#*jobs. we r all old and tired on this website
Text
Forget Indeed. Those Over 50 Should Be Looking on These Job Boards Instead.
Hi Kristen,
Thank you for applying for a Team Member position with McDonald’s. At this time, we have decided not to move forward with your application. We appreciate your interest in our jobs and wish you the best of luck in your search!
Thank you,
McDonald’s hiring team at McD of Grand Morton (37954).
I have gone on more than 6 job interviews over the last couple of months and have been turned down for all of them. I’m not saying that there is age discrimination going on here. But when certain employers in the job interview say that “There’s a lot of younger workers here. Would you be comfortable working with them?” Or “We’re not sure you fit in with our company culture, but thank you for coming by.” When I hear those types of things I start to wonder, “Am I too old to be hired?”
A recent data analysis by the Urban Institute and ProPublica shows over 50% of older workers in the U.S. are pushed out of longtime occupations before choosing to retire, essentially experiencing often irreversible financial damage. According to this article “If You’re Over 50, Chances Are the Decision to Leave a Job Won’t be Yours,” more and more folks are experiencing age discrimination. The article states ‘Many people in America assume that by the point of reaching their 50s they will have time to save, have steady work, as well as the right to make their own choices regarding when to retire. However, unfortunately, that is no longer the case for most people.’
So it is recommended that if you are approaching 50 or are over 50, you choose one of the three suggestions:
Stay in your current job no matter what
Start your own business
Try one of the following listed job boards that specifically works with older workers
The workforce landscape for older workers is changing. If you are still going to Indeed, I highly encourage that you change that. If you are 50 years of age and up, I highly recommend these 3 job boards for older workers:
RetirementJobs.com
RetirementJobs.com is a certified age-friendly job board of employers committed and willing to take on older workers.
This job boards offers these benefits:
Free
Millions of members
Mixture of people from every level, from leadership/executive level all the way to staff level
Multitude of jobs available
Hourly and salary positions available
No age discrimination
Members rate employers
Retired Brains
The site Retired Brains offers a multitude of resources and offers part-time, seasonal, and temporary work. It is a fantastic option for retirees looking to supplement their income or who are considering restarting a business.
Over 50 and Looking for Remote Work? Try These!
Tired of looking for a job and getting turned down? Check out these sites!
medium.com
Senior Community Service Employment Program (SCSEP) Program
SCSEP is a work-based training and community service program for America’s older demographic. The program offers training for unemployed, low-income, senior individuals. The Senior Community Service Employment Program grantees comprise 19 nationwide non-profit organizations and state agencies. For more details on programs in your region, you can use this Older Worker Program Finder here. The AARP foundation also helps with such resources and information.
According to the program’s website:
Participants receive work experience in various community service tasks at public and non-profit facilities, which includes senior centers, daycare facilities, hospitals, and schools. This program offers more than 40M community service hours to non-profit and public agencies, which allows them to provide and enhance needed services. People work about 20 hours per week and get paid the greatest of local, state, or federal minimum wage.
If you are a seasoned freelancer and prefer the peace and quiet that remote work offers, here is a list of remote job sites to check out so you can get your first gig:
Reddit R/ForHire
Guru
LinkedIn
Fiverr
Upwork
Media Bistro
99Designs
Ruby Now
Gun.IO
Dribble
Authentic Jobs
Remote Jobs Club
Workew
Remote4Me
Angel List
Virtual Vocations
Skip The Drive
Remote.Co
We Work Remotely
HubStaff Talent
Remotive
Solid Gigs
Jobspresso
Remote OK
Flex Jobs
Working Nomads
Kristen is a contributor on Medium. Sign up here to catch every story when she publishes.
Follow Kristen on Substack: https://substack.com/@kristenb
Note: This story includes affiliate links. I earn income from purchases through this link.
Originally posted on Medium
0 notes
Text
Garage Door Repair Dallas | Supreme Garage Door Repair | TX
Supreme Garage Door: Address: Supreme Garage Door Repair 7765 El Pensador DrDallas, TX 75248United States Phone Number: (214) 915 0384 Google Map: https://g.page/r/Cbh6KYyfqQLfEBA Website: https://www.supremegaragedoortx.com/dallas-garage-door-repair/ #garagedoorsprings #dallasgaragedoor #garagedooropenerrepair #garageband #garage #garagesale #garagedoorrepair #garagedoorinstallation #dallas #SupremeGarageDoor #garagedoorservice #repair #installation #replacement #usa #arlingtonheights #fortworth #dallastexas #texas In the Dallas garage door repair business, Supreme Garage Door is known for putting in new doors. If you're tired of the same-looking entry doors in Dallas, you can call us to install modern plank doors or ridge doors that look like they came from a farmhouse. People in Dallas, TX who want full-view or one-way glass doors can also get good service from Supreme Garage Door in Texas. We fix doors in Dallas, TX by cleaning, servicing, and replacing the motors and springs. Our professional, well-trained team has put in many of the garage doors in Dallas, TX. They are always ready to do any Dallas door repair. Dallas homeowners want more than just a good-looking front door. They also want their garage door to have modern features added to it. In addition to traditional glass and wood doors, people in Dallas often want metal exteriors that give the doors an industrial look. Doors with vertical windows on one side are becoming more and more popular in big homes. Most Dallas entry door repair jobs call for black panel doors with a shiny finish. This is because the dark colour goes well with the ash or grey paint that most Texas homes have. Call us for low-cost, high-quality garage repairs in Dallas, TX. We do all kinds of repairs and do them well in a short amount of time. It's not easy to change the old doors to fit the new architectural styles. But our team is good at trying out different shades, textures, and colours. We make doors that look good and are very useful. They also add value to your home. With our help, Dallas garage door repair can be done for a good price without sacrificing quality. This is why we are one of the best garage door repair companies in Dallas, TX. Professional Installation Of Door And Accessories In Garage Door Dallas, TX When fixing a garage door in Dallas, TX, it's important to look at the door as a whole. After careful thought, we offer options to change the style and add new features to the garage doors in Dallas, TX homes. Before making any claims about the repair, our expert team looks at things like the style of the building, the materials used to build the garage, the age of the door, and how well it can stand up to future wear and tear. When we install new garage doors, we also pay a lot of attention to how they look and how they are made. Among Our Services: Garage Door Repair Repair Rollers and Tracks Repair Cables Install Opener Install Garage Door Insulated Installation Springs Replacement Opener Replacement Replace Door panels General Maintenance Opener Repair and Replacement Cable, Roller, and Hinge Replacement Torsion Springs Replacement Sensor Alignment and Replacement Garage Drum Replacement Garage Weather Stripping Track Repair and Alignment Steel Installation Double Insulated Garage Door Installation Tune-up and Inspection We are available for: Garage Door Repair Garage Door Repair Near Me Garage Door Repair Dallas Garage Door Repair in Dallas TX Garage Door Repair Addison Garage Door Repair Richardson Garage Door Repair Plano Garage Door Services Garage Door Garage Door Provider Best Garage Door Repair Garage Door opener Garage Door Installation Garage Door Spring Replacement
source https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8n0ZE8hiUU
0 notes
Text
Pyroclastic (Mike Zacharias x Reader)
Summary: Some would argue that the park is dead, but you know better; it’s livelier than it has been in hundreds of thousands of years, a shuddering, breathing monster finally rising to its feet after an eternity of slumber. Soon, it will open its mouth in an earth-shattering scream, and then, everyone will see.
Not dead; just waking up.
Rating: E (explicit)
Word Count: ~19.5K
Warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, Eruri, implied Mobuhan, spelling Miche ‘Mike’, swearing, fighting, lots of nerdy shit, explicit sexual content, breeding kink
A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile’s Apocalypse collab. I urge everyone to check out all the pieces on the masterlist. A big thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk for being about as excited about this as I was, to @shadowworks for always encouraging me when I take on projects too big for my own good, and to @mindninjax who volunteered her husband’s expertise on this. I’m pretty proud of this piece and had a blast writing and researching for it. This is by no means scientifically accurate, but I did my best to make it realistic (as in I watched Supervolcano again and spent a lot of time on the USGS website). Also, I have been to Yellowstone exactly one (1) time in my life and was terrified the entire time which is where my fixation with it comes from.
Enjoy~
GLOSSARY
Caldera - large basin-shaped volcanic depression with a diameter many times larger than its included volcanic vents; commonly formed when magma is withdrawn or erupted from a shallow, underground magma reservoir.*
Pyroclastic flow - A hot (typically >800 °C), chaotic mixture of rock fragments, gas, and ash that travels rapidly (tens of meters per second) away from a volcanic vent or collapsing flow front.*
Tephra - pieces of all fragments of rock ejected into the air by an erupting volcano.
VEI - The Volcanic Explosivity Index (VEI) is a relative measure of the explosiveness of volcanic eruptions.*
*definitions taken from USGS website
4 Y E A R S B E F O R E
Levi looks pissed when he’s on screen. He looks pissed all the time, but he looks especially pissed when he’s made to stand in front of pointed cameras and outstretched microphones.
You can’t blame him; it’s not actually his job to deal with the press, but some years ago, Erwin had twisted his arm this way and that and convinced Levi to take over conferences.
“They understand you better,” he’d said. “You enunciate better than me. We can’t have people misunderstanding me and panicking, can we?” The blond had purposely spoken with an accent thicker than usual, and Levi had called him every name under the sun, but in the end, he’d relented, and now…
“Dr. Ackermann! Dr. Ackermann! Is it true that this has been the largest earthquake in Yellowstone since Hebgen Lake?”
Levi squints, actually cringes at the question, then waves one of his small, bony hands. “Hebgen Lake was a major quake—7.2 on the Richter scale. This was only a 5.3, and yeah, it’s been a while since the park has had a quake larger than a three, but that doesn’t mean—”
“So, should we be worried about a supereruption?” Another reporter asks, and you clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing as the light leaves your colleague’s eyes.
Levi’s jaw slides, and he pauses, no doubt to think about how to answer because this is a delicate question, one that the general public always reads extremely far into. He’s good at keeping his expression blank, at least, probably another reason Erwin requested he take over interviews.
“Listen,” he starts off, slate eyes locking onto the largest camera in front of him. “Yellowstone is a hub of seismic energy. It wouldn’t be the park we know and love today if it wasn’t shaking and letting off steam like it usually does, right?” This gains a few relieved chuckles from the crowd of journalists.
“Was this earthquake bigger than the ones we’re used to? Yes. Are we monitoring each and every tremor that we pick up? Also, yes. So, don’t make yourself sick worryin’ about sh—stuff you can’t control. We’ll let you know if it’s time to worry.” He sucks his teeth for a second, waiting for his advice to wash over everyone, then adds, “Keep a bug-out bag packed, though. Not because of the volcano or anything. Just because… The world is crazy and so are people, and it’s always good to be prepared.”
They take it as a joke, laugh a little louder as Levi steps down from the podium, but you’ve worked with him long enough to know he had made the comment with serious intent. It’s a lot easier to fly out of town at a moment’s notice when you already have the necessities packed, and though he won't tell them all the facts this early on, there’s a chance that they will eventually have to evacuate, yes.
“I fucking hate that big, blond bastard,” is the first thing Levi tells you when he’s within earshot, much less well-spoken in casual situations than when his face is being broadcasted. “Voht iff they dunt understahnd me, Lebi?” He mimics your boss badly then pantomimes an uppercut with a dramatic grunt.
“Why’d you make him sound Russian?”
“I was trying to make him sound stupid ‘cause that’s what he is.”
“I have four doctorates,” Erwin states as he falls into step with both of you, finally moving from his little hiding place behind one of the news trucks. “I’m not stupid. And, I do not sound like that.”
“That’s what you think,” Levi grumbles, doing his best to shrug away from the larger man when Erwin slings an arm around his shoulders. It doesn’t work, and Levi ends up stumbling to keep up with Erwin’s longer strides, which only serves to irritate him further.
“You looked good up there. I mean, you sounded good. Sounded sure, comforting…”
You shake your head at Erwin’s obvious struggle to just not be the big weirdo that he is, but it sure is painful to watch sometimes.
Governor Zachary takes over the conference, leaving the three of you to make your way inside the lodge that the emergency broadcast was set up outside of. Levi and Erwin bicker through the lobby then through the back doors that lead you to the jeep that you all swing yourselves into.
The sky is still a little dusty with shaken sediment, and some of the park rangers are setting up barricades at the mouths of a couple hiking trails leading to what is now a moderately large crevasse that’s opened up in the Biscuit Basin.
Other than that, the park doesn’t feel much different as you ride through it on your way back to the lab. The Summer sun brings with it your favorite 70 degree days, and if it weren’t for Erwin’s questionable driving, you’d be tempted to hang half your body out the window just to feel the warmth better. The faint smell of sulfur in the air is soothing at this point—the smell of activity, the smell of science, the smell of home. Geysers are still shooting boiling water to the skies. The mud pots are still bubbling like ominous cauldrons. That earthquake couldn’t have shaken too much out of place if all the geothermal spots are still behaving as they normally do.
The tires kick up rocks and dust as Erwin brakes dramatically outside of the base, right behind another familiar jeep that makes Levi roll his eyes.
“Great. The boy scout’s here.”
“Oh, be nice, you little grump,” Erwin chastises him. “Mike’s been nothing but kind to us since he started working here.”
“Yeah, except for the time he misjudged the depth of that puddle and—”
“Splashed you with mud, yeah, yeah, we know, Levi,” you finish for him as you slide out of the vehicle. “You bring it up every time you see the guy. We know.”
“And, didn’t he apologize afterward?” Erwin prompts.
Levi doesn’t answer, but you respond for him: “Profusely. Drove him back to the lab, offered him his spare change of clothes—”
“Useless,” Levi hisses. “The dude’s a giant.”
“Not his fault he’s…” You try not to sound too giddy when you step through the door and see the man in question. “Enormous.”
You don’t know Mike very well, one of the newer park rangers but with a background in geology which leads him to your neck of the woods very often. The few conversations you have had with him have all been pleasant. He’s soft-spoken but obviously intelligent with good instincts about both the park’s weather and wildlife.
He’s also the only ranger you’ve seen actually pull off the dorky park uniform, but that could just be because the different shades of green look good against his tan skin and bring out his light eyes. Even taller than Erwin and a little broader too, M. Zacharias (as his little, metal name tag reads) is a slab of a man, and yet, when he grins, it’s almost boyish.
“Hey, Mike, what’s up?” You greet.
He turns his head to look at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, then offers one of the soft smiles you were hoping for. “Just came to drop off some samples for Hange.”
“Disgusting,” Levi mutters just for you to hear as he passes, and you shove him hard enough to make him stumble and flip you off.
“How’d the press conference go?” Hange asks, tossing a small, corked flask of mud from hand to hand—what you assume to be the sample—while twirling in their computer chair. The last member of your team, Moblit Berner, glances away from the holographic model he’s studying to hear the answer.
“I think it went well,” Erwin says. “Levi handled it like a champion, as always.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, old man,” the brunet bites out, joining Moblit next to the expensive projection table in the middle of the lab. “What’re we lookin’ at?”
“I’m just running the numbers from today’s quake. The possible effects it had underground.”
“And?”
Moblit is quiet for a beat too long.
“Mobs, what is it?”
You, Erwin, and Hange make your way over to the table, staring at the laser-lit park model and the chamber underneath it.
“Well, in most of the scenarios, it’s fine,” Moblit tries. “Nothing to worry about.”
“And, in the others?”
He looks to Erwin, as everyone does in times of concern. Thick eyebrows pinched together, your boss motions to the hologram. “Show us.”
Moblit punches a few things in on the app he uses to control the model, then takes a deep breath and lets it play out for everyone to see, including Mike who slowly makes his way over, curiosity apparently getting the best of him.
At first, nothing looks to change, just a living, breathing reenactment of what you were seeing today—every geyser, every fumarole, every little rumble, every minute rise and fall of the ground sped up to be detected with the human eye.
And then, it stops.
“Why did it…”
“Just watch,” Moblit shushes you.
The outline of the ground fractures in several different places, statistics for different earthquakes blinking above. The known vents of the park—every geyser, mudpot, and fumarole—are rendered inactive, and under it all, that massive chamber everyone is always so worried about begins to bulge upward and outward, growing larger and larger until…
The map shorts out, flickering then disappearing entirely, leaving the six of you staring at the space where it was shining just seconds ago.
“Was that…”
Erwin inhales deeply through his nose before exhaling the word that will eventually bring the nation to its knees.
"Supereruption."
3 Y E A R S B E F O R E
Even through the thick headset, the whir of the helicopter blades is loud, a rhythm pulsing through the air strong enough to be felt in your chest right alongside your beating heart.
Thankfully, Mike’s deep voice is loud and clear when he speaks, nodding his head to the right, “Look down at about two o’clock.”
You follow his command, tilting your head and peering down at an empty field.
“I don’t see anything,” you say.
The microphone hanging in front of his mouth picks up his chuckle, and the sound of it echoes in your ears, making you grin albeit a little confused.
“Exactly. That’s a big spot for bison this time of year.”
“Then why aren’t they here?”
Mike lets the chopper hover for a while, both hands still on their respective control levers.
“Ground’s been moving too much,” he says after a few seconds of silent staring. You’d known the answer already but hearing the wildlife expert confirm it fills you with a little more dread than you’d originally harbored. “They feel things we don’t, the tiny quakes, the tremors. Stuff you only think the seismograph picks up—they feel all of it.”
“They know what’s coming,” you say more to yourself than to him.
Mike offers you one of those charming, close-lipped smiles. “When in doubt, trust the animals.”
A line you’ve heard him say a few times now. Mike loves everything that lives in the park, from all the common lake trout and sand cranes to the endangered grizzly bears and gray wolves.
Trust the animals, he says. Because he trusts them. Because he loves them.
“You wanna fly over the Grand Prismatic?” Mike asks, pulling you from your thoughts, and when you look over, you find your reflection in his mirrored aviators as he stares at you.
His mouth quirks up at the corners, causing yours to do the same, and you nod. “Yeah, always.”
It’s your favorite view in the park, the colorful spring from up above. Mike had learned that a few months ago, and now whenever you ride in the chopper with him, he makes sure to pass over the beautiful attraction just for you.
Nearly 200° Fahrenheit with a pH of 8.7, the pool, while still dangerous due to its temperature, is one of the more moderate dangers of the national park, tame in comparison to the Norris Geyser Basin with temperatures up to 459° (a thousand meters below the surface, anyway) and a pH of about two. It’s dissolved bones—human bones. And, would claim even more if given the chance.
You suppose that’s expected for a basin that’s sitting over a chamber of 1,500° molten magma.
The Grand Prismatic is just as stunning today as it is every other. Its outer orange and yellow rings darken to greens and blues the further inward you look, thick steam rising from all over but more condensed over the middle.
It was one of the park's biggest attractions, tourists flocking to the spring with their cameras, too stricken by the vivid chromaticism to listen or read about the temperatures and microbials that are responsible for the colors in the first place.
As you hover above now, just to the side of the steam, your heart aches. There are no ignorant tourists to take pictures of the pool, the boardwalks and trails to these hot spots now blocked off once it became apparent that the earthquake that took place last year was not the last of its kind. Your team as well as the park rangers went to the park board as a unit and suggested that tourists needed to be kept away from as many geothermal features as possible, all of you with the same fear in mind: someone (or many someones) falling in.
It's always been a risk, but now, with weekly rumblings, that risk has multiplied exponentially. All it takes is someone losing their footing on the boardwalk over the Norris Geyser Basin for serene sightseeing to turn into tragedy, and that's on a good day. Throw a 5.7 earthquake into the mix, and the park could lose an entire tour group to the heat and acid.
It's just not a risk any of you are willing to take anymore.
Most of the park remains open. Old Faithful continues to draw people in by the thousands. They sit and watch boiling water shoot into the sky every hour or so, clapping happily at the sight, unaware of the way you and your team hold your breath in wait, hoping for the geyser to go off on its usual schedule.
One day it will stop. One day they'll all stop. And, then…
"I can't believe it's all gonna be gone one day," you muse, blinking down at the prismatic pool for as long as Mike will let you.
"Nah," the man disagrees. "Not gone. Buried, yeah, but not gone."
You snort, turn back to him with a grin and roll your eyes. "Yeah, no big deal. Just miles of pyroclast and ash, probably snow when we get thrust into another ice age 'cause of the crazy climate swing..."
"Alright, alright, I get it. The sun dimeth and the land sinketh."
"Gusheth forth steam and gutting fire," you continue grimly.
Mike turns the helicopter back toward the landing zone, saying nothing else and leaving you to take in the sights below. You're grateful for the silence; it's good for processing, for preparation.
And, you're grateful for Mike, one of your best friends at this point—soft and kind despite his intimidating stature, smart as a whip, and just as stunning, if not more so, than the Grand Prismatic.
"Any idea what you'll do afterward?" He asks, holding a hand out to you to help you from your seat in the chopper.
"Not really. Survive, I guess."
You land just a little too close to him, your face nearly coming in direct contact with his broad chest, but Mike steps back just in time, making you extend your arm, still connected at the fingers, before he drops your hand.
"A feat all on its own," he says flatly, but he perks up as you both begin walking to the park ranger base. "Maybe you'll find another team to work on."
"I don't want to find another team," you tell him honestly. "This is my team. This is my home."
Mike hums, an understanding little sound, body warm when he gently bumps into you on the gravel pathway to the lodge. "Yeah, I know."
A geophysics major at UCLA with a specific interest in volcanology, getting to intern with the Erwin Smith at the Yellowstone supervolcano had been a dream come true. You'd expected to gain knowledge and experience—nothing more and nothing less. You'd lived out here for one summer during your graduate program, clocking the field experience you needed to get your degree and taking in everything you could.
Back then, it felt like all you did was ask questions and get in the way. By the end of that summer, you knew every variation of Levi Ackermann's irritated sighs, every different pitch of Hange Zoe's shouts and how they correlated with their experiments. Moblit had been the newest permanent addition and was even more nervous than he is now, trying and failing to keep up with Hange (which he's much better at doing these days).
They were all fantastic, but it had been the lead researcher who'd reeled you in. You'd never met anyone as passionate as Dr. Erwin Smith, captivated by the monster underneath the park and thrilled to share his brain with anyone willing to hold their hands out for it. Hell, he'd even helped you with your Master's thesis—hydrothermally altered mineralized systems and their seismic reflections.
When you graduated, the Yellowstone team was the first you reached out to and the first you heard back from. Erwin said you'd been a perfect fit even as a student (which you hadn't exactly believed but definitely blushed at anyway). Mobs, Hange, and even Levi seemed happy to have you back. It was like you were meant to be here. In this park. With all of them.
Studying the volcano and all of its properties has always been like breathing to you—natural and necessary. You move when it moves, every shake and tremor a heartbeat in your own chest, every shooting geyser like blood in your veins. The mudpots are your bubbling emotions, the fumaroles, your sense of building pressure and release.
You feel at home in the park because you trust it. Because you love it.
You don't have room for another team in your heart, but as you walk inside the lodge next to Mike, watching as he takes off his sunglasses and grins at one of the other rangers, you think you at least have room for one more person.
2 Y E A R S B E F O R E
The lab has two extra bodies in it—two extra unwelcome bodies who keep getting in your way and touching things as they ask questions that no one has the answers to yet.
“When did you say this was going to happen?” The rotund state governor, Dhalis Zachary, asks for the second time since arriving, picking up a sample test tube that Moblit immediately plucks from his hand with a nervous smile.
“As I said before, it’s difficult to place a concrete timeline on an event like this,” Erwin tells the white-haired man. “We don’t exactly have in depth records of the last three eruptions, so all we have to go off of is the earth itself and our simulations.”
At the edge of the projection table, Nile Dok, FEMA director, cautiously waves a hand through the holographic model displayed in front of him. He obviously doesn’t think anyone is watching him because the slender man jumps in surprise when you snort at your desk, and his angular cheekbones take on a pink tint of embarrassment from having been caught.
He clears his throat, straightens the knot that sits over it, then turns to face Erwin and prompts, “Three eruptions before. One was a lot bigger than the others, though, right?”
Erwin nods. “Huckleberry Ridge. Over two million years ago.”
“We’re hoping—if a supereruption is to occur—it’ll be closer to the size of Mesa Falls,” you pipe up.
“Which one was that?” Zachary asks.
“One-point-three million years ago, two-hundred-and-eighty cubic kilometers of erupted materials…” Levi lists off as he makes his way over to the table with a sanitary wipe in hand. He doesn’t like people in his space, doesn’t like strangers in the lab, even (especially) government officials (“They leave fingerprints, and they breathe on everything, and they waste our fucking time.”).
“Two-hundred-and-eighty cubic kilometers… That’s the best-case scenario?” Zachary looks to Erwin, eyebrows raised high over his wire glasses.
Erwin stares at him for a moment, contemplating the best and easiest way to explain this to someone who has no real experience in the field. Eventually, he settles on, “Moblit, can you run some simulations for me?”
“Of course, sir,” the mousy scientist agrees, phone in hand and pulling up the app before the boss can even finish speaking.
Everyone gathers around the table except for Levi who steps away from it, grumbling under his breath about coming back to clean it later. He at least hits the lights, making the model easier to see as Erwin starts listing off numbers and scenarios.
“The best case, actually, is only one vent opening, maybe two. It would be something comparable to Mount St. Helen’s, though probably a bit bigger, say point-five cubic kilometers of material. It would be necessary to evacuate the park and this region of the state at the very least.”
Zachary hums, “And, how likely is that?”
Erwin shrugs. “Hard to say right now. As the earthquakes increase, though, the likelihood of a small eruption like that, uh, dwindles.”
“Small,” Nile scoffs.
Zachary makes a similar noise, slightly louder, a little more offended, then rattles off, “Mount St. Helen’s killed almost sixty people. The blast, the ash, the lahars—” as if you don’t all already know.
“No one’s discounting the damage of the eruption,” Levi cuts him off. “But, if you’re sweatin’ at those numbers, all due respect, Governor, I don’t know if you’re ready to stomach the rest of this little light show.”
The older man cuts his eyes at Levi who squints right back at him, only turn and shuffle over to his desk when Erwin waves him further away, a silent way of saying ‘keep your smart mouth away from the authority figures’.
“Moving on,” you cough, twirling a finger to get both Erwin and Mobs to continue.
“Yes,” Erwin nods. “So, any eruption is dependent on how much magma in the chamber is eruptible magma. Just because it’s there doesn’t mean it will come out.”
Moblit punches in a few numbers to show what a small-scale eruption would look like, first with one vent then with two.
“With just that amount, even with two vents, it isn’t enough to completely destabilize the chamber.”
“And, destabilizing it would be… bad…” Nile states more than asks, brown eyes lit up by the model in front of him.
“No shit,” everyone hears Levi grumble from his desk, and Erwin huffs and looks at you, expression a little exasperated as he jerks a thumb back toward the grumpy man in yet another one of his silent motions— a plea in this case—'go take care of him’ which you do.
Levi is slumped in his computer chair, arms crossed over his chest as he peers over his desktop at the four men gathered around the hologram.
“Should’a just gone with Hange and the boy scout to collect samples when I had the chance,” he mutters.
“You hate collecting samples, especially sulfur samples. Which is what they’re getting now.”
“Yeah, well I hate these guys even more.” He says it quietly enough so that they won’t be able to hear, and even if they could, both Governor Zachary and Nile are too invested in the information that the scientists are giving them to pay attention to anything else.
“What’d they ever do to you?” You push, curious now because sure, Levi has always been the surliest of the team, but it’s rare that he’s surly and loud about it.
“Nothing. They have done nothing because they don’t belong here. They have no idea—no fucking idea—what’s about to happen.” You can hear his frustration even through his whispers. “Best case scenarios? Why are we even going over those? We know damn well that we’re not looking at one or two vents. And, we’re not lookin’ at Mesa Falls either.”
Letting out a long breath, you lean against Levi’s desk, ignoring the way he grunts in protest.
“I know. I’m sure Erwin and Moblit will prep them for the worst case.”
“There’s no prepping for it,” Levi hisses, gray eyes flashing. “We’re talking about—"
“…A nationwide cataclysmic event.” Both of you register Erwin’s voice at the same time and glance at the other group to find them staring at the lit-up simulation of the Huckleberry Ridge eruption.
“Which would pretty quickly turn into a worldwide problem,” Moblit adds quietly.
“Worldwide?” You hear Nile question in a low but very alarmed tone. “Because of the ash?”
“Well, yes, but, it’s not just ash,” Erwin clarifies, diving into his explanation of tephra and how dangerous it is. He reminds the men how far it traveled after the Mount St. Helen’s eruption since they’ve apparently latched onto that one, then challenges, “Now imagine an eruption about… six hundred times that size.”
“Six…” Nile swallows, turning his entire, slender frame toward Erwin and repeating, “Six hundred times bigger? That’s what we’re expecting?”
In his little rolling chair, Levi’s chest puffs a bit, finally satisfied that the gravity of the situation is beginning to set in. “Maybe they aren’t as dumb as they look.”
Erwin is about to say something, right hand lifted with his index finger extended in a very matter-of-fact way, but before he can manage to get anything out, the door to the lab swings open and Hange walks in, Mike just behind them carrying all the collected samples in what almost looks like a lunchbox.
“We’re back—” Hange stops, taking in their surroundings, the lack of lights, the bright projection, the grim energy, then shouts, “Hey, get some Pink Floyd playing! Like a planetarium in here! Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me…”
“Dr. Zoe,” Moblit clears his throat. “We were just going over the utter devastation a supereruption could wreak on the country.”
“Oh, were you?” Hange pauses, brow rising, lips puckering into a sour expression. “My bad.”
Raising a hand to your forehead, you laugh to yourself for a few seconds before shaking the untimely amusement off and making your way over to Mike to take the sample kit from him.
“Careful,” he warns jokingly as he passes it off. “Got some very fragile gas and mud in there.”
“Yeah?” You tease. “So, I shouldn’t, like, shake it or anything?”
“Definitely should not shake it. Here, here, just—” He takes it back, grinning broadly as he tells you, “I think it’s best if you let a professional handle such dangerous compounds.”
All the doom-and-gloom you had been feeling mere seconds ago evaporates entirely, and you let out a frankly embarrassing giggle as you watch Mike very carefully set the samples down on Hange’s lab table, making a show of securing them and whispering a final, “Stay,” so that you clamp a hand over your mouth.
