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titan-fodder · 3 years

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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volcanic depression with a diameter many times larger than its included volcanic vents; commonly formed when magma is withdrawn or erupted from a shallow, underground magma reservoir.*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

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stargirlwnchstr · 4 years

Text

I have a visual to share with y'all. Say welcome to my long ass 'The Foxes + tiktok' headcanon

@ nickythefox_es (part 1???)

Basically Nicky gets tiktok but all of the foxes show up eventually and just use his profile.

• Most of the videos are with nicky and allison, also matt and dan and occasionally neil.

• Allison and nicky learn so many dances.

• Their duet of make his pockets hurt with Mariah and Zane from the vlog squad is the first one to go v i r a l.

• Yeah most of their followers know them but some and a lot of the comments are non exy fans that just watch them because they're cool

• So many of the "what is exy" "stickball game??" "dont even bother explaining to me what is the sport they play I dont care I'm just here for neil." And related comments get a liked from creator (andrew told nicky to like them)

•The "Oh my god she's coming." "I'm so afraid of her." Audio are the twinyards and nicky shows up, he had to bribe them to be a part of that one.

• They post another version but it's Kevin that enters and Allison and Nicky talking

• So many comments thirsting over them and calling matt and dan parents

• "the real bisexual struggle is simping for matt and dan in the same tiktok." -> liked from creator nickythefox_es commented/replied: ASDGFKSSDWADKWB

• Someone makes a 'put a finger down: Neil Josten edition' and nicky drags him to do it. They both smile as they listen to the prompts and Neil obviously puts all his fingers down but they're like "put a finger down if you clapbacked/if you bad mouthed someone (bonus points if it was on national tv)" "put a finger down if you're under 6 feet" "put a finger down if you love exy" and the last one just says "put a finger down if andrew minyard." Neil does and smiles at someone off camera. Needless to say it goes viral as well. A few weeks after nicky gets verified.

• Allison becomes friends with thenavarose and wisdom sorry I dont make the rules (they're fashion tiktokers)

• They make a series of rating each of the foxes throughout the day, including one of Wymack.

• They do receive bad comments, from bitter ravens fans or just recalling their pasts and nicky sits down and makes a video telling everyone about how they do this videos for fun they dont need hate and negative comments on their videos and all that

• Then another one posted minutes after, neil comes in and nicky says "okay neil you have one minute. Rant off." And neil goes on this rant like how they already hit Rock bottom a single comment is not gonna hurt them and "do you get how insignificant and meaningless your lives must be? You took the time to write and post a comment that you thought was gonna cause an impact and failed. Also thanks for the comments though it helps nicky stay on the algorithm." NICKY SCREECHES AND THE VIDEO ENDS WITH THEM SMILING

• Allison vlogs neil and her going shopping or thrifting also cutting Neil's hair

• *neil walks into the room wearing his orange bandana* *camera moves and zooms on Andrew's face* he doesnt lip sync but the song sings "oh noo I think I'm catching feelings" andrew tells him to delete it "but it already has thousands of likes andrew"

• They post some of their work out routines per request

• One of them is the fast and "I'm spinning like a ballerina" chill of neil just running on the treadmill and doing sprints and squats and leg stuff while it cuts to allison doing a bit of everything but looking like a queen on a matching set.

• A fun one that goes viral for "vine energy" is: it's very quiet on the court and Kevin, very in the zone, throws the ball to the goal, which Andre's catches easily and almost without moving. The camera goes back to kevin as he screeches and let's himself fall on the ground. Neil is standing beside him shaking his head and looking at the goal with a smile on his face.

• They try to teach neil the dances but while filming one of them he just leaves. They post it either way.

• They're in the bus, nicky is on selfie mode and says "it is game day my dudes" he turns and shows the whole bus S C R E A M S, in the corner Wymack is covering his face.

• The iconic "they say drunk thoughts are sober words" or something like that and it cuts to a series of videos of the foxes drunk af. Example: Nicky grabbing Allison's face and saying 'Remember. Bread. Head. Leave.' And allison nodding.

• Nicky films kevin standing up and put the "do you ever wonder what is going on inside their head?" And it cuts to pictures of racquets and exy and Jeremy Knox and one that says history stuff.

• Another one that goes viral is kevin very seriously and p e r f o r m i n g, rapping Jefferson's side of the cabinet battle #1 from Hamilton then towards the end andrew stands up in front of him and with his iconic bored expression he starts rapping Hamilton's part. Behind the camera there's a soft "...oh my gOD" and kevin is shocked eyes widen open and then the camera zooms on Neil who's mouth is open in shock but GRINNING and ~impressed~

• Dan and matt do The challenge, you know the one that like has to flip them over and all that and they ace it, nicky points the camera to where andrew and neil are stating and Andrew says no.

• A few minutes later another video of the challenge is posted only this time is matt and neil.

• Nicky and allison are in full gear filming a dance video (maybe savage or captain hook) on the court and someone films them filming that and then Wymack looking at them SO disappointed cut to Wymack with nicky's phone, having confiscated it and nicky besides him "coach, it's cardio!"

• Hours spent trying trick shots

• Foxes: "get back! Move!" Ravens: "Let me in! I be the I g g y!" Trojans: "Oh my God do no let her in" Foxes: "I am trying!"

• Nicky lying down: "okay but someone needs to tell me how old is the shirtless pottery guy. I can't be part of another controversy. It's for science c'mon. *debby Ryan's*"

• Someone comments "he's eighteen. Simp away, nicky." And he makes a video with his feet swinging and smiling. Aaron gets on the frame and says "we are deeply in need of some bowls." The caption: hi @ papapots

• They are verified so obviously he gains a couple of thousands followers and he duets smiling and with a package in his arms. Text: thanks for the support (and hi new followers from sport side of tiktok hope you enjoy my pots) caption: hi @ nickthefox_es I got you aaron.

• After the package comes they duet it with nicky screaming and showing off the goods and then he moves stop show andrew eating ice cream out of one of them. Caption: AJSNEPWLDKSS THANK YOU DAX

• Allison and nicky do the "I love you!" "No you dont topper! You love the idea of me. You love being seen with me but you dont love me." But nicky is Sarah and allison is topper. Next day the obx ig page reposted it "we stan the psu foxes pogues for life." And chase stokes posts it on Twitter saying "yoo the palmetto foxes watch??? my show???" Nicky takes a screenshot and on green screen he says "hi chase!! We do! The whole team binged it. Currently we've been debating who of us is going to dress up as pogues for Halloween." A lot of voices start arguing and as nicky is gonna enter the debate the video cuts.

• Allison does the facetime *deep male voice says hey* prank on them. Neil doesnt react. Nicky doesnt look up from his phone but does the finger thing and says "get that d, allison!" Dan and renee look at each other and then at allison and she bursts out laughing.

• aaron studying to be a doctor: *two plus two is four etc sound* andrew (eating pretzels from the bag while watching a game show lying down in a bean bag) and his eiditic memory [basically not needing to study]: *three is a magic number sound*

• Nicky runs through the court and enters the lounge beside the photo wall there's a poster he shows the camera as the sounds says it "alive ahaha fuck"

• Somehow they convince all of them to show up and do the wipe it down trend that ends up with wymack throwing the towel at the mirror.

• Comment: so how many members of the team listen to girl in red or sweater weather? Nicky stands there with the color filter: 👁👄👁👉👈 caption: yes❤

• He gets neil to duet to the whole "british people be like". "Neil I'm not british." "Part of you is so just read the tweets." He does and the comments are all thirst and simping

• Comment: raise your hand if you've been victimized by neil josten. Where my fellow Simps at? (The comment gets hundreds of thousands of likes) they make a video, everyone on the team except aaron who walks out raises their hand as the sound says "welcome to simp nation" kevin rolls his eyes but raises his, says something that nicky captions "i simp over his exy skills". andrew doesn't at first, but next to him neil whispers something and after andrew says yes, neil grabs Andrew's forearm and raises it. Andrew looks away and neil smiles.

• Nicky lying down: okay but what if Jean moreau traded places with the french guy from here you know who, david.

• Comment "ugh your mind nicky" reply video: right? Big brain, many thoughts, head full all the time. But like actually the idea of david playing exy and Jean hanging out with ducks and making viral tiktoks just-

• Comment "i feel you and @ austincantdrive would make the best chaotic duo" reply: we would be too powerful together. Austin replies too: agree.

• Allison makes a sports jersey/comfy wear but make it fashion and she styles herself. Everyone on the comments d i e s for her.

• Comment "okay but what about the boys. help allison." She makes a video too with matt and nicky and at the end neil wears an orange crop top and the internet b r e a k s

• Comment "allison do you listen to girl in red?" video reply: her winking at the camera and lip syncing as sweater weather plays. The comments a lot of them liked by creator: a win for the girls (and the boys)

• Upperclassmen Back in 2003: okay but hey do we always have to be involved? Can we do normal stuff that normal people do, like, go for brunch? Us (aaron, andrew, kevin and me): what the fuck is brunch?

• Of course they do the mr blue sky trend. Nicky: drunkenly goes to flirt with a guy. Aaron: drunkenly follows to get away from kevin. Kevin: drunk on pure vodka reminds us we have practice in the morning.

• Or another one all of them. Neil: ready to insult a reporter. Dan: tries not to laugh on camera. Matt: gets ready to hug him afterwards Allison and Nicky: Filming everything. Wymack: the only one trying to stop it from happening and failing.

• Dan and matt duet their reactions to every video edit of them, smiling and saying "your parents love you guys!".

• Comment "literally what is wrong with the ravens/ravens fans?The foxes are such a nice group of people and they're doing great in the sport y'all worship just shut up you cult-y athletic hype house." video reply: "ladies and gentlemen. The volume inside of this bus is A S T R O N O M I C A L."

• comment video reply: okay so we're not gonna talk about nicky at the gym?? Bc C A K E. nicky lip syncing "I'm glad you brung it up because I've been dying to talk about this for a fucking hot minute. First of all-"

• Colin uses one of Neil's or Andrew's interviews replies as one of his sounds and nicky fanboys a lot

• Allison and nicky do the Kardashian sound compilation.

• Nicky with a picture of Erik on green screen: "hi I just wanna say if you look anything like this please contact me. Thank you." Caption: miss u baby. And Erik watches his tiktoks and he facetimes him immediately. Nicky takes a screenshot and duets his own video crying with the screenshot caption: SKALSBSKAJSL Erik comments: stop making tiktoks and answer the phone, hemmick. Nicky replies: yessir everyone below comments keyboard smashes and you got a good one. Goals. Lmao kids that's what we call bottom panic. We stan one healthy long distance relationship and after that a bunch of long distance relationship questions that he makes another video on.

• A video of Katelyn and neil chatting and it pans to the twins watching them with the *when worlds collide sound*

• He reposts a snippet of one of his interviews post game where he grabs the mic from the reporter and nicky: can I say something? Reporter: sure, go ahead. Nicky: thank you. *looks straight into the camera* all the birds died in 1986 due to Reagan killing them and replacing them with spies that are now watching us. The birds work for the bourgeoisie. Thank you." And leaves. IT GOES VIRAL INSTANTLY.

• Comment "is everyone else gonna forget that tiktok where he said he was already part of a controversy? We stan a problematic icon?" Video reply: guys I might have been part of a whole Twitter beef thing against my little hoodie and Bruce hallway but c'mon, like, c'mon you can't blame me.

• Comment "for neil: does the carpet match the drapes 👅😍?" Video reply: neil on selfie mode. "Allison gave me her phone, told me to answer this and ran away so umm." He reads the box on the screen and frowns he walks and stands next to the window, where Andrew is sitting down and is barely seen on frame. "uhmm, the internet is confusing. Our carpet is like this" he turns the phone and shows the floor (grayish carpet) and then back at him "but we don't have drapes so, technically they don't match, I dont know." Andrew's head goes up and simply says "Neil." Neil turns "what?" And the video ends.

• of course nicky and allison do the WAP dance, on the court, when they should be running drills.

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deithe · 3 years

Text

the bones (2,847 words) (1/1)

(an introspective on jason grace. kind of?)

read here on ao3 or read below the cut!

jason falls in love with the human equivalent of a forest fire

(his mother fell in love with the sky itself)

jason grace grew up being told that his destiny was very, very simple.

his first and most important mission, handed down to him from lady juno and mother lupa, was that jason was destined to save rome. that his destiny lay with new rome and camp jupiter, a new romulus to lead the pack to greatness. he would spill so much blood in new rome’s name that the little tiber would overflow and the gods would crown him with a golden laurel made from monster ichor.

he would be everything everyone else needed.

a spear for the senate, a shield for new rome, a standard to replace the one that had been lost, a sword for the gods to wield, and another pack member for lupa. he would be the perfect soldier, a demigod fashioned by two god-mothers for the simple act of being a weapon.

his second duty was that jason was to be nothing like his father.

his father, evil, unpredictable, selfish and cruel, was to be jason’s antithesis. lady juno stressed this, as did the senate, as did his praetors (though praetor saville jason eventually killed in battle, so jason doesn’t take her words to heart anymore). jason was never, ever to be like his father. all sons of jupiter before him were either driven insane or were killed, and jason’s great destiny could not afford for him to do either of those things.

‘hubris’ lady juno once told him, while going through his latin lessons in the damp cold of the den (or wolf house, as she called it), ‘is the thing that kills sons of jupiter’.

so jason was to never be prideful, but at the same time, never to believe he was inferior. he was to be subservient but never meek, he was to be a capable fighter but never violent. he was to be kind but not a pushover. open but not flirtatious.

he was to be perfect. he could not afford anything else.

then he, in the span of a few months, murdered his prateor after finding out she was a traitor, watched his friend be assaulted by a family legacy of prophetic visions which turned him into a paranoid asshole, watched his other friend assume a leadership role, one which he tried to refuse, and fought an army, killed a titan and toppled kronos’ black throne.

he also became praetor and then was promptly kidnapped by lady juno, leaving said other friend with all the responsibility.

then any and all plans the gods had for him were ruined by a daughter of aphrodite with eyes like the earth and a son of hephaestus with a smile like war.

how could jason be the perfect soldier when his loyalties no longer lay with new rome? he loved his home, he loved his siblings-in-arms, he loved the legion-

he loved leo and piper more than the breath in his lungs, than the sky and earth and more than his destiny. he loved them enough to try and find whatever scraps of himself he had. to create something they could love too.

(heracles killed himself after accidentally killing his family. love killed him in the end)

and so, jason failed in his first mission. he could no longer put new rome above them, above camp half-blood.

jason doesn’t think becoming his father is an option for him, however. his father is prideful and arrogant and his father's likeness, he will eventually learn, belongs only to his prodigal sister.

and so, jason grace finds his last name, a family he never knew, friends he could die for and an empty cabin that seemed less lonely with leo or piper in it.

then they went on a quest, leo built a ship and they all set sail to stop gaia from rising.

then jason lost leo, then jason lost everything, then jason lost himself and then lost piper-

and, in the middle of winter, leo valdez came crashing down on a metal dragon with eyes like a nuclear explosion and teeth made for tearing meat from bone, or tearing jason’s heart from his chest.

and then jason found himself again in the space between the junction between leo valdez's fourth and fifth ribs.

leo valdez is a lot of things. he’s a son of hephaestus and a complete asshole. he’s the first child of hephaestus to be born with the ability to create and control fire in over 400 years. he’s a 5’4ft guy who wears platformed boots to make himself seem taller. he’s so powerful that he obliterated gaia. he’s a genius. he thinks spraying axe bodyspray on himself is the same as a shower. he overworks himself even when he doesn’t have to. he can fight gods and go toe-to-toe with any big three kid and hold his own. he likes to survive on a diet of mango monster energy and takis. he's obnoxious. he's thoughtful. he makes mean-spirited jokes at other people's expense. he's the best person jason's ever met

he’s-

currently late for their date.

It’s not that jason minds, per se, but leo has a nasty habit of getting so completely lost in his work that he can plan a date for the next day, and jason won’t see him for at least three days. it’s one of the downsides of being the trophy boyfriend of a genius.

jason sighs and rocks back on his heels, eyes darting up to the grey, overcast sky. he can almost hear leo in his head, asking if he could pretty please make it less goddamn cold? and his pout when jason refuses to change the weather for him.

it's not that jason won't. it's just that he can't. it makes aeolus snappy.

sometimes he still does it. manipulates the air currents just enough to warm the air around them and leo smiles, a real one, small and soft. like it wasn't meant to be seen. a secret thing, just for jason.

jason doesn't see leo smile like that often.

it's mid-february in new york and jason is kicking around central park in the grey mid-day light. it's quiet, this part of the park, with barely anyone passing jason as he leans against a tree, wet dew dripping into his unstyled hair. it's cold, but not cold enough for a freeze or snow. just the right amount of cold to turn your hands numb and purple from cold

which. if you've never seen leo 'was raised in texas and has fire powers' valdez in new york snow, jason fully believes you've never lived.

he spends another 30 minutes splitting his time from staring into space and wandering around the meeting spot they've arranged. it's peaceful here. jason can even hear some birds twittering and chirping in the trees above. the cold even stops bothering him. jason likes being alone sometimes.

it reminds him of the lupercal and lupa. long days and nights in the loneliness of the redwood forest. just him and the wolves and the stars.

though now jason has sturdy boots and a wool jacket, so not exactly the same.

he's in the middle of trying to coax a timid sparrow onto the hand, crouched on the balls of his feet when he feels a presence beside him. he goes stiff when he realises and then, like all the tension has been zapped out of him, goes relaxed again.

"that," leo whispers, also crouched beside jason, "is one fat fucking bird"

jason represses a grin, "don't say that. he's probably barely eaten all winter," and leo snorts, moving closer to jason so their shoulders brush. the bird regards leo with some caution but his black, beady eyes seem to acknowledge that jason would keep him safe.

"he looks better fed than me, jace. do you care more about this bird than your own poor boyfriend?" leo says, faux-sadness in his voice, "how cruel, jason grace. how cruel".

jason turns in time to see leo shake his head, black curls wild around his face as they shudder like leaves in the wind. his eyes are dark brown, watching the bird watch leo. a staring contest.

leo says his name like no one else does. like it's a name. like it's good. like it's something familiar and warm. he does not say 'jason' and imagine a great hero or a wolf-boy with no past. he does not say 'grace' like a joke, like grasp for power, like it carries too much weight for his tongue to bare.

he says it like it belongs to jason. he says it like it's important. not too fast, but not too slow.

leo turns his head to find jason staring at him.

"jason" he calls, lips quirking up at the edge, pulling out the 'o' like toffee, "i know i'm pretty irresistible but please, keep your longing stares for the bedroom"

jason shoves up against leo's shoulder, blush bursting across his already red-cold face.

he pushes just slightly too hard and leo goes spilling across the wet grass, yelping in surprise.

"jason!" he yells, looking up at jason half shocked and half in amusement. "what the fuck, dude!"

jason can't help himself.

leo is wearing jason's hoodie, the black one mrs.blofis picked out for jason which leo claimed as his own even before they started dating. his new denim, fur-lined jacket (from the hide of the nemean lion they killed last year) is just slightly too big and he's wearing black jeans. he looks like the college freshman he is. he looks mortal.

he looks human. he has leaves in his hair and his cheeks are flushed from the cold, teeth showing through the toothy smile he's giving and-

it's uncanny, sometimes, how well they can pass for normal. you almost can't tell leo's died and come back to life. you almost can't tell he's more powerful than any living mortal.

almost.

jason falls on top of leo in the wet grass, which causes leo to yelp, again, and knee jason in the stomach.

jason groans "dude, what the hades was that for?" and he rolls of leo, onto the wet grass beside him, arms protectively covering his bruised stomach.

"you fell directly on top of me, you big lug," and leo sits up, picking a leaf out of his curls absentmindedly, "if you haven't noticed, you're like a bean-pole with muscle mass. that shit hurts!"

jason pouts up at leo, who manages to look both unimpressed and fond. he rolls his eyes and offers his hand to jason, who accepts and leo hauls him into a sitting position in front of him

"hi, leo" jason says finally, "you're late"

"i'm not late, loser, you're just a nerd and get places earlier than normal people. its super weird," leo tells him, matter-of-factly, scooting closer to him as they sit on the ground. "you should really get it checked. might be terminal nerdiness. the glasses are just the first sign"

jason raises an eyebrow, curviving over said glasses. "i didn't know it could be terminal. oh well, guess i'll just wither away and die from being punctual. what an injust life i lead. how the sorrows never end"

leo pouts, eyes sparking with enough warmth to keep out the cold for decades to come, "don't be so down about it, I hear being a nerd has perks,"

jason moves closer, so his knees are half-pulled up to his chest and he's balancing his weight on his hand. leo fits perfectly in the bracket of his arms.

"oh? do tell?" he asks, and leo is close enough that jason can see the faint freckles on his cheeks. they're fading from how far away leo has been from the sun, but jason loves them anyways.

"yup," leo says, popping the p and smiling like the cat who got the cream. "do you know that all nerds get super hot and funny and sexy boyfriends? as compensation for being such nerds, of course"

jason pulls back his head a bit, just as leo laces his arms around his shoulders, "really?" and his voice is soft, but the smile won't disappear from his lips, "wow, didn't know that. guess I'm lucky that you're such a huge nerd or-"

leo kisses him like coming home. and in a way it is.

jason has known many homes. he's known the small apartment with his mother that smelt like spilt wine and smoke and mold. he's known the lupercal and the redwood forests around it. he's known the barracks at camp jupiter and the feeling of purpose in his chest. he's known cabin 1 and cabin 9 and bunker 9 and on the back of festus and on the argo. he's known the feeling of reyna laughing as he tells her wild stories and of the fifth cohort raising him on their shields. he's known lying in leo's private room with piper and leo, listening to low music and feeling safe with just them.

but the one person who jason has felt like home since they met was leo. his high ground through the tsunami. his parachute during a plane crash. the one point of home. like the north-star.

jason smiles into the kiss, his free hand tangling itself in the rough fabric of leo's dark blue denim jacket. it's soft and chaste, more a press of warm lips than anything. it's comforting. it's familiar. it's everything he wants.

leo pulls back a bit, just far enough to speak but still close enough that his breath brushes up against jason's cold face. "hi," he says, brushing his nose against his, "missed you, bro".

jason snorts, "i missed you too, leo, how's MIT treating you?"

