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quinzzelx · 8 days

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Don't Go

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel thought he knew what pain was. But faced with the consequences of battle, he shatters.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Heart-shattering angst. I'm sorry, this does not have a happy ending. Death. I need to still proofread this!

A/N: One of my favorite Band's songs, one that I hold very dear to my heart, is called "Don't Go"... Let's just say, this song expresses the feelings of this perfectly. If you are interested in an alternate ending, one with a happy one, let me know.

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I was raised in the valley There was shadows and death Got out alive but with scars I can't forget

You never imagined that drowning could be so tranquil. Drifting, falling, floating deeper into the abyss, your once-alert eyes now glazed over with a distant emptiness. The shimmering surface of the moon above reflected in the water, casting a serene glow upon the scene. Despite the turmoil raging within you, the water remained calm, almost comforting as it enveloped you.

With each passing moment, consciousness slipped further away, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The light above grew dimmer, more distant, as you descended into the depths. A sharp pang in your chest served as a grim reminder of impending death, your lungs screaming for air that was nowhere to be found. The burning agony of suffocation clawed at your throat, the water filling your lungs with each desperate gasp.

This was the end. At the age of 347, a mere blink in the lifespan of a Fae, you faced your demise. While humans might find such longevity unfathomable, for your kind, it was but a fraction of existence. Yet, as the final bubbles of air escaped your lips and rose toward the surface, a sense of peace washed over you. Despite the fear that once gripped your heart, in this moment, all was calm.

Your death would not be in vain. You had fought until the very end. And now, as you surrendered to the depths of the lake, you found solace in the embrace of the water, welcoming you home. Your vision blurred, the edges of your consciousness fading as you struggled to stay afloat. Every movement sent waves of agony rippling through your body, your broken bones protesting with searing pain. Despite your efforts, the darkness continued to close in, suffocating you with its crushing weight.

But then, a sensation unlike any other tore through you, a visceral reaction that seized your heart in a vice-like grip. Panic surged through your veins, amplified by the frantic beating of your heart. It was as if every fiber of your being screamed out in terror, a primal instinct that screamed for survival.

Ears ringing and throbbing with agony, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain shoot through your skull as your eardrums burst under the immense pressure. The pain was excruciating, a relentless assault on the last bit of strength you held onto.

An orphan and a brother and unseen by most eyes I don't know what it was that made a piece of him die Took a boy to the forest Slaughtered him with a scythe Stamped on his face An impression in the dirt Do you think the silence Makes a good man convert?

In the tumultuous landscape of the Illyrian Mountains, whispers of dissent had been stirring for years. Cassian's hunch had sparked a relentless pursuit of the rebels, their motives driven by a desire to reclaim power and revert to antiquated traditions. Their disdain for the new order, especially Rhysand's leadership, fueled their rebellion.

Months of meticulous investigation led Azriel to their hidden stronghold, nestled deep within the rugged terrain. The plan was in motion: pairs deployed, each with a specific mission. Cassian and Feyre, Rhysand and Mor, Nesta and Azriel, and you with Gwyn and Emerie tasked with liberating the captive females.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Azriel wielded Truthteller with lethal precision, dispatching adversaries with practiced ease. Yet, his focus fractured when Emerie and Gwyn rushed to his side, your absence glaringly apparent. Dread coiled in his gut as Gwyn's wide-eyed gaze met his. It was then that Azriel noticed your absence, a sinking feeling gnawing at his gut. "Where is she?" His voice was tight with worry, urgency lacing his words. Her response only fueled his anxiety. "There was a group of about ten. She's our best fighter, and she insisted we go for help." Azriel's instinctive reaction was to scowl at Gwyn's decision to leave you behind, but he knew you were capable. Still, the thought of you facing such odds alone churned his stomach. So many of them? Fuck, he had to find you. A glance at Nesta was enough as she immediately nodded. "Find her." With a silent nod, Azriel launched himself into the sky, his wings slicing through the air with a fierce determination. The urgency of his mission spurred him onward, each powerful beat bringing him closer to the treeline that marked the edge of the battlefield.

It was only recently, during your parting, that the bond between you had awakened with startling clarity. The sensation pulsed within him, a potent reminder of your connection. How had he overlooked it for so long? The question gnawed at him as he scanned the landscape below, every hut, every tent, every clearing scrutinized for any sign of you.

As he neared the cliffside, a gust of wind carried the pungent scent of blood, assaulting his senses with brutal force. Panic seized him, his chest constricting with a primal fear as he descended closer to the source of the chaos. Then, amidst the carnage, he felt it—a flicker of your presence, fragile yet unmistakable.

We all have our horrors And our demons to fight But how can I win when I'm paralyzed? They crawl up on my bed Wrap their fingers round my throat Is this what I get for The choices that I made?

Landing with a staggering thud, Azriel stumbled forward, his chest heaving as he fought to quell the rising panic. Ears ringing, he scanned the scene before him, desperate for any sign of you amidst the chaos of battle. The sight of severed limbs and pools of blood sent a shiver down his spine, his heart hammering with dread. The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation, a macabre tableau of violence and chaos. Bodies littered the ground, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, pools of blood mingling with the churned earth. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of sweat and fear.

A sudden sound to his right shattered the eerie silence, drawing Azriel's attention like a predator honing in on its prey. His eyes narrowed, scanning the landscape until they landed on a figure slumped against a tree stump. The Illyrian's battered form was a testament to the brutality of the conflict, bruises marring his face, blood staining his clothes. As Azriel approached, his shadows coiled around him like vengeful serpents, an ominous aura of danger emanating from his every movement. His broad shoulders were squared, his stare intense and unwavering, like the embodiment of death itself stalking through the battlefield.

The Illyrian male flinched as Azriel loomed over him, a towering figure of wrath and retribution. With a swift motion, Azriel snatched him by the collar, yanking him up and pressing him against the tree with a force that left no room for defiance. "Where is she?" Azriel's voice was a low, menacing growl, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. The Illyrian snarled in response, his bruised and bloodied face contorted with defiance. He spat into Azriel's face, a vile mixture of blood and saliva, his defiance fueling the flames of Azriel's rage. "I won't tell you a gods damn thing, Bastard," he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

Azriel's fury intensified as he tightened his grip, bones cracking and snapping under his relentless grasp, the Illyrian's defiant sneer faltering as pain seared through him. "Tell me where she is," Azriel growled, his voice a dangerous rumble that reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, echoing the storm raging within him.

The Illyrian's lips curled into a twisted grin, his defiance unyielding even in the face of Azriel's wrath. "Your whore? We took care of her," he taunted, his voice laced with malice as he sought to goad Azriel further. Azriel's gaze darkened, a storm of fury brewing behind his eyes as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the Illyrian's face. With a swift motion, he slammed him against the tree once more, the force of the impact jarring his senses. "You will regret those words," Azriel growled, his voice dripping with icy venom. In an instant, Azriel's shadows surged forward, wrapping around the Illyrian's limbs like vengeful tendrils, constricting and squeezing with crushing force. The Illyrian's defiant grin faltered, replaced by a look of sheer terror as he struggled against the suffocating darkness. Azriel's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the Illyrian's flesh as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "You will tell me everything," he snarled, his words a promise of retribution as he unleashed the full extent of his wrath upon the helpless captive.

Azriel's gaze hardened, his patience wearing thin as he pressed the Illyrian harder against the tree. "You will tell me," he insisted, his voice a deadly whisper. "Or I will make you wish you had."

With a defiant glare, the Illyrian spat back, "You can't scare me, Shadowsinger. I'd rather die than betray my comrades."

Azriel's jaw clenched, his fury simmering just beneath the surface as he stared down at the defiant captive. "So be it," he growled, his voice cold and unforgiving. "But know this, your death will be swift compared to the torment I will unleash upon those who have harmed her."

With a final, chilling glare, Azriel released his grip, allowing the Illyrian to crumple to the ground in a heap. Azriel's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like thunder in his ears as he stumbled forward, the weight of the bond pressing down on him like a suffocating shroud. Desperation clawed at him as he scanned the surroundings, his senses straining to pick up any sign of your presence.

God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me for everything God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me God forgive me

As he reached the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the lake, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Azriel's stomach. Where were you? His mind raced, frantically trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance. And then it hit him, a searing pain shooting through his head as the bond between you wavered and dimmed. Gasping for breath, he clutched at his chest, his vision swimming with panic and fear. He couldn't lose you, not like this.

Azriel's mind reeled as the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. You were dying, and he had only just discovered that you were his mate. The weight of the revelation bore down on him, suffocating him with a sense of dread and urgency. With a fierce determination, he forced himself to focus, pushing aside the overwhelming surge of panic threatening to consume him. He cursed himself for not recognizing your distress sooner, for failing to protect you when you needed him most.

The sensation of suffocation intensified, the air growing thick and heavy around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Then it hit him like a physical blow, his eyes widening in horror as the truth dawned on him. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. In an instant, he was on his feet, his movements fueled by a primal instinct to save you at any cost. The chaos unfolding at the cliffside suddenly made sense, and he knew what he had to do.

With lightning speed, he leapt into the depths below, his senses on high alert as he scanned the eerie still surface of the lake. Every fiber of his being screamed for you, a silent plea echoing in the depths of his soul. No, no, no. He couldn't lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight Don't go

Frantically, Azriel swept over the vast expanse of the lake, his heart pounding in his chest with each beat of his wings. The enormity of the task ahead overwhelmed him, but he refused to succumb to despair. With each passing moment, the silence from the other side of the bond grew louder, echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain.

"Please," he pleaded silently, his thoughts a desperate mantra as he called out your name into the void. "Hold on, just a little longer." He tugged at the fragile thread of the bond, hoping for some sign of life, some glimmer of reassurance. But there was only emptiness, a faint flicker that threatened to snuff out entirely.

Then, like a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of light caught his attention, reflecting off the surface of the water below. It was a small ray of hope amidst the vast uncertainty, and Azriel clung to it with all his strength. Grateful for the clarity of the lake's icy waters, he scanned the depths below, searching for any sign of you.

And then he saw it—a flash of metal glinting in the moonlight, unmistakably your sword. His heart leaped with a mixture of relief and dread as he circled the area, his keen eyes scouring the surroundings for any trace of you. With a surge of determination, Azriel dove into the clear waters of the lake, his muscles straining with the effort as he propelled himself downward. Anxiety gripped him like a vice, each stroke of his wings a desperate plea for your safety.

His heart hammered in his chest as he descended deeper into the murky depths, his senses keenly attuned to every movement, every shadow that flickered in the water around him. The pressure of the water pressed in on him, threatening to crush him with its weight, but he pushed on, fueled by the urgency of the situation.

"Please," he prayed silently, the word a fervent prayer on his lips as he scanned the darkness below. The faint outline of your form came into view, a haunting specter in the gloom, and his heart clenched with fear at the sight.

His Illyrian wings strained against the resistance of the water, their powerful beats driving him ever closer to you. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to reach you, to pull you from the grasp of the icy depths and into the safety of his arms.

With each stroke of his wings, Azriel descended deeper into the darkness, his heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination. His fingers strained, grasping for your form as he fought against the relentless pressure of the water.

When he finally reached you, his heart twisted painfully at the sight of your vacant eyes staring lifelessly into the abyss. Gently, he pulled you into his arms, cradling your limp body against his chest as he began the arduous journey back to the surface.

Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Tell me that you love me 'cause I need you so much Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Say you'll never leave me 'cause I need you so much

As he ascended, a sense of urgency gripped him, his movements swift and purposeful as he struggled against the weight of your lifeless form. Halfway to the surface, he summoned his power and with a flicker of shadows, he winnowed to the shore, still holding you tightly in his embrace.

Your body felt unnaturally cold against his, your skin pallid and clammy as he laid you gently on the ground. Panic surged through him as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he pressed against your chest, desperate for any sign of life. But there was nothing—no rise and fall of your chest, no flutter of your eyelids. Tears stung his eyes as he stared down at your motionless form, the weight of his failure crushing him with each passing moment. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion as he fought to suppress the rising tide of despair. "No, no, no."

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Azriel bent over your motionless body, his hands trembling as he began chest compressions. Each push was an agonizing reminder of his helplessness, his fingers pressing against your chest with desperate force, willing your heart to respond.

The bond between you dimmed with each passing second, a thin thread of connection that threatened to snap at any moment. But Azriel refused to let go, his mind consumed by a singular determination to bring you back from the brink. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours, breathing life into your still body with every exhale. The taste of saltwater lingered on your lips, a bitter reminder of the depths from which he had pulled you.

His movements were frantic, almost desperate, as he continued to alternate between chest compressions and breaths, his own breath ragged with exertion. His wings, normally a symbol of strength and power, drooped at his sides, soaked with water and heavy with the weight of his despair. In the midst of his efforts, he failed to notice the arrival of Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, and Feyre, their shocked gazes fixed upon the scene unfolding before them. They hovered at a distance, unsure of how to intervene, their hearts heavy with the weight of your precarious situation.

But Azriel was lost in his own world, consumed by the task at hand. He refused to acknowledge the fear gnawing at his heart, the dread that threatened to consume him whole if he dared to let it in. Azriel's hands moved with a desperation born of sheer terror, his fingers trembling as they continued to press against your chest. Each compression sent a jolt of anguish through his body, his muscles straining with the effort to bring you back to life. "Please," he whispered, the word barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. "No, please."

His vision blurred with tears, the world around him reduced to a hazy backdrop of grief and despair. He chanted your name like a prayer, a desperate plea to whatever gods might be listening to spare your life. "You can't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "Not like this." Beside him, Cassian's heart shattered at the sight of his brother's anguish. Stepping closer, he placed a hand on Azriel's back, a silent gesture of support in the face of overwhelming sorrow.

"Brother," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. But before he could say anything more, Azriel's head snapped in his direction, rage blazing in his eyes. "No!" Azriel snarled, his shadows swirling around him in a tempest of fury. Cassian recoiled, his heart aching at the sight of his brother's pain etched so clearly on his face. Feyre's sobs echoed in the background, a haunting melody of grief that underscored the desperation of the moment. Rhys and Cassian shared a look, their expressions mirroring the anguish that weighed heavy on their hearts.

But it was Azriel who bore the brunt of the agony, his entire being consumed by the terror of losing you. As he clung to your lifeless form, he felt the weight of despair pressing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable burden. With each passing moment, he watched helplessly as you slipped further away from him. Your lips, once full of color, now turned a lifeless shade of blue, your cheeks growing hollow with every breath you didn't take.

"Please," he begged, his voice raw with anguish. "Do something! Rhys, please!" His words were a desperate plea, a cry for salvation in the face of overwhelming despair. But as Rhys stepped closer, a defeated look on his face, Azriel's heart shattered into a million pieces.

"I... I can't," Rhys murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I'm sorry, brother, but..." Azriel's rage boiled over, his pain spilling out in a torrent of emotion. "You don't understand!" he screamed, his voice cracking with anguish. "She is my Mate!"

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, their significance sinking in with a painful clarity. Rhys and Cassian exchanged shocked looks, their faces a portrait of sorrow and disbelief. And as Feyre wept silently in the background, the weight of the truth settled over them. Azriel's cries echoed across the desolate landscape, a symphony of grief that pierced the night with its raw intensity.

With each failed attempt to revive you, his soul fractured a little more, the pain tearing through him like a relentless storm. He clung to you desperately, his fingers digging into your lifeless flesh as if trying to anchor you to the world of the living. But no amount of pleading or praying could bring you back, and with each passing moment, the reality of your loss became more unbearable.

Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, mingling with the cold water that surrounded you both. In that moment of utter despair, he felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving behind nothing but a gaping void where you once belonged. In the eerie silence that followed, broken only by the lapping of the lake against the shore, Azriel held you close, his heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

His tears mingled with the water that now cradled your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the love that had been torn from him so suddenly. "I love you," he whispered brokenly, his voice barely a whisper against the vast emptiness of the night. "I have always loved you." Each word was a knife to his soul, carving out the depths of his grief with ruthless precision.

As his tears fell upon your face, mingling with the coolness of death, Azriel felt the weight of his loss bear down upon him with crushing force. With trembling hands, he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle yet filled with unbearable sorrow.

And then, with a heart-wrenching realization, the bond between you flickered and died, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. The agony that tore through Azriel in that moment was unlike anything he had ever known, a searing pain that threatened to consume him whole.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing across the desolate landscape. His shadows burst forth from him in a frenzy of writhing darkness, swirling around him like a tempest unleashed. Rhys acted quickly, raising a protective shield to contain the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them all. Clutching your lifeless body to his chest, Azriel's whole being shook with terror and despair.

"No, this isn't true," he cried out, his voice a desperate plea to the uncaring heavens. "Don't leave me." But there was no answer, no miracle to bring you back to him. In that moment, the reality of living without you crashed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drag him under. How could he go on without you? How could he face a world that suddenly seemed so cold and empty?

Your laughter, your smile, the warmth of your touch—all of it was gone now, lost to him forever. And as he held your lifeless body against his, Azriel screamed, a primal cry of anguish that echoed into the night, a haunting lament for a love that had been stolen away too soon.

With his forehead pressed against yours, Azriel wept, his tears mingling with the water that surrounded you both. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cold cheek, his lips trembling with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I failed you. I failed us."

The shadows around him finally began to still, their frantic dance slowing to a mournful sway. Rhys lowered his shield, allowing the others to approach, their faces etched with sorrow as they took in the devastating scene before them. Cassian stepped forward first, his expression a mixture of grief and disbelief. "Az," he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know what to say."

Azriel looked up at his brother, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. "Say that it's not true," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Tell me this is just a nightmare and I'll wake up soon." But Cassian could only shake his head, his own heart heavy with grief. "I wish I could," he said quietly. "But this is real, Az. And I'm so sorry."

Azriel's voice cracked with anguish as he spoke, his words a desperate plea to the heavens. "Why you?" he cried, his voice raw with pain. "You were everything good in this world, everything bright and beautiful. Why did it have to be you?"

He clutched your lifeless form tighter to his chest, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back to life. "It should have been me," he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. "I'm the broken one, the one who's lived in darkness for so long. You deserved so much better than this."

Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hitching in his chest. "I can't do this without you," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You were my light, my reason for living. And now you're gone."

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he held you close, the weight of your loss crushing him beneath its unbearable burden. "Please come back," he begged, his voice choked with grief. "I can't bear to live in a world without you."

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

Rhys approached Azriel cautiously, his expression heavy with sorrow. "Az, we need to leave soon," he said gently, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "You'll freeze to death out here." Azriel's tear-streaked face twisted with fury as he turned to Rhys, his grief-stricken eyes burning with intensity. "I can't leave her here," he growled, his voice thick with emotion.

Rhys nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of Azriel's pain. "I know, brother," he replied softly. "But we can't stay here forever. We need to take her home."

Azriel's sobs echoed through the desolate landscape, his voice barely above a whisper as he pleaded, "Just five more minutes." His gaze remained fixed on your beautiful face, etched with pain and longing.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a somber glance before silently stepping back, giving Azriel the space and time he needed to say goodbye. The minutes stretched into hours, the sun dipping below the horizon and rising again, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. But still, Azriel clung to your lifeless form, his whispered pleas of "just a little more" echoing through the silent air. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as Azriel grappled with the reality of your absence. The weight of his grief was palpable, a heavy burden that threatened to consume him. But still, he couldn't bring himself to let go, as if leaving this place would make the devastating truth more real.

As the sun reached its zenith once again, casting long shadows across the landscape, Rhys approached Azriel with a heavy heart. "Az," he said gently, his voice filled with compassion, "we need to go." Azriel's voice was raw with emotion as he stood for the first time since arriving at the desolate shore, still cradling your lifeless form in his arms. His eyes, once filled with anguish, now held a haunted emptiness as he spoke to Rhys, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't live without her, Rhys," he confessed, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Each syllable was laden with the depths of his grief, a pain that seemed insurmountable in the wake of your absence. Rhys's heart clenched at Azriel's words, the pain evident in his brother's voice piercing through him like a blade. He could see the devastation etched into Azriel's features, the unbearable weight of loss bearing down on him.

"I know, Az," Rhys murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand. But we have to take her home. She deserves that much." His own grief threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. "We'll give her a proper farewell, Az. Together." Azriel cradled your lifeless form in his arms as he followed Rhys, his steps heavy with grief. He thought of all the moments they had shared together in Velaris, the quiet nights spent stargazing on the balcony, the lazy mornings talking over coffee. He thought of the way your laughter echoed through the streets of the city, a beacon of light in the darkness.

But now, all of those moments felt like distant memories, fragments of a life that was no longer his to hold. As Azriel prepared to winnow back to Velaris, your lifeless form cradled in his arms, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of regret that consumed him. He would never get the chance to kiss you again, to hold you close and tell you how much he loved you. He wished he had confessed his feelings before, before the bond had been revealed, before it was too late.

You had died alone, unaware of his love, unaware that you had a mate who cherished you more than anything in this world. The thought tore at his soul, leaving behind a gaping wound that he knew would never fully heal. He would carry the weight of that regret with him for the rest of his days.

