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titan-fodder · 4 years ago

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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volcanic depression with a diameter many times larger than its included volcanic vents; commonly formed when magma is withdrawn or erupted from a shallow, underground magma reservoir.*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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j0ne-jjk · 3 years ago

Text

The Universe has Moved for Us

우주가 우릴 위해 움직였어 The universe has moved for us 조금의 어긋남조차 없었어 There wasn’t anything even slightly out of place 너와 내 행복은 예정됐던 걸 Our happiness has been destined

- lyrics from Serendipity, BTS, sung by Jimin

Couple: MiniMoni Characters: Namjoon, Jimin Genre: Fluff (very slight angst) Rating: PG

Tags: Namjoon, Jimin, MiniMoni, NamJi, FLUFF, so dang fluffy, tiny bit of angst, nothing too serious, more just worry, hand-holding, date-night picnic, kissing, hugging, I said it was fluffy!, canon compliant, established relationship, long-term relationship, characters are engaged, sorry if that’s a spoiler?, nothing dirty or even bad language lol, I don’t think there’s anything else.

Glossary of Korean words:

Hyung used for one male to address an older male

Aein “sweetheart”

Jagi / Jagiya “honey” or “darling

Aegiya cute way to say “baby”

Nae sarang “my love”

Naekkeo “mine” (said with aegyo- cuteness)

Kamsahamnida thank you

Halmeoni grandma

Harabeoji grandpa

Orin wangjanim “my little prince”

-ssi honorific meaning “sir”

Yeoboseyo “hello” over the phone

Seoul was always busy. Even after 7:30 PM on a weeknight. The traffic in the downtown part of the city moved as if it were one, fluid unit. Everyone was always in a hurry; always rushing to get somewhere important. As with any metropolitan city, there was little space in Seoul to stop and take a breath. To attempt to recover from the grinding pace of daily life- especially Idol life.

The company car moved in harmony with the evening traffic, steadily passing people on sidewalks and businesses turning on their lights for the night. Namjoon released a sigh as he looked out the deeply tinted windows. A slight, reassuring squeeze came from the petite hand that was linked with his larger one. He returned the squeeze as he shifted to look down at his boyfriend seated beside him, soft, dark eyes looking deep into his own. “The workday is over, naekko, you don’t have to keep thinking so hard. Just relax for me, okay, Joonie-hyung?” Jimin smiled encouragingly, gently leaning his small shoulder into Namjoon’s upper arm. Namjoon’s ears redden slightly at the overly cute nickname and moves their clasped hands to Jimin’s knee, sighing again, “You’re right, jagiya. And I will. You know it just takes me a little while to unravel from the day.” The smaller man nods, content with the answer he received, and rests his head against his boyfriend’s strong shoulder. Both men sit and breathe in the familiar closeness of an evening drive through the city. The sky outside continues to darken as the private car drives on toward Ttukseom Park and leaves the company building further and further in the distance.

“Kamsahamnida. Can you come back to pick us up at 9:00 pm, please?” Namjoon waves to the company driver. When he turns, Jimin is standing under the glow of a streetlamp, holding their kimbap take-away, a sweet smile on his angelic face. The smile grows as Namjoon closes the distance between them, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Jimin’s forehead. “Let’s walk down and find a place by the river to sit and eat our dinner,” Namjoon suggests, taking the bag of food in one hand, Jimin’s tiny hand in the other, and leading the way down the walking path toward Cheongdam Daegyo Bridge. The pair finds a slightly secluded picnic table with a view of the bridge and the city skyline across the river, perfect for a late evening dinner. Being the more domestic of the couple, Jimin busies himself with wiping the table, passing out napkins, and giving each of them a squirt of hand sanitizer. He then opens the expertly-made kimbap, all of which the two usually share.

Neither can recall how it started, but it’s weekly tradition that Thursday nights are date night for take-away from their favorite kimbap place. The shop was owned by an elderly couple that had grown very fond of all seven of the boys. “Halmeoni said she missed us the last two weeks, aegiya. She insisted on giving us an extra cheese kimbap. She said she and harabeoji watched us on TV,” Jimin paused to smile up at his boyfriend as he divided the gifted kimbap between them. Across the table, Namjoon returns the smile, dimples appearing on his cheeks, “So generous. Bangtan might not have survived if halmeoni hadn’t given us so much free ramyeon.” He pops another piece of his cheese kimbap into his mouth, looking over the river, distant memories seeming to float by with the current. Jimin waits another moment and then clears his throat timidly, “Halmeoni also asked how you were doing,” he pauses, giving his boyfriend an intentional look, “she wanted to remind you to sleep well and take care of yourself.” The tips of Namjoon’s ears were tinged slightly pink and he shifts on his side of the table, “well, halmeoni is wise. I guess I need to catch up on my sleep in case she checks in on me next week,” he teases, chuckling lightly, avoiding his boyfriend’s eyes.

Namjoon stands from the table, collecting the trash and placing in a nearby bin. Jimin joins him and the two head toward the nature trail, hand in hand, walking at a leisurely pace. The pair strolls in comfortable silence for a while, admiring the river and the local flora in the waning evening light. A little ways ahead, they follow a slight fork in the path, arriving at one of Namjoon’s favorite places in the city- a stone bench, slightly secluded by bunches of rivergrass and cattails, and setback right from the riverbank. The couple takes a seat, Namjoon wrapping his strong arm around Jimin’s slim shoulders, the two fitting like a custom-made set. They take in the distant, twinkling lights of the skyline across the river and exchange a few quiet words of conversation before Jimin straightens a little and clears his throat. “You know, jagi, halmeoni isn’t the only one who wants you to take care of yourself. She isn’t the only one who worries,” he begins, voice small, eyes focused on the city skyline across the river. He breathes in deep and continues, “I worry about you, aein. I want you to take care of yourself,” at this, Jimin pulls himself from under his boyfriend’s arm and turns toward the taller man, eyes wide and beseeching,“I know you’re busy, Joonie-hyung. I know our schedule is packed, but you have to rest too, jagiya. Let me be there for you- please.” He suddenly places his tiny hands on Namjoon’s knee, words tumbling out like autumn leaves over a waterfall. Namjoon’s eyebrows are knitted together in concern, but his eyes are soft and filled with adoration. “You don’t have to work yourself to the bone for everything to be done and done well, Joonie-hyung. I care about you so much, aegiya. I love you with my whole heart,” Jimin’s pretty face is flushed slightly pink, his dark eyes wide and shining in the subtle glow from nearby streetlamps. He took a deep breath and waited for Namjoon’s response.

Seoul was always busy. Even nearing 8:45 pm on a Thursday night. But here, on this slightly secluded stone bench in Ttukseom Hangang Park, time seemed frozen. The genuine affection shared between the couple seated on this bench was almost palpable. Love surrounded them like a hazy, pink cloud of perfume that invaded their senses, creating lasting, core memories. Namjoon finally blinks, coming back down to earth and allowing his eyes to refocus. Without a word, he reaches out and wraps Jimin in a hug, pulling him close. They stay wrapped in each other's arms for a moment, reveling in the closeness, the tenderness; breathing in each other’s scent. Namjoon pulls back first, keeping one arm around Jimin’s and letting the other fall to rest his slim knee. He peers deeply into Jimin’s dark eyes, pressing a light kiss to one soft cheek and then the other, before saying, “I love you too, jagiya. And I know you love me. I can see your love in how you smile when our eyes meet from across the stage or you find me in a crowded room. And I can feel your love in the way you hug me like all your worries have melted away.” He smiles reassuringly, running long fingers through Jimin’s silky, black hair, “I know I need to take a step back, aein. Maybe a few steps. Starting tomorrow, I will. You’re right, jagi, I know everything will get done, especially since I have the six of you to support me. I don’t have to work myself to death.” Namjoon chuckles at his dark joke, but his face falls when he feels Jimin shudder under his arm at his final word. “Oh jagiya-” Namjoon begins, hand moving down to rub soothingly along his boyfriend’s narrow back. Jimin interrupts, placing both small hands comfortingly on Namjoon’s chest over his heart, “that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid, aegiya,” his voice tinged with a hint of heartache floating just under the surface. He continues, eyes glistening, voice hushed, “I couldn’t b-bear to lose you, nae sarang.” His voice wavers as he leans forward, curling into the broad chest before him, Namjoon’s strong arms wrapping securely around him again.

