#get that fragment of a man outside of that flask

[freyadragonlord]

Singshong dont tease me with the possibility of kimcom getting dkos back

Singshong

Dont do this to me if you're not serious about it Singshong

[dand-elle-ion]

Genshin + When you get injured

With: Albedo

Words: 900

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Note: The reader is Gender Neutral, enjoy :)

Xiao ver. I Kazuha ver. I Scaramouche ver.

Dark and eerie clouds gather on the afternoon sky above Dragon Spine, causing the wind to howl louder and the air to freeze sharper than usual. Still, the labor in the middle of the mountain is occupied non the less.

Inside the cozy workroom you are sitting at a table, bend over maps and documents of your newest commissions, planning routes to accomplish them in the best manners possible.

Meanwhile the man himself, Albedo, is immersed in his own work of research papers, surrounded by alchemy flasks that were filled with substances in the most cryptic colours.

Albedo’s brows are furrowed in concentration, which – without any exaggeration – is the loveliest thing ever in your eyes. It was endearing to watch him, lost in work, completely shut out in his own big world of science.

Feeling you watching him, Albedo lifts his eyes, his gaze immediately softening. “Are you hungry? I can fetch us some snacks if you want to.”

You shake your head and smile a little embarrassed, heat creeping up your cheeks for being caught starring at him. “I’m good. Do you want anything, though?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he states and tilts his head to something next to you. “Could you please hand me one of the vials in that basket, if you don’t mind?”

Glad for the opportunity to get a grip on yourself, you reach for the basket filled with small glass vials to grab one of them. But as soon as you move back to hand it to Albedo a sudden thunder roars from outside, loud enough to feel the vibration in your very bones.

Flinching, you lose your grip on the vial, watching the delicate glass shatter on the table, its fragments scattering all over your papers.  

“Shit,” you curse under your breath. Without thinking you start immediately gathering the broken pieces to a pile, while repeatedly apologizing.

“I’m so sorry, Albedo, please tell me it was nothing special. I just got startled by the thunder-“

He is next to you in a mere second.

“Careful. Let me help you.”

To your surprise Albedo doesn’t seem to be bothered at all by the loss of his vial. His face remains calm as ever as he gently moves your hands away from the sharp shards, but halters almost immediately when he notices the blood dripping from your right hand.

He frowns. “You must have cut yourself.” His finger softly caresses the unharmed skin around your wound. “Does it hurt?” Concerned he shifts his eyes back to yours, observing any indication of pain on your face.

“A little,” you admit.

“It doesn’t appear like there are any splinters of glass anymore, so I’m going to disinfect the wound first, alright?”

You couldn’t help but grimace a little by the thought.

“Don’t worry.” Albedo chuckles. “Klee has managed to hurt herself an astonishing number of times during her adventures, so I’ve created a cleanser who doesn’t burn when in contact with an open wound.”

Merely half convinced you let him lead you to a sofa in a corner of the room. You sit down, while using your other hand to hold your injured one, careful as to not let any blood stain the furniture.

Meanwhile your eyes are following Albedo, who is roaming around the room, gathering utensils from cabinets and drawers, before he returns to sit beside you.

In unbent silence he places your hand carefully in his and uses a slightly wet towel to wipe away the blood, then he opens the cleanser.

Your nose wrinkled at the sharp smell. “So, no pain on the skin, in exchange for pain in your nose, huh?” You state, only half joking.

His lips curve into a smile. “Would you prefer it the other way around, love?” he teases.

“Nope. I’m good. What smell? Haha, no smell. Don’t smell anything at all.”

And like he promised, you do indeed not feel anything at all, but a distant pounding and Albedo’s warm hand in yours.

A little later, when he’s finished tying a bandage around your hand, your face twists a bit, but you make no sound. Still, as usual, Albedo notices.

“I’m sorry, love.” He apologizes, giving you a half smile. “But it has to be a bit tight, in order for it to heal easier.”

He plants a soft kiss on your bandaged hand, not breaking the eye contact for a second.

“Are you still in pain?”

“Barely,” you murmur, not being able to focus properly on much but Albedo, his face now close to your own. A quiet “thank you” manages to escape your lips before they were already brushing against his own.

But just as he starts to deepen the kiss the thunder decides to roar again, making you both flinch at the sudden noise.

Albedo rises from the sofa, making you pout in return.

At this his blue eyes twinkle with amusement, still he bends down to you, pressing a loving kiss on your forehead. You close your eyes, but once again - his lips are gone way too fast and with him his warmth.

“How about a small break until the storm passes, to prevent further… incidents?” he suggests coyly. “Some tea, perhaps?”

[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. 

[lesetoilesfous]

For DADWC: "Is it too late to come on home?" for FenHawke :)

Ah this was delightful, thank you so much!! I love writing this pairing. Hope you enjoy!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting Pairing: m!FenHawke

Characters: Fenris, Garrett Hawke

Tags: modern AU, sometimes you just need to drive for a few days whilst you figure shit out, angst and fluff, hurt/comfort, vague reference to sex

Rating: Mature

It’s 3am in the desert when Fenris realises he wants to go home. He’s been driving for a week, stopping at seedy motels or sleeping in his truck when he feels safe to do so. He feels as if he’s worn out the cassette tape Hawke made for him six times already, but it still plays when he jams it into the cassette player, the worn ribbon making the music sound thick and soft as melted chocolate. He’s worn the same t-shirt and jeans for three days straight, and his body feels warm and sticky with dirt. He wants a shower. He wants a long, hot shower, one long enough to scour the scum from his body and give him the chance to step out of it made anew, with no old heartbreaks or blocked phone numbers. Without the tattoos in his skin.

There’s no one around. It’s part of what Fenris loves about the desert. Once an hour or so, another car comes blasting across the horizon, but eventually even the echo of its engine bouncing across the dunes sinks into the dark like a pebble in a pond. And Fenris is left with nothing but himself, and the moon, and the sighing of the sand. It’s cooled off by now, enough that the heat from the day has long since evaporated from Fenris’ skin and goosebumps are pulling up on his bare arms, his teeth seconds away from chattering. He grabs a hoodie from the back and shrugs it on blindly in the dark, not stopping to think before the thick, heavy fabric is enveloping him and suddenly his lungs are full of Hawke.

Fenris’ first instinct is to pull the thing off before the burning in his eyes turns into actual tears. But he finds that he can’t make his hands move, once they’re full of the thick, soft fabric. So after a moment he gives up, slumping against the side of the car before sliding down to sit against the wheel, feet kicking sand up into the dunes. Fenris stares up at the sky. This far out into the desert, light pollution is a foggy memory. It’s a clear night, and here he can see the dust of the milky way clouding the arc of the sky like an arch of glittering mist speckled with the fragments of shattered worlds.

It makes something in him hurt, but Fenris thinks it’s a healing kind of pain. Like the strain on an old injury when he stretched it in the morning, or cramps after a long run. Fenris fishes a flask out of his bag and drinks deeply, something high-proofed and bitter that burns his throat on the way down. Even with the flask, the liquid had grown warm in the hours spent in the desert sun. But now the outside is cold to the touch. Fenris drinks, and shuts his eyes, and thinks of a grin as bright as sunlight and thick, warm arms wrapped around his chest. He thinks of Hawke, snorting and laughing until his nose wrinkled. He thinks of the way his eyes creased at the corners when he smiled at him. He thinks of Hawke finding his way to The Hanged Man at 6am every morning with a cup of takeaway coffee, acting as if it were no trouble for him to get up at the break of dawn and steal an hour with Fenris whilst he opened the bar.

Fenris thinks of Hawke, falling asleep with his mouth open and drooling as he slumped onto his chest. He thinks of Hawke leaning over to elbow him in the side whilst they played Super Smash Brothers. He thinks of Hawke playing with his mabari, talking to her as if she were the puppy she hadn’t been for a very long time. He thinks of Hawke, breaking the nose of some Tevene businessman harassing Fenris while he worked. He thinks of Hawke, nose bandaged and striped with red, laughing before he winced and holding Fenris’ hand so tightly it hurt.

Fenris thinks of Hawke’s hands, unutterably gentle as they slide down his bare sides. He thinks of the way Hawke shivered when he kissed him, and sighed his name like it was something sacred. He thinks of the warmth of Hawke’s thick, bare, hairy thighs braced against his own. He thinks of Hawke’s arms around his back, and his hot, sweat-slicked skin.

Fenris drinks from his thermos. Then he gets out his phone. His lockscreen is a picture of Hawke’s mabari, Dog, which is his excuse for it. Next to her, Hawke is laughing, wearing the same hoodie now keeping Fenris from the desert chill. He’s just caught the moment of the camera, and is looking just above the lens at where had been, unable to stifle a smile of his own.

Fenris takes a deep breath, and presses the home button. The phone unlocks. With sweating fingers, Fenris slides his thumb across the screen to his contacts. He has fourteen missed calls from Hawke. He tries to ignore the way something in his chest shrinks at that. Instead, he hits call and lifts the phone to his ear. The wind rushes across the sand dunes in a dusty echo of the sea.

The phone rings once...Twice....

“Fen?” Hawke’s voice is rough and tired. Fenris realises abruptly that he hadn’t considered that he’d be waking him up, at 3am. He nearly considers hanging up. As it is, he’s frozen, tongue tangled in his mouth. There’s a rustle of sheets on the other end of the line. “Fenris? Is that you? Are you alright?”

Fenris clears his throat and Hawke falls silent. Fenris can almost feel his anticipation on the other end of the line. He wishes he could sink his hands into his thick black hair. Instead he curls his fingers around the overlong sleeve of Hawke’s hoodie, and forcing himself to jump off the cliff his heart is teetering on.

“Is it too late to come home?”

Hawke’s breath catches, then releases in a gust that distorts into static over the speaker. “Of course not. Where are you? I’ll - I’ll come and get you -” There’s the sound of sheets, and clattering, and then Dog barking as Hawke gets to his feet.

Fenris grins, and ignores the tickle of wetness on his cheek, pressed between his skin and the plastic screen of the phone. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’m - it’s fine.” He does some mental math, and tries to breathe past the lump in his chest before adding. “I could get there for 10 o’clock tomorrow night? Unless that’s too late -”

“No that’s perfect.” Hawke breathes, and Fenris feels a chuckle push up out of his chest at the sheer sincerity of it. He feels as if he’s been drifting for too long, and it’s only now that he’s hearing Hawke’s voice again that he’s remembered how to keep his feet on the ground. As if the phone in his hand is the only thing stopping him from falling up into the vast black sky. Hawke goes on, “Fen, I’m, I’m so glad to hear from you. I was so - it doesn’t matter, I wanted to say, I’m so sorry - for - I was wrong and I didn’t want to rush you into anything and -”

“No,” Fenris cuts him off, all too aware of how quickly Garrett might throw himself down a verbal hill. He shifts, and tries to ignore the crawl of old hot shame across his skin. He fiddles with the sleeve of Hawke’s hoodie. “No, you didn’t. It was -” Fenris stops, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “It was good.” He says the words in a whisper, as if there’s anyone in a forty mile radius who might hear him. Then he clears his throat, “It wasn’t you. I just. Needed some time to think.”

Hawke is quiet for a moment, after that, and Fenris finds himself wishing for an analogue connection - something like the familiar fuzz of his anachronistic cassette tapes, to fill the quiet and do something to ease the aching of his racing heart. Eventually Hawke asks, carefully neutral, “Did it help?”

Fenris tilts his head back, bumping it against the plastic body of his car to stare up at the stars, feeling the warmth of his phone against his skin. “I think so.”

Hawke’s sigh is a rush over the microphone, and Fenris half imagines he can feel it tickling his ear. “Good. Then, that’s good.” Hawke pauses, and again digital silence fills the miles between them. “Fenris?”

“Hawke?” Fenris imitates, more warmly than he means to.

“I missed you.” Hawke’s voice is rough with sincerity, and Fenris’ desire to hold him is an almost physical thing. His fingers tighten around his phone case, and his eyes burn. He shuts them when he replies.

“I missed you, too.”

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

Higurashi Month 2022, Day 30: Nowhere and Nothing

Higurashi Month prompts archive: AO3 

Rika pushed a lock of her long, smooth hair behind her ear and adjusted her glasses a little. Much as she hated to admit it, such long hours squinting at such small print would have ruined her eyes if Satoko hadn't insisted on getting these reading glasses for her.

Her long white labcoat rustled a little as the tall, elegant woman leaned back, crossing her stockinged legs. Part of Rika squirmed at following Takano's path like this, but…but there weren't that many options for her, as she aged and grew. She needed a career, but she could not leave Hinamizawa. Having Irie train her as a scientist was about the best Rika could manage, and to be fair, she could leave sometimes. The research clinic was plugging away even after its drop in fundings, still doggedly working on refining the cure for Hinamizawa Syndrome, a way to calm the villagers and release the chain that had been locked around Rika's neck from the moment she had been born.

She did not precisely resent her duty, since her presence was the only thing that kept Hinamizawa from descending into an apocalyptic bloodbath. She did resent the need for that duty, though. Rika waited with impatience for the day that Irie and his coworkers would finally find a way to eliminate this dreadful disease squirming through her brain and the brain of everyone she knew.

Her own researches had led her in different directions, however.

Since Rika had absolute confidence in Irie and his team to unpick the mysteries of Hinamizawa Syndrome, she had instead moved to study a field that was very near and dear to her heart. Irie's brow had furrowed when she had asked what she wanted, and Rika had caught many a puzzled look over the rim of his glasses or the edge of a book as she studied with him, but Irie was a man of his heart, and he had made a promise. Rika well knew the weight of the promises he carried, and maybe –maybe that, even above his sense of duty, was why Irie tutored her in her chosen science without even a murmur of question. The faint lines from her brain surgery were still there, even after all these years –hidden like a dirty secret behind the fall of her bangs.

Rika didn't mind. The surgery had been as non-invasive as it was possible to be when the surgery itself was essentially there for the purpose of peeking at her brain in search of the Queen Carrier parasite. She had recovered with no noticeable ill effects.

But there was one thing that even now, Rika was not entirely recovered from. The way that she had been trapped in an endless maze, the way that time had twisted and thrashed and coiled in around her like a dying snake as she relived the same stretch of years over and over and over again. Hanyuu had explained the side of it that she knew, the magic explanation about the half-incomprehensible feelings and sensations of a goddess seizing the fabric of reality and giving a brisk, urgent tug.

Rika wanted the scientific one.

And so she had set out on this path, of metaphysics and quantum mechanics and questioning the very building blocks of the universe around her. Rika knew that the fragments she had traveled were made from the coalesced wills of thousands of different people crashing together to form a myriad of possibilities: once she had begun her backing in science, it was easy to identify the moments of quantum superposition. The fragments were crystalized possibilities, and with Hanyuu's help, Rika had become the same as Schrödinger's cat, leaping from one possibility to another.

A cat was locked inside a box with a flask of poison, a monitor, and a radioactive source. If the monitor detected radioactive decay, the flask would be smashed, releasing the poison and killing the cat. According to the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum superposition, a quantum system remained in superposition until it interacted with or was observed by the outside world. Due to the factors in the experiment, a situation was eventually induced where the cat was simultaneously alive and dead –but of course, when you opened the box, the cat was either alive or dead.

So when did the superposition collapse? When did "interacting" with the outside world occur? When someone set their hands on the box? When the lid was cracked the tiniest fraction? When your fingers slipped beneath the lid? When light crept into the sealed container? And what was the situation for the cat before the superposition collapsed, simultaneously alive and dead?

Rika, more than anyone, had an inkling of how it felt for the cat.

She wanted to know the science behind her own box, though, the reason that a quantum system had formed around herself, and what this system truly was. That had been what she studied, what she had been pushing for all these long years. And at last, now, tonight, she had found it.

And she was not celebrating.

Slowly and carefully, Rika removed her reading glasses, cleaning them with the edge of her labcoat. She had found her answers, yes, but…but knowledge had a way of getting out. What benefit was it, to be someone who lived in loops? Because people would want the benefits of her science. Rika was uniquely poised to reveal a fantastic, unbelievable truth to the world, something that would shake civilization down to its very core –proof that something very close to the supernatural existed, proof that magic and alternate realities were almost within their grasp. The possibilities spinning out from her reveal would create a universe of fragments, more prolific than the stars in the sky.

But was that necessarily a good thing?

The whole point, purpose, and benefit of being caught in the loops that Rika had found herself in was reincarnating herself, reliving the same horrible, horrible span of months over and over again in order to find the culprit that had killed her. Rika had witnessed some terrible things in her time loops, and that was only her, only a sparse population of some 2,000 people –less, usually, considering the major players on her stage. She had lived them to escape them, and what people clamoring for her power would undoubtedly forget was that they were essentially trapping themselves, not freeing themselves. Could she face being responsible for that?

And what about unscrupulous people? What about people who wanted to spend a certain span of time abusing someone or committing crimes, safe in the absolute knowledge that they would not be caught?

It wasn't just the weight of the world caught in those double-handful pages of notes, stacked neatly atop Rika's desk in front of her. It was the weight of infinite worlds, infinite choices, infinite possibilities. Did Rika want to be the one to carry it?

Easing out another slow breath, Rika smoothly replaced her glasses. She stood, her face calm and her movements unhurried as she moved to gather up her notes. Her low heels clacked sedately on the well-worn tiles of the clinic's floor, her long hair swaying behind her as Rika made her way out of her office. She passed Irie with a nod, murmured greetings to the other members of the clinic as she made her unhurried way outside.

The swampy air of Hinamizawa's summer night enfolded her with clammy arms, and Rika brushed her brief discomfort away as she click-clacked her way down the short stretch of stairs. She was calm, too, as she got in her battered old car and began to drive, her eyes focused firmly on the future ahead.

She stopped near the stairs up to the shrine, by where picnics and meetings were held. Her notes were clasped in one hand as Rika shut the car door, tucked under her elbow and held securely against her body. Perhaps there was a moment of hesitation as she held them out –perhaps her fingers trembled with reluctance for just an instant as she thought of all the years of work and study she had put into understanding what had happened to her. But that was just it: these were answers Rika had found for herself. For herself. This knowledge was something that she had found in order to satisfy her own craving for the truth.

