#him taking water samples from all the worlds he's sucked into

[glnkgoleaves]

hims getting excited over nerd shit

[brain-usurped-by-bug]

Sugar and Smoke

King Candy takes advantage of the luxuries of his new life, while still longing for the simple pleasures of his old.

Characters: King Candy/Turbo, Sour Bill, Turbo Twins (mentioned)

Tags: Smoking, bubble bath, eating lots of sweets, angst

Completed on September 15th, 2024. 1476 words.

...

The new skin felt strange. It was softer than he was used to, higher definition. The flesh was unscared, the eyes bright, the cheeks jolly. The cadaverous pallor, the sunken eyes, the body he had carried his entire life was gone, phased out, banished into electric aether.

It wasn’t what he had before. He could smile again, but it wasn’t the same smile. He had a car again, but it wasn’t his red rocket. He didn’t have the simple pleasures of his home world; the gentle wave of the pixelated green grass, the earthy scent of the simple dirt loop, the reliable company of the twin racers…

Whatever. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need any of it. It was old software; untextured, primitive. The players had outgrown it, he had outgrown it. It didn’t deserve him. What he deserved was this! A castle, hundreds of subjects hanging off his every word, glitter graphics, high definition, a spotlight, a crown! It was the least fate could repay him for his suffering, rotting unknown in crawl spaces for ten years.

His honey brown eyes bounded over the walls of his new domain, cataloged it, let his mouth water. Pink cookie walls, rainbow sugar glass, sparkling white icing. It had been a long, long time since he’d had a taste of something sweet. 

At the urging of his tongue he dove in, flew through his castle, eager to see every room, sample every flavor. Devour it, all of it, literally and metaphorically. It was his, all of it, all of it! 

He admired the paintings of ice cream landscapes, chewed the corners off the nightstand in the cheesecake guest room, let the swirl of the lollipops hypnotize him, Let chocolate doorknobs melt in his mouth, ran his palms up the twisting licorice banister, broke peppermint decorations off the walls and sucked them to points. 

He was in the middle of licking the icing off a gingerbread headboard when he caught the movement of a stranger behind him. He leapt off the bed and hurried to make himself presentable. The stranger stared back, licking his lips, adjusting the cuffs of his purple suit. The stranger had that look on his face, the look of being caught in the act. 

He approached, cautiously. The stranger approached, cautiously. They lifted their hands, fingers meeting on the mirror’s glass. The strange reflection turned its head, ran it’s peach fingers over the wisps of gray hair above its ears, squished the soft cheek, pulled at the corner of the lip, ran a red tongue over white teeth. It stood back a bit, dusted itself off. The reflection wore a purple tailcoat, gold puff pants, caramel leggings, a lace collar, a gold crown and a shimmering red candy wrapper bow tie. 

Not a single color carried over, no textures, not a sliver of his old face. This was good. It was. No one would ever recognise him. Even he didn't recognise him. He left the room. The stranger moved to follow, then vanished as he shut the door.

…

His room…. His room…. Ooh… he couldn't make a decision on it. It was different. Very different from what he was accustomed to. There was a rug, a clean one. Gingerbread armoires, rock candy lamps, footstools, a fainting couch, a make-up desk, wallpaper, a four poster bed with satin curtains! All white and pink. There was no black plastic, no exposed wires, no oil, no rubber, no concrete, no trophy shelf. Just sugar. 

He wanted to fix it. Bring in the scent of tools and grease, rust, motor oil and gasoline, antifreeze, real dirt, real grime. Was there anything real in this world? 

He reached for the pocket of his jumpsuit. His fingers grazed gold silk. He chuckled nervously and moved a hand to the new pocket within the interior breast of his tailcoat. He removed the contents and laid them on the bed. His last cigarette. A nondescript lighter. The password to the code room written on the corner of a Tapper’s napkin. These three things were the only possessions he had deemed essential enough to take with him. His homemade beer bottle string lights, portable radio, cassette tapes, checkered flag pillow, the steering wheel of his old car, all had to be left in the bowls of GCS. They were too big. Too tied to his old name. They were useless anyway, he didn't need old junk dragging him down. 

He took the cigarette between his teeth, lit the end, and let the smoke ease his rattled code. Tabaco lifted his insides, wafted from his lips, overpowered the smell of sugar. He breathed, out and in, tapped the ash off and kicked it under the bed. His softened gaze fell on the door to the bathroom. His personal, private bathroom. A luxury the greatest racer ever had yet to experience. A smile pinched the corners of his mouth. He slipped his possessions back into his tailcoat and locked himself in the new room.

The bathroom was pink and white, same as the bedroom, but it had more of the later color than the former. The floor was tiled with sugar cubes and the windows were made from frosted sugar glass, but the pink clawfoot tub was remarkably normal looking. Finally. He turned the wheel atop the gold faucet and watched crystal water flow. He frowned. This wasn't some strange candy water was it? He wasn't going to bathe in soda. He parked his cigarette between his first two fingers and leaned over the edge of the tub for a taste. Alright, it was just sparkling water. He could deal with that. He put the cigarette back between his lips, tossed in a bit of soap that promised a perfect bubble bath and stood aside to remove his clothes. 

He found something to recognise once his model was striped to its base. The skin may be different, but he still had the same bones, the same basic shape. The oversized head, short limbs, long feet, pudgy belly. He shifted the cigarette from the right corner of his mouth to the left and stuck a familiar pose; chest lifted, right hand gripping a (nonexistent) trophy, left hand giving the thumbs up.

‘Turbotastic!’

He almost said, catching the phrase before it left his mouth. His arms fell to his sides. The cigarette drooped on his lip. 

Careful, careful. You can’t keep anything from your old life. It’s gone. You're not getting any of it back. You're above it anyway, you've grown beyond. Throw off the old rags. 

He breathed smoke from his nose, shaking his head and muttering nonsense. He tapped cigarette ash into the sink, turned the faucet off and eased into his bubble bath. The soap’s label had been honest, some of the bubbles were nearly the size of his head. It was probably scented like something sweet, but he couldn't smell it through the tobacco. The water was what he expected; warm, fresh. Cleaner than him, almost certainly. 

He lay back. Soaking. Smoking his cigarette down to its filter. He started to hum to himself. 

“Hmm… hm hm hm hm, hm hm hm hm, hm hm h-”

The trumpets of the Turbotime overture played between his ears. The cheer of the plywood crowd. The way his fingers gripped the wheel, the way he’d turn it at the south bend, the dust he’d kick up, the way the twins would curse him when it got in their mouths, the way he’d laugh. They would beat him up after the race sometimes, when he t-boned them or made them spin out, but they always forgave him in time. If they had lived, would they have forgiven him for-

No, no no no stop stop STOP. He had to stop thinking about it, it had to disappear, he had to forget. He needed a distraction. He should have brought his casetes, more cigarettes. He threw a bar of soap at the service button beside the door. He missed, badly. He threw a larger bar and hit it this time. A dreary voice crackled over the intercom. 

“King Candy?”

“Sour Bill! I need music brought to my bathroom!”

A long pause. “Like… a band?” 

“No no! A radio, a walkman, something along those lines!” 

“Mmmm… we have a record player.” 

“That will do. Bring it in.”

“Yes sir. What kind of music do you want?”

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything, something… something energetic. I need cheering up.” 

“Yes sir. Is there anything else you need?”

He took a final drag, kept the smoke in his body as long as he dared, then let it escape. A ghostly tower, part of his soul fading into the air. He sighed. 

“No, that will be all.”

End

Author's notes: this was my first time writing fanfiction since like, 2019. It was fun to write something short and in a very different setting than what I normally write in. :)

[hows-my-handwriting]

Hobie Brown Headcanons

long post ahead. will put as much as i can under the cut but i will have a.... loose table of contents.

and im not feeding you everything. i need more content to drip feed you later.

the inspo is driving me crazy but the hands are refusing to write.

the table: backstory food british animals

lmk if ppl want this to be split up into individual posts per category. cuz its l o n g

BACKSTORY:

Not based on the comics. purely my own attempt at writing his backstory and his particular villains.

Hobie's Doc Oc was a university professor pressured by Osborn's regime to produce weapons. Hobie had met the guy while crashing a university class, but nothing more than that. Octavius snapped and took the revolution to the extreme. he built a WMD and planned to use it on the city. Hobie talked octavius down and disarmed the weapon.

Hobie's lizard was his close friend and bandmate who got jealous over their lead singer's affections towards hobie. they were close friends until hobie started drifting away. curtis was bitter and never really forgave him. the final straw was when hobie returned in full, having just abandoned his spider suit. the band is back together but curtis still has hard feelings. he knew vaguely about hobie's connection with spiderman but thought that it was some kind of special deal or friendship which was just another nail in the coffin. he turns himself into the lizard and attacks hobie, demanding answers and refusing to listen.

the above is just an excuse to hurt hobie really bad >:3 i love my angst and my beating my muses up. i wanted to break his ribs.

electro was a civilian who just happened to get struck by lightning. he is the sole reason hobie has insulated all of his gear and one of the reasons all of his spikes can shoot excess electricity like one of those funky little electrode balls. hobie took one look at this guy and immediately got to work.

Kraven was a bounty hunter hired and possibly engineered by osborn and fisk to hunt down hobie. classic kraven activities. he tried to drown hobie in the thames. hobie managed to escape but couldn't breathe or eat properly for a week after the attack

hobie's ship was hauled from the local junkyard. It was originally just used as a figure head to lead the charge from the government locked dam blocking off water. it somehow survived so he uses it as his hq.

hobie is immune to his scorpion's venom after being stung so many times and stealing samples of it to build up an immunity. yes it hurt. yes it sucked. but it worked. (loosely inspired by a fanfic)

the above are not in chronological order. mostly.

FOOD:

Hobie's world doesn't have a lot of spices. it's a closed state unless importing 'important' materials like lumber, steel and other sciency stuff, food is a lower priority or just a restricted luxury. the spice trade has regressed to something like the 1600s where foreign spices are held by those in power purely as a status symbol. the common man might have access to salt, sugar and cream, but anything else- especially anything spicy- is a luxury item.

hobie would love spicy food. i just dont think he's gotten much exposure to it. day one out of e-138 he opened a bag of spicy chips in the cafeteria, touched one and exploded.

exotic/foreign fruits fall under this same category but for more legit reasons of travel and lack of safe storage. so for example: mangoes, oranges/citrus, kiwi, pomegranates.

boba would freak him the fuck out. he has no idea what those little jiggly things are and its only made worse when one of the kids inevitably shows him the hamster 'is it worth it' meme. he becomes scarred for life.

if you take too long to take a bite out of whatever you're holding and hobie is hungry, he will just lean over and take a bite out of it. sandwich? bitten. spaghetti? stolen off the fork. chocolate bar? wrapper and bar, gone.

his favorite flavor of cake is chocolate or caramel. sue me im projecting onto him

BRITISH

he holds out his pinky when holding cups. it's just an unconscious thing that turns conscious once someone calls it out. in which case he sticks it out even further

flips the police and the royal family off regularly with the one fingered or the two fingered version. will only respect the french for inventing the creative two fingered fuck you, but nothing else.

has a winter fit that is just like a pile of whatever sweaters he has and two scarves. and long socks that make the space in his tight boots even more tight. sometimes cuts off circulation to his feet.

loves going to pubs and just chatting with people. also loves picking fights with the drunk people. Particularly the irish. he thinks their accents are funny and has long arguments with them while they're both speaking absolute gibberish.

knows french but only the insults. has an arsenal of french insults he will just whip out of his back pocket and drop on someone's head.

not really a british thing but i bet he doesn't know how to ride a bike. he was a) too tall and b) not willing to get his entire skeleton rattled by riding over the cobbled streets of london.

wimpy's fan. (its like the british version of mcdonalds but less popular and less famous. according to my research).

ANIMALS

Hobie keeps pigeons. he built a little house when he was bored and was surprised to find three pigeons hiding from the rain underneath it the next day. he didn't really intend to keep them but they nested and he kept bringing them food and water. he did name the brown one hobie jr.

hobie has a cat. again, not really 'has' but rather 'it broke into his boat and wont leave'. he didn't name her because he can't think of a good one. for the longest time he had no idea she was living in his floorboards but later discovered a hole in the side of his boat and found a crawlspace just large enough for a kitten.

he is freaked out by snakes. not as in a fear of snakes. but rather in utter disbelief that they can be the size of a human person. he's read about and probably seen the average snake, about the size of an arm. but anything larger than that will make his jaw drop right off of his face

he did have a symbiote dog for a short time. the dog was badly hurt and the passive symbiote had merged with its body to try and help it. he offered it a place to stay and rest and it happily agreed. it followed him around for the short while they had together and one day went off on its own.

he still sees that dog around (affectionately named 'spider-mutt') and offers it head scratches or belly rubs but they always part ways sooner than later.

loves opossums. thinks they look funny.

part two? maybe....

might add more to this as my brain keeps turning.

[klbwriting]

Our Strange Duet

Chapter 6: Nightmare

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: some violence, Bruce Wayne is a terrible father

Summary: YN tells Jason about Bruce and Jason goes on patrol

Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch @amberpanda99

Notes: just because 2 anons asked this, yes, I'm not a big fan of Bruce Wayne or Batman, BUT I don't hate him as much as this story suggests, it's just for the narrative I need him to suck this much (and depending on which comic continuity you're reading, he does suck this much sometimes)

Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare? - Rent

               Jason moved aside, letting YN into the apartment.  Dick was chugging water, nearly spitting it out when he saw her and her bags.  She put them down by the door and moved to Jason, throwing her arms around him, hugging him tight.  She whispered something that Dick couldn’t hear, and Jason gripped her back, both of them just holding each other, ignoring the rest of the world.  Dick felt his heart pang in his chest.  Giant Jason, still something Dick couldn’t get used to, hugging this shorter girl, clearly gripping her tight but yet still being gentle, engulfing her until she was nearly one with him, and she was gripping him back just the same.  He was glad to see his little brother find someone that he could be like this with.  He needed someone more than his brother or his therapist, he needed someone to love him as he was now, without the baggage of his past.  YN seemed to be it. 

               “Love you Jason,” YN whispered to him, making him loosen his grip a little to pull back and look at her.  “I’m sorry about barging in like this…”

               “You are always welcome here, with me, anywhere with me,” he said.  “So why did you leave the apartment?”  She sighed and he led her to the couch, sitting down with her, not letting go of her hand.  Dick took a seat on the chair nearby.

               “I lied to you about what was paying for the apartment.  I really thought it was all Maroni and honestly, I felt ashamed to accept any money from him, but it was before we had met again and I didn’t have anywhere to go so I figured I would keep the place until I could get a job and afford something else,” she explained.  Jason’s grip tightened on her hand at the thought of her lying to him and she looked down.  “I could handle Maroni doing it, he probably owes so much in child support, and he listened when I told him not to contact me again, so what if he paid for my place for a while?  He owes me.  But Bruce?  He doesn’t owe me anything, he owes you and trying to use me to get to you?  That’s despicable.  And he had the place bugged so that he could hear use talking.  He told me when I went to see him that it wasn’t supposed to be me.  You were supposed to find out about the donor and then go marching to Wayne manor and I don’t know, fight him?  Thank him?” she finished her ramble and sat back, head falling to look at the ceiling. 