The river below seemed to sparkle from the enchanting mixture of streetlamps, city lights, and car headlights from the bridge. The moon and stars added their ethereal glow which painted a heavenly highlight across Jimin’s cheeks. This subtle radiance made Namjoon’s breath catch in his chest as Jimin lifted his head to look up at his boyfriend. Namjoon smiles reassuringly and runs his thumb over his boyfriend’s cheek, “Orin wangjanim, I promise I’m not going anywhere. You know that.” Orin wangjanim- my little prince. Jimin’s eyes light up at his favorite term of endearment, used by Namjoon only on the most special occasions. Golden memories rapidly flood his mind with the moments he’s heard that nickname; before their first kiss, when they first said “I love you”, when Namjoon proposed. Jimin lifts his tiny hand, gazing at the simple, gold engagement ring there as he speaks, “You’re right, aegiya. We’re in this until the end. Please let me help you bear your burdens. Like we say, teamwork makes the dream work,” he finishes with an awkward ‘finger-gun’ and clicks his tongue. Both men burst out in laughter, basking in the lightness of the mood. As their laughter fades and the moment turns tender again, the moon and stars reflecting in their love-struck eyes. Jimin reaches up and cradles Namjoon’s face as their lips meet in a kiss, moving in a familiar, comfortable dance. For just a moment, the stars from the sky above seem to come down to suspend around them.

*Ding* The 9:00 pm alarm on Namjoon’s phone chimes, rousing the couple reluctantly from their kisses. The shorter of the two stands abruptly, putting on a mock-serious face and planting his tiny fists on his hips. “Come now, Namjoon-ssi. We must not delay our departure any longer,” he commands in a silly, deep voice (what he calls his ‘grown-up voice’). His boyfriend’s eyes crinkle in amusement as he stands, swinging his long arms toward the path, and arranging his face in a similar way. “Quite right, you are. Let us away, then,” he says in English, attempting a British accent. Always easily amused, Jimin can’t hold a straight face any longer and bursts into a fit of laughter, doubling over and crumpling to the ground. Also laughing (but not quite as hysterically), Namjoon crouches in front of his boyfriend until he recovers, “you good, jagiya? Come on, let’s head to the exit and find the car.” Jimin nods and smiles, brushes dust off of his jeans, and links his fingers with Namjoon’s.

As the couple nears Ttukseom Park’s exit, Namjoon’s phone vibrates with a call from Yoongi. “Yeoboseyo hyung. Ah yeah. Okay we will. Thanks, later,” he ends the call, pocketing his phone and looking at his boyfriend, “That was Yoongi-hyung, reminding us we should post on Bangtan’s Twitter to thank ARMY for keeping Butter at number one on the Billboard charts for a fourth week. Maybe we could take a selca when we get in the car?” he suggests, shrugging his wide shoulders. Jimin skips along in excitement, smiling wide, “oh what a good idea, naekkeo!” Once the car is headed toward Namjoon’s apartment, Jimin eagerly pulls out his phone, “ready, jagiya? Big, cute, smile!” They lean their heads together and smile contentedly. *click* The shutter sound indicates the picture is ready. Jimin reviews the photo and quickly posts it to the group’s Twitter, miniature thumbs flying over his phone’s keyboard. “ARMY will love this, don’t you think? We look so-” as he turns, soft, full lips meet his own, kissing him deeply. Jimin melts into the kiss, sighing. “Yeah, I think a MiniMoni selca will be pretty popular,” Namjoon smirks, eyes twinkling, as he pulls the smaller man close by his side. He kisses the top of his head, then turns to look out the window at the passing city. Jimin knows his cheeks are pink as he switches off his phone and settles back into the warm chest behind him.

Seoul was always busy. Even after 9:14 PM on a Thursday night. The traffic moved in a single fluid unit, like the water in the Han River, that passed continuously by the secluded stone bench. Everyone was always in a hurry; but there were some ways to slow down. Some pockets of solace even in a bustling metropolis. Evening picnics of kimbap take-away, walking hand-in-hand through Ttukseom Hangang Park, meaningful moments on a riverbank bench illuminated by the moonlight, selcas in the backseat of a company car, and affectionate kisses all caused time to slow down and even stop. The warm, intimate feeling of love surrounded the couple in the backseat, hanging in the air like a nebulous cloud of the sweetest perfume. The promise of a shared future and acknowledgment of mutual support making it all the more precious. As the private car continued down the city streets, the couple continued forward into a future full of endless possibilities as vast as the stars in the night sky.

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goldenworldsabound · 4 years ago

Text

Tea and Memories

Zhongli wants Wendy to meet an old friend of his. It turns out to be Madame Ping, who Wendy already knows. The three of them have a lovely chat.

This is not a birthday fic, but I wanted to post it today anyway. 🥰 Chinese glossary at the end.

word count: 2573

content warning: none

"Oh, is that you, Wendy?" Madame Ping waved at the young lady and the man who's arm she was currently holding onto. "And who is this?" She said with a knowing smile, assuming him to be a romantic partner. As she met the man's intense amber gaze, her eyes widened despite herself. He averted his gaze. This feeling...was that...? Could it be...?

"This is Zhongli, my boyfriend..." Wendy's cheeks flushed a bit. She hadn't realized that Zhongli's old friend was an acquaintance of hers. Did this mean that Madame Ping was an Adeptus? She supposed it did.

"I did not realize the two of you were already acquainted." Zhongli gave Wendy a meaningful glance before turning his attention to Madame Ping.

"Yes, Wendy has always taken an interest in my stories." Madame Ping stared back at Zhongli. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Zhongli 先生..."

Zhongli closed his eyes, an amused smile on his face. As he opened them, he spoke. "The traveler told me an old friend of mine had invited me for tea."

Madame Ping couldn't hold back a wide smile. "So it is you." She replied, laughing a little. "I'm glad to see you're well. I had my suspicions, I must admit, but...it is nice to see them confirmed." Her eyes twinkled. "You've got yourself quite the boyfriend there, Wendy."

Wendy's blushed again. "Y-yes," Her grip on Zhongli's arm tightened as she pressed her face against him shyly.

"Forgive my manners, shall we go somewhere more private?" It was her turn to provide an amused smile.

Zhongli nodded. "Yes, that sounds lovely."

Humming to herself, clearly in great spirits, Madame Ping wandered over to her teapot.

"After you," She gestured, watching Wendy with a look that made Wendy furrow her brow in confusion.

"Thank you kindly." Zhongli replied. He nodded at Wendy, before walking her over to the teacup. Wendy's expression was growing progressively more confused. "Hold tight now."

"I-" Wendy was not able to finish her sentence before she and Zhongli were pulled into the teacup. As they reappeared in Madame Ping's Abyssal Domain, Zhongli found she was gripping his arm very tightly with both hands, looking completely startled. "Wh-WHAT?!"

"You did not realize she was an Adepti, did you?" Zhongli observed more than asked. He began walking, gently tugging Wendy along, as calm as if the floating platforms amidst a vast abyss of emptiness was perfectly normal.

"I was starting to figure that out..." Wendy mumbled. "But this is- where are we?"

"Inside her teapot. An Abyssal Domain." Zhongli explained, as Wendy looked around with wide eyes. "I imagine she'll be here joining us shortly."

"Wow," Wendy breathed out, loosening her grip on Zhongli's arm, letting one hand fall back to her side. "It's...beautiful. Is this really the inside of a teapot?!"

Madame Ping laughed from behind them. "It certainly is. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, dear. I couldn't resist seeing how you reacted."

Wendy smiled, even as she blushed a bit. "That's...that's alright."

"And you," Madame Ping marched up to Zhongli, smiling wide again. "You're really here?" She almost seemed like she didn't believe it, despite the joy on her face.