Rika's fingers were steady as she held the tips of the pages to the small fire smoldering in the old stone braziers. She was unmoving as they caught, unblinking as she let go and watched the flames eat away at her life's work. She stood and she stared until every last page had crumbled to a grey ash, and only then did she turn, only then did she begin to make her slow and stately way up the old steps to the shrine.

The cat in the box might be simultaneously alive and dead, but the cat in the bag, at least, was staying where it was.

AN: I was idly talking with one of my host teachers during my internship (a math teacher) about the advanced math courses she took during college and how only people at that graduate level actually deal with imaginary numbers, and she offhandedly mentioned the three dimensions plus the fourth dimension of time, but really, there's fifteen dimensions that we know of-

And I was like, WHAT?! Hold on, what do you MEAN there's fifteen dimensions!?

Anyways, apparently that's a thing in higher math. See, encounters like this are exactly why I'm constantly on the lookout for new trivia, because how could you have reasonably expected to know that everyone except math majors, apparently, are going about their lives with the naive assumption that there's only three or four piddling little dimensions in the world we know. HOW MUCH ELSE FROM SPECIALIZED FIELDS DON'T I KNOW?!

[maskedlady]

things people who haven’t read/studied the homeric poems should know

the iliad isn’t about ten years of war. it’s about fifty-one days from the last year of war. more than nine years have passed since the beginning. neither the recruit of achilles or odysseus nor aulis nor the sacrifice of iphigenia nor the trojan horse and not even achilles’ death feature in it. it actually ends with hector’s burial.

similarly, the odyssey starts during the tenth year of odysseus’ travels, when he leaves the island of the nymph calypso who had kept him there for eight years. while the story of his travels is actually there, it’s a massive flashback that odysseus himself narrates.

odysseus actually only travels circa one year, if you subtract the seven years spent on ogigia, the one year with circe, the various months and bits they camped in other places.

part of the odyssey is actually about odysseus’ son, telemachos, and his quest to find his father. also another part is about odysseus returning to ithaca and killing a bunch of princes who were trying to usurp his throne.

the aeneid is not a homeric poem. it’s styled on the homeric model, but it was written in latin by a roman poet, and the protagonist is technically one of the antagonists from the iliad.

homer never existed.

he isn’t a historical figure, he is a name with a legend attached, to whom these poems are attributed. the poems were written—no, not even written, composed orally by a series of unnamed aoidoi (hm... ministrels?) through the ages.

in fact this is quite obvious when you read the iliad. there are a lot of inconsistencies, like frequent style changes, chapters that have nothing to do with anything else and no influence on the story whatsoever, strange time lapses—at some point it’s midday twice the same day

it is thought that all of these separate fragments were then collected and organized by one person, and this version was then handed down, orally, until the first written edition around 520 b.c.

the mycenean civilization that these poems originate from ended in 1200 b.c. circa

the odyssey was initially part of a whole group of nestoi, aka “return poems”, that were basically the tales of the return of each hero from troy. the odyssey is the only one that remains, though we do know something about the others too from other pieces of greek literature

a warning for the interested. these poems are a pain to read. they are delightful but they are a pain. they were composed orally so they are full of epithets, descriptions, metaphors and similitudes. these acted as fillers to help the aedo of turn reach the length of the verse, make the various characters more recognizable, and also make the poems more comprehensible to the general public, composed mostly of common people who had never actually been in a battle—so battles and duels are often compared to more familiar scenes, like fights between animals.

no i’m not joking

there is one in particular where the screeching army of trojans coming down the hill is compared to cranes migrating over the oceans.

also, the duel between hector and patroclus is one of the “compared to animal fights” scene

when odysseus is about to drown, he talks to his own heart. possibly because it sounds slightly less crazy and more Romantic than just directly talking to oneself.

helen insults paris real often. hector berates him both internally and publicly. in fact everyone insults paris. paris is the local coward and scapegoat. deservedly. i rejoice

everybody loves patroclus. all the kings hate each other but everyone loves him—so much so that they risk their lives over his corpse 

which, mind me, wasn’t something that special in and of itself. it was important to retrieve comrades’ corpses because if the enemy got ahold of your body he’d leave it to rot and be devoured by dogs and crows, which was a huge dishonour (and also possibly barred you from entrance to the afterlife)

so much so that the ancient greek version of “go to hell” is eis korakas, “to the crows” (“may you die, lie unburied, and your body be eaten by crows”)

at some point they hold a truce (possibly several times) so they’ll have the time to collect, burn and bury all the fallen soldiers. 

back to patroclus because i got sidetracked: still. this time it is kind of a big deal because the literal centre of the fighting after patroclus dies is all the major greek heroes playing tug-o-war against hector and his brothers with patroclus’ corpse. the centre of the fighting, people, this is no joke

at some point someone is sent to tell achilles that his lover’s body is in danger so he better get out of your sulk, hurry up and come help the rest of us

achilles going armour-less to the battlefield and screaming for patroclus is enough to send the trojans running.

i am sure that all of you know this but the reason achilles doesn’t have armour is that when hector kills patroclus he takes achilles’ armour, that patroclus was wearing, as spoils of war

so an entire book after that is devoted to hephaestus forging achilles new, better armour so he can actually fight again

look, it is not actually stated that they were lovers, but it’s obvious. in greek culture especially. that was the norm and italian school teachers can get over it and stop omitting it from lessons and school books any time now

odysseus isn’t actually an asshole. sure, a lot of his misadventures were caused by him being too curious and disregarding his comrades’ advice *cough*cyclops*cough* but most of the most destructive events were caused by them disregarding his orders.

“do not kill and eat the sacred cows of apollo! he’d kill us.” guess what they did. guess how it ended 

or when they stopped by eolos’ island. eolos, god of the winds, gave odysseus a flask with all the adverse winds imprisoned inside, leaving free only the one that he needed to take him to ithaca. they got so, so very near, and then odysseus fell asleep and the others opened the thing because they thought there was more treasure inside it, and all the winds came out and blew them halfway across the mediterranean

athena often glamours odysseus to look younger and prettier or older and then again younger. it’s amazing because he always looks either like an old beggar (for camouflage) or like a young and handsome man.

do some maths. at the beginning of the war he must’ve been at least twenty. + ten years of war. + ten years of travel. at the end of the odyssey he is at least forty. by ancient standards that was not young.

odysseus’ whole voyage is basically a pissing contest between poseidon and athena. actually between poseidon and the rest of the gods. poseidon hates him and all the other gods take turns helping him.

odysseus is not an asshole, but the greeks probably considered him a shitty character, because he was clever, shrewd, and the only survivor of his community. the greeks really insisted on the concept of community, the individual doesn’t have worth in and of themself but as a part of society. this is particularly evident when he gets to the cyclops, who are the very antithesis of the greek man, described as uncivilized and living in isolation without assemblies or laws. a lot of emphasis is put on the fact that they live outside of a community.

alternatively, the difference between the iliad and the odyssey (and their respective heroes) signifies the change in greek culture, from the warrior myceneans to commerce and voyage: odysseus represents the victory of intelligence over force, and his qualities are the characteristics, for example, of a merchant

i should perhaps point out that the odyssey was composed much later than the iliad, which is also the reason it has a more complex structure (begins with the gods + telemachos’ quest, we first see odysseus on ogigia, then he recounts his whole voyage in a long flashback triggered by a bard at a feast singing about the trojan war)

oh look i got sidetracked again

back to the trivia!

do not be fooled by madeline miller. patroclus was indeed a warrior, and a very good one at that. and briseis was indeed achilles’ lover, and loved him (that is explicitly stated).

odysseus might have loved penelope but that does not mean he did not sleep around with every woman he met

circe. calypso (by whom he is imprisoned for seven years). and nausicaa princess of the phaeacians falls in love with him. this is engineered by athena 

i don’t think he actually sleeps with her but athena does make him look younger and prettier so she’ll be smitten and welcome him at the palace and give him a bunch of gifts and eventually a ship to take him back to ithaca

in the poem named after him, his own poem, odysseus is always the stranger, the guest, or the beggar.

or all three.

or all three, but it’s a lie and he’s actually at home, the king returned.

despite the iliad being about one and a half months and the odyssey being more than a year + more time taken up by other characters, the iliad is about one and a half times the odyssey.

more to come (maybe)

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 10, one month in!

Man, I might actually finish this. Link here and @lostmypotatoes remains great.

This one mostly features Frisk having enough of everyone’s shit.

When Sans had composed himself enough to leave the wallpaper behind, he found Dr. Serif double-checking the paperwork while Frisk rustled around in her dressing room. As soon as she emerged in her black dress, the doctor said, "I have a request, Sans. When you escort Snowdrake home, I'd like you to stay in human form. Two monsters going anywhere without an owner will attract too much attention, especially near the border, and we should see whether your disguise can fool another monster. Do you think you can masquerade as a human who is using Sans' magic?"

Sans didn't like the idea – in fact, he completely hated it – but he was in the mood to think before he spoke, and the more he did, the more it made sense. "Yeah, I guess. If I told 'im who I was, he'd probably think I'd been brainwashed or somethin'. Everyone would be weird about it when I got home."

"Exactly." The royal sorcerer rolled the papers back up and placed the scroll on the edge of the table. "Does Sans need to bring the deed to the house with him in case he's questioned, my lady?"

"No, I've written a note and put my seal on it. Here's a map with the house marked, and I also have an insignia he can carry." The priestess went to a little nook by the fireplace, glanced at herself in the mirror, and opened a drawer full of odds and ends. "Where is...ah." Frisk pulled out a leather armband. "This will identify you as the High Priestess' personal agent. I don't use it often, but anyone you speak to should recognize it."

Sans had retrieved his silver chain from the bedroom. He looped it around his neck, put the smaller items in his overcoat, and accepted the armband, admiring the patterns of tiny white and red crystals worked into the leather. "Spiffy. So, if anyone asks me who I am an' where I'm takin' Snowdrake, I can tell 'em to shove it?"

"You will not tell anyone to shove it." He winced at her tone—yep, she was still mad at him. "Furthermore, please remember your fortune. No matter what happens, unless it is absolutely the only way to keep yourself and Snowdrake safe, I don't want you to kill anyone." She swept an errant lock of hair behind her ear, voice softening. "Please, Sans."

The boss monster's SOUL fluttered. He looked down at the armband, which was more of a wristband at his human size. "Fine," he said, trying to sound careless. "I'll talk first, only kill 'em if they really, really bug me."

"Sans!" He'd forgotten that Frisk had the lungs to roar like a miniature hurricane. "Do you care about anything but yourself and what you want to do? If you kill anyone and you cannot come back here and look me in the eye to tell me why it was necessary, I don't want you to come back at all! Do you understand?!"

Sans was speechless. As her echoes bounced off the corners of the room, he not only couldn't think of what to say, it felt like the magic comprising his vocal cords had evaporated.

Into the silence fell the sound of someone rapping on the double doors. Frisk whipped on her veil and headdress, allowing the bemused Dr. Serif to get up and admit two armed guards.

Between the men drooped a birdlike, half-grown monster roughly four feet tall, ice forming on the chains around its neck and feet. Without preamble, the priestess snapped her fingers at the guards and said, "Remove his bonds. Now."

The shorter guard coughed as Snowdrake shrank further back. "He is secured with the commonest type of lock. Your Ladyship will doubtless possess the key already," the guard mumbled.

Though her features were obscured by the veil, the High Priestess' body language was so expressive of absolute wrath that the men swallowed and gripped their weapons tighter. Without turning her head, she said to Sans in measured, glacial tones, "Get rid of those chains."

"As milady wishes," Sans said cheerfully, raising his left hand. The guards didn't notice the red mist surrounding the collar or shackles, but they did see the metal burst into fragments; the men nearly wet themselves as the rest of the chains fell off the startled drake.

"Leave us," ordered Frisk, and they were happy to obey, one pausing to grab the scroll and the other nearly running out the doors ahead of him.

Snowdrake's beak fluttered open, but he shut it and cringed as Frisk reached for his neck. "That's Sans' magic," whispered the young monster. "How'd you get him?"

Frisk placed her hand on his head, feeling him tremble. "He's unharmed, and he's given us his magic in order to help return you to the Underground." She brushed the last few links off his feathery neck, trying to avoid the half-healed scabs where the collar had rubbed him raw. "I am not your new owner, Snowdrake. You're going to be free."

The ice monster's eyes darted between her and the two men. "Yes, my lady," he said woodenly.

The poor kid. Sans knew exactly what it was like to be at a human witch's mercy and having to hear that kind of crap. Only the knowledge that she wasn't lying and Snowdrake would be home soon kept Sans from dropping the disguise right then and there.

"My guard will escort you as close as he can to the entrance to the Underground," Frisk told Snowdrake, then looked at Sans. "You shouldn't have trouble, but if you run into poachers, I'm giving you full authority to protect yourselves through non-lethal means. Is that understood?"

Sans nodded. To his surprise, Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "I think you had better take this as well. Consider it repayment." He produced yet another brooch from his robe, this one large and faintly pink. Sans wondered irritably how many of them he still had. "If you use this to supplement the magic you already possess, you can make the journey in a few easy stages. Pace yourself, and do not hurry back." He sat down as Sans put the brooch away. "Several people in the plot against Her Eminence have already been detained. We will maintain a watch in case anyone else involved decides to strike before they're discovered, and I will personally check on her throughout the day."

"Indeed," said Frisk. "Please take your time."

Holy shit, that hurt. The boss monster plunged his hands into his pockets to avoid breaking anything. "Breakfast should be here in a moment," the priestess went on, "and as soon as you've—" Right on cue, there was another knock at the door. "—both eaten, we'll pack something for you to take with you."

Sans tried to catch her eye, but she went back to the office as the servant unloaded the trolley. Snowdrake made no move to eat until Sans put a plate down and told him, "Go for it," at which the ice monster almost literally dove in. There was no telling the last time he'd had enough to eat, so Sans didn't ask, letting Snowdrake devour nearly everything and gulp down all the milk.

Fortunately, there was a bundle of apples and sandwiches sitting on the bottom of the trolley, along with three flasks of water and one of cider. "I ordered extra provisions. You'll need to keep your strength up," said Dr. Serif, waving away Sans' muttered thanks. He checked that Snowdrake was done, then called, "They're leaving, my lady."

Frisk reemerged, still veiled. "The best of luck to you both," she said.

Sans picked up the bundle, tucking it under his arm. "Sure, boss. See you when I get back." He jerked his head at Snowdrake, who was peering up at him, eyes half closed. "C'mon." Sans shouldered the doors open for the smaller monster to trudge through; a second later, the guard outside made a squeaky sound that indicated Sans had teleported them away.

The priestess sank into a chair, shoulders slumping as she pulled off her headdress. Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "You look as though you need more rest, Your Eminence. Unless, of course, you'd like to talk about your—"

"No. Thank you," she said, loud and sharp. Frisk picked up a fresh stack of letters, sorting them into different piles according to the wax seals or lack thereof. "I have a great deal of correspondence to catch up on, and I'll be very dull company for the next several hours. I'm sure you also have a great deal of work to do—have you started drafting your proposed specifications for the first set of solar arrays?"

"Yes, my lady. In fact, I've scheduled a meeting later this morning with several of my colleagues to discuss the matter. I'll be back this afternoon, but if you need anything at all in the meantime..."

"Thank you," she said again, a little more calmly. "I also must thank you for your help earlier with Sans. Did you figure out why he was acting so strange? I can't believe he grabbed me like that! I don't know what he could have been thinking."

The doctor made a wry face at her back. "I'm not sure how it happened, my lady. I don't believe he intended to become inebriated, but that is certainly what he was." He paused. "I will also keep you apprised of developments in Fernand's interrogation. Your Eminence will be glad to know that Lord Owen has been cleared of suspicion, more than adequately."

Frisk  looked daggers at him. "Has he?"

"Indeed," he said gravely. "The moment his friend was arrested, Lord Owen volunteered to answer questions under hypnosis. He was tested beforehand for any magic with which he might have resisted or subverted the procedure, which ensured his answers were completely truthful. He is guiltless, and can offer no further information."

She nodded, returning to the next stack of letters. Why did she feel just the tiniest bit disappointed?

It was no use pretending. In her too-honest, very tired mind, she knew exactly why: it would've been the ideal excuse to reject him and find another suitor for her "adequate" future. It wasn't at all nice, but facts were facts. No matter how much she wanted to be married, having Luke  as a husband would be like sleeping with her brother!

So, that just left...who?

The doctor coughed theatrically. "Before I go, my lady..."

Something made Frisk look up at him. Dr. Serif gave her a brief smile, and said with unusual delicacy, "With no intrusion intended or opinion attached, I beg that you inform me if and when you wish to safely dispose of your box. Whatever may be inside it, I assume there is magic involved, and throwing it away without the proper precautions may have consequences."

Frisk picked up an envelope and hissed between her teeth as she felt the paper slice her thumb. "I understand, Doctor. Good day to you."

He half-smiled. "And to you, my lady." When she looked up a moment later, he was already gone.

~

If Frisk had ever had a more miserable day as High Priestess, she didn't want to remember when. She hadn't just been trying to get rid of the royal sorcerer; she really did have a pile of mail to get through. The only attention she paid to the proposals was to make a stack of rejects, maybes, and actual prospects. Then she threw the maybes into the reject pile. Then she had to literally grab her own wrist to keep from dumping the entire basket into the fireplace—if she was destined to either marry Lord Owen or hop right into bed with someone unmarriageable, why bother wading through any of these?

A small, flat package at the bottom of the stack puzzled her until she opened it and several bookmarks fell out. Right: she'd ordered them when Sans got after her one time too many for her uncouth reading habits. She could fold all the pages she wanted today, Frisk tried to tell herself, but it just made her wish he was here to tell her to leaf them alone or mark his words. When she got another paper cut, she started to ask him to heal it for her, only to realize she was speaking to an empty room. She had to make do by washing her hands and applying tiny bits of ointment that came right off when she picked up more envelopes.

Just before lunch, Frisk told herself she'd earned a break and went in to flop on the enormous bed. Would Sans be back tonight? If he wasn't back by evening, should she go ahead and sleep in here, knowing he could come back inexplicably drunk and try to cuddle her again?

