#I don’t know the right spelling now these tags r making me doubt SO

[acompassionatemonster]

I seriously think I’m speaking to a three year old because there’s no way you can be older than a toddler with how stupid you are. If you are older, please consider going back to school because you’re not gonna get far in life with your lack of common sense and underdeveloped brain. There is no way you can call me illiterate when you literally started your reply with, ‘not you’re mad’ and ended with ‘stay one that Jujutsu Kaisen season two’. And in your first reply you did get your ‘your’ and ‘you’re’ mixed up - you used ‘your’ when it should’ve been ‘you’re so scared’. Now please tell me if that made any sense. Take your head out of your ass and admit how much of an imbecile you are.

Love don’t worry about if I have a job or not, I know I am and will be fine but it’s you that you should be worried about right now. I don’t think you can get a job with your stupidity and illiteracy - no wonder why you read manga, bro just follows the pictures and ignores all the actual writing. Please do yourself and everyone else a favour and log off of Tumblr and every other social and pick up an actual book.

Oh come on now, don’t be a coward and avoid my question. I’ll stop bothering you when you either answer what media you are planning to consume soon or admit that you putting a Gojo spoiler without any spoiler warning and under a Toji tag was idiotic and insensitive (even though you strongly disagree - I’m sorry I didn’t know we had a new Joker over here- not that you have the IQ to be able to pull that off). I’m sorry that I’m the only honest person in your life to say you are insensitive. I bet you don’t even know what that word means given that your literacy and comprehension skills are very limited. So I’ll help you out a bit (because I doubt you can even spell it) and give you a definition, ‘insensitive’ (an adjective) - showing or feeling no concern for other’s feelings. A synonym would be ‘inconsiderate’. You can’t prove me wrong that those words don’t describe you. It was a big spoiler and I know it because you were probably crying over it and in your post you literally say you’re not ‘reading jjk anymore idc’ - therefore, you had no right in spoiling it for others, get that into your thick head and small fish brain.

I’m sorry I didn’t know you were a sheep and posting spoilers without warnings because, ‘literally everyone on here isn’t’. Are you that daft? Just because everyone isn’t, doesn’t mean it’s not wrong. Bro are you saying that if the purge happened and everyone was out wreaking havoc, you’d do the same thing and still say it’s not wrong? Are you a child that doesn’t know right from wrong? Please for the love of God, for your own future and safety, go back to school.

TLDR: stfu and tell me your opinion when you have a present dad x and sorry if this was too much writing for your bozo self to process mwah.

I think I'm speaking to someone who dropped out of school, like literally dropped out of school in the 7th grade. Because if YOU'RE SO SCARED OF SPOILERS WHY ARE YOU ON TUMBLR?? LIKE I FUCKING SAID YOU PEOPLE HAVE SERIOUS ISSUES. IF YOU DONT READ THE NEW CHAPTERS THEN THATS, ON WHO??? ITS ON YOU. and why are you harassing me about my spelling?? Bitch it's fucking Tumblr, I'm not writing a thesis, a research paper or even a fucking essay. If I wanted to write a whole fucking article and then yes I would make sure that my spellings of both 'your' and 'you're were correct. However IM NOT. AND IDGAF. So why tf would I care if I spelt something wrong or mixed a few words up???. You bitches are talentless, jobless, bored and can't fucking read nor write and still live with YOURE parents in their BASEMENT. AND WANNA COME AFTER ME BECAUSE YOU GOT SPOILED. BITCH I DONT CARE IF YOU DIDNT READ THE CHAPTER AND FOUND OUT GOJO IS DEAD!!!!! BECAUSE SOCIAL MEDIA HAS SPOILERS E V E R Y W H E R E. DONT COME ONLINE AND YOU WONT GET SPOLUED THEN YOU FUCKING ASSHAT. YOUR mother must have dropped your special ass on the head as a baby, because why are you at YOUR grown ass age GOING ON DIFFERENT PROFILES TO HARASS ME ABOUT A FICTIONAL FUCKING CHARACTER. I just fucking know you don't take baths OR EVEN WASH THAT FUCKING FILTHY ASS OF YOURS. it's fucking disgusting that YOUR Neanderthal ass came on here to give me a hard time because you what??? Can't keep up with the chapters when it releases??? Not my problem fucktard. And I'll tag my fucking posts with whatever I want. And I did answer your question, I said and I quote I don't care sweetie. So why don't you go to sleep and roll over on that cockroach infested ass floor mattress you sleep on every night. Roll over and go get caught up to the new chapters. Imagine trying to harass someone because YOU live in a section 8 apartment, with 15 other family members, have roaches and rats crawling all over you while you sleep and mad at me. NOBODY GIVES A FUCK ABOUT YOU!!! I'm just sure YOURE a fucking foster child whose mother and father left your Crack baby ass in foster care. Because there's no way that someone who had a loving, family or SUPPORT SYSTEM IS THIS BOTHERED. AND IF YOU'RE SO FUCKING BRAVE WHY WERE YOU POSTING ANONYMOUSLY??? GET A LIFE YOU SMALL BRAINED, LONELY, PATHETIC, NEANDERTHAL ASS BITCH. I HOPE YOU TOSS AND TURN ON THAT FLOOR MATTRESS YOU SHARE WITH YOU 8 SIBLINGS EVERY NIGHT.

and stop coming on my page, mad ass., stupid ass, MONKEY ASS BITCH.

[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. 

[jamespotterthefirst]

Can u write a small fic where a female intern is flirting shamelessly with ethan and he is completely unaware of it😂😂(well his mind is actually not on her but on lilac he just pretends to listen😂🤣) and lilac sees this sets intern in her place(they r married at that point) and it is only fair if lilac is also jealous😛

Autograph

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC  (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 800 Warning: language   

It isn't until the roaring of the blender comes to a complete stop that Ethan realizes someone has been talking to him this whole time. Although, in all honesty, his distraction had nothing to do with the crowded, bustling coffeehouse and everything to do with the picture coming into his phone's inbox. Lilac's beautiful face contorted into the most ridiculous expression, one Ethan always pretends to mock even when it leaves him glowing with contentment. 

