Help_im_dying
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Of the Northmost Winds and Skies by xxiiyu
Fandoms: Rise of the Guardians (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
25 Aug 2020
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Summary
It's the first winter after Pitch's defeat. Jack is happy, he's not alone anymore, and his memories are gradually returning. But when a treasure hunt gone wrong puts Jack and Jamie in danger, flinging them through time and space, they find themselves on an island neither of them have heard of before. Jack's first priority is to get Jamie home safe, but Berk's inhabitants - human and otherwise - are certainly not making it easy.
Knowing they will leave Berk and the Vikings behind as soon as they know how to, Jack is not going to risk the pain of growing close to any of these people (or dragons, for that matter). But Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, wearing his heart on his sleeve, doesn't seem to want to take the hint.
Listen to the wonderful SANTAtheGREY's PODFIC HERE
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Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
05 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
1. After chasing Gustav and the kids out of the arena, they all ended up walking back to the village together. Hiccup had been a bit miffed about it at first, because he wasn’t very good with kids, and especially not a bunch of kids that were already worked up because of what had just happened. But he was quick to realize that he had nothing to worry about. On the way back to the village, he barely got to speak to any of the kids at all – or anyone at all, because of one simple reason:
Jack was amazing with kids. Hiccup didn’t know how or why, but no matter what those rowdy kids said or did, Jack knew how to respond. Even if there were seven kids surrounding him, all asking questions, all clamoring for his attention – maybe aside from Jamie, who was in the spotlight together with Jack – he managed to include everyone. And if one of the kids did something bad – like asking an inappropriate question or fighting with each other – Jack knew exactly what to do to distract the kids and make them laugh again.
It was some kind of miracle. Hiccup couldn’t help but stare, and so did Gustav and the twins; none of them had seen anyone able to control so many Berkian kids at once, and with such ease too.
2. Jack was smiling as well – which he did most of the time, but there was almost always a kind of elfishness about it that put Hiccup on edge. This smile, however, was kind and approving. Hiccup only saw it for a second, before Jack grinned at Jamie, ruffling his hair.
So now another thing was clear: Jack was strange, mysterious and often off-putting – but his love for children was genuine and pure. Hiccup found it hard to mistrust someone like that, even with all his other bewildering characteristics.
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Summary
“I never went down,” Ratchet said.
Series
- Part 4 of Transformers works
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Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
18 May 2026
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NOTES
1. “What? Who, what,” the mech said, the words coming on the one-second delay, and then it dropped out as his language processor switched into an actual Cybertronian dialect; an old one, tail-end of the Golden Age old. “What did you—are you another cell? But how did you—they shafted me—” He started patting himself all over, running hands over his limbs like he didn’t believe he was all there[...]
“Another resistance cell,” Loadedge still sounded dazed. “I’m from—” and then he cut his audio off and jerked his head up with sudden wary suspicion. “I was shafted,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t shut down until I was in the recycling level. Nobody could’ve gotten me out of there.” He barked a harsh laugh, looking Ratchet up and down. “Wow, I guess we’ve been annoying the Makers more than I thought? What did they do, mock up this whole place, set you up—well, you can forget it. I’ll dump core before I tell you anything.”
2. “Seriously, you expect me to believe this?” He actually laughed out loud. “Sorry, just—blasting your way in and out of recycling levels, slaughtering whole armies of enforcers—I’m surprised you didn’t just go straight for it and tell me you’re Megatron come to liberate the entire planet.”
Ratchet stared at him. Soundwave paused. Megatron had been about to step away and leave them to it, but he turned back to stand over the mech with a quizzical look on his face. “Liberating the planet wasn’t on my agenda, no,” he said. “How precisely have you heard my designation?”[...]
Soundwave had been listening to him talk with his head tilted. “Megatron,” he said, “Language processing indicates 8.6325 million years of divergence from south-central Polyhex dialect, interpersonal declension dropped. Reversal of divergence indicates original source presumed listener of significantly lower rank. Analysis: Cybertronian speech learned from a high-ranking Decepticon officer.”
3. “Another Decepticon warrior crashed on this planet?” Megatron said. He turned back to Loadedge. “Is he still alive?” he grated out.
Loadedge had turned his head to stare up at the two of them, his mouth hanging open. “But—” he said, feedback distorting his vocal output. “But that’s just—those are stories, Megatron’s not real—”
4. “I spent six weeks looking for survivors in the rubble,” Ratchet said, forcing out the words. “Mostly we just found body parts and scrap, but we kept looking, and digging. And…and I thought…it was strange. It was so strange. Because… we were in the middle of Iacon. Buildings full of Autobots. And I was finding all these Decepticon parts.”