He nodded. "I am. I apologize for deceiving you," Zhongli took in a breath. "But it was necessary. As it remains necessary that not all of the Adepti can be made aware of the truth."

Madame Ping hummed a response. "Apology accepted, Rex Lapis." She paused, considering. "Old habits die hard. Zhongli now, isn't it?" He nodded in response. Wendy watched the exchange curiously. She noticed that Madame Ping had watched for her reaction as well. But the use of the name Rex Lapis hadn't surprised her, of course. Madame Ping seemed pleased by that. "Come now, we can talk more once I get the tea brewing."

So they went, along the platforms and the glowing ribbons that connected them. Madame Ping occasionally turned a knob here or there to reorient the platforms, and once or twice took out a few stray Slimes that had somehow made their way into the Domain. Neither Wendy nor Zhongli needed to raise a finger. Madame Ping pulsed out energy with hardly a physical motion, defeating the enemies with ease. Wendy could feel Zhongli's eyes on her, gauging her reaction with interest.

Finally, they arrived at a circular table with three chairs. Zhongli, gentleman that he was, pulled out a chair for Wendy, before sitting down and scooting his chair closer to hers, taking her hand in his. Madame Ping watched with a small smile, setting the water to boil with a flick of her wrist before sitting down.

"Now then," Madame Ping smirked a little, "how is it to be dating Rex Lapis?" The slip up with names was clearly intentional. Wendy blushed darkly, while Zhongli chuckled quietly.

"Please don't hold back on my account, beloved." Zhongli squeezed her hand, smiling pleasantly despite the obvious teasing.

"I- this-" Wendy hung her head with a sigh. She was being ganged up on by a god and an Adeptus. How was that fair?! "He's a lovely boyfriend, um, he...makes me feel...very safe, and loved...like I truly am...his 心肝..." Despite the blush on her own face at saying those words, Wendy forced them out, hoping to get back at Zhongli just a little bit.

It worked better than expected. She heard Zhongli clear his throat, and looked up to see that his ear tips were a bright shade of red which was swiftly making it's way across his face. But he was also looking at her softly, though he swiftly averted his eyes when she looked up at him.

"Ah..." He murmured, putting his free hand over his mouth.

Madame Ping chuckled. "心肝, hm?" There was that soft, happy smile of hers again as she leaned her head on her hands. "I'm happy to hear it. For the both of you. I'm proud of you, Zhongli. You've changed over these many years."

Zhongli met her gaze. "Thank you. I have learned a great many things about the people of Liyue, and the people of Teyvat, and about myself. I have come to understand the value in things like love more deeply than ever before." Wendy squeezed his hand gently, and he squeezed back.

Madame Ping poured the now hot water into the teapot, the leaves swirling around as water filled the pot. She set the pot down in the middle of the table, arranging three ornate teacups as well.

"What are you planning to do, Zhongli?" Madame Ping asked curiously. "If I am permitted to know." A teasing smile.

"I will remain here in Liyue, working as a consultant for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Right now, truly all I want is to share my life with Wendy." Zhongli said. There was no shyness, no bashfulness to his words. It was simply a fact. Wendy felt herself melting as she looked at him, the picture of beauty and composure, saying such a thing as if it was obvious and undeniable.

"Guizhong would be proud of you, too." Madame Ping said softly. Zhongli smiled sadly in response, lowering his eyes to the empty teacups.

"I have considered this as well. But for you to say it...thank you."

There was a quiet, and in that quiet, Wendy felt uncomfortable, even as the other two looked melancholy and composed. Guizhong? Who was Guizhong? They clearly meant something to Zhongli. But she didn't dare ask with the solemn looks those two were wearing. For Zhongli not to have mentioned them before...it must have been someone very personally important to him.

"Part of me hopes, that with Wendy's help, I may yet unlock the stone dumbbell. And yet..." Zhongli trailed off. Wendy looked up at him, even more confused, but he refused to meet her gaze. Madame Ping sighed.

"The time will come."

In the silence again, she poured tea for Wendy and Zhongli. Zhongli took the pot from her, pouring a cup for her as well. Wendy put one hand around the cup gingerly, feeling it's warmth, the other growing a bit clammy in Zhongli's grasp as the silence continued. He looked at her for a moment, but she didn't meet his gaze, still puzzling over the conversation.

"In any case, I would be delighted if the future included regular visits with me." Madame Ping said with a smile, breaking the silence with grace. Her face softened. "I was rather worried."

"I apologize again for deceiving you." Zhongli bowed his head slightly.

She waved him off. "I understand. And when the traveler asked me for the bell...I had my suspicions." She wrapped her hands around the cup. "I am relieved to see they were correct." She turned her gaze to Wendy. "How long have you two been together?"

"Oh!" Wendy was briefly startled by the conversation turning to her. "Um, I suppose...a year and a half by now, isn't it?"

"Mm." Zhongli nodded. "A year, 5 months, and 3 days."

Madame Ping chuckled. "That's wonderful. I see that it must be a very serious thing."

"Did you expect anything different?" Zhongli asked, tilting his head.

"Not in the least. And, if I may pry, when was it you learned who he was?" Madame Ping asked.

"Well, see, I took on one of his commissions as an adventurer," Wendy happily began to explain. "And then after that I just started to happen to see him other places too!"

Zhongli's ears burned a bit. It had not been a mere coincidence she'd started seeing him more often. That had been intentional on his part. He could tell by the way Madame Ping was smiling she understood this immediately.

"Ahem." He coughed gently to try and dispel his light blush. "Things went naturally from there, of course. I'm sure we can spare you the details." It wasn't that he was embarrassed, per se. He thought he'd done a reasonable job at expressing his interest and flirting with Wendy. And yet, for some reason, he wanted to keep it private. Madame Ping was one of the few who could tease the great Rex Lapis with a mere look, having known him for so long.

Madame Ping nodded. "I see." Her eyes were sparkling. "What I actually intended to ask was when you found out he was Rex Lapis." That gave Zhongli pause. He had but a moment to wonder if she'd approve.

"Just...a week or so after the Osial attack." Wendy said after a moments thought.

Madame Ping's brows rose.

"You really put her through that without warning her?" She asked, looking at Zhongli with grandmotherly disapproval.

"I," Zhongli paused, closing his eyes and fidgeting with his tie for a moment. He sighed. "I had my reasons. And I will not be doing such a thing again." His eartips were red again.

"It's alright. I already forgave you." Wendy squeezed his hand gently.

"Mm." Zhongli acknowledged her words. "Thank you. I will admit, it did add a certain logistical challenge, and there were times I wished I had already explained it, so I could be more forthright with you. I failed to anticipate that you, with your kind and compassionate heart, would be so eager to support me in my perceived grief."

Wendy looked away. "W-well of course I would..."

"It would seem you've still much to learn about humans, Zhongli." Madame Ping sipped at her tea. That sort of reaction was obvious to her, having lived amongst humans for so long.

"I cannot disagree with that. I suppose I was rather attached to my plan. It had been around for longer than I had known you." Zhongli noted, glancing at Wendy who met his gaze with interest. "I was... unwilling to change it even as circumstances began to change between us. And it was in motion, the contract already set in stone, by the time I realized you might pose a real problem as far as not getting yourself into trouble."

"I just wanted to help-"

"Yes, with no regard for your own safety, I'm well aware." Zhongli replied, shaking his head slightly.

"That's how humans are, you know. I find it an admirable trait." Madame Ping smiled at Wendy, who had begun to pout.

"I'm not sure Zhongli appreciates that yet." Wendy tugged her hand out of his to pick up her tea with both hands, letting out a quiet "hmph!" as if annoyed.

Zhongli watched her for a moment, frowning slightly at the loss of her hand.

"I do appreciate it." He replied, face softening. He reached out a gloved hand to touch her cheek. "It is admirable as stated, and it is part of what makes you, you. But nonetheless, it is also...frightening. To lose you...the mere thought is...painful." He sighed. "I want to protect you from every evil in this world."

