#We serve the Boiling Flask

[hemantgoel]

Glass Flask | Filtering Flask | manufacturer & wholesaler | Goel Scientific | Canada

[lalalian]

basic potions | aethergarde academy dr program

date: july 31, 2024

assignment type: reading + kahoot quiz

Potions! Very important to have, if you're fucked up in battle, a healing potion would be reealllyy useful, don't you think?

Today, we'll just be going over the basic five potions most adventurers would have on hand at some point.

Do note that these are the most popular and common recipes. There are different recipes for the same objective, so some people like to use other recipes instead.

The higher your rank is, the less likely you'll feel the side effects of common potions. An S-ranked rider wouldn't feel the side effects of any of these potions after awakening, before awakening, you would... but only a little, like a 1/10.

cleric's brew

Literally just a healing potion, but like only for physical injuries. Cleric's brew is the weakest variant of physical healing potions. The strongest brew of this is called 'clerica', since you are like... an S-tier rider... you will be taking clerica onto missions far more than cleric's brew. Surprise surprise, the potion is red (the liquid is clear). It tastes like watermelon jolly ranchers (Is this really unrealistic? yes. but I don't really wanna drink a shitty tasting potion when blood is leaking from every orifice on my body).

side effects: n/a, though stronger brews with this recipe do make the drinker feel drunk

serving size: this recipe makes two servings of cleric's brew, 50 ml per serving, can take 10 servings in a day

how to make cleric's brew:

ingredients:

-3 stalks of wrymroot

-3 crushed maldine seeds

-4 table spoons of hippocampus liver oil

-100 ml of mana infused drinking water (infusing more mana increases the strength of this potion, a C rank rider would be able to make clerica)

procedure:

boil 100 ml of mana infused water in a heat insulating pot, like a classic cauldron

put the 3 maldine seeds and the liver oil into a separate bowl; mix it until the mixture turns red

pour the mixture into the pot and mix until fully combined

put the stalks of wyrmroot into the pot; push the stalks down into the liquid, but don't stir it to prevent the stalks from breaking

place a lid over the pot and let the mixture boil for 1 hr

after an hour, take the pot out of the heat and strain it; make sure no solid ingredients are in the liquid when you pour it into flasks

you're done!

nausine

Did I name a potion for nausea after a nausea medication here? Yes. Did I spell it differently in hopes that people wouldn't know that it is in fact the name of a nausea medication? Perhaps. But here we are... Yeah so I didn't know what to name this so... I mean like nausine fits right? Uh anyways, this potion is murky green and smells like goat shit. It tastes bitter but with a tinge of mint. Nausine is especially used for motion sickness.

side effects: drowsiness

lasts for 1 hour

serving size: this recipe makes three servings of nausine, 30 ml per serving, can only take 6 servings in a day, must space out intake of each serving by an hour

how to make nausine:

ingredients:

-40 ml of ram bile

-20 ml of purified drinking water

-1 cockatrice yolk

-5 yilandrea buds

-3 handfuls of bay leaves

-1 reed of brambleweed

procedure:

boil the ram bile for half an hour; make sure the room is well ventilated + make sure you wear protective clothing such as gloves and goggles

make sure that the bile doesn't contain anymore solid ingredients, including bone and other entities. if the bile you acquired is from a high quality retailer, you can probably skip this step.

set aside the bile, and pour the cockatrice yolk, yilandrea buds, bay leaves, and brambleweed into a motar and crush the ingredients until a paste is formed

put the paste into a pot with the drinking water and stir; boil the mixture for around 15 minutes, place a lid on the pot and leave it for 10 minutes

pour the substance into the bile and stir slowly over heat; keep the mixture over heat for an hour

move the potion into three different flasks, and you're done!

mulkings draught

Often referred to as a 'mulking', mulkings draught strengthens a person's ability to resist mind magic. Of course, this kind of brew isn't foolproof, but it's good enough against low level creatures that utilize mind magic. This potion was named after Tirin Mulkings, who made this recipe. Luckily, this one doesn't taste like straight up ass, instead, it tastes similar to greek yogurt. It smells slightly milky, and the potion is a very light blue, at first glance it appears white.

side effects: slight nausea

lasts for 1 hour

serving size: this recipe makes two servings of mulkings draught, 20 ml per serving, can take 7 servings in a day

how to make mulkings draught:

ingredients:

-30 ml of griffin milk

-a handful of blue caligrass

-4 tablespoons of mollusk eggs

-2 tablespoons of white peas

procedure:

boil the griffin's milk until the liquid releases steam, but not until it bubbles erratically; remember to continually stir the liquid

add the caligrass, mollusk eggs, and white peas

mush the ingredients until the liquid starts to bubble more erratically, then take the mixture off the heat

pour the mixture into a mortar, grind the ingredients carefully to avoid splashing the substance on yourself

once everything's mushed together, transfer the mixture into a clay pot and apply heat to the substance

mix it with a pestle for around 5~ minutes, then take it off the heat and pour the liquid into two flasks

all done!

hastency serum

Hastency serum makes the drinker's movements faster. If you drink two servings of this potion, it'll also increase your precision. Archers use this potion so often that it got the nickname 'archer's brew'. Hastency tastes similar to scotch and feels as if it burns the throat as it's consumed. The clear orange-yellow liquid is stored in a vial. It smells similar to rusty metal.

side effects: ache in knees, fingers, and elbows after effect fades away

lasts for 30 minutes

serving size: this recipe makes 4 servings of hastency serum, 10 ml per serving, can take 5 servings in a day

how to make hastency serum:

ingredients:

-3 oscaaret talons

-1 sailfish dorsal fish

-2 basset griffin claws

-2 owl eyes (any breed works)

-5 grams of molten rock

-a handful of fleetfoot hare hair (lmao)

-40 ml of wyvern spit

procedure:

make sure the wyvern spit doesn't have any large foreign objects in it

boil the spit overnight in a clay pot, make sure a lid is placed on the pot

before the spit is ready, grind the dorsal fin until it's breaks apart into chunky bits

in the morning, make sure the spit is really runny. If the spit is thicker than before, let it cool for a day and boil the spit again. If the spit is runny, place the talons, claws, dorsal fin, hair, and rocks into the pot

stir for 15 minutes slowly, then let it boil for 10 minutes

as the mixture boils, take the owl eyes and cut them over a small bowl; pour the liquid from the eyes into the pot and stir it until the liquid turns orange

once it turns orange stir it for another ~3 minutes and let it cool overnight

strain the potion, make sure no hair is present in the strained liquid

transfer it into 4 vials, and you're done!

ardor serum

Often simply called 'ardor', this potion helps replenishes a person's energy. Similar to hastency serum, this potion is stored in a vial. While it's useful, it's not the healthiest potion for the body. Taking too many in a short span of time can result in permanent mind fog, constant need to move (lots of fidgeting), fatigue, and insomnia. The liquid is chartreuse and murky. It smells like smoky dog sweat, and it tastes like candles and stale corn chips.

side effects: n/a

lasts for 30 minutes

serving size: this recipe makes 4 servings of ardor serum, 10 ml per serving, can take 2 servings in a week

how to make ardor serum:

ingredients:

-4 powdered pangolin scales

-4 teaspoons of taperoak sap

-3 highland wynmergier feathers

-5 sprouting sylican seeds

-1 handful of sickleweeds

-40 ml of sundew

procedure:

mix the sap into the sundew, do not place it over fire yet. Leave this mixture by a window that faces the sun the most for day

the next day, start boiling the mixture. Place the powdered scales into the pot and stir it until the powder's been well combined with the dew

place the seeds upright at the bottom of the pot; leave the pot on low heat for 6 hours

if the sprouts have turned white, cut up the sickleweeds and put them in the pot. Make sure you push them down to the bottom where the seeds are, but make sure they're not resting above the sprout.

burn the feathers over the liquid, then place the remnants into the pot. Don't stir, put a lid over the mixture and leave it overnight. The pot should still be over low heat

in the morning, stir everything together and strain it, make sure all large objects have been removed from the liquid

transfer the strained mixture into four vials, and you're done!

homework

this quiz is open note!

this one might be a little hard, so don't worry if you don't do too hot!

link to the quiz

next week, I'm thinking of talking about basic etiquette (should be pretty easy). After two more assignments, (not including this one) the first unit will be over! After each unit, there will be a 1 week break from assignments.

[ofkrum]

( arnas fedaravicius | cis man | he&him ) — was that vladislav krum passing through diagon alley? those close to them say they remind them of snowflakes melting on dark locks, clenched fists, half-written letters tossed aside, prolonged eye-contact, empty flasks, erupting laughter, which i suppose seems to fit that durmstrang alumnus. they’re actually pretty dogmatic, protective, and impulsive for a twenty-seven year old, but i wonder if it serves them well when working as a curse-breaker. rumor has it that the pureblood has stayed neutral… for now. i wouldn’t have guessed… but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else. 

stats :

name : vladislav andreyev krum age : 27 place of birth : sofia, bulgaria date of birth : april 4th sexuality : heterosexual languages spoken : bulgarian, norwegian, german, english education : durmstrang

height : 191cm hair colour : brown eye colour : blue

father : andrey krum ( 60, ex minister of magic in bulgaria ) mother : maria vulkanova ( socialite, deceased twenty - five years ago ) siblings : younger sibling ( 25 ), younger half - sibling ( 23 ), younger half - sibling ( 21 ) other : elinor krum ( step - mother, deceased twenty - two years ago ), tba krum ( step - mother )

traits : steadfast , tactless , protective , impulsive , dogmatic , impetuous , defiant , resilient mbti : istp alignment : chaotic good astro : aries sun , scorpio moon , sagittarius rising

about :

( tw for implied abuse )

one of the very first few things you learn as you grow up is that your father is an important man. that, and that he was exceptionally cruel, especially with his punishments towards you. you also learn that not every father was like that, contrary to what you believed. you had never met your mother.. well, you did, you just bear no memories of it. she is but an old portrait to you, you sometimes gaze at. by the time you are five, you are already on step - mother number three and you quickly learn she is not your mother and would never want you to get that idea. she is not exactly warm to her own child either, but you are. your siblings are your responsibility and although you are far from responsible or sensible, you are there for them when it matters.

durmstrang is your heaven, an escape from home and also the place you find your friends for life or what you excell at -- the dark arts. it would be easy for you to slip into the role of a bully effortlessly, so blunt and eager to fight - but you have your principles, no matter how contradictory or hard to figure out they might be. you want it all - social life, parties, studies, quidditch, clubs, for your blood is boiling and you're always on the move, despite harsh northern winters.

people burnout, but not you - far too stubborn to ever consider giving up. when scandal shakes your family and your father's influence, wealth and money can no longer save him and he ends up imprisoned, you keep your head up and step up for your family. some choices were hard and not well - received by all, such as freezing out your step - mother completely, but as you always thought, you knew best. someone had to make the harsh decisions around here, no?

for someone so well - versed in the dark arts and curses, your career choice upon graduating durmstrang makes sense. you're a freelancer and still have your own principal values you like to keep. you mostly reside in norway, having gotten quite used to the freezing air of the northest points - your second home at this point. fate brings you in england and although you do not intend to stay long, perhaps it has other plans for you.

headcanons , personality & other :

he sees the tensions rising and upcoming war in england. although personally never caring for blood purity ideals, he has spent his entire life around purebloods. there is still an engrained arrogance, especially towards muggles. the longer vlad stays, the longer he feels like he will inevitably have to pick a side.

skilled but reckless fighter and duelist. doesn't believe in dodging hits and he has the scars to show for it. he is impulsive af in general and quick to lose his temper.

honest and blunt ( also simply can't lie for shit ), but it is most often not in a malicious manner. a lot nicer than he seems, he just has resting " i hate everyone " face.

history nerd

[ebitenpura]

ever since I read Dunmeshi I can't stop thinking about whether or not Ikaynids taste like snow crab...they look very meaty...

Lana makes you forage for supplies and water but wouldn't it be more prudent to learn survival skills and not waste rations in unfamiliar territory? That's probably an important skill the Alliance had to learn as a bunch of guerilla fighters.

In other words, I'm picturing a scene where Eight is examining the giant Ikaynid and all 89 of its babies that attack you in the Zakuul swamps and being like "we should eat these".

Ikaynid Sauté with Wild Swamp Veggies

Ingredients:

Giant Ikaynid

Ikaynid younglings

Filtered swamp water

Herbal swamp grass

Ginx Oil

Zakuulan Glowshrooms

ration seasoning to taste

Koth's unidentified alcohol from a flask ("hey!")

Directions:

Take a sharp vibroknife, preferably an armor-piercing variety and find an unclouded eye of your Giant Ikaynid. Stab down into the edges of the eyeball until you feel the cartilage pop loose. Continue sawing until you remove the hard layer that protects the Ikaynid eyeball: it should be as big as your average wok. Very sturdy! Can be used as rain covers or shields. Set aside once you have 2.

Separate your young Ikaynids by legs, thorax, and head. Remove eyeballs. Split the legs at the joints and crack, folding to remove the meat.

Flip the young Ikaynid thorax onto its back, and split the carapace into two. Pick out the cartilage and drain.