They were all staring at him stricken, totally silent, and Ratchet couldn’t look at them anymore; he couldn’t stand to see his own face reflected in their optics. “I never went down. And I never asked…the cost of the parts I used. We had to do three forms to requisition an extra energon ration for our patients, but we had all the parts in the world. I never asked how. I never went down,” he whispered, and he went and crouched in the dark and put his head in his hands.
5. “What?” Hook paused, about to take another gulp, and frowned at him.
Ratchet shrugged. “I wrote it.”
“You—you—” Hook sputtered out to a total halt and just sat there almost inert for thirty-nine astroseconds, obviously yanking up the full text from deep storage and looking it over, probably diving into the demonstration modules; any surgeon as good as Hook was could easily tell apart the work of other surgeons, and he’d seen plenty of Ratchet’s work in the field to compare to. “You’re Inscriptus of Iacon?” Hook said after a moment. “You’re Inscriptus of Iacon. You’re—but he died, he died at…the Spire…” Hook trailed off, staring at him.
Ratchet looked down at his hands. “Everyone else in my neurotrauma ward died that day,” he said softly. “The other surgeons, the staff, the patients…I dug most of them out myself. And the hospital was destroyed. So after the search for survivors wound up, I went to Central Command and asked to be sent to an active battle zone as a medic. They wouldn’t do it. They tried to put me on some council of technical advisers. So I headed to an outpost on the front directly and gave the name Ratchet. He was one of our orderlies. Got used to it pretty soon. It feels more like my name now than the old one.”
6. “We’re done discussing this idiotic subject,” Megatron said.
“Whatever you say,” Ratchet said, although he had to call it down the hallway after Megatron’s retreating back[...]he’d eat his hydrospanner if Optimus didn’t end up having to come here. And quite possibly having to chase Megatron around the galaxy for a good ten thousand years trying to shove the Matrix into his chest. But Ratchet had a lot of faith in Optimus’s resolve. He laughed softly again as he bent back down over the module’s circuitry: he was happy, because his war, his endless war, was over.
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Summary
In the cave, Regulus doesn’t beg for it to stop. He begs not be left behind, alone.
Perhaps this is why, when Kreacher gives one last look over his shoulder and sees terrible, pale hands reaching for his master, he appears in a flash at Regulus’ side, clutches him by the elbow, and Apparates them both out of the cave, directly disobeying his master’s last order.
Series
- Part 1 of fruitbowls
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Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
31 May 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
NOTES
1. And then, when they finish their movie, or their eyes grow heavy over the pages that begin to turn more slowly, or when their voices begin to drift into thick, drowsy murmurs, they go to sleep together. The sheets warm so much quicker with another person to share them with. James lets Regulus claim the side of the bed closer to the wall and Regulus lets James tuck his cold toes under his legs. The space between them gradually lessens until James can reach out and hold Regulus’ fingers clutching the edge of the duvet if he wants to, can feel Regulus’s breath when he wishes James a good night, can count the faint freckles over his nose until he falls asleep beside Regulus.
James gets used to all of it far too quickly, allows it to become familiar, to settle in the spaces between his ribs like dandelion weeds growing between cracks in the sidewalk. Regulus, soft and sweet in the mornings. Coming home to him bathed in warm afternoon light. Regulus criticizing the Daily Prophet in his kitchen, wearing James’ ancient Buzzcocks shirt that for whatever reason he seems to love more than any of James’ other shirts. Regulus across from him listening with rapt attention, eyes warm and hazy like he’s stuck in a daydream. Falling asleep beside Regulus, the sound of his breathing comforting and familiar. James wonders what it says about him.
17. “Jesus,” Sirius says again, shaking his head and looking anywhere but at James. “I should have known the moment I got that letter. I always just figured you got over him eventually, but I really should have known because that’s not really how you work, is it?”
James rears back. He opens and closes his mouth stupidly, stuck on I always just figured you got over him eventually . He says, “You–you knew?”
Finally, Sirius looks at him. His expression softens fractionally. “I knew. I always wondered why you never did anything about it.”
18. Regulus tilts his head all the way back, leans it on James’ thigh, dislodging James’ hands. Suddenly, James is very aware of how warm Regulus feels between his legs, the way his arms press against James’ legs. Regulus stares at him. “You’re very weird.”
James grins at him. “I want to shower you with affection. Is that so bad?”
Being the sole focus of Regulus’ stare, James is realizing, is a very intoxicating thing. Or maybe he’s remembering it. He thinks he remembers breathless moments in the library or just outside of the Potions classroom, James going out and Regulus going in, flustered and pinned down by that stare. It makes him feel like Regulus can see right through him, like he can open him up and pick him apart, look through all the gritty raw bits that make him up. It makes him feel warm all over, like being wrapped up in a heating charm, and sends thrills down his back. If he were standing, he’d be weak at the knees. James would be okay with it if Regulus really were looking through his insides, he thinks. What do you see? He’d ask. What are we made of?