"like i'm it's bitch is how it's treating me," leo tells him, slumping slightly into jason, forehead against jason's. "can we not talk about college? i think if we talk about college I might start crying and then our date will be ruined"

jason pulls back a bit to look at leo. he does look more tired than usual, eye-bags darker and lips bitten from nervousness. he frowns, using his free hand to cup his face. "are you okay? we can just go back to your dorm if you're too tired-"

"ugh, no way" leo groans, "fuck that. i just wanna spend time with you, okay? i wanna be mushy and all that gay shit. i want bad food and to kiss you again and again and do more than kissing-"

jason rolls his eyes.

"-and then go back to mrs.blofis apartment and watch really bad movies you like for some reason and then i'll go to sleep beside you and it'll be gay and shit"

"gay and shit?"

"gay and shit, you better believe it grace. but first-"

and leo untangles himself from jason and stands up, brushing the dirt from his knees leaving jason frowning on the floor.

he offers out his hand, brown skin calloused from work, long, thin fingers curled slightly as the palm faced upwards.

"c'mon, super, treat your louis lane to some greasy new york food before he decides batman has better pay"

jason is so, so lucky he got leo valdez. that the fates decides to make sure that his destiny crosses leo's. that he convinced leo valdez to let down his walls, to stay, that jason wouldn't leave him like the others, or hurt him or betray him.

that jason was in it for as long as leo wanted him to be. that jason only wanted leo to say his name, wanted to give it to leo because leo's the only one who's mouth jason trusts with it. that jason wanted to give leo his past. wanted to show him and tell him where he got each scar.

he trusts leo with this. he trusts leo's hands to not burn it all to ash. because he knows that if leo wanted to, he could. he could burn jason alive with a thought. turn him to ash and glass with a flick of his hand.

jason has fallen in love with a nuclear bomb, with a supernova of a boy and jason doesn't care if it kills him, because he has spent so long pretending to be what everyone else needed, that now he was going to be who he wanted to be. even if it got him killed. even if it burned him alive.

jason grace has fallen in love with the human version of a forest fire. he should be afraid of it, of leo. he is not. he never will be.

beryl grace fell in love with the sky itself. wanted all the stars in heaven and didn't care what happened to her. as long as she knew she had the stars attention. as long as she knew the sky loved her back.

as long as he knew the fire loved him back.

he takes his hand.

#my writing #jason grace #fanfic #hoo #toa has no power over me i do as i please #leo valdez #valgrace

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haloud · 3 years

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 11

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Jones lets Michael in on a secret.

Excerpt:

He took a step back, but the symbols he’d touched continued to glow, burning into the surface of the pod. They pulsed, gold and fiery, for several seconds, before dimming, the colors of the pod pausing, like it was holding its breath.

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

A young woman, hair pulled back severely, wearing a stark-white uniform—at least, it looked like a uniform, almost like scrubs—looked down at Michael. The corners of her mouth turned down, a line formed between her brows that Michael saw most days in the mirror, but her eyes gleamed with some other, indefinable emotion.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

Thursday, 8:30 am

Wiping his hand across his forehead, Michael squinted down into the guts of the Acura that was his latest patient. An easy fix, the job should have been done half an hour ago, but Michael’s mind wandered mercilessly, pulling his eyes to empty space, turning his thoughts to white noise worse than the static on Sanders’s busted radio blaring out oldies from the office. With a final jerk of his wrench, he declared the Acura done and dropped the hood, pacing over to his water and taking a swig. The water did little to cool him off; he paced back to the next car of the day, popped it open, and immediately slammed it shut again with a frustrated sigh.

Fuck, he’d barely been here an hour; he had a backlog a dozen deep or more; what the fuck was wrong with him?

No breeze disturbed the air or lifted the heat, already heavy on the skin even in the early morning. On a normal day, Michael worked methodically in the peace, savoring the solitude, time slipping away under the satisfaction of skill applied and challenge met. No matter how much Sanders griped, Michael always got the job done and the customer satisfied, keeping the lights on, no matter how old and dusty they might be. But today, Michael couldn’t reach that meditative place; his skin crawled in the silence, and his teeth grit at every sound.

Walk. He needed to—walk, exercise off some of this nervous energy. He’d been cooped up after Jones, too long, his feet restless, buzzing all in his veins. It was too early for him to take a break without catching shit from Sanders, but he’d live; Michael would work late, maybe, after the strategy meeting, however long it took, to make up for it. Right now, he couldn’t stay, penned in by the junkyard fence, rattling around in it like a caged dog.

A mile in, Michael realized he had a direction. The buzzing inside him tuned to a frequency, and he followed it, a call sense-familiar, a call like the one that bound him to Max and Isobel and them to their pods, a full-body variation on the sensation of touching alien tech.

Shading his eyes, Michael pulled out his phone and dialed Isobel—nothing. No signal. Of course. With no way to know if this call resonated in Max and Isobel too, he couldn’t do anything but continue on into the desert, following a familiar heading. On foot, it might take hours. It might mean everyone coming to meet him and him not being there, everyone panicking, Alex, panicking. Could he really do that to them again? Reckless, irresponsible, selfish—but none of those thoughts penetrated past the ineffable signal, and Michael walked, to the source of it, the origin.

The cave, at least, dewed cool and refreshing, sheltered from the sun and sand. Michael’s lungs thanked it too, a sanctuary from the hot late morning filling them every step of his trek. Once inside, it was only a short distance to the pod chamber, where Michael stopped.

What the fuck? Like coming out of a trance, Michael whirled around to see the way he came, no memory of it but the body-memory of aching feet.

Nothing there. The pods shimmered on. They had no answers; they weren’t even asking him why he was there, though he asked them. Silence.

Michael crossed the cave and stood in the center of the triad. First, he touched the pod that held Isobel for their new life and held her against death, running his fingers along the cool, frictionless surface. Next, he caressed Max’s pod, and finally, he stood in front of his own, if he could call it a possession, and slid his hands into his pockets.

“Well, I’m here,” he said aloud. “What, did you need something? Spit it out.” He snorted.

“Michael?”

He flinched at the sudden noise, but turned on his heel as his mind caught up with his instinct.

“Max!” he called back. “Dude, what the fuck are we doing out here? Have you talked to Isobel—”

The entrance to the pod cave was short, barely a crevice in the rock that held this chamber, unlike the deeper mines and systems that dotted these hills. Sound traveled fast from the entrance, and so did feet.

It wasn’t Max.

“Michael,” Jones said solemnly, with a shake of his head and a cluck of his tongue. “It disappoints me to have to call you out like this. I thought, after the conviction you showed last time, that you’d return for another lesson.”

“Jones,” Michael replied, taking a step back.

“We could have walked here together; I have plenty of stories to tell to pass the time.”

“Why did we have to walk here at all?” Michael demanded.

“You may have experienced the joys of traversal, but it isn’t something to be done lightly. It takes a great deal of energy and mental focus and fortitude—”

“I’m not talking about walking,” Michael snapped, “I’m talking about here. Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Well, call me curious,” Jones replied pleasantly, folding his hands behind his back as he began to circle the trio of pods. “I had such a small sample of the woman’s handiwork to study during my confinement, I had to see her stasis pods for myself. The craftsmanship is truly remarkable. Truly remarkable.”

He gave Max’s pod a condescending pat. Michael clenched his fists.

“Most pods have a tendency to decay or have a decaying effect on their inhabitants.” Jones continued his circuit of the pods, passing Isobel’s. Michael stepped to the side so they circled each other, unwilling to let him too close. “But the timed release on these specimens taught them to ration their energy, and here they are, close to a century after crash-landing. Remarkable.”

“Are you telling me my mother built our pods herself?”

“Built, engineered, programmed, grew…” Jones waved a hand. “All of the above. Don’t be so limited in your thinking; you know better than that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I? I thought we were getting to know each other quite well. How has Max been lately?”

“Shut up,” Michael snarled.

Jones chuckled. “That’s no way to speak. I didn’t come just to monologue; I came to give you a gift.”

He stopped beside Michael’s pod, and Michael stopped when he did. The entrance to the cave was at Michael’s back; he should cut and run from this vantage and let Jones do whatever he wanted with the pods—but in the middle of the desert, where was he supposed to go? His phone still had no signal, and there was nothing for miles. It would be child’s play for Jones to catch him. Or Jones would wait until Michael was home, until he thought he was safe, and crawl inside his mind to pull him out again. Was anywhere safe? Could Michael be trusted now, or was Jones inside him, somewhere beneath his skin, a trigger buried beneath Michael’s jumbled memories of that day waiting to be tripped?

“When I first came to make my observations, something clever caught my eye.”

Laying a hand on the surface of the pod, Jones’s eyes gleamed as a symbol drew itself beneath his touch, the familiar three-pronged alien sigil.

“It was on the door to your cave,” Michael said. “We’ve seen it our whole lives. You know what it means?”

“Of course. But that can wait. Come closer.”

Michael stalked a few feet, still keeping a wide berth. As he approached, one side of the symbol burned brighter, a circle with a bold, askew cross within. Jones touched a few more symbols in sequence as they rose to the surface.

“If you had persevered through your ordeal instead of running straight to Max, you would be able to read this,” Jones said idly.

“That’s a funny way of saying ‘gee, Michael, sorry for the attempted murder.’”

“Apologize?” Jones still didn’t look at him, face impassive, barely a flicker of irritation passing across it. If Michael didn’t know Max so well, he would know nothing about this man at all. “What good is an apology? I told you before—pain is an excellent teacher. Of course, there are those who disagree.”

Then it flickered; Michael yelled in shock as the symbols lifted from the surface, shimmering and gold and shaping themselves into a familiar-unfamiliar form.

Michael couldn’t breathe.

“I hope you never hear this, darling,” Nora said. Or—she didn’t speak, but Michael heard her all the same.

She said, “I hope the journey goes smoothly and we land softly in a new life, and my attempts to find some kind of goodbye can just be deleted like a bad dream. But I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams, baby, and I can’t let this go without a contingency.” She huffed a short sigh. “So here I am.

“You’re sleeping in your room right now. You know its your last night in your little bed, but I’m not sure it’s sunk in exactly what that means. Is it wrong that I’m glad for it? I don’t want you to be afraid. I never want that.

“But if you’re seeing this, it means I’ve likely already failed on that front, so what is there to say except I’m sorry? I’m so sorry, baby, if you’re seeing this. I love you so, so much, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you how much I love you without holding you in my arms—these words, these feelings, they aren’t enough. Nothing I say could be enough. But baby, just know that you are the only thing in my heart. Your brilliant mind, your big heart, you are so wonderful, and having you in my life has been my life’s greatest blessing. No matter what, I know you’re out there—even if the worst comes to pass, even if you’re out there alone, even if you come to hate me for abandoning you, any word with you in it is worth saving, no matter what else has been destroyed.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, my son. I’ll love you even more tomorrow, for every day we’re together and every day we’re apart. Goodbye, and goodnight.”

Nora’s form reduced to gold once more, sinking back into the pod, and the silence that followed sucked everything in with it, sucked the air straight from Michael’s lungs. The whole world blurred behind his eyes, his left hand clawing over his chest, over his racing heart, his mouth working to find the words, words his mother hadn’t even known in the much more primal language of thought and emotion sown softly directly into his mind.

He'd felt, all these things, all those emotions she spoke of, hand to hand, through the grime and glass, condensed into one split-second, the atom before the bomb. The love, she’d poured it into him, a vessel too cracked and flawed to hold it. Would having words put to it help him understand? Lyrics to the harmony and melody?

“Touching,” Jones murmured.

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael said, voice cracked to pieces.

“What? I mean it. A mother’s love. No force like it in the world, wouldn’t you say?”

Jones began to circle again, approaching Michael.

“That love brought you here across the stars. Would you like to thank her? Or condemn her? She left you the burdens you bear, after all.”

“It’s not her fault the military locked her up and tortured her!” Michael shouted, a boom to his voice that shook the cave around them, shedding dust like the old days, when Michael’s rage moved furniture and shook art from the walls and moved minds to thoughts of hellfire.

“You really don’t hold a grudge? Not even in the slightest?”

“Why do you care? You hated her, right? Because she got one over on you, she got Max away from you. And she outsmarted you again here on Earth.”

At that, Jones sighed. He took a step closer, and this time Michael stood his ground, his mother-made pod at his back. Jones’s eyes shone glassy in the low, shifting light.

“Thank you, Michael, for that eloquent declaration of your loyalties. I’m disappointed in you, but it does uncomplicate things.”

He flicked his hand and Michael flew across the cave, head slamming sickly into the wall, like Michael had flung Jones when he fled from him the last time. As the world swam and a hot trickle wound down the back of Michael’s neck, Jones approached leisurely.

“See, for a sec, I thought the soft approach was working on you, Michael. I thought my charm was still good, even after all these years. You want to learn. You want the knowledge, the understanding. You want to stand in the light of the truth. Don’t you?”

Michael spat, and Jones ground him a few feet up the wall, his back scraping stone inch by jagged inch.

“So loyal. So dedicated. There is so damn much of that woman in you, no matter what kind of taint this rat-hole planet has left you with, human.”

The word oozed off his tongue like a slur.

A sneer on his face, Jones continued, “I hope it gives you solace while it can. I know it has a certain soothing effect on my own guilty conscience.”

“You’re fucking insane!” Michael gasped out. He flung his mind at every loose object around him, but nothing budged, his powers weak and fickle and inadequate.

In rage, they’d never failed him. But beneath his placid face, in Jones was something stronger than Michael, stronger than rage. But not stronger than Michael’s mother; not stronger than Nora Truman; not stronger than her by any other name she may have claimed in languages Michael would never speak.

Jones wasn’t stronger than her. So Michael would find a way. She sacrificed too much for him to give up now.

“Even on this life-forsaken psych-dumb wasteland planet, you have to understand that there are crimes and there are punishments,” Jones seethed. His composure was cracking, the man they’d first met in that cave pushing through the veneer he’d constructed over the months he’d been among them. He didn’t wait for Michael to respond, ranting on, “She stole from me. Ran from me, a fucking pirate! She stole my healer! My people! My heir. She had no right! And, not content in her flagrant audacity, she put me in a fucking hole in the ground! There are crimes and punishments. But she is beyond me now.”

Michael’s back lifted from the wall and slammed down again. He groaned as his vision went gray and his stomach heaved.

“She got what was coming to her. A fitting enough end, destroyed by the world she thought would hide her. But how can I be satisfied without a little vengeance of my own? Now that I’ve seen her message, my path at last is clear. You’ll do.”

The invisible iron bars pinning Michael six feet in the air disappeared, and he slumped to the hard-packed floor, air sawing through his chest, ribs screaming with every wheeze.

“Wouldn’t she be proud to see you now,” Jones murmured, and everything went dark.

When Michael came to, the world swam dim and gold into view, and squinting and wincing it took him a full minute to absorb his surroundings. He was slumped on the ground beneath the ladder of his workshop. Every bone and muscle ached; every breath seared inside him and ached its way back out.

��Michael! There you are. For a moment I was afraid in my excitement you’d gotten a little ahead of me,” Jones cried jubilant from across the room.

Staggering to his knees, Michael groaned, “Don’t fucking touch—how do you even—know this—”

“Either I plucked it out of your ripe mind when you offered it to me or I know someone who knows you,” Jones said. Something clanked as he tossed it. “Believe whichever, it doesn’t matter to me.”

He flung the tarp from Michael’s worktable, baring the console skeleton before his greedy eyes.

“This—” He laughed. “You truly are a marvel, you stupid boy. What I wouldn’t give for time and space to study you. Mold you. It’s almost a pity.”

“If Max is what you want, he’ll never forgive you if you kill me,” Michael slurred.

“Max is a piece of the puzzle. One piece,” Jones said. “And there have to be three. Or hasn’t anyone told you?”

Jones whirled away and went back to rifling through Michael’s papers, muttering to himself. Inching a little more upright, Michael craned his neck to look at the opening to the bunker, thrown wide, sunlight streaming down. He blinked in the sunlight piercing his pounding head, frantically trying to calculate the time. How close were they to crossing paths with everyone? Had Michael’s stupid wandering called the fox right in? Alex, Isobel, Max, Maria—

“I know, I know, no time to waste,” Jones said. “As entertaining as your little drawings are. We have things to be getting on with.”

With one hand, he seized the console, and with the other, he seized Michael, seized each of his organs in brutal turn, Michael sputtering and choking, writhing for relief that wouldn’t come, a beetle crushed beneath a boot.

“Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”

#malex fic #my fic #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #mr. jones

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 15

first time reader - click here

TW/SUMMARY: Is bad humour a trigger? Cards against humanity. Loki in the wild. Chaotic Tony, chaotic Reader. Team bonding, a gag chapter lmao

My beta is babey 🥺 @miscmarvelwritings

If someone had bothered to ask me what kind of relationship I had with Tony, it would've made my brain glitch. In the weeks we spent fucking, sciencing and hanging out with the Avengers, it never once crossed my mind. We had fun and it was easy. Unlike both of our lives, it didn't require much mental energy for us to get what we wanted from each other. For me, it was easier to ignore my skin aching for Tony when he was already spending so much time on me. I wasn't sure if it would ever be enough, really, so taking exactly as much as he was giving was my best bet.

We built things in his workshop with Pete by our side and it wasn't awkward. The spiderling said he was happy as long as we were happy and didn't mind it too much when Tony got handsy. The man had at least some morals and stuck to kisses, ass-slaps and lewd comments which made Peter snort and fake-retch sure, yet the boy never displayed any real discomfort. It was endearing. He really became the little brother I never thought I would have.

The sex was fantastic, to say the least. We fucked on just about every flat surface on the residential floors. Steve caught us once, although I am almost hundred percent sure Tony staged it all on purpose. The good Captain didn't even blush, instead just silently closed the door behind him as I stared in his face, gripping Tony's head with my thighs.

The weather grew dreary yet both of my parents still stayed out of New York. Mother went back to Canada and dad continued his never-ending party on the West Coast, conquering California and living his best life. My house was dark and cold, and I started hanging around the tower more often than ever. If I wasn't with Tony, I was busy catching up Wanda and Bucky on pop culture, teaching Thor how to bake cakes and doing other meaningless, domestic stuff. The Avengers tower bustled with life at all hours and there always was someone...

I never felt lonely. It was such an unusual experience. Comfort and reassurance was always one room away. Be it Thor with his gratuitous amount of physical affection or his brother's incredibly witty, dark humor, I never had to stay one-on-one with my thoughts for too long.

Personally witnessing Bruce's coming out of his shell was the highlight of my life, no lie. I was so used to the quiet, mousy Banner that my brain refused to acknowledge his amazing sense of humour at first; I wasn't sure if he was joking or ... Or what? Truth to be told, Brucie-bear was as snarky as Tony,Loki and Stephen. The sorcerer had started visiting more often too, under the guise of tutoring Wanda, but all of us saw the way he lingered in the communal areas after their study time came to an end.

If loneliness was a sickness then the tower's inhabitants and frequent visitors were beginning their recovery journey.

"Have you guys heard about Cards Against Humanity?" I asked one evening once the movie credits began rolling. Wanda was squished into my side with her legs in her brother's lap; Clint laying atop both siblings like the trash bag that he was. And I meant it fondly.

On the other side of me, I had Bucky and Loki, who had begun to discuss their respective collections of sharp and pointy things once they deemed the movie lacked action. Legally Blonde and action, did they really think..? Nevermind.

"Yes, and if you're offering, the answer is yes," Clint mumbled, reaching for his second pack of Cheetos.

We gathered in a circle as I brought the shoebox that had the original deck plus a couple of expansions. This was beginning to look interesting. "So, I have the special Avengers edition right there..."

"Say no more," Clint even abandoned his snacks. "But I'mma put on the episode of Lucifer I missed. Multitasking," He winked, wrestling the remote from Pietro. We waited patiently as they finished the obligatory round of horsing before settling down for the game.

I explained the rules of the game, choosing to disregard Loki's scoffing and Wanda's doubt about the quality of the humor in the game. We played a few rounds with me explaining some of the deeper pop culture references. At a point where all of us were engrossed, laughing and poking fun at each other, more of the Avengers parked themselves on the couch.

Stephen, Tony and Bruce evidently had been sciencing, all three men having had their safety goggles perched forgotten atop their heads. Sam, Natasha and Steve - probably sparring. All three of them brought the smell of soap and laundry detergent to the room. All of the newcomers observed us with mild interest, periodically glance at the TV.

It was Wanda's turn to be the card Czar. I had to take a moment to finish my last giggling fit.

"Okay, the white card goes..." She paused dramatically. "I never truly understood blank until I encountered blank." With that, she poked the timer app on her phone. The sixty second countdown began.

I did a quick inventory check. Then I snorted. I had to quickly stuff two knuckles in my mouth, biting down, to attempt to silence the hysterical fit of laughter I was on the brink of. Loki was definitely going to stab me but the opportunity was too good to pass. No fear, we die like men.

"Ooh, she's got something," Clint teased, having noticed my shaking shoulders.

The timer beeped. Naturally, Loki went first. He wore a mildly disgusted smirk. "I never truly understood parting the red sea until I encountered third base," The trickster caved and began chuckling.

Somewhere behind me, Sam and Tony began cackling while Stephen and Steve groaned loudly in mild distaste.

"Press F to pay respects," Pietro clapped Loki on the shoulder with a sympathetic chuff. "I raise you - I never truly understood licking things to claim as your own until I encountered the clitoris," The young avenger struggled through laughter, followed by everyone else this time.

"That's a keeper, ladies," Sam's rich baritone quipped.

I laughed along, inwardly preparing for the inevitable. "Yikes," I whispered, side-eyeing Loki. "I never truly understood daddy issues..." I trailed off, hearing Bucky and Steve beginning to tease Tony. "... Until I encountered Loki, the trickster God."