Levi groans in disgust, and, at the same time, Erwin mutters an apology to Zachary and Nile for, “… employing a team of children.”
Your face heats in embarrassment, but it doesn’t keep you from smiling at Mike when he saunters back over, looking rather sheepish himself.
“Lunchtime soon, right?”
“Yeah, in a bit—”
“Please go now, for the love of God,” Erwin sighs. “And, take Levi and Hange with you.”
None of you need telling twice, quickly grabbing wallets and home-packed meals before rushing from the lab before your boss decides to murder one or all of you.
Levi steers Hange toward his car, leaving you alone with Mike which you don’t mind in the slightest. You take most of your lunches with him anyway, some of your breakfasts and dinners too, so this is simply part of your daily routine.
“I’ve got some sandwiches packed already. Wanna hit Mount Haynes?” He suggests, sliding into the driver’s seat of his jeep.
You point a fingergun at him and nod. “I like the way you think, sir.”
He takes a very specific route, avoiding any damaged areas, having to veer off of the actual road at a certain point to take a safer path he and other rangers have made. You watch the mountains of the park grow closer and closer, what you know to be the ridge of Yellowstone’s caldera looming nearer.
Mike parks at the base of your intended destination then reaches into the backseat to grab the aforementioned lunch. You have no intentions of actually hiking to the top of the mountain—don’t have the time or the will, honestly—but as soon as the two of you have worked up a sweat and are at a decent enough elevation to look out on the park underneath, you drop to the dusty ground and take it all in.
Even from this distance, you can see some of the gases and steam in the air. That’s the only movement there is, though, save for the occasional ranger vehicle zipping along. The land seems almost barren at this point. The grass is still green. The sun is still bright as it is every Summer.
But, there are no animals, no tourists, no real life. Instead, it’s been replaced with cracks and crevasses, with barricades and warning signs.
Trail Closed
Road Closed
Danger: Keep Out
It’s been almost six months since the park decided to shut down to the public, and if you’re being honest, it should have closed its doors long before. It took people dying to bring the board to their senses, an earthquake that shook the ground for minutes, the crust of the earth splitting right under the historical lodge that so many loved.
Fourteen casualties. Twenty-nine injured.
That’s what it took.
You barely recognize the park now, feel like the last endangered species left within its boundaries. It’s just the research team, some of the rangers, and the occasional outside visitor (board members, government officials, or press that gets waved away).
Some would argue that the park is dead, but you know better; it’s livelier than it has been in hundreds of thousands of years, a shuddering, breathing monster finally rising to its feet after an eternity of slumber. Soon, it will open its mouth in an earth-shattering scream, and then, everyone will see.
Not dead; just waking up.
“You look tired.” Mike’s voice may as well be carried by the breeze, light and low, refreshing as it passes over you, and you flash him a smile while nodding.
“Exhausted.”
He grabs a sandwich from the lunchbox, and you fish hand sanitizer from one of the many pockets on your pants, squirting it into your hand first then holding it out to the man beside you.
“Seems like you spend more time here than at your apartment.”
“Oh, most definitely.” You unwrap what looks to be turkey and pepper-jack and try to ignore the way your stomach flips at the fact that it’s your favorite simple-sandwich-combo and that Mike remembered. “Lot to do in the lab. Obviously.” You take a bite—no mustard, only mayo—and feel some of the tension between your shoulder blades begin to unwind.
“Figure you wouldn’t want it any other way, though,” Mike comments before chomping into his own sandwich.
“Right you are. I mean, end of the world, potentially. Scary stuff, but also…” You swallow, lick your lips and stare out at the landscape in front of you as you grapple with words. “It’s like… I’m terrified, but I feel like I’m exactly where I need to be. Like…”
This is how I’m supposed to go out, you almost say, but you’re smart to keep it to yourself. That’s a thought for you and you alone, one you haven’t shared with anyone because nobody else would understand except maybe Erwin.
“This is what you’re meant to do,” Mike supplies, and you look over at him. “This is what you love. I get that.”
And, he’s right. But, the park and volcanology—those aren’t the only things you love.
Mike sits there, legs crossed like an overgrown kindergartener, shaggy hair blowing in the wind, light green eyes so, incredibly warm and bright, and it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, like your lungs and throat are already full of ash that hasn’t fallen yet, tight with dying declarations you can’t bring yourself to make.
“Have you ever heard of Katia and Maurice Krafft?” You ask, and yes, your voice does feel somewhat strangled, the space behind your eyes burning just a little hotter than usual.
Mike shakes his head, takes another bite, and gives you his undivided attention.
“They were these French volcanologists who got really famous for the pictures and footage they took of erupting volcanoes. The recordings they got for the community were—I mean, they were pioneers. They changed the game. There’s photos and videos of them just—” you gesture nebulously with both your hands, nearly flinging your sandwich off the side of the mountain and making Mike reach out and catch your wrist before you can.
“Please, no feeding the park’s wildlife, ma’am,” he jokes easily, and you have to shove the sandwich into your mouth to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. Mike shows the smallest of satisfied smiles, completely unaware of his own charm, and it’s maddening and intoxicating, and it’s all you can do to keep talking about the brave scientists.
“Anyway,” you continue. “Katia would get, like, within feet of lava flows. Just walkin’ right beside ‘em in her special heat suit. And, they’d wear protective helmets because of, you know—”
“Explosions. Falling rocks.”
“Yeah, exactly. They were just there, documenting it all happening, nerves of fucking steel. Katia was usually the one gathering samples and stuff while Maurice recorded, but he was right in the thick of it too. This badass couple learning and adventuring together.”
Mike eventually questions, “What happened to them?” but you’re sure he knows the answer when you deflate a bit.
“Mount Unzen eruption—got caught in the pyroclastic flow. Died instantly.”
“At least they were doing what they loved,” he says, and you nod.
You’re silent for a while, neither of you eating but both of you staring. You think about the Kraffts often, especially now with Yellowstone’s imminent eruption. Doing what they loved… They died for their research, and though you never got the chance to meet them or even speak with anyone who has met them, you have a feeling they wouldn’t have wanted it to happen any other way.
“Just so you know,” Mike gets your attention, and when you look over at him, your heart swells.
The sun is reflected in his eyes, making light green glow with more than just warmth and sincerity, and god, you’re so in love with him, you can feel it in your bone marrow. You ache for him, you pine for him, and you want to live for him, but how…
“I’d film you walking next to a lava flow,” he tells you. Despite the little smile playing at his lips, you know he isn’t kidding.
Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you have to look away before any actually fall, but your sniffle definitely gives you away. You swear internally, berating yourself for getting emotional in front of Mike, though you can’t say you’re too surprised. Your stress levels have been through the roof, working non-stop for months now, the government breathing down your neck. People have died and the park is literally fracturing before your eyes, and you’re not ready to see it end—to see everything as you know it come to an end.
“Pretty dusty up here,” Mike comments while nudging you. You find him holding out a handkerchief, letting you take it then turning his gaze forward again to allow you a little privacy to dab at your eyes.
Mike has senses beyond the normal human spectrum. He has a sense for weather unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before, from thunderstorms and tornadoes to record snowfall and, on a few occasions, earthquakes. You can still vividly remember being in the lab the day of the fatal quake that damaged the hotel, seeing Mike suddenly look at the seismogram seconds before it started picking up the first tremors. Levi had called it “freakish”, but you had called him “incredible”.
It’s not just the weather, though. Mike has a way with people and animals too, like he can gauge their emotions and act appropriately. It’s how he knows what days he can push Levi’s buttons and get away with it, how he knows when Hange is too busy and overwhelmed to gather samples themself, so he gathers some for them.
And, it’s how he knows exactly when he needs to pull you into a hug, like when the team realized the chances of a small to moderate eruption were next to nothing, like when he had told you how many of those hotel guests had gotten hurt and died and you’d stared at him with wide, watery eyes, and like right now, as you think about Katia and Maurice Krafft, the fate they met and how yours might not be any different.
Will you die doing what you love? Will you be able to welcome it as bravely as they did?
You rest your head on Mike’s shoulder, letting yourself melt into his side, his arm sturdy and grounding where it wraps around you, and as you look out over the sunlit grounds, one last question plagues your mind:
Does a pyroclastic flow burn as hot as the molten feelings inside of you?
You can’t imagine anything does.
1 Y E A R B E F O R E
The message is broadcasted straight from the state capitol, Levi's expression grim as he reads off the paper hidden on the podium.
"I know all of this sounds apocalyptic—the ash and blackouts and probable climate change, and it is scary, but we still have some time, so there's no reason to panic. We just urge that if you haven't already started preparing, now's the time. Please."
A couple steps behind him and a little to the right is Erwin, standing tall and nodding at everything Levi says as if he's providing some kind of credibility.
"Considering we're looking at a VEI eight, the team of volcanologists at Yellowstone have recommended that all of Wyoming and its neighboring states evacuate, but I'll let Homeland Security go over all that."
As he turns to step back, the crowd of reporters and journalists begin shouting out questions, and Levi grimaces as he moves to stand next to Erwin who places a hand in his shoulder.
You can't hear everything being asked from where you're watching at the lab, but you can't imagine it's anything good judging by the way Levi's frown just keeps growing.
Fortunately, the vaguely familiar secretary of Homeland Security, Dot Pixis, takes the stand quickly, holding up wrinkled hands in an attempt to calm the crowd.
"We have some more very important information to cover in this address, so if you'll allow me…" He clears his throat and straightens a stack of papers on the podium, no doubt a huge list of protocols that the public will only half listen to.
You swivel back and forth in your chair as you watch the thin man on screen, his voice scratchy but strangely soothing as he outlines rationing, supply storage, and evacuation routes.
"We're also negotiating with our neighboring countries about opening borders. Now, anyone seeking refuge would still be required to fill out an application for a temporary visa, but—"
"God, you know they gotta love that," you mumble to yourself.
Hange, tinkering somewhere behind you, laughs and agrees, "Yeah, after decades of treating immigrants like trash, and now we're just knocking on their doors, asking for help. Ridiculous."
"Embarrassing, is what it is."
It was for whichever government official had to make that call, anyway. You're positive that had been a hard pill to swallow.
As far as you've heard, the foreign affairs part of this mess is actually going quite well. You'd accompanied Erwin to the big meeting with Canadian officials and watched him and Pixis plead a case for America, emphasizing just how bad the eruption will be "at home", then switched tactics at whiplash speed to go into how countries needed to work together since this wouldn't just be the US's problem in the long run.
It turned into a rather inspiring speech, if you're being honest, prompted you to text Levi a short, how is E so damn charming all the time? to which he'd responded, Believe me, you're asking the wrong fuckin guy.
With multiple government agencies now backing the states and setting plans in motion, the impending eruption seems even more real. You thought your stress levels were high before, that your sleep pattern left little to be desired, but oh, you had been wrong.
Case in point being Mike walking into the lab with a brown paper bag and slightly unpleasant expression as he asks, "Have you eaten today?"
Your glare has no real meaning as you grumble, "Had a granola bar this morning."
"It's nearly six," he groans, pushing you, chair and all, up to your desk and setting the bag in front of you. "Please eat something before you pass out."
"Okay, okay, Christ. You're more attentive than my mother."
"I met your mom last year, and you and I both know she would be hysterical if she knew how you've been treating yourself lately."
He has a point. In fact, you're glad Mike is naturally quiet and didn't bond too strongly with her, otherwise you have a feeling he would have called her by now to complain.
The chicken salad sandwich you bite into must be imbued with some kind of magic, because you let out an honest to god moan when you swallow the first bite.
"Oh my god, what did you put in this?" You ask as you blink up at your best friend.
Mike snorts and rolls his eyes. "Uh, actual nutrients maybe? Weird how your body needs those."
Hands too busy shoving more food into your mouth, you headbutt him right at the hip, just hard enough to make him grunt and sway. He steadies himself, glances down at you like he's annoyed but ends up breaking into a grin when he catches what you assume to be a piece of chicken salad dotting the corner of your mouth.
"What am I gonna do with you," he mumbles, wiping it with a gentle thumb.
Your body warms with both embarrassment and affection, but you can't quite find a response even as your head clears for the first time in about two days. You really do need to start taking better care of yourself.
The undeniable feeling of being watched makes your neck prickle, and you break Mike's gaze to find Hange staring at both of you, a not-so-subtle smile making their mouth curl mischievously. You have a pretty good idea of what they're thinking, and you're heart starts beating a little faster at the thought of them possibly speaking it out loud, but before they get a chance, Mike's phone rings.
You catch a glimpse of the name displayed before he picks it up—Gelgar—recognize it and tease, "One of the doomsday preppers, right?"
Because no matter how much Mike denies it, just like he does now— "They're not doomsday preppers—" you know that his friends are a little odd. Extremely well prepared, but odd.
"Hey man, what's up?" He answers, stepping away from you. "Isn't it almost two there?"
You don't try to listen in, just look back to Hange and shake your head when their smile grows.
"Stop."
"What?" They giggle. "I'm not even doing anything!"
"You're thinking things, though."
"Well yeah, I'm always thinking things. How else would I have gotten this smart?" They flip their ponytail for emphasis and toss a wink your way, but Hange's voice gets oddly sincere when they tell you, "Seriously, though. You guys should get while the getting's good. I don't know why you haven't jumped each other's bones yet."
You splutter, look around frantically to make sure Mike isn't within earshot, and thank god, he's in the next room over.
"Hange!"
"I'm just saying! It's like watching Erwin and Levi from a few years ago. God, that was a nightmare."
"How dare you. I am nothing like—"
"Yeah, yeah. When do they get back in anyway?"
You both look to the TV that's still playing the live address, easily spotting your missing team members behind Secretary Pixis.
"Probably not 'til later tonight. Levi's gonna try to talk Erwin into getting a hotel, I bet, but he's gonna wanna come back to the lab and check everything before he goes to bed."
"How do you know he wants to come back?"
You show a sheepish grin, fishing the chips out of the paper sack Mike brought, then answer, "'Cause that’s what I’d wanna do."
*
It's late. Far too late to be at work, but being at home never feels right these days. It's too quiet, too still, too not the lab. The only time you genuinely enjoy being there is when friends are over for a movie or meal over the weekend. Other than that, you're not at all attached.
Not the way you are here.
Almost midnight, you move from table to table, working, organizing, just keeping busy. You're very awake, still jittery from the quake that shook the park at around three that day. It lasted for almost three minutes, splitting the ground dangerously close to Old Faithful, and the geyser hasn't gone off since which is troubling. If too many of the geothermal spots stop releasing pressure, the eruption will take place sooner than anticipated.
It's why you're here so late, pouring over the data, studying the numbers and possible effects.
You're not alone, though. Erwin is also shuffling around the lab, but he's focused on something else, a project of sorts.
"Can you come take a look at this?" He calls from the projection table, and you drop what you're doing to join him.
The model isn't lit up as a hologram, surprisingly. Instead, Erwin has paper blueprints laid, curling at the edges from being rolled up. It takes you a second to realize what you're looking at, but when it comes together, you inhale sharply.
It's a simple design, a square floorplan with a couple entrances. The only exit looks to lead upward, though, and it's easy to tell that means Erwin wants this to be underground. There are notes scribbled in the blank spaces, 4 meters down, bomb proof top, ventilation, generators, gasoline?, rations < 5yrs, medicine, vitamins, guns. The list goes on, handwriting sloppier and sloppier the more thoughts Erwin had at the time.
"You think this would be ready in a year?"
Erwin shrugs. "With the right construction team, yes. That one bunker designer…" Erwin snaps, trying to think of the name, but it doesn't come to him. "Whoever—He built ten shelters in two years."
You stick your hands in your back pockets as you lean over to look closer. It could just be your overworked brain, but it looks like a good design, something someone actually has a chance of surviving in.
Hearing your name makes you look up again. Erwin has you pinned with one of his serious blue gazes. "No one else will understand, so please keep this plan to yourself."
You nod but venture to ask, "You haven't told Levi?"
"No," he answers, mouth pulling downward. "It's… Going to be a fight."
"Understandably so. You're basically married to the volcano, though, Erwin."
"So are you."
His eyes are shining as your lips twist into a grimace. He's gotten to know you well over the years. You've always shared a certain bond over Yellowstone, one the other team members just don't have. To them, it's just a job, just science.
To you and Erwin, though, it's a religion. You're in love with the park, all its secrets and eccentricities. It's your home; it's where you belong.
"Assuming this does get built," Erwin starts, lifting a thick eyebrow in curiosity. "You would want to stay, right?"
"You mean, ride out a supereruption? Be the first to see the zone-one damage?"
Erwin doesn't answer, but he does smile, excitement dancing just below the surface of his stare.
You feel it too, the urge to throw caution to the wind, to take a chance that could very possibly get you both killed. The Kraffts flash through your mind again, their failed attempt at escape.
A breathless, "Fuck yeah," tumbles from your mouth before you can dwell on the consequences for too long.
It's time to either live it up or go down in ash and flames.
6 M O N T H S B E F O R E
Yellowstone is unrecognizable. The ground is mostly made up of large crevasses and smaller cracks, debris from fallen buildings left in piles with no one to clean them up.
The geysers are all inactive at this point, but steam is still rising from the springs, and the mudpots are still bubbling. It's the only thing that's keeping the volcano from erupting.
The ground shakes multiple times a day, the lab seismographs constantly picking up activity. The little ones don't faze you anymore. You and Mike secure the glass samples to make sure they don't break while Erwin and Levi basically hug their computers. Yours was damaged in the quake that prompted Hange and Moblit to leave—a 6.7 that caused Hange to fall into their desk, breaking their collarbone in the process. After getting Hange pain meds and a sling, the two of them were on a plane to D.C. that same night.
Every day is another risk taken. Now, it's just you, Erwin, Levi, and Mike.
The latter two spend most of their days dropping hints about leaving soon as well. Mike has already made plans to fly to Norway and join his not-doomsday prepper friends and brings it up often.
"You should come. See the tulip fields while they're still around."
"Gel and Nana have done a great job setting up the ranch. They wanna let as many people stay as they can."
"You'd really like them. They bicker like an old married couple, but they're good people."
Levi takes a different approach with Erwin, appeals to the other man's desire to help and protect.
"We really should head to the homeland security office. They don't know what they're dealing with."
"Dok is an idiot. They need a bigger brain over there for guidance or whatever."
"Your long-term plan will be better than anything those government fucks will come up with anyway."
Every time, you and Erwin gently wave them off with promises of "soon" and "just a little longer." Neither of you breathe a word about staying. Despite the fact that construction on the bunker has not started and you're running out of time, both of you are dead set on the plan: go down with the park.
You're found out before it can come to fruition, however.
The remaining team is sitting in the lab, busy with their own little projects, when Mike looks up suddenly, takes a deep breath, then says, "Earthquake," just as the seismogram starts going wild.
He pulls you from your chair quickly, dropping to the ground and bringing you with him to crawl under your desk. On your knees, your body curls in on itself and you lock your hands over the back of your neck as the floor beneath you starts to rumble violently.
You can hear Levi cursing from somewhere as the sound of glass shattering rings throughout the lab. You think another computer falls, models and books flying from shelves.
Mike huddles over you, one hand gripping the leg of the desk while the other protects your ribs. You want to tell him to shield himself, but you know there's no use. Besides, the weight and warmth is comforting even in the face of danger—his chest hot against your back, the epitome of a knight in shining armor.
It lasts for several minutes. The power cuts off, windows crack, doors swing open only to slam shut again. You know the lab is going to be an absolute wreck when it's over.
When the shaking finally settles, everyone crawls out of their hiding places. Levi warns, "Be ready for aftershocks," as if you don't know, and Erwin fumbles in his desk until he finds a flashlight.
The ray of light illuminates the damage. Just as you suspected, the place looks like a tornado blew through. Glass litters the floor along with the far-flung books and park models. Both Levi and Erwin's computers fell and disconnected, and your stomach drops as you think about all the potentially lost information.
"You okay?" Mike asks, pulling you up to your knees so he can look at your face.
"I'm fine," you tell him, his hands on your cheeks making you flush, so you distract yourself. "E, Levi, you guys okay?"
"Yes," Erwin answers first.
Levi shows his face, a deep frown making his brow furrow, as he looks at his desktop. "I'm pissed but uninjured."
The four of you spend the next couple of hours cleaning up what you can, pausing and taking cover when the aftershocks hit, then starting over as the lab sustains more and more damage.
Mike sweeps up the glass. Erwin focuses on getting the computers back on the desks safely then goes and checks the projection table. You and Levi collect the bigger items, setting books back on shelves.
You don't think about the mistake before it's too late, when Levi is already pulling out the blueprints that were hidden behind the stack of encyclopedias.
As he stills completely, you turn to look at him and find him staring down at the large, uncurled papers. Your instinct is to snatch them from his hands, but it's no use. He's already seen enough.
"What the fuck is this?" His voice comes out like poison as he immediately looks at Erwin.
The larger man glances at Levi, eyes trailing to what he's holding, then pales.
"Levi..."
"Is this a god damn bunker? Are you planning on staying in this hellscape?"
Erwin strides over to him and reaches for the prints, but Levi tugs them out of reach.
"Answer me," he spits. "Is that your plan?"
"I—" Erwin swallows thickly before answering, "Yes."
It's silent for a long time, and the more it drags on, the tighter Levi's lips get, gray eyes shiny with quiet rage.
This is what Erwin was trying to avoid, why he insisted on keeping the bunker a secret.
But while Levi is glaring at Erwin, you feel another gaze on you. Skin crawling, you chance a glance up at Mike, stomach churning when he looks away quickly and bites his lips. He knows. Somehow without anyone saying anything, Mike knows you’re planning to stay too.
Heavy breathing and the distant sound of rumbling earth is all that can be heard, followed by backup generators roaring to life and restoring the overhead lights.
"You too?" Mike finally speaks. “You wanna stay too?”
You chew on the inside of your cheek, unable to answer. He sounds so disappointed—defeated—and it makes you feel sick.
"Do you guys know," Levi growls, "How fucking insane that is? This is the dumbest, most reckless, selfish fucking thing you could do! And, I know it's all your thinking!" He drops the blueprints in favor of shoving Erwin roughly, making him stumble back.
"Hey," you step toward him, but the small man just turns to you and accuses, "And, you egged him on, yeah? Did you even think of us? How we would feel? Staying here is suicide!"
"I have a plan, Levi," Erwin says, raising both hands to his head and effectively disheveling his own hair. "If you just look at the plans. I know what we need to survive. I've done the math, I've studied the—"
"Jesus Christ, we're talking about an eight hundred degree pyroclastic flow! Tephra that will suffocate you. You really think being a few meters down during the eruption will be enough?" Levi is screaming now, his voice cracking, and you think you see tears at his waterline.
It makes the spaces behind your eyes burn, but it’s only partly out of guilt. The other emotion that’s welling up in you is anger, a betrayal you can barely wrap your head around, but it comes tumbling out anyway.
“Do you even know us? You think we can actually leave the park behind?” Your voice rises to match Levi’s, gains his acidic attention once again. “I don’t even understand how you can run away, after everything you’ve put into this place! How can you just—” You let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry as you raise your hands to your face and shove your palms to your eyes. “I get Mike because he doesn’t have anything fucking left here. He’s just been helping out—”
“You think I don’t have anything left here?” He asks quietly from beside you, and when you look at him with a watery stare, you find him wounded. His jaw slides forward as he sucks on his teeth, and fuck, his eyes are getting glossy too.
“See, this is exactly what I mean,” Levi gestures wildly at the two of you. “Mike and I have stayed because you guys won’t fucking leave, and now it comes out that you were never planning to. When were you gonna tell us? Would you have even given us enough time to get out?”
“Of course!” Erwin takes him by the shoulders, and Levi snarls up at him. “I was working up to it. I wasn’t ready to—to deal with this.”
“I can’t believe this. You really think a whole team of workers is gonna come out here to help build this? You wanna put their lives in jeopardy too?”
“We—”
“You haven’t even thought this through all the way! When did you come up with this? When you hadn’t slept or eaten in forty-eight hours? When your brain wasn’t fucking functioning at full capacity?”
Erwin stays quiet, and so do you because Levi has a point. Taking care of yourselves physically has not been high on either of your lists of priorities, and you’re sure your mental state has suffered for it. All the nights spent at the projection table, mapping out ideas, growing giddy over the idea of staying for the eruption. Was that just two people high off passion, becoming more and more unhinged with each passing day?
Quite possibly.
You expect the fury to be enough to push Levi away, that he’ll simply give up, drag Mike out with him, and leave you and Erwin to hunker down like you’d planned.
But, that is not the case.
Instead, he shoves a thin finger into Erwin’s chest, gritting out, “Pack your fucking bags so we can go to D.C. where they need you.”
Erwin takes a breath then slumps in defeat. Now, when faced with the obstacle that is his boyfriend, you figure he’s weighed the pros and cons and made a decision. Between his love for the park and his love for Levi, he’d rather salvage the latter.
Mike shifts next to you, grumbles out a low, “You too,” that makes the tears finally fall from your eyes. “I’ll take you on one last ride to the springs, but then we’re leaving.”
He stays true to his word, and you cry the entire time you’re in the chopper, headset smushed against one ear as you rest your head on the window and look down at the Grand Prismatic, the steam rising from it. It’s beginning to grow discolored with all the activity, but it’s more stunning now than it’s ever been.
Soon, it’ll be completely covered. All of it will. And, you could have been too, stuck underground for a couple of years only to be the first to step out into the pure destruction.
That’s not an option anymore, though, not with Mike looking as grave as he does, not with the way he shadows you in your apartment as you gather the necessities, like he thinks you’re going to bolt and run back to the lab, not when the two of you meet back up with a still-fuming Levi and a despondent Erwin to head to the airport.
The tickets are outrageously priced at such short notice, but that doesn’t stop Levi and Mike from passing their credit cards over.
“Two for Washington D.C.”
“And, two for Bergen, Norway.”
Boarding passes in hand, the four of you walk through the bustling airport together for as long as you can before you have to inevitably split up. Levi glares at you but still pulls you into a tight hug, grunts into your ear, “You’re so stupid,” before letting go and turning to Mike. “Keep her safe, boy scout. I’m trusting you.”
Mike nods, and both of them clasp hands as you turn to look at Erwin. Tears and pathetic sniffles return when you walk into his open arms, clinging to him and mumbling, “‘M sorry, ‘m sorry. I would’ve followed you.”
“I know.” He rubs your back and heaves a sigh. “I know you would have.”
He eventually disentangles you to hold you at arm’s length, wipes the moisture from your face with his thumbs, then shows a sad smile. “See you in a few years, yes?”
“Yeah.”
One more squeeze, and everyone turns away to walk to their respective gate. Mike’s hand splays across your back, warm, guiding you in the right direction, keeping you steady. He’s always kept your feet planted firmly on the ground. You figure, if there’s one person you’d like to experience the downfall of society with—above ground—it’s him.
S I X W E E K S B E F O R E
Norway is kind of incredible. It has a natural beauty that takes your breath away just like Yellowstone used to, but it’s vastly different. Everything is green, including the lights in the sky at night. You’re surrounded by rolling hills and mountains, and you just know it’ll be beautiful under thick layers of snow.
The once rustic ranch, now restored, is made up of several small houses and a farm full of cows and goats. It’s sad to think about the fate they will eventually meet (slaughter then stomachs), but you know it’s necessary to prepare for the coming years.
And, the owners have definitely prepared.
Gelgar and Nanaba are everything Mike described and more. Between taking care of the farm and setting up energy sources, they do their best to make you and the other arrivals feel at home. They’ve designed the ranch to house up to about thirty people, a commune of sorts (minus any cult-like vibes). Naturally, everyone pitches in and helps around the place. You find yourself cleaning a lot, but you don’t mind. It’s a nice, mindless task that keeps you from thinking too hard about everything you’ve left behind.
You also like to join Nana outside, help with the animals and enjoy the sunshine while you still can. Of course, this subjects you to endless teasing especially today when she catches you staring into the distance at Mike who's helping Gelgar fix a solar panel.
His shirt is starting to stick to his back from sweating, muscles straining under the damp cloth, and good lord, when did he get that broad? Sure, he's always been tall and fit, but working on the homestead has definitely made him more built. That along with the fact that his hair has gotten long enough to tie up in a bun has your mouth going a little dry.
"Like what you see?" Nanaba asks, accent thick, voice full of amusement.
You shoot her a look, face all scrunched up when you mumble, "Don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh?" She sticks her tongue out. "Don't be coy. I see the way you both look at each other."
"Tch."
"And, how both of you volunteer to cook with the other when it's your turn to. You move around each other like you know exactly where the other is. Two halves of a whole."
You roll your eyes. "We've just worked together for a while. We make a good team."
She's not wrong, though. Since coming to Norway, you and Mike have grown even closer. There was a period of time when you could hardly look at him, too guilty for trying to stay at the park, guilty for hurting him, but eventually the two of you fell back into your normal dynamic—joking, laughing, touching just a little too much, smiling when you think no one's looking. You even spent an afternoon together in a nearby field of flowers, just like he'd promised. With a picnic basket full of food, and a blanket to lay on, you'd admired the clouds overhead while enjoying the rustling grass surrounding you.
It's been your favorite day since coming here, had reminded you of the lunches you used to share on the mountain.
You're not brave enough to make any sort of move, though. Mike is just so good. There's a chance his affections are simply based in friendship, and that's something you're scared to ruin. He means too much to you.
"How long did you work together?"
"Like, four years, give or take a few months."
"And, you're still acting like nothing is there?" Nanaba tsks. "Ridiculous."
"How long did it take you and Gel to get together?" You ask, then quickly backtrack, "Not that that's what I want with Mike necessarily."
"Mhm," she smirks. "Gel and I did it backwards. Got pissed at a bar and fell into bed together. Then we started to get to know each other and found out we just worked."
Sounds about right, you think. The couple has an interesting back-and-forth, half bickering, half innuendo. You can always, always see the love in their eyes, though. That's what you want in life. That’s what you want with Mike. Even if you won't admit it out loud.
You turn your gaze back to the roof he and Gelgar are on just in time to see him making his way down the ladder. Once on the ground, he and the other man start striding over to you. Mike's face is red, sweat beading at his hairline, and Gelgar's pompadour is beginning to fall.
