nameless0583
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Summary
The air is thin with rigid expectation, and there are few resources to spare for something as temporary and trivial as “a spark of untapped potential,” but Keith is ablaze, choking on his own fumes.
“Besides, I think he’d go berserk if he had to be completely oblivious as to how you were doing,” Waara remarks as if an afterthought to tomorrow’s forecast, and Keith’s brow furrows in misunderstanding.
“… Sorry?” Keith hears himself actually ask, and Waara’s eyes wrinkle in the second he gives himself to read his face.
Keith is a blaze, stubborn and steadfast as an inferno set on consuming any good samaritan idiotic enough to try and challenge the inevitable, and Shiro is all the breaths of unadulterated air he cannot afford to have.
or, keith isn’t used to someone who cares enough to get good at seeing through his walls, isn’t used to being seen at all, and acts accordingly. adam bumps into his boyfriend’s wayward kid and talks, and keith is keith
or, doors by noah kahan is keith’s song fight me
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“After everything–if Allura hadn’t been able to do that thing with Black, it still almost didn’t work and we had no idea she could do something like that or what side effects there could be going forward or how careful we should be even if we did know, I mean–what?”
Shiro’s cheek twitches and his brow furrows before rushing to collapse back to something akin to normal, the way it always did whenever Keith said something that surprised him–worried him, more often than not. Now that the string isn’t forcing itself from his throat, he realizes that Hunk isn’t laughing and Pidge isn’t grumbling and Allura isn’t paying attention to whatever Romelle and Coran are debating about anymore, and Lance on the far end seems just as confused as Keith, wondering what has whisked away their friends’ attention.
“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵?”
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or, a conversation that desperately needed to happen
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“Home late,” Is what they settle for when attempts at longer sentences are only met with soft chuckles and too-gentle requests for repetition, and it's only then that the dots connect in his mind, why they’d fallen asleep there. “... Di’ somethin’ happen at work?”
For a long, lingering moment, it feels easier not to answer; to respond with a truth that feels as radioactive as Mars or a lie that festers like water corroding his lungs doesn’t really matter when he knows the end regardless.
He doubts they’ll remember this, anyway.
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i hate this fucker
Series
- Part 3 of tcr v!au shits n giggles
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Summary
Now, Bionic considered themselves to be pretty good at the whole defensive, strategic role; it was their ideal position in fights, xe had learned quite a few of the tells that communicated what the other person was going to try next and as a result, sometimes knew what was coming quicker than even they did. Something about being outright aggressive left them with an uneasy feeling, like a piece of clothing a bit too tight to be intentional, so defense was the next best option. Every gun and weapon of that caliber that wasn’t their own had already been taken care of and twisted beyond repair; the majority of their eight or so aggressors were already lying unconscious in scattered heaps on the roadside and pinned against buildings.
They started to doubt themselves a little after some other bitch they hadn’t accounted for tried to sneak up behind them, swing a fucking bat at their head, and succeed.
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or, HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIONIC THIS BITCH HAS BEEN IN MY WIPS FOR WAY TOO LONG
Series
- Part 2 of tcr v!au shits n giggles
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Summary
Animosity proves a difficult dancer, Bionic heaving and gasping for air as their eyes widen, released from the music. Flames rise and rage through cracks in the cement like a literal ring of fire that burns and hungers for something unreachable, xe can hardly breathe as earthquakes and volcanoes of their own design erupt and erode the very ground they stand on.
They must be, they think, because this doesn’t feel like the kind of thing that the world just moves on from like clockwork, like circles; like nothing.
Cheap fabrics dull the strike of frigid bitterness xe wears on their sleeve, their emotions mixing and swirling and shrieking bloody murder, hands that fly but never hit, pacing that wears out the concrete like watered pathways as the flames pirouette in their dance.
Helplessness. That’s it.
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or, i spend way too much time on this fucking oc /pos
Series
- Part 1 of tcr v!au shits n giggles
Recent series
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- Words:
- 15,881
- Works:
- 3