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lardguz · 3 years

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The Aegis's Master Plan

I'm posting this story from the mobile app because I can't access my laptop until later today, but! I've been chipping away at this stupid story for months now, I started it way before the last story I posted. I kind of wrote myself into a corner by getting both Mal//os and J//in at sizes I had never really written before and then... Kept going. So it took me a really, really long time and lots of writers block to finally figure out how to finish it. But, I did! I think. I can't remember if I ever like, wrapped the story properly because the file is so goddamn big. ^^;

Regardless, I hope you guys enjoy two very homoerotic antagonists stuffing each others faces!

The Monoceros. A huge mechanical marvel of a warship, unlike any other that the nations of Alrest used for their transport. This metal beast of a ship didn’t rely on Titans to move, instead roaming the Cloud Sea unfettered by any lifeform. Within the black metal armor of the craft lay the secret base of the Blade terrorist group, New Torna. The leader of the ragtag group, the Flesh Eater named Jin, was currently preoccupied with matters other than freeing Blades and Core Crystals from those who would abuse them.

The long-haired man stood in the Monoceros’s kitchen, cooking up a storm. Three serving carts piled high already with his culinary crafts, he was working on loading up the fourth and final cart with the last of the dishes he had planned for the evening. This much food was usually only prepared for huge feasts for royalty, or small armies, but Jin had only one dining partner this evening. Said dining partner was currently heckling him from outside in the mess hall.

“Hey, Jin! How much longer is dinner gonna take, anyways?! You’d think 500 years of perfecting your technique would make you cook faster than the average human child, hah!” called the loud, brash voice of Malos, the Aegis himself, and Jin’s second-in-command in leading New Torna.

The white-haired Blade groaned as he plated some Gormotti Sashimi, and called back in an even tone that didn’t betray his frustration with his partner. “I’m almost done, Malos, would you please be patient? You requested a lot more food than I am generally used to preparing at once.”

“Well, what can I say?,” the sarcastic voice bellowed back, “Regaining my full Aegis powers made me really damned hungry. And you do not want to be on my bad side when I’m hungry, so HURRY IT UP.”

Jin sighed and resigned himself to his position, when a brilliant idea struck. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small pouch. The quiet man had stolen this appetite-enhancement powder out of the barracks of the Ardainain warship he had stormed on his own a while back. Some private must have stashed it away to help gain muscle mass in training exercises. Maybe I could use this to get back at Malos for all the shit he’s constantly putting me through… thought Jin. Without missing a beat, he opened the pouch and began sprinkling its contents liberally over every single dish he had prepared for the evening. His cunning plan now in motion, Jin began wheeling the massive feast out to the dining hall, where Malos sat waiting for him.

The darkly-armored Blade sat reclined in his wooden chair, his boots kicked up on the banquet table. He sneered as Jin began putting all the beautiful dishes he’d spent all day cooking on the table. “So this is the best food Alrest has to offer, huh? Certainly doesn’t look like much, Jin. You sure this will please an Aegis like me?” Jin nodded, respectfully and impassive, refusing to reveal his intentions with his expression. Malos chuckled, and pulled a plate of Ruska Dumplings toward himself. “Guess I’ll just have to see for myself, then!” Grasping a dumpling in his armored hand, he popped it into his mouth, chewing contemplatively. His eyes opened slowly, and he spoke around the dumpling. “Hey, that’s not half bad. I think I’ll eat the rest of these if you don’t mind, Jin.”

“No, go ahead, Malos. Feel free to enjoy until you’re satisfied.” Jin responded softly, as he began moving some more of the plates within reach of the hungry Aegis. He observed silently as Malos demolished the plate of dumplings and immediately moved onto the next dish, a plate of grilled salmon with herbs, without even making any of his usual sarcastic comments. That powder really shut him up, Jin silently mused, when he noticed something else. It seemed like his appetite wasn’t the only thing the powder was effecting. The Aegis’s once-strong and muscular body seemed to be growing softer before Jin’s very eyes. As Malos polished off the salmon and moved onto a plate of Cinnopon Rolls, some of the armor plating his body snapped off and clattered to the floor, allowing his partner to get a better look at his growth.

The first thing Jin noticed was that Malos’s stomach was much, much larger than it was before. The soft, flabby mass was resting comfortably on his thighs, the stretchy bodysuit he wore under his armor not doing anything to hold it back. His thighs were also softening considerably, and Jin couldn’t resist pinching the plush fat that now coated them, nodding approvingly as his fingers sunk in about two inches deep. The Aegis’s ass, once well-toned and round, was now squarish in shape, the cheeks losing their form and squishing into the back of the dining chair, threatening to droop off the edges along with his fat thighs if he kept up the rate he was devouring his solo feast. His arms were also getting bigger and softer, and his formerly toned pecs were now budding into a magnificent pair of breasts, resting comfortably atop his growing gut. His Core Crystal was nestled comfortably between each moob, and Jin wondered how visible it would be in a few hours. Malos’s face, which not long ago was rather sharp and intimidating, now undeniably had a certain rounded softness to it, his cheeks puffing out just a little bit, and a double chin peeking out any time he chewed on his food. Jin began massaging his boyfriend’s shoulders softly, feeling the fat between his fingers and getting an unexpected thrill of delight from it. He realized this was no longer about payback, but wanting to get his partner as big as he possibly could, and knowing he was an Aegis, that was probably a pretty high ceiling to reach.

Jin leaned forward to whisper in Malos’s ear from where he stood behind the growing Blade. “Are you enjoying the meal, Malos?” he asked softly. Malos laughed around a mouthful of roasted poultry. “Hah! What, can’t you tell? This food is suiting my needs just fine, Jin. Why, d’you want some too?”

Jin hesitated. “Oh, no, I’m fine. I made this all especially for you, remember?”

Malos nodded, taking another massive bite of the drumstick in front of his face. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But I feel like you really earned this, ya know?” The Aegis chuckled darkly as he made his move.

With alarming speed for one as fat as he was, Malos spun around in his chair and grabbed both Jin’s wrists, forcing him to the floor. Jin let out a yell of surprise that was cut short as Malos landed on top of him, his massive weight pinning him and knocking the wind out of his lungs. Malos smirked deviously. “You really thought I didn’t notice the food was off?! You idiot, I’m the Master Blade, of course I noticed you messed with my food! Which means…” Malos reached for a plate of Lovemerry Cake, grabbing a fistful of the sweet confection and shoving it into Jin’s open mouth. “You’re gonna be enjoying this lovely meal with me, Jin! It’s just not fair for you to not get to taste your own delightful cooking too, after all! If I’m gonna be a total fatass, I’m taking you down with me, asshole.” After shoving the entire cake, handful by handful, into Jin’s desperately resisting mouth, Malos hoisted his bulk off of his boyfriend, delighted to see a slight bulge of a new tummy growing on the Flesh Eater’s abdomen. Jin shakily rose from the floor and automatically made his way towards the other end of the banquet table, pulling the nearest plates close to him and immediately digging in without comment. Malos snorted and sat back down in his seat, the wood creaking under his already sizable ass. “I’m not letting you upstage me in this one, though, Jin. You’re never gonna outgrow an Aegis.”

The two men feasted in silence, the only sounds the scraping of silverware on plates, the loud smacking of lips, and frantic chewing as the appetite enhancing powder caused their stomachs to scream for more and more food. Jin was mostly gaining weight in his lower half, his titanic thigh rolls and enormous ass cheeks seemingly swallowing his wooden dining chair whole, their flab overflowing and dangling over its edges easily. His gut, which was still large but not nearly as big as his beanbag-sized cheeks, oozed over his tree trunk thick thighs, seeping between them and forcing them further and further apart. The white-haired Blade’s clothes were ripping at the seams all over his growing form, as he stared across the table at his partner. Malos was a Blade of his word, to be sure, and was not letting Jin catch up to his growth at all. The massive man had surpassed a double chin and had moved to triple, his cheeks starting to droop into fat-laden jowls that ruined his once-menacing expressions. His neck was lost under a ring of fat that looked like a small tire around his face. Malos must have fully burst out of his bodysuit a while ago, his mountainous bulk no longer able to be contained within its confines. His breasts sagged down either side of his triple-decker gut, each one larger than any female Blade’s boobs in existence. His arms were covered with jiggling fat that drooped off his biceps, slapping heavily against his numerous side rolls and his moobs every time he brought food up to his fat mouth. His gut was split into three rolls, which cascaded down his front and pooled in his wide lap. The dark Aegis’s flabby gut was definitely his largest asset, even the topmost roll large enough for a Tirkin to sleep on comfortably after only a few hours of feasting. The middle and bottom rolls split where his belly button once was, the fat from the middle roll folding over it and making a crevasse that would only get larger and deeper the more he ate. His meaty love handles stuck out to the sides of his massive belly, the side rolls they formed impeding him from placing his pillowy arms straight down at his sides, forcing them to rest at an angle in the brief moments he wasn’t stuffing food into his greedy maw. While his lower half wasn’t nearly as large as Jin’s would be when he eventually caught up to his current weight, Malos’s lard-laden ass and dimpled thighs still overflowed out of the tiny wooden chair he was in. He actually registered in his mind that his enormous asscheeks were almost definitely stuck in said chair, which was creaking and groaning constantly under his prodigious behind. He suddenly had an idea to keep the chair inevitably breaking under him from being an issue and heaved himself onto his feet.

Malos waddled his way out of the mess hall, leaving Jin behind to continue eating on his own. The round Aegis had to shuffle his massive thighs past each other with each step, the inner rolls rubbing against each other no matter how far apart he kept his legs. The lowest roll of his stomach slapped against his knees as he wandered around the halls of the Monoceros, looking for any of the other Torna members. Unfortunately for Malos, the first one he found was the one he least wanted to see right now.

Mikhail, the blonde skirt-chasing scoundrel of their group, was leaning against a terminal, punching something in on the keyboard. Hearing the huffing breaths coming from a bit of a ways down the hall, he turned toward the noise's source and saw Malos’s morbidly obese form and couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement. “Whoaaaah, Malos?! What happened to you? You look like you must’ve ate an entire Ardun by yourself!” Malos groaned. “Mikhail, please. For once in your life, shut the fuck up.”

Mikhail looked playfully hurt by this statement, and cried back in response, “Boss, I’m hurt! I was just saying you look even bigger than last time I saw you! Why are you being so mean to m—GAAAH!!” The blonde man didn’t get to finish his sentence as Malos made his move, pushing his entire body against Mikhail’s and using his massive gut to pin the smaller man to the wall. He leaned his blubbery face in close to Mikhail’s and snarled, “I told you. To shut. The fuck. Up. Got it?” Mik nodded, his cheeks flushing bright pink as he felt Malos’s body enveloping his own. “Good. Now here’s what I need you to do. Go grab two benches from the storage room. The ones meant to sit four people. Bring them to the mess hall as fast as possible, or so help me, I will crush you like the worm you are, got it?”

By the time Malos managed to waddle his way back to the mess hall, the benches had already been brought in, and Jin was planted firmly in his. To Malos’s disgust, he realized that Jin had surpassed him in size while he was gone. The white-haired Blade’s enormous, shapeless ass was already starting to get close to overflowing the bench he was sat upon, with the fat of his massive thighs making his legs look roughly the size of a particularly old Puzzlewood tree from Gormott. Malos moved as fast as his overburdened legs could take him to his bench and began stuffing food into his face at double speed, chewing frantically to make sure his boyfriend didn’t end up larger than him. They kept feasting long into the night, even after the benches shattered beneath their respective bulks, leaving them to shift their nearly-immobile bodies onto the table so they could continue reaching the food with their fattened hands. Being Blades, and incredibly powerful ones at that, they retained movement in their arms for much longer than most, long past when they both were immobilized by their own corpulence. Their multitude of chins and neck rolls blended seamlessly into each other, their drooping jowls wobbling and smacking loudly every time they chewed, and their cheeks so fat that they started to impede their vision slightly. Their massive moobs pressed into their neck rolls, giving the impression that their faces were sinking slowly into their own fat. The only thing hindering their powerful Blade arms from accessing food readily was the fact that their fattened hands were starting to sink into their fat as well, their flabby pillows of arm fat starting to absorb them at the wrists. Their legs had already done the same to their feet, the dimpled lard of their calves already collapsing over their ankles about an hour ago, preventing either of them from being able to even waddle ever again. Even if their feet were visible, though, they wouldn’t be able to touch the ground. Even Malos’s comparably small ass was still a veritable mountain of adipose, lifting him off the ground by about half a foot already, each cheek the size of a couch and steadily spreading out under him. His massive gut spread even further, its numerous rolls spreading out underneath him as he strained his overencumbered arms to try and reach the dishes that were closer towards the middle of the banquet table. Jin’s gut was nowhere near as huge as Malos’s, but his massive ass cheeks pushed him about a foot and a half off the ground, making it just as difficult for his fat-covered arms to reach the tantalizing feast near the center of the table. Both Blades soon surrendered, wobbling futilely as they fell back, unable to move anymore due to the lard encasing their once-powerful bodies.

Malos was wheezing for breath, the strain of leaning forward even too much for him now. His boyfriend was in a similar state, face flushed crimson as he huffed to regain his composure. The Aegis breathlessly spoke to Jin from where they both sat with the table and its forbidden meal between them. “H-hey, Jin. I think… haah… we might need… huff… to ask some of th-the others… haah… for h—urp, help… finishing this.”

Jin tried to nod in agreement, but with his face and neck caked in fat the way they were, all he could manage was wobbling his face fat instead. “Yeah, th-that sounds… huff… like our b-best… haah, haah… option, Malos. Should I… hnngh… call for them?”

Malos only belched in response, which Jin decided to take as a “yes”, and he sent out a mental signal to Mikhail and Akhos to come to the banquet hall at once. As soon as they both arrived, to quell any sass or small talk from the two particularly condescending Flesh Eaters, Malos cast a quick Monado Enchant on them and gave them their new instructions: to feed himself and Jin the rest of the many plates of food on the table in silence. Akhos immediately moved to grab plates and began climbing his way up to where Jin’s face was being slowly buried in between his breasts and back rolls, while Mikhail did the same for Malos’s mountainous form.

The two men continued to grow and grow the more they were fed, their hands now long ago absorbed into their arms’ fat rolls. Malos’s titanic stomach overtook the table, crushing it underneath its enormous weight. Thankfully Mikhail and Akhos had already moved the remaining plates onto the guts of their two leaders, which had long since become large enough to be used as a table anyways. Jin, with five crab skewers in his fat mouth at once, realized that he could feel his rear pressing against something, but since his face was so sunken into his own fat, he couldn’t even begin to move his head to see. Even if he could turn his head, all he would have seen was his boulder-sized ass cheeks and his cascading rolls of back fat that led down to them. His gut, while smaller than his partner’s, was still enormous, and was slowly getting pushed under Malos’s much larger and more expansive stomach rolls. The Aegis currently was having an entire four-tiered cake shoved into his mouth piece by piece and loving every second, reveling in feeling every inch of his flab creeping further and further across the room. He felt more powerful than he had ever felt in his life as the Aegis.

After hours and hours of feeding and eating, finally, the two Torna leaders were finished with their feast, and sat in the aftermath of their massive gain. The only thing Jin could see past his flabby cheeks that took up most of his vision was the ceiling directly above him, as everything else he could see was his own soft pale flesh. His miniscule face was nestled deeply between a valley of his massive jowls, his flabby back rolls, and his cascading chins and neck fat. His breasts sat atop his enormous gut, each one larger than the table that he originally placed the feast on was before it was crushed under his and Malos’s combined weight. The rings of fat next to his breasts that were once his arms contained no signs of once being able to wield a katana expertly, now uselessly huge with his fingers and hands swallowed up beneath the rolls of adipose covering them. His gut was mostly eclipsed by Malos’s enormous stomach rolls, but Jin’s ass and thighs were his biggest asset by far, both of which were so massively obese that they spread across the room and pressed firmly against the metal walls and ceiling of the Monoceros’s mess hall, threatening to crush them under the weight of his titanic ass fat if he ate any more food.

Malos was in a similar state, though he had definitely surpassed Jin in sheer size. Not that it really made a difference when both Blades were huge enough to fill the entire mess hall between them. Malos’s blob of a body towered over Jin’s, his wobbling mountain of a gut covering almost every inch of his side of the room and squishing up against Jin’s comparably-smaller stomach rolls, waves of pillowy flab spreading all over. The Aegis’s core crystal was nestled between his two boulder-sized moobs, still perfectly present despite the sea of soft fat around it. Malos’s face, however, was much less visible, the once-sharp and intimidating features now buried between enormous flabby jowls, rippling chins and neck rolls, and hefty rolls of back fat that already threatened to crash over onto his face. The black haired man wiggled his fingers from where he could feel them buried under the incredible amounts of lard that coated his arms, chuckling deeply as he realized he could still move them despite his hands being absorbed into his arm fat hours ago. Suddenly, his core began glowing with a purple light that enveloped the fat rolls that were once his arms, which then flowed over to his partner, Jin, covering his entire corpulent form with a glow of dark energy.

Jin groaned as his body started wobbling, every fold and roll rippling and slapping against each other loudly. Suddenly, the light dissipated, and the white haired Blade felt… strange. He almost felt lighter, despite being thousands of pounds overweight now. He squinted his icy blue eyes, trying to peer past his overfed cheeks to look at his boyfriend, Malos. He could make out the pale blob that was now the Aegis’s body across from him, and he heard deep, almost maniacal laugher coming from the mound of flab, which sent the entire expanse of fat wobbling all over. Malos spoke, his voice deepened significantly by all the fat caking his neck, and his words slurred from his incredibly flabby cheeks and pudgy lips making talking all the more difficult.

“Sho… Jhin… Hah doesh ih—hnnnnhhhh—feeuhl… tuh hahve—nnnnghhh—th’ pohwehsh… ohf an Aegish…?” Malos had to pause frequently to wheeze between words, the weight of his body making speaking and breathing at the same time a difficulty. Jin grunted in confusion. What did he mean, the powers of an Aegis? Malos laughed again, his drooping breasts wobbling like pendulums with each booming sound. “Youh… hahven'… fihgurhed ih—haaaaah… haaaahhh…-- ouht? Shtahnd… uhp… Jhin… an’ cohme… tuh meh…” The Aegis stopped talking, opting instead to gasp for breath, exhausted from exerting himself by just talking for a few seconds. Jin sat there in shock, wondering how the hell Malos expected him to stand up at his size. But then he remember that he did feel lighter somehow after Malos did whatever it was he just did, so the Blade attempted to move his presumed-useless legs.

Jin was surprised to find that his legs did in fact move, and he was easily able to shift his room-wide bulk into a standing position somehow. The resulting movement of his enormous rear end slapped both hills of lard into the wall of the dining hall, making the entire room echo with the sound of their bulk clapping against the cold metal. Jin hesitantly began shuffling his bloblike body towards his boyfriend’s immobile form, inching his carriage-sized legs past each other painfully slowly, the entire expanse of his body rippling with every slight move he made. His stomach, leg rolls, and ass cheeks all dragged along the floor, making the journey all the more difficult even with the strength of an Aegis making it possible for him to move at his incredible size. Eventually, Jin stood at the base of Mount Malos. He heard his boyfriend’s voice, smug as ever even with the weight affecting his speech, echoing from above him. “Haaaaah… ekshellehnt… Naoh… Ah—hnnnngh—neehd youh… tuh… clihmb uhp—hhhhhnnn—tuh mah… mouff…” Jin grunted in confirmation, moving his fat-swaddled arm rolls experimentally. They responded to his movements despite being disgustingly overfed, his hands still buried under their rolls, but it was enough for Jin to be able to climb the massive, wobbling expanse of Malos’s stomach rolls. It made for very slippery going, with one not-insignificantly smaller blob of a man climbing another one. Jin’s oversized arms and legs sank deep into Malos’s soft belly, the leader of New Torna feeling like he was going to fall into a crevasse of body folds and never be found again. Their fatty bodies slapped against each other loudly as Jin slowly ascended, every inch of their bodies shifting endlessly with waves of movement. Finally, Jin found his blob of a body perched atop Malos’s chest, gazing into his boyfriend’s cold gray eyes, surrounded by the sea of fat covering his entire face. Malos grinned, his eyes almost disappearing behind the creases of fat that formed when he did so. “Sho… naishe—haaaah—tuh shee yuh… agaihn… shekshy—hnnnngh—Reahdy tuh… fihnush thish?” The Aegis said, looking almost ecstatic that his plan had progressed this far, whatever it was. Jin nodded, or did as close to a nod as he could manage at his size. Malos explained through wheezing breaths that the true power of an Aegis granted him the ability to make whatever he wanted reality. He had given Jin some of that power to help make him bigger than any Titan or even the World Tree itself, so that he could fulfill his desire to destroy Alrest by crushing it beneath his own continental sized body. Jin agreed, lifting his sagging arm rolls and conjuring a flow of food to enter Malos’s waiting mouth. The Aegis moaned in satisfaction, readily gulping down anything that came near his greedy maw.

Rex and his companions were visiting his hometown of Fonsett Village to recuperate after their last encounter with New Torna. The Driver of the other Aegis, Mythra, sat on the overlook that he and his friends from the village had jumped off of into the Cloud Sea an uncountable number of times, watching the sun set as it bathed the clouds in a golden glow. Rex heard footsteps in the grass behind him and turned to see who was approaching. His eyes met those of the Gormotti Driver, Nia, who he’d been traveling with since the very beginning of his journey. The brown-haired boy grinned at her and patted the grass next to him. “Oh, hey there, Nia! C’mon, come sit and watch the sunset with me! Fonsett has the best sunsets you’ve ever seen!”

Nia scoffed, rolling her yellow eyes, her cat ears twitching with amusement at the boy’s enthusiasm. “I swear, Rex, yet such a kid sometimes! But, sure, why not? Sunsets ain’t really a thing I ever got tae enjoy much in my life.” She sat down next to him, crossing her legs beneath her and placing her hands on her knees.

Rex looked over at her, examining the look of quiet concern on the girl’s face as she stared at the clouds below. He piped up gently. “Nia, is something the matter? You look like somethin’s botherin’ you.” She closed her eyes and smiled wryly before responding. “Aye, nothin’ gets past ye, does it, Rex? I was thinkin’ about Malos and Jin.”

Rex tilted his head a little in confusion. “Jin and Malos? Why? Are you worried about ‘em or something? Do you miss ‘em?”

“Miss ‘em?! Pfft!” Nia snorted, “Of course I don’t miss ‘em, they were a right couple’a tossers. I was jus’ thinkin’ that somethin’ don’t seem right. I feel like they might be up tae nae good. I just feel somethin’… off in the air I guess? Somethin’… big?”

Rex clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times before replying. “You know, I was thinking the exact same thing earlier. I feel something off in the air, too. Like the flow of ether energy in the air is… growing? Or maybe shrinking? I dunno. But maybe you might be right, and it’s something to do with them.”

Nia was about to theorize some more when she stopped, her ears perking as she looked off on the horizon. “Oi, Rex, d’ye see that there off in the distance?” She pointed to a large shape flying high above the Cloud Sea. Rex looked, squinting to see it better as it was so far away. “Is that… The Monoceros?!” He exclaimed in shock. Nia nodded. “Aye, that’s what I thought, too. Doesn’t it look a little off tae ye, though?”

Rex peered at the battle ship of New Torna and realized it looked… misshapen. The metal hull seemed to be bulging weirdly in places, and it also seemed like its flight path was sinking slowly, like something was weighing it down from within. “That’s odd. Why’s it look like that, do you reckon, Nia?” The girl shrugged. Rex looked back and noticed, now that it was a little closer, that some of the metal plating of the hill was coming apart at the seams, and something pale and soft was oozing out of the gaps. One panel fell off entirely, and in its place burst out a wobbling pillow of soft material, almost like a bubble of some kind. The two young Drivers looked at each other in confusing and worry as they watched the Monoceros fall apart piece by piece as it sunk closer and closer to the clouds below, revealing more and more of the strange, pale mass contained within the ship. “That definitely wasn’t there when I was still with Torna…” Nia murmured, “What the ‘Ell is goin’ on…”

Suddenly, the air was split with the shriek of breaking metal, as the entire remains of the Monoceros burst open, sending two indistinct shapes, one at least twenty times larger than the other, plummeting into the Cloud Sea. The smaller blob-shaped object landed on top of the much larger one with a resounding meaty slap, sending rippling shockwaves all over its form. The enormous wobbling mass floated suspended in the clouds, while Nia and Rex tried to figure out what it was. That was when they realized the shape was growing larger at an alarming rate. Rex looked at Nia, his eyes panicked. “Uh, Nia? We should probably evacuate everyone in Fonsett to safety. Whatever that thing is, it’s getting bigger by the second!” Nia nodded and the two ran off to the village to gather everyone together.

Jin sat on top of his boyfriend’s uncountable chins and neck rolls, thrilling in the feeling of his own massive expanse of rolls sinking into the even softer and ever-growing fat of the Aegis himself. One wouldn’t even be able to tell the acres of soft, pale flab were a Blade unless they got very, very close. Malos was completely unrecognizable, any semblance of a humanoid form long buried beneath tons upon tons of adipose. His gigantic mountain of stomach rolls spread for miles and miles across the Cloud Sea, blanketing the thick, puffy clouds with even thicker, softer, heavier fat rolls. Malos’s monumentally sized ass cheeks, each one now bigger than any inhabitable Titan, stretched out behind him for almost as far as his incredible gut did. The mounds of adipose that were once his legs were ringed with soft, dimpled fat rolls, completely unrecognizable as anything that once resembled a leg. His piles of pudgy love handles had reached the hundreds now, looking like a stack of floppy pancakes leading up to his enormous chest. Malos’s breasts were astonishingly huge, large enough to crush the entirety of Alba Cavanich under just one of them easily, each one weighing at least over ten tons. His face was barely visible anymore, between the boulder-sized jowls drooping down the sides of his face and impeding his vision greatly, his rings of hundreds of flabby, wobbling chins and neck rolls, and the cascade of back fat that was crashing down on his face from above. The Aegis’s mouth was constantly occupied with an endless deluge of fattening foods conjured up by Jin’s new powers, Malos’s mouth constantly stretched to its limits by the sheer amount of dishes crammed between his overfed cheeks,. He had no time to talk anymore, not when he was eating constantly to grow larger and larger and eventually crush all of Alrest beneath his massive blob of a body, but then again, why would he ever want to waste time talking? Becoming the largest Blade in all of Alrest was truly a calling worthy of the Master Blade himself.