"Think we got it fixed up," Mike announces, lifting the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead.
You stare at his toned stomach for just a little too long, the lines of his hip bones leading into the waistband of his jeans.
Nanaba's words ring in your head again—fell into bed, fell into bed, fell into bed—and you fixate on the idea of you and Mike doing the same. To have him hovering over you, or maybe you over him, thighs on either side of those hips as his hands trail up your body—
You shake the thought from your head, letting your glazed eyes refocus on the men in front of you.
"Alright, I'm gonna grab a shower before dinner. Who's cooking tonight?"
“I believe it's Lynne and Henning," Nana answers.
Mike nods then heads toward the little house he's been living in, right next to yours, of course. He reaches out to let his hand brush yours as he passes, and it takes conscious effort not to grip onto one or two of his large fingers and follow him.
"God, that's painful to watch," Gelgar snorts.
Nana laughs and agrees, "I was just telling her the same thing."
"Oh, shut up. Ya' couple of meddlers."
*
A line forms every evening outside of the main house, the one Gelgar and Nanaba share. You and Mike stand together at the back, watching everyone in front of you. Some are families, some are couples, some are here alone. You figure, no matter their status, the ranch is a nice place to be—peaceful, home-y despite its size. So far, everyone gets along.
Only the kids complain about chores, about seven of them constantly running around together, but that’s to be expected, and honestly, you don’t mind picking up their slack. Life is about to get very difficult for them. They should get to be children for a little while longer.
Potato soup is poured into your bowl with a ladle, topped with shredded beef and green onions, then you and Mike retire back to your little cottage home to eat and watch TV. It stays on the same channel, world news, and there’s always a long segment that covers Yellowstone and what it’s doing.
It is not uncommon at all to look up from your food and see Erwin or Levi’s face on screen, speaking with experts, sometimes in interview-like settings.
Tonight, they’re covering a problem that’s been going on for some time, but everyone figured would resolve itself: some people will not leave the most dangerous zones, and it’s because they simply do not believe an eruption will take place.
Even with the evidence, the science backing it—even with actual federal authorities knocking on their doors and telling them to leave—there are many people who just want to stay put. It’s insane to you, makes your blood boil. Children have been taken from their homes to be placed in safer areas, which only causes the disbelievers to get angrier. They want to say “I told you so”, but that’s not going to happen.
What’s going to happen is getting burned alive in the flow that pours from the volcano. They will die a painful death, get buried under meters of fallout, ash, snow. There’ll be nothing to recover except for petrified, charred corpses.
Of course, the irony is not lost on you; you and Erwin were both willing to chance similar fates, but you still think the two of you would have been more prepared than these regular-Joes who think their front door is enough to stop a volcanic eruption.
“In the end, there’s no reasoning with people like this,” Erwin says on camera, a soft, sad smile playing at his lips. “When a person is so, uh… Dead set on staying, it will take an unstoppable force to move them.”
In your case, that unstoppable force had been Levi screaming at you while holding back tears.
“Unfortunately for them, this force is the eruption, and they won’t be able to leave when that occurs.”
“Because they’ll be dead,” the reporter states more than asks.
Erwin nods and answers with a grim, “Yes. Yes, they will be.”
They’re not trying to be subtle, obviously hoping that this will get through to the stubborn masses, but you doubt it will. They’re living on borrowed time at this point. Any day could be their last.
Mike is quieter than usual as he eats, barely even looking at the television screen, and you have a feeling he’s thinking about how close you were to staying alongside those stupid assholes. It’s still a touchy subject, one both of you do your best to avoid. You’re mostly happy to be in Europe, spending your days with Mike and his friends and everyone else running around here.
But, there’s also a part of you, deep down inside, that aches, that misses the park, that still wants to be right in the middle of the destruction. Watching it blow from so far away is going to hurt. This massive monster you’ve fallen in love with over the years will never be the same, and your last good look at it was that tearful helicopter ride.
You’re not resentful toward Mike or Levi for dragging you out of the lab that day, but you are grieving in a sense.
The program ends with Erwin giving one last warning— “If you insist on staying, I’d advise bomb-proofing your home, stocking up on several years-worth of rations, and installing one hell of a ventilation system. Good luck.”
Mike clears his throat and stands, grabbing his empty bowl as well as yours, then heads into the kitchen to rinse them off.
Sighing, you follow him, lean against the counter a couple feet away as you think of something to say that won’t sound too forced.
“Hey,” you start.
Mike gives a low, “Hm?” as he holds the dishes under hot water, finally glancing over when you gently nudge him in the side.
“Thanks for…” You take a deep breath, pinned by light green eyes, then try again. “Thanks for bringing me here.” He blinks but doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “It’s really nice. And, I’ve bonded or whatever with Nana.”
“But, you miss the park,” he says.
You shrug. “I mean, yeah. That park was my life, but… Probably dying in it was not one of my brighter ideas.”
He snorts, shuts off the water, then turns to you. Craning your neck, you take in his face—really take it in—the few strands of hair that hang freely past his jawline, the way his beard, no longer stubble but not exactly thick, forms around his mouth and connects with his sideburns, his strong, slightly curved nose, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. He’s so painfully handsome, especially all shaggy and rugged, and it makes your heart beat too hard and too fast in your chest.
Mike dries his hands on a dish towel, looking down at them when he tells you, “I’m glad we were able to get you out of there. It’s not something I’ll ever feel bad about. Even if you hate me for it.”
“I don’t hate you,” you scoff. “Never could. You’re my best friend, Mike.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you smile, then think of Nanaba earlier that day and laugh quietly.
“What?”
You wave a hand, shake your head. “Nothing, nothing, just… Nana has… Ideas, or something.”
There’s no need to elaborate. Mike understands what you’re trying to say. He inhales then breathes out it out in a chuckle as he posts up against the counter next to you. “Yeah, Gelgar does too.”
“Guess they don’t know us very well.”
A silence hangs between the two of you, one that would normally be comfortable but is now a little thick given the subject matter of your conversation.
You and Mike. Just earlier that day you had been thinking about how scared you are to ruin the friendship, but the more you imagine, the more you get lost in the fantasy…
“Or maybe…” You glance over to see Mike nibbling on his bottom lip, eyes fixed on the ground as he continues, “Maybe they know us better than we know ourselves.”
He raises his head, gaze locking with yours, and you stop breathing. Because that stare is so hesitant, searching for something inside of you as if you have the answer, but you’re just as scared and confused as he is. Over four years of friendship—of good, meaningful friendship—is that worth risking just because you’re both curious?
Or has it all been leading to this since the start? Since those first, short conversations, since the meals shared with one another, the affectionate gestures. Mike has always kept your head on straight, looked after you with even more care than he had with the park’s wildlife.
You thought it’d all been one-sided pining, that he was just glad to have someone who understood him a little better than everyone else because you do. You understand his passion for the planet, you understand all his little fixations. You appreciate every eccentricity like he appreciates all your neuroses.
“Maybe so…”
Two very large hands are on your face, tilting upward, and your lungs begin to burn as Mike strokes just under your eyes with the pads of his thumbs. He has to lean down quite a bit, pauses just over your lips to let out a tiny huff of surprise, disbelief, awe maybe, then closes the rest of the miniscule distance.
He is very warm and very firm against you—feels good, all the comfort of someone familiar but still so new. Your lips fit together perfectly, and at last, you’re able to breathe again, mouths moving in an experimental back and forth, feeling each other out until he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Gripping strong shoulders, you let the kiss deepen, opening your mouth for him, and Mike groans when he’s finally able to taste you.
Hands fall from your face, moving down, down, down, brushing your ribs, settling at your hips, but his fingers are long enough to curl and dig into the meat of your ass, making you gasp and press harder against him.
Rolling his pelvis into yours, you very quickly find yourself pinned between Mike’s body and the counter. Your grasp travels to the back of his neck, pulling him closer—you just need him closer—and he must feel it too because he hoists you up and sets you on the countertop, making room for himself between your legs.
You feel too hot and too desperate, but it’s good, a release that’s needed to happen for far too long. All manner of geothermal metaphors swim through your mind, spurting geysers and boiling mudpots, and it makes you giggle against him, biting down on his bottom lip and smiling around the flesh as he lets out another one of those rumbling, satisfied noises.
“What’re you laughin’ at?” Mike mumbles, and for some reason, it’s strange to hear his voice so close, so quiet, as you’re pressed together, breathing each other’s air. It’s intimate and different, but it’s right.
“I’m just…” Another little laugh, “Thinking about the volcano.”
“When are you not thinking about the volcano?” You have a feeling he’s rolling his eyes, but he still grins and kisses you again.
“It’s all dirty things if that helps.”
Mike nods slowly, lips trailing from your mouth toward your neck. “Helps some.”
You tilt your head to give him better access and let out a little whine when you feel him bite down on a patch of skin just beneath the notch of your jaw, wrap your legs around his waist and do your best to rock into him because good god, you want him.
Fingers tangling under his loosening bun, you tug him back to your mouth, slotting your lips against his and sliding your tongue between his teeth. He presses you closer with a hand on the small of your back, squeezing the air from your lungs so all you can breathe is him.
“Mm, Mike, Mike,” you pant, barely breaking away only for him to chase after. You laugh, push his chest at the same time you gently tug at his hair, and he backs away just enough for you to get a good look at his half-lidded eyes and spit-slicked lips.
Honestly, staring at him now, you can’t believe you made so long without ever making a pass at him. He’s gorgeous, built like a roman statue only larger, with sun-kissed skin and a startlingly light gaze that threatens to leave you boneless.
“D’you wanna, maybe…” You swallow and blink up at him, too many questions suddenly invading your mind—is it too early for sex? Will he think you’re easy? What if it doesn’t actually work out? But, you bite the bullet anyway and finish, “Go to the bedroom?”
Mike is silent for a few beats, leaving you to second guess yourself and brace for disappointment and embarrassment, but then he clicks his tongue and answers, “Uh, yeah. Yes, let’s do that,” in a voice a little higher than usual, and scoops you from the counter.
Every little house on the ranch is laid out the same, so it does not take him long to find your room. He sets you down at the threshold, and from there, it’s a flurry of discarded clothing and stumbling to the bed.
“How have we never done this before?” He huffs, crawling over you, leaving wet kisses in his wake.
You’ve still got an arm covering your bare chest, but Mike doesn’t seem self-conscious in the slightest which comes as a surprise considering how reserved he typically is. Not that he has anything worth hiding—not the thin layer of hair that dances over his barrel chest, not the ridiculously cut abdominals or sharp ‘V’ of his hips, and definitely not the thick cock bobbing against his stomach as he moves. You would be intimidated if you didn’t know him as well as you do, but you’re sure that he’ll be gentle with you. Mike may be many things, but careless is not one of them.
He reaches your mouth, kisses you so deeply it makes you dizzy, and as he does, he very slowly pulls your arm from your chest, leaving you vulnerable—free for the taking.
His touch is soft enough to tickle as he brushes over one of your nipples, making you exhale against him and arch your back like a silent plea for more. He traces around the bud, makes it pebble before carefully rolling it between two fingers.
Warmth spills into your gut, makes you squirm on the bed, and a moan makes its way from your throat as Mike gently tugs at the sensitive flesh. He lowers his head again, lavishing the same kind of attention on your other nipple with his mouth. He nibbles and licks and sucks, and you wriggle and whimper beneath him, one hand trailing down his body until you’re able to close your fingers around the head of his cock.
Mike grunts, thrusts into your hand a couple times, enough to make precum drool from his tip, but before he can get too carried away, he says just above a whisper, “Let me get you ready,” then moves to lay between your spread legs.
Sliding his arms under your thighs, he locks them into place, and you release a shaky breath, feeling his eyes taking you in for several seconds before licking up your slit once then pushing deeper.
“Oh, fu—”
Both your hands shoot downward, one gripping the messy bun at the back of his head as you shudder at the sensation of his beard against your pussy. You’re wet in seconds, core pulsing as Mike uses his tongue to slowly open you up, then pulls back to flick over your clit.
“Mike—Mike—”
He hums into you, shaking his head slowly back and forth, no doubt making a mess of his face and you. You don’t have anything to say, just feel your throat tightening like there are unspoken words that need to come out, but you can’t think straight, not when he’s doing what he’s doing, not when you feel the tips of his fingers reaching out to spread your lips.
He is thorough bordering on methodical, makes sure you’re at the point of full body shakes before he gives you a break, and then, when your breathing returns to a normal rate, he starts all over again. There is a tightness in your gut that builds and builds then dissipates every time he stops, and he must know because when you whine in frustration, Mike just grins and kisses the inside of your thighs.
The same pattern is repeated with his fingers, just one at first, massaging your walls perfectly, then a second that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. He rubs over the swelling tissue inside of you, seems to enjoy every little gasp and noise you make, including the unsatisfied one you let out when he pulls his fingers from you.
You can feel how damp the bedspread is underneath you, can see the evidence of your arousal on Mike’s face, and it makes you flush but doesn’t stop you from tugging him down for another messy kiss.
“You ready?” He asks, sounding just as breathless as you feel, and you nod furiously, bending your knees and planting your feet on the mattress so that you can lift your hips to his.
Mike chuckles, reaches down between the two of you to take hold of his length and taps your clit with his cockhead a couple times—simultaneously the most infuriating and most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. Slowly, he lines himself up, just barely pushing forward, and when you bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut, Mike tells you to, “Breathe, baby, open up for me.”
He already sounds wrecked, like he’s fighting the urge to just sheathe himself entirely, but he waits, giving you one inch at a time with periods of adjustment in between. You always sort of figured he was big, but this burning stretch is something you hadn’t imagined even in your lewdest of fantasies. You’re incredibly full, feel him in your gut and throat and everywhere, but it isn’t bad; it’s just a lot.
“Okay,” you stroke the forearm next to your head and nod. “Okay, you can start moving more.”
Mike’s brow creases. “You’re sure?”
“About as sure as I can be with a monster cock inside m-me—” Your laugh turns to a moan as Mike begins to pull out, eyes trained on your face for any sign of real discomfort, but your mouth just drops open, your own eyebrows raising at the feeling of his length hitting every one of your most sensitive spots.
“Holy…”
He pushes back in quickly, still mindful of what your body can take, and when all you do is cry his name and scratch down his back, Mike starts up a steady rhythm that has you seeing god.
That tightness is back, hotter than before, threatening to burn you up entirely as your cunt flutters and spasms and leaks around Mike’s length.
The sound of a hoarse groan makes you open your eyes, and you follow Mike’s line of vision to where you’re connected, see his cock sliding in and out of you, dripping slick and ringed in white cream toward the base. The sight makes you clench around him, and Mike swears under his breath then leans forward to gather you in his arms. Your head lolls back as he lifts you, sitting on his knees for just a second before falling onto his back and letting you drop onto him.
You choke, and Mike pants, but his hands are tight at your hips, moving you up and down his length like a sleeve. His pupils are blown wide when you look down at him, hair nearly entirely out of its tie, bottom row of teeth exposed as his jaw slides almost primally.
He looks completely lost in you, possessed as he fucks up into your pussy rougher than before. You bounce in his lap, whimpering his name with every thrust, growing in volume when you feel a finger press against your clit.
“You gonna come for me?” Mike grits out, rubbing a circle over the swollen bundle as his eyes flick from your chest to your face.
You nod, ignoring the burning in your thighs in favor of the sensation between your hips. “Yeah, I—I—Fuck, Mike—”
“Come on, baby, come on—wanted to see this for years, come all over my cock…”
You snap, legs shaking as your climax crashes through you. Your cunt pulses around Mike, coating him in more of your juices and making him groan and fuck you through it. You whine at the stimulation, swollen walls so sensitive yet taking everything he has to give you.
Every thrust to your g-spot makes you gush a little more, come a little longer, until all you can do is fall onto his chest and let him use you as he needs to. You leave marks on his pecs, bites and scratches, and Mike grunts at every one of them until he sits up and flips you once again.
“Where do you want me?”
“Anywhere, I don’t care, I don’t care,” you babble.
Mike inhales sharply then lets out a long groan as he pulls out and shoots his load onto your stomach. It’s warm and thick, some pooling in your belly button as Mike makes a trail down to your clit where he smears the last few drops. You twitch at the contact, hole clenching around nothing now, but you can already feel soreness settling into your muscles.
Mike gives you two little pecks on the mouth, then one last, longer kiss before rolling to lay on the mattress beside you, chest rising and falling with deep breaths.
This silence doesn’t bother you. It gives you time to come back to your senses, to reflect, to remember everything that was said which leads you to ask, “You meant that—about wanting this for years?”
Mike turns his head and smiles so sincerely it almost brings tears to your eyes.
“Well, yeah. Been in love with you pretty much since I started at the park.”
He says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is, but it still makes your breath catch.
“Seriously?” You turn to lay on your side, and Mike mimics the action, propping his head up with one hand while he lets the other settle on your waist.
He lifts an eyebrow and questions, “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, I just… Thought it was one-sided on my end, I guess. Like, we were too good of friends.” Mike leans forward to gently headbutt you, and you snort to yourself, “Guess I was wrong.”
“We were both being stupid,” he mumbles. “But, we were also focused on other things, married to the job or whatever.”
Lifting your face makes him lift his, and you smile into another kiss, feeling happier and more balanced than you have in a very long time.
Without much more discussion, you and Mike get up to rinse off, sharing more soft touches under the spray of the shower before crawling into bed together. Falling asleep feels like coming home.
You don’t even mind the smug grin on Nanaba’s face when she sees you and Mike leave your house together in the morning, nor the teasing jabs Gelgar throws your way over lunch. You don’t know if anything is capable of knocking you out of your perfect, peaceful little world on this perfect, peaceful little homestead.
Except maybe a supereruption, of course.
E - D A Y
It happens right in the middle of the morning news. You and Mike are sipping on coffee, expecting the same report you’ve gotten every day— “Nothing yet, closely monitoring, blah blah”—but as the English news anchor tries to introduce the meteorologist, he stops, holds a hand to the speaker in his ear, then looks at the camera with wide yes.
“I’m—I’m getting news that the Yellowstone supervolcano has just begun to erupt, we’re cutting to the US address at Washington D.C. now—”
And just like that, Levi’s face is suddenly on screen, picking him up mid-sentence.
“... One vent open at the present time, but more will open shortly. Stay indoors, ration your food. This is what we’ve been preparing for.” He looks tired, and when you do the math, you understand why: seven AM in Norway is one AM in D.C., meaning Levi was probably woken up to make the announcement.
As always, you can make out Erwin’s figure behind him, hands clasped tight and shaking, and it isn’t until Mike puts a hand on your shoulder that you realize you are trembling right along with your old boss.
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” he reassures you. “We’re gonna be okay here.”
You nod and let him pull you closer to him as both of you look back to the screen and listen to what your old colleagues have to say.
The news stays on for the rest of the day. At around ten, the second vent opens up. Then another. Then another. Levi keeps track, expression never betraying the fear he must be feeling, even when he delivers the message that a full ring around the caldera has opened up.
“Obviously, we can’t get in close enough to look, but we estimate at least two thousand four hundred and fifty cubic kilometers of eruptible magma will pour from the volcano. That’s the size of the eruption from around two million years ago, but it could be worse with the current number of vents…”
The journalists on site, usually so ready to ask questions and challenge Levi, are silent today, and you imagine they’re staring with eyes the size of saucers, not quite believing what they’re hearing because it’s happening. It’s finally happening.
You eat a quiet, solemn lunch at Nanaba and Gelgar’s, no one knowing what to say. You feel nauseous, stunned, not unlike losing a loved one. You’re able to forget the absolute destruction taking place in the states for a few minutes at a time, but it always comes back to you, punching you in the gut with the same, brute force every time.
The park. The lab. The forests. The towns. Cities, states, homes, lives, all wiped off the map.
Erwin takes Levi’s place as public speaker close to five, probably to let the other man get some sleep, and reports that the portable seismogram, still linked to the remaining seismographs located around the park, show that there are near continuous earthquakes taking place, “Which could either help should enough earth shift to block the magma chamber, or make things worse by disrupting it further.”
“E is not very good at keeping people’s hopes up,” you mutter, and Mike chuckles.
“Yeah, I see why he makes Levi do all the talking now.”
You both receive texts from the rest of the team, Levi’s coming at an appropriate time but the others reaching you at odd hours of the night when you’re nestled in Mike’s arms.
Neither of you sleep as reality sets in the rest of the way. That was it. The beginning of the end of everything you know. Everything is about to change.
You sniff, try to be as quiet as possible as the tears you’ve been holding back all day finally begin to fall, but Mike knows, feels your body stiffen as you curl into yourself.
He hugs you close to him but doesn’t say anything, just rests his cheek against yours and holds your hand.
There’s nothing anyone can say to make this better, no amount of optimism or determination that will make this any easier. Your home is covered in miles of pyroclastic flow, and as it hasn’t stopped yet, you know this is just the start. Soon, anything left alive will be suffocated by the tephra, people, animals, and vegetation alike. Though you won’t die where you are, everyone at the ranch will be feeling the effects soon enough.
Your mother calls from France where her and your dad decided to “vacation” for the next several years. She’s worked up about not being able to get through to you for almost an entire day, and even as you reassure her that you’re mostly fine, she hears the way your voice cracks and offers to fly to Norway.
“Mom, the airports are shut down by now,” you sigh. “We already talked about this. We can’t see each other for a while, but we’ll FaceTime until we can’t anymore.” Until the cell towers are knocked out, you don’t say.
“I just know my baby girl is hurting right now. I know how much you loved—”
“I know,” you cut her off, scared that hearing it from her mouth will just make you lose it again. “I know, but I’m okay here with Mike and everyone else.”
“You’re sure?” She sniffles, sounding a lot like you. “Cause your father and I will find a way to get to you if you need us.”
“I’m sure, Mom,” you tell her with a sad smile she can’t see. “Get some rest, okay?”
You share many calls like that, many ill-timed text messages until the eruption finally comes to an end six days later. The damage it’s done is incalculable—the entirety of the United states now covered in a cloud of ash that blocks out the sun.
It doesn’t reach you for a few days, but every time you go outside, Mike sniffs the air and mumbles something like, “Smells like sulfur,” or “It’s getting closer”, but after another week, the entire globe is covered.
1 M O N T H A F T E R
Everything is an estimation. Everyone knows that a massive amount of magma erupted, but they don’t know how much. Everyone knows that a large number of people have died, but they don’t know how many. There are too many mysteries, and it’s nowhere near safe enough to send search crews out.
Despite all the warnings, people are still trying to go outside—to see the ash, to review the damage, but even with cloth or medical grade masks, they’re breathing in the dangerous particles floating in the air, tiny minerals that turn to a cement-like substance in their lungs, and because of that, the death count is only rising.
News reports cut in and out, as do phone calls. Some texts never get sent or received, so all you truly have is your little home and Mike.
And, you cry, and you mourn, and you miss your friends and family—fuck, you don’t even know how you’ll survive so long without them—but you also revel in the fact that you’re safe. Not everyone can say that. The fact that you had almost willingly stayed in the most dangerous zone of the explosion is laughable now. There’s no way you and Erwin would have survived that, something he agrees with you on when you share a short phone call with him just to check how he and Levi are doing.
They’ll be staying at the Homeland Security compound for the forseeable future, but he assures you they’re well-prepared to brave the years-long gray storm.
Without any livestock to take care of, or mouths to feed other than yours and Mike’s, you find yourself with an abundance of free time. You still have power thanks to the solar panels and the couple of windmills set up around the ranch, but you don’t know how long that will last.
You both read a lot, do puzzles together, fall into bed both out of desire and just because there’s not much better to do.
And, that part of your apocalyptic life is kind of great. Mike is great. He takes care of you both in and out of the bedroom, is gentle with you until you tell him not to be, and then he’s more than happy to succumb to your needs. He’d invested in a frankly absurd amount of condoms before the eruption so he wouldn’t have to worry about pulling out every time, but every once in a while you want him like you had him the first time—desperate and passionate and completely raw.
That’s the feeling you’re experiencing tonight, staring at Mike from your place on the couch rather than at the book in your hands.
You see him smile before he actually looks at you, but when he does, he has a glint in his eyes you’ve gotten very familiar with over the last month.
“Need something, baby?”
You bite your lip to keep from grinning too bashfully and glance back down at the open pages on your lap. “Nuh uh.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
“Really?” Mike puts down the wildlife magazine he’s perusing and leans closer to you. “’Cause it looks like you might want something.”
You cross your legs, flip a page you haven’t even read, and shake your head.
It’s a dumb game you’ve both started to play, who can hold out the longest. Of course, the longest record is one you both hold—four years and some odd months—but other than that, you usually make it two or three days at most.
But it’s hard with him walking around looking like he does, and for someone so quiet, Mike is mischievous and handsy, knowing just how to rile you up only to walk away and leave you to whatever you were doing before. He whispers in your ear, he grabs your ass, sometimes he’ll just stand right behind you in the kitchen and inhale, trace his nose up your neck so that you shiver and break out in goosebumps, then mumble a shameless, “You smell nice.”
He’s troublingly good at driving you crazy, and you realize this is why it took you so long to actually get together. You can’t imagine being this wound up and wanton in the lab with everyone there to see.
“You know,” Mike speaks again. You look at him from the corner of your eyes as he leans back against the cushions and nonchalantly kicks an ankle over his thigh. “A lot of people are dying. Like, thousands. Millions.”
Frowning, you nod. “Uh, yeah. Worldwide disaster taking place.”
“Yeah, it’s a shame,” he adds. His lips twitch upward for a second before he purses them, waiting for another couple seconds then stating, “Should probably start thinking about… Efforts to repopulate.”
Eyes widening, you tilt your head to the side in disbelief, a short, incredulous laugh bubbling from your throat.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Mike Zacharias!”
Reaching behind you, you grab a throw pillow and launch it at him. Mike shields himself easily, choking and chuckling as he tries to defend himself, “I’m just—saying! It’s something to keep in mind!”
“Trying to guilt me into sex—” You smack his forearms with the pillow again, “As if I’m not already easy for you—" smack, smack, “—by bringing up all the people dying out there. What is the matter with you?”
He gets a hold of the pillow and rips it from your hands then hugs it to his chest and stares at you with that uncharacteristically devious look. “Is it working?”
You scoff at him, gently kick at his thigh in one last act of defiance before responding, “I mean, kinda.”
And, that’s all he needs to hear before he’s throwing himself at you, pinning you to the couch even as you giggle and squirm, ridding you of the comfortable clothes you have on so that he can kiss and lick every part of you he can reach. He acts like he’s hungry for you, and you have to use all your strength to shove him off of you just so that you can work his pants off and return the favor.
Mike is all grunts and curses as you work him over with your tongue, a hand on the back of your head heavy but not pressuring. He trembles as you take him deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat and sliding just a little further.
It always hurts your jaw, leaves it sore for a full twenty-four hours at least, but the way his jaw drops and his hands ball into fists make it worth it.
You use one hand to stroke what your mouth can’t reach, the other settling between your own thighs to get you to where you need to be, and only when Mike is panting and you’re dripping slick into your curled palm do you pull off of him.
He helps you into his lap, lets you take your time sliding down his length, because even after as much practice as you’ve had, it hasn’t exactly gotten easier. He’s still massive, and you still have to will yourself to relax around him, but once your muscles have loosened enough, you begin to rock your hips.
Mike lets you use him like that for a few minutes, knows he’s at the perfect angle to rub over your g-spot, so he just watches and leans forward to place teasing kisses around your open mouth.
“Feel good, baby?” His voice drips like honey as he grips onto you to aid in your movement.
Nodding, you dig your nails into his shoulders, then shift to start moving up and down his length. Mike takes it as his cue to take over completely, strong enough to lift and drop you as he pleases, and you both fall into a frenzy of motion, desperate to get off, to get each other off, to share that euphoria.
“Do you actually want to?” You ask in a daze.
Mike cracks his eyes open to ask, “What?” and slows down enough to give you enough breathing room to speak. “Do I wanna what?”
Making lazy air quotes with your fingers, you mimic his deep voice, “Repopulate,” then elaborate, “Have kids. Do you want that?”
Everything stops. Your hips still, as do Mike’s, and he stares at you, the lusty haze of his gaze clearing as he processes what you’re asking.
Feeling completely exposed, you try to rationalize, “I know, I know, we’ve only been doing this for, like, a month, and it’s kind of a terrible time to actually bring new life into the world, but if I’m gonna do it with anyone—”
Mike fists both hands in the hair at the back of your head, pulls you to him to smash your lips together. When he starts bouncing you again, your muffled moan is still loud in the small living room, and Mike’s voice comes out somewhere between desperate and destroyed when he tells you, “Yeah, I want kids. Want you to have my kids.”
“Okay,” you breathe, matching his rhythm, then again, “Okay.”
A switch seems to flip in Mike’s head. You watch and experience him devolve into someone—something—primal. He fucks you like he never has before, long hair hanging in his face, lip caught between his teeth as he groans around it, pistoning into you quick and rough.
“You want it?” He growls, pausing to suck a mark at the swell of your breast. “You want me to come in this pussy?”
Your heart stutters, jaw dropping slightly because Mike isn’t a vulgar man, never has been, but now, the way he’s looking up at you with wild eyes, you know all he needs is the right push, and he’ll lose it completely.
“Yeah, fuck, want you to fill me up, please,” you whine.
Your world tilts as he tosses you long ways on the couch, sliding back into you with ease and demanding, “Touch yourself.”
You grin slyly, “What, don’t have the focus?”
“Not really,” he admits, flicking sweaty hair from his eyes.
Two of your fingers find your clit, massaging it the way you always do when you’re desperate for an orgasm. It makes you clamp tighter around Mike, and you tell him again—beg for him— “Please, baby, want you so bad.”
He comes quicker than usual, shooting line after line deep inside of you until it starts dripping out around his cock.
He can’t stay inside you for long, unable to take the way you keep clenching and twitching from your own ministrations, so Mike pulls out and shimmies down your body so that his face is just above your cunt. At first, he just stares (like always), admiring your swollen folds and how messy you are, but soon he pushes a finger into you, attaching his mouth to your clit shortly after.
