Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9851834.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Metalocalypse
  Relationship:
      Nathan_Explosion/Charles_Foster_Offdensen, Nathan_Explosion/Pickles_the
      Drummer, Nathan_Explosion/Toki_Wartooth, Nathan_Explosion/William
      Murderface, Nathan_Explosion/Skwisgaar_Skwigelf, Nathan_Explosion/Abigail
      Remeltindtdrinc, Nathan_Explosion/Rebecca_Nightrod, Nathan_Explosion/
      Trindle
  Character:
      Nathan_Explosion, Pickles_the_Drummer, Charles_Foster_Offdensen, Toki
      Wartooth, William_Murderface, Skwisgaar_Skwigelf, Abigail
      Remeltindtdrinc, Rebecca_Nightrod, Trindle_(Metalocalypse), Magnus
      Hammersmith, Rose_Explosion, Oscar_Explosion
  Additional Tags:
      Ficlet_Collection, Self-Harm, Suicidal_Thoughts
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-22 Words: 2567
****** Random Word Generator: Nathan Edition ******
by Pearly_Pornography
Summary
     A Nathan is worth a thousand words.
[Key]
He stood outside in the Florida heat after a rough day at school. His eyes
tired and hands shaking. Most likely, mom and dad were at work, and he'd be
left to his own devices until later on. He was fine with that. However,
reaching into his pockets he realized he didn't have his keys. He never picked
them up off his bedside table in the morning. He pulled and he tugged at the
doorknob until sweat began decorating his brow, but no dice. He was outside for
the long haul.
 
[Addict]
He was drunk, exhausted and suicidal all at once. He was addicted to the awful
feelings it gave him to overeat and binge-drink. He was in love with the sort
of post-hedonism self-loathing he experienced. It made him feel whole, it made
him feel human. It made him feel sick. He sank further into his bed, feeling
the hot blood trickling across his arm as he made another delicate incision,
then putting the plastic box cutter down and shoving a fistful of angel food
cake into his mouth. It was so soft and tasty. His stomach grunted in protest.
He washed it down with some scotch whisky, and it dulled the pain, but didn't
dull his freakish need for more. More pain, more food, more whisky, more more
more.
 
[Appeal]
He didn't really know what he saw in Murderface at that moment. After all, he
was fat, ugly, stupid, short-tempered and immature beyond all belief. But even
more confusing than that, was what Murderface saw in him. Because he was also
fat, ugly, stupid, short-tempered and immature and shit, and beyond that for
some reason he spent the last few years making Murderface feel like trash all
the time. There was no alcohol in his system, either, just hot-blooded passion
and skin hunger.
 
[Handsaw]
Sometimes he'd see Klokateers out on the lawn with handsaws to make sure trees
didn't grow in the golf course. What shiny serrated blades. What hard,
unyielding metals. Nathan wanted to take one to his belly and slice himself
open like a pig. He didn't know why. It'd just be fun.
 
[Barbell]
He tried to have a comfortable exercise regimen. It'd do him some good. Just
chill out in Mordhaus' gym, lift free weights and whatnot. Get nice and
muscular so he wouldn't end up looking like Skwisgaar, or even worse, looking
like Murderface. But he made a slight miscalculation and only really exercised
the upper half of his body. So he ended up with a thick musculature under his
insulating fat layer, and then just his gross thighs. Well, he did have the
money for liposuction, but he'd rather use that time to eat some potato chips.
 
[Noisemaker]
"Happy birthday, Nathan!" He stared into the darkness. "Make a wish, honey."
The candles flickered. The loose noisemakers went "honk honk" as they waited in
voicelessness. His green eyes were illuminated by the fire. Nobody was sure
what went on in Nathan's little dome, as he rarely spoke and was considered the
most catatonic child in Port St. Lucie. His voice dropped, and he whispered, "I
wish you'd all stop" before blowing out the candles, and within that second, a
pickup truck drove clean through the wall into his house.
 
[Fraud]
"There's no way you got through middle school. You're a fraud." He kept his
mouth shut and closed his eyes. "You're one big joke, Nathan Explosion. What do
you have besides long hair and a deep voice, huh?" He wrung his fingers through
his hair. It wasn't true. "You act like you're so fucking cool, but you're just
a weak, cowardly idiot." He writhed in his bed, feeling the words firing into
his brain. "Stop lying to yourself. Accept it. You're a pussy." No he wasn't,
he wasn't.
 
[Begging]
Abigail had this look like she was always dreaming of getting him on his knees.
On his knees, with a mouthful of fabric and his dick hanging out, his whole
body feeling like a coiled spring, getting tighter and tighter. This woman had
no calm, no chill. She peeled away the gag. "If you want it, beg for it." He
breathed and he shuddered. He did want it. He spat out a whimper, and then a
"please". Gross. He loved it.
 
