11 Works by Songends
Listing Works
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Summary
You (Explorer #61) get pinned down by mimics in the bed of a pickup truck. There are six mimics and five more bullets. Did I mention your aim is ass?
EXCERPT:
And you would think 7.62x39 turning your shoulder blade into a fucking spiderweb would hurt, maybe---you would think it would at least be palpable. But there’s nothing palpable about this, because that little part of you, the part that still thinks you can die, just pumped you full of adrenaline, that crazy bastard. You aren’t allowed to feel pain anymore, 61, you can’t feel anything anymore. And your left arm is fucked up now, too. It’s just a limp dangling parasite off your torso.
You missed the shot, by the way. One more bullet now, good luck.
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UNSANCTIONED New Republic AIRSTRIKE - Who's responsible? What happens now? by Songends
Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV), The Mandalorian and Grogu (2026)
24 May 2026
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[SPOILERS FOR THE MANDOLORIAN AND GROGU.]
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NAL HUTTA - Shockwaves continue to spread across the Outer Rim and Hutt Space following the devastating skystrike on the Hutt palace at Bilbousa, Nal Hutta.
The strike, carried out by manned New Republic attack craft, reportedly targeted senior members of the Hutt Clan during what officials are privately calling an “emergency extraction operation” involving an independent contractor known as “The Mandolorian”.
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I know a lot of people saw the Phantom Menace and were like "wow, why so much politics? This is boring." Well, now we know what a Star Wars movie looks like when you throw politics out the window for spectacle. Are you seriously telling me the Republic can get away with pulling a Daddy Donald on Nal Hutta? The movie treats it like a triumphant "the cavalry has arrived" moment when in reality it is the most braindead diplomatic decision I've ever seen. All because Filoni wanted the movie to end on a big explosion.
What follows is a strongly-worded condemnation, UN style, on the HoloNet. Enjoy.
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Part of the fifth annual Morrowind Writing Competition organized by the Morrowind Writer's guild.
A tax-dodging, mildly in-the-closet Telvanni wizard who definitely does [NOT] have a thing for his Argonian apprentice decides nowhere on Mundus is safe from the Bureau of Census and Excise and their taxes. Where else to go but Oblivion?
Something goes wrong during the ritual, and he ends up on the Lunar Province of Tatterdemalion, the nomadic, stranded Megalomoth vessel-fortress that still thinks it's the first era, and that they are subjects of the Reman Empire. He must learn their customs, teach them what's happened since they landed, and uncover the mystery of how a city never meant to be self-sufficient has survived a thousand years without contact.
**This fic is best enjoyed by someone embarrassingly well-versed in metaphysics and lore.** -
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The Citadel has collapsed. Overwatch is offline. Scalpel 2-4, a transhuman sniper, is left stranded after the death of his spotter. While maintaining his post, he encounters Jury 1-5, an officer of Civil Protection who has lost his squad. With communications completely severed and surrounded by the Resistance on all sides, Scalpel begrudgingly takes him on as the newest member of his squad.
Jury's got big shoes to fill, and very small feet.
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This originally started as just a chatfic but, as usual, I got very ambitious. Thankfully I didn't turn a one-chapter story into four like my, erm, other ongoing work (I swear I'm still working on it). If you like how the Combine speak, you'll like this fic.
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Just a quick oneshot written in response to the "Airships!" prompt, by Alice of the Morrowind Writer's Guild.
I was compelled by the little hints of plot the Patchwork Airship quest from Bloodmoon gives you, and decided to make that a story. It's mostly true to what is said in the Journal.
An Altmer navigator on the patchwork airship develops a fondness for an Argonian who is deathly afraid of heights. Things go quite literally south when he tries to get his friend to face his fear.
You'll notice I tagged Yaoi, but that's not really here. There's a bit of a m/m crush thing but it never amounts to anything (except Praxinus repressing his sexuality even more than before).
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Ajira had sent the newest associate on a routine task. Fetch some mushroom samples from the Bitter Coast for her report. How difficult could it POSSIBLY be?
Turns out? Very. After three days, the associate hasn't returned, and now Ajira is very much facing the possibility that she just sent some poor fool to his death. Out of compassion (and maybe just a little bit of self-preservation), Ajira sets off into the wilderness on a mission to find the missing associate herself.But the associate was hiding something. Something that was very much alive. Something that wanted to get out.
The Guild wants silence. The Tong wants sugar. The law wants blood.Ajira and Rabinna? They want love.
Alternate Title: Ajira fetches her own goddamn mushrooms for once
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[This fic is on indefinite hiatus. Writers block got to me, and I can't help but think I can do better, so I keep rewriting the first chapter over and over, never happy with the results. It turns out I'm really bad with anything over a single chapter, so I've just been working on shorter fics for the moment. I'll come back to this eventually.]
Eli Vance never wanted to fight. The only things on his mind in those beleaguered years following the Seven Hour War were the safety of his daughter, and the crushing guilt of his involvement with the Black Mesa Incident.
When a mysterious Vortigaunt arrives with cryptic warnings and impossible knowledge, Eli is given the chance to rectify his past mistakes, and maybe, just maybe, able to give his daughter the life that was robbed from her. But the challenges of organizing a planet-wide rebellion might prove to be too much for a single theoretical physicist to handle, and the Vortigaunt's obsessive nature drives a wedge between them that never quite heals. -
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A short ballad based off of some stuff Micheal Kirkbride said about Argonians - namely, that being a lizard person from Black Marsh is actually completely optional.
I made this when I was fourteen and just decided it would be fun to post it here. I promise I'm a better poet now.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 265
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 6
- Hits:
- 54
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Eremus Tellar, a clerk for the East Empire Company in Solitude, can no longer afford his desperately-needed medication. Running out of options, he makes the worst mistake of his life.
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How every single Argonian in Solitude is able to rob the East Empire Company blind.
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During the later sections of Half-Life 2, specifically during the uprising in City Seventeen, you may have noticed that the Resistance has such ample supply of rocket launches and ammunition. While obviously much, if not most, of it is scavenged from the Combine, we can clearly see that the Resistance has access to a LOT of this stuff. Moreso than one would expect. How did the Resistance end up acquiring these stockpiles of munitions?
That's where these assholes come in.
This is a one-shot about a squad of Resistance fighters who specialize in weapon salvage and repair. Black Mesa East has just tipped them off on the location of an old cache of rockets, and the squad is eager to collect. Unfortunately, things get hairy rather quickly as they realize that they aren't the only ones who are after this stash...
Excerpt:
"Target lost at grid 9-7. Go active intercept. Check radials.
"Close sightlines, keep sound on. How copy on motion check?"
"Contact confirm, active 10-94. Razor one displacing."
*CRACK*
"Viscon! Viscon! Designate target ghost-1. Range two-hundred, bearing twelve. Razor-niner engaging." -
Elder Scrolls: Interview With a Dremora by Songends
Fandoms: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Elder Scrolls
03 Aug 2024
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The following text has been faithfully and wholly documented by the scribe Antonius Rexus of the Imperial Society of Deadrology, and opened to the public by the decree of Jarl Korir of Winterhold. Attempts to replicate the summoning methods used are strictly prohibited without explicit permission from the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold.
The views and opinions of the Dremora in question belong to the Dremora alone, and do not reflect views held by the College of Winterhold or the Imperial Society of Deadrology. This content is intended to provide insight into Daedric culture and should not be construed as endorsement of Daedric practices or ideologies.