               “I’m going to call him,” Dick mumbled.  Jason shook his head, pulling back from YN.  He knew it was petty, but she had lied to him, everyone lied to him sooner or later. 

               “No, don’t, don’t bother,” Jason said.  He moved to grab his gear.  “I’ll be back, need to patrol tonight, big drug deal happening in Crime Alley.”  He looked at them both, barely making eye contact with YN.  “Maybe I’ll find the Batman while I’m at it, handle this myself.”  Dick got up but Jason shook his head.  “Take a night off Nightwing, see if your crime lab contact has information about that drug that Maroni is circulating.  I’ll see if I can get some samples of the actual drug tonight.  YN, whenever you want to get some sleep go ahead a use my bed I’ll stay on the couch when I get back.” 

               “Ok,” she whispered, the barely veiled hurt in her voice piercing through him, but then her voice saying ‘I lied to you’ came flooding into his mind and he just walked out the door without looking back. 

               “I really messed up, didn’t I?” YN said as she and Dick sat at the table.  He had made truly horrible lasagna for dinner, so they were eating frozen pizza as the smoke slowly dissipated from the room.  He nodded slowly and she looked down, forehead meeting the table.

               “He will understand after thinking about it.  I mean, you had just met again, you had already been living in that place for months and you never really knew who was paying for it.  Not like you sought Maroni out for confirmation,” he said.  “It’s just…”

               “Jason doesn’t trust easily and its incredibly easy to break his trust,” she finished, sitting back up.  Dick nodded.  “I still can’t believe Bruce would do something like this, all of this cloak and dagger shit just because he is scared of talking to his son.” 

               “I’m not that surprised by all this.  When me and Bruce first fought, he used Jason to draw me out, pull me back in,” he said.  She looked at him, shocked.  “O you didn’t know?  Me and Bruce fought about me wanting to be something different than what he had made me.  I wanted to be more ruthless, I didn’t care so much about saving the bad guys, not like Bruce.  I left and a year later he’s got another Robin, a kid around the same age I was when he took me after my parents’ deaths.  He didn’t contact me, had Robin do it.  And I, unlike Jason, felt right into Bruce’s trap.  Not only did I fall right back into the family, but I even lightened up, tried to be a good role model for him.  Then Jason killed that drug dealer…”

               “He killed someone as Robin?” YN asked, making Dick look at her as if he had forgotten she was there.  He nodded, eyes a little glazed over with the memory. 

               “He doesn’t know that he killed him.  They were fighting on a roof, Jason had chased him up there after finding not only a pile of drugs in his apartment, but also a photo album full of children…” he shivered, and YN made a disgusted face.  “So, Jason was livid, that rage he gets from the pit, it was always there inside of him, the pit just makes it come out easier, but it was always there.  That night he used it, kicked that asshole right off the roof.  Bruce was climbing the side of the building, trying to get to him before anything happened, the body fell right passed him to the ground.  I was there on the ground, just arriving from another bust up and found it.  Bruce took Jason back to the manor and laid into him, telling him he was lucky that the guy wasn’t dead.  Then Jason said, ‘I wish he was, people like that shouldn’t get to live’ and that was when Bruce gave up, I think.  Even though Jason didn’t die for another six months, that moment there was when he died for Bruce.”

               “What a pile of shit, he just gives up on his kids whenever they decide not to be like him?” YN said.  Dick nodded.  “I don’t like that Jason kills people either, but I have to see him kill someone who didn’t deserve it and a guy who clearly is abusing kids deserves it.  How late will Jason be out do you think?  I want to talk to him.”

               “I wouldn’t expect him back, he will probably go to a safe house by the school and get ready there before going to class,” Dick said.  YN sighed and stood up from the table, starting to clear it.  “Don’t do that, you’re a guest.”  She stopped, looking at him.  “You’re not going anywhere, are you?  I might as well accept that you’ve moved in?”

               “No, I will find someplace, I just don’t know when, but I promise I’m not going to be a freeloader, let me do anything around here.  I can cook and clean and I’ll pay you whenever I can…” she rambled.  Dick walked over and put his hands on her shoulders.

               “YN, calm down, you are family, and despite what we learned from Bruce we don’t abandon family,” he said.  She nodded and hugged him for a second.  He patted her back before he let her clear the dishes, cleaning up his dead lasagna. 

               Jason did as he said, busting up the drug deal, and getting a sample of the new drug before the cops arrived to clear out the rest.  He stowed it away before heading into Old Gotham.  Batman would be patrolling around there that night.  Jason had kept up with what Batman and the new Robin did, always wanting to avoid them.  But today he sought Bruce out.  He wanted to draw him out fine.  But this was it, he would be done after this.  He wasn’t Dick, he didn’t care that Bruce had another kid under his wing, whenever Robin figured out that Batman wasn’t his friend or his dad then Jason would find him.  He could join the new family, the Robins Who Need Their Own Arkham club.  He soon found his prize, watching the Bat fight a few gangsters in an alleyway near the Iceberg Lounge.  Once he was finished Jason threw one of his Red Hood batarangs, making sure it soared right in front of Batman’s face.  Batman looked up and Jason walked away, going further onto the roof. 

               “Knew you would find me eventually,” Batman said from behind him.  Jason turned slowly, hands settling on his guns.  He knew that the armor was bullet proof, but his bullets would still hurt like hell.

               “I shouldn’t be the one arranging this meeting,” he said back.  He felt the rage in him, but he put a cork on it, bottling it until he needed it.  “I only came to say this, don’t go near her again.  Don’t ever do anything for her again.  Don’t contact her again, in any way.”

               “She came to me,” he answered.  Jason felt the cork loosen, one of his guns in his hand now.  Bruce looked at his hand and then back at the helmet. 

               “She did that to rid herself of you, now let her be done,” he said, the voice modulator not quite catching the menace in his voice.  The longer he stood there the more the rage threatened to spill over.

               “What about you?  Do you want rid of me?  Or are you going to come back, and we can talk?” Batman asked.  “Jason…”  That was it, his name, in that voice, he was gone.  The cork flew, releasing all the rage.  Jason was firing, Batman was dodging until he was on the edge of the roof.  Jason came running at him, tackling him over the side.  They were falling but, in that moment, Jason didn’t care, let him die again, he wanted to take Bruce with him.  Of course, that wasn’t what happened, Batman deployed the grappling hook and went up, letting Jason keep falling.  It was only a story, but still enough that when Jason landed, he heard the snap in his ankle, rolling and hissing as he nearly bit his tongue off trying not to scream.  He looked up to see Batman watching him for a moment before disappearing.  He opened his comms.

               “Nightwing?  I need help.”

               “I’m coming Red Hood, what do you need?”

[thesinglesjukebox]

NEWJEANS - "HOW SWEET"

Breaking up: it's like sugar sometimes...

[6.69]

Rachel Saywitz: NewJeans has found a comfortable home in the production of DJ and electro-trot producer 250, whose musical style has become so singular that I'd start putting him up there with some of the other K-pop producing greats like Brave Brothers, the late Shinsadong Tiger, or Sweetune. His method continues to work well on "How Sweet": adding a little shimmering twist to American club genres (Miami bass in this case), seamless transitions from section to section, and the light vocal touch of every girl's vocals. But, as with the greats, I sense a slight loss of luster with the constant repetition. How many underground genres is 250 going to fish out of the Western world's murky waters to can up and ship out with a shiny new label? The catches are going to dry up eventually. [7]

Kayla Beardslee: NewJeans’ early singles smashed, bringing them ridiculous and unprecedented success for a first-year K-pop rookie group, because they delivered masterfully crafted pop songs in deceptively simple packaging. "Hype Boy" plows through enough memorable hooks for an entire album in a minute and a half, yet sounds so breezy and youthfully optimistic that the music doesn’t feel like work at all. Beneath the soft swells and whispers of "Ditto" is an instrumental that has a beautifully subtle touch with intimacy and a topline that stays in constant motion even as it tantalizingly holds itself back. In comparison, “How Sweet” is more of an underachieving graduate of the Tortured Poets school of songwriting. In each section of the song, they pick one melody with a limited dynamic range, hammer it into the ground, then tick the box and move on. For a Coca-Cola ad, it’s pretty flat.  [5]

Mark Sinker: Chirpy song about how breaking up with u is great and also v easy bcz u suck and I never liked u! Happily the real-world backdrop (MASSIVE INDUSTRY DRAMA pitting label against manager) cannot possibly ground this as a metaphor. The delivery turns the tale of the change from oops non-allegory into smilingly blank-faced stonewall. [7]

Iain Mew: They stretch simplicity as a virtue further than ever, relying almost entirely on immaculate floaty vibes. The almost is crucial, though; the "...now that I'm without you" kicker adds just enough bitterness to keep this from  feeling completely blank. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: "How Sweet" is one of the most powerful kiss-offs we've had in years because it treats the end of a relationship as something so effortless, so natural, "like biting an apple." Even when lines are acerbic ("toxic lover, you're no better"), they are delivered with the exact amount of lift needed to signal both disgust and nonchalance. NewJeans do not care about this ex anymore, and they wield their restraint with grace; this is living well as the best revenge, and the song is potent because it feels like mist on a hot summer day. Producer 250 has always known how to excavate the potential of a minimalist pop song, and he's found an especially strong avenue here with the skeleton of an Atlanta bass track. The regional style (and specifically the Ghost Town DJ's track "My Boo") has had a large impact on K-pop since "Body Party" got big, but 250 makes it a more congenial affair: the hi-hats are low in the mix, the handclaps have more pop than the kick, and it all feels muted so the bubbly synth melodies and percussion—the latter approximating the "Triggerman" sample used in bounce classics—can flutter about. "How Sweet" is the most everyday that NewJeans has sounded, and it's all the more biting for it. [7]

Ian Mathers: It's devastating enough to get a "I'm doing better without you" message delivered with such nonchalant cool, but to make it a bop too? Really drives the implied "I probably didn't care that much in the first place" home, ouch. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: A very NewJeansian take on the break up-come down song; it's a harder feeling to make sound giddy, but they pull it off here. The fragments jutting out from the sing-talk ("like biting an apple"; "no drama, it's good karma"; "little demon in my storyline" most of all) are thrilling and deranged, the kind of phrases that become involuntary mantras and mutterings when you make your way out of something all-consuming and are faced with the shock of the new. Most of the writing about NewJeans centers on their musical trappings, but the Miami bass riffs here are more perfunctory than their prior dalliances with drum-n-bass and Jersey club. That's not to say that it's a bad song — that bassline itself, rubbery and grooving, is gorgeous — but that it shares less with the perfect grooves that "OMG" and "Ditto" than first appears. [9]

Oliver Maier: Unusual for NewJeans both in that it is kind of a retread (think "OMG" 2: Not As Good) and that the performances are really quite listless. The thing about girl groups from anywhere in the world is that their songs tend to implode the moment it sounds like they aren't having fun. [5]

Jonathan Bradley: There's not the great shock of the new provided by genre experiments like "Super Shy" or "Ditto," but the R&B-lite of "How Sweet" gets some extra mileage from burbling percussion runs and photon-light electro textures. Switching between English and Korean lines in the hook is smart songwriting as well as smart globalization; it adds variation to a melody that threatens to run out of ideas after a mere three-and-a-half minutes.  [6]

Michael Hong: Initially put off by how weary the vocals sound -- NewJeans have always been low-key, but they've never sounded so spent. But it starts making sense when you consider that NewJeans are just as much about the experience of sharing these milestones as they are living them. Backed by a laser show of synths, "How Sweet" is about convincing yourself that you're okay after a heartbreak and proving it to your friends. This exhaustion makes the sharper moments more effective: the wistfulness of "it's like biting an apple" longs harder, and the snarky "I'll see you out" that closes the track is a truly satisfying line read. With every chorus, the bitter tartness lessens and the the sweetness pops brighter. [7]

Alfred Soto: The relaxed sensuality is what I wanted from this week's Tinashe track. The melodies are sticky and sweet. [7]

Nortey Dowuona: The drum programming is a bouncy, yet flimsy kick snare pattern full of glittery lasers and clinking closed hi-hats. At first, it overwhelms you, with the rising hit arriving every four bars and doubling during the post chorus, but once you pay attention to the looping, ghostly synth melody, you feel toward a handhold in the wind. [6]

Isabel Cole: I get so excited by the aliens-attacking space-laser sounds at the beginning, and then it all mellows out to make room for an uninspiring vocal line delivered uninspiringly. Things perk up a little in the chorus (I remain a sucker for handclaps!), but unfortunately the actual melody continues to be the worst part of the song, to the extent that I think I'd prefer an instrumental version. [5]

Katherine St. Asaph: The melody on the verses sounds like something off PinkPantheress's Heaven Knows, which is some real influencer-becomes-influenced ouroboros shit. But "How Sweet" settles into a chorus that's undeniably itself, frenetic but small: kind of like "Let the Music Play" recreated by one of those miniscule Helmacron ships from Animorphs in tiny zaps and little plinks. And I do mean "settles": there's less fizz in the pop than there could have been, and NewJeans' vocals range from effortless to affectless, unbothered to unengaging. [6]

TA Inskeep: I'm absolutely here for NewJeans giving us a little bit of ecstasy. If this kicks off a revival of second-wave freestyle, I'll be very happy. (Someone call Sabrina Carpenter to the white courtesy phone, stat!) [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: “How Sweet” is the most subdued and pedestrian newjeans have sounded. The beeps and blorps and percussion taste sweet, but the vocals are bitter and dull. But when the production has so many dynamic flourishes, and the meta-narrative around the group is so interesting, the score floor is high.  [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[lealdern]

How To Stay Conscious When You Drown Ch5

Explicit content: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader She/her reader AO3 Link

First - Prev Chapter - Next Chapter

Summary: Dick Grayson is going through hard times, you see that on his face before you even know his name. You reach out a hand to offer comfort without realising he’s a man treading water.

Chapter 5 (NSFW): Catcher

Dick reminds you of Blüdhaven.

Changeable and endless.

Above you he moves and you fit together so perfectly.

His hands had rested on your cheeks, rough and strong but hesitant. You place your hands on his and he almost moans in relief as you kiss him back.

The door shuts at the push of his foot and you’re moving together through your apartment like leaves blowing in the wind together, turning and tumbling before coming to a stop on your bed. Dick is above you with eyes like stars in the night sky as his body moves up yours like a tide ready to sweep everything away.

Dick reminds you of Blüdhaven in that he can’t do anything by a half measure and he’s easy to get lost in. You reach out for his face, feeling his breathing heavy against your body, “Are you alright, Dick?”.

You’re worried. He can see it in your eyes and he starts to move out of your space, unsure and a little wounded. Your hand curls under his bicep and stops him, eyes seeking his for a sign of surety, he supposes. You sit up, entering the space he had given you to press closer.

“Are you okay?” The question is punctuated by a kiss, and he doesn’t know if he’s alright because he’s sure this is the first time he’s fallen into bed with someone and they haven’t been swept away with the feel and movement of him. It’s the first time in a while someone’s asked him in this vulnerable state if he’s okay.