Trim the ends off your herbal swamp grass. Clean thoroughly with filtered swamp water to remove parasites. Chop into even sections with your vibroknife.

Grease your Ikaynid eyelid with Ginx Oil squeezed from the sacs of a fresh ginx. Place it over an open fire with the second eyelid over it as a pot lid. Wait for it to heat.

Wash your Zakuulan Glowshrooms; trim any inedible parts and gently clean off debris. If you've gathered excess, set half of them aside to dry for later usage. Chop into sizeable pieces.

Prepare your Ikaynid meat and sauté in your greased eyelid until it begins to dry. Add alcohol. Cover with the second eyelid and steam for 8-10 minutes over low heat.

Throw your Glowshrooms and swampgrass into the Ikaynid Eyelid pot. Remove your ration seasoning from the package and sprinkle generously. Sauté over medium until the desired moistness is achieved.

Serve to approx. 3-4 people in separate plates or eyelids.

The review:

"I'm not sure how I feel about eating something that tried to eat me a few minutes ago." Koth muttered, poking hesitantly at his dish with his utensils. The Ikaynid meat jiggled slightly at his provocations. Despite the captain's and Lana's open reluctance to eat the swamp predator's freshly cooked young, they had to admit...

Grumble. Lana and Koth glanced down in surprise at the sound reverberating from their stomachs, as if they didn't expect their own bellies to betray them. The mirth in Eight's eyes only glinted brighter in the darkness of their shelter, where he'd already begun sucking and shucking the meat out of boiled Ikaynid legs set aside for himself.

...It smelled good.

Lana glared at Eight, daring her agent to make fun of her as she grabbed an eyelid, scooping a small portion from the steamy makeshift pot into her makeshift plate. Somehow his innocuous chewing and innocent expression served to make her feel even more embarrassed, though one needed to throw away their pride when faced with situations such as these. Stars, how did she go from being Minister of Intelligence to eating spiders in a swamp?

No, if she thought any further down that road, she'd surely fall into greater depths of despair. Lana sat down with a thoroughly vexed expression on the nearest log picked clean of glowshrooms and stabbed the safest looking part of the dish to start with. Feeling eyes on her, she stopped bringing the morsel to her mouth and turned to spy Koth staring at her eagerly, his plate untouched.

She scowled darkly, prompting the captain to quickly look in another direction and begin whistling. So. Even her comrades had turned on her and were waiting for her to take the first poisonous bite. She would not be defeated so easily!

Mustering up her courage and her pride, Lana inhaled and bit the piping-hot section of ikaynid flesh and swampgrass, expecting the worst...

Her aureate eyes flew open. Juicy. A bit firm, like the stonefish she'd had on Manaan, but with its own distinct flavor that differed greatly from the awful smell she'd encountered wafting from its uncooked corpse. And what was this seasoning? Yes, very refined. The swampgrass' stems were hollow like reeds, allowing it to absorb much of the meaty juices and rich, aromatic flavor of the alcohol that combined with the grass' spry herbal flavor to make a sauce that contained sweet and bitter notes that tantalized the tongue.

She stabbed a plush slice of glowshroom, admiring its purple color. The mushroom was quite thick on its own and made a good meat substitute, but in this case, added an earthy undertone to the dish that cleansed the palate.

So lost in having a full meal the first nights since Korriban did she fail to notice the laser-focus her compatriots had gained watching her pick up speed at taking apart her dish; it was only until she'd cleaned it did she look up to increasingly wide grins.

Lana ignored them with a huff. She set down her plate. "It was very good. You would know that if you hadn't let your food grow cold, Koth."

The captain squawked and began digging in voraciously.

Lana set her piercing gaze on Eight, who seemed to be waiting too eagerly for her commentary.

She coughed into her sleeve. "I admit...I was wrong to pass up a meal. It would be a great boon if we could save on rations, wherever we could."

Eight continued to stare at her. Lana felt her professional demeanor slipping away by the second.

"And...I would not be opposed to having more."

Pleased by her reaction, Eight gave her a thumbs up, an Ikaynid leg dangling out of his mouth. Success!

[productofnfld]

S2.E4: Tibb’s Eve and Newfoundland Christmas Slush

Season 2, Episode 4

Title: Tibb’s Eve and Newfoundland Christmas Slush

Time: 52 minutes

Locations: Terranceville

Story: Rockyfoot

Guests: The Duds (Melanie O’Brien and Philip Goodridge); Jeremy Whey (aka @stuffthatinyourgob)

Listen:

About The Episode:

Part One: What is Tibb’s Eve?

For me, and a lot of other Newfoundlanders, the 23rd of December is Tibb’s Eve. It is Christmas Eve Eve and the unofficial start of the holiday season.

For some people, Tibb’s Eve has become synonymous with a good time, full of partying and alcohol. The connection with drinking is so strong that, for some people the day is known as Tipsy (Tip’s) Eve.

In this episode we did into it a little and chat about Tibb’s Eve customs. To help me out, The Duds (Melanie O’Brien and Philip Goodridge) discuss their connection to the day and what lead them to record their holiday track ‘Before the Night (Tibb’s Eve’).

Get more Duds music at the following links:

The Duds (duds4life.com)

The Duds on Apple Music

The Duds on Spotify

DudsTube (YouTube)

Part Two: Newfoundland Christmas Slush

I’ve celebrated 40+ Christmases in Newfoundland and, until surprisingly recently, I had no idea ‘Newfoundland Christmas slush’ — a fruity, frozen cocktail — was a thing.

It is though. For a lot of Newfoundlanders the holiday season would not be complete without this batch-made cocktail.

I reached out to food blogger/instagrammer Jeremy Whey (aka @stuffthatinyourgob) to discuss his history with Christmas slush. He shares his recipe and variations he’s tried. From there were drifted to dark/light Christmas cake, moose stew, salt cod and other Newfoundland food traditions.

You can follow Jeremy on Instagram at @stuffthatinyourgob.

Here’s his slush recipe, as shared in the episode:

Jeremy’s Newfoundland Christmas Slush

1 cup sugar

6 cups water

2 cans of frozen concentrated orange juice

2 cans of frozen concentrated lemonade

1 large can pineapple juice

1 flask of vodka

Boil the water, stir in the sugar. Add the remaining ingredients and freeze. To serve, scoop slush into a glass and top with as much 7-Up or Ginger Ale as you’d like.

You can find some recipes for alternate versions of Christmas slush here.

Jeremy and I confessed that some of our Christmas baking efforts have been less-than-successful. We used the word ‘dunch.’ It occurs to me that non-NL listeners may be less familiar with that word. Here’s a link to the definition in the Dictionary of Newfoundland English.

And here’s the recipe I mentioned for my mother’s dark Christmas fruitcake. I’ve had great success with this one — nothing dunch about it.

Part Three: Monstrous Things

Normally ‘Monstrous Things’ features tales of Newfoundland sea monsters that have been reported in the mainstream media. This episode, is taking a different tack and veering into the realm of full-on legend — with tales of boo-baggers, boo-darbies and a strange Christmas creature called Rockyfoot.

What do they have in common?

Like Krampus and Santa Claus, they’ve all been used to encourage good behaviour in children.

Read more here: Rockyfoot: Newfoundland’s Krampus

Listening Options

You can listen to the episode here or on your favourite platform.

Apple Podcasts

Spotify

Amazon

Google Podcasts

Sources & Further Reading

Rockyfoot: Newfoundland’s Krampus, Product of Newfoundland

What Tibb’s Eve Means To Me, Product of Newfoundland

The Duds, Duds4Life

Jeremy Whey, instagram: @stuffthatinyourgob

Notes on the Dialect of the People of Newfoundland, Journal of American Folk-Lore, George Paterson, 1896

If You Don’t Be Good, John Widdowson, 1977

[littloobabyproducts12]

How to prepare your baby for first travel experience |Newborn care essentials

Traveling with a baby can be both exciting and challenging. As a parent, you want to ensure that your little one is comfortable and happy throughout the journey. One of the key factors in achieving this is having the right baby care products at hand. In this article, we will explore essential items that will help you prepare your baby for their first travel experience. With the right products, you can make the journey smoother and more enjoyable for both you and your little bundle of joy.Diapers - The Backbone of Baby Care:

When it comes to traveling with a baby, diapers are a must-have. Make sure to pack enough diapers to last the duration of your trip, along with some extras, just in case. Disposable diapers are convenient for travel, but if you prefer a more eco-friendly option, cloth diapers can also work well. Additionally, carry diaper rash cream to keep your baby's skin protected and comfortable.Baby Wipes - Cleanliness on the Go:

Baby wipes are a lifesaver when it comes to maintaining cleanliness during travel. Whether it's for diaper changes or wiping your baby's hands and face, having a pack of baby wipes within easy reach will save you from any messy situations. Look for wipes that are gentle on your baby's sensitive skin and free from harsh chemicals.Baby Food and Bottles - Nourishment on the Move:

If your baby has already started solids, pack their favorite baby food in convenient travel-sized containers. It's always a good idea to carry a few extra servings in case of delays or emergencies. Don't forget to pack a few bottles and nipples if your baby is bottle-fed. Also, remember to carry boiled water or a flask to ensure that you can prepare formula or warm up breast milk when needed.

Littloo Travel Kit - Convenience at Your Fingertips:

The Littloo travel kit is a comprehensive solution for all your baby's travel needs. It includes essential items such as a portable changing mat, diaper bag, and insulated bottle holder, making it easier for you to stay organized and carry everything you need. The kit also includes a handy pacifier holder and a wet/dry bag for added convenience. Investing in a Littloo travel kit can make your travel experience hassle-free and enjoyable.Baby Clothing and Swaddles - Dressing for Comfort:

Pack comfortable clothing for your baby, taking into consideration the weather and the duration of your trip. Carry enough layers to keep your little one warm or cool, depending on the destination. Swaddles are versatile and can be used for various purposes, such as providing shade, covering the stroller, or keeping your baby cozy during naps.Baby Toiletries - Gentle Care on the Go:

While traveling, it's essential to maintain your baby's hygiene routine. Carry baby-friendly toiletries such as tear free shampoo, body wash, and moisturizer. Opt for travel-sized bottles or transfer them into smaller containers to save space in your luggage. Remember to pack a soft baby brush or comb and nail clippers for grooming.

Traveling with a baby requires careful planning and preparation. By packing the right baby care products, you can ensure your little one stays comfortable and content throughout the journey. Diapers, baby wipes, baby food, and bottles are essential items that should always be on your checklist. The Littloo travel kit is an excellent investment for convenient travel with your baby. Don't forget to pack comfortable clothing, swaddles, and baby toiletries to maintain your baby's well-being on the go. With the right products and a well-thought-out plan, you can create lasting memories while enjoying a successful and enjoyable first travel experience with your baby.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Of Steak and Spam and Life

Summary: Jean-Paul finally gets to properly meet the new guy. They talk about important choices to be made: Spam or Steak. 

Warning:  None

Word Count:  1082

Word Prompt: Steak

--

Jean-Paul watched Marc stare down at the can of Spam. Everyone else in their group had gobbled up the rations and retired to get some sleep. Sleep didn’t come easily out here and neither did the time to properly eat. There were times when one survived off of protein bars and half an hour of shut eye when you blinked just a little too slowly. 

Marc Spector was new to their group. A supposed expert in hand to hand and weapons. They had done one mission together and Jean-Paul was impressed by the quiet and moody man. Yet he was standoffish and didn’t really interact with the other men. They joked about him being too good for them. That he was ‘special forces’ and they were beneath him. 

They had all seen it before. Someone who thought they were elite and hot stuff. Those types usually ended up dead in a matter of months. 

Marc didn’t strike Jean-Paul as the type, but there was absolutely something off about him. 

Yet as far as he could remember, he had yet to see the man actually sleep. This was their first opportunity to eat something ‘real’ and Marc had not touched it. 

“What’s the matter?” Jean-Paul took a drink from his flask and smiled. “Not good enough for you?” 

Marc looked up at Jean-Paul and conflict flickered over his face. “No. I just… I thought it would get easier. All the time in boot camp and the field. I refused to eat this stuff the first several times they served it.” 

Jean-Paul nodded. That was understandable. It wasn’t exactly high grade meat. He had been used to vastly different levels of food before he got into all of this. A stomach often takes time to adjust to a different way of life. 

Marc sat back for a moment, eyes closed. “I think a part of me died the day I gave up and ate it. A part I didn’t know was still alive. Now and then I think that maybe I can go back. That I can revive that part and maybe this time it will be different.” 

Jean-Paul looked at Marc in confusion. Sure, the meat wasn’t the best thing in the world. Hell, it wasn’t even close to being the best. It wasn’t that bad though. Salty and fatty, sure. But it was something that fit well with their high energy life. 

Marc shook his head and leaned forward, slicing off a piece and eating it. “What can be done?” 

Something gold tumbled out of Marc’s shirt and Jean-Paul suddenly understood. “Non! There are other things, Marc!” He immediately started to dig through his bag and found a can he had been saving. “Here! Mon Ami, do not take another bite!” 

Marc looked at the can of offered food and laughed. “Steak?” 