But as he prepared to winnow, to leave this desolate place behind and return to Velaris, he knew that he had to find a way to live with the pain, to honor your memory in every moment of his existence. You may be gone, but your love would live on in his heart forever.

With one last lingering look at your peaceful face, Azriel whispered a silent promise to himself, to remember you, to cherish you, to love you for all eternity. And then, with a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks, he winnowed away, back to Velaris, with you in his arms, your spirit forever intertwined with his own.

Don't go Don't go Don't go Don't go

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A/N: I'm sorry. Whew. I made myself cry while writing this. Please let me know if you enjoyed this and if you'd be interested in an alternative ending. :)

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #reader insert #azriel spymaster #x reader #azriel angst #angst #tw death #death #loss #heartbreak #dealing with grief #grief #angst without a happy ending #cassian #rhysand

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codfanficedits · 7 months

Text

One fucking mistake - Part three.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader.

Summary: Simon lost you after making a mistake on a mission.

Wordcount: 1235 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: cussing, swearing, grieving, angst with no comfort, vomit

A/N: Part three!

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ AO3 Link

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair.

The words repeating themselves as a mantra inside his head. His heart dropping to his stomach when he has to wear a bulletproof vest again, the memories of him tugging on yours flooding his mind. Your innocent smile, the pout when you reminded him he had to do the dishes when the two of you would come back, a part of the deal he had made with you so you would come with him on that godforsaken mission. He can still feel the sensation of your skin under his knuckles when he playfully brushed them against your cheeks. Simon was desperate, he felt like he was drowning. In pain, anger and self-hatred, and you had always been his lifeline, helping him stay afloat. And now you were gone, by his doing and it takes everything in his being to not drop to his knees and wail. God, God, God. He missed you, your smile, your skin, your hair, your scent. Your eyes. He missed your eyes, they spoke a thousand stories and he was ready to read every word.

If only he could go back in time. But he can’t, instead he has to walk to the same chopper that flew the both of you to a mission, but only brought him back.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chopper, after he has taken a seat, begging the universe to let him wake up from this horrible nightmare.

Simon knows he needs to find you now, alive and well, it would be his only chance to have you back again. He doesn’t want to find your body, he doesn't want to be met with the aftermath of that mission. No, no, no. He wants you to sit on a piece of rubble, patiently waiting for him to come pick you up.

He can’t accept your fate, because it isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair and it never, ever will be fair.

Right now you’re still Missing In Action, and right now he still has the chance to have you again.

It’s a horrible sight for the rest of his team, they know they want to help, but Simon pushes them all away, every single one of them gets shut out, no matter how hard to try to just be there for him. He wants you, and no one else is allowed to get close to him. Even with the skull mask on, and his eyes closed, they can all tell he is not doing well. But how does one console a grieving soldier that doesn’t want to be consoled?

Soap opens his mouth to say something, anything. He can’t stand his friend being in so much pain and he wants to know if there is something that he can do. But Price stops him, because Price knows how it is to grieve over someone he knows will never come back. Price knows that the feeling, how intense it may be in the moment, will eventually fade into something lighter, a feeling that is there, yet doesn’t weigh down on his chest so much.

And Simon doesn’t know, Simon doesn’t realise how much his coworkers, his friends are struggling with him. He doesn’t know how much they miss you too, how much they want you to sit on that piece of rubble when they arrive. They want you to, for your sake, for their sake, but most of all for Simon’s sake.

It is quiet when the chopper touches the ground, no one dares to get up first. No one wants to be the person to bring the bad news.

Price eventually decides that it is up to him. He is Simon’s captain after all, he was your captain after all. His eyes scan the area in front of him.

God, let you sit on that piece of rubble.

But you’re not, of course you’re not, and Price feel stupid for even allowing himself to have this bit of hope.

“Let’s go look for a body.” An order from his low voice.

Simon gets up from his seat, clinging on to the idea that it is all a big prank, a big joke, and that you are still on that piece of rubble, a payback because he bribes you into going on that mission.

It feels as if his legs are going to give out when he sees the area covered in rubble, dirt and pieces of the building you’d been in.

He needs to hold on to something, something to keep him steady while his body wants to shut down as his mind begins to flood again with the memories.

A flash grenade.

A fucking flash grenade had separated the two of you, and he should have seen it coming. He should’ve seen it happen, he should have protected you, but he didn’t. He can see the husk of the flash grenade stick out from between the debris, as if the universe is taunting him. He remembers being blinded, a loud ringing in his ears, and you were nowhere to be found. He remembers calling your name, yelling your name, screaming it, but he never got a response. He remembers that cold, sickening feeling when he tried to radio you, but he didn’t hear the radio, or you. He remembers a grenade going off near him. He remembers running there, hoping to find you, but you were never there, and he had to go back to the chopper empty handed. He remembers how the air suddenly became painful to breathe when you weren’t waiting at the chopper for him. He remembers how he had to make the choice to go back.

He remembers. He remembers. He remembers. He remembers.

A sudden wave of nausea waves over him, and he is just in time to pull up the mask and the balaclava, retching out sour vomit when it becomes too much. The guilt, the fear, the anger making their way up from his stomach.

He cleans his mouth with a sip of water. Simon can’t forget he is still a soldier, and he needs to be strong, for you, for himself. And when he feels like it is okay again, he joins the others, picking up large pieces of debris, hoping to find a sign of you, a little giveaway that you’re still very much alive and kicking.

He works hard, the desperation showing through his movements as he lifts up piece after piece. But you’re not there, all he finds is disappointment and the confirmation that his worst fear is becoming a reality. It is starting to become dark and Simon knows that they have to return back to base soon.

“Ghost.” Price calls out from the field.

“You might want to see this.”

But Simon doesn’t want to see this, because he knows that this can’t be good news. Simon knows from the tone and voice of his captain that if they have found you, you’re not alive.

His steps feel heavy, as if concrete is tied to his feet while he makes his way over to Price, stopping in his tracks when he sees your dog tags and the ball chain wrapped around his hand. The look in Price’s face tells him enough. They have found your dog tags, but not you.

You’re not coming home with him.

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failedintsave · 2 years

Text

All the Comforts of Home

Pickles had warned him long ago: when Murderface started talking about mixology school, it was time to abort the mission. That advice had served him well in the past, but some benders started too quickly to avoid, like a riptide of bad decisions.

Their go-to bar was within stumbling distance so they'd managed the trip without any casualties, leaning on each other to stay upright and snickering stupidly at everything and nothing at all. Only brief challenges such as Stairs and Locked Front Door hindered them, but eventually everyone had dispersed, pinballing down the hall to their own rooms. Night creatures, hoping for a few hours of oblivion before the sun arrived to torment them, white hot recompense for an evening of poor choices.

He didn't own a waterbed—they were cumbersome and the novelty wore off pretty quickly after the first romp in the sheets left all parties feeling seasick instead of satisfied—but the faint waves of nausea that had plagued him since his head hit the pillow made it feel like he was caught in a whirlpool, gripping the covers like flotsam to stay afloat. His pulse throbbed dully behind his eyes and that, paired with the increasing pressure in his bladder, was finally enough to force Skwisgaar to get up.

The top sheet was damp with sour sweat, and he peeled it away like shedding skin, lurching to his feet and wobbling momentarily as the room spun. Skwisgaar pinched the web of his hand to ground himself, breathing slowly through his nose until the vertigo passed and he could swallow down the bile that threatened to rise. He pulled the chain for the overhead light, giving a futile tug for the fan as well, knowing full well that the motor was broken.

Outside the temperature had reached a sweltering 30 degrees and it was worse in his bedroom where any hope of a cross breeze was thwarted by the paint sealing the window shut. In his opinion, 'February' and 'heatwave' were not words that belonged together in a sentence, regardless of what language you spoke.

Stepping into a pair of lightweight pants, Skwisgaar shuffled into the hall bathroom to relieve himself. He splashed his face at the sink, the cold shock cutting through some of the fog filling his skull, then cupped his hands under the faucet to rinse his mouth. There was a bottle of mouthwash on the counter, but even the antiseptic alcohol content felt like tempting fate.

A loud bang was his only warning before the door burst open and slammed into him, still bent over the basin. The knob caught his hip bone with a crack. "OW, what de fucks?!"

Flailing hands pushed him out of the way as a blur of brown and blue squeezed frantically behind him. Toki dropped to his knees at the toilet, barely landing before emptying his guts into the bowl. He gripped the rim of the stool for dear life, leaning over the edge as if he meant to dive in.

Without hesitation, Skwisgaar gathered the limp bronze curtain away from Toki's face, gathering it at the nape of his neck to keep it from catching any splatter. He knew from experience that there was no worse part of a hangover than waking up with sick in your hair, and shy of letting him lay down in the tub, Toki wasn't in any shape to navigate a shower on his own.

After a few minutes of retching hard enough to turn himself inside out, Toki spit once and reached blindly for the flush with trembling fingers.

"I gots it." Skwisgaar depressed the handle, still holding the younger man's tangled locks in one hand. "You gets it all up?"

"I thinks so…" Toki panted, easing his rear to the tile. "Sorries about de door."

"It's okej. Be a different stories if you didn'ts make it past me, 'dough."

Unrolling a wad of tissue from the industrial roll of toilet paper Nathan had stolen from work, Skwisgaar handed it to Toki to wipe his face. Toki thanked him with a weak grin, swiping roughly at his mouth and nose.

"I don't knows who Jim ams, but I don't think I likes him very much."

"Gin." Skwisgaar chuckled, rubbing circles on Toki's back. Despite being resistant to it at first, he found himself defaulting to caretaker easily where Toki was concerned. "Dis why we not supposed to lets Moidaface order de shots." He shuddered, the memory of lime juice curdling Irish cream almost enough to have him scrambling for a turn at the toilet. Instead, he groaned to his feet to stand over Toki, offering his hand. "C'mon, lets gets you back to bed, huh?"

Toki allowed Skwisgaar to haul him upright, trundling along quietly as he guided him back into the living room. He had a habit of sleeping with the tv on, and the set provided a pale glow, washing the color from their dingy furnishings and casting the room in soft grayscale. It was still warm, but less stifling out here with the windows cracked. Clusters of moths fluttered against the screen, and occasionally a car would whizz past on the boulevard beyond the parking lot, their bass speakers rumbling.

Toki dropped into his rumpled nest of blankets, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms over his shins, giving him the appearance of a turtle drawn into its shell. He ignored the late-night rerun on the screen, keeping his eyes downcast at a spot on the floor and swaying in his seat.

"I'll gets you some water."

Sifting through the mountain of plastic takeout containers in the dish drainer ('deh fine china' as Pickles called it), Skwisgaar found a gas station thermos and filled it. He dragged the small wastebasket from beneath the sink, double lining it with grocery sacks and bringing both back to the sofa. Their security deposit may be shot, but if the kid got sick on the rug they'd have to live with the smell. Placing the trashcan at Toki's feet, he handed over the cup.

"Rinse. It'll helps."

His charge did as instructed, spitting delicately into the garbage then taking another silent sip. His gaze remained lowered and the corners of his mouth turned uncharacteristically downward to match.

The expression didn't suit him. Skwisgaar couldn't recall a time when he'd seen the rhythm guitarist look anything south of cheerful since being brought into the fold. His bubbly demeanor wasn't metal, and could be downright obnoxious at times, but somber Toki was somehow worse.

"Ams you..?" A tug inside his chest cavity compelled him to reach out. Skwisgaar balled his fist at his side. "You, eugh, alrights? Pals?" He cringed.

"I hads a dream." Toki's voice sounded hollow and far away, his words spoken into the half empty cup.

"Nightsmare?"

He shook his head, the wispy ends of his hair draping over his shoulders already. It grew astonishingly fast, several inches longer now than it was a handful of months ago when he'd wandered in, late for his audition. That fumble as they faced off may have been the last time he'd looked this dejected, and now—as then—Skwisgaar couldn't abide it.

Sighing quietly, he took a seat on the empty cushion beside Toki, feigning nonchalance. "It's okej, my little friend. Tells to Skwisgaar alls you tiny baby problems." He kicked his feet out, crossing them at the ankles and smirking.

Toki drained the cup, rolling it between his palms a few times before speaking again. "I has de same one a lot lately. Or almost de same. I'm in de forest and it's dark, but de moon is out, or sometimes it's auroras, all green and pink, and dey ams bright enough whats I can sees my breath." He huffed to illustrate what he meant. "I can hear owls and wolves. Not close. Just outs in de woods somewhere. It wasn'ts a bad dream but it makes me…sad?"

He felt the smirk melt off his face. Skwisgaar knew the dreams, but it had been quite a while since he'd had them himself. Frozen lakes lined with snow-laden pines, distant mountain peaks glittering in the sun, clusters of red cottages with blue smoke curling from their chimneys. The ache in his ribcage made itself known again, flaring even stronger as he watched Toki's eyes well with tears.

"Why don't dey gots snow here, Skwisgaar?" He hiccuped. "I never sees de aurora here, or evens de stars most of de time!"

Light pollution from the city blocked out all but the brightest celestial bodies, and passing planes made poor stand-ins for meteor showers.

"You ams homesick." Skwisgaar pitched his voice low, sitting up from his indolent slouch and turning to better look at his companion. "If you wants, I t'ink I still has some minutes on a callingk card somewheres. You coulds phone your—"

"No!" Toki's head whipped around, his spine ramrod straight. "N-no dey, dey don'ts have a phone." His pupils, which had contracted to pinpricks, slowly bloomed, his face softening again as his small frown returned. "It's okei. R-really. Dat place aments…nevermind." He trailed off into a papery whisper.

No stranger to deflection, Skwisgaar let it drop with a nod. What Toki didn't want to talk about was his choice. He turned his attention to the empty cup the Norwegian still clutched in both hands, lifting it gently from his white-knuckled grip.

"Don't goes anywhere." Skwisgaar took the cup to the kitchen.

Someone had put away the milk carton empty, and eggs seldom made it home unbroken, so he'd have to improvise. Two separate bags each yielded a stale heel of bread which he toasted under the broiler; they'd soak up the alcohol just the same as pannkakor would. Skwisgaar pushed aside a bag of chips, opening the cabinet over the fridge to retrieve the jar he'd stashed, hidden away so as not to fall prey to a certain drummer's midnight munchies.

He scraped the last of the red jam over the curled pieces of toast. Pawing through a drawer full of Murderface's hoard of ketchup pouches and duck sauce, Skwisgaar found a single paper packet of sugar and sprinkled it over the bread. Maybe not gourmet, but it would do.

"Here." Skwisgaar offered the stacked toast, setting the refilled mug at Toki's feet. "You needs somet'ing ins your stomach."

Toki accepted with a curious tilt of his head, his eyes fluttering blissfully closed after the first bite. He hummed his appreciation. "Tyttebær. Oh wowee."

It took most of Skwisgaar's not inconsiderable self-control to hold a smile at bay as he watched Toki savor his snack. He'd have to ask Nathan if his mother could pick up another jar next time she went to Ikea.

After a few more bites, Toki sighed contentedly, looking up and offering Skwisgaar the second heel, balanced on the brown fast food napkin serving as his plate. "You eats dis one."

"Nej, I'm fine."

"Please? Shares it wif me?"

Those puppy dog eyes were going to be the death of him.

Shrugging, he plucked the toast from Toki's hand and bit off a corner. The Norwegian smiled and Skwisgaar looked away, the bridge of his nose prickly with sudden warmth. Maybe they could prop the door open for some extra air flow. It wasn't as if they had many valuables to keep locked up.

"So… you likeds de winter where you's from?" Odin help him, was he actually discussing the weather?

"Mm, I guess sos. Pretty used to de cold." Toki nibbled the last crust of his slice, brushing the crumbs from his hand on the arm of the couch. "I likes de snow fine but clearing de paths was a lot of work. We liveds up in de mountains, hads to do all de shoveling and sweepings myself."

"Ja? You does much skiings up dere?"

"No. Sometimes, when I was getting de firewoods, I would ties up some branches and sticks togedder and makes a sled, but it never really works dat well. Couldn't gets no speed."

The phantom bite of frost nipped at his fingers, and for a moment Skwisgaar could feel his grandmother's laundry basket under him, hurtling down the gully behind her house. It was like flying. "Tch. Stupids." He rolled his eyes to hide his grin.

Rather than take offense, Toki laughed. "Ja, dey didn't make very good snow shoes neider." He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, his giggles fading to a shy smile. "Hey, Skwisgaar?"

"Hn?" How had he never noticed Toki's dimples before?

"Thanks for, um. Well. Just, thanks."

That grin had no right being so endearing. The corner of Skwisgaar's lips twitched to match. "Shore. Can'ts just leaves a poor littles—"

It was sticky, the kiss Toki pressed to his cheek, and sweeter than the jam they'd shared. He froze; the automatic, teasing jibe died before even reaching his tongue. Toki sat back.

"Oh. Sorries, I gots some…here, lemme just," he swiped at the spot with his finger, popping it into his mouth. "Dere."

Skwisgaar had a notoriously fussy stomach; spicy foods, dairy, or mixing too many spirits with pint after pint of musty lagers all left his insides roiling. This feeling bubbling in his belly was far less unpleasant, like a low, sustained note buzzing through an amp or the exhilarating rush of an audience chanting for an encore. His headache had faded to the background, but he could feel his pulse hammering again, thrumming in his ears loud enough to drown out the staticky movie on the television.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought about it; about running his hands through those thick umber locks; about sturdy arms drawing him in, holding him close; about just what lay beneath those faded shirts the rhythm guitarist was filling out better and better every day. Would he taste like lingonberry right now?

It wasn't the first time, but it wasn't the right time, either.

Toki was drunk. He was vulnerable, longing for something comforting and familiar, something seven thousand kilometers away. What he needed right now was a friend, so that's what Skwisgaar would be. He pushed the rest aside for exploration another day.

"You, eugh, feels better now?"

"Mhm. But coulds you maybe stays wif me? A bit longer?" Fed and rehydrated, Toki was quickly losing the battle against his heavy eyelids. He peered through dark lashes at Skwisgaar with the same inviting look he'd employed earlier. "Maybe if de dreams come back, dey won't feel so lonely."

How was he supposed to say no to that?

"Well," he drawled, sliding his hand along the back of the couch behind Toki and making a show of considering his options. Skwisgaar turned his attention to the shadows dancing on the ceiling. "It ams a lot coolers out here den my room."

Toki needed no further encouragement. He leaned in, his head landing on Skwisgaar's shoulder with a pleased sigh.

It may have been his shampoo, or a rogue sprinkle of the rail gin that had done him in. It was even possible it came naturally, this alluring scent on his hair, reminiscent of chilled mist hanging low among a stand of spruce, like a forest before dawn. Whatever it was, Skwisgaar couldn't help but inhale deeply as Toki snuggled in closer, his jaw popping around an expansive yawn.

"Takk, Skwisgaar."

He let his arm slip from the couch to drape around Toki, tipping his head so that his cheek rested near the crown of the other man's head. Fog and evergreens. If he closed his eyes, the cars howling down the parkway could almost be the call of wolves, far off in the woods.

"You're welcomes, Toki." It may not be either of their first, and if their music took off it wouldn't be their last, but it was safe and relatively comfortable and it was right. This city, this apartment, this couch and the band with whom they shared all of it. It was home for now.

#skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #metalocalypse #dethklok #avoiding my main wip in favor of quick oneshots 🤷‍♀️

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axe2amendedfence · 5 years

Text

In Vitro

Man made myth.

Man made legend.

Man made himself king.

Man made himself God,

And man killed man.

Strung him up,

Upon a cross.

He wakes in the middle of the night and his heart begins to fight with his mind.

The world shifts sand on a dune blows past and cuts like a knife,

and then hits.

You can only stretch the truth so far before you no longer have control over the car.

Fallacy became reality, reality became sanity, sanity strain strain strained.

To maintain, his head.

Head was an atlas.

Atlas broke his spine and then it broke his mind.

I’m listening to the desert, but I’m not there.

There is far from here.

You are far from here.

Dopamine.

Produce too much, couldn’t let go of the high, was too high to say goodbye.

To the things, we had before they went.

My body is so spent.

Dripping sweat, kitchen sink, blood on my teeth.

Aching minds, splitting skulls, sleepless nights.

Trying to quell.

Quell what I got.

God given energy.

Lifeforce pumping through my bloodstream.

Red blood cells clot.

Stop.

It was all tangled in one place.

Nowhere to go, the pace has slowed.

Heartbeat stops.

A ticking clock.

Three cuckoos pass the cuckoo clock.

Stop.

Drop.

And roll.

Rolling from the fire, the fire is desire.

The desire is you.

I was selfish to a point, two years past ‘03.

Then I met you.

And it was you and me.

Bound hip,

Heart and hand.

Hand in hand, hand in the sand on a beach.

A mission in Cabana.

Havana, Havana, Havana.

And a cigar.

Tobacco is the smell of fire.

On your clothes, in you pores, it stores and stays.

Ringing in your ears outside a club, I can’t hear you, but I can see.