#male weight gain #ssbhm #fat!xenoblade #fat!malos #fat!jin #my writing #holy shit this was an ordeal to write #why did i think it was a good idea to try writing such massive sizes for the first time? fuck knows

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

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I hope my request got enough fluff 🥺 Daichi reassures his s/o that he loves her just the way they are. She is insecure about the way she looks and her shy/introvert personality. She thinks that she doesn’t deserve the captain of the vball club and he doesn’t understand it because they are perfect in his eyes 💕

this is cute hhh,,, uhh it ended up being a bit more,,, anxiety-focused?? and a tiny bit personal BUT IT’S STILL KINDA FLUFFY I PROMISE,,, WE GET THERE,,,

warnings: anxiety,

- admin rowan

it’d been a hard week. and frankly, you had no idea why.

you’d made a genuine effort to put yourself out there. but, as always, that was easier said than done. it was all well and good to say you’d go join a club, but actually going to meetings? god, the hammering in your chest hadn’t settled down for a good couple of hours.

and you knew. you knew it was stupid. you knew it was your body was going into overdrive for absolutely no reason. and you knew that the only way to make friends and to get that embellishment for your college applications was to actually go to club meetings.

and that made it worse. being able to see it ‘logically’ just made you feel even more stupid. it was always the same problem, playing over and over and over again.

and every time you thought you were on the right track – every time you felt like maybe things were getting better, maybe you were taking a few steps forward – it all came crashing down.

worse yet, you’d promised daichi that you’d go to a meeting that week. you’d had five whole days to tackle that challenge. and you’d failed. miserably.

and now, you’d promised to go and face him.

the ‘thwack’ of volleyballs on the hardwood floor was usually a welcome sound. today, it filled you with dread. it meant having to feel like utter shit for the next couple of hours.

you’d wanted to just go home and curl up in your bed. trying to sleep it off wasn’t an excellent strategy, but it was better than nothing. but no, daichi had asked you to come to practice today. something about how you being there would motivate him to work harder.

daichi. you’d been together for just over a year. it had been a wonderful one, all things considered. you’d been there for the absolute rollercoaster that was the volleyball team’s rise to success. you attended every game you could manage, and you’d even helped out a little with managerial work if kiyoko ever needed it (although, yachi’s arrival had been a big relief, in many ways. and she was just so cute that you couldn’t help but love her).

these days, you’d been seeing him less and less. you understood, and you certainly weren’t mad about it. and you weren’t about to get mad now, either; you wanted to support him no matter what. he was doing so well, and it seemed like his future was just getting brighter and brighter. he’d managed to lead a high school team to nationals, all while maintaining his grades and keeping a fairly healthy social life.

sometimes, it felt like you were punching far above your weight. some days, it felt like he was leagues ahead of you, and all you could do was watch him with a smile. and every so often, it felt a bit like you were wasting his time. like he should be with someone… not like you. someone more extroverted. someone more impressive.

maybe that’s why your feet were dragging a little more on your way to the gym.

you stood a few feet from the door, but your legs didn’t want to move.

fuck. this was going to set you off? really?

alright. deep breaths.

you’d walked into practice so many times. you could do this.

“hey.”

you jumped, spinning on your heels.

thank god, you thought. just kiyoko.

“hi,” you breathed, praying that your face wasn’t too flushed.

you adored kiyoko, you really did. but now more than ever, you didn’t quite know how to strike up a conversation with her. you’d been so thoroughly rattled that you’d forgotten how to communicate like a normal human being.

“do you think you could lend me a hand today?” she smiled at you, a twinge of guilt in her eyes. “yachi was feeling a bit run down so i told her to go home early.”

“of course,” you nodded. it was the best thing she could’ve said to you in that moment. now you had a job. now you had something to do. now you had a distraction.

you could only hope that it might calm you down a bit.

—-

practice always ran later than you expected. the sun was setting by the time they’d wrapped up (despite hinata and kageyama’s calls for “one more!”), and you were exhausted just from watching them.

the distraction hadn’t worked as well as you’d hoped. watching the team practice, watching them give it their all, had just bred a new kind of anxiety in you; one laden with insecurity and guilt.

everyone in the gym was working so hard. usually, that would’ve left you feeling overwhelmed with affection; the only thing you could’ve hoped for was daichi’s team caring just as much as he did about the sport.

but today? today it just made you feel worse. everyone seemed so close, and they all seemed like they really gave a damn.

and on top of all of that was the guilt. why couldn’t you just be happy for them? why did you have to bring it back to your own insecurities? wasn’t that just selfish?

you’d been watching daichi the entire time. if anything, it seemed like he was working even harder than he used to. he’d mentioned that the training camp had taught him a lot, but you were yet to see that in action. now, you could see that he’d really meant it.

and as always, he was an excellent captain. how had you even managed to catch his eye?

daichi turned to you, face flushed and hair matted to his forehead. you blushed, despite yourself. sure, he looked a bit dirty, but he was still hot. you swallowed, eyes flitting to the ground.

“i haven’t seen you all day,” daichi chuckled, wrapping his arms around you.

“you’re sweaty,” you mumbled, stepping back from him and holding out a towel.

daichi just grinned. “right, sorry about that.” he rubbed the back of his neck, tilting his head at you with that broad grin of his.

your chest felt like it was going to explode.

“how was your day?” he asked, taking the towel and smothering his face with it.

“fine,” you responded. that was a bit too quick, you thought to yourself. he’s not going to believe that.

sure enough, daichi pulled the towel down from his eyes and raised a brow at you.

“did something happen?”

“no,” you shook your head, maybe a little too vehemently.

“hey.” his fingers brushed your cheek like a whisper, his thumb gently grazing your jaw.

“you can talk to me.” his voice was soft, barely above a hum.

you shook your head. you couldn’t see, but you felt like some of the team were looking at you. what did this situation look like? was your mood really so obvious?

even kiyoko seemed to be handling you more gently today. fuck, you thought. they can tell, can’t they?

you clenched your fists, trying to ignore how clammy they felt.

“not… not here.”

well, you’d gone and done it now. you’d opened that door, even if it was just a crack.

“come with me.”

———-

the walk to his place had been nothing short of painful.

you weren’t used to silence between the two of you. daichi always had some tale to tell about the antics of the first years, and you had your dramatics concerning your own group of friends. there was always something to laugh about, a way to lose yourself in conversation.

but not today.

daichi’s grip was firm, his fingers wrapped tightly around your hand as you made your way down the street.

he hadn’t said anything until you’d arrived. you knew he was trying to keep concentration, and he was probably running through all the potential directions the conversation could go. but by god, did it make you even more anxious.

finally getting to sit down on his bed felt like you’d reached the end of a long pilgrimage.

daichi had fussed around for a bit, ushering you up to his room before pottering round in the kitchen for a couple of minutes. he came back with a glass of water and a copious amount of your favourite snack; that meant he’d already gone into some kind of attentiveness overdrive. this was only stage one.

“are you alright?” he asked, sitting down next to you with his back to the wall.

you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

the truth? no. but, it felt like telling him that you were just anxious because of what had happened this week would be a lie. it sat there, ready to fall off your tongue at any moment. but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

because that wasn’t what was really wrong. that wasn’t the one thing that had been weighing on you for quite a while now.

“you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said, rubbing your back.

you shook your head.

no, you had to say something. it felt like your heart might give out if you didn’t.

“i don’t deserve you.”

there it was. that one thought that’d weaselled it’s way into the back of your mind and dug it’s heels in. that one thought you just couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

daichi was wonderful. he was kind. he was mature. he had a level head and a bright future. hell, he was maintaining his grades while being the captain of a team that was going to nationals. nationals.

what had you done? sure, your grades were okay, but you felt like they would slip at any moment. you weren’t even part of a club – you were trying to join one this week in a last ditch effort to bulk up your resume, after all – and you had no leadership experience to speak of.

“i know my words won’t fix anything,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you and coaxing you closer to him. “but listen to me, okay?”

you relaxed just a little, letting yourself lean back into him. even now, you felt comfortable in his arms. safe.

daichi drew you close to his chest, and you crumpled. he pressed his cheek against the side of your head, squeezing you gently for just a moment.

“i love you,” he whispered in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “and i mean that.”

your eyes stung, and you bit the inside of your cheek. those words just… didn’t sound real. and you hated yourself for feeling like that.

“i know you don’t see yourself the way i do,” he continued, pressing another kiss to the back of your head. “and as much as i wish i could make you, i can’t.”

you said nothing. all you were trying to do was stop yourself from crying.

“you’re perfect in my eyes, you know that?” the sincerity in his voice was overwhelming. you just didn’t know what to do. you wanted to believe him; to feel like that was a reasonable thing to say.

“i know you’re not going to be able to change how you see yourself overnight,” he said. “but please don’t feel like you don’t ‘deserve’ me.” he chuckled. it was a warm, wholesome sound. “honestly, it’s the other way around. you know, sometimes i’m just shocked that someone as wonderful and attractive as you would even look at me.”

“don’t lie to me,” you mumbled, but you could feel your cheeks burning.

“i’m not!” daichi chuckled again, kissing the back of your head again. “but that’s not what a relationship is about, is it?”

you shook your head. you didn’t know what to say to him. you didn’t know if you even wanted to say anything. he was right in saying that it wouldn’t magically fix anything, but listening to him speak was… comforting. he always had a way of making you feel like things were going to work out.

“we’re in this together, love,” he pulled you closer ever so slightly, arms still wrapped around your waist. “no matter what, i love you. and i want to be with you. and you can ask me to remind you of that at any time.”

“daichi…”

“yeah?”

“i’m sorry…” you couldn’t help it. even now, even with him, you couldn’t stop apologising. apologising for being so stupid. for being such a burden. for being so sad.

“none of that,” he shook his head. “don’t apologise. it’s not your fault you feel this way. and don’t you dare feel guilty for ‘wasting my time’ or whatever else. you know how i feel about that.”

you bit the inside of your cheek. damn it, you were about to say it again.

“just… let me hold you like this a little longer, okay?” he murmured. “you know, nothing helps me relax quite like spending time with you.”

“really?”

“really,” he smiled. “can i be honest with you, for a moment?”

“always.”

“sometimes i worry that i’m not enough for you,” daichi sighed, burrowing his head into your shoulder. “that i should be doing more for you, you know? i know i’ve been spending less time with you because of volleyball, and sometimes i feel…” he sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. “sometimes i feel guilty about not being there for you.”

“don’t say that,” you shook your head, vehement. “i know you’re doing what you can.”

sure, it had been a bit lonely; you’d quietly mourned the loss of part of your summer holidays together when he was off at that training camp. but you supported him. you always would. and you knew he was making as much time for you as he could manage.

you paused. “is… is that what i sound like?”

“hm?”

you shook your head. “doesn’t matter.”

“you sure?”

you nodded. “i… i love you.”

daichi leant forward and kissed your cheek. “hearing that always makes my day.”

at this point, you’d given up on trying to stop yourself from blushing. “you’re cheesy,” you mumbled, trying to hide your face in his bicep.

daichi laughed. “we’re just a couple of idiots, huh?”

it was in that moment that you felt that maybe, one day, things might be okay.

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #sawamura daichi #daichi x reader #sawamura daichi x reader #admin rowan #tw anxiety #i'll tag it just in case #ANYWAY I LOVE HIM #i hope this was okay #it got me through my history essay djkhf

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The marriage pact - Hitch

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 17 | Part 18 Hitch | Part 19 >

Disclaimer: sad fluff, some body insecurities

Author’s note: Can you tell it’s Monday? It’s Monday. Gosh I feel like I need a hug after writing this. 😭

Word count: 1.764

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

Do you ever look in the mirror, just to study the way you are slowly changing? I don’t want to say older. Just, changing. My eyes are practically always the same shade of brown, like milk chocolate, and my hair is often an equally chocolaty mess, pulled up in a bun. And I like it like that, too.

And then there is my skin. Sometimes pale like porcelain, sometimes sun kissed with a hundred small freckles, dusted over my cheeks and nose. I don’t understand why people wouldn’t like their freckles by the way. I absolutely love mine. Unfortunately now that winter has come, I mostly look tired. Thank heavens for concealer!

I wonder by the way if men also look at themselves in the mirror like that. Especially since it’s generally far less accepted and normalised for them to wear make-up, even if it is just a simple concealer.

Anyways. It’s winter and I look like a walking, talking zombie, my once fresh looking skin now showing some mean little creases and fine lines. Admittedly, I do sometimes rub my skin with a little bit of extra cream when I see those lines. Not that I am willing to invest in those luxury treatments or get my panties in a twist, but still. It does, in some way or form, influence the way you feel about yourself.

I embrace change, but today? I am most definitely wearing make-up. Thank you very much.

Done-with-winter-already,

Ali

With the loudest of sighs I flung the refrigerator door closed, my shoulders slumping visibly as I plopped down on my chair at the dinner table, dinner long cleared away from the table but my parents still sitting there.

My mom was the first to pick up on my sulking mood, her careful eyebrow raising up over her reading glasses as she put down her Swedish crossword, pen still in hand.

‘Looking for something?’ She asked casually.

‘No.’ I grumbled, looking over at dad who was still hiding himself behind a folded open newspaper. Mom sniffled and shook her head. ‘Then what is it, Ali dear?’

‘It’s just…’ My lip trembled - not even make-up could make me feel any better today. ‘..things are not working out like I want them to and..’ Sniff. ‘..it’s so frustrating.’

Slowly my dad lowered his newspaper. Usually it was my mom who dealt with any off-days on my end, which truly were sparingly. I didn’t really wish to share my troubles and thoughts with my parents too much, fearing they’d continue to see me as “their little girl”. I wasn’t a little girl for crying out loud. I was a grown woman of 37-years. I shouldn’t need my parents anymore, right?

‘Is this about eh..’ My dad started, squinting his eyes as if looking for any signs that I would go for his jugular right here and now. I didn’t. ‘..eh..Henry?’ He swallowed as I started to cry, shaking my head no.

Mom quickly moved aside her crossword and pen, reaching out her arms to smooth her warm palms over my shoulders. Even through the tight knit of my dark grey sweater I could feel the soothing calm of her touch. ‘What’s the matter baby? Tell us.’

‘UGH..it’s just.’ I sniffled and angrily wiped a few rogue tears away. ‘I..ugh..this feels so stupid. I just thought I had found a place of my own. I’ve been looking at some apartments..and..I thought I had found one. Ten minutes from here. Perfect. Finally. But..’ I furrowed my brows. ‘..I couldn’t get it. The owners chose someone else, despite me being first choice. I just got the news.’

Mom was quiet for a moment and dad swallowed harshly, the two of them deciding on how to go about it. I sniffled again and looked up. First at mom, then at dad, the both at them suddenly looking even older then I remembered them to be.

‘Oh..’ Mom finally exclaimed, seemingly relieved. ‘I thought it had to do with Henry. Woof! Thank god for that.’ She quickly pushed her chair closer to mine, wrapping a bony arm around my shoulder and pulling me in for a mom hug. ‘Come here.’ She hummed, squeezing me even tighter to her chest. ‘Hmmm! Well, you know you can stay here for as long as you want. We love having you here with us. Close to us. It gives our life a bit of…’ She leaned back and smiled, shrugging slightly. ‘..joie-de-vivre!’

I snickered, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘You could get a dog too, you know.’

‘Hahah oh we might, we might. We actually discussed it the other day. Would you like that, a dog?’ She asked at me, dad snuffing in amusement - either because he absolutely didn’t want a dog or because this whole shift of moods was amusing him.

Women.

‘That is yours to decide mom…dad.’ I gave him an exasperated look and he chuckled, quickly grabbing his newspaper again, hiding the cheeky grin that lingered on his lips.

‘But really, I am just glad that it’s not Henry. You and him are just such a fine couple together.’

‘Thanks mom.’ I smiled, wiping the last remains of my tears. I laughed. ‘I eh..actually confessed I love him the other day.’

‘OOOHHH.’ Mom near jumped with excitement and my dad quickly duck even further away behind his newspaper - he really felt uncomfortable with all this girl chat. Me and mom both grinned and before long we were deep in conversation about what had transpired between me and Henry the past few weeks. A talk that was long overdue honestly, because of course mom had HEARD a gazillion things, but in her motherly role she had decided to wait for me to spill the beans.

Well. The beans were spilled. And I couldn’t be happier to hear how enthused and adoring my mom was about everything Henry concerned.

—

Henry carefully read the words on the screen of my phone, the both of us sitting on my parents couch, the rest of the house quiet as my parents were out.

It was an e-mail I had received that afternoon. Bad news. Again. As if losing that house wasn’t enough, of course more shit had to happen. He slowly furrowed his brows as he licked his lips, scrolling back up - as if checking he didn’t miss anything in his careful read.

‘O..kay..’ He finally said slowly, sighing visibly. ‘Yea..’ I bit my lower lip and reached out for my phone, retrieving it from his hesitant fingers. ‘Are they even allowed to..’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘..make such a suggestion?’

‘I don’t know Hen. Ugh. What is it with this week?! I hate it. Two weeks ago it was all fine and now this? Please let it be over..’ I sulked, reopening the e-mail of the fertility clinic and giving it a once-over. Yep, there it was really in black and white; due to a rapidly growing waiting list they suggested that me and Henry would perhaps first check out “other means of fertilisation”, before enlisting for a sperm donor. Meaning, most probably and quite rudely; just forgo the condom and see where that takes you.

There went my plan B. My back-up plan. At least for another extra 6 months of extended waiting as they had simply pushed me back on the list now I had a “partner”. Could they do that? I don’t know, but it sure was a blow in the gut.

‘What would you do in this situation, Hen?’ I asked quietly, seeing him shift his weight to turn towards me. ‘Well, believe it or not. I think this is my situation too now.’ He swallowed and reached out for my hand, tentative fingertips stroking my palm.

‘True.’ I smiled with watery eyes.

We were after all a team now. Together. Boyfriend and girlfriend.

‘I eh..’ He shook his head. ‘Okay this is going to sound so stupid now, but I want to get it off my chest. Before I did the Durrell challenge, just really a few weeks before, I had a chat with a..’ He sighed. ‘..a woman who would wish to surrogate a ..-’

‘WHAT?!’ I sat up a bit and swatted his hand away.

‘No no..Ali. It..nothing happened. I just..’ He swallowed awkwardly. ‘I guess I just started my very own path in trying to become a father. It’s a thing that’s been on my mind for a long time now. I want it. Though it immediately became clear after that conversation with that woman that I could not do it like that.’ His eyes searched mine, hoping I would not hate him for it, understand him.

I sighed. ’Gosh..I thought you were going to say you had like a kid on the way and..-’

‘Ali.’ He grabbed my wrist and looked me even deeper in the eyes. ‘There is nobody else. There is no kid on the way. It’s just you and I.’ - ‘Okay.’ I quietly nodded and swam through the depths of his stormy blue eyes. I near drowned in them.

‘So, you want to be a dad, hmm?’ A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it and Henry’s eyes instantly tracked it as it moved over my cold skin. With a tender finger he brushed it off, his lips curling in a sad smile. ‘Badly.’ He swallowed harshly.

He suddenly looked so fragile, like I could see right through those big bulking muscles and handsome features and see within, see the most deep and hidden away piece of Henry that I had ever gotten to see.

With pensive blue eyes he was looking down, his hand re-interlocking with mine, his other hand now aimlessly hanging by his waist. He looked a bit forlorn, lost at the sea that I had found in his cerulean gaze.

The sea that was Henry. Sometimes calm and soothing, something strong and unbending.

A sea that wanted what I wanted. Badly.

Without words I crawled over to him, using whatever strength I had to pull him into my chest, his head resting in the crook of my neck and his breath slightly shallow. He was such a large man that it was hard to actually make him surrender and lean into me. Usually he was the one who was to protect and be strong. Now it was the other way around. Sighing harshly he finally gave in, his nose sniffing as his arms slowly folded around my waist.

‘All I learned is that I don’t want to do it alone.’ He finally gulped, softly.

I closed my eyes and let a hand roam over the soft material of his sand coloured cable knit sweater. Poor bear. My poor bear. I nodded.

‘Neither do I, Hen. Neither do I.’ I pushed my nose in his neck and whispered into his skin: ‘And I think you are going to be an absolutely great dad.’

He swallowed back a cry.

‘In fact I KNOW it is so.’ I smiled, pressing up a number of kisses on his skin until I reached his lips. ‘And all other things are just a hitch, a hiccup. What I really, really need.. is.. you. Let’s..let’s make this work.’ I sniffled.

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Oblivion-Ch. 25

Chapter 25

I sat on the floor, back propped against the sofa, books and laptop spread out on the coffee table at the apartment. Seth sat across from me with his own books, his head resting on his hands. Roman was stretched out on the sofa behind me, his fingers stroking idly against my shoulder as he thumbed through his sociology notes.

“There is no fucking way I’m going to pass this test,” Seth lamented, practically bouncing his head against the table. “I will gladly take my cal physics exam a hundred times if I don’t have to take this one.”

“Stop bitching,” I said with a smile. “You’re making it harder than it really is. Now, tell me the four categories of international relationships.”

Seth reached for his textbook, but I swatted his hand away before he could grab it. I glared, lifting a brow. He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. He groaned. “Pure antagonistic, pure cooperative, moderated cooperative, and…”

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, thinking hard. I knew that he knew the answer, but Seth had no self-confidence when it came to this class. I had no idea why, and I’d made it my personal mission to ensure that he worked his ass off and passed the class.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I don’t remember.”

“Intermediary affected antagonistic,” Roman said lazily from the sofa.

I turned around, surprised that he had any idea of the answer. “How the hell?”

He grinned at me, his dark eyes going playful. “Corbin took the class last year. He talked to himself during workouts to study. We were weight partners, so I basically learned everything he did.”

“He still got his notes? Tests?” Seth said hopefully.

Roman opened his mouth to answer, but snapped his jaw shut when he saw the look on my face. He cleared his throat and went back to his own studying. “Don’t think so. Corbin’s not the type to hang on to shit like that.”

Across the table, Seth deflated. I gave him a sympathetic look. “Hey, you pass this test Rollins, and coffee’s on me for a week. You get an A, and I’ll buy it for a month.”

He turned those brown eyes on me. “Are you bribing me with caffeine, Addy?”

Grinning, I nodded.

“Challenge accepted.”

***

Dean opened the door almost as soon as Seth thumped his foot against it. He couldn’t open the door on his own, mostly because he held a Frappuccino in one hand and was using the other to keep me steady on his back. I’d jumped on his back as soon as we got back to the apartment, having found a hole in my shoe that let snow seep in onto my socks.

“What the fuck?” Dean asked, standing to the side as Seth ducked in the door and squatted so I could slide off his back.

I held up my foot, showing him the huge gap where my neon socks were visible. “Jesus shoe.” When Dean looked at me like I was insane, I laughed. “It’s holey, get it? Holy?”

He rolled his eyes and threw his arm around my neck, drawing me close against him. I smiled and tilted my face up, meeting his lips with my own. Warmth spread through me. It was the feeling I always got with Dean. It was the sense of a perfect early summer night.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked with a smile.

I kicked off my shoes and tugged him toward the kitchen. “Make me one of those sandwiches of yours. We’re celebrating.”

Dean popped open the fridge, rummaging around. “Hmm? What are we celebrating?”

Seth swept into the kitchen and hopped up on the counter, half finished frappe in his hand. He grinned. “Addy’s contribution to my caffeine addiction,” he said playfully. He held his cup out toward me in a salute. “Because of her, I got a ninety-three on my international politics test.”

I grinned and tapped my cup against his. I leaned against the sink, feeling incredibly proud. “You put in the work,” I said firmly. “I just kicked you in the ass to get you started.”

A gust of cold air swept in as Roman threw open the door. There was snow in his dark hair as he kicked off his shoes and threw his bag on the floor. When he saw me in the kitchen, his face lit up. “Hey, baby girl,” he boomed, crossing the room in a few strides and picked me up in a warm, steady hug. He kissed me soundly, smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“Celebrating,” I replied, dusting the snow from his hair and his beard. “We both got A’s on our politics test.”

Roman looked at Seth, who nodded and grinned. “No shit!” He crossed over and gave Seth one of those guy hugs. The ones that start as an odd high-five and end in that one-armed slap on the shoulder. “Congrats, uce.”

Seth gestured toward me with his cup. “It’s Addy. Wouldn’t have passed without her.”

The look Roman gave me made my heart light up with love. He smiled and it made his dark eyes sparkle and shine. A moment later, he pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me, hands clasped at the base of my spine. I snuggled against his bulk, tucking my arms between us. When he spoke, his voice vibrated through me.

“Yeah, Addy’s amazing.” His lips settled against my hair. “That’s why she’s la’u Fetu e Tasi.”

I closed my eyes and tucked my head beneath his chin. He was warm and smelled like outdoors and mint.

“Alright, out of my kitchen,” Dean ordered abruptly. “I can’t make breakfast sandwiches for dinner if you three are in the way.”

***

Dean pulled right to the door of Felton Hall. He’d borrowed Roman’s truck to get me back to campus. Apparently, while he was comfortable driving his Charger in the snow, he didn’t like to do it. The salt fucked up the paint he said.

The inside of the truck was warm and cozy. For some reason, I had the sudden thought that it smelled like fresh bread. One of Dean’s breakfast sandwiches was wrapped up in aluminum foil and tucked into the pocket of my hoodie. He’d made an extra for me to bring back home as a snack.

“Hey,” I said quietly, tucking my hair behind my ears. My heart thumped in my chest. I had thoughts and words swirling around in my head, but I couldn’t figure out how to get them out. “Can I ask you a question?”

He turned in the driver’s seat and looked at me with those denim eyes of his. His gentle fingers brushed against my cheek. “What’s up, princess?”

I looked away, feeling my whole body start to overheat. I was embarrassed by the question… the request. What if they thought the worst? What if this ruined everything?

“Are you okay?” he inquired, stroking his thumb along my jaw. He moved as close as he could. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Addy?”

It was now or never. I couldn’t explain why, but it just felt easier to talk about this with Dean. My eyes squeezed shut, courage gathering in my chest. “Have you ever thought about you and me… and Ro? Together? At the same time?”

Quiet, heavy and thick, settled in the enclosed cab. It felt like my heart was going to pound straight past my ribs. My stomach dropped. I felt sick, terrified of what might happen when he spoke.

“Is it something you want?” he asked. Dean settled his hand on the side of my throat, thumb against my jaw, fingers in my hair at the nape of my neck.

Tears burned my eyes. I wanted to sob, but I couldn’t make them come. Instead, all I could focus on was the gentleness in his touch and the soft understanding in his voice. His fingers steadied my pulse, the contact a promise that I wasn’t alone. That he was there. And that he loved me.

“Yes,” I replied quietly. I could sense the hurt in my own voice. The fear and sadness. The ache at the possibility of losing either of them.

His lips pressed against my forehead, lingering there as he cradled my head with his fingers. “Then the three of us need to talk about it together. If it’s something you want, we can figure it out.”

My fingers twisted up in the front of his shirt. “You aren’t mad at me?”