It doesn’t take you long. The thought of him fingerfucking his cum further into you paired with the actual sensation of it sends you over the edge within a few minutes, and the two of you are left sweaty and panting, too drunk off each other to really think about the gravity of what you’ve just done but enjoying it all the same.
The feeling eventually returns to your legs, some of the fog in your brain dissipating as you run your hand through Mike’s hair, and when you find that you can, you voice, “Can we even handle a kid? Or like… Can a kid handle the world as it is?”
“Kids are weirdly resilient,” Mike speaks, face pressed against your stomach so that you can feel the vibrations. “And, maybe there’ll eventually be a race of super babies or something—have enhanced lungs to deal with ash. Darkvision and shit.”
You snort and shake your head. “Dummy.”
He retaliates by blowing a raspberry just above your belly-button, grins lopsidedly when you squeal.
“But really, our kids’ll be fine. Volcanologist for a mom and an Eagle Scout for a dad? Doesn’t get much better than that.”
“Oh my god, you were actually in Boy Scouts? Does Levi know?”
Mike makes a little ‘pft’ sound and shoots you an unimpressed look. “Of course not. Like, I’d ever let that tiny, tiny man be right about anything.”
Your laugh is so deep and genuine, it makes your whole body shake. Mike raises his head to keep it from bouncing so much, but you can feel him staring for the duration of your giggle fit. Even through squinted, teary eyes, you can see his gaze is full of adoration, and you figure having two parents who love each other as much as the two of you do will at least make the hard life ahead of you a little easier for a child.
4 Y E A R S A F T E R
Heavy snow falls outside, adding to the thick layers on the ground and clouding the window you’re staring out of. The carrier is nicely heated, ensuring you and its other two occupants stay toasty as you keep eye out for incoming headlights.
“Think that’s them,” Mike says, and you swivel to look out his driver’s side window to see two dull beams of light growing brighter and brighter.
“Don’t know who else it would be,” you joke. “No one else is dumb enough to come back to this place.”
The only sign of your husband raising his eyebrows is the way his hat shifts slightly. “You’re right about that.”
Cinching fur-lined hoods tighter, you both slide out of the tram, boots crunching on ice and snow when you land on the ground. Mike circles to your side, opens the back door, then unbuckles and collects what looks to be a bundle of jackets in his arms. Two light eyes peer out between a beanie and a face mask, gloved hands reaching out and grabbing for you.
“You want Mama?” Mike coos before passing your son to you.
You settle him on your hip, rub his shielded nose with yours, hoping your body heat will help keep him warm out here.
It’s been winter for… Years, now, the ash from the eruption having behaved exactly as you thought it would, blocking out the sun, and sending the planet hurtling into another ice age. It was something not everyone was prepared for—the intense cold, the food and water shortage, the isolation, but you were lucky. You had everything you needed.
The other snow vehicle stops a ways off, lights left on as two figures jump out, recognizable even when completely covered up. One is nearly as tall as Mike, the other considerably smaller even up close.
Pulling his mask down, Erwin shows a brilliant smile as he stops in front of you and Mike, and Levi immediately protests— “Oi, cover your mouth, old man! You need it for more than just talking shit.”
Mike laughs, but still reprimands the other man with a pointed, “Levi,” and a nod toward the little boy you’re holding.
“Fuck—I mean…” Levi takes in a deep breath then apologizes over the whistling wind and falling snow, “Sorry, Huck.”
Bouncing him on your hip, you peer at your son and prompt, “Huckleberry, you remember Levi and Erwin from the computer?”
Though your team has seen him many times on Zoom and FaceTime, this is first time Huck is meeting any of them in the flesh.
Your son looks between them for a while, quiet as he sizes up both of the men, then he reaches out for Levi the same way he had for you just moments before. Levi makes a dissatisfied noise but still takes him from you, and once Huck is passed off, you shuffle to Erwin and wrap your arms around him, breathing into his chest and warming your face.
Your boss squeezes you tightly, mutters a low, “I know, I missed you too.”
It isn’t enough to drown out Levi’s sing-song baby voice, and both you and Erwin glance over to find him with his forehead pressed to Huck’s as he teases, “Can’t believe your parents named you after a volcanic eruption. That was pretty dumb, right?”
Mike glides over, places one hand on Huck’s head and the other on Levi’s, then sighs. “Please don’t criticize my wife’s terrible taste in nam—”
“Hey! You agreed to it,” you shout, taking the little boy back from Levi and glaring at both the smiling men. “Better shut up before you give him a complex. He can understand things, you know. He’s three.”
“Huckleberry Pine Zacharias,” Levi scoffs. “I cannot stand you guys.”
“I think it’s a great name,” Erwin interjects, lightly tapping Huck’s nose under his mask.
“Well, you have shit taste, too.”
“Obviously, if I married a little gremlin like you,” Erwin drawls easily, leaning into the punch that Levi throws into his arm.
“Anyway, we’re here for a reason, right? Other than freezing our asses off?”
“Yeah,” Mike nods, kicking at the snow on the ground like it’ll make a difference.
All of you know that buried beneath all the white is dried pyroclast, but under that…
Is what remains of Yellowstone.
“How do we even go about rebuilding?” Mike is the first to ask.
Erwin stares at his own feet, face scrunched up in thought for a while before looking back up and stating, “From the bottom. Everything starts with a good foundation.”
Levi just scoffs, but you and Mike lock eyes and share a hidden grin.
You take Huck back from Levi, leaning in for a side hug as you do, then suggest to everyone, “Well, then, now that we’ve seen a little of what we’re working with, we should head back to the shelter and start making a plan.”
“Yeah,” Levi agrees. “Gotta start getting ready for the next eruption due in seven hundred thousand years, right?”
“Right.”
After splitting back up into the two separate carriers, Mike follows closely behind the other in order to make it to their newly built bunker without getting lost. It’s perpetually dark from the never ending snow and cloud coverage, hazardous even with the vehicle’s tracks, but you can’t find it in yourself to be scared. Not now, not when life finally feels to be returning to something close to normal.
#aot x reader#aot fanfic#attack on titan fanfic#mike zacharias x reader#snk fanfic#the smut pile collab
470 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pacemaker
F/M Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (SKZ)
Warnings: Let me be clear: this is a very dark narrative. I have lots of warnings for my readers, including explicit smut, vulgar language, toxic relationships, voyeurism, choking, sadism, smoking, and drinking.
Word Count: 8.2K
Genre: Sugar Daddy AU; Established Relationship
Summary: Y/N had made a lot of bad decisions throughout her life, but signing up for that stupid Sugar Daddy website? The worst of them all.
A/N: The title makes more sense in the end, but I can tell you that pacemaker’s are used to control arrhythmia's - and Seungmin might just function that way for the reader! Also, I’m really sorry for making Chan such an asshole.
Seungmin was a good best friend, even if he was determined to ruin his lungs with expensive cancer sticks.
I had once tried to help him break the bad habit - stealing the cigarette boxes that he bought from the store and tossing them into the trash. But Seungmin made it rather difficult to break his addiction, and when I found him digging through the trash one evening, trembling fingers bringing the lighter up to his lips, I stopped trying to help him. And it might seem like a shitty thing for a best friend to abandon, but I was really tired of seeing my efforts die in vain when Seungmin made it loud and clear that he wasn’t willing to relent.
However, I was probably the worst person in the world to preach against his vices, especially when mine were far more consequential. Ironically, if I was to compare our biggest slights, then I might find a lot of similarities between our horrible habits. For instance, we were both prisoners to something toxic, and it was hard to push out those dark shadows when they had already snuffed out most of the light.
But at least Seungmin still had some control over his autonomy whereas I had allowed a single man to dictate every aspect of my existence. He decided the clothes that I would wear to his fancy office, and the things that I was allowed to do to my own person. He enacted so many rules that I could barely keep up with them, and he frequently reminded me that I was supposed to comply with whatever he demanded because I signed a foolish contract.
In the end, it was my fault for becoming so involved, but I could always rely on Seungmin for companionship when I felt another bout of existential dread. Because Seungmin was a good listener, and he made an effort to understand my problems even when he didn’t agree with my decisions. It was one of the things that I liked most about him, and I watched him with indifferent eyes as he stomped out his cigarette against the sidewalk.
Thereafter, his breath vaporized against the frigid air, and it was the only reminder that it was cold because my body had already grown numb to the sensation. “What happened this time?” Seungmin asked, raising a brow in question.
It was a deceivingly simple question because there was no straightforward answer that I could offer him in response. Instead, I shrugged while trying to collect my thoughts. Because I still wasn’t really sure how I felt about my latest rendezvous with him, but I knew for certain that it had affected me more than the other times.
“It was different,” I replied, and Seungmin nodded.
“Did he hurt you?” Seungmin asked.
“Yes, but not the kind of hurt that you’re thinking about,” I said.
“Well, that’s still fucked up,” Seungmin said. “Tell me everything.”
Oh, but there was so much to tell him, and my mind instantly brought me back to the very beginning when I signed my name on a contract that promised so much only to deliver nothing but pain.
Six Months Ago
The worst decision of my life was predicated on my desperation for cash, and I was almost at the point where I would do anything to see another zero on my bank statement.
When I first moved to California, I had a lot of big dreams, and I was so excited to secure a scholarship to a highly-accredited University. It seemed that the world was finally on my side, and I left my home on the east coast to start a new life with more opportunities. Everything was going according to plan, and there was nothing preventing my success.
Except for me, of course.
And it happened during the events of a single evening when I decided to attend a fraternity party on campus that my roommate recommended. The music was loud, the alcohol was unlimited, and any prior inhibitions had been thrown out the window much to my own detriment. I forgot all about my responsibilities, and I made one careless decision after another until I ended up in bed with a stranger.
I don’t even remember his name, but he was just one of the students who got busted by the police that night. Apparently, someone next door ratted us out, and they discovered a bunch of under-age students drinking alcohol without any supervision, including myself. But when the University found out, my scholarship was taken away, and my parents refused to send me extra money for tuition because they were determined to bring me back home.
But I wasn’t about to let one night ruin everything, and it was my roommate’s idea to suggest the stupid website. “It’s like a Sugar Daddy thing,” my roommate giggled. “All you have to do is sign-up, and then they’ll email you if there’s any interest.”
“Interest?”
“Well, they’ll probably want something from you in exchange for money.”
“How much money?”
“I guess that’s up to you to decide.”
Tragically, I was too desperate to consider the consequences, and I signed up without even thinking about the potential for disaster. And within a week, I got several emails from old misers offering me loads of cash in exchange for services that ranged from a private escort request to more explicit favors. But none of them stood out to me, especially in comparison to the young CEO who claimed to only be 28-years-old, but I could hardly believe his profile.
Still, I decided to entertain him, and I organized a meeting at a neutral location just in case anything funny happened. But I was still shocked to see the same man from the pictures waiting for me inside the coffee shop. And he was just as handsome as he appeared online: long, curly blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and a broad smile that took my breath away.
“Y/N?” he asked when I cautiously approached the table.
“Mr. Bang Chan?” I returned, and he laughed while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal strong, muscular arms.
“That’s me,” he said. “You can sit down if you want.”
“Of course,” I said, feeling rather foolish after standing there for so long. “I’m sorry, but I was really surprised because I honestly thought you might by lying about your age.”
“Why would you think that?” he asked, and I easily detected an accent carrying his words.
“Uh, considering the circumstances,” I said with a wince. “I feel like you could have any woman you want.”
“Oh?” Chan asked while raising one brow suggestively. “Maybe I just want you.”
“R-really?” I stuttered while wondering if I had made a good decision when I wore a skirt that afternoon. “You can probably tell that I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s alright,” Chan reassured me. “I don’t have much experience either.”
It seemed too good to be true - like there wasn’t any logical explanation for why this incredibly sexy businessman had signed up for some Sugar Daddy website when all he had to do was blink in my direction and I was already falling for him hard. “So, I guess you expect something from me.”
“I like how you do business,” Chan remarked. “We can skip all the formalities, then?”
“If you want,” I said, still feeling a bit sheepish as I glanced down at the table.
“From you, Y/N,” Chan continued. “I want a partner.”
“In what sense?” I asked. “Are you talking about something...sexual?”
“I’d really like that,” Chan said with a seductive smile. “But only if you’re interested.”
“Definitely,” I quickly agreed, throwing all caution to the wind as I surrendered to his ridiculous charisma.
“In return, you can have whatever you want,” Chan said. “Money isn’t an issue for me.”
“I really just need money for my tuition.”
“Is that all?” Chan scoffed as if he was in disbelief. “There’s got to be something else.”
I hesitated for a moment, wondering why it was so hard to ask him for those extravagances when the entire premise of our meeting rested on the basis of one exchange for another. “My apartment,” I said. “I plan to get a job in the future, but I’m struggling with rent.”
“Fuck the job,” Chan said. “I don’t mind paying your rent.” He smirked as he leaned back against the booth with a sigh. “I used to be a college student, Y/N, and I had problems paying for those things too.”
His attitude was nothing but nonchalant, and our terms were settled without a single complaint. Eventually, the deal was finalized when I met him later that evening at his lavish penthouse apartment, signing my name at the bottom of an exclusive contract that I hadn’t even taken the time to read.
“It’s done,” Chan declared, and I watched his forearms bulge as he applied pressure to the official stamp. “We can have some fun together,” he added, and the look he gave me was nothing short of predatory. “Tell me, Y/N. Are you a virgin?”
“No, sir,” I said, watching him throw the contract aside onto the coffee table.
“Good,” he purred while slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you take birth control? I hate fucking with condoms.”
“Yes,” I whispered, and there wasn’t an ounce of shame in my entire being when I studied the hard planes of his upper torso once his chest was exposed to the room.
Did I really just a sign a deal with a real-life Adonis?
“I’m gonna have a taste of that sweet cunt tonight,” Chan said, and one hand palmed himself over the front of his pants. “Bend over the couch for me, and keep your legs spread.”
“O-okay,” I agreed, hesitating because I wasn’t expecting him to move so fast, but I also knew that it was a foolish thought. What else should I have anticipated? There’s only one thing he wanted from me, and it’s not like it proceeded a romantic dinner or a long walk on the beach.
But it was still jarring to feel someone else’s hands on my hips - someone older and far more experienced. And his hands were proof of that confidence, perfectly assured in their motions as they drug my panties down my legs, fingers prodding against the folds of my labia. “You’re not wet enough,” Chan remarked, and I blushed because I was afraid that I had been doing something wrong. “We’ll just use lube.”
I flinched when I heard a loud POP! echo throughout the room when he opened a bottle from behind me. Then, I startled when something cold penetrated between my thighs because I wasn’t used to the overbearing sensation, and the flex of his fingers were incredibly thorough as they explored the private walls stretched around his intrusion. It felt nice, though, feeling him moving around, brushing against sensitive zones that had me moaning against the cushions.
“What a good slut,” Chan said, and I found myself whimpering at the derogatory term. “Let me use my cock instead.”
I gasped when his fingers disappeared in the middle of my approaching orgasm, leaving me clenching desperately for something to fill up the places that had left empty. But the sound of Chan shuffling out of his pants was reassuring, and he was nothing but teasing when he slid the head of his cock up and down my entrance. Spreading his pre-cum while prodding against me with the tip of his erection.
If I hadn’t been wet before, then I was positively drenching from the surprisingly playful foreplay. “Please,” I whined, and he must’ve been feeling merciful since it was our first meeting because he pushed himself the rest of the way inside between my walls with a grunt. Satisfying that persistent ache which demanded some sort of satisfaction from the fat cock splitting me with every aggressive plunge against my g-spot.
“There we go,” Chan hissed, and his fingernails dug into my skin while he rolled my hips back onto his cock - repeating the motion with a sensual rhythm that was slow but fulfilling. Deep and full. Pounding into my hips with every thrust and chanting obscenities into the air while the smell of sex hit me with as much force as his thighs knocking against mine. “Feels so good around me.”
I moaned at his husky tone, and slid further down the armrest of the couch because my clit was rubbing deliciously against the furniture that he had bent me over, and I focused on the addicting friction and the impression of his cock drilling inside my pussy until I came with a loud moan.
“Shit,” Chan cursed when I clenched even tighter around him, and the pleasure was like a dramatic rise - a climactic high - and I fell back into the moment with my heart pounding against my chest while Chan continued to plummet his cock into the stimulated entrance of my cunt before I felt his cum trickle down the inside of my legs.
“Good girl,” Chan said, and he landed a sharp slap to my ass before he was walking out of the room, stuffing his cock back into his pants while I looked down at my hands and wondered what I was supposed to do next.
And several long minutes passed before I realized that Chan wasn’t coming back, and I tried to ignore the sensation of his cum drying on my skin as I pulled my skirt back on over my sore hips.
Is this how it would be every time?
I grimaced at the thought, but I knew it was still a better alternative than returning home to my disappointed parents. Because Chan would at least help me stay in school, and he wasn’t really asking for that much in return.
Right?
But my heart was aching when I left his penthouse around midnight, returning to the shared apartment with my roommate and slinking into the shower while doing my best to remain quiet. Unfortunately, my thoughts were starting to become more rampant - louder than the prevailing silence - and I couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter with Chan. Because it was the second time that a random stranger had fucked me without consideration, and I would never forget how I felt in that moment, scalding my skin under hot water while scrubbing insistently with my fingernails scratching across my arms.
And I went to sleep that night thinking about the future for the first time since I lost my scholarship. For instance, how long would I have to keep doing this? Can it really end after my graduation?
Needless to say, I was unable to reacquaint myself with the familiar comforts of sleep, and I woke-up the next morning feeling like a much weaker version of myself. It was both a literal and metaphorical description for my current state of mind and physical being, and I forced myself to endure my regular routine so that I could leave for class on time.
But even as I was starting to feel better again, savoring the cool air of the morning as I walked through campus, everything was ruined when I received an unanticipated phone call from Chan around lunchtime:
“Can you come into my office today?” Chan asked, and I checked my watch.
“I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Perfect,” Chan said, and I hung up the phone before jogging to the bus stop.
The Voyeur
Chan’s office building was extravagant, and I had trouble finding his company because it seemed like there was no end to the numerous corridors. Thankfully, a polite worker was willing to steer me in the right direction, and I greeted Chan’s secretary with a nervous exhale of my name.
“He’s waiting for you inside,” she said with a bright smile. “But make sure to lock the door behind you.”
“Oh, sure,” I said, puzzled by the strange request, but I entered the room with a dismissive shrug, glancing back to turn the lock before stumbling in my steps when I realized that someone who was not Chan stood in the middle of the room.
He was a younger associate, and his hair was slicked back with some kind of product as he observed me with the faintest hint of a smirk. “You must be Chan’s newest plaything.”
I gasped at the stranger’s words. “Chan-” I attempted to call for him, but cold fingers wrapped themselves around my throat in warning.
“Shhh,” Chan whispered into my ear, and I trembled when one of his hands went down to the waistband of my skirt. “You’re right on time, Y/N.”
“Sir,” I said, trembling when he found my clit through the fabric, applying rough circles with a growl.
“Go sit on top of the desk for me,” Chan said. “Take off your skit and panties.”
“But there’s someone else-”
“Did you not hear me?” Chan interrupted, and there was an intimidating warning in his eyes that I found myself unable to ignore.
“Yes, sir,” I said in compliance, and I tried not to think about the situation unfolding in front of me. Instead, I carefully walked around the unfamiliar man without making eye contact, even though his gaze was focused on me the entire time. “Is this what you wanted me to see?” the newcomer asked, and I startled at the sound of his voice as I slipped out of my clothes.
“I think she’s your type,” Chan said, and he nonchalantly strolled through the room with his hands tucked into his pockets. “This is what you like, Jisung? Sit back and relax.”
Jisung pursed his lips as he found a comfortable position on one of the futons, and I gasped when I realized that he had unzipped his pants, fishing out his cock while casually stroking the full length of his erection, gaze fixed on the place where Chan was standing in front of me.
“Bend over, whore,” Chan growled, and I turned around in an instant, shivering when he forced my legs to spread even further apart, applying pressure to my lower back as I arched even higher for him. “Have you ever seen a prettier cunt?”
“Finger her for me,” Jisung requested, and I closed my eyes when Chan penetrated three fingers inside at once. Because it was a distant shout from his treatment the previous night, and I found myself enduring the pain from being aggressively handled.
“Is this to your satisfaction?” Chan asked, and he was moving lightning fast, thrusting his fingers so fast that my body wasn’t sure how to process the rapidly growing pressure building with every curl of his wrist.
“Fuck her then,” Jisung said, and I could hear the slick sound of his hand moving on his cock to match the pace of Chan’s motions inside of me.
“No problem,” Chan said, and his cock replaced his fingers with one harsh plunge, forcing my hips to collide with the side of his desk as he started an unrelenting pace, hands holding tight to my waist as he treated me as nothing more than his personal cock-sleeve.
My pleasure wasn’t a concern, and I could tell because he never once asked me if I was feeling good. Instead, he panted like a dog into my ears, groping along my chest while rolling his hips up into mine - grinding his cock as deep as he could manage.
“Chan...” I trailed off at one point because there would surely be bruises once he was done with me.
“Is there a problem, Y/N?” he asked, and I quickly shook my head even as he started thrusting even harder, forcing his cock even deeper inside my gaping core - brushing against previously untouched places that awakened something almost feral.
“No, sir,” I managed, choking around a moan when his fingers tightened around my throat again.
“He likes to watch,” Chan whispered, slowing down to a sensual grind while he spoke to me. “It gets him off every time.”
“I didn’t know,” I said in return, even though no response was really warranted.
Especially when Chan leaned back once again, picking up from where he had left off from before, and there was a stuttered hiccup to the way he moved - like he was nearing his own breaking point. His fingers curled themselves into my hair, forcing my head to the side to meet Jisung’s unwavering gaze.
“Jisung,” Chan said, and the voyeur himself looked up at the two of us with lust reflecting in his eyes. “Is it everything you wanted?”
“Keep going,” Jisung simply said in return, and Chan was laughing in the moments preceding his orgasm, spilling his seed between my convulsing walls before pulling out with a groan.
“You did good, Y/N,” Chan said, and he reached down for my discarded skirt.
Meanwhile, I glanced around Chan to see Jisung reaching for the tissue box on the table. “Thank you for the show, Mr. Bang.” Jisung said, and he cleaned off his cock before tucking himself back into his jeans.
The Sadist
That unexpected situation should’ve been the first and only sign required for me to break off the engagement with Bang Chan, but I was starting to grow addicted to the ostentatious gifts that he sent me.
Because on that same afternoon, I returned to my apartment to find a brand new SUV waiting for me outside my complex. It was the newest model, and my roommate was hysterical with excitement as she jumped around the front lawn and told me all about how a random man had brought the car to our apartment asking for me.
“I don’t know who you’re seeing,” my roommate remarked. “But if he keeps doing this kind of thing...”
“Yeah,” I agreed with a faint smile, and there was still an active part of me that thought I could put up with Chan if it meant receiving things like this in return.
Plus, I somehow deluded myself into thinking that everything was fine, and I guess my lectures on argumentative writing must’ve worked too well because I convinced my stubborn brain to endure the arrangement for a little while longer.
It also helped that Chan hadn’t spoken to me much in the week following our little date in his office, and I was able to forget about the encounter with Jisung. Plus, my tuition was paid, my bank account was full, and there were always expensive things allowing me to take advantage of a lavish lifestyle.
It was hard to argue against the current trajectory of my situation, but there was still a painful reminder of its price when Chan eventually called me the following Friday with another request:
“I’m having a guest over tonight,” Chan said. “And you’re the entertainment.”
I swallowed hard at his brusque tone. “Entertainment?”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Chan reassured me, and I could only process his words while the dial tone played in the background.
But maybe I could handle the addition of a guest, especially if it was just Jisung or someone watching again. That hadn’t been so bad, and the worst part was the initial shock of seeing another man in the same room.
Maybe I was just overreacting, and this would be a regular night where Chan would fuck me in his bed and I would limp home and sleep on the brand new satin comforter he had bought for me.
Unfortunately, my initial enthusiasm was dulled when I knocked on the door to Chan’s penthouse, and he answered my summons with another man lingering in the background. But the other man wasn’t Jisung, and a single chill rolled down my spine when Chan’s guest turned around to look at me for the very first time. “You’re early,” Chan said with a pleasant smile. “We were just pouring ourselves some drinks.”
“That sounds nice,” I said, allowing Chan to take my coat before he led me into the living room.
“This is my associate, Lee Minho,” Chan said, nodding in the direction of the freshly identified man who was unreasonably handsome as he sat down across the room.
“The pleasure is mine,” Minho said with a smirk, and I had no words to match his arrogance, but Chan pulled me into his lap and I took some strange comfort from his embrace.
“Minho and I have been friends for years.”
“What a tragedy,” Minho remarked, and the simple jest was met with a chuckle from Chan who wrapped an arm around my waist.
“He was really excited to meet you as well.”
“Especially after listening to Jisung run his mouth,” Minho said, and I froze at the mention of the other man because that was the moment when everything started to plummet, and I could see the change in Minho’s gaze as he lowered his eyes to my chest.
“Can I see her tits?” Minho asked, holding his glass of scotch in one hand while the other disappeared down the front of his pants.
“Of course,” Chan said, and he didn’t seem to care at all about his friend’s vulgar request, pulling me back against his chest as his fingers worked apart the buttons on my blouse. “She doesn’t mind. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”
I shook my head, paralyzed by Minho’s impenetrable gaze as he inhaled sharply when Chan removed the shirt from my arms. “Those are nice.”
“Aren’t they?” Chan agreed, and his fingers tweaked my nipples. But I shivered at the pressure, nearly jumping in his lap from the sudden stimulation as his thumbs rolled across the hardening buds.
“You ever fucked them before?” Minho asked, parting his lips around the rim of his glass.
“No,” Chan said, and his tone reflected his disappointment. “I guess I’ll have to try that in the future.”
“They’re a good size,” Minho remarked, and I couldn’t help but feel humiliated because they were talking about me in such a vulgar manner - like I was just a piece of meat on display for them.
“I like her tits,” Chan agreed. “But I think her ass is my favorite.”
Minho scoffed at that. “Isn’t that always your preference?”
“Why do you think I like fucking her from behind?” Chan laughed, and Minho smiled before draining the rest of his alcohol.
“Where did you get her?” Minho asked, and I watched as he removed his expensive suit jacket.
“Do you remember that website Jisung showed me?” Chan smirked. “It’s probably the best idea that he’s ever had.”
“Mhmm,” Minho agreed, and his lecherous eyes continued to openly stare at my breasts. “Has Changbin seen her yet?”
“No,” Chan said, and then he sighed. “I’m afraid to introduce them.”
“She’s exactly his type,” Minho remarked. “He’ll want to fuck her for sure, and I doubt you’ll tell him no.”
“He’s convincing,” Chan said, and he smirked while his lips pressed wet kisses against my neck and his hands massaged my breasts. “What would you want to do with her?”
“Me?” Minho chuckled, and his dark eyes were appraising. “I’d probably fuck her mouth, and then maybe cum on her tits.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Chan said, and then he was shoving against me from behind. “Get on your knees,” Chan growled into my ear, and I shivered at the guttural sound before falling from his lap and into the floor.
Meanwhile, Minho continued to watch me while stroking his cock, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “Is this an invitation?”
“Take her mouth,” Chan said, and he reached out for his discarded glass of brandy. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”
Minho smirked in response, and he pulled the occupied hand from his pants long enough to stand up from the couch, taking another step forward until his crotch was level with my face. “Is that true, little girl?” Minho asked, and I held my tongue when his fingers traced across my lips. “Do you want to suck my cock?”
I could feel Chan’s eyes on me, and I knew better than to disobey. “Yes,” I whispered, and Minho closed his eyes around a groan.
“Channie picked a good little cocksucker,” he said, and he quickly undid his pants, pulling them down his thighs along with his boxers. I inhaled when his cock was freed from the confines of his underwear, slapping against his stomach with a bead of pre-cum waiting on the tip. “Go ahead,” Minho said. “Let’s see what you can do for me.”
I swallowed hard, and I decided to start with a few strokes of his hardening erection - feeling the length of him under my hand because I knew that it would be painful to fit him inside my mouth. “Don’t tease,” Chan said, and I shivered at his harsh tone.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I decided not to waste another moment before I was parting my lips around the head of Minho’s cock, tasting the gathered pre-cum on his tip. It was bitter because it was overwhelming, and my jaw was already aching as I hollowed my cheeks and tried to prevent my teeth from scraping across the sensitive underside of his erection.
“Harder,” Minho growled, and he reached down to grab fistfuls of my hair while forcing the remainder of his cock down my throat - triggering my gag reflex with the sudden motion.
“I guess she’s not used to it,” Chan remarked - like it wasn’t a big deal that I could barely breathe around the intrusion, and spit was dripping from my lips as he proceeded to use me like I was nothing more than a warm space to fill with his cock.
“I’ll teach her for you,” Minho said, but it wasn’t a kindness to feel the tip of his cock hit the soft palate of my mouth, dragging between my lips as he ground his hips while moaning around a curse.
But I still tried my best, sucking at the skin and using my tongue to trace against the ridges. I also kept my hands firmly behind my back, trying my best not to reach out for his thighs because I was afraid that he wouldn’t appreciate the feeling of my nails digging into my skin. Not that he seemed to be extending the same courtesy - fucking my mouth with loud grunts and tugging on my hair with enough force that my scalp was screaming for me to intervene.
“Does it feel good?” Chan asked.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Minho said, and his eyes were glossy from the alcohol settling into his system and the approaching orgasm which I could taste as I tried my best to swallow around him.
And it was almost disorienting when he pulled himself free, keeping one hand in my hair while the other stared to stroke the length of his erection with rapid jerks. “Look at me,” Minho growled, and I forced my gaze to meet his own. “I’m gonna cum on your tits,” Minho snarled, twisting my hair as I did my best to nod around the impossible hold.
“Shit, that’s hot,” Chan whispered, and I closed my eyes when Minho finally came, spraying his hot cum across my chest as his thighs trembled from the effort.
“Damn,” Minho said, and he took a strategic step back to survey me from afar. “She looks better this way.”
“I definitely agree,” Chan said, but I only felt disgusting as I sat there on my knees with their eyes observing my wilted figure.
The Participant
For an entire week after my encounter with Minho, every time I spoke, or did something as simple as drink or eat with my friends, I was reminded of him.