Clearly.

We eat, we fuck, we sleep.

Sleeping for the first time in a week.

Merged energy.

Energy is a collaboration three rings bound,

Without a sound.

Maleficent beauty.

Blonde cheeks.

Cheeks and then begins to speak.

Splitting sound.

Voice like butter baking a cake, three parts desire,

One part fire.

TLC, TLC.

No man created me.

Me is not form for society sake.

Not a pin-up.

Not a hunk, not junk.

And I’ve been sinking, sinking.

But I’m afloat now,

Jumping off the boat.

Two rhymes,

Sixteen bars,

A moment in time.

To free, to speak, to seek.

Seek guidance.

Water and spiders.

Spiders spying a spider.

Spiders inside of her,

Like a black hole.

Pasted and jaded.

Time has flown by

And memories faded.

It’s hard to walk, it’s hard to breathe.

It’s hard to talk.

The fallacy you made myth.

I turn legend.

It was all a lie from the beginning, I ain’t no legend.

You weren’t born.

C-Section, cut from the stomach of an IVF virgin turned myth, turned legend.

The world knows,

The world sees.

The world heralds a king.

And destroys the child.

Man made myth.

Man made legend.

Man made himself king.

Man made himself God,

and man killed man.

By Dacre Montgomery

#dacre #dacre montgomery #in vitro #poem #poem by dacre montgomery #DKMH #This took longer than I thought tbh #billy hargrove #billy #stranger things #DKMH Podcast

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cromulentbookreview · 4 years

Text

It Came Out of the Sky!

Oh, it came out of the sky, landed just a little south of Moline /

Jody fell out of his tractor, couldn't believe what he seen /

Laid on the ground and shook, fearin' for his life /

Then he ran all the way to town screamin' it came out of the sky /

Well, a crowd gathered 'round and a scientist said it was marsh gas...

Uhm.. And by that Creedence Clearwater Revival reference I mean: The Other Side of the Sky by Amie Kaufman and Meagan Spooner!

Nimh lives on the surface of a flooded world full of ruins of an ancient, long dead civilization. Long ago, all but one of the gods fled the surface in favor of the sky. The living god who remained behind is fated to save the people of the surface...eventually.

Eventually.

Nimh - full name Nimhara - is the 42nd incarnation of the Divine One, aka the living god. She’s basically the Dalai Lama, if the Dalai Lama was allowed to be reincarnated in any gender. But being worshiped by the people as a living goddess has it’s downsides: Nimh is forbidden from touching anyone, ever. Seriously, ever.

The who “no touching anyone, ever” thing is pretty intense. She even has to provide herself with her own medical care! God forbid she ever need to remove her own appendix. Or: what happens if she falls, cracks her skull and renders herself unconscious? How can she give herself medical care if she’s out of it? Magic? I mean, maybe. Nimh’s world definitely has magic. Nimh, being Divine, should have manifested some magical aspect soon after becoming the goddess - her predecessor, the 41st incarnation, had a talent for healing magic. Unfortunately, it’s been 10 years since Nimh was called to be the Divine One, and she’s shown no sign of manifesting her aspect. And people are beginning to talk: there’s a whole group, known as the Graycloaks for their chosen color, who believe that Nimh isn’t even the Divine One and have made it their mission to remove her from power. So she’s got enemies on one side, and the massive weight of people’s expectations on the other - if she’s an incarnation of the divine, then surely she must be able to do something to help her people? Perhaps something to stop the roving clouds of rogue magic called mist that go around wreaking havoc?

Nimh wants to prove herself. She wants to help people. But mostly she’s lonely as hell and just wants a hug. Which she can’t have because of the whole “no touching the divine” thing. Just to reiterate:

The only other living being Nimh can touch is the bindle cat - a giant orange floof whom she rescued as a kitten. The bindle cat doesn’t have a name - he’s just the bindle cat because, according to Nimh “You do not name a cat. He is a cat; he keeps his name to himself.” True story.

The bindle cat, an approximation.

Anyway, the bindle cat is Nimh’s best friend, constant companion and literally everyone’s favorite character in the whole book.

Anyway! When we first meet Nimh, she’s sneaking out under the nose of the high priest Daoman to go on a secret pilgrimage that she hopes will help manifest her aspect. Only just as she’s about to leave, she sees a light falling from the sky and chases after it...

North is a prince of Alciel, a technologically advanced kingdom in the sky. His ancestors fled the world below ages ago, and now, the people in the clouds are convinced the surface is dead, incapable of supporting life. The people of Alciel live in a world with all sorts of fun tech, like Apple watches - uhm, I mean, chronos - fancy trains, airplanes, DNA locks on doors...honestly, Alciel seems pretty great. Only there’s one problem: the archipelago of sky islands that comprise Alciel seem to be sinking. It’s been so long since the people of Alciel have fled to the sky that people don’t really remember or understand what exactly makes their sky islands stay, well, in the sky. While the adults around him engage in sinking denialism, North is convinced the only way to save themselves is to put together an expedition to the surface. After all, they came from the surface thousands of years ago - maybe the answer to keeping themselves afloat is down there? Everyone dismisses North’s idea - the surface is uninhabitable, there’s no way to get down there and back again, blah blah blah. But North has a solution - he and his friends built their own plane.

Sounds legit.

This, of course, doesn’t impress the adults, especially North’s moms who are both like “absolutely not” because seriously, no way are they letting their son, the kingdom’s sole heir, fly around in something he built and possibly get himself killed. They tell him to destroy the plane and forget about the whole thing.

And North, being a good son, obeyed his mothers’ demand, decommissioned his plane and lived happily ever after. The end.

Pfft, no. North, being a teenager, decides that he will prove to everyone that it’s possible to fly to and from the surface by flying his experimental plane around. Because a teenager flying around a plane he and his friends built sounds super safe and will definitely end well.

It does not end well. But not because North isn’t good at plane building - he’s actually great at it, but as he’s flying, his plane catches fire, which is never a good sign. North had only intended to fly around Alciel, just to show off that he could, but now he’s heading toward the surface much faster than he’d planned.

Meanwhile, on the surface, Nimh sees a star falling from the sky and, thinking its the sign she’s been waiting for, decides to chase it. It lands in a salt flat rendered reflective by a couple of inches of water (think Salar de Uyuni - this whole segment has some fantastic, Ghibli-esque imagery). Only, it’s not a falling star - it’s a person.

North emerges, somewhat unscathed, from the wreckage of his plane and realizes what happened - someone has deliberately cut through his supply lines. Someone wanted him to crash. Now he’s stuck on the surface and his Apple watch has no signal. He has no way to get home or any way to let his family and friends know that he’s still alive.

But, lucky for him, after fighting off some wild boars, he meets a strange girl called Nimh, who offers to help him by taking him back to her temple in the city. North’s mind is pretty much blown: not only are there people on the surface, they have cities. They have religion. It’s the opposite of everything he’s ever been taught. Nimh’s a bit odd, but as she’s nice enough, North follows her anyway...

Nimh, meanwhile, is ecstatic: she thinks North may be part of a larger prophecy that will help save the world. He came from the sky, after all, where the gods live. And - bonus! - he has no idea who she is. He looks at her and doesn’t see a goddess who can never, ever, ever, ever be touched, he just sees another person, something Nimh has never experienced.

Only once Nimh and North get back to Nimh’s camp, they find that all her friends have been murdered. North is like “what the -?” and Nimh is all “uh, yeah we should probably run for it” and thus begins the whole adventure that makes up The Other Side of the Sky and holy crap, I absolutely love it. I love everything about it - the Ghibli-esque imagery, the romance, the adventure, the kitty sidekick. Oh God the kitty sidekick! Apparently, North’s kingdom in the sky doesn’t have cats. He’s never seen a cat before. HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT A CAT IS, PEOPLE, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

He should watch The Cat Returns.

Anyway, The Other Side of the Sky is gorgeous, impossible to stop reading, romantic, exciting and addictive as hell. Like a Ghibli movie, this book was exactly the sort of thing I needed to forget the outside world for a little while. It’s easy to picture the whole story as an anime. Just picture North and Nimh as Pazu and Sheeta from Castle in the Sky! It works, I swear.

Sometimes we need the beautiful pastels of a Ghibli movie to warm our hearts when everything is terrible. The Other Side of the Sky is the book equivalent of one of those movies. The only downside is that it’s the first book in a series, and it ends on a cliffhanger that can and will make it feel as though your heart has been removed from your body. Or that you’ve been turned into a cat and are now being forced by a crazed Tim Curry-voiced cat king to marry the cat prince. Something like that. Either way, I will be waiting as patiently as I possibly can for the sequel.

Is it ready yet? Is it ready yet? Meow. Meow. Meeeowwwwww. Pay attention to meeeee.

RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone in need of the book-equivalent of a Hayao Miyazaki movie that’s also the first book in a series; anyone fond of an exciting, action-packed YA romance.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: People who have something against fun, joy, or cats; anyone who doesn’t like YA (seriously, why read YA if you don’t like it?) anyone who thinks Studio Ghibli movies are just for children (watch Grave of the Fireflies, and tell me with a straight face that it’s a kids movie. Children should NOT watch that movie!)

RATING: 5/5

TOTALLY UNBIASED FANGIRL RATING: 500,000,000 / 5

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SEQUEL: Olympus Mons

RELEASE DATE: Not soon enough September 8, 2020.

GHIBLI RATING:

CAT RATING:

#theothersideofthesky #the other side of the sky #amie kaufman #meagan spooner #ya fantasy #young adult fantasy #ya fiction #studio ghibli #nimh #north #alciel #castle in the sky #the cat returns

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starfaring-princelotor · 5 years

Text

The Prison Kingdom

Chapter 2: To Create A Name

Summary: With new companions comes new information you were unaware of before.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide and blood.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

A/N: Click here to learn more about fairies.

1 . 2 .

“I didn’t know pirates can read.”

“Aye, fancy that, eh? Learn something new with every rising sun,” you closed your book then fully turned your attention to the man leering over your shoulder, “I didn’t know that incubus’ can be nosy, little whelps, and yet, here we are, mate.”

Lance, he said his name was. Young faced with an offended scrunched up frown because of your comment, he seemed fresh to the battles of blades. And of insults. Rule number one when growing up under the honorable tutelage of your aged seafarer captain: whatever you do, do it well. May he rest in peace, the poor fool who took a cannonball to the gut.

“Hey! I’m not nosy!” came his witty reply, accompanied by a muttered grumble.

You took that as his white flag.

“Pirate.”

“Aye, capitain?”

Shiro said nothing else, only gave you that good old “stop picking on the soldiers” look. You shrugged in response. He stated that he needed to stop by his neighboring guilds and request assistance from a few specific set of people. And thus, along with you and a few others who gathered at Altea, Shiro created a small group of warriors for this expedition.

There was Ulaz, a powerful necromancer who channeled spirit energy from the dead to do his bidding. Attractive mercenary with those glowing eyes and pointed ears, leader of the Blue Tail Guild. Then that one golem from the deep mountains, what was her name? Shay of the Yellow Eyes faction? Those fancy jewels embedded in her rocky exterior were tempting, but you were sure she could pack a punch if you tried to use your five-finger discount. And, last but not least, a dryad ghost who calls himself Rolo, belonging to the Green Claw Guild. His skills with traveling between planes of existence at ease would be most useful for scouting.

Right now, the only one left was meant to be meeting at this farm on the outskirts of a small, unnamed village. Someone from the Red Teeth Guild, supposedly the one King Alfor led until his untimely demise. Her name was Hira, one of the Alteans who was tasked with defending the royal family. Keyword: was. She gave up that title and dedicated her life to hunting monsters with vengeance, more importantly the dragon that razed Altea to the ground. Though she lacked the magical abilities passed down by her ancestors, she made up for it in pure strength as a berserker.

“- He is ready, Shiro. I have seen the boy fight alongside Lance, they both would make worthy comrades in battle.”

You could sense the pride and ushering tone in, who you assumed, was Hira. Off in the distance, the two boys mentioned were tending to a bull peacefully. Out here, it was easy to fall into the dull sense of a domestic life. A farm, crops to harvest, animals to feed. Making pasteurized cheese from only the freshest of milk. A humble existence, not one meant for the explorative type of people. Much too docile, too vulnerable.

“No, Hira. They are just boys. If we were hunting wild boars, yes, I would bring both Keith and Lance along, but this mission is too dangerous for the inexperienced,” Shiro argued, voice muffled behind the bales of hay, “I’m not putting their blood on my hands. Are you willing to?”

A pregnant pause, only to be interrupted by the peppered clucks of chickens nearby.

“Altea needs soldiers, Shiro.”

“Children are not soldiers, Hira. I’m done discussing this. Are you with us or not?”

“Fine. But keep your Galra scum on a leash. This war still isn’t over and I won’t forget what happened a decade ago,” she spat with spite lacing each syllable in her words, “His kind shouldn’t even be joining this party.”

“No one would forget, but his skills are invaluable if we’re going after a dragon that uses quintessence as an energy source. Our mission is to kill it so a repeat of the past doesn’t happen. Do you understand?”

Part of you wanted to say you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Really, you didn’t, it was just convenient that your hearing was much more enhanced than the average being. And, judging by the pupiless stare of Ulaz, you knew he heard them, too. That slightest, almost barely noticeable twitch in his ears gave him away.

“That bull is going to charge them. Watch,” Rolo informed, also watching the spectacle of Keith and Lance’s shenanigans.

As if able to predict the future, Keith must’ve patted the animal a little too hard, which irritated the beast. He started hoofing the grass, gave one loud baying screech, before shoving both of them away in a disgruntled thrash. Don’t run, you thought, but it was instinct to flee when something once neutral becomes aggressive. Pity that Keith fellow was wearing red, though.

“Useful trick ye got there. Ever thought about trying yer hand as a fortune teller? Could swindle a few fish for quite a bit o’ gold,” you chuckled, recalling the time you did such a thing yourself.

“Huh. Wonder if Nyma would be up for that gimmick after this hunt.”

“This hunt...it is such a small group. Can we really fight a dragon?” Shay’s inquisitive voice openly asked, “I have heard rumors and stories of such feats only being accomplished by massive armies, yet we are of only 10 bodies.”

“We are not going to kill a dragon. Shiro needs us to find it first before requesting for support from Altea. Perhaps the kingdom’s allies can send reinforcements as well.” Ulaz spoke of Shiro as an old friend, an old comrade in arms, and oddly enough, that fact was reassuring, “We can not trek through enemy territory with siege weapons and cannons. Not yet.”

Not until we know what we are going against.

“Can you build, pirate?”

“Can a shark bite?” you immediately retorted, but judging by the blank look on his face, he didn’t understand the reference, “Aye, aye, I can build. Bless me with a keg o’ gunpowder and I’ll gift ye bombs strong enough to take out me other leg.”

Shay giggled, Rolo smiled, and even Ulaz found the dark joke a little humorous.

There was something stifling about traveling by foot through the thicket of the woods. You would take the open sea and the ship over mangled trees and looming leaves any day. Rolo, however, was in his element. It seemed like the vines were reaching towards him to give an odd embrace from the trees themselves. Was it just you or did that trunk have a face carved out in it? Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time reading that book of yours.

[Not every spirit is malicious. Some belong to those children who ventured too far, unguarded and blind to the dangers lurking deep within. Be careful if you hear echoed giggling of the young. Faes are master tricksters. Under no circumstance should you ever answer their question, lest you wish to be swept up and vanished into thin air. Avoid rings of mushrooms at all cost.]

Below was a quickly drawn image of cap mushrooms formed in a circle. There seemed to be a child-like figure with butterfly wings attached on its back. You came to realize then, while sitting around the campfire and partaking your turn for watch, that the creatures of the land vastly differ than those of the sea. You expected this, of course, but something in the back of your head had one question buzzing in your skull: how far could you flee if you came across such beasts?

Shuffling off to the side alerted you of Shay awakening. Slowly, she emerged from her tent as the fire danced, making those gems glimmer even more beautifully in the night.

“Are you well, p-pirate?” she asked albeit hesitantly stuttering on the title.

With a nod of confirmation, you shut your book quietly just as she took a seat across from you. She seemed to be lost in thought, curious even, and it amused you greatly to see her glance away when you caught her stare. Then, her gaze stayed locked on the very interesting rock by your wooden leg.

“Lass, does this ol’ thing give you the willies?” you tapped your leg, already quite used to not feeling anything come from the action, “It t’aint rigged with explosives, ye can trust me word on that.”

Now, she quickly snapped her wide eyes up at you, “No, no, not at all! I mean, it’s a little...I have seen such things before. But that is not why I was - forgive me - for staring.”

“Eh?”

“Your name. The captain calls you ‘pirate’ and you were introduced to us as so. I have never met someone who doesn’t have a name,” Shay rubbed her hands together unsurely, wondering if her question came out too personal, “ I - does it bother...do you have a name that you wish to be called instead?”

Cute and utterly kind by a default. You liked that about her.

“Would ye like to hear a story, mate? A story of the Name-Stealing witch of the sea?”

At that, her attention was completely enraptured by the flourish wave of your hand and the quill you pulled from your coat sleeve like magic. If there was one thing you enjoyed more than crafting bombs, it would be telling stories embellished in exciting lore and haunting truths. Or lies. That was left to be decided by the listeners.

“Aye, among those who were unfortunately marooned on desolate islands, legends say that the nights following an empty sky, there be but a single bottle floating to the shore. No matter where, it always held a single piece of parchment and quill. You nay see her on the bank, or hear her whisper, but some say she stands afloat as a speck on the horizon. And some say...she will grant ye solace if ye but write yer name on that there paper.”

You now pulled out a rolled-up sheet from your other sleeve, earning a gasp of surprise from your audience. Well, your one audience.

“I came across her one fateful night. There’s a rule among us pirate folk: those who fall behind are left behind. Ye carry yer own weight to survive out there and me weight was just a little too heavy,” cue you knocking on your wooden leg, “I was starved and alone with nothing but me ‘n me pistol. Good ol’ trusty Kretch. Once the taste of sand could no longer sustain me, nor the grass, nor the leaves of the palms, I had to decide if I wanted a quick death to be my end.”

Concern. Of course she was concerned to hear those dreadfully haunting words.

“But she came to me one night, offering me nothing but a bottle. I told meself, if there were a chance to live, I’d take it without thought. And I did. I wrote me name, but oh, what a fool I was. There I lay, death washing upon the shore, and she came to me. She took it with a kiss, so I may never speak it again. She took that parchment so I may never write it again. And when I woke on a different bank, and when those kind souls helped poor little ol’ me, and when they asked who I was…”

You crumpled the paper then immediately tossed it into the fire, the blaze quickly sparking a green flame in a show of bedazzlement.

“...I couldn’t remember it.”

At the end, Shay was practically sitting on the edge of her log with wide-eyed awe. Couldn’t remember your own name? The very idea seemed appalling and completely impossible. Not even magic can do that...right?

“But why? What could a sea witch want with a name? Was she born without one and chose to steal names, collect them, to satisfy her own cruel jealousy? Or was she searching for hers? She may still be out there yet, Shay, ready to make a deal with those desperate enough to survive. Perhaps she even haunts those in the forests or the caves…”

“No! I want to keep my name, I - “ she shook her head to get the jitters out, clearly displeased with the thought of losing something so important, “Can you get it back? Your name?”

“Many have tried, but all have failed or perished in the pursuit,” you paused, letting a slow, sneaky grin spread on your lips, “Unless...ye have more than one name to go by.”

“More than one?”

“Aye. That’s why ‘tis important to make a name fer yerself. And that’s why Shiro calls me pirate, fer me own safety, eh? Not even she can steal a title like that.”

“Can...stealing a name kill someone? Do you think she can kill a dragon if she took its name?” Shay questioned more for herself than for you, “It’s scary to think about…”

“Ah, but then ask yerself, do ye want t’forget the dragon? Pain is the world’s cruelest teacher, but I cannot imagine waking one day and not remembering how me family died by the dragon’s fire,” you explained before tilting your head in thought, “Were ye there, lass? When the dragon attacked?”

She shook her head no, “I wasn’t, but my people helped with saving the injured who were buried under the wreckage. Many were worried about the royal families and of the prince and princess as well.”

Now it was your turn to lean in, intent on catching every word she shared.

“It is tragic that Queen Mellanor passed at Allura’s birth. Even more that her father was killed by the ally he trusted. We weren’t able to find Prince Lotor nor Emperor Zarkon, assuming they had fled as soon as the attack had started. It was horrible, hearing the survivors share their woes. I wish it hadn’t happened. Even a few Galra citizens living in Altea were affected, but…”

Here, she began fidgeting with her hands nervously then lowered her voice down a pitch as if the forest have ears of their own.

“When we uncovered Galra citizens, they were herded off into the castle...and they never came out.”

Somehow, Shay’s story was much more frightening than yours. Not only because you believe her, but you also believe that the fate of those Galra was likely leading to an unhappy ending.

“I think - “

A rustle, one against the wind, and your head snapped in the direction of the noise.

