Here it is, my attempt at fanfic writing.
Be nice to the newbie...?
Another time, another space Jedi:The Brotherhood Chronicles
The author of this body of work has no association with U2 or any of their affiliates, family, or peers. All events in this work are fictional, and not intended to be taken as fact. All lyrics are owned by the copyrighted writer, producer, or performer and not to be taken as the author's personal property.
Summary:
Adam finds himself in the center of a whirlwind. Or, to be more precise, that he's a werewolf of an unusual breed. Will he be able to accept his Otherness, or will the supernatural kill him instead?
Warnings: violence, sex (these scenes will be mailed to interested parties), blood, the occasional fluffy lamb sacrificed...
Something's Missing
I'm not alone; I wish I was, 'cause then I'd know I was down because, I couldn't find a friend around to love me like they do right now, they do right now
I'm dizzy from the shopping mall. I searched for joy but I bought it all: It doesn't help the hunger pains, and a thirst I'd have to drown first to ever satiate. Something's missing, and I don't know how to fix it. Something's missing and I don't know what it is. No I don't know what it is, at all...
When Autumn comes, it doesn't ask, it just walks in where it left you last. You never know when it starts until there's fog inside the glass around your summer home. Something's missing, and I don't know how to fix it. Something's missing and I don't know what it is, no I don't know what it is at all...
I can't be sure that this state of mind is not of my own design. I wish there was an over-the-counter test for loneliness, for loneliness like this. Something's missing, and I don't know how to fix it. Something's missing, and I don't know what it is; no I don't know what it is. Something's different, and I don't know what it is. No I don't know what it is...
Friends - check
Money - check
I'm well-slept - check
Opposite sex - check
Guitar - check
Microphone - check
Messages waiting on me when I come home - check
How come everything I think I need always comes with batteries? What do you think it means? How come everything I think I need...
“I will stay with him.”
The voice rumbled out of his chest, deep and utterly masculine. The wolf in him bristled, teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. Several voices rose sharply in protest – it wasn't the duty of the beta's bastard nephew to challenge the hierarchy of these things. There was no alternative but the Way. Loup Garou did not deviate from the Way; it caused chaos.
There was also no use in denying that the Beta was dying, and horror was in the acknowledgment. It was horror to watch the blood-flecked foam rise, bubbling, to the surface of his mouth and nose, then trickle down the sharp angle of that pale, too-human cheek, to lose itself in the starched whiteness of the pillow.
A choked snarl resounded from the bed, where the Beta lay, panting and choking on his own body's fluids, and all eyes turned to him, brief and concerned, before trying to reason with the young usurper.
He was a handsome man, barely out of puppy hood. A werewolf's life was long, if he took no sickness, nor was killed in a hunt. Stocky, he was six foot one, and built like a well-trained footballer. Only, he wasn't much of an aggressive type. He much preferred his bass guitar and the luxury of the American nightlife. But still, his eyes were old, very old; those slate gray eyes pinned Amman, the son of Edgar, with the sheer, dominating will of a man used to command.
“I will stay.” Softer now, his voice held a hint of inimical threat, of intent to kill, should he be gainsaid again. His chin rose, his stature seemed to stretch: a wolf's posture, the language of the body that meant, “I am king.”
Amman snorted, tossed his head, and acquiesced, shrugging uncomfortably beneath his friend's deadly gaze. “Fine, just don't let your brother come screaming at me should you get ill.”
“I won't.”
The Beta suddenly let out a scream, arching from the bed as his insides twisted, melted, reformed themselves into stabbing, hot knives of pain. The men leapt toward him as one, to pin him to the bed.
Too late.
He sought the Change, sought to heal himself within the familiar joy of Wolfhood, but his body was weak, and it was a slow, agonizing thing. But he managed it, and leapt,made ferocious by the spinning of his head, the tremendous force of jangling, pain-gnawed nerves, onto the floor, and howled commandingly.