It shakes him.

“I- “, he licks his lips, breath halting in his hollow chest. “I want more of you.” How can he tell you what he means when English is so limited. He doesn’t think there’s a language in the universe that can encapsulate how he wants to be surrounded by what you give him and what you are; peace, kindness, a pit stop, a place to exist as he is, somewhere he can grow with what little the world gives that it doesn’t instantly take away. To ask for more of you is the best he can do. “Please?”

You give him all of you.

His hands slip along your body, sampling curves he’ll visit later with his mouth and teeth. There’s a desperation to him you understand, it’s the same pull to his push that has you breathing in his air like it’s a new source of life. 

His lips find yours again and you fall together.

Clothes are removed with no fanfare, just a barrier to pass so you can feel each other’s skin against your own, you’ll take in the naked planes of each other later. His kisses trail away from your open mouth to your neck where he noses at your skin delicately before licking and sucking like he wants to consume you. Your nails scrape across his scalp and he grinds into you with a moan, his erection hard and thick against your inner thigh 

His fingers seek, and find, the warmth between your legs, thighs opening to him as he trails a hand upward to stop at your folds. The wetness he finds there has him biting your lip as you moan at the feather-light touch. He slips fingers between your folds, stroking and exploring your most intimate shape in soft sweeps that send you light headed.

Words are lost to you, but never to Dick, he murmurs your name into your skin, “you feel so good,” he slowly pushes a finger inside of you, swallowing your sigh of pleasure with a kiss as he caresses your cheek with his thumb, “’m gonna make you feel so good.” He adds another finger, your wetness allowing it to slip inside easily, he crooks both gently and strokes at that spongy spot inside that makes your breath stutter. 

His thumb slips upward to your clit and strokes gently at first, fingers moving inside of you with each twist of his wrist, and you hold him close as you gasp and writhe, your breath in his ear turning into moans of his name. It goads him on and he practically growls as he captures your lips in another sweet kiss, the push and pull of his fingers making your body hum as the sound of your wetness fills the room along with both of your moans. You can barely stand how good it makes you feel, it’s somehow both too much and not enough at the same time.

You come with a cry, hips rocking into his pumping hand as you’re lost to the pull of him, he takes all that you would give. His heated eyes watch yours as they lose focus, and when you come back to yourself, he’s still watching, looking hungry and pleased all at once. His fingers caress two more times, before he lifts them to his mouth to taste you with a groan. You watch, rapt, as he licks at his lips like you’re honey clinging to them. 

You enter his space, leaning up to him like a flower to the sun, and capture his lips with yours, tasting yourself on him. His tongue meets yours and the caress of it drives the both of you mad. Your fingers trail hurried across his stomach, feeling the texture change of soft skin to silk-soft scars you’ve seen before but said nothing of. You feel his breath and body stop-start as you go over a particularly large scar, maybe he’s wondering if you’ll ask, maybe it’s sensitive, either way you carry on just the same: he’s Dick to you, whatever his scars.

Your palm meets the thickness of his erection, and you swirl your fingers along the top, gathering his precum to help with the slide of your hand. He bucks up, an aborted gasp stopping in his throat as you squeeze and pump. He almost whines at the twist of your wrist and caress of your fingers along the underside of his shaft, the sound going straight to your core as his cock weeps. 

“What do you need, Dick?”, you ask as he bucks into your hand, his eyes lidded in a pleasure he’s almost lost to, an expression of near relief on his face. 

“More,” he breathes, “please, want you, want you so badly.” He makes it sound like an ache, like he needs to be surrounded by you. You answer with a nod and a kiss, shifting below him to angle yourself to him and he sinks in slowly, easily, cock making a path through your wetness to a full sheath deep inside of you, deep enough it could almost hurt if it didn’t feel so good. 

Dick must feel your body tense, teetering on the edge of pleasure and pain, he soothes kisses along your neck that melt you in his arms as he slowly pulls back out. He feels big, and your walls are tight around him, the slide of him making you both groan as he pushes back in excruciatingly slowly.

It’s an imperfect rhythm you both find at first, but it feels good even as you huff a laugh together at the clumsiness of it; the angle of his hips between your thighs makes perfectly lewd wet sounds as your body arches to meet him and his body bows to encompass you. His hand finds the small of your back, fingers splayed over your skin as he holds you close and tight to meet his thrusts while his other hand courses along your side. 

His head falls to the crook of your neck, drunk of the feel of you, too much to do anything but thrust into you and press open mouthed kisses against the soft of your throat, breathing you in deeply in between.

There’s a noise, a choke in his breath as he angles himself to drive deeper still and your head falls back in a gasp, Dick lifts his head, eyes blown and dark as he takes you in, completely lost to the feel of him thrusting in and up so his tip caresses you in ways that make you dizzy.

“Fuck- I-“ you breathe out, hearing Dick groan above you as he sits on his knees to watch you underneath him, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hip, holding you in place. When you manage to open your eyes (when had they even shut?) he’s pulling one of your legs over his shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on your calf like he misses the contact of his lips against your skin already.

“You want to come, sweetheart?” he asks, voice husky and raw, “you’re gripping me so tight, can feel you wanna come for me.” His words go straight to your cunt and you spasm around him, on the brink but not wanting to go alone again.

“Please, Dick, I want-“ you put your hand over his on your hip, holding it there as his thrusts begin to falter in their reliable pattern, “Come with me, Dick.”

Your eyes, though glossy with want, are focused on him as he pants and he can’t help give in to the wet and tight feel of you around him, the soft plush of your thigh wrapped around his hip while he holds your other leg up to thrust deeper still, the sight of your beautiful face flushed with sex and want.

His hand comes down between your legs, almost clumsily, and he thumbs through your wetness to stroke your swollen clit; once, twice, and then you’re undone. Your walls flutter around him as you cry out, trying to pull him further in, to pull him to completion. His breath catches as he comes, cock twitching deep within your walls as his hips stutter clumsily.

Dick slowly pulls out after a moment, leaning down to press a kiss between your breasts, an easy smile tugging at his soft lips as he looks up at you like the cat who got the cream and you reach down with steady hands to guide him back up your body, to lay over you gently: Your hands are gentle as your fingers card through his hair, pressing a kiss to his nose as you do.

He looks down at you and your soft smile, feels the softness of your skin underneath his body pressed against yours, basks in the soft warmth of just being with you.

You remind Dick of Blüdhaven, he thinks, because you feel like home.

Next Chapter

A/N: This chapter was inspired by Humbug Mountain Song by Fruit Bats (haha) . The last chapter was leading up to this, I've tried to continue that vibe of Dick being a vulnerable guy that falls into a lust or love easily, and sort of heal that I guess? Never beta'd. Thanks for the likes and reblogs as always, more chapters to come.

[sincerexsiren]

"I've helped coordinate a feast tonight. There's many different dishes and I've tasted them all. I hope it's to your liking."

Ulysses, despite his reservations about heroes, took great care in preparing a sumptuous feast for Trinity and the other heroes in her sanctuary. He wanted to show his support for her and make the occasion truly special. Knowing that Trinity had a deep connection to the river, Ulysses incorporated elements of water and nature into the feast.

Here's a sampling of what he prepared:

Riverbank Salad: A refreshing mix of crisp greens, adorned with edible flowers and drizzled with a tangy citrus dressing. The salad was garnished with delicate watercress, representing Trinity's affinity for riverside foliage.

Poseidon's Catch: A platter of freshly caught seafood, including succulent grilled fish, buttery lobster tails, and plump shrimp. Ulysses took care to infuse the seafood with a hint of herbs and citrus, giving it a delightful flavor.

Enchanted Spring Soup: A velvety soup made with seasonal vegetables, infused with the essence of a mystical spring. Ulysses added herbs and spices known for their healing properties, creating a nourishing and comforting dish.

Harborside Roast: A centerpiece of the feast, Ulysses prepared a tender, slow-roasted prime rib, cooked to perfection. He seasoned it with a blend of aromatic herbs and served it with a rich demi-glace.

Nymph's Delight: For dessert, Ulysses crafted a masterpiece of sweetness. It consisted of delicate pastry shells filled with a light, fluffy cream infused with hints of vanilla and the subtle essence of wild berries. The dessert was adorned with edible flowers and drizzled with a delicate honey syrup.

Trinity knew that Ulysses had a hard time with the fact that she had to help everyone who came to the sanctuary- at least she knew that he was worried. Which was fair considering she worried about him when he was out in the world too. It was hard on them both though perhaps she didn't understand his worry about the people as much. She didn't see heroes and villains or heroes and monsters in the same way because here those labels meant nothing to her.

But He- well he knew what happened outside of the invisible walls of this place. And she knew that made it more difficult for him even if she didn't fully understand why he was so worried about specific heros sometimes.

That's why she was so surprised to come in and see the spread across the table. Not just for her but for everyone. A sort of peace offering but so much more thought out. Her eyes widened as she moved around the table, taking in the well-thought-out beautiful dishes that he had clearly put a lot of mental and emotional energy into. Her Long fingers dragged across the table with a little smile as she took in everything from the lovely salad all the way to the mouth-watering desert.

This was the big bad warlock they all feared. The boogy man of the sea. She saw the way they flinched sometimes when he stood behind her but here he was, making them all a feast worthy of a king. Her eyes finally lifted to meet his with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "My love....you didn't have to do this Darling. You have nothing to prove." She dipped her pinky finger into the honey syrup leaking from the side of the pasty, eyes closing in delight as she sucked it off.

[fragileizywriting]

Adrien sags against Luka, limp like a wet paper bag. “I can’t feel my balls.”

“Oh, you’re fine.” In fact… “You know, more than fine, actually. A normal demon would be out of it for the next few hours; the fact that you’re talking is amazing.” 

Luka looks… worried. Sort of. Like a man who’s been told that he’s allowed to touch gunpowder, aware that someone right next to him is holding a match, there’s a bit of a daredevil streak in his eyes, lit up by the candlelight surrounding them. “What? Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah. Maybe it’s his age that’s helping him, who knows?” Marinette confesses, before turning back to Adrien who is doing his best not to let his gorgeous green eyes go cross. “What’s it like being this young? Really, tell me, I’m curious. It’s been so long since I was your age; how are you dealing with the fact that I’m essentially stealing magic from you?”

“It’s kind of like you’re pulling a drain plug from a bathtub and all the water goes rushing out,” Adrien slurs out. “Like… the contracts I have in my chest are getting sucked out of me.”

“Like your dick is a straw.”

“I hate that analogy,” the Prince groans, but makes no effort to prove her wrong. “You’re one dangerous woman, Marinette.”

She pinches his cheeks. “And you are the cutest little demon Prince I’ve ever snacked on. Oh, I could eat you right up!”

“‘Snacked on’,” he wheezes. Face flushed like he’s catching on to what the predicament is, about how Luka has him in a tight grip and Marinette is taking all she can from him. His chest expands so quickly, sucking in air, attempting to level his heartbeat in a way so that his heart isn’t beating erratically in her ears. Is he nervous? Excited? Worried? That crook in his brow, is that because he’s trying to concentrate? Or is it because he’s trying to plan an escape route. “Oh, I get it now, you’re playing with me because you think I can’t last until you’re full!”

“Uhm, you can’t?” This guy. Oh boy. “It’s kind of the whole point. Succubus, and all that.”

“I can do it.”

“You can not.”

“I absolutely can.”

“Not to play Devil’s advocate here,” Luka interjects, and it is kind of funny, how he’s rock-hard and sweaty yet still managing to have a normal conversation. ‘Normal’. “But you’re aware that she’s— quite literally— capable of ripping out all the magic you have if she wants to. At this point, the fact that she’s taking it bit by bit is because she’s treating us like finger food. She’s sampling. We’re the buffet table.”

Marinette sighs. “You’re such a breath of fresh air, Luka. Thank you for being the wisest guy in this room.”

“I call bullshit. I can do it.”

Oh, god, don’t blame her for rolling her eyes! “Do what, exactly?”

“Keep up.”

“What’s the end goal?” Oh, he’s got her interested now. Marinette’s always loved games, ever since she was first brought into the world. Games and playing, always having some sort of rules or law. “What are you trying to achieve?”

“I’m going to prove that not everybody just gives in to you so easily; you’ve just been picking your lays wrong.”

“Wait a minute,” Luka replies, “that means that if I don’t do that, I’ll be considered weak. What if I don’t want to get my ass handed to me?”

“Then don’t play.”

“What will this prove?” Marinette asks.

“That I’m better.”

Luka barks out a laugh. “Oh, Jesus.”

“I am,” Adrien lobbies. “I’m not some normal loser demon, I can stand up to you.”

“You can not,” she snorts. “You’re going to bend and you’re going to get your perfect ass handed to you, and you’re going to whine and complain about how unfair it is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Really riveting stuff, you two,” Luka drones in, humor still glinting in those eyes. “Love to see it, honestly.”

“I dare you to try to make me submit to you.”

[ridiasfangirlings]

Merman Munakata and marine researcher Fushimi.

Fushimi as the researcher but somehow I suspect he would be the one being researched, Munakata can’t help getting close to the shore to watch this interesting young man. Imagine Fushimi as this bad-tempered researcher, he’s a genius and knows all kinds of stuff about marine life but he also has a terrible attitude. Fushimi spends most of his time observing and making notes rather than working with others, he even only goes out on boats every now and again when he has to because he gets seasick. Fushimi prefers to do his research in a lab or at worst on the beach, and he works best when other people just get out of his way and let him do his work.

One day he’s part of a research mission and he ends up going out on a small boat on his own to collect samples. As he’s out the weather starts getting nasty and he decides to turn around and go back to shore, only to get caught in a huge wave and lose a bunch of his supplies. It also takes out his rudder and now he’s having trouble controlling the boat. The storm starts and Fushimi gets thrown out of the boat into the water, as he’s falling he probably just has this gloomy ‘this sucks’ expression, like of course this is how it ends. As he’s falling unconscious he has the strange sensation of arms wrapping around him and he wakes up later on the beach, safe and sound. Fushimi looks around but no one’s there, just some marks in the sand around him.

The next day Fushimi goes down to the beach again to do some observations and he spots someone lounging on a rock out into the water. Fushimi ignores them until he hears a voice asking what he’s doing, Fushimi looks up just as merman Munakata jumps off the rock and swims up closer to him, smiling in interest. Fushimi takes this pretty well in stride, it’s not like he believes in mermaids but he’s not going to doubt his own eyes either. Instead Fushimi clicks his tongue all ‘Really?’, a little disgusted to be the prince in this Little Mermaid setup, and Munakata can’t help but chuckle because he thought from the start that this person was fascinating. 

