Comment_fic : 3sentence!fic, Animorphs, David/Marco/Rachel, yellow
Author's Note I Recommend Reading or None of This Will Make Sense: Um, I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU GUYS. rattyjol, with_rainfall and I somehow ended up on the topic of whether or not David/Marco/Rachel could work as a OT3 here on comment_fic. This happened. As the prompt had to be filled in a 'three sentence long fic' format beware of abused, over-stiffed run-on sentences, and every grammatical trick I could whip out of my sleeves because these are a LONG assortment of nine sentences people. Haven't actually written anything in forever (let alone David!) and is this too weird, or is this a way that this OT3 might actually work/happen? As this is a fledgling pairing, any and all comments and ideas are especially appreciated!
Please pretend that David possibly wasn't just a three four book character, and that Rachel/Tobias is more of an emotional possibility than a confirmed canon at this point. (What actually happened entirely up to everyone's own dirty mind, but I would love to know what your think. ;)
Additionally we're going with stereotypically yellow pencils here so the prompt can actually APPLY to the first one.
-/- Rachel -/-
Her hand grips steadily tighter around the pencil she's supposed to be using to bubble in the answers on the scan-tron test, and she feels the wood creak just barely perceptively between her fingers; it's close to breaking, but not quite there, which is remarkably close to how she feels at the moment - squeezed, bending away from how (who) she's supposed to be, unable to fulfill or focus on her proper function in school, the war, or her own life.
They're both in the same class with her now; one two rows ahead of her to the left and the other directly behind her and to the right, and she can practically feel the latter one breathing even though he's not technically close enough for the warmed air coming from his wicked, sarcastic mouth to actually be touching her, and there's no literal way the air from his lungs is carving a glistening ruby red A in the back of her head where everyone can see and know-
As if he can feel the residual discomfort radiating from her that's making her nerves itch and her tanned skin they had both so recently been touching feel two sizes two small, her other partner in crime just barely turns in his desk (not enough for the teacher to notice and accuse him of cheating, but to enough of a degree that his dark eyes can sidle over to briefly meet hers over their collective, unspoken, unexplored guilt and trifectorate of mutual dislikes about themselves they now saw even more magnified within each other; it should have been just some damned mistake, part boredom, part curiosity, part drive to never be seen as a coward by anyone, ever, that should have crumbled discarded to the nothingness among the dust and straw littered on the floor of Cassie's barn like the echoed memory of a thousand other events that had occurred there, but it had birthed something much, much more memorable than that - and more toxic.
-/- Marco -/-
There was no playing 'Truth or Dare' with Rachel; as far as she was concerned the game should just be renamed 'Dare or Dare' and then throw in the towel and call it a day, but even knowing this relatively simple fact of life as he knew it he had pushed his lips shut practically literally bitten his own tongue to stop himself from preventing - well, he wasn't sure what yet but his spider senses screamed that it would be bad - things from continuing when David had, in an arrogantly confident manner Marco had heard the tone of before too often in Rachel's and his own voices (and he would secretly love to coolly master the smoothness of himself), loftily imply that Rachel didn't have the guts to accept any dare David might choose to assign her.
She'd scornfully derided David's implications - interested, but managing to still act like David's opinions were of no more importance to her than the dirt she'd trodden under perfectly sculpted feet on her way in the barn - and with her certain predictable, wicked amount of glee told David to hit her with his best shot; in the face of Rachel's pigheaded excuse for bravery and David's slimy, sure-footed request, how could he be the only one of the three of them not to not step up to the plate and seal the deal?
He may have been ten paces more cautious than her and two strides less publicly selfish than David, but he was no yellow-blooded, lily-liveried coward, either.
-/- David -/-
She wouldn't look at him today, but she's far too proud by nature to admit (even to herself, probably) that she's not doing it; instead the sun-bleached golden strands of her hair that he had been temporarily been granted wordless permission to touch - like her occasionally claw-like fingers had been doing to their flesh only a few days ago - slink smoothly (like the predator she hides inside herself behind manicured nails and a wardrobe fit for Seventeen) over her shoulders, and the ends just barely curl under to kiss the soft swell of her hidden breasts.
Despite what the other two were probably thinking, it hadn't been preplanned at all - for some reason they had all arrived before the others (she had volunteered that Cassie's family was going to be delayed by some school function or another and Marco had tossed back that Jake had joined the alien and the bird freak to wrap up surveillance of heightened activity near the Yeerk Pool) and some particularly bratty, hormone-driven voice in one of the darker recesses of his mind had wanted to push, to prod, to loosen the edges of the proverbial band-aid to see if she'd take the next step to rip the rest of it right off in one fell swoop - and then they could all see the half healed, partially formed substance that lay underneath.