“The absolute worst thing I have ever come across. Boiled beef ground up and shredded then compressed into thin strips of meat and preserved in over salted water and fat.” Jean-Paul grinned. “We used to put it on a slice of stale bread with butter in my unit back in France.” 

Marc popped the can open and made a face at the smell. “This is something alright.” He laughed again and took a bite. He chewed and chewed. He looked up then chewed some more. “Mnh-hmn. I think it’s growing on me.” 

Jean-Paul took the can of Spam away and shook his head. “I am sorry. Not exactly giving you a good reason to go back, am I?” 

Marc smiled and took another bite. “My father used to try to teach me the importance of tradition and belief while he turned a blind eye to the things that mattered.” 

Jean-Paul leaned in and took a forkful of the ‘steak’. It reminded him of a different time and he wished he had some old bread and butter. Strange how this was what he craved when the memory of fancy steaks cooked in a rosemary butter and side of potatoes existed. 

“My father tried to teach me to be a tough man.” Jean-Paul chewed thoughtfully. “Throw a punch. Take a hit. Walk and talk like a man. When I came of age I went to a strip club and slipped a twenty into a woman’s thong.” 

Marc looked at him curiously. Jean-Paul got the impression that Marc had never been to a place like that. 

Jean-Paul smiled and shook his head. “I will not tell you what a twenty will buy you. It wasn’t much but it was enough to make me think that perhaps I was as broken as my father told me I was. I fell into a desperate hole of trying to be the man I was supposed to be. In the end? It was still not enough to make him proud. I could never be man enough for him.” 

Marc reached into his bag and pulled out a sleeve of saltine crackers. Dry as hell, over salted, stale crackers. He ripped into the sleeve and plopped a piece of the meat over it and took a bite. 

He tried to swallow and started to cough as the dry tough meal refused to budge. A deep chug from his flask forced the food down and he took a moment to consider his situation. He held out the sleeve to Jean-Paul with a smile. 

“Out here we are free, Marc.” Jean-Paul took a cracker and smirked as he made a sandwich with it. “This is the price we pay to be who we are. You are free to explore what you believe and decide for yourself if you wish to stick with this…” He held up the sandwich. “Or if you wish to go down another path.” He pointed to the forgotten tin of Spam. 

Marc nodded and made his own sandwich. “The Spam was better.” He took a bite. 

“It usually is…” Jean-Paul sighed and took a bite of his own sandwich. 

They both started to choke and downed their flasks quickly. 

“First town we get to, I’m buying us a fat juicy steak.” Marc smiled. “And a shit ton of protein bars.” 

Jean-Paul tossed the empty can aside and smiled. “I have a few more of these till then.” 

“Only if you enjoy them with me.” Marc sighed. 

“Mon Ami.” Jean-Paul winked. “I wouldn’t dream of eating anything else.” 

Marc relaxed and Jean-Paul shook his head at himself. It looked like Spam was forever off the menu now. 

[titan-fodder]

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. 

[metataxy]

Maul, post-Order 66 Story, # 4

Maul tries to hunt down a Fallen Jedi and accidentally acquires a child.  Because this is Star Wars.

Part 1, 2, 3 linked.  Still working out plot details before posting to AO3

Warnings for this section: Pornography is mentioned.  

Maul continues to reminesce about his brothers, life on Dathomir, and the dangers--for a Nightbrother--surrounding the fairer sex.

Allowing his brothers to stay with him had come with unexpected advantages.  Maul conceded to himself that while his survival training enabled him to live on Dathomir, it had not taught him to live comfortably.  Before Savage and Feral, he had not suspected that living comfortably on Dathomir was even an option.  The Nightbrothers had never cared to teach him.

He’d been living on meat grilled over the fire, and some kind of fibrous tuber that became nearly edible if boiled overnight in water.  He had no notion as to what to do with the rest of the dried goods left by the previous occupant.  The children ate the meal uncomplainingly the first night, but the next morning, he awoke to find the boys already cooking.  

While he waited for them to finish, he’d sat cross-legged on the woven mat that covered half the dirt floor in the single room of his hut.  A few minutes later, Savage, the elder, poured one of the wooden bowls full of his efforts, and set it down before him.  Maul examined it.

It had the approximate consistency of porridge, but none of the bland human food had ever smelt like this.  Maul lifted the bowl to his lips and spilled some into his mouth.  Boiled grains, finely minced meat, a sweetness he remembered from the berries, a vinegar tang he could not quite place.  He drank the whole down and wordlessly handed the bowl back to Savage, who refilled it without being told.  

The children improved everything.

They stewed the inedible tubers and bark cached in the hut over the fire for days, until they boiled down into a mound of soft starch, <i>descra</i>, that fed them for weeks.  They served it to him in uncountable ways—mixed with fat, herbs and organs and stuffed inside the chest cavity of waterfowl, spiced with the vinegary juices of swamp insects.  The best came when Feral, the younger, came home triumphantly carting a rancid-smelling clump he’d unearthed in the swamps—a cache of cured animals fats long-forgotten.  He’d eaten his descra with lumps of half-melted bog-butter for weeks.

After growing up on meals tailored to the palate of humans—eggs and meats overcooked to tastelessness, barely digestible grains and vegetables, or bland nutrient pastes—the meals alone might have tempted him to stay on Dathomir.

The children did more.  They stuffed the chinks of the dwelling with mosses and mud, as high as they could reach, and asked his assistance with those they couldn’t.  He did more than assist—he taught them the rudiments of telekinesis.  Savage had not then been strong in the Force, and Feral much weaker, but it was not difficult to imagine lifting anything so light as moss.  

They patched his clothing and cleaned the hides of the jero he brought back and sewed him new garments.  They fetched water and washed his clothes, they traded his extra meat for things he hadn’t known the Dathomiri to possess: soap, salt, flasks of a spicy-sweet spirit.  They taught him their language—a curious mélange, with Iridonian words grafted onto the grammar of Basic.  

In return, Maul trained them.

He did not teach them to be Sith.  As Sidious’ apprentice, Maul cleaved to the creed that there could be only two, no more, no less.  He trained them in other ways.  How to touch the Force, to meditate, to anticipate attacks before they came.  He drilled them in the katas.  Other children watched and imitated them from a distance, but Maul glared them away from approaching.

Savage adored it.  He learnt quickly, was strong for his age, and even if he had no possibility of beating Maul, he came back glowing from spars with the other boys.  

“We might best them in the Rites,” he told Feral, as the two children sat weaving baskets by the fire, while Maul made notes on what Dathomiri history he’d extracted from the reticent Nightbrothers.  “The women will fight to mate us.”

“Why is that desirable?” Maul inquired, scrolling down his screen.  He had not yet met the women or their mates.  They stayed in a mountainhold some days journey from their village, and Viscus had refused to tell him where.

“I have no idea where it is,” Viscus told him through bloody teeth, after Maul tried to convince him to explain.  “The witches only let us find it when they want to be found.  And trust me—you do not want to find them.”

After his first Rites, Viscus had avoided the annual ceremony, and the women, altogether.  It was not a choice without precedent.  An elderly pair of Nightbrothers had done the same until they’d aged beyond the women’s interest.

“The witches…” Savage’s voice trailed.  “They’re dangerous, but beautiful.  Even the old hags.  I don’t know.  They’re so tiny, but they feel like rancors in the Force—enormously alive.”

“And they keep men as their servants?” Maul enquired.

“Yes,” Savage affirmed, tone neutral and presence aglow.  “When one chooses you, you get to live with them and it’s amazing.  One of last year’s initiates who went to their stronghold for the Rites told me.  They all have at least three sets of clothing and hot springs for bathing, and bronze weapons, and..”

His voice trailed off, then he asked cautiously, “Why do you feel angry, Elder?”

Because he had read enough of the histories of war, of how the victors governed the vanquished.  In times of privation, even before the coming of the Fallen, the Dathomiri had prioritized the lives of their women above their men.  If they had not, their people would have died out long ago.  A dozen women and a single man would give more children, more chances at survival, than the reverse.

But to hear the Nightbrothers speak of it, there was no great privation now, had not been since Elora the Bountiful had descended from the sky centuries ago and made the desra a hundred times more fruitful and fattened the fishes and jero.  Maul idly wondered if the Agricorps Jedi ever learnt of how the Nightbrothers worshipped idols in her likeness with all the passion ordinary adolescents—or Maul’s fellows, at least—had dedicated to skinmags.  

There was no privation now.  Which meant the only reason to force the Nightbrothers to live outside the strongholds, besides tradition, was to condition them for servitude.  Of course the Nightbrothers would serve the women, and gratefully, for the privilege of living in the safety and abundance of their stronghold.  Of course they would not consider arguing or fighting for better.  The unchosen men, those who served to gain the most, could not even try if the Nightsisters could only be found during the Rites.  And the chosen did not wish to lose their privileges.

“I am angry, brother,” Maul said carefully, “because you do not consider what it would be to live in the stronghold but not be a servant.”

Savage blinked.  “Like a woman?”

“Yes.”

Maul resumed reading his datapad and left the children to consider his answer.

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

Note: Bog butter is an actual thing, and archaeologists HAVE found it in peat bogs.  The acidity of the bog actually acts to cure/preserve meat.  It’s also hypothesized that the acidity broke food down chemically in ways that made it more digestible.  I’ve been spending not nearly enough time on Wikipedia trying to figure out what the Nightsisters would actually eat based on the probable ecology of Dathomir...

[hemantgoel]

Glass Flask | Filtering Flask | manufacturer & wholesaler | Goel Scientific | Canada

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[sickfic-shiz]

Rest

Whumptober 2021 | Comfort

Warnings: emeto/vomiting (stomach bug)

Notes: thought I’d post a piece of writing for the first time in a long long while, introducing some new characters! I’d love to talk more about them and answer any asks about them!

“You’re sick, go back to the dorm.” Muqing repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time in the two hours they had been studying together in the campus library.

Wu Ming was shivering miserably as he tried to focus on his notes, even beneath two jackets— one being Muqing’s which they had shrugged off and wrapped around him after watching him tremble for the first half an hour. It didn’t take a genius to tell that he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine. I’m always cold. You know that.” Wu Ming replied with the same thing each time, scowling down at the words swimming on the page as if they had offended him. He knew fully well he was sick, or at least getting there, but he couldn’t afford to let his grades slip.

“Jesus, at least go back and take a nap first or something, how are you getting anything done?” Muqing grumbled irritably, before softening his tone somewhat. “C’mon, I’ll even walk you back if you want.”

“I really need to finish revising this. Just focus on yourself.” Wu Ming sighed, briefly leaning his forehead on his palm. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here either.”

Muqing muttered something under his breath pointedly, standing up in a manner that made his annoyance clear. “Fine. I’m going to take a break.”

Wu Ming watched him stalk away, before letting his facade crumble a little more, laying down on the table with a muffled groan. Truth be told, he felt awful. He was cold and shivery, and his stomach had started to feel oddly unsettled. His head was starting to hurt something fierce, and he hardly wanted to think about how he would get through his shift at work later.

“Hey.” Muqing’s voice came from above him some time later, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I bought you some tea, it might help. You really should get some rest. At least before your shift.”

Wu Ming picked up the paper cup that had been set in front of him, immediately grateful for the warmth. He took a few small sips, finding it a welcome change from shivering. It was true he wasn’t getting much done right now. “Fine, you win.”

“Really?” The agreement surprised him. As much as he wanted Wu Ming to get some rest, he was also ridiculously stubborn.

“Sure. There isn’t much time left before work anyway. In exchange, get me some stuff from the pharmacy.”

“Okay, asshole. I’m not buying you tea ever again.” Muqing made a show of rolling his eyes, but still reached over to help pack and carry his things. “What do you want me to get you?”

When he returned with the requested medicine, (and several things that were, decidedly, not medicine, Wu Ming was a horrible scam) Wu Ming was curled up in bed, fast asleep. Muqing smiled despite himself, bending down to pull the covers up and wrapping them snugly around him. He rarely seemed to let himself rest, and Muqing almost never saw him go to sleep before he did.

He took the time to sort out the supplies he had picked up— painkillers, fever reducer and an antiemetic from the pharmacy, (the latter two he had gotten just in case) followed by green tea, canned soup and crackers from the supermarket. Muqing figured he could boil some water first, so he could bring the tea with him to work. The kettle boiled just as Wu Ming’s phone alarm went off, and Wu Ming moaned, sitting up groggily.

“You really are in no condition to be working.” Muqing remarked, even though he knew that it wouldn’t do anything to convince him. Instead, he pressed the back of his hand to Wu Ming’s neck to check for a fever, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to find that it was too warm. “Take your temperature first. If it’s too high, I’m dragging you to the hospital no matter what you say.”

Wu Ming took the thermometer that was held out to him obediently, still hazy with sleep. Muqing took it from him when it beeped, frowning. 37.9. To be fair, it wasn’t very high, but he almost wished it would be higher so he could justify manhandling Wu Ming back to bed.

“Did you get the tea?” Wu Ming asked, rubbing at his face in an attempt to wake himself up.

“Yeah, I boiled some water already, I’ll put the tea in a thermos for you so you can bring it to work.”

“Mm.”

