#anyone who knows how harnesses and rope shit works do not look too closely at this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

someonestolemyshoes · 4 years ago

Text

Stuck

My entry for @levihan-drabbles Smut Sunday event! My prompt this time was "Hange, why are you stuck there?". I might have gotten a little carried away, so this is uh...on the long side, but please enjoy anyway!

Warnings: dubious consent, if you squint. Explicit consent talks, too, but if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable please be careful!

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

By all counts, Hange was having a terrible day.

She had been late to the morning's budget report, too wrapped up in her research notes and the blueprints for her new titan trap to notice the time. Erwin had chewed her out thoroughly for her tardiness, and, to add insult to injury, had denied her request for new materials to build the trap. She had argued as vehemently as she dared that the materials were a necessity in ensuring the sturdiness of the improved design and that, built correctly, the new apparatus would reduce risk to their soldiers by over 50%. Despite her best efforts, Erwin had been resolute in his rejection.

She had also missed breakfast. After the meeting, incensed by Erwin's refusal, she had taken straight to her lab to revamp the design, ignorant of the time until well past 10am. Breakfast had been cleared long before the growling of her stomach pulled her out of her focused scribbling.

And then she had spilled a cold mug of tea, who knows how old, onto her research notes from the last experiments. The dark liquid sank into the fabric and blurred the ink faster than Hange could react, leaving every scrawled graph and table and footnote completely illegible.

Hange should have known, then, with her run of luck, that today was not a day to take risks. She should have anticipated that more would go wrong, that something disastrous might happen. But each instance had only served to anger her further, and Hange felt resolved to solve something. To get one thing right.

Starting with the titan trap was evidently a mistake.

It was a risk to try toying with the thing all alone at the best of times. Clunky chains and thick, heavy ropes, intricately looped and knotted for strength, cross-hatched to make them more structurally sound. Hange was up on her ladder with her torso threaded through one of the giant loops, stomach braced on the rope as she leaned over to adjust the bolts in one of the chains, when part of the structure gave an ominous creak. Something, somewhere, snapped with a crack, and Hange's foot slipped off the ladder.

The ground rushed up to meet her. Hange braced herself for impact, but a few feet from the floor, she jerked abruptly to a stop. The rope punched roughly into her stomach, knocking the air out of her. She took a second, gasping, to catch her breath.

In a stroke of uncharacteristic luck, Hange had chosen to wear her goggles while working. Her glasses, she knew, would have fallen from her face and shattered to pieces. Another expense for Erwin to pay. Luckily, her goggles held firm--no extra cost for the Scouts, and wonderfully clear vision to take in the remains of the trap.

As it stands, she'd gotten very lucky indeed. A section of rope had snagged on one of the hooks on the wall, breaking her fall. Her stomach felt tender, and would no doubt bruise horribly, but she could only be thankful that it wasn't worse.

Now, though, she had a problem.

Her toes barely scraped the floor. The ladder had fallen too far away for her to reach, and without the use of her legs, Hange couldn't find purchase on anything to pull herself out of the loop.

She was stuck. In a trap for titans.

Hange let herself hang over the rope and puffed her hair out of his face. The lab was out of the way, no chance of anyone incidentally passing by—it would be a waste of energy to try calling for help. All she could do was hang here and wait until someone—Moblit, probably—came searching for her.

She hung there for what felt like a lifetime. The rope had been plenty uncomfortable in the beginning, but had long since become painful. She was desperately considering her possibilities for the millionth time, when she heard the sound of feet stomping in the corridor outside, and the door abruptly burst open.

"Oi, shitty glasses, you missed lu—"

Levi stopped short. The click of his boots scuffed to a halt. His fingers slipped off the door handle, the hinges squeaking loud in the otherwise silence. The click of the latch rang as loud as a gunshot.

Hange waved a hand. "Yo, Levi. A little help?"

"The hell are you doing?"

"There was an incident. It's not important—can you help me down?"

Levi, overcoming his surprise, managed to take a few more slow steps into the room. He walked a full circle around her, ducking rope and stepping over loose chains, taking in the sight with the same scrutiny he examines bookshelves for dust.

"This," he announced, after completing his examination, "is fucking ridiculous."

"It's not my finest moment," she conceded.

"What even is this shit?" Levi touched the rope, running his palm over it. His voice sounded a little distant, contemplative. Hange didn't for one second entertain the idea that he was curious about the mechanics of her titan trap, but she couldn't quite figure out what it was that intrigued him.

"Does it matter? As you can well see, I need some help."

Levi hummed. He gripped the rope a little harder, followed it down to where it was digging into her waist. He gave it a little tug; Hange coughed out a breath when the movement jostled her. She suspected that Levi was trying to figure out how exactly she had gotten stuck. When his gaze travelled up to the hook, she assumed she was correct, and hoped that, armed with this knowledge, he might try freeing her. He stepped a little further behind her, out her direct line of sight. Hange waited impatiently for him to help get her out of the trap.

But then, he did something Hange hadn't expected him to do at all.

He touched her leg.

To an outsider, it might have been an innocent thing. Something designed to soothe, maybe; nothing more or less than the simple touch of one's palm to another's thigh.

But Hange knew Levi. Hange knew that Levi was not one for casual touch. There were very few instances in which Levi touched anyone, and most were unfavourable--upon grievous injury, commonly, or else holding a comrades hand when death comes calling. But there is one other occasion in which Levi will touch her, at least. One other scenario where his hand might find itself on her leg, or her hip, or her waist. Up her shirt. Down her pants.

It's not all that often. Maybe a dozen times, give or take, over the years they've known one another. But it follows a very strict pattern: they have a shitty day. They drink. They get too close. They drink some more. Smoke, maybe, if they've ventured to a bar where they can snag a cigarette to share. Drink again, though at some point they give up ordering their own, and start passing the same goblet back and forth. Levi's leg will nudge up against hers. Hange leans heavily into him. She blames it on the drink, giggles a half assed apology into his ear. He lets her. They search for somewhere private—their quarters, if they're patient enough. Close enough. A back alley has done fine on more than one occasion.

And then, they fuck.

Sex, Hange had once thought, was a rather romantic notion. Two becoming one and all that. Something couples did, an act of feeling so absolute, so all-encompassing, that making love was the only way to truly express it. Older, and wiser, Hange knows now that sex can be many different things. Sex can be romantic, but it can also be rough, animalistic. Sex can come from frustration, from desperation, from an itchy beneath the skin that nothing else will scratch. Sex with Levi, more often than not comes from anger and sadness and manifests in a clash of lips, grabbing, yanking hands, the sharp bite of teeth. It comes from a desire to do something, anything, to relieve the helpless, hopeless feeling when they've done all that they could and somehow, it still isn't enough. A guilty, sordid undertaking, high on fumes with the dark of the night to hide them.

Sex with Levi has never begun like this, with Hange hanging from a makeshift harness in her lab in broad daylight.

It's not that she's against the idea, per se. There are times when Hange feels that restless ache without the weight of grief sagging her bones—times when she thinks it might be nice to find Levi in his room, or invite him into hers, close the doors and let loose. Enjoy the pleasure of it without the bite of pain.

But now, she thought, shivering when Levi's hand slid around to the inside of her thigh, was not the time.

Levi seemed to have other ideas.

His thumb brushed back and forth over her leg.

"Not that this isn't nice," she said slowly, "but is now really the best time?"

Levi, standing behind her now, gave a noncommittal hum. His other hand came to rest rather boldly on her ass, thumb running lightly up the centre seam of her trousers. Hange sucked in a sharp breath.

"Can it wait? I'm a little uncomfortable here."

Levi acted as though he hadn't heard her. It made Hange huff. Either he was deliberately ignoring her, or he was too preoccupied to listen and respond appropriately. Hange suspected the former, though when she shot him a look rather awkwardly over her shoulder, she did find him gazing quite intently at his own hand on her backside.

Hange had never really considered that Levi might be receptive to the idea of sex outside their current, unofficial arrangement. He never seemed all that interested—in her or in anyone else. His disinterest was so pronounced, that it had shocked her the first time he had touched her—she had reciprocated with equal ferocity, but the initial hunger of his touch had surprised her. Even then, when she had grown accustomed to the uninhibited way he would touch her during their meetings, he had seemed perfectly indifferent whenever they were together in any other circumstance. He retained his perpetual, bored expression, and gave her no indication that he even found her attractive, let alone had any interest.

And yet, here he was. Eyes flitting over his view of her ass and legs, his hands roving almost reverently over her. Hange blew out a loud breath.

"My legs are going dead, Levi. Help me down."

Levi ticked his tongue at her. "Oi, all trussed up like that and you expect me not to look?"

For a second, shock quieted her pleading. Her mouth snapped shut and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. Levi's tone had been low, gravelly. The kind of voice he used when he hissed filth in her ear, hand at her throat and cock driving into her fast and hard. To hear something so calm from him, in that voice, sent a rush of warmth straight to her crotch.

"You've looked plenty," Hange said. She squirmed when his hand slipped higher still between her legs, finger running back and forth along the seam of her pants. The pressure against her clit made her writhe, forced a groan from her. She shifted her legs restlessly, searching desperately for some purchase, but found nothing. Levi, face inexpressive, cupped her fully, letting his thumb push against where he knew her opening was. Hange choked.

"Levi," she gasped, toes scrabbling at the floor. "Levi, c'mon—at least—nngh—at least let me d-down first." It was embarrassing, the way her voice grew higher with each word, until she was almost squealing.

"You look good here," he said plainly.

"Well, that's swell," she wheezed. "But I—ah—am a little uncomfortable."

Levi's hand was still cupping her. Her fingers rubbing lazily at her clit, his thumb threatening to press into her through the thick fabric. Hange let out a high whine and wriggled.

"Levi," she implored. "It hurts—the rope, its—digging in." She finished with an embarrassingly loud moan, because Levi chose that moment to let his mouth replace his thumb, pressing over her. Hot air bled straight through her trousers, right onto her cunt.

"It's painful?" He asked. Hange felt his words vibrate against her. For one incredibly stupid moment, she considered telling to forget about that, to keep his mouth on her instead—but it did hurt, and as good as Levi's every puff of breath felt, as the pressure of his tongue poking out to rub at her felt, she needed to get down.

"Yeah," she breathed. Hange suspected then that Levi truly hadn't considered that her position would hurt. They were used persistent press of the 3DMG belts, all held scars and bruises from the leather where it took the brunt of their weight during use—Levi likely hadn't expected the rope to be too different. But it was much bigger, and Hange had slammed down onto it with enough force to wind her. She told him so with great difficulty, for he was seemingly fixated on touching her with his fingers and his mouth. At length, however, he pulled away.

"Fine, hold on."

With an arm hooked around her upper thighs, Levi hefted Hange up a little higher, taking her weight off the ropes. Hange let out a relieved sigh as the pressure on her waist eased—blood rushed to the flesh where the rope had pinched and dug into her, making the tender skin throb. Levi used his other hand to yank at the restraints until the section that had been snagged to the hook came loose, then steadied Hange with a palm pressed flush to the flat of her stomach, and lowered her to the ground.

Hange knew Levi was strong. Humanities strongest, after all. But that title was in awe of his titan killing abilities. It spoke nothing of his brute strength. The ropes and chains were heavy, moving them usually took a couple of people at least. Levi had managed to hold her up and shake the ropes loose like they weighed nothing at all. The thought sent an embarrassing thrill of heat through her.

Hange's toes hit the ground first, but she made no effort to get her feet firmly beneath her. They sank down together until Hange's knees hit the floor. She straightened her torso up, spine popping in several places as she did.

"That's better," she breathed. Levi only hummed as he helped her disentangle herself from the mess of rope and chain. He heaved it aside once she was free, and crouched behind her. Her shirt had ridden up during their manoeuvring, revealing a thin strip of pale flesh at the bottom of her back. Hange could feel a cool draught blowing over the exposed skin, but it was followed swiftly by something a hair more solid, the ghost of a touch that made goosebumps pinch at the back of her neck. Levi's fingertip, trailing featherlight above the waistband of her pants.

Hange sucked in a quick breath. She'd thought that Levi was done tormenting her, now that he'd freed her from her confines; she'd expected to be left flustered and frustrated on the lab floor, but Levi, it seemed, wasn't finished with her yet. He hooked his finger into one of her belt loops and yanked up and back. Hange jerked forward, slapping her palms into the ground to keep her balance as Levi raised her hips up. The fabric of her trousers, already a little tight, pulled taut—the seam pressed painfully against her sensitive clit. She whimpered through clenched teeth and gathered her knees more solidly under her in an effort to relieve the pressure.

"Fuck, Levi," she hissed. She glared over her shoulder at him to find his gaze sweeping over her. The thing with Levi was, he never looked impressed. It was impossible to tell, in moments like this, with his sharp eyes travelling over her, whether he was pleased with what he saw or simply satisfied that his view wasn't terrible. "Do you have to be so rough?"

"You've never complained before."

Hange flushed. She tried to form a suitable response, something biting to retort with, but her mind could focus only on one thing; Levi's hand, gliding up the length of her spine now, pushing the fabric of her shirt until it bunched beneath her shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

Levi said nothing. He skimmed both palms, this time, from her upper back to her hips, and back up again, fingers curving to follow the contour of her waist, her ribs. With her breath held, it was quiet enough for Hange to hear the way Levi's callouses caught the bandage binding her chest. His thumbnail scratched lightly at one point where the wrappings met her skin, hooking beneath it. Hange tensed, and Levi's movements ceased abruptly.

"Can I take this off?"

Hange shook her head. "Not today," she said. And then, quiet and a little guilty, "sorry."

"It's fine."

He withdrew his hands from near her chest. One hit the ground beside her, while the other sunk to her hip, fingers digging into her groin. He pulled her back towards him until her ass was flush to his hips, and at the same time, Hange felt his torso rest against her back, the buttons of his shirt pressing cool into her heated skin. His mouth settled open and hot at the base of her neck. Hange shivered as his tongue laved over the skin there, a choked out little sigh stuttering out of her—she felt hot, trapped; prey pinned by a hungry predator. It sent a tremulous thrill zipping up her spine.

Levi's teeth sunk into the back of her neck. "Down."

Hange obliged without thought. Arms folding, back arching, she sunk low until her chest met the hard floor.

"Good," Levi hummed, pleased. His voice was deep, hoarse, and barely loud enough to register, but Hange could feel the rumble of it shudder right up her spine. The change in her position made it harder for him to reach the bare skin of her neck, but she could feel, acutely, the heat of his breath billowing through the layers covering her upper back. He always had an aura of calm about him, and an unreadable expression that bordered on indifference, but there was something in the heavy pant of his breath that exposed his excitement. It was gratifying to know she wasn't the only one.

When she was settled, Levi straightened up. Hange could feel his eyes roving over her, but flat to the ground as she was, with her face tucked into her folded arms, she could see nothing. She jumped when his hands cupped her waist, almost tenderly; he stroked his thumbs over the skin where the rope had been. It hurt, aching in the way heavy bruises do, but when Levi's fingertips pressed a touch deeper into the welts stretching over her stomach, she squirmed, and not altogether from discomfort.

"Is it painful?" He asked, almost absently.

"A little," Hange wheezed. Levi made a thoughtful little sound, brushing his thumb and fingers back and forth over the wounds, and then he shifted back—cool air flooded into the space between their hips, and Hange almost cried out in disappointment—but before she could complain about the absence of his touch, she felt instead his impossibly soft lips, smoothing over the spot his hands had been. First one side, then over to the other.

Hange's muscles flexed and twitched beneath her skin as Levi kissed her. In the handful of times they had fucked before, tender kisses had never been a part of the equation. Everything was rough, biting, scratching, choking, gripping so hard they left fingerprint bruises on each others skin. Hange had never walked away without a limp in her step and a satisfying ache in her hips, the kind that lingered for days on end, as a reminder of what they had done. In their handful of whirlwind encounters, Levi had never kissed any part of her like that. As though she were something fragile. Something precious.

Hange almost straightened herself up to look at him. He lingered so long with his gentle ministrations that Hange thought, for a moment, he might have abandoned their romp in favour of laving her in his silent apologies. But then he shifted, lips dragging to the centre of her spine and down, down, until he found her waistband, and his hands looped around to the front of her pants, finding the buckle and deftly unfastening it.

He was in no particular hurry. He took his time, running his tongue across the bottom of her back as his fingers worked open the buttons on her fly, and explored the newly exposed skin at his leisure. The tips of his fingers, at first, dipping just beneath the elastic of her underwear, running from hip to hip and eliciting shivers and huffed out breaths from Hange as he went. And then he pressed lower, until his fingers found coarse hair. He took his time here, too, allowing his touch to stray near to where she wanted it before dancing away again. Hange grit her teeth in frustration, her hips swaying of their own accord, curling and wriggling, trying desperately to meet his idle fingers. His spare hand brushed up the outside of her thigh, soothing at first, and then he gripped her tight, limiting her motion.

She could feel his smile press against the bottom of her back.

Hange hadn't wanted to give him the satisfaction of begging. She tried what she could to keep her mouth shut; bit her lip, bit her knuckles, bit into the sleeve of her jacket, huffing panting, needy breaths through her nose in an effort to stifle the whines and pleading moans that threatened to spill out. And she had thought, for a moment, that she had succeeded—Levi finally graced her with the touch she desired, rough fingertips grazing over her clit, swollen and aching now, desperate for attention. Her hips bucked and she moaned, knees instinctively spreading wider. But then, the touch passed. Levi's fingers brushed along her groin instead, withdrawing. Hange's throat tightened, a frustrated lump forming, choking her.

"Levi." She had hoped to sound more angry, but her voice came out high and tight. Desperate. She bit hard at her lip.

"Hm? What?"

"You know what," she hissed. It was absurd, how badly she felt like crying. Her need was bordering on painful; a throbbing, pulsating kind of desire, hot and heavy between her legs. She felt almost dizzy with it.

Levi had never teased her before. Sex was perfunctory; a means to an end. A quick, rough fuck, just another way to burn off steam, like sparring, or running. Feeding a specific hunger; scratching a persistent itch. Drawing things out was never a part of the equation. Hange didn't know how to handle the building tension—her body screamed for relief, release, anything, but Levi seemed perfectly at his leisure. Unhurried.

"Touch me," she grit out, splaying her legs wider still. Levi rubbed his hand against her lower belly. "Please."

"You said now was a bad time, before," he said. He must have anticipated Hange's indignance, for he closed over her and pinned her chest down with a hand between her shoulder blades before she had a chance to straighten up.

"That was before," Hange ground out. "You've started something now. Finish it."

Levi made a quiet, thoughtful sound. Hange twisted her face to one side, flushed cheek pressed to the cool floor, and tried to gauge his expression. It was as unreadable as ever. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, face impassive.

And then, without preamble, he sunk his hand deeper into her pants, and pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger.

Hange swore loudly. Her hips jerked at the sudden touch. It was bordering on painful. Usually, rough was fine. Rough was good. Sex for them was often something like fighting, so Hange was no stranger to these aggressive touches. Usually, she delighted in it. Levi had learned her body well, toed the line between pain and pleasure with the same innate expertise he had for killing titans. Quick and efficient.

But this, for some reason, was too much. Hange twitched painfully and gasped his name, freeing one of her arms and reaching beneath herself, gripping tightly to Levi's wrist.

"Levi—too much."

Levi's touch stopped. His fingers splayed over her lower belly again, thumb rubbing back and forth as Hange released a shuddering breath.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked plainly. He sounded unbothered, almost bored, but Hange knew him better; the fact that he had even asked spoke volumes of his concern.

"A little," she said. Levi curled over her and dropped a kiss to the middle of her back. He mumbled a sorry so quiet Hange barely heard him.

"It's fine," she said. "Just...not so rough, next time? I'm too sensitive."

Levi ran his tongue up the trench of her spine, between the hard ridges of muscle, and hummed quietly. He let his fingers wander back to her clit again, but they settled over her far more gently. She gasped, and moaned quietly. Levi rubbed light circles over her, eliciting more soft little sounds. Hange was used to being vocal, and Levi was used to trying to shut her up, with a hand clamped over her mouth or his fingers depressing her tongue, but he made no move to quiet her this time. She bit her lip and breathed, harsh and uneven, through her nose as Levi's strokes found a rhythm. The weight of his chest rested fully on her back.

Hange could easily imagine the same weight pressed against her as he fucked her, pinned her down and buried himself deep within her. She could imagine the way he'd grind into her, barely withdrawing an inch but still punching the air from her lungs when he pushed all the way back in.

He was shifting over her now, his body twitching in quick, jerky motions that didn't match up with the way his fingers were rubbing her. Belatedly, Hange realised that the hand not playing with her clit was nowhere to be found; he wasn't bracing on the ground, nor touching any part of her body. Raising herself up a little, Hange turned to look behind her, and let out a low, guttural moan.

Levi's spare hand was down the front of his own pants. He stroked himself off with quick, uneven strokes, his face pressed against her back. Hange could feel his hitching, panted breaths against her skin.

She breathed his name and pushed her hips back, seeking him. Searching for the pressure of his cock against her cunt, something to ease the heavy need there. She bumped against him once, twice, before Levi withdrew his hand from his pants to grip at her hip, pulling her back.

"Fuck, Hange," he rasped. He pressed his forehead into her back and ground his hips forward, pressing desperately against her. He must be able to feel her, how wet she was, even through the layers she still wore, for she could easily feel the heat radiating from his cock as it strained against her trousers. Hange whimpered, resisting every urge to shove back onto him. She wanted him to inside her, wanted to feel the stretch as he fucked her open; wanted the delicious ache as he buried himself to the hilt within her, the satisfaction of being full.

Levi curved himself over her, craning until his lips and teeth nipped at the back of her neck. The head of his cock nudged right at her opening and Hange let out a quiet, needy moan, pushing her hips back towards him.

"Hange," he said. Hange gave a shaky hum in acknowledgement. "When did you last bleed?"

Disappointment and a deep, loathing kind of frustration washed over her. Her face twisted in a grimace and her hands, balled into fists, smacked against the stone. She dropped her forehead to the floor, swearing under her breath, and mumbling her response. Levi pinched her hip, brushed his lips over her skin.

"I can't hear you, stupid."

Louder, she moaned, "Last week."

"Ah."

Too recent. Hange could hear the pang of disappointment in Levi's tone, too. He was just as worked up as she was, hard and straining, and it must be torture for him to feel Hange so ready for him, wet, tight, eager. Inviting. But the timing was off. Too soon after her last bleed. Not worth the risk. Levi knew it, and Hange knew it too, but that didn't stop her from wriggling against him, hips easing back, searching for him, desperate for his length to split her open.

Levi let out a low growl and ground against her. Hange half wanted to resign herself to an unsatisfying release, to guide Levi's attention back to her neglected clit and get off quickly, but before she could regain his attention, Levi withdrew his hand from her pants completely, and instead yanked them over her ass, and worked them a little way down her thighs. His breath felt hot and fast gainst the back of her neck as he tugged at the tight fabric. Hange felt his cock bare against her. She shivered and sucked in a quivering breath.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanna fuck you," he said simply. Hange whimpered. She wanted to spread her legs wider, make room for him between them, but her trousers, wrapped around her thighs now, prevented her from opening them, and besides—

"We shouldn't—Levi, we can't."