“Princess, there’s nothing wrong with what you want,” he said firmly. “I’d rather you tell us than be unhappy. And besides, why would I be mad at you? Anytime I get to see you naked and writhing is a good time.”

I laughed, just enough that it broke the heaviness of the moment. “Even if it means seeing Ro naked, too?”

Dean waved his hand in dismissal. “Wouldn’t be the first time. We all share a bathroom, remember?”

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @vebner37 @lilred91 @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @maelleoute

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violetnuisance · 5 years

Text

A Spark

The Pure Attract The Toxic - Chapter 2

a/n: I-I finally did it. Things start to get explicit in this one. Here’s the link if you’d rather read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20988461/chapters/49910162

I dunno if my “read more” is working on mobile, but let’s pray

[[MORE]]

Travis could feel his pulse pounding in his ears as his hands tightened their grip around the strap of his messenger bag. Despite the dread filling his lungs, his eyes narrowed on his target. The mane of frizzy brown hair towered over the other students who sat at their respective tables eating lunch, making it easy to spot Larry from a mile away. The blond marched onwards, forgoing his own lunch. His stomach had been in turmoil all day, too nervous to digest anything. It wasn't until brown eyes snapped up to meet his that Travis paused for a second, losing his bravery.

Larry’s eyes narrowed as they caught Travis’s, and the blond swallowed. The look of intense displeasure crossing the brunet’s face was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy he exuded just the day prior. As Larry looked away from Travis for a second and excused himself from his lunch table, the blond could all but feel the annoyance radiating from the other. He continued to stand still, waiting for his death sentence as Larry approached him. The taller male’s hands were dug in his pockets and shoulders hunched as he glared down Travis.

“Come on,” Larry barked out as he grabbed Travis’s arm. The blond stumbled backwards, balance briefly knocked, causing Larry to only tighten his grip. “Without making a fucking scene.”

“You’re the one dragging me out of the cafeteria,” Travis huffed, letting him be pulled through the double doors and back out into the hallway. Larry’s bruising grip on him only lessened when the brunet scanned the area and found no wandering students.

“I wouldn’t have to drag you anywhere if you’d just stay away from me and my friends,” Larry retaliated. Travis felt his face redden as his temper rose. He jerked his arm completely out of the other’s hand, earning a huff from the metalhead.

“If I recall correctly, you were the one following me around yesterday,” the blond seethed. Larry’s gaze darkened and a snarky laugh pushed its way up his throat. Travis felt his temper drop to be replaced by fear as the taller male took a step towards him. Mouth suddenly feeling too dry, Travis took a step back.

“Don’t get so full of yourself,” Larry chastised, voice dropping to a low growl. The deep octave made the hair on the back of Travis’s neck stand up. “Just because I wanted to toy with you yesterday doesn’t mean we’re buddies or that I want you anywhere near my friends.”

Travis’s mouth worked for a second, trying to push words out, but his brain failed to find a snappy comeback quick enough. Larry rolled his eyes as the awkward silence grew between them until the blond wished it would have the mercy to suffocate him. He found himself staring dumbly at the taller male’s chest, feeling akin to a toddler who had just gotten chastised. No, he never would’ve considered him and Larry friends, but he didn't think it’d be quite this difficult to get the other’s acquaintanceship at least.

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” Travis chose to say. Larry crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to a side, obviously not believing the admission. “I was just going to invite you to a church service.”

“Why in the absolute fuck would I want to go to your church?” As if they were in a comic or animated show, Travis swore he could see Larry’s eyes visibly twitching, ready to deck the blond.Travis felt himself become hyper aware of how his hands clutched his messenger bag strap for dear life once more, too used to getting his lights knocked out by others to process that Larry didn’t have any true intentions of hitting him.

“I mean, I was just thinking-“

“Whatever you were thinking, you were wrong,” Larry deadpanned, eyes narrowing. Travis’s own eyes dropped down to stare at Larry’s shoes. He really wished he could call upon his usual venom, but he felt stupefied. Everything moved a bit too slow for him to process it fast enough to put on a facade. “And from now on, only talk to me when I approach you.”

Travis didn’t utter a word as he watched Larry walk away, long hair bouncing with every angry stomp.

/ / /

The lackluster interaction between them had left Travis feeling disgruntled. He never envisioned that he’d be able to conquer the wild beast that was Larry Johnson in his first rodeo, but he had been hopeful to at least make a millimeter of headway. Instead, the stony brown eyes of the other had shot him down on sight, refusing Travis before he even had the chance to open his mouth. Despite the blond’s overwhelming negativity with the situation, he realized that maybe not everything had crumbled to ashes like it appeared when he made his way to his trusty bicycle after the final bell had rung.

Mirroring the day before, Larry stood against the chain link fence by his bike. This time, the brunet held a lit cigarette between his lips, and Travis watched as the smoke billowed against the “No Smoking!” sign attached to the fence. He did his best to swallow the anxiety that Larry was just there to scold him more and held his chin up as he approached his own bike, determined to let the metalhead know that he had absolutely no control over him.

“Hey angel,” Larry cooed, taking the cigarette from his mouth. “Seems like you have a little more ‘pep in your step’ now.”

Just like that, Travis could feel his temporary control snatched from him by a mere pet name. A wolfish grin covered Larry’s lips as the brunet averted his gaze to let out a low chuckle while Travis stood in front of him, frozen. “What’d you call me?”

“Angel,” Larry answered, pushing himself off of the fence. Travis took a step back as Larry became a step closer to him. “I can call you something else if you’d like. Kitten rolls off the tongue easily, but maybe you’d prefer baby boy?”

“I’d prefer my name.” The words came through Travis’s gritted teeth. As soon as his surprise at the name had dissipated, his stomach had done a weird flip flop, but then utter annoyance took place. The male in front of him had no place to be referring to him so fondly, how one should refer to their girlfriend, not another boy-

“Earth to Travis, yoo-hoo!” The cigarette was back in Larry’s mouth, and the taller male had leaned in closer to Travis, waving a hand in front of his face. From this new, much closer, proximity the blond was overwhelmed by the reek of the nicotine. One again, he took a step back, this time quickly looking over his shoulder. It just sank in that Larry could get them both in trouble for smoking on school premises. “What were you fantasizing about so hard that you didn’t even offer me a nod when I said that I’d go to your stupid church?”

“Wait,” Travis’s head whipped back to Larry, “You’ll go?” The blond couldn’t keep the excitement and eagerness out of his voice. If he could just get Larry to go to service, he was sure it’d change the brunet for the better and maybe help cease some of the feelings going through Travis’s own mind when he caught himself staring at Larry.

“I’ll go to one meeting,”Larry corrected, holding up a single finger. Travis would take what he could get.

“That’s great-“

“But only if you let me drive you to my place tonight,” Larry interrupted, smile broadening as Travis’s own shrank. That wasn’t so great.

“Why?” It seemed that Larry’s grin only continued to grow, his insufferable tooth gap making an appearance now. The brunet drew his eyebrows together and shrugged his shoulders as if to exaggerate how “hard” he was thinking about the answer to Travis’s question.

“I dunno, thought we could have a little bonding experience before I show up at the Phelps Ministry, y’know?” Travis didn’t know. He didn’t know why they needed to bond before the Wednesday night service. Larry rested his hand on Travis’s shoulder, and the blond felt like he was being smothered. He swore his knees started to buckle when the bastard started to rub slow circles into his skin with his thumb.

“What about my bike? I can’t leave it here, didn’t bring my chain today,” Travis got out, thanking God for the excuse.

“Let’s throw’er into the back of my pickup truck. I have some cords that I can tie her down with if you want to be sure she’s safe,” Larry assured, a glint in his eyes that made Travis feel cold. The blond hugged his arms to his chest, heaved in a breath of air, and slowly sighed before nodding.

“If there’s a single scratch on the bike from the bed of your pickup truck, you’re dead faggot,” Travis snapped, surprising them both at the sudden shift in tone. Larry snorted, shaking his head.

“There you are. There’s the Travis I know and love to hate,” Larry deadpanned. The brunet’s own sweet facade fell at Travis’s words, and he jutted a thumb in the direction of his truck. “Go ahead and get in while I grab the bike.”

/ / /

Travis sat stiff, as if the tiniest movement from him would make the vehicle’s alarm go off, as he waited for Larry to tie his bicycle down. The truck was the kind that only had a row of front seats, no back ones. At the moment, Travis would’ve killed to have been able to sit in the back, farther away from the gremlin of a brunet.

“Alright,” Larry began as he swung himself into the driver’s seat. The whole truck heaved to the side under the offending weight, and the blond was duly reminded of how much the other had bulked up since freshman year. “Next stop: casa de Larry.”

“You live in an apartment, not an actual house. Wouldn’t it be ‘piso de Larry?’” Travis asked the question half because he was an ass and half because he had a Spanish exam next week. Larry shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine roared to life, Travis felt himself cave in even more.

“Maybe if my mom was from Spain or some shit. We never use that form,” Larry gritted, eyes no longer focused on Travis as he tried to maneuver the truck around an assortment of sloppy student parking jobs. In the silence, Travis noted that Larry no longer had his cigarette, must’ve stubbed it out before climbing in. He was thankful for that, not really wanting to be trapped in a small space with the obnoxious smell of a cig. The odor was already present enough on Larry’s clothes. “So why, exactly, am I going to your church? And don’t bullshit me Phelps. I know there has to be more of a reason than it being a good experience.”

“I dunno Larry. Why am I being abducted to your apartment? There has to be a better reason than bonding,” Travis echoed back, his sarcasm slowly but surely firing up again. Larry’s glare whipped towards him, frown pressed into his face before he let out a dry chuckle.

“Like I told you, it’s just bonding. I wanna get to see the big, bad Travis Phelps in a new light,” Larry replied. His eyes darted back to the road to make sure they weren’t going to crash before he looked back at Travis, gaze traveling up and down his body. The Christian felt like he was being undressed.

“What if I don’t want to ‘bond’ with you?” Travis sneered. Larry couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face, and Travis couldn’t help but cross his arms back over his chest, trying not to completely ruin his front. They both knew Travis would be putty in Larry’s hands.

A touch against his neck made him snap his attention back to Larry. The brunet’s own eyes flit back and forth from the road to Travis as his free hand traced patterns on the side of the blond’s neck. The shorter male roughly swallowed, disconcerted by the weird yet soft interaction. “Don’t worry angel, we’ll only do whatever you want to,” Larry purred, fingers dipping down to trace the base of Travis’s neck before lightly tugging at his sweater’s neckline. “But something tells me that you’re going to want to do a lot.”

Just as the gentle touches started, they stopped, leaving Travis alight. He tried to blame his longing for the caresses on the lack of positive physical affection in his own household, but that debate came up short in his own mind. He didn’t have to mull over the reason for long however because Larry’s hand suddenly rested on his thigh. Travis looked to the other, to see what game he was playing, but the metalhead was focused on the road, signaling their conversation was over for now. At first, the hand didn’t bother Travis too terribly much. He grew accustomed to its weight and warmth, could almost pretend it wasn’t there. However, when Larry started driving on back roads and subconsciously squeezing the boy under him at every dip in the road, the blond began to mind the hand very much. He knew the other, for once, wasn’t trying to get a rouse from Travis, but this might’ve been the best show Travis put on for him yet.

While Larry’s hand was resting on top his outer thigh, his fingers were curled against his inner. And while the placement was nowhere near his crotch, it still made Travis’s head spin. Right now, he was sat up stiff and straight, legs almost completely shut together. If he actually relaxed, slouched a bit, and let his legs spread to a more comfortable position, the hand would surely rest a lot higher on him. Travis wasn’t a fan of how much the idea excited him, but another part of him certainly was. The Christian could’ve screamed bloody murder when he realized he was starting to sport a hard on from just having a hand on his thigh, Larry’s hand no less. Instead, he looked out the passenger seats window and steeled himself, trying to calm down.

However, as fate would have it, the bastard beside him started to rub circles against him, fingertips curving all too pleasantly against Travis’s leg through his shorts. The blond knew in the back of his mind that it simply wasn’t normal for even a less disciplined man than himself to get hard from a hand on their leg, but Travis felt like he was positively burning. He looked like he was burning too. In the window, he could see his faint reflection, and a vicious blush dusted his features.

“Only about fifteen minutes away from the apartment complex,” Larry stated, casting a glance over to Travis. His eyebrows immediately furrowed at the sight. “Jesus, do you have a fever? My mom just got over the flu, can't be bringing any more illnesses into the house.”

“No! No, I’m fine,” Travis replied, words tumbling out quick. He ripped his gaze from the window to face Larry, offering a nerve stricken smile. Larry stared at him intently, eyes searching his face before they suddenly dropped down to his crotch.

“Oh my god,” Larry began, grip on Travis’s leg tightening.

“Fuck you,” Travis spat, jerking his leg away from Larry. His whole body shifted from the brunet, legs clamped together, but it was still easy to notice the tent in his pants.

“Apparently you really want to,” the brunet mused. His hand hovered in the air, as if he wanted to pry the other’s legs apart and see how much damage he had done, but he thought better of it. His thumbs drummed against the steering well as he grabbed it with both hands.

“Only in your wet dreams, Johnson,” Travis growled, and Larry really wanted to go into a hysteria of laughing. Only the blondie sat beside him would deny his attraction while there was a raging boner in his lap. Instead, he slowed the truck as he pulled off to the side of the road. He never cut the engine, just let it purr gently as the vehicle came to a halt. The change in pace startled Travis, and he felt his heart start to race. At this point, he didn’t know if it was from anxiety or anticipation. “What are you doing? Why are we stopped?”

Larry shifted in his seat to fully face Travis now that he wasn’t driving. The coy smirk that seemed to be ever present on his face broadened as he once again looked Travis up and down. The Christian could feel the blood rushing in his ears as Larry bit at his own finger for a second, seeming to decide something in his head. “Say Travis, have you ever heard of road head?”

#feel free to reblog #sally face #larry johnson #travis phelps #laravis #larvis #trarry #larry x travis #larry johnson x travis phelps #sally face fanfiction #sally face fanfic #steve gabry #portable moose

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filmfanatic82 · 5 years

Photo

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 12: I know I'd Go Back to You

Pink.

God, she loves the sight of that color.

No. Scratch that. She all but worships that color.

Not all shades, though, of pink. Just one in particular. A metallic canary pink that tends to shimmer like a blanket of stars in the right light. It’s a rare color. One that Trini hasn’t seen, except for her in her dreams, for more years than she would care to admit.

A color that up until this very moment she didn’t realize she so desperately needed in her life.

“T!” Kim yells to Trini over the raging storm as she slows down to a light jog. “Where’d it go?”

“Not sure. Can’t see shit,” Trini responds. They’ve been running in circles around the streets of downtown Angel Grove for well over twenty minutes now, chasing after a shadowy mass of a figure that all but dances along the rooftops almost as if it’s unphased by the constant onslaught of the elements. And every time they seem to get within a reasonable striking distance, the figure evaporates right into thin air, lost amongst the thick gray sheets of rain and fog.

But not for long and always in a different spot than where it last was, leading them to change directions again… and again… and again.

Trini would have long but given up, if it weren’t for the simple fact that she isn’t going at it alone.

Within mere seconds of the first spotting the mysterious figure, their armor instantly materialized, spreading across their bodies with a warmth that Trini had all but forgotten about. They were still able to morph after Kim left, but it had never quite been the same. It always required an extra level of concentration. One that Trini continually struggled with time and time again. And the armor felt different. Almost weaker in nature. As if it was missing a key component.

But, worst of all, morphing no longer felt like being submerged in a warm bath of never-ending energy. It now was cold and sterile almost to the point of it being downright uncomfortable.

Trini came to outright dread morphing. She tried to avoid it at all costs, but it only led to a slew of badly broken bones, scarring gashes, and despite her accelerate healing, more than one trip to the local ER.

It just never felt exactly right.

Not until the missing piece -- the metallic pink piece-- was once again back where it belonged, right by her side.

“There! On the roof of the bank!” Kim picks up the pace once again, racing at full speed towards the 1st Bank of Angel Grove in the near distance with Trini following close behind. The shadowy figure lingers for a moment or two on the ledge, taunting them to come closer and then--

PROOF.

It’s gone.

“FUCK!” Kim screams out, slamming her gloved hand into the nearby brick wall with a thud.

“Kim…”

“We’re never going to catch it from down here.”

“Maybe we oughta--” Trini is cut off, though, by the sight of Kim scaling up the side of the bank. “Shit.”

“C’mon,” Kim calls out over her shoulder, already halfway up the massive brick wall. She moves with the greatest of ease as if she’s climbing a jungle gym and not the surface of a building.

Fuck… Fuck… Fuck…

It’s only three stories. Not that tall. Totally doable.

Fuck…

“Trini? You coming?”

Trini shakes her head, takes a long gulp of air, and then slowly starts to make her way up the side of the building. Her heart pounds against her rib cage as beads of sweat rapidly form along the edges of her hairline.

Fuck… Fuck… Fuck…

Shake it off, Gomez.

This is nothing new.

Get to the top, and it will all stop. That's how it works.

Trini pauses for a moment, desperate to steady her breathing. Even after all those countless mediation sessions with Tommi, she still seems to be unable to master her nerves. At least not when she’s more than five feet off the ground.

”T? What’s wrong?” Kim calls from somewhere above Trini.

“Nothing,” Trini replies through gritted teeth. She starts to move again. Slow but steady. One hand and followed by the other.

Concentrate, Gomez.

Only a few more feet and it’ll be over.

Just…

Keep…

Climb--

CRACK.

A flying piece of debris clips the side of Trini’s helmet, instantly causing her to lose her grip on the wall. Her hands scramble to find purchase once again, but it’s too late. Trini plummets to the ground below, hitting the rain-soaked pavement back first, with her head following suit not even a millisecond late. A sea of stars pops into her line of sight as the world spins before her.

“Trini!” Kim screams out, voice raging against the storm. Trini attempts to lift her head but is met with an unusual tension as if someone -- or something -- is pulling her by the root her hair. Her hands roam up towards her helmet and immediately comes in contact with a tangled mess of broken metallic pieces.

Fuck.

Her helmet.

Not again.

“I’m okay.” Trini lets out a low groan as the aftershock of dull pain radiates across every inch of her body. She slowly pushes herself up into a sitting position and does a quick evaluation of the rest of her armor, checking for any additional cracks.

This isn’t the first time, Trini’s suit has splintered. No. It's happened at least three other times before. Each one coming on the heels of an extra bad anxiety attack.

The first time had been the worst, with it seemingly coming out of nowhere. One minute Trini was engaging in battle with massive lava creature and the next… The next, she found herself slamming into the ground with a mind-numbing thud followed by an unusual chorus of what could only be described as metal shattering.

It had taken Billy and Alpha 5 well over four hours to delicately pick the hundreds of metallic yellow shards out of Trini’s skin. Each one leaving a faint but noticeable mark, like a hauntingly strange tattoo. Yet another painful reminder that she was far less than what she once was.

And that’s how Trini discovered that her suit-- like so many other parts of her-- was now weaker. Slightly damaged goods that, with the right combination of thoughts and actions, could be penetrated.

Broken.

Sure, it repaired itself. Time and time again. But, as Zordon had informed Trini, there were no guarantees. Not until the missing piece returned once again and made her whole.

“Bullshit,” Kim huffs out as she finishes descending back down the wall. She makes her way over to Trini and flips up her visor. “T, what’s going on?”

“I slipped. That’s all. No big deal,” Trini replies. She goes to stand but is suddenly met with a pair of gloved hands-- metallic pink-gloved hands-- reaching out to help her up. Trini takes hold of them, swallowing down her pride and giving in as Kim pulls her up to her feet.

“Jesus. Your helmet.”

“It’s nothing.”

But Kim ignores Trini and instead gently pulls her closer to get a better look at the damage. “It’s shattered.”

“I know,” Trini mumbles in response. “It happens sometimes.”

A momentary silence falls between the two of them as Kim studies Trini’s face, searching for a deeper meaning. Trini starts to squirm, feeling the eyes upon her.

God, those eyes.

Those freakin’ chocolate brown eyes.

They pierce through Trini’s walls, chipping away at the steadily growing cracks.

It’s only a matter of time before--

“We need to get out of this storm before it gets any worse,” Kim states, breaking the silence.

“But what about the fig..” Trini trails off mid-sentence as she catches a glimpse of the look upon Kim’s face. Arguing is pointless. There’s nothing but stubborn resolution staring back at her. “Tommi and Zack’s bar. It’s less than a block away.”

“Tommi and Zack own a bar?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda long story,” Trini replies. She wipes the rain off of her visor and then attempts to take a step, but instantly winces in pain.

Not missing a beat, Kim loops her arm around Trini’s waist, providing Trini with the support she so desperately needs. “Okay. I’m so going to need to hear that one.”

“Get me to the bar, and I’ll tell you whatever you want,” Trini responds leaning her weight onto Kim.

“I’m holding you to that, Gomez.” Kim re-adjusts her grip on the smaller Latina and the two slowly make their way down the block.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Fuuuuck.

Too freakin’ short.

Why can’t she be a few inches taller? Or had been smart enough to have worn her Doc Martens?

Then she would’ve been more than able to see her reflection.

But no…

Everything had to be extra difficult at the moment. Cause that just seems to be Trini’s luck.

Trini lets out a frustrated sigh and then pushes herself back up on her tiptoes in a feeble attempt to add the extra inch or so she needs to be eye-level with the massive chrome vat that’s perched on the upper level of one of the numerous storage shelves that crowd the backroom of the bar. It’s far from ideal, but given that there isn’t a mirror to be found and she needs to see the damage firsthand to assess the situation, there’s no other option.

Trini had been able to easily remove the bulk of her helmet with little to no trouble whatsoever. Just a few gentle tugs and some extra pressure and the larger pieces popped right off one by one. But then when it came to removing the area towards the back, where her head had made impact with the asphalt, and that’s when Trini knew that it wasn’t going to be a complete cakewalk. No. Although couldn’t see it for herself, she could feel a massive knot of yellow metallic shards embedded deep within her thick wavy curls. And every time she attempted to pull a piece out-- even with the utmost of patience-- it only resulted in furthering the overall size of the tangled mass.

So Trini had gone in search of scissors, finding a pair tucked away in Tommi’s desk drawer and then went about looking for something-- anything-- that could provide her with a halfway decent view of the mess.

“Fuck it,” Trini exhales in a sudden burst of anger. She drops down off of her tiptoes, snatches up the nearby scissors, and unceremoniously grabs hold of a hunk of her hair.

“Hey T! Not sure if you’re a whiskey drinker, but I found a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label. It was stashed behind a vat of cocktail olives. Think Tommi will care if we--” Kim walks through the doorway from the front room and instantly comes to a crashing halt as her face morphs into a look of pure and utter horror. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Trini huffs out, words dripping with sarcasm. She moves to place the hunk of hair in her hand between the blades of the scissors, but before she can do so, she’s stopped short by Kim.

“Stop!”

“Kim…”

“Did you forget our whole conversation we just had? The one where I told you that I own a barbershop?” Kim says, matching Trini’s level of sarcasm. She gently takes hold of Trini’s hand and guides the scissors away from her hair.

“So?”

“So, you’re an idiot,” Kim replies. “Go grab that desk chair.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” Kim removes the scissors from Trini’s hand and gives her a nudge in the direction of the chair.

Trini shakes her head in mild disbelief. She makes her way over to the chair and wheels it out from the desk. “Okay, Princess. Now what?”

“Now take off your shirt and have a seat.”

“Wow. Not even gonna buy me dinner first?” A small but noticeable smirk slides across Trini’s lips.

“Or not. But don’t complain to me when you’re covered in hair,” Kim replies with a shrug of her shoulders. Trini lets out a sigh, carefully grabs hold of the helm of her shirt and with a more than strained effort peels it away from her body, revealing a large scar. It snakes its way in a rough, jagged pattern, stretching from the base of her spine all the to her left shoulder blade, like an oddly grotesque bolt of lightning.

An unsettling stillness washes over the room as Trini squirms once again under Kim’s unrelenting gaze.

Breathe, Gomez.

In and out…

The topic was going to come up sooner or later. Kimberly already knows about the height issue. Just another piece to the puzzle. That’s all.

An unwanted souvenir from the time where she almost--

“Trini…” Kim whispers, snapping Trini out of her thoughts. Trini slowly takes a seat, deliberately choosing not to look up at Kim and attempts to run her hands through her hair but only manages to get a few inches before her fingers get caught up in the massive knot.

“Fuck.” Trini winces, more than annoyed by the entire situation. Kim positions herself behind Trini and ever so gently places her hands down on Trini’s shoulders sending a warm and oddly comforting sensation down Trini spine.

“Let me fix it for you,” Kim says softly.

Trini swallows down the lump of repressed emotions growing within her throat and gives a simple nod in response. Words are just too much at the moment.

Kim squeezes Trini’s shoulder, and before Trini knows it, the room fills with the oddly familiar sound of scissors slicing through hair. Long dark brown curls rain down around her as she tries to focus on anything else but the constant, feather-light touches of Kim’s fingers.

“Nervous?” Kim asks as she gently tilts Trini’s head downwards.

“No.”

“Your knee says else wise,” Kim responds. Trini’s eyes instantly trail down to her knee that's bouncing away like an out of control jackhammer.

“Sorry.” Trini lets out a sigh and then places her hand down upon her knee.

“Don't be. It reminds me of the first time I convinced you to let me do this. You were such a hot mess.”

“Was not.”

“Oh, you so were. Don’t you remember me having to talk you down from that epic panic attack? I ended up having to hold you for like a good three hours,” Kim replies with a hint of a smile to her voice. She readjusts Trini’s head, shifting it to the side.

SNIP… SNIP… SNIP…

Trini watches in silence as even more of her hair falls into her lap, fighting against the storm of memories brewing within the depths of her mind.

Of course, Trini remembers. She remembers every touch… Every kiss… Every “I love you”...

Trini remembers it all.

But those memories are tainted now. Painted with a layer of bittersweet sadness that makes them almost unbearable to watch when called upon.

God, does she remember.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Trini says gruffly, trying to hide the underlying quiver to her voice.

“The scar on your back. Does it have any connection to why you’re afraid of heights?” The question hangs between them as Kim continues to work her magic, strategically moving the scissors higher and higher with each and every snip.

Fuck…

There’s no avoiding it. Not anymore. Just suck it up and rip the bandaid off, Gomez.

“Yeah. It does. As well as two smaller ones on the back of my left leg.” Trini swallows again, pausing for the briefest of moments to collect herself.

“T, you don’t have to--”

“No, it’s okay,” Trini cuts Kim off. “It happened roughly six months after you… After…”

“After I left?”