...She couldn't shake the idea. Technically, she should be scared at the idea of a ten-foot monster with no inhibitions invading her space when she was most vulnerable, but...she wasn't. Not remotely. In fact, her imagination was running with it so fast that she couldn't catch up, much less stop it. Frisk actually had to remind herself that Sans was a skeleton, only for her self to remind her that there were approximately two hundred creative ways around that particular deficit. Ah, well. It was all stupid, harmless tired-brain fantasy about someone she was comfortable with, not as if she was going to marry him or anything...

This was ridiculous. It had only been a few hours, and she was still furious with him, but she missed Sans so much that she could barely function.

There was another knock, and the priestess scowled as she got up to put on her veil and answer the outside door. To her surprise, it was Luke, holding a tiny velvet jewelry pouch out to her. "Good morning, Your Eminence," he said as she pasted on a smile. "Forgive my intrusion, but I came to return this in person."

Frisk opened the drawstrings and pulled out her pearl bracelet, the one he'd removed so the parrot wouldn't destroy it. "Oh. Thank you," she said automatically. Luke waited for more, and she glanced behind her. "I am sorry, Lord Owen, but you've caught me in the middle of decanting. The fumes will be potentially harmful once the mixture has heated, so..."

"It's quite all right. I didn't intend a long visit," he assured her. "I wanted to ask if you've had a chance to look over the contact information I forwarded to you."

Thank God she had found his note in her mail, or else she wouldn't have remembered the farmland at all. "Yes, I have, thank you," she replied. "I'll send your broker an inquiry with the name of my banker. Shall I inform you when I hear back from her?"

"If it's quite convenient, yes, please." The young lord shuffled his feet, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable about something. "Fr—Your Eminence, may I ask if any of the rumors about the All Souls festival are accurate?"

The guard at her door had been doubled, and she couldn't help noticing how both of them were waiting to hear her answer. "Forgive my bluntness, Lord Owen, but I don't know what you're talking about. I have no time for ridiculous gossip," she almost snapped.

"Yes, of course, of course. I'm the one who must beg forgiveness. I'm sure you would never..." Her stare intensified, and he hastened to say, "The last reason I've trespassed on your time is that I am preparing to visit St. Brigid's. I'll be leaving early tomorrow. May I tell Mathilda that you've been well?"

"Absolutely!" Frisk knew this was where she was supposed to ask how his sister was doing in general, how her studies were going, etc. etc., and pass along all sorts of loving messages. But somehow, with her blood still humming and her potential husband right in front of her, and Sans not there to see, she had just one thought: "Could you give her something from me?"

"Yes, of course," he said pleasantly. "What is it?"

Frisk nodded, stepped forward and gave him a quick, decisive hug, careful to get her arms all the way around him before she stepped back. "Please excuse me," she said, "but I haven't seen Mathilda since Christmas, and I miss her very much. I hope you understand."

"Uh..." Luke blinked hard. "Yes, my lady. I'll see her and give her...that. Thank very much, and a good day to you." He bowed vigorously and turned on his heel, speed-walking down the hall in flustered elation.

Ignoring the guards' smirks, the High Priestess went back inside and slammed the doors, removing her veil again. She knew she should be embarrassed or at least care what they were going to say about her, but really, half the city was probably placing bets on who she'd be sleeping with in however many days or hours, so what was one brief embrace?

It was nothing. That was what she'd felt, anyway. Part of her was surprised at her own cold-heartedness, but Frisk knew what had happened when she hugged Sans, and she was certain that no matter how long she snuggled up to Luke, it wouldn't feel remotely similar; if he had put his arm around her, it would've just annoyed her. At least she had eliminated any remaining doubt: Luke could offer her pleasant company, and that was all. Not warmth, or real companionship, or gentleness, laughter, intellectual stimulation, literal attraction...

There went her imagination again. The workroom was still cold from however long Sans had had the windows open, but she had to pick up some papers to fan herself. It was quite a relief when lunch arrived and she could eat Sans' portion to make up for missing breakfast, then retire to the bedroom.

Having spent so much of her early life on her own, Frisk had been shocked when she came to St. Brigid's and discovered that even in a convent, the primary occupation of adolescent girls seemed to be talking about boys, or sex, or any combination thereof. She understood now that they had had very little else to talk or think about, and that being in a strict religious environment meant that there were no other outlets for their perfectly normal teenage curiosity, but those first few months had been eye-opening, to say the least.

To their credit, the sisters were aware of this and knew very well that after the lights went out in the dormitory, the girls would stuff their pillows under their covers to create a laughable illusion of being in bed, crawl to the center of the floor, and whisper to each other until they forgot themselves and laughed too loud at something, which was the cue for the proctor on duty to shout "BED" and send them flying back to their cots. It was probably also why everyone had to undergo a comprehensive sexual education course when they turned fourteen, and of course, the girls who could tell penis jokes for literal hours on end felt quite differently about the matter when an eighty-year-old priestess was passing out textbooks with full-color drawings and scientific labels.

In short, Frisk knew exactly what she was feeling and why. She'd never had the nerve to try anything when she was sleeping in an open room with dozens of other girls and young women, but once she moved into these chambers and found she had nearly unlimited privacy, she had finally availed herself of the opportunity to ignore the Church's teachings on self-exploration. Then she had availed herself of the opportunity a lot, figuring that it was harming no one whatsoever, and that she wouldn't have been given those parts if she wasn't meant to use them. But she hadn't done it since Sans arrived, especially not when they were in the same bed.

Sans was not here now, and she wasted no time, pausing only to throw a quilt over herself before she moved her skirt aside and worked her hand into place. She'd never done this in the middle of the day before, but that added a little excitement; what if she was to take down the barrier against teleportation, and he happened to get back right as she was in the middle of it? That would be just awful. Would he even recognize what she was doing, or would he just—

Another knock. Another fecking knock on the outside door as she was getting this close, and she wanted to burn down the entire castle. Frisk kicked the quilt off, pulled her clothes back into place, and stomped over to her veil and circlet before she threw the doors open. This had better be worth the interruption!

~

Over an hour later, she came back to her rooms with her cluster of guards and, given the general trajectory of the day thus far, was not surprised to find Dr. Serif waiting next to a stack of crates. "Good afternoon," he said. "It seems as if the items you've ordered for your apprenticeship have arrived. Would you like some assistance putting them away?"

Frisk looked at them, and at him, but she could barely speak. "I am overtired, Doctor," she mumbled. "I would appreciate your help, and then I need to rest."

"Of course." The royal scientist opened the double doors and directed the guards to bring the boxes inside while she went to the bathroom to remove her veil and compose herself for a few minutes. It didn't work, but it was long enough for the guards to put everything away and leave, so she only had to worry about the doctor when she emerged.

One look at her was enough. He didn't ask if she was all right, just moved aside a respectful distance as she sat down to check the inventory sheet. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked kindly.

"No, thank you," she said, voice cracking.

"I understand." The doctor removed the lid from a long box of seedlings and began filling a vial at the sink. "They've found the guard responsible for leaving your door unattended and allowing the assassin into your room. It seems he is affiliated with a local group pushing to decriminalize the retrieval of monsters from the no-man's-land. It should be a valuable link in uncovering more conspirators."

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear it," Frisk said politely, mind still buzzing.

Dr. Serif tipped some water into each seed-bed. "If he avoids detours or anything else he is not supposed to do, Sans should be back late this evening. Don't be alarmed if he takes longer, though. I could easily see him deciding to rush back and overextending himself. He can sleep at your house tonight if need be."

The only sound was water running into the vial and being trickled onto the tiny plants. The doctor glanced at her over his shoulder. "If I may, High Priestess. Please don't go there to wait for him or try to meet him. He should—"

"Get out!"

When the doctor had obediently made himself scarce, Frisk threw her veil on the floor, stormed into the bedroom, and flung herself on the bed for a good, long cry, or at least a long one. It wasn't Dr. Serif's fault that he'd happened to visit right as she was returning from a talk with her father. She hadn't been so angry or humiliated in a long time—of all the people to drag her away from her private time to lecture her about maintaining a good reputation and not sleeping around, why the hell did he think he had the right to do it, especially based on a single stupid rumor? It'd been all she could do not to scream at him that he'd spent his youth screwing his way through most of the kingdom, left her to be neglected almost to death for ten years, and only taken an interest in any of his damn-near-orphans when his second wife died in childbirth and the midwives told him the baby might not survive! How dare he?!

The final nail in the coffin came a few hours later, when she'd finally pulled herself together enough to start writing replies to everything that needed replying to. After many more paper cuts, Frisk was almost done when she heard a knock that she hoped, for the other person's sake, was her dinner.

It was, but it was also another messenger. At least this one wasn't there to take her anywhere, merely to tell her that His Holiness had furnished the records she requested, handing over a folder roughly two inches thick.

Frisk probably should have been glad she could peruse the list of enslaved monsters without Sans hovering over her shoulder, and she was; it was just hard to be happy about much of anything when she was reading all the names and descriptions—she'd felt strongly enough about it when she wasn't remembering how completely beaten Snowdrake had looked, and wondering how many other monsters must be in similar or worse circumstances at that very moment. Her duty now was to go through the list of owners and judge which were probably the absolute worst, and organize inspections as quickly and stealthily as possible.

It all went back to her stupid fortunes. She'd half-purposely led Luke on, and her father had made it very clear that he expected her to make the respectable choice, the hypocritical old goat. The problem was that it was what everyone would expect of her; in the wee hours of the morning, it had felt daring and romantic to contemplate a future where she had a child with a not-husband, but the reality was that it would probably ruin her life, just like her mother's. Frisk was more confused than ever: how could she change the world and free monsters if she did something so socially unacceptable that no one would probably ever speak to her again? But she'd also have new parents and a huge family...how?!

Even if Sans had been a complete idiot at the fortune-teller's table, she wished more than ever that he was here to talk to. Damn Dr. Serif for reading her thoughts so easily. There was still the brooch he'd given her a couple nights ago, but she wanted to save it for a real emergency; besides, it wasn't as if she could do much to help Sans if he simply needed to rest before coming back to the castle...assuming he was coming back.

Frisk shook herself. There was no reason to believe that at all! She had to think more constructively. Wasn't there some way to communicate w—ah, yes, he was able to speak to Papyrus in dreams. She had joined him fairly easily the time she'd tried it. If she took down that barrier again...

...then the child could get in. But Sans wasn't here. Could it make her hurt him in a dream?

That was when Frisk officially gave up on thinking, or working, or doing anything else for the day. It was already after sunset, so she folded up the registry, instructed the guards not to let anyone disturb her unless something was actively on fire, and went to run a bath. Her mind didn't clear much, but it did help relax her, even if she was still too tense to pick up where she'd left off with herself. She put on her fuzziest nightgown, whisked the barrier away and built up a fire in the bedroom, then made a warm nest of blankets and settled herself to sleep, leaving her mind cautiously open.

~

She woke a little as the bed creaked beside her. She grumbled under her breath and turned away from him, pulling the covers up.

Undeterred, he ducked beneath the covers and draped himself over her side. His hard, smooth fingers caught on her hair as he pushed it out of the way to nuzzle her neck. It was a good start, but he must have been tipsy: she yelped as his nasal bone jabbed her. "sorry," he murmured.

That should've been that; she graciously permitted him to stroke her hair as an apology, and settled back down to sleep.

She should have known better when he started petting her back and down her side, and then rubbed her leg, knowing very well that she'd sleepily turn toward him so he could pet the other one, too. Then came a soft, warm touch on her neck, his hands sliding under her nightshirt, and her nightshirt creeping up as he eased his weight onto her.

"Really?" she tried to ask, but his mouth was in the way, and he easily caught the hand she brought up to push him off, spreading his fingers to interlace them with hers.

He would have stopped if she'd insisted. She didn't. She—

~

Someone was in her office.

Frisk was not afraid. She was done. She got out of bed with an ache in her groin and murderous resolve in her heart, moving silently through the bedroom and the dark workroom. There was no light showing under the office door, but she could feel ripples through the barrier over her safe as someone dug into the floor around it. With no restraint or remorse, she yanked open the doors and slammed a multi-layered barrier into the room, catching the would-be thief by surprise.

Whoever it was, they were unnaturally strong and agile, nearly catching the edge to squeeze through as it sealed itself off. But it was no use: fueled by angry determination, the barrier snapped shut into a golden sphere, trapping the person inside. The intruder struck at it several times with terrific force, but Frisk held firm until the figure staggered, then fell to its knees, wheezing.

Only then did Frisk click her tongue, dropping the layer that prevented air from getting in, and strengthening the layer that suppressed magic. "Whoever you are, you have ten seconds to explain yourself," she snarled.

A gulping breath. "Please, my lady—"

Frisk was so startled that her concentration wavered. The figure took the opportunity to hit the barrier again, and she promptly cut its air off, waiting several seconds before she allowed any back in. The priestess came forward and peered inside. "...Doctor?"

In the barrier's glow, she could see quite well, and though she knew she had him contained, Frisk felt a twinge of fear. It had sounded exactly like the royal sorcerer, but this was not Dr. Serif. It was a monster, a skeleton with a long, eerie face, much more smooth and hollow-looking than Sans or Papyrus. As it straightened, its arms stayed hidden in the folds of its long, ragged black coat, and several disembodied skeletal hands floated over its shoulders. "The man who speaks in hands," she said to herself. No wonder they were supposed to beware him!

The monster's brow creased. "The man who speaks in hands?" he repeated in Dr. Serif's whispery voice. "How very poetic." Cough. "May I ask where you—"

"You may not!" The barrier constricted, nearly brushing the top of his skull. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The skeleton visibly struggled to answer, and finally croaked, "My name is W.D. Gaster. I am a monster who has been posing as a human in order to maintain my post as the royal sorcerer." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Young lady, what...what is this?"

Frisk sat down on the couch, which had been moved aside to expose the safe. "I assume you mean the fact that you can't lie to me while you're in there. I'm not much good at truth spells, but I figured out how to incorporate one into a barrier, which I am very good at. I just don't use it very often." On some level, she wasn't surprised that Dr. Serif had been hiding something like this, but she was still afraid—had any of his help or kindness been real, or was it all for some unknown, sinister purpose? Would he try to eliminate her now that she knew what he was?

Gaster was staring at her. Above him, both pairs of hands started a slow clap. "I am extremely impressed, Your Eminence. I am also very apprehensive. As a monster, I cannot match your determination, which means you have me at a complete disadvantage. I must commend you."

The priestess was gratified, but knew better than to drop her guard; she could feel him subtly testing the weave and span of the barrier with unseen hands. "Stop that," she snapped, and he did, tilting his head to concede defeat. "Were you trying to steal my box?"

"Of course," he said. "I infer that it contains your memories, and it is now common knowledge that the future of this world hinges on what you do with it."

Frisk controlled another stab of anger, though she couldn't stop the barrier from popping and snapping like a bonfire. "And you thought you would...what? Dispose of it without asking me?"

"I don't know exactly what I was thinking," Gaster confessed. "I succumbed to intellectual curiosity as to what distilled memories look like, and whether I could view them without disturbing the physical medium. What I would do with them would depend on their contents."

The barrier was now eye-wateringly bright. "You broke into my rooms when Sans wasn't here, damaged my property, and woke me up from a very good dream because you thought you knew better than me what I should do with my life?! How dare you! How dare all of you try to decide this for me?"

"You are completely correct, my lady, and I apologize wholeheartedly." The monster placed his hand on his chest and bowed from the waist. "I swear that I will not presume to meddle any further."

It sounded sincere, but the old priestess who'd helped her develop this technique had been very emphatic: if someone promised something while under a truth spell, there was nothing to stop them from breaking it once the spell ended. "Why are you here?" she asked. "What are your intentions?"

He managed a chuckle. "As I truthfully told your apprentice earlier today, that is a large question." The monster's hands folded into pairs. "I do not believe you will derive any benefit from my entire story, and that most of it will unnecessarily disturb you. May I tell you as much as I sincerely believe will benefit you, and omit that which is not necessary?"

Frisk bit her lip. "I'd prefer to be the judge of that. Answer me, please: what are your intentions towards me, and Sans, and this kingdom in general?"

Gaster didn't reply. Frisk felt him trying to use some kind of magic similar to Sans' to slip out of the barrier, and she gave one sharp whistle; the skeleton's hand went to his throat as his magic dissolved and the air started to thin again. "Please, stop!" he rasped.

The priestess did so, feeling a tiny bit guilty. That rush of anger was starting to fade, but she knew she couldn't let him manipulate her into letting him go before she was ready. The fact that he had been manipulating her up till now was more than enough to steady her resolve. She crossed her arms and stared him down in silence.

A hand came up to massage Gaster's temple. "All right. I...do not intend to harm anyone. I came here solely as an observer, and have only remained for this length of time in order to rectify my errors." He sighed. "As is so often the case, every attempt I make only compounds the problem, and yet I cannot seem to stop."

Frisk shook her head. "I don't want vagueness or lies by omission, Dr. Gaster. Where did you come from, and on whose behalf are you observing us?"

"I came from a place similar to this one. I lived inside Mt. Ebott, which contained the Underground, home to monsters such as Sans, Papyrus, King Asgore, Queen Toriel...to my knowledge, every living monster I knew currently resides here as well."

The priestess' mouth fell open. "How...?"

He made an impatient sound. "As I said, the majority of this information is not necessary to impart. You can do nothing with the knowledge of another Underground, except for the one or two details that are relevant to you and Sans, which I will tell you if you agree to trust me that you do not need the rest. Do we have a deal?"

She exhaled. "Fine. What are you doing here now? Are you gathering information to bring back to your Underground?"

"I dearly wish that this was the case, young lady, but no. I was expelled from my home in an accident, and I no longer exist there. I have been wandering ever since, looking for another place I might settle into." Another sigh. "I know now that it was not only a vain hope, but a dangerous one."

"Dangerous? How so?"

He grimaced. "I found out the hard way, of course. I thought I was doing the right thing when I transplanted a certain monster from a dangerous environment to a safer one where he was needed. I did not know that the danger would follow."

Frisk's skin prickled. "What do you mean? Please start making more sense."