The room drowned in a sea of laughter, Tony and Clint busting a gut so hard they fell over. Said trickster God was less than amused, however, glaring in my direction with the force of a pissed off bee swarm.

"Ow, that's cold, Princess, that's just cold," Clint squeezed out.

"Loki," I abandoned my stack of cards, crawling over Pietro and Bucky on all fours, settling prettily on my knees in front of Loki. Making my very best puppy eyes. "I love you, with all my cold black heart. And you're technically the patron saint of fun and shit, so that means you must approve of this very clever joke," I pouted, batting my eyelashes.

"Baby girl, I think you're laying it on too thick," Tony gasped, slumping on the couch, holding his sides. Everyone kept laughing, now at my feeble attempt at placating the upset Loki.

Who, by the way, looked a bit spooked. Subtly but surely, the raven-haired Asgardian leaned away from me.

"Don't be mad, I'm too cute to be mad at," I finally snorted, pat-pat-patting him on the shoulder. "It's okay, you can join my club. We have hot old dudes and cookies."

That broke it. First, the corner of his mouth twitched. Then, Loki looked away. I saw the storm before it crashed; with a weird noise of his own and his cheeks puffed out, Loki joined in on the shit-fest, howling full volume and doubling over. I followed suit, until all of us were writhing around on the floor. We'd stop and then someone would make another remark and it would go into another round again.

"Menace," Loki scoffed at me, smiling. "And for the record, the hottest old dude, as you put it, would be me." That said, he went back to calmly waiting for his next turn. "I'm about a thousand years old."

"Thor's older," Bruce noted thoughtfully.

Loki scoffed. "That man cannot chew with his mouth shut. If that's considered attractive, I'm leaving this forsaken planet."

That struck a thought within me. One that was brewing a long time, to be honest. "Thor is the god of himbos," I said with the same tone as "Eureka!".

"Shit, you're right," Sam exclaimed, following with another, weaker fit of laughter meanwhile Bruce had to be the one explaining the term to the poor, poor, clueless members of the Avengers.

I need to find a way to award them some kind of points for learning the gen-z lingo. "Patrick" stars maybe, since they lived under a fucking rock?

"Princess, never a boring day with you around. You don't half-ass this shit," Tony's warmth reached me as he shuffled around on the couch, sitting directly behind me. I leaned my back against his legs.

"I'm not a clown," I shot back. Tony stiffened. Dramatically flailing my hand I announced: "I am the whole god-damn circus!"

As the game progressed, we found out that Clint was That Guy - meaning, the dude every CAH group had, the one who grossly overused the "Bees?!" card and made Star Wars references whenever humanly possible. The only even slightly funny joke was about a lightsaber up the ass, in the end all of us finding out that Bucky knew a little too much about modern sex toys - "Hey, I saw one on Amazon, I'll send you the link, Birdman" - to Steve's open-mouthed horror.

What Loki lacked in references he made up in wit. The play on "During sex, I like to think about genetically engineered supersoldiers" had Bucky scrambling to switch places with Wanda whilst Loki himself was attempting to shoot bedroom eyes at Steve. It was a mess.

Bucky's own play had Steve abandon all pretense at being in any way appropriate as he struggled for air. "The Avengers new rules prohibit using Mjölnir as a dildo." Me and Tony became somewhat of a messy guffawing octopus of limbs for a moment after the super-soldier said it.

"Don't. Tell. Thor!" Strange gritted out, hiding his laughter behind a palm, uncharacteristically having lost his stuffy attitude. By god's will the man was attractive when he smiled.

As time ticked, each one of the starting players had attracted a newcomer. There weren't enough cards for everyone to play (Tony had, of course, ordered additional ones but they wouldn't arrive until the next day) so people kind of whispered and pointed at what they thought would fit.

Natasha conspired with Wanda, Sam went to his bird-bro, Bruce was forcefully dragged by Bucky to his side. Surprisingly, Steve teamed up with Loki which made Pietro stick his nose up in the air and promptly declare he needed no backup.

I already had Tony on my side. The genius wasn't of much help, however, he simply annoyed me out of my skull by randomly giggling and making immature jokes. It should've alarmed me that Stephen was eager to join me and Tony - usually he just butted heads with anyone who had any opinion whatsoever.

I was left bewildered upon discovering the wizard liked drama as much as the Kardashian clan and was quite competitive at causing the most shit.

My clown crown felt threatened.

"This one," Tony poked at a card in my hand.

"If you think that's funny, your intellect is obviously overestimated." Stephen dismissively waved a hand. "This one," It was unmistakable whom the trembling finger belonged to. It pointed at a card on the other side.

"Wizards are just hilarious," Tony seeped sarcasm.

"Try me, Beyonce," Stephen murmured darkly.

That was just background noise to me. I had all my undivided attention on the TV, my last two functioning brain cells focused on the scene unfolding right in front of me. The Lucifer episode, the devil and his insatiable thirst for honey. The timer buzzed but I was still drawn towards Tom Ellis dipping two of his fingers first in the honeypot, then in his mouth, all the while looking like a damn snack himself. Illegal. I've never simped so hard for a fictional character.

A golden glow snatched a card out of my grasp, levitating it.

"Girl, what the hell?" Wanda saw my face and attempted to revert me back to earth. "Someone turn off the TV, there's not enough water in the tower to quench her thirst."

"Hey, did you two just - don't ignore me!" Tony whined, managing to tug on my hair and attempt to reach for the card now held in Stephen's grasp, simultaneously.

"I don't blame her," Clint mused. "That right there is one very fine dude."

I shook my head, clearing any untoward thoughts. Focus. "First of all, Bird, you're a dude. That there," I pointed up at the TV. "Is a man. A Man." I emphasised, getting a jealous poke in the back from Tony. "Second of all..." I turned towards Stephen. "The quaffle, the snitch and the AUDACITY OF THIS BITCH!" The last of my sentence was pitched. The sorcerer had raised his arm, clutching the card, and I struggled to reach it.

"What... What did you just say?" Stephen was laughing, not at all phased by me climbing him like a tree to take hold of what's mine. Tony was actively helping - or, trying to. One-handed. The other hand attempted to snatch the rest of the cards from my grasp.

"And that's an F on teamwork," Bucky's sarcasm was complemented by Steve's famous Captain America Is Disappointed In You look.

"Uhh... Guys? What's going on?" Peter's timid voice leaked confusion.

"Hello, friends," Thor boomed, drowning out the boy's questioning noises.

"We're playing a game. Cards Against Humanity."

Wordlessly, Peter towed Thor along with him to find a spot amongst us. And even if Thor didn't get any of the references, he still was good fun. His laugh was infectious. The way he cheered for every winner was incredibly wholesome. Golden space puppy. The urge to immediately pet Thor and give him endless pop-tarts was strong in me.

Loki was one dramatic, vengeful bitch. "Women get turned on by the Devil himself"? I was ready to throw hands with the trickster. Everybody's laughter drowned out any cursing I might or might have not directed towards Loki who looked far too satisfied with himself. I was going to substitute the sugar for his tea with salt one day, mark my words.

I wouldn't admit it over my dead body, but the way he got back at me for the daddy issues joke was kinda funny. Okay, very funny. It was fucking hilarious. I admire a clever man.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #avengers team x reader fluff

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yodawgiherd · 3 years

Text

Love

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Rating: T

Setting: Canon, chapter 138

I got the idea for a story the moment I saw the leaks, and because of how wrecked 138 made me, I stayed up and wrote this instead of sleeping. What if Love was truly the main point of the story? What if Love could change the cruelness of the world? What if...

The explosion roused Eren from the strange hibernation he was in just in time to see the colossal teeth crumble. A figure jumped through, blade in hand, obviously going in for the kill. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

And as Mikasa’s blade cut through his spine, as the world went black, Eren was completely at peace.

Until something coarse and rough scratched his skin. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was back in the paths, lying on his back. He stood up, shaking the sand away from his clothes and looking around. Ymir was there, watching him with her judging eyes, but Eren was no longer intimidated by that. He was dead, what fear did he have of gods?

Crossing the distance, he approached the child.

“I’m sorry kiddo, I did my best.”, dropping to one knee, Eren ruffled Ymir’s hair playfully, “But I couldn’t destroy the world. They stopped me.”

The little girl stomped her foot.

“You planned this since the start!”, she accused him, “You knew that they would kill you in the end!”

“I didn’t know.”, Eren countered, “I hoped.”

Ymir fell silent after that, pouting. Eren stood up, looking over the endless sands of the Paths, over the pulsating crystal tree in the middle. It was a beautiful place.

“Why did you send her the vision?”, Ymir spoke from behind him, “The Ackerman girl. Why show her what was not real?”

“It was my parting gift. Mikasa had to know how I really felt about her, I couldn’t let her think that I hated her.”

“What was that emotion you felt when you looked at her, the one that made your heart beat faster?”, Ymir pressed on, “What was the thing you two shared?”

Gazing into the endless Paths, Eren’s lips curved into a sad smile.

“Love. It was love.”

The girl’s breath hitched.

“Love is beautiful.”

“It sure is, even if it's as short-lived as ours was.”, Eren sighed, running a hand over his face, “There are so many things I would like to do with her that I’ll never get to. So many memories we will never create together. It hurts, but the pain is delicious in its own way.”

Ymir was silent, so Eren continued.

“I just wish that she will learn to let me go. That she will experience this with someone else, now that I’m gone. I don’t want her to keep loving a ghost.”

“A ghost?”

“I am consciousness trapped in the Paths. Is there a better way to call myself?”, his fists clenched, “I’m dead. I tried to destroy the world and failed. I fought against everyone and got killed for it. It’s time for me to fade away and be nothing but a memory.”

He turned to Ymir, extending his arm towards her.

“You don’t have to keep me around anymore, founder, you have no use for me. Release me.”

“No.”

Eren blinked a few times.

“Why?”

This time, Ymir met his gaze with her own.

“Because I’m jealous.”

“You are a god, what can you be jealous of?”

Ymir’s hands tightened on the handle of her bucket.

“I never got to experience love.”

“I’m sorry...”

The little girl sniffled, drying her eyes.

“When I saw what you two have, I never felt so lonely in my life. I want it too, I want to share that wonderful feeling with someone, I want to love and be loved back….”

Overwhelmed by the raw emotion in her voice, Eren hugged her, feeling the tiny body shake with sobs in his hands. Not sure what to say, Eren did what he had often done in the past and used the words that always gave him strength in the darkest moments.

“The woman I loved, Mikasa Ackerman, had a saying – “the world is cruel but beautiful”. It’s the beauty that you must look for, not the cruelty. Because if you don’t, there is no point in going on.”

Ymir thought about his words for a moment, while the time stood still.

“Eren?”, she spoke up from his shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want this.”

“What do you mean?”

“This world, this cruelty, I don’t want it to exist. I don’t want to be unloved for eternity.”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”, he confessed, but Ymir was shaking her head.

“I can.”

“Ymir, we tried to…”

She didn’t let him finish.

“I don’t want to destroy the world anymore. I want to remake it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My power comes from the titans, and now there are so many in the outside world….”, she took a shuddering breath, “So many people transformed, I’m stronger than I ever was.”

Looking over her shoulder, Eren could see the crystal tree, shining brighter and brighter with every pulse.

“You realize it now?”, Ymir asked, “The lights in the tree, they are….”

“Souls.”, Eren finished for her, “Souls of the Eldians.”

“Exactly. Now when that strange being transformed every single Eldian into a titan, it’s crackling with power. In its last effort to save itself, it gave me the strength to do what I want.”

Eren shouldn’t be scared. He was dead, there was nothing Ymir could do to him. So what was the cold feeling creeping up his spine?

Of course. He didn’t fear for himself, there was no point in that. He feared for those who survived. He feared for Armin, for Levi, and most importantly….

He feared for Mikasa.

“And what is the thing that you want to do?”, he asked the goddess in his arms cautiously.

“Erase this world and all its cruelty, take the souls and create a new one, one where we can all be free.”

“Will they remember it?”

“No. Well, the Ackermans will, in some way or form, I can’t influence them as much.”

“I see.”

“I will do it on one condition though.”, Ymir said, pulling back so their eyes could meet.

Taking a step back away from his kneeling form, the goddess extended her open hand, strange light gathering in her palm.

“Eren Yeager, when I create this new world for us, will you show me what love is?”

New world. New chance. New life with her. To have that, Eren would strike any bargain. He nodded.

“I swear.”

Ymir smiled. And closed her fist.

The crystal tree behind them exploded into million pieces, and the wave of energy that ran through him was the last thing Eren felt, his thoughts filled with a certain raven-haired girl.

When the reality began to disintegrate around Mikasa, she didn’t even question it anymore. When her own body started to unravel, she kept her gaze trained at Eren’s head in her hands, a faint smile pulling at her lips.

“See you later, Eren.”

“Okay, I can see the head. Push, missis Yeager, push!”

“Oh god, Grisha I hate you so much!”

“I’m so sorry dear, but please listen to the good doctor.”

“Deep breaths, deep breaths, almost there….”

The room was filled with cries of a newborn.

“Congratulations, you have a son!”

Carla took the tiny bundle from the doctor’s arms, breathing heavily. She was met with an intense stare of green eyes and a red face, angry at everything. He was adorable.

“Hello Eren.”, she said, gently rocking him, “Welcome to the world.”

“This was a bad idea.”

“Dude, we are in college now, we can’t just sit at our dorm all day.”

“Please, tell me that you wouldn’t prefer having your nose in a book right now.”

“You are the one to talk! When was the last time you even spoke to a girl, you studying tryhard.”

Eren sighed.

“Being a doctor doesn’t come from nothing, Ar.”

“I know, I know,”, Armin calmed him, “But you really should find a girlfriend. I’m not sure I can survive any more of Jean’s jokes aimed at your repressed homosexuality.”

“And I told you, like a thousand times, that I’m not interested in dating. I just…”

Holding a red cup identical to his own, a visage walked into the room. With midnight hair pulled into two braids at the top, dark shirt and skirt and a multitude of necklaces around her neck, she was obviously nervous, slanted grey eyes darting around the room, absent-mindedly turning the rings around her fingers. Eren took her in, all of her, from the tips of her boots and over her black tights to the top, to where the piercings glimmered in her ears. He took her in, and he realized that girls are an incredible species, especially the goth ones.

“Dude,” Armin tore him for his trance, “You’re staring.”

“She’s so beautiful…”

“Who?”, his friend followed his gaze, frowning, “The strangely dressed Asian?”

He just nodded. Talking was hard when the girl was occupying all of his brainpower. The little irritated twitch of her nose, the way she took a sip from the cup and grimaced, that was Eren’s whole world.

“Jolly good.”, Armin nudged him, “Now go talk to her.”

“Me? Are you insane? No way dude, no, why would such a beauty be ever interested in me? Me and her? Nah, but you’re crazy man, that could never work.”

“Fine.”, with a resolute move, Armin finished his drink, “I’ll do it myself.”

And he was gone, walking towards the girl. He said something, she said something back, and then the traitor was pointing at Eren who did his best to shrink behind the cup in his hand. The girl smiled, reached up to smooth some strands behind her ear and Eren felt like he could die from how flawless that move was. Oh god, she’s moving. She’s moving towards him. He should… He should….

“Hello, your friend said that you wanted to talk to me.”

Heavens above, even her voice was attractive. With brain fried, Eren extended his hand mechanically in a way of greeting.

“Hi, I’m Eren.”

She took it, the edges of her rings gently scratching at his skin.

“Mikasa.”

And he was lost.

“Eren! She’s kicking again!”

“Now?”, there was a tumble from the bathroom and then he was here, face half-shaved, “Let me feel.”

Mikasa took his hand, placing it on her round belly. True enough, there was a kick soon after, making him grin like an idiot.

“Do I have to work today? I want to stay here and feel Ymir’s kicking.”

Mikasa looked up with a raised eyebrows, smoothing her bangs away from her eyes.

“Ymir?”

“Huh?”

“You just called our baby Ymir.”

“I…. I guess I did?”

“Eren, there’s already a girl called Ymir. You know, the tall freckled one from your work, dates the cute little blonde Krista? Ring any bells?”

“Please Miki, I know who that demon is woman’s body is. But I…”, he rolled the name around in his head, “I still like it. The name that is, not the old Ymir, she’s a natural disaster in human form.”

“Ymir…” Mikasa was the one thinking now, her hand rubbing her belly.

“Ymir.”, Eren agreed, putting his hand over hers.

“Fine.”, she said, looking down, “Hello there, your name is Ymir now. Are you going to kick your daddy again?”

She did.

“Mikasa, you have to push!”

“I don’t want to! Eren said that he will be here! I..”, her back arched in pain, teeth gritting, “The bastard!”

“I know.”, Ymir’s eyes were calm above the surgical mask, “But I can see the head already, you have to push the girl out.”

“Eren!”, Mikasa screamed in pure desperation, “I swear that I’ll kill you!”

The door cracked, letting a disheveled figure in. It immediately crossed the room to stand at Mikasa’s side, taking her hand.

“I’m so sorry.”, he whispered to her, “I got here as fast as I could.”

“Okay Miks, Eren is here, so it’s time to push.”, Ymir cut in, “Come one, deep breaths, and let’s go.”

And Mikasa pushed and tightened her hold on Eren’s hand. With a scream, the baby fell into Ymir’s waiting arms, while a certain crack could be heard.

Ymir Ackerman-Yeager came into the world at the exact moment when her mother broke two of her father’s fingers.

“Look, Krista, she’s eating me.”

“We are supposed to watch over the baby, not feed it body parts.”

Ymir just giggled like crazy, watching as little Ymir chewed on her fingers with toothless gums. Soon she was joined by her wife, who sat down on the couch next to them, a faint smile on her lips.

“She’s a tiny monster.”, the freckled girl said, “Mark my words.”

“Well, if she has the strength of her mother combined with the recklessness of her father, we might be in for a treat.”

“Yes and…” whatever Ymir wanted to say got interrupted, as she quickly pulled her fingers out of the baby’s mouth, staring at the bloody line.

Uhm... I think that she has her first tooth.”

“Oh babe,”, Krista was trying and failing at holding her laughter in, “You want some ice on that?”

“I told you, she’s a monster. Eating her own auntie.”

“She’s a toddler!”

“Won’t be one forever though.”

Leaning close to the baby, Ymir dropped her voice in a whisper.

“You and me? We are going to rock this world.”

“Uncle Armin?”

“Yes, Ymir?”

“Why am I sleeping here tonight?”

“What, you don’t like it here?”

“I do! I was just wondering…”, the little girl looked up from the picture she was creating, “Why tonight?”

“Well, you see…”, Armin scratched the back of his head, looking for an answer that was NOT the truth. Ymir was way too young for that.

“Your parents just want to be alone for a while.”

“Why?”

“To have some time for one another.”

“Why?”

“Because they love each other very much.”

“Oh, and they don’t love me?”

“Of course they do! What I’m trying to say is…”

“Please, this is embarrassing.”, Annie appeared from the bathroom, toweling her hair, “You see Ymir, your parents left you with us because they want to spend the whole night fuc-“

“Fun! They want to have fun!”, Armin interjected, spearing Annie with his blue eyes.

“Fun?”, Ymir repeated, “I want to have fun too…”

“But they are going to have adult fun. Like these boring movies that you don’t like, or some of my books that have no pictures.”

“Ah. Okay.”, successfully fooled, Ymir picked up the crayon and almost went back to painting. But then Annie did what she does best, and completely wrecked the situation.

“Ha, the only book that they would be reading tonight is Kamasutra.”, she nudged Armin with her elbow, who groaned and hid his face, “Although they probably have it memorized at this point.”

Still laughing, his wife disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Armin alone with Ymir. And everything was fine for a moment, the little girl was coloring the strange crystal tree that she drew, but then the crayon was on the table and her eyes were once again meeting Armin’s.

“Uncle Armin, what’s Kamasutra?”

Even after seeing the ultrasound pictures, Ymir had a hard time believing it.

“There’s my brother in here?”, she asked for like a thousand time, touching Mikasa’s belly, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, we are quite sure.”, Eren said, running his fingers through his wife’s long raven hair.

“And how did he get there?”

“With love.”, Mikasa answered, gently smiling, “Lots of love.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it.”, Eren snickered behind her, making her frown at him.

Ymir ignored that, still staring at her mother’s smooth skin.

“Mommy? Did you also make me with love?”

“Of course.”

“And do you still love me?”

“Ymir, you are our daughter.”, Eren spoke, reaching over to pat her head, “Daddy and mommy love you more than anything.”

She could feel it. She could feel the warmth, spreading from them both and into her entire being. They loved each other so much, it was like standing near the sun. But they loved her too, so magically, loved her in a way that Ymir was never loved in.

Closing her eyes, the little girl splayed her fingers on the warm skin of her mother.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

A long, shuddering exhale, one that Ymir was holding in since….

Since forever

“Love is beautiful.”

#eremika #snk #ch138 #fanfic

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duhragonball · 3 years

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Battle Tendency Liveblog: JJBA Ch. 83-87

Last time, the Red Stone of Aja got mailed out to the bad guys, so Joseph and Caesar have gone to shake down the Venice Post Office. Notably, Joseph wears a hat and coat similar to the one he’s rocking in Part 3.

Turns out, the package is already on its way to St. Moritz, Switzerland. Messina knows this because... okay, try to follow this. So Esidisi hijacked Suzie Q’s body to mail the Stone. So she probably wasn’t even aware of what she was being forced to do, but Lisa Lisa used Ripple Hypnosis on her to retrieve the address. You’d think she would have told the boys about this ability before they ran over to the post office, but maybe they left before she could say anything.

Meanwhile, this dog’s about to get run over, but this is Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, so what else is new. Araki’s hatred for comic book dogs is the stuff of legend.

OR IS IT? Yeah, take a good long look, because this is the only time Araki saves a dog in JJBA. Apparently, Kars is a sucker for innocent plants and animals, go figure.