“Dr. Ramsey?” a voice says next to him. 

It's a short, blonde intern he remembers from rounds that morning. At least, he thinks it's the same one he is remembering. They all blend together into a swirl of terrified faces at this point. 

The blonde smiles coyly, parting her lips deliberately, her posture straightening. 

Ethan is unmoved, teetering on the edge of impatience. 

“Dr. Ramsey,” she repeats, his name uttered with the cadence of a breathless murmur. It  almost drowns in the clattering background, forcing him to strain to hear her. 

Ethan is already annoyed. 

“Is there something I can do for you, Doctor. Or can it wait until after I'm done enjoying a scrap of peace during my free time?” 

The young intern pouts her lips and, to Ethan's dismay, she doesn't look offended or discouraged. Instead, she produces a hardcover book from her bag, holding it up to Ethan like an of offering to a vengeful god. 

When he peers down at it, he can see it's a brand new copy of his book, complete with plastic wrap and price tag. 

“I was wondering if you could sign my book?” She makes her voice deliberately melodious, no doubt thinking it irresistible. 

“No.”

This does give her pause. 

“What? But—” 

“I don't do autographs.”

The brash intern opens her mouth as though to argue. Ethan waits, almost stunned with disbelief, though his face betrays nothing. Maybe Lilac is right (as always) and he was going soft. No intern who valued their job or their dignity would have dared challenged him years ago. 

Well, except maybe one. 

“Don't take it personally,” a soft voice says from a few feet away, sending every nerve ending in his body into high alert. “The last time he autographed someone's book, the person just gave it away as if it were a Nicholas Sparks novel.”

Ethan readies a stern, disapproving glare but the sight of Lilac, looking fiercely irresistible in an elegant and rather form fitting pant suit, easily inspires a fond smile instead. Lilac, on the other hand, is far from smiling, sending a cool, assessing look at the puzzled intern. 

“It was an overall traumatic experience for him so he doesn't do them anymore.”

Ethan narrows his eyes at her when their gazes finally meet. This brightens her expression with amusement, the hard edge of her features softening considerably as she gives him a charming little smile. 

“I don't under—” the befuddled intern begins. 

The words halt abruptly, however, because at that very moment, Lilac settles into his side, her arm encircling his waist, her body fitting like a puzzle piece against his. Green eyes glance up to meet his from behind those cute spectacles she started wearing a few years back, her cheeks glowing the prettiest shade of pink from the mid October chill. Pulse affluter, he decides he cannot resist another second without kissing her in greeting. 

The intern, whom Ethan had forgotten about, lets out a surprised squeak. 

“Dr. Ramsey, I didn't know you were—” 

“Married?” He doesn't hide the irritation at being interrupted. “Happily so. A fact you could have discovered with a modicum of research before deciding to flirt with one of your attendings.”

The intern clutches the book to her chest, mortified. In the end, she escapes back to Edenbrook, dignity in shreds. 

“You are quite the celebrity, Dr. Ramsey, ” Lilac teases, exaggerating the intern's breathy tone. 

The tiny space around them tightens with customers and Ethan pulls her close in front of him. 

“Are you jealous, Dr. Allende?” 

“Yes,” she returns without hesitation. “I'm big enough to admit I don't enjoy it when my husband gets hit on with my own autograph move.”

Ethan laughs. 

Hands at the dip of her waist, he leans in to whisper, “So are you finally admitting you were hitting on me that day?” 

“In your dreams, Dr. Ramsey. ” 

She is taunting him again, her voice an alluring, breathy murmur. Hearing it from her in that sexy, dark whisper, has his skin humming like an exposed wire. 

“Say it again.”

“Your name?” 

“Yes. The same way you just did.”

She gives him a devilish little smirk, eyes glinting in the gold lighting of the coffee shop. Her voice is a lush whisper, barely audible over the blenders, but Ethan leans in to catch every word. 

“No. I only call you that at work,” she begins casually. Then her voice plunges dangerously. “Or in bed.”

Ethan groans. 

The barista calls out their order, completely breaking the spell. 

“Come on,” she says with a laugh, tugging at his hand. “We only have twenty minutes of lunch left. For now, I'll have to keep you awake and alert with good coffee.”

A/N: Again, a little piece of nothingness. Thank you anon for this. And also, other anons (old and new) I am working on a few of your requests! (Coming up are the Ethan with the kids request, the parent jealousy request, and Naveen with a neighbor request from months ago)

Thank you for reading! 

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[votederpycausemufins]

when did I last update this fic? ...how many months ago?! well then! let's fix that!

another chapter of Surprisingly familiar (the sequel to summoning family)

tagging @helleborusangel because of their rambles (it make me go :3) and then @petrichormeraki for making the hermit tommy au

Vee_WL joined the world

Everyone was suddenly on high alert as there was a message of someone new joining the world. After Grian having disappeared, the reveal of Kokatori’s true self and the group leaving for hels, no one was really ready to greet them with open arms. Bdubs was the first to get into attack mode, tearing his shirt off and getting his knives ready. Hoodie followed suit, pulling out a book of spells. Then after him was Jrum, who pulled out a sword and his shears, which clattered to the ground as he was attacked from behind.

“You! What’s your name how old are you are you a robot are you my pair or Astrid’s how’s your training going is Grian a fun teacher are- Eep!” Once Jrum processed what was going on, he shoved who had attacked him off of him, surprised to come face to face with some kid that looked around Grum’s age. Technical age.

“What? Who are you supposed to be?” Jrum asked, noticing people were ready to attack, but weren’t with the person so close to him.”