As it happens Munakata’s been watching Fushimi for a while now, it’s only he didn’t have the chance for them to meet face to face until he saved Fushimi’s life. Munakata’s lived by this beach for ages and seen a lot of researchers come by but Fushimi immediately caught his eye because he seemed like such a singular person. He feels like he’s been proven correct by the way Fushimi just takes his existence in stride, imagine Munakata swimming up to Fushimi whenever Fushimi’s doing research and asking him about what he’s working on. Obviously being a merman Munakata knows a lot about sea life but there are also things he’s never learned by virtue of living in the same place all the time and he enjoys discussing marine biology and sea life with Fushimi (and in return he also likes hearing about the world of the land from Fushimi, when he can get Fushimi to talk). Also imagine at some point Fushimi needs to take a boat out again and Munakata tells him that will be unnecessary, wrapping his arms around Fushimi and swimming with him while Fushimi sputters and complains. Munakata just grins, naturally he wants to help Fushimi learn and what better way than hands on, especially if it means Munakata gets to swim with the person he’s become interested in. 

[lemonlurkrr]

@aureateart​ ok. My favourite parts of twilight princess  (and some other random thoughts about TP sprinkled in there) taken from my monster TP word vomit google doc :

Link lmao

Ok but for real, I like this incarnation of Link :)

I love Ordon (it just seems like such a chill and cozy village)

ALSO love how easy it is to interpret Link as being a sort of older brother figure to the Ordon kiddos. It’s just,, super cute? AND GHHH nice nice good thanks nintendo for giving me characters to care about/characters that I can imagine Link caring about

He didn’t sign up for any of this (tbh, none of the Links really signed up for this jshdjsd). But I mean like, dude was just going to take a trip to castle town, drop a gift off for the royal family, and come back. But haHA oopsies he did get to castle town eventually but definitely not the way he expected hsjdhsd

He’s just a little dude?

AND FUCK. HE REALLY HAD NEVER BEEN OUTSIDE OF ORDON UNTIL ALL OF THAT

everything is new for the player AND Link

Midna

She’s cool :)

she really just

*teleports into your jail cell* hello whore.

I am no master at writing but AYYYY she do got a character arc!!!

She was actually pretty helpful sometimes, I ALWAYS checked in with her before turning to a game guide

Other NPCs

NICE

Love all of the TP character designs (ASHEI’S ARMOUR??? AOWOAOAOOAO)

Saving Zelda and all of Hyrule was important yea but thinking back maybe it was more like, the Ordonians and the kids were what was pushing Link to keep on going

I like the Resistance members :) Very video gamey of them to have one NPC assigned to each dungeon but hey!!! Kinda cool getting to see a little glimpse of each of em

Idk, it’s just fun to imagine Link popping into Telma’s bar after each dungeon and taking a little rest :) (or to celebrate? maybe just chat, idk, give this man some downtime!!)

Honestly it was just kind of nice that Link wasn’t entirely alone. I mean, I know Midna was there the whole time, but I am always for giving Link a big group of friends (see my love for hyrule warriors, age of calamity, and LU LMAO)

Hero’s shade, very very cool, kinda sad he died with regrets but HEY. He got to pass on his knowledge eventually

AND the connection to OoT?? AND assumed to be related by blood too????? GOOD SHIT

Ilia, I REALLY really wanted to like her (er, it’s not like I dislike her, she’s just,,, kinda there for me).

It definitely seems like Nintendo was pushing to make her the romantic interest, but GHHHHH they really threw that out of the window for me by having her lose her memories

I saw a text post a while ago that said it would have been interesting if Ilia was Link’s sister instead and YES!! That would have been cool too :0

Wish we got to know Zelda a little more

I feel like we barely know anything about her

Idk man, like I said earlier, I never really had any sort of drive to save Zelda during my playthroughs

She obviously knows Midna, so maybe if they gave us just a little bit more of that relationship I’d be more interested in her?

TP WORLD BUILDINGGGG

Botw has good world building too, but each race felt kinda,,, isolated? I absolutely love the different architecture and vibe each town has (and all the the weapons too) but ghhh yea everyone felt so separated. As far as I can remember, we don’t see tooo much of the races interacting with each other? Now that I’m typing that out maybe that’s to be expected because of the calamity but KLSJDKJFD ANYWAYS THIS IS ABOUT TP

The world feels nice and alive, love how populated everything is

Castle town I like castle town a lot, it feels dense and busy and I really like how you can’t talk to every NPC you see

Very cool very fun that we got to see the Gorons hanging out in multiple spots

kinda wish we got to see the Zoras a little more (I guess they are a bit limited since they need water but GHHHH the tp zoras are so prebby,,)

BUT HEY, I do remember seeing a zora or two hanging out in the hot springs around death mountain after beating the lakebed temple (I think, might have been a different dungeon) 

but aaaa would have been nice to see them in at least a couple of other places. I think it would have really added to the “congrats Link!! You’re restoring peace to Hyrule” feeling you get from seeing the Gorons hanging out in Kakariko and Castle Town

ORDON

Love how chill it is and how it’s kind of separate from Hyrule proper

They really do seem to be doing their own thing apart from the rest of Hyrule

Just kinda adds onto the “he’s just a regular dude minding his own business” kind of vibes I get from TP Link

Also I like Ordona :)

THE LIGHT SPIRITS,,

Love their design

And love how they’re not exactly like a pure white?

Different spirit representing each aspect of the triforce my beloved

But yes hi I think Ordona is very cool

Who are you, how did you get here, which goddess do you represent? Do you even represent one of the three golden goddesses? Do the Ordonians know about you? Have any of them ever SEEN you??? Do they worship you? Does anybody even know about the existence of the light spirits?? FUCK so many questions but ghhh I like how they broke the status quo a bit by throwing in a fourth spirit :)

I feel like this one is kinda weird but I like that voice sample they used in the light spirit music. It’s spooky and pretty at the same time :)  

cutscenes mmmmm

Ok ok, the spooky lanayru cutscene is very good

BUT THE “Link, Chosen Hero! Lend us the last of your power!” CUTSCENE MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM LOVE IT SO MUCH

IT just

Idk man

It just hit different

I like the music

And seeing the light spirits swimming around in the light juice water whatever it is

Summoning the light arrows?

AND HHHHH “Lend us the last of your power!” THIS IS IT. This is the final battle.

Seeing Zelda bow down, and then Link putting his hand out 👌👌👌

Link: ok bud, let’s do this together :)

Connection to OoT (did I already mention this? Maybe., Whatever)

Very cool nintendo :)

I love seeing connections between all the diff zelda games.

Because like, on one hand, they’re all separate from each other because of yknow, individual hero stuff. BUT ALSO, they’re all connected because of the reincarnation stuff

Grrrr walking through the sacred grove and going “The Hero of Time walked around here a long time ago” FUCK THATS SO COOL

Is the Hero’s Shade watching me? What does he think of me? DIsappointed? Proud? The Hero of Time went through HELL so this timeline didn’t have to deal with any of the shit Ganon was gonna pull with the triforce, better not fuck this UP Link!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Midlink is cute

Kinda hurts that she smashed the mirror but that was probably so Nintendo didn’t have to worry about people going “but what about the twili??????” for any of the other games LMAO

BUT ALSO LIKE SKJDKLJFJ There are some pretty massive plot holes in TP anyway so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ whatever it’s fine we’ll just use this for angst because GOD do y’all like angst

So is Shadlink

Honestly don’t know where this ship came from but it’s cute so whatever

THE MUSIC??

Love Midna’s theme and how they referenced the dark world theme from ALttP (I remember trying to learn the dark world theme on the piano and doing the Leonardo DiCaprio point meme at the little jingle I recognized from Midna’s theme)

Hyrule field theme SLAPS.

Apparently references a couple of the other over-world themes from the previous zelda games (I got this from 8-bit Music theory’s video on the over-world zelda themes, he talks about TP at around 11:40 but def recommend watching the whole video if you’re into music analysis stuff)

So there’s this bit of the Hyrule Field theme, I don’t know the official name for it but I remember seeing somewhere it being called the “at an advantage theme” since yeah, you hear it during the boss music whenever you expose their weak points. FUCKINGGG LOVE THAT. Didn’t notice it during my first playthrough, but hearing it during my second was like a little easter egg for my ears every time :)

Midna’s lament is very pretty (and fun to play on the piano)

COURAGE THEME.

I didn’t care for it too much when I started playing the game but hearing it in ZREO’s arrangement of the Hyrule Field theme literally makes me turn into a puddle of emotions. Also hearing it around and of the Ordon kids (I think it plays after Link saves Colin) AAAAAAAAAAAAA

Orchestra piece #1 and #2 HOLY SHIT???????????????? 

Literally, the first time I listened to those I just,,,, plugged in my headphones, volume 100, layed on the floor/against my desk and silently vibed. I don’t know what the hell it is, but those two just fit so well with TP?? I still avoid listening to them nowadays cause if I DO I definitely will get overwhelmed with the “god I love this game so FUCKING MUCH” kind of feels.

Wolf link sucks at singing

the first time I heard him howling Zelda’s Lullaby I lost my shit because LKSJLDKSGLKJFSKG god that was.,, Bad. Anyways, hearing him howl some of the songs from OoT was cute :)

TP STAFF ROLL??? 

VERY GOOD. IT’s like 10 minutes long and GOD do I love every single second of it. It doesn’t have the same energy as the skyward sword staff roll or the orchestra pieces but GOD does it hit good??

Nice and calm after that big exciting adventure. Maybe it would have been more fun or emotional to have a higher energy piece but it was really nice getting to sit back and watch the camera fly around Hyrule. Seeing like, the Gorons and the Zoras having a good time, the kids returning to Ordon? GOOD SHIT.

and AAAAA that end, when you hear the main Zelda theme and see Link riding off out of Faron woods on Epona… good shit. It gets you thinking, where the hell is he going? What is he doing? Off ot do more adventuring? Going to help out the resistance or something? Going to help Zelda? Or maybe he’s trying to figure out a way to restore the mirror of twilight? Whoooo knows.

hhHHHHhhh it’s just that final reminder that YES!!! YOU JUST PLAYED A ZELDA GAME. JUST ANOTHER STORY APART OF THE WHOLE EPIC OF THE ZELDA SERIES AS A WHOLE

I also want to acknowledge the instrument/samples they used for all the twili stuff.

They’re all just so unique and contrast SO well with the rest of the TP OST. LIKE FUCK!! Anytime I hear the screech from the Twilit Kargarok? Sends a shiver down my spine. I associate those sounds SO strongly with the twili realm. (Like, the same way you associate the BSHEWW VVWWMMM sounds with light sabers)

I love it so god damn much

literally any time there’s a certain sound or motif associated with something I lose my shit

Sacred grove sacred grove sacred gro-

lovely lovely lovely so much fun playing that on the piano. AND again, I did the Leonardo DiCaprio pointing meme when I heard the theme from the lost woods come in GHHHHHHHH

shoutout to TP Faron Woods for helping me study and get through all of my schoolwork

BLEGUUHHH can you tell that I really love music?

and also yea I guess TP is kinda cool too :\

IF YOU READ ALL OF THAT THANKS I GUESS

[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. 

[keilemlucent]

(nsfw) ✧ (dark content warnings) ✧  (minors do not interact) 

hawks | takami keigo x reader

wc: 1.7k

warnings: abuse, noncon/dubcon, yandere, vomit due to illness, delusion, reader is definitely not mentally well, brief description of injury, hawks is Not nice in this, reader has difficulty eating, 

a/n: uhhh it’s 2am, time to post dark drabble lol!! i love like.... deep yandere stuff. when darling’s already been In It for awhile and worn down. mwah. chefs. kiss. anyways, here’s my take!

You want to know what rain tastes like.

Is it different than water from the tap? You had asked him one day. He chuckled but didn’t give you an answer. Just an easy deflection, something unrelated to pull your mind from the outside. 

It is easier this way. 

It’s so much easier to draw the curtains in the morning. Damn the sun, damn the light— You can take vitamin D supplements and pretend you don’t mind how dark the apartment is no matter the time of day.

It’s easier to ignore the multiple locks (seven. you count them sometimes to pass the time) that are bolted into the door. The time it takes him to open them with all their tumbling gears and thundering clicks is the preamble to his comings and goings.

You know to rise from your damn-near sacred spot on the couch to greet him. You go to him with a kiss on his cheek, and to give him hug so hard, it hurts. You can’t tell if it’s from the strain of your arms around his, or the pressure of his embrace around you. You don’t particularly mind either way. It’s the reminder you need that as empty and dark as the apartment is, he’ll always return.

Always.

You lock your hands behind his back, clasped below his wings. Routinely, you bury your face in his chest while he sways you. He asks about your day, but he isn’t listening. You don’t think so, but you don’t mind. Nothing you say means much, and every day is the same. You sit on the couch and stare at the floor. The walls. The ceiling if you’re feeling more adventurous.  

You stopped watching TV alone months ago. No matter what you watched on Keigo’s big, sleek television, it was just a reminder. An awful, unavoidable reminder that the world is quite large, and you weren’t apart of it.

You couldn’t be. You were locked in place— one, two, three, four, five, six, seven — in the little apartment. Wasting away, as much as you tried not to.

...

“You need to eat, baby,” Keigo coax. He holds a deep spoonful of soup to your lips. It smells divine, like chives and cream. “Just a little. For me?”

‘For me.’

Your inability to stomach anything is his problem, just as much as it is yours. That’s just a fact.

“I don’t want to get sick again,” You squeeze your hands. There is a semblance of comfort in the action as Keigo inspects you. Searching.

It isn’t a lie. Your stomach growls and rolls, and it has been all day. Keigo has started to always leave ample leftovers in the fridge in the case you’d actually want to eat them. And you do. Sometimes, you even try! Really try. But the end result is always the same. Your head ends up dangling over the bowl of your toilet while you wretch and writhe. 

Acid stings your throat for hours. 

Despite Keigo’s... previous treatment, he seems genuinely concerned about this development. You’re hardly able to keep anything down, despite being well otherwise.

(You’re so unwell and have been for so long, he can’t begin to see it. The bruises are perpetual. The scars that you didn’t have a year ago are fixtures he can’t remember you without. The constant tremble you carry is from the drafty apartment, not from the deeply instilled fear you carry. The one he had branded (literally) onto you. Into you.)

(Fucker.)

You shake the thought off and open your mouth and accept the bite. And Keigo, bless his heart, is sweet enough to not shove the spoon to the back of your throat. He lets you suck the soup from it, quietly praising your work.

You manage to eat half the bowl before shaking your head, tummy already twisting in the worst, most familiar way.

Keigo gives you pills then. Four of them, all slightly different colors and shapes. You don’t know what they do, and you knew better than to ask (you’d gotten slapped across the face the first and only time you tried.) 

The fourth pill is new, and Keigo, graciously, tells you that it’s for the nausea. That a special doctor is helping him help you. Isn’t that wonderful?

You’re so, so lucky.

 (You hurl the next morning once the meds wear off. Your hands shake and your slam your fist into your temples. Begging. You’re not sure to who. Maybe to yourself. Your body. Crying for your wretched form to just stop hurting you. If you weren’t sick, things would be better.

Maybe, you’re begging Keigo. For help. To make it stop. To take care of you and coo that things will be fine as things are so completely not find that you can’t comprehend it. But he is the one who decides when you hurt. Shouldn’t he be able to make this stop?