“Yeah. After you left. One day, out of the blue, this psychotic alien overlord named Ivan Ooze showed up and started wreaking havoc. At first, he was just like all the others. Rolled in with a pack of minions. Blew some shit up. Gave a boring monologue about how the Zeo Crystal belonged to him. The usual song and dance. But then… Then he called upon these machines. They were like the ultimate demonic doppelganger of our Zords. Looked and acted exactly like our did, matching us move for move. It was brutal. We held them off the best we could, but nothing seemed to be working. So we regrouped and, with some help from Zordon, came up with the idea that would allow us to stage a surprise attack,” Trini says. She blinks back the hint of tears that are starting to form within the corners of her eyes and takes a long, sobering breath of air.

There’s a pause in the steady rhythmic sounds of the scissor as once again, Kim places her hands down upon Trini’s shoulders in a silent signal of support. “You can stop. I don’t need to--”

“The plan involved using your Zord.”

“My Zord?”

“Yeah. It’s the only one that can fly and strangely enough, it was also the only one that Ivan didn’t seem to have a clone of.”

“But who piloted it? I thought…” Kim trails off as the realization hits her dead on. There’s no need to finish her sentence. She already knows the answer. “You flew it, didn’t you?”

Trini gives a slight nod, letting that piece of information fully sink in, then--

“At the time, the thought was that because I had had the strongest bond with you that maybe… maybe I’d be able to pilot it, and I did, at least long enough for us to take out Ivan but…” Trini briefly stops once again, voice cracking on her last word. “But it turned out that our bond wasn’t quite as strong as I thought… I was thrown from the cockpit of the Zord mid-flight. Fell over 200 ft and landed smack dab on the roof of the Krispy Kreme. Ironic, right? The fall should’ve killed me. But, thanks to our Ranger healing powers, it just knocked me into one hell of a coma. Apparently, I didn’t wake up for over two weeks. For a while, they didn’t even think I would. Or at least that’s what Tommi once told me after polishing off a bottle of whiskey. We kinda don’t talk about it all too much. It’s just… Just one of those things that happened.”

Trini holds her breath, waiting for a response-- any response-- from Kim, but all that answers is the sound of snipping. It fills the space between the two of them, comforting and yet all-consuming.

Minutes pass, and the sounds slowly start to decrease, trading in the consistent rhythm for more sporadic ones. All signs that Kim is almost done. And suddenly Trini notices just how weightless her head feels. It isn’t exactly a foreign sensation, and yet, in this light, it’s different. Raw. As if the last pieces of her invisible armor, the one she’s been wearing for years now, has finally been removed.

The snipping stops altogether and then, without any warning, Kim traces her fingers along the slope of Trini’s newly shorn nape. Slow and with an underlying longing that Trini knows all too well.

“There you are,” Kim quietly whispers, finally breaking the silence.

No…

Hold it together, Gomez.

Not here.

Not now.

No…

Please god, no...

But it’s too late. Trini breaks.

“I… I… I… I need some water,” Trini responses. She scrambles to her feet, knocking the chair over in the process, and makes a mad dash for the doorway. Trini can feel the sting of tears whelming up within her eyes, only milliseconds away from pouring down her face. She needs to get out of there and now.

Trini burst through the swinging doors that separate the back and front rooms and immediately heads straight towards the bar. She slams into it just as the tears start to rain down, burning two defined paths on her cheeks. Trini desperately tries to steady her breathing, eyes locked in on the worn wood beneath her hands.

In and out…

Jesus…

Why isn’t it working?

The tears fall harder. Faster. There’s nothing Trini can do about it. She gulps down a breath of air and slowly allows her eyes to roam upwards, towards the mirrored wall behind the bar. And there, staring back, is someone that Trini swore, that up until this very moment, was gone. Forever lost when her world was suddenly thrown into heart-wrenching chaos.

It’s who she used to be.

Trini exhales a shaky breath of air and then ever so cautiously runs her hands through her now messy short hair, remembering again how it feels. It isn’t though the same undercut style that Kim used to do on her. No. This version is a bit more unrefined. Rougher. With the longest pieces on top just barely brushing against her ears and the back and sides cut close against her skin.

Trini takes a closer look as the realization hits her dead on--

It’s who she desperately needs to be.

“Trini?” Kim’s voice cuts through the silence, startling Trini. Trini turns around to find Kim standing in the doorway with a bittersweet look that twists the knife even further into Trini’s already wrecked emotions.

“I’m okay. I swear. I just needed--”

“Ask me the question.”

“What?” Trini responds, blinking back her tears.

“Ask me,” Kim says again. She takes a step closer, and Trini can see a matching set of tears forming in Kim’s chocolate brown eyes.

Fuck…

She can’t do it.

No. Scratch that. She won’t.

Not after all of these years.

She’s not ready for that answer.

“Kim, I don’t know--”

“You do, Trini… You and I both know you do,” Kim replies, voice quivering. “So go ahead already and ask it.”

Please god…

Please…

3…

2…

1…

“Why did you leave me?” The words stumble out of Trini, with a forcefulness that up until this very moment, she had no clue that she even possessed.

Kim lets out a wet bark of a laugh as tears roll down her cheeks. She takes a breath of air and then--

“Because I was scared. And a mess… And there was all this pressure to be what everyone wanted me to be… The perfect daughter… The future doctor… The perfect girlfriend. And it was killing me. Most days, I could barely breathe, let alone function. I was drowning, and I didn’t know how to tell you… or anyone at all. I couldn’t bear the disappointment. So I tried to just push through it. To pretend everything was okay, but it wasn’t. And then one night, I stupidly decided to go out and drank so much that I blacked out. I woke up the next morning in someone’s bed I didn’t even remember meeting, let alone… I fucked up. God, did I fuck up… and I… I just didn’t know how to tell you. How do you tell the woman that you love more than life itself that you not only cheated on her but somehow got yourself knocked up in the process? I just couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t ruin your life like that. So… So I figured it was best if I just left… Because you deserved so much better than me.”

Kim’s confession lingers between them as time seems to suddenly stand still. All Trini can do is keep on breathing. Anything more than that is just too much. Too painful.

“Trini, I--”

“Deserved better?” Trini asks unable to hide the underlying anger bubbling up from the depths of her very being. “Better? You fuckin’ wrecked me. You left me nothing but your ring and a half-ass note… But that’s what I deserved right? The woman that you swore you loved. That’s what I deserved. No explanation. No nothing. Hell, you didn’t even give me a chance to try and understand… You just fuckin’ left me.”

“I know,” Kim whispers in response as her tears fall harder down her face. “I didn’t mean to--”

“Mean to what? Hurt me? Well, guess what? You did. You destroyed me. If it weren’t for Tommi and the guys and your parents, I don’t think I’d even be… I don’t know if I would’ve survived this long.”

“I’m so sorry, T. I’m--”

“No! You don’t get to waltz back in here with a kid and fuckin’ new fiancé and act like saying your sorry will fix this. You got to move on with your life, while I… I just…”

“I know… I know…” Kim takes another step closer, and Trini can feel the warmth of her presence wash over her. She fights against her warring emotions, desperate to hold onto the rage that she has kept buried deep inside her for so long.

“You don’t know! I tried to forget. I did everything I could think of… Everything I could to destroy it, but I couldn’t make it go away. It’s never going to go away. And I fuckin’ hate you for that.”

“Make what go away?”

Trini exhales another, even shakier, breath of air and closes her eyes. “My love for you.”

Just as the words leave Trini’s lips, she feels Kim’s hands upon her, wrapping her in a comfort that she has craved for more years than she wants to admit. Kim leans in and kisses Trini, pouring out all of her emotions. It’s deep and passionate. And filled with an answer that Trini has longed to hear. It’s love. Plain and simple.

Kimberly…

Kimberly Hart still loves her.

And first time in what feels like forever…

Trini is home.

#Trimberly #kimberly hart #Trini #power ranger 2017 #power rangers #wlw #Fanfic #ao3 #trini x kimberly

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geniusgub · 5 years

Text

told you so//tom holland

warnings: fainting, hospitals, IV, malnourishment, talk of Heath Ledger and his death, sad boi Tom

///

inspired by tom's insta story where he thanked fans for his teen choice award win

///

Tom is always dedicated to his work and will do whatever he can to make the audience believe his character. He works endless hours on his lines, on understanding his character, and getting into the mindset of his role. But something he always dedicated a large amount of time to is his weight.

Spider-Man is an incredibly physical role. Tom was on set and doing stunts every day. He needed the muscle to support that, and he had to keep his weight constant so that his suit fit him and he didn't cause a giant problem for the wardrobe department.

But for Cherry, he's playing a veteran that is riddled with PTSD. He studied up on the disorder and discovered the effect it has on the human body, and decided that he needed to lose some of his muscle and drop some weight.

He didn't tell me this flat out though. I noticed him eating less and less over a week, after a particularly long and in depth production meeting. He decreased breakfast from a full meal to just a protein shake, and refused dinner on most days and replaced it with a workout at the gym. To say this new diet scares me is an understatement.

I'm not an actor. I don't completely understand his world. But I've been dating Tom for a few years, and I know enough to recognize that weight changing is a common practice in Hollywood. But just because it's common doesn't mean that it's right. I've heard horror stories in the media of certain roles burning out actors and ruining their lives, and that is the last thing I want to happen to Tom.

I watch as Tom comes sauntering into the kitchen, passing me with nothing but a kiss to my cheek and a whispered good morning, his voice gravely with sleep. I'm up early to study for an upcoming exam, papers already sprawled out on the island.

I sneakily watch as Tom pulls out ingredients such as protein powder, bananas, and peanut butter, then the blender. "Are you, uh-" I huff out a breath, looking down at my textbook, trying to make the conversation more nonchalant, "gonna have more than just a shake?"

"Don't think so," Tom murmurs as he starts slicing the banana. "I'm on this diet still, you know that." I open my mouth to respond but chose not to say anything, just shaking my head and deciding to drop the subject again. "What?" Tom quips after a moment of silence. "You have something else to say. I know you. Don't lie, you've got something to say."

I drop my highlighter and swing around on my barstool to face him. "Tommy, I'm just nervous about this diet, okay? I know that it's working and you're losing weight and muscle like you want to, but I'm just nervous how this is gonna affect your body and your health in the future. The last thing I want to happen is for this to ruin you."

Tom drops the banana in his hand and rushes over, placing his hands on my cheeks. "This isn't gonna ruin me. I'm okay, yeah? I'm completely fine. I'm just twenty pounds lighter. That's all."

My eyes widen and I grab onto his thinning wrists. "You've lost twenty pounds? Baby, that's too much. That's way too much! You told me ten pounds at first and I said that was too much, but twenty? That's too much!"

"It's not too much. I'm healthy, I promise." Tom swears, leaning his head forward and kissing my forehead. "We're only a week into shooting and the Russo's said everything looks great."

"I don't give a shit what the Russo's think. I care about you and your health-"

Tom huffs out a breath and drops his hands. "I am fine. You don't need to worry about me. My trainer says I'm fine, the medic on set says I'm fine, everyone agrees that I'm fine. I've only got another two months of this diet and then I'll have to bulk up for the next Avengers movie and I'll be back to the way I was before." He turns around and quickly finishes off his protein shake, putting it in a cup and closing the lid. "I'll see you tonight, okay? Good luck on your exam, I know you'll crush it."

He's kissing me and he's out the door before I can say anything else. Okay, so, that conversation didn't go anywhere close to what I had planned.

I pack up my books and head off to class for my exam, which is actually quite difficult. Or maybe I was just too busy thinking (worrying) about Tom to focus on a test. I guess I'll never know.

After my exam, I hurry off to my study of human behaviors class, hoping that today's topic will distract me from worrying about how my boyfriend is doing on set. But, of course, that hope is crushed when my professor pulls up a picture of Heath Ledger.

"Today we're going to be talking about Heath Ledger, and how his preparation for the role of the Joker effected him. Some believe the intense preparation even added to his death." She saunters around the front of the room without a care in the world, babbling on and on about how Ledger got into his character by locking himself in a hotel room and keeping a dark diary, filled with quotes, pictures, and his lines.

"Ledger was so deep into his character that he turned to medication to help him do things as simple as sleeping. Maggie Gyllenhaal even said that she could barely look at him while filming, and the crew was too nervous to be around him between takes because he would still be in character. So I pose this question to you all, did his dedication to his role and the extreme preparation for this role lead to his death?"

Oh god. Please no. This is exactly what I don't need to hear right now. Not today. Not while Tom is filming Cherry and I can't be with him at all times. Not when I get one text a day from him since he's so busy shooting scenes. Not ever.

Multiple hands shoot up to respond to the professors question. She picks a bubbly blonde in the front row. "His preparation definitely led to his death. He pushed himself too far and he couldn't handle the pressure of the movie, the pressure of stardom, the pressure of the Joker being so engrained in his mind. He couldn't shake it when filming ended, and it truly made him become some version of a psychopath."

Another student butts in. "Yeah, it's so obvious. He turned to drugs because he couldn't handle the role."

One other adds his opinion. "It's like Natalie Portman in Black Swan. She had to lose all this weight so she ate almonds and carrots for, like, months on end. And then she was in rehearsals all day and she dislocated a rib, but kept training. She said she thought she was gonna die on most days. It's very possible for actors to get so wrapped up in role that they lose a bit of reality. I totally think Heath Ledger died because of the Joker."

With that last student, I pick up my backpack and laptop and go stomping out of the lecture hall, choking back tears. I dramatically throw my belongings into my car and speed off, wiping my cheeks and trying to keep my emotions together.

I park in the first spot I see and jump out of my car, heading off to Tom's trailer, hoping that he'll be there, although the chances are slim. I've only been to Tom's trailer for Cherry once, and it was the first week of him filming. It's been lived in now, so I'm sure it looks quite different.

I hadn't expected his trailer to be a complete mess. At home, Tom is a little messy but always cleans up after himself. He clearly hasn't cleaned or let anyone clean up after him. There's clothes and shoes all over the floor and furniture, the sheets are messed up on the bed like he's been tossing and turning while sleeping, and the kitchen area is a complete wreck. There's a pile of papers and books on the coffee table that I make the terrible decision to investigate.

Having PTSD just messes up your whole life. I couldn't even get the energy to clean my house, or even my room, or my kitchen, or anything. I would throw things around and I would break things and just leave them. PTSD left me completely unable to function as a human. I couldn't sleep. How would I be expected to clean up after myself when I'm falling asleep standing?

Of course, his trailer like this is to keep himself in the character. I wonder if his costars can stand to look at him between takes.

The trailer door opens a moment later and I'm wishing it's Tom, but it's Harrison coming in, nonchalantly kicking a shoe aside to get to the fridge. "Oh hey, didn't know you were coming by. Tom didn't mention it."

"Is Tom gonna die?" I blurt out, my eyes pooling up with tears. Harrison's eyes widen at the wild question. "I'm scared he's gonna die. He's so into this character and he's gonna die, isn't he?"

"Oh my gosh, breathe, love. Tom isn't gonna die. Where are you getting this from?" Harrison takes a few steps closer to me, but it doesn't comfort me in any way.

"He's not eating, Harrison. I've seen him make food but I haven't seen him actually eat anything in almost a month. He's dealing with this disgusting trailer every day. I barely ever see him because he comes home and either goes straight to sleep or he's out at the gym until I'm asleep."

"Maybe you should talk to him." Harrison suggests. "Honestly, I'm worried about him too and I think you're the only person he'll listen to. You just gotta learn to keep your cool." He places his hands on my shoulders. "Why don't you go home and get some rest? I think you're just as tired as he is because you're stressing about it. I'll make sure that Tom goes straight home instead of going out, okay?"

I throw my arms around Harrison's waist in a much needed hug. "Thank you, Haz. You're the best."

"Yeah, I know I am." Harrison jokes with a shrug, letting me go. "Go, get out."

///

Tom doesn't come home for a while, not until I'm laying in bed, eyelids fluttering, ready to sleep. But the bedroom door creaks open, letting in a little bit of light. I listen as Tom bustles around the room to pull off his clothes, leaving him in just boxers for bed. He climbs into bed beside me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I sigh contently, melting into his embrace.

"How was your day?" I murmur, sleep slurring my words.

"It was fine. Go to sleep, you're exhausted." Tom whispers, placing lazy kisses to the back of my neck. "I love you."

///

The next morning is normal. Tom wakes up before me and takes a shower, leaving me alone in bed. But I get up and throw on a comfy sweater, preparing for my day of classes. Tom is heading downstairs as I'm pulling on my leggings, presumably for breakfast.

But just as I'm finishing brushing out my hair, I hear a relatively loud thump from downstairs. I immediately pause, listening for a yelled sorry from Tom, just anything.

"Tom?" I shout, creeping towards the open bedroom door. When I don't hear anything in response, I panic. I run downstairs and into the kitchen, finding the worst sight I could think of.

Tom is unconscious on the floor, a spot of blood on his forehead, and a whole slew of food on the stove. I drop to my knees, pushing Tom's hair out of his forehead. I reach onto the island and grab Tom's phone, unlocking it and dialing 999. I babble off to the operator that my boyfriend fainted when I was in the other room and I don't know exactly what happened, but that he's unconscious. She promises that an ambulance is two minutes away, that I should keep calm, and not move him.

I put the phone on speaker as I wait, setting it on the floor. And just as I do, Tom starts to stir, his eyebrows scrunching up and his head starting to swivel. I lean over him and place a hand on his cheek, forcing a smile, despite his closed eyes. "Hi, sweetheart. Hi, baby." I coo softly, my thumb rubbing across the skin. "Stay right where you are, okay?"

"What happened?" He murmurs, words slurred.

"I think you fainted. There's an ambulance coming, just don't move, baby boy, you'll be okay." I instruct him.

"Work." He whispers, head falling to the side.

"Don't worry about work. I'll call someone later on and tell them. You don't worry about that right now, okay? Just relax, I've got you."

The paramedics come knocking at the front door a moment later, sending me running over to answer it. I lead the paramedics over to where Tom is still laying in the kitchen, watching the paramedics lift him onto the stretcher and strap him in.

Tom reaches for me, making me rush over to his side. I place a hand on his cheek, moving my thumb against his soft skin, giving him a smile. "I'm right here, Tommy. Do you want me to call Harrison, or your mum or dad? Anyone?" Tom just nods, so I assume he wants someone. "Do you want me to come in the ambulance with you?" He nods again. "Okay, then I'm gonna go get some stuff and get right in there with you." He nods a third time, eyes closing all the way now.

I rush around the house in just a few seconds, pulling on a sweatshirt. I collect a backpack with a sweats for Tom, our wallets, our phones, chargers, money, and whatever I can find that we could need.

Tom is just being loaded into the ambulance when I go to lock the door and jump inside. I'm exiled to the corner while the paramedics start working on Tom, leaving me to send out texts to his family to tell them what's going on.

I'm with him every step of the way. I'm there as he rides to the hospital, I'm there as he gets brought right into a room, and I'm there as a doctor comes in to see him. But I'm pushed out a moment later to fill out paperwork, and I have to be separated from Tom.

I rush my way through the paperwork so I can get back to Tom. He would never leave me alone if I was in this situation, and I don't plan to do that to him. So I return the clipboard to a nurse and she leads me back to a different waiting room.

"You can just stay here until the doctor comes around to get you." I nod but have to hold in my groan. I just want to be with Tom.

I sit down and decide to check my phone, finding a few texts. Nikki and Dom says that the whole family is on their way, and Harrison says him and Tuwaine are leaving their golf outing to get here, but it's going to take a while.

I'm not sure how much time passes from when I get to the waiting room and when a doctor comes. Maybe it was ten minutes, maybe it was an hour. I wouldn't know. But a doctor comes around to get me, thankfully refraining from calling out Tom's name and avoiding any possible fan run-ins.

I jump up and rush toward him, smiling nervously. The doctor asks again if I'm here for Tom, to which I nod, and he leads me away from the waiting room.

"So, it seems that he's very malnourished." The doctor tells me, which is no surprise at all. "He is severely underweight and is also very dehydrated. Do you know why this is happening?"

We stop outside of his room and continue talking. "He's preparing for a movie role. His character has PTSD so he decided to lose a bit of weight. I told him it was too much but he swore he was fine."

"Do you know how much he lost?" I tell him twenty pounds and then a little about Tom's diet, and I can tell but his surprised face that Tom is in for some deep shit. "Wow, that's a lot for someone his age and weight. Basically, his body can't handle the work that he's making it do. If he's working on a film set and he's not eating properly, or at all, his body is going to give out because it can't support him. For now, I've got him on an IV drip to hydrate him and I'll come back in a little while to talk to you two about what to do from here."

"Okay, thank you so much. I can go in now?" The doctor nods and then heads off.

Tom's eyes are closed when I enter the room, but I can't quite tell if he's sleeping. Even still, there's a nurse taking his vitals who smiles at me, quickly finishing up and leaving the room.

Tom stirs when I sit in the chair beside his bed, scrunching up his crooked nose. I grab onto his free hand and move my thumb against his knuckles, taking a deep breath. "I can tell you're awake." I murmur, the tiniest smile on my face. "I know you too well."

The corners of Tom's mouth lift up in the tiniest, his eyes fluttering open slowly. "Hi." He mumbles, the word slurred.

"Hi, sweet boy." I keep my voice sweet and smooth. "How are you feeling?"

"Bad." Tom spits out, sighing. His eyes are squinting and he looks like he's in pain.

"Does your head hurt? The lights hurt?" He nods, so I stand and turn off the light, watching the wrinkles in his forehead smoothen out. "Did the doctor check you for a concussion?"

"I-I don't know."

I let go of Tom's hand again and poke my head out of the hospital room, flagging down a nurse. I tell her my concern and she promises to get a doctor in soon, then goes on her way.

"A doctor is coming, Tom." I take my seat again and lace our fingers.

A silence falls over us for a moment, but the quiet makes me more aware of the way Tom's hands are shaking.

"Are you feeling okay?" I whisper. "You're shaking. I just wanna make sure you're-"

"I'm sorry." And suddenly he's breaking down in tears, sobbing loudly. "You were right, I was wrong."

"Shh, sweetheart." I coo, moving to sit on the side of his bed. "Let's not talk about that right now. Right now, just relax and-"

"I don't wanna be here. I wanna go home." He whines, hand squeezing mine as tight as he can, which isn't much at all. He's far too weak.

"I know you do. But you've gotta be here so the doctors can help you get better so you can get home and get back to work. So let's not cry," I wipe my thumbs over his cheeks, "and just relax as much as you can. You can watch tv, close your eyes, so whatever. A doctor is hopefully coming soon to help you."

Tom looks at me with huge puppy eyes, rimmed red from tears. "You're not gonna leave me, right?"

A smile appears on my cheeks, but it feels forced. "Of course I'm not gonna leave you, pretty boy. I'll be right by your side this whole time and for the rest of your life, you know that."

His lips push out in a pout. "You can still call me pretty boy when I'm like this?"

"You'll always be my pretty boy." I leave forward and press a few kisses to his cheek, hopefully calming him down a bit.

The doctor comes back into the room a few moments later, and Tom forces me to hold his hand while the doctor inspects him again, this time for a concussion.

"Yep, your girlfriend is right, you've got a mild concussion. I'd assume you hit your head on something when you fainted, whether it was a cabinet or the floor. It's not too bad though, you should be fine in two or three weeks. But even still, I wanna keep you for the rest of the day. I know it's early, so we'll see how you're feeling later and see if you need to stay the night or you can go. We've got you on an IV to give you some vitamins and some essential things you've been missing out on over the past few weeks. You know where the nurses button is, if you need anything. I'll see you two later."

///

The rest of the day passes incredibly slowly. Tom's family shows up just a little bit after the doctor leaves. They stay for an hour or two, just to keep Tom entertained, but he's being very quiet and really only wants to talk to me. But his family is babying him and talking to him like a child. And as much as I do that to him when I'm consoling him, he absolutely hates when his family does it.

And then Harrison and Tuwaine show up and wreak havoc. I know it's for entertainment purposes and to make Tom laugh. They show up and throw a backpack onto Tom's bed, what's filled with my laptop, smuggled in fast food, some extra clothes for Tom, and a handful of dvd's. Then they loudly make their way around Tom's room, inspecting every single thing that is on the walls or in the relatively empty cabinets. I'm tempted to kick them out so they don't get in trouble, but Tom is laughing and his spirits are lifted, so I don't bother.

By the time a nurse is coming around with lunch for Tom, he's starving. I can hear his stomach rumbling, but that's a sound I've grown accustomed to.

Tom pushes around his food, not interested in the bland hospital food. "I really want what Haz and Tuwaine brought." He eyes the McDonald's bag on the other side of the room. "I don't want this shit."

"I don't know if your stomach can handle that. You haven't had fast food in months and I don't know if that's good for you-"

"Please, baby, I'm so hungry and this looks terrible." Tom begs, pushing the tray of food away from him.

I easily comply, not wanting to put up a fight with him when he's feeling so tortured at the moment. I open the bag and find a ridiculous amount of food, more than me and Tom could ever eat.

"God, these idiots must have bought the whole store out. What do you want-burger, fries, nuggets?"

"Yes." He responds, making me roll my eyes.

"You're impossible." I pull out a small fry, a cheeseburger, and six piece nugget and hand it over to him, watching him smile happily. "You're nuts. Please eat slowly and drink a lot of water. I don't want you getting sick and throwing up."

"Can we watch a movie too?" He shoves a nugget in his mouth and gestures to my laptop. I agree, pulling up Netflix and starting a random movie, setting my computer on the bed.

Thankfully, Tom doesn't have to stay the night. He's built up enough strength through the IV, food, and relaxation for the doctor to feel good about him going home. So he gets out of his hospital gown and into some sweats, signing discharge papers and wobbling out of the hospital room. And since I rode in the ambulance with Tom, Harrison comes to pick us up and drive us home.

"Looking a bit better, mate." Harrison says, giving Tom a bro hug when we get to the car.

"Thanks for picking us up." Tom mumbles before jumping into the backseat.

"Thank you so much, Haz. You're the best." I give him a tight hug before sitting beside Tom in the backseat and heading home.

///

"Do you wanna go up to bed or stay on the couch?" I ask once we step inside, dropping our bags beside the door. Tessa is off at his parents house, so our house is silent.

"I wanna go shower, and then go to bed." He mumbles, taking the lead upstairs and hobbling into the connected bathroom. I collect him some fresh boxers and a tee shirt, putting them on the counter for him when he's done. I busy myself by changing the sheets and fixing up the bed, distracting myself from the craziness of the day.

"Babe!" Tom starts calling. "Baby!"

I panic, fearing the worst, rushing into the bathroom. "What? What's wrong?"

"Will you come in with me?" He asks like a child, pouting, his curls dripping over his forehead.