“Take some medicine before you leave. I got you your painkillers and a fever reducer too.” Muqing handed the medication over, and placed a glass of water on the table. “Don’t take too many painkillers again or I will hit you and it will hurt.”

“Okay, okay. That was just one time.” Wu Ming fumbled with the packaging, his hands shaking more than he’d like as he took the pills. He didn’t feel much better after his short nap. In fact, his stomach was churning now, making him feel as if he would be sick.

“You could call in sick.” Muqing suggested, knowing it would be futile.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, because you’re too fucking stubborn.” Muqing glared at him, resisting the urge to just knock him out with a heavy book so he would rest. “Better not get a call asking me to pick you up later.”

Work didn’t start out too badly— he was just manning the register today, and it was a fairly straightforward job, even if he was standing right beneath the AC. Most importantly, it was at some high end grocer’s attached to a cafe, so it paid really well. However, it didn’t take long for his sick body to start protesting against the strain he was putting it through. Wu Ming alternated wildly between feeling hot and cold, and the shirt beneath his jacket was drenched in cold sweat after a few of these cycles.

Thank god he had worn a mask out. Forcing himself to sound cheerful was enough of a challenge, let alone having to muster up a smile. He took sips of tea from his flask in between customers, hoping that it would at least settle his stomach. He was so dizzy— at some points it was so bad that his vision was blurring and he was forced to guess at what he was doing.

Suddenly, he realised that he was about to throw up. Wu Ming caught the attention of his coworker, then gestured towards the bathrooms, not trusting himself to speak without throwing up. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken anyway, his throat feeling tight. After getting a response, he hurried towards the bathroom as much as he could without making it obvious that he was about to be sick.

Wu Ming was forced to tear off his mask and retch into the tiny bin by the entrance several times, bringing up a gush of liquid before he could stumble into one of the stalls. Hunching over the bowl, he braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around his stomach as he heaved. Wu Ming aimed as best as he could, trying to reduce the mess, but some of the puke splattered onto the seat regardless of his efforts. At least it was mostly liquid, most likely the all tea he had been drinking… as well as the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since early this morning, probably.

Wu Ming sank into a squat slowly, his legs feeling weak, yet still not wanting to kneel on the tiles. He needed to hurry up if he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious. He dry heaved a few times, then decided that he was done, at least for now. He cleaned up the splatters of vomit left on the toilet seat before flushing, ignoring how the swirl of water made him feel sick all over again. Wu Ming stood at the sinks for a while, staring at his sickly appearance and splashing some water on his face to wake himself up. As he turned to leave, his coworker entered, calling his name. Shit. He had taken too long after all.

“Manager sent me to check if you’d passed out in here.” They joked. “You okay? You’re looking a little ghostly there.

“I’m fine, I was just…” The nausea returned in full force, catching him off guard. Wu Ming spun around, gagging into the sink.

“Oh dear…” They gaped as he threw up into the sink painfully, awkwardly reaching over to pat his back. “Um, you’ll feel better after getting it up?”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming gasped between retches. “Just give me a minute.”

They nodded, watching him uncomfortably. It looked brutal, the way his shoulders shook badly with each heave.

“Sorry.” Wu Ming murmured apologetically when he was done, turning on the tap to rinse away any remnants of his stomach contents left in the sink. “We should head back before we get in trouble.”

“You should go home if you’re sick.”

“I’m not.” Wu Ming said a little more harshly than he had intended as he put his mask back on. He was so tired of being pressured to stop doing things. If he could afford it, he would’ve gone to bed long ago. Still, he hadn’t meant to snap. “I’m really fine. Let’s go back.”

“Alright, alright.”

They headed out together, and Wu Ming took up his position at the register again. It was terribly hard to focus through everything going on. The painkillers he had taken had started to wear off already, and he bit his lip anxiously. He should’ve brought them with him to make sure he’d get through his shift, though the bigger challenge would’ve been making sure it didn’t come back up right away.

“Ah Ming?”

Wu Ming’s head snapped up to see the next ‘customer’ he was meant to be serving, coming face to face with his boyfriend. “Guoqin? What are you doing?”

“Checking on you, what else? Muqing said you’d gone to work sick, and I was worried— you weren’t looking at your texts.”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming had lost track of how many times he had said this today, reaching for his basket to ring up the items. “You know I don’t text when I’m working.”

“You look dead on your feet.” Guoqin furrowed his brow, helping Wu Ming to pack the scanned items. “I’m bringing you to see a doctor after your shift at least.”

“I don’t- no doctors.” Wu Ming tried his best to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth and ignore the splashes of acid at the back of his throat. There was no way he would convince Guoqin if he threw up now. “I’m really perfectly fine. I just need some sleep.”

Guoqin studied him closely. There was no way he was well, but it would be nigh impossible to get him to a clinic if he was so adamant. “Fine, no doctors, but I’ll send you back to your room later, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Wu Ming didn’t think he could say any more without making a mess on the floor, so he kept quiet, hoping that Guoqin would leave. He managed it for all of about five seconds before his roiling gut decided that it was done with being ignored and he muttered a hurried apology before tugging his mask out of the way and booking it for the toilets.

Wu Ming slammed the stall door shut behind him, scrambling into a kneeling position in front of the toilet, too desperate to care about the cleanliness of the floor. He had barely managed to contain the vomit on the way over using his hand, which was now covered in light brown puke. He groaned in disgust even as he gagged into the toilet, now struggling futilely against bringing up the thicker remains of his breakfast. The tea was one thing, but Wu Ming hated few things more than wasting food. It had been a fairly good breakfast too…

The thought of food sent him over the edge, and he quickly lost the battle against the nausea. Gripping the side of the bowl tightly with his clean hand, the vomit sprayed forcefully into the toilet, now unrecognisable.

“Ah Ming, are you okay? Can you let me in?”

“I couldn’t-hrrRRK- get up for long enough, even if I wanted to.” Scratch that. Being seen— well heard, this time, in such a compromising position, twice in one day no less, was a far worse fate than losing his sausage and egg muffin. “Please, just… go outside. I don’t want you to be here for this.”

“Okay.” Guoqin finally agreed. He was worried, but he knew he would only add to Wu Ming’s bruised pride if he stayed. “I’ll be right outside.”

Wu Ming stamped down the urge to beg him to stay.

When he finally felt done, or at least too empty to bring anything up in the near future, he lay his forehead on the toilet seat, too exhausted to care. Hopefully he wouldn’t catch anything else from the germs. Wu Ming stayed in that position for several long minutes before he could muster the energy to get up. He reached up to flush the toilet, then slowly got to his feet, trying his best to breathe through the sudden vertigo. For a moment, he believed he was about to pass out right there. When it had abated slightly, Wu Ming left the stall to wash the puke off his hand, before heading out.

“Ah Ming, how are you feeling?”

…right, Guoqin had said that he’d wait outside.

“I’m…” Wu Ming had meant to say he was fine, but he was assaulted with a lightheadedness that knocked the breath out of his lungs. He couldn’t stop himself from tipping forwards, and the last thing he remembered before passing out was being caught.

When he came to, it took him a while to figure out that he was laying on one of the couches meant for the customers. It took him a bit longer after that to realize that his head wasn’t on a pillow, but in Guoqin’s lap. After he’d made that connection, his face flushed, and he weakly tried to sit up.

“Hey, stay down for a bit, you passed out.” Guoqin pressed him down firmly but gently, then pressed a hand to Wu Ming’s forehead. “You’re burning up, dear. I think I caught you in time, but do you think you hit anything when you fell?”

“No, thanks to you.” Wu Ming mumbled. He was so tired now that the thought of getting up felt overwhelming, not to mention going back to work. “How long…?”

“Just about five minutes. How are you feeling?”

“Sick…” No shit, Wu Ming berated himself internally.

“Yeah?” Guoqin hummed sympathetically, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. “Your manager said you should take the rest of the day off.”

“I… I want to go home.” God, he was getting all emotional and Wu Ming hated it.

“Okay, let’s get you back to the dorms. I’m sure Muqing will be worried.”

“He- he’s mad at me…” Wu Ming’s voice shook unnaturally, recalling what Muqing had said when he left. “He told me not to call him.”

“Shhh, that’s just the fever talking, you know that’s not true.” Guoqin reassured him. “That’s just the way he speaks, but he’d never stay mad at you. After all, didn’t he ask me to check on you?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, do you think you’re ready to head back? I’ve got all your stuff ready to go.”

“Mm.”

[internalsealpanic]

Explosive Chemistry

Summary: Chemistry labs can be a bit tedious. Nothing laser vision can’t fix though. 

A/n: You can all blame @birdy-bat-writes​ for this fluff and @knightfall05x​ for the amazing mood board. This might feel a little rushed so apologies and Clark is kind of hard to write (ope). Anyway, here is your regularly scheduled comedy.  Thanks again to @knightfall05x​ for proof reading!

warning: swearing, reader’s terrible moral compass, and some injury

masterlist

You met Clark- Well, ‘met’ might be too formal a word for what happened. 

 You discovered Clark during a mundane Metropolis afternoon. Taking a break from your studies (read: a group project that had not been going smoothly), you hopped on to a trail car to go to your favorite sandwich shop right across from your favorite diner. 

 The sandwich shop itself was nothing too special, not in a good way at least. It was even what your delicately paletted father had politely described as ‘subpar’ which as far as you knew was the worst insult he could give. Frank- the owner- was, of course, inclined to disagree. You were, on the other hand, inclined to agree with the opinion especially after biting into a raw piece of chicken in one of their “famous” chicken sandwiches. But it was cheap and it offered the best view of the diner across the street. 

In truth, you liked the food at the diner better. Their blueberry pancakes were absolutely delightful, at least, on Mondays.  But more than anything you found more delight in watching its contained chaos. You’ve watched people propose, get divorced, have fights, and everything else in between. The sheer absurd theatrics of it all captivated you. It was people-watching at its finest. Frank just thought it was creepy to which you simply nodded and nibbled at your sandwich. 

As you watched the usual ensemble cast in the diner, you witness a tall, handsome guy with black hair and blue eyes get mugged. Ok, well, almost get mugged. He was a big boi so you weren’t entirely surprised when he was easily able to stop the scrawny knife-wielding assailant. What did surprise you were the proceeding events. To your utter disbelief (and amusement); instead of throwing the guy into the gutter as custom dictates, the buff guy just guided his assailant to the diner and had a chat with him. You chew your sandwich slowly as you watch them talk as if nothing strange had occurred minutes before, digesting the odd comedy unfolding before your eyes. 

 Moments later and a few tears shed, they parted ways. You frowned thinking that would be the end of it and you were about to whine to Frank about how anticlimactic that was. But then it just kept going. 

 He got mugged. 

 Again.

 And again. 

 And again.

 By the fourth time, Frank sat beside you to watch finally leaving the spot he was polishing alone. Repeated muggings were weird enough but the guy kept inviting them to talk. You choked every time but made no move to intervene, only nibbling at your sandwich and watching with near clinical interest.

 After the fifth mugging, Frank raised a challenging brow at you as you continued to chew on your sandwich. You shrug at him as if to say ‘I’m eating what do you want me to do?’. Frank’s eyes didn’t leave you even as another mugger approached the buff guy. You cut him a look and chew a little faster. For a guy running what is most likely a money-laundering scheme, he sure was noble. 

 Having finally finished your sandwich, you wave your hand halfheartedly to Frank, your middle finger extended skyward. Kicking the shop door open and jamming your hands into your hoodie pockets, you made your way to the other side of the street ignoring the cars driving past you, blowing and whipping the skirt of your dress every which way. 

 Neither of them pays you any mind as you approach them, which was just as well. You shifted the strap of your backpack on your shoulder deciding whether to use it. Your laptop was in there so probably not. You decide to christen your new flattops by giving the man a good harsh kick in his nether regions. He goes down with a squeak. 

 “Scram!” You snarl, baring your teeth. In a surprisingly well-coordinated motion, he does, looking honestly scared for his life. You pivot to the guy who you assume is some kind of tourist. 

 Most people would say that Clark towered over you but the truth was that no matter how tall Clark was he couldn’t really measure up to the height of you. Nothing about you was inherently intimidating, especially as you stand before him in flat tops, hoodie, and short dress, except maybe for your shoulders. But that had less to do with their actual shape and more to do with how uncommonly broad they were compared to the rest of your body.  Some people say it made you look like an angry dorito to which you unfailingly replied with something Clark would rather not repeat. At least, not in polite company. 

 You regard him with a pinched brow which makes Clark straighten as you openly assess him. You memorize the angles of his features, all the sharpness and corners of it not noticeable due to the softness of the way he carries himself in a typical hometown boy kind of way.  You note your university’s logo on the edge of his sweatshirt.

 You reach your hand out. “Y/n L/n but just call me Y/n”

 “Clark Kent” He answers, shaking your hands. You note the distinct midwestern shape of his syllables which explained a lot.  

 “Yanno muggers aren’t exactly good speed dating partners, right?”

 Clark smiled at the, admittedly, terrible joke. By the way, your eyes flash with interest, he’ll be seeing a lot of you. 