Wendy felt like her face was burning. Madame Ping watched with delight, she chuckled, drawing Zhongli's attention.

"I expected no less from you." She sipped her tea again. "I'm sure you two will have a long and happy life together."

Zhongli blinked, lowering his hand and turning to face her again. Wendy bowed her head a bit, catching her breath, still feeling her heart pounding. Tea, yes, tea...

"Thank you."

------------

By the end of their chat Wendy felt warm and happy as they waved goodbye to Madame Ping. She took Zhongli's arm again as they left the terrace, headed for home.

"Did you have fun?" Zhongli asked. "I apologize if we teased you too much-"

"You didn't! It was...nice. It was interesting to talk to someone who knows you so well." Wendy replied with a small smile.

"Oh? What do you mean?" There was a glint in his eye.

"I've never met someone who was actually able to tease you like that."

"Besides you, of course."

"Besides me."

"Hm. Yes, well, I suppose 3700 years will do that. She is one of few who will understand that as much as Liyue has changed...I have changed, too."

Wendy leaned her head against his arm. "I may not understand, but I hope I can be proud of you, too?"

"Mm." He leaned over to press a kiss to the top of her head sweetly. "Nothing would make me happier."

They walked in silence for a bit, enjoying each others company as they headed away from Liyue proper and into the quiet night.

"Zhongli? Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, 心肝."

She still hesitated a moment. "Who...who was Guizhong?"

Zhongli slowed to a stop, Wendy looking up with worry at the surprise on his face.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried..." Wendy looked away, feeling guilty.

"No, please," Zhongli turned to her, taking her hands in his. "I want you to be comfortable asking me anything. It's just that..." he looked sad, Wendy thought, bowing his head. "I just need a bit more time. As if hundreds, thousands weren't enough... just a bit more... but I promise, I'll tell you. Just... not yet."

"Okay." Wendy replied simply. She gently pulled her hands out of his, wrapping them around his waist instead, pressing herself to his chest. His body reacted almost on instinct, embracing her and pressing his face to the top of her head, inhaling her scent

"I promise." He mumbled. "I will tell you everything in time."

Glossary

先生 - xiansheng (mister)

心肝 - xingan (serious term of affection, literally heart and liver)

#fic #set in stone #zhongli x oc #genshin posting #zhongli

16 notes · View notes

drycoin14-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Special Sauce: Nik Sharma on the Kitchen as Laboratory

[Nik Sharma photograph: Courtesy of Nik Sharma. Meatloaf photograph: J. Kenji López-Alt]

This week, in part two of my conversation with chef and food writer Nik Sharma, we dug into the science-based approach to cooking that informs his terrific new cookbook, Seasons: Big Flavors, Beautiful Food.

Given Nik’s background in medical research, it made sense to learn that he thinks of his kitchen as just another lab. All of us, he pointed out, experiment in one way or another in the kitchen, even if we’re just tweaking a family recipe. In his case, though, Nik explains that he “had that training to do that…one of the things I really like about recipes, [is that] the way they're written is exactly the way I would prepare my buffers in biochemistry or in genetics… We call them recipes, we pretty much use the terminology, everything is arranged by volume or when it has to go in.” He even admits to using lab notebooks when he’s developing a recipe. It’s that analytical approach that he says allows him to make each iteration of a recipe better.

That said, Nik shied away from making Seasons read overly scientific. Instead, “I kind of wanted to introduce myself to people,” he said. “At the same time, I wanted to be really approachable, so someone who is intimated by being too science-y kind of understands that the simplest things that they're doing in the kitchen actually have a scientific basis to them.” He talked about something as simple as bruising an herb like mint to extract essential oils and introduce them to a cocktail. “You know, you're breaking those cells to release those essential oils so then they get solubilized in whatever solvent they're in, so like water.”

The moral of Nik’s story? Even if science intimidates you, “what you're doing in the kitchen is a form of science,” and even when it goes awry, learning from your mistakes is half the fun. Nik believes, like Bob Dylan once sang, "There's no success like failure and failure's no success at all.” When it comes to cooking, he told me "I want people to understand that when you walk in to the kitchen, you don't have to be compelled to succeed the first time, I think that's something very cultural where there is this impetus to push people for success, but I think we forget sometimes that it's okay to fail because it's your failures that you remember, you'll never remember what you succeeded at or why, but it's when you fail you start to remember what was wrong, how can you fix it, and it makes you much wiser."

I loved hearing what everyone's eating on Nik Sharma Day, but if I told you what it is, you might not listen to the whole episode. And that, serious eaters, would be a big mistake.

Special Sauce is available on iTunes, Google Play Music, Soundcloud, Player FM, and Stitcher. You can also find the archive of all our episodes here on Serious Eats and on this RSS feed.

Want to chat with me and our unbelievably talented recipe developers? We're accepting questions for Special Sauce call-in episodes now. Do you have a recurring argument with your spouse over the best way to maintain a cast iron skillet? Have you been working on your mac and cheese recipe for the past five years, but can't quite get it right? Does your brother-in-law make the worst lasagna, and you want to figure out how to give him tips? We want to get to know you and solve all your food-related problems. Send us the whole story at [email protected].

Ed Levine: Welcome to Special Sauce, Serious Eats' podcast about food and life. Every week on Special Sauce, we talk to some of the leading lights of American culture, food folks and non-food folks alike.

Nik Sharma: We don't think about these things all the time, but actually what you're doing in the kitchen is a form of science and in a lot of the experiments I did when I was in research, we would use similar things like a blender, a Waring blender or a mortar and pestle to crush cells, use glass speeds, you know all those kinds of things. And it was fascinating that we were doing the same thing in the kitchen.

EL: Today we're talking to the supremely gifted Nik Sharma, the author of Season: Big Flavors, Beautiful Food, and the creator of the amazing blog, A Brown Table. He also writes a column for the San Francisco Chronicle called “A Brown Kitchen.” So, when you started putting "Brown" in your titles, whether it's the brown table, or brown kitchen, was that in part your way of saying this is who I am, and I'm proud of it, and, you know, just live with it everybody.

NS: There were two reasons behind it. One was the fact that at the time, brown wood was a popular prop in photography.

EL: Oh.

NS: And I couldn't come up with the name, I'm really not good at coming up with leads and book titles. And obviously blog names, too. And so that was the idea behind that. And the other thing I said, well, it's also playful because I'm brown, and I think it works.

EL: Got it. So you're doing the newspaper column, and how did the book come about?

NS: At the time what happened I had won my second IACP award for my blog. And when that happened, an agent reached out to me to write a cookbook. And I wasn't sure because a couple of years ago, I had reached out to agents who had kind of turned me down and said I didn't have anything to write about.

EL: Nice, that's such a great reaction, that really makes you want to just keep on going, doesn't it?

NS: It does, it actually does. You know why? Because if you come from the science world, your professors will tell you that you have really nothing to tell.

EL: That's awesome. So your science background really came in handy when the rejection started coming in.

NS: Right. I think one of the things with rejection is you have to learn how to take it with a grain of salt and learn to figure out what your point of view is, whether you're in science, whether your theory is right or wrong, and whether you have the tools to get there. And so it made me reevaluate my thoughts and whether I should really write a cookbook, whether really the agent was right did I really have something new to tell people? And why was my book going to be different from everybody else's? You know because, as you know, there are so many cookbooks that come out each year.

EL: Absolutely.

NS: And I think one of the misconceptions that I had early on was that a cookbook would be the next stage in my career but something that I had to do, which isn't true. There was a point when I told myself I don't think I need to do a cookbook also. So when the agent reached out to me, I wasn't really sure, we spoke quite a bit, we even met up in person until she said no, I actually do believe that you have something to tell people that's different. And we both worked on our proposal together, and this was at the same time that I was working at the food start-up in San Francisco and just started writing my food column for the Chronicle. And, you know, we sold a proposal and then I started to work on Season.

EL: Yeah, and that's interesting. Since you were doing both the column and the book at the same time, did you have to come an agreement with the Chronicle? Or did you just say Okay, I'm not going to use anything from the Chronicle in the book.

