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sourbat · 3 years

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(Metalrat) Forgive me for I must ask for the forbidden OT3: Magnus, Toki, and Pickles first kiss or other affectionate touch. XD If all three is too much hassle, then any paired combination of these jerks is good too. XD

Now this was a blast to write.

Summary: Pickles ruminates about the two guitarists he’s known.

Rating: T for swearing and suggestive lines

Contains implied hammertooth

The images on screen, combined with the smug grin of the television host, half a bottle of cheap brandy and several years of unspoken regret, brings forth the unorganized and alcohol-induced clusterfuck of memories that now haunts Pickles. Silently, he sips his bottle, swashing booze with his tongue across rows of chattering teeth, ignoring the sting that plagues the corners of his eye as he witnesses the images turn into recordings, clips of two guitarists he had known and loved during some point in his miserable life.

He swallows the sweetly acidic tang, shuts his eyes and he forces down a nauseas belch, and when Pickles opens his eyes, sees Toki nervously sitting by his side, back at the old apartment.

Toki reached for him with the same hesitance expected of an unsure virgin, fingertips wavering out in search of deeper affection, but fearful over what they might find. And yet, when Pickles tries to recall anything further, only summons glimpses of those same hands happily fondling him, delving between nooks and bends, exploring Pickles with an almost childish fervor, and giggling each time he wakened a tickle, a warning, a stifled moan. With some concentration, there are moments where it’s just him and Toki, drunk and alone in the living room, passion unresolved. The same hand is there, still cast outwards, and about to stumble over Pickles’ leg right when he mentions he wouldn’t mind sharing his bed if it meant the poor kid could avoid another spine-twisting night on the couch.

Somewhere, between his words and the manhandling, Pickles finds the recording of their first contact. Right before Toki pushed him down, crushed Pickles into the sofa with his unforeseen strength, he remembers the trembling hand, the perturbed, almost hurt look of a child who’d never been offered such affection.

Another gulp of brandy unveils a similar memory, equally distrusting picture that evokes a panged throb as Pickles’ eyes remain glued to the screen.

Compared to Toki, Magnus is a mere whisper, a phantom of stills that conjures a chill across Pickles’ slouched form. Pickles has an easier time picking out details of the band’s first performance better than he can trying to remember the exact moment Magnus ceases viewing him as a partner, a bandmate or fellow musician, and begins treating him as his new object of obsession. Though he cannot remember the touch and sensation, does know Magnus was a control freak, and likely had him against a wall, corner, or pinned on the very same bed he and Toki would end up acquainting themselves in.

Even with the booze, Pickles doesn’t shirk the notion that, deep down, whatever affection Magnus offered him was temporary. If Magnus cared he’d have tried harder, retrained from letting his compulsive behavior seep into the band’s interworking’s, and would’ve never allowed that outburst to happen, the tabbing. Pickles blows warm air into the neck of his bottle, listens to the hollow melody of a nearly empty container, and tries finding the instant where Magnus made Pickles feel desirable, a man in his own right, and through the mere act of a touch.

He finishes the bottle, gulping down Magnus growling his name, holding him down and–using those terribly long fingers of his–pulls the seam of Pickle’s jeans down his thighs and to his knees. Magnus was an impulsive bastard, demanding validation with every rough grip, yank or tug of the hair. Was he rough with Toki–? Did their contrasting desires… Toki’s curious, stubby fingers, and Magnus,’ in search for power and control, ever clash? Did Toki hesitate to let Magnus know he was interested, or was Magnus the first to initiate? Who held the other down? Who pinned whom?

Were they as happy as the pictures suggest?

“…that concludes this week’s Dethklok Minute! For more, download our app on–”

Pickles’ heel slams on the pedal, concluding the night with the TV going dark and mute. The bottle of brandy slips from his weakening grip, down the sofa, and tumbles to the floor with the crushed cans and other leavenings. Pickles listens to the glass roll, and his drunken haze, hears their laughter and moans get swallowed under the increasing bile. Astringent sweat, incurred through a night of drinking, now suffocates him. There’s not one drop of blood that isn’t infused with the unnatural heat, the longing and desire for a simpler time, whether it was to be worshipped or abused by a madman, or for him to play the role of teacher to another.

