself talk, hopeful that she’d find a way to frame things without making an even bigger mess. “So about a year ago, Marco broke his arm. And, you know, being a magical princess and having a book of spells and trying to be his friend, I tried to fix his arm, so he could compete in a karate contest thing. I don’t know. It was important at the time. And… well… instead of fixing his arm, I kinda… uh….” She trailed off, realizing there was no good way to frame this situation. But I have to be able to tell him these things. I mean, he’s supposed to help me through stuff like this, right?

Tom leaned in, waiting for Star to finish her sentence. “Star? What… what did you do?”

She ran the heel of her palm against her eyes, in an attempt to keep away any wayward tears. “I… kinda turned his arm into a monster.”

“You what?” He fell forward, hitting his head against the mirror on his end. “Ow! Hey, wow. Star, you turned his arm into a monster?”

“I turned it back,” she snapped. “I just had to figure out how to do it. And, well, it’s sort of come back for… revenge or something. Anyhow, Marco is having a tough time, and I really want to sort this out before it eats his bowels or something like that.”

“Oh wow. Wow! You… you really screwed that up.” He scratched at the back of his head. “I’m sorry… I’m just trying to process this.”

“Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence and all that, Tom. I’m gonna….”

“No, wait,” he said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve just never heard of anything like that. Even out of all of the magical mistakes I’ve ever heard about… even the ones in the history books… wow. I mean, it’s pretty messed up.”

“I know I messed up, Tom!”

“No, no… you’re fine. The situation is messed up,” he pointed out, in an attempt to comfort. “I’m….” He looked away for a second, before meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry this is happening. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Aw, you mean it?”

“Yeah! Sure! Marco’s my friend, too. And, hey, don’t be too hard on yourself,” he smiled. “I mean, clearly this happened before you got your act together, right?”

Star took a second to blink. “Really, Tom?” Her voice fell flat, squashing his enthusiasm.

She could see the wheels spinning in Tom’s head, his sudden urge to backpedal. "No, wait. What I meant to say was….”

“Ugh,” she fumed, ending the call. “Mirror, mirror, block all calls for an hour.” Star began to pace, trying to channel her frustration into each step, as her feet landed on the floor. Before long, she was stomping, each step reverberating through her room. Shaking with anger, she began to rehash the end of the conversation, afraid that Tom was more right than wrong. “This clearly happened before you got your act together, right,” she mocked. “Clearly, you have your act together now, but before… geez, Star, you were such a hot mess.” She kicked at a pile of stuffed animals on the floor. “Good thing you have your act together now, Star. We can’t have you making any screw-ups like that, now that you’re on the path to queen.”

“Globgor?”

Star turned to Glossaryck. He looked scared and confused. “Oh… oh, come here, Glossaryck,” she said, scooping him up. “I’m not mad at you. I’m….” She sighed, holding him close. “I’m mad at myself.”

Glossaryck climbed out of her arms and jumped back to the book. “Globgor,” he exclaimed, pointing at the pastedown at the back of the book.

“What are you pointing at,” she asked, leaning in to get a better view of the inner back cover of the book. An odd edge was barely visible on the back cover. She looked at the inside front cover to find it flat, flush with the binding. Turning her attention to the inside back cover once more, she ran her finger along the edge. Her eyes widened. “Glossaryck! Good boy.”

Star ran to a small box on the shelf, pulling out a jeweled stiletto. She ran the blade against the nearly invisible edge underneath the pastedown, separating it from the rest of the book. “I hope you can forgive me, Buff Frog,” she whispered, “but this… is gonna be worth it.”

She deftly pulled out a small envelope. Squinting, she made out the cramped handwriting. “‘To my Yvgeny.’” Star gasped, causing Glossaryck to gasp as well. “It’s a letter to Buff Frog,” she said, turning to Glossaryck. “From his… well, probably from his grandmama,” she mused, looking at the front, then the back of the envelope. “But who hides a letter in a book?”

She shrugged. “Then again, who hides a book behind a mud wall? Who knows why monsters do what they do at all?” Looking over the edge of the envelope, she glanced at Glossaryck, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Whaddaya think, Glossy? Should I… open it?”

He raised his hands up in response. “Globgor.”

“I’m takin’ that as a 'yes,’” she said, as she tore open the envelope.

The letter was written on thin, fine parchment, nearly as thin as an onion’s skin. She gingerly unfolded it, smoothing it out across the desk. It was written in a very old dialect used by the aquatic and semi-aquatic residents of Mewni. Star translated aloud.

“'My dearest Ygveny…’ whew! Got that right,” she said, proud of herself. “'I knew you would find the… the…’ oh! 'The letter when the time was…’ uh, proper? No, right. 'When the time was right.’”

She snickered. “Well, maybe not, but… Grandmama doesn’t need to know that, am I right? Let’s see. Now, where was I? Oh yeah. 'This can only mean the Mewmans have come for you. You must…’ preserve? Protect! 'You must protect yourself and… your… your family. They will… kill… you all.’”