Maybe you’re begging him to unlatch those — one, two, three, four, five, six— seven locks so you could dash into the world. Scream at the first person you see that beloved, pro-hero Hawks is so beyond deranged and fucked up. Maybe no civilian would believe you. But you were the evidence. You bore the slashes of his feathers. The perpetual imprint of his fingers on hips and thighs. You even had a brand on the bottom of your foot. K-E-I-G-O.

Maybe, you’re begging to whatever god you once believed in to kill you. You don’t care about the means. Be it your hand, or Keigo’s, or random chance.)

 You spew into the murky water and try to forget.

...

Keigo’s special doctor comes by. You see the two exchange hands by the door when she first arrives. A flash of bills and coins. Paid off, part of you perks up. The doctor won’t talk about Hawks’ little captive. You’re sure it’s a handsome amount, based on the neutrality of her expression as she takes you in.

To care so little about something like you is hardly a surprise.

She examines you, collects some blood and other samples. Prescribes a few more medicines that have long and complicated names that are hard to pronounce. You try to forget them. You’re happy to be quiet. Sit next to Keigo while he wraps a wing around you and rubs your back in little circles. He’s warm and good, unlike the rot in your stomach.

 Keigo praises you once she leaves, wrapping you up in him, scarlet feathers and all. Kisses your cheeks, telling you how well you did. How you didn’t falter, didn’t scream, didn’t let her touch you too much. How you were so perfect for him. You deserve a reward! 

He treats you to fresh sheets and more kisses. The kind that feels like how lovers are supposed to kiss. There isn’t too much teeth or tongue, just slow, open-mouthed pressing that makes your tummy flutter in a good way (for once.)

“Isn’t this nice?” Keigo hums against your lips. 

You nod, barely eager but not apprehensive either. Treading lightly on a carefully, self-cultivated path between wanting and revulsion. As good as it feels, you don’t want to give him. You don’t remember how.

His lips trail to your neck, to your collarbones. He pushes up your shirt and only leaves little pecks over your nipples and chest. No wounds that draw blood. No hickeys that last weeks. 

You don’t realize you start trembling until Keigo has to grip your inner thighs to still you. So, he can coo blessed, little reminders.

“This feels good, doesn’t it?”

“I always make you feel so good.”

“You deserve this, all of this,” he says before pressing his lips to your clit. You’re just wet enough for him to fuck you on his fingers. Enough that when he bullies the bundle of nerves inside you, you coat his fingers in slick and whine. Your voice breaks, over and over, and little, unwanted tears leak into your hairline.

Keigo ignores them as usual. You can be so dramatic.

And Keigo, ever gracious, let’s you shatter on his fingers. Doesn’t make you beg, just whispered hushed adorations as you come undone on his tongue. He hardly toys with you after, and instead lets you fall into the sheets. Properly spend, though not exhausted.

You still shake, but that’s okay. It’s manageable.

Keigo cleans you up with a silken cloth. He wipes between the swell of your breasts, down your navel and to your cunt. His feathers ruffle as he does his work, clearly focused. There’s no speaking during it, only watching and observing.

“Thank you.” You speak without prompting. 

Your words are dry and underused. Your lips feel chapped, and your vision is hazy in the dark of the bedroom. 

Keigo gives you a smile (full of white-hot pride), clicking his tongue, “Of course, dovey. You deserve to feel good for me. I want you to. I like you like this.”

(He carries that same sentiment that no matter your ‘post-fuck’ state. Whether you’re twitching and dumb from overstimulation. Whether you’re bawling from pain and holding your hand over a too deep, ‘accidental’ wound. Whether your expression is blank, lips ajar, and face tilted to the ceiling.)

You can only agree with him.

What other option do you have?

...

(The doctor calls the following week. Keigo speaks to her in hushed tones from his office, muffled and stern. You only catch pieces of it.

“They do not appear to be suffering from anything specific illness.” The doctor pauses. “The weakness, fatigue, shakiness, forgetfulness, and nausea all seem to be tied back to prolonged anxiety. Constant surges of adrenaline that have pushed them to this point.”

Keigo doesn’t bother asking the source.

He knows it.

(And honestly? He seems a little proud.)

 You return to settle on the couch. Ever practiced, you turn towards the door and find the locks.

One, two, three four—

That four one wouldn’t be too hard to pick, would it?

(You’d already tried months ago. It was just a chain lock, but Keigo had nearly snapped your wrist when he caught you trying to tamper with it.)

Five, six, seven—

Your stomach rolls and your hug your knees, still managing a smile when Keigo rejoins you. His wings flex, and he flashes you a golden smile. His phone is locked and in his hand, and you know he’ll ignore it for the night. He’ll wrap you in his arms and smother you with his wings.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, turning from the locks.

[chispas-and-broken-bindings]

I really wanted to get the next chapter of Nothing Sacred, All Things Wild up this week, but work was crazy and I also got caught up in another story (I can’t control my muse)...so instead I’m offering up a long snippet of the dystopian/space colonist fic I started off a prompt I got a while ago for an “Arranged Marriage + a/b/o” request I got from an anon.

A/B/O is not my cup of tea, so I twisted it into an arranged marriage by an artificial intelligence instead: 

He wakes up angry, sweat soaking through his pillow, heart racing, stomach cramped. The alarm is buzzing from somewhere beneath the bed, where he must have knocked it. 

“Turn it off,” Ygritte mutters into his shoulder, before rolling away with the rest of their thin blanket.

He complies, letting the shock of the cold floor against his feet spur him into full wakefulness. “I take the test today.” It’s raining. He watches the drops splatter against the small window near the ceiling, and he wonders if Ygritte remembered to check the bucket beneath the leak before she crawled into bed the night before. 

Their garden apartment doesn’t do well in the rain. Jon still doesn’t understand why it’s even called a garden...there’s nothing green about their cramped basement residence, besides the mold growing beneath the sink.  

“Oh yeah. Happy birthday...we’ll get drinks when you come home.” 

“If I come home.”  He could be part of the one percent, after all. That is the Institution's promise. Everyone is SOMEONE. Anyone can be part of the 1%. Are YOU?

Jon knows it’s unlikely. How could he, an orphan from Mole’s Town, have the magic combination of pheno-, geno-, and personality type to be chosen for the Colony? No...he’s just another loser of the 99% who will waste his twenty-first birthday behind the Brutalist concrete walls of the Institution’s testing center, playing lab rat for the day, until the examiners come to the inevitable conclusion that he’s just another nobody. 

They’ll spit him back out on the street, leaving him free to carve out a pathetic existence on a slowly dying planet. 

He doesn’t bother washing. It’d be a waste of precious water when he knows full well they’ll scrub him down at the testing center. Instead he spends his last moments at home drinking a pot of weak coffee, trying to remember anything he was taught in the schools he barely attended. His energy would be better spent bracing for the coming indignity of having every part of his body and mind exposed and dissected. 

“Is the area of a circle, two pi times the radius? Or is that the circumference?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Ygritte lights a cigarette at the stove before joining him at the table. “It’s not that kind of test.”

He knows that. It’s another Institution promise. The Test doesn’t ask WHAT you know. It asks who YOU are. Are YOU the 1%

How the fuck would Jon know? It’s easier for him to remember that the area of a circle is actually pi times the radius squared, than it is for him to explain who he is. He has no idea. That’s kind of what being an orphan is all about. 

Ygritte could at least throw him a bone and tell him what the test is like. She took it two years ago, though she won’t talk. Most people won’t. There are no rules against it, but The Test is treated like dysentery. Unless you live behind the gates, you’re going to get it at least once in your life, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna go around describing your diarrhea to the world.  

Grenn went to White Harbor for the test a month ago, and though Jon had to buy him six beers and two shots of whiskey before Grenn would shut up about his first-ever train ride, he did give Jon a few insights into the rest of the experience. 

Not that the train isn’t worth the excitement, especially when the ride is paid for (another Institution promise. No matter your means. No matter the distance. EVERYONE makes it to the Test. Are YOU the 1%?) Technically, Jon has taken it once before, from Winterfell to Mole’s Town as a baby, but he doesn’t remember.  

Now he can’t believe anything that moves so fast could feel so smooth. He’s topped out at ninety miles per hour on the best snowmobile Donal Noye patched together, but that left his teeth rattling and his ears buzzing for hours afterward. The train is moving at double the speed, but he could be in the godswood, for how quiet the near-empty economy cabin is. He shares it with a twitchy young man who never looks up from a cheap tablet, and a black raven perched in a large cage who spends the entire ride staring at Jon with one eerie black eye. 

The testing center is located just across from the train station, in an intimidating building that used to have a name. Jon has a vague memory that it was a prison before the Institution took it over. Before that it was something else. 

He doesn’t balk when a masked orderly leads him to a small room, tells him to strip, and then takes off with his clothes. He knows they’ll be returned at the end of the day. Of more pressing concern is the man and woman who enter talking too quietly to make out at the other end of the room, while a nurse rolls in with a small cart covered in collection tubes, gauze strips, and butterfly needles. 

Everyone wears surgical masks, latex gloves, long white coats, and black clogs. 

Jon remains naked beneath a small paper covering. 

He has given blood before, and the messy, life-saving transfusion Mance performed to save Tormund three years ago was far scarier than the rapid, methodical draw that's taken from him now. Still, it’s disconcerting to think of the secrets the Institution will glean from his blood. He’s uncomfortably aware that they’ll know who his parents are before the day is over, even as he’ll continue living in total ignorance. 

Another Institution promise. The Institution values EVERYONE’S right to privacy. YOU control the right to tell the world who you are. Are YOU the 1%?

Before he’s finished the recitation in his head, five tubes are full, and the nurse pats a cotton ball and a band-aid over his arm. She tosses a granola bar on his lap before rolling out of the room with her cart of samples. 

Next comes a physical exam, where the other two examiners speak only to each other as they record his height, weight, blood pressure, and note his every blemish and scar in flat affect. 

“Post-burn contractures across the palmar and dorsal aspect of the left hand, adduction and extension in the metacarpophalangeal joint of thumb fall outside normal range of movement.”

“Keloid scarring along the right gastrocnemius muscle, five point three centimeters in diameter.”

“Slightly hypertrophic scarring beginning at left brow and running medially down across the left orbital cavity to the cheek. No ptosis noted. No apparent damage to the eye.”

He should feel worse beneath the weight of each fault. Instead he relaxes. He was nervous for nothing. Failure was always inevitable. The Institution would never invest in a malnourished kid with a burned hand and a badly healed leg wound. They are famously secretive about their selection process, but some reasons for failure are common knowledge. As the crows like to say, no cripples, bastards, or broken things. 

So, he chews his granola bar slowly and even closes his eyes for a bit, letting the examiners move his limp limbs as necessary for their measurements. He imagines himself a cadaver during the early stages of an autopsy. 

As long as they don’t cut me open….

When an white-haired man enters and lays out what look to be a series of tiny torture devices, Jon wonders if he stopped caring too soon. He white-knuckles it through an excruciating dental exam that ends with his first real exchange of the day. 

“Have you ever been to a dentist, kid?” 

There is still a tube in his mouth, sucking up his spit and a hook pressing at his gums, so Jon just shakes his head. There are no dentists in Mole’s Town. Just Chett, who used to work at a slaughterhouse down south and will pull a rotten tooth for the price of a bottle of whiskey. Jon wouldn’t give the creep the lint in his pocket, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let him near his mouth. Instead he brushes his teeth so hard his toothbrush regularly snaps in half, and prays something else kills him before gum disease has a chance.

“You’ve got better teeth than I see behind the gates, boy,” he pulls the hook from Jon’s mouth to dictate into a small microphone hanging from his mobile workstation. “Review DEFB1 on ID 17630343BA. At some point the focus will need to expand beyond the holy 22 and get back to the basics. Who is going to care about neuron growth if every fourth planter is born with anodontia?” 

Jon understands little of what the man is saying, but he’s heard enough to know he’s at least got as good of teeth or better than some of the rich tossers who live within the heavily guarded gated communities where the Colonists are actually culled from. Behind their high walls, wealthy sons and daughters of the only one percent that really matters, spend their youths preparing for the Test in homes and classrooms pumped with filtered air, where the water runs clear, and no one ever goes to sleep with their bellies cramped from hunger or disease. 

The Institution promises that ANYONE can be the 1%, but EVERYONE knows that's a lie. 

---

The physical exam ends at last, after several more rounds of sterile humiliation. Jon isn’t sure which was worse; having to lie within a noisy cylinder while a disembodied voice reminded him not to move, or being asked to run naked on a treadmill, wired with electrodes. 

When it’s over, the last examiner provides him with a sweatsuit that is softer and better-made than anything he owns, and he wonders if there is any way he can smuggle it out with him at the end of the day. Another orderly comes in with a waxy crisp apple that hardly seems real even as a spray of tartly sweet juice hits the back of his tongue. He’s given a pill as well that he swallows down with a cup of water so clear and so cold, it’s an act of incredible will-power not to ask for more. 

It’s only after, when he’s led to a small room with two chairs, a table, and a pulsing white orb in it’s center that he thinks to ask what it’s for. 

“This will make the answers come more naturally during your interviews,” the man explains before leaving him alone. “We want you to answer as truthfully as possibly, but we understand that can be difficult under the stress of the Test.”

He supposes people lie all the time on the Test, trying to game the system, though Jon doesn’t have the first idea how he’d go about doing that, nor does he have any reason to try. He’s not going to the Colony. This is all just a spectacular waste of time, and it’s a race day, which means he’ll have to pull extra shifts at the Rookery to make up for what he would have made beyond the Wall. 

By the time a petite woman with a neat low bun, and cracking, grey scar across half her face and neck enters, Jon is reckless with anger. 

“I’d like to go home.”

“Hello, Jon,” she smiles as she sits across from him, and she’s the first person he’s seen since he entered the building who isn’t wearing a mask. She’s also the first person to call him by his name. “My name is Shireen.”

“Where’s your mask?”

Her smile dims slightly, but she maintains her gentle tone. “I’m here to facilitate the interview portion of your Test today. Before we begin, is there anything you need to feel more comfortable? Something to eat, drink, a bathroom break? Should the temperature be adjusted?”

He’s sour with anger so he takes everything she offers, suddenly eager to make everything as inconvenient as possible for the Institution. Shireen takes his requests with an easy smile, however, escorting him to the restroom herself. When they return to the room, there is a bowl of hearty soup with a chunk of bread that is soft and airy beneath it’s golden-brown crust. Beside it is a tall glass of water and a smaller cup of green liquid that Jon eyes suspiciously. 

“What’s this then?”

“I thought you might like some juice. It’s mostly apple, with some kale, cucumber and celery in it as well, I suspect.”

It’s the best thing Jon has ever tasted, and while part of him wants to fling the rest of it at her frustratingly serene face, it’d be a horrible waste, and he’d be the biggest loser. So, he takes his time, savoring each bite and sip, rolling the bright flavors across his delighted tongue. 

“Feeling better?” she asks after the tray is cleared. 

“Is that an official Test question?”

“No.”

“Let’s get on with it then. I can’t afford to miss the train home.”