Pickles reaches for his left, hoping to grab on to the neck of his next serving of poison, but finds no one…nothing. In the dark, Pickles stares, shocked and aghast at the impending, frigid loneliness now threatening to envelop him, and despite the heat seeping through his every pore, holds himself to cover a shiver.

Through the coughing, he sees their hands extending outward, searching for a droplet of intimacy, but when Pickles tries answering the call, realizes their attention is focused elsewhere, towards one another.

But he shuts down, Pickles tries one more time.

He shuts his teary eyes and focuses on their forms, confident that, if he tries really hard, can pass out and dream of a scenario where he isn’t old news, where he’s the center of attention again and both men are vying for his attention.

“Ams so much fun, Pickle.”

“How about another go, Pickles?”

Harder. Harder.

“Loves you, Pickle.”

“You’re too good to me, Pickles.”

Harder, until the shiver ends, and the warmth numbing and luring him deeper into the unconsciousness tricks Pickles into believing it’s not the booze, but the men reaching for him for the first time again, touching him, loving him…

He passes out before he even gets close.

#toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #magnus hammersmith #magpickles #tickles #magtok #thejollybeardcollection #thank you

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broke-bitch-mountain · 7 years

Text

Red Scales, Blue Eyes

Guess who’s back.

Back again

Nomi’s back

Tell a friend

@littleduckbigquack Three weeks overdue but here’s the update!!! Its a little longer as an apology but I was trying to get more of Keith’s world pinned down but tbh Lance is alot easier so I’m working on Keith’s parts (they are coming I promise!) But this is more Lance centric. ALSO! Before the discourse over the name starts! I decided to go with McClain for Lance because it is a common and easily recognized name in the fandom and once his real name is canonized I will happily change it. Anyway, here you guys go! See mistakes? Please let me know!

Ten minuets later, Keith popped up behind Lance, effectively scaring the other teen into a splashing fit. Several gestures of apology later, Keith finally held up the bag he had filled with his small treasures from his home for Lance to glance through. Carefully, Lance pulled out each of the small objects for inspection, giving Keith a weird looked when he grabbed the sparkly doll. He held up the shell against the setting sun with a focused gaze set firm on his face. The blue shell was opaque against the orange glow and held gentle wave of blue at the bottom from the ocean’s reflection on the bottom. It almost looked like a small aura of light surrounded it, however Keith assumed it was because it was finally seeing daylight again after living in his small house for so long.

The shell, Keith remembered, has been one of his oldest treasures. It had been with him for as long as he could remember. He remembers a dream of a woman in purple and red with that shell around her neck. There are others in the room who are sad but Keith doesn’t know why. The dream isn’t really that sad, it’s just the woman who smiles at him like he’s everything she’s ever wanted and then she sleeps.

That’s all Keith knows her to be doing.

He likes to imagine that it’s his mother. His grandfather, Alfor hadn’t been too forthcoming on the details of his first child’s death, or the sudden disappearance shortly after of his second. He believed that those topics where too depressing and held no place in the palace walls. So Keith was never allowed to ask questions about them, and his father was out of the question. It never really bothered Keith until now, seeing what he has always on some level believed was his mother’s legacy being held up by a human that might take it away from him.

Keith pushed the shell into the human’s chest. Nobody would risk their lives for a necklace that didn’t hold an equal value. This was a fair trade.

Lance looked the mermaid directly in the eye as the shell was shoved towards him. The shape seemed to ring a bell at the back of his head but whatever memory it was triggering was too far away to fully pull up. He glanced down at the shell again and back up to the creature who had saved his life. Who then pressed to Lance’s chest, again.

“For me?” Lance asked pointing at himself.

The creature nodded and let go of the shell.

Lance looked down at the shell again, cradling it in his palm. Between the ears had been carved out like it was supposed to be on a string. Lance made a mental note to find a new chain or something so he can wear it. It would make a nice replacement for the cross that the ocean had claimed for its own. So Lance smiled towards the mermaid, a full toothy Lance grin and clutched the shell towards his chest. When his eyes opened, the mermaid was a considerable distance away, giving him a small wave before diving back into the deep ocean. Lance looked one last time at the shell, already excited to show Hunk and Pidge…

Shit.