Star frowned. “Not anymore, Grandmama.” She thought about all of the work that still had to be done, all of the wrongs that had to be righted. She thought about Marco’s insistence that monsters weren’t all bad and how she tried to prove him wrong. She felt shame begin to well up in her, the shame of a life spent fighting monsters, pushing them back, keeping them at bay. I will deal with this later, she chided herself, before taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain her focus.

“Okay… 'you will need help to defeat the Mewman… queen.’ Right, right… defeat the Mewman queen. Yadda, yadda. 'To do that, you must… you must go through the… the lily pads?’ What? ‘Remember to read each of your favorite bedtime stories. Love always, Grandmama.’”

Star looked at the letter, turning it over. “That’s it? That’s… that’s all there is? Go through the lily pads? What the heck does she mean, go through the lily pads? Is there a portal to a lily pad dimension, or is there a special lily pad? C'mon, Grandmama. Don’t let me down now!”

She examined the letter and its envelope several times, holding it up to the light, rubbing it with lemon juice, attempting to feel if certain areas of the letter were raised, but to no avail. She sat at the foot of her bed, dejected, when Glossaryck pushed the book toward her.

He pointed at the book. “Globgor.”

“Not now, Glossaryck.”

“Globgor,” he said, opening the book to a chapter.

“Glossaryck,” she whined. “Not now. I have to… I don’t know… go through all of the lily pads in Mewni.” She felt her lip quiver at the thought of that task. “Do you think anyone’s bothered to keep a record of them? Or alphabetize them? Or sort them from largest to smallest?”

“Globgor,” he yelled, stamping his feet.

“Glossaryck,” Star gasped. “We do not raise our voice in this house!”

He rolled his eyes at her, pointing to the page. “Glob. Gor.”

Star grabbed the book, holding it up. “What is so important that… that… oh!” Star noticed that every paragraph in the book started with an ornate capital letter, a letter that was placed squarely in the middle of an equally ornate, gilded lily pad.

Star began to point to each of the ornate capitals in the book. “Glossaryck! Look… look at this! I have to talk to Buff Frog! I have to… I have to talk to Marco! I have to….” She stopped to look at Glossaryck, who was looking at her expectantly. “I have to get you a jumbo-sized jar of pudding, all for yourself!”

“Glob…gor,” he cheered.

#svtfoe #star butterfly #glossaryck #tom lucitor

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lunzmoonliteteaparty · 7 years