He made a gruff sound against her. Hange could feel his fingers trembling as he gripped the outside of one thigh, pushed her legs closer together. Hange shuffled the other further in to keep her balance, head spinning. Levi shifted so his knees, either side of hers, kept her thighs pinned together.

They couldn't—it wasn't worth the risk, she knew, and every logical part of her screamed that they should stop now, before they made a mistake. Levi dug his face between her shoulder blades and his hand reached between them, wrapping around his cock and giving it a few jerky pumps. He guided it close; Hange felt the smooth head nudge against her dripping entrance.

"We can't," she said again, weakly. "Levi, we—"

Her breath hitched as Levi applied a little pressure. She could feel herself beginning to stretch for him, opening up as he pressed a little into her. She gasped, groaned, shifted her weight; she meant to move forward, away, but her hips sank helplessly back instead. She almost sobbed in relief as the stretch increased, the sensation dizzying, delicious. She tried again to spread her legs, but Levi's legs locked her in place.

"Levi—Levi, please—" Hange wasn't wasn't sure what she was pleading for. For him to stop, before they went too far, or for him to drive into her, fuck her until she couldn't stand. She felt him hiss against her back.

"Wanna be inside you," he breathed. "Fuck, Hange—you feel so good."

Hange could barely keep herself still. It took every ounce of strength to keep some presence of mind, to hold her trembling hips in place, but it felt like a losing battle. She wanted to feel full, fucked out and satiated. She wanted to feel every inch of him spreading her open, wanted him to fuck and fill her until he was spent, until he had nothing left to give. They shouldn't, they couldn't—but Hange had never wanted anything more in her entire life. To deprive herself was the cruellest thing.

Levi came to his senses before she did. He growled loudly, teeth bared, frustration evident, but he pulled his cock away from her opening and drove instead between her legs, right up against the apex of her thighs. The head of his cock bumped her clit and Hange let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a wail. He tightened his knees against hers, wedging her legs as tight together as he could. He let out a low moan, pulling back slowly, savouring the tightness of her thighs pressed around him. Hange squirmed and squeezed her legs together, desperate to keep his cock pressed up against her. She ground her brow into the ground and let out a harsh, ragged breath. Levi brushed his lips against the edge of the coarse bandage, over the nearest patch of skin.

"What I'd fucking give to be inside you now," Levi breathed, strained. He drove his hips forward at a slow, building pace. Hange squeezed her eyes closed and pushed her hips back to meet him. "Fuck you just like this."

Hange whimpered out her yes, and reached down to pull one of Levi's hands from her hips, guiding it to her clit. He applied a dizzying pressure there, pressing down and rolling his fingertips against her, and the combination of that, plus the length of his cock gliding so temptingly against her, was enough to make her thighs tremble.

"Next time," he grunted. Once or twice he pulled back a little too far and for a moment the head of his cock nestled back against her entrance before popping free and sliding between her thighs again. Each time, Hange guiltily hoped he would slip inside, that they would ignore the consequences, leave it as a problem for another time. It made her twitch, and whine, and fuck her hips back harder against him.

His fingers rubbed rougher circles over her. Hips bucked harder. Hange felt the tension winding low in her gut, in her thighs--her breathing, already ragged, began to hitch and hold, punching out short little mewls and sucking in quick, uneven gasps.

"Close—Levi, I—hah—I'm gonna come—"

Levi gave an affirming grunt against her shoulder blade and fought to keep his pace even. Levi wasn't much of a gentleman in any common sense of the term, but no matter what they did, how quick and harsh sex was between them, Levi always made sure Hange finished first. It was chivalrous, in a way. She might have laughed at the thought if her orgasm didn't cut her off, choking the sound in her throat. Her mouth opened in a silent moan as her body drew impossibly tight, impossibly tense—and then the tension broke, and she was left shuddering, incoherent, disjointed sounds bleeding out of her, eyes watering with relief. Levi rode her through it, and then followed after her, with a few hard, jarring thrusts and a grunt muffled against her back. Hange felt him spill up her belly and onto the floor beneath them.

Without his hands to hold her hips up, Hange sank down to lie flat on the floor. Levi followed her down, pressed to her back, and together they lay there, gathering their senses and catching their breaths.

After a moment, Levi rolled off of her, and sat up. Hange pushed herself upright on shaking arms. She took in the mess—on her front, on the floor, between her legs. Heat rushed through her, sweeping into her stomach. In her lab, of all places.

"Stupid Levi," Hange said. She tugged up her pants and sat on her backside, levelling a kick at Levi's knee. He had already tucked himself into his pants with a grimace, but he was too sluggish post-orgasm to dodge her. "Anyone could have walked in here!"

"They didn't."

"They could have! What if Erwin had come looking for me, huh? Or Mike? What about poor Moblit!"

For a second, Levi looked like he might smile. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Hange flushed hot at the memory. Poor Moblit, she thought, guiltily recalling their first needy fumbling in Hange's office. She had been drunk—they both were, probably too drunk to reasonably consider the consequences of their actions—and Moblit, ever the loyal sidekick, had only come to check Hange had made it to bed. He'd hoped to find her sleeping soundly. He certainly hadn't expected to find her sprawled back on the desk with Levi's face between her thighs.

"You wanna scar the poor bastard again?" Hange hissed. Levi shrugged. Hange narrowed her eyes at him; perhaps she was imagining it, but she could have sworn she saw something in his expression that looked almost smug. Hange huffed at him.

They fell into a strange silence. Hange busied herself kicking and dragging the remains of the titan trap to the side of the room. She piled the ropes up as neatly as she could manage, while Levi used a napkin to wipe up the mess on the floor. Then he simply sat back and watched her. After a moment, he spoke.

"Did you mind? Me touching you like that."

Hange looked over at him. His face gave nothing away, no hint of guilt or trepidation at all, but there had been something in his tone; a hesitance to voice the question out loud.

"You're asking me that now?"

Levi turned his eyes away from her.

"I figured you'd let me know. If you really hadn't wanted to."

"Most people just ask before they start feeling someone up, you know. Saves all the confusion."

Hange had meant it in a teasing way, with her tone light and her lips turned up in a wry smile, but Levi paled after she'd spoken, eyes a fraction wider than normal.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Screwed up his face, then said, "I don't—I never want to—" He let out an annoyed huff, and ran a hand back through his hair. It was perhaps the most flustered Hange had ever seen him. "I'm not into that shit. I don't get off on making people do shit they don't wanna do."

There was something imploring about the way he looked at her, after that, as though he needed her to listen. As though it were important to him that she understand.

"I know," Hange said, struck by the sudden need to soothe him. He had lost all colour, and looked oddly distressed. "I know. And you're right, I'd have let you know if I didn't like any of it."

It took a long moment, but the tension in Levi's shoulders relaxed a fraction. Hange plopped down to sit next to him and nudged her shoulder to his.

"Maybe we should get a safe word for next time." She grinned, then laughed when Levi weakly elbowed her. "How do you feel about titans."

Levi scowled at her. His eyes looked dark and broody as ever, but there was a pinch to his cheeks, as though he was trying not to smile. "How do you feel about fuck off."

"Nah, you say that too much. What about Erwin's toupee."

"I don't wanna think about Erwin when I'm fucking you."

Hange's face heated a little at the brazenness in which he said it. She laughed, and said, "how about eyebrows?"

Levi grimaced. "Still Erwin."

Hange laughed a little harder. She leaned into him, so close that when he twisted his head to look at her, his fringe tickled her face.

"I kinda like it. Nice and snappy."

Levi tipped closer to her. His nose brushed against hers.

"How about stop talking shit," he said. Hange felt his breath blow hot over her lips, smelled the rich, perfume scent of the tea he'd drunk at lunch. Their brows bumped clumsily together. Levi pressed closer, more solidly to her.

"Too long," she breathed. Levi hummed quietly, tilting his face up so his nose nudged along hers. "Can we go back to titans?"

"Whatever. Use whatever shitty word you want." His voice had gone strangely low, and just a touch breathless. Hange felt her own breath catch somewhere in her chest.

"Titans it is," she said. Levi's lips were so close, Hange could feel them brushing against hers when she spoke. She and Levi had kissed a few times. The sloppy, biting kind of kiss, hot and furious. It was always part of the process—A to B, kissing to fucking. It was never something sweet, or gentle. They never kissed for the simple sake of kissing.

Hange found herself wanting to, now. She wanted to close the breath of distance between them and feel Levi's soft lips against her own. It was an outrageous thing to want, really. Kissing without the promise of something more, it strayed into unfamiliar territory for them. Dangerous territory. Hange had sworn her heart to humanity, same as Levi had—but right now, hers was beating out of her chest for him.

Levi let his mouth touch barely against hers. Hange's eyes fluttered closed and she waited, heart pounding, for him to make some kind of move. To pull away or press closer, either, something.

Instead, he said, quiet and rasping, "this safe word. How does it work?"

Hange rolled her brow against his. "You just say it, if there's something you don't want to do, or if you want to stop."

Levi made a thoughtful sound. Hange felt his fingers graze over hers where her hand was braced on the floor.

"So you'd say titans, if you didn't want me to kiss you now?"

Hange let out a long breath. She nodded, but said nothing more. Levi waited. Hange made no noise at all, and after a moment, Levi tipped his face up and kissed her sweetly. Simple, chaste, his lips pressed against hers. He sighed out a trembling breath through his nose.

They stayed like that for too long, for a kiss so simple, but Hange hadn't wanted to pull away. It was warm, comfortable. She felt pleasantly content. Levi was the first to move, and when Hange opened her eyes she caught sight of his own eyelids fluttering, blinking rapidly, as though he had just awoken from a dream. He licked his lips.

"Not bad," he said. Hange rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder.

"I'll take whatever compliment I can get, coming from you," she said. She dragged herself to her feet, dusting the back of her pants. She grimaced at the tacky, drying wetness in her underwear. "C'mon. I need a shower. And you said I missed lunch, right? No wonder I'm starving!"

Hange held out her hand for him. Levi took it, climbing to his feet while Hange hefted him off the floor. He looked equally uncomfortable with the situation in his own clothing, tugging at the sticky fabric with an angry frown. Hange hooked her arm through his and pulled him out of the lab, pausing only to lock the door behind them. Levi kept step with her as they walked down the corridor. If her closeness, or her happy, out of tune humming bothered him, he didn't show it. They were approaching the end of the hallway when Hange dug her elbow into his ribs lightly.

"Next time," she said, "if you insist on fucking me somewhere inappropriate, we're doing it in Erwin's office. I don't want to put poor Moblit at risk again."

Levi pulled a disgusted face, shoving at her. Hange teetered out of his reach, gleeful.

"On his desk, maybe. Or in his chair. His room is attached, right? Maybe even in his bed—”

"Titans, Hange. For fucks sake, titans."

#levihan #snk #side note: titans is a bad safe word for Levihan!!#my writing #ahahaha I haven't written smut in a hot minute BOY

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clonewarslover55 · 4 years ago

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Jungle Moved Chapter one(1/7)

Predator and CloneWars Crossover

Chapter two Chapter three Chapter four Chapter five Chapter six Chapter seven

Go check out my summary and notes before reading please!

Based off of this wonderful art by @scuttlebuttin

Notes: I hope you all enjoy it!! There’s no gore or Predator in this chapter.

Warnings: Blood, gore, death, alien dude, language, tobacco use, mentions of death, nasty gory shit that I go into detail about, violence, characters being assholes, fight scenes that are probably poorly written, jungle stuff, suspension, arguments, weapons, alien technology

*Outside of the border of Guatemala, 1987*

The helicopter landed gently at the base, the rescue team inside happy to finally be back on land. Wrecker jumped out first, his bag slung over his shoulder. Crosshair, Tech, and Hunter were close behind. Fives hopped out next, happy to finally stretch his legs. Wolffe sat in the helicopter for a moment, a smirk crossing his lips in excitement with this next mission.

Nothing was better to him and his boys then a good mission. Wolffe got out of the helicopter last, grabbing his bag and hopping into one of the jeeps like his men did. The jeeps drove them through the swampy base, they took Wolffe’s men to the barracks and Wolffe to the general to discuss the mission.

Wolffe hopped out of the jeep in front of the small cabin, his old friend quick to meet him. “Lookin’ good Wolffe.” The general smiled and grasped his hand, “It’s been a long time, general.” Wolffe smirked. The general nodded and cocked his head to the side, instructing him to follow.

It was important then. If it wasn’t, the general wouldn’t be rushing him slightly. Wolffe was very observant, even with one eye. He had to be, that’s how he had survived this long. That’s how his team had become the best. Wolffe followed the older man into the cabin where he’d be debriefed on what exactly he was getting his men into.

*A few minutes later*

“Eighteen(18) hours ago we lost a small squad that was escorting a foregian cabinet minister.” The general pointed to a big circled red dot on the map, “We think they’re somewhere around here.” Wolffe snorted and rolled his good eye, “Does this team of yours always travel on the wrong side of the border?”

The general gave the gruff voiced man a cold look, “They strayed off course in the jungle. We believe the Guerrillas have them in their custody.” Wolffe crossed his muscular arms, his black short sleeve shirt showing some of his wolf tattoo that rested on his shoulder. “Why do you need us? Why can’t you just use-”

A very familiar voice spoke up behind him, “Because some damn fool said you were the best.” Wolffe scowled and turned his head to the side, eyeing his old friend with his good eye. Gree stood up, a smirk on the red head's face.

“Gree you son of a bitch!!” Wolffe smiled and locked hands with the man, engaging in an arm lock. Gree could only grin. He caught up with his old friend and brother in arms before moving back to the table where the map is.

“So what do we have to do?” He cocked a black eyebrow as he glanced back at the maps. The general and Gree quickly explained why they needed the best of the best. Wolffe listened to Gree’s compliments as he tried to woo him into accepting the mission. Luckily for Gree, Wolffe has a big ego. “Go on.” The one eyed man smirked willing to listen to the plan.

“Simple set up. One day operation.” Gree spoke quickly, “We find their trail with a chopper. Run em’ down, grab those hostages and then head back across the border before anyone even knows we were there.” Wolffe scowled and looked at Gree, “What do you mean…….We?” Gree smirked, “I’m going in with you.”

Wolffe looked at the general with a pissed off look, “General. My team always works alone, you know that.” He nearly spat the words. The general didn’t seem to give a rats ass, “We all have our orders Wolffe. Once you reach your objective Gree will evaluate the situation and take charge.”

Wolffe did not like this at all. He sneered at Gree, wanting to knock the smirk off the man's face.

*Early next morning*

Wolffe and his men sat in the helicopter along with Gree, loud upbeat music playing in the background. Everyone was ready to go, their faces painted in camouflage. They all checked their weapons and paint, anxiously waiting.

All of their face paint was different, but each pattern would blend in with the jungle. Wrecker had simple dark green and light diagonal lines across his face and under his eyes. Crosshair just had a few straight thin greenish brown lines going vertically down his narrow face and neck. Tech only had his cheeks colored with green and a few stripes above his eyebrows. Fives had two thick dark green stripes on each cheek, reaching from his jawline to under his eyes. The one on the left actually crossed over his eye and onto his forehead, stopping at his hairline.

Wolffe had multiple thick dark green lines on his face, one traced his left cheek bone and one went from the top of his nose down the right side of his face. Another line ran from his hairline, over his eye patch and to the corner of his jaw, while the last one covered his chin. Hunter had multiple dark and light green half circles on his face. One eye was completely covered with nearly a whole circle mixed with dark and light green, while the other was only halfway covered. Two dark green lines traced his cheek bones, connecting across the bridge of his nose which was painted light green. He had two half circles one either side of his mouth, connecting at his chin in a light green.

Hunter was very pretentious with his face paint. Wolffe was as well, he even put some diagonal lines along his bare arms and biceps. Gree’s paint mostly covered his face like Hunter’s but his was a different cameo like pattern, similar to their army pants.

Wrecker chewed some chewing tobacco, checking his weapons over as he did so. Hunter painted his face slowly, making sure his hair and bandana were perfect as he did so in the mirror. Hunter ignored Wrecker’s random shouts, too focused on his paint to give a fuck.

Crosshair finished checking his rifle and looked at Fives, both men suddenly smirking at one another. Fives grabbed a face paint marker and tossed it at Tech, who was reading something. Tech caught the marker without looking up, a smirk crossing his face. Tech looked up at his two teammates, his glasses reflecting the red light of the helicopter. They couldn’t help but grin back.

Gree sat beside Wolffe, looking over the map with him. “Where’s our backup?” Gree chuckled, “No such thing!” He grinned, but then got serious. “Once we cross that border…..We’re on our own.” Wolffe snorted, adjusting his eye patch. “This gets better by the minute.”

Wrecker held out the bag of chewing tobacco to Fives, who slapped it away. “Get that stinking shit out of my face!! Wrecker laughed and tried to offer some to Hunter, who just ignored him. “Come on guys!!” He chewed some more, “This stuff will make you a sexual tyrannosaurus! Like me!!” He held up the bag that had a picture of a T-Rex holding two guns and shooting them into the air with the words, “Sexual Tyrannosaurus!” Under it.

Gree raised an eyebrow at Wrecker, who spit onto his boot. It was clear no one enjoyed his presence there. “That’s a real nasty habit you got there son.” Wrecker couldn’t help but smirk.

A few minutes later an alarm blared, causing all the men to look up and prepare themselves for rappelling. Wolffe removed his headset and gave them some hand signals, letting his men know that they were crossing the border into Guatemala. Wolffe pulled on his fingerless gloves while his men pulled on their packs. They were all ready.

The men stood up, clipping the ropes of their harnesses onto the bar on the ceiling of the helicopter. The chopper hovered and Wolffe gave more signals. With ease, all men rappelled to the ground, swiftly unhooking themselves. The helicopters didn’t land, they flew off the moment the men were all on the ground.

Wolffe motioned for his men to follow, then they all marched out into the jungle.

Tags: @divergent-llamas-03 @klay97 @iamassbuttkingofhell @sued134 @jedi-mando @mackstrut @shadylightbearherring @opalstxrs

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notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

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Eight Seconds

Howdy! I’m honestly freaking out bc this the first Spencer Reid anything I’ve written and bc I try not to out myself as country too much bc well the world right now. (I honestly wish there was more people out there who had a thing for cowgirls/boys as I do.) I hope at least one person enjoys it as much as I liked writing it.

Summary: Spencer Reid meets the cowgirl of his dreams...

Warnings: I think I swear like twice? other than that it’s fluff

Word count: 4.5k

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He doesn’t think that it would be Penelope Garcia to catch him. Sure, she’s a genius and a tech wizard and an overall queen at gathering gossip. But she isn’t around him as much as JJ. Or Emily. Or Morgan.

What gave him away to her and not everyone else?

Because he knows he’s given something away when she texts him. Urgent. Batcave now! He’s hopeful. Optimistic. Maybe Penelope’s got some burning question about Star Trek. Or Doctor Who. Or when the next convention is. Maybe it’s a serial killer.

But he isn’t that lucky. Spencer Reid never is.

He knocks hesitantly, worried for exactly what’s to come. Her gaze snaps up from her tablet. Snaps to him in an incessant kind of ‘I know what you did’ way. It’s a look for scolding children. Not a pleasant, let’s have a tea time chat, gaze.

Spencer settles into the extra chair and waits. There’s a storm brewing behind her eyes and when she finally speaks, she doesn’t disappoint.

“What’s her name?”

And he can’t stop it. Lovesick smile, starry eyes—Penelope doesn’t have to be a profiler to see it before he sobers up. Her mouth opens into a toothy grin. An insufferably contagious grin and he knows he’s caught for sure.

He leans back in the desk chair, stares up at the ceiling and breathily whispers, “Shawn.”

“Oh!” Penelope gasps. He can hear the mental scolding. There’s backtracking with no end in sight. “Well, I didn’t mean to presume and it’s—it’s okay if Shawn is—or you’re—and I just didn’t know—you never said anything—“

“Relax,” he chuckles and grins at her softly for good measure. “Shawn is a girl. Her legal name is Shawna if you’re that curious.”

And he knows Penelope is curious. She’s grinning and waiting and listening. He can tell she wants to prompt. To ask questions. To dig through every tiny detail she can. Is it bad to make her wait? To not want anyone to know about the girlfriend he’s kept hidden for so long?

“Tell me more,” Penelope buzzes, bouncing in her seat, monitors—work—forgotten. “Where did you love story begin?”

He smiles to himself. It’s not a matter of when, but how long.

It took eight seconds. All of eight seconds.

At first, he wasn’t even sure it was eight seconds. He’d been running, running harder than he ever had. Chucks flapping against the hard packed dirt. Horse trailers flying by him as he jumped hitches and slipped through patches of mud.

It was five minutes of burning lungs and dust caked nostrils before those eight seconds. Quick glances between trailers. Got to keep moving, Reid, got to keep up. Because Morgan’s chanting was getting distant, too distant. The last time they’d split up—

Five minutes of a maze he hadn’t learned. Five minutes of being utterly lost, following the sound of Morgan’s thundering boots and desperation. They were all desperate. It was a desperate move to keep running, not to find solace in an empty horse trailer on the killer’s part. The bastard thought he could lose them, shake the FBI agents off his tail.

Reid knew better, but he was getting desperate too. His lungs were burning. It’d only been five minutes.

“FBI! Stop!” Morgan shouted from behind him. Reid skidded through a patch of horse shit into the main thoroughfare. Thank god. No more trailers. A walkway, a solid walkway, a clear line of sight. The man was running. Why do they always run?

Reid picks up his lungs in his desperate hands and pushes on. Grits his teeth, clenches down on every spare inch of fortitude left. Morgan catches up easily but doesn’t surpass. They’re both tired. They’re both panting. They’ve both got weapons drawn, but who could make a shot at 50 yards with a moving target?

Not Reid. He knew better.

But Morgan tried one more time. Shouted and called and screamed. The man didn’t look back. Prison was on his heels and he was desperate enough to keep running. A coward. There wouldn’t be a standoff. Smart enough to not get cornered, not smart enough to keep from getting caught.

They both pushed harder. This was their eight seconds. They were getting close, they reasoned to themselves, hearts panting to the same rhythm. They could keep it together for these last seconds. He’d get tired—they were getting tired—he had to be tired by now.

He was racing in snakeskin cowboy boots. How could he be keeping that pace in those shoes?

Reid hoped his lungs would give out. Save the heroic work for Morgan. Morgan could get the bad guy. Morgan could get the girl. He could have anything he wanted. Reid just wanted to fall face first into the dirt and let the fresh mud extinguish the flames in his lungs. In his throat. In his mouth.

But then the eight seconds came.

In the first second, he realised his heart didn’t gallop. It didn’t have the imprints of hooves. It wasn’t the two thousand pound animal gaining momentum behind him. His heart was clogging his ears that badly. Thankfully, with his wits about him, he looked back.