“Shh - wait, I hear - “ and before you could finish your sentence, a blunt force punched you in the face, sending you flying off your seat to knock into an allies tent.

You heard Shay let out a yell, a battle cry and a way to warn everyone that an intruder was here. A cacophony of noises rose in volume, people scrambling to attack a wisping shadow in failure, for the punches came too quick and too powerful. A whirlwind of purple light trailed by each landed blow and, tried as you might, every shot from your pistol did nothing against the flurry of that damn bludgeoning weapon.

“Rise!” Ulaz shouted and, instantly, a cooling spell fell over you, releasing you from the bruising pain of your crushed rib.

You owe him a drink for that one.

“Form up on me! Shields up!” Shiro ordered, equipping his own shield to cover his front, but it was already too late.

By the time the chaos settled and the dust came down, the attacker had Hira’s throat in a deadly grasp while holding her body up in the air. Metal claws were cutting into her skin, drawing a line of blood, just to emphasize how serious she is close to dying. One wrong move, and her life would be forfeit. You waited with held breath on a command, anything from Shiro, but nothing came in one, two, three seconds.

Then, Shiro’s eyes widened at the person standing across from his infantry.

“Sendak?”

#spacestories #lotor x reader #i know i know #we hate hira

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tora-the-cat · 5 years

Text

OK. So. It had been brought to my attention that I may be speaking from a higher plane of existence earlier.

I'm gonna do my best to lay everything here out both for everyone's peace of mind and because I have more to say then I should and my skull is a meager prison.

@ lippeeria @ dairymold @ gingersnapdragonspice you DID NOT ask for this but you DID encorage it so I’m dragging you down with me.

Let’s unpack this piece by piece, shall we?

1. “Might Go Feral.”

A warning

2. “Might Galaxy Brain”

A prediction.

3. about Kabuto being Shin after he faked his death

I believe this is where I started to lose people. Hear me out.

I. physical similarities

-they both have grey hair. it's different shades in the anime, sure, but I'd hazard to guess that it isn't in the manga b/c it's all black and white.

-Kabuto's haircut in one of the youngest pics I could find of him had a haircut very similar to that of Shin. It is also the haircut he seems to have when he meets orochimaru.

-thy both have black eyes.

-Kabuto is only 3 centimeters taller then Shin

-Shin has bags under his eyes. Kabuto is the closest thing Naruto has to Long Suffering College Grad Energy, and thus spiritually has bags under his eyes.

-I don't know enough about drawing or character modeling or whatever to add much here.

-they both have terrible fashion sense.

II. Histories/timeline

Ok, cold, hard facts first.

-Kabuto was taught Medical Ninjutsu at a very young age by Nono.

-Nono named Kabuto. Kabuto means 'helmet'.

-Danzo threatened to cut the funding for Nono's orphanage unless Nono gave him one of the orphans off record

-Kabuto overheard and volenteered.

-Kabuto entered ROOT under Danzo

-He specializes in Medical Ninjtusu and Infiltration.

-He was freqently sent out of village for missions.

-Shin means 'new'.

-We don't know how old Shin was

So, let me spin you a shadow:

Your name is Kabuto. Or, at least, your given name is Kabuto- given by a woman who heads an orphanage and found you in a ditch without memories. You don’t mind, though- Nono is the kindest person ever, probably, and Kabuto means Helmet. A helmet is armour for the head- a protector. You think it was probably meant to be teasing, when she gave it, but you still take pride in it anyway.

She teaches you how to heal because you beg her to, because you want to help her get more money to heal. She was already tight on money before you got here, you’ve heard, and you don’t want to make her life any harder. She deserves so much better then that. She deserves the world, but you don’t have that yet. The most you can give her is your attention, and whatever skill you might have.

Her smile is sad when you ask the first six times, but, by the seventh you’ve noticed a dent in the amount of food she can buy each week, and she accepts after she makes you promise that it’s what you want to do. She warns you that it’s hard, that healing takes years to master for ever seasoned chakra users, and paitently starts you on basic chakra techniques.

Two months later she gapes at you when you approach her at lunch, hands glowing with green light, and hugs you. She calls you a genius and pets your head, and you can’t tell if she’s whispering it as a blessing or a curse, but you know she’s wrong for the first time.

You aren’t a genius. If you were, then you’d be able to find a way to give her everything she wants. As it is, you can barely help her stay afloat.

Still, five months after you start learning you’ve revived 16 dead rats around the orphanage and are finally allowed to actually help Nono. By now, you’ve come to see the other kids as family- the younger ones bring you dead rodents to practice on, and the older ones pester you into eating and sleeping when you get caught up in your work. You wish you could do more but, for now, you are content.

And then a man named Danzo comes to the orphanage and you spy on him and Nono, and learn that he’s pressuring her into giving him a child from the orphanage for him to train up.

You know what you have to do- have to, because you can’t let it be anyone else, and you can’t let Nono tear herself up over having to pick one of you. You smirk as you slip out of the window the next night.

Kabuto, right? You protect the head- or, more specifically, the head of the orphanage.

You meet up with Danzo, and he demands to know why he should take you in particular. Your heart thuds nervously in your chest, and you have an idea. It’s risky, sure, and you were going to wait at least another week before trying it, but this entire thing is ‘risky’. You hold your hand to the space between your eyes, and you do the only thing you can- you heal, and hope it’ll be enough as you wisk off your glasses with clear vision.

Apparently that works, because you are stripped of your name and put though test after test after test, and then brought down to a bunker, where you are introduced to more nameless kids. Danzo-sama tells you that Konoha is built up by comradere and that this is your team, made up of a boy with coal eyes and a fish mask who looks maybe a year older then you, a boy with skin as pale as paper and a mouse mask who looks much younger then you, and a girl who looks almost exactly like the first boy with a frog mask. They all smile at you and you feel happy for the first time since you left the orphanage.

Weeks later, in quiet whispers, you are telling each other secrets- everything you can remember about your life before Danzo. You aren’t supposed to, you know, but you also know that you can’t forget Nono or any of the others, just like Fish and Frog- Shisui and Sumi- can’t forget their names. Mouse asks you what your name is, and you almost answer, but you don’t.

Kabuto, your mind whispers, but that isn’t right anymore. There isn’t really a head you want to protect- Sage knows you don’t give a shit about Danzo’s well being, not that you’ll ever say it.

You hesitate only a moment, and answer Shin. It means new, and it almost fits. Mouse repeats it, like it’s a spell, or something special, and you think one day it will.

Mouse looks up at you with big sad eyes, and says that he doesn’t remember his name, and you smile at him. You feel a wave of De ja vu as you offer to give him a name, and wonder if you looked as excited as he did when Nono gave you your name. You wonder if this was how she felt- nervous, but loving.

Your first thought is to name him after amour, like you were- Yoroi, maybe. The idea is a horrible one, though, and you know this. Here, with Danzo, in ROOT where you are now, no one can afford to be a protecter for someone else.

You name the boy ‘Sai’, something sharp and stabbing, and pray to the sage it’ll keep him alive as his eyes light with joy and he almost squeals.

(You make eye contact with Sumi- Frog, you can’t afford to make that slip audiably- and give a bitter smile. No one can afford to be a protecter, here, but you had a feeling it wouldn’t stop her any more then it would stop you.)

//lets put a pin in that for now and move on, cause I’m sure you get the point.

now, I believe we were at-

4. “and Shisui being a ROOT operative”

Ok so first off- I’m not taking Itachi Gaiden as cannon, mostly because I haven’t read it and also I’ve heard it directly contridicts me. Also I don’t have internet while I’m writing this part and probably won’t bother to fact check it, so sorry it isn’t as thorough as the last bit. Anyway.

-This entire idea is based on the fact that Shisui has his Mangyekyo when he’s so young, and it isn’t adressed in the Anime or Manga because he’s. Super dead.

-But, like, you can only get Mangyekyo by killing/watching the death of your most special person, right? Lets run with that.

5. “who got his mangyeko when Shin 'died' because the two of them were close”

Your name is Shisui Uchiha, and you’re never going to forget that. It’s repeated like a mantra in your head, over and over again, a constant buzz in the background.

Danzo has already taken so much- too much- from you and your twin sister, Sumi. He can’t have your names.

He already took Mouse’s first name, if he ever had one, and Sumi cried after she felt Snake’s chakra flicker and dim as he the two of you watched him give up his name for a lie. He will never have either of yours.

You live with “Sai” and “Shin” for years, and you are closer then anyone else could ever be. You don’t trust much, but you trust each other. You trust Shin to drop whatever he’s doing and heal any of you if you so much as bruise. You trust Sai to be a voice of reason despite being the youngest, even if his voice breaks all of your hearts every time you hear it get slightly more monotone. You trust Sumi to protect all of you, no matter what. And they trust you to be their heart, keep them as close to alive as they can be, with smiles and meaningful looks that are harder to draw from each of them each day.

Sometimes, Sumi and Sai go to sleep and it’s just you and Shin, and you plan. you scheme.

The four of you won’t die here. You can’t.

One day, Shin is taken away by Danzo-sama for a secret meeting. Danzo-sama tells him something and, for the first time since you tried to ask him about his actual name, he keeps a secret.

That night you watch him sigh, take a pill, and settle his face into something so cold it freezes you. It’s the face he wears when you stay up trying to plan your escape, but different, somehow. More resigned. more distant.

He starts pulling away from the three of you, after that day, and you get sent on more and more missions. A month after he started acting weird, Danzo-sama took the four of you up a mountain and seperated you- Shin and Sai went into the ravine, and you and Sumi went up the mountain. Danzo-sama coldly told you and Sumi to kill one another or you would both die, and left.

You panic. Sumi will always, always protect you, put you first, and you know that, but it’s still somehow a shock when she takes a kunai and moves to stab herself.

You’re fast, though, the fastest of the three of you by far, but still not quite fast enough. She stabs herself, and it isn’t fatal, but it makes you almost sob anyway, and you flash over to her and take the kunai from her. She makes eye contact with you, and it’s devestating to see the acceptance there. She expects you to kill her.

It was barely a thought in your mind, until she looked at you like it was the only choice she thought you had. Your hand shakes and you have a monsterous moment of consideration, before you come to your senses and knock her out.

You need to find Shin.

Shin’s chakra is impossible for you to find, as always- his has always been so muddled, so inconsistant, and you’ve never been much of a sensor anyway- but Sai’s is easy. For the first time in years, the boy is erratic and emotional, until it isn’t. until it’s still and muted, like he’s sleeping, and somehow you speed up even faster to find them. You see them and they’re laying side by side on the ground, almost like they’re sleeping together as they so often do, but dread pools in your stomach anyway.

You walk closer and neither of them look hurt, but you feel at their chakra and fuck fuck no please no please-

You’re by their side in a flash, and Shin smiles at you, and for the first time ever you don’t smile back. He’s dying. You can feel his chakra fading, and he looks at you and opens his mouth to speak and coughs up blood.

“You’re sick.” You observe dumbly, somewhere between detached and horrified. He rolls his eyes at you like he’s annoyed that you’re stating the obvious and then he finally manages to speak, and he gets halfway through his final demand to watch Sai before he breaks into a final coughing fit and dies.

Your eyes burn. At first they’re just tears and you ignore them entirely, but then Shin’s eyes go wide as they start to fade and you can see much more clearly, and the ever present mantra of your name gets louder and louder-

6. and then used his kotoamatsukami on Sai to keep him safe and in the dark, sorta morbidly parralelling Itachi a year or two later.

Shisui Uchiha.

Sai wakes up just as you’re finally managing to get a hold of yourself, and you don’t even know what you’re doing when you look him in eyes that are as red as yours must be- fuck- and whisper “Kotoamatsukami”.

You enter Sai’s head, and it’s tempting to take everything. To take all the happy memories he has of the four of you so he doesn’t feel the pain of killing Shin, but you can’t. He’s going to Danzo, and he can’t afford to have an ounce of humanity left.

Instead of soothing his pain, you tweak his mind so he thinks that he killed Shin himself, and tear out anything that even vaguely has anything to do with the Sharringan. You dull his and box away his emotions, so he never feels strongly enough to activate them again. Then you make him fall back asleep, forgetting you were even at the scene of Shin’s death, for Danzo to collect.

(You leave a child broken purposefully in the most traumatic way you can manage to the whims of a man who only wants to use him as an asset to a village that doesn’t really care about him, and you never get to fully appreciate how history repeats itself only a few years later.)

It’s all you can do. It can’t be enough, but it’s all you have.

You go back to Sumi and you choke on a sob as you do the same thing to her- you convince her that she killed you, that you got a stab in while you could, and that she bured you to ashes with a fire jutsu. You block off her chakra and emotions to avoid the sharringan too, and then you dissapear up the mountain.

You spend months up there, waiting for Danzo to find you, but he never does. You sneak back into the village, directly into the Uchiha compound, and slip into the Uchiha orphanage on a whim- just to see if you could. It’s not like you have anything left to loose.

You plead amnesia when people ask about your past, and exceed in the Academy, and meet a boy named Itachi and love him even if it hurts. You join the ANBU, and avoid Danzo for years, and never stop trying to find Sai and Sumi for a second.

In the end it’s danzo that almost kills you and you run once again, and you watch another of your most precious people develop the Mangyekyo, and it’s almost funny.

You fling yourself off of a cliff into a river, and laugh the whole way down, because you refuse to cry in your last moments.

(Your name is Kabuto, again, because you have killed Shin. You work for Danzo for years and never lay eyes on Sai again because you can’t afford to care about him, and you don’t really know what happened to Shisui but you can feel Sumi amoung the ranks, so he must be dead. You don’t have the chance to mourn him as you are sent on another mission, and you aren’t Kabuto for long.

Your name changes constantly, and you can almost convince yourself you don’t care. Years later the Uchiha massacare happens and you can barely bring yourself to care as you go on another mission for Danzo-

And meet Nono. And kill Nono. And meet Orochimaru. You think Shisui would find it funny, how consistantly fucked up your life is.)

7. IDK

A lie. I’ve thought about this a lot and there is nothing I don’t know.

#naruto #Kabuto Yakushi #ROOT #Shisui uchiha #sai #uchiha sai #uciha oc #ROOT!Shisui #shin #shin (naruto)#shin yakushi #Danzo Shimura #fuck danzo lives #nono yakushi #long post #kotoamatsukami #uchiha #naruto headcannon

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agreateryesterday · 4 years

Text

Wincest - ABO fics

Omega!Sam

Love Bites by DarkSammyProdigy02

*Finished* 10 chapters

A demon hell-bent on snatching psychics, a hunter on a “God-given” mission, having to run for dear life, being captured and forced to participate in a fucked-up gladiator fight - These are the things that bring alpha Dean Winchester and omega Sam Singer together. But, the two will learn through thick and thin that no matter what people say... love bites.

like cinnamon and ginger by savorvrymoment

*Finished* 3 chapters

Dean closes the distance between them on instinct, lays his hand on Sam’s back and rubs between his shoulderblades. His smell is strong from so close, though not the same heat-scent Dean remembers, and it’s not just a mix of sick and unhappy omega Dean can smell. No, Sam’s no longer cloyingly sweet, but rather settled into something softer, velvety and musky. No longer lush and fertile, Dean realizes. And of course, Sam’s thirty-nine years old; on top of that, his brother’s body has been through the wringer over and over and over again. It’s probably why he hasn’t been cycling for years now, and Dean’s not sure why he’s having another heat again out of nowhere—maybe one last stand before the hormones and pheromones start giving out entirely—but here they are…

Sam The Omega (part 1)

The Werewolf Book (part 2) by Sparxgirl

*Finished* 18 chapters & 13 chapters

Sam and Dean find a case close by, the killings are obviously that one of a werewolf. The strain on their bond after everything that had happened seemed to be solved and everything seemed as good as it was before. Until the pack turns out to have the alpha, Sam is kidnapped and Dean can't seem to get through his skull that not all monsters are the supernatural. After the events of 'Sam The Omega' have taken place Sam finds out that the book his brother so desperately wanted may hold the reason why the wolves kidnapped him in the first place. During his recovery Sam struggles with everything and it is not easy on his mind and body, a lot has happened in the past year and a half his brother kept him prisoner. His mind is wrecked and what he thought he knew is no longer useful. And then there is this weird encrypted book. And a person that knows way more than they're letting on.

Of Wolf and Man (part 1)

Welcome home (part 2) by Merenwen76

*Finished* 7 chapters & 1 chapter

„I told you so and you!“ Dean looked up at Sam. “Damn it’s like a fucking joke: Two hunters go to a Werwolf wedding!“

Set 4 weeks after the main story. Sam and Dean are trying to adjust to new living conditions.

The Art Of Persuasion by Anonymous

*Finished* One Shot

Toni Bevell is an expert at getting people to tell her things she wants to know, but so far Sam Winchester has proved resistant. But when she learns Sam is with pup, another plan forms. If she is Sam’s alpha....he’ll tell her everything. All she has to do is make it so.

Out Of Bounds by Anonymous

*Finished* One Shot

It’s only been a short time since Dean finally mated Sam, but since then his brother’s been a total nightmare. Dean just can’t figure out why. Is Sam tired of him already? Is something else wrong? Help from a friend sets him on the right track, and then all he has to do is give Sam the attention he’s been craving.

Conversion Therapy by Casey679

(Last updated Jan 20, 2020) 24 chapters

Sam walks out after a fight with John, only to encounter an aggressive group of alphas. After he beats them soundly in a fight, they turn the tables and force him through a barbaric "bitching" ritual to turn him omega. John and Dean must now find a way to get Sam to behave like a "proper" omega, under the threat that Sam could be taken away, publicly humiliated and/or assigned to some other alpha. Sam resists, because he's still the same competent hunter he always was and he doesn't see why he should be treated differently. It all comes down to a painful-drawn out battle of wills between John and Sam against a ticking clock that will bring ramifications none of them expect. The Winchester family dynamics will have to shatter and be rebuilt from the ground up if the three of them are to come through this crisis intact.

And My Baby Makes... by DWImpala67

*Finished* One Shot

Written for Spnkinkmeme bingo 2020 Nothing, just Sam and Dean having passionate sex...only Dean gets overboard with the idea of finally getting to breed Sam.

Mated and Matched by Brokenlittleboy

*Finished* One Shot

Sam and Dean are forced to mate due to a sex spell during a hunt. Things are not pretty after Mary finds out and discovers Sam is pregnant.

The Beginning of a Golden Age by Kissmewinchester

*Finished* One Shot

Sam wants to go to college, like the mundanes do, before settling down, but John, who’s Pack Alpha, doesn’t approve. These are the chain of events that folllow.

Born Omega by Writelikethat

*Finished* 16 Chapters

In a world with Alphas, Omegas and Betas, people live their lives connected to a pack. But every once in a while, an omega will be born to human parents and when the time comes the Omega will be in search of a pack. Everyone wants to take in the Born omega with a pure line to their roots, and this time is no different. Sam has grown up, unaware of what his status means to those around him. Dean is a grown up Alpha with a good life, but with a limited future because of his unmated status. The new omega is stirring with Dean's set view of his life.

Make a Good Omega Out of You by Multishippinglover

*Finished* One Shot

Prompt: That last Omega!verse prompt inspired me. May I request an AU of the AU that last Anon set up where instead of escaping to Stanford Sam was mated to Dean before he could get away and like a good Omega Sam follows him on hunting trips when John goes missing. But one day Sam finally snaps and yells and scratches and all that and Dean decides it's time to give him an educational night on how Omegas should be; Sam can't fight back well because John belived Omegas shouldn't hunt and never taught him.

That's My Omega by Jld71

*Finished* One Shot

Sam has always known he was Dean’s omega and his mate. It just seemed that Dean didn’t feel the same way about him. That was until another alpha showed interest in him.

Sam's Inner Omega by TammyRenH

*Finished* One Shot

There are two sides to every Omega; the side that wants to be cuddled and pampered. And the side that wants to be pinned down and fucked roughly like a bitch in heat.

Soul Searching by kansaskissedlips

*Finished* One Shot

It's taken a long time to manifest, but Sam discovers that he's an omega at the most inconvenient of times.

How An Omega Should Be by multishippinglover

*Finished* One Shot

dark wincest with omega!sam being forcibly mated to alpha!dean by traditionalist alpha!john (with dean in full agreement) but sam escapes to stanford But, dean manages to find him and he's not too happy so he shows sam how an omega is 'supposed' to be by noncon knotting and reclaiming and that's the real reason sam leaves with dean to go hunting again

Joy Taken, Gifts Given by Katlover98

*Finished* One Shot

After Dean comes back from Purgatory he is never not pissed off at his mate, Sam. Sam had abandoned him to go play house with a Beta. What Dean doesn't know is that Sam is keeping a secret from him and it could be that Sam has suffered more than Dean knows while he was stuck in Purgatory.

Odd One Out by hunter_king

*Finished* 6 chapters

Dean cares about Sam. He cares about him a lot. And John is worried that Dean cares for Sam a little too much.

First Heat by hunter_king

*Finished* One Shot

When Sam presented as an Omega on his 13th birthday, his father quickly put him on suppressants. Now, at the ripe age of 35, Sam experiences his first heat.