I don’t know what else to tell you, except Battle Tendency = Best JoJo Part.

As for Joseph, he and the others go to Switzerland, only to get held up by Nazis at the border. Turns out, their mysterious commander knows all about the Red Stone of Aja, the Pillar Men, and Joseph and Caesar’s Ripple training. That guy who tried to rob Lisa Lisa a while back? He was a Nazi spy the whole time. So now they have the Stone, and they want to cooperate with Joseph’s group. Lisa goes along with it, because it’s better than letting Kars find the stone.

For some reason, Araki pauses to discuss Nazi Germany a bit, except he has all these historical events from March and September of 1939. I’m not entirely clear on the chronology of Part 2, except that the final battle with Kars takes place in February of 1939, so none of these things have happened yet.

But the point still stands. Hitler wants Nazi Germany to rise above mankind, just as Kars seeks his own kind of supremacy. And like Kars, the Nazis are interested in the Red Stone of Aja as a possible path to greater power.

Everybody spends the night at some Swiss inn, until Kars shows up and uses his hyper-senses to detect how many men are in their room. Then he slashes through the wall with that blade he sprouts out of his forearm, killing them all with one attack.

Except for their commander, who has the Stone. Kars is confused, because he sensed the number and location of everyone in the room, but somehow he missed this last guy, because he’s got no body heat.

And Joseph barges in just in time to find out that this dude is Stroheim, the Nazi officer who blew himself up to stop Santana. Somehow he’s alive, and also a cyborg, which is why Kars couldn’t detect him.

Kars only wants two things: To capture the Aja Stone, and to kill Joseph Joestar. He says that he can’t afford to spare a Ripple User powerful enough to slay Esidisi, but Joseph wonders if Kars is motivated by a desire to avenge his comrade, rather than any sort of cold tactics. Wammu had called dibs on fighting Jojo, but he’s in Greece at the moment, and Kars is in no mood to wait.

But Stroheim insists on tackling Kars himself, as his cyborg body was specifically designed using the information gleaned from studying Santana. He’s strong enough to rip out pieces of Kars’ flesh, and he’s armed with a big-ass machine gun. He tells Joseph not to pity him, because he’s proud to become this living tribute to German technology.

What I want to know is: How did Stroheim survive Mexico without Joseph knowing about it? He was there when that grenade went off, after all. Maybe Stroheim landed some distance away, where Joseph wouldn’t have thought to look for him. But how did Stroheim’s men find him?

Anyway, Kars is not impressed, and he cuts Stroheim in half with his “light mode”, which is just the blades in his arms. They seem to glow, but it’s actually just reflected light from the complex patterns in the blades. From the sidelines, Joseph is unnerved by Kars’ ability, because he doubts that he could block or avoid those blades, even with the full power of his Hamon energy.

As for Stroheim, he had no idea that Kars could do anything like this. I don’t know, are arm-blades really that big a deal? Wammu’s powers seem a lot cooler, and Esidisi’s “flame mode” looks pretty scary, even if it only melts stuff. Still, it’s enough to beat Stroheim. Kars mocks him for thinking that he and Santana were on the same level. Kars considered Santanta a “novice”, like a “weak puppy.” That’s an interesting choice of words, since we just saw Kars save the life of a weak puppy earilier. Maybe that same pity was the only reason Kars kept Santana around in the first place. As dangerous as Santana was, Kars considers him utterly useless.

He even refers to Santana as “it.” Maybe that’s just a mistake in this scanlation, but I dunno. He’d probably use “it” to refer to that puppy he saved too. And maybe this contempt explains why Kars refers to him as “Santana”, the name Stroheim gave the guy. I always wondered why Kars didn’t use Santana’s real name, but maybe Santana never had one.

But Stroheim’s not done just yet. He has a UV beam built into his eyepiece, which stuns Kars long enough to make him drop the stone, and then it slides over a cliff.

Joseph and Kars race after it, but Kars is faster, because he doesn’t have to worry about slowing down before he goes over the edge. He can survive the fall, while Joseph can’t. So Kars figures that Joseph will try to kick him, and Joseph does throw a kick... at the snow, to distract Kars long enough for Joseph to get the Stone back.

But Kars has blades in his legs too, and he uses one to snag Joseph and pull him over the edge of the cliff. Joseph manages to use Hamon to grab hold of some icicles to stop his fall, but he still has to deal with Kars’ unstoppable blades, and his relentlessness. Joseph’s whole deal is that he outsmarts his opponents by exploiting their inattentiveness. But Kars is laser focused on getting the Aja Stone, so it’s almost impossible to catch him off-guard.

So Joseph uses that tenacity against him by holding up the Stone in the path of Kars’ attacks. Kars wants to kill Joseph, but he doesn’t dare use his blades near the Stone. Remember, Kars’ plan requires that specific Aja Stone because it’s the only one big enough and flawless enough to power his “Ultimate Life Form” mask. If he damages the Stone, it won’t be suitable for his needs. Knowing this, Joseph kicks him down the rest of the way, while he heads back up a “rope” made of Ripple-connected icicles.

Said icicles were provided by Caesar, who expected Joseph to try something like this, because he’s already learned that Joseph thinks in terms of ropes and strings. Stroheim is astonished by their flawless teamwork.

Below, Kars goes out of his way to adjust his fall so as not to crush a flower. He laughs at this latest setback, because he’s just that impressed with Joseph’s resourcefulness. Then he withdraws to try again another day.

This whole arc surprised me when I watched the anime, because it seemed like Kars would be the final boss of Battle Tendency, but here he was fighting Joseph early. And it wasn’t exactly an all-out fight. They had a little footrace and Joseph used the Aja Stone to keep Kars at bay, but not much more than that. Considering all the crazy stuff we saw from Esidisi, you’d think Kars would be much more dangerous.

But that’s just it. Esidisi was extremely formidable, and Joseph destroyed him with his Hamon training. Kars lost 33% of his team in a single stroke. All he has left is Wammu, who’s in Greece at the moment. He simply can’t afford to take on Joseph in this situation, so he doesn’t try anything too crazy. Both of them know his blades are powerful enough to get the job done, so he used them, but when they stopped being effective, he ran out of cards to play, so he left. It’s not that Kars is weak, it’s just that Joseph’s gotten so much stronger. So this fight feels like a much milder affair than the battles with the other Pillar Men so far, even though Kars is supposed to be the best one.

And this is something else I really love about Part 2. There’s only five villains to deal with: Straizo, Santana, Eisidisi, Wammu, and Kars. That’s it, so it makes things pretty easy to keep up with, and it leaves room for Wammu and Kars to fight multiple times.

Compare this with Part 3, where the Stardust Crusaders have to fight through a gauntlet of evil Stand Users as they make their way to Egypt. I think I counted 26 bad guys in Part 3? Somewhere in that neighborhood. And I love Part 3, don’t get me wrong, but if Dio only had ten henchmen instead of two dozen, would it really hurt the story?

This was something that really bugged me about Parts 4 and 5. Would La Squadra Esecuzioni’s role in Vento Aureo be any different if they only had five guys instead of seven? And what was the deal with that dude who lived in the transmission tower? Most of the “villains” in Part 4 were just randos who just fought with the good guys for no particular reason.

With Part 2, you don’t have any of that. Five villains, and three of them only get to fight once. That means every fight has to count, and every fight has to move the story along. Kars isn’t going to just show up to be sociable. He saw an opening to achieve his goal, and he went for it, only to discover his enemies were better prepared than he expected. Now, he’ll have to wait for Wammu...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #battle tendency #joseph joestar #caesar zeppeli #kars #rudol von stroheim #lisa lisa #messina #suzie q

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roxa-sos · 4 years

Text

hurts to see you hurt - jj maybank

jj maybank x pogue!reader

tw; abuse, violence, sad jj :(

request; “can u do one..well I kinda like sad fics ...so y/n is new to the pogues and she goes to jjs house so he can teach her to surf, he doesn’t know she is coming and when she gets there she meets his dad. He is horrible to her and she freezes, all this time not knowing what jj went through, she manages to escape without jj noticing she was ever there. The next day she tries to get jj yo tell her what’s going on without him knowing she knows, as always he wants to stay strong and he denies anything, he has a crush on you and you haven’t expressed that you like him so he wants to stay cool in your eyes. You tell john b what his dad did to you and he helps you tell jj. Jj denies anything but then you pull him into a hug and he breaks down”

a/n -- can i be the ceo of only writing about jj? i literally have a john b fic i need to publish but i only have motivation for this bOy-

you’d finally found your people. the pogues. you just... you fit in with them. of course, you fit in in every way other than that you sucked at surfing.

jj had told you to meet him at his dad’s place. outside, next to the road. he’d told you that he had boards and enough surfing knowledge to keep you alive and getting better at surfing, so you agreed to meet him.

you agreed to meet that chaotic, blond ball of sunshine that was now one of your best friends.

he was nice - really nice, really nice to you. of course, he was nice to all of the pogues, and he might’ve just been hazing you in some weird pogue way, but he’d sort of been looking out for you for a while. you appreciated that from him. you liked being... noticed like that.

he deserved a little surprise from you, you figured you’d meet him inside his house. you were early, and a little wake up call would be kind of nice. at least, you figured. you made your way from the dirt road up to the house, going to knock on the door. you could meet his dad - that was a plus too.

his dad had to be some sort of saint to be putting up with someone as crazy as jj. but jj had decent morals, he was polite, selfless - it’d be a pleasure to meet his dad. jj probably perfectly mirrored him.

though, that wasn’t the type of man you were met by at the door.

“who the hell’re you supposed to be?” he stank of alcohol through the screen door. his voice was gruff, and he looked angry. if you looked at him a certain way, you thought he looked kind of like jj.

the man exited the house, meeting you outside rather than letting you in. that was strange, but you figured it was because you hadn’t introduced yourself yet.

something just felt off though.

“hey, sir, uh, i’m y/n. i’m a friend of jj’s.” you introduced yourself, giving him a sweet smile. the kind you used on jj himself when you first met him.

“damn kid, he invited you over here? got you prancing around following him?” the man chuckled, which made you take a step back. talking to him was like talking to some sort of psycho that liked kicking puppies.

you didn’t speak, you didn’t know what to say. you didn’t feel like you were supposed to meet him at all. this was a mistake.

“i-” you began, trying to keep the man cool.

“no, no, i don’t want to fucking hear it. take it up with your fuckin’ friends. you hear me?” he was practically screaming, getting his face all in yours.

he smelled like he hadn’t taken a damn shower in weeks. he was obviously drunk, but who got drunk at nine in the morning?

you didn’t have the courage to take another step back, even though your whole body was screaming at you to run.

“get off of my damn property!” he spat, raising his hand in a fist.

that was when you got the burst of adrenaline that let you pivot on your heel, barely feeling the gush of air that came from his fist barely grazing your head. you booked it down the driveway, down the road, and you ran until you couldn’t anymore. he didn’t follow you - you didn’t expect him to unless he was a real psychopath.

what you did hear, though, was more screaming coming from that man.

and it could only be directed at one person, because you knew jj’s mom wasn’t around.

-----

the next night, hanging out in john b’s yard, you couldn’t get the image from the morning before out of your head. god, it was terrifying. jj was in the hammock, a few feet away from you, john b, kie, and pope. you got up from where you were sitting, eyes still on the boy. he was throwing rocks at tree branches, he was distant. he was like that sometimes - you just hadn’t realized until then.

nobody questioned you moving, nobody questioned you walking over to the hammock.

you sank down into it across from jj, one of your legs hanging off of the side of it.

“what’s up?” he was quick to ask you what you were doing over there, not looking away from the tree he was throwing rocks at.

you two had already had the awkward conversation as to why you hadn’t been outside of his house the morning before. you said you slept in late and missed it, no big deal. he even thought it was kind of funny, which was a plus in your mind.

“nothing, nothing.” you brushed off the thoughts in your head, trying to figure out how to talk to him now that you... knew things. “how’s living with your dad?” you asked, quickly making the question seem nonchalant. “ ‘cause i’m trying to figure out who’s couch i can crash on tonight. get a change of pace from john b’s place, but my house is chaotic.”

“oh, it’s fine. my dad’s a mess, you don’t want to sleep there. i’ll be here tonight anyways.” his eyes met yours for a second when you mentioned his dad, and he’d looked worried. he obviously didn’t want to talk about it, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

you didn’t know why, but you needed to know what was going on.

“i’m sure it isn’t that bad.” you cringed at your own words, because where you were replying to him saying his dad was messy, you knew his dad was mean. and you couldn’t bring yourself to say that his dad’s abuse wasn’t ‘that bad’.

“okay, he’s a little more than messy, but he’s loud, so you don’t want to meet him.” jj had run out of rocks to throw, but he still wouldn’t make eye contact with you. he was almost facing away.

“loud? like he... yells at you?” you poked more, leaning over to try to get him to look at you. that caught his attention, and he moved his head so that he could see you. and you looked concerned, and he hated it.

“no, no. he’s fine. it’s fine, you just shouldn’t be around him.” jj didn’t want to talk about it. “and it doesn’t matter. it’s fine.”

“okay, the more you say ‘it’s fine’ makes me think it’s worse-”

“y/n. it’s no big deal, alright?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “my dad’s fine. he’s annoying.”

jj wanted to pull you into a hug or something and tell you you were being dumb, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. it was too close. so instead, he got out of the hammock, patting your shoulder before he began to head back towards the rest of your friends.

later that night, jj lingered out on the porch as you and the other pogues began heading inside. you pulled john b to the side once you were sure jj couldn’t hear you, and john b was a little confused at first.

“need something?” he asked, a beer in his hand. he had that staple john b smile on his face, it gave him that occasional himbo energy.

“yeah, uh,” your gaze skimmed over the room as you tried to figure out how to say what you were going to say to john b. “i was at jj’s house yesterday. and... i met his dad. it wasn’t for long, but his dad almost hit me, john b.”

he stayed silent, trying to figure out what you were saying. none of the pogues had gotten too close to jj’s dad, a good chunk of them knew better.

“does,” you were breathing a little heavily, fidgeting with your fingers, “does jj’s dad hit him?” you asked, a pleading look in your eyes.

john b avoided the question, going back to what you said first. “he hit you?”

“almost.” you corrected, raising your hands a bit as if to show that you were fine.

“jesus, y/n...” john b leaned back a bit, trying to see if jj was still on his porch. and he was. “come on.” he abandoned his beer on the table, leading you across the room to the door.

you followed, unsure of what was coming next. you could hear your heartbeat, and you were afraid of what john b was going to say.

“jj,” john b sounded remorseful, and while those two had known each other since elementary school, you didn’t recall a time when john b sounded sorry for jj.

“yeah dude?” jj turned to face john b, looking a little concerned when he saw you by his side.

“y/n met your dad, dude. yesterday morning.” john b didn’t explain anything other than that, giving him a look you couldn’t read before jj’s jaw set and his eyes moved to the ground.

jj’s dad had gotten mad at him for some reason the morning before, that was something you didn’t yet know. the moment john b said that you’d met his dad, he knew you met the dad that jj himself knew.

“no, no, it’s no big deal, right? we’re all fine.” jj sounded frustrated, angry with himself. “i’m fine. we’re all fine. it’s-”

you didn’t give him a chance to continue lying to you. you adored the boy, it hurt to see him hurt.

you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and laying your head on his shoulder. for some reason, you expected him to pull away. he didn’t. he stayed there, lightly shaking as he choked back what sounded like sobs. his arms gently wrapped around you, his hands gripping your shirt as he tried to keep from crying.

he buried his head into the crook of your neck, shuddering. it sounded like he was trying to say something, but you already knew.

you shushed him softly, swaying back and forth ever so slightly. “it’s not fine, is it?” you mumbled, and he could only nod.

“but i’m here, j,” you continued, your hand at the back of his neck, stroking his hair. “and you should talk to me. or let things out.” you reassured him, trying to convince him to not keep this shit bottled up.

“i love you. stop hurting alone.” you laughed weakly, one of your own tears streaming down your cheek.

it hurt to see him hurt.

a/n -- aowindefoalwonreionkolnm adosndoklfamdv literally??? i’m screaming bc best friend john b and soft jj and AOIEndoeDOKLLNVL okay anyways i loved writing this and it made me cry lmao :’) hope u enjoyed

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evening-starlight · 3 years

Text

Chances {Chapter Eleven}

I lied, this is the longest chapter. They just keep getting longer ya’ll

Master List

Comfortable, Not Easy

Word Count: 2010

I spent the next two weeks avoiding everyone and everything thing, especially after I slipped and invited Jared over. Not my proudest moment. Robbie dropped by a couple of times to coax me out of bed, but it didn't work. I felt dirty, used, and stupid. I called Jared after he assaulted me in front of my house like a whore and let him stay over for nine days.

It wasn't necessarily comfortable being with Jared for nine days, but it was familiar. I knew what to expect from waking up to going to bed. Tom was texting to check in as well, and I ignored every sweet text he sent me. I couldn't face the fact that he was there, waiting for me to recoup while I was living with my ex again.

Robbie finally kicked Jared out on day ten for me. I told him about the kisses and how horrible I felt letting Jared stay on day nine. Jared was gone before I woke up, and Robbie was trying to pull me out of bed. Literally.

Robbie pulls on my ankle repeatedly, trying to loosen my hold on the headboard. "Come," pull. "On." He pulls again. "You can't stay locked in your room because you've made a mistake, Stella." He scolds, sitting next to my feet. I grunt in response. "I swear to all things LA, I will make Stevie do a house call." I moan louder, pulling a pillow over my head. The space next to me dips down, and Robbie throws an arm over me.

Whenever I'm in a lousy mood, Robbie's first response is forceful eviction of my room followed by snuggles. If either won't work, he calls Stevie. In our ten years of friendship, he's gotten to know me inside and out. He's my closest friend and my most relied-on confidant. He knows more about me than anyone else in the world. He knows the darkest places in my head and knows how to help me navigate them better than myself. He was the only one who was there during my entire marriage and divorce. Hell, he was my bro of honor.

I turn to lay on his chest, curling in to feel his warmth and wrapping my arms around him so tight I thought he'd turn purple. I never, ever, want to lose him. "I hate seeing you like this, Stell." He mumbles. "You're so hard on yourself. I know it's easy with Jared; you guys have a routine. He's easy, and Tom is hard. I understand why you did what you did." The sobs rip out of me in violent bursts. I hate how well he knows me some days, especially when he says things I know I need to hear.

He remains quiet as I sob, rubbing my head and holding me tight. He's the rock in my twisted life, and I'd be lost without him. Robbie makes me feel seen, heard, and appreciated even after my undesirable days.

When the sobs turn into small whimpers, Robbie continues, "I think you need to talk to Tom; he's genuinely worried for you. He's dropped by the studio to ask about you. God, you should have seen him, Stella. He's a fucking god. Don't even get me started on those eyes dude, they're so blue." I can't help but laugh at Robbie's fanboying. "They hold so many emotions I didn't know they could do that. He looked so worried and concerned. He really cares about you."

"I know he does." I manage. "I just don't want to bring him into this fucked up life I've created for myself. He deserves so much better." Robbie sits up quickly, grabbing my face to look at him. His eyebrows are pulled together, and his face is set in a stern look. His father look.

"You deserve better, Stella Thompson. You deserve a man like Tom. You deserve Jesus himself for all I care. You need someone who will treat you ten times better than Jared ever could. Someone who loves and cherishes you as you are, broken, sharp pieces and all." Robbie runs a thumb over the new tears leaking. "You are the most beautiful person I have ever met, Stella. You care so deeply about people that you let them continue to be in your life even after they've fucked you over a dozen times. Stella, you deserve to start over with someone like Tom."

I swear to God, the universe was listening to us because, as if divine intervention stepped in, my phone begins to buzz on the nightstand. Robbie reaches to hang up before going over the name again. "Here. Talk to him. I'll make you some food." With that, Robbie leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

With a grounding breath, I answer the phone with a meek hello. "Oh, thank heavens you're okay." Tom breaths out a sigh of relief on the other side of the phone. "I was beginning to worry. More. Worry more than I already was."

"I'm sorry I scared you," I mumble. "And I'm sorry I've been MIA for so long. It's been a really rough two weeks after everything happened, and I tend to shut down when things get hard." I admit, brushing my mangled hair out of my face.

"I understand, Love. We all have bad habits. I was worried I had pushed too hard, and you were ghosting me. I was actually going to call and tell you I would give you some space if you hadn't picked up. I can still give you space if that's what you'd like?"

"No," I answer quickly. "No, please. I really like having you in my life, and I love the way you make me feel. But I have to tell you that Jared spent the week with me. It doesn't mean anything. He's just..." I pause, trying to find the right words to make my asshole move sound less assholey.

"Easy. You're used to him. I understand that, Love." I take in a shaky breath. "I appreciate you telling me. Is there anything I can do to help with your rut?"

"Can you come over sometime today? I could kinda use a hug from you." Fucking crying making my defenses turn to mush. It always makes me a ball of emotions and fussy needs.

"I'd be delighted to. Would you like me to bring some lunch?"

"No, Robbie is here making me some. You called at the perfect time, actually. We were talking about you. Everything good, though. Nothing bad." I reiterate quickly. Tom chuckles on the other end.

"Well, I was just thinking about you and hoping you were at least alive."

"The heart's still ticking, so the body is alive," I joke. "Brain could use a jumpstart, though."

"I'll be over in about ten if that's alright with you?" I confirm with him and hang up. Pulling myself out of bed for the first time in fourteen days, I make my way to the kitchen.

Robbie stands over the stove, cursing and shaking his left hand. "Burned yourself again?" I ask. If you'd lose a year off your life every time you got burnt, Robbie would have died at age five.

"Fuck off." He mumbles, going back to the grilled cheese he's making. "How'd the call go? It seemed pretty short." I nod as I sit on a barstool.

"Fine, he's coming over in a few minutes." It hits me. Tom Hiddleston is coming over to my depression pit of a house after I've had two weeks of nonstop crying and zero hygiene. "Fuck, I need to shower." I curse, rushing to the bathroom. A quick shower will help everything. Hopefully.