NS: I did-

EL: I know that's always a thing, when it comes to Serious Eats is, books, or Kenji's book, or Stella's book, or whatever.

NS: Yeah, I didn't have to worry about that, in fact I didn't even to think about it.

EL: Good.

NS: Because the main thing what I wanted to do was with the book, I feel if people are going to spend money or something, they need new content, and that's my personal opinion, because they could get that stuff for free elsewhere. And the only thing I did, I decided because my fans wanted me to include the most popular recipe from my blog. I thought that would be okay and so I picked the apple cake in my book, the Masala Chai Apple Cake, which at the time was one of the most popular recipes on the blog. So I put that in the book, but then everything else I really wanted to be different to kind of reflect how everything that I had done in my life had also influenced this book.

EL: So there was a larger point you were trying to make with the book?

NS: Right, I kind of wanted people to first not think it was an Indian cookbook, and I wanted to look at it from the way that this is how an immigrant cooks, and also this is what it means to cook with flavor, to me.

EL: So you start the book with a flavor glossary, speaking of flavor. What exactly is that? And why include it in your book?

NS: Yeah, so that was an idea that came up by my editor. And I thought it was brilliant because one of the things, even for me, who is someone who grew up in India with spices being around them all day, I find it sometimes hard to distinguish between something like cumin or caraway because they all look similar, right? And the shape of the seed is so similar so if they're not placed next to each other, it's really difficult. And so I decided to put myself in my reader's shoes from, you know, based on the blog and the column, and based on the comments over the years, I started also polling them with questions to find out what do they find uncomfortable? And one of the things is with Indian cooking is with spices, and I think this is common with any culture that's not mainstream, is people are scared of spaces as they're scared of people. I always put it in terms of xenophobia, you're always scared of what you don't know.

EL: Sure.

NS: Right? And so the same thing with spices, so I said this is a great way to kind of, since attention spans have also changed over the past couple of years, something visual will probably resonate much better with people. So if they go to the store and they know what it looks like, then-

EL: They won't be as scared?

NS: Right, you'll feel more confident in asking for something.

EL: Before we leave the apple cake behind, the Masala Apple Cake, I do love an apple cake, my grandmother, may she rest in peace, made a phenomenal apple cake.

NS: Oh.

EL: How did you make it yours?

NS: I go with what excites me in the moment, to be honest. Like with this apple cake, if we take this as an example, apple cakes and spice cakes was something that I learned about when I came to America that during, when the weather starts to cool off, people naturally in America deviate to warmer spices in their deserts. And you know we've got the spice cakes that kind of do that, even mulled wine does that, and so I said how do I put these flavors but kind of connect the apple cake that's so American to me with something that's Indian in my experience, but also brings that level of warm.

NS: And the masala chai spice, or the chai masala rather, works really well here because it's got those combination of warm flavors, and then I said if I'm going to call it a masala chai cake, and "chai" meaning tea, I need to put tea leaves in it, or tea in some form I need to incorporate that. So I put that into the batter and made a flour with that. And to me that represents kind of this I wouldn't say fusion, but this kind of meeting of ideas in between.

EL: Yeah, I love that, I love that, 'cause it's sort of emblematic of the way you cook and the way you think.

NS: Right.

EL: So I want to talk a little about your photographic point of view. On page 75 of in the book, you have these lentils that look like rocks. And you really do have an original photographic voice. How would you describe it? And how did it evolve?

NS: Well, evolve is through trial and error, I, at least, had no idea what even composition was. Two of the pieces of advice I got from my dad on photography was what kind of camera to buy. He's used Nikon for all his life and so it made sense for me to use Nikon 'cause that's a brand that he's worked with, but to be honest, now as I'm more mature, you know, I think no brand is really superior to the other, it's your lenses that matter. But in terms of point of view, I think that was a lot through trial and error, 'cause for the longest time, I was trying to do what everyone else was doing. And it felt okay, but it didn't make me happy. And then I was also letting, again, people define who I was even artistically.

EL: Yes, there's a theme, sort of, there's a through line here, Nik, I'm getting. You know it's like each time, and this is true of I think of most creative people, we tend to emulate or imitate the people we respect and admire.

NS: Right, right.

EL: But at a certain point you go, "This is them, it's not me."

NS: Right. And it came to me early on that I, it just didn't feel right, why I was trying to be like everyone else? And if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. And so I started to evolve as a writer, as well as a photographer and a cook, and started exploring how could I push my limits.

EL: And so at that point it's trial and error and there's nobody that you're going, God, I'm inspired by, whoever, Weegee, or it doesn't matter, Walker Evans, or any photographer.

NS: Right, I wanted to see what excites me and how, why was I liking food so much? And so I wanted to convey that through my photos. And so I needed to understand myself in order to put myself out there if that makes sense.

EL: Yeah.

NS: Out to my world.

EL: It makes perfect sense. You titled something in the book says, which I think harkens obviously back to your science background, your kitchen is your lab, what did you mean by that?

NS: So one of the things that in the kitchen I realized is that a lot of us, even we're handed down a recipe from a family member, be it a grandmother or a mother, we end up changing it quite a bit over time to make it our own. And that is experimentation in its own way. And so, in my case, I already had that training to do that. Because one of the things I really like about recipes, the way they're written is exactly the way I would prepare my buffers in biochemistry or in genetics, you know, for my enzymes. We call them recipes, we pretty much use the terminology, everything is arranged by volume or when it has to go in. And so, these were the things that I found there were a lot of similarities, and so when I write recipes, I actually use still use lab notebooks, and I write things down in iterations, like you know version one, version two, version three. And so I try to do that with the recipes and work through them in an experimentative way where it may not work the first time, but how do I make it better? So let me look at it analytically.

EL: And like Kenji, you sort of take your readers on your adventure.

NS: I do, I do.

EL: And that seems to be important to you?

NS: That is, because I want people to understand that when you walk in to the kitchen, you don't have to be compelled to succeed the first time, I think that's something very cultural where there is this impetus to push people for success, but I think we forget sometimes that it's okay to fail because it's your failures that you remember, you'll never remember what you succeeded at or why, but it's when you fail you start to remember what was wrong, how can you fix it, and it makes you much wiser.

EL: You know, Bob Dylan wrote, "There's no success like failure, and failure's no success at all." We've got to think about that when it comes to cooking.

NS: Yeah.

EL: Let's talk now, I want to get back to seasoning because it's a big part of your book. And you talk about the how's of seasoning.

NS: Yeah.

EL: And you say grinding, bruising and chopping, toasting, infusion, muddling, smoking, brining, marinating, and applying rubs, browning, and then bringing it all together. So what were you trying to communicate in terms of the how's of seasoning?

NS: I didn't want this particular book to be something too scientific, because it was an introductory book, and I kind of wanted to introduce myself to people. At the same time, I wanted to be really approachable, so someone who is intimated by being too sciency kind of understands that the simplest things that they're doing in the kitchen actually have a scientific basis for them. So something that you might not think about, like you mentioned bruising, is a way to pull out the essential oils, for example, in mint, into a drink. You know, you're breaking those cells to release those essential oils so then they get solubilized in whatever solvent they're in, so like water. And we don't think about these things all the time, but actually what you're doing in the kitchen is a form of science. And in a lot of the experiments I did when I was in research, we would use similar things like a blender, a waring blender or a mortar and pestle to crush cells, use glass speeds, you know all those kinds of things. And it was fascinating that we were doing the same thing in the kitchen in a very different way.

EL: You've gotta level with me, Nik. At any time, when you were in that lab, were you making pesto in the blender?

NS: Okay, I can say now since I'm no longer employed by anyone, at least from science, but I did at one point, I was really concerned about yogurt, why was my yogurt when I made it at home not the same kind of yogurt back in India? And so I actually ended up taking cultures and gram staining them and looking under the microscope to see what was wrong.

EL: But not telling your professor that you were doing that?