“I’m Vee! Dad said you and I are a pair! Or probably a pair. You might be Astrid’s pair, but she’s gone to visit her girlfriend. But you definitely look like you’re in training age!”

“Training age for what?” Someone - Tango - asked.

“Watcher training! Wait do you know what Watchers are? Like really know or do you just know about them but not the right stuff and-“

“Now hold on a second there.” Joe spoke up. “You’re goin’ a bit fast for us to all keep up. We’ve had some troubles here recently, so everyone’s a bit on edge. Mind explaining slowly who you are and why you’re here?”

“Yes sir Mr. Herobrine sir!” The kid said with a salute. “My name is Vee! Listener in training. I just reached my one year mark in training under my dad! A friend of his told him of some Watchers in training being located in this world and my dad allowed me to visit!”

“You’re a Listener?” Bdubs asked, gripping his knives a bit tighter.

“In training, but yes!” Vee answered with a smile. “Oh, if you don’t know what that is, it’s like the opposite or mirror or something to Watchers. So much so that Watchers and Listeners are linked to each other. So like my Dad is linked with Grian since they both joined around or at the same time and so the same thing happened with my and Astrid and this person here!” And Vee grabbed Jrum by the shoulders. “By the way what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you!” Jrum answered, finally escaping from Vee and hiding behind Joe, him being the closest hermit. “You just showed up unannounced into a very very hard to get to place! I’m not trusting you!”

“Oh… I guess that makes sense. Sorry.” Vee replied, sounding sad. “Dad just said you would be here, a-and I got excited. I guess too excited.”

“Giving them the slight benefit of the doubt.” Hoodie spoke up, causing most people to look at him. “They have yet to attack even though they’ve had plenty in terms of chances too, especially with our defensive display.”

“Defen what?” Vee asked, looking around. “Uh, does that have something to do with taking clothes off?”

“Bdubs put your shirt back on.”

.

.

.

“So your m-mom lives all the w-way out here?” Grian asked, huddling up more in the coat Flora had handed him. “I thought you s-said she was a f-fish hybrid.”

“Not exactly.” Flora replied, pushing a branch out of the way that nearly whacked Grian when she let go of it. “She’s a type of merfolk, which yeah, is considered a fish hybrid, but she’s still warm blooded enough to live out here.”

“R-right.” Grian said, sort of understanding what was said. Then he tripped over something in the snow, falling face first into the white powder. “F-fuck this is c-cold.”

Flora helped Grian back up which also freed a cat out from under him. As soon as it was freed, it shook the extra snow from its fur and ran off in the direction Grian and Flora were heading. “W-was that a cat?”

“Yeah, probably one of Euro’s. He’s my uncle, so essentially your brother, but future. He’s got like twenty therapy cats to keep him from exploding whenever. It mostly helps, but still be careful.” Then Flora squinted, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Especially because it looks like he and Grandma’s have some friends over.”

Grian followed Flora’s line of sight to a cottage up ahead. Around a campfire were four people. In one chair, surrounded by cats, was a creeper hybrid. Next to them was a lady dressed in purples that reminded Grian of what little he could recall of his mom.

The other pair of people around the fire were less familiar, one of them also probably female with electric blue hair in a ponytail, sitting next to someone that Grian’s mind was having a hard time processing, their face being split half and half, one side being a dark teal color and the other being a powdery pink. “Who are all of those?”

“Right, time travel shit. Far left is Euro covered with cats. Nex to him is Grandma, or I guess your mom. Next to her is Ekke, and to her left is Silski.”

“Are they a hybrid?” Grian asked, focused mainly on Silski.

“Him? Yeah. Sculk hybrid. He doesn’t get along with you, er, future you. Mainly because he doesn’t like Sense.” And as soon as Flora had said that, she and Grian had gotten close enough to be noticed by Silski, who looked over to them and got out of his chair, growling. “Ah fuck.”

“Flora? What are you doing out here?” Ekke asked, though the only response Flora gave her was flipping her off.

“It’s Fleur to you bitches! And I’m here to see my mom!” Flora complained, no longer being careful and just stomping over to the group, hissing coming from the cats in Euro’s lap.

“And the Ender fucker is here why?” Silski asked, making the others look at Grian. He didn’t know what it meant, but obviously it seemed to be something bad.

“Long story involving time shit. He shouldn’t smell to you.”

“No, he reeks of ender.” Silski replied. “Bring him any closer and you’ll be responsible for whatever happens.”

“You wouldn’t do anything if my girlfriend were here.” Flora spoke, arms crossed, ignoring as Grian tried to pull her away. “Just because you’re racist doesn’t mean you can kill whoever you want.”

Before Silski could say anything more, there was a different type of hissing that got everyone’s attention. “C-can you pl-please leave her b-be. I d-don’t want to lose a-any c-cats.”

“…Fine.” Silski relented after a few moments, sitting back down. Flora took Grian’s hand and pulled him along, flipping the sculk hybrid off with her other hand as they raced by.

“Fucking finally. Now let’s find my mom.”

.

.

.

Grum banged against the bedrock trapping him and Techno while Techno pulled out enough materials to craft a stone axe. It wasn’t the best weapon, but right now it was all they had. “Any chance you know how to break through that stuff?”

“Um, I think Eyes can.” Grum answered. “But I don’t really know how to make that work. Right now it all feels really jumbled because of stuff going on.”

“I know the feeling. Chat’s all over the place right now. My guess is they don’t do well in this hels place.”

“That might be it. It might also-” And Grum was cut off as a blade made of obsidian pierced the bedrock, nearly missing Techno. Grum then pulled Techno down before the sword was pulled out and came again, slashing through the bedrock completely and cutting the top of their prison off. Before another attack, the pair both pushed against the bedrock and climbed out, Techno noticing movement and throwing his axe at whatever it was, assuming it was their attacker.

There was a screech as the axe hit its target and Techno hazarded a glance to see their foe before he quickly turned back and picked Grum up, running faster, but also turning so they were now running around their enemy.