Robbie pokes his head into the bathroom as I wrap my towel around me. "Tom's here. I'm going to keep him company while you get changed." He states before winking and shutting the door again. I don't feel like I have the energy to put on any form of makeup to cover up how deathly ill I look, nor the power to care what I look like besides the clean part. The shower did seem to wash away the residual guilt and shame I felt about everything. Though it didn't clean off everything.

After changing into some comfortable clothes, I make my way into the living room, where Robbie is watching Tom talk with nothing less than homosexual love in his face. "Robbie, out," I demand, catching both boys' attention. He leaves after a quick goodbye and non-discrete wink.

Tom walks over to meet me behind the couch, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're doing better," He mumbles into my hair. "I've been worried." We stand like that for a few minutes before my stomach growls loud enough for him to hear. "Here, Robbie left your food on the table." Tom leads me to the couch and sits next to me, our legs touching.

"Thank you for being so understanding, Tom. I know I'm pretty fucked, and I really appreciate you being understanding of it all." He smiles as I take a bite of the grilled cheese. Robbie should be made grilled cheese God the way it melts in my mouth.

"Of course, Love. We are all pretty fucked when we think about it. I haven't felt this way in quite some time. I know I can be a bit pushy, but I really enjoy your company," Tom says, sending those all-too-familiar shivers down my spine. "We can take things as slowly as you'd like. We can stay friends if that's what you need to heal as well." I shake my head while finishing a bite.

"I don't want just friends, Tom. You make me feel like a better version of me. Less dark and gloomy." The anxiety of actually communicating and talking about feelings causes my knee to bounce. Jared never let me talk so candidly, and I'm afraid I might overstep. "Can I be honest?" Tom nods quickly. "I have absolutely no idea how to communicate in a not toxic way.

"My whole life, it's been demonstrated that yelling and cursing is the only way to get across what I'm feeling. What I do know is that I like who I am when I'm around you, and I don't want that feeling to ever stop." Tom presses a kiss on my forehead.

"Then let us work it out together. I like who I am when I'm with you as well." The absolute zoo that took residence in my stomach could wipe out the entire human population. Tom motherfucking Hiddleston likes being with me. "Bloody hell, I fancy you, Stella."

Tom chuckles as I start to choke on my own breath. He reaches for the Caprisun set out and hands it to me. Tom likes me. He like likes me. Tom Hiddleston. Who would have guessed my damaged ass would land someone like him.

For years after my breakup with Jared, I thought all I deserved was heartbreak and pieces of shit men. Maybe I could really turn my life around here. Turn it into something wonderful and perfect. Something made just for me.

"I, uh, I fancy you too, Tom," I admit after controlling my breathing. His smile in this exact moment will stay with me forever. No ill-meaning behind it, wide and bright, and absolutely dazzling. Tom was as close to perfect as one man could get.

The kiss. The kiss that followed behind our confessions was just as magical, if not more magical, than the first. Only this time, there was no Jared to ruin it. It was just Tom, me, and the ugly off-white sofa I stole from Jared when I moved out.

How do you even end a chapter after that? Like, I impressed myself with that shit. We still own that couch too. It's where our little love story started, truly. I mean, no, we didn't go exclusive at that moment, but it's where it began.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #i got 99 problems and tom hiddleston could fix everyone of them #jared leto #Jared Leto imagine #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #love #romance #fanfiction #fanfic #Original content #original character #oc #og #Chances #fiction

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Text

heard your name in every love song {Ben Hardy} 2

2. well that was many years ago, how would you see me now I've grown up (given up my video games)

Summary: When you’re fifteen, and your former babysitter’s on TV in one of the UK’s most successful soap operas, and is still decidedly hot, all you can remember is the advice he’d given you, and how he’d let you win when playing videogames.

A/N: 2780 words. ben’s not in this one persay, but we gotta set up y/n as this badass actress, ya know? y/n’s mother is mentioned but that’s it in terms of family. also i dub thee a theater kid. congratulations.

the mutant brotherhood: @daisy-lu @hervoidparadise @nedmjpeter @ultrunning @d-r-e-a-m-catchme @clementimee @that-fandom-sucks-tho @cjand10 @rest-is-detail @baileymae @rosesvioletshardy @onceuponadetectivedemigod @hazelstyles94 @bitchylittleredhead @bihemian-rhapsody @sweatyexpertgardenpanda @whereeverythingisbetter @dedxbed @xxencagedxx @glittrixvibe @a-girl-with-stress @sunflower-ben @pxroxide-prinxcesss @mrsmazzello @cubedtriangle @haileymorelikestupid @misscharlottelee @nevilles-insinuations @jovialcreatorkidtoad @brianmaysclog @sambuckywarrior @hey-yo-bedussey @bubblyanis @lifesciencesbois @elektraofcrete @diosanaz @bbdoyouloveme @kirstansworld @okilover02 @cardboardbenmazzello @dreashappyworld @juliarose21 @simonedk @greycuby @emmasunshiine @dinotje @qtrogerina @spiketacus @nympha-door-a @local-troubled-writer @emphatic-af @wh0a-thisisheavy @lustgardn @banginashton

When you’re fifteen, you have your first kiss on stage with a boy named Andrew; he’s a year older than you, has been in more shows than you, and has a boyfriend, Jamie, though they both seem entirely endeared by you. You buy each other flowers on opening night, after becoming fast friends in rehearsals.

It’s your first lead role on stage, though you’ve been in a few commercials in past year, and had callbacks for a bit part in two different TV shows that ended up going to someone else. Since expressing interest in pursuing acting as a career, your parents had been nothing but supportive, their only stipulation that you still need to finish high school. So between school and auditions and rehearsals, you don’t have much time for crushes; sure there’s a boy in the ensemble, who you’re pretty sure is named Ashton, with fluffy blonde hair, and eyes that look green at the right angle, but he also lives off of Monster energy drink. He may be pretty, but he’s got the personality of a damp rock.

But he’s not your first kiss, Andrew is.

“You know Ashton’s got three braincells in total, right?” Andrew’s laying on the floor of your dressing room, makeup done, costume half on, watching in the mirror as you apply your foundation, “what do you see in him?”

“Him-” you started, but Andrew groaned loudly.

“Himbos need to respect women, Y/N, Ashton is not a himbo,” though at his exasperation, you can’t help but be amused.

“He’s pretty,” is all you can manage in your own defence, wearing a sheepish little smile, and Andrew wrinkles his nose. His phone goes off and he checks the message.

“Jamie’s almost here,” he told you with a slight smile, and you two share a fond smile. Jamie comes baring iced drinks and you both praise him as your lord and saviour.

“Do you think Ashton’s cute?” Andrew asks as he’s eating the whipped cream from the top of his iced coffee.

“Is this a test?” Jamie replies, wearing the slightest frown, but Andrew shakes his head.

“Y/N thinks he’s cute, even though he’s always three beats behind -”

“Whether or not he can dance doesn’t effect how he looks!” You argued, and Andrew raised his nose in the air defiantly.

“It does to me,” but then he’s grinning, turning to gaze to Jamie, who’s deliberating and swirling his peach iced tea with a faintly fond smile.

“The blonde one playing the jock?”

“That’s him,” Andrew confirms, and Jamie hums.

“He looks like acid wash jeans.”

A confused silence follows.

“What does that mean?” You frown, but as Andrew considers it, he comes to agree, “okay, but do you think he’s cute?”

“He’s perfectly conventionally attractive,” Jamie finally settles on, “but not my type.” And he gives Andrew a coy smile, knocking their shoulders together, they’re painfully endearing, but Jamie’s brought up a thought that you hadn’t wanted to consider.

When had your type become pretty, blonde boys?

Your answer comes less than three days later, on closing night, your mother’s watching TV before she drives you to the theatre. It’s Eastenders, a soap opera you know from your mother’s fanaticism with it, aware only of it’s longevity and it’s sometimes outlandish moments.

“Y/N, come in here a moment,” you mother calls, “they’ve recast Peter.”

“You know I don’t know who that is,” you tell her with gentle exasperation, but obligingly join her in the living room.

“What was the name of your old babysitter?” You mother’s squinting at the screen, watching a pretty blonde boy you think you recognise talking to a girl who you’re pretty sure is one of the leads.

“Maddy?”

“No, the boy who helped out when Maddy wasn’t available,” and you follow your mother’s gaze to the television, heart beating in your throat as you realise why she’s asking.

“Ben -?” You say, as if you haven’t committed his name to your memory.

“Ben!” She announces with a clap, getting to her feet with enthusiasm, “doesn’t the new Peter look remarkably like him?” She asked, getting as close to the TV as possible, looking a little eerie in it’s glow.

“I think that is him,” you say, throat going dry, and your mother goes quiet.

“No,” she says softly with a frown, “you think so? Really?” And you’re already pulling out your phone and checking IMDB.

“Ben Hardy,” you confirmed with a nod, trying not to let it show how much this information had left you shaken.

“But -” your mother turns to you, “he’s Keith and Ange’s kid; Hardy? That’s not...?”

“I dunno, mum, maybe he changed his name, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same person.”

“He was always such a lovely kid,” she mused, “you used to love spending time with him,” she sighed wistfully, and you contemplate how long it would take you to just walk to the theater, which you’d much prefer to having to listen to your mother waxing poetic about how successful your first crush had become. But you decide it’s not worth it, and thankfully she doesn’t mention it much in the car.

“Andy I’m in distress,” you bemoan your costar the moment you step into hair and makeup that night. Andrew struggles not to smile as the makeup assistant is applying his contour.

“What’s wrong?” He asks after she steps back, and you spin in your chair to face him while the head of the makeup team was collecting everything she’d need for your look.

“I know why I like Ashton,” you admitted, and Andrew raised an eyebrow in silent question. The makeup assistant paused, giving a playful ‘ooh’ to the announcement. As the leads, the pair of you had been called early to make sure you were all ready for the show before the rush of ensemble members were getting into hair and makeup, so you were the only two cast members around, and felt safe discussing this so openly. The crew were old enough to know not to gossip with the cast.

“So it turns out my type is just this one dude who used to babysit me back when I was like, twelve,” you grumble, and turn back to face the mirror at the makeup artist’s insistence.

“And what made you realize this?” Andrew prompted diligently.

“Because I saw him on TV,” you sighed, closing your eyes as your makeup routine began. But there was silence all around, and someone cleared their throat awkwardly.

“Like on the news?” The makeup assistant asked tentatively.

“No, like on Eastenders,” you sighed; they weren’t quite sure if you were joking or not, “he went to my high school, graduated like two years ago.”

“Seriously?!” Andrew marveled, and you confirmed with a heavy sigh, “so why are you distressed?”

“Because I was perfectly happy forgetting about my stupid, twelve-year-old crush on him, but now he’s on my mum’s favourite soap,” and you groaned in defeat, “which I’m now probably going to get invested in; it’s like a celebrity crush but worse.” You paused, “Andy, he let me win at videogames and gave me acting advice; I still think about him sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Andrew agreed, “I don’t usually know my celebrity crushes personally,” it was clear he was both trying to be supportive, and trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“It’s going to kill me,” you said with an air of resignation.

“What’s his name?”

“Ben Hardy,” there was a pause after your words, and the telltale noise of typing on a phone, and then Andrew made a noise of approval.

“He’s mad fit.”

“I know,” you agreed with a whine, to which your costar snorted a laugh.

“You’ll be okay, I promise,” he assured, and clicked his phone off, settling back in his chair as his hat for the show was brought over and pinned in place, “and I can see why you fancy Ashton now.”

“Ashton doesn’t hold a candle to Ben- damn you Eastenders!” You moaned, playing up your distress for the amusement of the others in the room, which you appreciated, but it’s all you said on the topic for the night, though it barely leaves your mind when you’re not on stage.

At the afterparty, you learn that Ashton kisses with too much tongue, and tastes like grape vape, but he compliments your performance in the show and in the moment, that’s all you really care about. It’s a thoroughly underwhelming experience all in all, but it also manages to feel something like a cathartic release.

You come to a realization, several days later, that you’d never thought you’d have; it’s incredibly difficult to watch Eastenders online, legally or illegally it doesn’t matter, because the legal site costs money which you don’t want to spend, and no-one’s put up the entire series illegally. You can find episodes here and there, but they are one-offs from anywhere between 2005 and now, and no-one’s got the newest episodes anyways.

There’s barely an Eastenders fandom online, a thought you’d never imagine having before now, and so you just end up watching it nightly with you mother, when you can. Except as life gets busier and you’re rehearsing for plays and musicals and eventually, shows, and eventually you’re studying for your GSCEs, and you don’t have time for a soap opera you’re only partially invested in.

You get your big break in the Summer before your A-levels when you score a part in Snowpiercer, so you spend several weeks in Prague, and you’re sharing scenes with Captain Fucking America Chris Evans, and Jamie Bell, and Octavia Spencer –

Oh, you realize faintly as you’re getting your makeup done for the day, I’m becoming someone.

You’re at a critical juncture in your life, in your career, one you’re afraid you haven’t earned your way to, especially not so fast. You have two options; step on the breaks and let someone else get the roles and the life you want, or you can commit to the bit, to the life and reputation you’re building for yourself.

Fall back or follow through.

Snowpiercer earns you the title of One to Watch, and by late 2014, you’re halfway through your final school year, you’ve studios asking you to audition left and right. In the brief Winter break between terms, you’re called in to audition for a project for Sony, but they couldn’t tell you which. You knew it was a superhero movie, but that’s all.

A month later, only a few days into 2015, you wake up to three missed calls from your agent, thousands of Twitter notifications, approximately twenty texts from your friends. Downstairs, your mother was making breakfast and humming along to the radio, which she only did when she was in a fantastic mood.

It takes all your self control to not look at social media, and instead call your agent back.

He’s got two words for you.

“X-Men Apocalypse.”

You scream.

Next, of course, comes Twitter, which is a mix of supportive and unsurprisingly derisive. Your casting is polarizing, mainly because you haven’t been in a lot of films, and a majority of your work had been in theater; you look the part, but people are skeptical of your talent.

Speaking of the part, you’ll be playing Cassidy Temple, also known as Riot Control, who it turns out is a villain. Not the main villain, they’ve got Oscar Isaac playing Apocalypse himself, and holy shit, you’re going to be working with Oscar Isaac, but apparently you’re the second of the Horsemen to be announced.

Riot Control was a villain from an arc of the same name back in the late 90s, though she’d appeared earlier in Apocalypse’s first comic arc under the name Crowd Control, most notable for being the original Pestilence Horseman, who had a relationship with Archangel, the then-Horseman of Death. After Apocalypse’s death, she retained the power he’d imbued her with, and went on to be the first mutant to fuse with a symbiote, Riot, which is how she’d earned the name Riot Control, and ended up killing Havok; it took the whole X-Men team to take her down, and only then thanks to Jean Grey.

You’d never considered yourself playing a villain, but you couldn’t help but be a little thrilled at the prospect. Looking at images of Cassidy, you can’t help but be a little shocked as to how much she looked like you, right down to the shape of her eyes; the resemblance was uncanny.

At least ten of the twenty texts you’d received from your friends were from Jamie and Andrew, cheering for you and already planning a party. A few friends from school were asking if the announcement was really about you, followed by a ton of excited emojis, and Merissa had left the sweetest voice message, telling you how proud she was of you.

This was big. This was talking with your mother about dropping out of school right before your A-levels, this was talking with Sony about hiring a tutor so you could finish your schooling on-set, this was updating your passport and visa and realizing you’re not just a little kid, playing pretend on stage anymore.

Over the next few days, you’re in meetings with your agent and executives from Sony and Marvel, signing contracts, and attending the kind of blow out party Jamie and Andrew had planned.

“Don’t forget us when you’re all famous,” Jamie, a little tipsy and sentimental, clings to you in the early hours of the morning during the party as it’s winding down, and you’re both half-watching X-Men Origins: Wolverine in the living room of his and Andrew’s little flat.

“I won’t,” you assure him, hugging him tightly back, “I promise.” And he makes a hum of contentment, before announcing that the movie was stupid. It was, but you kind of liked it.

“Jam, don’t hog her!” Merissa announced from the door, and Jamie stuck his tongue out at her; it was a small blessing that your friends from your varying friend groups had managed to get along so well. Merissa crowded you from the other side, squeezing beside you on the sofa and leaning against you, her nose against your cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you guys,” you say into the warm silence of the early hours, and Merissa kisses your cheek in an unspoken ‘we’re gonna miss you too’.

“Nah,” Jamie mused, “you’ll be off partying with your cool famous costar friends –“

“You gotta tell me what it’s like to hang out with Sansa Stark!” Merissa enthused, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said, as if it were common knowledge, “they announced Sophie Turner was going to be playing a young Phoenix right around the time they announced you,” he paused, frowning, “did you not –“

“I read it, but I never… I didn’t put two and two together.” You admitted, and the news has you reeling.

A few moments later, Andrew comes in from the kitchen to remind Jamie that he has work in the morning, and Jamie tells him that he’ll only go to bed if Andrew takes his place hugging you until the movie’s over. Andrew’s smile widens.

“I think I can manage that,” he agrees, and Jamie stands with a yawn, giving Andrew a kiss before instructing him to not let go. You settle in between Andrew and Merissa, and once the movie’s over, Merissa’s asleep on your shoulder, and Andrew murmurs that he can drive you home if you want. The sun’s almost coming up.

“Can you put on Days of Future Past again?” You ask quietly, sheepish and hopeful in equal measure, and Andrew agrees, and gets you a glass of water, and a blanket. When prompted, Merissa wakes enough so that she can shift on the surprisingly spacious sofa, happy enough to cuddle against you when Andrew tucks the blanket around you both.

“Can’t wait until I’m putting on your DVD –“

“I gave you a copy of Snowpiercer,” you told him, and his expression goes soft.

“True,” he agrees, “but I’ve got a good feeling about this next one,” and you think you know what he means. This is big.

“You’re gonna do great, Y/N, you always do.”

Just over a month later, after your contract had been finalized and you were sent the most up-to-date version of the script, you awoke again to a ton of Twitter notifications, and a single text from Andrew.

The text simply read [👀👀👀] and had a link to a Variety article entitled ‘Ben Hardy joins the cast of Apocalypse’.

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfiction #ben hardy fanfic #queen #borhap #borhap cast #borhap cast imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody cast #bohemian rhapsody cast imagine #xmen apocalypse #xma #the angry lizard writes

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

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Motion Sickness Chapter 7 Snippet

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I’d like to say that I’d been perfectly on guard and ready for the attack. I mean, I‘d told Ruby how the bandits were doing what they were doing. Setting lures and manipulating the Grimm. We hadn’t been subtle either, though.

Ruby playing ping-pong in the sky didn’t detract at all from our presence. She literally flew around, and we’d made no attempt to hide our attempt to save the village. We couldn’t. That made us obvious targets.

All that aside my semblance glows in the dark, and I’d been consciously trying to activate it while riding. We were just taking a mellow pace to try and get back to civilization, so I wasn’t doing much more than steering and thinking.

It suddenly worked and I just sort of lit up in the dark. Georgia jerked Ruby awake before I could do anything. “Huh- whats-“

My semblance is anti-stealth. If camouflage could collide with something and destroy itself and become pure energy, it would be my semblance.

She made out the blue blur that must have been me and woke up quick, “is something bad or good happening?”

“I-“

Then I got shot.

I was falling off the horse which was taking off someway. I was going to land flat on my back and my chest stung, too. The Titania plating was more than tough enough to take the bullet through my aura without fear of breaking, but not enough to not hurt.

Whoever fired had a friend that also tried to shoot Ruby, but she just burst into petals with a flare of aura and took cover behind a tree. Georgia, pre-spooked, may or may not have taken off in the direction of Indiana.

I’m not sure. My head cracked against a rock hard; hard enough to concuss or kill a normal person, even. I just rolled with it and found a tree to hide behind. I swept my sword from my back and stood with the sword tip down and my body hidden behind the tree.

“Are you hurt?” She wondered. “It wasn’t high power, or MA based.”

I shook my head. Twelve percent. Maybe ten, based on the discomfort. I peeked my blind and the tree lost a lot of itself in a small explosion of wood. I might have lost a few percent, too. If I wanted to use my semblance, then I’d need to use it before the power faded. Peeking out into the dark again, I saw nothing, however.

“How fast did your semblance activate that time?” She wondered. I guess we were the only ones in danger, so she felt confident enough to chat.

I shook my head. “I think I can charge it.”

“Oh, really? That’s useful.”

“Huh?” I was checking my chest to make sure I really was all good. Sometimes Aura was hard to believe. I glanced over.

“Oh, I just thought you were trying to keep me asleep again?”

“In a gunfight?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Ready?” She was waiting on my mark. Poised with Crescent Rose ready to snap into place.

I folded my weapon, slipping my left arm into the shield and drawing the sword free. I swept out from cover with Ruby, perfectly synchronized. Humans and animals usually responded to audible stimuli faster than visual ones, even still I didn’t say anything as I leapt out of cover. Ruby was in perfect harmony with me regardless and she was already prepared to use me as cover to fire out.

We gazed out into the dark in a shower of petals and I held my sword up to extend a soft blue glow. We received no fire and perceived no targets in the dark trees. Therefore...

We were already mid ambush on this position.

I whipped around in time to be thoroughly jabbed at by three quick stabs of a small and fast dagger. The girl behind it wore a simple tunic and dark olive skin with some visible even darker tattoos.

She slashed at me and I stepped back, trying to make some space. I heard Ruby call out behind me, likely engaging my opponent's friend.

I leveraged my shield between us, but she jumped off it and backflipped above me. I watched the eighteen-centimeter blade in her hands fold inwards like a fan or accordion. She let it roll across her fingers like she was reversing a butterfly knife and its form became that of a jagged pistol.

She shot me twice more as she twirled over me. A confident grin like she'd killed a thousand idiots like me roaring on her face, which may be the case.

I turned around, grabbed Crocea Mors with both hands over my head and whipped it at her. It caught her at the pinnacle of her leap in the center of the blade and it slammed her into the ground nearly ten meters away.