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**Mini Story** Hellbent X TransDolan (Smut) {Also exclude the medical info, I'm not a doctor lol} A stream of smoke floats around in the air from the hell demon's cigar outside the local hospital. A tired Hellbent sighs as he puffs his RaisingHell Cigar. It's been almost 12 hours since his love has gone through a sex change operation. After what feels like an eternity, a young nurse comes out to greet him. "Mr. Hellbent? She's out of surgery now." "She?" He questions as he scraps the cigar against the concrete, putting it out. The nurse nods with a smile. "Yes. The operation was a huge success. She has now a vagina, testicles removed, and size 34 C cup size." She pats his shoulder with a smile. "She would like to see you now." The red demon smirks hearing the good news. He nods as a thank you and heads up to Dolan's room. He walks in and sees a looped up girl laying in bed, still hooked up to a IV and heart monitor. "Hey sexy." Hellbent greets with a smile; taking a seat next to her. The young girl looks up at him with her groggy eyes. "Hey yourself." She giggles. "How are you feeling?" Hellbent gently takes her hand. He looks at his lover with concern in his eyes. Letting out a deep and tired sigh from her mouth, she shrugs at him. "Right now very sore. My private area feels like I've been stabbed with a spiked baseball bat." She chuckles. Hellbent strokes his finger against her hand gently; sending comfort to her. The room door opens as the doctor walks in. "Hello Dolania." He greets smiling with a clipboard in his hands. The hell demon looks up at the doctor a bit confused. "Dolania?" He questions him. "Oh that's what I'd like to be called from now on. Now that I'm a woman." Dolania explains. Hellbent nods and looks back at the doctor as he sits down by the bed. "Surgery went very well. You have a total of 376 stitches and 152 staples in you right now. We've already started you on hormone therapy. You'll be experiencing some changes in you. Before you leave you'll be getting a packet explaining everything you might experience. Including shifts in weight, mood swings, lactation in your breasts. It will take you some time for your body to get use to the changes." The doctor lectures her. Both Hellbent and Dolania listen to him carefully and take his words into consideration. "I also suggest you see a councilor for your first year to help you deal with your emotional changes. Dealing with this hormone change can cause some depression and maybe even suicidal thoughts." The young girl's eyes widen and Hellbent squeezes her hand trying to be supportive. "Now don't be alarmed. It's more of a precaution. Everyone is different but we just recommend it just in case." He writes down some prescriptions on the clipboard. "Now I understand that you are in a relationship with Mr. Hellbent and are currently living with him?" The red demon nods to the doctor. "Yes, we've been living together for about two years now." "Okay. I want you to keep a close eye on her alright? If she starts showing any sign of depression please let her therapist know immediately. As for healing process, Dolania, I want you to be on bed rest for at least a couple more days. Besides walking down the hall and back twice a day. Also please let yourself heal at least two months before engaging any sexual activity." Hellbent clears his throat a bit. "Does that include oral for me doctor?" He questions with a serious face. The doctor gives him a poker face, not amused at all by his joke. "Just for that remark, yes that includes oral sex." Dolania lets out a small chuckle from seeing her boyfriend's pouting face. After the doctor talks to them a bit more; he gives them the paperwork, prescriptions, her things, and discharge papers. ~4 Months Later~ Dolania sighs and pouts while looking through some girl clothing. She holds different shirts over her chest and looks at her reflection in the mirror. "Ugh damn it!" She lets her arms drop in frustration. Hellbent walks over with a couple shirts for her to look at. "Hellbent, I feel like I'm gaining so much weight and I just so blah." The hell demon rubs her shoulder in a comforting way. "Sweetheart, you look great. Remember what the doctor said. You're weight will flip flop from the hormones. Besides you look sexy with a little meat." Hellbent compliments. Dolania gasps and pushes away from Hellbent. "Are you agreeing that I've gained weight?!" She exclaims. "Wh-I-Umm...you look great babe." Hellbent rubs the back of his head feeling uneasy. "Great. Just fucking great. Why should I even bother?! Is that what you want Hellbent?! Want to me waddle my fat ass to the food court and eat till I'm about to throw up?!" Dolania yells out of anger. Her demonic boyfriend grabs her and pulls her into a nearby changing room and covers her mouth gently. "Hush baby. Now you listen to me. You are an amazing and beautiful woman. This is what you wanted to be. Yes, I will admit you have been gaining a little weight. But just a little. You are fine hon. Look in that mirror." He turns Dolania around to face the mirror hanging on the door. "Look at yourself. This is what you are working hard for. Now say it. Say 'I am beautiful.' " The red demon's girlfriend takes a deep breath. "I am beautiful." She smiles and holds onto her lover's hand on her shoulder. Hellbent starts kissing her neck and shoulder, causing sensations to flow through her body. Pushing her against the wall; Hellbent kisses her deeply and lovingly. Dolania runs her fingers through his lush black hair. He grips her legs and wraps them around his waist as he unzips his pants. Moving her dress up and pulling her panties to the side. He slides his hard cock inside of her. "Mmmm of fuck Hellbent." She lets out a groan as he starts thrusting inside her. Biting her neck and thrusting his hips back and forth. Covering her mouth as well trying to keep his lover quiet. Dolania grips into his back as her orgasm grows closer. "Hell...bent!" She grips into his back harder as she climaxes against his big rod. Spurts of cum flow into her vagina from his twitching cock. Panting, he gently lets her down and kisses her forehead. "That's my girl. You are amazing. Now, pick out a shirt. The green one or the blue one." ~2 Weeks Later~ Dolania spins around in her new blue dress shirt and black short skirt. After spending weeks catching up with editing the new videos, tonight is date night. Hellbent is taking her out to a nice dinner by the ocean. "Dolania. Are you ready yet?" He calls up for her. "Yes! Coming!" She takes one last look into the mirror. It's the first time she's wearing real makeup as well. Hoping she looks good. The young girl skips down the stairs and smiles at her waiting boyfriend. Hellbent looks up at her with a big grin. "Wow. You look amazing. Those makeup tutorials really paid off huh." Hellbent gently takes her hand. A huge blush spreads across her face. Hellbent and Dolania happily eat their delicious food as they sit right by the water on a huge dock. "This place is so nice hon." She compliments. "I knew you would like it here." Hellbent takes another bite of his steak. "So, you seem to be doing a lot better. Anything on your mind lately?" He questions making sure she's not having any depressing thoughts. "Not much. A little stress from all the video edits but other than that I'm alright. I promise hon." She gently takes her lover's hand and strokes it gently. "Good to hear. You know, you look very sexy in that dress too." The hell demon moves his hand under the table and her skirt. "Keep eating baby. Don't want to get caught." He sips his beer with his free hand as he starts rubbing her outside her underwear. His girlfriend gasps quietly from his touch. She continues to eat her food but her mind was right on him touching her. Soon he moved past her underwear and started fingering. Dolania's hand clenches up as she tries to hold back her moaning. Hellbent continues fingering her more harder and faster. Dolania's legs fidgets against his hand as he violates her hole. The red demon whispers to her. "I want to feel your juices on my hand. Come on babe." She felt as if his hand is vibrating against and in her hole. Letting out a quiet moan, the young girlfriend cums right onto his hand and pants softly. Hellbent chuckles as he releases her. "Such a good sexy girl." He pulls his hand out and licks his finger. "Very tasty too." Requested by Anonymous. Sorry for such the long wait! Hope you enjoy it! :)

#dolbent #hellbent x dolan #hellbent #danger dolan #dolan #planetdolan #planetdolanhellbent #ministory #request #story #short story #fanfics #fanfiction

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