It wasn’t necessarily the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I couldn’t deny that there was a small part of me that had been aroused at the idea of Minho’s rough treatment. But the problem emerged from the lack of disclosure from Chan because he seemed to take impressive liberties with the contract. And I didn’t mind having sex with the older man since I gave him my full consent, but these surprises that he sprung on me when I wasn’t expecting them? I wasn’t entirely happy about those.
In fact, the more that I thought about the incident with both Minho and Jisung, the more infuriated I became, and I couldn’t help the brusque tone that I used to greet Chan over the phone when he randomly contacted me the following weekend.
“Someone’s having a bad day,” Chan said, and I didn’t appreciate his accompanying laughter.
“It’s just my classes,” I offered as a response, pinching the bridge of my nose to try and prevent an oncoming headache.
“I hope it’s not too bad because I’d like for you to meet me in the office,” Chan said, and I agreed without really thinking about the consequences. Because the last time I went to Chan’s office, I found myself being fucked on top of his desk with an executive watching in the background.
But I guess this was what I had literally signed up for, and Chan couldn’t possibly know that I hated our most recent encounters because I still wasn’t able to find the confidence to tell him. And maybe it was better this way since our arrangement was nothing but a superficial agreement between two consenting adults - we were both getting something out of it, and I didn’t want to risk losing the invaluable funding that he sent to my stunningly healthy bank account.
Instead, I put on my best smile for him when I walked into his office, greeting him at his Secretary’s desk as she offered me a courteous welcome. Does she know what’s going on? I wondered to myself when Chan took my hand and led me to the giant executive desk where he worked.
He chuckled when he patted his lap, and I dropped my bag onto the floor before dropping myself down between his strong thighs. “There you are,” Chan said with a smirk, tracing the pout of my lips with his thumb. “You look sexy today.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I hated to sound so timid in front of him, but he was still beyond intimidating, and I never knew what to expect from someone who continued to surprise me.
“I’ve missed you,” Chan said, and I hesitated when his hands found the hem of my t-shirt, crawling along the skin of my torso to hold me in place. “Last time was really fun.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, but it wasn’t very convincing. Thankfully, Chan didn’t seem to notice, and he brought me in for a sloppy kiss so that I could taste the mouth wash on his tongue.
“Let’s take a walk around the office,” Chan said, and I agreed because it seemed relatively normal in comparison to what he usually asked from me.
It was also startling domestic to hold his hand as he walked me through the maze of cubicles, talking about taxes and the stock market and whatever else he found interesting. In response to most of his conversation, I found myself nodding because I couldn’t comprehend his big text jargon or the complicated explanation when it involved his return on investment numbers.
“How about some lunch?” Chan suggested, and I agreed even though my stomach had twisted itself into knots during the ride over here.
However, when Chan reached out to hit the button to call for the elevator, he paused when he made eye-contact with someone walking out of the conference room. He sighed as he turned me around. “This is awkward,” Chan said, and I noticed that the tips of his ears were bright red. “I may have shown Changbin some pictures of you and....” Chan trailed off with a smile. “He really liked what I showed him.”
“Changbin?” I questioned, and Chan jerked his head to the side to indicate the exceedingly handsome gentleman who was lingering outside of the conference room with his eyes glued in our direction.
“Changbin really likes you,” Chan whispered, smiling as he allowed one hand to fall down and palm my ass.
I heard a sharp intake of breath, and I felt my entire face flush when I realized that it had come from Changbin. He was brazenly eye-fucking me from where he was standing, and I couldn’t even imagine the dirty thoughts running through his mind.
“He wants to fuck you,” Chan continued as if we were having a conversation about something as casual as the weather. “And I kinda want to see him pound this little pussy.”
He then audaciously cupped the heat between my legs and I squirmed around in his arms because we were in public. “What are you doing?” I asked, and there was every reason to panic when anyone could see us like this - when Changbin was already looking at us like we were incredibly interesting.
“He’s got a really big cock,” Chan added like that was supposed to convince me. “But I know that you’ll do it for me, right?”
I hesitated at his request, glancing back over my shoulder at Changbin who was still watching the two of us with a predatory gaze. “When?”
“Tonight,” Chan said before pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll have something nice sent to your apartment. Wear it for us, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I agreed, and the response sounded robotic even to my own ears.
True to his word, Chan had sent over a rather scandalous pair of lingerie to my apartment - a matching set of underwear that included a red thong and delicate bralette with lace elegantly lining the comfortable padding. There was also a very short black shirt in the package and a thin camisole which wasn’t meant to cover much of me. And I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror when I realized that I looked like someone out of Chan’s wet dream.
But instead of walking through campus with such an appearance, I had wrapped my scantily-clad form in a long coat when I greeted Chan that night outside of his apartment, hoping that he wouldn’t question my desire to ride the bus in something more appropriate for public viewing. But maybe he was too turned on to scold me, dragging me inside his apartment and closing the door before opening the front of my coat.
“Fuck,” he growled when he saw me in my outfit. “You look so good in this.”
“Thank you,” I whispered in return, and Chan tossed aside my coat while reaching down for my hand.
“There’s no reason to delay tonight’s fun,” he commented. “Changbin’s already waiting in the bedroom,” he said.
I swallowed hard the mention of the other man, trying to piece together my disorganized thoughts when Chan invited me inside the lavish bedroom that was the exact same size as my entire apartment. But I also wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious reminder of his tremendous wealth, especially when I realized that there was someone waiting inside just as Chan had promised. The same man from earlier at the office was sitting in a chair near the corner of the room, dressed in his work suit and looking at me from beneath a fringe of blonde hair while his fingers tightened around his whisky glass.
“You were so patient, Bin,” Chan remarked as he reached down to remove his shirt.
“I think she’s worth it,” Changbin replied, and I tried not to squirm too much under his impenetrable gaze.
“What do you think of her outfit?” Chan asked, and he smirked while squeezing my ass through the skit.
“I’d rather see what’s underneath,” Changbin said, and his attitude was so nonchalant that I couldn’t deny that a small part of me was attracted to his eagerness.
“That can be arranged,” Chan agreed, and I held perfectly still as he removed my tank top before jerking my skirt down my thighs.
He didn’t even need to tell me to step out of the offending piece of fabric, sliding it across the floor as I stood in front of Changbin in nothing more than the skimpy lingerie that Chan had chosen for me. “Damn,” Changbin grumbled, and one hand slid down his chest before settling on top of the obvious bulge in his pants.
“Shall we start?” Chan grinned, and I watched as he walked over to the bed to make himself more comfortable on top of the mattress before holding out his arms for me. “Come here, Y/N.”
I nodded, crawling over the silken sheets while Chan whispered compliments into the silent bedroom. “She’s so fucking hot,” Changbin remarked, and I held my breath when Chan used his raw strength to turn me around - bringing my back flush against his chest as one arm wrapped itself across my chest. I shivered in response to his impressive muscles, pressing myself even closer to him while his other hand crept down to remove my panties
“Look at this,” Chan whispered, ripping the fabric and exposing my bottom half for Changbin’s eyes. “Such a pretty cunt.”
Changbin inhaled sharply at the exposed skin, and he stood from the chair to walk over the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes because he was shameless, palming his erection over his pants while his eyes glued themselves between my thighs. “Spread her legs for me.”
Chan nodded, and I could feel the way his fingers parted the wet folds of my labia before he drug his thumb along my sensitive clitoris.
“Oh, fuck,” Changbin growled, and his eyes were bright with lust as Chan continued to tease my throbbing sex while mouthing kisses against my throat.
“Do you see something you like?” Chan asked his friend as if the question was even necessary.
“Let me fuck her, Chan,” Changbin snarled, and I watched as he unzipped his suit pants before dropping them to the floor along with his boxer shorts, fisting his cock in one hand while the other worked at the buttons on his shirt.
“I don’t know...” Chan trailed off with a teasing tone. “I’m not really in the mood to share.”
“We both know that's a lie,” Changbin said with a humorless laugh. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
I bit my tongue to hold back a moan when one of Chan’s fingers penetrated my tight walls, putting on a show for Changbin as he maintained eye contact with his business partner. It was like they were engaged in some sort of competition over me, and I was melting from Chan’s ministrations, feeling him move around with his fingers curling against all the right spots. He also started to scissor his fingers to stretch me out in preparation for whatever else might happen, and Changbin whimpered as he continued to stroke his hand up and down the impressive length of his throbbing cock.
“I guess you can have it,” Chan said, and I yelped when he shoved me off his lap, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. “Hands and knees,” Chan barked, slapping my ass for good measure before he walked over to the same chair in the corner of the room. “You’ll be a good slut for Changbin.”
I whimpered at the rough treatment, and I tried to avoid Changbin’s gaze as I positioned myself on the center of the bed, dropping down onto my forearms while I raised my ass high in the air. I was breathing hard against the sheets, feeling my pulse skyrocket when the bed dipped beneath Changbin’s weight as he mounted me from behind.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked, and I shook my head when he started to grope my ass, pulling apart my cheeks as his fingers prodded against the dripping entrance to my cunt. “Say my name, slut!”
I nearly screamed from the force of the slap he landed on my ass, and I took a deep breath to manage the pain. “Please, Changbin,” I sniffled, and there was nothing but blinding hot pleasure when he rubbed the tip of his cock up and down my slit.
However, he wasn’t nearly as patient as Chan, and I was shaking around the abrupt intrusion of his cock. He also wasn’t gentle, holding my hips with a bruising grip before he fucked his cock inside my wet heat, leaving me no room to breathe before he was driving his hips against mine like there wasn’t enough time in the world to split me open for him. “Shit,” Changbin hissed, and I was powerless when he shoved my face down into the pillows, forcing me back into an even deeper arch.
“Play nice, Bin,” Chan said, and I could barely spot him from the corner of my eye. “You know I don’t like it when you break my toys.”
“Can’t help it,” Changbin grunted, and I could feel the fat head of his cock brushing against my cervix.
“She feels good right?” Chan asked, and I finally located him, following his voice to see that he was rubbing his erection through the tented fabric of his pants.
“Her cunt is tight,” Changbin agreed, and he wasn’t even thrusting anymore; instead, he was manhandling me up and down his cock, slamming his hips against mine and filling the room with the sounds of wet slaps and crude moans as he chased his own pleasure.
He was fucking me like a madman, breath hot on the back of my neck. Everything was fast and hard, and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall was especially loud. “Fuck,” Changbin muttered, and I thought he might be slowing down, but he just adjusted his grip and set a brutal pace and fucked me even harder.
It was all too much, and I wasn’t expecting to come, but when he lifted one of my legs for a better angle, I felt a sudden wave of arousal drip around Changbin’s thick erection because he was scraping across my G-spot with every stroke. I moaned at the direct stimulation, and it felt like there was an impossible pressure building at the center of my abdomen, stretching and stretching until my vision nearly blacked out from the intensity of my orgasm.
“Yes!” Changbin groaned when I inadvertently squeezed around his cock even tighter, providing enough pressure to trigger his own orgasm. And I could feel his warm cum as it decorated the cavern of my pussy, escaping the place where we were connected with a squelching sound when he eventually pulled out.
“What a mess,” Chan groaned.
“Such a good little whore,” Changbin purred, reaching down to stuff his cum back inside where it belonged. I whined at the over-stimulation, but Changbin growled in response and slapped my ass hard. “I want one more round,” Changbin declared, leaving me lying on the bed as he rolled over to the side.
“Sure,” Chan agreed, and I felt his hand soothing along the side of my face as he wiped away my tears. “How long do you need to get it back up, old man?”
“Shut up,” Changbin muttered. “Give me ten minutes.”
‘Well, that’s all I need,” Chan remarked, and I whimpered when he took his turn to mount me from behind, twisting his fingers into my hair as he slid his cock inside with one hard thrust, grinding his hips in long, sensual circles while whispering the filthiest words into my ears.
Present
It wasn’t very much like me to reveal all those intimate secrets, but something about Seungmin’s presence was safe and comforting. “What an asshole,” Seungmin remarked, discarding a fresh cigarette that he hadn’t even bothered lighting before returning his attention to me. “You deserve so much better than him.”
“He pays for everything,” I said. “He pays for my tuition, and he sends checks for the rent...”
“So?” Seungmin scoffed. “I can help you get a job at the diner where I work. You can make enough money to pay for those things without him.”
“It’s just so hard...” I broke off with a sudden exclamation, and my emotions were spilling out despite my attempts to suppress them, holding Seungmin even closer by the collar of his jacket as I sobbed into his shoulder. “He owns me.”
“No, he doesn’t, Y/N,” Seungmin said with a firm tone. “Do you understand me?”
I shook my head. “I signed a contract!”
“Every contract has a loophole,” Seungmin said. “And I’m sure it expires at some point, or you can negotiate your way out of the terms!”
“He’s a businessman,” I argued. “There’s no way I can win.”
“Not with that attitude,” Seungmin said with a fierce look. “You’re not alone, Y/N. I’ll even help you figure out how to leave him, but that’s what you need to do because this relationship is not good for you!”
“I kept telling myself that I didn’t care,” I whispered, sighing when Seungmin carded his fingers through my hair. “I guess I cared too much.”
“It’s alright,” Seungmin said, holding me close as he spoke reassurances into my stubborn ears.
“I’m scared, Seungmin,” I told him, and he nodded.
“I’ll give you all my strength,” he promised, and the sincerity of his words triggered a fresh wave of tears, and I cried while thinking about the difficult situation that I found myself in.
The idea of Chan’s arrangement had once been enchanting because everything he promised seemed like a dream come true. But the reality was nothing short of a nightmare. And I was suddenly desperate to escape.
#stayracha#skzwriternet#skzsmutnetwork#chan smut#chan fanfic#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz oneshots#stray kids oneshot#stray kids chan#stray kids chan fanfic#bang chan fanfic#bang chan smut#mostlycompetent#requested
320 notes
·
View notes
Text
re: D*rklina
@musical-chick-13 I’m putting this under a read more, because I have additions and, yes, it is long 😂
So, as far as I can tell from what show-watchers have told me, yes, he is definitely worse in the books. And specifically, the general idea in said books seems to be that just because someone is charismatic and attractive and “gets” parts of you doesn’t mean that they’re a good partner or even worth your time, which is a message I have waited FOREVER to see. Beauty (and to a lesser extent, magnetism) does not equal goodness. The Dark/ling (I have no idea if the names will show up in the tags so I’ll put slashes in the middle of them, wow this website’s features need revamping) always seemed…very entitled to Al/ina. There wasn’t any desire for them to become equals (even in a moral sense by dragging her down to his moral level or raising himself up to hers). His behavior and pursuit of her seems much more motivated by the idea of being able to congratulate himself on the fact that he’s “won” her. She’s more of like…a conquest to him? And maybe that’s a huge misread of his character on my part, but the Leigh, the author, HAS said in the past that some of the Dark/ling’s dialogue and actions were written as a way for her to make sense of and deal with an irl toxic relationship she was in during part of the writing period, so I…don’t think it’s a completely unreasonable interpretation? And that’s not to say that power imbalance ships should Never Be Shipped (because they can be genuinely compelling or even fun to watch under the right writer), and Leigh has even said that she Gets The Appeal herself.
But I think the reasons Tho/schei works for me where D*rklina doesn’t are because 1) Tho/schei have genuinely known each other for a long time (and even been on good terms for some of it) but the Dark/ling decides, despite being this all-powerful charismatic force who is hundreds of years old, to get pettily involved in a teenage love triangle in very little time which is a choice that makes absolutely no sense to me at all, 2) The Doctor is an extremely morally grey character, in a way that if they aren’t careful could easily match the destructiveness of The Master. They both are aware of this, and both of them believe themselves (in their own ways) to be “above” morality (The Doctor in the sense of “I know what’s best and my choices are law” and The Master in the sense of “My choices are law and I deserve to cause destruction and have complete control”. There are…not equal, but similar enough levels of moral ambiguity that it makes sense to me that they still Get™ each other. The Doctor also likes Intellectual Challenges and Foiling Grand Plots, to the point where it’s often the Most Important Thing, and The Master not only provides those, but enjoys the conflict as well, and 3) They actually are close to being equals. They’re both very smart, powerful, immortal. Obviously The Doctor has Much More Life Experience and a more extraordinary legacy because of the Timeless Child thing, but Missy’s primary goal was simply “I want my friend back” and Dhawan!Master freaked out because it was impossible to see them as equals anymore. The Doctor, as per Twelve, wants the Master to be good because they’re alike in a way no one else in either of their lives are. They kind of…want the same thing but in different ways, whereas The Dark/ling, while understanding The Burden Of Power, doesn’t actually want the same thing Al/ina does.
And that relationship between D*rklina could still make for a fascinating dynamic, and one that in another life I might even be into myself if not for the whole “reducing it to Good Girl Saves Bad Boy” trope that I keep seeing within a good deal of the fandom. Not that a general fandom reaction or misread should prevent anyone from enjoying something, but I’m so tired that it’s nearly impossible for me to separate them at this point, lol. Ultimately it boils down to the fact that they seem like such fundamentally different people that I don’t personally see how they could ever truly find common ground or genuinely appreciate their similarities. I think the most interesting exploration of a romantic bent to their dynamic would be in a context where they are so different and recognize that they’re so different, and they might want to focus on their similarities, but it’s not enough. There could be this undeniable pull between them, but what does that really mean when held up against who they are and how they choose to interact with the world? And then having to deal with the necessary antagonism that results. I guess I see the existence of this ship as like…more of a thought exercise than anything I would ever want to happen in any way other than a one-sided attraction on his part, or that could ever truly be narratively justified. But also like…I hate him, so that makes it kind of hard for me to want to explore it in any way at all. Which that’s a personal thing. Other people like this character, and I’m genuinely happy for them that they can see something I don’t.
UGH, I’m sorry this got so long. This is what happens when I have an urge to Share my Thoughts.
I totally understand your feelings and I think the show did a good job on not only humanizing the D*rkling, but also making the relationship more palatable. I, mean, I’m sure we can partially blame Mr. Barnes’ soulful eyes, but I definitely got the impression that, while the D*rkling wants to use Alina for his own gains, he is very drawn to her as THE Sun Summoner, as in “we are linked and will inevitably be the only one for the other”, he basically tells Mal as much.
And I don’t blame you for losing interest in them because of the fandom, it can be very frustrating, especially if one of the characters didn’t appeal to you in the first place (I mean, I’ve been there, hello R*ylo, lmao)
I think I get what you’re saying about how this works out in the books and how what draws me to D*rklina isn’t necessarily textual. And I think I might have went in a little biased when I watched the show, because, before I did, a friend told me she was getting Thoschei vibes from it, but didn’t especify where, So I watched and there it was: M*lina… okay, school best friends, us against the world, but in general, eh, they were too “perfect” (as in, no real conflict between them). And then D*rklina with everything I said on my original post. I mean, I was looking for a thoschei-like dynamic and I found one 😂.
I’ve read some spoilers for the book, so I know my whole “200 years later” fantasy doesn’t happen, so I agree with you, this ship is more of a thought exercise. But I think the show sets it up in a way that is Just My Thing, whereas the book is more straightforward with how incompatible these two are, romantically. But the fandom will ship away, even in kinda blergh ways, it’s how it is 🤷
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Stark’s New Intern” Chapter 23
youtube
"When I'm in a bad mood
It's good to know I have you
You got niggas from your past that still ain't pass you
But you're on my time
But you're on my time now, and our past through
Now that we finally got them out the way
All the decisions that I wanna make
I want your body in a million ways
Nobody ever makes me feel the same…"
DVSN—"A Muse"
Erik practiced playing poker online. When work was finished with Tony for the day, he would take himself to his apartment and cook a simple meal of plain brown rice with sautéed vegetables and boneless skinless chicken breasts.
Food consumed, he'd check personal emails, call his grandfather, and then hunker down on his laptop and play three hours a night. He was going to use the money Tony paid him that he had saved to get him in at the bottom: half a million dollars. Minus the other half a million he gave away to his family, he was willing to bankroll his spot at the high stakes poker table with no help from Tony.
Work had gotten serious. After Tony's cover story appeared in Forbes, the focus of his company turned toward escalating weapons manufacturing, and Erik finally saw the bread and butter of Stark Industries. His days were spent working with Tony at his subsidiary company AccuTech designing a new missiles system that he called Jericho X. The man spent hours of brainpower trying to create an experimental model that he wanted to manufacture and have on the market within five years. Inking a new contract with the United States Armed Forces, Tony was under pressure to deliver the hot-launched missiles sooner than the five-year deadline he gave AccuTech. The man was hands-on and Erik's education at the Naval Academy was useful to him. Erik had the mind of a soldier, and his training was meant to prepare him for his forthcoming Naval career. Those military eyes helped him on the job.
Erik had to concede once more that Tony was a smart motherfucker and his focus on work was just as laser-sharp and obsessive as Erik. Working around him on the Jericho X project was eye-opening and the long hours pushed Erik's mind to its limits. He was allowed to work at AccuTech and give up a lot of his assistant tasks which he was all for. He acted with restrained professionalism, and that allowed him to hang around after hours to do his own experimentation with the vibranium.
It did take the heads of AccuTech a couple of weeks to be accustomed to a Black teen having so much access to a secret project. If he had been some lanky white teen with an overly ingratiating personality, no one would question his presence. He would just be viewed as a white boy genius and "Atta boy!" accolades would've been thrown at him along with pats on the back. Instead, he was a Black boy genius faced with bias and suspicion. He endured the usual bullshit just so he could get his hands on equipment, testing space, and cutting-edge STEM knowledge.
Sitting on his bed and winding down from playing online poker, he checked out the housing available to him at M.I.T. In six months, he was leaving for grad school and he was already designing his life there. He checked out restaurants and clubs, searched for areas that had Black people and Black cultural things he could access. He searched for any capoeira spaces and the ones he found were white-dominated and he wanted Black people to practice with. He needed Black touchstones to keep him sane after his experience at the Naval Academy and Stark's internship.
Checking the M.I.T. website he found an alumni link that helped new students transition to the Institute. A few hyperlinks found him peeping the on-campus radio station, WMBR, that served the Cambridge-Boston area. Listening to a few archived music shows, he stumbled across one that was deejayed by someone called ButtaFly. The show was called Cosmic Café and when he listened to the first ten minutes, he immediately bookmarked it and added it to his listening rotation. The music was Blackity Black and spanned generations, and the DJ did live mixes that had Erik head bobbing.
For two months he laid on his bed from twelve midnight until two in the morning just being carried away by the sounds and also the voice of ButtaFly, a woman who made Erik's entire body relax. She opened her show with a positive quote or a bit of poetry and then she had themes that she created stringing songs from the field hollers of Black chain gangs to the Black Neo Soul of 90s British R&B, or any type of current African diaspora music she could blend with Hip Hop, Deep House, or Electronica.
He tried looking up personal details or even pictures of ButtaFly, but she was a hidden ghost, just words and rhythms and vocal soothing that helped him sleep before heading off for the grueling hours of AccuTech.
She became his brain muse, expanding his mind so he could juggle the science he worked with every day.
Stretching on his bed, Erik closed his eyes and put in his earbuds.
"As-salaam 'alaykum, Beloved. Welcome to the Cosmic Café. I am your host, DJ ButtaFly bringing you that good nourishment, that savory food for your mind, body, and spirit. Tonight's theme is going to run us into the realm of quantum physics. A little Afrofuturism to get us through Black History Month…"
Erik felt his shoulders loosen up and he closed his eyes. He tried to imagine what type of face went with the sultry voice blessing his ears. The modulations and changes in tone she used as she spoke hypnotized his ears. Muscles throughout his body relaxed and he wondered what kind of musical journey she would take her listeners on that night.
"I want to open the show with a piece from a sister whose work I adore, Alexis Pauline Gumb. I feel like someone out there needs to hear it. I know I do. This is taken from her book of experimental poetry called 'Dub: Finding Ceremony'. This particular joint is called 'Commitment'. Are you ready, Fam?"
Erik nodded his head as he grew more comfortable, slipping deeper into a state of mental ease. He rolled his right hand down his chest and rested it on his stomach. Lying nude in the dark he could almost hear his heartbeat.
"We promise to wake you if we think you won't get the point of the dream. We promise to show up if you show up. Everyday. We promise to make you feel sick if you lie to yourself. We promise to let love through if it's love you came to do…"
Soft. Soothing. Safe.
Her voice cradled and held him in a warm place. She wrapped his thoughts around her words.
"We promise to make time flexible if you give us your time. We promise to think of you more often than you think of us. We promise to remember you when you forget. We promise to be wherever and in everything you haven't noticed yet. We promise to be we, even one by one…"
Erik's body floated. He was still firmly pressed on his bed, but the eternal part of himself seemed to rise above his tired flesh and hover at the beckoning of ButtaFly's mouth thousands of miles away.
"We promise to outsmart your mind. We promise to overlove your heart. We promise to echo over your voice. We promise you everything. Everything. All we ask."
An image formed in his mind.
Full lips. Feline eyes. Skin rich and dark and made for touching and deep kissing.
His hand slid to his manhood.
ButtaFly spun dreams, drums, and breakbeats, sounds and rhythms that kept him floating above himself even as he stroked a growing erection in his hand. He tried to create a more detailed rendering of what he imagined the DJ to look like, but as pre-cum beaded at the tip of his swollen glans, his brain substituted Devika's face and body as a placeholder and he ran with it.
He tugged hard on his dick, keeping a tight grip right under the ridge of his tip. He imagined Devika's ass wiggling as he slapped his dick on her ass cheeks. ButtaFly's music urged him on and when she spoke to her audience about the songs she was about to mix in next, he latched onto her voice and grunted hard.
"Fuck!"
His hand was slick and more pre-cum spilled onto his fingers.
"Fuck this dick!"
"You ready for more?"
The haunting track ButtaFly flooded his ears with dragged him to the edge. He jumped up and turned over on his bed. Grabbing his pillow, he jammed it under his waist and ground his dick on it, pumping his hips as his glutes flexed hard. Eyes squeezed shut he conjured up images of a shapely ass clapping loud because of his thrusts.
A disembodied voice had him humping his pillow, the casing growing damp from the amount of pre-cum he was shooting out from his sensitive tip. He jammed his right hand on top of his erection to create a tunnel, allowing him to pretend he was in ButtaFly's pussy. His hand was slippery and he pushed down on the pillow to get more friction. The music in his ears was made for fucking and he thrust harder imagining some tight pussy yanking on his dick as his balls pounded into a nice soft ass. She sounded like the type who could throw it back on him and make him cry because it was so good. He lost it then.
He yelled like he was knee-deep in gushy pussy.
His thighs grew taught and his orgasm rushed across his ass and up over his back and neck before any semen flooded all over his pillow and sheets. A long groan blew out from his throat as he rubbed out another smaller nut. His fingers touched the pillow. The whole thing was soaked and sticky.
Leaning on his thighs he threw his head back to stretch his neck.
The moment he got to M.I.T. he was going to look for that DJ. There was no way in hell she could make him cum like that and he not find out what she looked like. His dick was still hard, and she kept the music going. He reached for his cell and searched through some old files. He pulled one up.
Athena.
She allowed him to film her as he hit from the back while she held onto her bedroom dresser. He watched Athena's big titties hang down and bounce in the mirror as he pounded her pussy. Jacking off again he allowed the music in his ears to narrate the fucking he watched himself do on his phone. Cradling one overly full breast in his hand on film, he watched his video self cum inside of her, calling out her name as she released on his dick screaming his. His eager hand worked his dick on the bed, the hard strokes slowed down until his cum splashed all over his stomach. He fell back on the bed feeling wiped out.
During his lunch break the next day, he downloaded the book of poetry, ButtaFly shared from the previous night, and read the piece at least five times. The words resonated with him. And they did something else: reminded him of his purpose.
Inside the work labs at AccuTech, Erik studied the mock-ups of new guns and smart weapons. He toyed with experimenting with vibranium and creating sonic weapons.
"We promise to outsmart your mind."
The line of the poem came back to him.
Staring at the new gun design that Tony had posed with on the Forbes magazine cover, Erik thought of converting it and somehow using the properties of the vibranium on it. As he listened to the best weapons designers grapple with the Jericho X missile prototypes, Erik memorized what he saw so that he could sketch it out later in his apartment. He wanted to compare it to the designs he saw in his father's old journals. He asked to work on the Stark sonic canon, a non-lethal long-range acoustic device. Granted permission to do so, he studied how the LRADs could be modified with the ideas he had swimming in his head. He looked for cheap and easy ways to mass manufacture devices that could be shipped around the world undetected. But he had to figure out how much vibranium it would take to modify Stark's LRADs. He only had six months left to absorb all he could.
He stayed diligent with his work and Tony visited AccuTech often giving his thoughts on their progress. Stark was preoccupied with some politicians giving him grief, and also preparing for the new batch of summer interns. He stripped down the number of interns he would have from 100 to fifty. That meant it would be even more competitive. Summoned to Tony's Los Angeles office from Palos Verdes where he had been working, Erik stepped into the outer sanctum and found Devika speaking to some assistants from other higher-ups. She took one look at him and paused for a long time. He realized then that they hadn't seen one another for a couple of months, his time spent in Palos Verdes cutting off contact between them in person.
He was about to step into Tony's office, but she held up a hand signaling for him to wait. When the assistants left, she walked over to him.
"Hey," she said.
"Hi."
Her eyes stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time.
"What?" he said feeling self-conscious.
"Something about you is different."
"How so?"
He sat on her desk.
"There's a swagger about you that is different…hmmm, more confident maybe?"
"When have I ever been less confident?"
"You look…good. Sophisticated."
Her eyes flitted away from his face. She was acting bashful all of a sudden.
"How's Wyatt?" he asked.
Her eyes regarded him carefully.
Wyatt was her new boyfriend, an older dude from Seattle she met at a mixer in Los Feliz.
"He's doing well. Thanks for asking."
He let his eyes linger on hers. She was still checking him out.
"He better be treating you like a Queen. Let me know if he doesn't," he said moving off of her desk and heading into Tony's office.
"Stevens. Good, we can get this intern stuff sorted. Come with me."
Tony swept past him and Erik followed. They only went around the corner from his office and into a mid-sized conference room. Pepper was inside the space along with two other executives Erik was not familiar with.
"Awesome, we can finish up now," Pepper said.