The Claiming by TammyRenH

*Finished* 8 chapters

When Sam saves Dean rather than killing Michael, the hunters from the tear decide that he no longer deserves to be a leader, or an Alpha. Through magical means, two of the others painfully change Sam from an Alpha to an Omega. There is a claiming competition where several Alphas fight for the right to claim Sam, but at the last moment Dean (and Baby) come in and save the day - but he still has to claim Sam, or someone else will.

Incognito by deanandsam (J2 fic)

*Finished* 17 chapters

Jensen is a rich TV producer, who's no longer happy with his lifestyle . He's also an Alpha in search of his mate.

Somethin’ Like Soulmates by Chuchiwan

*Finished* 60 chapters

Sam is an Omega who is the furthest thing from the “typical omega” concept. He’s tall, muscular, and has trained himself to not be submissive. He has been living as beta for so long, hiding his true nature, that he has isolated himself from forming any form of relationship. Dean has been trying to stay afloat for years. But a shattered family past has left him numb to the idea that someone might actually like him or that it’s okay for him to like someone. Something like fate keeps pushing these two together and it starts to become clear that they just might be meant for each other.

At Dawn A New Sun Rises by rhyaenv

*Finished* 3 chapters

Since he presented as an alpha at fourteen, Sam’s always felt a disconnect with his dynamic. He’s kept it a secret from most, along with a few other things—especially from Dean. One night Sam wakes up alone in an alley with no idea how he got there, only to discover the following day that he’s not an alpha anymore—he’s an omega. Now everything Sam’s tried to keep hidden slowly starts to unravel.

Be A Good Omega by multishippinglover

*Finished* One Shot

AU where alpha dean is a demon and one day he blindfolds 18yo omega sam and knots him while mary and john try to stop him he uses his demon powers to prevent them from moving

Heat of the Moment by lotrspnfangirl

*Finished* One Shot

Sam sets out to prove his father and brother wrong. He’s not some knot slut, unable to control himself simply because he’s in heat. He’s in complete control. At least, until it comes to his brother.

Lien on my soul by cillasstuff

*Finished* 8 chapters

Sam watched his dream of Dean becoming his Omega die at the hands of Metatron, or so he thought. The MoC allowed his brother to be returned, but it wasn’t Sam’s Dean who came back from the dead. In his brother’s body was a demon who took what he wanted and he wanted Sam…

Love Me Please by addictiontofiction

*Finished* 8 chapters

Sammy loves and hates school. He loves to learn, but hates his classmates. It's just like Sammy loves and hates Dean. Dean is the most oblivious Alpha he's ever met. Maybe he's oblivious because they've just been so close for this long, but Dean never seems to scent Sam's distress or need- at least it doesn't look like it. And Sammy doesn't understand, all he knows is he wants Dean to love him the way he loves Dean.

Damn Witches by wonderussam

*Finished* 2 chapters

After a hunt, Sam starts to go into heat after touching a cursed object. Dean helps.

House of Wolves by gothpandaotaku

*Finished* One Shot

Dean never imagined that the puppy he found when he was four would turn out to be a werewolf, or his mate.

Everything Always Falls Apart by sp00kyskeletons (TRIGGER WARNING)

*Finished* 4 chapters

“I miss the time it was you, Dad and me. Where we were all happy, where I wasn’t pushed out, where you paid attention to me, where you would actually sit down and talk. Not just ignore me and focus on Cas.” Sam said to himself, having no idea if Dean heard it. Walking into his bedroom he slammed the door, locking it, before sinking down to his knees, not even trying to mask the sobs that left his mouth. Maybe soon it would be his time to hit the vein and bleed to death behind his locked door, or swallow the pills in the bathroom and just die. No more suffering, no more pain. He would be dead, finally. All Sam was, was an emotional wreck.

Beautiful ... in a way a forest fire is beautiful by Sanshal

*Finished* One Shot

Dean goes to get Sam at Stanford and is surprised to find out that his alpha brother is now an omega... and has a pup. Unfortunately, tragedy strikes the Winchester family again and now Dean's got two dependents in tow and he still doesn't know where his dad is. He could marry Sam off or claim him for himself, but he can't stay unmated - taking an unmated omega on the road is asking for trouble. And worst of all, his little brother is now everything he never let himself fantasize about when they were growing up.

Just Submit by orphan_account

*Finished* One Shot

The cure failed; Dean is a demon for good. Sam can't bring himself to kill him, not now that Dean has gotten him pregnant. Now all Dean wants is submission - can Sam bring himself to submit to this new version of his brother?

I Like The Disease by multishippinglover

*Finished* One Shot

Based loosely during the scene when Dean was after Sam in the Bunker during Soul Survivor after I had seen the promo for the episode, and with a/o/b added to the mix.

Fields Of Jasmine by BruisedBloodyBroken

*Finished* 37 Chapters

Dean is an ex-hunter, working as a mechanic on the salvage of his surrogate-father Robert Singer, from Monday to Friday, 9-5, sometimes overtime. He quit hunting after a severe injury to his right calf and hip. He built a small house behind Bobby's where he's living. One day, a young man runs in front of his car, who's chased by a vampire. Something that will irrevocably change his life forever.

Never Too Late by Amanda_Yates

*Finished* 10 chapters

Dean Winchester is forced into an arranged marriage to Sam Campbell by his family, two years down the road Dean is still stubborn about not claiming his mate and living completely separate lives as he wants nothing to do with Sam. Right when Sam is finally giving up on him Dean finds himself intrigued for the first time and let’s hope he’s not too late to grab onto Sam before he bails.

Heart of Darkness by Lodovicus

(Last updated Aug 21, 2015) 8 chapters

Dean Winchester has just come back from hell. Something isn't quite right, Dean is scared, but Sam is trying to stay strong for the both of them while keeping his demon blood habit hidden from Dean. Story diverges from the shows plot right from the beginning of Season 4.

Equals by multishippinglover

*Finished* One Shot

Omega!Sam getting hit on by an alpha while Alpha!Dean is away for a moment. The alpha hitting Sam when he ignores him.

Mate (Part 1)

Voice (Part 2)

Heat (Part 3) by multishippinglover

*Finished* One Shots

omega!sam and alpha!dean who leave in a society where omegas have become more and more controlled and they have a law that says that an omega above certain age can't be mateless, and well sammy is older and the want to force sam to mate a stranger, and the only way to prevent it is that dean mates him first, even though sam doesn't want a mate, and dean feels guilty because he always wanted sam

how their dinamics would change

sam experiencing his first heat

My Omega (part 1)

Fill and Breed (part 2) by multishippinglover

*Finished* One Shots

alpha!demon dean and omega!angel sam and how dean has been trying to corrupt sam for centuries now but sam wants to remain pure, until one day he finds sam and giving him a little of his blood induces sam into heat and sam can't help wanting dean?

more alpha!demon Dean and omega!angel Sam

Help From Alpha by multishippinglover

*Finished* One Shot

Alpha/Omega Sam and Dean mpreg

Sticks and Stones by itsoundslikeabadjoke

*Finished* One Shot

Dean was an incredible mate, always near, loving and protectful, beautiful and amazingly attentive to Sam’s needs. In the deepest part of the younger brother’s heats, Dean would force him to slow down and enjoy what was being given to him. Which is why Sam was so confused when, nearing the end of one of his heats, Dean decided to listen to his pleas and take him as he wanted to be.

Beauty Of The Beast by Cozy_coffee

*Finished* One Shot

No description

The Lycan Vessel by DevilsDontFlyButJustYouWatchMeTry (KissMyAssButt67)

*Finished* One Shot

In which Dean and Sam are werewolves. Dean is the alpha who doesn't want to hurt his brother, Sammy is the boy who just wants Dean. They're in love, John's still an ass. Dean would never hurt Sammy, and Sammy causes trouble as per usual.

Orion by hellhoundsprey

*Finished* One Shot

(From Sam’s pov) You are supposed to stay pure. (Sam is 17. Dean is 21.)

The Wolf You Feed

The Wolf You Choose by orphan_account

*Finished* 2 chapters, 2 chapters

Sam and Dean are expert hunters, in their own way. So of course they know everything about werewolves, about their weaknesses and the best way to send them to Purgatory. Dean knew not to get bit. He didn't know of the possessive hunger that came with getting bitten.

It's been a week since Sam presented as an Omega, after Dean had bit his ass, and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. The sex was great. The constant submission? Not so much. And now they were back to hunting and Sam was confused, because his body was feeling unnaturally hot...

When the Sun Came Up (You Were Looking at Me) by orphan_account

*Finished* 3 chapters

Azazel isn't a demon, the Winchesters don't hunt, and when Sam is taken to Cold Oak, he's turned into an omega. Dean is his alpha.

To Have Worth by darkroses

*Finished* One Shot

Dean claims Sam from a young age to be his omega. Sam wasn't sure how he felt about that. His feelings changed with time. All he wanted was to be worth something. No matter what Sam offered, he could never have what he was searching for.

Missing Piece by orphan_account

*Finished* 10 chapters

The one in which Dean and Sam (unrelated) happen to be true mates and a lot of teasing and chaos happens.

The Claiming

And nothing else matters by waywardelle

*Finished* One Shot, One Shot

At age 32, Sam Winchester presents as an Omega. No one is more surprised than Dean, the Alpha who's been pining over his little brother all his life.

Dean inexplicably pushes Sam away when their mother returns to their lives. After she leaves, Dean stays away anyway. Sam wants to kill Dean for ignoring the fact that they're fuckin' mated, but the omega in him tells him to be patient. So, he waits. And he misses his Alpha like crazy.

Just As He Thought by Dragoneyedgirl990

*Finished* One Shot

Dean Winchester was 18 years old and has long since proudly presented as an Alpha much to his fathers relief. John would never admit it but he had been worried for a little while that his oldest son would be an Omega, with his pretty looks and willingness to obey. He had no doubts that his younger son would present as an Alpha as well, Sam was hard headed and fought his father every step of the way. Definitely an Alpha.

The Sheriff's Son Sam by Wonchostors (orphan_account)

(Last updated Sep 16, 2015) 1 chapter

Dean Singer is Sioux Falls' resident troublemaker, and the biggest thorn in Sheriff John Winchester's side. He causes trouble and wreaks havoc just for the fun of it, and always gets away with it. But that all changes when Dean meets Sam Winchester, a sweet omega that turns out to be John's eldest son. But by time Dean figures out exactly who Sam is, the two have already fallen in love. John wants nothing to do with Dean, and he wants him as far away from his son as possible. But Dean will do anything to stay with Sam. . . and their unborn child.

Fever Heat by bloodandcream

*Finished* One Shot

Maybe Dean was an early bloomer or maybe Sam was just a late bloomer. But the kid was thirteen and he still hadn’t popped his knot. Dean had been eleven when he had presented as an alpha. Dad had given him a box of condoms, a slap on the back and an ‘atta boy’. The extent of “The Talk” that he’d gotten was a shrug and a ‘you’ll figure it out’.

What A Time to Have a Baby by littlefirefly31

*Finished* One Shot

Sam is pregnant when he is trying to cure demon Dean and he goes into labor

My Baby Brother by raviolisinspace

(Last updated Nov 21, 2015) 24 chapters

This story takes place in a world where the supernatural is unknown to the Winchesters. John was said to be cursed by a witch after getting into trouble with the wrong people when he was younger. The witch cased a curse which ensured John's first born child to be a werewolf, and a possessive one at that. This story follows the Winchester's lives through new dangers and newly discovered truths that emerge along the way.

What Part of Forever by AnnaNocturnal

*Finished* 5 chapters

Sam is an Alpha, like the rest of his—maybe dysfunctional—pack, until he’s kidnapped and turned into an omega as revenge for the vampire Luther’s death. After rescue, Sam is overwhelmed, his nerves chafed by his now smothering and over-protective pack. His mind is already bucking against his changing body and new instincts, but then the other shoe drops—Dean is Sam’s true fated mate. Sam bolts, taking off in the night, and ends up stuck in a backward town where omegas—particularly males—are treated as property, awarded to the last Alpha standing in a grand public spectacle of won dominance. Dean manages to find Sam in time to save him, but at what cost?

About Damn Time by orphan_account

*Finished* One Shot

Sam forgets his suppressants and goes into heat unexpectedly. Dean's there to help.

It's New to Me by littlefirefly31

*Finished* One Shot

All of Sam life he thought he was a beta as he never presented as an Alpha like Dean or Omega. Years later as Soulless Sam something triggers it after the goddess of truth "Veritas" case, it could be because Cas did that Body Cavity Search it trigger his dormant Omega gene. Anyways Soulless Sam is not suppose to feel anything. But his logical processing brain is failing him he does not understand what is happening to him, so for the first time he panics! Cue Dean who is trying not to care, but its just in grain in him when he sees his little brother hurting- he has to fix it...and then Sam full on omega scent hits him....

Calling It True Love by Rebldomakr

*Finished* One Shot

Sam couldn't say he hated being an Omega. He hated how feminine his body looked compared to his brother, hated how he was so short because 'Omegas typically do not grow during their first years of maturity'. But, he loved the attention his brother dumped on him like water and how his father stopped complaining when he wanted to coil around Dean. He hated how he got tired of school because of the Omega-special classes were too easy, so easy he just pleaded to stop being registered. He loved being able to spend all the time he wanted at the library, reading whatever he wanted and being able to learn at whatever speed he wanted. Then he's suddenly fourteen, and his first heat hits.

Collar Control by Sanshal

*Finished* One Shot

For years Alpha-aggression has been controlled electronically... but when the power grid controlling the alpha-aggression control collars fails; Sam must decide how to deal with Dean- his alpha.

Sweat by kittenofdoomage

*Finished* One Shot

“What’s wrong?” “It’s just… something’s off.”

Not How I Wanted by AnnaNocturnal

*Finished* 2 chapters

Sam never wanted to be mated to his brother. He loves him, sure. Admires him, of course. But he never imagined taking his brother's knot. Until Sam forgot to take his suppressants. Now, in the throes of brutal heat, he finds himself begging for it, for Dean to mate him. Will Sam accept Dean as his Alpha when the heat subsides?

Without You [I Live Without Love] by non_tiembo_mala

*Finished* One Shot

Sam Wesson has been successfully hiding his Omega status his entire life, thanks in part to his uncharacteristically large and muscled Alpha-like body. But he isn't Alpha, or Beta, no matter how much he tries to blend in, and he's never found anywhere he belongs. Dean Smith is the quintessential Alpha. He's smart, fierce, works hard, and has never encountered trouble when he has an itch that needs scratching. But more and more he finds himself longing for that rare connection only found between True Mates. Just when he's ready to give up hope on the dream of finding his, life throws him Sam Wesson.

The Smell of Fear by AnnaNocturnal

*Finished* 3 chapters

All Alphas are collared, tracked and controlled by the government as part of the Collar Initiative, a set of laws put into place in the 1960s. They temper an Alpha's wild nature, protecting omegas from their more violent counterparts. That is, until the power grid fails one day. Sam watches the chaos on the news, and it's a moment before Dean enters his mind. When he looks toward the bed his brother was lounging on, he's gone, the sight of the Alpha's abandoned collar sending chills down Sam's spine. The omega considers running, but when he turns he finds himself face-to-face with Dean, no collar between them.

Bring You Back by littlefirefly31

*Finished* One Shot

Sam resolves himself to do the one thing he knows will make demon!dean jealous enough to come back to him.

Been Here All Along by orphan_account

*Finished* One Shot

Sam is a late bloomer. Traditionally, omegas found their partner and went through their first heat by sixteen. Sam is about to turn eighteen, and he hasn’t even let out a whiff of heat. He’s never been interested in any of his suitors, either. And Sam has had plenty. Dean can’t help but be pleased as punch about the whole situation.

Bitten by MsImpala67

*Finished* One Shot

Sam hates being an Omega. He absolutely does not need anyone the way Omegas need their Alphas. He can make do with his fingers or toys when he has heats, and that's that. But it's not good enough. It's never good enough. Just when Sam thinks he'll die from it all, Dean changes everything.

Pathetic by femmefatales

*Finished* 3 chapters

Sam has been hiding the fact that he's an omega from Dean for almost 5 years now. What happens when he slips up and goes into heat in the middle of a case?

Homecoming by HazelDomain

*Finished* One Shot

Dean battles his way out of purgatory to find his omega shacked up with some beta woman. He is not pleased.

Tempting Sin by blackrose_17

*Finished* 5 chapters

Dean Winchester rules New York City underground and always gets what he wants so when he lays eyes on the newest dancer at his club a sweet little omega named Sam Campbell he knows that Sam is meant to be his and nothing and no one will stop him from claiming his omega. Sam never had much luck in love, his one and only boyfriend used him and then dumped him like trash so when Dean starts to court him Sam surprises everyone when he's the one who seduces the playboy alpha.

Americana Exotica by Little_Winchester

*Finished* One Shot

Dean loved Sam, he really did. He loved everything about him, from his mile-long legs to his slender waist to his fox-slanted eyes which darkened gorgeously every time Dean touched him, be it an arm slung around his shoulders or a hand creeping up his thigh. The one thing that turned Dean’s head upside-down and made his stomach turn was the way Sam teased him.

Coffee and Balsam and Leather-bound Books by AutumnSwitch

*Finished* 4 chapters

Sam makes it home for Christmas, but something is not right. When Dean finds out why his brother's scent is unfamiliar, he is determined to make it all better with sex, love, and gingerbread.

Soaked by castielsstarr

*Finished* One Shot

There were a few things Sam hated about being an omega. One was the way people treated him like he was a fragile thing and would break. Two was when people talked about him like he wasn’t in the room. And three was when he would start leaking slick for no reason.

Taking Care- Double Dragons by Boogermeister

*Finished* One Shot

Dragon siblings Sam and Dean receive a letter from a friend about something but the older brother doesn't want to go and instead kills some time with him through some intimate persuasion.

Just Them

The Green Room by compo67

*Finished* One Shot, One Shot

The condom broke the last time (alpha!)Dean was in heat. But they figured Sam was young, so maybe their chances weren't that high of getting him pregnant. Wrong. And it would be wrong now to think they could do this again without anything happening.

Pregnant with triplets and the parent of a nine month old, Sam is given the chance to nest in a house, not a hotel room on the road. This is the start of a new direction for the Winchesters; one change happens after another and life moves fast. But through it all, Dean sees to it that Sam has everything he needs and more.

And They Call It Honeymoon by hellhoundsprey

*Finished* One Shot

How about some alpha!Dean Smith taking care of his sweet, precious omega!Sam Wesson. Possibly during office hours on Smith's desk with Wesson wearing a pretty pink chastity belt because Sam is his and no one else's.

Post: Part 1

2 notes · View notes

thepartyresponsible · 5 years

Text

oh man. so this is for the anon who sent me a wonderful ask about my current wips. i tried to reply like a normal person, but tumblr’s invoking some weird dark magic against formatting today, so here we are.

so i’m definitely still working on mayday, magpie. the bad news is that i’ve belatedly realized this was not exactly the optimal time for me to launch into a story featuring a lot of familial death and grief. yikes, y’all. know thyself.

but! i am still working on it. it’s just kinda sporadic. i’ll get back to it relatively soon, though, because i’m technically writing it for a bingo challenge that needs to be finished by september.

in regards to the rest of your question, i am currently working on so many tony fics. because we’re months into the bingo challenge, and all i have is a bingo card, one fill (never be alone), and a lot of shame.

here’s a list of what i’m working on:

for supernatural: steve rogers asks a witch for a favor to cure a cursed bucky barnes. tony stark, the witch in question, offers a deal.

“Then tell me the price,” Steve says.

“Your heart,” the witch says, soft and certain. “When I ask for it, you’ll have to give me your heart.”

Steve swallows. He feels the weight of his heart in his chest, the beat of his blood in his veins. “My heart? Why the hell do you want my heart?”

The witch doesn’t smile, but there’s something humming in the wind that feels like laughter. “To keep mine company.”

for domesticity: young tony stark gets drunk in gotham and wakes up in jason todd and roy harper’s apartment. there’s coffee and breakfast and emotional support.

After his parents die, Tony buries them. And then, when that’s done, when they’re cold and underground, he does what every fashionable and freshly-orphaned young man of his particular social class does: he goes to Gotham and makes a Goddamn nuisance out of himself.

for shared trauma: steve’s bike breaks down on his post-new york, cross-county roadtrip. tony shows up to play mechanic and then forgets to go home.

Steve’s still standing there, deciding between taking off and sleeping in the dirt beside the bike, when Iron Man descends right out of the sky.

“Christ, Cap,” he says, as he touches down, “do you know what time it is?”

Steve steps away from his bike and takes a breath, tries to correct whatever’s on his face. “Iron Man,” he says, “is there a mission?”