"Very well. To start at the beginning, I must tell you I am not the first W.D. Gaster to have lived in this kingdom or its Underground. Many, many years ago, when I happened upon this place, I went looking for the first item on my checklist: myself. Unfortunately, when I found him, I discovered that your Gaster was easily one of the cruelest I have seen. He conducted horrific experiments on defenseless subjects, both humans and monsters, and he created new life purely to torment it."

The chill increased as Gaster's face darkened. "I was skilled enough to observe him unseen, and his actions disgusted me. I should have left, but when I saw him murder one of his 'sons,' I grew so angry that I could not stop myself. I killed this world's Gaster, and I tried to save his other creation, but it was too late. I broke my policy of noninterference without any real benefit to anyone." He sat down inside the barrier. "Imagine my surprise when I checked the rest of the laboratory and discovered one copy of the younger skeleton ready to awaken, hardly more than a baby. There was no sign that any other creations had survived. I now had a decision to make."

"The 'younger' skeleton? You don't mean—"

"Yes. He created Sans and Papyrus, and he killed them, knowing he could replace them at any time."

The priestess had to fight the urge to be sick all over the office floor. "Couldn't you have taken his place and tried to undo the damage he caused?"

"That was a definite option, and I was tempted. But this is not my home, and I did not want to stay for much longer. I believe I made the correct choice in that respect."

Now she understood why he hadn't wanted to tell her this. Too late; she had to hear the rest of the story.

"It was quite the dilemma. I could not leave Papyrus on his own, nor could I stay here to raise him, or take him with me. He was too young, and I did not know what might happen if I brought him into another place with another Papyrus. But there was no Sans here to care for him. So..." He closed his eyes, pulling the slashes taut. "I made another well-intentioned mistake."

There was a very long pause. "There are certain variations of time and place that I have seen more frequently than others," he said slowly. "The most tragic is where a very sorrowful and angry SOUL becomes warped into a force of absolute destruction, essentially a demon, and it finds a vessel to connect it to the physical world." His eyes opened. "It kills everything, Frisk. Every monster in the Underground, every human above, until there is nothing left. But the force itself does not die. It finds another place to destroy. And another. And another. The child you have seen in your nightmares is here because it cannot bear the fact that in one place, at one time, there was one monster it failed to exterminate. It has come here looking for him."

All the hairs on Frisk's body were standing straight up. "What exactly happened?"

"I found a place where a Sans stood ready to meet the child on its way to murder Asgore and leave the Underground. He had made a promise not to harm any fallen humans, and that promise bound him until it was too late. As always, he was still going to fight it, knowing that it was futile." Gaster looked at his hands, studying the holes in the palms. "I did not speak to him, or even let him see me. I approached him from behind, rendered him unconscious, and transported him here. I had checked Snowdin and saw that the house in which they usually reside was empty, so I brought them both there, left a supply of food and money, and allowed them to live as usual."

"...But...but doesn't he—"

"This world's practice of memory excision is not a good one, in my opinion, but it gave me the idea to try to...adjust him. I did not remove his memories to save for later if he chose to revisit them: I destroyed them entirely. As far as he or anyone else knows, he has always lived here with his little brother." Gaster looked back up at her. "I wanted to give him a second chance in a place where the demon did not exist, and where circumstances were not likely to replicate its creation. I knew that he might have nightmares as echoes of his past experiences, or even glimpses of other lives, but I had no conception that the child itself would stalk him all the way here."

The barrier wavered. Gaster did not move as Frisk shook herself and hummed it back to full strength. She'd have to process all of this information properly later. For now, next question... "Why did you become the royal sorcerer? Didn't you want to leave as soon as you knew they'd be safe?"

"I did, but I came back periodically to check on them. All seemed well until one visit where I discovered that a group of humans had just visited on a diplomatic mission that ended in violent catastrophe. Imagine my surprise when I examined Dr. Alphys' records and discovered that the Sans I rescued had become a boss monster through imperfectly understood means. It was one of the most anomalous variations in his growth that I have ever observed, and it absolutely fascinated me."

His tone was a little too rapturous for her tastes. "You disguised yourself as a human and became the royal sorcerer to keep a closer eye on Sans?" she asked warily.

"Oh, no, my dear young lady. I did so in order to keep a closer eye on you." Frisk started as the skeleton slowly got to his feet. "In order to affect physical matter, even something as tenuous as a monster's body, the demon must find a host. In the course of observing Sans and his brother, I became convinced that the child was trying to reach him, but it could not attach itself to any of the monsters. Through various means, I eventually tracked it to you, just as you were being considered as a replacement for the murdered High Priestess. Not only did I feel the need to protect Sans from a danger he no longer recalled, I became curious about you."

"In what way?" Frisk couldn't help rubbing her eyes. "Why did it choose me?"

Gaster smiled thinly. "At the risk of threatening you or, even worse, stating the obvious," he said in a different tone, "I would guess that a barrier of this strength and complexity requires a great deal of power, and you are not going to be able to maintain it much longer. I will only be at your mercy for another few minutes at most, after which I could make a serious attempt to break out and potentially injure one or both of us." He took a step forward. "I propose instead that I tell you more about Sans while you still know I am being truthful, and then you release me."

He was right. "If I release you, will you attack me or take any other malicious action against me, now or in the future?" Frisk asked carefully.

"I do not intend you or Sans any type of harm whatsoever, Frisk, now or in the future. I bear you no malice, though I admittedly find being caught in this fashion very irksome."

Frisk would have to be content with that. "Done. What do you want to tell me?"

"That you did not give Sans the opportunity to apologize for his conduct at the festival or the morning after, and you said something fairly cruel before he left. I thought I made it clear that he is not stable and you must be careful how you handle him."

It took a second to recall how she'd told Sans to take his time, and his expression after she did. "I'm not his mother," she argued. "I'm sorry I hurt his feelings, and I'll apologize when he gets back, but even you said I shouldn't be held responsible for his behavior. He's been fairly good at keeping his temper, all things considered."

"He's been good at keeping his temper around you," Gaster said severely. "Did you know that monsters can see the condition of a living monster or human SOUL? I have been monitoring Sans for a long time, as you now know, and soon after he became a boss monster, his SOUL began to darken at a remarkable rate. It was natural for him to accrue EXP as he fought humans to protect his kin, but it is extremely unusual for a single monster to develop such a taste for violence when the rest of the Underground remains unaffected."

Frisk didn't know what EXP was, but she could guess, and time was running short. "What are you saying, Doctor?" she snapped.

"I am saying that I do not know exactly why he is the way he is, and I don't only mean his metamorphosis into a boss monster. No matter what kind of magic he was subjected to, and however his LV grows, it cannot explain why Sans is so very angry. It's so ingrained that it feels deliberate, which I don't understand. Is it vestigial regret from his first life? A heretofore unknown side effect of the accident that spurred his transformation? All I know is that when he was listening to your song yesterday morning, I saw him let go of his accumulated rage for the very first time. When I took another look, it seemed as though several layers of that filth have been sloughed off his SOUL since he came here, though far more remains."

The priestess flushed. It was flattering to think she could affect him that much, but...

Gaster must have seen her skepticism. He sighed so mightily that his entire body settled to the floor, as if he simply couldn't keep himself upright. "You can't seriously—you can." He drew himself back up to his full height. "You may still be hurt by having been previously abandoned by those you cared for, young lady, but what do you need to hear before you understand the current situation? That Sans is deeply in love with you? That he behaved so stupidly at the fortune-teller because he was beside himself with jealousy? That any apprehensions you may have about him deciding not to come back here are laughable at best, and you are the only one who can make him want to return to a happier state of mind and avert the possibility of him hurting innocent people?"

Frisk had specifically been taught not to do what she did next: spring to her feet and bring her fist straight down on the barrier, shattering it like paper-thin glass. "However you got in here without alerting the guards, or waking them," she added darkly, "please see yourself out the same way. Good night, Dr. Gaster!"

In the sudden blackness, his eyes showed as two tiny pinpricks, one yellow and one blue. Frisk made herself meet his terrible gaze and point at the door, and he chuckled appreciatively. "Good night, High Priestess," he murmured. There was a rush of shadow, then an empty room.

The priestess could barely move or think. She felt her knees bend and her hand grope around the space where Gaster had been tunneling into the safe. She removed the barrier, picked up the box, put the barrier back up, got to her feet. Back to the bedroom, another barrier up on the door, and a collapse into bed, pulling the blankets around her. Too tired and too troubled to remember where she had left off...what would she see the next time she dreamed?

More importantly, where was Sans?

~

She was walking over an expanse of sand and scrubby trees that she had never seen before but somehow knew was the no-man's-land, closer to the Underground than to human territory. Her head turned at the sound of men screaming, far off to her left. In the fading light, she saw flickers of magic, a bigger flash, and a sound more awful than screams: silence.

Not total silence. As she approached, Frisk heard a familiar chuckle, but not in a familiar way. This was not a skeleton pleased with his own stupid puns or laughing at her rage when he beat her at chess five times in a row. This was someone standing amidst a pile of broken human corpses, surveying his handiwork and enjoying it.

For a terrified moment, Frisk thought Sans was doing this in the present, or had just done it, and she wanted to scream at him—but no, he was wearing the ragged canvas garments she'd first seen him in, not the wool and linen ones she had given him. If this had ever happened – which felt likely – then he was dreaming of a time more distant than the past twenty-four hours.

She was only about fifty yards away, but he didn't seem to notice her. She tried to call out to him, only for her voice to get stuck as she looked again at the human bodies he was stepping over like rocks in his path. Gaster had been right. Sans really was capable of this, wasn't he? He wasn't the gentle, protective, sometimes-somewhat-sweet-natured skeleton she'd grown fond of. He was a killer.

No. He was gentle and sometimes somewhat sweet, and he was a killer. Frisk couldn't fall into the trap of believing that only one side of him existed, or that only one was "real"; people didn't work that way. She had to talk to the one she knew—he was there, too!

Sans was trudging away. Remembering what Gaster had said, Frisk took a big breath and whistled at him over the empty expanse, using a few bars from this morning's song—she'd often seen him stop what he was doing to listen to it.

Sure enough, he paused. He turned, and his orange eyes focused on her. The flames dimmed just a little. "Frisk?" Sans came closer, skirting the pile of bodies. "'sat really you?"

The priestess held out her hands. Sans reached out to touch her fingers, then recoiled—his hand was spattered with blood. "What are you doin' here?" he asked, voice rougher than usual. "Ya don't wanna see this!"

"No, I don't. But I wanted to see you," she said.

Sans blinked at her. He jerked his head for her to follow him, moving until the grim scene was out of her line of sight. Then he sat down, plunging his hands into the sand to scrub the blood off. "Yer an idiot. Why'd you come after me? I thought ya wanted me t'take my time gettin' back."

Frisk winced. She really had hurt his feelings. "I'm so sorry I said that. I missed you today."

The boss monster swallowed hard. "Fine. Ya saw me." He shook sand off his metacarpals, aiming it away from her. "Look, 'm sorry, too. I embarrassed the crap outta ya at the stupid festival, and I..." He shrugged elaborately. "I dunno what the hell I was doin' yesterday mornin', but whatever happened, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Sans." Frisk folded her hands behind her back. "Did Snowdrake arrive safely?"

"Yeah. I only saw one nosy neighbor lady at the house, an' I played nice 'n let 'er see the note. She left us alone after that. Didn't see anyone else till we got close enough to the Underground t'let 'im go. Poor little bastard kept thinkin' it was some kinda trick." The skeleton brushed more sand off his femur. "I ran inta some poachers on my way back t'the city, but they didn' have any monsters with 'em, an' they just told me to get lost, so I did."

Frisk smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

Sans made his usual noises, which just made her smile wider. "How was yer first day off from babysittin' me?" he asked crossly. "Good?"

"It sucked," she said, deadpan, and he snorted. "Seriously, Sans, it was awful. Everyone's heard of my fortunes already, and my father, who has had at least fifteen children that we're aware of, gave me a talking-to about my sexual mores."

The skeleton's eyes were fully alight. "Yer kiddin'. Ya haven't even done anythin'!"

There was the tiniest pause, and lest he add "...Right?" and force her to kill him, Frisk said, "Right. It just reminded me that if I open the box and end up having a child on my own, I'll be an unwed mother. Among humans, that makes you a complete outcast. I wish we were more like monsters, I really do."

Sans was very quiet, in a way that put Frisk on edge. "But, of course," she said with forced optimism, "if I don't open it, I'll get married and be completely boring and respectable for another fifty or sixty years, and just have to live with the fact that I chose not to let monsters go free." Her throat was closing up yet again, and she shook her head. "Why do I have to decide this, Sans? I'm used to being under pressure, but not like this! What am I supposed to do?!"

The boss monster edged closer as she sniffled. "Ya know what you should do?" he asked.

"What?!" It came out nearly as a shriek. "What should I do, Sans? Tell me!"

Sans remained sitting, watching her quietly as she scrubbed her face on her sleeve. "I think you should make a decision an' go for it insteada tormentin' yerself like this. Whatever ya wanna do, it'll turn out t'be the right thing. An' fer what it's worth..." He fidgeted, scowling at the ground. "Whether ya pick the bird guy or...someone else, if ya ever need help, I'll do whatever I can. Heavy lifting, beatin' people up, dumb jokes, whatever. So...quit whinin' and pick somethin'. Flip a coin if ya need to. Just stop hurtin' yerself. Okay?"

Frisk's heart stood still. She looked at him in such a way that he sat back warily. "What? What'd I say?"

"Don't say anything," she said, advancing on him. "And don't get up yet."

"Hey, hey, lady, this's a dream, remember? Ya can't touch m—"

Sans lapsed into stunned silence as Frisk's arms went around his neck and her cheek rested on his clavicle. She leaned her full weight on him and heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry to ambush you again," she said into the space between his ribs. "I just needed to see something." It was the same as before, a wonderfully tingly feeling in her chest that spread through her body until she wondered what'd happen if she moved away too fast. Frisk sighed again, trying to work up the willpower to let go. Somehow, he wasn't as uncomfortable as she would've thought, as if there was a very thin layer of something padding his bony exterior. It just made it harder to—

Sans' arms came up to hold her against him, as he had the previous morning, and neither of them cared that they were so big, they overlapped over her back. His cheekbone rested against her head, careful not to be too heavy. "Whaddya do with yer hair?" he muttered.

It was...not what she'd expected him to say. "Can you elaborate, please?" she muttered back.

"I dunno what smells are what. I think the longer I stay human, the more human-ish stuff I can do, like smell, 'n feel stuff I touch." His phalanges moved softly through her hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Yer not s'posed to be able t'interact with anyone in a dream 'less ya went ta sleep in the same room or somethin'."

"I don't know about you, Sans, but I'm sick of thinking." Frisk stared at a spot of drying blood on the ground behind him. "In fact, you're right. I'm done thinking about this." She squeezed him gently, though she knew she could use all her strength and he'd barely feel it. "Let me go, please. It's time for me to get some real sleep."

"...Nuh-uh."

Frisk laughed. "It's vanilla," she said over his shoulder.

"Hm?" Sans was absently petting her hair again. "Wha's vanilla?"

It was so nice that she wanted to fall asleep right there, somehow. When was the last time she'd felt this secure? "It's...my hair. I don't use a lot of expensive lotions, but I'll splurge on anything scented with vanilla. Do you like it?"

"Mm. 'snot as bad as most of the stuff I've smelled so far."

The priestess smiled, then reached up to touch his skull. He tensed as her fingertips encountered the wide, smooth expanse of bone. It was warmer than she'd expected, almost velvety—probably from magic, she figured. "I'm very tired, Sans, and I've used almost all of my magic already. Can you please let me go now?"

He wouldn't. The last shred of doubt in her mind disappeared, and in a surge of determination, Frisk ducked free of his arms, moving out of his reach. "I'll see you soon," she told him. "Tomorrow?"

"Uh." Sans had the oddest look on his face. It reminded her of when she'd cleaned the fork for him at their first face-to-face meeting in the bedroom. "I dunno. I might be drunk again when I wake up. It kinda feels like it."

Frisk gave a long, theatric sigh. "If you are, please sleep it off before you come back. We've gotten in the supplies I ordered, and I don't need you eating the plants or something ridiculous." She stepped back further. "Good night, Sans."

"Night," he said inaudibly, and she left.

~

The guards outside Frisk's doors admitted Dr. Serif after breakfast, then settled in to wait for the royal sorcerer to leave, after which they could properly nap. His morning visits were usually an hour or so, in their experience.

This time, after only five or so minutes, the doors banged open, and one guard dropped his halberd. "I wish to be very clear, Doctor," the High Priestess said, voice pitched to carry down the hall. "Do not open it, do not attempt or allow anyone to attempt to open it, and do not keep it for any reason. I want it destroyed. Will you please do so as soon as possible?"

"Of course,Your Eminence." To the guards' astonishment, the normally imperturbable doctor was frowning, and took the little rosewood box with obvious reluctance. "Good day to you."

The priestess shut the doors without another word. The guards stared at Dr. Serif, who was now scowling full-force at the box. With a glance at the doors and none at all at the two men, the doctor tried to pry the lid open, only to drop it as the box sizzled at him. "How did she put a barrier inside it?" he said to no one.

The guards could barely wait till he was gone to whisper to each other, "She threw it away! I knew she wouldn't—" "Oh, bull shit, you said she'd get knocked up by this time next w—" "No I didn't! I—"

Slam went the doors. Frisk glared at one, then the other, and waited the count of five before she slowly pulled them shut.

[fangirlingalittletoohard]

Snow day

A modern AU enjoltaire fic inspired by this post because I saw it two days ago and can’t stop thinking about it.

1169 words of pure fluff

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Grantaire was rudely awoken by frantic knocking at his front door. He groaned and stumbled downstairs, cursing when a splinter from the bannister implanted itself into the palm of his hand, and opened the front door whilst roughly attempting to dislodge the fragment of wood (which was now turning the pale skin of his hand slightly pink). Outside stood Éponine, Cosette and Marius bundled in their warmest clothes and surrounded by at least four inches of snow. “Hurry up and get dressed, R, we’re all going to Jehan’s to go sledding.” Éponine instructed, already dragging Cosette off in the direction of Jehan’s house. “And convince E to come!” Marius added as he hurried after them. 