In the second second, Reid saw the animal. Mid-step, perfect stride. A plastic figurine of a race horse, nostrils wide at the end of its long face. It took only the second second to see the crazy in the horse’s eyes. How they focused and blinked and bled the insanity. How it was more beast than domesticated pet. Reid was convinced the black stockings on its legs were dripping grease from its gears. He could see the muscle in its shoulders and flanks. Muscle groupings bigger than him. An animal that could crush him. A machine running with a single thought: faster.

He saw the rider in the third second. One he didn’t expect. Maybe it was his own memories of cowboy movies, but cowboys weren’t supposed to be dipped in glitter. Weren’t supposed to be such overtly female. But there she was. Her dark curls billowing behind her. Sun glinting off the gold of her hat. Glinting off the impressive amount of glitter on her eyelids. And the rhinestones on her black button-down. She was stunning. Furrowed in her concentration. Elated in her grin.

The rope came in the fourth. It was twisting in her hand, coil and reins held precariously in her other. It loops over her head, slack enough to swallow her whole. Slack enough to get caught on her. Get caught on the horse. She keeps perfect control and the hand comes around and around until she—

In the fifth second, the rope releases and Reid slows his feet to watch it. The horse has gained on the man, so close that teeth could get involved. The man doesn’t seem to know, or is too desperate to change direction. Because he’s gone straight and the horse has followed and the rope is sliding through her hand like it’s meant to be there forever. It goes and goes and goes. He thinks the loop is bound to catch her foot, a hoof, something. But it doesn’t. It never does.

With six seconds down, the man finds he doesn’t have feet anymore. The loop of the rope tightens around his legs and he’s falling. He doesn’t have feet under him. Barely hands to save his face. Reid hopes the fall is harder than it needs to be. But he’s not focused on the man, he’s focused on the girl. The girl who expertly catches the rope in her hands. Who expertly ties the end around the saddle horn. Who’s horse pulls the rope taut and the man goes down.

At seven seconds, the horse is still backing. It knows. It’s practiced. Reid can see the elation on both rider and animal. Their pride is palpable. He doesn’t know it, but this is the best run they’ve done together. Not the fastest, but the best.

Eight seconds is when the girl turns to them. Grinning, hollering, hands up in the air. Reid watches as they catch up, slowing down to match the horse’s speed. The man tries to flip himself over, dragging on his back towards the federal agents. Reid can feel his heart and he wonders if it’s beating harder from the run or the thrill.

He’ll never admit it but he’s always wanted to be a cowboy. This girl has his other dream in her hands, wearing it as her favourite belt buckle.

Eight seconds later and she’s smiling down at the agents, still hollering some form of yeehaw! Reid grins, dragging his aching limbs forward to help Morgan flip the man onto his stomach and cuff him. The dragging discontinues and the horse knickers his anger that the trial is over.

Reid loosens the rope from the man’s feet, working the fray between his fingers. He moves to hand it to the cowgirl but she’s already snapping it from him and coiling it back up. She latches it back to her saddle, chest heaving with the excitement of it all.

“Bitch!” the man spits as Morgan hauls him to his feet.

The girl just smirks and tips her hat back. Reid can’t help but watch her pretty red lips as she says, “I’ll stick my foot so far up your ass, you’ll taste my good leather if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth.” Vulgarity has never sounded better off of anyone else’s tongue. She’s got the first sermon he’s ever wanted to listen to sitting on her lips and he wonders if this is why people believe in God. If pretty girls have always made men believe in things they shouldn’t.

Her drawl is thick, sticky, and unsweet. She’s got more threats bubbling up in her chest, sitting precariously close to her heart. She comfortable in sliding off her horse, landing softly in the dirt.

He won’t admit it, but he can’t ignore how round her ass is in those tight jeans.

She pats her horse, sliding her rough hands under its harnesses and it’s mane. Reid knows enough about horses to distinguish several muscle groups and bone structures from others. He feels out of his depth. He’s drowning being so close to a dream he can never have. He wonders if he should ask her to stay. Tell her there’s reports. Witness statements. Paperwork. Anything to get her to stay longer, to prolong the closeness to the dream. The closeness to her.

The horse gives a bleated scream as Morgan passes with the handcuffed man, both human males looking equally frightened of the animal. It settles into a role of domestication as the girl lets the horse throw its head into her shoulder begging for pats.

Spencer knows he supposed to follow Morgan, but he can’t move. She’s everything in that moment. And just as he gets the courage to thank her, thank her for stopping the burning, she meets his eyes and drops her jaw.

“Well as I live and breathe!” she shouts. It’s too rough for a squeal, more of a whistle of her words. “Spencer Reid, not even a day’s difference. How in the hell are you?”

Is he breathing? He doesn’t think he’s breathing. She knows him. She knows him. She knows him. And he has no idea who she is. He searches her beautiful face. Running over the ruby lips. Over the pink blushing cheeks. The glittered eyelids and the long eyelashes.

She’s so unfamiliar it hurts.

Morgan stops in his tracks. There’s blood in the water for the first time in ages. The last time these waters were chummed was a bartender who called him exactly once.

And it gets worse. Her face falls. Emily and JJ are rounding the corner. Everything in him sinks to the floor. Every details about himself becomes apparent. He’s gangly and uncoordinated. His hair’s too long and he’s got circles under his eyes darker than the grease stains on her horse. He’s so unperfected and this girl reminds him of the girls in high school he could never have.

He wonders for a moment if she’s from high school. She can’t be though, he thinks as he fights the bile in his throat. She’s younger than me.

“You know boy genius?” Morgan asks, handing the killer off to Emily. He’s strutting. Ever the first impressionist. The girl barely glances at him, still studying Reid with a crestfallen little smile perched on her perfect lips.

“Not really,” she settles on, getting a better grip on the reins she’s holding. Getting a better grip on herself. “We met once. In Vegas. I was 15 and I’ve done my growing up since.”

Reid still hasn’t moved. He’s not sure he can. His feet are putty from the run. Putty from her smile. Just ask for her name, he screams at himself, but he can’t. There’s no guarantees. There’s no ‘of courses’, only ‘what ifs’. The what ifs can consume you and he’s worried he’s going to let them.

Morgan extends his hand in the stretching pause. And she shakes it. All crimson lips and pearly teeth. “I’m Agent Derek Morgan. You obviously know, Dr. Reid.”

Her eyebrows raise for half a second. She’s surprised. And impressed. And Reid’s heart warms for no longer than she answers. “I’m Shawn, Shawn Healy.”

“Shawn? That’s an interesting—“

Everyone pauses at the sound of hoofbeats. Whips around to see another girl, a blonde in even more glitter, ride up on her own horse. Shawn swings back onto her horse and spurs him off, following the other girl. Spencer doesn’t see the flags they’re carrying until it’s too late. Until she’s already apologising for leaving. She’s late.

Spencer wonders if he’ll ever see her again. Black curls bouncing over her shoulders. Stained lips. Sun glinting off every inch of her.

In another eight seconds, she’s gone. Eight seconds to win his heart. Eight seconds to ride off with it.

He gives Penelope some condensed version of the story that she’s hooked on anyway. She’s leaned forward, elbows on knees, perched on every word that leaves his mouth like it’s from God himself. It’s comical, he thinks. Spencer’s never really been invested in anyone else’s drama, not for longer than five minutes.

Penelope’s going to be invested, heels sunk in, holding on for dear life. She’s invested for life.

“So, how’d you get her back?” she asks. Starry eyed. Concerned. This is her white whale and she’ll go down with this ship. “She could’ve been anywhere! How’d you two get together?”

And he knows this part isn’t complicated. And it’ll be enough to tide her over.

The quick answer is that he googled her. Read every newspaper article, column, and paper mentioning her. Shawna Healy had been mentioned more times for winning rodeo competitions than he had papers published. She was accomplished in her culture, in her part of the world. She’d won up to regionals while in college. Even boasted to being the first girl on the UT Dallas Rodeo Team. Currently employed at Montgomery’s Cattle Ranch just outside of DC. The same ranch who was hosting a For-Charity Bull-riding Competition.

Spencer hadn’t known what to do with the information so he sat on it. For a month. Until he couldn’t wait any longer. The competition was that weekend. He had to go.

He just kept repeating to himself, this is for academic purposes. This isn’t stalking. You might not even see her. This is for—

And he stops thinking. There’s no reason to think anything other than: I’m sorely underdressed. He’s sinking to the bottom of the deep end of the pool, lead weights tied to his ankles. Every man, woman, and child here is nothing sort of their earned Country label. There’s boots and buckles and ball caps. There’s dust and dip and drawl.

And he’s in a cardigan. Why was that a good idea? He doesn’t know, but he’s tempted to shrug it off and disappear. To run right back out of gates. To get swallowed by everyone staring at him. Gawking at him. He’s back in high school again and he wants to drink bleach.

He’s almost to the bleachers, past the makeshift bar, just at the corner of the dirt arena. Spencer knows he should just go home, shake it off, and dissolve into wishing the world takes pity on him. He’s too out of his depth. These other people belong. He most definitely does not.

And just as he’s about to turn tail, pussyfoot out of every bit of confidence he’s ever had, when he sees her.

She’s on a different horse. One not quite as beastly as the other. This one’s mellow, waiting on the edge of the arena, while she’s chatting absently with another man on horseback. She looks different. She’s far, but there’s no glitter. No outstanding colours. No glinting under the fluorescents. She’s in a cowboy hat, tipped forward over her loose braids. She’s traded her button down for a flannel, rolled up to the elbows and he finally understands why Penelope said it was such a turn on.

There’s no words as the announcer suddenly comes on and a bull bursts from the chute. It’s one of the most terrifying things he’s ever seen. A tiny man holding onto a two ton absolute beast with one hand—it’s absurd! But he can’t stop watching. Can’t stop being impressed. Waits on bated breath for the man to get bucked off after his nearly eight second run.

He does and Spencer has had falls like that. They aren’t pleasant.

The bull bucks and kicks for another few seconds. Shawn and her friend lazily canter forward, guiding the animal back to the other side of the arena and through a gate. She whistles and the gate closes behind it.

The pair retreat back to their corner and the process starts all over again.

“You look a little lost, honey,” a sweet voice chirps beside him. He startles, head caught up in Shawn and every single perfect What If. This girl reminds him of a movie star he can’t remember the name of. Big blonde curls. Big eyelashes. Big smile. Tiny waist.

She’s amazingly beautiful. Amazing doll like. Amazingly…not his type.

Spencer still nervously smiles and clears his throat. “I kind of am.”

“Cardigan gave it away,” she giggles, turning him towards the edge of the stadium seating, dropping them onto the bottom row seat. “I’m Kaley Montgomery. My brother and my sister are this shift’s pick up riders.” Spencer nods along like he knows what she’s saying. “I tell ‘em I’m here to support them and my daddy—he put this whole thing on you know—but I’m just here to pick up cute cowboys.”

“I’m not a cowboy,” Spencer blurts. Her laugh is slick like the sugar in a Venus fly trap. He tries not to get drawn in, but she’s all encompassing. Bright perfume. Colourful clothes. Soft skin and warm empathy. There’s nothing uninviting about her and he wants to move back.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” Kaley pauses to look him over. Whatever she sees makes her softly grin. “Why are you here anyway?”

There’s no judgement. She’s safe and alluring and exactly the opposite of what makes him nervous at that moment. The confidence surges for a moment and he answers, “I’m actually trying to find this girl I met a while ago.”

“Must be a special lady. What’s her name?”

“Shawn Healy,” Spencer sighs. It’s wistful. It’s longing. It’s half desperate. It’s been a month since he’s seen her. A month since he snuck back to see if he could catch her at the rodeo one more tine.

Kaley snorts. Her lady-like instincts kick back in and she covers it was a giggle. “Honey, you met the right girl. Shawn’s like my sister. Her shift ends in a few rounds, and she’s meeting me here if you just wanna stick around for a second.”

And he does. Kaley keeps him laughing, has him singing the high praises of Rodeo sports by the end. It’s maybe another ten minutes. Ten minutes of calming down, easing into the world. Kaley looks like she has whiplash with all of the questions he’s asking. And she’s a little dazed when he blinks at her sheepishly.

“Told he was smart, didn’t I?” a voice says behind him and Spencer jumps out of his skin. He’s desperate to slip it back on without seeming desperate. Without seeming nervous. But it all melts. Shawn’s in front of him. Shawn’s grinning. Shawn’s even more beautiful without the glitter.

“How did you recognise me?” he blurts. There’s stumbling as he tries to backtrack. Shawn’s eyes are green this close up and she smells like leather and oats and apples. His sentences lose traction as she peels her hat off, and sits down next to him.

There’s nothing soft about her. She’s callused. Rough. Nothing like any other girl he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. Spencer doesn’t need more than ten seconds to know that Shawn’s never worn glitter more than the one time and never will again. To known that Shawn is simple and complicated and every grey area he’s ever wanted to explore.

Shawn’s eyes are still and focused. She follows Kaley as the girl stands and leaves. Returns the gaze to Spencer with a glint he can’t categorise. There’s a pause. Lead up to another eight seconds of life changing to be done.

“You were sitting by yourself at a sorting event at the South Point,” she breathes, brushing a piece of dirt off the hat in her hands. Setting it beside her on the bleacher. She gives him plenty of time to stare. To appreciate her.

There’s plenty of time, Spencer thinks and he keeps her gaze with a nervous grin.

Shawn brushes a hand over the frazzled bits of her hat hair. “I came and sat next to you because you looked so lonely. You were so afraid.”

His brain fires and spits and roars to life. He can remember the strange girl who came to sit by him, a sea of empty spaces around him. He’d just committed his mom. Was just about to leave for MIT. He’d been swimming in a sea of self-hatred when he’d been greeted by braces and pimples and too much dark hair. She’d explained every second of the calf sort, almost unprompted, and sussed out every single one of his questions.

It had been as close as he ever dared get to being a cowboy. A decade later and she was every introduction to this world he’d ever had.

Shawn’s got two seconds left on the clock and she doesn’t disappoint. Her fingers are delicate as she places a precarious hand on his knee. There’s a soft pressure to his patella. Shawn’s touching him and he can’t help the shock.

“I had one of those day long crushes. You were the smartest man I’d ever met.”

And no words are suddenly good enough. He wants to tell her that he’s fallen in love now. That he can’t help it. That all he wants is to listen to her drawl on for the rest of his life. That she’d made that last week in Vegas bearable. That she’d been everything. Still was.

But there’s no good way to articulate that. And maybe she knows that. Maybe Shawn Healy was a profiler in a different life because she lets go of his knee and switches subjects. Leans back against the seat behind her, stretching out into the spot of sun.

“It’s my lunch break,” she announces, her boots drifting closer to touching his chucks. The eyes don’t matter as the bleachers stare. What matters is Shawn’s tricky smile. “Have lunch with me.”

He nods and doesn’t think he could bear to disagree with her. Shawn disappears for a moment long enough that he’s worried she isn’t coming back, but she plops french fries into his lap not a second later than the worry begins to fester. Shawn’s not one to back out of commitments, he learns, and ends up hearing enough bad stories that Spencer isn’t sure how they’re getting along so well.

Because they’re getting along so well. Too well. Like they’ve never stopped talking since she was 15 and he was 18. Three hours is too early to say I love you, but he’s thinking it as she talks through a basket of french fries. As she sneaks them to some tiny kids in even tinier cowboy boots.

He’s thinking it every time she laughs.

He’s thinking it as she shoves his shoulder and demands to know why he doesn’t own a pair of jeans.

He’s thinking it even as she stands and apologises and stuffs her business card in his shirt pocket. “We’ll get you cowboy’d up one of these days, Dr. Reid. Now, don’t you forget to call—I’m late again.”

She runs off and he can’t stop thinking I love you so much as she waves at him over her shoulder and once again when she’s in the arena, back on a new horse.

Penelope is near tears at the end of Spencer’s story. He relaxes into the new world he’s entering. The one, two years later, where he’s wondering exactly how much he can keep to himself. How much Garcia will suss out and how much he’ll tell her himself.

Penelope folds her arms and suddenly frowns. She’s got a bee in her bonnet and Spencer’s afraid of what it means.

“Shawn,” she murmurs to herself. “Spencer Reid is shacking up with a cowgirl. I can’t—I’ll see it when I believe it.”

This is her attempt to get Spencer to show her pictures, or call Shawn, or even bring her around. But he doesn’t. He just smirks. No matter how much he actually can’t work the phone in his hands, he doesn’t want to. Shawn’s worried enough about meeting the team, she doesn’t need one Penelope Garcia tracking her down and tackling her.

“How ever much I love this chat we’re having, I have to get back to work,” Spencer announces. He stands. Walks off before Penelope can ask more questions.

And despite all of her yelling and protests and shouting for him to just come back here and tell me if she’s your girlfriend, Penelope knows she won’t get anything more. She’s determined anyway, and plans to corner JJ later on.

She finds doesn’t have to ask JJ, cornered or not. Because not four hours later, does Penelope find one Dr. Spencer Reid admiring the diamonds on the wedding ring he’s holding up between him and the coffee pot. He’s quick to shove it in his pocket as Penelope enters the little kitchenette. Quick to stir sugar in his coffee like nothing’s happened. Like Penelope definitely didn’t see the ring he’s waiting to give Shawn.

“When did you get the ring?” she asks, quietly opening the box of tea.

“Promise not to think I’m crazy?”

Penelope nods, turning just enough to see just how love stricken the poor boy is. “I’d even pinky promise, my love.”

He smirks and softens and says almost so quietly she doesn’t hear, “It was about two weeks after our first date. It took about eight seconds to find the right one.”

#pls I'm doing my best #i've also got anxiety to the moon and back #spencer reid #oc #criminal minds #dr spencer reid

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florenceandthemachine · 4 years ago

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that original lifeline

chapter 3 / 4 - “there’s a hole where your heart lies” - 3.5k

in which things get worse before they can get better, even if they don’t get better.

read on AO3

“Firefighter Diaz, do you copy?”

Eddie tried to smile as he grabbed the mic hanging from his shoulder, but judging by Buck’s face, it was little more than a grimace. “Five by five, Cap. Over.”

“Alright, Chimney, report?”

“So... you’re sure none of them can see you?”

While there really were no ideal times for Eddie and Buck to talk in the station, the radio check proved to be as good a moment as any—sure enough, Eddie was already tuning out the static that was Hen making fun of Chim for his coffee order (not that he blamed her).

It felt… weird, to say the least, to be back at work less than twenty four hours after his son had lobbed the second biggest bombshell Eddie had ever had to deal with right into his lap, but after the theatrics they had gone to the night prior to try and act like everything was fine, Eddie didn’t have the energy for another weird day in him.

“Honestly, Eddie, I don’t know. You being able to see me, that’s already rare, but not impossible. But Chris seeing me? There are no records of a guardian being seen by anyone other than his or her charge—none. Honestly, the only way I can tell I’m still not here is because the rest of your team hasn’t tried to say hello.”

And thank fuck for that. Eddie had absolutely no idea how he would explain away Buck’s presence if the others started to see him, or at least, no idea how he would explain it and not wind up in a straight jacket. Like he could sense Eddie’s frustration (which, he probably could), Buck punched his shoulder lightly, smiling.

“But they haven’t, so stop worrying, Eds. I’ll figure something out, okay?”

Eddie only let out a laugh, looking up as the siren started to wail, only barely louder than Hen and Chim’s bickering. Going for his gear, he looked up to Buck before climbing the truck, voice pitched low. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

It was a missing kid.

Eddie hated missing kids.

It didn’t matter that his son was in school, it didn’t matter that the kid was three years younger than his own, it didn’t matter that he had a mother and sister all waiting for him to turn up—in the back of Eddie’s mind, right at the corner of his vision, his traitorous brain tried its very hardest to supply all the ways that Chris could go missing.

Even when he more or less found Hayden, it was a hollow victory; Eddie couldn’t see how it was anything close to a win when the kid was still trapped in a pipe forty feet below the ground, unable to do more than move his head. It was all he could do to ignore the low level of terror that pushed through his own stomach, and how fucking helpless he felt while they had to wait—for hours, fucking hours—to get a drill up and ready to go.

He had gotten close to having to step away more than once throughout the day, and now, the night, the only thing anchoring him to the present was Buck’s hand, on his shoulder, gripping his arm, pressing against his side. Chris was right, Eddie thought, Buck would be a good firefighter—he was calm under pressure, for one, and right now he deserved all the credit for keeping Eddie’s head on straight, especially when he stepped up to take the palm mic from a mom who was pushed well beyond her breaking point.

Yeah, Eddie could relate to that.

“Hey Hayden, my name is Eddie. I’m a firefighter, here with your mother and a whole lot of other people.”

He felt Buck’s hand on his shoulder again, and he took a breath, steeling himself.

“We’re all working to get you out of there, so stay calm, okay? It might get a little... noisy. Don’t be scared. We’ll be there soon.”

His smile was thin as he handed the radio mic back to Chim, swallowing heavily as he excused himself, making his way into the house easily. The mother had wasted no time in telling them to help themselves to anything that they had needed, and Eddie made a beeline into the bathroom, gripping the sink as he hunched over and tried to get a grip on his breathing.

He really hated missing kids.

“Eddie, you’re okay.”

Buck. Of course Buck was there, hand on his back, rubbing in small circles. “Chris is okay, he’s still in school, Carla is bringing him to Abuela’s after, and you know you’re going to get bombarded with pictures.”

He was right, of course he was right, but that didn’t make it suck any less. Eddie opened his mouth to respond before motion in the mirror caught his eye—the house was still full of cops, firefighters, and now, drill operators. Buck didn’t seem to mind, though, smiling at Eddie’s reflection anyway.

“You want me to go check on him? It might take me a bit to track him down properly, but—“

Eddie shook his head sharply, moving to grip the hand Buck had on his forearm. God, no, he couldn’t imagine being alone right now, couldn’t imagine the idea of sending Buck away to settle his own paranoia. He would be fine. He just needed to splash some water on his face and move on.

He did splash some water on his face, more frequently as the night dragged on. Those were the only moments that he let go of Buck’s hand, but that was a whole other story. Buck remained silent about it, after all, even if Eddie caught him smiling a few times as they watched the drill go down. He wasn’t even sure when it had started to rain—the 118 had basically been blocked off from all other calls until they could finish their day here. Eddie was getting antsy; honestly, the fact that Eddie was unwilling to let go of the hand of his guardian angel said more about his abandonment issues (after being on both sides of that story) than an hour of therapy could bring up.

Buck’s presence was always welcome, of course, but it could only do so much to calm Eddie’s nerves. The longer the night dragged on, the more Eddie felt like he had to do something, had to step up, and Buck started looking at him like he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

Which, well...

“Cap, I’ll go in.”

“Edmundo.” He had never heard Buck use his full name before, had never heard the other sound so pleading; but while it definitely was enough to get him to pause, it would take more to get him to stop. “I was talking to him on the radio. He knows my voice. It makes sense.”

“Like fuck it does.” Buck snapped behind him, but Eddie couldn’t turn around to gauge his reaction even if he wanted to.

“Suit me up. I’m going down.”

It was almost too easy to pretend that Buck wasn’t mad at him while he was getting ready, strapping on oxygen tanks and harnesses, was easy to pretend that the only reason Buck hadn’t smacked him upside the head was because they weren’t alone, but Eddie knew that was all it was.