“As you may know, it is not individuals who decide the 1%. Our artificial intelligence algorithm, The Seven, determines who is the best fit for the Colony. That is how the institution guarantees objectivity in its selection process,” she taps the pulsing orb on the table. “Though we find people are more comfortable responding to another person, so I will be facilitating our discussion as The Seven records and analyzes your responses. Are you ready to begin?”

He shrugs. 

“I’ll start with a series of statements. After each, please say a number to indicate the degree to which you agree with that statement, wherein one equals strongly disagree and five equals strongly agree. Three indicates you neither agree nor disagree. Do you understand?”

“Five.”

“Okay. Statement Number one: At social events, you rarely try to introduce yourself to new people and mostly talk to the ones you already know.”

Jon knows everyone in Mole’s Town, and he doesn’t want to socialize with most of them. 

“Two.”

This goes on for a while, each statement absurdly divorced from anything relating to Jon’s life, but the numbers spring easily from his lips as he relaxes under Shireen’s soothing voice, and kind face, and the lovely feeling of a full belly and soft, warm clothes. 

It’s when the format shifts, that he begins to feel strange. Shireen starts with questions that are easy to answer. Where were you born? How many years of education have you completed? What was your favorite class and why?  What do you do for work? Describe your strengths. When are you most satisfied in your job?  Do you live alone or with others? How many others do you live with? What is your relationship to the person you live with? 

At this point, the questions grow more invasive; more personal. A voice tells Jon that the Institution doesn’t need to know how many times he and Ygritte fuck a week...but the answer escapes all the same. 

“Four or five times a week.”

“Do you use contraception methods?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to have children with your partner?”

“No.”

“Given your age and your partner’s, without contraception, given your regular intercourse the odds of conception are--”

“She’s sterile.” 

“How do you know that?”

“Most everyone in Mole’s Town is. It’s something in the water, or the air, or our weak genes. It doesn’t really matter the cause. If it’s not the one; it’s the other. She’s been fucking since she was fifteen, and nothing’s ever caught.”

“How do you know that you aren’t the sterile one?”

He shrugs. “I probably am too, but I’m not her first partner as you say. I’m not her second or third either.”

“How does that make you feel?” 

He glares, and Shireen clarifies. 

“Your partner’s sterility?”

“How do you think it makes me feel?” he pushes back from the table, letting his chair lean back on two legs. 

Shireen only gives him a minute shake of her head, and waits for him to answer the question. 

“Angry. I feel fucking furious about it.”

“So, you would like to be a father?”

“I’d like the freedom to choose. I’d like Ygritte to have that freedom.”

“What is your least favorite thing about humanity?”

She can’t be serious with that question. It’s like asking him to name all the stars. He takes a deep breath. Shireen waits. He stands up and paces. Shireen waits. He finishes his water and asks for another. Shireen calls for a refill. He drinks that too. Shireen waits. 

“My least favorite thing? That we’ve given up. We let this machine,” he points at the orb, “decide who doesn’t have to. It’s like….it’s like the men in Mole’s Town who wander into the snows when winter grows too cold, and there’s not enough food or warmth to go around. Grown-ass men who could be fixing furnaces and braving the cold to find the resources their families so desperately need. Most of the time they don’t even have the fucking guts to tell anyone  what they’re off to do. They just wander away one day, and winter takes them. 

That’s what the fucking Institution is. We’re all those men in Mole’s Town who’ve just given up, despite the blood still pumping through our veins. We’re sitting around, waiting for winter to kill us, so that a few can live. And there’s no one left to be mad about it either, because it’s a fucking machine that decides our fate. It’s like being mad at the wind. What’s the fucking point? But just because there is no one to be angry with, that doesn’t mean the rage goes away...and winter isn’t killing us fast enough."

“So you want to live?”

“I want humanity to want to live. I want humanity to want most of humanity to live. I want us to care about more than the one percent.”

It feels radical, saying it here; behind the walls of the Institution. It feels like he’s put the last nail in his own coffin. Shireen watches him as he cracks his knuckles, one at a time, waiting for her to say the interview is over; it’s time to go home. 

Instead she asks an even crazier question. 

“Do you think there is an essential connection between the morality of an action and the morality of the intentions behind it?”

[bangtanlalaland]

a dose of relief | ksj (m.)

synopsis ⇣ the CDC’s hottest scientist so happens to be your lab partner. how much longer will it take until he has you begging for him?

— health scientist!au

⇢pairing: CDC health scientist!kim seokjin x female reader

⇢genre: crack, pwp, smut

⇢word count: 5.7k

⇢contents ⨯ warnings: so sorry for this filthy porn with no plot, I’m also horrible @ science (even though it’s one of my fave subjects in school) so plz forgive me if I said something wrong or certain facts are incorrect, I tried to not use so many details/specifics on the science ooey gooey stuff in case that could trigger anything amongst readers, srsly tho somebody call the fanfic writing police, omg, there’s so much tension lolol, Jin is a dom in this OMFG, masturbation, mentions of an outbreak (oops sorry), lab sex (yes, I really went there plz don’t judge me [I know I’m a dirty hoe]), semi-public sex? (not really, but almost) use of sex toys, hair pulling, spitting, face/ass/pussy slapping & licking (oop), unprotected sex (lolol the irony; STAY SAFE!), orgasms (duh), creampie, degradation, so much name calling (holy fuck), JIN HAS A BIG DICK OK (BECAUSE WE LOVE BIG DICKS RIGHT?!)

a/n: honestly I find it so hard to write for Jin & IDK WHYYY. so I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to let the light shine on him for this one. besides, Jin would make the PERFECT hOTTesT SCIENTIST. because WHY NOT?!?! oh & let this fic just be a reminder for those of you out there (you know who I’m talking about): WEAR A GODDAMN MASK.

Seokjin Kim.

The name of the most handsome man in the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and yet you cannot spend a minute around him without perspiring. Because, well, you’re convinced he just has that affect on everyone. When in reality, it’s really only you. You sweat bullets being around him.

And he knows this. Which is why he’s near you again, looking just as sexy as he did the day before, attired in his white, lab coat — his blonde tresses clouding your vision as he wanders through the lab. You internally curse the universe for having made you both cross paths. You’d often speculate why he’s working here as a scientist. Shouldn’t he be somewhere on the front cover of like GQ Magazine or something? But no, for whatever reason, in this fucked up world we live in, he’s currently in the lab with you, performing test results, by using various liquid solutions.

“Ah, I can’t wait to finally clock out tonight.” Seokjin states while flicking a test tube that remains between his glove-covered fingers, gently placing the blood sample along with other tubes in the tray to be put away in the cooler.

“Hot date I’m assuming?” You question with a secret hint of jealousy oozing from your words — observing a sample through the microscope, turning the knobs to adjust the coarse and fine focus.

Jin beams at your assumption, shaking his head, “Ah. Nice one. But no.”

Your gaze flies up to his towering figure, raising your eyebrows, “So what is it?” You try not to get too lost into staring at his plump, pink lips. He almost catches you eyeing him and you instantly look away, darting your vision back into the microscope.

“I have the whole weekend off,” He coos with a giddy expression, and you internally scoff. That fucker.

You shake your head, “Sounds great!” No, it doesn’t sound great. Because he’s probably happy that he gets to be off so he can be with someone- Wait, no. He’s clearly not going on a date. Duh, he just told you that. Okay, now you’re really just fishing for something, but you’re also jealous of him that he’s off the entire weekend. These past few months have been hell, courtesy of a recent outbreak — every official, scientist, representative and whomever in the CDC is currently working day and night, non-stop to formulate a vaccine. Therefore you shuck away your feels, because you know Jin has more seniority than you within the company. You’d only just been transferred to his department right before the outbreak had occurred.

“Some well needed rest, huh?” You question, an attempt to keep the conversation going while also being the nosey old woman you are deep down inside. “You need it,” You unconsciously continue, somewhat too occupied in ensuring the proper amount of the sodium hypochlorite solution drops are added, squeezing the pipette carefully.

Jin nods his head in agreement, “Oh yeah,” he sighs, “Could definitely use what I call the Four S’s.” Your eyebrows furrow, more-so at concentrating on your accuracy.

But you hear him, and once the final drop of solution has been added, you pull away from the microscope, discarding the pipette in the proper disposal bin. “Four S’s?” You ask, with a tilt of your head.

“Mmhmm,” Jin seats himself on the stool in front of you, placing his hand under his chin. “Soup, soju, sex, and sleep.”

You nearly topple over when trying to seat yourself, and he doesn’t miss your clumsiness either. He thought it was cute how flustered you suddenly became, and he knew why you had. The word sex having stood out amongst the others he’d mentioned. You’re smoking under his gaze, a sudden wave of heat flashing over you within the blink of an eye. Ugh, how you hate the way he does this to you. Whatever this is. With a flicker of his eyebrows, a coy grin creeps upon his face. And you nervously swallow a gulp, easing the parched feeling in the back of your throat.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat, “Sounds like one hell of a weekend.” He continues his smirk at you, and at this point you grow slightly annoyed. Oh, his stupid hot face. Why does he keep staring like that?

“What?” You deadpan.

With a suck of his teeth, he pushes himself off the stool and stands up on his two feet, “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone,” he coos with a wink. Yes, the fucker actually winked! You had to double check within your mind that you’re fully conscious because you couldn’t believe he did that. Jin doesn’t flirt with you, like ever. And you know that even he knows this, that grin still plastered upon his face. How the hell does he do it? Do this to you?

The sound of the door clicking signals his departure, to what you only assumed he was going on his lunch break. But the real question is, does he know? He must know that you are attracted to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have insinuated you’d “miss” him. Fuck. You’re screwed and you know it. Unfortunately not in the way you’d like to be screwed.

—

The weekend didn’t fly by like a breeze as it normally would, but instead dragged. You thought at one point the time may have just frozen, but subconsciously you knew that wasn’t even remotely possible. Although, you’re convinced that the reason for it all is because Seokjin wasn’t there. Normally, you’d both share the same shifts on weekends and everything felt in tune. You’d complete tests, run samples, and literally anything else under the sun together. But the time felt different when with him, and you’re beyond relieved to find that the end of your shift approaches. You both say your farewells and do it all over again the next day. It became a routine, really, one that you’d grown accustomed to.

However, since his weekend off, you felt something change, and you didn’t like it. You noticed since the start of your shifts, he permeated an odd vibe. Jin wasn’t making eye contact with you, and hell he didn’t greet you when he clocked in. Even when you’d discussed to your boss that after copious amounts of research and tests, the sodium hypochlorite solution kills various diseases and viruses, including HIV/AIDS, although said concoction is overly toxic for ingestion.

Seokjin never spoke or added anything from his research to back up your claim, which was completely degrading to you, because well… teamwork — he made you feel as though the countless amount of hours you’d both spent in the lab together was a waste. So yes, it was strange. He was acting strange, and you didn’t know whether to be gloomy or pissed about it all. After the meeting with the board, discussing the current problems with hygiene and public health, you returned to your station with Jin. You decide to test the waters and break the awkward silence since he wouldn’t.

You clear your throat in an attempt to draw his attention, but fail, his back still turned to you, “How was your weekend?”

He continues his work, not even flinching when you’d suddenly spoke. He replies so fast you were convinced he just knew exactly what you were going to say and simply waited for you to do so.

“Great,” he retorts with a nonchalant tone. You hear a few snap-like sounds and immediately note that he’s placing his gloves on. He brushes past you and into the cooler, removing a tray of blood samples to set them down onto the counter. You bite back a remark and instead try again.

“Had any good soup?” You internally cringe at yourself for saying something so stupid, but you can’t help but be the curious cat you are. Then his silence doesn’t make it any better. Here you are again, “Or at least some proper rest?”

His eyes finally meet yours, and you can’t quite read his pokerface. “I did,” He adds with still the most blank expression you’d known him to make. His gaze drops back toward the test tubes he’s busied himself with.

You continue to probe him, even though your insides scream otherwise, “Couldn’t have forgotten about the soju too, right?” You question, a tone laced with curiosity. He makes a simple “mmhmm” sound, clearly understanding where you’re going with this. A brief moment of silence subsides between the both of you, and for a moment you appreciated it but another side of you just had to know. Your essence ached for an answer, even though if said answer wasn’t one you’d want to hear, you still had to know. And you swear the phrase, “Curiosity kills the cat” could explain this moment in time.

“W-what about….” You trail off, in hopes he’d catch on. His eyes meet yours, and you can’t help but want to shribble up under his stare — whilst his defined lids peer into you, as if cascading into your soul.

“What about what?” Jin knows the next question you want to ask, and part of him wishes you’ll just ask already. He needs your inquiry of his sexcapades, because truth be told, he has none; and he’s on the brink of bending you over on this counter and fucking you senselessly — a burning ache, desperate to release his pent up frustration, mixed with the daily stresses that come along with work. His eyes linger onto your facial features, searching for a warning that you’d finally cave in, that by some miracle you’d admit you want him in just as a lustful manner as he wants you. Needs you. His weekend having been a long, cold, and lonely one. He’d desperately yearned for a woman’s touch, a dry spell long overdue.

He notes how your lips part and eyes widen, as if you’re stuck like a deer in headlights and don’t know how to simply let the words flow from your tongue. His pink, plush lips catch your attention, his bottom lip protruding in a manner that’s tempting for you to simply lick the flesh — the need to graze your teeth along the tissue clouding your mind. You suck in a quiet gasp, but audible enough for Jin to hear you. The sudden twitch of his member down below, the visual of having you whimper underneath him having flashed through his imagination. You instinctively obscure any second thoughts of your actions, because if he didn’t want you to know then why would he have mentioned the “Four S’s?” It’s like he’s calling your name, indirectly. Seokjin knows how curious you’ve always been, and it’d be silly to not know such a fact. After all, you’re a scientist that works for the CDC.

The more dense part of you spills, “Well, you know-” His eyebrow quirks up at you, as if not falling for your little trap. No, he wants to hear you say it, he wants those words coming out of you and streaming to his eardrums.

That familiar hum he has a habit of making slips from him, “Hm- No, I don’t.

He proceeds to his previous endeavors, scouring through the cabinets for some tools. You stand there dumbfoundedly, and cursing your own self for not having the courage to just speak your mind. Seokjin marvels at your conflicted expression, thanking his own self for not giving in so easily — because he wants to confirm his assumptions and needs you to make that move. He definitely didn’t want to be the first to impose, just in case you were to reject him and immediately perform some type of backlash technique. The last thing he needed was to lose his job and/or face a lawsuit for harassment. He ignores your stiff figure and gracefully mixes various liquids into a beaker. Your fingers tap along the counter and mind races hundreds of miles per hour. Just do it.

“Sex,” You whisper. His stirring stops suddenly and eyes move to yours with a slight tilt of his head. “Did you… Have sex?” You add, voice barely above a whisper. Jin sighs in relief, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders — the air now somewhat less stuffy, and he chooses to stifle back a moan of satisfaction at your question. And within an instant, he scoffs, sending a rush of discouragement over your being.

He shakes his head while a sly grin paints upon his face, “Wouldn’t you like to know, hm?” You roll your eyes at him, can’t even believe the audacity. Of course, you should have known he’d be comical about it. Because that’s what Jin does, which makes you question how he’d even passed the entire hiring process to be promised and given this position.