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

 Your foot bounced erratically against the metal bar serving as your stool’s footrest. You watched the thermometer with a pinched face and a ticking brow as the mercury in it remains unmoving. Your mounting frustration amusing Clark making him cover his mouth. You fix him with a look and the door actually whistles “innocently” and looks away, pretending to be intently reading the procedure as if you two haven’t been reading it for the past half hour trying to figure out why your solution wasn’t boiling. His baby blues none-too-subtly flicking in your direction. You give him one last scathing look, which he easily glances off, before turning back to your solution. His eyes have been flickering at you as if he’s been meaning to ask you a question. That question likely being ‘could you possibly stop looking like you’re going to murder the molecules in our solution’. His eyes flicker again to watch you seethe and pout at the liquid and it takes everything in Clark not to tease you about being cute. 

 Bouncing your leg again, you gently turn the hot plate’s nob until the screen reads 1000 F. Clark makes a choked sound, finally tearing his attention away from what you assumed to be a particularly interesting semicolon. Clark reaches over and turns the damned thing back down to 300 F. You glare at him before, violently, turning it back up to 1000. Clark just as quickly turns it back down. 

 Click

 Click

 Click 

 You two continue on like this for a while ‘til your instructor, pinching his nose, strolls over to your lab bench to politely tell you to knock it off. With a shrug, you two settle on 650 F as your compromise. You, however, continue to glower at the solution while Clark peruses through the next lab distinctly reminding you of someone in the waiting room of a dentist’s office which makes you scrunch your nose and worsen the impatient ticking of your limbs. “Glaring at it won’t make it go faster,” Clark chuckled in his Midwestern sweater voice. You had the urge to pour the hot acid of the flask on to him but you suppressed the urge mainly because it wouldn’t actually hurt and pouring it on him meant starting over and that just sounded tragic.   

 You place your hands primly on your lap and spin your chair towards Clark. “Not all of us can watch grass grow, Paul Bunyan.” You snip. Clark shakes his head at you, whether it’s from your tone or the nickname you can’t tell. All you could discern was that it irritated him and some petty part of you was satiated the way old gods were when someone made an acceptable sacrifice. 

 “Is that what you think we do in Kansas?” Your first impulse is to say ‘yes’ even if it wasn’t the truth. You thought better of it though. Picking a fight with Clark Kent was a terrible idea, superstrength or not. You were, of course, familiar with Kansas as a concept the same way you were familiar with Mars. Both seemed equally distant, equally alien, and equally irrelevant as such you never dedicated too much thought to it. The last one might have changed a bit with your chance encounter with Clark. You remember him mentioning going home for Thanksgiving Break. You also distinctly remember wanting to ask if you could come along. After all, you didn’t have much in the way of killing time during holidays seeing as most of your relatives were overseas and the relatives you did have here were indisposed either due to work or due to other families. You felt silly thinking about it now and even sillier contemplating how you would explain the special brand of unpleasantness of being bored over the holidays. Maybe you should get a boyfriend- your eyes flicker to Clark but you shake your head- or a girlfriend or maybe friends who weren’t either foreign exchange students or farm boys from Kansas with laser vision. 

 You whip your head to Clark who was mumbling something about not staring at the grass. He frowns at you, not finishing his sentence.

 “You have that look.”

 “What look?”

 “The bad idea look.”

 “I do not”

 “Ok, let me rephrase. The let’s do something stupid for science look.”

 You huff indignantly. Clark looks unfazed and a little smug. You did not have that kind of look and sue, you’ve asked once or ten times to use his powers to do something ridiculous but this was a matter of importance. 

 “Use your heat vision”

 “Wha-”

 “Heat vision. Flask. Go faster.” You punctuate each word with a wild flick or gesticulation of your hands. 

 Clark moves his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his sharp nose.“We’re not going to use my heat vision-”

 “-Yes, we are.” 

 “No, we aren’t. Do you want me to list the ways this could go wrong?”

 “Relax, my human shield is invincible.”

 “You’re horrible.”

 “Yup.”

 “I really can’t convince you?”

 “Nope.”

 “What if I just don’t?”

 “Then I dip out and break into a different lab to get a bunsen burner.”

 Clark laughs, shaking his head fondness seeping into his smile. It made your heart melt and your face heat. You know you’ve won when Clark moves his seat closer to you. For some reason, Clark always insisted on sitting just a little farther from you no matter the circumstance. 

 You two lean in. Clark gives you a side glance. “For the record, I said this was a bad idea.”

 “Fine, I’ll quote you on that once I’ve won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry.”

 Clark snorts. He removes his glasses, the blue of his eyes shifting to an angry red. It makes your breath hitch every time being reminded just how dangerous your sweet, gentle best friend really is. 

 You watch the liquid in the flask begin to boil and you make a noise of triumph, throwing your arms up in the air in delight. Clark smiles at you and you feel a little embarrassed by your reaction but the smile on your face doesn’t disappear.   You both lean back and you toss him a smug smile. He huffs at you amused and rolls his eyes. 

 “Fine, not all of your ideas are-”

 Crack. 

 Shatter. 

 Shards of glass fly everywhere as the flask shatters. You yelp high and surprised. Clark pulls you into his arms shielding you from the glass and hot acid. You hiss when a shard cuts against the delicate skin of your forehead. You’re numb as you feel the blood trickling staining Clark’s shirt. Your senses were more focused on the way he wraps his arms around you and how safe you feel despite the graze on your forehead. 

 “Y/n, Clark, are you two ok?”

 You hear the frantic footsteps approach you but neither of you pulls away. You just focus on how tightly Clark holds you against himself.  You feel the flex of his large muscles as he pulls you closer. 

 “We’re fine sir but I think Y/n needs to go to the clinic.”

 Do you? 

 Your fingers rise up your forehead and your stomach drops a little when they come away red. You’re aware that you’re bleeding but it takes some time for the knowledge to fully sink in. Your professor is practically shoving you out of the room by the time you even make any move to react. 

 “Y/n, I-”

 “I swear to god if you say I told you so I’ll punch you in the face-” You look into his eyes, your voice amazingly calm. He opens his mouth again. “- and if you say I’m sorry I’ll punch you in the dick.” His mouth closes and you both fall silent even as you go down the hall towards the university’s health office which was just a glorified clinic with the addition of counselors and a waiting room with Rubix cubes instead of magazines. Clark doesn’t loosen his grip on your shoulder even as you wait for the nurse to come out and treat you. 

 Your mind feels far less frantic than it did a few moments ago. 

 “I told you it was a bad idea.” Clark jokes offhandedly.

 You snort at the remark and glare at him without any real venom. “You really aren’t as nice as people say you are.”

 “Nope.”

 “Jackass.”

 This draws a tired laugh from him. “Well, I’m sorry. Why don’t I make it up to you then?”

 “Unless you’ve got a Porsche in your back pocket”

 He winces. You snort again. 

 “How bout coffee?” You blink at him. “Or maybe dinner? This Friday?” He adds with a hopeful lilt. 

 “Just as long as you don’t invite a mugger to come along.”  

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

THANKS FOR READING

taglist:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-horizon11, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell

[withkun]

volcanic | wong lucas

word count: 4.5k

pairing: female graduate student! reader x fratboy! lucas

genre: enemies to lovers au

warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol

a/n: yesterday i had a dream about going on a date with lucas so you can thank @god for inspiring this mess. also the last person i slept with was a trump supporter and kinda inspired the relationship... i have regrets. 

You hated admitting it to yourself, but you were instantly drawn to Lucas when he first entered the ballroom. Along with his trademark dashing smile, he disregarded the dress code and opted for a formal, black-tie suit. If you hadn’t known better, you would have guessed he was a famous actor or a prince out of a fairy tale. Of course, his entrance garnered everyone’s attention as well. Whispers and quiet giggles began to flood the room.

Flustered, you tore yourself away from him and reached for a small flask buried at the bottom of your purse. Emergency vodka could go a long way on nights like these.

“A bit early, don’t you think?” a smug voice arose.

You gritted your teeth and brought the flask to your lips, then ignored the burning sensation slipping down your throat. “Not at all,” you murmured, your voice almost a growl.

Without prompt, Lucas pulled the flask from your hands and helped himself to a sip. “Svedka,” he complained. “Definitely too early for that.”

You watched him down the remainder of the liquor, your anger beginning to boil. “Don’t you have to prepare yourself for the pageant?”

He eyed you, seemingly finding amusement in your fury. “I am,” Lucas assured you. “I’m actually campaigning right now.”

“I’m not voting for you,” you told him, a self-satisfied grin replacing your scowl.

Unphased, Lucas offered you a wink. “We’ll see,” he said in a sing-song voice, then left you to your devices and an empty flask.

Before you could chase after him and demand replacement vodka, your student organization beckoned you to their table. Begrudgingly, you slumped over and plopped into your chair. Your table consisted of the other members of the executive board, being Taeyong, Johnny, Taeil, Yuta, Jaehyun, and Doyoung. “I will pay everyone at this table fifty dollars to not vote for Lucas,” you muttered, half-serious with a glance to Taeyong. “Back me up Mr. Club President.”

Taeyong widened his eyes, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “We’re just here as a courtesy,” he laughed awkwardly. “Try not to stir any trouble.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, with the knowledge that he was right. The APIDA Graduate Student Organization rarely involved itself in any undergraduate matters, but sometimes aligned with their APIDA counterparts for events like this especially seeing as most of their members once were a part of those groups. Arguably, the Mr. Asia pageant was the most important conglomerate event of the year. Each Asian, Pacific Islander, and Desi undergrad student org sent one representative each year to compete for the title of Mr. Asia. The representatives would prepare a talent portion, then partake in a question and answer session. Other attendees would dress to the nines, often seeing the event as an opportunity to flex. Most, however, did not flex to Lucas’ extent. They were also served a meal to be shared with other club members. After, attendees would cast their votes and crown that year’s Mr. Asia.

“No,” you deadpanned, already rummaging through Johnny’s backpack. “Unless maybe you keep me drunk this entire evening. Then I might consider.”

Of course, you knew it was only a matter of time until Lucas ran with his fraternity, Pi Delta Psi, or PDPsi for short. You were hoping you’d graduate before that happened. And yet, in your sixth year at the university you found yourself subjected to the terrors of frat boy Lucas gloating more than usual.

Johnny offered you his coke upon seeing your distress, and you were not surprised to taste an exuberant amount of rum. You wrinkled your face, but still refused to return the mixed drink. Johnny and Jaehyun shared a laugh as you downed the drink. “If I make you another drink will you forgive us for voting for Lucas,” Johnny inquired, his bottom lip pouted.

Meanwhile, Taeil passed his water bottle to you. An inauspicious clear liquid to the untrained eye, but you knew better. You looked positively giddy pouring yourself a glass of lemonade followed with a solid two shots worth of Taeil’s vodka. “You rich boy,” you accused jokingly. “Out here with Tito’s.” With a grateful smile, you offered, “But you are officially my favorite and hereby ‘best boy.’”

Yuta snatched the bottle and poured some in his water before Jaehyun could get his grimy hands on it. “Petition to all vote for Mark Lee,” he said, prompting the club for a cheers.

Your fellow members clinked glasses just as the lights began to dim. With a relaxed sigh, you whispered, “Hear, hear!” At least the booze hit before you had to see Lucas parade around on stage.

The event went as it did each year, Lucas taunting you with knowing smirks occurring as it always did. This time, you had to endure it with him from the spotlight. You made it a game to send him goofy, tipsy expressions that were often accompanied by finger guns and hearts in hopes of throwing him off.  Lucas, unbothered, continued with his act. His confidence only seemed to grow.

However, you had not anticipated Lucas’ performance in the talent show. The performance began slowly as Lucas executed a graceful traditional Chinese dance. The music suddenly changed tempo, and your jaw practically dropped to the table when he ripped off his shirt. You knew he was ripped, but you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his sculpted body. Your increasingly drunk mind went forbidden places before you snapped out of it.

Your friends noticed your cheeks burning red and stifled laughter as Lucas closed his performance. You felt his eyes on your back, your head buried in your hands.

“Oooooh,” Jaehyun teased, “He’s looking at you.”

Although a few seats away, you managed to land a solid knee kick that elicited a sharp yelp from the boy. “He’s not,” you said defensively.

Even Taeyong let out a quiet laugh. “You’ve been flirting for years…”

“You think that excessively hating each other is flirting?” you inquired incredulously.

The boys exchanged looks and knowing smiles, a familiar ritual that occurred each time you and Lucas interacted.

Frustrated, you rose from your seat and made even strides to the restroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, cheeks still ablaze from embarrassment. To your gratitude, you still looked fairly sober otherwise.

You almost jumped when you heard a couple knocks on the restroom door. “Occupied,” you called out.

The handle twisted to reveal a sweaty Lucas, peeking curiously through the crack. “Is it just you?”

“Yes,” your answered with a bitter tone. “What can I help you with in this esteemed ladies’ restroom?”

“Hold out your hands,” he ordered.

You obliged but raised your eyebrows in confusion. Lucas carefully placed a Pepcid capsule in hand, a bottle of water in the other. “What?”

Lucas shrugged. “I get Asian glow really bad too,” he replied, “unless if there’s another reason your cheeks are read.

