#someone kept setting them off underwater we think? somewhere a mile or so away at least | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lisbonsteresa · 3 years

Text

You’re Once (In Any Lifetime)

🥳 🥳 HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAY( @eddiediaz)!!!! 🥳 🥳 (little late is better than never fingers crossed. a little something for my drew crew bestie who i have never yelled at, cajoled into watching a show, or threatened with a knife emoji. hope you like the...kind of au of the au of the - let’s just call it the 7th generation of an au 😘)

___

“She’s lingering again.”

“Call a spade a spade Bess.” George grumbled as she entered the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes. “At this point she’s loitering.”

Nick glanced up from where he was reviewing that month’s order form at the prep table with a slight grin. “Don’t know if you can go that far. I mean she did pay for her dinner.”

“Oh please,” George shot back with a roll of her eyes. “It’s been 45 minutes since she paid her bill and she’s still nursing that iced tea like it’s a long island.” As if she knew they were talking about her, the redhead in the corner booth looked up from her glass and gave a small, unsure smile across the sparsely-seated dining room in their direction. She did not receive any in response.

“What I don’t understand is why she keeps coming here, of all places. I mean it’s not like our food is good.” An offended grunt came from Bess’s right, and she spun around to see the Claw’s cook pressing a burger to the grill with a wounded expression.

“Oh no, Charlie,” she backtracked frantically, hands held out in a feeble attempt to placate the older man. “I just meant compared to what they must have at the yacht club.”

Charlie gave a noncommittal shrug, apparently forgiving the unintended slight before moving down the line where he hopefully missed Bess’s whispered “Or anywhere else…”

“Guys, come on.” Ace cut in, voice calm and measured even as he scrubbed determinedly at a rusting lobster pot. “It’s not like we don’t have other customers keeping us here. What’s so bad about Nancy lingering a bit?”

“The fact that she’s not just ‘Nancy’, Ace.” George admonished as she tipped her dishes into the full sink in front of him, raising the water level until it sloshed dangerously close to the edge. “She’s Nancy Hudson. You know how the hill-toppers treat us townies -”

“When they’re not wheeling and dealing in back rooms to screw us over while they’re sitting pretty in their ivory towers.” Nick interrupted, his attention still on the sheet in front of him.

“Exactly.” George gave her boyfriend an appreciative look as she leaned up against the prep table next to him. “And now what, I’m supposed to be happy that one of them deigned to grace us with her presence?”

“Yes, and I had to take her hill-topper order.” Bess lamented, pouting near the line window until she noticed Nick looking at her with raised eyebrows. “What?”

“You know you’re a hill-topper, right Bess?”

She turned towards him, her expression scandalized and defensive. “That is completely different, Mr. Multimillionaire.” (Nick held his hands up in amused defeat). “I only just became a Marvin; I wasn’t born and raised a hill-topper, unlike some people.”

“Besides,” she glanced back across the dining room with an insulted wrinkle of her nose, “the Hudsons and Marvins are long-standing enemies; it was humiliating to have to serve one of them.”

“The Hudsons and Marvins, maybe, but not you and Nancy.” Ace countered, leaning the lobster pot against the back of the drying rack before reaching into the increasingly murky water to start on George’s dishes. “You two barely know each other.”

Bess paused, playing with her necklace and staring into space as if considering this fact for the first time. “Well, I guess that’s true…"

“And she’s been spending her gap year here in town volunteering and helping Hannah Gruen set up a scholarship with the Historical Society.” Ace continued with a glance over his shoulder at Nick.

“I mean, that’s great, but -” Nick stopped, eyes narrowing “wait, how do you know that?”

Ace’s hands paused their motions, just for a fraction of a second, before he resumed rinsing a plate and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Must’ve seen it in the paper somewhere.” He muttered offhandedly. “And -”

“And nothing.” George cut him off, crossing her arms across her chest with a scowl. “A few good deeds don’t change the fact that this time next year she’ll be 300 miles away with a full ride to some Ivy League school just because of her last name, and the rest of us will still be stuck here cleaning grease traps in an old clam shack.” Ace’s shoulders tensed more and more with every word that left her mouth. “And since when did you start defending Hudsons anyway?”

“I’m not defending the Hudsons, I’m defending Na-” Ace spun around to face the room and froze, realizing that his raised voice had turned three sets of interested eyes in his direction. (Well, four, if you counted Charlie.) “I’m not defending anybody.” he continued after a beat. “I’m just saying you can’t help who your family is, and at least she’s trying to be better than hers. It wouldn’t kill you guys to try and see that.”

No one said anything - this was the most upset any of them had seen Ace get since the time that nor'easter put a tree branch through Florence’s windshield. “Anyway, dishes are done; I’m gonna take my break.”

He tossed the towel that had been slung over his shoulder down onto the counter and stomped down the steps towards the storeroom. The back door slammed shut a moment later, and the others turned back towards the dining room to see that Nancy had at last abandoned her iced tea and was heading towards the exit with the air of someone in a rush trying very hard to appear relaxed.

“So…” Bess began, her eyes flicking back and forth between Nancy’s booth and the door. “when do we tell him we saw them making out by the loading dock last Thursday?”

“I say we make him sweat for a bit.” George said with a shrug as she straightened and headed out to clear the table. “Serves him right for thinking he could keep something like this from us.” Bess and Nick shared an amused smile behind her, then got back to their own work.

If any of them noticed that Ace arrived back from his break 20 minutes late with his hair in disarray, they kept it to themselves.

_____

“Great. I’m going to be picking seaweed out of my hair for a week. Thanks a lot Bess.”

Bess paused her efforts to wring out her dress to shoot an incredulous look in George’s direction. “I’m sorry, how is this my fault!?”

“It’s my birthday George!” Came the response in a mocking imitation of the Brit’s accent. “Just close for inventory George! It’ll be fun George!”

“Well excuse me for trying to enjoy a nice beach day!” Bess shot back. “How was I supposed to know we’d be attacked by that kelkey-whatever??”

“Kelpie.” Nick corrected, stopping the bickering for a moment while all three turned their attention towards the redhead kneeling in the sand and frantically running her hands over a soaking wet and slightly dazed Ace. “That’s what you called it, right?”

The second Nancy realized she was being addressed, her hands dropped from Ace’s body like they had been burned. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, a kelpie. They’re Scottish horse spirits that drag their victims underwater and devour them. That silver necklace Bess had was its bridle, and -” she paused, looking around to see the others staring blankly at her.

“Sorry.” Her voice sounded almost sheepish. “I volunteer over at the historical society a lot, and there’s some…interesting stuff in their archives.” Another moment passed. No one’s expression changed.

“…Anyway the bridle can be used to control it, so I think it attacked you to try and get it back. And since you didn’t know what it was, it just seemed easier to grab it and toss it then try and explain why it was making the giant horse spirit angry.” She finished with a weak grin, as if she’d been explaining the weather and not the most terrifying thing most of them had ever seen.

No one spoke for a while longer, and then Bess’s quiet “Oh.” broke the silence. “Well…okay. For a second I thought you just really didn’t like my necklace.”

The tension broken, the others looked at her with varying levels of amusement before she let out a gasp and turned to address Nancy directly. “Wait my cousin Cassidy gave me that last night! You don’t think…”

“I don’t think she knew what it was.” Nancy replied with an almost fond smile. “When the historical society got the request to put the necklace in one its deposit boxes, the record just said it was a Marvin family heirloom; brought over aboard the Governance.”

“And the kelpie followed it all the way here?” Nick asked, eying Nancy sideways as he tried to shake water out of his ear.

She shrugged. “There are some records that say kelpies are bound to follow their bridles, wherever they go. They can’t leave the water though, so it could have gotten into the bay and then…gotten lost, I guess.” Bess was already nodding along as if everything Nancy was saying made perfect sense. “We didn’t realize the necklace was anything out of the ordinary until Cassidy came to request it and Hannah thought she recognized it from her research.”

“Well good thing she did, or this might’ve been Bess’s last birthday.” George smirked. “Never thought I’d say this,” she continued, ignoring her friend’s offended huff and turning towards Nancy, “but I’m glad you were around, Hudson.”

“Thanks.” Nancy sounded like she wasn’t sure whether she should be flattered or insulted by the statement. “I was looking for you guys, actually. When we realized what the necklace was, we called Cassidy and she said she’d given it to you for your birthday, and since you were coming to the beach Hannah and I were worried that getting it too close to the water might -”

“Wait, how did you know we’d be at the beach?” Bess interrupted.

Nancy stilled, her eyes darting over to a still-groggy Ace then back to the others so quickly that they might have missed it had they not been watching her so closely. “I must have overheard it the last time I was at the Claw.” Her voice was measured; almost deliberately calm. “When it’s slow there your voices tend to carry.”

Bess and Nick gave each other an uneasy sidelong glance at Nancy’s implication, while George’s expression grew into something approaching begrudging respect. “Anyway,” Nancy stood, brushing sand off her pants and looking anywhere but in Ace’s direction, “I should get back to Hannah and let her know everything’s okay. See you around.”

She turned and started heading towards the parking lot, and Ace watched with worried eyes as his friends had a rapid fire non-verbal conversation. Bess nodded towards Nick, who responded with a shrug. They both looked over at Ace with small smiles, then turned to George; Nick with one eyebrow raised in question and Bess with what could only be described as puppy dog eyes. George glanced at Ace before letting out a labored sigh and rolling her eyes as she called down the beach: “Hey Hudson!”