It had never snowed this much before and it was freezing. Grantaire’s heating had been shut off days ago and he was rapidly running out of firewood. Maybe a day spent at Jehan’s wasn't such a bad idea; he could always stay indoors and make boozy hot chocolate and keep his fire going... and spend time with Enjolras. 

In a matter of minutes, Grantaire was dressed and trudging through the snow to Enjolras’ flat. He rang the doorbell and waited, cupping his hands together and blowing into them in an attempt to warm them up. Enjolras opened the door and, upon seeing Grantaire shivering on his doorstep, ushered him inside without a greeting and closed the door against the cold. “Are you coming to Jehan’s?” Grantaire asked, leaning against a radiator and momentarily burning his hand. “Who’s there?” Enjolras questioned in reply. “Everyone.” “Okay.” Enjolras decided. That was easy, Grantaire thought, tugging again at the splinter that just wouldn’t budge. “What did you do?” Enjolras asked tenderly, taking Grantaire’s hand and examining it. “Come in here.” He instructed, leading Grantaire into the bathroom and taking out a pair of tweezers. Enjolras delicately removed the splinter and returned his gaze to Grantaire’s face. “You’re freezing.” He stated, “your lips are blue.” Grantaire shifted a little, not wanting Enjolras’ pity but simultaneously longing for some more weather-appropriate clothing. “My heating’s been shut off,” he mumbled, “and it’s never been cold enough for me to buy any warmer clothes.” Enjolras told Grantaire to help himself to a hot drink whilst he excused himself for a few moments.

Enjolras returned to the kitchen carrying a bundle of clothes. “Put these on.” he insisted, handing Grantaire a pair of thick socks, a jacket and some gloves. Once Grantaire was wrapped up, Enjolras wrapped a scarf around his friend’s neck and pulled a hat over his head so that it covered his ears. Grantaire shuddered as he felt Enjolras’ warm breath against his cheek and felt himself blushing when the scarf was tied and Enjolras smiled softly. It was the perfect moment to kiss him - it could be a thank you for taking care of him - but he held back. He wasn’t entirely sure that Enjolras felt that way about him despite being told by the majority of their friends that their chemistry was undeniable.  

After gathering a few flasks of alcohol, Enjolras and Grantaire were on their way to Jehan’s house. They drank and threw snowballs at one another and took at least fifteen minutes longer than usual to walk to their friend’s house. Soon, they were in the back garden with the others where a heated discussion about teams for the snowball fight was in full swing. 

Teams were eventually agreed upon but minutes into the game, teams were forgotten and it became ‘every man for himself.’ Grantaire tried his best to hit Enjolras as often as possible, forcing him to flash him a determined smile and chase him around the garden, tackling him to the ground and rolling around in the snow with him, the pair mock-wrestling each other as their hearts pounded so hard against their ribcages that they could feel each other’s heartbeats. 

The sound of Courfeyrac’s voice calling everyone back to the door to re-group and “actually stay in teams this time” momentarily grounded Enjolras and Grantaire. The pair lay, Enjolras on top of Grantaire, covered in snow close to the border of the small wood which backed onto Jehan’s garden. Enjolras felt as if his heart was in his throat and felt his cheeks heat up as he lowered his head and kissed Grantaire lightly on the nose. Grantaire almost sobbed when he felt Enjolras’ warm lips connect momentarily with the icy tip of his nose and impulsively leaned upwards in an attempt to connect their lips but Enjolras had rolled off him and was pulling him up. With gloved fingers laced together, the two young men ran, Enjolras in front pulling a giddy, laughing Grantaire behind him, into the woods. 

“Where’s Grantaire?” Cosette asked as she and Éponine warmed milk over the stove to make hot chocolate. “I was thinking the same thing,” Éponine replied, “he usually wanders in about now to spike the milk when we’re not looking.” Their conversation was cut short by the door swinging open and a very rosy-cheeked Joly stumbling in, stamping the snow off his boots on the doormat. “Have either of you seen Enjolras?” He asked, taking the ladle off the counter and dipping it into the milk, bringing it to his lips and burning his tongue on the hot liquid. “Nope,” Cosette replied, “we can’t find R either.” Joly shrugged in response and returned to the boys outside, reporting that their star snowball-fighter and the hot-chocolate-spiker were missing. 

Enjolras stopped at the old tree that had fallen down in the storm a few months previously and sat on the damp trunk. Grantaire sat down next to him, his hand still gripping Enjolras’ tightly, his cheeks flushed as he slowly regained his breath. “R,” Enjolras cooed, bringing his free hand up to rest beneath Grantaire’s jaw, his thumb moving gently up and down his cheek. “E,’ Grantaire cooed in reply. He could barely believe that this was happening, that Enjolras was being so affectionate and tender towards him. Enjolras could feel himself trembling; he’d never really been one for showing affection but he desperately wanted Grantaire to know that his feelings were reciprocated. This was perfect. It was romantic. It was what Grantaire deserved. “I love you, R.” Enjolras murmured, close to Grantaire’s ear. Grantaire allowed a few tears to slip down his cheeks and managed to reply, “I love you too, E.” Grantaire kisses Enjolras and for a few moments, nothing mattered to Enjolras other the beautiful man in his arms.

Jehan found the missing boys in the forest behind his house and was about to call out before he realised what they were doing. They were sat holding hands, Enjolras’ free hand tenderly placen on Grantaire’s face and Grantaire’s resting on Enjolras’ waist and they were kissing as if they were the only two people in the world. Jehan smiled to himself and let them be; it was about time that they realised that there was more to life than rebellion and wine.

[writings-from-the-hart]

Happy Meet and Greet Monday! For whicher character wants to answer: What do you do when you can't sleep? How does it affect you the next morning? What kinds of things keep you up at night?

Happy Meet and Greet Monday! 

So sorry I’ve been answering asks kinda late, there’s just been a lot happening lately at home and work so as anyone can imagine the stress is real. My dog Max who I’ve had for twelve years just recently passed away and even though I knew he was an older dog and to expect it I wasn’t ready to let him go. . . Then again nobody is ever ready to let go of a loved one no matter the circumstances. So ya, there’s a tiny slice of my life, I try to not put too much of it out there but I wanted to explain my sudden absence.  

Question: What do you do when you can’t sleep?  What kinds of things keep you up at night? How does it affect you the next morning?

Eric: Constantly on guard for something Eric is the lightest sleeper out of everyone in the House of Cards, a feather falling on the carpet could wake him up, and he’s as stiff as a board when he’s sleeping. Not much happens in Eric’s mind when he’s sleeping, a dream hasn’t occurred in his life since he was eight, and he prefers it that way so he takes medicine for what used to be insomnia. “I’ve let go of my dreams and the idea of monsters living underneath the bed. I’m not a child, so why would I need dreams while I sleep?” However, everything isn’t what Eric wants it to be — he’s beginning to learn that being the commander of the House of Cards — and sometimes a vague night terror will send him bolting up in bed drenched in a cold sweat but with no recollection of what he was dreaming about. When things like this disrupt his “usual sleep cycle” he simply finds something to calm his nerves; such things include his boxing hobby or smoking a cigarette in a secluded area where he won’t get caught. These “disturbances” usually don’t affect his mornings as Eric is a natural early bird, but there have been certain cases where he’s remembered fragments of these night terrors and they stick with him for days at a time.  

Valentina: Valentina hasn’t gotten a good sleep since she was twelve and constantly lives on a max of four hours of sleep, anything above that seems suspicious to her or she was probably unconscious from some kind of wound she suffered from. One time she “fell” from a two-story building and suffered a severe concussion and broken arm, she slept for six hours for a week straight. However, when Valentina can’t sleep she spends time cleaning weapons, tending to what little plants she owns at her home, going for a drive around whatever city-state she’s currently in, and planning the next string of “assignments” she’ll do next. She is plagued by constant nightmares and night terrors about certain events in the past she wishes to forget forever. “You can’t outrun the past; it’ll eventually find you, hunt you down and strangle you to death like anything else.” Since she’s been living with these nightmares and night terrors for over fourteen years her mornings aren’t super affected but instead, it’s rather routine to be running on roughly four hours of sleep. Her body has adapted to it by running on a “polyphasic sleep cycle,” meaning Valentina sleeps for thirty minutes every four or five hours for a daily total of only four hours of sleep. “It’s called a micro-nap and yes I’m fine.” 

Xavier: “Get much-needed work done in the workshop.” Xavier’s workshop is a place created out of labor and love, full of his favorite things and stuff he loves to do, it’s his “happy place” as well as “hiding place.” While it’s not as expansive or nice as his actual workshop at his home base in Eshar Xavier has come to love the workshop at Blackwell. Very few things keep Xavier up at night, Valentina says he sleeps like the dead, “Silent and unmoving, you sometimes forget he’s even there.” But what does keep him up are things relatively new to him. Being the youngest out of all of the House of Cards (19) and practically a child compared to the others Xavier has never seen battle or warfare, only on holofilms about the history of the Republic, so new fears about blaster bolts, bombs, and ion blades fill his mind. The nightmares will keep him up all night, so he’ll retreat to his workshop to “get work done” till the sun rises again and there are dark circles under his eyes. 

Eris & Brazen: After certain events in the past the twins never sleep alone; they can always be found curled up beside one another or Eris hogging the whole bed sprawled out like a starfish while Brazen hoards all the blankets. It’s the only way the pair can achieve a somewhat peaceful sleep with as few night terrors as possible, but even if a night terror does strike the other is there to provide comfort. On nights when either Eris is restless or Brazen can’t close his eyes without fear and the night terrors are relentless the twins do something called Mindscape. “It’s like creating a world outside of this one, but everything is different. . . Everything is okay.” It’s an activity only the twins are capable of doing because it requires the special bond that they both have and to be able to meld the mind with another person. A Mindscape will chase off night terrors or other kinds of sleep disturbances (nightmares) and allow the twins to create a space of peace and serenity within their minds. But because Mindscaping takes an extreme amount of energy to do the twins will sleep extremely hard and soundly, meaning they will not want to wake up the next morning without a fight. “Reality sucks to live in sometimes

Adira: “The night is simply a reflection of the day. There is nothing I can do about dreams; I can only change my pattern of life.” Like anyone else, there are nights when sleep is abundant and joyous or there are nights when sleep is absent and hellish. There are many lessons Adira learned from her Sensei Jia Wu but one of the important ones is “Mindfulness through meditation.” “You cannot, per se, tame the mind or tell it how to act. The mind has to come to a natural state of rest all on its own; all we can do is relax and remain present in the world.” Adira knows what troubles her and the grief that clouds her vision sometimes, so on sleepless nights she utilizes this time to reflect on her inner self through meditation instead of unhealthy rumination. 

Dante: “Vodka solves everything.” Dante doesn’t have the healthiest of coping mechanisms when it comes to his insomnia, nightmares, or life’s problems as a whole. He won’t tell anyone or confess to it out loud but Dante has many inner demons to fight and some days it’s too much to handle, so he just disappears down a bottle when he can. In the confines of his quarters Dante will try to tire himself out through exercise in order to find sleep before picking up his flask, but some nights his demons have a stronger hold on him than he can fight off. Being a gladiator in the pits of Ares there is a multitude of things that keep Dante from getting a peaceful sleep, but there are also things long before he was gladiator that keep him up well into the morning and even afraid of falling asleep. “Some wounds run deeper than the flesh and blood of a man; not all scars fade with time.” Dante takes one day at a time and the same goes for his mornings, some mornings are plagued by tiny headaches while others it feels as if his head is about to be split open. But he’s a warrior by trade and he knows he can weather just about any storm or fight. 

Mallory: Normally Mallory doesn’t leave any time for sleep; she’s an extreme night owl, morning bird, and all-around functioning insomniac. “Sleep is an unnecessary requirement to live. I don’t need sleep to live I need entertainment.” Now that she’s confined to Blackwell and its military base along with the rest of the House of Cards she’s left to face herself and the reason as to why she avoids sleep. So Mallory has found multiple ways to sneak out of her quarters and wander the military base the House of Cards is confined in. However, her favorite place to seek solitude in is the kitchen. Mallory is a stress baker and loves to cook, this is knowledge she will take to the grave with her and nobody else will know, so once she found out where the kitchen was and that it wasn’t staffed at certain hours she started going there when she couldn’t sleep. The thing is Mallory doesn’t cook or bake for herself, she makes food for an army but she can’t throw away the leftovers because she considers them labors of love, so from time to time the squad eats food she has made and left in the kitchen for the cooks to serve. The cooking and baking takes her mind off certain things like why she’s with the House of Cards in the first place and the reason for why she’s on the run from certain people of power. Since Mallory is a born night owl, morning bird, and all-around functioning insomniac in the morning it doesn’t look like she’s spent an entire night with only two or three hours of restless sleep, instead, she’s full of energy and ready to kick ass. “Sleep is only a concept; a concept I’ll avoid if I can.” 

Thanks for the ask! Happy Writing! 

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Devil’s Temptation pt19

Warnings: Mob styling warlord, a reference to torture.Strong language

Masterlist

---

Chapter 19 – Personal Agenda

Main City Hospital – Private Recovery Suite

It was about midday when he had been released from his sleeping prison. The rooms he was now in resembled something a lot closer to a hotel than a standard hospital room. Everything was just that little more comfortable and warm feeling. The furniture was a simple design and easy to clean. There was a small seating area, private shower room and his bed was a comfortable small double rather than a single hospital bed.

One thing they don’t tell you when you are disconnected from your body like that is that when you wake up you suddenly feel everything hit you like a ton of bricks. You go from feeling like you are floating and weightless to being crushed under the weight of your own body. His throat was dry and hurt thanks to that tube they put in to allow him to breathe. Moving even just a little resulted in him feeling his chest tighten and constrict itself. It would have been unbearably painful if he was not on IV painkillers.

His mind was a torrent of ideas and fragments of memory. He could remember some things that were said in his room whilst he was unconscious but not all of it. He knew he remembered who had put him there and could guess at least part of the reason why. God, he was angry. He treated that ungrateful brat like a son, as his own family. He had entrusted his daughter to his care. Made all of the arrangements and everything was thrown back at him in one pull on a trigger.

– Knock, Knock –

The room door opened smoothly and a well-dressed old gentleman walked in. [Name]’s father relaxed visibly at the new arrival.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“That would make two of us.” The visitor drew a chair nearer the bedside and took a seat smiling calmly, waiting patiently.

“I’d like a favour.” [Name]’s father wasted no time with formalities and small talk. What he wanted to do couldn’t wait.

“Oh?” The visitor said nothing more and then as if noticing something on his trouser leg he brushed at it with his hand. To an outsider, this interaction might seem as if the two men were having two different conversations. [Name]’s father knew differently, these two shared a history.

“The agreement is over.”

“Understood. I’ll make the arrangements.” Without saying any more the visitor stood and replaced his chair. He crossed the room to the door and just as he was reaching for the handle [Name]’s father called out once more.

“Just… don’t let them know it’s you.”

“No one ever looks for ghosts.”

---

Sasuke was sitting in a nest of wires and cables, several monitors had been set up down there for him along with two encryption keyboards. Yukimura had been called back by Shingen and there was also another business that required Mitsunari’s attention. It didn’t bother him, after all, there was nothing that anyone else could do right now. This was a matter of chasing code and watching to 0’s and 1’s to see what was what. One of the monitors changed and the code began to filter into one of Sasuke’s decoding algorithm programmes.

“How’s it going Sasuke?” Masa sauntered into the data room. He had a covered plate and cup flask with him. Sasuke felt like smiling if he could as he saw the Chef ignore the signs that prohibited food and drink.

“I have something I think.” Sasuke was clicking away on one of the keyboards the streams of code reflecting off his glasses. Masa placed the plate and flask down near him being careful in its placement so it didn’t cause a problem. “Oh! Thank you.”

“You can’t skip meals here. If Yoshi doesn’t catch you I will.” Masa joked. “So, you cracked it huh?” Masa didn’t really do a lot of things with computers like this. Well if he was completely honest, he was more at home playing games on them than all this movie plot hacker style stuff. He knew it was done just did not have a mind to do it personally.

“Yes… It was so obvious it’s almost too obvious.” Sasuke sighed a little frustrated. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut. Am I missing something? This is the most basic of basic algorithms.

“Meaning?” Masa picked up the flask again and held it out to Sasuke after he replaced his glasses. Sasuke took it gratefully and began sipping the hot coffee.

“Meaning it would be rather like you being allowed to enter an amateur cooking competition and walking away with the winning prize and no one protesting… is this coffee with green tea?” Sasuke trailed off as the flavour of the drink registered as unusual on his pallet. It was always a pleasure visiting Azuchi Corp HQ if you could sample some of Date’s creations.

“Yep, I infused the drip coffee with some particularly good blend of Hojicha tea. I thought the flavour would hold up nice in a latte.” Masa cheerfully explained the drink

“It’s delicious.” Sasuke

“Right? Usually, I don’t get much in way of feedback. Yoshi tends to prefer tea, The Mitsus don’t notice and that just leaves Yasu who gives on word reviews that are as helpful as indigestion. So, what now?”

“Well, now I work on the next layer of this and see if anything changes.”

---

Mitsuhide had been thankful for a few things as he walked outside of that factory, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs. The largest one that topped that list was that Takada had used Mitsuhide’s car to bring them to this location.

Moving to the trunk of the vehicle he peeled back the lining and located a change of clothes. Each item was securely sealed in bags and taped to the inside of the car. He picked them up and returned to the factory’s bathroom. In the harsh fluorescent lighting of the run-down room, he chuckled at the sight of his own reflection in one of the mirrors. He had gotten carried away. His shirt was torn and strained heavily in so much blood it was difficult to tell what was his and what belonged to the man strapped to that old cutting platform. Might as well make myself presentable.

---

The shadows of the day were drawing longer and darker. On the road out of the city, there was a popular spot for sightseeing. After leaving the bridge you took a sharp turn and followed the road as it changed from asphalt to well warn compact dirt road. You could see the lights of the city reflected on the water on the other side of the main bridge. That all added to the feeling of being in a completely different world to that of the everyday humdrum urban life. It was also a location that graduating high school kids knew at night as a make-out point. In both cases, the reason for its sought-after beauty was its isolation. There was a single-track road that leads to this clearing, one way in and one way out.