Icy green eyes fastened themselves on Amman, and black lips writhed back from gleaming teeth. With a wild snarl, he leapt --
To be knocked backward by a powerful blow from his nephew. Collapsing on the floor, the Beta howled with fury and pain, and shook himself. Another snarl, and he rushed his nephew, fury driving him beyond reason. His slash was met with empty air, and a shoulder smashed into his, knocking him flat again. Ruthless fingers buried themselves in the thick neck fur, bunching skin and pelt together in a painful, tight grip. The Beta was shaken, hard, and went limp in that powerful grip. Amman lay, panting with surprise and hurt, mere feet away. Kill. The crazed disease chanted in his mind, rabies destroying heart and brain together. Stop this pain. Kill.
He writhed, trying to throw the dragging weight at his throat. For such a slender wolf, his nephew was strong – and cunning. Throwing his weight into the Beta's ribs, he crushed the black wolf's windpipe effortlessly, drawing a choked scream as strong, slim fingers broke his neck.
Amman cried out, “Father!”
The Beta was no more.
Anastasia came to him in the night, her body graceful, her eyes infinitely sad. She knew; oh, how she knew. He was within his rights to claim her, blood lust sated within the sweet softness of her body. She gave herself over to him with no more than a whimper, and held him close to her breast in the languor of the aftermath. They spent days getting to know each other, their souls connecting in the way of mates, symbiotic and comforting, in a way. There was great unrest in the community, for bastard nephews should never be able to mate the lady of the Second, putting himself directly in line for the throne, after the Alpha. It just wasn't done.
But he had done it.
All unawares, of course, as he had not been raised within this strange, wild community. He'd grown up in Ireland, become a guitarist, and been a member of the most popular band in the world, U2. But he'd always felt that something was missing within. Something... wild. Feral.
Let yourself go wild... the seductive wish was at his should, his very core. Everyone knew it, yet they couldn't tell him why it was the way it was. It just upset the wolves in them to have an inexperienced wolf in a position of power. It could mean the death of them if he placed a foot wrong. He'd tried drinking away the tension he felt, but that had only resulted in nearly losing his livelihood – and his sanity. And he only saved that by acknowledging that... otherness... within himself. Paul McGuinness had helped him with that; ironically, it was Paul whose supremacy he had unwittingly challenged that night.
Paul. Who had been nothing less than a second father to four lost boys from Dublin all those years ago.
“I'm sorry, Paul. He would have killed Amman.”
“No, you couldn't have let that happen. It would have been a travesty, all Edgar's memories lost. You have his memories, you know. You killed him.”
Paul at looked at him wistfully. They had been brothers, Amman and himself.
“I can't give them to you, you know that. Not without losing my mind.” He'd tried a mental transfer, once... it hadn't gone at all well.
Paul had shaken his head. “No. Nor will his son have them when it is time. Unless...”
“Unless what?” He'd asked, suddenly apprehensive.
“There may be a way... let me think on it. Paul had drifted away, lost in thought.”
Adam sighed, running a hand over his hair.
He didn't like how things had happened these past few days. He'd loved Anastasia like a wild thing, craving her body and her love. He had not been at all smooth, or considerate, or any of the things he'd always prided himself on being.
He had behaved, in short, like an animal.
Like a wolf.
Anastasia had not liked the way things had happened, either; she wasn't precisely fond of Adam Clayton, the man, nor the powerful white wolf form he took in the hunt, either. Smooth, easy, he rarely took offense, or leadership, under any circumstances. And yet, the younger set found him fascinating. His wild, ribald sense of humor, twinkling in his blue-gray eyes, was balanced by a Zen-like calmness, unruffled and unworried. No one could shake him, not anymore.
Anastasia, whom he'd always admired with her cream-colored coat and her gardenia fair skin. Her aristocratic sense of style, her beautiful body. Of course, she was a model.
Larry would laugh at him in that sidelong way he had,rendering the object of his humor uncertain whether he was being scornful or not.
Arrogant scut.
Arrogant, pretty scut, at that.
Adam shook his head like a dog, trying to get himself together. Where was she? She'd run from here when he'd mentioned that he loved her.
A bit of paper, ruffled by the wind coming in his window, fluttered to the floor.
He picked it up, and read:
I hope you enjoyed our brief time together. It will not happen again. Do not attempt to contact me, nor force yourself upon me. The consequences will be dire.
He dropped it, staring hungrily at the sweat-stained linens. His heart crashed to the floor, spent, gasping,dying...