Nancy turned, hands twisting in the strap of the messenger bag. “You wanna meet us at the Claw after we get cleaned up?” George asked. “We’re closed for inventory - it’d be a good place to talk about all…this.” (Bess cleared her throat pointedly.) “And we have cake for Bess’s birthday.”

The smile that bloomed on Nancy’s face was beaming, even at a distance. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

______

It had been three weeks since the kelpie incident, and for all intents and purposes, Nancy had settled in as the fifth member of their little group. She and Bess had gotten along almost immediately, despite some awkward encounters when they had run into family while together.

Nick had warmed to her considerably once she started helping him with his plans for a youth center in town. (It certainly hadn’t hurt that she’d ‘misplaced’ her grandfather’s application for the building on Spring St. until Nick’s bid had already closed).

And while George and Nancy bickered almost constantly, they (usually) did it with smiles on their faces. If asked, they might not call each other ‘friends’, but they were definitely heading in a good direction.

The first Friday afternoon of July found them sprawled out across the dining table of Nick’s loft, brainstorming ideas for that year’s ‘Still Summer at the Bayside Claw’ event. (Or rather found most of them. Truth be told, Bess’s focus might have been more on her online shopping.) They’d been working for an hour or so when a noise like the rapid honking of a clown nose suddenly interrupted the conversation.

“Shit,” Ace muttered, grabbing his phone and snoozing the alarm, “I’m going to be late for Shabbat.” He gathered his things in a rush, exchanged a quick “Bye” and kiss with Nancy, then froze.

His eyes moved rapidly between the others - Nancy’s wide-eyed panic; George’s look of shock and disgust; Nick’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead; Bess’s almost giddy expression - before seeming to make a decision.

“Uh…Nick,” he croaked out before anyone could react any further, making his way over to where his friend was sitting with an air of forced normalcy and kissing him like it was something he did every day. “thank you for having me.”

“See you tomorrow, Bess.” He continued, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek, causing a giggle to escape her barely-maintained composure.

He turned towards the other end of the table, eying George the way an antelope might eye a lion. “George -”

“Don’t even think about it.” She cut him off with a glare.

“Right. ‘Course.” He glanced around the room one last time as he backed towards the door, eyes skipping over Nancy as if he was afraid of what his expression might reveal if he focused at all on her. “Um, have a good night everyone.” And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him as his rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A minute passed in complete silence, then another.

Nick looked absolutely mystified, his fingers stuck halfway to his lips like he couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened. George’s grimace was slowly turning into an amused smirk, and Bess looked seconds away from breaking into complete hysterics.

Another minute passed before Nancy, staring at the table with a face almost as red as her hair, broke the silence. “So…how long have you guys known?”

“Since before the kelpie incident.” George answered bluntly, while Nick shook off his daze and turned his attention towards Nancy and Bess took a calming breath and tried to bite back her laughter.

“Oh.”

Nancy’s eyes darted between the table and the door as if trying to decide if it would be worse to try and explain herself or just cut her losses and run. “Ok, well, we were going to tell you, we just -”

“You can relax Nancy.” Nick cut in, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch, but finally turned to see an understanding smile on his face. “You wouldn’t be here right now if any of us still had a problem with you.”

Bess nodded rapidly, reaching across the table to cover one of Nancy’s hands with her own. “You make Ace happy, and that’s what really matters to us."

A wobbly smile began to grow on Nancy’s face, before she blinked and turned towards George with apprehension and a bit of challenge in her eyes.

George’s expression stayed firm until Nick cleared his throat and gave her a pointed look. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but the grin she gave Nancy was genuine.“Plus I guess you’re not horrible.”

That pulled a laugh from Nancy, even as she blinked back touched tears she knew George would make fun of. “Thanks guys. I really appreciate that.”

(To say Ace was confused when she walked into the Claw the next morning and kissed him in the middle of the dining room would be an understatement, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.)

#(also please don't judge me i did like .5 seconds of research on kelpies on wikipedia and manipulated that information to suit my needs)#anyway hope you had a wonderful birthday weekend; hope this year will make you happier (and clownier [honk honk]) than any before it #💕💕💕💕💕#nancy drew cw #ndff

58 notes · View notes

chaseatinydream · 4 years

Text

pirate king (1) || atz

The sounds of the waves crashing against shore, the white sea foam like clouds of the sky.

Salt touches your tongue as sea spray catches the light of the sun, casting a beautiful rainbow across your cheeks.

Seagulls circle in the clear blue expanse above, their cries ringing out for miles.

Rain lashes against your arms and droplets clings to your eyelashes. They resemble tears.

Lightning splits the darkness of the clouds and thunder akin to cannon shot rolls overhead, but there is no fear.

You smile wide, eyes closed, but then something in your chest weighs you down.

Suddenly, you’re yanked into the depths, water filling your nose and lungs and all at once, you cannot breathe. The weight in your chest drags you down, down, down, and no matter how hard you flail and thrash about, no matter how desperately you reach for the surface…

There is nothing but darkness.

Drip, drip, drip.

Your eyes flutter open softly, like a new butterfly’s wings. You’re lying on something wet and rough beneath your body, and to your horror, when you instinctively try to rub your eyes, your hands are bound together by a coarse, thick rope.

Right in front of you is a puddle of water and drops of water keeps falling into it, forming tiny ripples. You try to sit up as your eyes instinctively follow its path, up the grime ridden stone walls to the crack in the ceiling were rainwater seeps through. A spider lazily weaves its web in a corner and for a moment, you’re spellbound by it.

Crack!

You flail backwards at the deafening sound of a thunderclap, but your hands are tied together and you’re sent crashing to the ground painfully. Luckily, the ground is wet so the fall isn’t as painful as it could have been, but you still feel a tenderness in your hip where bare skin got dragged across uneven stone. You suck in a breath.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. Sit up again.”

Exhaling carefully, you roll onto your back, ignoring the pain of the small rocks digging into your side, and finally heave yourself up with a haphazard effort of numb limbs. Your bound ankles come into view, along with dirty, calloused bare feet. They’re tied with a thick red cord that there’s no chance you can cut through or untie, and when your mind finally screams at you the obvious, your heart stops.

“You’re in a prison.”

Your head snaps to the right, metal grills lining the tiny window in the room. To your left, the only exit secured with heavy metal bars, kept locked by three iron chains, each with a metal padlock at the end. Whoever locked you up here wanted to make sure you had no chance of escape. Before you can think any further, the sound of chattering and clanking metal wrenches you back to the present.

“-some woman down here.” The sound of heeled boots echoes down a flight of steps. There’s a soft squeak of leather and the man curses. “Damned stairs, what was that bastard Arthur thinking, holding a public execution today? Justice calls, my ass. He probably just wants to get rid some whore that heard his mouth running when he was drunk-”

“Quiet, Mannon!” Another voice, higher and hushed this time. “You never know if someone could overhear you! The governor will have you hanged!”

“Ha!” A derisive snort. To your mounting horror, their footsteps seem to be drawing nearer to your cell. “As if his men are going to lug themselves here to check on a mere prisoner. Lazing about in their offices all day, doing nothing but paperwork, afraid to get their hands dirty- Oh, she’s awake.”

Your face jerks upwards, but seconds later you flinch away from the light of the torch in the men’s hands. Slightly disoriented, you try to regain your bearings. That’s when the shorter and slightly rounded man pulls out a set of key from the pocket of his crimson uniform, moving towards your door. Your hope bubbles in your chest like a warm spring.

You watch, fascinated, as the chains slither away from the bars, landing in heaps on the floor. The man that resembles a bamboo stick draped in an ill fitting uniform steps forward and with a quick swipe of a pocket knife the ropes fall from your ankles. Warm blood rushes to your feet as if it’s the first time and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” You say gratefully, but the men simply stare at you, one unsympathetic and stone cold, the other won’t quite meet your eye. The portly one shakes his head, hand reaching down for the cord that binds your hands behind your back and tugs you to your feet carelessly.

“Don’t thank us for dragging you to the gallows, girlie.” The man snaps, unceremoniously shoving you forward. Before you fall, the other man catches you by the shoulders, steadying you. He’s warm.

“Mannon, stop doing this, alright?” His voice echoes somewhere far, far away, as if you’re underwater. You don’t register what he said.

Gallows?

“Yes, gallows, the place where people get hung, idiot.” A voice in your inner subconscious rings out, surprisingly clear even through the white noise that had filled your mind from panic. The insult manages to slap you back to your senses.

“Idiot?” You repeat to yourself under your breath, almost offended as the two guards pull you out of the cell and march you up the stairs with your hands tied behind your back. This laughingly pales in comparison to the actual trouble you are in.

Then it hits you full force.

You are walking to the gallows. Walking to your own death.

There’s a moment of serene peace for a moment, then you’re panicking, trying your best to recall what exactly has led you to this. What had you done to be deserving of the death penalty? You wrack your mind desperately for some some sort of answer, some sort of reason, but nothing comes forth except a blank, white canvas where your memories should be.

Where are your memories?

Fear floods through you like a tidal wave, rising and sweeping throughout every corner in your mind. It’s so real it’s palpable, clawing at your throat and stealing the breath from your lungs. There is nothing in your memories, no smiling parents, no first birthdays, no new pretty dresses, no favourite foods, nothing but white noise and the sound of waves crashing against shore.