The suit settles on the ground, so light and easy that it could be a feather touching down, and then it peels back. Tony Stark steps out of it, dirty and dressed-down in a oil-stained tank top. “Sure,” he says, strolling across the asphalt. “Mission: Roadside Assistance. Status: what the fuck.”

for either soulmates or darkfic (i haven’t decided on an ending yet): the ten rings break tony’s platonic soulbond to rhodey during his captivity in afghanistan. afterwards, tony designs the arc reactor to neutralize any future soulbonds. when steve breaks the arc reactor in sibera, they bond immediately. steve leaves anyway.

Rhodey’s been in Tony’s head since he was sixteen. Two weeks into MIT, hunched over a complicated bit of math Rhodey brought back to the dorm, their brains had clicked together, and the very first thought they swapped back and forth was the answer to the question they weren’t quite smart enough yet to figure out on their own.

That’s what it’s been like with Rhodey. A bit more patience, a slightly more regimented mind, and a constant co-conspiritor, a fellow explorer. He did all his best growing up with Rhodey right beside him, and it was Rhodey’s even temperament that kept them afloat through the roughest parts of their twenties.

The Ten Rings rip Rhodey out of his mind while Yinsen’s still patching up his chest, and Tony wakes up screaming because the silence in his head is too much, feels like someone’s punched through his skull, fed his brain to a black hole.

He’s screaming with his mouth and his mind, and Rhodey’s a bright flash in the darkness that fades into nothing, and then he’s alone.

i’m also kicking around the idea of an arranged marriage fic for old married couple with tony stark and jason todd. it’s 50% fluff and 50% snark.

#asks #writing #wips

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the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years

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In Depths Below: Epilogue, Part 1

[ OOC Disclaimer ] | Over the last year HoTN has put together this story ‘In Depths Below’ it began with Lazarius being taken from Kun-Lai Summit, and the chase to get him back from the Hunters hired by Magister Dawnseeker was unveiled. Every member eliminated a certain threat, the Order banded together to orchestrate the take down, and accomplished their mission they’d set out to do. The events here are what happened during. This is Lazarius’ side, where he was; and what he’d done. And just how he and a certain new savior became bonded. Id like to give a tremendous thanks to @zandalaridruidofgonk for the help in putting this together and making it happen. And thank you to everyone who has offered support and kind words over the last year. Without further delay, the conclusion of our 2nd fictional collaboration. In Depths Below. |

[ L.K ] "We're going down! Somebody get that rotor back on line. . .brace for impact!"

Less than 48 hours after Lazarius’ was collected in Kun-Lai. . .

" The left engine is failing!"

Smoke and debris rose from the engines of the massive warship that hovered over the Great Sea. It was not Alliance owned, nor was it property of the Horde; no this modge-podge experimental airship was a salvaged bit of both.

It was scrapped together from the remains of so many that were lost during the Broken Shore and the multitude of other battles that took place around the area. It was well crafted, brilliant operated, and manned by one of the finest crews that money could buy. It was also part of a private militia that was renowned for their prowess when it came to successful captures and bounties.

These men were deadly, they were talented and above all else they were thorough in their work. One thing they had not counted on though was the mysterious bit of activity brewing in the waters just Southeast of Zandalar.

Whatever seemed to take hold of the skies and waters that evening as they were passing through to make a B-line straight for the Eastern Kingdoms, more than likely was not natural in any way shape or form.

Swells of water that were nearly ten, twelve. . .possibly even fifteen meters high. Winds that were pushing and gusting at hurricane velocities well into the highest of kilometers. And above all else, the lightening that was striking several times per minute, rain that was blinding, heavy and torrential, and the walnut sized hale, was proving to be a horrible bane on this flight they attempted to make.

Lazarius was chained in the lowest part of the hull. His arms were still bound by metallic gauntlets which formed around his hands like two cannon ball sized mittens. They were locked and sealed and attached to bracers which were adhered to his wrists in a prison shackle adornment. That was now retrofitted to a pair of sleeves which stretched upward to his elbows. They wanted this powerful void aberration to be well contained.

He was not in any discomfort but it would prevent him from channeling any type of power. It would prevent him from achieving any type of aggressive state. But above all else, this void creature was unlike any that most had seen. The man was not to be trusted, and these Bounty Hunters would assure their benefactor that they would bring this quarry in... alive.

So he sat, in the hull of the massive vessel. His arms were chained to the sides of the wooden walls but not in a way that they would go limp or lose feeling. Just left there so that he could not escape. When the airship began to sway back and forth; Lazarius had no idea that he would soon be faced with a very difficult decision to make.

There was panic and fear rushing through these hardened men. These same men that just several days ago, were forcing him onto the airship, threatening his life and the life of his protege'. These same men that came prepared to murder any who stood in their way. They were going down. And they were now the ones fearful and hopeless.

"Kash'ebahl!"

The voice of a man that the Inquisitor knew all too well came calling down the stairs. It was the Captain, once on board he had identified himself as simply ‘Jas’. He was the leader of the band of mercenaries that had started this entire nightmare. He was the same thieving dog that put a pistol to his head and threatened to blow Zoei's brains clean out of her skull if he didn't corporate.

"*Kash'ebahl we're going down. . . Both engines were hit and we need to get you top-side before this entire airship splits in half. . .on your feet!"

Lazarius knew that everything leading up to this point was a path that he had tried to prevent since this cursed war began. First losing his estate, then having his funding frozen and accounts locked due to the political backlash and outcry of Teldrassil. And now these filthy Magisters. He had hoped to get them before they got him, but this was not the case.

And thus, here he was. Chained to the hull of an airship with his magics nullified and his pride in shambles. Regardless, he rose as he was instructed to do. No sense fighting it now, he wasn't exactly going to get out of this with a pair of metal balls covering his hands. What was he going to do, the only logical option beside cooperation was to drown?

The captain had already unlocked the cell that Lazarius was being kept in. And slowly made his way toward the Inquisitor to make good on his promise. They were getting out of there. The shackles that bound Lazarius to the hull were undone, and in a rather calm fashion, the imprisoned elf would begin to feed the chain through his cuffs to free himself by wobbling the heavy iron mittens the best he could.

!-!-!-!-CRASH-!-!-!-!

At that same moment another gust of gale force winds and a lightening strike would hit to final engine on the left side. They were fully going down toward the water now. Spiraling in a corkscrew fashion as the only remaining engines on the right would do as they were functioned to do. There was just no getting away from this.

Jas had lost his footing and in a dramatic fashion, back peddled and slipped on the food pan that was provided for the elf; it was never even touched. He went crashing to the floor and Lazarius took this opportunity to his full advantage.

He rushed on top of the man who was currently face down. With the chain still fed through the cuffs on his arms, the wristlets would be crossed and tightened; pulling that chain around the neck of the man who had no way of fighting back.

Lazarius pinned him to the ground by sitting on his spine and he rocked back and forth with as much strength as he could in his exhausted desperate state. He pulled with every ounce of might he could muster. The sound of someone crushing two stones in their palms could be heard as the iron chain links smashed against the flesh of the mans neck and began to collapse his airway from the pressure.

It was a gruesome sight, and an even more heinous sound as he gurgled and gasped for whatever air he could. In one final pull, Lazarius gave a huge thrust with his arms as he pulled backward, nearly bending the mans head back to touch his spine. It killed him, not only the breaking crack of whatever bone he shattered in the mans neck, but the windpipe; it was completely shattered.

The dark eyed Inquisitor settled there for a moment; there would not be a great deal of time to waste on catching his breath and relaxing, but he was drained. The ordeal had left him hungry, tired and in pain. It had been exhausting and thusly; this small bit of solace surrounded by the chaotic screams and frightening wrath of nature itself was frankly comforting. He was alone, but topside the entire world was crumbling. He smiled.

It was touch and go now. The airship was rocking back and forth, gallons and gallons of water shot down from the upper deck into the hull from the torrent of rain, and those hailstones crushed nearly anything they hit if you were unlucky enough to be exposed. But now Lazarius had no choice. There were no parachutes and there were no escape copters.

He just ran for the upper levels as fast as he could, and when he got to the middle deck it seemed the gods had finally had enough of his antics. A lightening strike suddenly broke through the stairwell that Lazarius was rushing up to get to the main upper deck. The wooden hull breached and shattered, it would cause a vacuum in the stairwell. Lazarius was ripped from his standing position directly through the newly created hole.

He was sent flying from the ship. His body twisting and turning in every manner of ways. But luckily for him, it was nearly about the time of the impact against the ocean. Having been ripped from the vessel not only played a part in saving his life, But threw him far enough away that he would not be sucked down by the pressure of the sinking ship. He was at the mercy of the elements now. And for the next several exhausting minutes, he would be tossed and thrown around in the water. Grabbing driftwood, gathering anything that could float. Just doing anything he could to survive.

But those damned anchors. Every quarter he’d gotten, and every ounce of success he’d had would be squandered by the chained balls on the ends of his hands. Like iron mittens; his salvation would slip through his metallic finger tips.

There was a moment of fear that suddenly became more and more eminent the longer he was thrown around in the water. Lazarius; did not know how to swim. He was only staying afloat due to the water churning beneath him and thrusting powerful jets upward to send him airborne briefly. But they would soon end just as quickly as his trip. The vessel was down below the surface and the gurgling bubbles that it had been gasping all but settled.

His black eyes widened the last time he felt the cold, damp air touch them. A much like the airship he’d been previously clinging to for his salvation; would slowly begin to sink deeper and deeper down into depths below.

His final gasp of air was pushing the buoyant airbags in his chest inflated, but eventually he would have to expel them. And when he did, they would be replaced with a heavy surge of salty cold water. His limp arms tightened as the silence from the madness above grew more and more peaceful. He could no longer hear the screams, the storm surge or the rumbling of the thunderous clouds. Just a gurgling silence that wrapped him like a heavy woolen blanket. His venomous eyes closed tightly, then weakened, then simply lay shut; and the fervent resistance he once had to his ultimate demise would suddenly cease.

The storm had passed. . . .

[ J ] Jursol sat atop a tree branch as she slowly began to doze off for a nap. As her eyes grew heavy she heard some commotion in the distance. A few animals were fighting over something that had drifted ashore. Leaping down from the branch Jursol blew her Death Whistle to frighten then creatures away. The shrill sound made the animals scatter in a hurry. As they ran off she saw the figure of a man who seemed barely alive among some wreckage of a ship.

His body damaged from being tossed around and left at the mercy of the elements.

“Dis ones still alive?” She said as she poked at the body.

“Strange looking one dis one is.” Carefully she moved some of the clothes to see the extent of the damage.

“Oh dis not be good....but how are you even alive? Most would be dead if dis happen to dem.” Something about this man had her interest peaked at the moment. He should not have survived the elements here, let alone the wildlife.

Grabbing a few pungent herbs from a pouch Jursol started to pass them under the mans nose, in hopes this would wake him. Her curiosity as to his survival was all that kept her from leaving the strange man to die.

[ L.K ] There was a pause given due to the fact that he was underwater for a period of time that was probably longer than the elf should have been. His lungs were no doubt sopping wet and filled to the brim with volatile and viscous membrane of sea water and saliva. He had spent several hours at sea tossing and turning and being thrown around like a piece of drift wood, which was exactly what he had managed to cling to during his escape. Until of course, like anything else; the sea claimed him.

The mysterious troll would notice that he was suffering from multiple wounds on his face and neck. No doubt bruised from a beating or two, but fresh. What she would also now see due to the fact that what little clothing he did have remaining was scarce were his markings. His entire shirt was missing, torn and thrown to sea during the escape. His trousers were cut and frayed but still mostly in tact, and well he was missing shoes all together.

Lazarius was covered in a helix pattern from his neck line down to his wrists and well below his belt. It would look like a pattern of multiple hexagons all patterned across. On top of that she could see words of Shathyari carved and now scarred across his arms and abdomen. Runic symbols of some odd witchcraft augmentations making were also burned into his shoulders and wrists and stomach.

Since he was laying on his back she could see a scar that ran from the center of his clavicle all the way down to his navel where someone had apparently opened his entire chest up. And the very last noticeable marking was the mark of his order. The house of Kashebahl and the Nine. It was branded to his shoulder.

[ J ] Jursol raised a brow as her eyes scanned over more of the elf’s body. Oddly enough she sniffed him a bit as her nose curled up in disgust. Despite this she felt an urge to do something, a strange pull on her conscience perhaps. Taking a moment to look closer at his markings she did not fully recognize them, his scars telling her he was no stranger to trouble or battle.

[ L.K ] The moment she swept the herbs beneath his nose his eyes burst to life and he was struggling to react. Paralyzed though from the neck down he really couldn’t do anything but to help lure his body back into submission. His pale flesh was more than a side effect from being indoors, she would note he was almost pure white, sickly even. And on any area there was no ink or markings she could see the black substance that pumped through his veins, causing a spiderweb effect around his eyes and lips where the veins were closer to the surface.

He had regurgitated a lung full and no doubt stomach full of sea water, mixed with the black blood of his own body. The only real way he’d stayed alive this long was probably the parasite within him. Otherwise a normal man would have drown and never had a chance.

And as he peered around with those shark like black eyes, she could tell this was not an elf by any standard.

“I will suffer your insubordination no lib...longer...I am the...I am high ... the high...I am the quiznizitor...”.

And suddenly he passed back out and flopped nearly onto her feet as he fell to his left into the sand, unconscious for now. Another belly full of water would be spilled from his stained mouth, but he had grown silent.

[ J ] The black veins she knew well, his sudden outburst of life to her herbs left her indifferent, she simply watched him pass back out.

“Oh now dis changes things.”

After looking the elf over and getting a good glimpse at any and all injuries visible, she made a fast plan as to what to do. He was breathing but weak, very weak.

“We gonna have to move you carefully.” She said as she looked around for some driftwood and vines to use.

Lucky for her there were plenty of pieces around to use. Grabbing as much as she could carry she moved back to the elf and set them down. Taking wood and vines to make a board to move him with, before picking him up and placing him onto the makeshift gurney. She tied him to it with vines tightly enough he would not fall off.

With a sharp whistle she called her raptor friend who was near by. The trees moved as some flying animals flew up and out of the trees of the jungle, with a very hyper raptor chasing some before seeing Jursol. The white feathered raptor bound over to her side as it judged her arm.

“Yes my friend he is in need of our help.” Her voice calm as she held out a small bit of vine to it. “Take dis end and help me move him.” The raptor sniffed the man before taking the vine in its mouth. Slowly the two lifted him up and started for the jungles.

It was not long before they arrived at where she stayed. A small house made from bamboo, leaves, stones, and other things around the jungles she had access to. The smell of fresh and drying herbs filled the air even outside the house. Once they made it to the door, the two took the man inside on the wooden makeshift gurney.

Carefully Jursol untied the elf and put him onto a bed. Her clawed hands removing what’s left of his cloths, as the raptor brought over a bowl filled with clean water. Her hands worked fast to clean and dress his wounds. Before putting cloth over his injuries, she had smeared a herbal mix over the wounds themselves.

Once he was cleaned and wounds dressed she grabbed a fur blanket to cover him with. A clean robe was near by to give him when he awoke.

“Now I be needing to make dat concoction to help his healing.”

She said moving to a table full of herbs and other things. A small baby raptor ran around the small place, and now and then checked the elf who was on the bed.

To be Continued in. . . “In Depths Below: Epilogue, Part 2″

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whiskeyworen · 5 years

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It’s the Pirate’s life for me...

So tonight I got to play Sea of Thieves for the first time, along with my friend Larry, who’s been playing it for a week or two. He was gonna show me the ropes, and we were gonna do a few basic adventures and stuff to get my sea-legs. Oh but if we had only known...

It was just the two of us, so we took a Sloop and decided to hit up a simple ‘kill the evil skeleton captain’ and ‘find the buried treasure’ quest to get me a few rep levels. Nothing too heavy; these were the freebie missions you get as a beginnner. The moment we left port, it all went haywire. While we were still in view of the outpost, a friggin’ Ghost Pirate galleon rises up right beside us. Larry’s like “Don’t shoot; if we’re really lucky, it’ll ignore us. It happens sometimes. Never seen one this close to an outpost though.” It didn’t ignore us. It chased us, blowing holes in our poor boat, until we ran ourselves aground on the outpost to try and escape it. Because supposedly when you get close enough to an outpost, it repels the ghost galleons. It did not. The ship circled the island twice, shooting us every time it came around, before finally getting bored and despawning back into the deeps. “Huh. Weird. I didn’t think they could be this close.” Larry remarks thoughtfully. Meanwhile I’m thinking This is what I fully expected in this game. We finally complete the missions, only to roll up into port next to a brigandine...and immediately get boarded, massacred, and all our shit stolen. I’d like to give my biggest FUCK YOU to people who like the idea of open world PvP and how ‘fair’ it is. Fuck you and everyone that looks like you, you spawn camping, town occupying shitspawn. We died so quickly and so often that the GAME had to step in and move us to a different map, away from these bastards. After a few more amusing adventures and some good score (including surviving a Megalodon attack about 50 meters off shore from an outpost), we were leaving town with nothing of value left in our hull when Larry suggests we go hunt a Ghost ship. We’d sunk one an hour before out of desperation, and it was kinda fun. So I agree. We go Ghost Busting. We knew where one was because it hadn’t despawned yet, and apparently had been fighting a second ghost ship which HAD despawned or was sunk. So, at most, we were dealing with a damaged ship that might not be 100%. Perfect prey. We roll up right behind them, and just as we turn slightly so I can pop a cannonball through the big gallery windows at the rear of the galleon (the Captain’s chambers, if you really wanna know), there’s a horrific sound, and the water around us INSTANTLY turns black. Larry is below decks, getting some gear and says “WTF was that?” I’m on deck, and watch the water change color. “Oh shit. No no no... Not now.” It’s the Kraken. In addition to a pissed off ghost ship off our bow, we now have to deal with Cthulhu himself. We’re taking fire from the Ghost ship...which is now joined by TWO MORE somehow, and there’s giant tentacles everywhere, fighting us, the Ghost ships, and ripping crews off both. All the Ghost ships are attacking each other too. Somehow, some way, we keep our ship patched, our cannons bellowing, and our sails unfurled, despite getting a hug from a tentacle, me getting eaten at least once, and the continuous incoming fire. We finally get free of the black water, leaving the Kraken to fight the Ghost ships. I end up going below deck to help with the patching. That’s when there’s this long, grinding impact, and two new holes blow open. I patch fast and head back on deck while Larry bails and runs for the wheel. It’s the third ghost ship. we’re hull-to-hull at point blank. His guns can’t depress far enough down to hit properly, but MINE are aimed right into his lower hull, and I ALWAYS leave my cannons primed. So Larry sets an open sea course away from islands, and then heads below deck to keep us afloat. I’m the gunner, so I stick with my guns. By the Gods, I put holes in that ship. I alternated between putting holes below the water line as fast as I could, and aiming upward at the gundeck to pop the skeleton crew before they could fire. At one point, a wave lifts our sloop up, tilting the deck just right as the trough of the wave pulls the Galleon down so our gundecks are equal height. I’m already aiming for this. As the barrel of my cannon clears the enemy gundeck, I see a skeleton with a blunderbuss shuffling his way to a cannon aimed right at me. My shot punches through the railing, through HIM, and hits the main mast. If this game was a bit more real, that mast would have COME DOWN. I’m cackling like a loon, as I continue pouring fire into this ship. Larry manages to get control of the flooding and directs us towards an outpost. This time, the ghost ship DOES retreat into the depths before we get to port. A shame... I was about five shots from putting her on the bottom permanently. I even managed to put a shot between the jaws of the skull they use as a prow decoration, putting out two of the ghostlights there. And right after the ghost ship despawned, we discovered that there was a PINK Megalodon as well. It had apparently been in the same fight as the Kraken, and had followed us. So from one encounter, we had 3 Ghost ships, the Kraken, and a Megalodon. And we SURVIVED. We don’t know how, but we SURVIVED. I was surprised how much I enjoyed it, given my fear of deep, open water. We’re gonna have to make it a regular thing.