Overzealous, you swallowed the pill and downed the entire bottle of water. “We both know it’s Asian glow,” you said defensively.

“You’re welcome!” Lucas said, already half out the door.

And once more, he left you stunned and silent.

In your purse, your phone began to buzz with frantic messages from the boys. Jaehyun made fun of you for already breaking the seal, while Taeyong demanded that you respond before he calls an ambulance for alcohol poisoning. A third unknown number accompanied the texts with an invite to the PDPsi after party that night.

You returned to your table to find that the pageant had already moved into the question and answer portion. Mark Lee excitedly described his plans to bring more of the university clubs together for common causes. That meant Lucas was on deck.

Thankfully, the Pepcid worked some of its magic and brought your cheeks back to a normal color.  You almost felt sober again. Still, Lucas’ actions muddled your mind.

With a polite bow, Lucas concluded his session and prompted the closing of the pageant.

Lucas took the stage and elicited quite a few cheers. His frat brothers startled the room as they let out a deep chant in support. Graciously, Lucas approached the microphone and once more glanced in your direction. Without expression, you offered him a thumbs up which he appeared to appreciate.

He surprised you once more with his articulate and thought out answers before you remembered his background. His father, an industrious and well-known businessman in Eastern Asia, likely prepared him for moments like this. Lucas may have been an untouchable playboy, but he was also poised to become a part of his father’s company. Still, you felt a certain genuity to his words despite that.

You turned your attention to your cell phone and took in the options. As your thumb hovered over Mark Lee’s name, you could not stop your eyes from wandering to Lucas’. Biting your lip, you hesitantly selected Lucas.

Within a few moments, the results were in and the MCs called the contestants to the stage. You refused to look at Lucas, instead focusing intently on your restless hands.

You expected to hear Lucas’ name, but instead heard Mark Lee announced as 2020’s Mr. Asia.

Following the applause, the MCs bid everyone a good night. Johnny addressed the table, “We’re all going to PDPsi’s after party, right?”

Looking over your shoulder, you saw Lucas clowning around with his frat brothers, then turned back to your friends. “Do we have to?”

“Absolutely,” Doyoung responded, eliciting flabbergasted responses from the table.

They all stared at you expectantly, knowing that you were cornered. If Doyoung wanted to party, an event none of them would have ever predicted, then you would have to see that through. “Fuck y’all,” you grunted.

A couple hours later, you arrived as a group at the notorious PDPsi frat house with a few handles. You hadn’t changed your outfit, but the boys ensured that you at least let your hair down from your high ponytail and touch up your makeup. They convinced themselves that the night was finally upon them, the night where you and Lucas would finally hook up. Despite their protests, you looked essentially the same. You wore mostly light makeup, but maybe got overzealous applying highlighter. You adorned the same black neck top tucked into a short argyle skirt, but with different shoes. The boys made you wear your “slut shoes,” which were basically just a pair of thigh-high suede black boots. In your hasty attempt to get ready, you barely had time to drink.

The party already was in full swing, and you could easily hear the music from a couple houses down. Beer cans and empty white claws littered the front lawn. A few people played beer pong on the front deck, but they had only filled the cups with water. The boys paired off amongst themselves in preparation for the drinking game, leaving you without a partner. Just as you began to complain, Lucas appeared at your side. “Hey, Y/N, I’m claiming you as my beer pong partner. Oh, and we’re next.”

Lucas practically dragged you away. “I’m terrible at beer pong,” you attempted to dissuade him.

Indifferent, Lucas made the first shot and gave your team the advantage of going first. “Here, I’m better at going second.” He pushed the ping pong ball in your hand.

You considered your options for a second. “You’re lucky I hate losing more than I hate you.” With that sentiment, you watched your ball splash into the back-right cup.

He grinned. “I knew it.”

Despite being a frat boy, AKA master of all party games, Lucas did not have a consistent shot. Still, you fended off the opposing team until you were down to the last cup. Two consecutive shots in and they would win. “Let’s make this interesting,” you offered. “If you miss your shot, you have to do whatever I want.”

With a knowing a smile, Lucas agreed. “If I make it, then you have to do whatever I want.”

You nodded, your confidence swelling, then gleefully watched your ball land perfectly centered in the last cup. And to your horror, you watched Lucas do the same thing.

“Oh, humble winner,” you decreed sarcastically, “what it is that you seek?”

To no one’s surprise, Lucas replied, “I want you to kiss me.”

You saw it coming, but that didn’t mean you were any less disgruntled. In a classic, you-like fashion, you launched into a rant. “Seriously, Lucas?? You’re a robot set to fuck boy mode and I will not be a part of it- “

He took your arm and pulled you away from the deck, into an alleyway. “You lost the bet,” Lucas reminded you. “And all you have to do is uphold your part of the deal.” He gestured around the empty space. “No one will even see it.”

You caught your breath, still enraged. “I was just going to make you find a new beer pong partner if I won. And maybe take a shot.”

“I wish you’d stop denying that there’s something between us.”

Biting your lip, you couldn’t bring your eyes to his and left them trained on the pavement. You never denied that you felt attracted to him. Yet, you also despised him for how perfect everyone perceived him to be. You saw another frat boy when you looked at him, nothing special. “What is there between us,” you asked cautiously.

“You try a little too hard to hate me, don’t you think?” Lucas pulled your chin up to meet his gaze.

Damn it. Sometimes he was too good. With him watching you so closely, you knew you couldn’t lie. “And what game are you playing now?”

“I’m not playing any games,” Lucas answered with sincerity.

Your mind whirling, you pressed your lips against his only for a second. Just a quick peck, nothing more. “And there you have it, humble winner. I’ll be inside drinking myself into an oblivion.”

Lucas grabbed your wrist before you could run off and pulled you closer for another kiss. This one, longer and deeper than before. You couldn’t help but melt into it and wrap your arms around his neck. Soon his tongue danced softly with yours, and you knew you were in for it. He had you.

You pulled away, attempting to catch your breath and gather your thoughts, but Lucas attached his lips to your neck and made his way to your ear. He planted soft kisses along its shape, then lightly bit your ear lobe. His heavy breaths in your ear made a knot in your stomach tighten. “I can’t believe I voted for you,” you admitted, your inhibitions disappearing.

You felt him smile as he kissed your lips once again. “I voted for Mark,” he murmured.

For the first time, he had you laughing genuinely. “In what kind of world do I vote for you and you vote for Mark Lee?” With that, you pressed your body closer to his, close enough to feel a growing bulge grind against your core. Teasing, you drew your hips back and forth.

Lucas soon grew impatient, and growled in your ear, “You’re driving me crazy. We’re going to my bedroom.”

“Not until I say so.” You attached your lips to his again, continuing to rock your hips.

His breath hitched in his throat, and you knew you had the power. Seeming to catch himself, he grabbed your wrists and held them against the brick wall behind you. “I want you,” he said airily, “all of you.”

“Fine,” you agreed, accepting the stalemate. “But no one sees us.”

You snuck around to the back yard first, praying that no one would question her messy hair and how red her lips must have been. Thankfully, you only saw Doyoung who acknowledged your presence with a knowing nod. At least you knew he wouldn’t snitch... most likely.

You skimmed you hand across his book shelf, retrieving his copy of Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle. The pages were marred with messy annotations in Chinese and English, so many you could not understand.

Lucas directed you to the far left bedroom on the frat house’s second floor. You stepped over beer cans and finally made your way there. Inside, you were almost surprised with how tidy everything was. He was a fuck boy, but damned if he didn’t keep his room up to A

sian parent standards.

Behind you, you heard the door open and lock click. Lucas pushed you against the bookcase, causing you to drop the book. “I was reading,” you managed as his hands wandered up and down your body and stopping to cup your breasts.”Didn’t take you for a Vonnegut guy.”

He lifted you, bridal style and tossed you onto the bed with ease. “I’m not just a fuck boy,” Lucas said, climbing over you. “I also read books for class.”

“You’re depth is astounding,” you mocked playfully. “I didn’t know you actually do your assignments.”

In response, he lifted his henley shirt over his head and once more revealed his toned torso and upper body. “I’ve changed a lot since I was a freshman, I thought you paid more attention.”

Your eyes glinted mischievously. “Like when you banged half of the AKDPhi sorority girls two years ago.”

“Okay, that was exaggerated,” Lucas grinned, hooking his fingers the hem of your skirt. “I haven’t slept with anyone in a year.”

You pulled your shirt off, prompting Lucas to dispose of your skirt as well. You were left in just your nude bra and panties, and Lucas breathless. “I find that hard to believe,” you scoffed, your tone a bit softer. “Are you going to tell me you’re secretly a virgin as well?”

“I mean,” Lucas scratched his head, “I used to get around.”

You took his moment of weakness in stride, moving so that you were on top of him. You registered the surprise on his face and let out a laugh. “Do you forget that I’m older than you, maybe even more experienced?”

As you undid Lucas’ belt, your eyes met. Both full of hunger and desire. A part of you felt as if you were making a bad decision, becoming another name for him to add to his list. Even so, you didn’t care. You hadn’t felt so alive since you dated your first boyfriend. Everything felt like a rush then, every kiss and every glance. Losing your virginity hadn’t even felt as good as these playful moments together.

With Lucas’ help, you removed his jeans. Both you were similarly half naked, only undergarments shielding the rest of your bodies. In that moment, you finally saw your similarities. Thirsty for control over the way you were perceived, a love for power, and longing for each other. “What do you see in me?” you inquired.

“Someone who could easily kick my ass,” he replied, his tone light but entirely serious. “I can’t believe I managed to get you in my bed.”

You scoffed. “I chose to be here, and I’m the one who made you want it.”

Lucas conceded, leaning up to kiss you, “That’s true. I’ve never dated someone that gives me such a hard time.”

“We’re not dating,” you prompted. “I only hate you slightly less now.”

“You’re the most interesting person I ever met,” Lucas said woefully. “And what do you see in me?”

“A clown,” you answered without hesitation. “Boo-boo the fool, if you will.”

You didn’t stop his hands as the reached for your bra clasp and let it fall off your chest.

“But you’re also sweeter and more genuine than I thought you could be,” you granted. “Thank you for the Pepcid, by the way.”

And with that, you pulled down his boxer briefs. His already hard length popped out, You maintained eye contact as you ran your tongue along the shaft, closing your mouth at the tip. Once again, you continued this motion and began to suckle his testicles and flicker your tongue as your hand firmly stroked his dick. He lost himself, groaning and muttering, “Fuck,” under his breath.

You loved seeing him like this, completely bent to your will. Returning your attention to the tip, you ran your thumb gently across the slit before replacing it with your mouth. You bobbed your head along the length and urged yourself to take more and more. Lucas encouraged you, his fingers tangling in your hair and guiding your motions. With almost its entirety reaching the back of your throat, you gagged.

Honestly, you could’ve went on like this for hours, but Lucas roughly flipped you over and dragged his index finger over your panties. You shuddered as it ran over your clit, then down to the wet spot you left. “My turn.”

In a swift motion, Lucas slid the panties down your legs and threw them aside. Lucas stared at you for a moment, taking in the sight of your naked, waiting body. He wasted no time in pushing your legs back, fully exposing you, and planted butterfly kisses along your thighs. His flat tongue lapped from your entrance and up to your clit, then down again. The anticipation almost made you lose your mind. He closed his lips on your clit, tongue to circling the sensitive bud. You never realized how big his hands were until he slid a finger inside of you. The overwhelming sensation had you gasping, begging for more. And then he slid another finger alongside it, pumping rhythmically as his tongue continued to work on your clit.

You had slept with a few partners before, but none left you as unhinged as Lucas. The pleasure built, somehow rendering you more helpless to his whim, and its release almost had you screaming.

In your shock, you sat up and looked at Lucas with bewilderment. “No one has ever made me come before.” To your embarrassment, it was true. You either grew tired and faked it or they never even made an attempt.

With a devilish look in his eyes, he sucked the two fingers that had previously been inside you. “Maybe you should have given in sooner.”

“Oh, just shut the fuck up and fuck me already.”

He went to open his cabinet drawer beside his bed and searched for a condom. “Protection first.”

You laid back on the bed, still catching your breath. “I’m on the pill,” you confided. “As long as you don’t have the clap, we’ll be fine.”

“Good thing I only have chlamydia.” Lucas kissed you, the taste of your orgasm still on his lips, and positioned himself at your entrance.

His forehead rested on yours, eyes cast down to where your bodies met. Slowly, he thrusted inside you, eliciting your moans. He moved his hips delicately, making you feel every inch bury itself deeper. Instead of immediately jackhammering it in, Lucas took his sweet time and chose his own pace. He brought his lips to your nipple, suckling on it softly. You couldn’t believe his patience.

“I’m going on top,” you managed, pushing Lucas down where you had laid. Although already turned on, you wanted to see Lucas squirm the way he had you. You brought your folds over his cock, driving him just as mad as you predicted. When you finally allowed him back in, he attempted to thrust upward. You shut him down, resting your hands on his pecs. “And now I’m in control,” you gloated. You ground your hips and then slowly brought yourself up and down. “So I’m going to do what I want,” you whispered into his ear.