Lance swam like a madman towards the shore and scrabbled to his dorm down the street. They were going to kill him.

Keith now understood why being spotted by a human was illegal. The smile that the human had sent his way before he left was an infectious one that was brighter than the sunset behind him. The light casting small sparkles off his face from the water droplets sliding down his face and framing his perfect teeth. It was a shame his eyes were shut, Keith is sure those would have been sparkling too. He was sure that not all human’s where like him but, there were probably enough though, to ruin their entire society.

Especially if they all have a smile like that.

It was that thought that made Keith immediately distance himself. He may not be welcomed in his society but he didn’t want more reason for his death. He may be stressed in trying to live but at least he was getting by. There was a heavy weight in his heart when Keith considered that he was not going to be able to see the boy again. He hadn’t even gotten his real name. Pretty boy seemed fitting enough though, so that is what Keith decided to call him.

He needed to get back home. He needed to go to bed and get ready for another day. He needed to talk to Shiro about getting a needle and he needed to tend to his garden. He found himself back at the cave’s mouth and searching the sand. The chain was broken, pieces of it scattered and casting off a faint light across the entrance. Caught on one of the rocks in the middle of the side wall was the necklace Pretty boy came back for. A treasure with a memory attached, this one was special.

Quietly, Keith swam back to his home. Almost reluctant to leave the warmth of the surface, almost. By the time that he was moving the rock into his home the stars where out bringing a chill into the ocean depths. Keith, against all better judgment, left the entrance opened to watch the stars and wonder if Pretty boy was looking at them too.

“How many times do I have to apologize?” Lance pleaded with Pidge when she was packing up at midnight. His sudden arrival back at his shared dorm was met with Hunk making ‘study snacks’ to stave off the full blown panic attack at the idea that Lance was dead while Pidge paced the length of the room so often that Lance swore there was a rut in the carpet. There was a definite mix in review when he entered the small kitchen area that prefaced the two by one apartment like space that Hunk and him split between each other while the kitchen was shared by everyone on their floor. Pidge ended up pummeling him in punches and terms of endearment such as “you idiot” and “freaky fish-land boy” while Hunk just hug him from behind.

“Jeeze guys, I told you I wasn’t going to drown out there.” Lance had defended, which brought on a few harder hits from Pidge and a suffocating bear hug from Hunk.

“You were gone for nearly an hour, Lance.” Hunk informed him. “And I love your mom but I don’t think that she’d forgive me for letting you drown, that woman is not a woman I want to piss off.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’d bring me back just to kill me again.” Lance laughed. Then, with most of her energy spent on Lance’s now black and blue ribs, Pidge sat them down and started with their massive cram for their finals.

The three were part of a special program called the Galaxy Garrison. The Garrison in general was a school that provided technical training to those who wished to serve in the military but, due to individual preference or disability, did not want to be on the battle field. The Galaxy Garrison specifically trained those who wanted to explore the vastness of space to some degree.

Hunk was an engineer and was learning how to design, build and repair ships, bases, pods and all other fun toys that transport people or goods in the vacuumed ecosystem. He believed it was his little piece of the big picture since he didn’t have the stomach for piloting an actual space craft and, while he was smart enough to go into the more sciencey parts of the program, he felt accomplished at the end of the day with a physical machine that could save lives or even progress the human race.

Pidge was following her brother’s footstep under the tutelage of her father, Professor Holt, and was perusing whatever classes she needed to be approved to go into space and perform experiments on whatever she could find. She had often dreamed of being a pilot and took a few of those classes too, “What happens if my pilot gets knocked unconscious Lance? I don’t want to die because they couldn’t pilot.” And while she had a decent grip on the designs and such it was more so that she could figure out how to fix it in an emergency situation. Her thirst was in knowledge and that meant the technical sciences was her home.