With Grum no longer focused on running, he was able to look at the area around them. Techno was currently running towards Mumbo and Wilbur, who Grum was happy to see again. At the edge of a forest, he could see Xisuma and EX just exiting it. But then Grum focused on who the enemy was.

He was in the air, multiple wings keeping him aloft, each pair a different color. Purple like portal magic, black like obsidian, and finally the gray mix of bedrock. His face had just as many pairs of eyes, but more made of magic seemed to float around him. In one hand he was holding a sword made of obsidian, and the other had purple magic coating it, seemingly ready to attack with magic. Though Grum didn’t want it to be, there was no doubt that that had to be his dad.

He was shocked slightly out of his thinking by his daddy calling out his name, Grian looking between Mumbo and Grum for a moment before using the prepared magic to launch some sort of fireball at Grum and Techno.

Techno tried to move out of the way, but Grum knew he couldn’t go fast enough. Then a cowboy came out of nowhere and was thrown into the attack. “Oi! Where the fuck have you all been?!”

Looking towards the voice, Tommy and Paul were arriving, Tommy slowing down to stay away from the fight while Paul continued further, shooting a crossbow at Grian. “What the heck did you just throw at him?”

After Techno spoke, Grian turned towards Paul, slashing at him. “Someone who attacked us. Tommy called them Puffy?”

“Except she’s a fucking cowboy for some reason!” Tommy continued to explain. “I guess that’s Hels for you.”

“That… that doesn’t make sense.” EX was the one to speak, him and Xisuma reaching everyone just as they all grouped up sans Paul who was still fighting, and then Techno as he set Grum down to go help. “I mean, maybe that works? But I don’t see how you go from pirate to cowboy.”

“I think it makes sense.” Mumbo spoke up. “Both sort of oldtimey roles, one land one sea. Plus some other stuff.”

“Well I don’t think it matters, because it definitely looks like all that fighting knocked her out and now we’re just worried about evil Grian!” Wilbur commented, sounding very happy until he was elbowed by Xannes. “Oh, do you need something?”

“We’re all about to die. Only person I’ll let be that chipper when we’re going to die isn’t here right now, so you can can it.”

They couldn’t argue more when there was some sort of shrieking, making everyone cover their ears before some sort of mutant enderman appeared, two people clinging to its back from swords embedded in it. “Sorry if we’re late to the party dudes.”

“Mate how the fuck do we get off this thing!”

“Phil! Doc!” Tommy exclaimed. “And you can fucking fly!”

“Oh right.” Phil said before pulling his sword out and flying away, leaving Doc to yank out his own and fall to the ground. “This Ranboo is a fucking nightmare!”

“This what?” EX asked, Xisuma behind him using a shield to defend against a stray attack from the battler behind them all. “That’s obviously something random Grian summoned in.”

“Nah it ain’t mate. It’s got the same split that Ranboo has, though it’s obvious both halves are Enderman now.”

“But that’s impossible.” EX said, looking back at the supposed Hels copy.

“Why is it impossible? Is it from him being a mutant?” Mumbo spoke up. “I thought Hels was all more dangerous stuff?”

“Not always. It- wait, said that again.” EX said, making everyone look at him, his tone making it clear he realized something.

“Why is it impossible?” Mumbo repeated. “I thought Hels was more dangerous?”

“And you thought cowboys and pirates… this is all your fault!”

“It’s what?”

“Hey can all of you stop arguing and help Paul and I out here!”

“Theseus said there was something instead of a whitelist. Some sort of test or trap or whatever. I’m guessing this is it.”

“I’m pretty sure I nearly fucking died back there.” Tommy piped up, though was quickly shushed.

“That’s why none of this makes sense! You’re the one who things cowboys and pirates go together! You’re the one who thought there could be an ender Hels! You’re the one who thinks a Watcher could have this kind of power in Hels in the first place. All of this is wrong because it’s not real!”

And just like that, it all started to crumble apart. Everything started fading away except for the group who was supposed to be there. Somehow Techno and Paul made their way back to the group, ready to face what was going to really be there. Everyone was focused on the disappearing world. Everyone that is, except for Mumbo, who saw one thing that wasn’t disappearing. Someone who had been following Xisuma and his brother. Their mask stared back at Mumbo, showing no emotions but the frown on its face. And then just as everything reappeared, they were gone.

[wolfish-trickster]

Show, don't tell

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1 815

Summary: your friends dare you to tell your crush how you feel. But since you're mischievious just like him, you'll do it in your way

Warnings: none i guess (besides my bad grammar, but you already know that) and Loki is slightly ooc

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld

When you were a kid you saw a little boy at your favourite playground. He never spoke, he only moved his fingers and hands strangely. When you asked your parent, they said it's called sign language and people who can't hear use it to comunicate.

Later in your life you met a girl in school who was deaf and lonely. You wanted to become her friend so you took few classes and learned sign. You two were always together, best friends till the end of the school. You two stayed in contact after you went your separate ways.

That was the past. Now you had another person in your life who knew sign language: Clint Barton. Actually, you taught him sign when he lost hearing in an accident on a mission. You were friends ever since. He introduced you to the rest of the Avengers and they became your friends as well. You began spending a lot of time in the tower, you slept over sometimes so Tony gave you your own room. It was smaller than the rest of the Avengers' and was practically the attic of the tower, but it was cozy and you liked it.

It was a cloudy friday and you just entered the tower. You and Natasha wanted to hang out (and how better than having a sleepover with movies, nail polish and classic girly thing Nat doesn't get to enjoy in her hero time?)

As you stumbled across the living area you heard voices. Most likely coming from the party deck. Strange, Tony didn't mention any parties.

You walked one floor upstairs and saw Clint, Nat, Steve, Bucky and Thor sitting on couches, a single glass bottle layed on the table. Everyone had their heads turned towards the ceiling. You looked up and saw Peter making a giant web.