"I thought something was wrong." I groan, but begin stripping off my clothes anyways. I step into the warm water and sigh of relief, happy to wash away the stress of the day. I immediately wrap my arms around Tom's skinny waist, burying my face in his neck. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Yeah, me too." Tom sighs, hand running up and down my back gently. "Thank you for being there for me. You're the best girlfriend ever."

"Thanks." I chuckle with an eye roll. "I'm just glad you're home."

We finish up in the shower not long after, since being exposed to the warm water for too long could make Tom faint again. So we get dressed and crawl into bed, curling up under the cold duvet. I rest my head on Tom's chest and close my eyes, trying to drift off to sleep.

"You can say it now, you know?" Tom murmurs, lips ghosting over my forehead.

I smile softly, letting a beat pass. "I told you so."

#i dont know how to add a read below thing so sorry #reblog please!!!!#check out my wattpad #its @_obsessing #thanks for reading buddies

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kenzieam · 5 years

Text

Druid - Chapter Ten

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, mature themes, potential major character death)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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JAMES

I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.

It’s been a shit show around here this last week, and all I fuckin’ want is to take my girl on a long ride on my bike and then a longer ride on my cock.

Levi’s been working hard, cleaning up and organizing her new shop. Tully was a hell of an artist, and kept his immediate work area clean, but the rest of the shop was seriously doubtful and my girl’s had her hands full. She’s near militant with her cleanliness, and the place reeks of bleach and disinfectant.

I roll to a stop in front of the corner store, my bike idling smoothly beneath me.

One minute rolls into two, and I start to get antsy.

I turn off my bike and lean it on its stand, then walk slowly inside. I’m in full leathers and colors, and even though I’ve lived in this town my whole goddamn life, the sight of me still makes some people cross the street (or aisle) to avoid me. I hardly notice anymore, and definitely not when my only thought is to find the one person who means everything to me.

A quick scan tells me Levi’s not in here and I step back outside, frowning. This is the closest corner store to her shop, the most logical place to go.

Something’s not right. The same instinct that’s saved my life more than once is starting to hum again.

I climb back on my bike and start it, begin idling slowly along the street, scanning faces for Levi’s, but nothing, she’s not out here. My chest is beginning to tighten as I reach her shop. It’s closed tight, the lights off.

To be sure, I dismount and stalk to the door, but it’s locked; no shadows move within.

I turn, and my eyes happen to drop to the ground. My heart goes with them.

Three drops on the sidewalk, nothing more.

I crouch, touch one with a shaking finger. The blood is tacky, a deep red.

I know deep in my heart that this is Levi’s blood, that something fucking terrible has just gone down.

Levi’s gone.

For a half-second, I let myself panic, for a heartbeat I let my mind run wild with the possibilities of what happened; for the space of one breath I let the darkness in.

And I never ever want to feel this depth of anguish again, I would die to keep from experiencing this raw terror a second time.

I force it all away, force myself to focus; to draw on that part of me that takes over when I’m Cannon, the part of me that leads with confidence, able to make snap decisions, that knows what to do.

My phone is in my hand, the number dialed before I even realize I’ve done it.

“Hammer.” I bark, not letting him even answer. “Someone’s got Levi.”

“Explain.” He’s instantly alert, instantly serious, instantly Hammer, and that’s my he’s my Sergeant-At-Arms; no one can throw down faster when it really matters.

I outline what’s happened, realizing as I do that it’s fairly weak evidence... but I just know, and Hammer doesn’t argue.

“I’m on my way, give me fifteen.” He hangs up. I dial Steve, leave the terse details when he answers. He too senses the utter seriousness immediately and all trace of levity are gone from his normally friendly voice.

A thought occurs to me, like a goddamn lightning bolt and I scramble at my phone, clawing at the screen. A while ago I asked Levi to install a tracker app on her phone; she’d eyed me for a bit but complied and I am so fucking grateful she did. I swipe the app and tap the LOCATE icon. I’m fucking sweating bullets as the screen blurs, three blinking dots waiting to deliver my fate.

Finally, fucking finally, the screen clears, a red dot blinking steadily in the center of the screen. My heart hammers in my chest, a breath-stealing mix of relief and fresh anxiety. What will I find? I activate the app’s direction option and a path forms on the screen for me to follow. The dot shows Levi’s just a mile or so outside of town, and the dot isn’t moving.

Or her phone isn’t, and Levi’s long gone.

I force that shit down because I cannot allow my mind to consider that, not right now... not ever. I cannot lose Levi; not after everything, not after all the years and shit we’ve gone through to be with each other.

It’s not a fucking option.

My bike roars as I fly away, hardly even cognizant of my surroundings, all I see is the dot on the screen, all I can think of is Levi; the way she looked this morning as I watched her sleep, the fluttering of her delicate eyelashes, the faint smiles; her pleasured moans as I pushed slowly inside her, buried my face in the crook of her neck, basking in her warmth and love, felt her arms wrap around my neck and hold me close as we whispered eternal love to each other-

I’m close and screech to a stop, panting for breath as I rip my helmet off and scan the area. The app shows I’m within ten yards of Levi, of her phone, but all I see is the blacktop, the grassy shoulders, empty fields. I scramble off my bike, barely remembering to lean it on its stand and start frantically casting about, eyes darting between the screen and indifferent surroundings. My eyes drop to the ground, nearly on top of the dot and I beg, scream inside to anything or anybody willing to listen to not let this be it, because she’s not here, there’s nothing-

A glint catches my eye and I dive at it, ignoring the gravel that bites my palms.

Her phone, shattered and dying; now that I can see it, I notice more chunks of it, slivers of glass, plastic bits. It doesn’t take much imagination. It was thrown from a moving vehicle, bouncing and splintering into garbage, into a mocking sign that my girl is gone.

The scream that tears from my throat is more beast than man, more tortured and anguished than fury and for the space of a few seconds, I can’t breathe, I can’t focus, black dots swim in my vision. I’m either about to pass out or transform into the Hulk.

The remnant of her phone crushes in my fist.

A strange numbness takes over my limbs. I will hold it together as long as I need to, to find Levi; and then my monster will be set free.

I don’t look back as I mount my bike and race back into town to meet Hammer.

It seems like eternity, but within a half hour the bulk of my club’s muscle is here. The darkness, the what-ifs are threatening to consume me again when a hand slams on my shoulder. I whirl, ready to smash in someone’s face, or maybe collapse into hysterics when I see Hammer staring at me, eyes blazing.

“We need to get back to the clubhouse.”

“But we have to look-”

“Trust me.”

And I do, despite, or maybe because of, everything that’s happened between us, I do.

“You okay to ride?”

I nod sharply, not looking back to see if anyone follows me as I roar away.

*******************************************************************************************

“Thor, fuckin’ spill, man.” I growl, pacing the war room. It’s been less than an hour since Levi disappeared, and it’s been too fucking long already. My nerves are razor edged and raw.

Steve has coordinated the entire club and their families traveling here for a lock-down, and he walks into the room just as I snarl this at Thor.

“Lock-down initiated.” He reports and I nod at him, thanking him silently. I ordered the lock-down but am way too wound up to have followed through with anything.

Thor shifts his weight, scrubbing roughly at his crew cut before smacking his fist on the table. “I think I know who’s got Levi.”

I glare at him, my lip curling, a microsecond away from snarling at him to spit it the fuck out.

He opens him mouth to answer, then grabs his chirping phone, swiping it and glowering at the screen. Whatever it says confirms his suspicions and he drops it again with a rough nod, looking more confident but also a million times angrier.

“Fuckin’ Lurch.”

I consider slapping the stupid out of him, but hold back. “The fucker’s dead... you helped bury him!”

“No... Shit, Cannon. His brother. His fuckin’ twin brother.”

“What?!” I hiss, shock threatening to overtake my rage. “A fucking twin? Jesus Fucking Christ!”

That’s all I get out, then I’m literally apoplectic with rage, I can feel the veins pulsing in my neck, feel my face go purple but I can’t draw a breath, can’t-

Steve slaps my back hard enough to make me stagger, but it forces me to breathe again and I wheeze, bent double.

“Explain.” Steve demands, his voice clipped. He’s almost as affected as me, but he hides it way better; I’ve always been the emotional one of our brotherhood.

Thor growls, rubbing a hand roughly over his face, his stubble rasping. “I got Bane and Tucker to ask some questions, check out any security footage along the path Levi would have taken. Didn’t get much but that florist across the street said she saw a big guy in a grey van parked in front of Levi’s shop. Guy inside looked shifty, her description matched Lurch, big and ugly. She didn’t see him take her but it’s too fucking convenient. I called Tracer and asked what the fuck? did that asshole have a twin or something? and yeah, he fuckin’ does, but Trace never mentioned it because they ain’t close. That last text was Bane, the florist didn’t remember much about the van except it had out of state plates, and Trace confirmed the rest.”

Rage and fury like I’ve never felt rip through me. That fucker sold us out, ran off and told Lurch’s brother! My fists clench tight enough I feel warmth drip between my fingers.

Thor reads my expression, tensed to stop me if I take off running. “Trace says he didn’t tell him. Lurch hadn’t talked to the guy in years, so he just told the mother. She musta’ called him.”

“Who is this guy? Tell me everything.” I ground out. Dimly, I feel an ache in my palms and hold them up, staring semidetached as I uncurl my fists and see bloody crescents in my skin.

“He runs with the White Knights out in Idaho. Trace says they’re half MC, half white supremist militants; you know, those crazy bastards that think the government’s trying to take their guns and there’s going to be a civil war. Tracer didn’t know the whole story, but it sounds like their dad was killed in a drug deal gone south when they were just kids and their ma married the VP of the Knights. Lurch never really agreed with the militia shit and got out, but the brother stayed. Name’s Joseph Henday, road name Deimos. Lurch was his twin.”

“Deimos?” I snarl, because what the fuck?

“You know, Greek god of dread and terror.”

“So, what? He’s a fuckin’ scholar?!” I rage. Fuckin’ Henday’s got some god complex, thinking he’s-

“Cannon.” Steve barks and it’s enough to snap me out of my spiral.

Shit, I cannot let the darkness take me, I need to stay sharp; I need to find Levi, then I can let the beast free, and plant this fuck Deimos right next to his fucking brother.

“Where is he?”

“Working on it.” Thor replies. “His most likely travel back to Idaho takes him through Hedge’s turf, so I got them keeping eyes out for grey vans and ugly motherfuckers. Nothing yet.”

“And Tracer? What’s he doing to make this right?” I’m so fucking outraged at my charter brother I can taste blood.

Thor and Steve trade a glance. “He’s sending up some brothers, checking out all Henday’s old haunts, but it’s a long shot, they never ran together down state.”

A bitter retort stings my tongue but I bite it back. Tracer’s day of judgement will come, but not now.

My brothers are eyeing me like a rabid animal, but they don’t need to worry; I’m in control. I will keep it together, until this is over and Levi is back safe with me, then all Hell will be unleashed and I will bathe in the blood of everyone who was part of hurting my woman.

LEVI

Where the fuck am I? Christ, my head hurts.

Flashes of what happened hit me. Lurch, fucking Lurch! standing in front of me, back from the fucking dead; and then the fucker hits me again, again!

What is it with this man and backhanding me?

My cheek throbs, and I’d bet my best tattoo gun that my eye socket is cracked again, if not outright broken. My pulse pounds through my cheek, which feels hot and tight, and my bottom lips throbs. I test it tentatively and taste blood, feel a rough wound. I must have put my teeth through it, or maybe broke my fall with my face.

I lay quiet for a moment, gathering my bearings. I’m in a vehicle, I can hear the road noise. A radio plays quietly, but I can’t hear it over the rush of blood in my ears.

“I know you’re awake.” I hear a rough voice growl nearby. “Stop playing the fool.”

Fuck you coils on my tongue, itching to escape but I hold it back. Instead, I open my eyes and lift my head. I try to sit up but am hampered both by stiff soreness and resistance at my limbs. I manage a clumsy shuffling and squirming into a seated position, glancing down. Plastic zip-ties secure my wrists and ankles, cutting deeply, threatening to break the skin and bleed.

I focus on the speaker, the man back from the grave currently driving the van I’m being held prisoner in.

“You’re supposed to be dead.” I don’t think this guy responds to small talk, so I cut right to the chase.

He sneers, flashing me a glare in the rearview mirror before turning his entire head. “You stupid bitch. You killed my twin brother, not me. But I’m the one calling due.” He turns back forward, shaking his head like I’m too stupid to live.

“Brother?” I choke.

“Yeah, split-tail. We didn’t talk much, but that don’t mean I ain’t gonna make the fuckers who killed him pay.”

Well... shit.

I’m dizzy, and disoriented; and I don’t usually get car-sick but I’m definitely nauseous right now too. The road is bumpy, or maybe the shocks in this van are shot, and I’m getting jostled quite a bit, the zip-ties digging painfully into my skin. I look around when I can, and am not encouraged by what I see.

The van is dented and dirty, obviously only a means of transportation. A military rucksack lays nearby, and a sweatshirt sleeve pokes out, and two duffels lie closer to the back doors. They’re all hard angles and clink with each bump and I realize they’re full of weapons. A large crate holds camping supplies and a rolled up sleeping bag sprawls beside it.

Where the fuck is he taking me?

There’s a definite dangerous vibe to this guy, and I mean beyond the fact that he’s hit me and abducted me to god knows where. Something about him is high-strung, edgy; the permanent kind, like he was born with a faster metronome than the average person and it makes him instinctively more reactive.

I have no idea how long I’ve been out, and honestly no idea of what direction this bastard is taking us and I can’t see much from my perch on the floor either.

I try to sit up slightly, just enough to catch a hint of where we’re going, but I’m not a ninja at the best of times, and this guy seems to have the senses of a hawk.

His fist appears from nowhere, pain exploding in my cheek and I fly backwards, hitting the floor painfully. It takes me long moments to get my bearings again and I glare up at him through bleary, pain-hazed eyes. I’m going for pissed-off, but I don’t think I’m quite there, I’m too disoriented.

His cold eyes mock me, his thin lips twist in a sneer. He’d be handsome if he wasn’t so goddamn flat and hard.

“You’ll see where we’re going soon enough, then we’re going to have fun.” The way he says ‘fun’ sends instant shivers of fear through me and he smiles knowingly, tipping me a wink before turning back to the road.

JAMES

I am losing my fucking mind.

It has been over a day since Levi was taken. Thirty-one hours, sixteen minutes and forty-nine seconds to be exact; and each fucking tick of the clock is a fresh stab in my heart.

I’m going crazy, legitimately losing my mind as I can’t stop obsessing over what that bastard might be doing to her right now, to my girl, my woman, my fucking life.

My guys have been machines, tirelessly working, calling up favors and trying everything in their power and beyond to find them. Trace has been fucking useless, and that fucker’s days are numbered. I will bring down his entire chapter if anything’s happened to Levi.

Fuck.

FUCK.

I haven’t slept a wink, I’m running on nothing but desperate adrenaline and burning rage right now. The families are all sleeping, it’s near midnight, but the majority of my brothers are still awake, still working, still looking.

I can’t take this, the unknowns, the what-ifs, the maybes and possibilities. I’m going to break soon, I won’t survive this if Levi’s been taken from me forever. I’ll shatter and disappear, my soul leaving to try and find hers, to be with her forever.

My cell starts ringing and I scramble to answer it. The brothers fall silent, raising their heads to listen. I don’t recognize the number, but I’m so desperate for news I hardly even pause to consider this.

“Barnes.” I bark.

“Cannon.” A low growl.

“Yeah? Who’s this?” A hard knot starts to form in my belly. I have a damn good idea who it is.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out by now who took your bitch.”

“Deimos.” The knot twists. “Give her back, you fuck.”

He only laughs.

“What do you want?” There is precious little I wouldn’t give up right now.

“Like money?” There’s a new edge to his voice. “We’re loooong past monetary compensation, my friend.”

Cold dread threatens to close off my throat. Dimly, I note Thor and Steve moving closer to stand on either side of me, listening intently. “Then what do you want?”

A low chuckle. “My brother back. But since that ain’t gonna happen; I’ll settle for your woman.”

“What do you want?!” I roar, my tenuous hold on my temper fraying and snapping.

“I want you to know that you can’t do a fucking thing to save her. I want you to know I’m going to take everything she has to give. I WANT you to know I’m going to strangle her while I split her in half. AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW I’m going to keep fucking her corpse ‘till it’s cold. AND I WANT YOU TO KNOW I’M GOING TO SEND HER BACK TO YOU A LITTLE PIECE AT A TIME!!” He roars back, voice rising with each word until his voice can be heard throughout the room.

I scream wordless rage, terror and helplessness giving my voice a broken edge. Steve snatches the phone from my hand.

“Deimos!” He barks, then shakes his head, pulling the phone away.

Deimos hung up, I heard the click even as Steve took the phone.

A sharp pain in my throat breaks off my scream, but my panic and fury are still crushing me, and mangled animal whines spill from my lips. Finally, my rage surges anew, giving me something to focus on and I clench my fists, my broken noises morphing into a low snarl.

I am going to tear this fucker apart with my bare hands.

LEVI

I'm tired, hungry and cold. It’s pitch black out, must be near midnight. The campfire nearby does little to dispel my chill. My wrists and ankles throb, the zip-ties biting tightly into my swollen flesh. I’ve been working on sawing through my wrist-tie for hours now, using only the edge of a pebble I managed to hide in my fist. The brother’s sharp, and he watches me often, so I can’t work at the tie as much as I need to in order to break it.

He's been drinking, not a lot, but enough to loosen his limbs and lower his restraint. The hatred in his eyes is eclipsed only by growing lust and stark fear coils in my belly.

The surest way to punish me, to break me and James, the two people responsible for killing his brother, is to take my body before my life and his next actions confirm this. Dread prickles my skin as I watch him dial a number, growing stronger each second as I listen to him toy with James.

Then I hear James yell ‘what do you want?!’ and my blood runs cold as I watch this dangerous man seemingly morph right before my eyes, maniacal rage growing in his eyes as he answers, as his voice rising to an unholy scream as he describes just what he has planned for me, or rather, for my cooling corpse. With the firelight glinting in his eyes he looks like some sort of mad creature, an insane beast.

I shake with terror, unable to hide my fear as he violently ends the connection, stabbing the phone screen almost hard enough to break it. He’s breathing hard, growling on each exhale and my heart literally stops when he turns his glowing eyes to me.

Instead of attacking me however, he smiles and I’ve never seen something so demonic and soul-chilling.

“Sweet dreams.” He rasps before standing and stalking away, leaving me to stew and speculate, wait in terror for his return.

JAMES

Thor and Steve have been checking up on me periodically, making sure I’m not doing something retarded like slitting my wrists, or swallowing a bullet. I hear one of them now, judging by the tread, it’s Thor.

“James.” He says, voice low. In the shadow of Levi’s abduction, we’ve moved beyond road names.

I sigh, dropping my head. I can’t speak right now or I’ll fall apart.

His hand rests on my shoulder and it’s all I can do to keep from collapsing. It’s been forty-six hours since Levi was taken, fifteen hours since Henday’s phone call and my soul is raw, shredded and bleeding; I’m weak from the loss and blackness threatens at the corners of my vision. Standing here helpless while my mind runs wild imagining Henday carrying out his threats, laying hands on my woman, making her suffer, torturing her as he violates her, then taking her life is doing a serious number on my sanity and I’ve chewed my lip bloody, pounded at the walls until my knuckles tore and bled.

I feel so helpless, I’ve never felt so fucking helpless, so goddamn weak. I will raze the earth, burn the world to the ground in retaliation, then I’m going to curl up and die so Levi and I can be together again.

Thor seems reluctant but then Steve rushes into the room, looking around quickly before spotting us and reaching us in two powerful strides. He nods to Thor who relaxes only slightly.

“We might have a lead,” Thor begins and I whirl to him, aware the gleam in my eye isn’t entirely sane.

He glances again at Steve before continuing. “They grew up outside some shit town on the Nevada border. One of Tracer’s guys that was tight with Lurch says the two of them used to talk about taking their childhood home back from the bank, fixing it up again.”

I stare at him, not understanding. Precious little is able to break through my haze of devastation right now. If I wasn’t so shit scared about what could be happening to Levi at this moment, I’d be shocked at my extreme reaction; but at the same time, I can’t find a fuck to give. This is Levi, this is my goddamn life; I’ve waited for her for too fucking long to lose her now, she’s too bright a star to be taken from this world. It doesn’t matter that we’ve been together for short weeks, she’s my heart and soul, she always has been.

“It’s got meaning to him, it’s a potential hideout-” Steve begins.

That’s all I need to hear. It cuts through my haze. “Move!!”

LEVI

He’s back, but he still hasn’t made a move towards me. In a way, this is worse; psychological torture, leaving me on pins and needles to wait.

I’m not sure if the blood trickling from my abused wrists is helping lubricate my attempts to saw through my ties, or hindering it, but I can’t stop. It been hours since he phoned James, its midday based on the sun and I’m getting seriously weak from dehydration.

I’m also fucking starving, but the prick hasn’t offered me anything to eat or drink. He’s brought plenty, and never fails to slake his own thirst and stuff his own fucking face right in front of me, but he’s trying to wear me down; either wait until I’m desperate and will agree to anything or am just too damn weak physically to resist him anymore.

I spent hours last night awake, eyes peering at the darkness, tracking shadows and jumping at every little sound, waiting for him to come back. I don’t know where he went for most of the night, and for all I know he could have been mere feet away, watching me in the blackness, but he returned to the camp this morning and has hardly looked my way since.

I have no illusions that he was lying to James; he fully intends to carry out what he threatened, he will take my mind and my body as payment for his brother, and send bloody reminders to James periodically for fun.

Therefore, I keep working at the tie, long past when I could’ve given up. I know James won’t give up looking for me, I won’t give up trying to escape.

And then, just as the cramps in my fingers threaten to completely immobilize them, threaten to numb them so I can’t saw at the tie anymore, the tie breaks, weakened enough to snap. For a second, I freeze in shock, not moving and glance desperately at my captor. Did he see me jolt? My arms move suddenly as the restraints gave? The abject astonishment on my face?

I exhale slowly, muscles trembling. He didn’t notice, at least not yet and now I have to figure out what to do.

Do I attack? Try to kill him? For someone who’s never contemplated personally murdering anyone before, I’ve become quite enamored of the idea.

Do I try to sneak away? Even as that thought flits through my exhausted mind, I know it’s beyond foolish. I have no idea where we are, but its desolate. All I can see is empty land and scrub-brush. Some semi-arid hell-hole. I’m weak and hungry and he’d be on me in seconds if I tried to run.

“Dad used to take us out here to camp.” He speaks suddenly, breaking the silence and I turn to peer at him in confusion. He’s hardly been loquacious during our time together, so his sudden volunteering of information is startling.

I have no idea if he’s even looking for a response, so I wait silently. “There’s nothing around for miles.,” he continues, reaching down and blatantly adjusting himself and I suddenly and with a sinking feeling realize exactly what’s on his mind. “There’s no one to hear your screams.” He stands then and begins to stalk slowly towards me, slowly he pulls a large knife from the small of his back. The lust that’s been lingering in his eyes for hours has completely taken over his expression. “You’re going to be a sweet piece, split-tail,” he growls and I can’t stop a tremor of fear. “I’m gonna like fucking you ‘till you break.”

Shit, I don’t have a plan yet.

I sag slightly, trying to convey both exhaustion and resignation, maybe trick him into lowering his guard. Through lowered lashes I search desperately for a weapon. Shit, there’s nothing nearby.

He's almost on me and I do the only thing I can think of. Throwing myself backwards I kick violently upwards with my bound legs, moving them as one large limb. His eyes widen is shock when he sees my hands are free and it gives me the extra half-second I need.

My feet connect solidly with the bulge in his jeans and the sound he makes both satisfies and chills my blood. At the last moment, instinctively and without aim, his hand slashes at my feet to stop them, but it’s not enough. The blade slices a gash along my shin before continuing between my feet and we’re both stunned when the knife cuts through the zip-tie.

Thank the fucking fates for small favors.

My feet ache, both from renewed blood-flow and connecting solidly with his groin but I scramble desperately upright, casting around for anything to use.

“Bitch.” He snarls, stumbling backwards; I must have kicked him real hard and it does my heart good.

I launch towards the nearest item and snag it with claw like fingers. I swing back around and, acting on adrenaline alone; for if I had a second to slow down and consider what I was about to do, I’d chicken out; I launch myself back at him. In my hand is a propane tank and it’s either almost empty or my adrenaline has given me extra strength.

His eyes widen and a mix of fresh rage and shock color his features. He wasn’t expecting his prey to have teeth.

Foolish, arrogant bastard.

I swing the tank in a wild arc towards his head, fully intending on splattering his brains across the sand. As my arm gets closer, he abandons his knife and instead pulls a pistol from his belt. I’m committed though, the momentum of the tank too much for me to stop, but I couldn’t stop anyway, this is my only chance.

I let go of the tank, praying my aim is correct and dive to the side; I hear a sharp bang just as white-hot pain explodes in my shoulder and I hit the ground hard. Dimly, as my shoulder ignited, I heard a loud hollow thump and grunt and I roll quickly, struggling to me feet, gritting my teeth against the pain.

I managed to connect with the fucker’s head, but he’s not dead, just stunned, scalp split and one side of his head reddening with blood. My options are few as I leap frantically for his gun, only to scramble desperately away when he tries to grab at me. Instead, I start running, snagging the knife he dropped as I pass and duck behind the van as another shot goes off. I crawl beneath the van, heart hammering. My legs are on fire, pins and needles like crazy and my body shakes like jelly.

He’s been knocked stupid, and staggers as he nears the van. His mind is telling him to find me and finish me, but his balls and head hurt too much too make it a smooth operation and I need to use this to my advantage. The van jolts, metal screeching when he falls against it and blood patters to the sand at his feet. I slash at him with everything I have, hitting just above both heels. The dual pops of his severed Achilles’ tendons are drowned out by his pained howl, and I’m already scooting backwards under the van as he falls to his knees. I scramble through the passenger door of the van and fall into the driver’s seat, clawing at the ignition.

The driver’s door rips open and he roars as he reaches for me. I react without thinking, slamming the heel of my hand into his nose and hear a satisfying crack. His eyes roll back in his head as he collapses forward. His head lulls in the van’s doorway and I see one more opportunity, then I’m getting the fuck outta here.

I slam the door on his head once, twice, and he falls limp to the sand. My eyes land on his back pocket and I fall out on top of him, fumbling for his phone then I’m screeching in fear and panic, clamoring back inside and grabbing at the ignition, twisting the key. The van roars to life and I throw it into gear, fishtailing away. Tears pour down my cheeks as I start bawling hysterically but through them, in the rear view, I see my attacker’s body slumped in the sand where I left him.

I hope he’s dead, but I’m not staying to find out.