How old are you? What did you eat yesterday? Why are you here?

Who are you?

You can’t even begin to fathom the answer to that one question.

“Hey, move it.” The rounder guard behind you shoves the small of your back forward, your bare feet dragging along the cobblestones of the street. The sky is dark and grey, as if weeping for all that you cannot remember and you see the townspeople peering at you and whispering to each other from tiny cracks in the doors and windows, no doubt wondering who it is unlucky enough to suffer the wrath of the official of the town. But there is not an ounce of recognition, only sympathy. Nobody cries for you, nobody tries to stop you as you take one step after another to the gallows. Nobody knows you.

You are alone.

Suddenly everything becomes so real to you. The feeling of cool rainwater as it trickles down your cheeks, the stone against your bare feet. The crisp cold air of a storm. The colour of the rain clouds. In another few minutes, you will be completely devoid of all sensation.

“I refuse.”

Like any thunderclap, the sound is deafening, it makes your eardrums ring and if your hands weren’t tied you’d clap them over your ears. But most thunderclaps don’t split buildings or cause massive screaming and mayhem.

“The official’s building!” The skinnier guard cries out in horror at the sight of the roof on one of the larger buildings on a hill collapse in on itself. There’s another ear splitting boom, and in the next second, your eyes manage to catch a glimpse of a round shape flying through the air before in plunges into the already collapsing building.

“Pirates!” You hear someone scream, his voice cracking with desperation and fright. “Pirates at the harbor-” His voice is abruptly cut off just as the clanging of a bell fills the air.

“Hurry, Philip! We need to get there!” The guard, Mannon, yanks on his partner’s arm and without a second glance back at you, they sprint down an alleyway, pulling sabers from hip sheathes.

You blink.

You’re free, just like that.

Your eyes dart around for something to free your hands with, but there’s nothing and you can hear the sounds of screaming getting ever closer. Townspeople are fleeing into buildings, doors being slammed shut, candles being extinguished, bolts drawn. From where the official’s building, you hear the click of several heeled boots pacing down the street in double time.

Between them and the pirates, you’d pick the pirates.

So with your hands bound behind your back, you dash down the same path your two captors took.

The sound of cannon fire fills your ears and there’s smoke everywhere. Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other, one step at the time. There’s another earth shaking boom and suddenly the ground next to you explodes. You bite back the scream in your throat and continue running, you can’t afford to fall now. There are people all around you, dressed in the distinctive red coat of the law authorities here or in a motley array of tunics and breaches, both hold weapons, and both are dying.

As you move forward without looking back, there’s the sound of clashing metal, musket fire, screams of the wounded or dying. A man suddenly falls in front of you, blood pooling like a blossoming rose across the white of his undershirt, matching the vibrant red of his uniform. You leap over the corpse and turn back, staring open mouthed at his unclosing eyes, still wide in his shock, the slack muscles in his cheeks and jaw unmoving.

He’s dead.

You look up, almost instinctively. There’s a young man standing there, a long spear in hand. He’s wearing a sandy brown shirt over a white linen tunic and long, white pants that only accentuate his height tucked into knee high leather boots. His eyes, a soft brown beneath matching curls, meet yours for a split second.

Then you run.

You sprint as fast as you possibly can, feet flying over fallen swords and broken planks. You cannot stop. Through the acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder, you can finally smell it.

The sea.

In the harbor three ships are docked. One, with the emblem of a crimson rose embroidered onto its flag, has had its mainsail torn to shreds and the deck peppered with holes. Majority of its crew lie dead or unmoving, and even as you watch one of the last gun crews are blasted into the sea by a round cannonball, which shatters upon impact with the deck to form tiny, flying pieces of shrapnel that take out the gun crew beside it. The other ship, presumably a merchant vessel, is looted bare as its crew watches helplessly. Pirates heave chests of salted fish and silk cloth onto the third vessel.

The third ship is a large, ocean going vessel. Above its three sails on the mainmast flies its flag. A plain black design with the word ATEEZ in bright, bold orange, you immediately know this is the pirates’ ship. The harbor is chaos, clamoring of two sides to get the upper hand, but you can’t stop now. Taking a deep breath, you dash forward.

A blade narrowly misses your neck as you continue running with all your might, sliding under the business end of a swinging club. You barely feel the sting of your skin tearing as a stray musket ball nicks your upper arm, adrenaline pumping through your veins like a drug. You feel something warm and wet soak into the fabric of your sleeve, but like hell you’ll let that stop you now. By sheer dumb luck, you finally reach the gangplank of the pirate ship and dash up it, the wood creaking beneath your feet. They might be bleeding after that mad dash through town, but you’re here.

Now what?

Fighting is still going on all around. Pirates work in small groups to fight off boarding officers as they try to swarm the pirates. You hear a voice shout out “Fire in the hole!” over the din, and the five subsequent explosions send the boat rocking from side to side.

You’re still not safe.

Glancing around desperately, your eyes fall onto a small hatch in the main deck. Dodging the end of an ax on the path of its back swing, you leap for the trapdoor. Thank heavens you’re barefoot, because only with your toes you manage to nudge the bolt open and pull the hatch open. It’s stairs, leading down into the gloom of the storage hold, and from what you can hear, relatively quiet.

You’ll take your chances.

With a painful grunt, you take the stairs two at the time and your legs give out at the last moment. You crash to the floorboards just as the hatch closes over your head, throwing you into darkness except the faint shafts of light coming in from the cracks in the upper deck. Your ankle throbs with pain, but you don’t have time to worry about that. You frantically drag yourself behind a few barrels in the corner, out of sight of anyone coming down the steps and huddle down, praying for the ship to sail as fast as possible.

As if the gods were listening, you hear someone above deck shouting commands. “Weigh the anchor! Unfurl the sails! Wooyoung, fire the retreat flare!”

The voice is deep as the ocean and has an unmistakable air of command. You hear the pirates scrambling to carry out the orders, footsteps thudding across the deck and from the screams and splashes next to you, they are tossing the town officers overboard too. Not a second later another massive boom rocks the ship side to side, you knock your head on the barrels and a bundle of sackcloth falls onto you.

“Oww…” You mutter under your breath feeling something warm trickling down your temple, but then suddenly you hear the same, deep voice issuing commands again.

“Raise the gangplank, make way!”

There’s a sudden jerk of movement as the wind fills the sails. You gasp as you are almost thrown forward, barely regaining your balance at the last moment as the ship begins moving away from the harbor. The furious cries and jeers of the town officers fade away, replaced the sound of the sails beating in the wind and the lapping of waves against the side of the ship.

Home, your mind tells you.

As if all the fight has left you in a single moment, you slump back against the wall, the energy thrumming in your veins evaporating like steam, leaving only a sore ache in your limbs. You should really tend to the cut on your head or find some way to free your hands, but the overwhelming exhaustion crashes over you. The sackcloth is really warm, and you need to be properly rested before you can think of a plan.

“Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a few seconds.” You tell yourself as your eyelids slide shut and your breathing slows. You sink into a deep sleep.

It feels like you’ve barely closed your eyes when a voice shakes you out of your slumber.

308 notes · View notes

fatandnerdy30 · 4 years

Text

Land of the Avengers Chapter 4

So, here’s the fourth chapter! I hope that this can help put a little smile on your face during this hard, lonely time in the world. Remember, there is someone who loves you...and though I haven’t met any of you, I love everyone who reads this, and those who don’t!