With a slight pull of your strands out of frustration, you retort, “What the hell, Jin? You were the first one to mention “the Four S’s” You make sure to exaggerate air quotation marks on the phrase.

“And now you’re acting like you can’t even say if you’ve gotten some over the weekend. What am I not allowed to ask you questions anymore?!” Seokjin stares at you with wide eyes, immediately making you feel guilty for your sudden outburst. But what was he to expect? How could he not think you’d be curious of how his weekend ended after revealing to you his much needed desires. You palm your face in embarrassment, not wanting to meet his gaze any longer. And that’s when he removes his gloves, discarding them in the designated bin, and the feel of his palms encase around yours, pulling you from your hidden position to reveal your face that’s now strained with a painful look.

“If it makes you feel any better… I haven’t had sex.” His sweet voice oozes of comfort, granting a sense of calmness to reside within you.

“It’s been so long, and I am actually going to lose my mind if I don’t soon enough.” His confession causes you to gasp lowly, and he notices this. You hadn’t realized he was still holding your hands, his fingers long and cold, rubbing light circles within your palms. You know that he’s telling the truth; his eyes screaming for attention. Jin is desperate, and you sense that, which would explain why he’d been so tense ever since showing up to work today. You take this chance to take in every feature he has to offer. His broad shoulders aiding to tower his figure above yours just as he constrains his neck slightly to glare into your eyes. Your mouth flies agape just by an inch, and you hadn’t realized how close Jin was to you. You could feel the warmth of his breathing from his nostrils hitting you like the heat boiling down below.

You had a dire need to just smash your lips with his to finally know what the pillow-y tissue feels like between your own. His deep, chocolate irises reeling you in and suddenly your hand clenches tight underneath his touch. He notices and releases his grip from you, not realizing he’d been holding you this entire time.

And then you break the ice suddenly, “I think you should get that taken cared of soon.” Jin watches your form whilst you depart yourself from the room. Entering the main hall, you hadn’t processed how warm the atmosphere in the lab had been — a thin sheen of sweat coating your face and neck, courtesy of Seokjin Kim.

—

And then things got weirder.

There was this unspeakable tension between the two of you. You hardly made much eye contact with him at work now. You trained yourself (somewhat) to not ask so many questions during your shifts together, and if Jin noticed this then he definitely didn’t show or tell that he did. You’d find yourself going home at the end of the day and pulling out your favorite vibrator just to orgasm at the thought of Seokjin and his rosy, juicy lips, slender fingers that you know could reach the highest of places; those silky, light, blonde strands that long for you to tug on them as he buries himself in between your legs. However, Jin does the same, even on that weekend when he was off. He coated himself in lubricant and acquired his pocket pussy to stuff his thick length through the silicone material, imagining that it was your walls encasing around his cock instead.

Bucking his hips upwards, wanton moans spilled from him whilst he continued to ride out the waves of pleasure he’d endured just by dreaming of you. He continuously re-played the sight of your face over and over again in his mind, when you’d looked up at him that day in the lab — with glossy, bright eyes twinkling of curiosity. He wanted right then and there to shove himself down your throat and make you choke on his big dick. At the moment his groin tensed up and balls ached to release his load, he moaned your name repeatedly, as if he was summoning you into his bed. Streams of his cum erupted into the sleeve, soaking his length with the creamy substance just as he huffed for air, an attempt to gain back his normal breathing pattern.

And then the next day…

He did it again.

But this time it was different. He opted for his palm instead and your voice. He scrambled through anything in his phone that could get him off, more like anything of you in his phone. Until it dawned on him. You’d left him a voicemail back when you first got hired, introducing yourself to him and asking him to give you a call back to discuss work-related matters.

Bingo.

Your voice sent tingles down his spine as it resonated through the speakers of his iPhone. Jin quietly hummed at your words, as if he was agreeing to what you were saying — even though it had nothing to do with sex or pleasing him in any matter.

“Wish you were here,” He slips with his eyes shut, whilst his palm eagerly strokes his stiff cock, fingers gently brushing along the vein on his shaft.

“Need you so bad. Want to make you scream my name.” He replays it again with a hiss through his teeth. Drips of precum seep from the head of his cock; he lightly grazes the flesh with his long fingers, stimulating the sensitive area. The squelching noises from his slick length can be heard throughout his apartment as he pumps himself vigorously.

Another uncontrollable hum spills from Jin when he replays the recording again, picturing you on your knees blowing him off until you lose your breath.

“Hi Mr. Kim!”

How much he loves when you call him that. He’d almost forgotten when you used to address him that way, until he insisted that you didn’t have to and to simply refer to him as Jin.

“Mmm, love it when you used to call me that,” Jin whispers softly.

His hips move on their own, bucking up into his hand. His thighs clenching as he continues to fuck himself through his palm, and with furrowed brows he claws the sheets of his bed at the sound of your voice.

“This is ____, I was just transferred to your department and was told to follow up with you for any questions I may have.”

Jin’s hums now turned into moans, “Oh, fuck. Want to make you cum on Mr. Kim’s cock.”

“Anyways, if you could please give me a call back then I would really appreciate it. I look forward to meeting you!”

Jin’s toes curl at the last statement, his lips part instinctively and thighs stiffen themselves. His impending orgasm approaches as he cries out in pure bliss, “Oh, yeah! F-fuck!”

His chest rises and falls when streams of cum project onto his abs, some coating his fingers — while he softly pumps himself to rid of the remaining secretions. His loose strands stick to his forehead, thanks to the built up perspiration due to the raise in his body temperature. Jin lies there with a shaky breath and trembling thighs paired with thoughts of you. How much he wished his cum hadn’t gone to waste, how he wished he could cum so much inside of you that you gush pools of his jizz when he removes himself out of you. And lastly, how he’s nearly on the brink of risking it all just to be inside you.

—

One morning you break through the doors of the lab you share with Jin, to find him peering through a microscope. You can’t take it anymore; it’s been too long since the day you’d met him that you wanted to literally devour him whole. The need to hold your composure now thrown out the window completely. You snatch your badge off of you followed by your coat and slam your hand onto the counter, startling him from his work.

“I need you to fuck me until my brain is dead and I forget who I am and that we are in the middle of a pandemic.”

Seokjin’s mouth and eyes fly as wide as they can go. Without hesitation, he perks up from the stool and nearly tumbles over to tear his gloves off, remove his glasses, coat, and protective mask. He hurriedly washes his hands in the nearby sink, his eyes still traced on your uptight form. With lips still parted, he makes his way back to you and grips your sides, caressing you as if he’s admiring this moment of you standing here in front of him, begging for only him. He can’t process what’s actually happening and so he opts to do so later, and instead just appreciate this moment  — a dream that finally came true. Unexpectedly, he lunges you against the counter, causing your back to hit the handles of the drawers.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?” He admits with a tone that’s mixed with lust.

Jin’s warm breath breezes past your face, sending a wave of chills down your spine. He cups your cheeks, and captures you in a heated kiss. His plump lips smooth out your own, a faint hint of coffee left on his tastebuds that signals you he more than likely had a cup of Joe this morning — your kisses filled with a fiery passion you didn’t know would finally come to light. His hands fall down to grip your waist in a feverish manner. Your fingers laced into his hair, an action you’d wanted to perform for what seems like forever now. His strands feel like satin under your fingertips.

His hands trail down to your ass cheeks, gripping the cushions with a hungry force. A rush of wetness seeps into your panties, and you silently convince yourself that you’d never been more horny until now. With teeth and tongues clashing, hands roaming along each others bodies, you both lose yourselves within each others touch — drifting into the euphoria of finally being relieved of the backed up tension that accumulated over these lonesome months. This moment in time was everything Jin had wished for. He yearned to have you in this way, and he’d only accept it if you were comfortable with doing so. The pang in his groin area throbs due to his high libido. Those nights he’d spent jerking himself off to the thought of you were now just a memory. When the burning need to breathe approaches, you both pull away panting for air. Jin’s already full lips now swollen and wet, his gorgeous almond-shaped eyes staring down your form in awe.

Your palms rest on his wide shoulders, caressing them with desperation.

“Please, Jin.” You plead with a whine. Within a swift he turns you around and bends you over. Your grip lands on the counter, knocking down the numerous utensils he’d previously been using, an almost failed attempt at keeping your balance. Jin roughly pulls your garments down, showcasing your panties. He brushes his digits along your covered core that pulses, almost as if speaking to his fingers. He applies more pressure, earning a small whimper. His erection gradually growing itself behind his briefs. He uses his index finger to pull your lacy undergarment to the side, a final reveal of your juicy lips. Your core clenches in front of him, as if calling to welcome him within your walls.

And suddenly a harsh slap lands on your delicate womanhood. You nearly fall apart on the spot at the abrupt infliction.

“That’s Mr. Kim to you.” He slips harshly and yanks your panties down to your ankles, your feet having tossed them somewhere in the distance. You hear the unbuckling of his belt, and he swiftly drops his trousers on the ground along with his briefs pooling at his ankles. His erect cock springs up, teasing the cheeks of your ass. And before you could even turn your head to take in the view of him, Seokjin slaps your lips a few times, the tip of his cock grazing against your clit while doing so. He then shoves himself entirely into you within one go, not even thinking to spare you even just for a moment. You knew you didn’t have to actually see his dick to know how big it is because damn did he stretch you out like you’d never been stretched before. You relentlessly pulsate around him, soaking him in your juices.

The pads of your fingertips grip onto the edge of the countertop. “Oh fuck me, oh!”

“Wow, you’re so tight. Fuck.” Jin moans. You find your hair being pulled back; he whispers into your ear, “I’m going to fucking give it to you, you hear me?” His large palm lands a rough smack to your ass cheek.

“Yes! S-sir!” You cry out, and another slap reoccurs, a familiar tingly sensation shoots straight to your heat. You didn’t think Jin was this dominate, but you’re convinced after such a drastic period of time, it would only make sense that he’d release his tension as he pleases. He creates his own brutal pace — relentlessly pounding your pussy out with no mercy. Your body bounces forward from Jin’s ferocious strokes, and your scalp aches from his tug on your hair.

“So wet, so tight,” He whispers to himself, blowing yet another smack to your bottom, followed by a gentle rub, an attempt to ease the soreness. You’re sure he’d leave a mark on you. The sound of his balls clapping against your cheeks resonates through the lab, and you internally pray that no one walks in because how fucked you’d both be if that happens. But at the same time, you really could care less because you’re being fucked by the hottest man in the company and that’s what matters right now.

“Fuck me, Mr. Kim! Please don’t stop!” His tug on your hair gets tighter. His delicate strands flapping up and down in the process of him hammering into you, his Adam’s apple bobs as moans emit from him, and his cock drenches itself in your arousal. He cherishes the sight of his dick entering and exiting your kitty, only for him to thrust forward into you with a sharp jab. He treasures your soft whimpers and cries of his name.

Jin pulls himself out of you completely, and you whine at the sudden loss of contact.

“Turn around,” With shaky legs, you comply and Jin gestures you to sit down on the stool — wrapping his arms under your knees and pulling your legs apart as wide as they can go, your drenched cunt on full display for his horny being.

You can finally see him and nearly cum on the spot at the sight of his huge cock. It’s beautiful, he glimmers of your wet — his mushroom tip approximately the same shade of color as his lips. He gives your pussy a few taps, mimicking a “knocking on the door” motion. The tip of his member prods your entrance, your fingers grip his forearms in hopes to not crumble from his ministrations, your legs eagerly wrapping themselves around his small waist. Once Jin’s length pushes past your folds, your walls immediately welcome him inside.

A fervor moan spills from you, and this time he doesn’t let up on your tender core, continuing where he left off with his rigid pace. With one hand gripping your waist, he uses the other to grip your neck, “Look at you all needy and desperate,” He slaps your face teasingly, earning a yelp from you. “I knew you wanted me this whole time.”

Another slap with a bit more force. A soft gasp falls from your fucked out self.

“Wanted me to destroy your tight little pussy just like this?” He forces a deep thrust, followed by another and another and another, gaining a strained cry from you. Your walls contract around his hardened length, begging for his motions to never stop. He slaps you again, making sure to leave a mark behind on your cheek.

“Speak when you’re spoken to.” He uses this time to slap your clit harshly, unsatisfied with not receiving a response from you.

You whimper in reply, a sudden jerk of your thighs, “Y-yes, Mr. Kim!”

Jin slaps you again, “Who’s a cock-hungry little slut for Mr. Kim?” He continues to slap your face again, alternating between your left and right cheek.

And again.

His filthy words cause a tingly sensation straight to your core, “Me. I-I am a slut for you, Sir.”

And again.

That familiar hum rumbles from Jin’s chest, an approval laced in satisfaction, “Mmm, that’s right. You’ll walk around this facility with my cum buried deep inside you. Understand?” He punctuates his question with a thrust so deep, you swear you feel him in your tummy.

“Yes, Sir!” You cry out with trembling legs. He’s hitting your sweet spot so well, and with another slap to your face, your eyes prick with tears. Jin’s overpowering demeanor is nothing like you’d ever seen before.

“Play with your clit.” He demands, and you follow. Your fingers find the nub to gently rub along the sensitive nerves, causing your thighs to twitch within Jin’s hold.

“Harder,” he commands. You comply and add more pressure, a boiling heat rising in the pit of your tummy. You close your eyes and focus on the sounds of Jin’s panting and your thighs smacking against his. He lands another harsh slap to your face, and squeezes your cheeks together with one hand.

“Open your mouth.” You obey him and find yourself opening up as he requests. He drops a line of his warm saliva onto your tongue, and demands, “Swallow.”

Your clit throbs in pleasure and he notes you’ve stopped rubbing yourself. With a gulp, you ingest his spit with a whimper. Jin slaps your clit this time, your legs naturally jerking in response.

“Did I tell you to stop touching yourself?” He probes while halting his thrusts. You nod your head in a no gesture, “N-no Sir.”

He slaps your aching clitoris repeatedly, then pulls himself out of you. Your walls cry at the loss of his thick cock. He bends down to forcefully slap your pussy, running his fingers along your dripping heat and within moments he lewdly spits on your wet folds, his saliva now glistening your already soaked labia. His tongue darts out to slither along your lips and he places a wet kiss to your clit before pulling away.

“I’d love to keep eating you out, but I’ve been dying to get inside this pussy,” He sheathes his member back inside of you and buries himself to the hilt, pulling back out all the way and slamming back into you. He releases another trail of his spit onto his shaft, smothering himself more. He licks the pad of his thumb and rubs your clit relentlessly, while giving you short and fast strokes; and suddenly your toes curl themselves at the same time your eyebrows furrow.

Seokjin notices your contorted expression, and with a beaming grin, he coos, “That’s right. Cum for Mr. Kim like the good, little slut you are.”

“Cumming, Oh fuck!” Your body quivers within his hold while your orgasm overtakes you, even the stool you’re still seated on slightly skids across the floor beneath you. Jin helps to ride your orgasm out, applying just the right amount of pressure as you writhe underneath him. Your nails graze along his clothed biceps, his sleeves now scrunched and wrinkled, and you honestly have no shame — too lost in being drowned into your orgasm.