The adrenaline rush that no doubt saved my life is rapidly dissipating and I start trembling uncontrollably, fucking vibrating, my teeth chattering. There’s a rough road ahead of me, little more than a trail and I push the accelerator to the floor, trying to get as far away from him as I can before I pass out.

My heart is hammering painfully in my chest and my shoulder is on fire, my arm leaden. Jesus, I’ve been shot. If I had anything in my stomach, I’d throw up; I’ve never been shot and it fucking hurts!

The van jolts and the engine falters. Smoke starts pouring out from under the hood.

“Shit! Not now, not now please!”

But my luck runs out and the van dies. After it coasts to a stop I climb painfully out. I missed noticing it in the rush, but that second gunshot I heard was closer than I thought. It hit the van, blowing through the front fender and did something bad to the engine inside, I’m lucky I got as far away as I did. I’d estimate I made it a few miles at least.

Let’s see that fucker drag his crippled ass that far.

I remember the phone and pull it out, swearing sharply when I see that I have no service. There’s service back there where I was held, but I’m not going to risk it. My legs ache as I start walking forwards.

Shit, that sun is hot and my throat is fucking dry. As I cross over a small rise I see a crumbling house a few hundred feet away and I almost start crying again in relief.

The house is abandoned, the few buildings around it falling apart. A robin’s-egg blue ford pickup is the only spot of color, it’s hood up, tires flat, paint baked by the sun. I stagger closer to the house, if nothing else, it will provide some shade. The small yard is overgrown, the rickety barb-wire fence that delineated it from the scrub brush, marking the property, is barely visible anymore.

The door creaks open on rusty hinges and I shuffle inside.

No one’s been here for years.

I take out the phone again, biting back a whimper when I see the screen. It’s not strong, but I have service down here. With shaking fingers, I dial James’ number.

His voice is hard, murderous. “Deimos.”

“James-” I manage before I break down completely, sobs tearing through my body.

“LEVI?! Jesus baby! Levi, talk to me!” James screeches, his voice breaking with emotion.

“James,” warmth fills me, pushing away the physical pain at the sound of his voice. “I got away.”

“Where are you?” I hear tears in his deep voice, he’s crying with me.

“I don’t know.” I whimper.

#bucky barnes #au bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky and lev #bucky barnes angst

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avengemebucky · 6 years

Text

Try a Little Tenderness

TRY A LITTLE TENDERNESS // BUCKY BARNES x READER

of my “Class of ‘62″ Series

A/N: this is requested by @basicwafflescc, thank you so much for your support and requesting! I hope you enjoy!! REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! I’m glad you guys enjoy this series, I really enjoy writing it!

Request: I love your Class of '62 series so much! Could you do one where Bucky sneaks into the readers room late at night because her parents have her under a curfew or something? Thank you so much xx

WC: 1806

Warnings: Steamy, steamy, steamy! Just kissing, really lol

“Class of ‘62″ Masterlist

MASTERLIST

Your father hadn’t been happy to hear that Bucky had forgotten to pick you up last week. So unhappy that he had shortened your curfew even more, now making it 7:00 pm instead of 11:00pm. You had tried to negotiate to your father, explaining that Bucky had been studying all night, but he didn’t want to hear it.

This new curfew made it practically impossible to really go out at night with Bucky after school or on the weekends. The, now, bulk of your shared time was at school, in between classes or at lunch. Bucky had taken the news surprisingly well. You’d been convinced that it was going to break him knowing that his father was trying to limit your time alone with him, but the only reaction you got out of Bucky was an understanding nod and a slight smirk. The smirk left you uneasy, knowing what that type of facial expression from your boyfriend means; no good at all.

Your Frankie Valli record skipping at it’s end pulled you out of your thoughts and back to the homework that was sprawled out on your bed, waiting for you. You got up and rummaged through your closet until finding the next record of your choice and placed it on the player, laying the needle on the vinyl. You walked back to your work to the calming return of music flooding your room.

Otis Redding always helped you float through your work without too much stress, easing any of your nerves for perfection or time constraints. “Try a Little Tenderness” began to play in your room, the sounds of the horns forcing you to pause from your work and enjoy the chord progressions.

You walk to your mirror, picking up your hairbrush, and begin singing along with Otis, not having a care in the world. Swaying your hips, you let yourself get taken by the song and its building momentum. Bopping your head, you can feel the peak of the song approaching; your heartbeat rising along with the flow of the song, already knowing the tune inside and out. You really lose it at the climax, not feeling silly at all from your constant flailing. Your hips have a mind of their own at this point, swirling just like Bucky had taught you how. Rubbing your hands down your body, you jump around on your imaginary stage, giving the show of a lifetime to your make-believe crowd.

Just as quickly as the song peaked, the song ended along with the little fantasy it created. You return your brush to its place and fix your hair out of habit, smoothing back behind your ears.

You are about to return to work when you hear what you can only distinguish as a muted snicker. Confused, you open your door, expecting your mother to be the source of the laugh, but your hallway was completely empty. Brows furrowed, your cheeks blush when a knock comes from the other side of your window. Bucky waves and you cover your face in embarrassment before timidly open your window.

“Were you there-”

“The whole time? Of course… It’s okay baby, I know what Otis Redding does to ya.”

You roll your eyes and are about to ask Bucky what he’s doing hanging out at your window when he unexpectedly climbs through your window and into your room. Flustered, you open your mouth to confront him but see your door still wide open from checking the hallway. You run and quickly close it, feeling just a bit more at ease knowing you two now had a little more privacy. You scowl at Bucky.

“Bucky?! What are you doing? You can’t be here, it’s past 7:00 pm!”

“I know Doll, I just missed you, that’s all.” Bucky makes his way towards you and places his hands on your hips. He pulls you close to him and gazes down at you with his bright blue eyes. They looked even brighter in the dim lighting of your room, shining at your presence.

Seeing what he was up to and not wanting to fall into his tricks, you shake your head and successfully push yourself at of his grip.

“Buck! Please... I don’t want you getting into anymore trouble.” You say sincerely before attempting to push him back towards your open window.

Bucky smirks at how weak your attempts are at getting him out of your room, knowing you don’t really want him to leave. He doesn’t move an inch despite your pushing and attempts of guiding him back to the window.

“What, you’ve got something you’d rather do than be with me?” he asks playfully.

You stand your ground and cross your arms.

“Actually, yes.”

Bucky quirks his eyebrow questiongly.

“I was just studying for the History test this Monday and I’d love to get back to it. You know how I get when I’m testing and under pressure… I need more practice”

Bucky takes a step closer to you and you take a step back in return, not wanting to be in close proximity to him, knowing how easily you crumble when Bucky’s like this.

“Practice under pressure? Baby, I can help you study and release some of this tension of yours…”

“Buck, I’m serious, I just really need to focus-”

“I can get you to focus, angel….”

“I don’t-”

The feeling of your closet door stops you from continuing your rebuttal, knowing there was no escape from Bucky now. His blue eyes stare back at yours and you can feel the air catch in your throat. Even though you had kissed him countless times before, you could never get used to the feeling of him being this close to you.

He takes another step closer, now completely caging you in, placing his hand just above your head. He lowers his head into your neck and you shiver at the feeling of his breath against your neck.

“Buck...” you whisper meekly, not knowing what the purpose of it was, to urge him on or to ask him to stop. Your brain can function properly with him this close to you.

He shushes you and rubs his nose from the bottom of your neck to where your neck and chin meet, just staying there for a beat. You shudder, not knowing how to deal with the intensity of the moment. He places a soft kiss under your chin and runs his lips up to your ear. Your eyes flutter closed, releasing the sigh that has been trapped in your throat for what’s felt like an eternity.

“The test is on WWI, right?”

He nibbles on your ear and a warmth pools in your stomach. Barely registering his question, you weakly nod, wanting nothing more than to drop the studying and continue whatever this was.

He pulls away and you whine from the distance he’s created between the two of you. He chuckles in response and leans forward just enough so that you both are practically are breathing the same air but your lips aren’t touching.

You try to lean in to kiss him but he pulls away and grabs both of your hands and puts them above your head. The fire that was once in your belly has now moved between your thighs and your try to rub them together to gain some relief. Bucky’s eyes darken at your squirming.

“Now that your distracted… who shot Franz Ferdinand?”

Your eyes fly open and your eyebrows furrow. You have the name on the tip of your tongue but just as your about to answer, Bucky begins kissing your neck, still holding your arms above your head. Your brain instantly turns to mush and you lose your train of thought completely, getting completely lost in Bucky. You moan at Bucky’s actions, not knowing what to do with yourself.

He runs his lips over yours once again and sigh, convinced that Bucky will finally give you that kiss that you’ve been craving. He pulls back again and you throw your head back in frustration.

“I need an answer, doll…”

“Bucky… baby please” you moan, never feeling this hot in your life.

“This is practicing under pressure, angel... “ he whispers, not getting close enough to give you satisfaction but near enough to keep your head spinning.

You’re about to try to answer Bucky’s question when you hear your mother begin to call for you. Hearing the nearing steps, your eyes flew open and the daze that Bucky had put you into has disappeared.

“Shit! Shit, shit, Shit!” You look around your room, trying to find a place to hide Bucky, knowing if your mom found him in your room with the state your in, she’d drop dead to the floor. Her footsteps sound like a ticking time bomb as you rush around your room, searching for Bucky’s hiding place. Dragging Bucky to the closet, you through him in and close the door just as your mother comes in.

“Y/N, I was wondering if you had any laundry- dear, are you okay?”

You nod at your mother and smile, trying to act as normal as possible as she eyes you up and down. She continues her inspection as she walks around your room and picks up what she deems as dirty clothing and throws them in her basket.

As soon as she turns her back, you rush to your mirror and try to smooth your hair and lessen the reddening in your cheeks as much as possible. “Do you still need that dress of yours washed?” Not really paying attention, still to invested in repairing your appearance, you say yes and continue your work in your mirror before your brain catches up to the situation.

Your dress is in the closet, you IDIOT!

Eyes bulging, you dive towards your closet, stumbling but successfully putting yourself between your closet and your mother.

“Actually, Peggy borrowed it last weekend, sorry Ma…” You rub your neck awkwardly, hoping your mother believes your poor excuse. She eyes you once again, more intensely this time as she makes her way to your door.

“Kids are so strange these days,” she sighs under her breath as she makes her exit and leaves her room. You feel like a weight lifted from your chest as you sigh in relief. Bucky’s head pops out of the closet and cheekily smiles at you apologetically.

“Never again.” You scowl at your boyfriend who always has to bring a little bit of scandal into your life. You walk back towards your bed to go back to actually studying for your test, not giving your boyfriend a second glance.

“Awe, come on doll…”

“Never again!”

You try to stay serious, but both you and Bucky crack smiles at each other, knowing that this would definitely be happening again.

Hope you all enjoyed! REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! xx J

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pumpkins-s · 6 years

Text

Stormbreaker / Coffinmaker

Read On AO3 Here

When Pidge is offered the spot as communications officer for the Kerberos Mission, to accompany her father, and her friend and former classmate Shiro, she’s expecting eight months of quiet, beautiful cosmos, ice samples, and—if she’s lucky—some broadcast signals to support her alien life theories.

She is not expecting to end up the prisoner of a fascistic race of alien cat-lizards hellbent on apparently reenacting the ugliest parts of the Roman empire, down to the massive enslavement and expansion effort and the gladiators as entertainment shtick.

But, if she’s going down, she figures she might as well go down swinging.

(Or, in which Pidge is the third Kerberos member, is decidedly not a damsel in distress who needs protection—thank you very much Shiro—is very much done with this crap, and fully intends to make it home to her little brother, no matter what it takes.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: platonic Pidge & Shiro, Pidge & Matt, Pidge & Sam Holt

Characters: Pidge, Shiro, Sam Holt, Matt Holt, Thace, Ulaz

Rating + Warnings: Rated Teen; trigger warnings include graphic violence, blood, combat, murder, and systematic transphobia on the part of the Galra. I recommend checking AO3, or in my author’s notes under the cut, for a more extensive list.

Stormbreaker was written for the @pidgebigbang, and is accompanied by art from @anime7otaku7artist7.

Chapter 1: Willow

((Author’s Note:

Hello, hello! Welcome to Stormbreaker / Coffinmaker, my fic for the Pidge Big Bang. Developing the concept and storyline for this fic was the work of months (even if I wrote 90% of it in the last two weeks before it was due shhhh), and I'm so pleased to finally be able to share it. I love Pidge and the friendship she holds with Shiro, and I really wanted a chance to explore that in a setting where they were closer to being peers, as well as what her relationship to Matt would be like if she were the older sibling, and hence that (+ my desire to just see Pidge kicking ass as a gladiator) is how Stormbreaker was born.

As always, music played a big part in my writing, and I'd like to take a moment to credit that: I wrote and outlined this fic largely to the work of Barns Courtney and Florence + The Machine, particularly his The Attractions of Youth album and her How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful album, respectively, and the influence of both is definitely there in how the story turned out. The title of this fic was chosen as a nod to two songs that pushed the concept and development of Stormbreaker by leaps and bounds. Of Monster And Men's Winter Sound, and Florence + The Machine's My Boy Builds Coffins. And of course, I can't not mention the song that played the original inspiration for this fic: No Doubt's Just A Girl.

For your listening enjoyment while you read, there's also an actual playlist for this fic (with more than just those previously mentioned couple of artists in it, promise). You can find the tumblr post for it here, with art by the wonderful corpus--corvus, or jump straight to the Spotify or Youtube link.

Before you read, a final warning for the content -- this is a gladiator fic, boys & girls & nonbinary pals. That means violence, blood, injury (Shiro's probably an obvious indication but people do lose limbs), fight to the death scenarios, and murder. People die in this story, and not all of them necessarily deserve it, though rest assured Pidge and Shiro themselves stay (relatively) intact. There's also the presence of underage drinking in a flashback scene, some mentions of the sexual abuse and forced prostitution of slaves within the Empire, and swearing. So much fucking swearing. Additionally, while all relationships are written to be strictly platonic, Shiro and Pidge's longer friendship and view of each other as closer to peers does mean their friendship has an emotional intimacy that wouldn't necessarily be seen in their canon counterparts. They lean on each other for support, quite literally, so if any of that would be a personal squick to you for whatever reason, please look away now.

That's about it! Enormous thanks to the Pidge Big Bang mods for putting this all together, and to my artist, anime7otaku7artist7, for their phenomenal work. Their art is embedded in the story, and you can also find a link to it here.

Stormbreaker is split into eight sections, with the entirety already written out pre posting. Chapters range from about 4-10 thousand words, with the first one being the shortest. It will update every day until its completion (so long as everything with editing and posting goes smoothly on my end, at least. Here's hoping). Enjoy!))

(( Author’s Note [Cont.]:

Willow: Forsaken

The gorgeous title art opening this chapter, while not provided by my official artist for the Pidge Big Bang, is provided by the wonderful corpus--corvus, who put up with months of my ranting about Stormbreaker!Pidge, and generously provided me with both this title art, and coverart for this fic's playlist. Thank you Logan you're a peach.))

Oh I'm just a girl, living in captivity

Your rule of thumb

Make me worry some

Oh I'm just a girl, what's my destiny?

- "Just a Girl", No Doubt

“Careful,” is the first thing Pidge’s father says to her, and she sighs, blowing errant bangs out of her eyes—she knew she should have pinned them back when they were suiting up—as she steadies her arms and inches the ice sample out of the extraction drill.

“Yeah, Pidge, careful,” Shiro says with a grin she can only classify as shit-eating, leaning over the back of the drill with his forearms resting on top.

“I am careful,” she snaps, fully removing the sample and hefting it between her arms. The weight is less than that of Earthen ice of the same mass—which is expected, given the gravity on Kerberos is much lesser than that on Earth. It’s a lucky thing their suits are specially designed and weighted to model Earth’s gravity on their interior, Pidge wouldn’t want to be hopping and stumbling around like the astronauts of her grandparents’ generation.

She hands the sample over to her father carefully, his eyes bright as he studies it. “Extraordinary.”

Pidge glances over at Shiro, who is doing his best to look anything more than politely interested, and smirks. “What? Not impressed?”

Shiro looks down at her, and shrugs ungainly against the bulk of his suit. “You guys get…a little more excited about ice samples than I do. I understand their value, but it’s not exactly my area.”

“Yeah, yeah, motorboy.” Pidge rolls her eyes. “I get it, you’re only interested in things with an engine and that go really fast.”

“That’s—“ Shiro makes a face. “Ok, that’s only partially true. I also like…uh…” He trails off, brows furrowed, and Pidge grins. “…What do I like?” he finally asks, looking to Pidge in askance.

“Uh. Reading? Fixing Keith’s bike?” Pidge counts off on her fingers, squinting down at them. “That’s…you’re really bad at having non-work-related hobbies, dude.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Oh! Me!” Pidge holds up a third finger triumphantly. “You like me!”

Shiro groans. “You’re my best friend, that’s a given—“

“You know what I like?” Pidge says, and then continues on before Shiro has the chance to respond. “I’ll tell you what I like. Motherfucking aliens, that’s what I like, Shiro.”

“And here we go again—“

“And that—“ Pidge points at the ice sample, “could be the key to finally proving their existence, right Dad?”

“Well,” her father says, looking quietly amused as he shifts the sample in his hands. “We certainly can’t rule anything out, all the way out here. And I’d hardly complain if one of these ice samples wanted to come along and solve my life’s—“ There’s a rumble all around them, rock vibrating slightly beneath their feet, and he pauses. “…What was that?”

“Earthquake?” Pidge asks as another rumble starts up, stronger than the last.

“Kerberos-quake?” Shiro mutters behind her, and she turns to tell him just how terrible that was, before the strongest shake yet occurs, throwing her off balance, and she yelps, falling forward.

“Pidge!” She catches herself on Shiro’s outstretched arm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She shakes her head, trying to dispel the hair blocking her vision and the vague sense of dizziness she feels. “We should get back to the—“ She stops, caught up in the feeling of something suddenly here, large and looming and right behind her, and slowly turns around as a ship comes into view.

For once, all her knowledge—all her calculations, her observations, her vast vocabulary, abandon her, and she is left with one thought, and one thought only.

That isn’t one of their ships.

“It can’t be…” She hears her father say, but it’s distant, muffled, as if he was underwater, and then all she can focus on is Shiro grabbing desperately at her arm, yanking her along.

“Run. Run!”

She runs.

It’s a rush of sudden sound, sudden movement that seems at odds with the serene stillness expected of space. All she can hear is the roaring noise of whatever is behind them, Shiro’s shouts, her own heavy breathing as she stumbles along in her suit, the previously steadying weight suddenly cumbersome.

There’s a sudden pull behind them, around them, everything lit up purple, and Pidge screams as her feet suddenly leave the ground, flying up into the void of black above them. She hears both of the others yell her name, and she reaches out blindly for something, anything—her father’s blurry form, the outstretched hand she knows is Shiro’s, only to find nothing.

Tractor beam, a detached, scientific part of her mind supplies for her. I’m the smallest, so it’s natural I’d be the first picked up.

Sure enough, one of them—she thinks her father—flies up a moment after, Shiro caught up off the ground last.

They’re both shouting in panic, and Pidge thinks she should be screaming, too. Might already be screaming, or perhaps she’s forgotten to altogether, it’s impossible to tell, right now. She is not in control of the motion of her own body, of her senses.

Debris off the ground, caught up in the beam with them, catches on the side of Shiro’s helmet, scraping along, and she can only pray it hasn’t knocked it loose, hasn’t stolen his oxygen, before another rock slams into her own head.

The last thing she hears as it all goes black is the sound of her own voice tapering off, dying in her throat like a person hanged, condemned and left to die.

…Oh, so she had been screaming.

The night Shiro gets offered the position of pilot for the Kerberos mission, Pidge drags him out drinking.

“Shots!” she announces loudly, placing them down on the bar, and Shiro winces. He’s the one person she knows who gets a headache just from being in a bar. Normally, Pidge would have sympathy, as prone to migraines brought on from stress and lack of sleep as she is, but over time she’s come to accept this is an inevitability of taking Shiro out anywhere fun that isn’t space or flight themed. Luckily, the more alcohol Shiro gets in him, the more he seems to forget about his headache, or his apathy towards bars in general—enough to be willing to repeat the same cycle of misery, ecstasy, and then mild hangovers, occasionally, every few weeks, at least.

“What are those?” He picks one up cautiously, sniffing at it. “Whiskey?”

“Mhmm,” Pidge hums happily, sliding into the stool next to his. “Good brand, too.”

“I think I’ll just order one of those fruity cocktails,” Shiro says with an air of quiet distaste, sliding the shot glass back across to Pidge.

“Weak.” She downs them both, hers first and then Shiro’s, slamming the second empty glass down to the background of his horrified face.

“I don’t know how you do that,” he says, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Drinking is just one of the many things they do together, but in very different ways. Shiro—perhaps still trying to live down the keg-stand days of his barely-twenties that Pidge remembers sneaking into at seventeen or so all too fondly—doesn’t like anything strong, anything that leaves too much of a burn behind. He finds his preferences in what is sweet, where the alcohol is masked by some more agreeable mix-in.

Pidge, meanwhile, relishes the burn. Chases the chemistry reacting in her own body, the poison her brain somehow just barely sustains, with fascination. Drinking is stupid, objectively. So naturally that only leads to the urge to categorize it, sample every flavor until she understands every urge and every predilection.

She watches Shiro order his cocktail in amusement, and waves her hand when the bartender looks to her. They both know how to take care of themselves—and each other, if they find it necessary. Shiro will sip his fruity drinks, and Pidge will knock back a couple shots before giving it a break and then nursing a beer or some watered down vodka-and-schnapps concoction for the rest of the night.

She’s an experimenter, not an idiot. If she takes it too far, makes herself too sick or poisons herself too permanently, she won’t be able to carry out the next test. She’s the extent of her own sample size, which means she has to make herself last.

“Remember when we were young,” she says languidly, swinging around on her stool and leaning on the bar, head tilting up to watch the ceiling, then Shiro. “And we’d party like the sun wouldn’t come up?”

“I remember going through a bottle of Advil every two months, yeah,” Shiro says dryly. “Besides you’re—I love the way you say that, when we were young. You’re not even legal to drink yet.”

“Shhh.” Pidge waves a hand. “Keep your voice down or you’ll get us kicked out. I worked hard on that I.D., Matt helped me pick the picture.”

“And what a great picture it is,” Shiro offers sarcastically, and Pidge levels a threatening eye at his drink. He pointedly moves it out of her reach, and after a moment, continues. “I still don’t get why you like bars so much. You’re you—I can barely get you out of your room to go to the dining hall.”

“Are you kidding me?” She waves a hand. “Bars are the one place where I can get social stimulus without having to actually talk to or acknowledge anyone beyond the wonderful person providing my drink. It’s an observational heaven. At the Garrison I actually have to make conversation.” She shudders, and Shiro snorts.

“…It still feels weird being out here, with your parents knowing where we go.”

“Joys of being second-gen American,” Pidge says proudly. “Just enough Italian left over where a twenty-one plus drinking age seems like the dumbest thing in the world.”

“I guess.” Shiro wrinkles his nose. “Still just feels weird when my commanding officer knows I go out drinking with his daughter.”

“Shiro, you practically live in our house. You’re in Matt’s elementary school graduation picture, for crying out loud. Bit late for worrying about that sort of thing.” Shiro winces, and Pidge laughs, patting him on the shoulder. “Man. Kerberos. I can’t believe you’ll be locked up with only my dad and some poor communications officer for eight months.” She pauses, and at Shiro’s faintly proud, but still somber look, she grins. “Maybe I should suggest to Dad he bring his zero-gravity specialized Scrabble board along.”

“Oh god,” Shiro groans, dropping his face into his elbow against the bar. “Please, don’t.”

“Doing it,” Pidge says happily. After a long moment, she looks over to Shiro, curling her arms into a pillow on the bar for her to drop her head onto, sighing. “…It’ll be weird, without you here. It was going to be strange enough not having Dad around that long, but at least I’m used to him disappearing off for missions.” Shiro grunts morosely, and she hums. “Always got Matt, I suppose. And Mom. I’ll just spend more time around the house or something. Lucky we live so close.”

Shiro says nothing, stealing the discarded beer bottle of some other long-departed patron, and peeling habitually at the label in one of his little-seen nervous gestures. “It will be weird.” There’s silence again, and Pidge is just starting to wonder if she’s expected to say something, before he continues, quiet and unsure. “You know they haven’t decided on a communications officer yet. You could always…throw your hat in the ring. They’re already worried about team compatibility—with a mission this long, and this important—and everyone knows we work well together.”

“Me?” Pidge snorts. “Please. Even if I wanted to—and I’m not saying I do—they’d never take me. I’m still a cadet.”

“Only while you finish up the last of your engineering credits.” Shiro points out sullenly, still not meeting her eyes. “You’ve been an officially marked communications officer for the better part of a year at this point. And there’s no one better at the job.”

Pidge blinks, surprised at the blunt honesty in his tone. “…You…really want me to apply, don’t you?”

Shiro shrugs, glaring down at the decimated bottle label. “It’d just be—it’d feel weird without you, alright? Like something was missing.”

Almost unconsciously, Pidge reaches across, snatching up the balled-up wrapper, freeing it from Shiro’s wrath and contemplating it, as if it might suddenly give her an answer to this new puzzle.

Of course, looking for solutions in beer bottle wrappers is neither scientific nor logical, so Pidge isn’t very surprised when it offers her none.

“…I guess we do do most everything together, don’t we?” she offers softly. Shiro just shrugs again, avoiding both the answer and her eyes as he sits up and sips awkwardly at his drink. He doesn’t want to pressure her, to suggest her into something she doesn’t want to do. He also doesn’t want to go without her.

He’s always been stupidly good at expressly not talking about his worries, especially when he thinks he’s burdening someone else with them. Luckily for him, while Pidge is no feelings expert, she is a Shiro expert at this point, and very good at determining the logical end point to a problem.

“Yeah, okay,” she says unthinkingly. “Why not?” Shiro turns to look at her, still all kinds of conflicted mixed in with his hope, and she steals his drink easily, downing back the last of it, and when she slams it onto the bar next to the empty shot glasses, it sounds like a promise.

Kerberos. What could go wrong?

It’ll give her an amusing story to tell Matt when she gets rejected, at least.

…We come from a peaceful planet…

Pidge comes to with a quiet gasp and a rush of aching pain along her left temple. She startles just ever so slightly—everything blurry and her suit feeling far, far too heavy for either Kerberos or the conditions of their ship—before the weight of strong hands holding her arms behind her back, and Shiro’s muffled voice pleading somewhere off to her left, come to her attention, and she tenses, stills.

It doesn’t all come back so much in a rush as in a trickle of images, feeding into her brain like a lagging video on a bad connection as her quick, panicked breaths fog up the inside of her visor. The ship, the tractor beam, being dragged up and up and away from Shiro and her father, the sudden crunch of the rock against her skull, all sliding through her mind and clicking into place.