Two men stood next to a small white transit van. The logo on the side marked it as a medical transport vehicle for a private hospital. One of the men was smoking on the driver’s side, blowing smoke rings up into the darkening sky watching them drift on the breeze. Compared to the other man, the one smoking was shorter, broader and looked like he would be totally at him in a boxing ring. His strong defined muscles on his arms and large hands all added to the feeling that this guy could crush you if he so desired. 

“So how long we got to wait here Doc?”

“As long as it takes. When you receive a message from this one you learn the value of patience.” The one referred to as Doc answered as he walked slowly around. He was someone who’s appearance was not exactly a stand out in a crowd type of affair. He was if anything the most normal, average looking man you could find. He blended into situations easily like a social chameleon. What made this man stand out was the feeling he created around him, his natural aura seemed to drain you and keep you trapped at his mercy. 

Headlights shone over the car park and a black saloon car drove up to them and stopped. Doc walked over to the passenger’s side as the window slowly opened.

“So nice to see you again. Mr Akechi.”

“Always a pleasure to see you as well.” Mitsuhide smiled from the driver’s seat. It had been an interesting afternoon. At some point on the road, he had finally come back from the edge of that euphoric high. His head had cleared and he could once again think clearly. That was when he decided to phone the good doctor.

“It’s been too long.” The Doc straightened up and took a step back from the car. As Mitsuhide turned off the engine and lights of his car. “And where is the… patient?”

“Straight to business I see.” Mitsuhide chuckled as he stepped out, moving to button his jacket back up.

“Well, I prefer to begin treatment and making appropriate arrangements as soon as possible in order to make the patient as… comfortable as possible.” To anyone looking at the well-dressed medical professional, they would have seen nothing more than man conducting himself completely within the parameters of his concern to provide adequate care for a patient.

Mitsuhide knew better. He was close enough to feel the hidden undercurrent of the words being said. He could see the gleeful dance of emotion running through the other man’s mind as all of the possibilities of what he might see when he got to look at the victim. Yes, the good doctor was a predator but one of a totally different variety. He didn’t hunt his prey. His prey were offerings, gifts and donations. His was a business that never seemed to run out of potential revenue and business was good.

“I am aware.” Mitsuhide opened the back door of the car revealing Shin sitting there still as a statue on top of protective plastic sheeting. “I wouldn’t concern yourself with comfort. He won’t be making any complaints.”

“Very nicely done. You have a steady hand.” The Doctor stared in admiration at the living sculpture of a man. He raised his hand to trace the fresh lines carved into the flesh that were very slightly exposed on the back of the neck. Shin’s eyes moved freely at the other man’s touch.

“You flatter me.” Mitsuhide watched the doctor fawning over his new patient. His face was expressionless to the point where even his trademark smile was gone.

“No, no I really don’t, I would have gladly taken you on at the facility. This skill is easily on a level with any one of my staff… you might even rival mine.” The smile on the doctor’s face was feral as he brushed his fingertip over the stitches that pulled neat and tight on the pale flesh of Shin. It as a wild look of a man close to starvation that had suddenly been handed a steak meal. He could feel his mouth water as he inspected Mitsuhide’s handiwork.

“Well, I found myself with a lot of free time on my hands recently.” Mitsuhide was not joking. In the four-year absence, he had been blessed with an overabundance of time.

Blessed… Well, that was how some would have seen it. For him, it had been torture. Endless hours where sleep did not find him, sitting alone thinking, reliving every small detail of everything from years before. Things he had done before taking over his own family, the people he had hunted down. Oh, and the play by play account in his mind of each one of the people he questioned. My toys… All that time and nothing really to do except allow his mind to wander down those twisted paths. The things he had never done in reality. How would he leave a warning to protect what was his? What could he do?

“Yes, I did hear you took a little trip. Good vacation?” The Doctor stood back up and turned to look at Mitsuhide.

“That is not what I would have called it. Let’s just say I’m happier to be home.”

“Mm, still this isn’t like you Mitsuhide. Leaving them in this condition…. You could have just…” The doctor frowned slightly. He was right this was not what Mitsuhide would usually do. He would have normally created some other end for the man currently sitting in the backseat of his car. But this was not a normal day. This was beyond the line Mitsuhide would usually allow himself to be pushed. He lost his chance once years ago to be able to protect someone he cared for. He would not let that happen a second time. He was more than willing to do whatever it took to make sure that his “message” was received loud and clear.

“No. This is how it must be. I want him to remain exactly as he is.” Mitsuhide noted the ice blue eyes of Shin roaming faster. Don’t worry Takada I will make sure you are well cared for.

“You’ll cover the expenses?” The doctors face fell slightly at the request. He would have enjoyed adding certain “treatments” to this one but that phrasing “I want him to remain exactly as he is.” from Mitsuhide meant that he would not be allowed to interfere. Such a pity, still there are other things that could be done.

“Naturally.”

“Very well.” Satisfied the Doctor turned to the younger man who was still playing at being a creative chimney by the van. “Jin! Get the chair and come and escort this patient to other transportation.” Jumping into action at the order, Jin pulled back the rolling door on the side of the transit, flicking his spent cigarette off into the night and retrieved a hospital chair with a blanket.

“I shall be waiting for your professional assessment report and invoice.” Mitsuhide watched as Shin was transferred from car to chair and pushed away. He pulled the sheet from the back seat bunching it up into a ball and throwing it into the trunk of the car with the rest of the tools to be cleaned or disposed of.

“You not wishing to stay to say goodbye?” The doctor smiled as if he was simply asking about the weather.

“Sorry I have something else I have to do.” Mitsuhide closed the doors on his car and got back in the driver’s side. As soon as his engine roared into life, he pulled a U-turn in his car and drove away without looking back.

The clearing was quiet once more. The doctor watched the lights of the leaving vehicle be swallowed by the shadows of the trees as it drifted further away.

“What the hell is up with that dude?” Jin had returned to his side. The lingering smell of his preferred blend of tobacco clinging to him like an aura.

“I have no idea. He would make a fantastic case study.” The doctor murmured.

“Err, Doc?”

“Yes?”

“What do I put on this admission form?” Jin was holding the clipboard with the admissions papers clipped on them. Most of it had been filled in except for the parts that required more detailed knowledge of exactly what they were taking on. He was looking up expectantly a biro in his hand waiting to be told what to write.

“Patient X. Suffering trauma-related pseudocoma.” The doctor tapped his finger on the page to show where Jin had to place that information.

“Ok… and what is it really?” Jin had been around long enough to know what you put down officially was not what they were really dealing with and asked out of curiosity.

“The most exquisite display piece I’ve seen in a very long time.”

--- 

[artemwild-blog]

Story is begin

The wind was so cold than it touched my face I felt like it burned me. It was strange, because before I thought that Libya one of the hottest countries world. It was only partly true, in the afternoon always got so hot that my new friends Billy and Mayke used hood our Humvee to fry soldering bacon. Now in the desert in the middle of the night, I clearly felt the blue that covered my flask. It is an interesting fact care me more than our mission. The mission was easy, some warlord of terrorists has taken hostages and our division got the order to find a solution. For us, these cases were usually, we were the clerics. At the end of 2026 ear, our world changed forever. Adam was born in a small city in east Europe.   He was the first of us. Children's how got the supernatural ability. But they named it the supernatural ability, but for us it was normal. Of course, the powers of the world saw in our powers the future. I was lucky because I was born in Russia. Children like me. that was born in another country's subjected to experiments. But theses all had a bad end. They grasped that the volume of our powers depends on our mental health. Only strong in spirit can hold power in their hands. I remember like cry my mother then she understood that her the little boy is another. This is meant that she should lose him forever. Or it could be dangerous for her and all the people that she knew. I don't remember her and my father. First my memory it is a secret underground complex in Siberia where I and my brothers grow and study how to use our ability to help people that we love. I didn't know a lot of people, but among them were a few that I want to save. And now I here in the middle of the desert, middle of the world, wait for the order to become our operation. We waited for a long time before we had started. Two on the left side, another two on the right side I and Mike should go to the front gate to draw attention. Usually, I worked whit, Mike. He was my gunner. His first goal is covering my ass while I do my work. In this time everything was the same. This camp looked empty. Terrorists tried to look like nomads and of course, this would be strang if nomads had armed guards. So our plan was to wake up these gays and gave them to understand that we know who they are. I show them my ability and they would throw all their strength on me and Mike. While how they would get out of their holes our colleges from left and right flangs would make a warm welcome by sniper rifles. Camp had a slimpsy fencing perimeter, many small buildings, and tents and one large stone house in the Center. From intelligence data, we learned that this building they use as a command center. In it, they settled commanders, and in the basement they held hostages. The same intelligence reported that under the building there is a chain of tunnels, which the bad guys can use to leave. We arrived at a gate. I put my right hand in front of me and not really straining snatched them from the ground and throw it in front of us for twenty meters. The camp that was absolutely silent two seconds ago noticeably quickened. From corner to corner began to run goats were jingling they bells, chicken, dogs. After that, we heard scrims a lot of people and clang of automates. On the right side of us was a small building. It had only two walls, another two replaced awning. I used my powers and borrow one of these walls to use it as a shield. For one second it seemed to me that I had seen a woman inside this house, but a second later the awning had fallen off and covered everything that had previously hidden the walls. Despite that now we have a shield there was no great need for it. Just everyone who shows his nose outside was immediately shot down by the guys from left and right flanks. A few minutes later we have got the main house. Use a piece of the wall like a battering ram we entered the house. Inside all was covered by the dark. We made a few steps into and were drowned in the darkness. Clerks can’t see in the dark but a few of us can feel other people. They feel like they think and some of the themes even understand thoughts. I wasn’t one of these lucky ones. Because of it, we had used night vision goggles. The room field up to a green light. Here we saw that these people have a money. Despite that, we were in the middle of the desert house was furnished with the latest technology. Calm and serenity this place was interrupted. Our major captain Ian Pac gave the order for the snipers to use thermal imagers and cover us. The walls the house here and there began to flash bright flashes. All of this new furniture and new TV screens and other equipment began to explode, crashed and scatter into hundreds of fragments. It was like a tv show that I saw in my childhood before then the government came to my hose and stole me from my parents. In this show, some strange man from Asia put different things in a blender. Now I felt that I in his blender. Fight minutes later this is advanced, the modern house looks like a piece of a shooting range where a new machine gun has just been tested. Blood is dripping through the holes in the ceiling. Somewhere we heart scream of pain. We had to go into the basement to find there were hostages and started the most interesting part of our operation, because there, underground we had no more support. It was time to show my own abilities. The command center was right. There below we found a series of underground tunnels. I thought that it may be a problem, but courteous terrorists showed the path for us by the sounds of shots. Here we didn't meet professional fighters, only young boys with guns. It was strange because usually elite of camp defense commanders and live near with theme. Maybe native general like then his ass defend the young boys, who knows. I knew those young soldiers always more dangerous because they don't know pity. To be more safety I forced them shooting into each other, or for example, dropped a grenade on the ground. Tunnels were different narrow and spacious, but most of them are dark, despite the wires stretching along the walls and ceiling. A few minutes later we saw some light. I took off my night vision device and able to understand what was the source of the glow. Twenty miters forward tunnel was broken off and after them was light-flooded room. When there were less than ten steps to the room I heard a voice. "Hello, my friends and welcome! I had a step outside of the dark and could see the room. About twenty women and children sat along the walls. In the middle was a man of forty years in military uniform, absolutely bald but with a thick beard. In his right hand, he held a pistol, and with his left, he pressed a little girl to himself. She looked strange, bright red hair against the background of an absolutely pale face. She wore a gray stained with blood, mud a shirt, from which strange wires stretched. "You should not make rash decisions, there are so many explosives in this baby that it’s enough to smash a room and roll all the tunnels. We will never be found again." His voice was calm and sure. I believe that you don't want to die, and me too. I tell you the rules. “I sewed there are enough explosives in this girl to smash the whole room, me with you, all these beautiful creatures and all the tunnels. We will not be found when. This bomb is connected to my heart and if I die, you will all die with me. But I prefer to think that I am a businessman. Therefore, I used to solve complex problems. My suggestion is, I turn around and leave through that door.”  He pointed to the huge steel door behind him. “When I go off the bomb will lose touch with my heart and when it does, it will turn off ten minutes later.” He spoke absolutely confidently, and looked like a balanced and sensible person, of course in the realities of the situation. I realized that I didn’t have enough time to think about the plan, so I agreed. When he leaves the premises, we will contact the guys outside and give them information about the situation and they will meet him outside.  I said, “You can go.” He turned without hesitation and headed for the door. After taking two steps forward, I sat on one knee in front of the girl and looked into her blue eyes. I promise “I will save you.” Her face was as fabulously beautiful as sad. The look is completely empty from under curly red hair. You can not Verlaam. Almost in a whisper, she said. I did not know who it is Verlaam,  but I realized that she just wanders because of post-traumatic syndrome. I heard how the big steel door closed behind her. You can not Verlaam. She repeated and a tear rolled down her cheek. Then she raised her arms and with all the forces that she had tried to push me away. At that moment I experienced a feeling that only Clerics can experience. The feeling of irreversible and mortal danger. At the level of reflexes, I put a mental shield in front of me and at that moment time stopped. A flash of light lit up the already bright room. The blast wave bestowed on my shield and pushed me out of the room into the tunnel. having fallen on my back, I blocked most of the tunnel with a shield, after which the room in front of me collapsed and I lost consciousness.

[kurara-black-blog]

Terror Of The Ancient Noah Mask

Date: 02/12/18

Words: 2048 *snorts*

Warnings: Klance, Inuyasha AU, Crappy.

Tag: @moonsworllld ; @xarphay ; @skydisneylover ; @mutantgurls ; @spooky-the-owl

A/N: I love Inuyasha, I love Voltron. I love Lance. his is not very good, but I really wanted to write it~

This is episode 11 of the anime!

With his bicycle ready to go, Lance carefully looked around him, trying to spot any red in the middle of the green forest. He was alone, thankfully, no signs of the hothead nearby. With a short relieved sigh, he started pedaling with everything he had, which was a lot, mind you, in direction of the well.

Sadly, Lance didn’t have much luck.

“Wait a second, idiot!”

Lance was able to stop before he rolled over the boy, although a part of him told him he should have just rolled over that annoying dog. Said dog was standing there, looking like the angry bastard he was, violet eyes flashing with a temper.

“You’re going back to that weird world?! Are you trying to run away?! We have shit to do!”

“Oh, out of my way, mullet dog! I have exams to take and I can’t afford to miss them!”

The fact was that Lance had to keep his grades up if he wanted his Exchange Program to go on without any difficulties. He was already risking a lot by not attending class for so long, and maybe Mr. Shirogane was destroying his reputation with all the weird diseases he used as an excuse. Because life couldn’t be hard only in Feudal Era, no, it had to be hard in his world too.

“Well, fuck that! I’ll destroy this so you can’t run away anymore!” Keith—the half-dog—grabbed a large rock, ready to destroy the wooden well. Lance didn’t hesitate.

“Keith, sit!”

Keith stubbornness was no match for Lance’s consecutive commands of “sit”, the boy falling face first on the floor, the rock falling on top of him. He groaned, cursing Lance in between his groans of pain.

“Who said I’m running away, dog?! I’ll be back in three days! Stay here!”

With that, Lance was gone inside the well.

“Why didn’t you bring the dog man with you?”

“No way, that mullet head is impossible to deal with! It was a bother to even come here without him stopping me!” Shoving the last bit of food in his mouth, Lance huffed, “Talking about coming back, Mr. Shirogane, I am glad you worry so much, but can you not throw sake in my head next time?”

The old man only laughed heartily, petting the family cat, Black. Lance smiled softly, it was hard to be angry with the man. He reminded Lance of his own grandpa, all wise eyes and cheekily knowing smiles. Finishing his meal, Lance thanked Mrs. Shirogane, Mr. Shirogane’s daughter, for the food, messed Tsuna’s hair, Mrs. Shirogane’s son, washed his dishes and went to his room to put on his uniform.

It would be a long day at school.

At least his hair didn’t smell like sake anymore.

After a very embarrassing conversation with his friends about his really bad health, and an even more embarrassing encounter with who could be the cutest boy in school about his very poor health, Lance could say with absolute certainty he was done.

“You’re dating Inai?!”

“No.”

“I think he likes you!”

“I know, Taira.”

“Well? Don’t you want to date him?”

“I’m not really interested in dating right now.” It was a complete lie, of course. It is not that Lance didn’t want to date, it is because how could he explain to his boyfriend or girlfriend the reason they couldn’t go out in the next month it’s because he has to go back in time to collect pieces of a super powerful glass ball?

Yeah. No.

Ushijima Amari, Akagawa Taira and Yuhara Natsumi were three kind and funny girls that were glued at the hip even before Lance came in the picture. They had promptly welcomed Lance in their group, and he was forever grateful. He hated feeling like a fish outside water.

Staring at the honestly horrendous slippers Inai Hachiro gave him, Lance wondered if the boy was somehow related to Mr. Shirogane, remembering the old man’s weird medicines and whatnots.

“Could it be… that you are already dating someone?”

“No, no, no! Nope. Not dating. Single as they come.”

“Then, then! What’s your type?”

Lance sighed, knowing they wouldn’t shut up unless he gave them something to satiate their hunger for gossip. He loved the girls, but they could be pretty annoying when they wanted. Not as annoying as Keith, but almost.

“Someone who’s not violent or selfish… Also, someone accepting and affectionate.”

The complete opposite of Keith, go figure.

While Romelle prepared some herbal medicine for a sick villager, Keith grunted. Hot pain pierced his spine every time he tried to get up. That rock really did a number on him.

“Keith, stop laying around and go find information of the Jewel fragments.”

“Shut up, you old witch! Go eat some grass!”

Keith swore that day, laying on the floor of the old priestess’ house, that he would punch Lance in the face as soon as that boy came back from his world.

“Can I sleep here today?” Tsuna asked, interrupting Lance’s studies.

“Of course, if you don’t mind the lights being on.”