Lance had been dead set on being a pilot since he was a little kid. He may not have been the smartest kid in the bunch but he knew his way around what he needed to in order to pass and was by no means stupid. His enrollment in the program eliminated that possibility right out. They don’t accept people who excel in just one area of the program (or fail too horribly in one either) and make sure that each of their people have a general grip on every aspect in case of emergency. Lance wanted to be a pilot because his mother was from Cuba and on vacations they would go there and enjoy the beach with her side of the family. His grandfather would tell him stories about all the places he had gone to during the war, specifically about the nights. He whispered to Lance from a young age about all the places he had been sent with the Allies and all the stars he saw on the way. He always volunteered for the watch shifts in the middle of the night so he could watch the stars and just think. There was too much noise between gunshots and any kind of thought could lead to another dead corpse. At night though, with his senses on overdrive listening for anyone who shouldn’t be there, he would think about whatever his brain brought to his attention.

He contemplated the interworkings of the war in general. The idiocracy of man when they tore each other down and the greed that came with power; but also the desperation that came with wanting to survive. Survival was a thing he thought about a lot, Lance discovered years later when he was able to read some of the scraps of paper the man had scribbled a few thoughts onto when it was available and from what his grandmother had echoed from the early days of their marriage shortly after the war had ended. He had often looked up at the sky and even imagined the true value of his life and what meaning it could possibly have when so much death and destruction surrounded him.

Then dawn would come, and he’d see the beginning of a new day that forced him to cast the idea of quitting into the last remnants of the night. The stars, where always the ones that he whispered his deepest thoughts too, though; even if Cuba was not the best place to see them. “Reach for the stars,” was his favorite saying and Lance simply took it literally. The drowning incident that sparked his love affair with mermaids happened around eight and for a brief time his heart wondered to a career based in the water for a chance to meet whatever (the mermaid) that had saved him. When his grandfather died a little over two years later, though, Lance promised him that he would never stop reaching for the stars. At the funeral Lance decided he would name one after him too.

Tomorrow was just another obstacle in the way of that goal. Pidge and Hunk were good at helping Lance pace himself when he’s studying, though he has gotten better on his own. After this test came a summer break and then Lance would enter his final year before he could start applying for missions. Very few people actually went up beyond the atmosphere but Lance had been working his ass off to be the very best. However, like most people, he had his own shortcomings that ended him in the top three. He was constantly improving though and this time he would be the highest score in the simulator.

“Try anywhere from a thousand more to never stop.” Pidge yawned. “Good luck on your test tomorrow and may I suggest a shower? You reek of saltwater.”

“You too, Pidge!” Hunk walked her to the door, “Are we still on for survival lunch?”

“Of course, it’s going to be the only thing keeping me out of prison. After all this work I’ll be willing to kill for one of your mint cakes.” She smiled, then headed for her dorm down the hall.

Hunk stretched and looked at Lance who was still packing his supplies into his bag. “So what took you so long? Did you see a cute girl or something?”

“I am offended,” Lance gawked, “the nerve, that I, Lance McClain, would leave my two best friends believing that I was dead, for a pretty face?”

“So what’s her name?” Hunk pressed with a grin.

And from here Lance is more than happy to fling his bag over his shoulder and head to his room to enjoy the shower Pidge had suggested as well as his normal wind down routine. Granted, it would be at a much faster pace than he would like, he had his first final at ten and he likes to take his time to wake up so he’d need to be up by eight thirty at the absolute latest. Losing the necklace today was enough he didn’t need his self care regime interrupted to throw him even further off.

The thought of his necklace brought his attention to his hand, which was wrapped gently around the shell the mermaid had given him.

Hunk was half right, which prompted Lance’s feet to move even faster. The mermaid was a pretty picture, though Lance is half convinced that might be because of the mermaid part. It was easy to brush Hunk’s request aside, he didn’t get a name but he had been mulling over what to call him. Calling him ‘The Mermaid’ seemed too impersonal for having been the moment to confirm all his life long fantasies. But he couldn’t think of a name that was meaningful enough to take its place. So instead, he settled for picking a nickname. Though all Lance had to go off was his physique and fishfingers or scales seemed more like pet names than anything else.

Lance mulled it over while he went through his routine, trying a varity of different nicknames, a few highlights included: Mullet, fishy fishy (but only if it was said the same voice as the McDonald’s commercial) and Red.

Red….

As Lance drifted to sleep, Red seemed like the best out of the bunch. Short, sweet, simple and it was the color of his tail so maybe that was a clue to some level of personality.

Red…

Yeah…that felt fitting.

#red scales blue eyes #tinylittlesmallant #Nomi narrates

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