He looked up to you, an animal-like glare present in his eyes. “Don’t forget who made you come.”

You sped your pace, willfully doing all the work. This time, you wanted Lucas to know he couldn’t do anything but allow himself to be used. And he watched you losing yourself on top of him, never having been more turned on in his life.

As you slowed, he brought your chin down for a chaste kiss. A trick, you realized, but too late, he thrusted into you this time much faster. You felt the hints of another orgasm budding, and involuntarily tightened your walls. Lucas felt the shift, drawing himself out. “You’re not going to come until I want you too.”

Before you could protest, Lucas aligned his head below your womanhood and pulled you in closer. His hands attached to your hips, encouraging you to rock yourself on his tongue. “You’re really something,” you murmured, obliging to his whims.

He murmured against you, sending vibrations up your spine. Soon enough, he had you writhing in your orgasm all over again.

Still unfinished himself, he positioned you on your hands and knees. Lucas pushed himself inside you, then slapped your ass. “God, your body...”

You couldn’t support yourself as he vigorously fucked you, but allowed your hand to float to your clit. As Lucas increase his pace, you felt your breath hitch. His thrusts became sloppier, and you realized he was close as well. Unable to hold out longer, you came again. Lucas followed shortly after, coming onto your back as you laid there, nearly exhausted. He produced a towel and wiped the excess off.

Lucas fell next to you, out of breath, and nearly exhausted. “Wow,” he muttered.

You rose from the bed, still shaking and legs a bit sore. “I’ll be in the shower. You’re welcome to join me as long as there’s no hanky panky.”

“No promises,” Lucas smiled, slowly gathering himself. “I’ll meet you there in a moment.”

You, still naked, walked to Lucas’ bathroom with a sway in your step. Just to mess with him. He gave you a moment for yourself while you turned on the shower and stepped in. You felt as if you were in a different reality, being in Lucas’ bathroom and just having had sex with Lucas Wong. You wondered if the rest of your student organization would be surprised, but suspected that they wouldn’t. Maybe Doyoung would’ve have filled them in when you didn’t return to your shared apartment with Yuta.

Lucas came in soon after, still eyeing your body the way he was before. “You can stay the night if you want, maybe get breakfast tomorrow.”

You kneaded some shampoo into his hair, and repressed a smile. It was like he read your mind. “I suppose so,” you attempted to be casual.

“And back to the dating thing,” Lucas began, “maybe we should try it.”

“Is that code for you want to have sex with me again?”

“I won’t deny that’s part of it,” Lucas admitted.

You turned from him to face the faucet, and felt him behind you once again. This time, you felt comforted by his embrace. “We’ll see how breakfast goes,” you offered.

He laughed, a low sweet sound prompting you to smile. You let yourself go in the moment, enjoying the feeling the water cascade down your skin and Lucas’ presence warming your body. “You’re never going to stop giving me a hard time, are you?”

You shook your head.

OLucas turned you to face him, descending his lips onto yours. “I wouldn’t want you to stop.”

[avversiera-writes]

‘till death do us part - epilogue [tobirama senju/you]

Epilogue: The World As He Made It

Summary: Tobirama becomes Hokage. He obsesses over a new jutsu.

Words: 1.1k

A/N: gods...this chapter. it's just Tobirama. and his usual madness. I like to write him like this, kinda unhinged, barely keeping it together, but no one can tell. he is alone in this kind of plight.

also available on AO3.

<< Chapter 1 - Allegiances // Chapter 2 - Union // Chapter 3 - Love Like You // Chapter 4 - Look to the Horizon // Chapter 5 - Return // Chapter 6 - How to Steal a Crown // Chapter 7 - Make Him King 

Tobirama’s inauguration is almost without ceremony. The sky is downcast, a sign of an impending storm, and just as Tobirama raised the Hokage hat from his head, the villagers immediately scattered to take shelter from the pouring rain. The transition was made quick and without preamble, and with that, everybody began to attend to their designated duties in the village. Tobirama watches the people from the Hokage mansion’s rooftop, and this time, he is alone under the rain. 

 Many nations will hear of the new Hokage, and some may try their luck to find weakness in the village. His eyes go to the place where the Uchiha clan resides, and his blood goes cold. He needs them to value the village above all–he cannot have any dissenters. Not when everything is so fragile, like a taut string pulled to its limit. He needs them to participate and to stop being so exclusive to outsiders. His brother has told him to stop being so strictly vigilant towards them, but he cannot help it. It is like he is expecting another Uchiha Madara to rise up any moment.

 He uses his fears to turn them into logic and to come up with several plans, some of them already put into motion. Like the ANBU, his eyes and ears to the lands beyond Konoha, and to people he deems to be watched inside the village. Besides, a man cannot survive if he does not fear anything. 

 Even now, his mind runs through different methods and solutions, and he makes a mental note to jot them down later and to test some of them out. 

He stays there a little longer, and he raises his face to the sky. He throws up his walls, because he does not know any other way. 

 He is aware of his wife watching him from behind, but he knows that something about him has shifted, and she cannot come forward to stand beside him. He is aware of the fears that sit in her heart, but the best way he knows how to solve them is to focus on strengthening the village and have several fallbacks, so she will be safe and protected. So that everyone that he watches over will grow up in a world where they can be shinobis with more knowledge than just the battlefield. That was what his brother wanted, and he will do anything to make sure that his brother’s wishes come true, and that the village will prosper and it will last to serve generations of great shinobis. 

 This is the world that Hashirama wanted. And this is the way he has made it.

 Underneath the gilded perfect picture, there is him, and his notes and his books and his plans. In the middle of the storm that he had contrived, there is him, and his ideas and his cold hard facts. 

 Finally, he turns away and he sees you waiting for him and also letting the rain fall on you. 

He wants to walk up to you and take your face into his hands, to reassure you, but there is no reassurance, because that means that he is getting ahead of himself. He hopes that you know this, and he hopes that you will still keep your capability to understand him, no matter what. He cannot avoid having to hope, for he is only human, and he is not a god, even if he does play the role at times.

//

Tobirama took Madara’s eyes secretly after the battle with his brother and preserved them. Now, he scrutinizes it, dissects it into layers so that he can figure out how the Uchiha’s visual prowesses work. He writes down his observations, and writes down his theories. 

 He surrounds himself with glass flasks and chemicals, more mad handwriting and strewn papers on the table and the floor, and after he puts Madara’s eyes in a container that will preserve it for later studies, he is struck with inspiration. 

 To him, it is rather genius, he thinks. 

He is always surrounded by death, and in the future he would like to prevent any more casualties. It strikes him: what if the strongest shinobis who have died can be revived? What if they can still regenerate after being struck? He can have a whole army of them, unstoppable, unbreakable. There may be no need for sacrifices. 

 He scribbles on his journals, explaining his thought processes. He will need to start somewhere–maybe he can get a few references from the Uzumaki clan to study and derive his own conclusions. He is not sure if it will be possible, but he has invented other jutsus before, and this one can be boiled into just...that. However, he knows that he is bringing something new into life. Something so impossible, and probably for people like his elder brother, immoral. 

 But Tobirama was never one to strictly stick to morals when it comes to the greater good, and this. This . This can be something good. This will help and benefit the village.

He does not when he begins, and he only remembers stopping because daybreak stifles his thoughts and it filters through the small windows of his lab. 

 He does his best to tidy up, but he really did not want to stop. 

 There is so much more to do. There is just so much. 

 Time is not enough, and he needs more time. 

He attends to his Hokage duties as normal, finding it hard to take a break or rest. Then at night, he goes to the graveyard where unknown fallen shinobis are buried and he unburies them. Painstakingly, he brings them back to his lab, and does his best to not disturb them too much, just in case he needs a part of them. Hopefully, there are some surviving organs in them that he can work on. He needs to be able to isolate their DNA for later purposes. 

 To him, these are just bodies. They are dead already. 

He notes that everything feels a little heightened. His skin itches like there are bugs crawling over him, his mind is racing and his hands are shaking, but he waits until the tremors are gone and he begins his work. For the village. For his brother. For you. 

 There is no going back. He will soldier on in these treacherous shadows to carve a path of light–to show the Will of Fire and make sure that it burns longer, and that it burns bright. 

 He witnesses another daybreak without sleep, and finally, he comes up with the name, or at least, what he wants to call it. 

Edo Tensei. 

END

***

Author’s Notes: 

or is it? 

to be continued on: try again; in every day we breathe life (available on AO3)

will post on tumblr soon. see ya!

buy me a coffee !

[lakesandquarries]

Baby Shoes - Chapter 5

Bubby has been a doctor at Black Mesa for 20 years, living there for 50. He’s been bouncing around from project to project, working on whatever needs most help. He doesn’t have any opinions on his work or his coworkers or anything like that, preferring to keep to himself.

Then he meets Black Mesa’s newest project.

AKA: Bubby is Benrey’s dad au.

title from “Baby Shoes” by Bad Books.

thank u to my friend gordon for beta reading even after i threatened to steal his blood <3 ilu bitch

AO3 Link

Bubby had forgotten about the tinfoil until he walks into Zeki’s office. She’s ripping it off her desk, a few hairs slipping from her careful bun, and Bubby has to hide his smile behind his hand.

“Did you have something to do with this?” she demands, throwing a ball of tinfoil on the floor. 

“I’ve been with the subject all day. You can check the cameras, if you want.”

“I just might,” Zeki warns. She pulls another sheet off her chair and collapses into it. “So. Where are we moving you? The tube is all ready.”

“B-22,” Bubby says. “Near the break room. The L-shaped one.”

“The storage room?”

“It’s been years since it’s stored anything but dust.”

Zeki frowns, ripping the tinfoil off a pen. “You don’t need to do this, you know.”

“You offered, didn’t you? A real scientist is willing to try new things.”

She grits her teeth. “I’ll get it cleared with -”

“Aren’t you the department head?”

There’s a pause. Bubby doesn’t look away from Zeki, pale blue eyes staring into green. 

“Fine,” she spits. “I’ll ask the cleaning crew to clear it out.”

Bubby smiles. “I’ll start packing my things.”

He turns on his heel, leaving Zeki to her paperwork and her tinfoil covered office.

Dekkard’s back in the breakroom, sat in the corner eating his doritos. “They are stale,” he informs Bubby as he sits down across from him.

“Zeki approved the room.”

Dekkard drops the bag. “She did?”

“Very begrudgingly, I might add. Though I think at least some of her frustration was due to the tinfoil covering every available surface.”

Dekkard beams at him. “Today has truly been a wonderful day.”

“I’ll miss you after she kills you.” Bubby reaches across the table, grabbing one of Dekkard’s doritos. They’re stale, and he doesn’t even like chips, but he hasn’t eaten since this morning. Dekkard nudges the bag closer to Bubby, and before he realizes it, the bag is empty. “Alright, well, I have other work to get back to.”

Dekkard frowns. “I think you mean you have lunch to get back to.”

“I don’t have time for that. I need-”

“To take a break.”

Bubby huffs. “I’m not going to let myself be lectured by someone half my age.”

“I’m not lecturing you! I’m just saying, you seem kinda stressed, and I was thinking of heading over to the cafeteria to get something more substantial. I thought maybe you’d wanna come with.”

“To the cafeteria? Absolutely not.”

“It’s not like there’s somewhere else we can get food,”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Come with me.” He doesn’t wait for Dekkard, standing up and leaving, though the sound of footsteps behind him means Dekkard must be following. “You know, cooking is a kind of science.”

“Is it?”

“I’d say so.” He leads Dekkard out of the Biological Research wing, down a flight of stairs. “And I think someone high up agreed with me, once.” The area they’re in was something, once, but now it’s abandoned. The lights burst years ago, the only illumination left coming from the level above.

“Did you bring me out here to kill me?” Dekkard asks, picking his way through the room. 

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. Here, this way.” It takes Bubby a moment to pry the door open, the hinges stiff from disuse. “I have no idea what this used to be, but. No one ever comes here.”

It was likely a lab of some sort - of course it was, that’s what Black Mesa does - but it was surprisingly easy to turn it into a kitchen. There’s a makeshift stove, no source of fire since Bubby can make that himself but just something to hold the flames. Scales and flasks serve as something like measuring cups, and he’s stolen various blades from around the facilities, along with any else he can get his hands on. It’s messy, but it’s serviceable. 

“I try to keep it decently stocked here, but it can be tricky to find ingredients. But I’m sure you’ll find anything we can make down here leagues better than the garbage they serve in the cafeteria.”

“Did you make this?” Dekkard asks, poking at a burner. “Shit, maybe you really are the Ultimate Lifeform or whatever. This is - I’ll admit it, this is clever.”

“I’m glad someone recognizes my genius.” He crosses the room, over to the makeshift freezer and his stolen microwave. “Do not tell anyone about this, though. I will kill you.”

“Secret’s safe with me.” 

“I don’t have the ingredients for anything too complicated. How do you feel about pasta? I’ve got some frozen pasta sauce I can heat up.”

Dekkard has made his way to the table. It was about to be thrown out when Bubby stole and repaired it all on his own. There’s only two chairs, but they at least are in good shape. “That sounds incredible.” He collapses into a chair, laying his head on the table. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve eaten real food? Everything in the cafeteria tastes like cardboard.”