He sticked a big spider plushie inside and swung himself down to couches. "Alright, my turn."

"What are guys doing?" you sat down next to Thor.

"Playing truth or dare of course," Peter explained as he spinned the bottle.

"We are teching Thor what people do to embarass eachother," Natasha chuckled as she was showing you her pigtails and childish make up.

"Can I join?" you asked.

"Sure, who knows, maybe it will land on you."

The bottle stopped right as Nat finished the sentence. Its openening pointing to Clint.

"Alright mister Barton, truth or dare?" Peter asked.

"For the last time kid, just Clint. Truth, I already picked dare twice. Let's hear your question."

"Alright, ummmm," Peter held his chin inbetween his fingers, thinking. He snapped. "What happened in Budapest?"

Clint and Natasha looked at eachother smirking. This will take a while.

~

After few more rounds the bottle finally pointed to you. Your heart pounded with excitement and fear at the same time.

"So," Steve sat a little straighter, "truth or dare?"

"Uhm...... I'm a big girl, dare!"

"Okay then, I dare you to-"

"How in the nine did that web get there?"

All of you turned to the entrance hall. Loki stood there, arms crossed, leaning against a wall.

"Uuuuuh a giant spider?" Peter smiled sheepishly trying too hard to be believable.

"We are playing a game to embarrass eachother. Join us. It's way more fun than I expected," Thor invited Loki.

Loki shook his head. "I have no interest in games today. Maybe later I shall join," his eyes locked with yours. He smiled softly and waved at you. "Hello Y/N."

You blushed and waved back. "Hi Loki."

The younger prince then turned, walked to Tony's stash of alcohol and found himself a glass.

You smiled to yourself. He ignored everyone in the room and said 'hello' to you. Only you. It felt good being noticed.

You felt stares on yourself. Everyone looking at you. Clint smirked and whispered something to Steve. Both of them smirked (almost mischeviously) as they leaned against the back of the couch.

Steve licked his lips. "I dare you to tell Loki you have a crush on him."

"What? No, no way. I change my mind, I want truth."

"I may be too old for this but even I know that's not how this game works, doll," Bucky chuckled at your poor attempt to get yourself out of the dare.

"But- I can't do that, I mean.... I like him, really but not like-," you noticed Natasha raising an eyebrow at you, "-that. Oh gosh, is it obvious?" you asked as you hid your burning face in your hands.

A loud and clear 'yes' was said in unison. You groaned and pulled your knees towards your chest hiding you even more. "This is bad guys. I can't tell him."

"A dare is a dare, you have to."

"But I can't! I can be glad a god, and a bookworm one, considers me his friend. With admitting my true feelings to him I risk looosing him for good!"

Thor huffed. "Loki is not mean. Well, not THAT mean at least. Besides, worse could have happened. Like that one time he and this maiden-"

"We are NOT discussing his previous love life infront of her!" Natasha interrupted Thor's story.

As they started to argue Clint smiled at you and started signing: *I may be deaf, but I'm not blind. I can see it in his eyes. He likes you and I doubt he will reject you. There is something pure between you two, would be a shame if not explored and deepened. * he winked at you as he signed the word "deepened".

His encouraging words helped you sooth your anxiety. He was right. There is something between you, you just aren't sure if that something is romantic.

You took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm going."

You smirked secretely when all they could see was your back. Oh, you are going to tell him, but in your way.

You found Loki sitting at a bar, book on the table, a glass of wine in his hand. You sat on a chair next to him and tapped his shoulder. "I thought you don't drink," you gestured at his drink.

He chuckled. "Just because I can't get drunk from midgardian alcohol doesn't mean I can't enjoy their taste. Do you want some?" he held out his glass to you.

You put a hand on his own and pushed the glass away. "No, thank you."

You heard a cough behind your back. Those bastards must be watching. Time to confess.

"Actually, Loki I came here because I got a dare."

"And what is that?"

You cracked your knuckles and signed out: *I love you Loki*

You made sure it was visible enough for the audience behind you. From the sound of facepalms and groans, they saw it crystal clear.

Loki on the other hand was completely confused. "Eeeh, they dared you to move your hands in my presence? How is that embarrassing? They clearly never played a REAL embarrassing game."

You shrugged. "A dare is a dare. I did it, now it's my turn. Want to help with my revenge?" you tried doing his signature smirk.

He grinned. "I would love to, my dear."

~

Few days passed since you 'confessed' your feelings to Loki.

Nothing changed between you two, he was still polite and charming as ever and you were comfortable in your role of a friend.

Now when you think of it, he began touching you more, not in a creepy way. He also started to make you cups of tea or hot chocolate whenever you visited or when he accidentally brusged his hand along your cold one. He let you borrow his books and when you returned them he eagerly asked you about your opinion.

Maybe something has changed. Maybe, just maybe, he started catching feelings for you too.

Your mind wandered to Loki again just as you were unlocking door to your apartment after a long day at work. You sighed, taking your clothes off and planing to sleep until it's time to sleep for real.

A giant bouquet of red roses on your kitchen table surprised you. You jumped as you heard Loki's voice behind you. "I just couldn't come bare handed now, could I?"

"Loki! What are you doing here? How did you get here?"

He scratched the back of his head. "Sorry. I had to see you."

Your heart sped up. "R-really? Well, that's nice but you could've just called, you know?"

"I still have to ask Tony to get me on of those phones. Listen, I.... do you remember that night, when you played truth or dare and you had to move your hands in front of me?"

You smiled at the memory. Everyone was so annoyed you tricked them. Loki would probably be proud of you. If he knew.

"Yes, I do. What about it?"

"Well, uh- could you do it again?" he asked with, what was it? Shyness in his voice?

"Oh, okay," you said and your hands and fingers spelled out your confession once more.