And, of course, she had; her lips were smooth and faintly tasted deceptively of strawberries under each of their lips in turn, but they - and her demanding, conquering, rebellious hands were seemingly everywhere on both of them at once with rapid, unpracticed motions that pretended to be sure and rehearsed but he was sure (or at least he wanted to believe) were not - were anything but what might have been expected from her sham of an All-American Girl exterior, like a swear word screamed in a church.
Please pretend that David possibly wasn't just a three four book character, and that Rachel/Tobias is more of an emotional possibility than a confirmed canon at this point. (What actually happened entirely up to everyone's own dirty mind, but I would love to know what your think. ;)
Additionally we're going with stereotypically yellow pencils here so the prompt can actually APPLY to the first one.
-/- Rachel -/-
Her hand grips steadily tighter around the pencil she's supposed to be using to bubble in the answers on the scan-tron test, and she feels the wood creak just barely perceptively between her fingers; it's close to breaking, but not quite there, which is remarkably close to how she feels at the moment - squeezed, bending away from how (who) she's supposed to be, unable to fulfill or focus on her proper function in school, the war, or her own life.
They're both in the same class with her now; one two rows ahead of her to the left and the other directly behind her and to the right, and she can practically feel the latter one breathing even though he's not technically close enough for the warmed air coming from his wicked, sarcastic mouth to actually be touching her, and there's no literal way the air from his lungs is carving a glistening ruby red A in the back of her head where everyone can see and know-
As if he can feel the residual discomfort radiating from her that's making her nerves itch and her tanned skin they had both so recently been touching feel two sizes two small, her other partner in crime just barely turns in his desk (not enough for the teacher to notice and accuse him of cheating, but to enough of a degree that his dark eyes can sidle over to briefly meet hers over their collective, unspoken, unexplored guilt and trifectorate of mutual dislikes about themselves they now saw even more magnified within each other; it should have been just some damned mistake, part boredom, part curiosity, part drive to never be seen as a coward by anyone, ever, that should have crumbled discarded to the nothingness among the dust and straw littered on the floor of Cassie's barn like the echoed memory of a thousand other events that had occurred there, but it had birthed something much, much more memorable than that - and more toxic.
-/- Marco -/-
There was no playing 'Truth or Dare' with Rachel; as far as she was concerned the game should just be renamed 'Dare or Dare' and then throw in the towel and call it a day, but even knowing this relatively simple fact of life as he knew it he had pushed his lips shut practically literally bitten his own tongue to stop himself from preventing - well, he wasn't sure what yet but his spider senses screamed that it would be bad - things from continuing when David had, in an arrogantly confident manner Marco had heard the tone of before too often in Rachel's and his own voices (and he would secretly love to coolly master the smoothness of himself), loftily imply that Rachel didn't have the guts to accept any dare David might choose to assign her.
She'd scornfully derided David's implications - interested, but managing to still act like David's opinions were of no more importance to her than the dirt she'd trodden under perfectly sculpted feet on her way in the barn - and with her certain predictable, wicked amount of glee told David to hit her with his best shot; in the face of Rachel's pigheaded excuse for bravery and David's slimy, sure-footed request, how could he be the only one of the three of them not to not step up to the plate and seal the deal?
He may have been ten paces more cautious than her and two strides less publicly selfish than David, but he was no yellow-blooded, lily-liveried coward, either.
-/- David -/-
She wouldn't look at him today, but she's far too proud by nature to admit (even to herself, probably) that she's not doing it; instead the sun-bleached golden strands of her hair that he had been temporarily been granted wordless permission to touch - like her occasionally claw-like fingers had been doing to their flesh only a few days ago - slink smoothly (like the predator she hides inside herself behind manicured nails and a wardrobe fit for Seventeen) over her shoulders, and the ends just barely curl under to kiss the soft swell of her hidden breasts.
Despite what the other two were probably thinking, it hadn't been preplanned at all - for some reason they had all arrived before the others (she had volunteered that Cassie's family was going to be delayed by some school function or another and Marco had tossed back that Jake had joined the alien and the bird freak to wrap up surveillance of heightened activity near the Yeerk Pool) and some particularly bratty, hormone-driven voice in one of the darker recesses of his mind had wanted to push, to prod, to loosen the edges of the proverbial band-aid to see if she'd take the next step to rip the rest of it right off in one fell swoop - and then they could all see the half healed, partially formed substance that lay underneath.
And, of course, she had; her lips were smooth and faintly tasted deceptively of strawberries under each of their lips in turn, but they - and her demanding, conquering, rebellious hands were seemingly everywhere on both of them at once with rapid, unpracticed motions that pretended to be sure and rehearsed but he was sure (or at least he wanted to believe) were not - were anything but what might have been expected from her sham of an All-American Girl exterior, like a swear word screamed in a church.