#Personal story #Sea of Thieves #pirates #gaming #ghost ship #kraken #adventure

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blckspectre-blog · 6 years

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▒▓ ｌｏａｄｉｎｇｓｉｍｕｌａｔｉｏｎ…

SUBJECT: SPECTRE ░ FEATURING: cherry, sinbad, pink, eris < word count: 2,104 > < warning: blood, violence >

when spectre receives the invitation to test the new simulation, he doesn’t think he can just say no. the collective has a plan, of course, and he doesn’t want to risk the repercussions of denying this sacred opportunity. besides, with the nightbound tournament coming up, he could use all of the training he can get, especially when it comes to something like this that could give him an unforeseen edge. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious what this was all about, so he sees it through.

the looks on the faces of the candidates he passes in the hallway open up a familiar pit in his stomach. the pity, he can handle-- it’s the dead eyes that are really haunting, but he presses on, even as he sees the one that went into the simulation before him carried out on a stretcher. he isn’t afraid. (this is what he tells himself. no, there’s no time for fear anymore. he’s done this too long for any of it to be a surprise.)

he does everything they ask, and melts fully into the simulation quickly, and he’s impressed by the realism. he turns on his heel, taking in the scene around him, and it’s all he gets a chance to do before the ai communicates with him. assurance that he’ll feel the pain-- ah yes, how reassuring. it’s nice to know his brain is effectively connected to the machine, too, so if something goes wrong he could have a stroke. it’s fine.

not only is the mission a mind exercise, but a team exercise: two terrible birds with one stone of a simulation. spectre lets out a heavy sigh. he does as he’s told though, waiting for his teammates to join the simulation, and snorts at the simulation’s twisted sense of humor. he’s not at all confident that he won’t die within this program, but when has he ever been assured of survival in the blcktmpl?

finally, they all join the simulation, and he tries to ignore the invasive feeling, like a worm in his mind-- tries not to wonder what depth of his thoughts the collective can decipher from this alone, and if truly nothing is off-limits anymore. he ignores the further attempts at humor, too, and hopes the ai will leave them to the mission soon.

he gets his way soon, and the surroundings shift, and suddenly he’s underwater without even taking a proper breath. he sees the forms of his teammates around him, and follows the lead of the one closest to the surface, only to hear a distant gunshot ring out and spot fresh blood in the water. he has half the mind to look around for sharks, but doesn’t, instead, propelling himself away from the gunshot. he looks back and sees their shot teammate sinking rapidly, so he goes back, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him along.

he swims until he can’t hold his breath anymore, then takes the risk at surfacing. he looks around quickly, anticipates dodging a bullet within the water, but the coast is clear, and there’s also an expanse of shore nearby. spectre takes the initiative and pulls himself onto it, and gradually, the rest of the team follows.

he squeezes the water out of the bottom of his t-shirt as they gather on shore and catch their breath. the uninjured male, who introduces himself as sinbad, suggests they all introduce themselves with their name and weapon, so they do. the one with the gunshot wound is pink, and then there are two girls: eris, with twin warhammers, and cherry, with dual muskets. sinbad fights with a scimtar.

“nice to meet you all,” cherry chirps, and spectre would bet money that she’s cerulean. his eyes settle on pink then-- the blood on his hands, clutched near his collarbone, and his eyes stay wide, always full of panic. in the background, sinbad and eris argue over what their plan should be, eris of the mind that they should just charge in and fight everyone, and sinbad more inclined to stealth. spectre agrees more with sinbad, but he stays quiet, and takes a seat next to pink instead.

“let me see,” and it’s more of a quiet demand than a request, and pink drops his hands from the wound with a labored breath, escaping as more like a gurgle. spectre purses his lips; that’s not a good sign.

“i regret doing this anyway,” pink declares, wincing in pain, and spectre’s cylinder shifts into its shuriken form.

“wait!” cherry calls. “no! don’t!” it gains the attention of eris and sinbad, who for once fall silent.

“i can’t do anything like this,” pink replies, not even managing to shake his head in protest.

“it’s just a simulation,” spectre assures them all, and he brandishes his weapon, then uses the edge of the star to slit pink’s throat. the blood gets on spectre’s hands from the close contact, but the light fades from the boy’s eyes almost instantly.

“i’ll take care of this,” he says, too, and heaves the body up, carrying it toward the water and setting it afloat there.

they relocate, taking shelter in an alleyway behind an old, abandoned building, and there, eris and sinbad resume their squabble in full. spectre still stays quiet, waiting, observing their surroundings, thinking of solutions for this problem himself, keeping track of the time as it ticks down, and cherry speaks up every now and again to try and mediate, but finds little success.

“what if we go to the rendezvous point first, so we know where we’re going?” spectre suggests, and everyone turns to look at him-- the benefits of rarely speaking. when you do, everyone’s sure to listen. eventually, they all agree.

the team locates an old car parked closeby, and sinbad takes the opportunity to show off his skills in hotwiring cars while the others standby, on guard. spectre thinks he overhears eris mutter something about a car being noisy and revealing their presence if sinbad wants to keep their movements on the downlow, and she has a point, but spectre also sees the benefit in a vehicle to cut down on their travel time.

the rendezvous point is within walking distance, but the car covers it faster, and serves as some much needed protection from the potential guards they’ll run into during the mission. they all pile into the car once sinbad successfully gets it up and running, and he drives them to the extraction point. it only takes a couple minutes for them to arrive at the destination, and they hop out, getting a proper look around.

spectre peers back at the way he came, working out the directions in his head so he can retrace his steps if need be. he thinks he knows how to get from the base to here successfully, and that’s an important detail, in case something happens to sinbad and he can’t drive them where they need to go.

naturally, the argument over the plan starts up again, but this time, spectre speaks before they really have a chance to go at it again. “we can use the car as part of the plan,” he suggests, and then he launches into his explanation: cherry and sinbad staying in the car, while he and eris travel on foot, dispatching the guards at the gate. cherry and sinbad drive in, causing chaos within the camp, while spectre and eris pick off more guards on the outskirts of the formation, quietly making their way through the warehouses to locate the blood diamonds. it’ll be there job to steal them, then meet back up with sinbad and cherry in the car, piling in, and driving to their destination afterwards.

it combines a bit of what both eris and sinbad wanted, and after spectre presents his idea, they all agree that it just might work.

he shifts into godmode for just a moment, to drive his katana through the chest of one of the guards on duty after jumping out of the bushes at him. simultaneously, eris drives one of her hammers right into the skull of the other guard. that’s the opening the rest of their team requires: the car they procured charges forward, through the makeshift gate, immediately causing alarms to blare and more guards to file out of the buildings to deal with the car. spectre hears the sound of men being run over and cherry’s muskets firing through the window.

he and eris take to the outskirts of the camp, keeping to the trees, even with the distraction their teammates caused. he looks back at eris, and sees the annoyance on her face, knowing she’d much rather be dealing with the fighting on the frontlines right now, but he’s thankful for her company and help. if he was anyone else, he might express it, but he doesn’t, instead, slinking through the shadows to the closest building.

he keeps his back pressed against the side of it, eyes resting on the ensuing chaos closer to the middle of camp-- the cacophony of gunshots and rolling tires, and he makes a run for it when he’s sure the guards all have their backs turned. he slips into the building while eris gives the nearest guard another swift blow to the skull.

it doesn’t take long for spectre to realize their target isn’t in this building, so he slips out just as quickly as he entered, only giving eris a shake of his head as indication. they disappear back into the trees, back to the outskirts of camp, making their way to the next building. “it’s probably near the center and the back of camp, well guarded,” spectre guesses, and eris nods, not disagreeing. instead of wasting time checking every building, they head that way, intending to check the most likely spots for the diamonds, branching out only if they fail to locate them.

> HEY YOU TWO, HURRY UP

sinbad’s voice breaches his thoughts, and he sends back a single nod and got it.

the building housing the diamonds becomes obvious once they infiltrate the center of the camp, guards still stationed by the access point even as cherry and sinbad still roll through the camp in the car. spectre and eris sneak up on both of them, shifting into god mode to kill them quickly before they can call for backup, and they leave their bodies in a heap outside the doorway in favor of infiltrating the building. sure enough, the crate of diamonds is there, and they pick it up and step outside of the building again.

right on time, sinbad drives past them, then circles back around, bringing the attention of the guards with him. eris takes two down before spectre even gets the door of the car open, and he tosses the diamonds into the backseat before following, jumping in after them. the car doesn’t stop for a moment. eris flings herself through the door and shuts it behind her, and sinbad pounds the gas, peeling out toward the same gate they entered through.

it’s only then that spectre notices cherry, in the front seat, nursing a bullet wound in her arm. she still has a gun poking out the passenger side window, even though the gunfire of the guards is focused on their back now. spectre inches toward the front seats, and takes off his jacket.

“let me help,” he offers, and cherry turns toward him, giving him her arm. he ties the jacket around it, applying sufficient pressure to the wound. it should last her until they get out of the simulation: might help with the pain.

“let me out,” eris demands from the backseat.

“are you crazy?” sinbad replies.

“yes. let me out, and i’ll deal with anyone still following us. we’re just wasting space with all four of us in the car and you know it.”

“whatever. i’m not slowing down.”

eris rolls her eyes, then props one of the doors open. she watches the world outside the car pass, listens to the distant sounds of gunfire still ringing out, then leaps once the coast is clear. spectre closes the door to the car tightly, then looks out the back window at her, drawing her weapons to deal with the straggling soldiers.

they reach the rendezvous point soon after, and eris finds her way back to them, fresh blood on her weapons, before the mission even ends.

< MISSION_SUCCESS! SIMULATION_COMPLETE >

#✶ ; solo #blcktmpl ; softexclusive #✶ ; blood diamonds #( ` whew for an action solo this sure was boring #feelsbadman but at least it's done!#ty haru and bianca for letting me borrow ur uncreated muses for my npcs #sry for inevitably butchering them )#+350 LP

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angremlin · 7 years

Text

I’ve ended up creating a whole team of Shadowrunners now just so my unplayed character ideas wouldn’t get lonely and i’m gonna write a little bit about em. The team is composed entirely of upper class jerks who ended up in the shadows one way or another, I’ll put individuals below a cut.

First on the list, and the one I REALLY crafted with the hope of playing as him at some point, is Firewire, real name undetermined. The core conceit I built him around was “cybersoldier with absolutely no trust in wireless” while the end result ended up more like “Cyber Mr. Hyde”. His backstory as it stands now is that he was a scientist for the UCAS military specializing in both biotech and cybernetics. He had a concept for a new breed of enhanced soldiers, but UCAS wouldn’t give him the go-ahead for metahuman testing, so he underwent his procedures himself. He laced his bones with aluminum, augmented and enhanced his muscles, replaced his heart, installed auxiliary air tanks and a wired reflexes system, and placed multiple datajacks in his skull. Under laboratory conditions it all worked exactly as he intended - he was stronger, faster, and more durable than anything UCAS labs had produced before, all on top of his pre-existing genius. It was when he LEFT the labs the failures became evident - the cutting edge myomers he used to enhance his musculature turned out to be sensitive to solar radiation, and being exposed to the sun tended to cause constant-but-minute spasms throughout the body, essentially afflicting him with palsy-like shakes that cause constantly shifting minor pain. These side effects alone were enough to rule out the procedure’s use on anyone else, but things kept getting worse for him - as time wore on and his aversion to the sun isolated him from society, he came to truly despise normal metahumans, regarding them both as inferior creatures AND his tormentors. He took to shadowrunning mostly as an excuse to kill, and his preferred weapon is a heavily customized Ruger 101 rifle with his old lab assistant VI running on an embedded commlink - the VI is about as sentient as a chatbot but he considers it his only true friend. Firewire’s name comes from his distinctive visual appearance when on a job - his aversion to wireless means all of his gear is ultimately connected via optical cable to one of his datajacks - or more accurately to one of the data pass-throughs in his signature helmet. His helmet is one of his earlier creations, the “Situational Awareness Lightweight-Longwear E-War Tool”, or SALLET, and it boasts a sensor suite that can detect just about anything you can imagine as well as integrated goggles and headphones to ensure nothing escapes notice. With his head completely encased and his body wreathed in wires he could easily be mistaken for some sort of walker drone, but when he’s not wearing his combat gear he could almost be mistaken for a regular fit human - only the small bulges of his dermal plates and his chrome teeth give away any modification at all.

------------------------------------

The second member of the team is rather unconventional - the rigger Overwatch, real name Hannah Madison. Hannah is a changeling with what she would consider very unfortunate defining features - a mermaid’s tail and functional gills. Many in her (very wealthy) family thought it was a blessing, but she grew up despising her “deformity” - she had no desire to live a carefree life frolicking with dolphins, she just wanted to work with machines. Her lack not only of legs but of a typical metahuman motor cortex to connect cybernetic or bioware legs to have meant a life spent in a wheelchair, something only the poorest of people would typically consider these days. Her affinity for machines did however result in her construction of a drone chair that she can control more naturally, though it leaves her own body slack in the seat which many find uncomfortable.

Hannah’s family never resented her, but she always resented pretty much everyone around her. She felt that whether they mocked her or pitied her or avoided her, no one could simply accept her, and so she came to reject the real world as well, living instead in the matrix or vicariously through countless drones of every kind. Her detachment from society eventually led her to shadowrunning, which she took to with great enthusiasm once she found a team that could look past her physical limitations.

She could not, of course, simply go with a team on a mission - her chair was well made, but not so versatile she could expect it to handle any situation a runner might encounter. Instead she modified a GTS Tower blimp drone with hardware and software to hide it from view and a rigger cocoon that could safely take her up with it, while modifying her own body with top of the line electronics gear and enough nutrient and waste storage to allow her to stay afloat for days without an issue. From her invisible perch above the mission site she remotely pilots both the crew’s wheels - a heavily modified van that can carry the blimp as well as the crew - and a small swarm of armed rotoddrones through which she actually supports the team. She later added a heavy silenced rifle mounted to the underside of her blimp, allowing her to discreetly eliminate many threats before the team even enters the AO.

-----------------------------------------

The third member, Anthony “Adder” Veracruz, is probably the closest to out-and-out evil. Adder is a Dwarf follower of the Black Magic tradition, as are many other members of his prominent family. He is actually a mystic adept, and while capable of a variety of powerful spells (focusing on Manipulation as his tradition tends to do), he generally prefers to demonstrate the superiority of his magically enhanced physique by dancing around his enemies’ blows and taking them to pieces with his monofilament whip.

For Adder, running the shadows is more of a hobby, and while his family may not entirely approve of the “low class” company he keeps, they have no real moral qualms about his “little adventures”. Adder himself doesn’t regard his companions much more highly than his family does - he holds the same certainty of his superiority that Firewire does, and he’s not shy about showing it. On top of the superiority complex, Adder is also a compulsive braggart and extremely vindictive - he cxan’t stand to let anyone think there might be some area in which they exceed him, and he’s liable to “correct” those who won’t back down with force.

Adder’s skills can cover many roles, though he prefers an all-out fight with a strong opponent above all else. Of course he doesn’t really consider anyone he encounters a truly worthy opponent, so he’s been known to hang back and support the front line or even stretch his social skills from time to time. Whatever his role may be, Adder is ultimately there for his own entertainment and nothing else.

----------------------------

The final member of the team, Mix, is the closest they have to a reasonable person for all that’s worth. Mix is a female Ork rapper, but not an “Orxploitation” rapper as she’s quick to point out. As far as talent goes, Mix is squarely middle of the road - if you know her, she’s probably the best rapper you know, but she’s not on the same level as international stars. Nonetheless she thought she had something to bring to the table, and at least one corp agreed, picking her up as a teen to guide her on her way to stardom. Of course, they expect a certain return on their investments now...

Her road has been bumpy, to say the least - for all the talk the corp suits did about her talent, it quickly became clear they DID want her to become just another disposable Orxploitation cash-in. She figured that out around the time they started working lessons on shooting and gang culture in with her musical education, and to her dismay she turned out to actually be better at that than she was at backbeats or freestyles. Though she gained some recognition locally, her managers never really found a niche for her and she ultimately turned to the shadows seeking revenge against a system she blamed for wasting her talent.

In the fiction of her career, Mix is known for her stylish armored coat, her matching ballistic mask War Face, and her twin submachine guns Business (suppressed and concealable) and Pleasure (loaded with exploding rounds and equipped with a monster gas-vent system). In the field, these assets serve her well but hardly scratch the surface of what she has to offer. Before the team even gets the job, she’s usually the one talking business with Mr. Johnson, and she can talk her way through most any door. She is also shockingly capable at infiltration - under her imposing armor she wears a chameleon suit and she has the skills and agility to go with it. Though it has never appeared in any of her trids, Business actually has a chameleon coating as well, and she often carries a gas grenade launcher for less-lethal force.

#OP #Shadowrun #OCs #it's really really long #I didn't think it would be long

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peacepenguine · 7 years

Text

Kids. Crew. Family?

Yondu turns kids into cargo.

The first one didn’t have a name.

He wasn’t interested. He wanted as little contact as possible with the thing. Sure, it was a kid, and they were bringing her to her father, but Yondu preferred the distance. He felt a slight turmoil in his stomach about turning a kid into cargo.

But he was being paid enough to sustain his crew for 4 months, and he honestly couldn’t say no. Especially since Tullk had been complaining about the lack of updated medical gear in their Medbay. He needed to do this, for the sake of the crew. And of course, the kid would get family, right? Whoever this Ego guy was, he seemed shifty, but heart might just be in the right place. And after he’d told Yondu of the sickness that plagued the rest of her family… Yondu couldn’t leave the child without anyone to take care of ‘em, right?

She had two horns on each side of her forehead, bright orange skin, and eyes that had turned Taserface into a blushing mess. Nah, best keep his distance from this kid. After all, it was only two days of travel.

Don’t get attached.

The second one didn’t have a name either.

Ego had stumbled in his explanation, rambled on about having many loves spread across the galaxy, turning red in the face and Yondu had only rolled his eyes. Sure, he could bring the new kid if he wasn’t being treated right by his momma. It was one of the rare stealth missions his faction came across, as half the house was secured with alarms and those tiny larvae creatures that slowly dissolved your skin right off ya face. Yondu had whistled slow and steady that night, grabbed the kid quickly and then gotten rid of it as soon as he could. Kid turned into cargo once more. Ego seemed to have literal stars in his eyes as the new kid was brought in.

Yondu wanted to inquire about the other kid, the girl, but figured he wasn’t being paid to care.

He left the planet with enough Units to pay for two new generators and enough spare parts to last them at least a year.

Third one was nameless.

Another boy, this one switching names and identities as quick as his shapeshifting allowed him. Had a troubled life, orphan, turned to petty crimes and getting away with it for the moment. But Ego was worried for his kid’s safety and Yondu had agreed again.

Ego could set the kid straight, sure. One less bounty for Yondu to hunt later, if the kid could manage to last long enough to get a wanted poster printed with his ever-changing face and name.

The third boy was a slippery one, and managed to elude them for almost 2 weeks before being pinned down at an orphanage handing out stolen socks and tattered books. Yondu had grabbed the kid, delivered the prize to Ego, and donated what he could to the dilapidated building that masqueraded as a government facility for orphans.

Anonymous of course.

Better they have a roof over their heads than…

Yondu pushed the planet out of his thoughts as soon as Ego called him to collect number four.

The fourth one was another boy.

Mute, rarely gesturing or called attention to himself. Which would explain why it looked like a strong wind would snap the little twig in half if he wasn’t careful. Yondu had stocked up well on supplies for the kitchen before leaving the planet, and sure enough, little by little, supplies disappeared and the boy’s healthy green glow returned. His crew ate well on that trip too, and it was only made better by the fact that Ego paid double for this one. Yondu wasn’t about to say no to Units, but a small voice in the back of his skull started talking after that delivery.

The fifth one was a firecracker of a girl, eyes lighting up at the mention of a planet basically to herself and her brothers and sisters, and father, of course. She had grinned a toothy grin, fangs dipping well past her chin and Yondu received a clap on the back for coming to get her. He’d smiled; she was a good kid, if a little greedy. But Yondu didn’t judge, because damn it, that would be hypocritical.

She’s practically leaped off the ship, shooting a wink at Taserface before touching the ground and running off. A beep on the comm suggested a transfer of Units, but Yondu didn’t pay attention to the amount this time. Ego had said that of course, there might be more, but so far he just wanted to thank Yondu for everything he’d done for the happiness of his family. For allowing him the chance to become a father, a better parent than what the world could otherwise offer to these kids.

Yondu had shrugged him off. It was just business.

The eighth one made him realize that maybe fatherhood wasn’t really something Yondu would accelerate at. The girl, around 7 years old, screamed tirelessly, but no matter how many of trinkets Yondu left lying around, she would lose interest within seconds and the drama started all over, with more snot and salty tears.

Tullk had been appointed unofficial nanny several months ago. Around the time they realized that they needed someone to get the kids food and water, and bathroom visits. Tullk had grumbled, but Cap’n’s words were final, and since Yondu didn’t fancy playing nursemaid…

Not even Tullk could get the kid to stop screaming. In the end, Yondu had isolated the room almost completely, deciding that if the kid didn’t want anything to do with them, then they might as well not bother. They build a latch to allow for food plates and water to slide inside, and installed a small but functioning bathroom in the room as well.

The screaming didn’t stop ringing in his head until several weeks later.

In between picking up Ego’s kids, Yondu’s crew mostly collected bounties, be it on people or possessions. Ego’s salary kept them afloat most of the year, but they still slept in a huge pile on the floor with blankets that got thinner and thinner, and at this point it wasn’t because they couldn’t expand to make separate quarters, but Yondu liked to be able to keep an eye on his crew.

He supposed he felt a little like Ego; he liked to keep those closest to him within reach.

Yondu wasn’t exactly parent material, but he had those he considered… something more profound than friends. He had his crew. His- Family seemed right, but also wrong. Yondu liked to keep distance, but he needed the control. And if he couldn’t have family, then he could have his Crew.

The 15th kid had a name.

Che’lok.

He’d been a tall, stubborn, blue skinned kid with half his teeth missing and only wearing what would amount to half a pair of pants and dirt enough for two. He’d looked up from the ground as Yondu had approached, and simply started crying. Yondu frowned and kneeled down, “Hey, kiddo.”