Her body hurt, that's all Virginia knew the moment she woke up. She let out a little groan, her eyebrows scrunching as she slowly came to. The first sound she heard was Cadet Keener's voice. Instantly her eyes snapped open and she sat up, automatically regretting her decision as her ribs shot a sharp pain through her midsection. "Virginia?" Clint's use of her full name was a sign that something was wrong. "Are you all right?" She nodded, gritting her teeth against the pain."Yes...just got up too fast. How...how are the cadets?" They were more important than her most likely broken ribs. She could deal with those later. "Captain?" Harley's voice was strong as he said her name. She looked to her left and saw his smiling face. Her shoulders dropped in relief at the sight of the boy looking at her with clear, bright eyes. "Cadet Keener...where's Parker?" Virginia took a look around, noting the lake they were seated by. "He's still out," Clint said, wiping his face. "We're staying here for the night, then we're moving in the morning..." He ended his sentence, drifting off towards the end. It seemed as if he wanted to tell her something. "Is everyone accounted for?" There was a silence that fell over the survivors. "Cadet? Is there something you're not telling me?" Keener nodded, putting his head down. "It's Mrs. Parker, captain...On our way down...she was..." he inhaled. "She was sucked out of the side of the ship along with her chair." That made the woman put her head down, tears forming in her eyes. She couldn't believe she'd already lost one of her charges. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Clint, vibrating like a living wire. "Report, Sargent," she demanded. His spine snapped taught and he saluted. "We're in danger being out in the open, ma'am. I saw...and I still can't believe I'm saying this....a giant, captain. A giant man.." He sat, shaking his head. Virginia's face seemed contemplative. "A giant? Clint, what are you talking about?" "I know it sounds crazy!" The man shot up, hands running through his hair as he paced. "But, he took our ship, Pepper...all of our supplies, our communications, they're all on that ship." The captain raised a brow in speculation. "He took...the ship? The entire ship?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. That ship was too big for anyone to carry, let alone one man. "Yes, Gin! The entire ship! He just picked it up like it was a toy and shoved it under his arm and walked away! I watched the entire thing! The ground actually shook when he walked...." Clint took a deep breath. "Okay...okay....so...we're stranded, with no ship, no supplies..." Pepper had trained for this, but never thought she'd actually experience it. "We have to set up a camp with anything we can find." Clint scoffed. "Yeah? What are we gonna use, flower petals? Because I'm sure those are big enough to cover all four of us easily!" "Sargent! You're becoming hysterical, stick to your training." Automatically Clint went rigid, then relaxed, nodding. "You're right...you're right. I'm sorry Captain..." Virginia nodded. "No need. It's just," she looked towards Harley who was still watching over an unconscious Peter a little ways away. "I don't want to scare the cadets." They shouldn't have been here. She sighed and lay back, eyes closed against the pain of the movement. "Why did I have to urge to have them tested early?" She asked aloud. "I should have waited until they graduated...they would have been prepared for this." "Captain, I don't think anyone would have been prepared for this." Clint let out a breath, but chuckled and laid back next to the woman. "So, what do we do now?" "What the guide book says, Sargeant. We found water, now all we need is shelter, and if you look around us, there's plenty of places to find things to build with." She turned her head. "We'll be okay." "Cadet Parker hasn't woken up yet, and it's been a day since we crashed." Harley was staring at his friend with a worried expression, his hand gripping onto Peter's, two fingers along his wrist as if to make sure the cadet was still alive. That got the woman worried. "If he doesn't wake.....then we'll have to leave him." She hated saying it, but....they couldn't be strapped down with unfettered weight. It was bad enough that she wouldn't be able to walk without some help. "What!?" Harley sat up, his voice high. "Captain, you don't mean that, do you?" Tears glistened in the boy's eyes as he went between his friend to the captain. "Yes, I do Cadet. Hopefully he wakes soon...we need to move, if what Sargent Barton said was true, we're going to have to find somewhere safe...." She hoped Parker woke up soon... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tony walked into the compound, taking the elevator down to the vehicle bay. Suddenly, the elevator stopped and Steve walked on, nodding to the man. He then spotted the toy in the man's arms, raising a brow. "A little old to play with toys, aren't you?" "Very funny. I found it out when I was hiking through the village of the ticks. It looked like something, so, I picked it up. I'm taking it back to the tower. Wanna come and watch me and Banner poke it with a stick?" Steve chuckled. "As fun as that sounds, I'll have to decline. I'm going back out. I got a heat signature reading, but it was too small to be an animal... I wanna see what it was." Tony turned towards the man, interested now. "Oh really? Show me." He waited for Steve to bring up his scans, scoffing when it took him too long, grabbing the phone from him. "Never give old people technology. It's amazing you haven't blown this up yet." Pressing he scrolled through the files before he came across what he was looking for. "Friday? Be a dear and make this bigger?" "Yes, boss," the Irish AI commented. A second later, a hologram popped up over the phone. Tony and Steve watched what looked like one heat signature, but...it seemed off. "Is it carrying something?" Steve asked, pressing closer to the screen. "Looks it....so that means, it has to be compassionate. Almost...human. It can't be a bot, because this is a human's temp reading." Tony stroked his chin in thought. "I'm gonna bring this," he held up the ship, "to Brucie, while you can go hunting for heat signatures." The elevator stopped and the man stepped off, only to turn around. "Unless you want to wait for me to come back with the proper equipment? It'll be easier to find them." He raised his brows, walking backward. "Think about it. Until then, I'll be at the tower." He nodded, slipped on his sunglasses, and walked down the hall towards the garage, snickering as Friday showed Steve in the corner of the man's glasses trying to open the doors again, only to have them shut in his face. Classic. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Peter began to show signs of waking a little later that day. "C'pt'n," he mumbled, alerting everyone to his status. Everything seemed like it was underwater during a storm. "Pete!" Harley's smiling face was above him, blocking out most of the light that was hurting the boy's eyes. "Pete, I'm so glad you're awake." "H'rley? Wh't h'pnd?" His throat was so dry and he felt like he'd just been hit by a bus. "Are we und'rw'ter?" "Cadet? Are you with us?" Captain Potts' voice filtered in from the right and the boy tried to move his head, wincing when he did. "Good to see you awake, Cadet." Peter tried to smile at her, but only managed a pained grimace. "Where's my aunt?" he asked a little more clearly after a minute, making the captain take a deep breath. The woman put her head down, a hand seeking his and squeezing. "May Parker is...KIA, Cadet. I'm...so sorry." The boy's eyes widened, tears gathering in them as he struggled against Harley to sit up, ripping his hand from the woman's and crying out when he put pressure on his injured arm. "No! No, she can't be....no, you just haven't looked for her!" "Cadet!" Clint snapped and the boy came to attention. "There's maybe hundreds of miles of forestry here, and we have no supplies, no shelter, nothing! We have to believe her dead...otherwise, we may leave you clinging to hope, and hope....can be dangerous in times like this." The man stared into Peter's eyes, anger and sorrow mixing together. He couldn't believe it...not his aunt...She was the only one he had left...He broke into sobs, clutching on to his friend for dear life. "I'm so sorry, Pete.." Harley kept saying, over and over again, hand rubbing circles on the young teen's back. But, the teen couldn't hear past his own grief. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Have I got a surprise for you, jolly green!" Tony strode into the lab underneath the tower. It was a 2-hour drive from the compound to here, but it was good to let Bruce know he was coming and to prepare. "Very funny," the large green man said, striding over to where Tony was standing. "Do you have it?" His eyes were searching Tony's much smaller body for any signs of the telltale 'ship' the man had found. "Have what? Oh, this?" He pulled the ship from behind his back, smirking. "Would I ever lie to you? Now, help me crack this egg." He placed the model on the silver table and stared at it until Bruce came over, the table shaking with his quick steps. "Don't touch it until we have it scanned for anything, like gamma radiation or anything nuclear." He lifted the machine, a toy in his hands, really. He was aching to get a look inside, but he had to wait. "You tell me that after I put it in my car and drove it here for 2 hours? What a friend you are." Tony wiped his sleeves, knowing that wouldn't do anything to get rid of radiation. But it got his friend to smile. "It probably won't be in harmful quantities. Especially not in its purest form, at least. But....look," Bruce pointed to the screen that showed the glowing matter on the ship. "It's from space....mostly from the Earth's orbital field...but," he turned to another screen and linked the two up, waiting a moment. "There's a small amount of cosmic radiation...that can only happen in space flight, but...there hasn't been any around here in...what, fifty years? Not that I've been to space recently, but I do read all the articles pertaining to NASA." He motioned to the Starkpad Tony had built for him, the extra wide screen for his massive fingers. "You'll get your chance. For now, let's crack this open and find out whether or not little Tommy has lost his toy space ship." Tony's eyes were gleaming with excited curiosity as the scans were run. "All clear," Bruce said, and not a moment too soon for the billionaire. Tony rushed forward and grabbed the ship, trying to peer into the windows and whistled. "The detail on this makes me think maybe it was a Stark Inventories made toy. I mean, the screens work and everything. Hand me the laser saw, will you?" He held out his hand, motioning with his fingers until the tool was placed in his palm and he promptly began to slice into the ship. "Tony, are you sure that's the right thing to do? I mean, what if something gets damaged?" Bruce looked more intrigued than worried at this point though. "Omelettes," Tony said, putting the tool aside. "And the egg is cracked." Gently he laid the two sides next to each other and what he saw amazed him. "Look at this...it looks like it's from the sixties." He hadn't seen such cheesy machinery besides in the old batman shows. "But this toy looks brand new...Do you think we could have just ruined a collector's model?" The giant green man was looking down over Tony's shoulder, taking in all the lights and the screens. "Psh, no. But...I wanna poke it...Friday, be a dear and run a scan on the tech in this?" "On it, boss." While the AI went to work, Tony pushed the chair away from the table and stood, going to the bar and poured himself a double shot, downing it in a second. "While she does that, I have to get ready for the gala. Something about my name being put on something...yada yada yada..." He hated those things. Emperor Stane would be there, being all touchy with Tony's being, and posing himself with the man in front of the cameras. Ever since Obadiah rose to power the man had become a tyrant. He ruled the world with an iron fist, destroying anyone who dared oppose his edicts. Obadiah and Tony's father had worked closely together before he became a ruler. God, if you believed what Stane called himself, and with the power that he wielded a lot of people did. Most of his power though came from his favorite toy, A.K.A Tony Stark. Obadiah had always been in Tony's life ever since he could remember. So when he started showing a genius that not even Howard possessed...Well, Stane got a little greedy. Once Tony had graduated from MIT and made his first weapon- a blaster that outdid his father by twenty years, Obadiah used Tony, sucked him into his scheme unknowingly to become Ruler of the world. He promised him a new factory and lab with all the newest equipment he could ask for. That, of course, didn't appeal to Tony, but the power to overthrow his father. That's what he wanted. And he got it when both his parents died in a car crash, and Tony was named the head of Stark Industries. And inadvertently helped Obadiah rise to power. "Just be careful, Tones," Bruce said snapping the man out of his thoughts. "I'll have Friday contact you in case she finds something." The green giant smiled and turned back around to look at one of the bots that had just rolled up. "Dum-E, get me the goggles, please? I want to take this apart." Tony left the room, a large glass of bourbon in his hand and downed it before he even got to the door.