Before he knew it—far too soon, honestly—he was ready to sink into the fucking earth.

Unfortunately, it didn’t occur to Eddie that going down alone really and truly meant that he would be going down alone. He had gotten painfully used to Buck being within arms distance of him, no matter where he was, so when he poised himself over the hole, strapped to a rope as wide around as his thumb—

“I can’t go down with you, Eddie.”

—well, he at least had an excuse as to why his face fell.

“No one can see me, but… but I still take up space. I can’t go down with you, what if there’s no room? What if I block you in, or block you from getting to the kid?” Buck sounded completely fucking wrecked, and Eddie swallowed as he looked around, painfully aware of all the eyes on him when all he wanted to do was bail out. He couldn’t do this on his own. He fucking couldn’t.

“Alright, Cap. Let’s go.”

He felt the winch start to wind up as Buck moved forward, and it was killing him to have to fight off any responses when Buck leaned forward and kissed his forehead, the brief contact sending a warmth through his bones that he wasn’t entirely sure was related to Buck’s angelic being.

“For good luck.”

Honestly, Eddie really needed to rethink what constituted ‘rock bottom’. Sure, okay, cutting his own rope had been stupid, but he hadn’t given it a second thought—if he had been pulled out, the kid would have drowned. Hell, Eddie was close to that himself, taking several hits off of the tank Bobby had given him whenever he needed a breath that didn’t taste like mud or metal.

“This is Diaz.”

Because he stayed down there, he was able pull the kid out of the pipe and at the very least, give him some freedom to take a deep breath in the tiny little aquifer that Eddie had dug into.

“Can anyone hear me? This is Eddie.”

He was absolutely clinging to that justification, too. Sure, he had no way of knowing how fast the water would rise, but the water in the pipe had surpassed where the kid was before Chim had made his appearance. Eddie cut his rope, the kid got to live. Hooray.

“I’m alive. I’m still alive down here!”

Handing the kid off to Chim had been cake. It probably didn’t hurt that when Eddie looked up through the hole, all he saw was light. Somehow, knowing that Buck was going to be pissed off at him gave Eddie hope.

“I’m still alive down here!”

And then the drill had collapsed, and any light, any hope that Eddie had, had been snuffed out just like that.

“Anyone?”

There was nothing. No light, no sound, nothing. Eddie went from the sound of pounding rain and muffled shouts to inky blackness and the sound of his own racing heart, and he couldn’t do much more than shout, hands dug into the dirt beneath him as he started to shake.

He had gambled it all—everything he had, his life, his job, his family, and he had lost. His family, fuck, how was Chris supposed to handle this so soon after Shannon’s death? How could Eddie have done this, how could he have stepped forward when he had so much of his own shit at risk, how—

“…idiotic, arrogant asshole…”

Eddie had to shy away from a sudden burst of light behind him long before he heard any words, covering his eyes with a gloved hand.

“Buck?”

“…completely moronic, you—you cut your own fucking line, Eddie! What the fuck were you thinking, you could have been crushed—“

“Buck.”

Eddie hated how weak he sounded, but he couldn’t bring himself to particularly care—not when the result was Buck’s hands on his shoulders, the light dimming enough that Eddie could see properly. Buck was pissed, no doubt about it, but the emotions took a side step to a look of concern, of worry, and just like that Eddie was gone, voice tight as tears carved new tracks in the mud on his cheeks.

“I’m—I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so sorry I put you in this situation and—and Chris, god, I’m such a terrible father, and—“

“Woah, woah, calm down, we’re not going to go down that road right now.”

It took some awkward repositioning on Buck’s part but they were both able to face one another, water lapping at their legs as it slowly rose. “You’re reckless, sure, but you’re not an idiot. Being stuck down here doesn’t make you stupid, as much as I hate to admit it. Now, what do we know?” Buck’s tone was bitter, but there was no mistaking the earnest truth in his voice, and Eddie felt his face crumple when Buck looked back to him.

“Well, we’re... about thirty five feet down. One primary entrance and exit point, now blocked by the drill. There’s no radio communications, no way to send a message, and if I had to guess, no way my GPS is picking up anything.” Eddie said, smacking the useless unit on his wrist. “The water is rising, slower than it was before now that the pipe is mostly flooded, but it’s still rising, and I.... I really hope you have some magic up your sleeve.” Eddie’s voice was mostly joking, but the look that Buck shot him quickly crushed any shadow of humor he was reaching for.

“I mean, the fire truck was easy. It’s a movable thing, it’s not fixed, it’s small in the grand scheme of things, but this... Eddie, even if I could move enough earth to get you out of here, I’d be just as likely to crush you. There has to be another way out.” Buck said, his hand easily bringing Eddie in closer, tendrils of warmth creeping under his wetsuit.

There wasn’t, and every soldiers sense in Eddie’s body was urging him to scream that truth at the top of his lungs until Buck understood it, but they had come too far for him to break down now.

Well, to break down again.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Eddie asked after a long moment, face buried in Buck’s shoulder, Buck’s returning sigh more of an attempt at some levity than anything else.

“Because you’re an asshole with free will, and I can’t stop that. Your specific blend free will is just a little more self sacrificing than others.”

Eddie gave a short laugh, the sound weak and mostly humorless, allowing himself to settle into a moment of silence.

It was easy enough to be quiet when he wasn’t alone with the sound of his own breathing—Buck was still holding him close, his body alight, and Eddie let his breathing time to the pulses radiating off of Buck’s taller frame. The light seemed to dance along the walls of the cave, bouncing and refracting off the water, sinking beneath the murky depths. Buck’s focus seemed to stray to the water as Eddie felt his mind wander, but it was different now—the panic of the moment had given way to a heavy fog, starting to dull just the edge of his senses.

Honestly, the moment was kind of... peaceful.

It might even have been pretty, Eddie thought, his brain becoming a little more addled as he burned through the pocket of oxygen they had in their hidey hole.

Maybe this wouldn’t be a bad way to die after all. As long as he suffocated before he drowned, anyway.

“Buck, I need you to listen for a second.”

His words were slow, spoken between splashes of nasty water as he turned to look at Buck, who was still intently focused on the water, which was easily lapping at their shoulders.

“Eddie, shut up.”

“You—you have to tell Chris—“

“No.”

“Buck, I can’t, I—“

“No, Eddie, you don’t get to tap out right now. This is my job, it’s my fucking job, and I am very, very good at what I do. Even if my fucking charge cut his own fucking lifeline.” Buck snapped, voice deadly calm, and Eddie flinched back. “Now, I think—I think I have a plan. How’s that tank that Bobby gave you?”

A brief glance at his wrist confirmed what he already knew. “It’s yellow. Two minutes, tops.”

“That’s all I need. Come on, put the mouthpiece in. Close your eyes until I let you go, then we’re gonna have to swim for it, okay?”

“Buck…”

“Now, Edmundo.”

If Eddie had the energy, he might have felt afraid in the moment, but when he looked back at Buck all he saw was angel—in the semi-sacreligious, biblical sense. The glow under his skin, which had been growing all evening, was almost blinding now, the very air cracking around him. His eyes were alight like coals and his skin seemed to match the temperature as he grabbed Eddie, arms around his waist. Eddie hardly had the time to put his mouthpiece in before Buck slid them under the water, and then they were off.

The deeper they went, the more Eddie found himself wishing he had suffocated—especially if drowning was the only other option. He could feel everything, every rock scraping against his suit, every tear at his harness, and the pressure, fuck, the pressure, he couldn’t tell if his ears had popped or if the drums just burst entirely. He kept his eyes shut, as he promised, but by that point Buck was so bright that his flimsy eyelids couldn’t keep the light out, and it was all he could do to keep his breathing steady.

If he had dared to peek, he probably would have seen the indicator on his wrist start to blink red, but it wasn’t like that mattered. The air in his mouth had gone stale as soon as Buck let him go, eyes snapping open, trying to tell which way was up as he started to kick wildly. He made quick work of everything weighing him down—the harness, the helmet, the tank, the air long since bad anyway.

He could only barely register Buck’s light in the murky water, legs moving sluggishly beneath him, a stream of frustrated bubbles leaving his lips. His legs were starting to give out, each kick toward the surface weaker than the last, darkness creeping in around the edges of his vision even with the lake being lit up like a beacon.

Suddenly, Eddie was eleven again, and Buck was pulling him out of the swimming hole behind his parents house—only now, he wasn’t sure if he could make it, wasn’t sure if he would be able to surface before the darkness ripped his vision away.

He choked out another mouthful of bubbles as the water around him pulsed with light, and with a sharp tug around his waist he was suddenly launched forward, the cold water slicing across his cheeks like liquid daggers. The closest thing he could compare it to was being thrown from the truck, after the bomb had gone off—one moment, he was choking on his own exhalation, the next, he was hitting the shore, hard, sputtering and coughing even as he continued to drag himself away from the water.

Somehow, the worst part of all of this was the fucking rain—relentlessly pounding down on him, drowning out the sound of his own ragged breathing, his footsteps, he couldn’t even hear Buck stumble behind him anymore. His attempts at encouragement had just turned into ragged sounds, barely there words as he struggled to suck in another breath, blindly staggering away from the water and toward the steady pulse of red lights.

Back toward home.

Eddie could hardly believe it.

He wasn’t sure if it was the last kick of adrenaline or the afterglow of Buck’s warmth holding him up, but he started moving faster, feet scrabbling for purchase on the slick terrain as he stumbled. His breathing had started to become ragged as he dragged himself along, but he still felt his heart start to pound as he heard voices—Bobby’s voice, the familiar tone of orders being barked out, vaguely hearing his own name over the roar of the rain.

They hadn’t given up on him.

He heard more than he felt the moment his legs finally gave out, stumbling face first into the huddle of first responders, the burning feel to his skin finally ebbing into something more pleasant, more bearable, even as the rain started to sink into his bones. He wasn’t in great shape, to say the least; the only reason he remained upright for even a moment was because of the quick thinking of his teammates, reaching out for him as he stumbled.

“I’m—I’m pretty cold.” He got out as he went down, the sudden loss of warmth from Buck’s hands forcing him to focus on the present, even as the touch lingered, skin warm where Buck had pushed him forward.

Things moved pretty quickly after that. He was half pulled, half walked into the nearest rig, foil blankets tight around his shoulders as an oxygen mask was forced over his face and a blood pressure cuff started to cut off circulation to his arm.

He couldn’t tell where Buck was anymore, and how was that even possible? Buck had lit up the tiny-ass cave they were stuck in like a beacon, he had made the entire lake glow like a lighthouse, he had burned like—

Like a flame, Eddie realized, burning itself out.

No sooner did he make that connection did his entire body go cold, the lingering warmth from Buck’s touch snuffed out like a candle, and Eddie felt a noise he couldn’t own up to rip itself free from his throat as he started to shiver.

Fuck.

“Hen, he’s—he’s gone, fuck, I have to—“

“Eddie, stop, we got the kid, he’s okay, you—Eddie!”

His entire body was shaking as he tossed his mask aside and tore himself from her grip, making it only a few steps before he fell to the ground, tears mixing with mud as he cracked his nails trying to dig. “No! No, no, I can’t leave him—I have to get him, he’s—no, fuck, no!”

He only vaguely registered Hen calling for help over the sound of his own crying, voice broken as he continued to wail, the noises coming from his body sounding like something ripped from the depths of hell. Suddenly multiple sets of hands were pulling him back, wrapping him in shock blankets, strapping him to lie down on what he thought was a backboard.

There was already darkness starting to creep in at the edges of his vision, even as his eyes spun wildly in his skull, taking in Bosko, Hen, Chim, Bobby, Kinard...

No sandy hair. No pink lips. No blue eyes.

It wasn’t the first time he couldn’t see Buck, but this was different. He could still feel him, could still feel his presence, the good that he put into the world, and now…

He was gone.

Buck was gone.

And as Eddie finally gave in and passed out, blackness swirling out from the corners of his vision, he thought he would never be warm again.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #evaneddie #911 #hurt/comfort #Eddie begins #guardianangel!Buck #fic #buddiefic #911fic #evaneddiefic #flospeaks

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

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More Than Meets the Eye #14- Everything’s Coming Up Overlord

Our issue opens up with a prologue.

Two miles below the surface of the moon, two miners are going at it, as they discuss the merits of their respective tools. As the guy with the pickaxe hits the floor below him, he exposes a bright green light hiding in the ground.

The miners, amazed, make a call to their boss, Momus; the very same Momus who would one day become a Senator and eventually be killed by the Senate for his Decepticon sympathies.

Momus, once made aware of the situation, makes his own call to the Functionist Council, siting that a Code 113- because of COURSE it is- is taking place. The Council responds by shutting down the mine and sending a representative to check things out. The representative claims his name is Three of Twelve, but I know The One Electronic when I friggin’ see him.

The green light, once authenticated, is scheduled for retrieval and “nurturing”. Because Momus is in charge of the mine, and this green light is a super big deal, Three of Twelve grants him the status of Alt-Mode Exempt; he can basically do whatever the hell he wants, free of Functionist meddling. Dang, Whirl should have tried digging one of these things up! Would’ve saved him a lot of heartache.

Guys, c’mon, it’s Momus! You ought to know by now that he’ll fuck you, but he doesn’t fucking need you. You ain’t getting a thing, and you also won’t have any time to unionize, because you’re going to be dead by the end of the day.

That green light turned out to be a spark, the sort of “soul” that a Transformer has at the core of their being. That murderous little ball of light is a robot zygote.

…They really let the guy with the well-documented thing with pregnancy handle the reproductive aspect of the world building, huh?

Anyway, it’s time to see what Milne’s take on Last Stand of the Wreckers looks like.

Wow, that is just the uncoolest line. I mean, wow.

Make note of Overlord’s lips here. We’ll be seeing a lot more of them once the lady robots make an appearance.

Overlord makes quick work of Springer, punching him into the dirt, and we see someone who most certainly was NOT present for the events of Last Stand.

We do that, jumping to the part where Ironfist explodes Overlord with his mind.

He didn’t say that! My immersion in this story about giant space robots is broken!

This obviously leads to Overlord being reduced to a flaming skeleton, and he screams at Chromedome to scoot his boot so he can get at Verity. Chromedome refuses, antagonizes the guy who’s at least three times his size, then initiates a scene change with a literal snap of his fingers.

Lot of good reference material for Chromedome in this issue. Artists take note.

Here is our first taste of mnemosurgery on someone who isn’t dead or dying, as well as our first taste of Chromedome having something resembling self confidence.

Outside of Overlord’s brain foyer, Chromedome stands on a forklift, with both of his horrid, needly hands punched into his patient’s head. Overlord is still very much in the position we saw him in issue #6, hooked up in a full body harness in something called a slow cell.

Overlord, still very sad that he got stood up by Megatron, tells Chromedome to kill him. Chromedome refuses, saying that he wouldn’t even if he could.

Hey, Chromedome. Maybe don’t tell this guy you can’t kill him. Just seems like maybe not the best idea.

Chromedome gets back to work, getting perhaps a bit too comfortable as he pulls himself up a chair from- I dunno, Overlord’s brain aether.

This really is your element, isn’t it, Chromedome? You’re just straight-up power tripping right now. No wonder Rewind has to literally beg you to not do this.

We jump into another one of Overlord’s memories, where’s he’s getting his shit absolutely destroyed by Megatron in a gladiator fight. We get our first taste of information creep as a concept, which is referred to as eidetic decay here.

I wanna know what the purple guy with the blue visor’s face situation is. Don’t think we’ve run into anyone like that before. It’s a little concerning, if I’m being honest.

We move on to the next memory, but it looks like “same shit, different day” is a huge part of who Overlord is as an individual, because it’s just more of him getting whaled on by Megatron.

After this uncomfortably intimate moment, Megatron puts his bucket helmet back on and states that Overlord is finally “ready.”

Ready for what, you might ask?

You remember that obscene sort of fascination of Roberts’ that we keep running into? We’re about to delve into some of that right now. But first- the set up.

We’re in a new memory, in a place called the Foundry, and Overlord’s been stripped down to his robotic skivvies and placed in a large glass tank. Megatron walks up, berating Rossom (of Rossom’s Trinity fame) and saying “to hell with safety protocols, I’m Megatron and I say we make Overlord into a Phase Sixer, meh meh meh.” Shockwave is there.

Rossom’s concerned about this project, because A) they’re going to be using the last of their ununtrium to do this, and B) if it works, Overlord’s going to be the strongest motherfucker ever, and he’ll probably try to kill Megatron.

Ununtrium is something that actually exists in the real world, though it in no way works like it does in MTMTE. Ununtrium is actually an outdated name for the element Nihonium, a synthetic chemical element, whose most stable form has a half-life of 10 seconds. It has no known properties or qualities, because it simply doesn’t last long enough to be studied that in-depth. So why use this element in the story? The answer lies in the placeholder name itself. Ununtrium was named so because it’s the 113th element in the periodic table.

In other words, Ununtrium was used because Roberts is a massive nerd.

Because Overlord’s a Point One Percenter, and in fact that murderous little spark we saw at the beginning of the issue, he ought to be perfectly fine. Shockwave has planted a killswitch in the guy’s brain in case he tries something funny on Megatron.

The narrative is interrupted for a moment as Chromedome chastises Overlord for being kind of sleepy in his memories. Then Chromedome lets something slip that he probably really shouldn’t have.

With the contingencies in place, it’s time to get the Phase Sixer show on the road.

Well, there it is.

Oh, and a bit more.

Overlord thanks Rossom for all his hard work by crushing his skull, and thus the story of how he became a Phase Sixer draws to a close.

Megatron, you had literally zero reason to say that. This is how you can tell Roberts wrote this scene to fuck with people.

Back in the white void, Chromedome’s patting himself on the back over a job well done. In the background, Overlord’s smiling.

It’s never a good thing when Overlord smiles.

If Chromedome had just kept things professional and didn’t keep bringing up their shared history, Overlord wouldn’t be able to have another flashback- this one’s got Starscream and Thundercracker in it! No word on where Skywarp’s gotten to. Skywarp doesn’t get a ton of attention in IDW Transformers.

The three of them are bombing what appears to be a wasteland, on word from Decepticon intel that there’s something worth looking for in the area. Turns out, intel was right.

Chromedome, suddenly antsy, pulls them out of the memory, demanding to know why this is happening. Overlord just smiles.

Oh, hey Brainstorm. What brings you to the New Institute?

Chromedome, your war crimes are showing! Turns out Mnemosurgery and Shadowplay are the same fucking thing.

As Chromedome assists in what appears to be an empurata in progress, he’s shot in the gut, as present-Chromedome screams and reaches for himself.

Overlord and company release Soundwave, who is in no way grateful for the assist. They leave quickly, Overlord taking Trepan as a souvenir, because that’s just the kind of guy he is. He kidnaps people.

As Chromedome in the past lays bleeding out on the floor, Chromedome in the present decides it’s time to share his feelings.

Prowl did Chromedome a solid after Zeta came into Primehood, and got him an internship at the New Institute. The one time Prowl was nice to his partner, and it’s to hook him up with a job that can and will kill him the more frequently he does it.

Chromedome was so good at poking people in the brain, he got a nickname out of it. That nickname? Chromedome.

Yeah, his real name is Tumbler.

Chromedome remembers himself, and the fact that they shouldn’t be seeing any of this, because Overlord is the patient and he wasn’t there for this info dump.

Overlord’s still smiling.

Overlord may be a lot of things, but he’s no dummy. He took Trepan with him to learn mnemosurgery, in an attempt to learn the secrets of the Achilles Virus Shockwave planted in his brain. He didn’t complete his training, because Megatron caught wind, but major smart boy points to you, Overlord.

Now he’s going to use his own mnemosurgery skills to bust on out of here.

Chromedome, Overlord has been killing fools since literally before he was born, and you basically handed him a rope to hang you with.

SMASH CUT TO:

There he is, Cybertron’s #1 Bastard Bachelor! Of course he’s involved with this!

All that stuff Rung told Fort Max in issue #6, about Overlord’s spark being in a whiteout vacuum? A giant ruddy lie fed to the public, to give High Command a chance to figure out what they were going to do with him.

Prowl, they are MARRIED, you giant space ass.

Prowl has a theory that Phase Sixers aren’t born, but made. We as the readers, of course, already know this, but we’ve got to know where we’ve been before we can figure out where we’re going. He’s invited Chromedome to his office to ask him to mnemosurgery Overlord up and get the secret Krabby Patty formula Phase Sixer recipe.

Chromedome, doesn’t want to do that, though. He wants to live in a peaceful world, where Rewind doesn’t have to worry about his impending, work-related death.

How exactly mnemosurgery kills practitioners is never exactly explained. I, however, have a theory.

We’ve already established that if you inject enough times, you start getting crossover with your patients’ memories in your own brain. We’ve seen it happen with Chromedome in the Annual, and it was vivid enough that he wasn’t sure if the memory of committing suicide by way of Gideon’s Glue was his own or not.

Because Transformers are very similar in bodily functions to humans- because this isn’t hard sci-fi- it stands to reason that more than just memories reside in the brain module. The brain controls movement, organ regulation, chemical balances, all that jazz.

Where does the line for memory get drawn? Who’s to say that bodily functions wouldn’t start bleeding through the connection? If you can have memories bleed through and have to double-check with someone on whether or not they’re yours, who’s to say that it can’t happen with other parts of the brain? Like programming for your robotic organs? If a patient clearly remembers how hard their fuel pump was going during a stressful situation, does that stress response translate for the surgeon’s body type, or does it stay at what it had been for the original brain?

If Chromedome’s fuel pump starts going at a rate designed for a guy the size of Fort Max, it’s probably going to explode.

Getting back to the story at hand, Chromedome says “thanks, but no thanks” and is walking out of the room, when Prowl does something kind of stupid:

He starts threatening to blackmail the guy who has pointy mind-wiper fingers and doesn’t really like him all that much.

This is one of the larger seeds involved with a dropped story plot, in which it would have been revealed that Chromedome had been part of the mission that led to Dominus Ambus’ disappearance. It was seeded very early on in MTMTE, but never came to fruition, mainly due to the fact that Roberts didn’t want to give Chromedome and Rewind’s relationship that much of a trench to jump over. I mean, how would you even handle that, finding out that your current husband was complacent in the disappearance of your first husband? It’d be messy. Way too messy to be wrapped up cleanly. There’s other aspects of that plot thread that I’ll cover later on, but trust me when I say it would have needed its own spin-off series to be properly handled and resolved. A spin-off series that it wouldn’t have gotten.

As it currently stands, the interpretation of what exactly Chromedome did that would warrant him getting cagey here is wide open. Was he involved with the Ostaros situation in Sins of the Wreckers? Did he have a past with a Decepticon that Rewind wouldn’t have approved of? Was he a Decepticon at some point? Does he not like dogs? It’s up to YOU, dear reader!

Prowl’s threat goes about as well as you’d expect.

I mean, really, what did you THINK was going to happen?

Chromedome wipes the memory of making the threat, as well as the information that made the threat possible, then leaves, and Prowl is none the wiser.