“Just kill me.”

Something cold and spiky had made its way down Yondu’s spine, “What’s that, kid?”

“I don’t want to fight. Just kill me, please?”

The tears had spilled hot and heavy over the boy’s cheeks and for a split second Yondu had seen himself and he knew that now he was fucked. “What’s your name kid?”

“Why?”

“Gotta write something on ya tombstone, right?”

The boy inhaled sharply and more tears fell.

Okay, maybe not the best approach, but a solid effort.

Yondu coughed, “There’s a guy called Ego looking for ya, kid. What’s your name?”

“Che’lok.”

“I’m Yondu. This guy Ego, he told me to find his kid. He’s talking ‘bout you.”

The boy shook his head, “I don’t have a dad, he- he- gone.”

“Ego wants to take ya in, boy. Ya got about a dozen brothers and sisters waiting too,” Yondu said wth a nod. The boy lifted his head slowly and Yondu flashed his crooked teeth, “I’ll take ya to ‘em, come on!”

The kid got to his feet and passed out as soon as he was shown his bunk in the cargo room.

Yondu had kept watch until food arrived, and left as the kid started to ask more questions.

Don’t get attached.

The kid had a family waiting for him, don’t screw it up, Yondu.

Che’lok was greeted by a woman with antennae that Yondu didn’t know, but Ego had been right behind her, encouraging the boy to follow to the main house. Yondu watched the boy go. “You take good care of ‘em, right Ego?”

“I surely try my best,” Ego smiled, eyes crinkling and he looked across the expansive garden. Yondu had been explained that the planet and Ego were critically connected somehow, but honestly he’d forgotten the details. All he remembered was that it was part of the reason Ego couldn’t look for these kids himself. He had to stay near the planet.

“What about the new girl? Who’s she?”

“An orphan. Great empathic abilities, but I’m afraid her potential is slightly hindered since her interactions are limited here,” Ego said, appearing saddened.

Yondu’s brow twitched, “You got about a dozen kids running around here, and you’re telling me her interactions are limited?”

Ego’s face hardened and he looked to the ground, “Actually… I…”

Yondu held his breath.

“Most of the kids have gone their own ways since you brought them to me. Some of them, as you know, were old enough to make their own path soon after I got them. Not many have chosen to stay, at least not after they reach that age,” Ego breathed it all out at once, sniffling a little and shit-

Yondu took a step back, “Sorry to hear that, um… Call me if you find another?”

It didn’t take long before Ego called for them again.

Yondu tried to increase the distance. He started sending his men out to find the kids instead of going himself. It was easier to reduce the kids to cargo if you never had to even lay eyes on them.

After number 21, Yondu had said to Ego that he needed to lay low for a while, to not contact him until Yondu reached out first. The crew hadn’t questioned it, only Tullk and Jef shot him inquiring looks but Yondu elected to ignore them.

Less than 5 months later they found Kraglin.

A-Chilitarian, 19 years old, with something to prove, and Yondu had grinned his customary toothy grin and said, “Bring it, kiddo!” He thoroughly ignored the few calls he got from Ego during the next 4 months, instead focusing on this one kid he had on board now, this possible permanent member of his crew.

So far so good, the kid wasn’t stumbling or fumbling and somehow the kid had also wormed himself into the hearts of the crewmembers. Yondu wasn’t sure how, but he knew they were all in agreement when Kraglin was pronounced First Mate mere months after first boarding the ship. The position wasn’t a demanding one, since Yondu had never bothered with actually having a First Mate. But Kraglin soon proved himself indispensable in the new position, covering ground where Yondu couldn’t, keeping tabs on the lists that Yondu got headaches from.

“Kraglin!”

“Yes, sir?”

“What do you think of this one?”

Kraglin had examined the tiny oddity Yondu held out. It was complete with pink gems and looking vaguely similar to an avian creature of some sort. The Broker didn’t say a word as Kraglin made a face. Yondu grinned, “That means I’m taking it.”

Kraglin had that overbearing look in his eyes, “Another for the collection, sir?”

“I’m filling out the entire thing, you know?”

“Sure, sir.”

Yondu chuckled, and less than an hour later, the pink ornament had taken place at the helm beside the purple, four legged creature with the single horn protruding from it’s forehead. “Kraglin!” he called.

“Yes, sir?”

“Excellent choice. Fits right in,” he sniggered.

Another two weeks of silence followed.

He was sure that Ego had had other ships find his kids. Yondu just knows. And the thought fucking terrifies him a little. Because shit, now he’s lost that control. Before, it was about money, sure, but he also knew how many kids Ego had taken in thus far. With who knows how many ships, there was no telling just how many… Had Yondu always just been one amongst many? If so, how many? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? What on earth was Ego…

“I found another Yondu, this one only about 7 jumps from your current location,” Ego said merrily.

Yondu skipped asking how Ego knows their exact location, and indulged, “Oh yeah? Boy or girl?”

Ego looked down at what Yondu assumed was a console, “Young boy. Mother is on the verge of succumbing to a fatal illness and his grandfather, his only living relative, is not fit for taking care of him.”

“Where are we going?”

“Terra.”

“Okay, hey, Ego, I’ve been meaning to ask, but that, uh… That Che’lok kid from a few years back? He still around?” he prodded lightly, keeping his tone casual. “Would love to just see him for a second or two. See how he’s holding up,” he added with a thin grin.

Ego sighed and for the first time, Yondu heard the impatience, “Yondu, I… That one unfortunaly became very ill few weeks after you brought him to me. I’m afraid he’s passed on.”

It didn’t sit right with Yondu and it wasn’t hard to fucking see that Ego was withholding something.

“Is there something you’re not telling me? What did he contract? Something infectious?” he asked, feigning concern for the briefest of moments.

Ego smiled, teeth and malice, and Yondu swallowed.

“Nothing you should worry yourself about. These kids… Not all of them connect to the planet as well as they should. But at least I could give those that perished a good home before they passed.”

Yondu feels his legs shake a little, “You’re helping them though, right? Figuring out how to stop it from happening, right?”

“Yondu, the planet’s me. I can’t change who I am, and I can’t exactly change the whole planet for these kids, now can I?” Ego asked, sparkle gone from his eyes.

“How about that screaming girl? The one who wouldn’t shut up? She around?” Yondu continued.

Ego’s face grew wearier, “She too, unfortunately-“

“Then the firecracker gal with the big fangs? What about her?”

Ego’s smile dropped completely, “It pains me to speak of, so I would appreciate no further questions for now, Yondu. Please, get me the Terran boy, and I’ll pay you double.”

The transmission ended and Yondu set his course.

“We going Cap’n?” Kraglin eyed him from the side.

Yondu got comfortable in his chair and nodded, “I’ll be damned if I let more of these kids anywhere near that wacko. Something's wrong. Don't know what, but whatever it is, it ain't right. Last job, this one. We'll find him somewhere else in the galaxy to go. Don’t matter where, as long as Ego can’t get ‘im. And then we’re done. Back to bounty huntin’ and trading.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

And Yondu had taken one look at those red-rimmed blue eyes of the Terran boy, before asking the most important question, “What’s your name, kiddo?”

The kid clung to a square device with orange things attached by a black wire, “P-Pe-Peter Quill.”

“Peter.”

Couldn’t very well dump him someplace random, Ego would have more ships, more people out looking.

No choice then, “Get comfy, Petey, you’re gonna be bunking with us for a while.”

#my fanfic #yondu udonta #kraglin obfonteri #ego the living planet #peter quill #kid peter #pre-movies #i've only watched the movies #never read the comics #so please be gentle #also it's been a while since i've written stuff #gotg 2 #gotg #spoilers #gotg spoilers #guardians of the galaxy vol 2

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limpblotter · 7 years

Text

Happy Friggin Borthday, Cheeseball

a/n: Everyone has nice drawings and art of Thomas. All I came up with is a crappy birthday party that ends semi-terrible for him. Oneshot/Drabble Summary: Thomas’s is taken back by a surprise party that leaves him wishing he wasn’t born Warning: hints of social anxiety, troubled childhood, unhealthy coping mechanisms, anxious ticks (raw draft/uneditted) Taggies: @hell-yes-puns-and-ships w/c:2811

Happy Birthday Thomas!

Screamed the google banner as Thomas licked open his web browser. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, the words were almost ironic. His eyes rigidly scrolled down to the date at the corner of his computer. Indeed, it was April 13th, his birthday. The idea of it all sent sickening shivers down his spine. Quickly he slammed his laptop shut foregoing any and all work he had planned to do. Slowly he ran his hand through his fro, pushing back his springy curls only to have them bounce back to their original mane like frame around his face. His birthday, he pressed the top row of his teeth against his plush upper lip as he carefully pressed the home button on his latest Apple Iphone.

He had a flood of notifications. Facebook, twitter, all the social media he kept were all going off to the point he was sure his phone was overheating just by sheer amount. Social media did well for Thomas, a man who had popularity and money with none of the tolerance to handle people. Most of the time he could handle a small group of people at once, more comfortably if flanked by his closest cohorts. Naturally he was a skittish and quiet man, looks aside, he did not mirror the man he was trying to be. Through the third person vehicle of social media, keeping up appearances was as easy as uploading a charming picture of his biceps, or a status about how drab the exclusive club was that night, even the flirtations comment back and forth.

Slowly, he thumbed through what easily was thousands of surface deep compliments and well wishes. After searching through social media, voicemails and texts his frown deepened. Not a single one from them. He angrily flipped his phone over and glared, staring at library wall when the chair beside him screeched. His eyes darted to the sound, his body hunching away from the person…”Oh, it's you.” Thomas didn’t take back recoil. “What do you want, Aaron.”

Aaron Burr, a man who was eager to join into Jefferson’s exclusive world. Jefferson on the college campus was part of an elitist club that valued academics and active members of the socialite lifestyle. Aaron was on the list to join. He had everything going for him, good grades and an impressive background. What he lacked? Personality in Jefferson’s main opinion, in another he lacked a certain...thing. “I heard it was your birthday” Immediately Jefferson was cringing, he didn’t need reminding. “I got you this.” He smiled handing a coupon. Jefferson looked it over and his eyes might have inched less away from it's harden stare to a touch softer. “Discount to Mix-n-Mac” he might have the chance and the money to indulge in the fancier line of cuisine but mac’n’cheese held a special place in his heart. This line of mac was among his favorite. “Thanks, Burr.” Thomas tucked the discounted coupon away.

“No problem, figured today was a special day for you, big man.” He nudged Thomas’s arm. “Any special plans?” “Nope.” Thomas kept it short and polite, slowly opening his computer back up.

“No?” Aaron sounded surprise, like most would have. “Not even with Sally?” “Not even with Sally.” Though some coital hanky-panky with his side piece might have been nice...even on his birthday he had trouble finding the libido for that. Personally he rather have the day go as quietly and calmly as possible. “I tend not to do much on my birthday.”

“But--” Aaron tried to interject and that’s when Thomas lost all his politeness. Thomas started packing up and looked around the library. “Sorry Burr, I’m just too busy.” And with that little white lie aside, Thomas made his escape. His birthday only came with bad memories. Still he glanced at his phone again, more notifications, none from anyone he wanted to hear from. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the same every year. The day went on with Thomas half assing many of the thank yous and embellishing what he wanted to do. Hinting at going out and drinking though nothing specific. No one could invite themselves that way, not like there was nothing to be invited to. These were all made up, Thomas had no intention on celebrating tonight. Though he would most likely post some typical hung over status in the morning to make it sound like he had a wild, college night out.

Instead he looked forward to a quiet night in his dorm room hopefully without his roommate. Thomas’s roommate almost made him want to go out and celebrate. He hated just the look of that weasley, wispy haired man. Someone who turned HIM down when he offered the club to him. A frat club that would have propelled his sorry, poor ass and he was told he had better things to do. Later to realize they were bunk mates after his friend James had failed to enlist in rooms before the deadline.

It was a Friday night, so he was a little surprised to find many cars were still in the parking lot. More troubling that the hallways along his floor were empty. It was like a ghost town inside. He walked to his dorm room and slowly opened the door, it was pitch black. “Thank God.” He sighed to himself, Hamilton must have been out with friends. The loser actually had friends… In that second he closed the door behind him and flicked on the lights he was met by the worse kind of surprise. “SURPRISE”

Screamed what felt like millions of people. It was though Thomas’s friend list had poured into his small two bedroom dorm apartment. The people were yelling and flashes were going off capturing Thomas’s less surprised more infuriated face. He tried to plaster a smile on as Sally, the girl he had casually been hooking up with looped her arm around his. “What’s going on…” he seethed between densely clamped teeth. “Isn’t it sweet? Aaron and I did it ourselves.” She beamed and suddenly Thomas was mentally shredding not only Burr’s invitation to join the club but his very existence. “Let’s go, you have so many gifts, so many people want say happy birthday.” Sally near dragged him through the crowd. Thomas looked around, the room felt like it was spinning. The amount of people densely packed in his dorm, some smoking, some drinking booze they had brought, others standing around wasting their breath only added to the heat.

He struggled to keep eye contact, he managed a few muddled hellos and thanks. He nodded towards gifts, people beamed and joked and all he could do was smile. Keeping his lips closed for the nausea began to rise. The door opened again.

“What the fuck Jefferson!” Hamilton had been out studying when he came back to what felt like a frat house party in his dorm. Already red cups littered his floor and his bedroom was surrounded by couples going at it. Hamilton, unlike Thomas, took a calming breath realizing he couldn’t curse out Thomas over the noise. His approach would be a little more subtle. Unlike Thomas, Hamilton might have been a poor scholarship student constantly fighting with FASFA to keep his head afloat, was able to blend. Alexander lit up the room. He shot a few words here and there, witty jokes, flirtatious compliments. People actually wished he’d stay in the conversation but he was a man on a mission. Well, he was a man on an assassination. He eyed Thomas, his tall and muscular figure being led on hilariously by his tiny woman of the night. He weaved through the people and once he got close enough to grabbed Thomas’s free arm and beamed at Sally, a blush warmed her cheeks. “Sorry, mind if I borrow the man of the hour?” He quickly grabbed Thomas and shoved him into the bathroom which now had a very potent smell of sex and vomit. “Jesus.” Hamilton slammed the door and flicked on the bathroom vent fan. “What the actual fuck Thomas?” Alexander began, “you think you can throw yourself a fucking party in OUR dorm?! I have a final in two weeks…” Thomas stopped listening to Alexander’s voice. A part of him was actually grateful Alexander had pulled him away. Now he was away from faces he needed to keep that careless, rich boy facade. Even if it was Alexander here, he didn’t care enough about him to pretend. His large hands grasped the smooth, porcelain edge of the sink and he bent his head over. “JEFFERSON ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING” Alex had been complaining the entire time, hands flailing to emphasize his point but Thomas had drowned nearly all of it out. “Thomas…” Alexander watched as his back trembled. “Are you going to…” He heard a dry gag and fell silent. Was he? A second dry gag followed violent heaving and suddenly Alexander was concerned. “...I can’t…” Thomas groaned, his head was aching. It felt like his brain was beating against his skull and every inch of his head was vibrating.

Hamilton might have hated having him as a roommate but he didn’t...hate the guy. He had some empathy in his voice as he sarcastically shot back, “what can’t handle your moonshine, Southern boy?”

More heaving came, and it was clear to Alexander it wasn’t involuntary. He was doing it on purpose. Before he could ask Thomas what was really going on Thomas managed to whine again in a softer voice, “...I can’t do this right now.” “Do what?” Alex looked around. “People...party...so many…” He fought back hot tears from how hard he was forcing the air up his throat. Suddenly the tall man’s knees gave out and he sank to the ground, his hands still clutching the sink. His body shaking violently. The tears trickling down his face sent Alex into a confused tizzy. “...ok...uh…” The party was the problem? Well getting everyone out wouldn’t be a problem. “Do you want me to call anyone?” He didn’t feel comfortable leaving Thomas alone. He got no answer now. Thomas hung his head, his curls fall over his face and he was nothing but a black curled mane, a shrinking form under the sink. Alexander took one long look at Thomas and closed the door after him.

Birthdays were never his thing.

He remembered every birthday he had. He remembered how poorly each and every one of those birthdays went. A dismal display of wealth for his family’s benefit. While Thomas was forced to the forefront, around people he never knew, forced to speak and constantly under intense scrutiny. If he said the wrong thing, stuttered, stammered, did anything to look less like a strong and proud Jefferson boy he was met with instant lashing and public displays of physical correction. All the while his innocent pleas for a simple birthday, one where he could be gifted something he wanted went unheard by his family. This birthday wasn’t his. It was just another day for the Jefferson’s to flaunt their power and wealth. Thomas started to feel another heave ripple out of him. He felt the heat of his body working to force some invisible lump in his throat out and his brain melting down overpower him. With a hard twist, he forced half his body into the white tub and retched the cold water knob open. He dunked his head into the cold water and held his breath letting it all wash over him.

For a moment, he felt a calm come over him. All that mattered was the icy sting of incredibly cold water wash over his face. He focused on his other senses, he could hear the music stop. The obnoxious bass was gone thank god. The door opened and closed. “Thomas” A voice so soft that it was practically drowned under the water that was pouring down on Thomas’s head. He felt two large hands pull his shoulders up and out of the water and suddenly Thomas coughed. He gasped, and sputtered realizing he had been holding his breath for so long it pained him to inhale. “Thomas what are you doing? Why is half the people on your friend’s list outside talking to Hamilton?” James Madison gently released him in favor to turn off the water. “A-Aaron ….sur-surprised me.” He hissed, teeth chattering from the cold water. His head started to slowly throb again. James glared a bit at the door, he would have a talk to Aaron. “You should have called me.” He turned around giving Thomas his back as he started to rummage through the shared items of the bathroom.

The taller man could hear the sharpness in James’s voice. “S-Sally, everyone, they were around me and…” He suddenly felt a towel flop on his head. His world went black as James started to dry Thomas’s hair.

“Thomas.” James spoke soft but curtly, his voice slightly rough from the fact he had been ill for a few days now. “You could have told them, no--”

“What Jefferson turns down a party?” He grabbed James’s hands and stopped him from massaging the water out of his hair. He looked up at James with wet eyes. “I’m me, Jemmy, I can’t say no. I’ve never been able to say no. Last time …”

“I know…” James was there. That birthday party, Thomas was fourteen. He had saved up birthday money for years so he could buy himself a gift he wanted. He bought himself a violin and practiced every night one song and one song alone until he was proud. On the day of his annual birthday celebration at the country club, Thomas had built up the nerve to play, the shy, timid Jefferson son who never seemed to shine like the rest of his family was now in the spotlight. He began to play in front of the family friends, the Madison family included, when Thomas’s father ripped his instrument from his hand. Publicly humiliated him and his craft before tossing the violin into the trash. Birthdays weren’t days of celebration for Thomas, it was time to show off and prance. Now that he was no longer in Virginia to be paraded around he hadn’t received a single message from his siblings or mother.

“You’re not fourteen anymore Thomas, this is your choice. You don’t have to be anyone’s shiny thing anymore.” James spoke softly, taking his hands back and started ringing his curls until most were just slightly damp. Once he was done he stood up and held out his hand for Thomas. Thomas’s eyes looked guarded, he didn’t want to leave the safety of the bathroom, he was nowhere near stable to join the masses. Madison nodded in understanding and slowly went back to Thomas and sank down beside him. The shorter college student slowly brought his head to Thomas’s shoulder and sighed.

Having his best friend beside him always seemed to bring a courage out of Thomas. Madison was incredibly intelligent, equally as wealthy but he was meek in appearance. From the moment they met, Thomas had an overwhelming need to protect Madison.Over the course of their friendship it was clear which one of them truly needing protection. James had been there, standing there, giving Thomas that sense of security. After a childhood of constantly being redirected this Jefferson felt lost in a sea of empty wealth and titles. Jemmy kept him grounded.

Thomas’s hand gently crawled over James and laid there. In that moment James smiled a bit and nodded. “Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?” James sung lowly, the same little song Thomas had tried to play on that awful birthday years ago. He felt a smile tug on his lips, even during that awful birthday James was there. He closed his eyes and felt everything ebb away. The aches, the heat. He focused every bit his energy on James’s voice, his breathing, the periodic squeeze of his hand. After a few minutes the bathroom door opened and Alexander leaned against the door-frame. “I got everyone out, told them you had a stomach bug and they empathetically left all your gift and booze.”

“Thank you again, Hamilton for telling me...about this.” James motioned to Thomas with his head.

“I figured when you didn’t show up that Burr must have not told you since you’ve been...sick…” Alexander shrugged a bit, “whatever, I’m taking a bottle as collateral.” He turned with a bottle of some expensive booze when Thomas croaked. “Thanks, Hamilton” He closed his eyes and rested his head on top of James’s. He gave James a small squeeze as he finally relaxed.

Alexander checked his watch, “a few minutes until midnight, consider this my birthday gift to you.” He smirked and closed the door as he spoke. “Happy fuckin’ birthday Thomas”

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