#Marvelfanfic #Giant/tiny #g/t community #iron dad #tonystark #pepperpotts #peter parker #harley keener #Bruce is a bro #clintbarton

17 notes · View notes

redstone-sun · 5 years

Text

TRSNS: Angst Ending

#redstoner au #my fic #iskall #grian #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft #trsns

86 notes · View notes

hnrywinchester · 5 years

Text

Fare Thee Well - - 17

Summary: She hasn’t seen Gabriel since he died nine years ago, then a phone call changed everything.

Pairing: Gabriel x OFC

Series Warnings: ANGST, smut, swearing, PTSD Gabriel, Character Deaths, Canon Compliant

Beta’d by: @aquietuniverse

Words: 5.7k

Gabriel never came. The barren trails wound on and on for miles, the cold air freezing her from the inside out as her lungs burned and ached. Lucifer had finally released her once he knew she couldn’t escape, when the rift home was far enough behind them that he knew she’d never find it before dropping dead. She trailed behind him, her feet dragging like anchors as the fatigue set in. She regretted her lack of sleep and food in the hours leading up to this.

“What’s the hold up? Don’t you wanna see little Gabey again before he’s…” Lucifer taunted, dragging his thumb across his throat as he twisted his face into a dying grimace.

“He’s not gonna die!” Liv spat back, wishing she was close enough to hurl her fist at his nose.

“If Michael comes around he is. A powered up Gabe can’t him take on, never mind the pathetic, lovesick state he’s in now. He’s a goner, honey.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Plus, I need you as collateral. My brother’s prized possession for my son. He’ll take that deal without thinking twice.”

“No one’s holding your spawn hostage.”

“We don’t know that! So until we find out, you’re with me. Come on sis, put a little pep in that step and let’s find our fam!”

This was making perfect sense now. She’d been curious as to why Lucifer was dragging her along with him instead of putting an end to her like she knew he wanted to. She was his brother’s human pet who’d been mouthing off to him just moments before the time to strike had hit. Unsure of whether or not to be thankful for his mercy, she urged her feet to keep going. If anyone was going to find Gabriel in this wasteland, it was him. She continued to call out but still no one came. Her eyes scanned the trees, both the feeling of hope and dread mingling as she prayed to see him alive and not splayed across the ground, his wings seared into the dirt.

Lucifer seemed to know where he was going, like he was following a path, which kept her following along complacently. She hated him. For everything he’d done and ripped away from her, for the things he’d done to Gabriel. Yet here she was depending on him to keep her alive. It was some sick, twisted joke. She wanted to burst into tears, but there was only one angel who saw that side of her and it certainly would never be him. He stopped dead in his tracks, holding his hand up signaling her to stop moving. She heard them. The quiet murmur of voices nearby, the cracking of twigs as their feet crunched along the ground.

“Oh thank Dad! I could use a pick me up,” Lucifer sighed in relief, her face twisting into confusion, “Don’t go runnin’ off now, you’ll die out there. I hear they don’t like humans very much in these parts.”

Her heart was hammering as she watched him walk off. Left to her own devices, standing in the middle of the woods, she felt a fear like she’d never felt before. Her breath shook as she exhaled, her body frozen in place, and when the screams erupted from just out of eyeshot, her eyes snapped shut in hopes that when they reopened she’d find herself waking from a whiskey nightmare.

“Gabriel… please… I need you to hear me,” she begged under her breath, “baby, please. Help me.”

Gabriel never came. Lucifer returned moments later, his eyes glowing red and she despised the relief that washed through her at the sight of him.

“What did you do?” she hissed.

“Got myself a little snack,” Lucifer disclosed, rubbing his stomach, “took out a few of Michael’s cronies, saved your ass. You’re welcome. Now let’s go, we’re close.”

“Close to what?”

“You’ll see. Hop to it, little bunny.”

“I need a break. I’m tired, and cold and hungry! We’ve been walking for hours.”

“Uh, excuse me, Gabe isn’t here right now, please leave your whining at the tone... beeeeeeep.”

His voice was absolutely grating. His facial expressions were enough to boil her blood and her physical misery was doing nothing to keep her emotions in check.

“I can't,” she groaned, “Seriously, I’m freezing. It’s like thirty five degrees and I’m in a t-shirt.”

“Okay,” he droned, “so doesn’t exercise, like, warm you humans up? Walk on missy.”

“Why can’t you just give me your over-shirt? Not like you need it.”

“Because one, that would set the implication that I care. And I don’t. Two, you’re confusing this whole setup with me wanting you alive, and needing you alive.”

“Well I’m gonna be dead here soon either way.”

“Are you always this dramatic? How does he put up with you?”

“All those years of practicing with you I’m guessing.”

Lifting her lip in a snarl, she plopped down onto the ground, not unlike a toddler tantrum, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. She pinched the skin of her tricep, giving one final push that she could wake up from this and be back in the library with a fair-skinned witch and the devil still in chains. Much to her dismay, she remained where she was, with Satan himself staring at her like he wanted to wring her neck until she was blue.

“I could end you right now,” he threatened, taking a step back towards her.

“Are you gonna make me ask nicely?” she bargained, her mental state rapidly deteriorating.

“I’m just gonna leave you here. Let someone else take care of it.”

“Hope Jack isn’t being held captive somewhere by the Rebel Alliance. Cause there goes your leverage then.”

Miming a plane crash landing on the ground with her hand had to be the last straw. As she dragged her fingers through the dirt, adding sound effects as she went, she was certain her life would be over in a snap.

“Oh you act like you want me to leave you here. As if finding Lover Boy isn’t top priority for you. You need me just as much as I need you,” Lucifer theorized, throwing his hands onto his hips.

“He’ll find me,” she guaranteed.

“If he even knows you’re here. Hasn’t shown up yet and I’m sure you’ve called out to him. ‘Oh Gabe, please come rescue me from your evil brother, he’s holding me hostage… wah wah wah’.”

His mimicking tone had her rolling her eyes but his words had her stomach in a knot. He was right. If she didn’t stick with him, no one would ever even know she was there. Clearly Gabriel was already dead or there was some missing wire in this alternate universe that made him unable to hear her. She hoped for the second, but couldn’t shake the feeling that the first was true.

“Gotcha,” he laughed, clapping his hands.

“Looks like we’re at a stalemate then,” she replied, rising to her feet.

“Oh? How so?”

“You need me in case poor Jack is locked up and I need you to get me to… anyone but you.”

“Difference is, one of us has super strength.”

“Super strength? What are you twelve? Should I go get your super suit?”

“Okay you know what… you need to relearn your place.”

With a snap of his fingers, her mouth was glued shut. Her eyes snapped up to him, wide in anger, as he walked over to her, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her along beside him just as he had before.

“I need to go make a little magic happen, and you’re gonna behave, understand?” he patronized, his voice chiming at her like she was a child, “When I come out, I’ll have a little gift for you, then we’ll be on our way to Gabe and gang. I’ll let you see him one last time before I rip that tongue straight out of your disgusting mouth. Can’t believe he lets you kiss him with that thing.”

Screaming as he tugged at her, the sound muffling in her throat, she fought against his hold. Her thoughts called out again for Gabriel, he had to hear her at some point. Lucifer seemed to think he was still alive, and he’d be able to tell if he wasn’t. He was out there, it was just finding him that was seemingly impossible.

Gabriel sat on the decaying log, his thoughts racing as he mindlessly picked apart leaf after leaf. He could hear his nephew, Jack, babbling in the background, searching for a way to bring Sam back, but Gabriel knew there was none. He thought back to the morning, Liv’s words dancing around in his head.

“Give Jack a chance,” she implored, “If the Winchesters are this hell bent on saving him, there’s some good in him.”

“I never said there wasn’t good in him,” Gabriel replied, lacing his fingers with hers against his thigh.

“No. But I know you’re thinking it. You’re gonna take one look at him and just see Lucifer.”

“No I won’t.”

However, he knew she was right. He’d never even met the kid and he already wanted nothing to do with him. It was no fault of Jack’s, but it was hard to believe any spawn of his brother hadn’t taken a turn for the worse.

“Give him a chance. For me?” she requested again, her voice sweet and soft.

“Yeah, yeah. Promise,” he muttered, averting his eyes as he dreaded what was to come.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t silence the sound of her screaming his name, the calls still muddled and faint as if she were underwater. Why was he imagining her calling for help? She was safe, holed up back at the bunker, why wouldn’t his thoughts just calm down for more than twenty minutes at a time? He raced back to the image of Sam being dragged down that barren passage, the snarls and growls echoing against the walls. It could have been her, it would have been her. She was off her game, they both knew it. She would have been the easiest target, gone before he could even say goodbye.

“Why didn’t you bring him back?” Jack’s accusatory tone snapped Gabriel from his thoughts.

“I’m not strong enough,” Gabriel admitted sadly, watching the young Nephilim’s face fall.

Maybe he never would be again. He was seemingly stuck in this half-powered haze, just enough to grace to keep him an angel but not enough to make him worth a damn. Ineffectual, degenerate little runaway. Loki’s words were ringing truer and truer as the days went on. People were dying, and there was nothing he could do.