Overlord’s not done yet, though. He moves on to the next memory, which involves a giant, naked human. Chromedome enters Brainstorm’s lab, while he’s hard at work on the holomatter avatars. Brainstorm has stolen Perceptor’s sniper sight and is wearing it on his head. Why does he have it? What purpose does it serve him? Who knows!

Drift is accompanying Chromedome on this little visit, and thus the identity of the mystery door-whisperer from issue #12 is revealed.

Watch out for his hands, Drift.

The mystery of the oddly threatening medical drone is also revealed- Brainstorm had them all loaded up with a speech recognition program that would alert Drift whenever Overlord was mentioned.

With introductions to Project: Total Insanity out of the way, it’s time to get technical.

Five seconds for Overlord is thirty minutes for the rest of the Lost Light. In theory, if he somehow broke loose from his bindings and escaped his cell, they’d have plenty of time to scramble the troops and get ready for him.

Let’s see how that theory works when applied to real world testing, shall we?

Overlord gets the code to the cell, thanks to this merry little jaunt inside Chromedome’s brain he’s decided to take, rips free of his bonds, and makes his exit. Chromedome, temporarily paralyzed and mute from the strain of doing such a long deep reading on Overlord, can only watch as he walks out the door, making a promise to find Rewind first when he starts killing everyone on the ship.

Oh man, this next one’s gonna be a doozy.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #mtmte #issue 14 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #text post #long post #comic script writing

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wesker20 · 6 years ago

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Fallen Hero 1.5 Episode 1: I Really Hate Polymorphs

On hindsight you are starting to regret beating the Rangers so handily. In the last four months you have become the new target for most new and upcoming heroes seeking some recognition. Is not that they are any good or challenging, but you have seen bigger villains fall because they were swarmed by many weaker heroes. If you weren’t careful, one of them could get lucky and take you down. Like the one you fought last week. You beat him easily enough but he managed to sneak in a hard blow, destroying half of your mask. Mortum had a field day with that one. You killed him but still, if he had harnessed any more energy into that punch, he could have decapitated you.

So lately you have become a little paranoid; ok more than usual, keeping an eye out all around while your crew takes care of a small gang that decided to take your name as theirs. Yes, that is another problem: small time criminals taking your name to have a better reputation themselves. This latest one has taken to calling themselves the Army of Mastermind. Besides how lazy that name is, they smear your reputation by randomly killing anyone who insults them. Not that you are against killing obviously, but killing a guy in the middle of the day, on a public street because he called you “a little bitch” is stupid and in turn makes you look petty. So a message to all other gangs who have your name is in order. And so you put all of your contacts to use and one of them gave you a tip of where their hideout was.

“Boss,” you hear Pelayo’s voice in your communicator.

“What?”

“Everything’s set.”

“No boosts or mods in there?” you question to make sure.

“None that we have noticed.”

“Good. Move in,” you order. Plan is simple. Get in, plant a small bomb and get out before anyone knows you are here. If anything goes wrong your crew has their orders to escape as fast as possible, no heroics or last minute attempts for success. Or at least deep down you hope it goes that way. And then you hear the explosion.

“Pelayo, what’s going on? That came out early.”

“They knew we were coming boss.” You hear shooting and screams through the communicator.

“And I remember ordering you to escape if that was the case,” you answer, frustrated.

“We tried but-“

“Nehal,” you whisper with little surprise. The girl needs to learn self-control.

“And then Zaza followed up.”

You roll your eyes at that too. Too trigger happy for his own good. Thankfully Zaza is a great shot so at least no bullet will go to waste. “Get out of there now, that’s an order. And tell Nehal that if she doesn’t follow, I’ll go there and knock her out myself,” you finish. It would not be the first time she tries to fight it out to the bitter end. You admire her determination but you have more use for a living underling than a dead one.

You quickly jump down, using your rockets to soften your landing and run through the alley towards the gang’s hideout. You begin to wonder how they could have known you were coming. Someone tipped them off obviously, but who? Only you, Rosie, and the rest of the crew knew of this. Not even Mortum knew. Ok scratch that, she most likely did, but you doubt she would care or bother to do it. And even less if it meant endangering Jane. Rosie is too loyal for that and the crew would not sabotage their own mission. So who the hell tipped them off?

And then you feel the sudden thoughts of rage and you duck, dodging what appears to be some sort of long rope. You turn around and see someone standing at least twenty feet away in the shadows. And they have an unnaturally long arm, long enough to reach you. It takes you a second to put two and two together and realize that what you thought was a long rope is actually an arm and you roll to the side dodging the incoming attack from said arm. Having failed the arm retracts back to its owner and the owner walks out of the shadows.

“Didn’t thought I would find you here. Lucky me,” says the figure in a feminine voice, a young feminine voice. As you stand up you eye her up and find a young woman, probably no older than Herald, dressed in a red and white skin tight suit and a mask that covers most of her face except for her mouth and her long black hair. She stands in front of you, fists closed and eyes staring deep into you, and you sense a deep seethed rage directed at you. What the hell did you do to her?

“If by lucky you mean you’ll end up as a bloody pulp then sure, let’s go with that,” you answer with sarcasm. It’s nothing new for you, just another rookie biting more than they can chew.

“We’ll see about that asshole.”

“You know it’s rude not to present yourself. My name’s Mastermind,” you say making an elaborated bow. Might look like you are cocky and not taking her seriously… ok the second half is true but the first half is not. You are simply trying to extend the conversation, confuse her, or piss her off. Either of those three will give you an advantage over her and see what she is about.

“And I’m about to kick your fucking ass,” she yells and both of her arms shoot forward, elongating and aiming at you. Pissed off it is. And she’s a polymorph. Shit.

You are long out of the way by the time the arms reach you. But then her arms quickly retract and she leaps forward turning into some sort of wheel and rolling at you fast enough that you need both the Rat King and your own abilities to get out of the way. Damn, she’s fast. May be a rookie but she knows how to use those powers. Shit. You really hate polymorphs.

They are arguably one of the most, if not the most, annoying enemies to fight against. They can stretch, twist and transform their body into almost anything they want. You cannot punch them or kick them unless you want to be trapped in their elastic bodies, and you can’t lock them in keys or locks as they either slip out of your grasp or turn those moves against you and lock you on one instead. Or both. And that’s just physically speaking, mentally speaking it is a whole other issue. Their minds are as chaotic and transformative as their bodies, you get in and you might never get out. You can sense some surface level thoughts but that’s it. Anything else risks getting you trapped in their minds.

“Pelayo, I’m a bit occupied. Don’t wait for me, just go. I’ll meet you all at the hide out,” you whisper into the microphone.

“Boss, are you sure?”

“Yes. Now go,” you say with authority. A quick yes sir and now you have nothing to worry about. Well except for Polygirl over there. She quickly jumps from wall to wall and jumps at you, expanding her body until it resembles a sheet; a big, big sheet that threatens to cover and trap you, a sheet that you cannot dodge. You really hate Polymorphs.

“Got you,” she yells triumphantly until you rest the palm of your hand on her and activate it. Suddenly a small shock of electricity shoots out and the girl screams in pain. She lets you go and falls back. Just a little thing you asked Mortum to add just in case you found yourself surrounded by multiple enemies. It instantly paralyzes most people and heroes. But of course, polymorphs just love to spit in the face of that.

You flex your muscles trying to look as nonchalant as possible. “Listen I got better things to do, so how about we call it quits tonight and meet another day shall we?” you say. You are sure that will not work but it doesn’t hurt to try.

“You are not getting away!” she yells and launches herself at you. Oh great. You shoot your palm forward but she twists her body around you and instead tangles herself through your entire body, tying up your arms and legs. You shoot your rockets and fly both of you against a brick wall, crashing through it and knocking her down. Instantly your mind is swallowed up by the Rat King’s own as it tries to protect you. You soothe it, letting it know you are safe and sound. For now anyway, you have to get out of here fast. This girl is determined to get you for whatever reason. Huh, what is her reason?

“Hey I’m beginning to wonder, why do you want to get me so badly?” you ask taking the direct approach while mixing in a bit of mockery. She seems a lot more determined to get you than most other rookies you have fought. Not only that but you felt her rage before you first saw her and then again when she rushed at you. She really hates you.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You don’t even know who I am?” she says as if it should be obvious.

“I have far too many other, better things to do than to search up every rookie who thinks they are good enough to fight me, so no.”

“You arrogant son of a bitch. Do you even remember the hero you killed last week?” she says more pissed off and incredulous.

“What about him? Another rookie who thought he was big shit,” you say as her eyes narrow on you. Though you asked, you are starting to put all of the pieces together. And you do not like how that looks.

“He was… he was,” she tries to say, tears in her eyes.

And you catch the stray thought “Oh, boyfriend.” Shit. Should’ve known something like this would happen. “Alright listen up, he’s the one who rushed at me first ok? Is not my fault that he…” but your words fall on deaf ears as her hands grow, pick up two dumpsters and prepares to crush you with them. I really, really hate polymorphs.

You rush out of the way but she throws one at you that catches you. You end up with a dumpster on you and through a brick wall. Thanks Mortum for her suit, you really appreciate it. You push the Dumpster out of the way to find yourself inside an abandoned building. You quickly come up with a plan, just lure her in and use the nanites to eat through a column and let the roof fall on her. It wouldn’t kill her but it will delay her for a while. Well, you hope so.

“Ok listen can we at least talk about it,” you say but she shoots another elongated arm at you and you dodge. “I guess that’s a no.” You dodge another incoming attack and position yourself just besides a column.

“You’ve caused enough pain already. There’s nothing to talk about,” she says.

Your eyes narrow on her so much you think she could see them behind your mask. “Kid, you have no idea what true pain really is,” you say and proceed to touch the column with your left hand. The nanites shoot out eagerly and devour the column. The girl gasps as she stares at the disintegrating column. You rush out of the way just in time as the roof collapses on top of her. The entire two stories building falls and you wonder if that was a bit excessive. Movement under the rocks change your mind and you decide to move. But just as you begin walking your communicator turns up and you hear Pelayo’s voice.

“Boss.”

“What is it now? Did Zaza or Nehal do something stupid again?” you ask wondering. First Polygirl over here and now something else.

“No sir. Worst. We have a big problem.”

You hear someone scream a curse, a scream that can only belong to Nehal. “How big?” you ask.

“A big silver problem.”

Oh, Argent.

Shit.

Episode 2: Three's a Crowd

#fallen hero rebirth #fanfiction #mc #villain #oc #may or may not go against canon depends on what comes out of retribution #a bit more lighthearted

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maryellencarter · 6 years ago

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"A Matter of Time". Is this the one with the black hole? Who knows?

* Yup! I know that thumbnail.

* Dude, they're already running in slow motion. Not slow enough you'd notice if you didn't know what you were looking for, but enough to make it uncanny valley. I might not have much to say here, cause I seem to remember this being a pretty intense one; I might end up just watching.

* Damn. Yeah, the way they're making the time dilation more... *more* -- god. Somebody did some good work on this one. The filming, the editing...

* Exposition about wormholes, Sam being cute and full of science, Jack being infodumped at and making faces. This one needs a bunch of science background to make sense.

* Daniel's offworld on a dig for this one -- series TV always needs a few eps you can film overlapping, keeping Daniel out of the picture on one, Jack on another, or splitting the team in half, so that they don't get too far behind on broadcasting, since it generally takes about ten days to film an episode and you're broadcasting once a week. (Some crews can pull off seven-day or even six-day filming schedules, but they have to be *really* good both in front of and behind the camera.)

* Figuring out that it's a black hole dilating time. The SG team trapped on the other side is commanded by a guy Jack recommended and trained, so Jack is really antsy to go through and help them. It's good Sam and Hammond are more cautious, or SG-1 would be very dead... ^_^

* ...wait, it wasn't a black hole when they went there? The star just suddenly turned into one? They should be dead *already*. That's not... that's not how any of that works. A black hole forms after a supernova, doesn't it? At least, that's the hypothesis I seem to remember learning.

* SAM NO don't leave the fucking stargate open to observe the black hole... okay, not actually your fault, it probably wouldn't have shut down from the moment it connected. Still. Scientists, man. :-)

* And now we find out that the time dilation is already affecting the SGC, they're out of contact with the people up top, who think there's a foothold situation on. This is not quite the standard kind of foothold situation...

* Hi, Siler! :D

* Hammond's trying to get up to NORAD to call the President and report, since the red phone isn't working. So now it's Jack, Sam, and Teal'c trying to fix things.

* It's kind of hilarious to see Siler and Jack flipping electrical breakers in tandem, because Dan Shea is Rick Anderson's stunt double, has been since MacGyver, and not only are they similarly built, they're damn near drift-compatible at this point. :D

* Aaand Siler gets electrocuted and does a lovely "we all fall out of our chairs again". ^_^ I mean, not that he was in a chair, but you know what I mean.

* Ooh, Teal'c got asploded too.

* Sam uses her dogtags to demonstrate that gravity is doing the thing.

* Hi, Major Disaster! I mean, his name's Major Davis, but he only shows up when the world is ending. ^_^

* Hi, Janet! The nice thing about foothold / bottle episodes is we get all the Earthside bit players in.

* The special ops guys they sent down to check on the supposed foothold situation have decided Janet is a shapeshifter. They are in so much trouble. ^_^

* Hammond did make it topside, anyway; he's being sent on an airplane to talk to the President. Major Davis briefs him on the stuff Sam has been figuring out below decks, since due to the time dilation the scientists topside have had more time to figure out what's going on.

* And earthquakes. The gravity is coming through the wormhole. Jack is being unhappy about Sam's technobabble.

* Jack does not like special forces dude. Doesn't think he's competent, either. There is so much snark.

* There's noticeable time dilation just between the Gate and the control room. Sam requests permission to go topside and try to fix things. Oh, Hammond's back from D.C.! Time is getting more and more wonky.

* Hammond brings orders to try and blow up the Gate to close the wormhole. Sam thinks that won't work. I don't remember if it will or not.

* Jack and special forces guy, whose name is Colonel Cromwell, volunteer to stay behind and set off the bomb after the SGC is evacuated. Yeah, this guy's dead. ^_^

* Teal'c and Janet are moving Siler from the infirmary on a gurney -- Siler got burned pretty bad when the Gate shorted out the main circuit breaker.

* "Captain, relativity gives me a headache." Me too, Hammond, me too.

* Aww, Teal'c being Carter's sounding board. I love the team dynamics here.

* And we're starting to get little snippets of Jack's backstory with Cromwell. Sounds like Cromwell had to leave somebody behind. Possibly Jack. ^_^

* Sam decides that instead of blowing up the Stargate, they should boost the power to it, making the wormhole jump tracks to a non-black-hole world. So now they have to try and get to Jack in time to stop him from setting off the self-destruct.

* Yup, Cromwell left Jack behind in Iraq, thinking he was dead. Jack is really not happy about this. There is yelling.

* Hi, Siler! Good to see you on your feet again.

* Oh, they are using a bomb still. Just a shaped charge so that the power goes into the Stargate.

* Climbing back "up" these ropes away from the Gate into the control room is where Cromwell is gonna die, iirc. Man, the time variance shit in this ep gets really intense.

* Aw, poor Hammond's still topside waiting. "We'll know sometime tomorrow," he says.

* Aw, sithspit. I did NOT remember that the puddle, the event horizon, is fucking whirlpooling from the gravity. That's so fucking disturbing.

* Oh shit, so *that's* what happens. The rest of the bulletproof glass gives way, and a shard gets stuck in the climbing apparatus on Cromwell's rope.

* Hoshit, there goes the iris. Now anyone who falls in gets eaten by the wormhole. Eternal spaghettification, jesus.

* Jack was starting to fall into the wormhole, Cromwell went to grab him, Cromwell's harness broke, Jack managed to hold him for a second, now he's gone. Now it's all on Jack making horrible faces and saving the day. ^_^

(I'm not actually mocking, it just comes out like that because DAMN.)

* Oh, Jack, baby. And Teal'c trying to pull him up away from the bomb before it blows... damn, this is one hell of an episode. :D

* Awww. God, there are so many really good episodes in this season.

#stargate sg1 #i watch stuff

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taronfanfic · 7 years ago

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Crossed Targets: Dare To Return

Previous chapters here

Chapter 5

It was all quiet when you got back to your flat, Katherine was still at work so you thought you’d take advantage of the peace. It wasn’t that often that you had time completely to yourself and working out with Taron had made you undeniably horny. You knew it was wrong to be thinking of him in that way again but was there actually any harm done when it was just lust? He’s fit. He’s good looking. It’s just animalistic. You can admire a guy in the street who has a chiselled jawline, or drool over a gym goer with an 8-pack on Instagram, but it doesn’t mean anything more. There are loads of attractive guys out there. Ok so not ones who you’ve slept with before and who you’re about to be very physical with again, but releasing some sexual tension is bound to help with that.

You turned on your laptop and switched to private browsing as you typed in the address of an amateur porn website. You’d glanced over the first few pages before a video thumbnail grabbed your attention. An attractive dark haired guy with short stubble was going down on a girl. You loosened your jeans and plunged your hand down your knickers so you could tease yourself as you watched. The idea of this time to yourself had already got you wet. The guy flicked his tongue over her clit and licked at her with force. You thought back to the last time a guy had gone down on you. It wasn’t Taron, but it was the rebound. He was pretty shit at oral and you ended up faking it just to put him out his misery. Being a trained actor has many advantages. The girl on screen started to moan loudly and you muted the video so you could concentrate on yourself as your finger slowly circled around your clit. The tingling sensation was building nicely and warming your core. You’d not been with anyone else since the rebound and the cravings for sex were growing more and more intense. You needed someone powerful to take you, to really want you and be desperate for you. The pressure from your finger on your clit increased as you remembered how it felt to have someone inside you. You closed your eyes and pictured a body. Thick and toned with gentle definition. Strong arms and well-built shoulders. An arse that was crying out to be grabbed. Your knees lifted higher as you reached your climax, your mouth opening gently as Taron’s face entered your mind. He was the one pounding into you. You heard his moans of satisfaction and could feel his hands on you again, feel the warmth from his sweaty body. This wasn’t a distant memory though, it was Taron from today. God you really wanted him.

You drew your hand away from yourself as you let your legs relax down against your bed.

‘Fuck.’

‘Fucking fuck.’

That wasn’t meant to happen. You groaned in frustration letting your head fall down against your pillow. How can you have gone from hating his guts to fancying him like mad in the space of 48 hours? Why did he do this to you? Why him?!

***

The next morning you woke with a clearer mind. You weren’t going to let yourself think of Taron in that way again. It just wasn’t an option. Going down that path would leave you vulnerable and you didn’t feel like you could trust him. He hurt you so much last time that you just couldn’t go there again. You’d thought about whether he wanted to get back with you, whether taking on this job was just part of his plan to be able to get close to you again. You genuinely didn’t know what his intentions were and that made you trust him even less. Oliver was right when he said you needed to draw a line to separate your work and personal life; and sooner rather than later.

The stunt training room was based in a warehouse space nearer the edge of London. It was full of foam pits, ropes, wires and harnesses, crashmats and varying heights of scaffolding platforms. It looked pretty terrifying but the guys who ran the sessions assured you you’d be perfectly safe. Things started off slowly with dive rolls, fake punches and high kicks. You relaxed down into the session, paired off at one end of the large space with your stunt coach. Taron had been through this all before with Kingsman and Robin Hood so only joined you for the second half of the session where you were taken through the specific routines for your fight scenes. You kept your focus on the coach as you listened closely to the instructions and mimicked his movements, swiping your fist past Taron’s face and then grabbing his wrist to halt his incoming punch. You locked your eyes with his as you worked through the next set of moves, faking a struggle and battle for power. The sexual tension was still there but you forced it to the back of your mind as you slid your leg between Taron’s and kicked his foot out from beneath him to drop him down the floor. You lost your balance and went crashing down with him, landing right on top of him.

“Shit, sorry! This is so hard.” You moaned in frustration at your own mistake.

“Might not be the only hard thing around here.” Taron commented under his breath as his hands found your waist and helped to push you back up to your feet. You stayed quiet and kept your focus as you went through the sequence again, dropping Taron to the floor successfully this time. He grabbed your ankle and brought you down right next to him, quickly rolling himself over to straddle you and throw another punch.

“Great job, excellent work! Take 5 minutes before we move across to the wire work.” The coach called before moving away to discuss the next sequence with his team.

“You can get off me now.” You spoke quite bluntly to Taron.

“It’s been a while since I was last straddling you.” He sat up but didn’t move his legs away from yours. You’d have usually gently slapped his thigh to get him to take the hint but you decided that was too flirtatious.

“Taron.” You looked unimpressed as he looked down at you, pretending he hadn’t heard your first request.

“Oh yeah, right.” He finally mumbled as he released you from his thighs and sat next to you instead.

“Can you please drop the flirting?” You bit the bullet and asked him directly, making sure you held eye contact too.

“It’s just harmless, you know what I’m like.” He responded quickly with a smile but you weren’t smiling back at him. “Oh come on… I thought we’d got passed all of this?”

“It’s fucking with my head and I can’t take on all of this film stuff and deal with deciphering you at the same time. It’s exhausting… I’m not saying we’re back to day 1 again, I can handle being mates… but just mates. Nothing else.”

“Deciphering me?!” Taron questioned. “I’m just trying to have a laugh and make you laugh too. What do you think’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N…”

“Don’t worry, It’s fine.” You folded your arms across your chest.

“Well it’s clearly not fine else we wouldn’t be having this conversation!”

“So how are my two favourite actors getting on then?” The film director announced his presence as he strode across the room to speak to you both. “I hear there’s already great chemistry between you, and my favourite thing… sexual tension!” You stood up from the floor to greet him.

“Yeah, not bad. It’s a lot to learn!” You replied enthusiastically.

“Good, good, we’re putting you through your paces that’s for sure! Now I was wondering if you’re both free to go for lunch today so we can talk over some of the dialogue changes that were suggested during the script read through?”

“I was meant to be meeting my girlfriend but I can cancel it, just give me 5 minutes.” Taron replied before jogging over to get his phone from his bag.

“Erm, yes I’m free. Not a problem.” You held it together as the director turned back to Taron but you soon found yourself frowning. Taron had a girlfriend?

#taron egerton #Taron x reader #Taron Egerton Fanfic #taron egerton fanfiction #taron imagine #taron egerton imagine

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ride-run-sleep-repeat · 7 years ago

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I know I’ve probably written previously about some race being the “hardest thing I’ve ever done” but they were lies. Okay, maybe not lies, but a climb up a ridiculous ladder I’m pretty sure I’ve finally reached the top of. GODZone is literally the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

It’s been 14 days since the race and i’ve only just stopped dreaming about bush bashing, my fingernails still have dirt under them (I swear i’ve showered!) but my toes have stopped feeling wet even though they are most certainly dry. So that’s a plus I guess?

Also, everyone said Fiordland is the wettest place on earth but I’m going to have to call BS because the weather was actually perfect (thank fark). The wettest place on earth was the ecosystem in my shoes – trail Mud, water, bush bashing mud, didymo cleaning stuff, water from grass not rain, swamp mud (you get the picture…).