Be nice to the newbie...?
Another time, another space Jedi:The Brotherhood Chronicles
The author of this body of work has no association with U2 or any of their affiliates, family, or peers. All events in this work are fictional, and not intended to be taken as fact. All lyrics are owned by the copyrighted writer, producer, or performer and not to be taken as the author's personal property.
Summary:
Adam finds himself in the center of a whirlwind. Or, to be more precise, that he's a werewolf of an unusual breed. Will he be able to accept his Otherness, or will the supernatural kill him instead?
Warnings: violence, sex (these scenes will be mailed to interested parties), blood, the occasional fluffy lamb sacrificed...
Something's Missing
I'm not alone; I wish I was, 'cause then I'd know I was down because, I couldn't find a friend around to love me like they do right now, they do right now
I'm dizzy from the shopping mall. I searched for joy but I bought it all: It doesn't help the hunger pains, and a thirst I'd have to drown first to ever satiate. Something's missing, and I don't know how to fix it. Something's missing and I don't know what it is. No I don't know what it is, at all...
When Autumn comes, it doesn't ask, it just walks in where it left you last. You never know when it starts until there's fog inside the glass around your summer home. Something's missing, and I don't know how to fix it. Something's missing and I don't know what it is, no I don't know what it is at all...
I can't be sure that this state of mind is not of my own design. I wish there was an over-the-counter test for loneliness, for loneliness like this. Something's missing, and I don't know how to fix it. Something's missing, and I don't know what it is; no I don't know what it is. Something's different, and I don't know what it is. No I don't know what it is...
Friends - check
Money - check
I'm well-slept - check
Opposite sex - check
Guitar - check
Microphone - check
Messages waiting on me when I come home - check
How come everything I think I need always comes with batteries? What do you think it means? How come everything I think I need...
“I will stay with him.”
The voice rumbled out of his chest, deep and utterly masculine. The wolf in him bristled, teeth gleaming white in the moonlight. Several voices rose sharply in protest – it wasn't the duty of the beta's bastard nephew to challenge the hierarchy of these things. There was no alternative but the Way. Loup Garou did not deviate from the Way; it caused chaos.
There was also no use in denying that the Beta was dying, and horror was in the acknowledgment. It was horror to watch the blood-flecked foam rise, bubbling, to the surface of his mouth and nose, then trickle down the sharp angle of that pale, too-human cheek, to lose itself in the starched whiteness of the pillow.
A choked snarl resounded from the bed, where the Beta lay, panting and choking on his own body's fluids, and all eyes turned to him, brief and concerned, before trying to reason with the young usurper.
He was a handsome man, barely out of puppy hood. A werewolf's life was long, if he took no sickness, nor was killed in a hunt. Stocky, he was six foot one, and built like a well-trained footballer. Only, he wasn't much of an aggressive type. He much preferred his bass guitar and the luxury of the American nightlife. But still, his eyes were old, very old; those slate gray eyes pinned Amman, the son of Edgar, with the sheer, dominating will of a man used to command.
“I will stay.” Softer now, his voice held a hint of inimical threat, of intent to kill, should he be gainsaid again. His chin rose, his stature seemed to stretch: a wolf's posture, the language of the body that meant, “I am king.”
Amman snorted, tossed his head, and acquiesced, shrugging uncomfortably beneath his friend's deadly gaze. “Fine, just don't let your brother come screaming at me should you get ill.”
“I won't.”
The Beta suddenly let out a scream, arching from the bed as his insides twisted, melted, reformed themselves into stabbing, hot knives of pain. The men leapt toward him as one, to pin him to the bed.
Too late.
He sought the Change, sought to heal himself within the familiar joy of Wolfhood, but his body was weak, and it was a slow, agonizing thing. But he managed it, and leapt,made ferocious by the spinning of his head, the tremendous force of jangling, pain-gnawed nerves, onto the floor, and howled commandingly.