Loki smiled at you softly. He raised his hands and started signing *I love you too Y/N, I have for a long time. Can we, perhaps, be in a relationship? * he dropped his hands and looked at you hopefully.

You couldn't believe your eyes. He knew how to sign? Since when?

"I've been learning ever since that 'truth or dare' night happened. I wanted to know if your dare wasn't putting a silent curse on me."

You stared up at him. "Did I ask that out loud?"

"No, but you had it written all over your face," he chuckled and tucked stray hair from your eyes. "So, now that we know how the other one feels, can I kiss you?"

As much as you wanted to say yes, you had a different idea. "Even though I enjoy the effort you put into the confession, could you say it out loud? You know, just to be sure," you smirked.

Loki chuckled. "I know I fell in love with the right person. I love you darling."

You stood on your toes and your nose brushed his. "I love you too," you softly pecked his lips. His hands held onto your waist as your own snaked around his neck.

When you two parted he rested his forhead on yours.

"Loki?"

"Yes dear?"

"Can you stay here and cuddle with me? I'm incredibly tired."

You felt his lips on your cheek as he led you towards your couch. "I would love nothing more."

[dork-empress]

Singing in the Dead of Night (Final)

Damian hunts down Lucy but isn't sure what he'll get when he finds her.

The complete work is on my AO3 (username genericfanatic) or under my lucy quinzel tag. 

And this is the last one. I recognize this gets about 0 engagement, but I do have a spinoff fic I’ll post later tonight. Once I come up with a title.....

3 times now, Damian and Batman arrived just moments too late after Lucy had killed. Harley went off on her own, searching for her daughter with Poison Ivy. They didn’t find her, but they had found the dumped body of Harley’s sister Delia in the alley way. 

Damian in particular was stringing together similarities between the victims. They were all people who Lucy had helped in her unique way. 

Reporters were still trying to find a name for Lucy, and Damian didn’t want to call her Commedia when she was like this. This wasn’t Commedia. So far the one taking off was Joker Jr. Damian hated it. 

Tim and Barbara were looking to narrow down a list of who the next victims might be, but they were hard records to pull up. She didn’t leave clear traces or reports behind, so it was a lot of guesswork. 

Damian knew the others in his family were leaning more and more to the idea that she had just decided to side with Joker. Jason was already convinced of it. “Do you think she’s turned?” Damian asked Batman, at the third crime scene.

Batman stared down at him, in the inscrutable way many found intimidating. Damian did not. “I think we need to find her.” 

He looked down at Lucy’s victim, a man this time, older, and living alone. Recently he’d started going out more, more than he had since his wife died. “She’s being forced to,” Damian said, “This isn’t her sense of humor. It’s Jokers. I know everyone thinks I’m biased because of my,” He stopped short, but forced himself to continue, “Feelings. But I know her. She was lost and alone, and Joker preys on that.”

“She wasn’t alone,” Batman said, “She had you.”

Damian wasn’t sure if that was meant to be comforting or accusatory. He didn’t answer either way. 

A noise came behind them, and both mentor and sidekick drew their weapons. “Don’t shoot! Don’t! Shoot!” a familiar voice said. Slowly, Riddler peeked out from the corner, “I come in peace, I want to help, just. Let me.”

Damian lowered his weapon before Batman. “He’s clean,” Damian said, “He and Lucy are friends.” 

Riddler nodded rapidly. “I want to save her from Joker same as you,” He said, still keeping his arms up, “And I agree with the bird–er, Robin. She’s being forced.”

“And what makes you think so?” Batman asked. 

“She’s sending a code,” Riddler said, reaching for his jacket. Batman went on guard again. “Just getting a paper, let me show you.” 

He took out a page. Damian approached and looked at it. It was the lyrics to Blackbird, with words circled and letters stuck out. “It’s a blackout code,” Riddler said, smiling and proud, “She takes irregular breaths during words in the song. If you take the first letter of each word they scramble a code.” 

Damian frowned, looking it over. He was right. “A few words are different each time.” Damian said. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure about that at first,” Riddler said, “But the ones that are the same spell out ‘Wayne Bomb’ I think he’s threatening that Wayne charity gala. Bruce Wayne invites a bunch of normal people, you know, orphans and the like. It’s a perfect blackmail against someone as nice as Lucy.

“The gala’s tonight,” Damian said, barely remembering. He had been excused to keep up the search, probably because Batman knew he’d just leave anyway. 

Batman got on the comms. “Oracle, Nightwing: Evacuate the charity gala and start searching for bombs. Everyone else converge around the location, no doubt Joker will be close.”

Damian’s eyes fell to the last word Riddler hadn’t translated. G-I-R-N were the letters. He thought of Grin for a moment before he realized. “I know where she’s going,” Damian said. 

Batman nodded to him, and they went off in different directions. “You’re welcome!” Riddler called after them. 

Damian found himself back at the building he had tracked the strange clown girl to nearly 2 months beforehand. He made it up to the fire escape to Matthew Crenshaw’s apartment. Matt, it seemed, had just gotten off his day’s work at the call center, and was curled up with a new cat he’d apparently bought on the couch, watching a comedy on tv. 

Robin stood behind the TV, to get his attention. “Gah!” he shrieked, looking for the light switch. The cat jumped and ran away. “What the–You’re Robin!”

“Genius detective work,” Robin said, “Look, your life’s in danger, and I’m the one here to stop it.”

“My life…” he saif, “But I haven’t done–oh God, it it Jenny?” He swallowed, clutching his throw pillow close to himself, “I just did one thing to make myself happy and this is what happens, I should have known better, I should have–”

“GET DOWN!” Robin shouted, grabbing him as a loud explosion went off from his front door. He just barely recognized the package at the front door. 

“Oh my god!” he yelled, “Oh my god was that a BOMB?!” Matt yelled, clutching his own head as the apartment filled with smoke. 