“I’m familiar,” Bubby says, getting out a pot. He lights the burner with a snap of his fingers, enjoying how Dekkard’s eyebrows raise up into his hairline.

He sits down across from Dekkard as he waits for the water to boil, drumming his fingers on the table. Dekkard keeps staring at the pot, then at Bubby.

“Is something wrong? You’re staring.”

“Have you really been here your whole life?” Dekkard asks. Bubby sighs.

“Yes.”

“You’ve never - I mean you’ve been outside, right?”

“Once or twice.”

“Sorry, that - that’s a rude question, huh?”

“A bit, yes.” The water sounds like it’s bubbling, so Bubby takes it as an excuse to get up. Dekkard remains seated. “Is there a reason you’re asking this?”

“Just thinking about - about Benrey.”

Bubby adds the pasta to the pot, stirring it. “Ah.”

“I’m not gonna try and say I get it, exactly, but I think I’ve got an idea of what’s going on here. And I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, or anything, but -”

“I know what I’m doing, Dekkard.” He doesn’t have to turn to imagine the look on Dekkard’s face, one eyebrow raised and the other flat. “Yes, I’ll admit, I might be...attached. But I’m not an idiot, alright? I’ve heard all the stories.”

“Zeki tell you about Dr. Tipton?”

“She was trying to scare me. I’ve had my fair share of encounters with him. Whatever Benrey did, I’m sure he deserved it.”

Dekkard’s quiet for a moment. When Bubby turns, he’s staring at the pasta, hand resting on his chin. 

“I can see the gears in your brain trying to work,” Bubby says, turning back.

“You think they’re like you.”

“They are like me.” He continues stirring, directing all his focus into the movements of his arm. “They didn’t even have a name. I can’t - I can do something, here. I can’t just sit by and ignore this when I can do something.”

No one ever did anything for him. He’d spent seventeen years in that god forsaken tube before anyone had even considered letting him out, and it was another twelve after that before he was allowed any scrap of freedom. Even now, his autonomy is challenged constantly, by scientists half his age with a fraction of his knowledge.

Benrey doesn’t even have the luxury of being a valued experiment. Based on what Zeki’s said, Benrey’s only kept around because nothing seems to kill them, and they’re interesting to study. 

If Bubby can do something - anything - then he has to. 

“Hey,” Dekkard says. “Uh. I think the pot is on fire.”

“Oh, motherfucker.” Bubby shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath, willing the flames to die down. “I was...distracted.”

“Can’t help but feel like that was my fault.”

“A little.”

“...sorry.”

It’s nothing unsalvageable, at least. The noodles are a bit too soft, but that’s fine. 

He grabs the jar of sauce out of the freezer, heating it in his hands. He can feel Dekkard watching him as he scoops the noodles into bowls, pouring sauce over each serving. The air’s gone tense.

“Sorry,” Dekkard mumbles again as Bubby passes him a fork. He sighs.

“It’s fine. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Look, I might be underqualified, but I’m not stupid. I see how Zeki and all the other guys talk to you. I don’t wanna be like that.”

“I put this area together five years ago,” Bubby says, spinning his noodles around his fork. “You are the first person I’ve ever invited down here.”

“Is this your way of saying we’re friends?”

Bubby purses his lips. “I don’t think I’d go that far.”

Dekkard snorts. “Alright. Acquaintances.”

“Coworkers.”

“Oh, that’s harsh.”

“Shut up and eat your pasta.”

Dekkard does, for once, shut up. He eats like it’s the first meal he’s had in decades, like some kind of rabid animal, and then leans back against his chair.

“That was the best meal I’ve had since I started working here.”

“Well, if you behave, maybe there’ll be more in the future.”

“Can’t believe you’d stoop to bribes.”

It’s...nice, Bubby thinks. Sitting down here, eating and joking with someone. Maybe Dekkard was right when he called them friends.

Still won’t admit it out loud, though. He has some dignity left.

[norman891]

...

@sleightlyoffhand

Hook noticed Smee trying to look busy and stay out of danger at the same time. He snapped his fingers loud enough for the bosun to hear, and Smee came huffing up the stairs.

“Aye Cap’n?” he asked, a bit winded.

“I want you to find Mr. Starkey and tell him that I said to give you Mr. Haigh’s weapons, and if he gives you any argument, reemphasize that you’re there on my orders, and he does not want me to have to come find him personally. Understood?” Hook ordered. “And be mindful you’re not seen.” Hook reiterated.

“And what shall I do with Haigh’s weapons, sir?” Smee asked, causing Hook to rub his own temples.

“Take them to Mr. Haigh, you fool!” Hook hissed.

“Aye Cap’n” Smee gave a half-hearted salute and headed below as quickly as he could. A few moments later, he reappeared, headed over to Joe Haigh and handed off the small bundle, then scurried out of sight.

Not that any of his weapons would do Haigh much good unless they were boarded. It was good to have his cutlass and knives back, but Haigh possessed no pistol nor rifle, so he stayed with the chase gun crew, ready to help reload.

From high in the crow’s nest, Edward watched through his own personal spyglass, which was much smaller and more utilitarian than the watchman’s or Hook’s, but it served its purpose. He signaled the canoes’ distance to Hook by hand signals. Seven hundred yards, then five hundred, then four hundred. At three hundred yards, the canoes made an unexpected tactical move, splitting into two columns to attack the ship from both sides at once.

Edward made a parting of the waves motion to Hook, who seemed befuddled at first. But by the time the crafts had narrowed the distance to two hundred and fifty yards, Hook had figured out their plan. At seventy-five yards, Edward received the signal to open fire, though the canons remained silent so their attackers would think only the night watchman had spotted them, the rest of the crew still unaware or with little time to prepare.

Edward already has his first shot lined up and with light pressure applied to Henry’s trigger, two warriors toppled sideways out of one of the leading canoes. He quickly ripped open one of the parchment premeasured powder charges he’d made after the last attack by the natives, followed by a patch and ball, ramming them home. A quick dram of powder to the flash pan and he took his second shot, again taking out the first two braves in that canoe so it keeled over, dumping its last occupant in the ocean.

Johnny Greene, a deck hand, crawled into the crow’s nest with him, bringing a second rifle. “Captain sent me up here to reload for ye. Don’t worry.” He motioned at the rifle. “It’s fifty-caliber as well and loaded.” He tossed the rifle to Edward who handed him Henry to reload.

“There’s about fifteen more pre-measured powder packets in my pouch. After that, ye must measure wi’ the flask.” Johnny nodded and began quickly reloading Henry while Edward continued to snipe warriors from their canoes. Edward found this method quite productive, through in the future, God help them, three rifles would be better.

At one hundred feet, Hook signaled for the chase guns to be fired, taking out seven canoes with the grape shot and langrage. Canoes continued to surge forward, angling closer to the Jolly Roger.  Gun ports opened suddenly and fired a barrage from both sides, splintering the canoes into shards of birch bark and leaving mangled bodies floating in the water.

From his sniper’s nest, Edward was able to pick off any warriors trying to scale the side of the Jolly Roger. The last of the canoes had not reached the ship when the decision was made to retreat.  The chase guns continued to hammer them, and Edward continued to pick off any survivors in the water. He took several long shots as the canoes reached one hundred yards, taking out three more braves, while the chase guns changed their altitude and continued pounding the canoes with their deadly loads.

The sun was beginning to break over the treetops of Neverland when Hook waved Edward and Johnny down from the crow’s nest and satisfied that the Indians were in full retreat and over two hundred yards away, he called a cease fire for all cannons.

Edward was not as quick on the rigging as any of the other men. His left foot kept giving way and slipping off the ropes, so his progress down was slow and careful. Why he had no trouble going up, Edward had never been able to puzzle out. When his feet hit the deck, Johnny was waiting to give him a handshake and congratulations.

“That were some fine shootin’, Mr. Butcher,” Johnny grinned.

“You’re a damned quick loader yourself. Aye, ye were invaluable up there.” Edward returned the compliments. “I ne’er could have gotten so many without ye.”

Hook greeted Edward at the foot of the stairs.  “Good job, sir,” he patted Edward’s shoulder heartily.  “And good eyes too, spotting them so far away.”

“Thank you, sir,” Edward accepted his captain’s congratulations humbly, but his eyes twinkled merrily at Hook.

“Men!” Hook called out to gain the attention of his crew. “Were it not for the sharp eyes and quick thinking of Mr. Butcher, we might all be dead and scalped as well.”

Edward bashfully endured the cries of huzzah, wanting only to store his weapons and get busy in the galley when a movement at the stern caught his attention. Without thinking, he shoved Hook to the deck, drew Luke and fired, seemingly all in one smooth motion.

A lone warrior who’d managed to escape detection had scaled the back of the ship and was intent on taking at least one soul, and his choice was the worst possible. The ball from the pistol struck him squarely between his eyes and he keeled backwards into the ocean. 

Joe Haigh observed all from the bow, having been relieved of his gun crew duties for the time being. He would would, probably be scrubbing cannons after breakfast.

“That’ll teach you tae try and shoot my captain in the back, you heathen!” Edward roared.  He stretched out his hand to help Hook back to his feet with a “Sorry about that, sir.” He patted the pistol, now back in its holster.  “Ye can always count on the Gospels tae have your back.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butcher.” Hook said, mildly stunned. “You shall have to explain your pistols names to me sometime. I find your choice quite interesting.”

“Aye sir,” Edward grinned. “But I must below deck and help fix a fine breakfast for the crew.” He had seen Victor already heading for the galley with his fusil.

“Of course,” Hook said. “Dismissed.”

Edward paused at the pantry, which was already open, to store his weapons, save Luke & John which he wore everywhere. Victor was busy cutting a goodly length of sausage links from their pole.

“I’ll be right wi’ you, Victor.” Edward said, pausing to quickly reload Luke.  Once in the galley Edward washed his hands and began assembling ingredients for his Colony Biscuits. Victor boiled the sausage first before browning them in the large cast iron skillet, so they would remain tender and juicy, and they were served along with Edward’s biscuits and both plum and raspberry preserves each had taken turns making. At Victor’s suggestion, Edward added a good dose of rum to the men’s hot tea to warm their bellies and their hearts.

Again, Joe Haigh graced the dining hall with his presence to gather his breakfast and go back up top, but Edward stopped him before he could leave.

“Wait here a mo,” Edward winked. “I hae something tae gi’ you.” Edward headed for the pantry unlocking it, and Haigh watched from just outside the door as Edward began to sift through the contents of his sea chest. “Aha!” he said, sounding pleased. He closed the lid, displaying a flintlock pistol in fairly good condition. He locked the pantry door behind him and motioned for Haigh to follow him up the stairs.

“I noticed today that you hae no firearm of your own in the fight this morning,” Edward began. “I’ve had this for longer than I can remember, and it’s served me well. But it’s a forty-five caliber, nae a fifty. It’s yours on one condition.”

Haigh stared at him in disbelief and tried to speak but had lost his voice in the shock.

“Aye, I know what you’re thinkin’” Edward said. “Now why would that man gi’ me a gun? Well Joe, every man should hae at least one. You’ll hae tae find the right size ball and a powder flask, but it’s a good pistol. My only condition is that ye never turn it on any member of this crew. Yes?”

Joe set down his breakfast and looked the pistol over thoroughly. Like all of Edward’s weapons, it had been kept in excellent condition. It had nice balance to it and felt comfortable in his hand.” Oui” he replied. Edward extended his right hand.

“Then let’s shake on it like gentleman, and if you ever use it against any of o’ us, I’ll shoot you myself.” He winked. Joe frowned but shook Edward’s hand firmly. “Now, go and enjoy your breakfast before it gets cold.” Edward grinned. “Oh, and mind that tea. It’s got a bit o’ a kick tae it this morning.”

He headed back to the galley where he found Victor with his arms crossed, regarding him with a most disapproving eye.  “What?” Edward said, finally having a minute to fix his own plate of breakfast. “Every man on this ship hae at least a pistol, and if any o’ those savages had gotten on board in any numbers… weel, I would nae like tae think of the outcome.”

“I think it is not wise,” Victor snorted.

“He agreed that he would ne’er turn it on any member o’ this crew, and I told him I’d kill him if he did.” Edward savored the wild boar sausage between one of his biscuits. “Och, man. Your sausage seasoning is spot on, mate.”

Victor nodded at the compliment, then went back to his concerns. “And what if the man he shoots if the captain?”

Edward’s expression grew dark. “Then I’ll shoot the bastard in the knee, and he’ll wish I had shot him dead before I’m done wi’ him.”  He took another bite of his sausage biscuit, chewing thoughtfully. “I still di’nae trust what he does on that island, but I think the captain has set his head to rights, and if not, I’ll hunt him down myself if necessary. I’m no called ‘The Butcher” for naught.”

Victor shook his head buit set to fixing his own plate.

“Di’ nae fret.” Edward said. “I’ll be telling the captain myself, so if anyone gets in trouble o’er the affair, it’ll be me.”  Victor raised a doubtful eyebrow and began to enjoy his own breakfast. Edward took his plate and cup and decided to finish his meal above deck in the cool fresh air.