Tony and Erik took a seat at the end of the oval conference table facing a blank wall. Pepper handed them touchpads and turned on a floating screen.
"We've narrowed down applicants to just under three hundred. You need to choose who you want to be interviewed."
Erik and Tony scrolled CVs on the touchpads. So many names.
They painstakingly went through every CV, staring at applicant photos floating in front of them. Tony was open to Erik's suggestions, and this fact alone opened up the pool of applicants from ones Tony would've overlooked from his own biases. He tended to court favor with those from Ivy League schools and who had the same boring backgrounds. Mainly white and East Asian applicants who all did the shit that they thought would make them stand out. How many classically trained pianists/violinists who played La Crosse, Tennis, Chess, and water polo did one need? Sometimes too many extracurricular activities signaled a follower. A simp that did things not because they enjoyed it but because it padded their resume. He forced Tony to consider graduates from non-Ivy Leagues, those who did community-based work where they lived. More women applicants of color, especially Black and Latinx ones. He even suggested Tribal Colleges and lower-tiered public universities and colleges. He also mentioned looking at people who didn't have perfect Dean's Lists grades.
"I tell you what. I'll give you three weeks to open up the pool and bring in those types of potential interns you suggested. Pepper, give him access to the advertising bulletins," Tony said.
"That's cutting it close, Tony, we need to have interviews lined up and applicants chosen by the beginning of May."
Pepper and the other two Execs looked annoyed.
"Stevens can get it done. Give him the bulletins," Tony said, standing up.
Erik followed Tony out of the conference room.
"Let's go have lunch," Tony said.
Tony drove them to a restaurant in Pasadena. A small French café with excellent crepes filled with savory meats and sauces.
"Are you enjoying AccuTech?" Tony asked.
Erik nodded as he chewed a forkful of chicken masala crepes.
"I'm getting good reports about you. You've adjusted to the pace."
"It's cool. The LRAD work is right up my alley. That's what I'll study at school. Hands-on work will have me ahead of the curve."
"Grimaldo keeps hitting me up. He is ready for this re-match."
"I am too,"
"You sure you don't want me to bankroll you?"
"Nah."
"He tends to be at his best on his home turf."
"I'm good."
"Some things to know…"
A waiter brought over a glass of wine for Tony and sparkling water for Erik.
"We will be among a lot of royalty. I know you have excellent sartorial choices, but I need you to step up even more and have some formal clothing for at least a week—"
"A week? We'll be gone that long?"
"I'm making some business deals while I'm there, so work will be happening. You can use that time to work on the intern stuff. Pepper isn't coming with us, so I will slip you back into your old personal assistant role. She'll guide you from here. You'll need to be extra discreet while we are over there, and also be prepared for last-minute changes."
Erik ate his meal and listened.
"You sound kind of nervous," Erik said.
"Not nervous. This Jericho deal is very important and we'll be among some other industrialists and even some nefarious characters that want to see me fail. Things have to be tight and not attracting negative attention."
Erik nodded.
"I like the things you brought up at the intern meeting."
"Pepper and the others didn't sound so delighted."
"They'll get over it. It's why I put it in your hands for new outreach. Hey, are you sure about leaving for school after August?"
"Yeah. Gotta get that graduate degree."
"You should stay on at AccuTech."
Erik shook his head.
"M.I.T., Navy. That order."
Tony finished up his wine and glanced at his watch.
"Back to work," he said.
Erik stopped at Tony's office before picking up his car in the Stark garage. Devika was alone there, and her eyes seemed to light up when she saw him again.
"How was lunch?"
"Good. What do you want me to bring back from Monaco for you?"
"You don't have to bring me anything—"
"I want to."
"A t-shirt is cool-"
"T-shirt? That's so gauche. I'll bring you something classy."
"Don't spend a lot, Erik."
"I'll bring you back something that won't make your man jealous. How 'bout that?"
"Okay."
He smiled at her. The aroma of her perfume hit his nose suddenly and the scent took him back to her bedroom and the smell of her on his skin.
"I'm out," he said walking away quickly.
When his work was over for the day, he spread out on his bed nude and slipped on his earbuds.
"As-salaam 'alaykum, Beloved. Welcome to the Cosmic Café…"
Erik's muse took him away once more. Soothed his spirit. Steadied his mind.
He was ready for Monaco.
###
Chapter 24 HERE.
###
Tag List:
@fd-writes @soufcakmistress @cherrystainedlipsbaby
@tclaybon
@thadelightfulone
@allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky
@raysunshine78 @the-illlestt @terrablaze514 @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling
@chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku
@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry @honeytoffee @meilintheempressofdreams
@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs @chocolatedream30 @childishgambinaa @mygirlrenee @thewaysheis—awkward
#Stark's New Intern#Killmonger Fanfiction#Killmonger Fanfic#Killmonger Smut#Tony Stark#Black Panther Fanfiction#Uzumaki Rebellion's Pantherverse
42 notes
·
View notes
Text
Of Love and Loss - a Good Omens Fanfic
co-author credit to Griffin McElroy
--
The cottage has a den and it is agreed, fairly early on, that while it is technically shared space, it falls slightly more under Crowley’s purview than Aziraphale’s. Oh, certainly, there are a few bookshelves* and a display of antique snuffboxes, and the furniture is comfortable and homey, more suited to the angel’s aesthetic than the demon’s, but aside from those touches it is all Crowley’s: dark paint on the walls, houseplants scattered over every free inch of floor, and sleek technology conspicuously placed. There is a TV on the wall, huge and slim and used for very little aside from streaming. In the corner, there is a desk, with the fastest, most powerful computer money could buy.
For the first six months they live in the cottage, it is mostly untouched.
[* Which hold only modern paperbacks, not first editions, because Aziraphale just can’t trust the good books out in a room he doesn’t supervise as closely.]
For the first six months they live in the cottage, Crowley is busy elsewhere: there are gardens to tame, and a greenhouse to stock, and a widow’s walk with a telescope to be enjoyed. Crowley rarely goes into the den at all, other than to water and menace the plants, for those first six months.
But gradually, winter comes, and he and Aziraphale settle into a routine, and Crowley starts to gravitate toward the den. It’s in spurts at first, just when Aziraphale is at the shop and it’s too cold to do anything else, but it gets more frequent. Longer periods of time.
By nine months, Aziraphale is worried. Crowley is still Crowley, still stalks around his plants and shouts at them, but other than that, he is in the den. He lays on the couch, and sleeps, and watches TV, and sleeps some more.
Aziraphale asks if he’s tired, one day. “You’re sleeping a lot,” he observes. “A lot more than ... than I remember you doing, in London. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah.” And then, because Aziraphale has this look he does that renders Crowley unable to lie, he admits, “I’m bored.”
Aziraphale’s face falls. “Oh. Oh. I see. Yes, not the ... there isn’t the same bustle here as there is in London, is there?”
“No, no, nonono.” Crowley holds up his hands, worried and insistent. “Not what I meant, angel. No, I still get in to London when I drop you off at your shop, that’s plenty. But ...” He shrugs. “I used to have a job. Wiling and tempting and that. But I ... don’t anymore. I used to plan stuff, and spend too much time scheming, and now I don’t ... have a job?” He shifts. “It’s not here. Not living here. I just feel a bit ... useless?” He frowns. “Not the right word. Can’t come up with a word. Do you follow me?”
“You’re missing having a task?” Aziraphale guesses. “A goal or some such, whether you like it or not?” He sets his book aside and sits back in his chair, the better to watch Crowley over steepled fingers. “Yes, I think I understand.”
“Like, you have your shop, same as always. But I only had being a demon. That was my job and it’s what I am. But now I’m ... still a demon, obviously, but an unemployed demon, so ...” He throws up his hands. “Bored.”
Aziraphale nods sympathetically. “Yes. I see. Well ... you could try some different things? Volunteering at the animal shelter -”
“Really? Animals hate me, angel.”
“Ah, yes, that’s right. Volunteering at the school?”
Crowley makes a show of looking at himself. “Not sure that’s really my scene.”
“Volunteering at the -”
Crowley sighs, and sits back, the tip of his considerable nose propped on his knuckles. “I’ll think about it. Find something, I’m sure. Maybe try beachcombing.”
“Maybe,” says Aziraphale, without much confidence. He wonders how he’s going to break to Crowley that most of what you find beachcombing is not, in fact, treasure, but junk. “You could give it a shot.”
“Bah.” Crowley sits back further, slouching deep into the chair, and sprawls his limbs all akimbo. “I’ll sleep on it. Wake me up for dinner?”
“You’re eating tonight?”
“No, but you are.” He tugs the tartan throw off the back of the chair, and wraps it around himself. “I’ll join if you’ll have me.”
“Of course.”
--
Crowley talks to his technology a lot. He doesn’t see well, Aziraphale knows, and these days the technology talks back, makes it easier for the demon to navigate. So when he hears Crowley chatting to something - someone? - in the den one cool night in late spring, he doesn’t pay much mind.
When it happens a second time that week, he wonders, but he doesn’t investigate. Probably just talking to Anathema. He pulls the doors to the library closed, and reads for the rest of the night.
When it continues the next week, curiosity gets the better of him. It’s around nine, and Crowley is talking in the den again, and Aziraphale sighs and sets his book down and goes to investigate.
The demon is sitting at the computer. The screen is massive, and Crowley is looking at it through his dark glasses. He has a controller in his hands, and a set of headphones on, and he is talking into, of all things, a microphone.
Aziraphale blinks. “What’s this, then?”
Crowley jumps, and then says into the microphone, “Ah, yeah, one second, got an old friend here,” before he hits a button and pulls the headphones off. He jumps up out of the chair and moves to the right. Aziraphale notices then, that there is a camera, fixed on where Crowley was sitting. He frowns.
“What are you doing?”
“Working.” Crowley sticks his hands into his pockets and for the first time in nearly a year since they moved, looks inordinately pleased with himself. “Found a thing to do.”
“This isn’t a sex thing, is it?” Aziraphale asks warily.
“Nah.” He jerks a thumb toward the computer. “Nah it’s ... uh.” He thinks it over. “I have no idea how to explain this to you.” He frowns. “You know video games?”
Aziraphale nods. “... Broadly, yes.”
“Okay. Right. So there’s this website called Twitch. An’ what you do, is you play video games, but while you do that you broadcast your game to other people who want to watch you play. Adam showed it to me.” He waves his hands around, toward the computer. “S’kinda like a reality show? But video games.”
“And other people watch this?”
“Yeah. Got 100 viewers right now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m hilarious.” He rocks back and forth on his heels and smirks. “Also, they give me money sometimes.”
“Willingly?”
“Yes, of course. I’m retired, remember? Well, from being a demon.” He looks pleased. “Now I’m a Twitch streamer. Part-time.”
The only reason that Aziraphale does not remark that this is a natural progression, as smooth a transition as from shore to sea, is that he does not really understand Twitch. Instead, he nods. “Good. And you’re ... having fun?”
“Oh yeah. Loads.” He glances over his shoulder. “Wanna watch for a bit? You can sit in the background. Really gets the chat going, when stuff happens in the background.”
“It’s not one of those violence games, is it?” But the angel is pulling over a wicker chair and sitting down even as he asks. “With all the killing?”
“Nah. S’pokemon. Like Joshua talks about.” He sits back down, and slides the headphones back on. “Right, what’d you want me to call you? Gotta introduce you.”
“Mr. Fell.”
Crowley gives Aziraphale a long-suffering look. “That’s not what ... never mind. Right, anything you say’ll probably get picked up on the mic, so just watch it, yeah? I’m gonna un-mute it.” He taps a button, and says, “Right, everyone, this is Az Fell. He’s ah, my favorite librarian, my best friend and uh ... my roommate.” Aziraphale blinks. Oh, so that’s what he’d meant. Well ... he wasn’t wrong.
Roommate feels a bit impersonal though. They will discuss it later.
“Right, so anyway, back to the run. Fell, this is ah, s’called a Nuzlocke run, where if your pokemon faints you have to let it go because it’s dead.”
“Oh,” says Aziraphale, who understood exactly none of that sentence.
“I just started. You’ll pick it up as we go.”
To Aziraphale’s surprise, he does. He picks up on the pokemon types, the point of the game, the exploration, and the apparently-bizarre rules Crowley has decided to play to game under. He comes to like the names, and the pokemon, and despite the fact that they are not real, he finds himself getting attached to them.
The first faint, an hour into the game, takes them both by surprise.
“Fuck!” Crowley glares at the screen. “Fuck! That’s not even a bug-type move!”
Aziraphale raises his hands to his mouth. “So Betty is dead?”
“Betty is dead,” Crowley confirms, morosely. “R I P Betty.”
“Look at all the little tombstones in the chat.” Aziraphale sighs, and wrings his hands. “Oh, dear. We should send her off.”
They do, when the battle ends. Solemnly, Crowley releases Betty the Rattata to the wild, and he and Aziraphale bow their heads while a bagpipe rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’ plays. Aziraphale wipes away a single tear. The chat goes wild.
xxGonnaMunch69xx: omg AJ your boyfriend is crying
JamesBuffetsDick: RIP Betty and my feelings
KnopeForPresident: omgggg im dead RIP Betty
JisforJerg: fuckkkkkkkkkkk i had money on Betty living to the end
GisforGreg: omg kiss your boyfriend so he feels better
Crowley sits up straighter as the music fades away. Aziraphale sniffles, blinks a few times and tries to subtly dab his eyes, and nods to Crowley, who returns the gesture before turning back to the screen and fiddling with the controls a little.
“We will fight on in her memory,” he intones, as his avatar on the screen runs in a circle in a patch of tall grass. “We will fight on for Betty. We’re gonna kill the Elite Four, and Betty’s name will be our war cry. For Betty!”
“For Betty!” Aziraphale nods firmly, and watches the screen intently. Crowley soldiers on, navigating around Kalos, and Aziraphale watches, although his thoughts are with Betty. He wonders what pokemon do after you release them to the wild. Maybe he will ask Joshua next time they see him.
Crowley, recovering from his grief more rapidly, is on one of his monologues, waxing philosophical on the nature of pokemon match-ups, as his character runs around on-screen. “They’re just playing Calvinball with the dragon and fairy types too, since they’re not even real, and who decided that dragons would be weak to fairies? Should be the other way around, if you ask me - oh, shit, I didn’t want to jump off that ledge, fuck.” He grumbles. “We’re gonna have to walk all the way back to town.”
“You’ll run into some wild pokemon on the way though, won’t you?”
“Can’t catch ‘em.” Crowley sighs, as the screen flashes and a Psyduck assails the character. “Already got one off this route.”
“But you can smite them? For experience?”
Crowley laughs. “Yeah, yeah, angel, I can smite them for experience.” He taps a few buttons. “Get ‘em, Blanche.”
“For Betty!” Aziraphale declares, seizing his mug of tea with probably more enthusiasm than necessary.
“Yeah,” Crowley agrees, still laughing. “Yeah! Fuck you, this one’s for Betty!”
In his chair, Crowley shifts around, spreading his knees and stretching his legs a little. Next to him, and out of view of the camera, Aziraphale’s hand comes to rest on his knee.
Crowley doesn’t blush; they have been doing this ... whatever it is they’re doing ... publicly long enough that he doesn’t react quite that violently now. But the next few sibilants are a little more hissed than usual, and Crowley shifts in the chair again under the pretense of getting more comfortable, yet somehow ending up a few inches closer to Aziraphale.
k2p2ribbingforherpleasure: fuck yea blanche kill that duck for betty
bubbletii: cant wait for them to get to the ocean and catch a magikarp
GisforGreg: am i the only one who noticed AJ moved closer to Fell or ... ROOMMATES HUH LIAR
JisforJerg: jfc greg shut up and watch the game
#the glorious crackfic wednesday#i wish i didn't enjoy fanfiction so much#good omens#inspired by griffins nuzlocke run#one million beautiful beaks#good omens fanfic#good omens fanfiction#crowley definitely streams on twitch#you will never convince me otherwise
102 notes
·
View notes
Text
edit: UMMMM just realized this never posted and instead went into my drafts. oops.
tagged by @glubbity (kinda) i’ve never done one of these and i thought it would be fun :o)
[instructions: tag ten followers you’d like to get to know better.] if u want to do this consider urself tagged...
gender: female! im cis but i dont mind they/them pronouns. i think gender IS something i need to put more thought into, but for now im comfortable presenting/being seen as a girl
star sign: im a scorpio babey!!! and if you have known me for more than 5 minutes its obvious. i like to think im a posterchild scorpio. my birthday is october 30, 2003, which i think is a very very good day to be born seeing as halloween is my favorite holiday and fall is my favorite season! im pretty excited to be turning 17 this year
height: 5′3 or 5′4 :o/ i wish i was taller SO bad. its been my dream since childhood to be like 6 foot... unfourtantly i think i might be done growing... my curse
sexuality: lesbian! i like girls very much. i used to identify as bi for most of middle school and then after kissing a dude and it making me sick to my stomach so i had a Realization freshman year. i think one of the sillier things that made me realize i was probably a lesbian is that i never felt comfortable doing one of the alignment charts... i would skip over them because something about saying “bisexual” didnt sit right
hogwarts house: i hate this question so fucking much. according to the official harry potter website i am a gryffindor but childhood me was crushed by that so i self-identify as a slytherin
favorite animal: CHINCHILLAS!!!!! i love chinchillas so fucking much... every time we had an animal project in middle school i would do mine on ‘chillas. did you know those guys fur is so thick they literally can’t get in water or they grow mold? thats why they do ash baths! while humans have one hair per follicle chinchillas have 50+ and fleas cant live on them because they would suffocate in the fur! thats why chinchillas r so soft... like little clouds. my second favorite animal would have to be rabbits... love them
average hours of sleep: when school was in session i would go to bed at like 10 and then wake up around 5, but now i go to bed at like 12 and wake up at like 8. so i usually get around 8 hours
current time: 11:13 am! im a California baby
dogs or cats?: god i love both so much but dogs win... both me and my mom r allergic to cats so i’ve never been able to have one but ive had lots of doggies! tigger, jasper, bailey, rosebud, pupcake...and a lot of my relatives have dogs! cats r very cute and sweet though and i love my neighbors cat even though cuddling her gives me hives
number of blankets you sleep with?: when its cold i sleep with two blankets and sometimes my comforter, and when its warm (like rn) i sleep with my thinnest blanket and my air conditioner on high. i can NOT sleep without a blanket and it needs to be cold. i always sleep the worse during summer
dream job?: i want to be a therapist... i want to be able to help people and psychology is so so so interesting to me. other careers i think would be fun: working at a zoo, professional scuba diver, working at one of those museums/activity centers where kids always go for field trips. you know the ones
when i created this blog: i think sometime in 7th grade? so like in 2017 i think? idk math. my first username was “just-a-tired-nerd” which i think is awful
follower count: 134!
why i created this blog: i thought that tumblr was THE place for gay people to go and i wanted to be around fellow homosexuals. also a friend had a tumblr and told me to make one
how i came up with my url: im so bad at usernames so its honestly kinda embarrassing trying to explain it LOL. i wanted a very ~aesthetic~ name (my previous user was aestheticallyjaded) and hydrangeas r my favorite flower! so i thought “ok whats pretty and feminine and also doesnt sound stupid?” and my brain went Lace! very recently i found out that lacecap hydrangeas r a type of hydrangea so i guess it all worked out in the end!
what do you love about yourself? (can’t be something you do for others): i love how true to myself i am! sometimes its a fault but ive always been very open about myself and my feelings. even if it makes me seem weird ive always acted and presented myself how i want to. when i create something (art/writing) i stay true to myself an express what i want to express. shoutout to all my old teachers who had to sit thru my short stories about lesbians xoxo
what kept you going through middle school? if it wasn’t hard, what was it like?: oh god middle school sucked so fucking bad. it was a really weird time of self discovery and absolute misery lol. i remember so many people whispering about me and talking behind my back because i was very open about being gay and it was when i first started getting really depressed. the only thing that really kept me going was art and nice teachers. ive always been a bit of a “teachers pet” so my teachers always liked me and treated me nicely. being able to have that kind of support and leeway really helped.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Theft eliminated finally
Now we got the hand held thermometer with decimals at some few meters it tells ya friend, neighbor or brother temp, so if an intruder transfigures to their likes u take it from beside or behind and what u eject is a rod, u hit him with good and nowhere u will be taken cause he has disturbed ya 4 long and its been a nuisance as much as with banks. If ya money stolen or u killed, ambushed or kidnapped is the bank staff wanting to take ya cash and if u had written a will 4 ya money to be given like $ 1 to every bank client then they got to obey that so they dont benefit from ya cash if the manage to do the above. The problem will solve it self as uncle Nellies of the south tells no point 4 empty romantic illusions like philosophical sayings which have only made such people be killed and the above technology can be used in passport centers, point of entries of countries in voting centers, schools, jobs etc 4 identification.
E-speed boat as well can be of help to Somali to get goods and people to the other side via the Indian or red sea cause its not that wide to Yemen or Oman and if those nations have built good infrastructures like rail system and road then getting to UAE or Kuwait after connecting with road or rail from speed boat aint an issue.
They even get plates parts which are broken from houses and take them to like the nursing homes and shelters to be counted as broken as new one replenished while the not broken 1 but hidden shipped to African markets like explained below but lucky enough Africans have learnt to make such as plates where u take broken part place in dough 30% weight of the plate- u measure it with ya weighing machine- then in the dark hurl cold water unto it and boom its formed.
Unless God speaks again is when we can authenticate the bible truth and doctrines, if not they were written but 1 thing cements the truth to tell u God exists like at night u hear hell door being shut up with a voice and those who have died if u partake -mwarubaine- u see them in hell or on bench waiting or free. Goat and ship parable to bring the above reality
Ona vile voke amefura vile anatembea, eti madem anatake wameongeza mangari na sasa watu wanataka kuanza kuwasumbuwa sasa ni sharti alete hiyo jinsia waache eti got to be wise or cleaver to rattle a certain trait dude period.
Look at how dedanul is standing on the road some1 might think he is thinking profoundly but unfortunately if u could have known his thinking u could be pitying him as his wife is cooking stew meat and he is somehow angry but with the visitors to the the above, it means he will have to part with few pieces as well as a small piece of ugali which if alone he can eat like 4 times, so he is thinking on how he can do the same with still maintaining respect. See what am saying, he is calling his wife to keep him the food he wont be able to eat with them so if they leave some ugali he will add to his. Girlfriend " I will be there after an hour" says delanu, as he head to but a dime roasted maize on the other side of the road.
East Africa boat making company in the links below
https://www.google.com/search?q=tanzania+speed+boat+making+company&tbm=isch&source=univ&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjNr5DT1N_oAhUJmxQKHXTWCLsQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=654
https://www.montereyboats.com/Boat-Manufacturer-4-5.html
https://www.facebook.com/SamAnzaiBoatBuildersCoLtd/
Atomic bomb made with many abbreviation written on boxes placed under dough, used clothes, plastic or glass bottle, chaff or cereals as well a cotton wool or leaves and cold water poured, same to nucleic bomb where the place in dough aint the above abbreviated boxes but egg albumen or nucleus or York.
Paid we want his corpse via political turmoil like those who were shot up high on chopper or exhumed or in anyway possible not known to de public. KEBI corpse.
Locate not loyal people to the govt if they got rich followers so kill them like above to later lias with clan members to exhume to take the coffin and replaced with an exhumed old 1 now as much as jewels and shoes as much as suits. Try with along tumblr signing up/in email of more than 35 character to log in another computer, it cant dude, it tells u wrong format, so how on earth u want the same.
Bank should capture people opening account to avoid impersonating fellow doing the same which creates hardship between ya and the bank like in the link below, so it can be retrieved or place under the bank website for public 4 every a/c opened where u input id no or name and it comes with the held in hand detectors in place like temperatures, pulse rate or bmi to make it impeccable.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSPhaaAcIo8
https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=hand+held+temperature+machine
https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=hand+held+bmi+machine
https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=hand+held+body+must+index+machine
Buy wind turbine and rotate it not with wind but another gear motor like in the link below the motor shown while on motion in24 hr way consume 2 units of Kenyan power so in a month consumes 30 units which is $ 12 no-matter what, so its a nice energy saver as sometimes u switch off the motor when not using the electricity or to avoid overheating that could burn the motor. So u rotate the wind turbine with 12 bucks while the energy given u use to power your house gadgets as much as lighting and shower. Owner of think twice electronics, u can buy 1 that uses 120 volts to still save much connecting it to a 120-240 step up/down transformer, the electric bill would be even less that $ 12 specified above, make work easy dude
https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=alibaba+wind+turbine+
https://www.google.com/search?q=alibaba+120+volts+motors+images&tbm=isch&source=univ&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiOxPGWguDoAhWLERQKHVuEACkQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=654
Dont be bored listen to the song below, click the link, a woman who shys away from connecting ya to bad people who if u did not have they could be giving u names but want from ya and leave bad kids around to disturb others
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HS516F6YGI011:37The local girls are now pretty but they are connected to dignitaries so folks leave them alone cause it can derail ya, u know dude!!!While negro counterpart want to associate ya to bad character people who r of no help to ya but want from ya that way, so people leave them alone, blessing in disguise or let them be prostitutes14:26Mcsleepy Nelson If she doesn’t play with it now when its dry when will she play with it, magdalin go ahead play with it girl, to big 4 ya girl, nah, then do ya work, make it happy, play with ya, the ball in ya court.
The local girls are now pretty but they are connected to dignitaries so folks leave them alone cause it can derail ya, u know dude!!! While negro counterpart want to associate ya to bad character people who r of no help to ya but want from ya that way, so people leave them alone, blessing in disguise or let them be prostitutes. KEBI is dancing as if his girlfriend is preparing green-grams or stew beans to be eaten with rice or chapati at night in the song link below
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1v5DU1brzVw
Buy siporui electrical generator and sincro as googled
Parcel can be carried on e-boats to span the seas that has 2 motors that dont stop all way through dude. so countries on the edges direct to other continents have the day like Eritrea and Senegal as much as caring other goods and people
Click the E-engines 4 mini-speed boat in the link below
https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+e-engines+for+speed+boats&tbm=isch&source=univ&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiUnt_KotvoAhXynFwKHSSjAsYQsAR6BAgHEAE&biw=1280&bih=910
Hindu and Britain u r poor back off dude, how long we will be warning or telling u that, take ya broke ass home in the song link below
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0SyUgw98tE
https://picsthatmakeyougohmm.tumblr.com/post/614876193170259968/hmmm
The type of hole above is found on the shores of Mexican coastline to perform well the described below as well as in African coastline and inland waters as well as the Caribbean isles
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+25%3A31-46&version=NLT
The link above rep those who are feeling bad that u have made it through out of hell fire zone as the expected as paid eye witness as u say Mr Hindu willow pachi as ya mind to give ya different behavioral character, weed parable or Jesus with little children to cement the truth which tantamount to zero-work on hindu looking for high seat like in the link below
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+14%3A15-24&version=NIV
Jesus was killed mainly of saying about nyama tree which is a permanent fresh mint 4 mouth. In the cross saying italic works with wide loud voice as if he has been administered 1 via the nose as its done traditionally in Africa and it was growing in kisii, king of the jew to cement the truth and Christ was hanging on cross like meat in the butchers to signal me is where i interrelated the bible chapters even with like ten minas as it has ma sound as nyamawho to find the drug and still inter-related it with Malachi 4 as i used to love mala as curdled milks as worker and vineyard parable crops in to cement the above truth and when the drug is administered much they tie you and u produce crying sound like an infant or a kid or a child as much with much innovations i have placed in other tumblr a/c following this. Women also helped with with the slogan Barnabas to signal us to read the bible to inter-related to like come with the above which could be impossible without it. Moreover i got next house neighbors called Malachi to bring home reality above and the way most hooligans eat with making extra keys. Chi-ngato tM, Mathare valley were downtown not flat looking like Chicago cbd to bar people from going their cause they will be tired of walking and hinder the pursuit of gunman robbers
Ny still reach as tumblr still theirs which has won the confidence of many as it can be used to serve justice as opposed to other like Facebook who dis-enable ya a/c without ya consent and must have a phone and a line to open unlike tumblr but the problem is like with orgamistic photos are not in many small boxes to navigate easy like with Instagram but in a long line which is hard to scroll down but they can avert the whole drama bro
If Africa come up with their own bullet train like with SA then they can make a 2 way rail not 1 as seen in many nations to reach the cost lands like west Africa, North Africa like morocco to connect using yacht to Europe Spain to deliver the above explained parcels as with Eritrea though not fast as air but another reduced price delivery like 4 home appliances as much as office or just gadgets like furniture, clothes or office where or people. Even with Caribbean isles with South America and the ship the same goods to like North America huge population nations like Mexico or USA cause those islands are in the middle creating another new frontier of employment 4 those who can take long to afford instant air-tickets. Africans as well can in place of the rail above make their own wide super highways to facilitate the above from coast to coast once they have known the technology.
In USA shelters or nursing homes they even target small gadgets like nail cutters or combination padlocks, bandage, Colgate, soaps, shampoo, perfumes and bring them to Africa like explained above, even with health gadgets they open and create a hitch in their, which the hospital declare unfit, they take it and bring it to Africa still as much as with much drugs and medicines in nursing homes and those hospitals which got a nursing home. Transportation cost nothing cause its Electric yacht or drone as much as airplane so they dont give a hoot.
Cut like going to fully ripe avocado and taken the next day it suppose to ripe treats tetanus to cement Christ truth with worker and vineyard parable another version as much as the inside of the mango seed or avocado treats many sicknesses which u ought to investigate. Where if u find, bring the above place in darkness in a cut way they hurl cold water upon them to make the medication u want.
Ndawa and dawa as well find their way to Africa via the above methods as worker and vineyard parable crops in to cement the truth as much as mfalme wa ya whodi of what Christ was saying not ya own interpreted versions. Dust is the Satan food as well to bring out reality.
If u do any voodoo to me like pouring out this and that on my this and that to harm me, u have gotten it out wrong as i got magrass, manyasi as antidote which the boomerang comes back to ya. Like falling under ya own trap after u 4 get u place it their.