For the first time in a long, long time, Pidge feels true panic grip her, staring down into the abyss of the unknown. She’d come close, in their attempt to flee the inevitable on Kerberos, but had been too caught up in the immediacy of the situation. That was instinctive panic, raw and something close to animal.

This is a panic of exercised consideration. Of weighing up her circumstances and what little information she has available to her and ultimately coming up short—short of a plan, short of an idea, short of even a clue. She has no idea where she is—beyond somewhere she never was supposed to be—who has her, or what is going to happen.

Based on her position and her mode of capture, Pidge can only assume herself and the others are being held captives by a hostile extraterrestrial power. Which is not, she thinks a little hysterically, even remotely fucking close to something the Garrison had prepared them for.

For Pidge, sorting all this out amongst the overwhelmed screeching in her head and the dull throb of pain above her eyes that signals either an impending migraine or a concussion feels like the work of hours. But it must only be moments, because one second Shiro is talking, stammering out a few desperate phrases on their behalf, before there’s a shuffle of movement, and Shiro’s cut-off yelp of pain as something strikes him.

At that she does stir, almost involuntarily jerking against the hold on her to turn and observe, check on Shiro’s condition—he was speaking, which means at least he hadn’t sustained any major head injuries, surely. In response there’s a tightening of the grip on her arms, an increase on the weight pressing down on her back, a boot maybe, and she buckles instinctively, head bowing to the ground and her whole body going taut but unmoving.

Eventually, after some further exchanges of words she can’t muddle out in the confused space of her brain beyond the disbelieving fact that it’s definitely English, the grip holding Pidge shifts, moving as something like handcuffs with a rigid bar between them is shackled onto her wrists. Something takes hold of the bar, and begins to drag her backwards, assumedly out of the room. Rough sliding noises on her left and right are the only indication she has that the same is being done to her father and Shiro, she doesn’t dare look to confirm.

It’s not until they’re moving along some hallway, and the other dragging noises move past and ahead of her, that Pidge dares to tilt her head just slightly up, trying to catch sight of something beyond her own feet scraping along a metal floor.

She can only get glimpses, between long stretches of endless chrome and the shine of purple lighting coming from some undeterminable source. Flashes in windows of huge containment systems, layers upon layers of prisoners crammed into cages and moved about as if building blocks directed by a child. She sees whispers of floors upon floors of moving figures, all discernable only in the same shades of grey and purple, with splashes of red, outsizing any operation she’s ever seen at the Garrison.

She sees torture. She sees order. She sees cruelty. She sees control.

There’s the bark of voices above her head, and she yelps as she is dragged around a corner roughly, the quick turn putting a strain on her arms. But she doesn’t dare fight back, not at the risk of suffering the same fate as Shiro.

Observation is her greatest—her only strength, right now. She must do what she does best, as she does at officer meetings, in Garrison dining halls and classrooms, even in shitty, dim-lit desert town bars.

Pidge watches. She grasps at every piece of data, commits to memory every variable she can spot, and above it all she is left with only one question, buzzing in the back of her dizzied, overwhelmed mind.

Where the hell are we?

#pidge big bang #Stormbreaker / Coffinmaker (Voltron)#my writing #Voltron #vld fanfic

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tb5-heavenward · 7 years

Text

flight hours

continuing from here, wherein we come to the conclusion of our story, and there's a lil bit of a twist at the end. also expect an epilogue. later.

In the suddenness of the relative silence and stillness the exertion catches up to him. Scott gets caught for a few precious seconds, on his knees and breathing hard, his limbs tremoring slightly with unspent adrenaline. The inside of his helmet grows abruptly claustrophobic and he pulls it off, feels the impact in his kneecaps as bounces off the floor in front of him. Without it, the next breath he takes fills his lungs with the choking scent of electrical smoke, burnt metal, spent fuel. The things Brains designs are less likely than most to burst into flame, even when badly damaged, but it's still better safe than sorry. Scott stumbles a little getting to his feet, scrambling for a can of fire retardant, nearly tripping over John as he goes for it.

Considering the concerns he has about the current status of his brother's spine subsequent to being tackled in midair by a hostile drone nearly twice his size---tripping over him would probably sbe bad and unhelpful. John hasn't so much as twitched since they got back aboard, crumpled on his side where Scott let him drop.

The reasons he's got to be concerned about his brother's spine are starting to catch up with him, a brewing storm of fear and anger and anxiety, with the faintest silver lining of relief that it hadn't been worse, like lightning at the edges of thunder clouds. He still doesn't know that John isn't just dead. He hasn't checked. Scott's just been acting like he isn't, like that's impossible; something that just couldn't have happened on what was supposed to be a simple, straightforward run, a basic rescue, practically a stone's throw from the island. It's not optimism as much as it is the simple, staunch refusal to believe the worst, that today could've gone so wrong, so suddenly.

The first thing he does is douse the smoking, sparking place at the back of the exosuit, stifling it with fire retardant foam that hisses out of the can he'd grabbed. This immediately snuffs out the smoke, neutralizes any leaking fuel. He sets the cannister aside and kneels down, leans over to get a proper look at his brother, carefully shifting the bulk of the exosuit so that John's no longer lying twisted on his side.

And he's rewarded with a (blank, slightly unfocused) stare from a pair of bright green eyes, even as he reaches for John's wrist in search of a pulse. He ends up grabbing his brother's hand and squeezing instead, gets a feeble twitch of his fingers in response.

Scott hadn't quite realized how potent the relief would be, but it floods into him like oxygen. Real relief is like a proper strike of lightning, instead of just the faint silver edges of hope. He feels the tension in his jaw finally relax as he breaks into a grin, smiling down at his brother, though the first thing he can think to say is, "You absolute fucking moron."

John can't hear him, with his radio off and his helmet still on, but he seems to recognize that Scott's said something and he blinks, confused. Scott just sighs and shakes his head, starts to move through basic triage. The exosuit is bulky and ungainly and awkward and very much in Scott's way, but it does prevent John from moving too much, as Scott continues a quick assessment. He puts a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezes gently, hoping John takes this as an indication to hold still, but his eyes have fallen closed again, and there's no response. Scott doesn't like that, and he frowns to himself as he toggles his HUD for a basic medical overview.

A preliminary scan reveals no broken bones, no evidence of severe internal trauma, beyond some minor bruising. Scott chalks up the exosuit as another miracle of Brains' engineering, because after the impact his brother had suffered, Scott had expected to see all manner of damage; broken bones and bruised organs. But the suit had clearly taken the bulk of the force from the impact, absorbed and distributed, just the same way as John's blues have absorbed and diffused the drone's final electric discharge. Scott sighs again and raps his knuckles lightly on the clear perspex face of John's helmet. "C'mon," he mutters, and there's another little burst of relief as John blinks up at him again. Scott raps a little harder, this time on the exosuit. "Hold still," he says, loud and clear so his brother gets the message. "Gonna get you outta this thing."

John just closes his eyes again, but he also lifts a hand, flashes a quick thumbs-up. Scott takes this to mean About damn time, and obligingly gets to work.

The exosuit weighs about a hundred pounds and while this is impressively light considering its capabilities, it's still about a hundred pounds of dead weight. Scott slots open a panel on the chest piece and hunts down a bright red lever. He twists it to unlock the mechanism, then pulls it sharply, and the suit disengages at four major points of articulation, popping open at the shoulders and hips, the chest piece coming loose so that Scott can pull it off and put it aside. It's a little bit like shucking an oyster. Not for the first time, he's grateful for the fact that Brains thinks of everything.

He catches John's shoulder as his brother shifts, and then he's careful, patient, as he helps him ease up into a sitting position, and then lever himself off the shell of his exosuit to sit flat on the floor of TB1's cargo bay, ducking his head to pull off his helmet. This thuds hollowly on the floor as John drops it, but his shoulders stay bowed and he doesn't look up, one hand pressed against his forehead and the other leaning his weight against his knee. This all seems to bode well for the state of his neck and spine, though Scott's a little unsettled by the speed and the shallowness of his breathing. "John?" he prompts. "You with me?"

"Mm. Mmhm." Scott had been hoping for words, and after a few more deep breaths, John manages to pull himself together. The first thing he says is still dazed and disconnected, and an entirely stupid question besides, "...did...did I fall?"

"Yeah, Johnny."

"Oh." He falls silent for a few moments, and then sounds much younger than usual as he asks, "...did you catch me?"

Scott can't help a bit of a chuckle at that, and the hand he's rested on his brother's back reflexively offers a few comforting pats. "All part of the service," he jokes, though it very nearly wasn't funny, and the degree to which John's still disoriented with respect to what's happened is concerning.

"I fell, though?"

"A little."

"...a little?"

"Well. Freefall for maybe twenty seconds. About half a mile, by my reckoning. I can probably get the telemetry to tell you exactly---" John shudders bodily at the mere mention, so Scott quickly appends, "---but I think you probably don't need to know that."

John shakes his head. "Nn. No, I th-think---"

Scott doesn't get to find out whatever his brother thinks, as his back spasms beneath Scott's hand, and he gasps shakily, then throws up on the floor.

"...Okay." Scott's caught him reflexively as he pitched forward, braced an arm across his collarbone. His other hand rubs down the ridge of John's spine as he coughs a few times, retches once, and then shudders again. He doesn't try to sit back up, just hunches forward with his head bowed towards his knees, and his breathing grows shallow again. At least now Scott's got a better idea about why. "All right. Right. So. Is that just late onset motion sickness, or did you hit your head?"

John groans and doesn't catch the sarcasm. Scott catches the way his voice has gotten a little slurred, as he answers, "Depends. 's'Thunderbird One spinning clockwise or counter-clockwise right now?"

"Thunderbird One is cruising on autopilot, flying perfectly straight and level."

"...then I think probably I hit my head."

"Yeah, no shit."

Before he can upbraid his brother for his recklessness, to say nothing of the quality of his flying, there's a chime from the comm in his sash, and Kayo speaks up, "I'm here, just got a visual on Thunderbird One, and...and everything else. What the hell happened? You two made a mess."

Scott grimaces. "We had help."

"I'm tracking debris from multiple collisions, at least a dozen drones still in free fall, the cargo plane you were meant to be evaccing is in the ocean---and is that---did John lose a wing?"

"John also lost consciousness for a solid minute and a half."

"...Is he okay?"

John lifts his head slightly at this, blinks his eyes back open, turns his face towards Scott's open comm. "M'fine," he offers. "Hi. Kayo. Glad you made it. Let's go home."

This last sentence blurs into essentially one word, and Scott rolls his eyes, exasperated for some reason he can't quite put his finger on. "Disregard, Shadow. He is not fine and we're gonna head for the hospital and get him looked at. At least they're already expecting us."

"FAB." There's a note of guilt in Kayo's tone, palpable remorse. "I'm sorry I didn't get here faster. This was...god, Scott. I'm gonna need a full debrief once we've landed. This could've been bad."

Scott's aware. "We're both still in one piece," he assures her instead, deliberately refusing to think about just how bad things could've been. "John'll be okay once we get him checked out."

"Do you want an escort?"

Scott's still sitting beside his brother with an arm around his chest, halfway into the closest thing to a hug that John's tolerated in ages, at least where Scott's considered. This is probably less of a hug and more just the desire not to fall over. Scott's pretty sure the last confirmed instance of anyone getting a hug from John was Alan, on Alan's sixteenth birthday. There's photographic evidence, even. But between the nausea and the dizziness resulting from what's likely a mild concussion, John doesn't seem in a hurry to move, and Scott's not in a hurry to move him. He can fly from here, but there are easier options, and Kayo's presented one of the easiest.

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good, thanks. I'm gonna stay put and make sure John's okay. I'll set the autopilot to tail you. Just keep an eye on the skies, I think we'd both feel better if we were ready for any more surprises."

"You got it, Scott. I'll let you know when we're on approach."

"Thanks, Kayo. Thunderbird One, engage Protocol Shadow."

Scott's right arm is still pinned where John's leaned his weight against it, still slumped forward where he sits. Scott absently pats his back again, and then flicks his wrist just-so, just to double check his flight control. He watches as the control matrix switches over to tracking their sister's flight path, and feels the ship dip slightly beneath them, as TB1 adjusts to follow Shadow's flight pattern and then levels off again. John groans about this, too, protesting the sudden movement.

"Oh, you're okay, you big damn baby," Scott chides gently, but he rubs the heel of his hand up and down John's spine, then feels guilty when his brother shudders again, and hesitantly asks, "...You are okay, right?"

There's no immediate answer, and probably it's asking a little much to expect one, but eventually John gives him another thumbs up, and then continues not to say anything.

That's probably fair. Scott checks their ETA again---about another fifteen minutes out, travelling at near top speed, for the hospital in Brisbane where they'd planned to take their phantom pilot. They've already got flight clearance, it's just a shame they're going to have to use it. Scott sighs to himself, starts to mentally rearrange the rest of the month around the fact that John's going to need at least two weeks of downtime, someone to sub in for him up on TB5, a new exosuit. And this is to say nothing of the sobering reality that the Mechanic had laid a trap within spitting distance of Tracy Island, sudden and vicious, and with an apparently deadly intent.

He should probably say something about that, but one minute of silence becomes two, and two turn into three, and it's actually not so bad just to sit next to his brother, in the cargo bay of his Thunderbird, letting the adrenaline bleed off. It's a reminder of how rare John's presence actually is, and how lucky he'd been to have him today. There hadn't been time for hindsight during the course of the action, but the more Scott thinks about it, the more he comes to the same conclusion John had drawn, easily and immediately. He's been worrying about his brother ever since the situation first started going sideways, but it's pure luck that he wasn't killed himself. Solo, it's almost certain he would've been.

He should definitely say something about that.

It takes him another solid minute, but he finally clears his throat, and offers, "---You know, you're not a shitty pilot."

He probably could've come up with something better than that, but it still gets John to lift his head. He shifts slightly where he's sitting, so that Scott removes the arm he'd had around his shoulder, and then shakes his head. "No, I'm not," he agrees.

He sounds tired, rightfully so, and Scott winces, tries again, "I shouldn't have said that. Sorry."

John shrugs. "As a general rule, I disregard about ninety percent of the shit you feel the need to say."

Scott scoffs, and knows it isn't true. He knocks an elbow lightly into his brother's ribs. "Took that one pretty personally, though."

"Well, then there's that one time in ten."

"I'll take those odds."

"Yeah, well, you would."

That's more like it. Scott grins, and in deference to his brother's concussion, refrains from ruffling his hair. He punches John lightly in the shoulder instead, and then says the thing he should've said in the first place, "Thanks, John. Really."

"Oh, you're welcome." There's a pause, slightly self-conscious. And then it's with a credible absence of guile and a probable absence of memory that John cautiously inquires, "...uh, for what, though?"

end

(epilogue forthcoming)

#tag fanfic #scott tracy #john tracy #flight hours #some kind of creative doubt

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remorphed-blog · 6 years

Text

I feel like I'm faking my issues with food

And that I might in reality just be a fat bitch with 0 self control

I keep starting over and over and I make progress and then proceed to I ruin it

I feel so pathetic, running a thinspo blog and being like "That's it, now's the time to make a change" and the next day I just binge on whatever is in sight

I'm tired of this

And shit was going well for like good 2 weeks until I broke my binge-free streak of almost a month

Made negative progress since. Why, you may ask? I was, as my blog title suggests getting "thinner every day" but once that was a lie it just became so insignificant to me and I felt like a fraud so I kept going with the self destructive behaviours

I mean, at least I've worked out consistently for 20+ days

And frankly, that's the only thing keeping me sane

But I've gained and lost my thigh gap around 6 times in the past month and now I'm further away from it than when I started this blog, so I'm fucking fuming

I'm now setting myself workout goals rather that weight goals because I'm really fucking disappointed in my eating habits.

I'm gonna work the opposite way this time. When I was at my lowest (108lbs in March 2017) I told myself I'd get into calisthenics at 100 (which shouldve happened by May at the latest) and build convenient muscle once all the fat is gone.

Now that I'm eating like a pig, my macros are the only thing that have to be right so that I can gain muscle along with fat. This way I just need to max my strength and then start cutting to maintain the lean mass and lose the fats.

I mean, I might as well do something, right?

I've failed time and time again cutting out major food groups but I'll give it another shot. Fall down 7 times, get up 8- right?

I'm no longer allowed to eat anything parents buy unless it's fruits or veggies. Common foods such as milk, eggs, mayo, kefir, cottage cheese, sour cream, oats and other grains are allowed (I might live off soups for a while).

No pasta, flour, cheese or bread (if bought in bulk- I'm okay with all this if I go out for greggs for example).

Other than that anything is on the table. Butters, nuts, you name it. I just gotta pick them out and buy them myself.

Also been slacking on calorie logging lately.

Will get on it ASAP although I'm going out for a kebab tomorrow so let's estimate that as around 1000 calories (I can already feel the regret).

Anyhow, I could keep going with this for hours and hours but I'm too tired to exist. Let's hope I'm less miserable by the beginning of next year

#j #man i'm so done #rant

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nvya-s · 7 years

Text

Pendulum

KEITH/LANCE / EXPLICIT / READ ON AO3

3. EARTH YEAR 3021.1.26 / 1409 HOURS

“Keith—”

“Not now, Lance.”

So there’s this thing Lance never talks about, even though Lance always been that person. That person who throws all his cards on the table because it’s easier than dealing with the awkward quiet that’ll follow the inevitable revelations about exposing those embarrassing secrets. Even Pidge knows most of his more unconventional fantasies, whether she asked for the details or not, and Hunk’s nosiness about Lance’s personal business was a big part of how they became friends in the first place. But this? Nah, this is off-limits. His sexual cryptonite. And you just don’t go around broadcasting your biggest weakness. That’s self-preservation 101.

Because when Keith is mad — like actually punch you in the face, knock you off your feet, break your nose mad — he’s kind of hot. To be more specific, Keith is the kind of hot that makes Lance’s toes curl on suggestion alone. He’s the kind of hot Lance thinks about at night, when he’s left alone with nothing but the company of his right hand. He’s the kind of hot that sticks to your skin and nothing short of an ice-cold shower at three in the morning can cool you down.

You see, Keith is the best wet dream Lance never had. When he gets, like, real riled up he does this thing with his mouth that’s stuck between a frown and a snarl. His lips curl and he shows his teeth and his eyes narrow, and it’s all weird, feral and predatory. Probably the Galra blood, Lance reasons, and that’s a whole other side of the fantasy. And yeah, maybe Lance needles Keith harder than he should, screws with his head just for the sake of it, but it gets his motor running every time.

“Keith, buddy, seriously—”

Lance makes a grab for his arm and he spins around with a harsh glare, seething, “I said not now.”

“No. Nope. Not doing this. Not gonna let you go run off by yourself to go pout in a corner. If you got something to say, you say it to my face.” He digs his fingers into Keith’s forearm and feels the tendons contracting just below the rough fabric of his flight suit. Size can be deceiving; Keith is crazy strong. But instead of answering to Lance’s pestering, he locks his jaw in frustration and pins Lance with a furious stare. And yeah, maybe Lance is a little pissed too because Keith’s a goddamn fucker.

Three years since Lance flew them straight into an intergalactic war and Keith is still too much of a stick in the mud to relax on a subdued mission. Or let anyone else have fun for that matter. Fighting had been messy after all, but it was also simple, and for the longest time that simplicity was the bulk of their job as Defenders of the Universe. They knew how to fight. With the Galran Empire overthrown, however, instead of warriors with guns and swords, the paladins are intergalactic diplomats. To make sure all these newly freed worlds are on the same page, they attend stuffy meetings and balls and all that dull shit. Any reasonable person can only take so much.

So, yeah, maybe Lance had made an inappropriate pass at the chancellor’s daughter, but it wasn’t like Keith never screwed up these peace-keeping excursions either or that he didn’t suffer from excess adrenaline the way Lance did. Forgive Lance for being a little sexually frustrated on top of everything else. He was bored and he missed shooting stuff.

Keith's irritable voice breaks him from his musings, voice low and dangerous just the way Lance likes it, “Why can’t you just listen to anyone?”

They’ve got thirty ticks, give or take a margin of five, ‘til Shiro gets antsy, marches over and breaks them up, which is always a waste. Lance needs to seal this deal fast. “You wanna burn some steam? Forget the Sim and give me a go.” He pauses, knowing he runs the risk of overshooting, but old habits die hard. “Unless you’re scared.”

Keith’s nostrils flare and he twists his arm out of Lance’s grasp. He snaps without breaking any eye contact, “Yeah, Fine. I'll play. I’ll knock you flat on your lazy ass in thirty seconds.”

Shiro clears his throat on the other side of the locker room but Lance doesn’t bother to look over. Keith is right where he needs him and Lance can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face, even while Keith scowls at him. They’re safe. Hook, line, and sinker. Lance is a tactical genius, underappreciated in his time.

They make quick work changing out of their flight suits and into training sweats in silence. Lance catalogues what he can in the flash of Keith’s bony knees, round calves, taut thighs — Lance was always a leg guy — and he itches with anticipation. It won’t go anywhere, it never does, but the chase can be good. The chase can be real good.

By the time they make it to the training deck, they’re taking the typical jabs at each other. This is all familiar territory. Lance forever dreams of besting Keith at something but what that something is becomes blurred with time. And they both know Keith is fast, quicker than Lance even on his best days and Keith’s worst, but Lance is wiry enough to out-maneuver him if he doesn’t lose focus.

They don’t waste much time. They’re awkward when they train together and Keith never goes as hard against Lance as he can. But Lance isn’t thwarted and he goes in for the kill, tripping Keith up and shoving him to the ground.

Keith gasps when Lance grabs a fistful of his hair, shoving his face against the ground. “So you like it rough, beautiful?”

“Cut that shit out,” Keith hisses, breath puffing loud against the cool floor as he strains to sneer at Lance over his shoulder. “Did you want a fight? Or are you tryin’ to get me in bed too?”

Ah. Well if that’s not the million dollar question, huh. Lance licks his lips and cocks his head with a sly smile. If he’s gonna drive them down this dead-end road then he may as well go full throttle and enjoy the lights before they crash. Keith is pretty into all that high-risk shit anyway. “Mm. I’m pretty down for either, you know? What’s your preference, pretty boy?”

“Ugh. You’re so gross,” Keith grunts, a flash of white teeth before he swings his left arm back against Lance’s elbow and easily breaks the hold.

Lance scrambles back to his feet fast enough but catches Keith grin at him, a cocksure tilt to one corner of his mouth. Lance hesitates at the sight of that smile, as he’s prone to do, and that’s all it takes. Keith strikes him with a sharp elbow to the chest and he hits the ground hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. He’s wheezing as Keith straddles his waist and shoves his forearm hard against his throat, face hovering just inches above. They stare at each other for a minute or two and Keith is dead serious, his face a tight line and eyes flashing with fury, and Lance loses it.

“God you’re so hot,” he blurts out as soon as he can speak. Because fuck dignity. Fuck common sense. Fuck Keith for God’s sake. Lance just wants him, wants him, wants him and he’s tired of waiting for Keith to make the first move. If Lance gets punched in the face for this, then at least he’ll know where he stands. Either way, his cards are just gonna be thrown all over this god-forsaken table.

But Keith doesn’t hit him. He just stops dead and a line of sweat beads above his brow, falling down his face with a glistening trail. Pieces of his bangs are matted to his forehead and his whole mess of hair curls at the ends, in that cute way it does every time Lance catches him after he’s been rolling around on the training deck. He opens his mouth and closes it again, panting heavy straight in Lance’s face. He finally chokes out a strained “What?”

Lance squirms, suddenly awkward, struggling beneath the weight of Keith’s body still firm against his chest. He swallows, puffing up with all the confidence he can muster despite how red he knows his face is. Clearly, he’s an idiot. “I said you’re hot. Like, your flight suit is way too tight and you have a really nice butt hot. Like, I want to bang you in the showers hot. I mean, dude, I get half hard just watching you go after the gladiator.”

Keith’s faces shifts from bewilderment to interested curiosity before it lands on confusion. Lance opens his mouth to say something else, maybe even take it back because this idea is sounding worse and worse by the minute, but Keith makes his move. He yanks Lance up by his shirt collar and kisses him open-mouthed, hard, eager, and wet. Lance goes pliant, letting Keith settle the rest of his weight on top of his chest, laying there and pinning Lance down like a lead anchor.

Lance swears his body will burn a hole right through the ground.

1. EARTH YEAR 3016.8.13 / 1203 HOURS

“He’s staring again.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re cute,” Hunk offers.

“Dude,” Lance whispers, leaning over his tray. He gives a perfunctory glance around the room at the sea of uniformed cadets lost in their own conversations. Lance’s first semester was going swell for all of two weeks. “Did you see him on the Flight Sim? He is obviously a demon, sent from the fiery depths of hell, and he’s after my soul.”

Hunk is kind enough to look mildly alarmed, tossing a wary glance at Keith on the other side of the mess hall. He tilts his head in, dropping his own voice to whisper with Lance. “You think?”

“He beat Shiro’s record,” Lance hisses, waving his hands for emphasis. “Freaking Shiro. He can’t be human.”

And that jerk, with that stupid mess of bad hair, is still staring at Lance like an idiot. Well, that’s just perfect isn’t it. Lance puts on his most charming grin and winks in his direction, mouthing suck my dick before plopping an indistinguishable piece of dehydrated fruit in his mouth.

Keith scowls and flips him off.

4. EARTH YEAR 3021.1.30 / 0842 HOURS

Three agonizing days come and go in silence after Keith feels Lance up in the middle of the training deck. It’s one day, Lance thinks, for each year he’s spent in space convincing himself he hates Keith. It’s one day to consider each misstep that left him tumbling down this staircase. It’s one day to consider each new and strange tilt to their rivalry. Falling in love with Keith is a lot like a slow descent through the seven circles of hell.

Things are kinda starting to feel like old times when they run into a minor scuffle on a former Galra outpost and a underground group of loyalists scale an attack. They fight hard because they always do and by the time they go to level Voltron, their enemies know they’re done for. They win easily and make quick work but for the first time in months, they return to the castle bruised and dirty but still hyped up on adrenaline. Lance is overcome with the need to work the last of that energy off on Keith.

“You alright, man?” Hunks asks, tired and relieved as ever that they made it back in one piece.

“Never better. You know I always bounce back.” Lance answers with a lazy grin. He stretches his aching shoulder until the joint pops. It’d been a ground fight for the most part and Lance was covered in ashy alien soil, which felt like engine grime and smelled like exhaust fumes. “Gonna go hit the showers though.” He glances around until he spots Keith pulling off his helmet and chatting with Shiro. “Did’ya hear that — I’m gonna go hit the showers.”