Icy green eyes fastened themselves on Amman, and black lips writhed back from gleaming teeth. With a wild snarl, he leapt --
To be knocked backward by a powerful blow from his nephew. Collapsing on the floor, the Beta howled with fury and pain, and shook himself. Another snarl, and he rushed his nephew, fury driving him beyond reason. His slash was met with empty air, and a shoulder smashed into his, knocking him flat again. Ruthless fingers buried themselves in the thick neck fur, bunching skin and pelt together in a painful, tight grip. The Beta was shaken, hard, and went limp in that powerful grip. Amman lay, panting with surprise and hurt, mere feet away. Kill. The crazed disease chanted in his mind, rabies destroying heart and brain together. Stop this pain. Kill.
He writhed, trying to throw the dragging weight at his throat. For such a slender wolf, his nephew was strong – and cunning. Throwing his weight into the Beta's ribs, he crushed the black wolf's windpipe effortlessly, drawing a choked scream as strong, slim fingers broke his neck.
Amman cried out, “Father!”
The Beta was no more.
Anastasia came to him in the night, her body graceful, her eyes infinitely sad. She knew; oh, how she knew. He was within his rights to claim her, blood lust sated within the sweet softness of her body. She gave herself over to him with no more than a whimper, and held him close to her breast in the languor of the aftermath. They spent days getting to know each other, their souls connecting in the way of mates, symbiotic and comforting, in a way. There was great unrest in the community, for bastard nephews should never be able to mate the lady of the Second, putting himself directly in line for the throne, after the Alpha. It just wasn't done.
But he had done it.
All unawares, of course, as he had not been raised within this strange, wild community. He'd grown up in Ireland, become a guitarist, and been a member of the most popular band in the world, U2. But he'd always felt that something was missing within. Something... wild. Feral.
Let yourself go wild... the seductive wish was at his should, his very core. Everyone knew it, yet they couldn't tell him why it was the way it was. It just upset the wolves in them to have an inexperienced wolf in a position of power. It could mean the death of them if he placed a foot wrong. He'd tried drinking away the tension he felt, but that had only resulted in nearly losing his livelihood – and his sanity. And he only saved that by acknowledging that... otherness... within himself. Paul McGuinness had helped him with that; ironically, it was Paul whose supremacy he had unwittingly challenged that night.
Paul. Who had been nothing less than a second father to four lost boys from Dublin all those years ago.
“I'm sorry, Paul. He would have killed Amman.”
“No, you couldn't have let that happen. It would have been a travesty, all Edgar's memories lost. You have his memories, you know. You killed him.”
Paul at looked at him wistfully. They had been brothers, Amman and himself.
“I can't give them to you, you know that. Not without losing my mind.” He'd tried a mental transfer, once... it hadn't gone at all well.
Paul had shaken his head. “No. Nor will his son have them when it is time. Unless...”
“Unless what?” He'd asked, suddenly apprehensive.
“There may be a way... let me think on it. Paul had drifted away, lost in thought.”
Adam sighed, running a hand over his hair.
He didn't like how things had happened these past few days. He'd loved Anastasia like a wild thing, craving her body and her love. He had not been at all smooth, or considerate, or any of the things he'd always prided himself on being.
He had behaved, in short, like an animal.
Like a wolf.
Anastasia had not liked the way things had happened, either; she wasn't precisely fond of Adam Clayton, the man, nor the powerful white wolf form he took in the hunt, either. Smooth, easy, he rarely took offense, or leadership, under any circumstances. And yet, the younger set found him fascinating. His wild, ribald sense of humor, twinkling in his blue-gray eyes, was balanced by a Zen-like calmness, unruffled and unworried. No one could shake him, not anymore.
Anastasia, whom he'd always admired with her cream-colored coat and her gardenia fair skin. Her aristocratic sense of style, her beautiful body. Of course, she was a model.
Larry would laugh at him in that sidelong way he had,rendering the object of his humor uncertain whether he was being scornful or not.
Arrogant scut.
Arrogant, pretty scut, at that.
Adam shook his head like a dog, trying to get himself together. Where was she? She'd run from here when he'd mentioned that he loved her.
A bit of paper, ruffled by the wind coming in his window, fluttered to the floor.
He picked it up, and read:
I hope you enjoyed our brief time together. It will not happen again. Do not attempt to contact me, nor force yourself upon me. The consequences will be dire.
He dropped it, staring hungrily at the sweat-stained linens. His heart crashed to the floor, spent, gasping,dying...