It was immensely satisfying to watch a deep green crackle come over her. It was hard to fake that. I'd done something to another hunter.

I didn't get to soak it in, because it became clear why Ruby was being kept busy while I was keeping up. We were outnumbered.

Ruby shouted out again, something very helpful that I couldn't interpret without our connection. With it, I was able to spin around and meet the butt of a spear. The man behind it knocked me back and reversed the weapon.

It was shorter than the longest reach of Crescent Rose. He was also shorter than me by nearly ten centimeters. Maybe more. He was also at least ninety pounds lighter and much less broad across.

I was able to avoid his attack but all it did was force me back into the range of the girl with the green aura in purple. Her light blonde hair was held back into a tight ponytail. To keep it out of her eyes, I imagine.

She had the glow to her that all people with aura had that made them stand out. The hue of her eyes. The shine of the hair. How she backflipped and kicked me in the face before burying her blade at my collar bone.

It bounced off my aura and armor and I heard Ruby call out and the last opponent, a girl in mostly white and brown with pale skin and red hair, flew by. She slammed into a tree next to me hard enough to shake it.

She slumped down with blue aura pouring over her and she lay without moving.

The dude turned around only to eat lead from Ruby's gunfire before she was on him. The purple girl shouted the dude's name and I dashed towards her while she was distracted. I got my shield between us before she could rip any more of my aura out.

She tried to regain her advantage, but it was already lost. She rushed me but I'd had practice with similar ranges of weapons with Ren and even some other people back at Beacon not worth mentioning.

I was ready for her to go low and I predicted her movement with my shield. I slammed it into her face. I took my sword in both hands once she was air-born and lashed out in two hits. The first one knocking her up, the next bashing her out with both hands. I ended it with a shout.

She landed on her back and pushed herself away from me. I watched her land back next to her friend with black hair.

I glanced back. Ruby was dancing circles around the poor guy, out-speeding and out-ranging him. Slowly picking his aura off in large tan chunks.

I rolled my wrist with my weapon over the one with my shield and the two clicked together into the massive broadsword. I pointed it down at the two girls. The girl with the purple tattoos didn't get the memo and was fumbling for her friend’s sword but she only looked up to meet the lowered business end of Crocea Mors.

I clicked my tongue. She met my eyes and must have known I wasn't kidding because after just a moment of consideration, she dropped it.

"Jaune!" I whipped around. Ruby's enemy had left the fight. He abandoned it and ran straight at me, some desperate jailbreak but…

I stepped forward and swung. My semblance… I didn't realize I'd gained it.

"Don't-" Ruby finished her eyes wide.

I stepped threw him and across the other side. I turned around.

I watched as the boy fell apart.

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Killing someone was something new for me. The cold Titania edge glided through first aura then muscle and bone as I swung in a tremendous cross slash. I stumbled with it. I expected to meet resistance, instead I just went through.

I imagined it was cold. I couldn't feel it beyond the padded wrapped handle. The cold night air was constantly drawing warmth from my fingers like a giant heat sink. I actually felt that lessen, as the weapon moved through him. I had so much time to think.

I stumbled through the falling puddle of person. The spine and ribs were splintered and crushed. His upper body rolled around trembling in the gravelly mud and soft grass. His legs twitched behind me on the ground while he shuddered and gasped one horrific choking last.

I was hardly looking at him, I was staring at Ruby and she was gaping down at the body. I flinched, feeling scorched just being so close to the target of her dread. The sheer frost against my soul wilted me in a way that not even my mother's harshest glares could. I wanted to destroy it, but I was the source of it. The cold was me. I turned back to his compatriots.

I knew far better than to underestimate them. Unarmed or not. Woman or man. I'd gotten my ass kicked before.

They panicked when I stepped towards them, which was expected. Big dude, bloody sword, evidently homicidal. Yep.

I took two steps and halted at the sight of the terror on their faces. My emotions were ablaze, roaring in my chest, but my mind was stunned and muted.

Ruby was beside me in a scattering of petals, her hand on my chest. A gentle crimson touch. Her lips were tight but her eyebrows were wide. Bright eyes pleading with me, something desperate in them.

My indignancy over their reaction faded slightly, I mean, they did shoot me. My face, I realized, was twisted into something awful. My skull roared in a way I wasn't super comfortable with, clashing with the feeling of victory I deserved and the rush in veins. My heartbeat hammered in my ears for a terrible moment and I thought the sum of it all would drive me mad if I wasn't already.

My indignancy didn't fade entirely.

Ruby's gaze was so full of concern that I could barely hold myself together. I swept a hand through my hair, rubbing the whole of my face hard. The motion broke our eye contact and I felt her recede in the direction of our prisoners.

How dare Ruby empathize with a dog like me, honestly? As though something like her could empathize with something like me. The sheer audacity brimming in those eyes made me want to lash out, but against what?

I always meant to kill them; whoever was responsible, that is, but I hadn't wanted to get my hands dirty for real. It was inevitable upon retrospect. I'd need to kill again, too. Probably here soon. That wasn't really what scared me.

I… wanted to, too.

Ruby would understand what had just happened. Any sane person would. However, even the gore and the trauma of shredding a mortal coil with my own two hands didn't actually shrink my rage towards Cinder one iota.

I wanted to do it again.

I wanted to guide Crocea Mors through Cinder Fall's body. I wanted to watch her life fade. I wanted to feel it in my hands when I unwound her. I was hungry for it in a way that kept me up at night with an empty stomach.

That desire to make someone end felt gross. As gross as any of the bodies I had seen or… or made myself, I guess.

The sight of the guy with his staff was far, far easier than having to gaze at Ruby again. If I really felt so bad and gross, then why was I doing it anyway? How could I face her? Could I look at her and say this was an accident and then… then when I made my move, whatever that meant, what could I say?

I wanted to talk to her about it, too. I wanted to tell her how I felt. I wanted to tell her that every single day it ate me a little more.

Surely only she could save me, least I sink, though if she saw what I really was, would she still rescue me?

"Jaune," her soft voice returned me. "Jaune, I need you." I woke up from my stupor.

Ruby and the music were waiting for me to face them. She was right. This was no time to lose focus. Who was to say this trio was alone? They almost certainly weren't.

I focused my disgust and self hatred on the problem at hand. I felt like an ocean that was as still as a lake.

"Look you have no idea who you just killed, alright." The girl with the dark tattoos began.

I blinked, "well yeah. You shot me in the dark."

Silence reigned.

"Well Khagan Branwen isn't the sort to forgive people killing her people."

"Branwen…" I murmured, absently, trying to think.

"What did you just say?" Ruby spun her scythe off her back. The edge, a razor to the waking girl's neck. "What was that name? Branwen who?"

"Branwen, Branwen." The girl insisted. "Raven Branwen."

Ruby's face twisted into something awful. Something like disgust filled her as her nose twisted and she glared downwards. She put a round in the chamber.

"Khagan?" Ruby wondered.

"Branwen as in…" I struggled. "Qrow Branwen?"

Skepticism turned sideways in the kneeling girl's eyes. They flicked from Ruby's weapon up at me. "You know the Khagan's brother?"

"I thought she was Khatun Branwen," Ruby refocused.

"No, not anymore, not since the black-out. Maybe before."

"Jaune, uh, a little pow-wow?"

I bent down and grabbed the bandit's pistol. Her eyes followed it, as I collapsed it and slid it into a belt. It was actually well-made. Not Ruby Rose(TM) quality but the way it folded couldn't be cheap.

We stepped back, I matched Ruby's distance away from the prisoner. "Aunt Branwen?" I wondered. She glanced behind me at the captive.

"No. Not Aunt Branwen. She was-ugh- I wanted to..." She squeezed her hands tight at her side. "She was Dad's first wife."

"Oh."

"She abandoned us after Yang was born. She went here and started a horde of bandits." She snarled. She just spat the words out.

"Um." I just blinked.

"What do I do Jaune?" She reached out and grabbed my shirt.

How in the fuck could I possibly know?

I opened my mouth and stopped. Ruby looked up at me. I felt the tip of something press against my head.

When I got off the ground my head was ringing. I wasn't in a lot of pain. Well scratch that. The inside of my head pounded like an entire xylophone being struck at once over and over.

The girl with the gun… her weapon had a twin.

I realized, dazed. It was a sort of black flash when it happened. The point blank shot immediately dropped my aura to red and activated my semblance at the same time. It threw me forward and made me splay against the ground.

I lost sight of Ruby as the force tossed me but I am fairly certain I heard her gun fire again accompanied by the girl's arm twice more. One final crack of Crescent Rose, then there was silence.

I picked myself off the dirt with a groan, but I pulled my weapon into my hands and stood up. "Ruby?" I whipped myself around. I blinked a few times fast. My vision wasn't clearing.

At all.

I rubbed the back of my head, that would leave a bruise. Right above the occipital lobe, too. I really liked that hemisphere, two.

Vague grey shapes I distinguished using aura rather than with any means of light. I felt beyond myself in the ways Ren had showed me. I wasn't one half as good as him. I barely made out colored blurs before me. Mostly red and fading green on the ground but… no distant blue?

I expected a distant blue by the vaguish tree, there was nothing, though. "Jaune? Are you alright?"

"That's a hard maybe?" I gave, squinting. "The prisoner?"

"She's alive. Probably stable." Ruby judged for me.

"The other girl?"

I felt as much as saw the blur turn around. "Gone. A semblance, maybe?"

I nodded. I watched my own power fade, my aura turned to its usual dull grey and yellow, the charge wilted. There was nothing to spend it on and so it left. It took my breath with it as my gauge fell to empty. I felt exhausted and swayed on my feet.

Ruby caught me. My vision completely going. "Ouch," I confessed. "The horses?"

"They'll find us, you goof." She shushed. "I'll set up camp and secure her. Rest for a bit, alright?" I didn't have much choice. My head in her lap and her fingers against my forehead and through my hair and in my scalp was like a narcotic. I couldn't even try.

She cooed, running my hair through her fingers as darkness descended over even those details my eyes made out. "I'm sorry Jaune." She whispered, hands cupping my cheek.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

If you're enjoying these snippets give my fanfic Motion Sickness a chance.

-WG

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #lancaster #ruby rose x jaune arc #motion sickness

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forestwater87 · 4 years

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Last year I finished all my @gwenvidweek prompts like a week ahead of time, and that's why they were really good and not rushed. That didn't happen this year, so if this ending seems like it was slapped together by a very tired bean who hasn't eaten dinner yet and it's almost bedtime, that's because it was. Be gentle.

(I like the title a lot, though.)

Gwenvid Week, Day 2: Exploring/First Aid

“Gwen! David! Look what I found!”

Gwen took a deep breath, forcing her caffeine-jittery nerves to relax. She emphatically did not want to look what Nerris had found, because whatever Nerris found was almost certainly going to mean work for them -- or her, really, since David had such a great talent for fucking off and leaving her with the hard jobs. She’d already unclogged a toilet, lectured the campers about what could and could not be flushed down a toilet, and she had a pile of bills to pay this afternoon, plus a spider had gotten crushed in the pages of her magazine and she couldn’t read about the Kardashians without staring at bug guts.

So, no. She was not in the mood to deal with anyone’s bullshit today.

David jogged past, catching her by the wrist and tugging her along. “Gwen, didn’t you hear Nerris? Let’s go check it out!”

Speak of the bullshit. She sighed and trudged along behind him, dragging her feet as much as she could without him noticing and giving her a speech about how a good attitude leads to good things. She loved her co-counselor, she really did, but her patience with him was pretty thin at the best of times, and today was not what she’d call the best of times.

Nerris led them to the far edge of the campgrounds, where the shore of Lake Lilac turned into algae-slimy boulders before seamlessly transitioning into dense forest. David opened his mouth, clearly gearing up to give her a stern lecture about safety and the buddy system, when she pointed at a dark spot in the brush. “I think it’th a cave,” she said, her voice hushed and awestruck, “but I can’t really tell.”

Part of her wanted to ask Nerris who cares about a stupid cave, but the part of her that’d been a camp counselor for half a decade knew it would take exactly two and a half seconds for Nikki to decide to explore this if she knew about it. “Thanks,” she said instead, giving Nerris an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Don’t tell the others about this, okay? We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Duh.” She rolled her eyes with an uncharacteristic amount of disdain. “None of them are a high enough level to explore a dungeon thith far from a checkpoint.”

Gwen looked to David for help, and he just shrugged. “Sure. Whatever. Thanks again.”

Once she was gone, David tugged a butterfly knife from his pocket -- it was a shimmery iridescent pink, of course -- and carefully stepped toward the cave, balancing carefully on the slick rocks dotting the sandy dirt.

She rolled her eyes. “What’re you gonna do with that, Crocodile Dundee? Give whatever’s living in there a paper cut?”

He turned to face her, pouting. “We need to take a look before we can block it off from the campers. If there are animals living in there --”

It didn’t look big enough for anything to live in there, as far as Gwen could tell. Just the perfect size for a dumbass camper. “Fine, take a look.”

The butterfly knife wasn’t equipped to deal with clearing brush, so she waited for almost ten minutes, watching a squirrel have an existential crisis and generally zoning out. Finally she heard David’s voice: “Oh! Gwen, this is . . . it’s a lot bigger than it seems.”

No way in hell was she going over to take a look, not when she’d just watched David battle his way through. “Neat.”

“I can’t see the end of it!” He emerged from the cave and picked his way back to her. His legs and arms were lined with tiny scratches, and the red pouf of his fringe was beginning to droop. “I think we need to get a better look.”

Oh, great. This was shaping up to be a whole big thing. “Come on, Daniel Boone,” she said with a sigh, turning to head back. “Let’s get you ready to go exploring.”

David couldn’t go alone, obviously. Even if he wasn’t the most accident-prone person on the planet, Gwen had co-taught enough Wilderness Survival camps to know that letting someone go off on their own was a terrible idea. And after his nightmarish experience getting lost in the woods last summer, she wasn’t happy to let him explore this cave at all, let alone by himself. No matter how fine he said he was -- or maybe especially because he insisted he was fine.

Mr. Campbell was the obvious choice, considering his experience, but he was still very much on probation, and if the Millers showed up for one of their surprise inspections before he got back, Gwen would be the one who’d have to explain to angry secret agents why their top prisoner had fucked off into the wilderness.

(It was actually Mr. Campbell who came up with this objection. Even though it was clearly because he’d rather sit in the Mess Hall watching TV than trudging through a dark cave, his logic was totally sound; she suspected he actually got smarter when he was trying to weasel out of something.)

QM volunteered . . . and the less said about that, the better. The short version was a unanimous “No” at varying volumes and degrees of alarm.

Which left . . . Gwen.

Awesome.

“Isn’t this exciting?” David asked, adjusting his backpack as he bounded along at her side. A ceaseless fountain of exuberance, he had a simple pattern of keeping in step with his co-counselor: skipping ahead a few feet, hopping up onto the balls of his feet once or twice to shake out a bit of excess energy, then whirling around and making a quick lap around her before falling into step for half a second, then hurrying ahead again to repeat the entire routine.

It tired her out just looking at him. “David, it’s just looking at a cave. Shine a flashlight in there, make some noise to scare out anything dumb enough to live in there, and then board the damn thing up and never think about it again.”

“I don’t know, Gwen. It looked like it might go pretty deep!” He clasped his hands at his chest, his eyes practically sparkling. “This is a real, honest-to-goodness adventure!”

“Uh-huh.” She was allergic to adventures, unless they involved shirtless human-adjacent dudes. Not that it mattered.

Of course, David was carrying all of the exploring gear Gwen expected would be absolutely useless -- first aid kit, flashlight, food, a goddamn machete of all things -- leaving her to carry the actually important tools they’d be using to close off the cave to camper access. The boards weren’t all that heavy, really, but they were extremely awkward, and anything got uncomfortable to carry when you had to bring it half a mile in the blazing-hot sunlight. Plus she was pretty sure the damn things were giving her splinters, and her fingers were cramping from the uncomfortable and unsteady grip.

David noticed exactly none of this, either due to total obliviousness or a semi-conscious decision not to. “When was the last time you’ve had a chance to explore somewhere new?”

“Uh . . . never?” Okay, so she was obsessed with urban explorer Tumblr pages, but even though her neighborhood was full of abandoned buildings ripe for discovery, Gwen’s sense of self-preservation was way too high to actually check any of them out.

“Golly, really?” He beamed at her, skipping backwards a few feet so he could maintain eye contact. “I’m so honored to be your first!”

Did she want to tell him how that sounded? She deliberated for half a second before deciding god no, she wasn’t having that conversation again; instead she bit back a laugh and mumbled some bullshit about new experiences.

His enthusiasm was like a puppy, and on a good day she thought it was pretty adorable how he could bounce along from disaster to disaster without ever letting it wear him down.

But god, when she was already on her last nerve . . .

“There we are!” He leapt over the straggly line of mossy rocks and began hacking a path through the undergrowth with his machete (which, okay, was more useful than she’d assumed).

Gwen threw down her stack of boards -- they were damp and disturbingly spongy, which was neither improving her mood or her faith in this whole dumb enterprise. Shaking out her arms to try and get rid of the “I was just holding rotten wood” feeling, she then stepped back until she was in the full glare of the sun, closing her eyes, tilting her head back, and pretending she was lying on a lounger by the world’s nicest pool. (Her happy place was essentially the Love Island villa; it had all her favorite things -- beautiful morons, lots of alcohol, functional indoor plumbing, and no kids. A bit basic, but she’d made her peace with her own boringness a while ago.)

“Gwen! Let’s go!”

And there went her happy place. She groaned, opening her eyes. David was wrestling his backpack off, trying to simultaneously dig through it and mostly flailing like an idiot.

She sighed, unbuckling the toolbelt around her waist and letting it drop onto the pile of boards. “Remind me why we can’t just block the mouth of this cave off and get on with our very busy day?” she snapped.

“Because there might be something living in there,” he said, tilting his head to the side and crossing his arms -- his bag forgotten at his feet. “We don’t want to trap it inside!”

Even Gwen had to admit she felt a little squeamish about potentially leaving some cute little furry creature to starve to death in the darkness. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. “God, fine. Let’s just get this over with and --”

As she crossed the beach toward David’s makeshift path, her foot landed on a patch of slick algae; her ankle buckled and she collapsed with a yelp, her knee scraping the side of the rock as she went down.

“Fuck,” she hissed, scrambling away from the stupid rocks and assessing the damage. Nothing dire -- her ankle was a little twingey but nothing was sprained or broken, and the scratch on her knee looked worse than it was thanks to the grimey green staining her skin from the algae -- but it was just painful enough to piss her off. “Great start.” She climbed to her feet and brushed herself off. “Super fucking -- what’s the word? Auspicious? Yeah, totally auspicious omen right there.”

“Gwen?” He was watching her anxiously, either because of the blood staining her sock or because she was muttering to herself like a crazy person. He fumbled in his bag and pulled out the cookie tin that housed one of their First Aid kits. “Gee, are you okay? That looked like a rough fall!”

The last thing she needed was David squawking around her like a mother hen. And for some reason, the thought of smoothing one of their cutesy bandaids over her stupid knee and spending the rest of the day looking down at Mikey Mouse’s dumb face (the ripoff bandaids were cheaper than the real Disney ones) irritated her more than just leaving it. “It’s fine,” she said, smearing away the worst of the blood and dirt with the heel of her hand and wiping it off on her already-stained sock. “It’ll stop in a minute anyway.”

He didn’t reply, but his face was like a neon billboard most of the time, and right then it was flashing the words, “I wish you wouldn’t do that, but you’re way too scary in this mood so I’m not going to say anything.” If her cut got infected, she’d be treated to the smuggest “I told you so” in history.

But that was a risk she was willing to take, because stopping and asking him for a band-aid now would be even worse. “Are we going spelunking or what?” she asked, forcing something resembling enthusiasm into her voice. Judging by the strange, slightly horrified look he gave her, she wasn’t pulling it off well, so she dropped the front with relief. “Let’s get it over with already.”

---

The mouth of the cave reminded Gwen of the hole the White Rabbit led Alice through, in that it was small, slippery, and way longer than she’d initially thought.

And that she fell down it.

It was only about ten feet, to be fair, but it was ten feet down a steep incline lined with muck (and one exposed root that she was positive left a bruise on her butt), and the bottom was just a big mud puddle, swarming with buzzing flying bugs. And she landed ass-first into the puddle, after sliding ass-first down into the cave, and in general neither she nor her ass were having a very good expedition so far.

“Be careful,” she called up, frowning at the hole ten feet up and wondering if she could possibly climb back the way she’d come. She didn’t have the survival skills to be a mole person, she just knew it. “It’s really sli --”

“Whoa!” David breezed past her, skidding down the incline with his arms out to the side like a surfer and coming to a graceful stop a few feet away, kicking up a small wave of puddle-water that somehow didn’t get splash back onto him. He turned back to her, beaming, and untied the end of a rope from his belt. “Thanks for the warning, Gwen!” he said, and she realized the rope led back up out of the cave. “Though I wish you’d waited until after I secured the rope to come down here -- but I guess you were just too excited to get adventuring, huh?” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in his face and voice.

That fucker.

“How . . .” She gestured at him; between the two of them, he should’ve been the one bleeding and covered in mud! He was the clumsiest person she’d ever met, and here he was looking like a Generic Hiking Magazine cover. “How?”

David didn’t seem to notice her question, looking around the cave with his hands on his hips. “This is even bigger than it looked from the surface,” he said admiringly, nodding to himself. “It looks like it keeps going that way! Here we go!” He took her hand and dragged her toward the back of the cave, each step sending water sloshing against her legs and soaking through her boots.

The mud made an obscene sucking sound as they walked through it, clinging to their boots like quicksand and only letting go reluctantly. It was damp and dark, the anemic yellow light of David’s flashlight flickery and unstable, darting around at a speed that made her feel kind of sick. Once she lifted her hand to brush some hair out of her face and touched something furry that was hopefully moss but probably a bat. And the ground kept sloping down, forcing them to lean back to keep their footing and creating the dizzying illusion that they were making their way deep into the center of the earth.