“Fireworks,” Robin corrected, looking around. The room was covered in thick smoke, making it hard to see the walls let alone a figure. Robin stayed hunched over Matthew, sword drawn, until–

A flash. Robin swung his sword before he even saw his opponent, meeting metal on metal on his way. Through the smoke came the girl on the video, with a cracked doll mask and joker style, holding a tambourine with blades on the surface. 

Robin pushed back and they swung back and forth. Lucy maneuvered around him with ballet moves. He remembered the first time they fought, the way Lucy would avoid him. This time she moved in to attack. 

“Lucy,” Damian said, trying to keep distance, getting her to chase him, “We know about the bomb,” he said. 

She didn’t pause, staring at him as she attacked and attacked. He could just barely see blue peeking from her mask. “I know he’s manipulating you,” Damian said, backing away to the window, “Don’t worry. I’m here for you.”

“You’re comforting the killer?!” Matt yelled from his hiding spot. Lucy turned on him, tambourine raised. 

“Hey, stay on me,” Damian said, pulling her attention back, “You know I’ll never let you hurt him while I’m here, no matter the cost. You have to kill me first.”

It was an excuse. Something to tell the Joker if this went wrong, if she had to retreat back to Joker’s side. She kept pursuing, which told Damian she understood, she didn’t want to murder Matt either. 

She still fought like she wanted to kill Damian, which he didn’t quite know how to take. She didn’t seem angry or random, just attacking with perfect tactics, trying to close distance since she had a handheld weapon. Damian had to balance keeping distance and leading her away. If she got within arms reach his sword would be next to useless. 

He opened the window, a bloom of smoke bellowing out. He jumped out onto the scaffolding, attempting to skewer her as she made her way to follow him (a gut wound she’d survive, and they could bring her to the hospital and get her under control.) She twirled out of the way and rolled on the steps down a level, her mask falling in the tumble.

She turned and he saw. He saw her. 

Her face was white, but not in the uneven strokes of makeup, but something far more permanent. Her green hair was clearly a wig, attached to her scalp, from what he could see of the dried blood going down the sides of her face. But the most notable thing was the smile, sewn into place staring at him. 

Damian took a shuddered breath. “I wanted to tell you before,” he said, “but it seemed too soon according to whatever arbitrary laws society follows,” he ducked away as she sliced towards his head. “But then you were gone and I realized I might not ever be able to tell you at all, so, here goes: I like you.”

She didn’t pause. He didn’t expect her to. “I said no, cause to be honest, you kinda freaked me out,” he said, “and I didn’t really think about my feelings. I don’t usually think about my feelings, until I met you.”

She cut at his limbs, fighting uphill as he gained higher ground. She slashed at his feet, a few slices coming closer than he was comfortable with. “You’re smart, and kind, and you get excited about so many things. And I feel like I understand you on some level, and you understand me. And I don’t know how dating works, but I’m willing to try and figure it out if you are.”

Her face didn’t change. She sliced at the ladder, knocking him down a level until he was below her. She stood above him, with her tambourine raised menacing to slice at his throat and–

“Robin,” Batman’s voice rang through, “We’ve got the bomb.”

Damian and Lucy froze, looking at each other. “And Joker?” Damian asked. 

“He’s cornered, and injured, he won’t be escaping.” Batman said, “Harley and Ivy caught up with us, so now the battle is mostly to stop them from killing him,” His mouth moved from the carrier, “Red hood! No!” The line cut out. 

Lucy collapsed on the ground, her tambourine clattering to the metal grate. Damian jumped down to her head, cradling her in his arms. “Hey, hey, it’s ok,” he said, not sure if it was, but knew that was what got said. She clawed at her mouth, and he saw that the thread there was a thick wire. “I got it, I got it.” Damian pulled out a small set of wire cutters, “Stay very, very still.” 

She froze in place, like a doll. He slowly snipped the wires away, until her mouth fell slack, taking deep breaths through her mouth. She reached up, pulling out the wire strands, “Hi Blackbird,” she said, voice scratchy, “You got my message.” 

Damian smiled, “Riddler helped,” he said, “I’m just glad to have you back.”

She smiled weakly, her mouth bleeding bright red across her whitened skin. “I probably need a hospital.”

“Yeah, I gotcha,” Damian said, scooping her up. She was taller than he was, so it was a bit awkward, but she managed to hang onto him as he took her away. 

The batfamily had a system with the local Gotham hospitals. They knew if they swiped his card, they’d get no information, but money would be sent to them, insurance or no. 

Damian sat outside in the waiting room, the few normal citizens in the room giving him space. Damian watched on TV the battle that was finishing up at the Wayne Gala. Joker had been captured, heavily injured, and was being wheeled off to Arkham. There was no sign of Harley or Ivy, so they must have gotten away after they failed. “Batman” was talking with Bruce Wayne, which how anyone thought Dick was the same guy was an idiot, in Damian’s opinion. Even with a special suit to even out the dimensions, his body language was all completely different. 

“Uh, Robin,” one of the doctors said, clearly new, “The patient would like to see you.” 

Damian got up and followed her into the room. Thankfully the doctor wasn’t too new, so he quickly left them alone. 

Lucy looked monochrome, her skin paper white, the wig removed and her head bandaged, and only little specks of blood surrounded her mouth, with some stitches holding them together. It was odd seeing her so colorless.. 

She opened her eyes as he came in and smiled, awkward with the stitches. Her blue eyes still shined, “Hey!” 

Damian couldn’t help but smile. “So. You found out.”

Lucy nodded, not ashamed. “He is terrible. But, he is also like me. My mind is like his mind.” She smiled, “But you were right. I decide what I do with it.” 

Damian sighed, looking down at her. The doctor said that the skin was tattooed with white ink mixed with acid that burned away a decent portion of skin, leaving it thin and painful. It would heal and fade slightly, but the color would never be the same, and would burn to the touch. Her natural red hair had been scalped away, the wig screwed on. The doctor was taking her for a skin graft tomorrow, and it had been bandaged heavily for now. 