That day could, at the very least, be called weird. A sudden fire in one of the deposits, Mr. Shirogane getting hurt and being found passed out with sacred seals all over his face and even inside his mouth, then suddenly one of the firemen trucks taking off like a madman was driving it. As if it wasn’t enough, Mr. Shirogane had recovered the conscience for enough time to mutter some random words about the Meat Mask and how no one should touch it.

Lance surely didn’t blame the boy for not wanting to be alone.

“Something weird is happening, I think. Grandpa wouldn’t do something so weird.”

The older boy opened his mouth to agree, but the sudden noise made him change his plans. Grabbing the flask were he kept the Jewel fragments—it was an instinct to immediately search for them when something happened—, Lance threw himself on Tsuna, protecting him from pieces of what once was a wall.

The basket of a firetruck was struck inside his room, and from it came out something. A creature made of melted blackness, with no defined form. It seemed to leak away and yet gravitate towards its center, that center being a white mask in the middle of the blackness. Painted eyes stared at Lance, carved smile sending shivers down the boy’s spine. The creature’s voice came, smooth and monotone.

“The Jewel… give me… the Jewel…”

“A demon! In this time?” Lance thought, eyes widening, “Must be the jewel’s presence!” As soon as he reached that conclusion, the boy lifted Tsuna in his arms and ran. He had to get out of that house. He had to get Keith. He had no means to fight at the moment, dressed in his cotton pajamas and comfy slippers. He should’ve brought his bow.

He would do that if he survived to see a next time.

Lance did not stop running when the monster attacked, dogging to the best of his abilities. He was glad Mrs. Shirogane was visiting her father in the hospital, he really didn’t want to think what would’ve happened if she was. Stopping for a moment, he put Tsuna down. His bleeding hand-when had he cut himself?—left a trail of blood on the boy’s shirt, but they didn’t have time to worry about it.

“Tsuna, I need you go to the well and get Keith.”

“And you?”

“I’ll distract it until Keith gets here. Please, Tsuna! Go get Keith!”

With that, Lance started to run in another direction, attracting the monster’s attention to him. All he could do was to hope for Keith to come quickly.

If anyone asked, Keith was not anxiously expecting Lance’s return while staring intently at the bottom of the well. He was not.

“How about of going after her instead of staring at the end of the well?”

“Shut up, stupid fox, isn’t it time for you to go to bed?”

“I’m just saying, you should go after her, you know, actually be productive?”

“Pidge, you have five seconds before I kick you back to where you came from.”

The damn fox just smirked, amused by the dog’s temper. Keith opened his mouth to growl out some insult when his nose picked up a familiar smell and his head snapped to look back at the bottom of the well. Pidge looked at him puzzled.

“I can smell… Lance’s blood.” Pidge widened her eyes, staring at what to her was just a normal well. Keith didn’t waste time, preparing to jump inside, “Pidge, go back to Granny Romelle, I’ll go find Lance,” Without giving her time to answer, he jumped.

“… That idiot is so in love with Lance.”

If anyone asked, Keith would admit being a bit surprised at finding the boy that Lance lived with crying while trying to open a hole in the well’s floor. Not sure how to deal with kids, Keith smiled cockily, hoping his show of self-confidence would somehow calm the boy down.

“What’s the matter? You seem troubled.”

In a few minutes, he was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, the boy on his back. He could smell Lance’s blood clear as day, even with the overall weird smell that world had. The hanyo disliked the smell a lot, Lance’s smell wasn’t made to be tarnished with blood, his own or otherwise. Keith could feel a growl trying to rip through his throat, whatever made that boy bleed would bleed twice as much.

He almost sighed in relief when he saw the boy alive and relatively well.

“Sankon Tessō!”

With his claws he opened the way by slaying the strange glob monster in half. Getting near Lance, he let Tsuna get down, who immediately hugged the blue-eyed boy.

If anyone asked, Keith was not glad the boy was ok.

“Don’t worry, Tsuna,” Lance said, trying to make the boy stop crying, “Keith will help us now.”

“Dunno about that.”

“What do you mean, mullet?” Lance soft gaze rapidly turned into a glare.

“I may help if you apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot!” Keith pointed accusingly at him. “You almost destroyed my back with your sit command and now you’re asking for help as if nothing happened?!”

“Oh, that! Well, I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t being sincere!”

“Just help us already, mullet dog! That thing has a fragment and I can’t fight right now, so stop whining like a kicked puppy and fight!”

“Who are you calling a kicked puppy, stupid boy?!”

Their fight was cut short when the monster’s body came together again. Lance informed Keith about the mask being the center of the creature, the half-demon taking out his sword, ready to fight despite his last fight with the Cuban. It’s not like Keith was actually planning to leave the humans to fight the demon alone. The mask did had a fragment of Jewel.

“I am the Meat Mask… centuries ago, I was carved from the tree trunk that received a fragment of the Jewel… I have been devouring people since then… I want a body… a body that won’t deteriorate quickly…”

Lance shuddered, muttering about creepy masks and stupid glass balls. Keith let a growl finally get out at seeing the boy’s fear.

“I don’t know how many people you’ve devoured until now, but you’re way too fat!”

To think all it took was a swing of the Tessaiga to end it all. The mask was gone in a flash of light, the fragment falling in front of them. Lance was quick to grab it and put in the flask with the rest of the fragments.

“Hey.” Lance turned to look at him, bluest blue eyes soft and thankful, “You okay?”

“Thank you, Keith.”

“Tch, whatever.”

If anyone asked, that was not a blush on Keith’s cheeks.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Hm?”

“Take us home? I have exams to take and Tsuna has to go to school too.”

“What am I?! Your horse?!”

“Oh, c’mon, mullet dog! Just take us home before I get late!”

“No!”

“Keith!”

Tsuna could only watch as Keith begrudgingly let Lance hop on his back, the two still bickering.

“Tsuna, come on!”

“I’m coming!”

[axidental-pol]

Don’t Save Me- Chapter 2

So.... hallos again~ I haven’t updated or done any writing so I’ve been very bad but here’s the posting of Chapter 2! ENJoy!

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In the middle of the night, you started to feel warm…too warm in fact. You were starting to feel uncomfortable as the heat surrounding you felt suffocating. You shifted under the blanket as you tried to move away from the furnace you were trapped in when you hit something that felt like…arms? A grunt came from above you as you found yourself being gripped tighter towards…is this a wall or is this a chest?

Your eyes shot open and you found yourself trapped between someone’s grasp as deep, steady breaths tickled your ear. Tilting your head slightly, you see a familiar rugged face.

Oh my fuck…why is he?

You blushed as you suddenly remembered your hand clutching his arm because you didn’t want to be alone. The thought of Sam not leaving your side as you slept made your heart feel tight. You couldn’t help but stare at him fascinated. He had deep shadows under his eyes and faded lines marked his forehead, probably from thinking too hard or worrying too much. His straight nose had faint indents near the bridge and his lips were… Oh my gosh! Stop it, (Y/n) get a hold of yourself!

Taking a deep breath, you calmed your panic. Warily loosening his arm around your waist, you swung yourself out of the bed. You had to be careful that you wouldn’t move too fast. The room was dark and the moonlight reflecting the still form on the other bed indicated that Dean was fast asleep like Sam. Rubbing your fingers on your temples you began to think of your escape plan. Ok…I need a way to get to Uncle Lou and Jacob...

Glancing around you try to search for a weapon that you could use. You remembered seeing a duffel in the corner of the room. Now, where is it… A-ha! Sighting the bag, you inched closer and leaned down to zip it open. Slowly…slowly…no noise, ok…

Looking inside, you find an array of knives, guns, bullets, a bag of salt, and a flask amid disheveled pieces of clothing. You touched the handle of a gun and a sudden thought popped into your head, I can’t shoot for my life.

Shaking your head, you grabbed a dagger and the flask which you assumed was filled with holy water. You looked at the flannel shirt longingly. It’s cold outside…Fuck it, I’m already stealing their stuff…

Shuffling the shirt around yourself you stuffed the knife in the back of your pants. A quiet groan came from the bed and made you freeze in your place. Shit.

Turning your head around, you found them still asleep. Exhaling in relief, you snuck towards the door cautiously so that you wouldn’t disturb the salt lines they drew on the floor. You turned the lock. The soft click echoed through the room as you turned the knob, opening to the crisp chill of the early morning.

You hobbled as fast as you could, biting your lip to forget the pain coursing through your leg. Spotting an old truck near the end of the parking lot, you made your way over while sneaking glances behind you.

Fiddling with your ring you hit the latch making the tool spring out. Picking the lock was easy enough to do but the difficulty was figuring out how to hotwire the car. It wasn’t the first time you tried to start a car without the key but it had been a while since you had the need to do so.

Grunting as you got into the driver’s seat, you bent down and felt around for the screws on the panel underneath the wheel. You popped the cover open as you fiddled for the red wires. You hear the struggle of the car’s ignition.  “Come on, come on…start for me…” you mumbled to yourself and the car’s engine rolled to life.

“So far, so good,” you opened the front compartment, in hopes of finding a phone but unfortunately it was filled with junk. Slamming your hand on the steering wheel you let out a frustrated sigh, “Shit.” I should’ve stolen a phone.  Shaking your head, you drove down the highway for a while trying to figure out what to do.

The last time you heard from your uncle, they were in Sioux Falls with a friend. That was more than two weeks ago. It was the only clue you had to their location. Desperate times, desperate measures. Stopping to the side of the road you rummaged through the compartment trying to find a map.

“At least there’s something useful in there…” you determined your route as you stepped on the gas and speeded down the highway. You were going to find your family at all costs.

Back at the Motel Room

           Dean woke up in the middle of the night with an odd feeling of uneasiness. He sat up on his bed and ran his hand through his hair to wake himself up. He looked towards the other bed and found Sam sleeping peacefully. That should’ve been normal but what jolted Dean awake was that there was no one next to him. He stood up and scratched his head as he walked towards the bathroom door and knocked, “(Y/n)? You there?”

Sam drowsily sat up on the bed when he heard his brother. He looked at the man with concern. The girl sleeping next to him was gone and that was unusual. He never slept that peacefully at least not to the point where anyone can sneak away without him knowing. He stood up and walked over to Dean as he pressed his ear against the door. Cocking his head to the side, Dean stared at his brother in alarm at the absence of a response.

“Hey (Y/n), I’m coming in,” his eyes widened as he found the bathroom empty.

Dean ran towards his duffel as Sam ran towards the wall gathering papers. “Where could she have gone?” the tall man hurriedly stuffed his bag as Dean grabbed his jacket, “A girl like that escaping your watch… You’re getting rusty, Sammy.”

Sam zipped his duffel as he rolled his eyes at him, “Anyways, you have any idea where your little girlfriend could’ve gone?” Dean hoisted his bag on his shoulder and ripped the door open.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Dean.” the green-eyed hunter shrugged as he tossed his bag into the trunk of his car.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam sighed as he sat in the passenger seat, “She probably went to find her uncle and brother. From how she talked it seemed like her uncle knew about us. You think Bobby might know him?”

“You’re the genius here Sam, how the heck would I know?” Dean frowned as he started the car and drove towards the highway.

“Dean, how do we find her? It’s not like she has some GPS on her that would lead us to where she is.” Dean smirked at his brother, “No but we got an angel with mojo that could probably track her. Cas! Get your ass down here.”

After a few moments, an indifferent voice spoke breaking the dark silence in the car. “Hello Dean,” he nodded towards the man in the passenger seat, “Sam.”

The long-haired man looked back towards the angel, his eyes filled with urgency. “Cas, we need you to find a girl. Her name’s (Y/n).”

“(Y/n)?” the blue-eyed angel cocked his head to the side as Sam sighed in frustration. “She’s the girl the red-eyed demon’s after.”

Cas’ brow arched upwards and looked towards Dean, “Did you guys lose her?”

Dean groaned in annoyance. “Look Cas, can you find the girl?”

“I don’t need to find her,” Cas answered flatly.

“What do you mean you don’t need to find her? Cas, she’s being chased by a demon for God’s sake!” Sam shouted at Cas feeling bitter at the angel’s unwilling attitude. Dean’s eyes widened as he glanced at Sam’s face. He hadn’t seen his brother burst out at Cas before and he was the hotheaded one.

“Do us this favor, Cas. We need to find the girl before the demon gets her.”

The blue-eyed man sitting in the back stared back calmly as he answered, “I don’t need to find her. I know where she is and she’s in danger.”

The two brothers looked at one another, shaking their heads. “Why the hell didn’t you say so in the first place, Cas?”

“I did tell you. Just now.” The angel furrowed his brows as he tried to understand why the brothers were upset. Sam sighed as Dean stepped on the gas.

“Where is she, Cas?”

The map rustled through your fingers as you tried to determine where you were. You took a wrong turn earlier on and couldn’t figure out the map’s direrction. The gas light began to blink on the dashboard of the truck as a bitter sigh escaped your lips. You needed to get some gas.

Scanning the road, you see a sign reading a station coming up in a few miles. You find the bright red sign of a Stop-N-Go station and you park the truck near the pump. You reached into your jeans pocket and realize that you didn’t have any money. You dug through the front compartment flinging papers out of it. in hopes of finding a stray credit card but you knew you weren’t going to be so lucky.

“Dammit…” you slammed your hands on the wheel and hunched over it. This was the dumbest plan ever. You were stuck at a gas station in the middle of nowhere with no way of protecting yourself other than the knife on your back and a flask of holy water. You were cold, lost and alone with no way of calling anyone for help. Frustration began to take over as you tightened your fist on the steering wheel.

A loud knock on the window interrupted your thoughts as a man stood there looking at you. Wiping the stray tears that escaped from your face, you rolled the window down to face the man.

“You alright, miss?” he asked, concern marring his features. You nodded and forced yourself to smile, “Yes, I’m alright. I just…I, um…I’ll just leave.”

You started to roll the window up when his hand suddenly shot out and stopped it. “If you want, I could pay for your gas miss.” Shocked by the suggestion of the elder man you shook your head, “No, I’m ok. I couldn’t possibly take advantage.”

“Oh I don’t mind. It’s no trouble at all. In fact, I think you made my job much easier when you escaped the Winchester boys.” Shooting your head up you saw the man’s eyes transform into the color of nightmares. Grabbing the flask in your pocket you flung water across the man’s face. He howled in pain as his face burned like acid had hit him. You grabbed the passenger door and rushed out, wincing as a searing pain crawled up your leg when you leaned on it. Your knees buckled down and hit concrete as a hand captured your ankle.

“Oh (Y/n), you didn’t think you could escape, did you?” he sneered as he dragged you towards him making you yelp in surprise. You desperately clawed the pavement and kicked at him as you attempted to free yourself but the burning sensation on your leg was overwhelming.

“I wouldn’t struggle so much you know. Master told me that I could do whatever’s necessary to bring you back to him… and I’m not as nice as the bloodsuckers you saw before.” He straddled your hips to keep you grounded as you wriggled below attempting to toss him off. He smiled as he pulled your head making his black eyes pierce into your own. You tried to turn your head away but his strength overpowered you.

“We can have some fun first before I deliver you to Master,” you whimpered as his hand gripped along your neck but suddenly water streamed down your face as the demon before you hunched over screaming. An arm grabbed and pulled you from the screeching demon as Dean’s knife found its way to the demon’s chest. An orange light glowed from the man’s mouth and eyes as it shouted in agony.

Dean walked over and stood above you as his brother kneeled next to you, “What the hell did you think you were doing?! You’re being chased by a demon and you just go prancing around outside like a-”

“Dean-”

“No Sammy, this girl’s gotta understand the shit that she’s in and-”

“Dean!” Sam shouted at his brother as he saw your shoulders shake and tears well in your eyes. Dean shut his mouth in a tight line as his brother glared at him to quiet down. He turned and walked towards his car leaving you with Sam.

“(Y/n), are you alright?” Sam gently placed his hands on your arms as he looked at you anxiously.

“I-I, I’m sorry. I needed to find my uncle and brother. I couldn’t stay and I…” you glanced at the corpse of the old man. You felt so weak as you remembered the demon on top of you. It could subdue you with little effort and the feeling of being helpless made you resentful.  

A soothing hand came around your shoulders, “We told you we would help you, (Y/n). We’ll help you search for your uncle and brother. You don’t have to do it alone.”

You looked at the man in front of you as he gave you a soft smile, “We’ve got experience handling demons so I think it would be best if you let us help. You’re a lot safer with us too so let us help you, okay?” His face was so sincere that tears overwhelmed your face as you nodded your head. He made you feel so safe as he let you lean on his chest while you wept. His arms came around to envelop you in his familiar warmth.

           You slowly pulled away as your tears began to stop. He stood up and offered you his hand as you attempted to steady yourself on your feet. When he saw that you couldn’t get up he placed an arm under your knees and the other under your shoulder lifting you up from the cold floor. He grinned down at you, “It really is faster this way (Y/n).”

You blushed as you lowered your head to avoid his gaze, “Thank you for saving me, Sam.”

           “It’s no problem, (Y/n). That’s what we do.” With a slight flush on his cheeks, he walked towards the black impala where Dean was leaning on the side door staring at the both of you.

“About damn time. Your chick flick moment took long enough.” Dean rolled his eyes as he opened the back door for Sam so that he could place you inside. The two brothers hopped into the front of the car as Dean started the engine.

“Um… Dean, I’m sorry and thank you for saving me.” He looked at you through the rear-view mirror as you fidgeted in the back seat. Sam glanced at his brother and arched his brow making Dean sigh in response.

“Sweetheart, next time don’t ever run off alone. You got me?”

[talesfromthefade]

Orana x Solas || SFW || 3479 words

It will be two days time to prepare the necessary supplies for Orana, Cassandra, Varric and Solas to make the journey to the Hinderlands to establish a foothold for the Inquisition there with some camps, helping the refugees, and with any luck securing some manner of help from Mother Giselle. In the meantime, Orana takes the opportunity to search the trunk in the room where she woke earlier while Cassandra and Leliana are busy spreading word of what’s happened both to the troops, and abroad with Leliana’s ravens carrying messages to more remote locations, finding a set of light wool leggings and tunic, along with a leather vest and longcoat which suits her fine and should do well to keep out any lingering chill she might encounter here. She still misses the clothes she wore when she first came here, but was informed that they were badly scorched beyond repairing either in the explosion, or her trip in the Fade and have since been disposed of. She’s had her coin purse returned though, and her set of lockpicks, with a suspicious sideways look from Cassandra, and what had looked rather surprisingly and a bit disturbingly like amusement from the quiet redhead. Determining she’s as ready as she is ever likely to be to encounter the rest of what their camp has to offer, she leaves once more to explore the other buildings that surround the Chantry.