Regulus stares at him, and James doesn’t falter, he smiles and lets him look his fill until he turns between James’ legs and crawls up into his lap.
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Summary
It had been three months since his rescue, but Starscream felt worse now than he had when he’d first come back, when he was still barricading his door and flinching at Megatron’s shadow.
There was something wrong with him.
Series
- Part 2 of Hereafter
Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
27 May 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
He wondered if taking another partner would fix it, fix him, but the idea of letting another mech into his berth... someone touching him... it didn’t appeal.
Still, he found himself watching Megatron. His Megatron. Watched his strong back and shoulders as he fought in battle, found himself wanting to curl his limbs around them and let him take care of all these urges and wants, just like the other Megatron would.
But he couldn't. Megatron knew the details, or some of them at least. He knew enough to know Starscream was used goods. He’d have no interest in being a berth substitute for his alternative self.
As time passed, the urges worsened.
Starscream felt that he needed it, needed something, the disgusting primal urge to be filled like that, used like that. His own touch wasn't enough. The sleepless nights were leaving him weak and lethargic. He’d gone off his fuel. His processor had grown sluggish.
It had been three months since his rescue, but Starscream felt worse now than he had when he’d first come back, when he was still barricading his door and flinching at Megatron’s shadow.
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Summary
Hammer Bay, one of the most mutant-friendly apartment buildings in all of Manhattan and affectionately nicknamed the Hub by its residents, is home to an eclectic mix of families, broke college students, scientists, artists, and high school dropouts. Charles Xavier, new arrival to apartment 3K, catches the attention of everyone on the third floor but he only has eyes for one: cranky author Erik Lehnsherr who lives directly across the hall in 3B.
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Bookmarked by Help_im_dying
10 Dec 2021
Bookmarker's Notes
1. “Erik,” Charles replied archly, “is coming over for dinner with me next week. So please refrain from frightening him off before he and I even have a proper conversation.”
Angel’s pen stopped. “Wait. You’re having dinner with Erik?”
“Yes. It’s a thank you for helping me move some things around this morning, nothing more.”
Neither of them believed him. For one thing, Raven knew Charles, and she knew that whenever Charles showed even the slightest interest in someone, their relationship would very quickly culminate in late-night bedroom acrobatics, followed by early morning walks of shame and usually the termination of said relationship. For another, Erik never shared his meals with anyone other than his closest friends, and sometimes even they had a hard time convincing him to sit down with them.
“Dinner,” Angel said again. “With Erik. So a date.”
“It’s not a date,” Charles insisted, just as Raven said, “It’s so totally a date, don’t even bother denying it. Really though…Erik? He’s not your type.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome is exactly my type.”
“How about serious, antisocial, and angry? Because that’s Erik ninety-nine percent of the time.”
2. Charles’ eyes shot open wide. “Erik. That is one of my favorite books of all time. You—what—that’s impossible. Max Eisenhardt—”
“A pen name.” Now Erik was beginning to look faintly amused. “I could autograph, too, if you’d like.”
“Oh my God,” Charles said, shell-shocked. “I’m sorry, but it’s not every day you run into one of your favorite authors. Oh my God. I wondered what you were like. There aren’t any pictures of you on the Internet, if you can believe that, and your autobiography is so curt. I never imagined…”
Erik’s eyebrow rose. “Go on.”
Charles spluttered wordlessly for a moment. Erik, the Erik Raven had been talking about since he’d moved into the Hub last year, the Erik who’d helped Charles shift things around in his flat, the Erik who’d blushed so prettily when Charles had called him handsome—that Erik was an award-winning writer? One of the most elusive NYT bestselling authors, who had yet to show his face in public or hold any book signings, despite the fact that he had a good number of fans who would flock to him if he ever popped up?
“Does Raven know?” he managed eventually. “Because I can’t imagine her keeping a secret like this from me.”
“She knows. Everyone in the hall knows, but I get the feeling they don’t care much. The glamor wears off after a while, you know.” At Charles’ dazed look, Erik grinned. “You never suspected, did you?”
“Not at all. Intelligent, talented, and easy on the eyes. I knew I should’ve moved to New York sooner.”
Erik laughed, though the way he was twisting the cords of his earphones between his fingers betrayed some nervousness. Charles could see a question lurking on the edge of Erik’s mind but didn’t press in deep enough to read it. The right to mental privacy and all, as determined by no fewer than three Supreme Court cases. Besides he always found conversations much less boring when he actually allowed others to formulate their own thoughts in their own time.