Keith blinks in his direction and tilts his head, like he has no idea why Lance is yelling. So, he’s either screwing with Lance or is just being an idiot. Both possibilities are equally plausible, and when it comes to Keith it’s impossible to tell the difference.

Innuendo out the window, Lance gives a long-suffering sigh. This is what he has to work with. Maybe in another reality he’d take Keith on an actual date, get to know him the regular way, and they could go to movies and share an ice cream sundae. And they’d hook up because Keith would actually understand what the heck Lance was saying at any given time.

Then again that’d probably be weird too because it’s Keith and even though his tongue has literally been down Lance’s throat, the idea sounds ridiculous in any reality.

By the time he makes it to the showers, his energy has tumbled and he’s willing to admit that he actually hurts. That’s usually when he starts to forget how far they’ve come and he feels again just a little like a scared kid trying to make a name for himself against all odds. As he pulls off his flight suit he looks at the splotches of red and purple scattered across his skin. He remembers when violence became a routine part of his life but not when he started to enjoy it.

Lance wonders if this is normally how it feels to grow up, or if this is wrong.

2. EARTH YEAR 3018.7.19 / 0221 HOURS

The hangers are always too cold. Being down there makes you feel small.

Keith speaks in a hard, chilled voice. “I still think about leaving."

Lance stays quiet and lets the soft electrical buzz of the Black Lion punctuate the silence, watching Keith out of the peripherals of his vision. Back in flight school, they trained them for the worst-case-scenarios in combat. They talked about losing members of their squads and how to maintain morale, recognize the signs of grief, that sort of thing. Lance never thought to liken it to losing a limb, but when Shiro disappears he watches Keith thrash around like a shark that’s lost it’s fins.

It’s been three months, which is a long time to miss someone, but a short time to grow up as much as they have. Lance certainly feels older, but that’s sort of what makes it so weird. He’s old enough to acknowledge and accept this responsibility with little regret, but young enough to mourn for the life he didn’t get to have. In that other life, perhaps, he’d be normal college student who’s plans and worries only went as far as his next big exam. It’s easy to feel young when you don’t have to think too hard about the future beyond a single semester.

“And just because, you know, I’m not cut out for this,” Keith continues, talking more to himself than Lance. “I don’t want this. I never did. But I can’t ask this of of anyone if I’m not willing to do it myself, right? I can’t be that person.”

“Nah. You’re a good leader,” Lance says with a yawn, trying his best to sound casual. He leans back against the metal railing, shoves his hands down his pockets, and stares up at the open hatch above his head. He wonders why he crawled inside in the first place and why Keith didn’t ask him to leave.

“No,” Keith says, because he’s awful and an ass and can never agree with a single thing Lance says. “I’m not.”

5. EARTH YEAR 3021.2.7 / 1908 HOURS

“Shut up.” Keith half-pushes him into the mattress, palms gliding over his waist and down his hips. He kisses Lance, rough and needy, just like the first time. Just like every time. “We need to talk.”

Lance would like to point out that’s hard to do when Keith has his mouth otherwise occupied, but he’d also just as soon ignore those ominous words. Here, in his bedroom they are as secluded as they can be and even a fight feels uncomfortably intimate. Keith has an odd way of handling things.

“I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else,” Keith mumbles against his lips, a strange desperate tinge to his voice. “I don’t care about the flirting, but don’t mess around behind my back.”

"Yeah, cool. We're exclusive. Got it," Lance huffs. His voice trails off into a moan as Keith snakes a hand between them, trailing his touch all the way down to fondle Lance's balls through the fabric of his pajamas. Turns out Keith also has an odd way of punishing him. “Had no idea you were such a — Ah — r-romantic.”

A knee wiggles between Lance’s thighs and the bed creaks. Keith bites down on his collarbone, teeth a tad sharper they probably should be, and Lance squirms. It’s a stupid request, like sex with anyone else would ever compare to this, but Lance supposes he dug his own grave by propositioning an attractive sentry on their last mission. He doesn’t even mind so long as Keith is the one to bury him alive. How’s that for militant fatalism?

Hard to believe they still haven’t progressed far beyond awkward post-battle make-outs, poorly timed kisses in dark hallways, and some heavy petting, but it’s a work in progress. Keith leaves bruises all along Lance’s thighs and Lance presses his fingertips into the shallow spaces between Keith’s ribs, those spots where splotches of purple skin aren’t always bruises.

They suffocate each other with truths between all their old lies.

3. EARTH YEAR 3020.12.24 / 0900 HOURS

Winning wars isn't as simple as it sounded back in Lance’s World History classes. Overthrowing an empire is the easy part, believe it or not, because it’s easy to recognize pure evil. All the gray that falls between gets real fuzzy and there is still so, so much work to do. Allura proclaimed that she'd pick up the remaining responsibilities herself if that’s what it takes as the Altean heir. And here Lance is back on Earth, shoes sinking into real dirt, surrounded by real grass, hearing real cicadas buzzing in the trees, and breathing air that smells so much like home it brings actual tears to his eyes. He’s going back up, he knows it the moment he steps outside, even though he doesn’t have to.

They don't say how Allura and Coran don't have anything else, unlike Lance, Hunk, and Pidge who forever have pieces of their lives scattered on Earth. A nagging thought eats at his core.

And it’ll be hard, especially when his mother is holding him and who knows what they’ll say not knowing where he’s been all these years, but Lance knows he’s going back up. It’d be pretty boring up there without him after all.

“You OK?”

Lance glances toward Keith behind him, as he leans heavy against Blue’s frame. He’s been quiet since they landed, hanging back with Allura while the other paladins talk and laugh about their homes, their former schools, and families. Lance feels heavy and tired, a little mad at himself for not thinking about it until right then. He smiles, chest tight with the words they don’t ever say. “You wanna come with me?”

Just like Shiro, Lance won’t push it and he knows the answer won’t be any different for him. But Keith wavers and and his eyes dart to the ground. Just for a split second, he thinks of saying yes. He almost, almost says it and Lance’s heart screams.

“Nah, I’ll pass.”

6. EARTH YEAR 3021.2.14 / 1524 HOURS

The Red Lion likes both of them. Well, at least Red likes Lance in the same way you like your in-laws. They’re there and they’re technically family but if push comes to shove you’re not really on their side. It’s cool though. Lance flew with her when Shiro was still missing but she was never really his. It’d always been a tad unnerving, being able to feel the residuals of Keith’s energy in there but he also figured it was a hundred times worse for Keith in the Black Lion. He’d missed Shiro so, so much.

Those memories tug at Lance now, despite the years that lay between them. Although everything is fixed now, Lance still remembers how it felt to hold the broken pieces. And now Keith is here, careful, drawing maps across Lance’s body just in case he ever forget the way home, because he feels it too.

Lance forces himself back to the present, here in Red's cockpit under very different circumstances.

At least they’re getting better at this. The slide of their tongues remains clumsy and raw - moving both around skin and their words and maybe that’s just them - but practice is helping. As much as Lance loves the thrill of their hurried makeout sessions after space excursions and halfhearted arguments, this is nice too. Keith kisses rough but his hands are soft, those divergent layers of his personality coming full bloom right through his touch.

They grind against each other and Lance’s back presses hard against the hull and he shoves back against Keith, bodies reaching for as much pressure as possible. They’re off the back of the hull, grasping and tugging at each other and the energy shifts.

“Gotta say,” Lance licks his lips, groaning into another wet kiss. “Always thought my first time would be in a car.”

“Classy,” Keith mumbles, shoving him down into the pilot’s seat.

He straddles Lance’s lap, knees squeezed snugly on either side of his hips, and his mouth is back hot against Lance’s lips. Who knows where this started and the possibilities flash behind his eyes. He thinks of running his mouth on the training deck but thinks it was it long before that. Did Lance fall in love with Keith the night he chose a life with him over a life on Earth. Was it the day he sat with Keith for hours in the hull of the Black Lion. Or did Lance love him the moment he saw him, dark eyes and messy hair, untouchable on the other side of a school cafeteria.

It’s all a blur now, lights on the side of the road. They hit the ground and they accelerate.

Keith’s palms find their way beneath Lance’s shirt and he shoves against the skin, finding all those soft points that make Lance moan. This is going to come back to screw them both over the next time they’re on a mission and all they can think of is their heavy breathing over the comms — and fuck does that turn Lance on — and the memory of being all over each other. This is a bad, bad idea and Lance loves it. It was his idea, of course.

And Lance doesn’t ever go down without a fight. He tugs Keith’s shirt over his head and grapples with his belt until it clanks to the ground. Keith pushes him back down and Lance’s back arches in the chair. It’s not exactly comfortable, and there’s not nearly enough room for both of them, but the welcoming slap of skin makes up for it.

“S’ I sorta like it when you’re rough.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Keith hums, giving Lance that cocksure grin that makes him spread his knees. They grind against each other and Keith undoes the button of Lance’s jeans, leaving the motion frustratingly unfinished as his cock strains against the denim.

“Dammit Keith. I’was thinkin’ ‘bout this all day when we were runnin’ drills and I could hear you panting into the comms. Y’always get so worked up. Can’t stand it.”

Keith growls a reply against his skin, whatever he says lost in the vibrations on Lance’s throat, but it’s something filthy and guttural that warms Lance to his bones. “Show me,” he says, breathy but clearer as he backs off to look Lance in the eye, “Show me how much you wanted it.”

Eyes hooded behind dark lashes, Lance smirks up at Keith to hide the small pathetic noise in his throat. “Don’t — Don’t stop talking, ‘right?” He trails a hand down his bare stomach and slips his fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, lust-filled gaze focused on Keith as he pulls himself out. He gives a tentative stroke and Keith takes a sharp inhale. “Like it when you watch too. S’hot.”

“Yeah. Good,” Keith mumbles. He balances himself with one hand digging into Lance’s shoulder so his other is free to lazily rub himself through his pants.

Lance continues, more confident, as he twists his wrist and gives a playful flick to his cockhead. “Like that, babe?”

Keith’s mouth twitches. He likes to pretend he hates the pet names — Lance knows better — and that frustrated line appears between his brows. “Hold up. I gotta—”

Keith climbs off to kick off his boots and shimmies out of his pants and boxers. He has no qualms about being naked, and Lance had seen him more than a dozen times even before they started messing around, but it never gets old. The soft red glow of the cockpit accentuates each curve of bone under taut skin, peppered with tiny scars and old, fading bruises. He’s fully hard — worked up indeed — and the way his cock curves makes Lance squirm in anticipation.

“C’mere,” Lance lets his left hand fall back down to fondle himself and he motions Keith forward with his other hand, grabbing hold of Keith’s hip as soon as he’s close enough. “You still wanna do this?”

“Of course I do,” Keith huffs, shoving Lance’s shoulders back down into the seat. “Are you backing out?”

“No way!” Lance digs into the pocket of his loosened jeans and pulls out the bottle of lube — a prize won only through an infinitely awkward and scarring conversation with Coran — and unscrews the lid. He lowers his voice, serious, “But if you change your mind…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. But, sometime today Lance.”

If you’d told Lance, at any point in his life really, that he’d be fingering Keith Kogane in the hull of a giant robot lion he’d never of believed it. Reality is weird. His life is weird. And Altean lubricant comes out of the bottle much warmer than KY brand — something Lance only knows from the masturbatory curiosity that came with being fifteen — and yeah, this is weird. But it’s also really nice as he eases his middle finger inside and watches Keith’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth fall open.

Lance intends to move slow but Keith urges him on, rocking his hips back against his hand, demanding a second finger, and then a third, and everything starts to blend together. Every now and then Lance hits something that makes Keith’s legs squeeze on either side of Lance’s hips and then with another turn, Lance makes him moan.

The rest happens in a daze. Keith shoves Lance’s hand away and poises himself above his cock. He eases down and Lance’s toes curl. Blunt nails dig into Lance’s arms and Keith’s breath is heavy on the shell of his ear. Up, and then down, back up. Lance matches Keith’s rhythm with his hand. They’re not going to last long and in the recess of his mind, Lance can feel his orgasm building strong and steady. “Why—” he chokes. “Why haven’t we— haven’t we been doing this— Th’whole time.”

“I— Dunno.”

“Ugh. Keith. I could’a been fucking you for years. Why didn’t you tell me?!”

"You're so embarrassing," Keith laughs, the sound light and cool, just before his breath hitches. He’s glossy eyed and flushed, more beautiful than Lance has ever seen him, and he’ll immortalize this scene forever. Keith dips his hand lower and fondles his balls, jerking himself faster with the other, and Lance steadies him with firm hands on his hips. Keith groans, wrecked and callous.

“You coming yet?” Lance’s voice is low. He digs his heels into the seat and squeezes Keith harder. “C’mon. That’s it.”

Keith’s hips snap forward and Lance loses it, coming inside Keith with an unbidden string of obscenities he doesn’t think he’s ever said out loud. Keith whispers his name, a tender and delicate sound, and spills onto Lance’s stomach with trembling legs.

They come down from the high in bleary awareness and the soft electrical buzz overcomes the sounds of their breathing. Keith presses himself against Lance, managing to squeeze their bodies together in the chair being mindless of his own come making their bellies stick together. Lance threads his hands through Keith’s hair and exhales. They kiss one more time, slow and breathless. Lance doesn’t remember feeling this close to another person, ever.

Beneath that unexpected wave of emotion — and the looming threat of naming that emotion with far more perilous words — Lance suddenly laughs. He pulls playfully on a lock of Keith’s hair. “Hey look, man, we fogged up the windows.”

7. EARTH YEAR 3022.11.26 / 1142 HOURS

They are both liars. This is their common ground. Keith's altruism, heroism, and inherent goodness is everything that made Lance want to dissect him from the beginning. It was all a facade. Beneath that mask is the same sinking mud Lance is made of. What Keith doesn't realize is that the thing he believes makes him a monster is exactly what makes him human.

Survival is not the objective of soldiers. Finding the strength to push their own humanity down for the sake of the greater good - that is the objective of soldiers. Neither of the were made for this. They just want to live for themselves.

Now, they sit on the shore of an alien ocean and the salty air smells familiar enough to overpower three moons in the lavender sky.

"So, why'd you join the Galaxy Garrison anyway?"

Keith is quiet for a minute and Lance swallows. It's a rhetorical question. Lance knows, no matter what Keith says, the answer is Shiro. It doesn't bother Lance like it used to.

"I wanted," Keith's gaze is set on the sky, eyes glassy and clear. "I just... wanted to be someone."

Funny, Lance thinks. He'd give the exact same answer and it'd be just as untruthful as it coming from Keith.

But Lance doesn't mind Keith's flaws. He doesn't mind those painfully human traits. He understands the need for self-preservation and pride. They're honest with each other even if they're not with themselves, and Lance loves Keith's ugliness as much as Keith loves his.

The funny thing about falling for someone is you don't realize you're falling until you hit the ground.

#klance #mckogane #fic #pls validate me in the form of kudos and comments #i'm tired #voltron

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damonbation · 6 years

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A Day In The Life of my Supposedly Frugal Stomach

Kicking Ass with Money is much like healthy eating and joyful living. It’s a series of daily habits that get you ahead, rather than a one-time heroic effort that fixes all your problems so you can go back to whatever you were doing before.

Because of this parallel, the subject of food is one of the nicest examples of Mustachian living, and one of the most powerful and efficient things to master.

Your eating choices will drastically affect your budget (especially if you are raising a family), but they also affect your health, energy levels, productivity, and happiness. The path a great life goes directly across your dinner plate, so it is important to take this shit seriously and not mess around with your nutrition.

I’ve written about food several times before, sometimes with a focus on recipes or costs or general principles. But people often don’t believe me – they think I am either lying about my family’s grocery spending, eating a diet that is poor in nutritional value, or at least spending an inordinate amount of time on meal planing and preparation.

The truth is none of these things, although the actual story may still surprise you. So I thought that instead of issuing vague commandments like the preacher I am, I could share my functional and (somewhat) affordable eating style, even though it’s unusual and surely not for everyone.

So I’ll lay out a single day’s nutrition strategy, and why I think it is a good one. And then you can choose whether to ridicule it on Reddit, or adopt any tricks from it that you like for your own family. Are you ready? Then let’s take a trip into the MMM kitchen!

Alongside the Table Saw, the Cutting Board is also a favorite tool.

The first bit of crazy is that when I’m home, I eat almost the same thing every day. My son eats exactly the same thing every day* for now, and Mrs. MM runs her own show, perhaps with a bit more variety than either of us. This is a unique situation in our family that is different from most, and it adds extra complexity but fortunately not extra cost. You play with the cards you are dealt.

Most Important is your Eating Philosophy

For most people, food is just an automatic routine. They eat whatever seems tasty whenever they are hungry. People with stronger passions (sometimes known as Foodies), spend a large part of their day and mental energy seeking out perfect ingredients and flavors and meals. And for many, eating is an addiction – food calls to them (epecially desserts and snacks), and they fight this addiction with varying degrees of success. People with a busy urban social life like New Yorkers get most of their food from restaurants, which throws both the nutrition content and the monthly cost into a randomizing hat.

The problem with all of these philosophies is that each is a huge gamble, with your life as the stakes. Because depending on your body chemistry and the foods you choose, you can end up anywhere on the health scale – I have met sweating car bound 25 year-old office workers who could barely stroll from the parking lot to the building, and also know a ripped 65 year-old carpenter who can still frame a three-story house by himself. The difference in the diets of these two men is as stark as the contrast in their physiques.

So my eating philosophy has always been that of the Engineer/Robot. Design each meal and each day’s food intake, according to my body’s current needs. Since my activity level changes drastically (yesterday’s mountain hike requires several times more calories than today’s work on this blog article), the food intake has to change accordingly. And since I don’t always get things exactly right, the mirror tells me when it’s time to make adjustments.

And finally, I’m a big fan of high standards and not fooling yourself. Stay lean and keep your body in condition to work hard. Learn to use the mirror, the measuring tape, and the scale as allies rather than generators of guilt and fear. If you’re not there yet, keep yourself moving in the right direction rather than being complacent. For example, if my abs get paved over with fat, I’ll adjust the variables below to go into fat loss mode until the problem is corrected. On the other hand, if I’m getting too skinny and trying to put on strength and weight, I’ll add the extra meals back in.

The Weird MMM Meal Plan

Breakfast

I have come to think of Breakfast as the time of Breaking the Fast.. but by now we all know that fasting is good for you, right? So the design of your breakfast presents an interesting life-boosting opportunity: When you wake up, you’re already in a nice low-blood-sugar state, which means your body is beginning to think about burning fats as a source of energy (ketosis). This means that you can just prolong the fast by skipping breakfast and just enjoying some coffee or water, or take a softer approach and at least have a breakfast that is very low in sugar. So I do this:

Coffee with Whole milk and Coconut oil

A handful of mixed nuts

A few squares of dark chocolate (85%)

Subjectively, I find this breakfast is satisfying and delicious, but also keeps my body in low-sugar mode so I can begin a day of physical labor without hunger – and potentially work as long as I want, even skipping lunch and running on stored bodyfat if desired.

The end result is this nutrition profile:

At this point, you may be asking, “Wait, does Mustache really weigh and analyze his food?” – and the answer is “sorta.” While I endeavor to lead a relaxed, hippy lifestyle, the Engineer/Robot side is always in the background running the numbers. If you have at least a rough idea of the nutrition content of what you are eating, you will have a far easier time getting the results you want.

Mid Morning Snack

After breakfast, I usually bike downtown to a mixture of construction and weight training in the back “prisonyard” of the MMM-HQ Coworking space. After a few hours of this, I am ready for a bit more nutrition:

A giant salad

Plenty of water, or even the indulgence of a second cup of coffee

These big salads are a big part of my daily food expenditure and effort, but probably an even bigger part of my health. So they are definitely worth it. I make it easier by making salad in bulk every few days, and starting with a base of a pre-made $2.28 Kale Salad Kit from Sam’s/Costco. This provides a bunch of greens and saves much chopping. But I discard the crappy sugary dressing that comes with the kit and use my own olive oil-based dressing, also made in bulk from high quality ingredients also bought in buly, (like 3 Liter Jugs of olive oil!)

I may throw in a protein bar (30g protein, $1.00) to this snack, depending on the intensity of the work.

Lunch

After the midmorning snack, I am back out for quality time with the saws and ladders for a few more hours, which feels great on a relatively light load of food because the body is burning clean and lean. The low carbohydrate nature of everything I have eaten so far keeps the hunger level so low that I could even work right through and skip lunch if needed, or if I were trying to lose fat. But since I’m currently at roughly right fat level and not wanting to be any lighter than I am, I break at around 2PM for something like this:

I have been on a bit of a Tilapia binge in recent months, because they are almost too convenient and tasty and easy to prepare. So much so, that I jokingly refer to them as “marriage savers” – there is no need to fret over whose turn it is to prepare dinner, if something with such a good nutrition profile is always in the freezer and just 15 toaster oven minutes away from your tongue.

While the nutrition profile is good, they are still a bit of an expensive source of protein. $2.00 sounds like chump change, but the same protein can be had for under fifty cents from other sources like bean and rice combinations, eggs, or even whey protein supplements.

A cost difference of just $1.50 per person per meal, multiplied over a four-person family’s 372 meals per month makes a difference of $558 per month, or about $96,000 per decade after compounding.

Yes, that is a hundred grand, and this is just the difference between a semi-frugal $2.00 meal component and a fifty cent equivalent from, say, your crockpot.

Imagine, then, the effect that impulse grocery purchases like those little $7.49 packs of sushi would make, if you casually toss them in the cart on a regular basis? A decade of a family’s innocent-seeming Whole Foods indulgence could pay for a house outright, while leaving them no better nourished than wiser meal planning with bulk ingredients.

Put a crockpot and a Costco membership to good use, and just watch what happens to your bank account.

Now, I took that sushi picture on my own kitchen table, so we too are guilty of this indulgence. But we are long past financial independence, and even then it is a rare purchase. The overall lesson is just, again, to take this shit seriously – make sure you appreciate every food purchase above beans-and-rice level as a concsious luxury rather than just a habit. And if you are in debt, no sushi for you!

Dinner

Another typical dinner – main dish is based on potatoes/veggies plus fancy sausages baked into a cheese-laden casserole.

Around 3:30pm in the afternoon, I’ll walk or bike home from “work”, so I can be there when my son returns home from school – one of the biggest rewards of early retirement. One of us parents will cook him a homemade pizza at this point (I pre-make the personal size shells and keep them in stacks in the freezer), so he can recharge with about 480 calories from a delicious meal that costs only about 50 cents to make.

Then us Adults will usually collaborate to make something like pulled-pork tacos:

On the side, we might add chopped fresh vegetables, more salad, or something more substantial as the appetites require. Like the filets, it’s not the cheapest possible way to get a meal, but at least it is reasonable. Also, we are omnivores, which is a more expensive and polluting way to get protein – but if you’re not badass enough to eat vegetarian you can at least make a substantial dent in your eco footprint by making beef your last choice of meats.

Adding it All Up

Although it took me quite a few hours to collect all this data on what I eat and add it up in a spreadsheet, the results have been quite interesting because I had never done it before. With just the stuff described above, I arrived at this point:

And the numbers were a bit surprising to me, in the following ways:

I am spending a lot more on food than I thought. If all three of us ate the way I do, our annual grocery bill would be $8600, not counting additional indulgences or food for parties. Since our real bill is closer to $6000, you can see that I am doing more than my share of the spending. Then again, I do weigh more than both Little MM and his mother combined , so perhaps this is fair.

My base calorie level is about right for my age and height for a moderately active person, but on active days I need closer to 4000 calories (if you look up a 185 pound male “athlete” for the baseline)

My base protein level is also about right for moderate activity, but on highly physical or weight training days I like to boost that to one gram per pound of bodyweight.

So while everything in this article is detailed and accurate so far, I tend to eat a variable amount of additional food to meet hunger needs, scaling it all up and down depending on what the mirror says. I use one or more of the following boosts.

Boosts

Handfuls of Nuts (1 ounce worth, 160 calories)

Protein Smoothie (banana, peanut butter, plain yogurt, tiny bit of milk, ice, water, and vanilla protein mix – about 1000 calories and 40 grams protein)

2-3 simple eggs cooked in olive oil with a bit of cheese: 500 calories, 20 grams of protein, 50 cents or so.

Avocado toast: 3 eggs, some shredded cheese, avocado, all on a piece of whole wheat toast with butter. A truly decadent weight gainer of a snack, although quite cheap. Leave out toast if you are not trying to maintain or gain weight. 1000 calories, plenty of nutrients about a buck.

*and while I won’t explain this in detail here, parents of children with his personality type will understand without question. It is something people do tend to grow out of as they get older and gain confidence with new experiences.

from Money 101 http://www.mrmoneymustache.com/2018/05/15/a-day-in-the-life-of-my-supposedly-frugal-stomach/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

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andrewdburton · 6 years

Text

A Day In The Life of my Supposedly Frugal Stomach

Because of this parallel, the subject of food is one of the nicest examples of Mustachian living, and one of the most powerful and efficient things to master.

Alongside the Table Saw, the Cutting Board is also a favorite tool.

Most Important is your Eating Philosophy

The Weird MMM Meal Plan

Breakfast

Coffee with Whole milk and Coconut oil

A handful of mixed nuts

A few squares of dark chocolate (85%)

The end result is this nutrition profile:

Mid Morning Snack

A giant salad

Plenty of water, or even the indulgence of a second cup of coffee

I may throw in a protein bar (30g protein, $1.00) to this snack, depending on the intensity of the work.

Lunch

A cost difference of just $1.50 per person per meal, multiplied over a four-person family’s 372 meals per month makes a difference of $558 per month, or about $96,000 per decade after compounding.

Yes, that is a hundred grand, and this is just the difference between a semi-frugal $2.00 meal component and a fifty cent equivalent from, say, your crockpot.

Put a crockpot and a Costco membership to good use, and just watch what happens to your bank account.

Dinner

Another typical dinner – main dish is based on potatoes/veggies plus fancy sausages baked into a cheese-laden casserole.

Then us Adults will usually collaborate to make something like pulled-pork tacos:

Adding it All Up

And the numbers were a bit surprising to me, in the following ways:

My base protein level is also about right for moderate activity, but on highly physical or weight training days I like to boost that to one gram per pound of bodyweight.

Boosts

Handfuls of Nuts (1 ounce worth, 160 calories)

Protein Smoothie (banana, peanut butter, plain yogurt, tiny bit of milk, ice, water, and vanilla protein mix – about 1000 calories and 40 grams protein)

2-3 simple eggs cooked in olive oil with a bit of cheese: 500 calories, 20 grams of protein, 50 cents or so.

from Finance http://www.mrmoneymustache.com/2018/05/15/a-day-in-the-life-of-my-supposedly-frugal-stomach/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

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