[Buzz]
The worst thing Pickles could possibly say was "no more drinks, big guy". He
was buzzed at worst. But when he stood to protest, the whole world shuddered
beneath his feet, and when he walked he felt like he was seeing from all
different angles. He landed on his ass and, to make matters worse, wet his
pants. Pickles 'tsk'ed at him. He groaned in the drummer's general direction,
attempting to get up, but it just made him feel sick as he whined, spewing bile
onto the floor. "I'm just a li'l buzzed, Pickles, stop." He was too bleary to
notice the look Pickles gave him in response as he hauled Nathan's massive self
to its feet.
 
[Project]
He was awful at keeping up with class projects. He had a bad memory, he never
wrote his assignments down, and he just never knew how to do it. No matter how
much glue, posterboard and printed pictures he had, he still couldn't make
anything decent, and always ended up dead last in the gradebook.
 
[Crushing]
He was crushing hard on Pickles, so hard it felt like he was dying. It was
fucking brutal being in love with your bandmate. It felt like being literally
crushed. Like his heart was being squeezed out through his mouth, and he was
sputtering and gasping for air. His chest thumped beneath the weight whenever
he came near, with his whisky and his accent and his hot red hair. He wanted
Pickles to touch him, in places and in ways he'd never been touched. It was
scary.
 
[Prediction]
The whales sounded the same as they did way back then, when he was young. The
water was cold and the sky was dark. "Go in", they whispered. This time he was
tall enough to refrain from drowning, but still, still, he didn't know what it
meant.
 
[Apology]
"Pickles, I'm suh..." He had to force it out. "I'm sooohh..." He felt sick deep
down, but he had to. Sweat beaded on his brow. "I'm s- ghhk--" His mouth tasted
metallic. He spewed blood from his lips, sputtering and groaning. His guts
tightened and his brain hurt. "I'm- I'm- I'm... guh..." He coughed. "Oh boy. Oh
boy! Oh booooy!" His heart was squeezing. He felt like he was crying and it
hurt, but he had to, he had to. "I'm so... sooh.... I'm- I'm soooooohrry!"
 
[Chief]
The police chief in Nathan's district always thought Nathan was bad news.
Which, while Nathan had done little wrong to deserve it, he did most certainly
make it a point to say that he hated authority, following rules, and he loved
to threaten people with his simple gaze. He never went to jail, but he always
had the fuzz breathing down his neck.
 
[Kidnapper]
As a young boy, Nathan was known for approaching strangers regardless of how
well-intentioned they seemed. Not to befriend them. Just to ask questions.
"What's your name?" "Where do you live?" And then he'd talk a little about
himself. "My name is Nathan." "I live in a little blue house with mom and dad."
One time one of them walked him to his car, a big blue SUV with darkened
windows. Nathan stared at the dingy old thing. This man must've had it for
awhile. "How does it feel knowing you're gonna die soon?"... The man
incapacitated him, however, something went down outside of Nathan's vision as a
younger woman saw the act of violence, and he stayed in the hospital overnight.
Despite the chance of meeting a kidnapper, Nathan still spoke to strangers.
 
[Hotter]
He covered his body in warming gel to make him feel like he had arms around
him. But he ran out, and ended up breaking into Charles' room in his
underpants. Charles said, "If you want someone beside you, you're free to stay
with me for the night." But the embarrassment itself finally, finally made
Nathan's body heat up.
 
[Scream]
Horror movies about ghosts never scared him, but ones about serial killers and
stalkers were much worse. The realism made him coil in terror. Someday he could
meet someone like that. Someone who was ruthless, who would do anything to get
at him. Someone who was relentlessly coming after him. A girl, with a bomb
strapped to her chest, determined to go down, and take him down with her. "Oh
Nathan." Trindle giggled. "I'll keep you safe, you're so precious."
 
[Groan]
Skwisgaar always knew the best places to hit when they did it. The ones that
would make Nathan writhe and groan. He knew the Swede was fucking with him,
that he was definitely being toyed with. He knew he was being worked like a
sock puppet, but he loved it. He loved the immobility, and the warmth, and for
once having someone to stay with him overnight that wasn't just some random
groupie. He grunted in Skwisgaar's ear, letting him know he was this close to
blowing his lid clean off, and it was all that blonde fuck's fault.
 
[Bareknuckle]
"Punch me." "Barehandeds?" "Sure." "Olrights." Toki was fucking brutal when he
wanted to be. A few bruises later, and Nathan was fucking feeling it. He hissed
and he groaned. "Come on, one more time, hit me." Toki stared at his hands,
before giving Nathan the punch of a lifetime, knocking the wind right out of
him and pushing him over the edge.
 