There is a tavern, with ale that doesn’t taste nearly as bad she had initially feared, although she limits herself to half a flagon, pausing to appreciate the sultry and dulcet tones of the minstrel that sings in the corner and plays the lute. She’s very good. Far better than the ones that played at ‘the Hanged Man’ in Kirkwall, and Orana thinks that perhaps she’ll have to come back here some evening to relax if she finds an opportunity. Perhaps once the soldiers have gotten more used to her presence and stop staring and whispering quite so much, she thinks as she takes her leave.

There is a merchant with a small cart of items for sale just outside the bar. Orana thinks he’s probably charging a bit more than is charitable, even after he shares that this is all that remains of his shop, the rest of it having burnt down from flaming rubble from the explosion. The people of Haven have all been through a similar ordeal and have their own trouble as well, afterall, but the elf bites back any comment for the moment, and pays far too much for a large man’s pair of leather worked boots with a fur cuff that appears to be fox, or perhaps wolf pelt, Orana recognizes to be of good quality, tucking them under her arm with a smile as she walks away to continue exploring.

She finds and greets the man in charge of their Apothacary, who it seems was also in charge of her care while she was indisposed after closing the breach, and thanks him for his skillful intervention on her behalf. She finds and stealthily scans his notes while he is busy giving instructions to an apprentice, and thanks him again. It seems her mark and condition were far more unstable than anyone had yet told her after the stress of trying to seal the breach, she awoke after one day, but was given potions to slip and stay back under until her body had fully recovered from it. The man is a bit harried as it seems the man who is usually in charge, or at least helping the other to run things was in attendance and died at the Conclave without giving any of them any idea as to where he might have left his notes about potions he had been working on perfecting. Years of work, all lost. Orana nods sympathetically, not bothering to offer what might be an empty promise, but resolving to keep an eye out should she find any lonely notebooks around Haven somewhere. Apothecary Adan has far too many other things to worry about to busy himself with searching for his master’s notes, however valuable they might potentially be, and it’s not as if she has been tasked with any other chores yet.

She meets their Quartermaster, who mistakes her for a servant at first, and addresses her with the appropriate manner of abrupt and sharp directions as such, before realizing who she is while Orana is still internally blistering a little and quickly apologizes. Orana is not as fond of her as she is Master Adan, but similarly resolves to herself to try and help the young woman to find the wood and iron she needs in the nearby area to supply their Blacksmith with the means to make new weapons for their soldiers. The soldiers can hardly be held responsible, nor should they be made to suffer with less than adequate equipment for poor manners on her part after all.

Segritt, their blacksmith greets her with no small amount of delight and enthusiasm, asking immediately about her new armor and coat. Are they breathable, can she move well enough in them, are they warm? Orana decides of the various lower-level players of the Inquisition she has had the pleasure of meeting so far, she likes him the best. Segritt talks with her at length about what she might need in a belt to hold her various tools- lock picks, daggers, caltrops, and flasks of both healing and poisons, clapping his hands together with no small amount of glee and promising to get to work on drawing up some schematics for something straight-away, thanking her for a new challenge. She heads back towards the Chantry feeling considerably lighter, despite the unlikely circumstances that have befallen her in the past week. She could never have expected her trip to spy on the peace talks between the mages and Templars to turn out this way. But she can at least be of use here, and is surrounded by some very good and friendly people. She spots Varric talking to another Inquisition soldier by a large fire, probably regaling them with some wildly exaggerated tales about Hawke and the adventures the Champion of Kirkwall drug him along on, smiling before spotting Solas in the distance at the top of the hill looking out over the rest of the Village, and offers the dwarf a wave, which he returns with a smile and nod, before making her way over to the other elf.

“The chosen of Andraste,” Solas greets as she approaches, turning to greet her with a small half-smile, “the blessed hero sent to save us all.”

“Am I riding in on a shining steed,” Orana asks with an amused smile.

“I would have suggested a Griffon, but sadly, they’re extinct. Joke as you will,” the other elf adds, “but posturing is necessary. I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten,” Solas admits, staring out over Haven once more, before turning his attention back to her. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

“Ruins and battlefields,” Orana repeats before she can come up with an answer for his question. If Solas is in any way disappointed or annoyed with her non-response to his speculation, he doesn’t show it, smiling at little at the question.

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade, I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

“You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins. Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I do set wards. And if you leave out food for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live,” Solas shrugs with a hint of amusement.

“I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade, that’s extraordinary,” she assesses.

“Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning, but the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything,” Solas replies. “I will stay then,” he declares thoughtfully after a moment. “At least until the breach has been closed.” Orana bites the inside of her bottom lip a little to keep herself from frowning. Had he not intended to before? They do not know one another all that well yet, of course, but Orana thinks she would almost certainly miss his company if the other elf were to leave now. At the very least it would be a terrible shame to lose all of the knowledge and understanding he seems to have of the Fade, the Veil, and his theories about the breach and her mark.

“Was that in doubt?”

“I am an apostate, surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion,” Solas points out. “Cassandra has been accommodating,” he acknowledges with a nod, “but you understand my caution.”

“You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you,” Orana replies firmly, shaking her head.

“How would you stop them?”

“However I had to,” she replies sincerely.

“Thank you,” Solas replies after a moment, eyes wide and eyebrows raised slightly in surprise at the unexpected loyalty and protectiveness she has even so early on, already deemed him worthy of. A moment of silence passes between them as the two stare back at one another, though it is not an uncomfortable one. “For now let us hope either the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the breach,” he assesses finally. “Closing the breach is our primary goal, but I hope we are also able to discover what was used to create it. Any artifact of such power is dangerous. The destruction of the Conclave proves that much.”

“You don’t think whatever created the explosion was destroyed in the blast,” Orana asks curiously, looking out over Haven as he had done earlier. It is rather beautiful here, in its way.

“You survived, did you not,” Solas points out. “The artifact that created the breach is unlike anything seen in this age. I will not believe it destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes.”

“We would do well to try and recover whatever created the breach,” Orana agrees, nodding.

“Leliana’s people have scoured the area near the blast and found nothing. Whatever the artifact was, it is no longer there.”

“You think the person responsible for the explosion survived? Took it with them?”

“I don’t think we should rule out that possibility,” Solas confirms, nodding with a slight frown at the thought. A frosty breeze brushes by them, bringing a slight flush to the young elf’s cheeks and suddenly reminding her of the parcel she’s carrying.

“Oh,” Orana exclaims softly, causing Solas’s attention to shift back to her again. “I almost forgot. These are for you,” she offers, pulling the boots from where she’s had them tucked under her arm, and holding them out to the other elf. “Not that you complained about it or anything,” she adds hastily, suddenly a little less sure about the gift as the other elf studies them and her with wide-eyed surprise. “If you don’t want them you won’t hurt my feelings, I promise. You don’t have to accept or pretend to like them just because they’re calling me the ‘Herald’ now, or anything,” she continues anxiously. “Maybe it doesn’t even bother you. You said you’d traveled a lot…” Maker. Creators. Someone stop her babbling and making a complete fool of herself, she thinks a bit desperately. She swallows hard, forcing herself to take a deep breath and to look up to meet the other’s gaze again after she’s nervously dropped her gaze to her own feet. Solas’s expression is both patient and kind, perhaps even a little bit fond, softly encouraging her to go on. “It’s just that I never really saw snow before coming to Ferelden. I got terrible frostbite my first few days off the ship. Boots were actually the first thing I bought here,” she shrugs, smiling down at the well-worn pair she wears. “You joined the Inquisition to help, even though it could have been dangerous for you to do so. And I saw you helped to heal some of those soldiers when we went to the Temple to try and seal the breach, even though you didn’t have to and it must have been a drain to your magic and energy. I just thought, maybe it was about time someone offered to help you,” Orana concludes softly.

Solas gently accepts the boots from her outstretched hands, turning them over in his hands studying them, before slowly leaning against the nearby stone wall, lifting a foot and dusting off the snow, then sliding into one and repeating the same with the other with a soft, nearly inaudible, hum of contentment, a small smile slowly growing across his face as he straightens up once more, shifting his weight from foot to foot, testing them. They’ll need to be broken in a bit, of course, but they should help to ward off any chill at the least.

“You are full of surprises, Da’len,” Solas smiles warmly at her, shaking his head. “Thank you, this was an incredibly thoughtful gift, I will see that they are put to good use,” he nods gratefully. Orana’s face bursts into a relieved and delighted smile, she can’t help it.

“You are very welcome, Solas,” she replies warmly.

“Is there anything that I might give you in return? No,” Solas interrupts as she opens her mouth to protest, gently cutting her off. “I know you did not give these to me with the expectation of anything,” he assures her. “They call you ‘Herald’ now, but the last few days have been… incredibly trying for you. And yet- you took the time to notice and find me a fine pair of boots. Such kindness and concern for others is rare. It is noticed and rewarded even less. I should like to remedy that.” Orana hesitates for a moment, considering. As a slave she wasn’t allowed much in the way of possessions, even after she gained her freedom, the habit was largely ingrained by then. She didn’t need much and had long ago learned to want for even less to avoid disappointment, so she’s never been in the habit, or entirely comfortable with asking for things of others. But Solas seems genuinely interested in returning the favor, and there is one thing…

“I like stories,” Orana confesses softly, “and learning new things.” Knowledge was one of the few things no one, no Master or Mistress, however cruel, could take away from her. She cherished it. “Perhaps now and then- when we have the time- you could tell me more about your travels, places you’ve been, things you’ve seen in the Fade,” she asks hopefully, and Solas smiles.

“You ask for something I would already have given to you freely,” the other elf admits chuckling warmly, light icy-blue eyes shining bright, and for the first time, now that she has the time and occasion to truly study the other’s face Orana notices that pale as Solas may be the bridge of his nose and cheeks are littered with a dusting of faint freckles, “although I am delighted to hear such things are of interest to you. I would be happy to share some of my stories with you, Lethallan.”

She worries her bottom lip for a moment. To ask for anything more, she worries she might sound selfish. His stories, even the most boring ones, are sure to be unique, something she could not hear from anyone else, that should be enough. She frowns ever so slightly, internally scolding herself.

“Da’len,” Solas ventures cautiously when he notices the slight downturn of her mouth, drawing her attention back up to him once more.

“I don’t know what that means,” Orana mumbles softly, embarrassed. “Da’len,” she repeats. “Lethallan,” she continues, shaking her head. “They are elvish,” she asks, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes for confirmation, frowning still more when Solas nods, looking apologetic, perhaps even sympathetic. She doesn’t want his pity. “It’s a part of my people’s history,” she continues. “I don’t know if I believe that I’m Andraste’s chosen,” Orana admits softly. “But the Inquisition needs me for my mark. People in cities I’ve never even heard of before are gossiping about me. …Having a position like this- it’s possible that I might influence the way other people see and think of elves. But how can I possibly be a good representative, a good ambassador for a people I scarcely belong to,” she frowns harder, brows furrowed. “Why should Andraste- why should anyone choose me? Why not a Dalish elf? Or you? You know so much more about magic, the elves we come from, about the Fade… You could do so much better for them. They would respect you.”

Solas laughs at this last note, “That is what you think,” he asks shaking his head, biting off his chuckles when he notices she looks impossibly more distressed. “Permit me to tell you what I think, then,” he interjects softly, one hand gently reaching out to clasp her own. “I think the elves are incredibly fortunate to have you to thinking of and standing for them,” Solas offers, smiling a little as bright green eyes, widen as they turn up to look at him while he continues to speak. “The Dalish are not the ‘true’ elves they claim to be anymore. After so many years of wandering, they forget bits and pieces of their gods, their language, their stories… Nor are they the only elves in Thedas, and certainly not the only elves worthy of aspiring to,” he continues, thumb gently dragging back and forth across the back of her hand in a comforting gesture, squeezing lightly, and then letting go, allowing his hand to fall back to his side. “I believe that there is every bit as much to admire- perhaps even more- in an unassuming elf who has managed to remain thoughtful and kind, when the world has not been,” he continues patiently. “Have a little faith, you give yourself far too little credit. You speak Trade Tongue, Tevene, and the common tongue of humans, these are the languages of a great number of our people,” he points out. “But, I would be happy to teach you Elven, if you would wish it.”

Orana’s eyes shine with tears, a few leaking out despite her best efforts to hold them back, shaking her head. Of course, she wishes it, but… “That hardly seems a fair trade,” she mumbles softly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Solas replies with a soft chuckle. “They are very fine boots.” Orana chokes a bit on a chuckle of her own, then laughs. Softly at first, then growing in volume- perhaps even just a little bit hysterical, with the realization this is the first time she has genuinely done so in months now. She doesn’t know how to convey as much to the other elf, or her gratitude for his company, his patience, and comfort, but she thinks perhaps the way he is smiling at her that he understands anyway. “Da’len,” he offers up softly when she’s finally managed to recompose herself once more. “It is a term of endearment of sorts,” he admits, and Orana cannot be certain, but she thinks perhaps there’s just a moment where the tip of Solas’ ears seem to flush a little with something other than cold. “It’s closest translation would be something like ‘youngling’.”

Orana smiles, but arches a skeptical eyebrow. “You can’t be that much older than I am,” she disputes.

“Mmm,” Solas hums amusedly. “You think so, do you? So just how many annuals are you, then?”

“I-“ Oh, she hadn’t really thought that particular branch of thought out before opening her mouth, had she? “I don’t remember,” Orana admits.

“Convenient,” Solas teases, smirking, eyes seeming to sparkle a little with amusement and a kind of playfulness she’s not had the opportunity to see before. “Seems I’ve quite forgotten my age now as well. In any case, the other word you did not know- Lethallan,” he continues patiently, “would be like the word ‘cousin,’ ‘clansmen,’ or something similar. It is commonly used to recognize a fellow of the Elven people. Like you,” he adds sincerely, nodding to her.

“Thank you, Solas,” Orana smiles softly.

“My pleasure, Lethallan,” Solas nods, offering a polite bow and goodbye as she takes her leave to go find and catch up with Varric.

[ophide-blog]

people talk too much in metrics.

not always with their stained mouths; sometimes with their eyes, sometimes with their limbs. strange, all these words spoken in movements. measurement is relative; humans are desperate for certainties they invented lies. think that they could count everything.

                                                        ( this is a second, that is a piece. )

                                       now let’s talk about this.

let’s talk about how she devours secondhand wrath, her teeth stained black. prosthetic hearts. refurbished tears. she is this hunger for emotional overflow. this sink, this tub. she soaks herself in it. sometimes, drown.

( a drop does not contain the same mass as another. )

she goes against that flawed gravity and drowns. not in oceans, but in puddles. saltwater, rainwater. but what’s more interesting is this. imagine a bottle. she is neither saltwater nor rainwater. think cyanide. forget height and weight; she is defined by what blooms in her ribcage.

on the left is a man with forked bones, and on the right, a woman with serrated veins. he was birthed with amphitheater of deceit for a mind; she has always been vulture nails and bladed hands. before her: another child christened in the cradle of cruel arms. don’t get this wrong, however. they were a happy family. for a man who lost his parents in the blue preservation water of a research facility, papa is a man with gritted teeth, gnarling. but he’s kinder than anyone she’s ever known, in his own ways. mutants, they are. papa put a finger against her lips, shh.

                                       ( don’t let them know. people can be evil. )

mama’s smiles were sometimes barbaric. the ruler of the house, yet the softer. she was scented like rusted copper and calla lily. her voice was husked in the sphere of her room; lullabies were about empires floating on oceans. for people like them; be safe.

be safe.

be somewhere they can’t touch you.

they called him charles. the first man allowed into her room, besides relatives.

“come with me, i can help you.”

her throat was sutured with endless nights of screaming; she saw apocalypse in the orifices of the earth. nightmares where corpses’ glassy eyes shimmered like stars.

“i’m scared.” repeated, repeated, repeated like a mantra.

“i know,” he said. he carefully, tentatively held her head. ( “it’s too much for an eleven year old.” – what was too much? )

this is how she lost them: spring was a waxwork of syllogisms in repeat. hallways were bloodhounds and echoes or interchanging timbres. they still called her a freak. her third year; she was used to it. she used to glare, now she would’ve woven havoc if it had been permitted. she was called by the professor ( nothing unusual ). her footfalls were braided with splinters of provocation. as though she was walking on water and it started consuming her into a drown.

“i’m sorry, jean.”

he returned another thing she’d lost when she was eighteen. a glass bottle where her screams were contained. she didn’t sleep for three nights. there were ensembles of verses, ricocheting in-between. but they always reeked of sillage, stories found in the crooks of rigor mortis.

this time, it was not.

her psyche was lost underground in this estate of discord. when her lips parted, it was all hemorrhage. blood was rorschach; manifesting like the plagues. and ran, ran, people ran. it was never her, it was never her. her responsibility stayed in the parentheses of illusions. people were haunted by fragments of fear housed in their bones, so they twisted it. they twisted and they sought exit signs ( inexistence ).

then there was this: a gossamer sphere where centuries rotted. a mantle of sovereign hung on the spires of their heritages. she likened it to a heirloom; she wore it around her neck like a choker.

                                                                                     ( and choke her, they did. )

eighteen. then nineteen, twenty.

amidst flasks of hyperbolic intents was little girl, with question marks, littering the floor and engraving her ivory. twenty-one, thinking of how there’s a world outside her second ( or first since fourteen ) house. little girl was poppies, wearing oxblood summer dresses to funerals.

this ring of honored taught her to follow the silhouettes, embrace the teething monster, and anchor herself to her bird-boned guillotine. ( she liked it, sometimes, being a body of cloaked bloodshed. mistake her for a sheep until your jugular is torn. )