Many grave in Poland or Siberia which could fall to cannibals are manned this way, u place the 2 above to power the wireless camera which is shielded from strong light and bad weather like falling snow or rain and upper part of the grave was a placed stone cover which if slides a little bit switches on to ring the siren alarm system which is its speakers are place high on the post and on the writing stone tablet placed on the grave which is heavy like in the link below to avoid exhumation until a certain period of time lapses
https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-200w-12v24v-wind-power-generator-red-lantern-style-wind-turbine-street-lamp-11713558.html
https://www.jumia.co.ke/electronics-cameras-security-surveillance/?q=wireless+cameras
https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-lcd-wireless-gsm-home-burglar-fire-alarm-system-pet-immune-rir-sensor-security-us-plug-19416292.html
https://www.jumia.co.ke/home-office/?q=wireless%20alarm%20systems
https://www.alibaba.com/trade/search?fsb=y&IndexArea=product_en&CatId=&SearchText=solar+powered+generator
Once the casket is placed, u place a concrete immediately to still create another same casket room 4 the above to be installed.
Made in Tanzania speed boat in the link below
https://www.google.com/search?q=speedboats+made+in+tanzania+photos&tbm=isch&source=univ&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwihu5z9guDoAhU08uAKHaf0DCQQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=654#imgrc=U_Lna7-hBQ4PNM
https://www.facebook.com/SamAnzaiBoatBuildersCoLtd/
Worlds 1st yacht pricing in the link show below, click 4 more dude, nitatomba wasichana hapo ndani mimi kebin dawe was MN
https://www.google.com/search?client=ms-google-coop&ei=UoqRXsO_D_rggwf-p6qQCg&q=electric+yatch+pricing&oq=electric+yatch+pricing&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQAzIFCCEQoAEyBQghEKABOgQIABBHOgQIABANOggIABAWEAoQHjoGCAAQFhAeOggIABANEAUQHjoICAAQCBANEB46BQgAEM0COgcIIRAKEKABShEIFxINMTAtMzRnMzQ1ZzMyOEoMCBgSCDEwLTJnNWczUJO8AVjczgFggdIBaABwAngAgAHtA4gBmRSSAQcyLTQuMy4xmAEAoAEBqgEHZ3dzLXdpeg&sclient=psy-ab&ved=0ahUKEwjDsPamhODoAhV68OAKHf6TCqIQ4dUDCAs&uact=5
1 note
·
View note
Text
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/31/us/pedro-pierluisi-puerto-rico-governor.html#click=https://t.co/cV6JUeVlqK
Puerto Rico Governor Names Pedro Pierluisi as His Possible Successor
By Frances Robles and Patricia Mazzei | Published July 31, 2019 | New York Times | Posted July 31, 2019 3:12 PM |
Leer en español
SAN JUAN, P.R. — The ousted governor of Puerto Rico, Ricardo A. Rosselló, chose his successor on Wednesday, nominating Pedro R. Pierluisi, who formerly represented the island in Congress, to serve as secretary of state. The move positions Mr. Pierluisi to take over as governor when Mr. Rosselló’s resignation becomes effective later this week.
“After much analysis and taking into account the best interests of our people, I have selected Mr. Pedro Pierluisi Urrutia to fill the secretary of state vacancy,” Mr. Rosselló said in a statement. He said he would call a special session of the Legislative Assembly on Thursday, the day before he is scheduled to step down, to confirm the appointment.
Mr. Rosselló said he considered several choices and ultimately picked Mr. Pierluisi for his experience as resident commissioner in Washington and as secretary of justice under Mr. Rosselló’s father, former Gov. Pedro J. Rosselló.
The younger Mr. Rosselló said that Mr. Pierluisi intends to serve through the end of the term but would not seek the governor’s office in 2020.
“His aspiration is to complete this term, so that the successes we have achieved do not disappear,” Mr. Rosselló said. “The electoral process that will begin in the coming months will allow other highly qualified leaders to put their ideas and character to the people’s consideration, as Pierluisi and I did in the last primary.”
If he is confirmed by the territory’s House and Senate, Mr. Pierluisi’s nomination would settle the complicated succession question that has thrown the island into uncertainty in the days since Mr. Rosselló’s unprecedented resignation. He announced his imminent exit last Wednesday, under fire for his participation in a leaked exchange of rude and profane text messages and pressured by a mass uprising of Puerto Ricans fed up with corruption, a stagnant economy and a poor response to Hurricane Maria in 2017.
But Mr. Pierluisi’s confirmation seems far from certain, as a tense power struggle continues inside the ruling New Progressive Party, which supports Puerto Rican statehood. The powerful Senate president, Thomas Rivera Schatz, a contender for the secretary of state job himself, let it be known before the nomination was even official — by calling a well-known local radio host — that Mr. Pierluisi would not have enough votes to win confirmation in the Senate.
Under Puerto Rico’s Constitution, the secretary of state automatically replaces a governor who leaves office. But the last official to hold the post, Luis Rivera Marín, stepped down over his role in the leaked private exchange of sexist and homophobic messages that precipitated the political crisis. His departure created a critical vacancy ahead of Mr. Rosselló’s resignation, which becomes effective at 5 p.m. on Friday.
It left Wanda Vázquez, the secretary of justice, next in line. Mr. Rosselló posted photos on Twitter last week after he announced his resignation showing Ms. Vázquez attending “transition” meetings at La Fortaleza, the governor’s official residence in San Juan, the capital.
But Ms. Vázquez made clear that she was not a politician and preferred not to step in as governor. Hundreds of protesters, denouncing Ms. Vázquez’s close ties to the disgraced Mr. Rosselló, rallied outside the Justice Departmenton Monday, rejecting her as the governor’s successor and demanding that she, too, resign.
Behind the scenes, Mr. Rosselló, 40, a first-term governor who took office in 2017, negotiated with legislative leaders from the New Progressive Party to try to find a consensus candidate who could be left in charge of the troubled government until next year’s election.
But it was difficult for leaders to find a candidate who could be confirmed by the Legislative Assembly and be acceptable to the public. Puerto Ricans who took to the streets to call for Mr. Rosselló’s ouster said repeatedly that they were tired of crony politics.
The choice of Mr. Pierluisi, 60, suggests that Mr. Rosselló remains determined to keep Mr. Rivera Schatz, one of his rivals in the party, from succeeding him. If confirmed, Mr. Pierluisi, who narrowly lost the party’s 2016 primary for governor to Mr. Rosselló, is expected to serve as a caretaker governor for the remainder of Mr. Rosselló’s four-year term.
Mr. Pierluisi served eight years in Washington as Puerto Rico’s nonvoting resident commissioner in Congress during the Obama administration. Like Mr. Rosselló, he is a Democrat when it comes to national politics, though many New Progressives are Republicans.
“I have listened to the people’s messages, their demonstrations, their demands and their concerns,” Mr. Pierluisi said in a statement accepting the nomination. “And in this new challenge in my life, I will only answer to the people.”
It was unclear whether Mr. Pierluisi would be welcomed by the thousands of Puerto Ricans whose street protests ended Mr. Rosselló’s term as governor.
Gisela Gómez, 45, who sells homemade sweets to tourists, said she participated in the massive march last week to oust the governor and was pleased with his selection. “We have to run all of the corrupt ones out, and replace it with a new government,” Ms. Gómez said. “I don’t know much about politics, but from what I have heard, of all of them out there, he is the best one.”
Juan Pagán, 57, a cabdriver who was standing on a street corner in Old San Juan hoping to pick up cruise ship passengers, said that although he does not vote for the New Progressive Party, he thinks Mr. Pierluisi is an acceptable candidate.
“At least he’s the least bad,” Mr. Pagán said. “The party is completely corrupt. History has said that that is the most corrupt party in history,” he added, noting that there were dozens of arrests during the administration of Mr. Rosselló’s father.
Bernardo Burgos Vázquez, 68, referred to concerns that Mr. Pierluisi, a lawyer, could have a conflict of interest because he works for a firm that does external legal consulting for the unelected federal oversight board that oversees Puerto Rico’s finances. On Tuesday, Mr. Pierluisi was placed on a leave of absence from the law firm, O’Neill & Borges, according to the firm’s website.
In any case, it should not be a serious problem, Mr. Vázquez said.
“You have to give a break to the people who are fighting for the best for the people,” he said. “They almost always judge people for things that they have not even done.”
Mr. Pierluisi’s brother-in-law, José B. Carrión III, remains the chairman of the oversight board, which was created by Congress. The New York Times found in 2016 that Mr. Pierluisi introduced legislation as resident commissioner that would benefit at least two Wall Street companies that had hired his wife, María Elena Carrión, for financial advice. (Mr. Pierluisi and Ms. Carrión are in the process of divorcing, the Puerto Rican news media have reported.)
[Read more about Mr. Pierluisi’s time in Washington here.]
Mr. Pierluisi’s ties to the unpopular oversight board are unlikely to sit well with some lawmakers.
“That could do some damage,” Representative Gabriel Rodríguez Aguiló, the House majority leader, said in an interview on Tuesday.
Many protesters, when calling for Mr. Rosselló’s resignation, also spoke out against the oversight board, urging him, “Llévate a la junta” — Take the board with you.
If Mr. Pierluisi is not confirmed by Friday afternoon, Ms. Vázquez would become governor.
Mr. Rivera Schatz is known to dislike Ms. Vázquez and to harbor ambitions to run for governor himself next year. And he holds considerable sway within his party; he became its interim leader after Mr. Rosselló relinquished the role of president.
But he, too, is considered a divisive figure. The protesters who marched against Mr. Rosselló and then Ms. Vázquez also chanted to Mr. Rivera Schatz: “No te vistas, que no vas” — Don’t get dressed; it’s not going to be you.
In a statement on Wednesday, Mr. Rivera Schatz said the confirmation process will play out and lawmakers will perform their constitutional duty. But he did not mention Mr. Pierluisi by name, or refer to his chances at winning the Senate vote. “There is no problem that does not have a solution, and in Puerto Rico we should focus on solutions,” Mr. Rivera Schatz said. “We should promote unity, not discord.”
Frances Robles reported from San Juan, and Patricia Mazzei from Miami.
#u.s. news#politics#politics and government#us: news#international news#must reads#democratic party#democrats#democracy#corruption#elections#activism#World News#world news#us politics#puerto rico#ricardo roselló
1 note
·
View note
Text
1. A Letter to Future Aliens
Original Prompt:
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/b0pesi/wp_all_humans_on_earth_voted_to_assign_you_the/
“Now, we will turn to New York City, where United Nations assembly are reviewing letters and emails from the shortlisted candidates.”
My family are watching the news stream live from my computer. We lounged about in front of the computer, as it is placed on a coffee table. We aren’t very rich, but I managed to turn a small profit from blogs and Youtube channels. Truth be told, there are also a lot of professional writers, journalists, and philosophers sending their applications. Their names are listed on UN website, and my name is the 1065th.
“Thank you, Azizah. As you can see, the world leaders are busy reviewing the papers. I was told that eloquence of writing isn’t the only prerequisite to be selected. Prospective writers to this letter must also have active participation in aiding the hardcore poor and marginalised communities throughout the whole world.”
“The list will further be shortlisted to fifty best choices, and anyone throughout the whole world are free to vote for the best writer.”
My younger brother lies down on the tiled floor with a huff. “Mom, it’s boring. Why do I have to watch this?”
My mother lightly grabs his head and squeeze it a bit. “So that you know how the world works.”
The wait is filled with speculations by some experts thinking who could be the chosen fifty. Many names are from Africa, some from Europe, and a few from China. I think JK Rowling are also discussed, though I am more surprised that George R.R Martin aren’t included. He’s a sci-fi writer, he should at least be considered.
“The results are in, Azizah. We are now ready to broadcast the names chosen to be voted on by the Earth’s population.”
And the names are read aloud by UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres. He says many names I don’t know about, and a short list of their achievements, which I often see on Facebook or Instagram. The news is getting long, and my mother is already at the kitchen getting some fried banana fritters and black coffee to pass the time.
It took an hour before we turn our heads back to the stream. There has already been thirty names. “And for the thirty first name, we choose Januarius anak Idrus, a citizen of Malaysia. Born in Sabah, he has aided a lot in educating stateless children through the use of wireless connections and even funded internet availability for extremely rural areas.”
They took my bluff! It’s just my grandfather’s village. But my parents are esctatic, hugging me tightly and do I hear a sniffle?
The streaming continues, but my family are already too excited to bother.
“Start writing the letter, son. We will see Januarius name soar across the world!”
“We will help you all we can, but be quick, later people will beat you to it.”
I sleep soundly, too tired to take in the stress. My parents are laughing and loving each other throughout the night.
My younger brother wakes me up the next day. “Jan, jan, wake up!”
“What, why Felis?”
“Newspeople are coming! They want to interview you!”
The journalist is a petite woman. She sits in a single person sofa, comfortable in her seat. I on the other hand, is rummaging through my hair so it will look a bit more presentable.
The interview is embarassing. I barely have anything to say, haven’t researched anything, and worst of all, my face is sagging like rumpled carpet when they took my picture! By the way, what should I write anyway?
“Hello, my name is Maisarah. So, is your name is Januarius bin Idrus?”
“No, it’s Januarius anak Idrus.”
“I would like to ask a few questions. Firstly, how did you knew about the contest to write a letter to the aliens?”
“Well, me and my friends are browsing the internet when one of them, Saiful, shows me a Facebook post. It shows the contest, but I thought it’s a joke. So I write just a generic email and send it to them. World peace, economic equality, less pollution, all the good stuff. I also have to send some resume, so I hope I got at least a job out of it.”
“Will you send the same letter to the aliens, or will you rewrite a new letter?”
“I think I will have to. Apparently NASA does have correspondences with the aliens, but I have no idea what exactly they are offering.”
“Will you be consulting anyone to help with writing this letter?”
“Of course! I have no idea how to start this time. I don’t think I can answer you any more questions, since I haven’t prepared anything yet.”
“That’s alright. Will you let us interview you, next time?”
“Yes, yes please. Please give me a call first.” I wrote down my phone number and give it to her.
Now the problem of what to write is getting bigger in my head. Should I ask for world peace? End of poverty? Beginning of space travel? The silent whirr of my laptop fan might as well be a loud engine hum. Everyone is at work or school, and I am here staring at a blank Word document. Might as well call a friend.
“Hey, Hisham, can I go to your place?”
His place is a school. Not of brick and fresh paint and strong zinc roof. But of throwaway planks and board, lacking paint and old zinc roof with holes here and there. But the school is filled with children singing the alphabet song. Hisham is leading them, his smile shining bright from half a mile away.
I waited until his class is over. Hisham grabs me by the shoulder. “Hey, you have become fatter! How have you been?”
“Been healthier every day. Have you started building new school?”
Hisham leads me to a chair by a table. “We have just contacted a social advocacy group willing to help build one.”
We ate a few fried banana fritters as we chat. Hisham keeps spilling the beans. “Of course, we do have our own money, and have free volunteers too. You want to join?”
I would like to reject, but I haven’t been carpenting for weeks. “I will when I am free. If you are about to start, tell me.”
“Of course. But, what brings you here?”
I don’t know my face is obviously showing when asking for something. “Well, I have been chosen by the UN to write a letter to aliens, asking for help.”
Hisham pours more coffee to his cup. “You know our situation here in Sabah. You should speak about that.”
“But I am representing the Earth, not just Sabah.”
“There are many marginalised people. Stateless, minorities, hardcore poor, culturally oppressed, you name it. I do my little part. You expand it to the whole world.”
The visit is good, but I am not satisfied with the answer I get here. I walk back to my car when a kid is cupping his hands to me. I give her a ringgit. She shouted, and a horde of children suddenly appeared. At least, I still have enough money left for oil.
And now I am staring at the damn blank page. I try typing something. “Dear aliens ...”
No, too darling.
“To aliens of Planet Xenoniah I humbly...”
Eugh, grovelling.
“Greetings to leaders of Planet Xenoniah ...”
Isn’t that too formal? Am I supposed to be formal?
I am about to ram my head to the tabletop, but laptop is in my way. So I move it forward, then introduces head to desk. The pain is fogging my sight even more. Mentally, fortunately. My eyesight is still as clear as it always been without glasses.
Searching Google about child education is quite a chore. Half of it is about how to develop a child’s mind. Which is rather useless as my little brother taught me middle-school level math. Then I searched about education for stateless and hardcore poor in countries throughout the world.
Many groups are already working on it. One research even shows how older children can help younger children learn English with apps and videos. But there is something missing in all this.
I try to find what the children do or became after they’re adults. There seems to be some classes on entrepreneurship for adults, but they seem to not bring the children in.
The next day, my handphone falls on my head. It should only be a small nuisance, if not for the fact that my handphone is the brick phone Energizer recently launched.
“Hello?” I can feel the heft of my phone on my forehead and cheek.
“Yo, congrats on your short selection! Have you wrote something?”
“Is that Eric over there?” I look at my phone screen. “Of course you are. I have no idea really.”
“Have you tried writing about poverty?”
“Poverty’s too big an issue. Can you be more specific?”
“You know microloans? Try to ask for that.”
“You want me to write a letter so they lend us a hundred dollars?”
My phone erupts with laughter of many people from the other side. “Try that. For the lols.”
“Heh, lol.”
Eric talks some more about how the soup kitchen he is running isn’t actually lacking in potential food waste. But they lack cars or trucks to carry all the leftover food quickly before they become prime source for compost.
“So I should ask for faster than light travel?”
“Wormholes. Something like Doraemon’s As-You-Like Door.” Eric is referring to a door gadget which opens immediately to a new location.
“Well, I try to make it sound formal.”
My parents return home for lunch, as usual. My sister cooked them some chicken in soy sauce and onions. And the vegetables are sauteed cabbage. The smell is heavenly. And the lunch is somewhat calm.
My father breaks the silence. “Have you started writing?”
“Nah, I don’t know what to write.”
My mother swallows her rice. “Try writing for world peace.”
“Isn’t world peace up to us?”
My sister removes the chicken bones from the flesh. “Try asking for a lot of money to pay both sides to be at peace.”
“I don’t know, that makes us look very greedy.”
“You’re saying we aren’t?”
Well, now I have three ideas. Education for marginalised, wormholes, and money.
The next interview with the journalist comes a few days later.
Maisarah points the microphone a bit too close to me. I readjust myself to the back and she gives some distance. “Please tell us what your letter is about.”
“I want to ask for tools to build a type of school.”
“School?”
“Yes, it’s an odd school. Children went there to learn how to read, write, and count, the usual. But adults learn how to do crafts, such as carpentry, weaving, smithing. Some schools may even teach coding and business basics.”
“Don’t we have the same system here?”
“Well, the schools we have now are for the citizens of our countries. There is no infrastructure for the stateless of our countries. There are classes set up by social advocacy groups, but it’s for children and they don’t have enough funds to teach more people. There is no funds to buy tools and supplies to teach adults.”
“So, you want to ask for funding to build schools? Will it be any different from our system now?”
“Yes, for one thing, we receive outside funding, literally! Secondly, the schools are going to be borderless. Any stateless people or hardcore poor can join in from anywhere.”
“Anywhere, even from other countries?”
“Yes.”
“But, how will they travel to the schools?”
“For one thing, we know Planet Xenoniah can make wormholes. Set up some wormhole doors so people can travel from their villages to schools by literally walking a few hundred meters away.”
We don’t watch the final selection on TV, as we are invited cordially to Geneva to witness the event. At the end, the judges decide to compile three most popular letters to one. The end result is this:
“To our friend, the leader of Planet Xenoniah Coalition, Babluk Xinaphah Waristi,
We thank you for your offer of help, and we have prepared with our requests.
Firstly, we ask for wormhole technology, some funding and supplies, to build schools to teach our marginalised people skills and carfts to help them provide their communities with jobs and products.
Secondly, we would like to learn your knowledge on terraforming. We have chosen our first step to be the atmosphere of Venus, while we build Mars to be more Earthlike. Hopefully, we could expand the reach of our species and provide more resources for further advances.
Thirdly, we would like to visit your fine planet and host you. We would like to know how your culture functions and the history.
We thank you again for your aid, and may our alliance blossoms for as long as our civilisations exist.”
For my problem, I get a goodie bag with some Swiss chocolate and kopi luwak. And the letter will be sent by Chris Pratt, aboard a provided spaceship. Unfortunately, he’s just the one to give the letter at a mothership stationed near Jupiter, not the one actually piloting it. That is other people’s job.
I never think about the letter after that day. I am still rather jobless, helping around with social advocacy groups, and sometimes teaching at Hisham’s school. But one day, just as I am watering the plants, there is a sudden flash of light. Hisham steps out of the light, which have transformed to a gate.
“Hey, come! Class is about to begin!”
“You better start paying me.”
“How does RM 3 000 a month sound?”
Well, I have no excuse now. I grab my wallet, phone, and some books. “Let’s go.”
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Puppy Eyes Chapter 13
This is again from Kurt’s point of view, and unbetaed because I’ve been typing ‘till the last minute.
Thank you so much to everyone who sends me feedback - you’re wonderful and you spur me on to keep writing :-)
This story is also on AO3 and on Fanfiction.net.
The other parts can be found here: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12
Chapter 13: Near Misses
That very same day, Kurt called his dad and pumped him for information, after assuring him that he was better, yes, and no, Burt didn’t need to fly to New York to come and see him.
He blanched when Burt told him Blaine knew everything. “And I told him he’d better give you an honest chance.”
“Dad!”
“What? He knows you’re in love with him, and the two of you really click, but he’s slow to make a move, and you don’t want to egg him on, so someone has to.”
Kurt sighed.
“Any guy would be lucky to have you,” Burt insisted.
That made Kurt scoff. “Oh yeah, they’re just queuing up to date me.”
“They should! Maybe then Blaine would make a move!”
“Dad…”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ve been ill and you’re still tired, I get it. Carole is nagging me to hang up and let you sleep. You rest up and feel better, ‘kay?”
“Okay. Night, Dad.”
K&B
Kurt felt awkward during dinner the next day. As well as he got along with Professor Scher, it was weird to have her over for dinner, and even weirder that she’d been looking after him while he was ill, however much he appreciated it.
Mostly, Kurt let the others talk, and that worked perfectly. They all assumed he was quiet because he was still feeling the effects of the flu he’d had.
Ashton was a laid-back guy with a great sense of humour and a flair for story-telling. They all laughed their heads off when he told the story of how his father, an art critic, and his mother, an art historian, met and hated each other on sight. “Seriously, it’s a miracle they ever got married!”
Trent proved to be a lot nicer than Kurt’s first impression of him had been, way back when he started walking ‘Devon’. Kurt greedily soaked up all the information Trent provided about Blaine, and listened open-mouthed as he told them anecdotes from his years as an ICU nurse.
“The doctor kept prodding her even after she’d told him it really hurt there,” Trent said. “Next thing we knew, she made this weird coughing noise, and the doctor looked up, and she projectile-vomited all over him. And then she turned to him and said, ‘I feel much better now.’ We had a good laugh about that at the nurse’s station later. Served him right!”
“But now you’re working at an art gallery, aren’t you?” Professor Scher asked. “So how did that career switch come about?”
“Well, after a few years, I was totally burnt out. We were short on staff, and each of us had to work for three. And I was so tired ALL THE TIME. Could never get used to working nights. So yeah, one morning when I came home from work, I saw this ‘Help wanted’ notice on the window of Vernon’s gallery, and it seemed like an absolute dream to work there, so I applied and got in, and I never looked back. My dad’s still mad about it, though. All those years of studying for nothing. All that money he paid for it.”
Kurt nodded thoughtfully, thinking of his father’s frown when he’d announced he wanted to study either musical theatre or fashion design. Burt had been a lot more enthusiastic when Kurt chose to sign up for a minor in graphic design.
“All parents are the same, I guess,” he said. “They want their children to study something that guarantees a good, stable, well-paying job. And the arts have a bad rep.”
Ashton nodded. “My mom insisted on me doing a minor in teaching, just so I’d have a back-up career. And I hated every minute of it”
“It might come in useful one day,” said Blaine, and Professor Scher added, “You never know.”
“That’s what my mother said,” Ashton pouted, and everyone laughed.
All in all, the dinner party was a success, and Kurt grinned and nodded when Blaine said, “We need to do this again soon.”
But the best part of his day was Blaine getting into bed with him and holding him close and tight. Kurt smiled as he closed his eyes and started to drift off. Just as he was on the cusp of falling asleep, Blaine kissed the top of his head and murmured, “I’m glad you’re better. I was so worried.”
Kurt’s smile widened, and he slipped into sleep happier than he’d ever felt before.
K&B
True to his word, Blaine invited Trent and Ashton over for dinner the following week, twice even, and the week after again. Soon it became a standing invitation: every Wednesday and every Sunday, the couple joined Kurt and Blaine for dinner.
After a few months, Kurt stopped thinking of Trent and Ashton as Blaine’s friends, and started to consider them his own friends, too. He met up with them for coffee or lunch, went jogging with Trent (and a few dog friends) every other evening and helped Ashton shop for clothes and gifts. In return, Ashton and Trent provided very welcome feedback on Kurt’s design projects both for school and for R/GA.
And then one day Ashton told Kurt that he’d inherited money from an aunt and had been looking to buy a commercial property, because it was Trent’s dream to have a gallery of his own. And would Kurt come along and check out a few properties with Ashton before he brought up the subject with Trent?
Well, of course Kurt would, and he went even further, using his free time the next few weeks to sketch how he envisioned the gallery, and to design a logo for it.
“I’ll do your website, too,” he promised Ashton, “once you start up your business.”
Ashton looked at the sketches and the logo, and beamed. “Thank you! Trent is going to love this so much!”
Trent did love it, and together, he and Ashton chose a property to buy. Then, while Ashton contacted contractors to renovate the building, Trent and Kurt teamed up to pick paint colours, light fixtures, furniture and everything else needed to kit out the future gallery.
Kurt tweaked his sketches according to Trent’s wishes, and grinned ear to ear when Ashton showed them to Blaine the next time he and Trent came over for dinner.
Blaine’s mouth fell open, and he shot Kurt a look he couldn’t really decipher before turning to his friends again and showing the required enthusiasm.
After they’d left, though, it became quite clear what the matter was. Blaine was jealous!
Usually, Blaine would sing and even dance while doing the dishes, but now he sulked and glared at the dishes he was scrubbing until Kurt rolled his eyes and said, “Seriously? You’re mad because I knew about the gallery before they told you?”
The corners of Blaine’s mouth went down, and he mumbled, “They were my friends first!”
Kurt laughed. “Come on, mister! Trent is still your best friend in the whole world. That doesn’t change because he’s now my friend, too. So stop pouting! How old are you, five?”
Blaine’s glower melted away to make room for a glint of mischief, and he flicked some sudsy water in Kurt’s direction. “Five and a half!”
Kurt yelped and then hastened to retaliate. They only stopped their water battle when the floor became so slippery that Kurt almost fell on his bum. Luckily, Blaine caught him just in time. Kurt giggled, because now it looked like they were dancing and Blaine had dipped him. And then Kurt forgot all about his merriment, because yes, that was Blaine glimpsing at Kurt’s lips for a second there. Would he? Would he really?
But Blaine just laughed and righted Kurt, saying, “We’ve made a bit of a mess, haven’t we? Sorry about that. It was fun, though.”
Kurt exhaled shakily and found a rag to wipe the floor with. His heart was still hammering, and it took a long while for it to quiet down.
K&B
For Kurt’s twenty-first birthday, Rachel insisted on throwing him a party at Callbacks. Elliott and Neil and Maizie were invited too. If it had been just an ordinary night out, Kurt would have looked forward to catching up with his friends and singing karaoke. But he knew, he just KNEW they’d want to get him as drunk as a skunk, and he didn’t like that prospect.
He confided his woes to Blaine, telling him about the one time he’d gotten drunk and then vomited all over a teacher’s shoes. “I don’t want that to happen again! And I don’t want to drink so much that I don’t remember anything the day after! Or that I lose my virginity to some random guy!”
Blaine nodded. “I understand.”
Kurt sighed. “I don’t get why people are so obsessed with alcohol. And me drinking it. I don’t like booze. It smells disgusting, it tastes vile, and it makes me puke. I want nothing to do with it, thank you very much.”
“Well, can’t you just tell them so?” Blaine suggested. “They’re your friends!”
Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine. “They’re just going to tell me to suck it up and not be a party pooper.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow, his mouth a thin line. “They won’t respect your wishes?”
“Not about this, I’m sure. Didn’t your friends do that to you when you turned twenty-one?”
Blaine smiled. “The only friend I had at the time was Trent, and no, he didn’t do that.”
“Lucky you.”
“If you’re worried, I can make sure I’m there,” Blaine offered. “I’ll take Trent and Ashton with me. And as soon as you’re feeling uncomfortable, you come and tell me and I’ll take you home.”
“And if you turn into a dog all of a sudden?”
“Trent will look after me, and Ashton will look after you.
“Oh. Okay. Yes, please.”
The night of the party, Kurt went to Rachel’s loft to dress up to the nines and to pick an outfit for Rachel, too. Then, they both headed to Callbacks to meet their friends.
Once Kurt sat down at their table, his eyes roved over the crowd until he found Blaine, who smiled and winked at him. Kurt instantly felt better.
The party started with everyone taking turns singing karaoke. Kurt drank a diet coke, clapped and smiled and sang duets with Rachel and Elliott, and started to relax. Perhaps he could have a nice night out without being forced to do something he didn’t want.
But then more friends of Kurt’s turned up, out of the blue, among them Santana, and the first thing she did once she’d plopped down next to Kurt was sniff his drink and then taste it. “Porcelain, this is just coke. Why aren’t you doing shots? It’s your twenty-first birthday! Hey, bar tender, a round of shots for all of us!”
She collected the shot glasses the bar tender shoved at her and distributed them, slamming one into Kurt’s hand and shouting, “Bottom’s up!”
Kurt shot a frantic look at Blaine, who nodded at him and went up to the stage to sing a song. At first, Kurt didn’t understand how that could possibly help, but as usual, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Blaine, and when Blaine started singing, the corners of Kurt’s mouth turned up of their own accord.
As soon as everyone noticed his dopey grin, they followed his gaze to the stage, and his college friends smirked when they saw Blaine, and happily enlightened the others about Kurt’s humongous crush.