All in all, zero out of ten on the Camp Campbell Cave Tour, as far as she was concerned.

David, of course, was having a great time. “Isn’t this beautiful? We don’t usually get to experience nature like this, but life exists in so many different forms in the forest, even if it’s not green and sunny! It’s great to get a chance to see a new perspective, don’t you think?”

“Hnnh.” (She realized a few minutes in that he didn’t need encouragement to keep talking, and would carry on whether she was listening or not. Mostly the vaguely-affirmative noises were to make sure her voice muscles didn’t atrophy as they continued their eons-long underground journey.)

“I don’t think I’ve had a chance to explore a cave like this since Jas -- in a good long while! Not since I myself was a Camp Campbell camper.”

“Mmn.”

“You know, I sometimes wish --” He cut himself off with a gasp, the flashlight jerking in his hand before he steadied it. “Wow, a fork! That’s exciting. Which way do you want to check first?”

He had to be kidding. “‘Which way’?” she repeated, snatching the flashlight from him and angling it so they could see each other’s faces. “How about we don’t go wandering into a goddamn maze and get lost with -- oh, let me check --” She pulled her cellphone out of her damp, grimy pocket and waved it around above her head. “-- yep, no signal? Instead let’s just assume there’s nothing living here, because we’ve been walking for almost half an hour and seen literally zero signs of life, and go back to the real world, with sunshine and fresh air and a hundred percent less bat shit. Which fucking way, David? The only way that definitely won’t get us killed: the way back!”

He grinned, shaking his head; normally she thought he had a nice smile, but right then it made her skin crawl. “Now, Gwen, I don’t think you’re really embracing the Camp Campbell spirit of adventure.” He took her wrist and gently tugged her toward the fork. “How about we go left and --”

“Goddamn it, David!” She yanked her hand back, stepping out of his reach. “You’re not even listening toooaaaagh!”

The cave floor had firmed up as they walked, the mud replaced with uneven stone and stagnant pools they had to step or even jump over, and as she moved away she stepped into one of these pools, her foot gliding for half a second on the slimy edge before plunging into the water. The pool was surprisingly deep, freezing groundwater closing in up to her hip -- until she toppled over and skidded several inches down, her entire right side scraping against the rocky wall of the pool. At its deepest point the pool was too narrow for both feet, so Gwen found herself half-crouching in icy black water up to her chest, one leg touching the bottom and the other bent and braced against the wall like a flamingo; her arms were still above the water, holding onto the edge for dear life, and the splash from her fall had soaked her hair, several strands of which had escaped her ponytail and were dangling dripping in front of her face.

For a moment the only sound was her ragged breathing. Then she looked up at David, who was watching her in frozen shock, and jiggled her nearest arm as well as she could without losing her precarious balance. “A hand?”

“Oh!” He hurried over and took both her arms, hauling her out of the water like a ragdoll -- which would’ve been impressive if he hadn’t accidentally dragged her against the wall of the pool pulling her up. When she looked down, the front of her clothes were black with stringy slime. “Are you all right?”

“Peachy,” she snapped, twisting to see how badly she’d hurt herself. The entire outside of her leg was covered in slime as well, and when she wiped it away pain lanced through her like her fingertips were made of sparks. She recovered the flashlight from where it’d landed a few feet away and shone it on herself; her calf was mostly protected by her boots (which were basically ruined now), but from the knee up, her outer thigh was marked by a thick red streak of what looked like road rash, scraped bloody and raw. It stung when she extended or bent her knee, but she’d be able to walk. “Let’s just get the hell out of here and you can board this cave up while I take a nice long shower.”

He frowned. “What? But we haven’t finished exploring yet!”

She opened and shut her mouth a few times, but was struck speechless. “Come again?” she managed after a moment, her voice raspy from disbelief and exhaustion.

David gestured toward the left-hand fork. “What if I went this way and you --”

“Go back to camp? Because that’s the only thing I’m doing right now.” She turned to stomp back the way they came -- and promptly tripped over one of the buckles of her boots, which had come undone sometime between falling in the pool and being pulled out of it; she windmilled her arms desperately, but only served to smack her knuckles against the narrow cave walls before landing face-first on the ground.

She’d barely pushed herself to her knees when David chuckled. “Wow, Gwen, it really hasn’t been your lucky day, has it?”

“That’s IT!” She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain singing down her thigh and blooming, deep and throbbing, where her cheekbone had smacked against the floor. She whirled on him, feeling a vindictive sense of satisfaction as his eyes widened and he took a step back. “We are getting the fuck out of here before anything else goes wrong. No, no -- you know what?” she snapped, cutting him off as he opened his mouth to argue, “Shut the goddamn hell up, David, you’re the entire reason we’re in this stupid mess, so I hope you’ve enjoyed reliving your childhood and this stupid quarter-life crisis is completely fucking out of your system, because today is over, okay?! I’m bleeding, and cold, and wet, and I think I touched a bat earlier and any one of those should’ve been enough for us to go back because a good friend wouldn’t have been so self-absorbed to keep dragging their supposed C-B-F-L --” (she clapped for each letter, raising her voice to speak over the echoes each slap of her wet palms made bounce off the walls) “-- deeper into the pits of hell! But you didn’t notice, because you didn’t care, because you were having too damn good a time pretending to be six years old again -- but you know what? You’re a fucking adult, and you wouldn’t know how to be responsible if your fucking LIFE depended on it --”

“Gwen --” he began, eyes darting around with alarm, but she ignored him. Her throat was starting to hurt from yelling, but it felt good, too, the kind of pleasurable burn that came from a killer workout, and goddamn if her voice didn’t deserve a workout right now.

“You are the WORST camp counselor I’ve EVER seen, and the WORST friend I’ve EVER HAD, and I am SO! DONE! Dealing with your complete and utter -- childish -- stupid -- selfish -- BULLSHIT!”

The last word came out as a scream, possibly the loudest she’d ever given, tearing her vocal cords bloody and making her ears ring. As the sound ricocheted around the cave, the walls seeming to shake and groan with the force of it, she slumped her shoulders and dropped her chin, taking a full breath for the first time since before she fell in the water.

And it was a good thing she took that breath, because she had exactly one second before David lunged forward, grabbing her hand with a shout and yanking her toward him.

“Gwen!”

There was a massive crack, and then the sky fell down around them.

---

For a few minutes all she could do was curl up on the ground and cough, the air so thick with dust it felt like a pillow filled with ashes pressed against her face. When it had settled enough that she could inhale without choking, she pushed herself to her knees, ignoring the way both of them shrieked in pain from her half-dozen various falls, and tried to look around.

“David?” she said, rubbing dust out of her eyelashes and tearing up from the sting. The flashlight had gone out, and she was in complete darkness. “David?!”

“Over here.” His voice came from her left, faint and trembling. “The flashlight isn’t working.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured.” She crawled over in his direction, sucking in pained breaths with each movement. “Are you okay?”

There was a slight rustling, very close. “I think I dinged my wrist a little bit,” he said, a weak echo of his usual brightness but still a valiant effort, “but otherwise no worse for the wear!”

Her hand hit canvas, and after a few seconds of sightless probing she realized it was his backpack. “Is there a spare flashlight in here?” she asked, already fumbling with the zipper.

“Front pocket. No -- that’s my front. When I’m wearing it. It’s actually the back pocket.”

Eventually she found it, and the sudden brilliance was almost painful. The first thing the light fell on was their path back.

Or more specifically, not their path back. “Oh my god.”

The way they’d come was completely caved in.

She flicked her light all over the wall of boulders, trying to see a crack that might be a way out, but there was nothing. “Oh no, oh god -- no, no, no . . .”

“Gwen,” David said softly.

She tossed the flashlight to the ground and drew her knees to her chest, putting her head between them and trying to breathe. “Oh my god, we’re gonna die here. We’re trapped and we’re gonna die and it’s my fault, I always thought I’d kill myself but never on accident -- ”

“Gwen,” he snapped, louder and stern like she was a disobedient camper. “That’s not funny.”

She lifted her head to stare at him incredulously, because of course it wasn’t funny, nothing was funny because they were dying. But her eyes landed on his wrist, cradled against his chest with his other arm. It was purplish-brown almost all the way down to his elbow, and starting to swell badly enough that he couldn’t bend it. “Oh my god, David!”

“It’s fine,” he said defensively, pulling it closer and then letting out a little shriek of pain. “I landed on it funny, that’s all.”

“We’ve gotta wrap that up.” She grabbed the flashlight and dug through their backpack until she found the cookie tin, popping it open with one hand and reaching for his wrist with the other. “Here, give me --”

“No, I’m --” He tried to wriggle away, but he was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him so his mobility was limited.

She grabbed his good arm and scooted closer, balancing the first aid tin on his lap. “Stop being stupid and hold this.”

He acquiesced with a huff, turning his face away as she wrapped the sprain. The only splints they had were for fingers, but she taped a few together and declared it good enough, at least for starving to death in a cave. “I wish we had some ice,” she said once it was done, popping out a couple painkillers and holding them out to him. “Can you swallow these dry?”

“There’s water in the middle pocket,” he said, still not looking at her, and she handed him the water bottle and the pills. After an uncomfortable moment of silence he added, “How’s your leg?”

She shrugged, suddenly tired. “Does it matter?” She pulled out her phone to check again for a signal, but apparently it’d had just as bad a day as her because it was completely dead. Hopefully David would let her look up how to undo water, mud, and impact damage on his phone when they got back to camp. Slumping down next to him with a sigh, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and prepared for the sweet release of death.

The sweet release of death was interrupted by a loud metal clattering, and she opened her eyes to see David scooching on his knees to her other side, then trying to pry open the first aid kit one-handed.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to be a good friend,” he muttered, jumping as the lid suddenly popped open. “Lay down on your side, please.”

Gwen lowered herself to the ground, shivering as the cold stone pressed her wet clothes against her skin. A moment later there was a soft thump as he draped a sweatshirt over her like a blanket. “Thanks.” His only response was a quiet huff, the fingers of his good hand deftly cleaning her wounds, and all of the anger building up that day collapsed in on itself. “I’m sorry I said all that stuff.”

He shrugged, and she couldn’t tell if he was deliberately avoiding eye contact or if he was just intently focused on patching her up. (It was more her area of expertise, thanks to half a nursing degree she’d acquired in 2014. Plus he only had 50% of his usual hands.) “Why? You meant it.”

“Hey, take the apology and don’t be a brat about it.” Which was probably the worst way to conclude an apology, but she figured she deserved extra leeway on the grounds that she was buried alive.

Sighing, he sat back on his heels and snagged the gauze. “You’re right, Gwen,” he said, winding it around her knee; she held out her hand and let him position it so he could continue wrapping up her leg. “I should’ve had us turn back sooner. I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good friend to you today.”

“I’m used to it.” He flinched and she realized how that sounded. “I mean, you’re really passionate about stuff. That’s a good thing.”

“And it always ends so well for everyone,” he replied with uncharacteristic sarcasm, gesturing to their surroundings.

She rolled her eyes and waited as he finished, sitting back up. “For what it’s worth,” she said, feeling stupid even as the words left her mouth, “I wouldn’t pick anyone else to die in a cave with.”

David frowned. “Are you saying you want me to die?”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, I changed my mind. I wanna trade you out for David Boreanaz.”

“You want to spend your last hours on earth being rejected by the guy from Buffy?”

That startled her into laughing, and she pawed at the air with a meow. “Does imminent death always make you this catty?”

“Only when my wrist hurts,” he muttered, digging through the backpack, but a little smile played at the corner of his lips.

Gwen figured if there was any time for an olive branch, this was it. “How about this: if I ever had to spend my last hours being rejected by a guy named David while we died together in a cave, I’m glad it’s you.” It seemed to take him a second to parse that sentence, but she chose to blame it on him being delirious from pain and not because she worded it badly. (She was great at wording things, and there were tens of readers on Ao3 to prove it.)

“What makes you think I’d reject you?”

He said it quickly, absently, and in the moment it took her to absorb what he said he seemed to hear it himself, looking up at her with something like horror in his expression.

“That -- I didn’t -- !”

She tried to muster up an appropriate response and came up short. “Huh?”

“I don’t know why I said that,” he said quickly, holding up his hands like she was brandishing a weapon at him. “It was a joke, I’m sorry.”

“Those two sentences don’t work together.”

“Say, did you know we have three different kinds of granola bars?” He pulled them out of the backpack and waved them like a magic trick. “Which flavor is your favorite?”

There was no way she was letting him get away with that, especially when her waterlogged brain was still struggling to connect the dots. “Were you saying you want me to hit on you?”

“I think I like peanut butter best, but it sure does make you thirsty so it’s not good unless you have something to drink with it!”

“David.” She leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze (and nearly getting hit in the nose with a granola bar as he inelegantly threw it toward her).

“I do enjoy mixed berry, though . . .”

She didn’t know what to do, so she relied on a trope all her favorite romances used and pulled him into a kiss. He squeaked against her mouth, going still and unyielding, but after a moment his mouth softened against hers -- not really kissing her back, but enough of a relaxation to send a shiver through her.

When she pulled back he was staring at her with big eyes, deathly pale and streaked with dust and sweat. (And really, she should’ve known she was screwed every single time he looked like total shit and she was still attracted to him.) “W-hy did you do that?” he asked, his voice wobbling like he was going to cry.

She shrugged, trying not to look like her heart had just dropped into her stomach from that heartbreaking little wobble. “Maybe because I felt like seizing the day, if this is gonna be one of the last ones I get,” she said as lightly as possible. “Or maybe it’s because I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I realized and finally got the balls to go for it.”

(It was the second one, but she didn’t wanna make it too easy for him.)

He swallowed hard, looking down at the ground before hesitatingly, flinchingly meeting her eyes. “But you were so mad at me,” he said, then gestured toward her leg with his good hand. “And I’m the reason you’re hurt. Why would you want . . .”

“I got you back,” Gwen replied. “And then some, so I think we’re pretty even.” He just stared at her, doubt etched into every line of his face, and she wanted to kiss him so she did. And this time he sighed, a little dreamy one she’d never heard before instead of his usual “I’m irritated but trying very hard not to show it” sigh, and forgiving him was instantly, impossibly easy. “But seriously,” she said, pulling away just enough to talk, “you’re gonna have to do some serious groveling if we get out of this alive.”

David’s smile caught the light, warm and sparkling like his eyes. “I can do that!”

“You were a dick today.”

He pressed his lips together, looking torn between smiling and giving her a disapproving frown. “I wasn’t as considerate as I should’ve been.”

“Close enough.” She started to stand up -- might as well make an effort to survive; her monkey ancestors were probably watching her and yelling -- but he put his hand on her arm.

“I really am sorry, Gwen.” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it absently as he looked away from her. “I don’t want to be that kind of person. And I don’t want you to have to spend time with that kind of person. So I’ll do my best to be more . . . thoughtful. And observant. Of your needs.”

Less of a dick, you mean. He didn’t quite stick the landing, but it was still one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to her -- in no small part because she could count on one hand the number of times David had willingly admitted being wrong about something. “I’ll hold you to it,” she said, covering his fingers with her own. “Every time you’re a dick I won’t kiss you, how’s that sound?”

“And when I’m not . . . um, so unpleasant to be around?”

There was only one way to answer that, so she did. “How do you feel about cave sex?” she asked as she broke the kiss, enjoying the way he jumped like she’d poked him with a cattle prod. “Because if my last time is faking an orgasm in the bathroom of a Chipotle -- that’s depressing even for me.”

David climbed to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up. “It’s not going to be,” he said, the sudden bright determination in his voice jarring in their little rock prison. Just as she was trying to figure out how she felt about having injured cave sex with Camp Counselor David at his most camp-counselor-est (surprisingly okay with it), he added, “We’re getting out of here.”

---

It took three hours to find another way out of the cave, according to David’s phone. That was too damn long for Gwen and her abused legs, but he cheerfully reminded her how fortunate they were not to have to stay in there overnight, as well as to have emerged in a part of the forest he recognized, and that things could’ve been much worse if they’d taken the right fork instead of the left.

(He was very proud of himself for having picked the correct path on the first try. He insisted it had to do with wind currents and the slope of the cave floor, but she thought it was just a lucky guess.)

“Thank god,” Gwen said as they approached the shore of Lake Lilac. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see a pile of crappy boards in my entire life.”

David was already heading down the beach when he realized she wasn’t beside him and turned back. “What’re you doing?” he asked, watching her bend down and loop the toolbelt around her waist.

“You go ahead,” she replied, grunting as she hoisted a board across the mouth of the cave. “I plan on never coming back here for the rest of my life, and there’s no way in hell I’m risking any of our brats getting stuck in the hell-cave.”

He returned anyway, and there wasn’t much he could do with only one arm but he helped her as best as he could. And those quiet minutes of everyday, boring camp-counselor duties convinced Gwen that this -- whatever this was -- it was worth trying to make work.

“You do know we’ll have to block off the other entrance, right?”

She groaned. “Die in a fire, David.” He laughed as she grabbed the remaining boards and followed him to where they’d escaped the cave, and he made her laugh as she nailed the boards in place, and as they walked back to camp he took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and it was nicer than anything Gwen could remember in a while.

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #gwenvid #cc gwen #cc david #gwenvidweek #gwenvidweek2020 #forestwriting #writers aren't supposed to say they don't like their work but uhhhhhh #oops

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Dust Volume 7, Number 4

Axel Ruley x Verbo Flow

A little bit of optimism is creeping into the air as Dusted writers start to get their shots. We’re all starting to think about live music, maybe outside, maybe this summer. But as the spate of freak snow storms demonstrates, summer’s not here yet, and in the meantime, piles of records and gigs of MP3s beckon. This early spring version of Dust covers the map, literally, with artists representing Pakistan, Australia, Canada, Sweden, the UK and the USA, and stylistically with jazz, rock, punk, rap, improv and many other genres in play. Contributors include Jennifer Kelly, Justin Cober-Lake, Bill Meyer, Ray Garraty, Patrick Masterson, Tim Clarke and Bryon Hayes.

Arooj Aftab — Vulture Prince (New Amsterdam)

Vulture Prince by Arooj Aftab

Arooj Aftab is a classical composer originally from Pakistan but now living in Brooklyn. Vulture Prince, her third full-length album, blends the bright clarity of new age music with the fluid, non-Western vocal tones of her Central Asian roots. “Last Night,” from an old Rumi poem but sung mostly in English, lilts in dub-scented syncopation, the thump and pop of stand-up bass underlining its bittersweet melody. An interlude in some other language shifts the song entirely, pitting vintage reggae reverberation against an exotic melisma. “Mohabbat” (which is apparently Urdu for sex) soothes in the pristine instrumentals, lucid guitars, a horn, scattered drumbeats, but smolders and beckons in the vocals. None of these tracks feel wholly traditional or wholly Western and modern day, but sit somewhere in a well-lit, idealized space. Timeless and placeless, Vulture Prince is nonetheless very beautiful.

Jennifer Kelly

Assertion — Intermission (Spartan)

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Intermission comes from an alternate timeline. Founding drummer William Goldsmith started his musical career in Sunny Day Real Estate and had a notable stint with Foo Fighters. To cut the biography short, Goldsmith took a decade off from the music industry. He's returned now with Assertion, joined by guitarist/vocalist Justin Tamminga and bassist Bryan Gorder (both of Blind Guides, among other acts). This band picks up in the late 1990s, imagining a new path for post-hardcore/post-grunge music. The trio's name suits, as the songs' energy and the lyrical assertiveness develops the intensity of the release. The group works carefully with dynamics, neither parroting the loud-quiet tradition nor simply pushing their emo leanings toward 11.

“The Lamb to the Slaughter Pulls a Knife” epitomizes the album. The track sounds like Foo Fighters decided to get dirtier rather than more arena-friendly, while the lyrics mix violence with emotional persistence. First single “Supervised Suffering” finds triumph in endurance, turning the aggressive chorus into something of a victory. “Set Fire” closes the album with something more delicate, but it's just the gauze over a seething anger. Goldsmith's time off seems to have served him well, as does collaborating with some new partners. Assertion makes its case clearly and effectively, and if the intermission's over for Goldsmith, the second half sounds promising.

Justin Cober-Lake

Michael Beach — Dream Violence (Goner/Poison City)

Dream Violence by Michael Beach

“De Facto Blues,” from Michael Beach’s fourth solo album, is a barn-burner of a song, rough and messy and passionate, the kind of song that makes you want to take a stand on something, who cares what as long as it matters to you. It snarls like Radio Birdman, slashes like the Wipers and follows its muse through chaos to righteousness like an off-cut from Crazy Horse, just back from rockin’ the free world. It’s got Matt Ford and Inez Tulloch from Thigh Master on guitar and bass, respectively, Utrillo Kushner from Colossal Yes (and Comets on Fire) on drums, and Kelley Stoltz at the boards, and it’s a killer. The rest of the album is varied and, honestly, not uniformly astounding, but there’s a nice Summer of Love-style psych dream in “Metaphysical Dice,” a slow-burning post-rocker in the title track and a driving, pounding punk anthem in the opener “Irregardless.” Beach has been splitting his time between San Francisco and Melbourne, Australia, and lately settled on Melbourne, where he will fit like a native into their thriving punk-garage scene.

Jennifer Kelly

Bloop — Proof (Lumo)

Proof by BLOOP (Lina Allemano / Mike Smith)

The trumpet is already a catalog of sound effects waiting to happen, and Lina Allemano knows the table of contents by heart. So, to shake things up, she has paired up with electronic musician Mike Smith, who contributes live processing and effects to Allemano’s improvisations. A blind listen to Proof might leave you with the impression that you’re hearing a horn player jamming with some outer space cats, and we’re not talking about hip, lingo-slinging jazz dudes. In fact, everything on these eight tracks happened in real time. Smith’s a strategic intervener, aware that too much sauce can spoil the stew, so he mixes up precise layering and pitch-shifting with more disorienting transformations. It’s hard to say how much Allemano responds to the simulacra that surround her brass voice, but there’s no denying the persuasiveness of her melodic and timbral ideas.