He groans at the feel of your cunt contracting around his cock, his thrusts now gaining a sloppy momentum. “Fuck, didn’t know you could get so tight.” His eyes fall down to his cock — the sight of your lady lips sucking him in entirely and contracting around his shaft tips him over the edge.

Seokjin gazes into your eyes with parted lips and lets out a shuddering moan dipped in ecstasy, his nails dig into the flesh of your waist as he rides out his high.

“Fuck,” he breathlessly says. A sudden warmth down below causes you to witness Jin’s cock pulsing as thick ropes of his cum surges into you, painting your walls and filling you up entirely of him. He joins you in watching himself gradually ease out of you. You clench your walls intentionally; Jin’s cum drains from your fucked out heat and drips onto the ground.

You both remain in silence, the sound of your breaths filling up the entire space. Before you could even process what just happened, or simply let out a syllable or two, the double doors of the lab burst open.

There stood a tall, slender man with glasses and a dark-chocolate, bowl cut. His deep, baritone voice sends a shuddering chill through you.

“Someone’s got a lot of explaining to do.”

“Ah, shit.” Jin whispers, with both hands on his hips and his soft length now flaccid. You cover your face in your palms, in full shame.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Mega review (chapters 131 - 148): Part 2  To the side, not the sidelines

A continuation of part 1 of the mega review.  This isn’t a narrative account, but rather a look at all the other groups and happenings around where the main battle is raging.

Heroism in all sizes

It’s like the end of the world.  City Z isn’t the first city to face near total devastation.  But City A was at least gone in a flash. People had almost no time to consider their imminent demise.  In City Z, the carnage has had time to build and to come from multiple directions.  From vampiric monster roots enveloping and sucking the lives out of inhabitants by the block. From powerful earthquakes splitting and even twisting the ground. From aerial bombardments of gigantic rubble and from the sea itself as the coastline is threatened by a chain of tsunamis.  Survivors aren’t bothering to try driving: it’s whatever you can carry as fast as you can.

Those who gave up their beds.  The Hero Hospital in City S has come to serve as an impromptu staging post for nearby heroes.  Like a middle finger stuck up at face of civilisation, the tower previously buried underground and its glowing red monster is just about visible from the hillsides of City S and draws heroes in like a beacon.  First Metal Bat,  then Mumen Rider, then the Tank Toppers, then the Blizzard Group, then all the other heroes hospitalised in the aftermath of either the Day of Chaos or Garou’s depredations discharge themselves against medical advice and run in to see who they can save.

just as well they all went -- the roads are so impassable and the situation so volatile that they’re literally the only rescue coming for hours if not days

Swept up in the mood, the martial artists were considering moving out too, only for Suiryu to pour cold water on the notion.  It has done me a world of good to see that Suiryu has been inspired by Max and Snek and not Saitama. He finally gets it that a hero is someone who has the courage to step into the path of danger because someone needs help, and not because they’re strong and think they’ll win.

No space for playing hero.  It’s very wise that Suiryu advised his fellow martial artists not to play hero.  If many have complained about how heroes seem to be blessed with life, no such protections are afforded to non-heroes. The people who went in alongside heroes have suffered grievously,  although those who have died did so bravely.

I have a one-person prayer circle going for Sekingar. I pray that ONE will choose to spare his fine non-hero one-eyed, single-handed ass.  I have come to like the guy and I’ve been impressed at how he has stayed calm when trapped in City Z,  succeeded in encouraging discouraged heroes and even asserting a genuine authority to guide Metal Bat and King. I don’t think there’s too many more like him in the executive of the Hero Association and think it’d be a shame if he didn’t bring his hard-won experiences back to guide them in what’s sure to be a crisis.

The king under the mountain

This arc has introduced us to a lot of concepts and players who are likely to have long-term effect on the world.  In this series of chapters, some of these ideas are developed further.

Came for the pussy, stayed for the tentacles. I’m sorry, I’m allowed one double entendre a week and I decided to curse you with it.  I wouldn’t have mentioned this but Drive Knight’s comings and goings are almost certainly going to be very plot-relevant later.   He was supposed to be gone with his prize of one Nyan, but then he saw the tower emerge and Psykos-Orochi wave tentacles skyward and as much as a cyborg with no discernable facial features can be said to yearn, he yearned. For a sample that is.

He stuck around as long as it took him to get a sample of Orochi and then he was gone, without so much as a ‘thank you for your help’.  At present, we’ll just have to see what this is all about later.

When the cat’s away the mice will play.  The only way to foment a world ending crisis is to have the guy who can squash it all and wonder what the fuss was about occupied elsewhere.  Through meeting Flashy Flash and getting a tour into the deepest reaches of the Monster Association thanks to Manako, and a couple of other things, Saitama is literally trapped in an alternative dimension. Although, being Saitama, if he felt a sense of urgency, he’d break back into the real world without a second thought.  Right now he’s curious,worried for his house, but mostly hungry.  Some curry would be nice.

The real question is how are the heroes going to hold out until Saitama arrives?  I’ve been touched by how genre-savvy Genos and King are about this. It’d be amusing if it weren’t so brutally true.

The formal establishment of extra-spatial dimensions as a feature not restricted to a few unusual individuals.   Phoenixman first got us learning about the idea of extra dimensions, in his case a private manifestation of his inner psyche.  Neither he nor Child Emperor physically moved.

Ninchirin introduces us to the idea of an extra-spatial dimension that physical objects can be stowed in and taken from.

But nothing takes it as far as ‘God’ with the existence of a pocket dimension with its own timeline that takes people in wholesale.  Whether a lot of time passes on the outside (as it does for Saitama and co) or no time passes (as it does for Psykos-Orochi) seems to depend on ‘His’ will. 

The formal establishment of ‘God’ as a singular being with a distinct personality.  Homeless Emperor first talked about ‘God’ as being a being who tasked him with eliminating humanity after he despaired of living as one.  Pyskos expands on that concept. She saw ‘God’ very differently, as a quasi-planetary being rather than as a vaguely humanoid one, but her experience of ‘Him’ as a being who bestowed power and a mission on her bears striking similarity to that of Homeless Emperor.

How people get to talk to ‘God’ becomes clear when we see Flashy Flash and Saitama accidentally summoning ‘Him’ via handling a box.  Which leads very naturally to elucidating some of the mystery of Blast. 

Finding out why Blast is still the number 1 hero.   If the likes of Tatsumaki leave us scratching our heads as to how any hero could outwork her in terms of facing monsters, Blast gives us an answer.  He specialises in dealing with non-physical threats, which he does by having some sort of dimension-hopping gizmo.  The black box he disposes of identical to that seen in Tatsumaki’s flashback, leading us naturally to think about what business the facility holding her was having with ‘Him.’   Webcomic readers see a gimme as well in the construction of the Ninja Village Flash hails from, along with Blast paying the ninjas a visit.

With Blast having taken Saitama and co out of reality, it’s going to be an unknown while before they pop back into it.

Sleeping is such a nice euphemism for dying

The principle of explosive growth through surviving situations that should have killed one is by this point a well-established mechanic within the story.  After seeing Phoenixman come back from the dead, it should perhaps not be a surprise to us that Orochi does the same.  In coming back, he’s evolved into a distributed form that can regrow after even extensive destruction and the consequences of his doing so are already covered in part 1 of this review.

Speaking of evolution, what about Garou? We left Garou buried under tons of rock in the wake of Tatsumaki lifting the base.  Yet again, he does not die -- thank you Darkshine for your anti blunt trauma vaccination -- and little by little, we see him dig himself out, and transforming himself as he goes as he dreams of a world in which he enforces peace but very unconventional means.

In retrospect, the sequence of Garou’s eyes closing in response to his humanising memory of Tareo is the most ominous as the eyes that open again have not a shred of humanity in them.

It reminds me a lot of what we saw happen to Gouketsu when the latter accepted a monster cell, his human eyes closing as a new set of monster ones opened.

At long last, Garou makes it back to the surface.  But what’s this?  Where’s the wise-cracking, judgemental little shit we love?  What is this near silent, befanged, clawed feral creature beating down on everything he sees? Oh dear.  He is not sleeping sweetly, dreaming pleasant dreams of a world perfectly obedient while he waits for the fist of some self-righteous prince to awaken him to his destiny.  Garou may perceive it as lapses in consciousness, but it’s the monster within eating him alive.  He’s dying. He is under real existential threat of being completely lost to monsterfication and how it is that he can save his humanity is a big point of interest. 

In his flawed way,  Bang is trying to get through to Garou.  I don’t hold out big prospects of him reaching him.  And if he does, I hold out even smaller prospects of him actually beating Garou.  Barring some interruption, we might be about to see the tragedy of a master beaten down by his student.

I’m going to leave this review here.  What comes next is all too soon going to change the status quo of the story, if not for the better, then certainly for the more eventful. 

[strongerwiththepack]

I got ‘fever’ and ‘train’ and of course, I would love this for Virgil 😁💚

From the Whump Generator. Another one for Virgil! I’ve done a short Virgil with a fever fic in the past so thought I’d try and mix it up for this one XD Hope you enjoy x

Virgil & Fever & Train

“I need help!” Virgil grunted urgently across the comms as he purposefully toppled over another stack of suitcases while he stumbled along the length of the train. He could still hear the thundering steps behind him.

“Virgil? What’s wrong?” Scott’s urgent voice came through the comms. His brother was about a mile out in Thunderbird One ready to provide support.

“I’ve been made.” He huffed out as he stumbled and crashed into the side of one of the seats causing a startled gasp from the woman sitting there. “Sorry ma’am” He mumbled as he pushed himself forward again.

“I got cut on the arm and somethings wrong. Maybe drugs? Poison? I don’t know.” He fell to his knees as the world began to tilt again. There were some startled gasps from other passengers but he couldn’t get them involved. Pushing himself up, he burst his way into the next carriage.

“I’m on my way.” Scott ground out and Virgil could hear the whine of the engines. “Kayo? Are you close?”

“I’m still further down the train but I’m coming Virgil, hang on.”

He was in the cabin section now. It was a long-stay train, all the passengers had private cabins. Virgil fumbled with the latch on the closest one and fell inside. Thankfully, it was unoccupied. He kicked the door closed as he lay on ground panting.

Rolling over onto his back, he gripped his upper arm where he had been cut and felt the waves of heat already coming off of it. Poison. It must be. His head thumped onto the grimy carpet of the cabin as he let out a groan. The world was tilting dramatically and he had to swallow back the bile in his throat.

“Virgil. Status.” Scott commanded, the comms had clearly been left open.

“Shut myself in a cabin.” Virgil grunted. “Whatever was on that knife is working fast, I’m a sitting duck here.”

“I’m almost to you Virgil, just stay there.” Kayo panted, she’d clearly been running.

“Believe me.” Virgil groaned. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The door suddenly banged open and Virgil scrambled back when he quickly identified that no, it was not Kayo. His legs felt like jelly, but he managed to wriggle away until his back was against the cabin wall. He panted at the effort it had taken and squinted up at the two men who had entered the cabin, his vision blurring dangerously.

“All cut up with no where to go huh?” One of the men sneered. “This is the end of the line for you kid.”

One of them yanked him up off the floor and slammed him against the wall. The curves of the window dug painfully into his back. He tried to push the guy away, using the methods Kayo had taught him but his muscles weren’t cooperating. He arms shook with exertion, but the guy didn’t even flinch.

Suddenly those hands were around his throat and the proper techniques were forget as panic took over and Virgil batted weakly at the guys chest. It hurt. His eyes were watering and his chest was straining. Someone was screaming over the comm but it tunnelled in Virgil’s ears as darkness crept into the edges of his vision and his arms fell to his sides.

And then suddenly he could breathe. He crumpled to the floor and wretched, gasping for air through the sharp pain in his throat. He couldn’t even move from the uncomfortable position he’d landed in but he craned his head towards the commotion he could hear in the cabin.

Kayo was there and he watched as the guy who’s been strangling him screamed in agony as Kayo snapped his wrist back, bone breaking through skin as he was forced to drop his knife. Virgil winced. His sister was not holding back. She spun and delivered a sharp elbow to his temple and he crumpled. There was no sign of the other guy.

Her face morphed from fury to concern as her eyes landed on him. “Virgil? Oh god, are you okay?”

As soon as he tried to speak his body was wracked with a coughing fit. His vision tunnelled again briefly as he failed to get air back into his lungs.

“Just breath V, you’re okay.” He heard Kayo saying as she rubbed his back and helped him sit up against the wall again. Virgil took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm down. His head felt fuzzy and his skin was burning. Something was seriously wrong.

“We’re going to get you out of here, okay Virgil?” Kayo assured. “Just stay with me.”

Before Virgil could even think to respond a shout sounded from outside the room.

“Dammit!” Kayo cursed, she squeezed his shoulder gently before standing up and peering round the corner.

“Where the hell are you, Scott?” She whisper-shouted into her comm.

A few seconds later and she was gone, sounds of a commotion reached him from down the corridor. She was in trouble. He needed to help. He tried to push himself up but a shooting pain in his chest made him faulter and he cried out in pain before he could even tried to muffle it.

He may have blacked out for a couple of seconds because suddenly Scott was beside him, running a hand through his hair and gently saying his name. He focused on his brother, breathing heavily.

“Kay?”

“She’s good Virg, just relax. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Virgil’s voice failed him after that, and his breaths came out in alarming wheezes that made him feel dizzy. Scott was using the medscanner on him when Kayo came back into the small room. His eyes refused to focus on her but she didn’t seem to be hurt.

“He’s burning up.” Scott reported worriedly. “Whatever’s happening, he doesn’t have long.”

That did not sound good. Sweat was dripping off of him and it was taking all he had to pay attention to what was going on around him.

Kayo bent down to pick up the knife she’d disarmed one of the men of. “Here, send a sample to Brains. We’ll get him back to the island as fast as we can.”

Virgil wanted to be a part of the conversation but his eyes were closing against his will. He was just so tired.

“Hey!” He heard as someone grabbed his chin. Blinking his eyes open he saw Scott looking down at him worryingly. “Stay awake, okay? That’s an order.”

Virgil grit his teeth even as his lip trembled. He could do that. Scott was asking one more thing of him. He could do it.

“Can you carry him?” Kayo asked from her position at the door.

“Of course.”

“Okay Virg, time to go.” Scott relayed as he brushed Virgil’s sweat-soaked hair away from his face. “Unfortunately, stretchers aren’t a good evac from a moving train in the middle of a gun fight so this is going to suck but it’ll be over soon.”

And then Scott was gripping him around the waist and hoisting him over his shoulder. Virgil lasted 2 seconds before he failed his only task and the darkness overtook him.

*

He floated in and out of consciousness as he felt the whine of his brothers Bird around him. His whole body hurt and he was sure he was letting off whines of pain but he couldn’t stop himself.

Voices floated around him as someone dabbed something cold against his skin.

“I told you he wasn’t ready.”

“It was his decision!”

“I’ve said it before, we are not a police force.”

“He could handle it.”

“He’s dying Kayo!”

Virgil’s thoughts were muddled as he was pulled back down into blissful unconsciousness.

fin.