I’ve read a lot about elite athletes envisioning their end goals and by doing so are able to push through when it gets really hard. I think it is a true testament to our team, even in the very beginning, that we were constantly talking about the last leg and that it seemed like there was no doubt we would get there eventually, even though “eventually” was in 8 days time.

But the length of the race aside, the really genius thing about it was that although there weren’t very many legs, they all could be broken down into manageable mini legs. (Doesn’t that just sound delightful?!)

This race was really long so i’m just going to acknowledge the fact that some parts were really really brutal and awful right now. But secretly, one of the reasons I keep going back is to see how I deal with the lows. I was also very much a passenger hanging on for dear life (except not as much as Wildside because training actually really works!), so don’t expect me to remember names of rivers, or roads, or anything geographically located. You can go to http://godzoneadventure.com/ for all of that or ask Tom and Paul. You’re coming on my emotional rollercoaster dear reader, buckle up.

Stage one was a packraft/hike/cheeky 150 metre abseil and another packraft (see what I mean about mini legs?) The first portage, which included climbing up a wall of dirt and vines pulling our inflated packrafts along with us was a tiny taster for what was to come (seriously, it wouldn’t even register as anything now. I might be broken). We walked down the river for some time before deciding on Option 2 of 3 bad Option options. Essentially it meant a 1000 metre vertical climb in under 3kms to the top and over some mountain that was between an even bigger mountain (Option 1) and a smaller but dodgier looking mountain (Option 3). The views were pretty good just before we passed the tree line and then the clouds rolled in and it was almost a white out up the top before the darkness descended as we started down the other side, turned on our head torches and were delighted with seeing all the other lights on various mountains around us.

There could be other stuff after this but the next thing I remember is getting to a flat rock overhang about 500 metres from where we were going to abseil and the volunteer who was camped out there saying “it’s not a hard nav to the top”. Well, look, technically she was right. What she did fail to mention though, was that it was going to be incredibly steep and slow to get there. But we did, and after harnessing up and heaving the 150 metre rope Paul thought was too impossibly long to exist back up from the bottom (it existed alright), we descended into the night. Which, thank goodness, because it probably would have been scary otherwise. You know the saying “What you don’t know can’t hurt you”? Well “What Alex can’t see won’t hurt her” was definitely a thing during the race.

Then there was another paddle and we made it to stage 2!

“A straightfoward bike” indeed. The caves were pretty cool. It took the boys a bit of time to orientate themselves but once they had, we bagged all the check points easily. In fact, I think this is one of the only times Tom and Paul weren’t certain the whole race, which is a testament to their skilful navving abilities. Lee even offered to swim the short swim for the last CP and no one complained about that. It did take us the whole two hours so we emerged from the cold depths into the surprisingly humid afternoon and made our way through to the much anticipated, but also dreaded Stage 3. Oh yeah and we decided to walk the 7kms to the lake at the start so we could have a little sleep before the first pack raft. A few things:

It is very hard to walk in a straight line while trying not to sleep.

You cannot walk that far with your eyes closed

7kms is a long way when you really just want to sleep

This is the leg shit got real. Real muddy, real wet, real blistery and real hungry. The estimated slow time was 60 hours. Well, the fastest teams did it in 60 hours. So while us mere mortals packed more food in anticipation, we didn’t anticipate we’d be out there for a solid 4 days.

Highlights include:

4 hours of grade 2/2+ wave trains

The long and strategically genius sleep after getting to the top of a ridge in the dark.

Entering pack rafts from steep bushy terrain onto the water (see photo below)

Finding DoCs (Department of Conservation) possum trap tracks instead of having to bush bash

The 2 km novelty paddle which let our feet rest, if only for an hour

Westies hut

The awesome bridges with 1 person max so someone would dibs going last to have a longer sitting break

Finishing the leg

Lowlights include:

Endless mud

Blisters (shoutout to the medic for sorting me out!)

Putting sore feet back into wet shoes

Soft but actually super prickly moss (Paul said he used some as TP and it was okay though).

After waking up from our last sleep with a big section of coastal track to finish, we hoped by some miracle it would be easier for the last “little” bit. I mean we weren’t hoping for much, even if it only had half the amount of mud from the previous section, we would have been stoked. Much to our surprise, the mud was scarce and the trail was wide! This is probably the first time in the race we got to talk to each other properly and it was amazing to realise how important that aspect of racing is. The conversation did peter out though when Tom started struggling (something i’ve never witnessed before) due to the skin around his toes deciding it didn’t need to be attached, or at the very least, loosely affiliated.

We scored a hot Back Country meal at the TA and as the medic popped all my blisters and told me my feet were better than others he’d seen (I was dubious) he showed me a horrifying photo of another teams feet who had said that he thought “it was only a bit of sand in his shoes” but in fact it was an epically horrible fungal infection and he had to get airlifted to hospital. I felt much better about my feet after that.

The Rowallan Forest looked innocent at first, but as we found ourselves at in thigh deep bog mud (with bikes in tow), it was clear that some simple bush bashing to find a derelict bridge wouldn’t be that simple. After sloshing back and forth to retrace wheel marks from previous teams we decided to head back up the ridge (not fun or easy), ride a little and attack from another angle. Until it looked impossible at night and we decided to sleep for a few hours till sunlight. To be honest, it didn’t seem very possible in light either, even less with a bike, but after 45 minutes we made it out and the rest was much easier after that. Except for when we got to Percy Saddle.

If anyone ever tells you that they’ve heard of Percy’s Saddle and that they’d like to go, laugh in their face. There was no such thing as a “grade 5 mountain bike route”. In mountain bike terms it is not a trail. It is a fire road that ends almost at the top of a steep mountain with 700 metres of markers that alludes to a trail they haven’t built yet.

I tried to channel my bad case of the farts to propel me and my bike up this barbaric route and even though that didn’t work we managed to get them all the way to the top. Although I’m really not sure how. I do know that it shouldn’t take 2 hours to travel 700 metres. It was so exhausting both physically and mentally that someone turned on the waterworks behind my eyes and I couldn’t turn it off for a good couple minutes. Paul and Tom stood awkwardly around me and cried on the inside instead.

I forgot to mention we were also racing the clock to make the 3am cut off to the kayak leg which would take us to stage 6 – the last 24km hike before Stage 7 – a measly (I say “measly” with literally no sarcasm) 8 hour paddle to the finish. We made the cut off with 10 minutes to spare and got some sleep at the most sandfly and team infested hut in the whole race.

After enduring window shaking snoring throughout the night and feeling lower than a limbo champion, I sat in silence next to Paul as we ate a Back Country and treated our feet, watching the 3 teams who’d also bunked with us leave, before mustering the courage to put on our shoes and take the tentative first steps of the 24km hike. Although I felt like death, this hike had the most beautiful terrain of the whole bloody race.

Our first goal was to get to a ginormous and extremely powerful waterfall rumoured to have made a team turn back at the sight of it. After that, it was a steep, mossy and holey slog to the novelty canoe. One of the volunteers had some boiling water on the fire (such luxury!) and I think this is where Tom created a concoction of dehydrated mash potatoes and 2-minute noodles which he claims was amazing while we laughed at the other team who had just started paddling in circles.

Enormous Waterfall

Except when we started paddle we did exactly the same. After a few spins we got used to the paddles and made our way in pitch black darkness to the other side of the lake where after an interesting attempt by Paul to light a fire with the stove, we set up tents and slept for a few hours till daylight.

Braden Currie (Multiple Coast to Coast winner) boated over to pick up our canoes in the morning and said that we should try to hit the pass before the weather got bad. We later took this as a polite “hurry the f@*k up” as the weather ended up being delightful and the view spectacular from the top. Descending into the valley towards the lake took a lot shorter than we expected, probably due to the steep terrain we either lowered ourselves down by vines/grass/whatever solid thing we could find or slid down.

View from the pass. Only 10 kms (6 more hours) down the valley following the river to the lake!

Boulder hopping, (not one of my fortes) became incredibly fun and we eventually made it to the final TA by following a trail of bright fluro markers which are every adventure racers favourite thing to hunt down. (Or at least our teams anyway). We had very low food rations at this point so it was wonderful to stuff my face while the volunteers politely but firmly tried to get us into the kayaks as fast as possible.

This is where we forgot about our feet and aching bodies, dug deep and clicked into beast mode.

Tom was in the front of our kayak as it had the steering thingos (technical term). The wind was pretty horrendous for the first couple of hours and having not done up our jackets, Tom got pounded by huge whitecaps and was not happy about it. So at the first CP we got out, rugged up and carried on.

As the darkness descended and we made it to the last CP we fully expected to have to camp there for the night, leaving us a piddly 5km from the finish. But as we approached, the volunteer radioed in and HQ said we could carry on to the finish. We had a quick team discussion and after bribing Tom with a chocolate OSM we got back into the boats and paddled our way to the finish line. To find out we’d come 3rd place in the international team category, which was just ridiculous.

So what did I learn from this epic race? Firstly, that team comradery and communication is vital to enjoying and getting through a race. Secondly, that your low points can get lower but you can and will continue through pain and tears because the competitive drive still burns and thirdly, even when you think you’ve reached your physical limit, you can keep one upping yourself.

Team goal – “Our goal is to finish the full course with our limbs intact and still be willing to speak to each other.”

Well, we finished the full course anyway.

Would I do it again? Yes. But I’m going to enjoy coffee and my day job for a little while before I sign up for another…

PS shout out to Shapes for making the greatest race food of all time – Nacho cheese flavoured shapes and La Sportiva for creating the most perfect shoe – the Akasha.

GODZone Fiordland 2018 I know I've probably written previously about some race being the "hardest thing I've ever done" but they were lies.

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iphoenixrising · 7 years ago

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Look, Distractions? That is my JAM okay? So if you ever feel like it. I would KILL for your opinion on Fracture!Tim meeting Detective Comics!Tim. Like would he get mad the bats have up that quick considering they're dynamic? Or would he just save the info for later in his world (fight with Jay/Dick and dammit it counts as evidence that THIS might not work.) just Timmy. Because honestly it could go a lot of ways. Babe, you rock! 😘😘

There you are, babe. Ah, I’m such a bad writer and I’m sorry. I remembered this thing vaguely and um…wrote a thing. (I forget about Asks so much and I’m so sorry to anyone that I’ve missed). So, said thing that I wrote was kind of complex and I’m stupidly proud of it okay because I was seriously not cool with the current incarnation of Tim Drake wearing the original Robin suit from the 90′s repurposed with the RR. Like, I’m so pissed off about that. SERIOUSLY >.

He literally gets the first sip at wonderful,blessed caffeine—before the glowy circle of light just appears in his damnkitchen, illuminating a gentle red that looks totally ominous and terrifying.

His mug falls to the linoleum with a crash andspilled heaven.

Welp, there goes that ‘Uncle of the Year’mug. Dammit. Layla worked so hard on it.

“Dick! Jay! Got a little sitch in here.”He yells, frozen to the spot where the circle has him penned in at the counter,eyes wide with what the fuck is this now?

In all his time as a doctor to, you know,vigilantes and superheroes, he’s never seen anything like this. If he’slearned anything in that time, it’s curiosity might take an appendage. Watchyour ass around things that might smell of alien tech or evil bad guys (thatjewel was from some guy name Booster. Just really?).

He must have sounded as desperate as herealistically feels because bare feet are pounding down the hallway ofhis penthouse just as the circle flares crimson and starts to suck him in.

He knows he yells something back at hisvigilante boyfriends because he does get a warped sound of them calling for himjust as he gets sucked inside.

The pain in his head is real when hefinally comes to with a groan.

The hard cement floor isn’t doing him anyfavors.

Like, at all.

But memory kicks in and Dr. Drake is pushinghimself up on weak arms, hair in his face, looking around with wide,calculating eyes before he realizes—

He isn’t alone.

The doctor is up on his feet, blinking, turningon one bare heel to take in the other four bodies lying haphazardly in heaps onthe grungy floor around him, all in various states of look at those birdies.

He has approximately ten seconds to take in theclothes, tech, and other miscellaneous gear, but gets it in five. At this pointin the game, he’s very familiar with things like utility belts, armored tunics,and the like, so he knows what he’s looking at. The question is reallywhether or not he’s in with heroes or terrible bad guys, and those answerswon’t be forthcoming until they’re all out of la la land.

Which could be enough time to steal shitfrom their utility belts to use against them or get them all the fuckout of here.

It’s 50/50 really.

But his legs are already moving him across thecold floor because assessment takes precedent over neat potentially fatalgadgets, taking a knee beside the first one that has a full cowl. Since he hassome experience with cowls, he knows the right place to wiggle hisfingers in to get a bead on the his pulse (until the doctor knows forsure, bad guy or good guy, no trying to get into the suits probably riddledwith security traps unless it’s go time, but the utility belt doesn’tshock the ever-loving fuck out of him, so he already has a plan).Breathing looks good, no signs of medical distress, no tears in the suit, nobloodstains. The harness is pretty cool, but that insignia? What the hell is thatsupposed to be?

Whatever. This potential bad guy checks out, soon to the next one.

The second has on a domino with the whiteoutsdown and an odd-looking cape, like panels or something? Yeah, okay, whatever.This guy gets to be Mr. Terrible Style. He gets the same careful check— andoddly enough has the same insignia on his utility belt but a completelydifferent kind of harness (so maybe they’re a group, like the JL or the Titans?Or the Legion of Evil…? Shit, he is not up to playing Pet Doctor to agroup of baddies. Again. It didn’t end well last time—you know, for the badguys).

Okay then. Take a breath, Doc. Plenty of time tounravel the fuckery later.

The third has a similar red and black thinggoing on, same damn insignia, but he has an additional wicked cowl-like,almost helmet thing that is shaped more like a bird’s face and head with a beakthan questionable unconscious guy number one (his cowl is just straight-up unimpressive.C’mon bad guys need to have better imagination than that). The lenses,he notices are red rather than the usual white, so well there’s that.The suit, however, doesn’t have the armored tunic covering a bodysuit, but isjust modified with light armor instead. It reminds him of Jason’s Red Hood bodysuit, the armor in the potentially fatal places. Good call.

The last body breathing is completely outof the pattern (one of these things is not like the others… damn you,Sesame Street, well-played). He’s got some standard black, pocketedpants and heavy boots, like ninja suit-ish or something. The plain rope iscoiled over his hip from a pocketed belt that doesn’t look as advanced as theothers. He doesn’t have any insignia Tim can plainly see. He’s also not wearinggauntlets and only half-fingered leather gloves, so checking his wrist for hispulse is easier than the cowls. (Bandaged fingers, not bleeding badly enough tobe a problem, but he clocks the deets for later).

“Ooowwfuck,” comes from over his shoulderwhile he’s trying to feel out the black suit in a non-pervy way and see ifthere might be, you know, blood or something because it is seriously dimin this little dungeon-y vacay spot, and Tim spins abruptly, eyes dartingaround for something to use as a weapon or maybe to duck behind so he caneavesdrop to figure out what the fuck he’s dealing with.

The cowled man sits up, rubbing the back of hishead, the whiteouts going around the closed-off room—

And lands right on the frozen doctor.

“I’m unarmed, don’t kick my ass,” he puts upboth palms in that just a civilian, don’t kill me pose. “If you’re hurt,I’m a doctor, and maybe if you know how I got here and why, thatwould be just super helpful at this juncture in the glowy circlekidnapping plot. Though I am seriously not the person you’re lookingfor. I have a sweet fire escape, but no nifty suit. Sorry ‘bout it.” He defdoes not mention the part where letting him go would be in theguy’s best interest since his wonderful significant others can get a little testyif he’s in things like, well, immediate fucking peril. He likes thebaddies to be surprised when Nightwing and the Red Hood bust down theirdoor.

The guy’s mouth drops open a little and just a blinkbefore awake good/bad dude is literally right in front of him.

If he hadn’t seen Dick and Jay move whenthey’re in the masks, he would have been totally more fanboy-ing it upthan he is right now.

“Holy shit, you’re fast!” Tim eyes theperson that could probably snap his spine with, like, a pinky or in some othercrazily specific way. “Seriously, this is a mistake. I’m a damn good surgeon,but like, dungeons?, I got nothing.”

The cowled vigilante, still feeling fractured asfuck with the waking up in who knows where, chuffs a laughbecause what the shit did he get into this time? (Well, lookingat himself, it’s going to be ‘What is multiversing for $1000, Alex.’) Hejust has no room on his already full plate for things like, randomportals showing up to take him right off the back of Jay’s Ducati from behind(which, come to think of it, is actually a nice little relief withwhatever is going on with those two and the almost, sort-of, couldhave been maybe trying to-to kiss him…or something?) when there’s somecrime fighting going down. Terrorists and meta-inducing tech are keeping himnice and busy fuck-you very much.

But this other him that is a little shorter,eyes going unconsciously to his utility belt like he’s making a plan isprobably going to need some deets before he’s in a fight-for-his-lifeessentially against, you know, himself. One hand goes to the cowl,pressing what he needs to deactivate the security—

And pulls it off.

That leave Dr. Tim looking right into his own face.

“What. The. Fuck?!” He scrabblesback, almost tripping over his own feet and the unconscious guy on the groundwhen this guy that is basically him, moves so fast again,and grabs his arm to keep him from falling.

“Hey. Hi there. Tim, right? Yeah, me too.Welcome to the multiverse. Really, it’s scientifically fucked up, but a good lessonfor the kids on what not to do with space/time.”

The doctor sputters, “multi-what now?!Wh— I— This is…this isn’t…this isn’t possible.”

The cowled version of him chuckles a little,grinning while rubbing the back of his head, “first time multiversing? It’scool, you’ll get used to it. Things to remember: dick bag aliens suck in allrealities, Luthor is totally a tool no matter where you go, and don’t fuck withthe Red Hood just in case he’s still a little pissed about the wholeRobin thing. That? Was not the best lesson.”

Now his brain is a puddle of mush, thanks…him.“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m a…you’re a vigilante, too? Like-like Nightwingand the Red Hood and-and Batman?”

And the doctor swallows hard because—

(He was Robin).

This vigilante version of him completely stops.Just. Creepy complete stillness.

“Uh, hello? You with me, uh…Tim?”

The second groan is followed by, “it’s okay,give him a minute. He’s probably not used to a world where we’re notpart of the Bat-clan.” The one with the weird cape is sitting up lookingaround. “Well, it could still be a post-Apocalyptic world, but it’s anyones’guess at this juncture.”

The voice is completely his yet again andDr. Drake’s eyes go to the other two still out.

“You too?” He asks, mindblown, “another…”his hands waffle back and forth, “another Tim Drake? I mean, all of youare Tim Drake?”

“Seems that way,” the other stands up, stretcheshis back and goes to the impressive computer on his wrist. Sooo, half-robotsare totally a possibility maybe? Ives is going to shit kittens.“I was already kind of in a multiverse where some alien assholes took over theplanet. We just had a massively awesome war and sent them packing, so I reallydidn’t expect to end up anywhere else but my original universe. This is kindof…strange. I checked the coordinates on the portal three times justto make sure.”

“H-how is this…possible, I mean, the physicsdon’t even support something like this! The-the doppelganger effect and-and!”

Dominoed Tim just waves the doctor into silence,“like I said, I was already in a multiverse, and two Tims can exist in the samespace. Well, obviously more than two, but it is what it is.” He goesback to the computer on his wrist, trying to get his head in this gameafter what he’d just left behind (that version of Dick holding him up, tellinghim he’ always have a place there if he ever wanted to come back.That version of him welcoming him with open fucking arms if he did wantto stay; a world where he would never have to go for a weapon againstJason Todd, and fuck, fuck…Dami was his brother.)

De-cowled Tim gives the doctor his attentionafter subtly moving to check the other two still breathing but out cold, “thinkof it like this: every major decision you make could go a few different ways.For each option, a separate reality breaks off. These what-ifs create athing called the multiverse, multiple universes with sometimes subtle,sometimes catastrophic differences.” He gestures to the dominoed Tim who givesa little wave.

The doctor blinks hard, his hands curl intofists by his sides, “so there’s a reality out there somewhere…there’s areality where I let Nightwing bleed to death on my fire escape or called anambulance and got his ident compromised, or a reality where—”

“Whoa,” dominoed Tim looks up from his wristcomputer and raises the whiteouts, “bled to death on your fire escape?”

“That’s…that’s how I kind of met him in themask. Anyway—”

“So you’re not—?”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he shrugs, whichis only slightly untrue. “I’m not,” and he waves a hand at the two ofthem, “this. What you are. I went to Med School instead of Crime FightingAcademy or whatever.”

De-cowled Tim laughs out loud, shaking his head.“I was Robin first, five and a half years. The new name is Red Robin, and I’mwith the Titans more than in Gotham—” but he pauses with it because, welp,that’s not really as true as it used to be, is it?

Domino Tim shrugs, goes back to his wristcomputer, but his shoulders are tight, “same mostly. Robin, whole lot of crimefighting, Red Robin, and I’m exclusively with the Titans. I only go back toGotham if the call goes out, and even then, I fight like fuck and goback home. This ah, alien multiverse thing just happened to…come upunexpectedly.”

De-cowled Tim gasps in a breath, “whoa, do youmean the—”

“Insurgents,” domino Tim replies softly,carefully.

“Wow. The Mind Trap is such a pain in thedick.”

“Tell me about it. Gotta love when it’s Hood andthe current Robin inside because those two.”

“Oh fuck, dude are you even okay rightnow? How long ago was—?” De-cowled Tim grips the other vigilante version by theforearm, bending just slightly over him while the doctor watches, wonders whatthese aliens, these Insurgents are to them and why they’re so dangerous.

“Fine,” the domino replies, but his voice is…off.“As soon as we figure out how the hell we got here, I’ll be even better.”

“Okay,” the cowled Tim starts slowly, seeingmaybe more than he should, but he respects his other self trying to keephis shit together when he’s very, very obviously not fine. Nowisn’t the time for it, instead it’s time to get their fractured thoughtstogether and figure out all the main points, “All right Doc, tell us what youwere doing and what happened to bring you here.”

Still checking on the two other unconsciousvigilantes, he does just that, mentions calling for his boyfriends before the“portal” (and this? Is his life right now) sucked him in.

De-cowled Tim has a small grin on his face whilehe surveys the cell they’re in, and domino Tim’s frown gets painful while he’strying to get some kind of results on his computer.

“There’s a few things we can work with, but I’vegot no obvious feeds here. We need to wait until the others come to before wemake a move.”

“Good plan.”

“Agreed. I don’t have anything I would need toassess them any further. I don’t see any signs of distress yet, so we’re goodso far.”

Both vigilantes start digging in their utilitybelts, but the doctor holds up a hand, “the supplies aren’t the problem. X-ray,CAT scans, those type of things would be stellar. But, I’m allout at the moment because smart bad guys are a pain in the ass.”

“True story,” the two Tims echo.

“All right, so from the readings just before Ihitched a ride here, it looks like a disruption in space/time—” the domino Timtaps on his computer.

“Like a shockwave,” the other Tim supplies.

“—could have crossed two paths, but fourof them? That’s—”

“Statistically impossible,” the third one withthe sweet helmet-cowl is up, bracing himself on his hands. Dr. Drake catchessomething off immediately, the way his head tilts to the side.