Bells began to ring from the entrance to the camp, the same ones that had rung to announce their arrival. The rest of the group turned their attention to the source—clearly whoever this was was unexpected—and that little change perked Gabriel up slightly. He’d burnt down the warding not far from here and panic set in that perhaps he’d opened a door that wasn’t meant to be opened. Just more casualties on his conscience.

Shocked gasps traveled like a wave as Sam came into view. He was covered in blood, his own blood, but the gaping wound on his throat was completely healed. As much as he wanted to be thrilled to see Sam walking and breathing again, he knew this wasn’t coming without a cost, one they would not be happy to pay. Sam went to embrace his mother, and that’s when he saw him. Lucifer. His heart dropped into his stomach as he leapt to his feet. If Lucifer was here, something had gone very awry back home and suddenly the muffled calls to him made perfect sense. She’d been calling for help, and he’d ignored her. His vision began to tunnel, his eyes still locked on his smirking, smug brother as he watched with devious eyes the family reunion happening before them. He had to leave, he needed to get back, to find her. Was she alive? Did she escape somehow? Questions flooded his already overflowing mind and he couldn’t even think straight.

As he prepared to take off into a sprint back towards the rift, a familiar mess of brown caught his eye. Tousled and stumbling, she came into view and his breath of relief was audible. Still in his old t-shirt, now covered in dirt, she looked like she’d been through hell and he didn’t doubt she had, in fact. When she began to notice she was once again in human company, her gaze lifted from the ground, the familiar, now panicked face she’d been praying for the first thing she focused on. Their eyes went wide in relief as they locked, both taking off into a run towards the other.

“Gabe,” she sighed, the breath she’d been holding releasing as her feet began to carry her to him.

The ground crunched beneath their feet, rocks and sticks spraying as they skidded across the dirt. When they met, his arms immediately circled her waist, his knees bending slightly to easily accommodate her leap up into him. Her legs wrapped around his middle as her arms went around his neck and she crushed herself into him, pressing her face into the stubbled skin of his neck. She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped at the comfort of being back in his embrace, his warmth slowly easing her frozen limbs.

“Ssshhh,” he soothed as each of her ragged exhales against his neck were accompanied by a faint whine, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

She could feel his heart hammering in his chest against her own, the rhythmic thud easing the stress of her past few hours, his thumb running gently up and down coaxing her out of her panicked state. She focused on him; not on Lucifer standing just a few feet away or the blood covered Sam embracing his mother, or even the son of the devil that watched on with curious eyes.

“I missed you,” they breathed simultaneously as she pulled her head up to look at him, both of their mouths lifting into small smiles.

Uncaring of the prying eyes, she brushed his hair softly from his face, his head leaning into her touch as he closed his eyes, relishing in the small gesture. For a moment their fears evaporated; they forgot they were in another dimension, a very dangerous one, with two of the most powerful beings to exist standing mere feet away, with another hunting them down. He couldn’t wait any longer, his nose crushed into her cheek as he pressed his lips to hers, when her fingers tangled into his hair it took all of his self control to keep himself composed. As always, he wanted to simply lose himself in her, to quell his self-loathing and shortcomings with the feeling of her against him, surrounding him. Her kisses were soft, filled with purpose and longing, only making his desperation grow.

“You’re freezing,” he noted, pecking one last kiss to the corner of her mouth.

He lowered her gently down to her feet, shrugging his jacket from his shoulders and sliding it on to her. Immediately, she huddled up into it, his warmth still lingering in the sleeves. Her teeth began to chatter, the lingering cold from her long journey to get there was going to take some time to relieve. Cued in to every facet of her wellbeing, as he always was, he wrapped his arms around and pulled her tightly back into his body.

The world droned on around her, but she paid it no mind. She focused on the steady thud in his chest, his gentle arms around her and that familiar, warm, arid smell that would never be replicated by anything on Earth. Every time she thought she’d never see him again, they found their way back to each other. Just like he said. She could hear yelling, but Gabriel was staying silent. Whether that be because he was just as immersed in their reunion as she was or simply because he had nothing to say she wasn’t sure, but it made it easier to concentrate on the rise and fall of his breathing. She was beginning to warm up, her body losing that chilled ache she thought would never go away, her head lolling slightly as she gave in to him.

“Dean,” Gabriel’s voice rumbled against her ear, breaking her from her trance.

“You’ve got the blade,” Dean demanded, urging the angels against each other.

“Stop it,” Jack begged softly, his voice pained.

“He’s the devil, kill him.”

“Stop it!”

Just like that, Jack was gone. Liv could here the sighs coming from Gabriel and Dean, both of their patience wearing thin.

“We’ll go look for him,” Gabriel offered, needing away from the entire group to ease his annoyance.

They travelled in silence, their fingers linked as they walked through the woods, searching for Jack. She knew she shouldn’t be feeling this giddy happiness that was currently working its way through her, but she wasn’t about to stop it. Alternate universe or not, she was here with him— and that was all that had ever mattered.

“You’re quiet. I don’t like when you’re quiet, it’s suspect” he teased, pulling her against him, briefly unthreading his fingers from hers to throw his arm around her shoulders, wiggling them again to signal for her to bring her hand back up to his.

Responding with only a shrug, she laced her fingers with his on her shoulder, leaning her head down onto him. She envisioned them walking like this, twisted around each other, through markets and down the beach, the ocean waves the only audible sound as he shielded her from the breeze. Instead of the barren ground, it was warm sand and the gloomy, apocalyptic haze was replaced with the golden glow of the sun as it set. It almost felt real.

“Hey…” Gabriel whispered, again dragging her from her dream world.

When she looked up she could see the Nephilim pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. He looked distressed, panicked and a pang of nerves jolted her straight back to reality. Gabriel signaled for her to stay put as he continued to approach his nephew, and she gladly followed his direction. She feared for him, knowing that in his weakened state Jack could probably do some serious damage to him.

“Jack… uh, hey buddy. You okay?” Gabriel asked, stepping closer cautiously.

“What’s it like?” Jack barked, his voice harder than his face.

“What’s what like?”

“Love.”

The question surprised them both. Although they couldn’t see each other, their expressions mirrored one another’s, eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly agape. Liv was ever curious, she so desperately wanted to believe that Jack was good. Deep down she knew it was there, but so was pure evil, and the line had to be difficult to toe.

“What do you mean?” Gabriel continued, stopping at arm’s length of the boy.

“How do you know you love someone?” Jack questioned, his voice now softer, almost childlike.

“That’s a loaded question, kid. I don’t think I’m the one to ask.”

“You love her.”

“Yes…”

“How did you know you loved her?”

For once, Gabriel didn’t have an answer. His eyes turned to Liv, her face seemingly just as curious as the kid’s was. She smiled at him, and although he didn’t have the words for Jack’s question, he could feel the answer burning in his heart right then and there.

“I can’t answer that, Jack,” Gabriel confessed, bringing his attention back to him, “I don’t know. It just… happened. One day, I looked at her and I didn’t want to live another day without seeing her. My life is better because she’s in it. She… knows me. All of me. The good, the bad and the ugly. And she still sticks around. I don’t have to hide around her. Bonus, she’s uber hot. Why? You already got someone in mind there, Romeo?”

“How do you know she loves you?” Jack continued, face twisted in deep thought.

Fuck if he knew. He despised himself, always had. Despite the conceited façade and over-inflated sense of worth, deep down he loathed himself. He was weak and afraid, he’d abandoned everyone when they needed him the most without so much as a second glance back. He’d killed people, sure they may have deserved some punishment, but not death. He saw that now. The thought that anyone like her would waste their time and efforts on someone like him had always been baffling. She could have anyone, and the world was filled with people far better than he was, but she wanted him. That was something he’d never take for granted.

“She forgives me when I don’t deserve to be forgiven,” Gabriel finally affirmed, his eyes again shooting over in her direction.

His reason caused her tears to catch in her throat and running to him was purely reflexive. Her arms wrapped around his neck from behind him as she jumped onto her tiptoes to reach and he immediately crouched slightly to ease her embrace. He could hear the quiet whimpers as she pushed back her emotions; he knew what she was feeling, he felt it too.

“He loves you,” Jack stayed matter-of-factly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“He does,” she responded, confident and strong.

The conviction in her voice was enough to melt the man in her arms. Whenever he felt like a failure, she was always there to pick him up, intentionally or not. This woman was his entire life. He turned his head, pulling her lips into his, kissing her hard.

“I do,” he whispered against her, before pressing back in towards her.

There was no drug, drink or magic in the world that could replicate the feeling he felt here, her mouth moving in perfect synchronization with his, her fingers gently scratching against his chest. Knowing his nephew was still looking on, he pulled away, not wanting to let himself get too carried away.

“Her heart beats faster when she’s around you,” Jack stated, “Is that what love does?”

“Yeah kid,” Gabriel chuckled, “It is. Why are you asking me about this?”

“I just… want to understand. I know I’m supposed to love my father-“

“Woah, pause, that is a whole different thing. Two different kinds of love. Let me give you a helpful hint, you don’t have to love your family just because they’re your family. Ours sucks, big time. You go out and make your own with people you choose. Fill it with people who love you, who help you, who’d give a shit if you died tomorrow. The ones who fight for you everyday, who… open up doors to alternate dimensions to come and find you. You don’t have to love your father just because he squirted you out. In fact, I highly recommend not.”