NS: No, I didn't need to do. And I think even if they saw it, they wouldn't really care, 'cause they all did their own. I actually had a professor who would, if I'm correct, he actually ran wine samples once in an osmometer to measure osmolality.

EL: I don't even know what that is, but it sounds complicated.

NS: But yeah, I mean, so I did like a lot of those smut stuff, I sneaked it in, but at the same time I also, one of the things that I, you know, I was lucky to do was learn about biology, and in so biology, you end up doing a lot of stuff which is edible. So a lot of experiments I did was learning how to isolate pectin or gelatin from plant or animal tissues, you know, measure the yield of casing in different kinds of milk. And so that I think kind of, for me it just made sense, oh, yeah, you would have to do in a lab anyway.

EL: Got it. So you write about the pantry, "I firmly believe that person's wealth lies in his or her kitchen pantry." It's kind of radical?

NS: Not really so and that's the reason why I put it in, because if you go to anybody's refrigerator, it might not be stocked with actual ingredients, right? You might not have vegetables, or fruit, or meat, or whatever in there. You will see a lot of condiments. Go to the pantry and it's the same thing, you might not see actual, you obviously won't see actual meals in there, but you will see a bunch of random spices, or, you know like a marshmallow or two or something sitting in there, like a half a bag of lentils, and I think that's what reflects the wealth of a person because it's kind of like visiting someone's house and you look at the number of books they have, or the stack of magazines, and you get an idea of how of they think.

EL: Right, so is the pantry-

NS: It's same thing.

EL: You think the pantry is kind of a Rorschach Test?

NS: Yeah, you walk in and you say, wow, this is something interesting, I don't have that at home, maybe I should get it, why do they have it? Let me ask them that question, and what do they do with it? And so, and in often what happens in many cases, and this is something that I've seen with home cooks a lot, is we're always trying to make do with what we have already at home.

EL: It's true.

NS: Right? And so if I have say a bit of brown beef, I don't really want to go out and buy something new sometimes. I want to work with what I have at home, so how do I make that happen? And so that was what I was trying to tell people is that your pantry's probably well stocked already, let's see what we can do with it.

EL: Yeah. Whose had the greatest influence on you sort of cooking wise, writing wise, and photography wise? And they probably are different people?

NS: Yeah, I'll start with photography. So photography, one of the places that I don't have any particular names, but one of the places that I actually look for inspiration is anything that's not food related.

EL: It's great. And you actually talk about I saw a video online where you talk photography in terms of dance and curves.

NS: Yeah.

EL: That was really fascinating. So you have some explaining to do, man.

NS: Okay. So one of the things I'm drawn to are curves; I find curves to be really sensual, and I actually did a poll recently with people as to what kind of taste they associate, shapes of food with taste, and curves seem to be very popular with people. And I think it's because curves are so sensual, your eye tends to move on a smooth line and it's drawn, whereas quadrilaterals and, you know, lines are tend to be a little sharper, and so they feel a little harsh, and so it's soothing. And one of the things I think about when I'm styling food is that I liked food because I think the process is beautiful by the way it happens, the final dish is beautiful, the ingredients are beautiful, and I'm not referring to the way things are styled, but just the idea and concept. And so I wanted to convey that in a way that made sense to me. And for me that was, oh, look at this ballerina on stage, when she's dancing, everything falls, it becomes noise, everything around her is noise, and it gets pushed away to the darkness, and then you have the light just focusing on her. So when I photograph in style, I kind of keep that always in mind, where I want to photograph this process as being the ballerina right now.

EL: Yeah.

NS: That's what makes it beautiful in that moment to me, 'cause sometimes I think we take... the I guess the simplest task for food for granted, like even rubbing a lemon on a cutting board just to loosen the cells up, that's such a beautiful process that we don't think about, there's so much going on in there, the cells are breaking, the essential oils are coming out, and you're getting to smell that aroma.

EL: Yeah.

NS: And I think those are like the littlest things that make it so beautifuL.

EL: Yeah, I think you're right. So what about your cooking or your writing?

NS: In terms of cooking and writing, I think I'm heavily influenced by home cook authors, especially Diana Henry is one.

EL: Whose a famous, for people who don't know, British cookbook author.

NS: Yeah, I love the way that she approaches food in a very mature, sophisticated way, but it's also very casual and welcoming. Nigella Lawson is another author that I really love, and I also really like Nigel Slater, because they do the same thing, they make it approachable for home cooks. At the same time, they're also teasing with them new ideas.

EL: Do you have a British fixation? What's up with that? All three of those people, don't tell me you're into the royal wedding, and the royal babies.

NS: I'm definitely not into that.

EL: Okay.

NS: But for some reason, I do appreciate a lot of British authors. From the American side, I do like M. F. K. Fisher, I think her writing is very, it's again very sophisticated and mature, which I'm not, so I really enjoy people who do that. And then authors that are from India, like Julie Sahni is one of.

EL: Sure, sure.

NS: You know, I really like the books that she wrote. Madhur Jaffrey. And then, I feel like Honey and Co, that's not really well known, they're from the Middle East, they're again based in London, but they've written several books, they're not really well known here yet, but I feel their work is also so compelling because they come from the restaurant side of the world, but they make it approachable for home cooks.

EL: What are their names?

NS: Itamar and Sarit.

EL: I need three recipes people should start with from the book and why. I know me, personally, I'm going to make the Sweet Potato Bebinca for Thanksgiving, 'cause that seemed and looked so awesome.

NS: Yeah, and for the people that hate making pies, I think that's an easy way to do it.

EL: Yeah, yeah.

NS: Definitely since we're heading in towards the Stoneford season, I would recommend trying the Broil Peaches with the Maple Vinegar Syrup, that's one of my favorite deserts in the book 'cause it's simple and easy. And then I would recommend the Cauliflower Paneer Salad because that's a different way of looking at paneer, classically, it's, you know, I always see people substituting feta for paneer, or cottage cheese, or something else. I think it's time to celebrate paneer for what it is and so I tried to do that with the salad and showcase that it can, it holds its structure, like a lot of the other Greek cheeses. And so it works well, it's easy to make at home if you can't find it, all you need is milk and some kind of food acid. And then the third recipe I would recommend is to go ahead and make the Meatloaf.

EL: The Meatloaf?

NS: Yeah, 'cause the meatloaf is something that is so iconically American to me.

EL: This is Cincinnati meets India, meets San Francisco, meet Washington D.C.

NS: Yeah, meets the South. Yeah, 'cause, you know, my husband really loves meatloaf, it was one of the things that he made me when we started dating. And we don't make it that often now, but the meatloaf was something that I said I need to do kind of something like an East meets West kind of thing in this dish, and it's such a classic iconic American dish, how do I make it much more flavorful? I'm not a big fan of ketchup on meatloaf, so I made my own sauce for this. So it's sweet, it's spicy, but it's also really moist because of the apples that go into it.

EL: Oh, I am going to try this. You know that Frank Bruni did a whole book of people's meatloaf recipes?

NS: Oh, wow, I need to look for that.

EL: So what's next, Nik? You've climbed up a lot of mountains in a relatively short period of time. Besides writing for Serious Eats, I think that's what's next.

NS: We'll see what happens, but I am working on a new cookbook that it's definitely going to be more science focused this time, for home cooks. And it'll be out in Fall 2020.

EL: Great, that's awesome. So, now it's time for the All You Can Answer Special Sauce Buffet. No pressure, you could take your time.

NS: Okay.

EL: So whose at your last supper? No family allowed.

NS: I wouldn't invite family anyway, they'll be too critical.

EL: Okay, I like that.

NS: Let's see, I think I'd like to have Kenji and Stella.

EL: You say that to all the guys.

NS: No, I love Stella, because Stella's been so wonderful, and I mean Stella's like someone you can knock on a door and she'll have an answer for you.

EL: And it's true.

NS: So I love Stella.

EL: So we should say that Stella Parks is, at Serious Eats, I call her our pastry wizard, and Kenji Lopez, as everyone I think knows at this point is wrote an amazing book called The Food Lab, and was our Culinary Director, and is still our Culinary Advisor at Serious Eats. So I like that, there's one more person, though, besides Stella and Kenji that I need to have, to finish out the table.