“Exactly,” the other two say in tandem again,seriously shaking him up.

“Someone probably planned this,” de-cowled Timlooks at them, “we’re here for a reason.”

“As much as I’d like to stay and figure out why,I have a really important meeting to attend tomorrow,” the helmeted Tim gets tohis feet, his body a strange kind of taunt.

In his peripheral, he sees the other two Timsfigure it out, too.

Dr. Drake crosses his arms over his chest, “theroom we’re in is concrete or stone, floors and 100-foot or so ceilings. There’sa transparent door to your right, approximately twenty feet, no discernable wayout.”

The red lenses swing to him but stray just overhis shoulder. The blind crime fighter smirks at him, “did you say you’re nota vigilante?”

He huffs out since well, he’s the onlyone apparently, “I’m a surgeon. I just…have other hobbies. Like dating crimefighters, and playing Pet Doctor for superhero groups. You just…you aren’tlooking at me.”

The other two Tims nod in agreement.

“You were balancing like the King Snake when youstood up,” de-cowled Tim adds almost gently.

Domino Tim folds his arms over his chest, “thefingertips on your gloves are…modified. You can probably read braille throughthem, can’t you?”

The fourth grins wider and laughs a littlebecause, well, trust someone like himself to get the tech. “I made aspecial pad to help me hack again, too. It’s good stuff.”

“Like you really need it?” The de-cowledone grins.

“Always have a plan.”

The three vigilantes share a half-assed laugh asthe fourth Tim removes the specially made cowl.

“Fuck,” domino Tim blinks, “I think I canhazard a guess.”

“We’re all probably aware the Wanderer is an asshat.” And he already knows what they’re looking at, the milky haze overhis unfocused eyes. The radar net gives him good intel, outlines andimpressions, not depth or detail. For that, he moves closer to the gathering,listening for the sounds of air rushing or gears grinding, anything to givethem an out while placing the smallest differences in each figure. The doctorone smells like sandalwood and antiseptic. The one to his right with a bareface sounds oddly…calm. The contentment is in his voice. The one already inanother multiverse did come from a war, the scent of the fight, the heatof pain not on his skin makes his voice get tight at moments (well, asthe one that lost his sight trying to get B back from time—he totally getsthat type of pain because one of them…maybe even two of them couldrealistically stand to be anywhere near Dick).

And him? He’s just the guy that’s going to findtheir way out of here so they can all get a little bit of why the utter fuck?

“He took out your eyes instead of your spleen,”domino Tim observes, swallowing down the situation he just left, the twofrom that world where he could have stayed and helped rebuild—

Not the time for regrets, asshole. Let’s justfocus on the here and now.

“I would have been better with the spleen, butit’s fine at this point.” And the de-cowled vigilante exchanges an eye slidewith the dominoed one because it’s very obvious the guy is bullshittingthem (but well, who else would catch it other than the dudes that lie toBatman?) “Luckily for me, Tam is the most bitchin’ PA ever.”

“She keeps everyone’s shit together.”

“She multitasks like a boss.”

“Glad she rocks us in most universes. Stellar.So, how about we figure out how to get the hell out of here so she doesn’teviscerate us? I, for one, am not on that train.”

“Uh,” Dr, Drake blinks, feeling like he’swatching tennis or something, Wanderer? Losing a spleen or sight? Whothe fuck is Tam? But the other three converge in a circle to start making plans,the de-cowled Tim pulling him along in by his bicep.

Domino Tim gestures to his half-destroyed wristcomputer, “the only readings I’m getting are nil and none. I can’t place whereor when we are in the time stream. I’ve got readings on the physicallayout, but…that’s it.”

Since his tech is obviously boss enoughto get him through another multiverse, the others realize it might just be astep closer to oh shit time.

“That doesn’t sound any kind of promising,” thelast one of them is finally up and on his feet, holding his abdomen gingerly,“I, for one, am not a fan of the decor. Too medieval for my taste.”

The other three tense immediately, subtle slidesof gloves in belts, the move for a bo, the shift of feet, and sway of hip for arighteous roundhouse to the face.

De-cowled Tim groans a little, “shit, I knewI was going to go villain in at least one reality—”

“That costume isn’t going to make good guysquake in their boots, dude—”

“You’re not instilling confidence here. Iexpected better style from a bad guy,” the sightless vigilante sighs.

“Whoa, villain?” The dark suited Timthrows up both hands, “how fucking insulting. I am not a bad guy,I’m a solo vigilante fuck you very much”

Three of the five Tim’s eyes are huge.

“Wait, so you didn’t start out with the Bats?”De-cowled Tim is blinking because, well yeah, he could totally see aworld where he decided to be bad ass on his own.

Dark Tim’s eyes swing over, whiteouts raised, “Iwas a Bat at one time,” but his his voice is clipped, tight.

“Did…did you take on something other than RedRobin when Dick—” Domino Tim takes an anxious step forward because yes,that? So many possibilities. (And what would his team of loveableassholes care if he…if he changed his ident, too? The Bats, hisworld’s Dick, Jason, B, and Dami wouldn’t give two fucks anyway).

The dark Tim glances away, his expression goingcompletely neutral, “it’s…a long story. I was that name for about a minute,just long enough to peg B down and bring him back from random time fuckery.Gave it up right after.”

De-cowled Tim straightens a little, “were youRed Robin when you took out Ra’s and saved Wayne Enterprises?”

The dark Tim blinks and shakes his shaggy head,“I—I didn’t become CEO, not of Wayne Enterprises. I brought B back right afterI took the League down. He was able to prove himself legally alive and save WEon his own. He sure as fuck didn’t need my help to do it.”

“That sucks,” blind Tim is already turned towardthe creaks and groans of their prison, trying to get a peg on what couldpossibly be outside. “I’m not a fan of it, but Dick wasn’t taking up the CEOreign, so—” he give it a there you have it flourish.

The awful tension in dark Tim’s spine tells a hellof a lot more than he probably means to,“Dick and I… I’ll leave it alone. Thedetails don’t matter, but needless to say it’s fine. I know where myplace is, where it’s always been.”

“Please don’t tell me Hood laid it out for youwith sharp, pointy things?” Domino Tim bites out, his upper body tensewith pain of his injuries and old burdens.

Dark Tim’s teeth flash white in a dangerous grin,“up-close-and-personal right after I found Bruce. He wanted to congratulateme on how smart it was to get out before they dumped me in the garbage, whichis probably true anyway.”

The doctor’s eyes are wide, his stomach churningwith the bitter, angry acceptance right there for him to see. The fact two ofthe Tims reach for a the thin, nearly imperceptible scar at their throats giveshim enough detail to see where things for them went. His fist tightens when hecatches the moves, hastily aborted before it could be obvious.

“I’m sorry,” he interjects quietly, making theother four turn to him, “I’m sorry you don’t have what I do. Those two…aregood to me. Better than good. Granted, I patch them up on a regular. Titans andJL too. Sometimes the Outlaws, but when—when it was the Joker…they came forme. They didn’t stop trying to find me, so…yeah, I’m sorry you don’t havethat.”

Dark Tim straightens, tries to be neutral, “ifthey’ve got your back, then good on you, Doc. I’m better being out of the Batsactually. It’s probably something I should have done when Dad died, given upthe R, let Damian the fuck have it.” He shakes his head a little.

“My life…is better now’,” Dr. Drakeadmits before any of the others can give into their own curiosity, “Before itwas…it was fine. I worked, and took care of Steph and Layla, I gamedwith Ives, and did the hardcore things on my time off. It was…it was a good lifeand I made it for myself. But when I found Dick laying out on my fire escape,dying, I…nothing would ever be the same. I don’t think I could go back to before,not now that I have them,” he shrugs. “It’s the best relationship I’ve everhad.” And it’s true enough that he can’t imagine a world where he’s nottotally in love with Dick or Jay, and watching the others get anxious or angryat the mention of his name (except for the cowled one, so maybe hope?) makeshis chest tight.

The dark Tim takes a few steps closer, tilts hischin so the doctor doesn’t have to look up, “I hope,” the unnamed vigilante beginshoarsely, “I hope they love you like you deserve for the rest of yourlife, and never turn you the fuck out.”

The doctor sucks in a breath, his chest aching.

“I hope Dick…realizes what he’s got.”And the this time hovers above him, around him because even though he’stried to move on, tried to keep putting one foot in front of the other,tried to keep one step ahead of the pain, the betrayal, the loss likeit’s his fucking spleen, it kills him that in some other world, he getsto have it…and keep it.

De-cowled Tim crosses his arms and glances atthe doctor, “Dick… some of us may have a sore spot with Dick. He ah, he tookthe Robin mantle in a slightly douchey way. There was…a lot of reasons behindit, but still.”

The dark Tim laughs, a very unfunnyha-ha. “Sore spot,” he literally fucked me before he took my cape,“sounds…about right.” It sends a chill through the doctor, makes the blindone’s jaw tighten enough that a muscle jumps, makes the de-cowled one…blush?

“My multiverse one is better than the one frommy universe,” the domino Tim shrugs, but it hitches as does his voice when hetries to be light, to be funny, “but they thought their Tim wasseriously dead, so…There’s that.”

And the weak interruption breaks up the TimDrake pow-wow: “Sss’okay. Mine…mine does too,”

The voice echoes off the walls, makes thevigilantes strike really impressive, dangerous-looking poses before they alljust vanish, and the doctor’s mouth drops open because holy shit.

Holy shit.

There’s worlds out there where he…He was Robin.(And the point hits home when he sees the version in familiar red, gold,and green, when he realizes this is what the rest of them might havelooked like at one time–that all of them wore the R). And he’s verycarefully, very methodically not going to think about all the old painand injuries— lack of spleen and eye sight—that are obviously marringeach of the Tims he’s met in some way

Mentally, while the others gather around thetransparent door keeping them in the cell, the doctor reboots because fanboyingover himself is just totally pathetic.

He makes his way to the transparent caging themin, the light dim and just enough to make out another cell across from themwith someone chained up with some impressive looking manacles inside.

“Whoa,” two of the four Robins manage when theysee the last Tim restrained and out of their reach. He looks beaten andbattered, bloody and…young.

“He’s still Robin apparently,” domino Tim muses,bends his knees and leaps up to hang from the top of the door, looking for away to get them out.

The youngest spits a mouthful of blood, “neverRobin. R-Red Robin.”

The vigilantes all look at him and theexpressions aren’t…positive.

De-cowled Tim’s jaw goes tight, a musclejumping, “you don’t say? Too bad, I have a lot of good memories beating theshit out of the Rogue Gallery. They’re not fans of the R either.”

“Got to love how they fucked up my suit.”Dark Tim nudges the blind Tim, whispers a few deets about the younger versionof them across the prison space. “A few details are off, but it’s the red tunicand green tights, black boots, with two shuriken R’s over the heart.”

“That’s pretty fucking insulting,” theblind vigilante, folds his arms and lowers the radar array back over his face,hits the system to check if his gear can find some inconsistencies.

Domino Tim just sneers, “right? ‘Never Robin’ myass. I bled for that fucking cape, for that name, man.That is just some bullshit B pulled on you isn’t it? Oh, I can’t have anotherRobin after Jason fucking died, so have another—”

“M-my call,” the youngest coughs out, his eyesbloodshot behind the domino. “Didn’t wanna be in those boots.”

“Fuck that,” all of the vigilantes echoas they climb, jump, move, and try to figure a way to get to the next one.

“It’s okay, I was never Robin either,” Dr. Drakethrows in, also looking for a way to get through the door, “but just keeptalking, okay? We’re going to get to you soon.”

“Oz is going to come back,” the youngest of themsays quietly, “and when he does, we all going to die.”

He catches it without the help of the radararray, his enhanced senses painfully alert with the bloody Red Robin in theprison cell across from theirs in need of medical attention (and isn’t it justa bonus that one of them really is a doctor? Not a vigilante, butbetter than a villain any day). But the barely-there sigh nabs his attentionjust as he’s climbing up the far wall to try looking for some hidden catchbecause, well, no vents dammit.

“Got it,” he deadpans, shoving the end of hisgrapple in the ceiling and letting out just a little line. He jumps it getenough momentum for both feet to hit. The others are gathering below him whenhe gives it a second go, feeling whatever material used to patch over the oldline start to give. One more hit and he breaks through for the blessed feel ofopenness.

“Don’t you love it when a plan comes together?”Domino Tim follows up after, leaning down to offer a hand to the doctor.

“Please tell me you don’t just make witty banterback-and-forth while you fight crime?” He takes the offered hand, slightlyamazed at how this version is seriously back-bending like a boss.

“Are you kidding?” De-cowled Tim grins upat them while the doctor scrambles for some kind of footing since, you know,he’s rocking pjs and shit. “It’s really the most effective weapon in myarsenal.”

“Aside from bombs and multiple types of fightingstyles,” dark Tim fills in, standing slightly back, the lenses in his dominostill up.

“That too, but the banter takes real thought.”

“Bombs are more fun.”

De-cowled Tim jumps up into the vent, “I thinkyou’re my favorite. We should make bombs together if this whole situation pansout for us.”

Dark Tim might chuff a laugh as he follows.

Once the dominoed Tim lowers him down to theblind one waiting to get him to ground level, the doctor is taking off to othercell, looking over the battered younger version of him (them) with acritical eye.

“You’ve got some bad contusions,” he notes,“want to tell us about this Oz guy and what the hell happened to you?”

“Oz…isn’t a fan of my come-backs.” The youngerRed Robin replies, the one that might actually belong here.

Wherever here is.

Blind Tim pulls the cover off the door’s controlpanel and flips out the hack-pad. As observed, the tips of his gloves arethinner than the rest by a mile, allowing him to feel the movement ofthe pad as it spits out code.

De-cowled Tim kneels by the doctor, flipping outsome impressive-looking tool that looks very similar to his bat-a-thing in hisvigilante-only doctor’s bag.

“Okay, I have plenty of pocket-space in thesepj’s,” his eyes don’t leave the hurt vigilante manacled down, already plottingwhere to start once they get inside. He flaps a hand at the others around himworking on the door. “Give me stuff in case we get separated. Like things thatwill explode without killing me preferably.”

“Almost,” blind Tim is working with the radararray focused on the youngest of them. “There’s a bypass to trigger an alarm.”

“Of course there is,” the others grumble.

Domino Tim, leaner than the rest, is standing onDark Tim’s shoulders while the two of them re-direct the security systemsembedded in the door frames where most people probably wouldn’t clockthem.

Dark Tim reaches in a pocket of his belt, andshoves a handful of pellets at the doctor, “keep them all separated ifyou can, but you can tell these because they have one indent for your thumb.”

“What do they do?”

“Smoke. If you get pinned down, put your thumbin the indent, press, and throw it on the ground. Got it?”

“Yup.”

Domino Tim pulls something out of a compartmentof his harness, “here. This is a grapple. Point it at a wall or somethingmostly stable, thumb here, press and hold on. It’ll kick back at youwhen it fires, but it’ll fix in where you point it. Aim high. This button willreel you in so whatever you do, don’t let it go.”

“Thanks. Get-the-fuck-away tech is really niceto have.”

“Security protocol deactivated,” blind Timinforms and holds up slim, cylindrical thing. It looks like one of Nightwing’sescrima sticks, only shorter. He works the coding with his other hand. “This isa collapsible bo. Even if you don’t really know how to use one like the rest ofus probably do, I have faith you’ll be a natural.”

The doctor takes it as the door gives a fewboops and starts to slide up.

“Jackpot,” two of the Tims deadpan.

Domino Tim hops off Dark Tim’s shoulders, buteven though, you know, vigilantes, the doctor is the first one throughthe door.

The others are cautious while he’s kneeling bythe obviously aching vigilante tied down with only his suit and a very distinctlack of weapons, gauntlets, and gloves.

“It’s mostly bumps and bruises,” the teenagerinforms the doctor, “getting out of the chains would be just stellar.”

“What,” the doctor chuffs back, looking aroundfor approximately two seconds before he snags a whirlybird out of De-cowledTim’s belt and starts to cut through the impressive if not torn armor, “need towork on your sweet dance moves, Tim? I think the party can waituntil we make sure you’re not going to pass out, right?”

The hurt vigilante snickers, winces, andsnickers again.

De-cowled Tim is already working on manaclenumber one while domino Tim is working on manacle number two. Blind Tim isskimming the room for any camera, vents, scary secret passageways, something elsethat could be thwarted by some meddling kids.

“Okay, this is going to hurt,” the doctor warnsin advance, lifting the vigilante’s leg, “but the good part about it isreally,” he jerks fast and efficient with sure hands, earning a muffled cryfrom the youngest, “is that I can do it fast. Sorry about that, Tim.”

“S–S’okay, thanks. That already feels less likeass.”

“No sign of your gear,” blind Tim crosses hisarms in frustration, red lenses swinging over to their general location.

Dark Tim gives a wave, “I’m going to check theother cell. We might have another prisoner to worry about.”

The hurt Red Robin grunts, “he’s got otherheroes stuck throughout the building. N-Not sure how many. Only said it wasinterrupting his plan.”

“You were getting too close so he nabbed you,”de-cowled Tim puts the thing back over his eyes while handing the doctorsupplies from his belt.

“Mmhm, think he…think he’s trying to–” a longsigh out and the vigilante slumps against the manacles.

“Shit!” blind Tim takes a knee on the otherside, “hey, c’mon. You have to wake up. Tell us what you know about his plan.”

“He’s out. Concussion, contusions. No seriousbleeders or broken bones. Whoever kept him here wanted him alive.” The doctorhates working without gloves, but douses the wounds with the antiseptic wipes,“he won’t die from these.”

“That doesn’t make the sitch any better,”de-cowled Tim pulls the cowl back over his face to secure it since they’remobile now and bad guys have a terrible tendency to fuck with important peoplewhen the ident is compromised. You know, previous experience and shit.

“No, but at least we can move him, and startchecking out the territory.” Blind Tim is already pulling the youngest up,maneuvering the limp Red Robin over a shoulder. He’s very carefully notbeing completely pissed off about the suit. Nope. Nothing to see here.

Meanwhile, Dark Tim takes approximately twoseconds to look at the shadowy figure laying full out in the other cell in thiscreepy little hallway. His heart slams painfully, and a gasp torn from him,eyes wide behind the domino.

He’s already working on the door, fast andefficient, pulling up the old knowledge, the old experience he hasn’t used in monthsof being on his own, of just taking to the streets instead of taking down thebig, bad evils of the world. (He’d wanted something simple, something toremind him where his roots were, something he could do without being a Bat).

But at the moment, there’s nothing moreimportant than kicking it up a fucking notch. He triggers the door toopen once security is deactivated, almost vibrating with energy.

“C’mon, c’mon,” is a fervent prayer under hisbreath because please, please be alive.

“Whoa! Dude, did you hit the jackpot or what?”

But he doesn’t even pay attention to the otherscoming out of prison cell #2 or pause once the door is high enough for him toduck under.

“Shit,” cowled Tim growls, “he’s got somethinggood,” and follows while the doctor and blind Tim get their younger counterpartthe fuck out of that cell.

What he finds makes him pause in the doorway, agasp caught in his throat.

Dark Tim is cradling Kon-El’s face between hispalms, talking gently to the woozy-looking clone.

“Kryptonite. That douche bag has to havekryptonite in here somewhere to keep him down,” domino Tim joins the hunt,letting the nameless one of them do his thing.

“Superboy!?” The doctor, however, takes a knee,takes in the sluggishly moving eyes, takes in the manacles and bodysuit, theslight green tint to the clone’s veins.

“He’s bordering on Kryptonite poisoning. We needto get him out and fast,” the doctor takes the clone’s face from dark Tim andtilts him closer to the light, watches the pupils react sluggishly.

Dark Tim is all aboard that train, thismission now seemingly priority one.

“M’ seeing double,” the clone (who doesn’t know whythe other guy called him Kon or Conner, why this one called him…Superboy? Hedoesn’t know those names, doesn’t know why the hold on his face is gentle,easy. Nothing has been gentle since he was brought here.) “Who…who areyou?”

Dark Tim gets the first unlocked with his jaw tight,“in my world…I’m your best friend. Me and Bart. You…you’re importantto me there.”

The clone blinks up at him owlishly.

“You hit a bad fight in my world,” the doctorfills in, unabashedly pulling at the suit to make sure he’s not missingsomething else. “The Titans called me to help unscramble your DNA when somekind of magic made you human. We totally played Mario Kart for hours,dude.”

“Y-Your world?”

“Long explanation. We’ll give you the deets onceyou’re away from the bad green glowy rock.”

“It’s under the floorboards,” cowled Tim isright there when the second manacle unlocks, helping to pull the weak clone tohis feet. “Hopefully, he’ll start to get his strength back once we get him farenough away.”

“W-who…?” His eyes are inexplicably drawn todark Tim, blue eyes taking in the vigilante that is on his other side, alreadypulling the clone’s arm around his shoulders and walking him to the door.

“Tim,” the dark one fills in softly. “I’m TimDrake. We…we all are in one way or another. We’re all from different worldsand in each of them, you are important to us, okay? Can we go with that fornow?”

The clone blinks at the whiteouts while heshuffles forward, already feeling better with each step away from the meteorembedded in the center of the room. “You’re…one of the good guys. Thanks fornot leaving me here.” His hand firms on dark Tim’s shoulder, and he quirks asmall smile at the vigilante.

“Leave you here? No way in hell, Kon,ah… Your name is Kon-El in my world, or Conner, but–”

“I’ll go with it. S’ better than Project 13.”

Blind Tim resets the door to close and lock whenthey’re out, adjusting the unconscious version of them over his shoulder.

“Since we’re, you know, trying to figure out whothe fuck is behind this, why not tell us what you know, Kon?” But blind Timalready has some theories going, his mind working at why his radar array isgoing haywire with configurations.

The corridor is full of shadows, each of theTim’s narrowed-eyed, trying to keep to the dimness.

“…his called himself Dr. Oz,” even though theclone is feeling better, he keeps his arm over dark Tim’s shoulder, doesn’tpull out of the hold on his wrist. “He said he had to make sure time was‘appropriately in his order’ for the plan to work. He broke into CADMUS, brokeme out of the generation tube. He…he said I had a purpose. I don’t–Idon’t know…”

“That’s good deets, man,” dark Tim tightens thearm around Kon’s (he could get use to that as a name) waist, “he broke you outof the lab. He needs someone with super strength and senses. Someone close toinvulnerable.”

“He’s fucking with space/time,” dominoed Timfurthers the theory. “That’s probably how we all got here instead ofthat Tim’s real world,” he hitches a thumb at the Tim laying over blind Tim’sshoulder. “My readings are still off the charts, so it seems like we’re–”

“Outside of time.” Cowled Tim finishes softly.

Blind Tim pauses when the body over his shouldershudders, “it’s…I remember trying to–to solve a case. The missing heroesand…” the youngest leans up, braces himself when blind Tim bends his knees toput him on his feet, braces him with an arm.

“There’s something working in this universe,”blind Tim makes a shooing motion, gets the rest of them walking, “my radararray is also giving screwy readings, like it can’t connect a consistenttimeline. Like there’s…some spans missing.”

Domino Tim nods in agreement as they take aturn, pacing carefully.