Bill Meyer

Bris — Tricky Dance Moves (TrueStory Entertainment)

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Bris left some music behind when he died in 2020, but it took almost a year to shape these recordings into a proper CD. The label CEO Mac J (a fine artist himself) could easily capitalize on his friend’s death, stacking Tricky Dance Moves with features from the artists Bris never would have worked with. Yet the album was prepared with the utmost care, not giving an ugly Frankenstein monster feel. Bris’s references to his possible early death are scattered throughout the whole tape: “Heard they wanna pop Bris cause they mad I’m poppin.” Almost every song could be easily turned into a prophetic tale (a cheap move one wants to avoid at all costs). Nonetheless, something is missing here. Or maybe it is just an image of death that disturbs the whole picture, making us realize that this is the last we’d hear from Bris.

Ray Garraty

Dreamwell — Modern Grotesque (self-released)

Modern Grotesque by Dreamwell

I recently read an interview with Providence’s Dreamwell breaking down in almost excruciating detail the influences that led to the quintet’s sophomore full-length Modern Grotesque. I kept scrolling past Daughters and Deftones and Deafheaven and increasingly disconnected influences like The Mountain Goats and Nina Simone. I went back to the top and looked again. I typed Ctrl+F and put in “Thursday.” Nothing. This is preposterous. I may not be in the post-hardcore trenches the way I once was, but even I’d know a good Full Collapse homage if it swung a mic right into my face the way this one did; hell, just listen to “The Lost Ballad of Dominic Anneghi” and tell me singer Keziah Staska doesn’t know every single word of “Paris in Flames.” That may not look like flattery on a first read, but too often, bands striding the emo/pop divide have chased the latter into sub-Taking Back Sunday oblivion; what Thursday did was much harder, and Dreamwell has ably taken up the torch here. That they did it unintentionally is a curious, bewildering footnote.

Patrick Masterson

Paul Dunmall / Matthew Shipp / Joe Morris / Gerald Cleaver — The Bright Awakening (Rogue Art)

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It’s a bit perplexing that reeds player Paul Dunmall hasn’t spent more time playing with American musicians. He’s firmly situated within the English improvisation community, where he’s perhaps best known for his longer tenure with the quartet Mujician, and his ability to double on bagpipes has allowed him to establish links between improvised and folk music. But

his jazz-rooted approach makes him a natural to work in settings such as this one. When Dunmall toted his tenor to the Vision Festival in 2012 (even then, it could be costly to lug multiple horns on a plane), he found three sympatico partners in Fest regulars pianist Matthew Shipp, double bassist Joe Morris and drummer Gerald Cleaver. They all hit the ground running, generating a barrage of pulsing, roiling sound for over 20 minutes before the piano and drums peel off, leaving Morris to sustain momentum alone. Dunmall’s gruff, spiraling lines find common cause with each of his fellows, and the gradual addition and subtraction of players from that point makes it easier to hear the exchange of ideas, which often seem to take place between dyads operating within the larger flow.

Bill Meyer

Editrix — Tell Me I’m Bad (Exploding in Sound)

Tell Me I'm Bad by Editrix

Wendy Eisenberg’s rock band is like her solo output in that it snarls delicate, self-aware, mini-short stories in complex tangles of guitar, hemming in high, sing-song-y verses with riffs and licks of daunting difficulty. The main differences are speed, volume and aggression (i.e. it rocks.) and a certain communal energy. That’s down to two collaborators who can more than keep up, Josh Daniel on surging, rattling, break-it-all-down percussion and Steve Cameron, equally anarchic and fast on bass. The title track is an all-out rager, thrusting jagged arena riffs of guitar and bass forward, then clearing space for off-kilter verses and time-shifting, irregular instrumental interplay. “Chelsea” follows a similar chaotic pattern, setting up a teeth-shaking cadence of rock instruments, with Eisenberg keening over the top of it. “I know, perfectly well, that we’re not safe, safe from the men in power,” she croons, engaged in the knotting difficulties of the world as we know it, but winning.

Jennifer Kelly

Elephant Micah — Vague Tidings (Western Vinyl)

Vague Tidings by Elephant Micah

The new Elephant Micah album, the follow-up to 2018’s excellent Genericana, has an apposite title. Vague Tidings conveys an atmosphere of feeling conscious of something carried on the wind, a story passed on that may have shifted through various iterations, leaving only a sense of its original meaning. All that can be sure is that this is sad, sober music, unafraid to brace against the chill of mortality and speak of all that is felt. The instruments — guitar, piano, percussion, violin and woodwinds — move around Joseph O’Connell’s voice in stiff yet graceful arcs, distanced by an unspoken etiquette. Repetitive melodic figures, stark yet steady, gradually accumulate weight as they roll along like tumbleweeds. It’s a crisp, forlorn country-blues, in no hurry to get nowhere, carrying ancient wisdom that seems to acknowledge the empty resonance of its own import.

Tim Clarke

Fraufraulein — Solum (Notice Recordings)

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Fraufraulein’s music is immersive. Anne Guthrie and Billy Gomberg beam themselves, and us along with them, Quantum Leap-style directly into multiple environments in medias res. Through the clever employment of field recordings, they transport us to a hurricane-addled beach, performing a voice/piano duet as driftwood missiles careen through the air. In another “episode,” the manipulation of small objects conjures up the intimacy of a water garden filled with windchimes. Partners in both life and art, Guthrie and Gomberg are also consummate solo artists. He is a master of spike-textured drones, while she explores the intimate properties of physical entities. Like a child tends to resemble one parent while borrowing subtle traits from the other, Solum identifies more with Guthrie’s electroacoustic tendencies than it does with Gomberg’s electronics. This is in stark contrast to 2015’s Extinguishment, which felt a little more balanced between those two modes. Both approaches work, yet Solum feels more meticulously crafted and nuanced. Careful listening unveils multiple subtle tones and textures, and each piece is an adventure for the ears.

Bryon Hayes

Gerrit Hatcher / Rob Magill / Patrick Shiroishi — Triplet Fawns (Kettle Hole)

Triplet Fawns by Gerrit Hatcher / Rob Magill / Patrick Shiroishi

The album’s title implies a crew you wouldn’t want on your yard; while those adolescent ungulate appetites do a number on your bushes, the hooves are hacking up your grass. But if they knocked on your door, saxophone cases in their respective hands, you could do worse than invite them around the back for some blowing. Hatcher, Magill and Shiroishi present with sufficient lung power to be heard fine without the reflective assistance of walls, even when they aren’t making like Sonore (that was Gustafsson, Vandermark, and Brötzmann, about a dozen years back). This album, which was released in a micro-edition of 100 CD-Rs on Hatcher’s Kettle Hole imprint, builds gradually from restrained melancholy to pointillistic jousting to a climactic blow-out, and the assured development of each piece suggests that each player was listening not only to what each of the others was doing, but where the music was headed.

Bill Meyer

A.Karperyd — GND (Novoton)

GND by A.Karperyd

On his second solo release, GND, Swedish artist Andreas Karperyd broodingly ruminates on snatches of musical ideas that have been percolating in his consciousness over extended periods. Anyone familiar with his 2015 debut, Woodwork, will find these 55 minutes similarly immersive, as Karperyd manipulates live instruments such as piano and strings into shimmering, alien tapestries. Opener “The Well-Defined Rules of Certainty” appears to take Fennesz’s Venice as its blueprint, issuing forth cascading, percolating tones that tickle the ears. “The Desire to Invoke Balance with Our Eyes Closed” and “Failures and Small Observations” have a Satie-esque elegance to their piano lines, albeit refracted via a hall of mirrors. The 12-minute “Reminiscence of Tar” sounds like a slow-motion pan across the hulking mass of a shadowy space station. And closing track “Mummification of an Empire” slowly fries its piano in static, then unfurls wistful melodica and throbbing synth across the wreckage.

Tim Clarke

Kiwi Jr. — Cooler Returns (Subpop)

Cooler Returns by Kiwi jr

Kiwi Jr.’s brash, brainy indie pop punk vibrates with nervy energy, like the first Feelies album or Violent Femmes’ 1983 debut or that one great S-T from the Soft Pack. Those are all opening salvos for their respective bands, but this one is a second outing, suffering not a bit from sophomore slackening. Instead, Cooler Returns tightens up everything that was already stinging on the Toronto band’s debut and adds a giddy careening glee. An oddball thread of Robin Hood-ness runs through the disc, with Sherwood forest getting a nod in the title track and “Maid Marian’s Toast” tipping the love interest, but these songs are anything but archaic. “Undecided Voters,” the single jangles harder than anything I’ve heard since Woolen Men, slyly upending creative pretensions in a verse that goes: “You take a photo of the CN tower/you take another of the Honest Ed sign/Well, I take photos of your photos/and they really move people.” Has it been done before? Maybe. Does it move us. Yes indeed.

Jennifer Kelly

Kool John — Get Rich, Die $moppin ($moplife Entertainment)

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A year ago, Kool John was shot six times. Yet you wouldn’t know about it from the general mood of Get Rich, Die $moppin, his first tape since then. He does name one song “6 Shots” and explicitly mentions the shooting accident a few times on other songs, but his bouncy music says he wasn’t hurt bad after all. The beats perfectly match the rhymes, playfully ignorant and ignorantly playful. Kool John still doesn’t mix with broke people, doesn’t return calls if it’s not about money and “doesn’t get stressed out.” Instead, he gets high. His new tape is nothing groundbreaking, even though he’s pretending that is: “If I had no legs I’d still be outstanding.”

Ray Garraty

Nick Mazzarella / Quin Kirchner — See or Seem: Live at the Hyde Park Jazz Festival (Out Of Your Head)

See or Seem: Live at the Hyde Park Jazz Festival by Nick Mazzarella / Quin Kirchner

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this recording is that the titular festival happened at all. While most festivals either canceled or went on line, Chicago’s Hyde Park Jazz Festival dealt with COVID by spreading out. Instead of big stages and indoor shows, last September it staged little pop-up events on sidewalks and in parks. So, if the sound of See or Seem feels a bit diffuse, it’s because it was recorded with a device propped in front of two guys playing on a grassy median. There are moments when the buzz of bugs rises up for a second behind Nick Mazzarella’s darting alto sax and Quin Kirchner’s brisk, mercurial beats. But the thrill of actually playing in front of some people (or actually being surrounded by them; when there’s no stage and social distancing is in effect, it makes sense to walk slow circles around the performers) infuses this music, extracting an extra ounce of joyousness from Mazzarella’s free, boppish lines, and adding a restlessness charge to the drumming, as though Kirchner really wanted to squeeze as much music as possible into this 31-minute set. This release is part of Out Of Your Head Records’ Untamed series of download-only albums recorded under less than pristine conditions. A portion of each title’s income is directed to a charity of the artists’ choice; the duo selected St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital.

Bill Meyer

Dean McPhee — Witch’s Ladder (Hood Faire)

Witch's Ladder by Dean McPhee

Finger-picked melodies cut through haunted landscapes of echo and hum on this fourth LP from the British guitarist Dean McPhee. Track titles like “The Alchemist” and “Witch’s Ladder” evoke the supernatural, as does the spectral ambient tone, reminiscent of Chuck Johnson’s recent Cinder Grove or Mark Nelson’s last Pan•American album. Yet while an e-bow traces ghostly chills through “The Alder Tree,” there’s also a grounding in lovely, well-rooted folk forms; it’s like seeing a familiar landscape in moonlight, well-known landmarks suddenly turned unearthly and strange. The long closing title track has an introspective air. Pensive, jazz-infused runs flower into bright bursts of notes, not quite blues, not quite folk, not quite jazz, not quite anything but gorgeous.

Jennifer Kelly

Moontype — Bodies of Water (Born Yesterday)

Bodies of Water by Moontype

Margaret McCarthy’s voice swims across your headphones like being on an innertube drifting languidly downstream. Typically, saying someone’s vocals are like water indicates a degree of timidity or laziness, obscured in reverb or simply buried by the mix, but on Moontype’s debut LP, it’s a compliment: McCarthy floats across the different styles of music she makes with guitarist Ben Cruz and drummer Emerson Hunton. You notice it not just because she often sings of water or because it’s right there in the title, but also because the Chicago trio hasn’t settled on any particular style yet — just listen to the three-song stretch at the heart of the record where achingly beautiful alt-country ballad “3 Weeks” leads into “When You Say Yes,” a sub-three-minute power-pop number Weezer ought to be jealous of, followed immediately by crunching alt-rock swoon and first single “Ferry.” All the while, McCarthy lets her melodies drift to the will of the songs. I’m reminded of recent efforts from Great Grandpa, Squirrel Flower and Lucy Dacus, but the brief, jazzy curveball of “Alpha” is a peek into whole other possibilities. Bodies of Water is a fine record, but perhaps its most exciting aspect is how much ground you can see Moontype has already conquered. One can’t help but wonder what sonic worlds awash in water await.

Patrick Masterson

Rob Noyes / Joseph Allred — Avoidance Language (Feeding Tube)

Avoidance Language by Rob Noyes and Joseph Allred

The 12-string guitar can emit such a prodigious amount of sound, and there are two of them on Avoidance Language. If Joseph Allred and Rob Noyes had planned things out in order to avoid canceling each other out, they might never have picked their instruments up, so they just started playing and listening. The result is not so much a summing of two broad spectrums of sound, but an instinctual blending of similar textures that ends up sounding significantly different from what either musician does on their own. Even when Allred switches to harmonium or banjo, as he does on the album’s two shorter tracks, the music rushes in torrential fashion. Their collaboration is so compatible that it often seems more like a recital for one big stringed thing played by one four-handed musician than a doubled instrumental duet.

Bill Meyer

NRCSSSST — S-T (Slimstyle)

NRCSSST by NRCSSST

There’s no “I” in NRCSSSST but there’s plenty of swagger. The Atlanta-based synth pop band, formed around Coathangers drummer and singer Stephanie Luke and Dropsonic’s Dan Dixon, taunts and teases in its opening salvo “All I Ever Wanted.” Luke rasps appealingly atop Spoon-style piano banging, and big shout along choruses erupt from sudden flares of synths. It’s all hedonism, but done with conviction. You haven’t heard a big rock song kick up this much fun in ages. “Love Suicide” bangs just as hard, its bass line muttering like a crazy person, unstable and ready to explode (and yet it doesn’t, it maintains its restraint even when the rest of the cut goes deliriously off the rails). Dixon can really sing, too, holding the long vibrating notes that lift these prickly jams into anthemry. It’s been a while since a band reminded me of INXS and U2 without sucking, but here we are. Sometimes guilty pleasures are just pleasures.

Jennifer Kelly

Zeena Parkins / Mette Rasmussen /Ryan Sawyer — Glass Triangle (Relative Pitch)

Glass Triangle by Zeena Parkins, Mette Rasmussen, Ryan Sawyer

Harpist Zeena Parkins and Ryan Sawyer have a long-standing partnership in the trio substitutes Moss Garden, a chamber improv ensemble with pianist Ryan Ross. But swapping in Danish alto saxophonist Mette Rasmussen brings about a change, not just in instrumentation, but attitude. She plays free jazz like a punk, impatient and aggressive, and Parkins and Sawyer are up for the challenge. This music often plays out like a battle between two titans, one blowing and the other pummeling, while Parkins seeks to liquify the ground upon which they stand. She sticks exclusively to an electric harp whose effects-laden tone is disorientingly alien, blinking beacon-like one moment, low as a backhoe engage in earth removal the next. The combination of new and old relationships promotes a combination of instability and trust that yields splendid results.

Bill Meyer

claire rousay — A Softer Focus (American Dreams)

a softer focus by claire rousay

In film, soft focus is a technique of contrast reduction that lends a scene a dreamlike quality. With A Softer Focus, claire rousay imbues her already intimate compositions with a noctilucent aura. She has created a dreamworld with sound. One glimpse at the glowing flowers that grace the cover art created by visual artist Dani Toral, with whom rousay closely collaborated on this release, and the illusory nature of the record is revealed. The reds, oranges, blues and purples of deep twilight are reflected in both the textures rousay weaves into her soundscapes and the visual themes that Toral conjures. Violin, cello, piano and synth are the musical origins of this warmth, which rousay wraps around environments crafted from the sounds of everyday life. She recorded herself moving about her apartment, visiting a farmer’s market, observing kids playing and just existing. These field recordings of the mundane, when coupled with the radiance of the musical elements, are magical. Snatches of conversation become incantations; auto-tuned vocals are the whisperings of spirits; fireworks explode into brilliant shards of crystal. With A Softer Focus, rousay takes a glimpse into the beauty of the everyday, showing us just how precious our most humdrum moments can be.

Bryon Hayes

Axel Rulay x Verbo Flow — Si Es Trucho Es Trucho / Axel Rulay (La Granja)

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Axel Rulay must be kicking himself right now. With more than three million plays on the original version and more than five million on the remix that adds verses from Farruko and El Alfa into the fray, the Dominican is cruising into our second pandemic summer with an unbeatable poolside anthem — and to think, after years of clawing his way up through the industry dregs, working to get his name out there, all he had to do was make himself the chorus over Venezuelan producer Manybeat’s 2019 tropical house trip “El Tiempo.” Presto: Massive visibility in the Spanish-speaking world and a song that ought to transcend any linguistic barriers unlocked even if the best I can manage is a title that translates as “If It’s Trout It’s Trout.” Expect that long-desired Daddy Yankee collabo to follow any day now.

Patrick Masterson

Rx Nephew — Listen Here Are You Here to Hear Me (NewBreedTrapper)

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Rochester rapper Rx Nephew trailed brother-turned-archrival-turned-back Rx Papi’s coming out party 100 Miles and Walk’in by just a few weeks with the 53-minute all-in proposition Listen Here Are You Here to Hear Me. Unlike Papi’s Max B-ish smoothness, Nephew is all rough n’ tumble through these 17 tracks, provocative pump action with narrative bursts of violence and street hustling delivered with a verve most akin to DaBaby or, in some of his more elastic enunciations, peak Ludacris. A recent Creative Hustle interview provides some insight: The first time he went into the booth, “I didn’t write anything. I just started talking about selling crack and robbing people.” The stories haven’t stopped since. If he can keep putting out music as engaging as Listen Here…, Rx Nephew is destined for more than just the margins; until then, we have one of the year’s densest rap records to hold the line.

Patrick Masterson

Nick Schofield — Glass Gallery (Backward Music)

Glass Gallery by Nick Schofield

Nick Schoefield, out of Montreal, composed these 13 tracks entirely on a vintage Prophet 600, the first synthesizer to designed to employ the then-new MIDI standard established by the instrument’s inventor Dave Smith and Roland’s Ikutaru Kakahashi. The instrument has a lovely, crystalline quality, floating effortless arpeggios through vaulting sonic spaces. Though clearly synthesized, these pieces of music resonate in serene and peaceful ways, evoking light, water, air and contemplation with a simplicity that evokes Japan. “Water Court” drips notes of startling purity into deep pools of tone-washed whoosh and hum. “Snow Blue Square” flutters an oboe-like melody over eddying gusts of keyboard motifs. The pieces fit together with calm precision, leading from one beautiful space to the next like a stroll through a museum.

Jennifer Kelly

Archie Shepp — Blasé And Yasmina Revisited (Ezz-thetics)

The Ezz-thetics campaign to keep the best of mid-20th century free jazz on CD shelves (yes, CD, not streaming or LP) breaches the walls of the BYG catalog with a disc that issues one and a half albums from Archie Shepp’s busy week in August 1969. Blasé is a stand-out for the participation of singer Jeanne Lee, whose indomitable and flexible delivery as equal to the demands of material that’s be turns pungently earthy and steeped in antiquity. But the rest of the band, which includes Philly Joe Jones, Dave Burrell, some harmonica players, and a couple members of the Art Ensemble, is also more than equal to the task of filtering the blues and Ellingtonia through the gestures of the then-contemporary avant-garde. “Yasmina,” which originally occupied one side of another LP, makes sense here as an extension of the raw, rippling “Touareg,” the last tune on Blasé, into exultantly African territory.

Bill Meyer

Juanita Stein — Snapshot (Handwritten)

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Juanita Stein was the cool, serene, Mazzy Star-evoking vocal presence in the Aussie dream-gaze outfit Howling Bells, and she plays more or less the same role on her third solo album. Yet she is also the source of mayhem here, kicking up an angst of guitar-freaked turmoil on “1,2,3,4,5,6” then soothing it away with singing, hanging long threads of feedback from the thump-thump-thumping blues-rock architecture of “L.O.T.F.” and crooning dulcetly, but with a little yip, in the trance-y title track. This latter cut reflects on the death of her father, a kindred soul who wrote a couple of Howling Bells songs for her and passed away recently. It distills a palpable ache into pure, distanced poetry, finding a cool, dispassionate way to consider the mysteries of human loss.

Jennifer Kelly

The Tiptons Sax Quartet & Drums — Wabi Sabi (Sowiesound)

Wabi Sabi by Tiptons Sax Quartet & Drums

Over its 30 years together, the Tiptons Sax Quartet has done less to hone its sound and more to figure out how many styles to embrace. The group (typically a soprano, alto, tenor, and baritone sax joined by percussion and even including some vocals) can dig into trad jazz but sounds more at home in exploration, adapting world music or other traditional American styles. The title of their latest album, Wabi Sabi refers to the Japanese concept of finding beauty in and accepting imperfection. The Tiptons, despite that sentiment, don't approach their play with a sloppy sound; in fact, they're as tight as ever. The understanding of impermanence and imperfection does help contextualize their risk-taking. When they turn to odd yodeling on “Moadl Joadl,” they find joy in an odd vocal moment that highlights expression and discovery over formal rigor. When they tap in New Orleans energy for “Jouissance,” we can connect the dots between parades and funerals, celebrating all the while. The whole album serves as a tour of styles and moods, always with an energetic potency. If it's more of the same from the Tiptons, that just means continuance of difference.

Justin Cober-Lake

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