Kurt let them laugh and mock to their heart’s content, and used their distraction to exchange his full shot glass for an empty one. Brilliant, Blaine! Thank you!
When Blaine went back to his table, after a beautiful rendition of Teenage Dream that had Kurt’s heart twitterpating, Santana fixed Kurt with an intense stare, and he braced himself for what was coming.
“So you’re into Dapper Dan over there? Tell you what, Lady Lips, I’ll stop bugging you about drinking your weight in alcohol if you walk up to him right now and ask him to dance. And don’t worry, he doesn’t even have to take you up on the offer!”
The whole table laughed, and then they shouted encouragement at Kurt. “You can do this!” “Come on, Kurt, the worst that can happen is that he says no.” “Maybe he will dance with you, he’s such a sweetheart!” “You should try, I totes saw him looking at you during the song.”
So Kurt got up, made his way to Blaine’s table, and tapped the man on his shoulder. Blaine turned his head so fast it must have given him a crick in his neck, and looked concerned when he saw that it was Kurt. “Everything okay?”
Kurt smiled. “Santana dared me to ask you to dance. So, would you do me the honour?”
Kurt held out his hand, threw his shoulders back and put his poker face on. If Blaine said no, there was no harm done. He’d asked, so Santana had to leave him alone. But he really, really wanted Blaine to say yes.
Blaine stood up and took Kurt’s hand, to loud cheering from Kurt’s table. Up on stage, a girl was now crooning an Ed Sheeran song, soft and sweet. Kurt put his other hand on Blaine’s shoulder, felt Blaine splay his hand on his back, and started to slowly sway to the music. He was sure he was smiling like a fool again, but he so didn’t care. This felt amazing.
“Why did you take her up on that dare?” Blaine whispered, and when Kurt explained, he laughed. “I’m glad me being here helped!”
“Me too,” Kurt breathed, wishing that he could step a bit closer and feel Blaine against him. But there were too many eyes on him right now, so he kept a respectful distance.
Blaine leaned in a little. “You look amazing, by the way. That waistcoat is gorgeous, and it really brings out your eyes.”
Kurt’s cheeks heated up, and his lips felt dry as the desert all of a sudden, so he moistened them. Blaine’s eyes flicked down, and he moved a bit closer still.
Kurt tuned out everything around him and closed his eyes.
And then somebody bumped into him, hard, and a cold liquid hit his neck and trickled down his back, seeping into his clothes. His eyes flew open and he turned around, seeing a drunk girl who could barely stay upright, holding an empty martini glass.
The girl giggled and slurred a sorry, making her way to the bar again.
Kurt shivered, and Blaine was instantly there, soothing and offering help. “Do you want my jacket?”
Kurt shook his head. “I think I’m calling it a night. Thanks for the dance.”
He went to his table again, where he got congratulations and claps on the back, but all he said was, “I’m going to head out. I don’t know what she spilled on me, but I’m cold and gross, and I want to shower and treat my clothes for stains.”
Everyone nodded. Even Santana didn’t put up a protest. She only said, “I bet you’re glad I dared you, though. You’ve got game, Porcelain! You got your dance!”
Kurt grinned at her.
“Oh no, now his crush is gonna get even worse!” Neil moaned.
Elliott scoffed. “Like it could get any worse.”
“True, that.”
The whole table laughed again, and Kurt made his escape, the glowing ember of that dance keeping him warm until he got home.
K&B
Early July, the wedding invitation arrived, and Kurt was happily surprised to see his name on the envelope as well. “I get to come, too?”
Blaine grinned. “Of course you do. You’ve been best buds with Trent for months now. Also, you’re the back-up best man in case I turn into a dog!”
Kurt grinned back, and started planning his outfit.
The weather was perfect that day – sunny, but not too hot. The ceremony was beautiful, and Kurt teared up when Trent and Ashton exchanged vows, wishing fiercely that one day, it would be him standing there with Blaine. Not much chance of that, but he could hope, right?
Blaine was as affectionate and attentive as ever, offering Kurt a handkerchief when he cried, holding his hand in church and putting his arm around Kurt’s waist during the reception. Kurt’s nerve endings buzzed, and his smile worked overtime when the other wedding guests all took him for Blaine’s boyfriend, and Blaine didn’t correct them. Not once.
After dinner, Ashton announced that he had a surprise for his husband, and brought everyone to the garden. The surprise was a fireworks display. However spectacular it was, though, Kurt found himself distracted by Blaine hugging him from behind, hooking his chin over Kurt’s shoulder and whispering in his ear. Kurt so wanted to turn around and kiss him, but he knew the initiative had to come from Blaine.
When everyone went back inside, though, Kurt told Blaine he wanted to stay in the garden for a bit. He needed to get himself together again. Blaine, instead of leaving Kurt to his thoughts, stayed with him, and danced dorkily to the music until Kurt had a giggle fit.
And then Blaine asked Kurt to dance, and it was magical, swaying slowly among the flowers and under the stars. Kurt never wanted it to end, and drew nearer to Blaine of his own accord after the dance was over.
He gazed into Blaine’s eyes, and Blaine looked back, his eyes dark and his expression awed. Blaine circled Kurt’s waist and tugged him a bit closer still, and Kurt went willingly, closing his eyes and puckering up, because this was it, surely?
But there was no soft pressure on his lips, and Blaine let go of him, and then he let out… a whine?
Kurt’s eyes flew open, and he cursed when he saw Blaine had been turned into a dog again. Really? Now? Did Mr Zakharov sense Blaine was close to breaking the spell and did he want to stop that from happening?
Grumbling under his breath, Kurt took Blaine’s collar and leash out of his pocket and put it on. He collected Blaine’s clothes and folded them, then sent Trent and Ashton a text to tell them what had happened and headed home.
That night, when he got into bed, cuddling up to Blaine in his dog form, he was still grumpy. So close. I was so close! Not fair.
K&B
A new schoolyear started, and a few weeks before Christmas break, Professor Scher announced that she was going to invite Sebastian from R/GA to talk to all the students that were graduating that year about the job opportunities open to them in the field.
Kurt, who had by now seen Sebastian in action several times, flirting and harassing his colleagues at R/GA, wasn’t very pleased about this development. Would Sebastian still be interested in Blaine?
That Friday, he got answer. Yes, Sebastian was still interested, laying it on thicker than ever around Blaine, who blushed up a storm and lowered his eyes to look at Sebastian from under his lashes. Whether Blaine was flattered or just embarrassed, Kurt couldn’t tell, but the interaction made him simmer with rage.
After the wedding, Blaine hadn’t made any more overtures towards Kurt, and Kurt didn’t dare bring up the subject, though he viciously shut off the radio any time “You Can’t Hurry Love” played. Almost a year had passed, and what did he have to show for it? He and Blaine had grown closer, yes, undoubtedly, but any time he thought Blaine was about to kiss him, Blaine was scared back into his shell by circumstances. It was frustrating beyond belief. And now Mr Slimy McSlimeball thought he could charm his way into Blaine’s pants and ruin Kurt’s life? Ugh. Infuriating!
Kurt heard Sebastian invite both Professor Scher and Blaine to R/GA’s Christmas party on the 23rd, bragging about all the big names that would be present. Kurt had been invited too, but like last year, he didn’t want to go without Blaine and leave him alone all night, nor did he want to take Blaine along and watch Sebastian hit on him. It seemed like that choice was taken away from him, though. Both professors accepted the invitation eagerly, and there was no way Kurt would stay at home while Blaine was out being seduced by Mr Sleaze Extraordinaire!
That evening, when Blaine rambled on and on about the famous people he’d be meeting at the R/GA party, Kurt just nodded, and as soon as he could get a word in edgeways, he said drily that he’d be going too. “Ellie invited me months ago.”
Blaine seemed taken aback for a second, and then beamed, “That’s right! You work there! This is going to be so great!”
Kurt didn’t react to that statement, choosing instead to clear the table and carry the dishes to the sink. He may have set them down somewhat harder than usual, but Blaine, chattering excitedly again, never even noticed.
So great, huh? I hope Blaine’s right, but I have a bad feeling about that party. I think it’s a recipe for disaster.
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
The History of R&B In 30 Seconds
New Post has been published on https://thekolsocial.com/the-history-of-rb-in-30-seconds-2/
The History of R&B In 30 Seconds
The folks here at Themeco are passionate about WordPress and pushing it to the limits both in terms of functionality and design. While we like to be on the cutting edge, we believe there is a difference between trend and innovation, and that it’s our job to figure out which is which. Instead of creating just another WordPress Theme, we set out to do something different. After all, who wants to be like everyone else?
Imagine being able to buy a theme that had multiple unique designs built right into it. We call these individual designs Stacks, and they provide you with completely unique website designs built into the powerful X theme. Each Stack has its own look and feel allowing you to create virtually any “look” you desire. Next, imagine each Stack was expertly crafted by leading industry professionals adhering to all the best development and business practices so as to not only give you a nice looking site but one that is optimized for performance, search engine visibility, and built with all the latest features and functionality.
Finally, imagine that you were also provided with unprecedented controls that allowed you, with the simple click of the mouse, to make an endless amount of adjustments to your site. Want the header fixed and huge on the left? No problem. Want it floating and skinny at the top? You bet. Want the max width of your site to be only 500 pixels? You got it. How about a cool textured background or image? Absolutely!
Live Editing With X
The WordPress Customizer is a new and exciting feature that combines theme options with the ability to live preview those changes before saving them. Do you ever get tired of reloading a page to see the results of your customization by constantly clicking back and forth? Those days are over! With X and the WordPress Customizer, you’ll see every change while not affecting the live version of your site. It doesn’t matter if you change colors, layout type, text, or images, everything will be reflected back to you, giving you the choice to publish those changes or simply return to your old version.
The inclusion of the WordPress Customizer in X is an exciting one as it keeps our theme free of “code bloat” by not having to include an additional admin panel. Ultimately, this all means that we’re using native features maintained and updated by the core WordPress team and bringing you the latest and greatest features WordPress has to offer. Get ready for the most enjoyable WordPress customization environment you’ll ever experience.
Responsive Design is a must these days. Having a proper appearance on devices like tablets and smartphone can be important when trying to get new customers or keep your visitors attention. A lot of people only have time to check out things when they are traveling so it makes sense to have your site optimized for every possible kind of device. With X, you can rest assured that no matter what device people access your site from, it will always look pixel perfect.
DID YOU KNOW: All Stacks are included with your purchase of X, so be sure to check out the Integrity, Renew, and Icon demos as well. It’s hard to believe that all of these looks can be accomplished with just one theme, but that is the beauty of X. Pick up your copy today and discover why X is the most popular new product on ThemeForest.
Share this Post
0 notes
Text
New Post has been published on K. L. Neidecker
New Post has been published on https://klneidecker.com/2018/10/09/blogging-and-slogging/
Blogging and Slogging
I’ve had this blog forever. I mean, maybe not forever forever, geologically speaking, but close enough in the internet world.
This started a fat bunch of years ago. I’m not even sure of the timeline anymore. 2014? 2013? Maybe. I know I still worked as the anti-theft guy for a large cable company at the time, and dabbled in riding the still-popular wave of blogging to great success. I know I had the blog before I found Michael R. Fletcher’s amazing novel, (it was once called 88 and has been since rereleased) Ghosts of Tomorrow, which was around 2014. (Addendum, 2013 for sure. And, oh boy, amateur hour blog at that time for sure…)
That, obviously, isn’t quite how it panned out. You see, the web is chock full of blogs, and maybe half of them (those not written for purely marketing reasons anyway) are by writers of other things besides blog posts. Fiction, non-fiction, talking away and posting away about this or that very important thing.
For a while there, I posted regularly enough. Some reviews, some interviews, some opinions. You know, generally screaming into the void. But that all fell away over time. What, exactly, could I add to the tsunami of writing blogs out there? I’m just some sarcastic git with some writing skill lost in an ocean of blogs, a single bobbing plastic bottle thrown this way and that in the sea of words that is/was the bloggosphere.
And, of course, blogging isn’t the great force it once was. The internet is nothing if not easily corrupted by the whims and will of those who want to make money advertising you their dumb crap. Clickbait articles, nonsense sites with ads above, below, to the left, to the right, in the middle, and all over the content you came to read. Websites that take 30 seconds to load on a 30 megabit connection due to autoplaying videos and fifteen CSS stylesheets layered one over another.
Really, look at the blogs or news sources you even bother reading now. I bet it has shrunk precipitously over the last few years. If you follow the writing world, maybe you read some of Chuck Wendig online, take a gander at John Scalzi, pop on over to Kristine Kathryn Rusch, the occasional updates from George R. R. Martin, and possibly watch Neil Gaiman do his amazing and eloquent thing on Tumblr. And I do read all those, and a few more (may I recommend File 770 for constant updates on the world of publishing, awards, authors, and fandom).
But the days when one followed dozens of blogs, interacting with the authors of those spaces via comments, getting updates on everything that interests you, is mostly a thing of the past. Hell, half the sites out there disabled comments a long, long time ago, and for good reason.
And in the last few years, I’ve published a few small things here and there, bits and bobs of fiction, as well as done grant writing, journalism, marketing copy, been involved in a brewery, a newspaper, an art gallery, moved a handful of times… Well, you get the idea.
Also, in that time, I’ve written my own work far less than I should have, let this blog languish in some cold purgatory, hardly touched my Patreon, and been sidetracked by numerous dead-end projects and things that have taken more of my attention than they should have.
Not to mention just how…wearing…three years at a tourist hot-spot like the brewery I worked in from its opening week until a few months before this post can be on your creativity. Sure, all work is like that to an extent, but honestly some jobs are more damaging than others.
When your job is to entertain, have full-on conversations, and pay 100% attention to dozens of people at once for ten hours a day, well, you ain’t coming home refreshed and ready to roll your face on the keyboard, that’s for sure. Hell, you can’t even escape to a back room, stock area, or kitchen for a breather. It’s you, three foot of bar depth, and people right there with nothing else to do but stare at you and ask what kind of wood the walls are made of, or if you have gluten free free-range fair trade sustainably farmed ethically sourced “ales, because I hate lagers.”
Obviously, that’s also a fat lardy can of excuses (and this is the curse of being human, one can believe they are in the right to be stymied and tired while at the same time realize they could do better if they got off their stupid ass and just did it at the same time).
Writers did their work during World War II. The Great Depression. Through imprisonment, through drug addiction, alcoholism, with kids, with sick family members, while battling figments of their imagination manifesting as sloppy squid-creatures slapping tentacles on the kitchen floor…
And here I am, boo-hooing like a small child who scraped their knee on gravel about some average, everyday life bullshit.
But again, even that isn’t true. Every one of us has our own little monsters nipping at our brains, tiny creatures sapping our will to do more. And it’s simply not good enough to compare our problems with another’s problems and declare ourselves weaker or stronger based on some relative metric of how well we think we (or someone else) is doing. Some things work for our makeup, our particular configuration in this world of infinite configurations, that don’t work for others. And their ways don’t work for us.
We are a combination of our parts, both more and less than the sum of those parts. Chemicals in our brains regulate mood, function, physical reactions, how we see and hear and interact with the world.
And those chemicals are encased in a skull riding a meat-machine with who-knows what strengths and weaknesses, things formed by physical maladies, stresses, what we eat, what we do.
So here we are, I suppose. All of us trying to do whatever it is we are trying to do. And here I am, back at this blog, a blog long since cleared of many of the old posts, written long enough ago as to be not what I want representing me anymore.
For any human-shaped meat-popsicles that remain watching this space, I’ll be posting on a regular basis to rant or rave or talk about what I’m doing. In part to talk to the world. In part to vent the thoughts rattling around in my head. In part because screaming into the void is, contrary to what they might tell you, an honorable and important thing to do. Hell, maybe even healthy.
And finally, I’ll be doing what I should have been doing all this time. Writing stories, getting them into people’s eyeballs. Fixing up and kicking the dust off the Patreon account, brushing the rust off the writing skillset, and seeing where this goofy damn thing takes me.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Copied and pasted from an old rp blog of mine, that I feel is very important to read:
Question I was asked:
❝MAY I ASK SOMETHING ABOUT AUTISM AND THE COMMUNITY? I KNOW YOU CAN ONLY SPEAK FOR YOURSELF SO I WILL KEEP IT MORE CENTERED TI YOUR PERSONAL PREFERENCES AND WHAT YOU'VE SEEN TO BE A GENERAL CONSENSUS?❞
Not very many people are aware what Autism or even Autism Spectrum Disorder is. Honestly, I’ve seen a lot of people tend to think of it as “diaper wearing, drooling idiots”
I’m going to start off by talking about my own personality first, and why it should not be outright dismissed as being ‘oversensitive’.
I am on the spectrum disorder. I’m very high functioning, as in, I am able to live on my own, with a boyfriend. I’m able to work, I’m able to walk around in society without causing a disturbance. But just because I appear ‘normal’ doesn’t mean I am.
I’m very very awkward. I get emotional and burnt out really quickly, especially in social situations. I don’t like physical contact, and I don’t like people yapping at me constantly. This is sensory overload. I get tired and cranky, and a lot of times am seen as rude for this.
This is just the tip of the iceberg for how little people understand autism. I constantly have to point it out, because even my loved ones don’t understand me. I can talk to someone over and over about not touching me or shutting up for awhile and giving me some space, and they’d just ask me a lot of questions that really don’t need answering.
I don’t talk much, and it’s not because I’m shy or introverted. I was originally diagnosed with having Nonverbal Learning Disorder, and while I don’t know if that is an outdated diagnosis or not, it aptly describes my social skills still. Link
How it relates to me personally though: I suck at social cues. I suck at maintaining eye contact, I don’t read body language well, and I tend to be brutally honest to a fault. What I think is a reasonable and fair statement can come across as rude and offensive to someone else. It was not my intention to be rude, and since people would rather be offended and passive aggressive, I don’t know how else to word things and I’m sorry, but you need to work with me and not shut down on me. How else am I going to learn how to interact with you?
I’m also incredibly literal minded. I know on tumblr it seems like I’m sarcastic and witty, and I know I crack a lot of jokes, but you would not believe the amount of times I’ve had to go to someone off tumblr and ask “what did this person mean? I don’t understand.”
It’s literally because I don’t understand you. I don’t get a lot of metaphors or jokes, and everyone else will be laughing and I’m sitting over here like “I don’t get it?” and no one wants to explain the joke because “I mean, it’s obvious!” No, it isn’t. Not to me.
I also tend to get hung up on certain things for long periods of time. I hate change in my routine. I hate changing things up because honesty: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. But as far as ‘obsessions’ go? Video games comes to mind. I could tell you all about the Borderlands series and how it’s a great game filled with fan-fucking-tastic characters and how it’s an entire world built on survival and it’s dystopian and cyberpunk and-
Or I could tell you when I was a kid and the LOTR moves first came out, I was obsessed with them. I launched into repeated lectures about how the behind-the-scenes worked, or how they did this camera trick, or why that scene was the best to film, and OH did you know Viggo Mortensen was not the original Aragorn? He was called in last minute and only came on because his son was a huge fan and pushed his dad into filming.
I know no one actually cares, but I still care. If you let me talk about something I care about, I will TALK.
This is just the personality side of autism. How ableism comes into play is very subtle. And everyone can be ableist. Friends and family who come to me asking to understand, only to say “okay cool” and forget about it ten minutes later.
I have friends who casually throw around the R-slur. I catch myself using it from time to time, and I’m desperately working to unlearn it. But that word is so heavily used by so many people, and it’s so insulting to hear it thrown around so casually. But worse than that are the people who actually use ‘autism’ as a slur.
“A guy complaining about being friendzoned? He’s autistic.”
“If you play Minecraft you’re autistic I don’t make the rules.”
First off, statements like these are annoying, because they lump a good majority of people into one category, and second off, it’s assumed that people who are autistic are drooling idiots.
There’s a reason it’s a fucking spectrum, okay? I know quite a few people who are on the spectrum, and I’ve heard of other people who are on the spectrum. Everyone has different levels of coping and living. I’m not my cousin, who does need help, because he can’t function on his own.
I’m probably worse off than someone who can hold a stable job and learn to drive and fully function, and I admit that I do need my hand held on some things.
It’s quite possible to unlearn your way of thinking. Quit throwing around slurs as insults. They’re insulting, and frankly, tired. If you want to insult someone, there are far more creative ways to do so.
But it’s not just insults that are the problem. It’s people not caring enough. It’s people who feel the need to speak over us. You don’t get to tell me what I can or can’t find insulting. Frankly, I can’t stand blanket “these words are ableist” lists, because more often than not, they’re written by neurotypicals who are trying to appear Woke™, except that they argue with actual NDs who disagree with their assessment.
Also, and this is a BIG ONE FOR ME
DO NOT ASSUME EVERYONE WITH AUTISM IS A CHILD. I am so tired of seeing mental health awareness posts right here on fucking TUMBLR, of all places, with messages for children. I am 33 years old. I’m so far from a child or even a teenager, and I feel like putting my hair in pigtails and wearing little jumpers every time I see one of these super condescending PSAs about mental health awareness or autism awareness. Adults with autism exist, please quit excluding us in your misguided efforts to raise awareness.
I do agree that it’s not my job to educate you. You can ask questions, and I can answer, but I’m not your encyclopedia source. There are tons of helpful links and websites you can go to learn more about autism, spectrum disorder, and anything else that might be linked.
That being said, don’t go the opposite direction and completely ignore its existence. By ignoring it, you’re only contributing to the rampancy that ableism is. It’s very real and very damaging. It’s big things, like me being denied food stamps in my state because they didn’t believe I was disabled and I couldn’t get proof without them wanting to assign a counselor and them wanting to thrust me into the working world anyway (which was the whole reason I mentioned I was autistic, because I need fucking help?) and little things like “You’re too sensitive, just deal with it.”
Ask questions. Look up resources. Not just for autism, but for anything related to mental health or physical health. Ableism is rampant in able-bodied people too. My brother in law is in a wheelchair and faces quite a bit of ableism himself.
All this being said, please please watch how you talk/interact with people. Much like I need to learn social cues and how to interact with you, You guys need to understand that my personality isn’t going to change. This is literally who I am, and who I always will be, so you have to be patient. You have to recognize that I’m trying, and I’m not perfect.
And most importantly of all I guess, we’re not disabled. We’re different. We think differently, and we act a little off. But we’re not bad people. Not all of us, at least. (There are people who play up the “I’m-disabled-be-nice-to-me card” and they should be held accountable for their horrible actions)
Personally, I’m trying. I’m tired, and exhausted, and lonely. I have next to nobody to rely on, and I know I have a lifetime of learning how to behave better ahead of me, and I’m just tired. but I’m still hanging in there, in the best way I know how: by being me. If I can educate myself and learn about how ableism is a problem, so can you.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Live-blogging my reaction to Spiral: from the book of saw
Spoilers under the cut
TL;DR: my overall review is that it was good but I’m going to go watch DPS to cleanse me
- ok so that woman got robbed and for what
- I had to pause to find out who this detective’s actor was Bc it was driving me nuts and it’s MCMURRAY FROM LETTERKENNY???
- love that they’re gonna fuck up this train conductors day lmao
- LOVE genuinely that we’re back to looking gritty and having an old tv play the video and having some rapid cut camera work early 2000’s vibes I embrace you
- why does the voice sound like that,, I wasn’t expecting John but why is it so non threatening now it’s literally just Some Guy™️
- I am glad I paid $15 to listen to Chris Rock talk about Forrest Gump. Worth my money and I mean it genuinely I love Chris Rock he’s great. Stream Everybody Hates Chris on Hulu
- “Z?” Zeke who just had his cover blown: this MF
- “do I look like a fucking Jamaican nanny?!” I- 😀🤚🏽
- ayo Max Minghella
- Chris Rock falling just short of being convincingly aggressively cynical Bc he is Chris Rock with the voice of Chris Rock
- it sounds like he’s setting up jokes that don’t have punchlines and instead they’re just like,, mediocre cynic cop dialogue
- while looking at some pretty fucking intact teeth: this bum is gonna be pretty hard to ID
- I mean I guess the homeless don’t have dental records but were you not even gonna try?
- I’m very pleased Chris Rock put on gloves before handling the strange package I love actually smart character choices that would make sense for them to make
- I.e. the cop knows how to properly handle unexpected unmarked packages delivered to the precinct
- “I thought the jigsaw killer was dead” “well if it’s another copy cat…” another wait is that referring to Logan (which Logan pinned on the other coincidentally crooked cop whose name I’ve forgotten) does that imply Logan only did like? The one trap? And hasn’t been active? Just waited ten years after John died recreates the one trap he was in and then stops?? I mean don’t get me wrong if movie wants to ignore Jigsaw (2017)’s existence I’m game but like what
- also why do the packages look like they’re wrapped in Tiffany boxes lmao
- oh yay they did run dental
- Chris Rock is an asshole but they should go with protocol if that’s what they’re doing
- ordering a man mid piss out of the men’s room to yell at Zeke
- does conflict of interest matter when the whole precinct knows the victim?
- uncomfortable stand-offs with your ex while at the home of a grieving friend
- Samuel L Jackson!
- “I could’ve killed you!” “What are you talking about, I have the gun!” *SLJ pulls a gun out* “I could’ve killed you”
- daddy issues
- “you think this is linked to John Kramer?” Bruh you think it’s NOT??
- ik this is SO far fetched but I rlly hope this movie tells us wtf happened to Dr Gordon. I’m sure it won’t but a girl can dream
- “should we tell Zeke?” “Fuck him” I get you guys don’t like to work w him Bc he’s an ass but like. You’re just not doing your jobs now you’re just proving he’s right that you’re untrustworthy
- splitting up and not telling ppl where you’re going is the number one way to get kidnapped or murdered but way to go cop instincts
- what is this Chinese finger trap ass shit
- love the blue tones tho very Saw
- all it needs is to become uncomfortably green
- fun fact I actually watched the first saw w my friend who is red green color blind and he said it looked AWFUL and I was like oh yeah everything is blue tinted like twilight blue tint and later it’s green just FYI (he thought that made significantly more sense than whatever shit ass color palette he was perceiving)
- being mad at your son for turning in a dirty cop Bc now you’ll have to mess with internal affairs
- and then assaulting someone??? SLJ is an even worse asshole lmao
- another Tiffany box bound in twine maybe it’ll be one of those cheesy diamond heart necklaces
- HELLO what is that ugly ass pig puppet
- also the voice is so stilted did the killer use fuckin text to speech so they couldn’t unscramble the voice like they did to Hoffman?
- cops finding dead pigs, a little on the nose
- oh so this dude has a history of “fuck it” ok well screw that guy then
- SLJ deserves to be pissed at that cop for letting Zeke get shot but like what an unhinged man he threatened to kill him and then actually assaulted him HOW did he EVER get in charge to begin with
- ok wait is Zeke actually the only decent cop (inc his dad but maybe excluding the newbie)
- that is a truly gruesome way to lose fingers tho I must say but he deserves that shit
- wait did the trap not go fast enough or was there a way for him to do that faster and I missed it
- like should he not have hesitated Bc there was a time limit or was it just rigged
- cuz the machine had to pull them off he couldn’t just cut them quickly
- so are they just gonna leave broken leg Dude there or
- also just now I tried to talk abt this movie (so far) vs Jigsaw (2017) to my mom and I got too excited and referenced some character names she didn’t know and she shut me down and said she didn’t care 😀
- live-blogging to my, like, five followers that compromise one one (1) person that knows me IRL, one (1) Sawtual, and a handful of ppl only here for my main DPS content to fill the void of emotional parental neglect. What a great website
- oh no did the rookie die :( he was actually sweet
- I feel like he was too important to kill offscreen tho
- like they’re TELLING us he .. was skinned.. but was he REALLY
- Chris Rock having a revelation: AH FUCK
- everyone else at the crime scene: ….
- favorite thing abt movies that were already gonna be rated R is when they’re like “well if we’re already at R we might as well say fuck”
- she has to SEVER HER SPINAL CORD? Why was she deemed the biggest asshole
- also how on earth was this trap portable it IS in their basement right
- transporting the hot wax is just what gets me
- Chris Rock rn: are you tired of being nice? Don’t you just wanna go apeshit?
- was this abt his dad the whole time???
- does it count as live blogging when I do one big post instead of several small ones lol I just want it to be avoidable for ppl who are just here for Dead Poets Society
- man’s fully abt to cut his arm off like barely even hesitated long enough to notice the bobby pin he could pick the lock with
- there’s a body here suspended
- not hanging mind you
- but covered and suspended
- and I bet it’s the newbie
- ah damn it’s Pete that’s disappointing
- it’s possible the trailers just made him seem more important than he was
- why are they punishing Zeke for reporting a dirty cop and having his career accordingly ruined like he did the right thing and already suffered for it? This killer doesn’t like crooked cops?? Why does Zeke have to be tortured by hearing this dude die like that’s what they want isn’t it?
- I think it’s too late pal
- the glass trap was pretty fucking cool though
- I KNEW HE WAS ALIVE
- I didn’t think he was a MURDERER but I KNEW he was alive
- OH SHIT THE DIRTY COP ZEKE TURNED IN KILLED NEWBIE’S DAD??
- I’m terrible at guessing endings but it makes viewing more fun
- honestly,, do it Chris Rock ACAB
- “you want me to kill cops?” “No, fuck no, just the bad ones”
- what a fun villain though
- I have no idea what the Ultimate Game Plan™️ is here though is he gonna make him kill his dad? I mean his dad does suck but making a dude KILL his DAD? That is a tall order Max Minghella
- ok but literally why wouldn’t you listen to him here shoot the target??
- ANGIE! It WaS aNgIe
- killing this man is not correct justice anyway Zeke
- shot the target! Good man
- groovy of them to play the Hello Zepp soundtrack rn
- oh shit what’s going on SLJ knows what it is
- oh.. w o w. Brutal way to go. Very heavy handed imagery
- and that’s all I guess who the fuck knows what’s up w Doctor Gordon
- and I guess Max Minghella is just gonna get away now but tbh Chris Rock only seemed truly mad at him for involving his dad
- nice rap remix to the OG Hello Zepp score very cool credits music
1 note
·
View note
Last Seen Blogs
rikvip2club
Rikvip Club
dcfanstv
dcfanstv
leedosbunnyboy
Stan Oneus
iso-owner
Sissify Me
wheelsformike
strangerwho?