“Can you re-configure your radar to hone in on acontrol room or something?” Dark Tim glances over his shoulder. “If wecan find out where his bad guy head office is, we can–”

“I,” Kon hesitates slightly, “I have, um, X-rayvision? Like the real Superman. I mean, I can try–”

Doctor Tim’s gaze snaps over to the clone, “you do?That is so sweet, man. How about you take a look at this guy for me first,okay?” He hitches a thumb to the hurt vigilante, “just to ease my conscienceabout him not having broken anything?”

“Oh.” The clone unconsciously squeezes darkTim’s shoulder before he lets go and turns. “Hi. I’m…um. Hi. Are youalso…Tim?”

The youngest vigilante gives a half-grin andstraightens up to stick out a hand, “when I’m not in the mask, yeah. Yeah, I am,but when I’ve got this kick ass suit on, you can call me Red, okay?”

The clone blinks at him and then down to hishand. He tilts his head like a puppy, not sure what to do.

“Like this, man. Just a way to greet people forthe first time,” and this world’s Tim pulls up the clone’s hand, grips it, andshakes. He grins wider when the clone grins back.

“It’s nice to meet you,Kon. I’m Red Robin, and it looks like we’re going to have to save our universewith the help of some friends.” The youngest, beaten and bruised, but grinninglike mad with blood on his teeth, glances around at the other hims andback to the clone. “You with us, man? Because believe me, the fight? Isgoing to be totally fucking sweet, and you are definitely going to want in.”

#ALL THE TIMS #blind!tim #no home for dead birds #doctor!tim #fracture #destroyed #tim drake #kon-el #multiverse fuckery #time/space fuckery #because why not?#my fic #my writing #i'm so proud of my boys

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demenior · 8 years ago

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A Story About Lions (Gen, Rated T-ish)

(mostly incoherent and completely non-linear)

[warnings for mentions of blood and robot body-horror]

Lance is sitting with Hunk, sprawled over one another with their legs tangled, up in Hunk’s bed, and licking a spoon of what passes for ice cream, when he stops and says,

“You can feel it too, right?”

Hunk is sucking on his spoon, letting the ice cream melt in his mouth layer by layer. He talks around it, “Feel what?”

“The Lions,” Lance says, and they both pause to let the importance of the title hang in the air, “it’s like there’s something there, in the corner of my eye. I can feel it, even when I’m not piloting.”

“I think you’re being paranoid,” Hunk laughs, “they’re just machines. Machines can’t be in your head.”

Lance frowns, considers the possibilities, and then shrugs, “Maybe. But isn’t it weird how Allura talks about them like they have personalities?”

——

Keith flies into space, untethered and without a way back. He’s freefalling— no, free flying. He’s spinning head over heels into oblivion.

His vision fills with red, of a machine moving with purpose and intent. Instinct makes him panic. A hundred thousand years of survival encased in his cells recognizes what this is and it is afraid. A predator, singling out prey that’s cut off from the herd, closing in on him and opening his jaws wide.

You must prove yourself worthy of your lion.

The Red Lion bites down and swallows him whole.

——-

“Have you ever wondered what they’re made of?” Pidge asks, scaling the Green Lion’s face. Hunk is making sure the belaying equipment is properly secure, for the hundredth time. He’s only done this sort of stuff at the indoor climbing gym, and those walls were too high for him. The Lion is much, much taller.

“Aren’t we supposed to let Coran take care of these things?” he calls up.

“It’s my lion,” Pidge says, with all the narcissism a teenaged genius can muster, “I think I should be able to help fix it.”

“I don’t know,” Hunk says warily, “I feel like this alien stuff is best left to those who know what they’re doing. What if you mess it up?”

“I never mess anything up,” Pidge says proudly. As if the universe is conspiring against her, her foot slips and she pitches forwards, smacking her face on the side of the lions muzzle and she drops the allowed fall length before the belay device kicks in. Hunk braces himself as the rope goes taut; his harness pulling tight as he counterweights her, and holds her in place. She swings in the air as she curls in on herself with a whimper, smacking into the side of her lion.

“Pidge?” Hunk calls, “hey are you okay?”

Pidge groans, and when she pulls her hands away from her face blood falls to the floor below.

“Oh!” Hunk shouts, “oh no!” He fights the nausea of seeing blood and holds tightly to Pidge’s rope. The equipment holds secure. In the air, she stops swinging to rest against the Green Lion.

“I’m okay!” she calls, and it sounds like she’s gargling. Hunk gags.

Pidge wipes her bloody hands on the Lion’s muzzle, offering an apology and a promise to come clean it later, and tries to keep her head up while blood continues to flow from her nose and mouth.

“I’m gonna bring you down!” Hunk calls. Pidge holds out a hand to give him a bloody thumbs up. She spits out more blood as she rappels down, continuing to drip onto her lion as she uses her bloody hands to push herself away from it.

When she reaches the ground, Hunk helps to unhook her harness while she leans forwards to keep bleeding onto the floor.

“I think my tooth is loose,” she moans. Hunk nearly goes green.

“Let’s let Coran deal with maintenance from now on,” Hunk jokes. Pidge scowls, but lets him find a questionably clean rag nearby to hold against her face. With Pidge hunkered over, Hunk escorts her out of the hangar.

There’s a screech of metal on metal and gears whirring. The both stop and turn around. The Green Lion has moved its head. It’s watching them intently, eyes lit up. There’s still blood on its lips.

“It’s probably worried about you,” Hunk says nervously. He doesn’t like the focus of the Lion’s gaze. He tugs at Pidge. She doesn’t offer any resistance. They all but flee the Hangar.

When they come back later to clean up, the blood is gone.

——-

“A lion chooses its Paladin,” Coran explains, “and it’s not to be taken lightly. You are important; you are part of something greater when you are a Paladin.”

“How can it choose if it’s just a machine?” Pidge asks, sensing a flaw and going in for the kill. Everyone else nods in agreement.

“Are they really ‘just’ machines?” Coran argues, “You know they’re greater than they appear.”

“And so are we,” Shiro says, smiling at his team.

——-

“Show me,” Shiro tells the Black Lion, “help me understand you.”

And it does.

Shiro stands in the past, watches Zarkon and Alfor building the future. There’s something he should be looking at, what are they creating? He can’t turn his eyes up. He can’t look at it. It’s self-preservation.

Zarkon and Alfor, thousands of years in the past, direct the building of a grand machine. Shiro can’t look at it.

“They built you,” Shiro says.

The creature that becomes the Black Lion watches him, as if it can see him through time and space. He can feel its eyes on him. He can’t look up.

Shiro comes back to himself in the cockpit. Surrounded by machine and engineering and design. There’s nothing living here.

He’s not sure if it’s the whole truth.

——-

“The robeasts? Don’t worry, they’re completely mechanical. Just like Voltron,” Coran assures him.

Lance hesitates, “Then… why do they bleed when we kill them?”

Coran shakes his head, “Nonsense. You’re just seeing the liquids needed to make them move. They’re machines, they don’t feel or bleed. Don’t feel any remorse for them.”

Lance glances up at the Blue Lion, oozing thick, dark liquid from the injury to its shoulder.

“Just a machine,” he repeats.

He rubs at his shoulder, feeling a phantom ache. No matter where he stands, he’s sure that the lion is watching him.

“Now run along,” Coran shoos him out, “I promise I’ll have your lion ready to go in no time.”

Lance leaves, and only has a parting thought: why does Coran always insist on fixing the lions alone?

——-

“You could pilot a lion, if you needed to,” Shiro insists.

Allura jerks back like she’s been burned, “Me? A Lion? Oh, no. I would never!”

Shiro furrows his brows, “Why not?”

“The Lions are— are specific, in whom they choose,” Allura explains, “I would never interfere with that. No, the Lions have chosen you. I won’t take you away from them.”

The phrasing is odd.

Doesn’t the lion belong to the Paladin?

——-

Voltron collapses into the mountainside, sending up a wave of dust and debris. The Robeast has no interest in something that doesn’t move, and it turns its attention back towards the village only a few miles away. The can feel the impact of its steps as it walks away.

“I, uh, I think I’ve lost power,” Lance confesses.

“We all have,” Shiro confirms, “Allura?” he calls over the com.

“What do you mean you have no power?” Allura demands.

“There’s nothing. Even the backup power is down,” Keith groans, “we’re sitting ducks.”

“That’s impossible,” Coran says over the line, “Voltron was built with failsafe’s. None of the Lions can break programming like that.”

“Well it did,” Pidge fumes, “whatever they hit us with, we’re outta commission. Nada, zip, zilch. Nothing’s moving.”

“Has anyone heard from Hunk?” Shiro asks. They all try to contact him. The Yellow Lion remains quiet.

“Hold on, I got eyes on him,” Lance says, “I— oh shit, the cockpit is damaged. It looks really bad. The hull is all messed up, it’s bleeding everywhere.”

“Can you see Hunk?” Keith asks.

“No, everything’s dark and— wait, wait! He’s moving. Hey! Hunk! Do you have—”

Voltron lurches, and the sound of metal screaming and tearing cuts through the air.

“What’s going on?” Allura demands.

“I—” Lance sounds a little nervous, “Hunk just separated. It— I don’t know what he’s doing. It doesn’t look right. Hunk? Hunk!”

“I’m getting out to have a look,” Keith says.

“Me too,” Pidge agrees.

“Guys, we can’t—” Shiro groans, and then gets up to manually open his cockpit as well.

The sun is setting, making it difficult to see detail in the dying light. The Yellow Lion, huge and heavily fortified, is moving in stiff, jerky movements. As if it doesn’t know how to stand.

“Is Hunk okay?” Pidge asks nervously. Her voice carries easily over the coms.

The Yellow Lions face is peeling off, panels broken from the force of the blows it’s taken. Thick, dark ichor spills like blood from a wound. A massive paw comes up to grab at the armor, and begins to rip it off.

“What’s he doing?” Keith shouts.

“Stop him!” Allura shrieks, “stop it! Don’t let it loose!”

“We can’t do anything!” Shiro shouts, fear sent into overdrive at the panic in Allura’s voice.

The robeast turns at the sound, and spying movement, begins running back towards them.

“Everyone back inside!” Shiro orders. It’s the safest place they can be, “Hunk!” he calls, “if you can hear me, it’s coming for you!”

At this point Shiro has a sinking feeling that Hunk can’t hear them. And that’s the problem.

The Yellow Lion tears off part of its face, just as the robeast attacks.

From inside their dead cockpits, they can only get glimpses of the fight. Of the robeast striking again and again, and the Yellow Lion’s snarling face, skin already healing where it tore the armor off.

When the shaking stops they clamor out again.

Night has fallen. The moons are only just rising, and it’s too dark to see anything but shapes. There’s the sound of metal being sheared, of something wet and heavy. As the moons rise they can make out the slope of the Yellow Lion over the fallen form of the robeast.

The Lion is eating it.

——-

Shiro dreams of that terrible thing he saw Zarkon and Alfor working on in the past. The thing he couldn’t look at, the thing that watched him. He sees the Yellow Lions wild eyes, free from the blinders keeping it under control.

They weren’t building the Lions.

They were containing them.

——

“You don’t understand,” Keith says, “the weblum was huge. I’ve never seen such a big animal. And it just— it lives in space!”

Shiro laughs, “And that’s what scares you?”

“Actually,” Keith shrugs, “what scares me more is that something that big exists… and it shoots lasers. It defends itself.”

Shiro furrows his brows, “I’m not following.”

“Animals only develop defenses if they’re hunted,” Keith explains, “so what’s out there that a weblum has to defend itself from? What else don’t we know about?”

Shiro stretches out his legs and leans back on his hands, looking up at the stars, “Well, hopefully we never have to find out.”

——-

They haven’t gone near the Lions since the Yellow awakened. It’s locked in its hangar, sleeping off its meal. Coran assures them that he’ll make sure it never breaks loose again.

Hunk has been in a daze since the whole thing happened. Lance doesn’t leave his side.

“What happens if we try to leave?” Keith demands to Allura.

“You can’t,” Allura says, “who else will pilot the Lions? They chose you. Won’t you honor that?”

Keith thinks about the Red Lion launching across space to bring him back. Maybe it isn’t so much about them honoring the Lions, as it is the Lions refusing to let them go.

“What are they?” Pidge asks.

Allura looks surprised at the question, “Don’t you already know?”

——-

“So what is this place?” Keith asks.

“A temple, I think?” Hunk says, shining the light on the wrist of his armor at the wall. There’s murals and carvings, long past weathered and faded so only faint shapes remain.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Hunk asks.

Keith comes to stand beside him, squinting at the shapes. Hunk waits patiently. Keith has the most experience deciphering ancient alien scripture, so his guess is probably the best they’ll get.

“It… kinda looks like an offering,” Keith finally says, “maybe they did sacrifices to their gods?”

Hunk shudders, and when he looks back at the mural he thinks he can see what Keith is talking about.

“Man, why are old cultures always so weird like that?” he complains, “why can’t their gods be nice and just get, like, foot rubs or something?”

“Maybe that’s why they all died out,” Keith offers, “they gave too much, and their gods ate them all.”

Hunk frowns as Keith walks back into the darkness, searching for the artifact they came here for, “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

Keith doesn’t respond, and Hunk can hear him walking further and further away. He takes one last look back to the vague five shapes descending on their prey, and runs after his teammate.

——

The Lions of Voltron are gathered together for the first time in over a thousand years.

They are hungry.

“I have brought you new Paladins,” Allura informs them. She faces the Black Lion, and bows respectfully, “I hope this offering pleases you.”

#voltron #vld #me: when will someone write the vaguely nge-inspired/eldrich horror mecha creature feature i desire #me @ me: be the writer you want to see in the world #so uhh... here we are #this ended up being very hunk focused woops #writing is hard

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mr-beebleboose · 7 years ago

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UNDERTALE FANFIC/NOVEL/THING

Adventurer by Name, Adventurer by Nature - Chapter 1

A/N: So this is basically an interpretation of the True Pacifist Route of Undertale, based on @therealjacksepticeye ’s playthrough of the game. The protagonist is my own character, not Frisk (no offence to them, I love the smol bean) but it follows the events of Jack’s playthrough and the dialogue is a word for word transcript from Jack’s videos. I started writing this about a year ago, if not longer, and I think it’s finally time to share it. If people like it, I’ll continue to upload it as I write it. This is just chapter 1, ending just before you enter the ruins, after your encounter with Flowey. In my word document, the characters’ dialogue is actually in the Undertale font but it doesn’t translate over to Tumblr so you’ll just have to imagine it’s in that awesome font.

SPOILERS FOR THE WHOLE OF THE TRUE PACIFIST ROUTE OF THE GAME ‘UNDERTALE’ BY TOBY FOX. I DON’T OWN THE PLOT OR THE DIALOGUE IN BOLD OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT THE PROTAGONIST, KIT. I AM NOT MAKING ANY PROFIT FROM THIS.

They zipped up their jacket, laced their shoes and donned their backpack before grabbing the rope and harness.

Approaching the cliff edge, Kit Ross stared down into the deep, dark depths of Mount Ebott.

Legend has it that, hundreds of years ago, the village had been inhabited by a coven of witches and warlocks who had taken a drastic step in the monster vs human war, banishing the monsters underneath the mountain with a magic spell.

It was rarely taught in history classes, though, so it’s more like a myth. Either way, Kit was going to find out soon enough: they’d gotten bored and decided to go camping in the caves for a few nights.

They secured the rope around a boulder and clipped their harness to it. After a double check, they turned on their headlamp and climbed down into the abyss.

Wait, wasn’t it supposed to be getting darker the further they descended…? Yet, the cavern was strangely light at the bottom. Kit turned their head round to try and get a better look at whatever was emitting the mysterious glow: big mistake. In taking their eyes off the rock face before them, they failed to notice a particularly sharp, jagged rock that jutted out from the wall. It snagged on their rope and, before they knew it, snapped the rope and sent them plummeting to the rocky floor below.

Heart in their mouth, Kit squeezed their eyes shut and braced themselves for the painful impact of their body on the ground. Luckily for them, the rope had snapped just short of a dozen or so feet from the floor, meaning they landed with a heavy thud and a bump to the head, but otherwise relatively unscathed.

Sitting up and brushing off the dust from their clothes, Kit noticed that they had landed in a luminous bed of golden flowers. Odd; there was no one down here to tend for them.

Gingerly rubbing their head, they removed their abseiling gear and packed it into their bag. Walking for a bit, they inspected the nearby area (just rocks and darkness, nothing of interest) before stopping to pull out a water bottle from their bag. Just as they unzipped the rucksack, they heard a voice:

“Howdy!”

Instincts fuelled Kit and they turned, quickly withdrawing their pocket knife. Then it registered- they were stood in front of a yellow-petaled flower…with a face. That apparently just talked.

“…what the fu-”

“I’m Flowey! Flowey the Flower!” exclaimed the plant in a disgustingly sweet voice.

“I… I can see you’re a flower…”

‘How hard did I bang my head?’ they thought, holding the knife tightly.

“Hmm, you’re new to the underground, aren’t ya? Golly, you must be so confused!” cried the shrill voice with a shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, no kidding…” Kit mumbled. They kept the knife raised as they inched closer.

“Someone ought to tell you how things work around here!” Kit rolled their eyes, already sensing the craziness of the situation.

“I guess little old me will have to do! Ready?” Kit nodded hesitantly. “Here we go!”

Suddenly, the room went dark and two spotlights fell upon Kit and ‘Flowey’.

“See that heart?” asked the flower. Kit felt a heavy weight on their chest and looked down to see a red, heart-shaped pendant hanging from their neck on a gold chain. “That’s your soul; the very culmination of your being!”

Yeah, Kit was calling bullshit on this so hard. Nevertheless, they politely signalled for the yellow flower to continue.

“Your soul starts off weak, but can grow strong if you gain a lot of LV!”

Kit glanced down and noticed the pendant was surrounded by a mere layer of glass. They frowned.

“LV?”

“What’s LV stand for? Why, LOVE, of course!” the flower cried.

Kit resisted the urge to cringe.

“You want some love, don’t you?”

“Uhh…” Kit didn’t think so, anyway.

“Don’t worry, I’ll share some with you!” the flower winked and five…blobs appeared around it. Kit’s eyes widened in shock as they started to question life and their sanity.

They were dreaming, right? This couldn’t be real…they pinched themselves just to make sure, but nothing happened.

“Down here, love is shared through little white ‘friendliness pellets’.”

Okay, that definitely sounded fake; “friendliness pellets”? For a split second, Kit could have sworn that the flower’s face switched into a malicious grin, if only for a mere moment, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. When they blinked, it was smiling, just as before.

“Are you ready? Move around! Get as many as you can!” Suddenly, the white ‘friendliness pellets’ were moving towards Kit.

Now, Kit didn’t make a deliberate move to grab them, but curiosity got the better of them and they didn’t move away from one headed for their arm.

They didn’t know what they expected to happen, but searing hot pain and an open, bleeding wound certainly wasn’t it.

They cried out and grabbed their arm before noticing the flower’s face: a terrifying evil grin.

“You idiot,” came the distorted voice. “In this world, it’s kill or BE killed.”

Kit sneered at the two-faced dick of a plant before them.

“Why would ANYONE pass up an opportunity like this?!” The face turned into a smug smile as the five orbs multiplied into hundreds and encircled Kit, leaving no gap for escape, except…

“DIE,” screeched the monster-plant, and the trap started to close in on Kit slowly. Unfortunately for ‘Flowey’, it wasn’t a very well thought out trap; the orbs hovered at Kit’s waist level, which just happened to be about 3 feet above the ground.

They brandished their knife and, in a very Indiana Jones style move, rolled forward under the bullets. They stabbed the blade through an exposed leaf, pinning it to the floor. The plant released a high-pitched shriek as the trap faded into nothingness.

“I don’t know what the fuck just happened or what the hell you are, but you leave me alone y’hear?!” Kit demanded angrily. ‘Flowey’ nodded (if plants can nod…) and tried to retreat underground again but was hindered by Kit’s knife.

They removed it mercifully, letting the flower go: they never were the one for killing. It quickly disappeared back into the soft earth with a squawk of fear, leaving the cave silent.

Kit sat back, staring at the bleeding wound on their arm. They put the pen-knife back in their bag and went to stand up when they came face to face with a purple fabric and a white insignia, surrounded by white fur. Shocked, they fell back and landed on their arm, inhaling sharply in shock and pain.

“What a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth…” came a soft, warm voice from above them.

Kit scrambled back, getting to their feet and pulling their knife out again. They were certainly more scared now; there was no adrenaline, no fear or pain fuelling them now. This was a…a creature at least 3 times larger than Kit, not just some stupid plant. God knew the damage that could be done to them in this moment.

“D-Don’t come too close, I’m not afraid to use this!” they stammered unconvincingly, pen-knife trembling in their hand. This…being…was at least 6 foot tall, if not taller, and resembled some sort of bull or goat. It had small horns on its head and wore a purple…dress? Soft white fur encompassed its whole body, and although it didn’t appear threatening, Kit was extremely on edge.

“Ah, do not be afraid, my child,” said the being, kneeling down to match Kit’s height more, smiling a sincere smile. “I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins.” It gestured to the surrounding cave that was a lot less scary in the presence of this…woman? It appeared female, but who was Kit to judge someone’s gender…do animal-monsters even have genders? Either way, this being was no more threatening than a bumble bee bumping into a window on a hot, summer’s day.

“I pass through this place every day to see if anyone has fallen down,” she continued, standing up again. She had to be nearly 7 foot in height, towering over Kit’s tiny 5’6” frame.

“I came here to camp,” they explained, realising how dumb that sounded compared to the fact that the monsters from the legends actually exist. “I was abseiling down when my rope snapped and then I ran into that…thing,” they said, pointing at where the plant had appeared. “I didn’t…expect anyone to be down here,” they admitted, looking back up at the goat-woman-being.

“You are the first human to come here in a long time.”

“Makes sense,” nodded Kit. “No one believes in the myths and legends: they just think this is a normal mountain. When that kid fell down here and was never seen again, people started to avoid it like the plague. Now it…sort of makes sense.” Kit put the knife away in their pocket for easy access and hissed as their burnt arm flexed. As they looked down, they saw something odd – the heart pendant had a small crack in it and was glowing a little less brightly than it had been before. “Huh…guess that weed was right,” they mumbled, fingering it curiously. But…how could a simple necklace actually represent their soul? Kit hadn’t even been aware that souls existed until now.

Toriel gasped when she saw the wound, putting a gentle hand-thing on Kit’s uninjured shoulder. “Come! I will guide you through the catacombs,” she said, leading Kit to a purple archway that they hadn’t spotted before. It appeared to be made of marble, consisting of two huge pillars and a curved segment joining them at the top. Within the curved arch was a strange symbol that sort of looked like wings, in Kit’s eyes.

“This way.”

Kit grabbed their bag and shouldered it, Toriel leading the way further and further into the mountain…

#Undertale #Toby Fox #Undertale fanfic #undertale fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #toriel #flowey #Undertale AU #AU #OC #Undertale OC #jacksepticeye #therealjacksepticeye #jse #jack

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