NS: Okay. Samin, Samin Nosrat.

EL: Samin Nosrat?

NS: Yeah.

EL: Is that someone you've gotten to know out there? Or just someone you admire?

NS: Both, so Samin and I, we both live, well, she lives in Berkeley, I live in Oakland. And we obviously know each other since we run in the same circles. But Samin is someone that I really admire because she's someone that's also, you know, a child of immigrants, and has been so successful. So I'm really in awe of what she's been able to accomplish, but she's also just a really nice person, and knows her flavor well. And the three people I selected for this dinner really know their flavor well, so if they had to give me criticism, it would be objective.

EL: I like that. So what are you eating?

NS: Right now?

EL: No, at the last supper.

NS: Oh, at the last supper. So there will be ice cream for sure.

EL: Okay.

NS: 'Cause I'm a big ice cream fan, so there will be ice cream.

EL: Alright.

NS: Let's see, I will probably make some kind of rice dish that will have saffron, for sure, and a bunch of spices. So maybe some kind of pilaf, or pilau, as people call it. I'll probably do a whole roast chicken because that's a great trick for a home cook to look impressive. You make a big chicken, everyone's impressed, and it takes minimal work.

EL: That's great. And you have this line in the book about flavoring a whole chicken, that the trick is to keep the sauce between the skin and the flesh, because the layer of fat in the skin helps the chicken retain its moisture while the flavors in the marinade penetrate the flesh.

NS: Yeah, I don't know why people do it the other way, like I get the salt outside, but I want the flavor to touch the meat.

EL: Yeah.

NS: That's just me, but. And then, Oh, yeah, we've got to have a salad, so probably do, depending on what's in season, I'll make a salad for them. And then, let's see, we have to a vegetable dish, so maybe a roasted cauliflower or something.

EL: That sounds great, man. Can I come?

NS: Yeah.

EL: Alright. What do you cook when there's nothing in the house to eat?

NS: If I have eggs at home, which I usually do, then I'll probably work with the eggs and call it a day. But often what I'll do is I will just make a quick soup.

EL: Assuming that there's stock, either store bought, or that you've made?

NS: Yeah, sometimes I don't even use stock.

EL: You use water?

NS: Yeah, and then I just flavor it as I go.

EL: Got it.

NS: Because I usually have a well stocked pantry, I might not have a lot of things in the fridge, but you can work your way through with the pantry and make it work.

EL: So, do you have a guilty pleasure?

NS: Ice cream. Well, I don't feel guilty about it so I.

EL: Yeah, neither do I. Straight up, are we talking Humphry Slocombe? You're from San Francisco, Bi-Rite Creamery, which one of those ice creams really touches you?

NS: So I'll get in trouble for saying this 'cause I'm not going to pick something local. I'm going to pick Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams.

EL: She's Columbus, right?

NS: Yeah, yeah.

EL: I think she's in Cincinnati now, but she started in Columbus.

NS: But the thing with Jeni's Ice Cream is that she is the only one that makes a really beautiful tart lemon ice cream.

EL: Got it.

NS: And no one has ever been able to compare to that. And that's the only thing I get from Jenny's is that lemon ice cream or I make it from her book at home.

EL: That's so great. So what's on your nightstand right now book wise? It doesn't have to be food related.

NS: Oh my God, it is food related.

EL: It's Okay, that's good.

NS: I'm currently reading Arabesque by Claudia Roden.

EL: She's an amazing scholarly writer.

NS: Yeah, I love everything that all the work that she's done. I don't have any of her other books, I only have Arabesque and Middle Eastern Feast, I think that's the book.

EL: Yeah.

NS: And both of them talking a lot personally about cooking Middle Eastern food. I've actually been reading the book just for her essays, they're also fun, the way she approaches stuff.

EL: That's cool. What's the most influential book you've ever read? That influences you personally on your career, on your life.

NS: There's a book called Genome by Matt Ridley. That was a book that I read early before I was I think in grad school. And it talks about each chromosome as a chapter, each human chromosome, and I think they've done updates to it. But it makes you appreciate how our bodies affect our different ways of life, from food to, you know, sociology and everything.

EL: Right.

NS: And so that has always played in mind when I've gone through life, even now with writing about food, a common theme that comes up about taste, you know we're attached to this bitter taste, or not to taste, and so are the things that he talks about, and I've always been kind of paid attention to that.

EL: So, whose had the great influence on you in your career?

NS: Diana Henry.

EL: Really? Have you ever met her?

NS: Yeah, we're really close friends.

EL: That's great.

NS: I love her.

EL: And why is she been the greatest influence? 'Cause you just admire the way she thinks and she cooks?

NS: What I really appreciate about Diana is her ability to introduce new ideas and make them comfortable for home cooks. At the same time, she's also a prolific cookbook author.

EL: Yeah.

NS: And she's also been hugely supportive of my career. I can always ask her about books that I've never heard about, or a topic that, and you need that.

EL: Sure.

NS: In the food world, you need someone. The same case with John Birdsall, he's been also really influential in my life in directing me in the right direction. And both of these authors have really taken their time to help someone who was relatively unknown at a certain point and invest in them because they believe in their voice and work, and that doesn't happen a lot. So to me that, you know, both of them, both John and Dan are really special to me.

EL: It's just been declared Nik Sharma day all over the world. What's happening on that day?

NS: Everybody gets a tub of really good lemon ice cream.

EL: Okay, there's a theme there.

NS: It should be warm 'cause I hate days when they're cold.

EL: Okay.

NS: And I think everybody should write a line on a piece of paper to say what they did that made them really proud of themselves that day.

EL: I love this. I love Nik Sharma day, we're going to make it happen. Let's say September or October, we're going to make it happen.

NS: Okay, Okay.

EL: So, thank you so much for sharing your Special Sauce for this, Nik Sharma. Pick up a copy of Season: Big Flavors, Beautiful Food, read Nik's terrific blog, A Brown Table, as well as his column, “A Brown Kitchen”, in the San Francisco Chronicle. And his about to be column in Serious Eats, no, no, wait, no, no.

EL: But anyway, thank you, Nik, it's been awesome.

NS: Thanks for having me on, Ed.

EL: So long, Serious Eaters. We'll see you see next time.

This post may contain links to Amazon or other partners; your purchases via these links can benefit Serious Eats. Read more about our affiliate linking policy.

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riskcause9-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Special Sauce: Nik Sharma on the Kitchen as Laboratory

[Nik Sharma photograph: Courtesy of Nik Sharma. Meatloaf photograph: J. Kenji López-Alt]

I loved hearing what everyone's eating on Nik Sharma Day, but if I told you what it is, you might not listen to the whole episode. And that, serious eaters, would be a big mistake.

Special Sauce is available on iTunes, Google Play Music, Soundcloud, Player FM, and Stitcher. You can also find the archive of all our episodes here on Serious Eats and on this RSS feed.

NS: There were two reasons behind it. One was the fact that at the time, brown wood was a popular prop in photography.

EL: Oh.

EL: Got it. So you're doing the newspaper column, and how did the book come about?

EL: Nice, that's such a great reaction, that really makes you want to just keep on going, doesn't it?

NS: It does, it actually does. You know why? Because if you come from the science world, your professors will tell you that you have really nothing to tell.

EL: That's awesome. So your science background really came in handy when the rejection started coming in.

EL: Absolutely.

NS: I did-

EL: I know that's always a thing, when it comes to Serious Eats is, books, or Kenji's book, or Stella's book, or whatever.

NS: Yeah, I didn't have to worry about that, in fact I didn't even to think about it.

EL: Good.

EL: So there was a larger point you were trying to make with the book?

EL: So you start the book with a flavor glossary, speaking of flavor. What exactly is that? And why include it in your book?

EL: Sure.

EL: They won't be as scared?

NS: Right, you'll feel more confident in asking for something.

EL: Before we leave the apple cake behind, the Masala Apple Cake, I do love an apple cake, my grandmother, may she rest in peace, made a phenomenal apple cake.