[Snail]
One time he saw Murderface out in front of their apartment. It'd just rained,
and he had found a snail among the trash. "Hello, little buddy. Hey. Hey,
how'sch that rain treatin' ya." The creature crawled onto his calloused palm.
Nathan had never seen him so gentle. So docile. But there it was, right in
front of him, with a tiny snail in his hand, smiling. He almost wanted to call
out to him, to say, "I had no idea you liked animals". But no. That'd be
stupid.
 
[Hostility]
He could yell, scream and shout as much as he wanted. It didn't matter how mean
or surly he was. Pickles would always drag him back. Saying, "Yer so cute, ya
bastard". He would gently swat him away, he wasn't cute. He was fucking angry,
he was brutal, he wanted to yell and screech and cry. "Yer so cute." Bullshit.
He'd lash out at anyone who'd say that just to prove his point.
 
[Bone]
It was broken. His knuckle, and the window, slightly. The reinforced glass on
the window cracked, but didn't give way to Nathan's fist as he tried to punch
through it. His fingers were displaced, bruised and bleeding. He relaxed his
hand, the pain dulling, but not disappearing. A broken bone, in his hand. It
was mangled and malformed, and it hurt. He clutched the wound, feeling it swell
beneath his other palm. He'd be fine.
 
[Plant]
He thought horticulture and botany were kind of gay, but he did love
succulents. Cacti, mostly. The excess of needles were totally brutal as fuck.
Made for wounding people. Plus he could get small ones, cute ones, they were
nice and quiet and they kept his room lively, but still looking dangerous.
 
[Amputate]
"Just cut it off." His hand looked fucking gross without a finger. A finger he
lost in a freak onstage accident. Women would be way less turned off if he just
had no arm. "Nathan, you know that isn't necessary." "Yes it is." His body
wasn't anything special. Muscular, sure, but also blocked up and backlogged by
all of his sick gut-blubber. His face wasn't all that great, either. With a
gross deformity like that, he'd just end up lonely and sexless like Murderface.
 
[Raven]
They'd gone to London several times for concerts, but he'd never really been to
the Tower of London. Which he now regretted, because he was both in love with
the vast hall of torture devices and the pretty birds on the lawns. Caw-caw-
cawing into nothing, going where they pleased. He wanted to touch one, hold
one, talk to one, take one home. He'd never really had a pet before. But even
the lead singer of Dethklok has bounds he cannot cross, including stealing
birds from the Tower of London.
 
[Bodies]
Nathan stood onstage at a concert, feeling sick with himself, as the venue was
littered with bodies just like every other Dethklok concert. He hoped and
prayed every night that, one day, his girlfriend Rebecca may join those bodies
so he could finally be free. But she didn't even like metal. She thought his
music was stupid. May god let her die.
 
[Blank]
Empty. White. Nothing. He felt weightless, lifeless. He could see within
himself. A cold, lonely darkness, clutching its chest and breathing, in and
out. The beating of his heart sent ripples through the bright lights, the water
pouring into his brain. Regardless of his power, or his capabilities, he was
still just one man. His whole self hung with that of millions of others, heart
racing and stuttering as he began to see himself on the other side. Soft and
gentle and warm, inside the whale's mouth. He almost hit his head on the top of
his sensory deprivation tank, before realizing it was all in his head.
 
[Solitary]
Alone. Just the way he liked it. With lit cigarettes and stolen scotch, his
stereo acting as soundproof. His belly squeezed around all of the whisky he
choked down and he groaned, spewing across the floor, with nobody to see.
Nobody to come help him. Just the way he liked it.
 
[Grinding]
Tight and hot and sweaty, with Charles beside him feeling the way Nathan rolled
up against his leg. Goddamnit, this motherfucker. His legs trembled and his
body heaved, creating a perfect curve with his lumpy back. "God, fuck." He
growled, he wanted to shuck his clothes away and throw himself over Charles and
be taken the fuck to town, but the CFO refused to falter. No amount of grinding
could make Charles allow this to go by any faster. And that tantalizing
torment, that cruel fact, made it all the more fucking sexy.
 
[Thin]
He pinched the edges of his gut. By god, the tabloids were right. He had gotten
fucking fat, and he knew it. He looked like a fucking toad or some shit, like a
pig. Oink oink, boy. He wanted to pry away the excess weight, to make it
fucking disappear. But to do that he'd have to diet, or exercise, or worse,
fast. His forehead hit the mirror, eyes connecting with that of his reflection.
Nobody's going to love you if you look like that. For fuck's sake. Pull
yourself together.
 
[Wake]
No thank you. He rolled over pulling a pillow over his head. "C'mon, Nathan.
Get up. Get ready for school." He groaned, covering his eyes. No sir, no thank
you. His father sighed. "You wanna take the day off today?" "Mmh." He was
scared to get his tests back, to see the grades and give up. He grumbled,
rolling over. "Go back to bed, kid. Make sure someone brings you your
homework."
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