“You’re my family.”

“Yeah, sure. If you want me to be.”

“I do. Both of you.”

Liv smiled, still draped around Gabriel’s neck, “Look, I don’t know you yet but if you want my advice, you need to make your own call.”

Gabriel’s face fell, what was she saying? Make his own call? Give the devil his due? No, that couldn’t possibly be it.

“If I didn’t make my own decision, I wouldn’t be here, with Gabriel,” she continued, “If I’d listened to everyone else, I’d still think he was a monster. And he isn’t. You need to decide, I know you’ll make the right choice.”

“You think my father can be good?” Jack inquired, his voice slightly hopeful.

“I don’t know, Jack. But if anyone can make him want to be better, it’s you.”

Cautiously, she pulled herself away from Gabriel and stood in before the very confused boy in front of them. She knew Gabriel wouldn’t be pleased with what she’d said, but it was the truth. She had faith in this kid, clearly the Winchesters influence had made a significant impact.

“Cas and Sam and Dean, they love you Jack, trust me,” she went on, “I’ve seen it. I don’t know if Lucifer does, or even if he can, but you need to just listen to him. For your own sake. You don’t want to be stuck wondering for the rest of your life. We’re all here to help you.”

With a nod and a smile, Jack vanished again. Gabriel sighed, he’d gone to find his father no doubt, which was the opposite of what he was intending to make happen.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” she snapped, already knowing what he was thinking, “You know I’m right.”

Just because she was right didn’t make it… right. If the kid’s father was anyone but Lucifer this would have been a good thing, but the consequences of those two joining forces would be catastrophic. He stayed silent, not willing to argue with her just yet, if Jack started to favor Lucifer, however, he’d be forced to show her the error in her ways. She didn’t move, not even to look at him. Clearly she was thinking about something and it couldn’t possibly be good.

“Am I… did I get old?” she finally blurted out, smoothing her hands over her windswept, messy hair, Lucifer’s insults still ringing in her ears

“Uh… is this a trick question? Gabriel replied cautiously, this really could go either way and the wrong way would probably end very badly.

“No. I look older, right?”

“Yeah… that’s kinda what happens.”

“Figured.”

“What is happening right now? Why are you asking me this? Of course you look older, it’s been nine freakin’ years.”

“I look horrible.”

As he reached out to grab her arm his face twisted, confounded by this sudden judgement of herself. He spun her around to face him, looking her up and down once before smirking at her.

“No you don’t,” he assured, running his thumb along her cheek.

“I’m nowhere near your standards anymore,” she condescended, rolling her eyes.

“My standards? Didn’t know I had any. Please, enlighten me.”

“Like, ten years my junior for one.”

“Where’d you get these idiotic assumptions from?”

“They’re not idiotic!”

“They are. Answer me.”

“Your brother…”

“Who is the last person you should be listening to about anything, so you’re losing credibility here. What did he say?”

“He just… made a few good points about me not quite… being up to par…”

He couldn’t listen to this. He didn’t even want to entertain it. A few hours with that vile poison and she was doubting every facet of herself. She looked different, it was the first thing he’d noticed, his heart aching that he wasn’t there to see the changes as they came. He’d tried to silently show her that he knew, and he didn’t care. He liked them, they were her. She wasn’t the same person anymore and neither was he, it was ridiculous to even have to assure her of this.

Slowly, he leaned in and kissed her, his hand cupping her cheek as his thumb brushed over the crow’s feet by her eyes when her eyes snapped shut. Heat began to pool in her belly as his tongue slid between her lips, she almost forgot they were in the middle of the woods. When his free hand went to the button of her jeans, snapping it open, she took too long on deciding whether to not to stop him. His fingers grazed over that familiar spot he knew so well and her resolve was lost. She needed something good, so did he.

“Gabe…” she whined, breaking their kiss.

“Is that protest or pleading?” he appealed, slowing to an agonizing, teasing pace.

All she could do was groan, grabbing his forearm and pressing down, urging him to continue. She felt his breathy laugh huff out against her mouth, and when she went to devour his mouth again, he pulled his face away.

“Tell me what he said,” Gabriel demanded, his eyes dark.

“All of your other… other women, were young and… beautiful… I’m not either of those things,” she panted, “My hair’s turning gray… and my face… is wrinkling… and scars… so many new ones…”

His anger grew by the second. Quickly, he spun her around by her hips, leaving her torturously abandoned. She whined at the loss of his ministrations, but quickly yelped as she pulled her tightly back towards him, pressing his arousal into her.

“Does it feel like I give a damn?” he growled, continuing to press further into her, “or do I need to convince you some more?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…” she mumbled, her brain short circuiting.

Shoving her jeans down just enough to give himself more range of motion, he set back to work. It didn’t take long to work her back into a frenzy, clearly their time apart had taken a toll. He’d never tire of how ardently she responded to him, as if he was the only being on Earth that could do these things to her. According to her he was, actually. She threw her head back over his shoulder, her quiet moans and whimpers falling directly into his ear now, sending little shockwaves down his body. When her mouth captured his in hard, sloppy kisses, his knees buckled. It was an awkward position, her neck craning at an uncomfortable angle, but the pleasure he brought her far outweighed the discomfort.

As her crescendo hit, he swallowed down her desperate sounds and held her around her waist as she contracted, her feet giving out as her bliss washed through her. Her chest was heaving against his arm, but it only took her seconds to compose herself, in fact she may have gained her head back faster than he did. No sooner than when he’d pulled his hand from her jeans did she spin and sink to her knees, working his own zipper open faster than he could process her motions. When her lips locked around him he groaned out in bliss.

“Fuck,” he whined, trying to find a power to stop her that wasn’t showing itself.

Typically, he would never let her do this, especially in this vulnerable a position. He never liked her on her knees for him, it didn’t feel right, although he certainly appreciated being on his for her. He’d always been a giver not a taker and nothing had changed, but this felt so damn good. Something in him was different, it was craving this attention from her, this showing of complete trust and adoration. Nobody else trusted him, but she did.

“Relax,” she cooed, “just let me make you feel good for once.”

He hadn’t noticed how tense he was, his thighs rock hard beneath her palms as he fought giving in to her.

“Isn’t that my line?” he laughed, finding their role reversal amusing.

“Hmmm.”

Her hum vibrated through him, only increasing the pleasure she was capable of giving him. She continued her steady pace, the fire building in his belly. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, hers locked on his face as she watched his expressions, adjusting as she needed to when a certain sound or twitch escaped. His fingers were laced in her hair, softly scratching at her scalp in gratitude, never forceful, as he surrendered to her completely. Faster than even she thought, his sounds became more pitiful as he felt his release impending..

“Shit…” he hissed, and she felt his fingers tighten, tugging on her head slightly.

Mouth hanging open and eyes snapped shut, he was a wonder to behold. The satisfaction she got from giving him this swelled in her. She didn’t care that anyone could walk by, just that for these few minutes he felt a modicum of relief. She didn’t understand why he always stopped her when clearly he enjoyed it, and she took advantage of the chance to make him feel this way. He didn’t hide the effect she had on him, keening and writhing under her touch, if she was going to be vulnerable than so was he.

Groaning, he pulled her mouth from him and finished himself with a tight fist. She stayed below him, peppering the exposed skin of his stomach with light, feathering kisses as he panted, one hand still wound into her brown waves. When he opened his eyes, she was smiling up at him, looking flawless and happy in his shirt and jacket and he was certain he’d never laid eyes on something more beautiful in his entire life.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, fixing the buttons on her own pants as she did, before gathering his bottom lip between hers, the perfect transition from cloud nine back to this miserable pit of despair. She welcomed him back with reverence and a gentleness that only he could pull from her. To think that she had even considered not being up to his standards was asinine, she was the standard.

“You blow every criterion out of the water,” he complimented, kissing her again.

“Gray hair and all?” she snarked, wrapping her arms around his middle in a tight, lazy hug.

“Hells yeah. You’ll be my little silver vixen here soon.”

“At this rate people will start asking if you’re my kid by the time I’m forty.”

“I think you’re forgetting I have the supreme power of changing my own appearance. Don’t you worry sweetheart, we’ll be old and gray together.”

Trying to imagine what he’d look like if he aged thirty years, she laughed. He’d still be the best looking guy around, for that she was certain. He nodded in the direction of the camp, signaling it was time to go back. As he slung his arm around her shoulders, she wrapped hers around his waist, their feet marching in cadence as they headed back down the dirt path. The mission was complete, they’d found Jack, found Mary, and it had all seemed just a little too easy, but they were never ones to complain.

“Think it’s time to go home,” he mused, pressing a kiss to her head, “can’t believe we pulled this off.”

She smiled, turning her head up to look at him. It was time to go home, time for a new life, time for him. One more walk through the woods and then they’d be free.