NS: Oh.

EL: How did you make it yours?

EL: Yeah, I love that, I love that, 'cause it's sort of emblematic of the way you cook and the way you think.

NS: Right.

NS: Right, right.

EL: But at a certain point you go, "This is them, it's not me."

EL: And so at that point it's trial and error and there's nobody that you're going, God, I'm inspired by, whoever, Weegee, or it doesn't matter, Walker Evans, or any photographer.

EL: Yeah.

NS: Out to my world.

EL: It makes perfect sense. You titled something in the book says, which I think harkens obviously back to your science background, your kitchen is your lab, what did you mean by that?

EL: And like Kenji, you sort of take your readers on your adventure.

NS: I do, I do.

EL: And that seems to be important to you?

EL: You know, Bob Dylan wrote, "There's no success like failure, and failure's no success at all." We've got to think about that when it comes to cooking.

NS: Yeah.

EL: Let's talk now, I want to get back to seasoning because it's a big part of your book. And you talk about the how's of seasoning.

NS: Yeah.

EL: You've gotta level with me, Nik. At any time, when you were in that lab, were you making pesto in the blender?

EL: But not telling your professor that you were doing that?

EL: I don't even know what that is, but it sounds complicated.

EL: Got it. So you write about the pantry, "I firmly believe that person's wealth lies in his or her kitchen pantry." It's kind of radical?

EL: Right, so is the pantry-

NS: It's same thing.

EL: You think the pantry is kind of a Rorschach Test?

EL: It's true.

EL: Yeah. Whose had the greatest influence on you sort of cooking wise, writing wise, and photography wise? And they probably are different people?

EL: It's great. And you actually talk about I saw a video online where you talk photography in terms of dance and curves.

NS: Yeah.

EL: That was really fascinating. So you have some explaining to do, man.

EL: Yeah.

NS: And I think those are like the littlest things that make it so beautifuL.

EL: Yeah, I think you're right. So what about your cooking or your writing?

NS: In terms of cooking and writing, I think I'm heavily influenced by home cook authors, especially Diana Henry is one.

EL: Whose a famous, for people who don't know, British cookbook author.

EL: Do you have a British fixation? What's up with that? All three of those people, don't tell me you're into the royal wedding, and the royal babies.

NS: I'm definitely not into that.

EL: Okay.

EL: Sure, sure.

EL: What are their names?

NS: Itamar and Sarit.

EL: I need three recipes people should start with from the book and why. I know me, personally, I'm going to make the Sweet Potato Bebinca for Thanksgiving, 'cause that seemed and looked so awesome.

NS: Yeah, and for the people that hate making pies, I think that's an easy way to do it.

EL: Yeah, yeah.

EL: The Meatloaf?

NS: Yeah, 'cause the meatloaf is something that is so iconically American to me.

EL: This is Cincinnati meets India, meets San Francisco, meet Washington D.C.

EL: Oh, I am going to try this. You know that Frank Bruni did a whole book of people's meatloaf recipes?

NS: Oh, wow, I need to look for that.

EL: So what's next, Nik? You've climbed up a lot of mountains in a relatively short period of time. Besides writing for Serious Eats, I think that's what's next.

NS: We'll see what happens, but I am working on a new cookbook that it's definitely going to be more science focused this time, for home cooks. And it'll be out in Fall 2020.

EL: Great, that's awesome. So, now it's time for the All You Can Answer Special Sauce Buffet. No pressure, you could take your time.

NS: Okay.

EL: So whose at your last supper? No family allowed.

NS: I wouldn't invite family anyway, they'll be too critical.

EL: Okay, I like that.

NS: Let's see, I think I'd like to have Kenji and Stella.

EL: You say that to all the guys.

NS: No, I love Stella, because Stella's been so wonderful, and I mean Stella's like someone you can knock on a door and she'll have an answer for you.

EL: And it's true.

NS: So I love Stella.

NS: Okay. Samin, Samin Nosrat.

EL: Samin Nosrat?

NS: Yeah.

EL: Is that someone you've gotten to know out there? Or just someone you admire?

EL: I like that. So what are you eating?

NS: Right now?

EL: No, at the last supper.

NS: Oh, at the last supper. So there will be ice cream for sure.

EL: Okay.

NS: 'Cause I'm a big ice cream fan, so there will be ice cream.

EL: Alright.

NS: Yeah, I don't know why people do it the other way, like I get the salt outside, but I want the flavor to touch the meat.

EL: Yeah.

EL: That sounds great, man. Can I come?

NS: Yeah.

EL: Alright. What do you cook when there's nothing in the house to eat?

NS: If I have eggs at home, which I usually do, then I'll probably work with the eggs and call it a day. But often what I'll do is I will just make a quick soup.

EL: Assuming that there's stock, either store bought, or that you've made?

NS: Yeah, sometimes I don't even use stock.

EL: You use water?

NS: Yeah, and then I just flavor it as I go.

EL: Got it.

NS: Because I usually have a well stocked pantry, I might not have a lot of things in the fridge, but you can work your way through with the pantry and make it work.

EL: So, do you have a guilty pleasure?

NS: Ice cream. Well, I don't feel guilty about it so I.

EL: Yeah, neither do I. Straight up, are we talking Humphry Slocombe? You're from San Francisco, Bi-Rite Creamery, which one of those ice creams really touches you?

NS: So I'll get in trouble for saying this 'cause I'm not going to pick something local. I'm going to pick Jeni's Splendid Ice Creams.

EL: She's Columbus, right?

NS: Yeah, yeah.

EL: I think she's in Cincinnati now, but she started in Columbus.

NS: But the thing with Jeni's Ice Cream is that she is the only one that makes a really beautiful tart lemon ice cream.

EL: Got it.

NS: And no one has ever been able to compare to that. And that's the only thing I get from Jenny's is that lemon ice cream or I make it from her book at home.

EL: That's so great. So what's on your nightstand right now book wise? It doesn't have to be food related.

NS: Oh my God, it is food related.

EL: It's Okay, that's good.

NS: I'm currently reading Arabesque by Claudia Roden.

EL: She's an amazing scholarly writer.

NS: Yeah, I love everything that all the work that she's done. I don't have any of her other books, I only have Arabesque and Middle Eastern Feast, I think that's the book.

EL: Yeah.

NS: And both of them talking a lot personally about cooking Middle Eastern food. I've actually been reading the book just for her essays, they're also fun, the way she approaches stuff.

EL: That's cool. What's the most influential book you've ever read? That influences you personally on your career, on your life.

EL: Right.

EL: So, whose had the great influence on you in your career?

NS: Diana Henry.

EL: Really? Have you ever met her?

NS: Yeah, we're really close friends.

EL: That's great.

NS: I love her.

EL: And why is she been the greatest influence? 'Cause you just admire the way she thinks and she cooks?

NS: What I really appreciate about Diana is her ability to introduce new ideas and make them comfortable for home cooks. At the same time, she's also a prolific cookbook author.

EL: Yeah.

NS: And she's also been hugely supportive of my career. I can always ask her about books that I've never heard about, or a topic that, and you need that.

EL: Sure.

EL: It's just been declared Nik Sharma day all over the world. What's happening on that day?

NS: Everybody gets a tub of really good lemon ice cream.

EL: Okay, there's a theme there.

NS: It should be warm 'cause I hate days when they're cold.

EL: Okay.

NS: And I think everybody should write a line on a piece of paper to say what they did that made them really proud of themselves that day.

EL: I love this. I love Nik Sharma day, we're going to make it happen. Let's say September or October, we're going to make it happen.

NS: Okay, Okay.

EL: But anyway, thank you, Nik, it's been awesome.

NS: Thanks for having me on, Ed.

EL: So long, Serious Eaters. We'll see you see next time.

This post may contain links to Amazon or other partners; your purchases via these links can benefit Serious Eats. Read more about our affiliate linking policy.

Source: https://www.seriouseats.com/2019/06/nik-sharma-ed-levine-podcast-2.html

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

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