TAGS: @idabbleincrazy @analisespn @nodistressdamsel @morganas-pendragons

#Gabriel x ofc #gabriel x oc #gabriel #gabriel fic #gabriel fanfiction #spn

24 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 5 years

Text

Vulkreinzaan - Chapter 1

Continuity: Transformers Prime & Skyrim crossover Characters: for now, just Starscream Summary: A winged Dwemer construct powered by a unique dragon soul gem wakes up in a sinking ship, to find that both the Dwemer and the dragons have disappeared, the human settlements he remembers are now populated by the undead, all the living mer and men speak a new language, and everything wants to kill him. The construct's name—translated, he insists, only VERY loosely into modern Cyrodilic—is Starscream. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Notes: So turns out there's a Skyrim mod that lets you make your character look like Starscream. That's my only justification for this fic. Updates will be sporadic. I've got a loose plotline in my head, and a list of other TFP characters to drop into the setting as they're encountered; but the main objective here is "Look!! Starscream is in Skyrim! Shenanigans!" so it should be fun even if we never get around to a plot.

Icy water flooded over him, and he jolted awake. He sat up, thrashing at the water, until his head was clear. He gasped; the air was as icy as the water.

Where was he? It was dark, a single magic-lit lamp dimly illuminated the room from underwater. The walls were wood, crates floated in the water. The water in his crate was up to his chest. He flailed out of the half-submerged crate, fell back all the way under the water, and groped blindly until he found a table to latch onto and pull himself upon.

Gods, it was cold. Even clinging to a table to help him float, the water was right back up to his chest, and his legs still couldn't reach the bottom. He needed to get out of the water. He was going to freeze to death if he didn't find somewhere warmer.

He pushed as much water out of his system as he could—excess air bubbled through the gaps under his cuirass and up around his chest—sealed his body against the water, took a deep breath in through his mouth, held it, and dove back under the water. He grabbed the lamp up, reached awkwardly over his shoulder, and felt around until he managed to hang the lamp from the point of an inner wing. The floor was tilted, and the wooden walls around him creaked and groaned. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought the water was rising. There was a window, but it was blocked by what appeared to be a massive chunk of ice, and around the ice all he could see was more water.

He had to be on a ship. He'd never been on a ship before, to his recollection, but the evidence certainly fit. Just his luck that it was a sinking ship. A frigid sinking ship. And—looking around for a door—one that was upside down. Couldn't he have been rudely awoken to discover that he was marooned on some warm, tropical island? No. Of course not. A frigid, sinking, upside down ship. Of all the places to wake up...

Complain while moving. If the ship was sinking, a hole had been punched in the hull. If the ship was upside down, it stood to reason that the hole was now on top. Right? So, if he kept climbing up, he'd find the exit.

He climbed over the doorway into the next higher room. To his relief, through the next doorway the shallow water gave way to dry floor. ... Dry ceiling. Whatever.

He climbed the hall, looking around as he did for some exit—a ladder, a window—but nothing. There were a couple of fallen chests of drawers, though, and an overturned bed with a pelt under it. If he could make it to dry land and start a fire, that pelt might save him from freezing to death. He lifted his inner wing higher to help him see as he raided drawers for more supplies. (All the furniture was wood. Odd. But, sensible for a ship, he supposed. Stone and metal would only weigh it down.) Amidst some soaked food and useless potions, he managed to recover a couple of garments, three books too waterlogged to read, and a knife. He tossed his finds on the pelt, rolled it in a tube, tucked it under one arm, and hurried upstairs.

An upside down staircase led up (down?) to the hull of the ship. Someone else had been here already; crates were stacked in a slope, wooden planks leading up to the next floor. So a crew had been on board when the ship sank! And they'd left him behind to sink! Oh, if he ever caught up with them again— whoever they were—

Never mind. Focus on surviving. He climbed up the ramp; his narrow feet slipped, he fell, and he decided it would be prudent to set aside his dignity and crawl up the ramp instead. It was damp, and splinters stuck to his claws. Disgusting. The wood must have soaked the water up like a sponge. That seemed like the kind of nasty thing wood might do.

He was in the hull, all right, but he couldn't see a hole. The far end of the hull—the low end—was underwater; maybe there. He carefully climbed down toward the other end, pausing to examine a ragged pile of clothes for anything warm he could take with him.

A corpse's face leered back at him.

He shrieked, wings flared wide in fear. He clutched his rolled pelt to his chest and stumbled back from the body. The tips of his wings caught in the hull. He shrieked again. The lantern crashed against the hull and went out.

The wood splintered around one wing, and he fled down toward the water.

Navigating by the glow of his eyes instead of a lantern, he could barely see to the end of his arm. He could barely feel to the end of his arm, too. His joints creaked when he bent them, and they felt brittle. Even if he warmed up, he might end up covered in fractures. Gods forbid his armor shatter...

Don't think about it. Keep moving. There had to be a way out—and away from the corpse—somewhere at this end of the hull...

He fell back in the water.

Damn, it was cold! Scrap, scrap, scrap, scrap, scrap...

But, there—just underneath the waterline, the hole that had sunk the ship. Oh, thank Akatosh! He climbed carefully into the hole, keeping a tight grip on the broken hull—he could faintly see light filtering through the water above, but only darkness below—and scrabbled up on top of the upturned hull, sharp fingertips and foot tips digging into the wood, until his head broke free of the surface. He crawled out of the water, coughing it out of his mouth and from under his chest, and collapsed. Safe. Temporarily. After a long moment, he weakly lifted himself up to look around.

He was lying next to another corpse.

He shrieked again and kicked it into the water.

The wind was no more merciful than the water. It blew stiffly against his back; he couldn't feel the tips of his wings, and what he could feel ached from the cold. And he hadn't noticed while trying to escape the ship, but now that the panic was over, he realized he was shaking so hard he rattled. And the ship was probably still sinking. He needed to get to land.

He fought his aching joints to get to his feet and look around. Of course, he was in the middle of the ocean. Of course! Was land even visible from here? He turned in a slow circle, staring desperately at the horizon with his pelt clutched to his chest.

There! To the—what was that? He couldn't tell what direction it was, he was too cold to feel north tugging at him—whatever direction it was, the black horizon rose up in jagged teeth to block the stars. And closer even than that, he could see starlight dully reflecting off a low hill. An island! Or a peninsula, or—or something. Something dry. He was saved!

If he could get to it.

He sank back to his knees and looked over both sides of the capsized hull, fingers digging into the woods for balance. If this ship had had any rowboats, they were gone now.

He looked nervously into the water. Sure, there was a good chance that if he jumped in, he'd only sink five hundred feet at most before landing on an easily-walkable upward slope from the seabed beneath the ship to the island's shore; but he had no interest in jumping and then discovering the ship was sinking into a two-mile-deep crevasse. He'd have to find a way to swim. If he could make some kind of raft, or... hmm.

This wasn't going to be pleasant.

He left his pelt bundle on the deck and climbed back down under the frigid water.

A minute later he re-emerged, bearing a chest of drawers (drawers removed) and enough fleeting glimpses of a third corpse lurking at the edge of his eye light to haunt his nightmares for the next year. He dumped the water out of the chest, dragged it up onto the dry end of the hull, loaded his pelt inside; then lay his waist on the edge of it with his arms in the hollow chest of drawers for support, pushed into the water, and started kicking toward the island.

It looked a long way away.

He was too cold to tell how much time had passed. It felt like he'd been kicking forever; only the fact that it was still night contradicted this. The island looked no closer. He wasn't entirely sure he was even moving; he was telling himself to kick, but he couldn't feel his legs anymore. Nor his arms, his wings, his face; and even his back was starting to go numb. If his chest froze over...

But, slowly, the island loomed larger.

But not very much larger.

It was an iceberg. A tiny iceberg. He allowed himself a moment to try to well up enough energy to feel disappointed, but he was too cold. So he swam around the iceberg, the drawerless chest of drawers nudging floating sheets of ice out of the way as he went, and continued on straight toward mainland. It was his only hope now.

When he finally crawled onto dry land, he was too frozen to celebrate. He rattled like a full suit of armor falling down a staircase. The horkers on the shore lurched away from the noise he made; for a moment he considered chasing one and grabbing onto it for warmth, but decided that in his state, even they were too fast for him to catch. Never mind them. There had to be something on this island he could set on fire to warm himself.

He scooped his pelt bundle out of the drawerless chest of drawers, stumbled uphill from the shore, and trudged toward a scraggly but promising shrub. He dropped the pelt to the ground while he pulled on the shrub. But as he tried unsuccessfully to tug it up by its roots, over the crest of the hill he caught sight of a stone pillar, supported by two buttresses.

He paused, looking warily at the buttresses and the decorative flourishes rising from them—flourishes shaped like stone claws. He recognized that architecture. The dragon cult. Humans. Oh, they were bad news. Under any other circumstances, he'd be wise to put as many miles between himself and those buttresses as possible.

Under the current circumstances, he didn't think he could make it back down to the shore without collapsing. He couldn't even uproot a bush. Dragon cult it was. He could speak the language and he was willing to profess undying devotion to the local priest, he'd be fine. Just as long as they stuck him somewhere warm.

He picked up his pelt again and trudged toward the buttresses until he found a worn path marked by stone arches, and turned to follow it. The wind blew hard against him, kicking up fallen snow that felt like glass shards, making him squint. There wasn't even a door; just an open cavern sloping down into a subterranean cage, flanked on either side by massive, stylized carvings of dragons. He eyed the dragons nervously; but he didn't stop—he couldn't afford to waste the energy he'd spend stopping—and descended into the darkness.

#starscream #transformers prime #transformers #skyrim #the elder scrolls #fic #my writing #(also available on ao3! see link in my sidebar)

12 notes · View notes