Damian tilted his head, “Why did you run away? We would have protected you. You did….” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. 

Lucy’s eyes unfocused a little, “You might have…for a while. But I told you, I’d been imagining this since I first knew about him. And this…this was inevitable. I don’t know how to describe it, but it had to happen. All I did was make the choice to have it happen now instead of later.” She sighed, looking out, “Even after what I’ve done…what he had me do…I can’t regret it. Because maybe this could have turned out better, but maybe it would have been worse. And there’s no controlling which it was.”

“You killed 5 to save hundreds,” Damian said, “Even your own mother. That’s…not everyone would be able to do that.”

Lucy nodded. “I am sad, that I wasn’t ever able to make up with her. That she died thinking she’d failed.” She looked sincere, but not emotional, “But, there’s nothing I can do about it. So I just…” she shrugged, “Move on. I’ll talk with my mom about setting up a funeral with mom and my grandparents.” She looked up at Damian, “Am I a monster?”

“No,” he said, “just different. And that’s ok.” He made sure to keep his hands gloved as he held her hand, very gently. 

“So,” She said smirking, “Damian Wayne, huh?”

He froze in place. “How did you–”

“When I left the batcave I saw it was below Wayne manor. Then I just googled.” She said, shrugging. “Sorry.”

“I don’t think you are,” he said, giving her a flat look. “Great. Batman’s gonna kill me.”

She smiled, “Not that it’s a competition, but I think I win in the ‘who’s father is stricter’ thing.” Damian snorted, chuckling, “I got you to laugh again,” she said. 

“Yeah,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

They stayed there, until they heard loud banging down the hall of the hospital. “Sounds like Mom’s here,” she said as a man got flung down the hall by a vine. 

Damian let go of her hand, “I’ll leave you to her. But I’ll be back.” She smiled and gave him an air kiss before he dived out the window. 

Joker was drawing in his cell, thinking on his capture. He shouldn’t have just closed her mouth, he should have taken out her whole voice. There was always next time…

A knock came on his cell, “Hey Joker, you got a visitor.”

“Aw, has Batsy come to gloat?” Joker said, smiling. The guard didn’t say anything, but he followed gladly anyway. Always good to talk about with Batman. Maybe they could share tips for guiding around little brats. 

But Batman wasn’t the one on the other end of the glass. It was Lucy. Hard to recognize, with a red wig in her hair that seemed similar but different to her old, but her skin was still white, and her mouth covered in scars. 

He braced himself, and picked up the phone, staring at her. “Come to visit dear old Dad, huh?”

“Yep,” She said, earnest, and cutting through his joke. He’d killed for less before. “How are you doing? I heard you got injured in the capture.” 

He squinted, “As touching as your concern is,” he said, “Why don’t you cut the bullshit and tell me why you’re really here.”

She tilted her head at him. “You sewed my mouth shut because you didn’t like what I had to say,” she said, “You cut off my hair and bleached my skin to try and take my identity. I wonder if it reminded you of you. Your past. For what are kids other than a continuation of the past, right?”

Joker flinched, “I’ll do more than that next time, sweetie,” he said, “When I get out of here, and we both know it is WHEN and not IF, I’ll have all new pretty torture methods to take you through.”

“Maybe,” she said, as though considering it, “But you won’t break me. I know that now.” 

“Is that so,” he drawled. 

She nodded, “I’m too much like you, Dad,” she said, “I’ve already seen the chaos of the world. You can torture me, my friends and loved ones, kill them right in front of my eyes. But those are your choices. I’m recovering from what you did to me, and I’ll recover then too, no matter what it is. I have your imagination, so I can picture exactly how terrible you can be. But you cannot break me. All you can do is kill me. And that’s not as funny, is it?”

He stared at her, and she stared back. Her eyes were Harley’s color, but he could see himself behind it. Everything that made him the way he was, was in her. And he knew she was right. 

He started chuckling. She smiled. He laughed harder and harder, developing into his trademark that struck fear in his enemies. She just smiled at him more. “Alright,” he said, “ok. Truce. I won’t capture you again. But I make no promises about anyone else.” 

“If you do,” She said, “I will stop you. No more running to you anymore.” She chuckled with him, “And I’ll visit as long as you’re in here. Anytime you're in here.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will be worth the wait,” He said, smiling. 

[seasidefallenangel]

i. demand. akaashi fluff. rn. get to work chop chop i dont got all day

mod r: everyone report em for bullying me now. she’s a bad friend

the name game

“I’m just saying, my name really isn’t that hard to spell!”

Looking at your tired companion sigh in front of you, a pout slowly formed on your face. “What?”

Yaku took a sip of his tea before making eye contact with you. “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this upset over their name slightly being misspelled. It’s not like he’s ever gotten your order wrong.” Tapping your fingernails against the table, you turned to glare at the black-haired barista at the counter who you were ninety-nine percent sure was illiterate. “How the hell do you get the name wrong of someone who comes in every single day? He’s just doing it to piss me off.” 

Yaku stretched his arms and let a yawn out before standing up. You grouchily followed suit as the both of you threw your cups away and left the coffee shop and began walking back to your apartment building. “In all honesty, he probably just doesn’t think a messed up name is a big deal. I doubt you’re the only one he does it to.” Crossing your arms, you let out an annoyed, “Probably ‘cause it never happens to him.” 

And then it hit you - divine intervention really.

Yaku turned to look at you and let out a groan at your facial expression. “I know that look. That’s the ‘you’re about to be a huge bastard’ look.”

Walking with a little more bounce in your step, you started to brainstorm for your plan.

Opening the door to the coffee shop, you walked in alone and spotted your target (normally Yaku would be with you, but he had to deal with something along the lines of “my stupid ass roommate Kuroo tried to microwave grapes again.”) Marching up to the counter and ordering your usual, you watched as he quietly put your drink together. He slid the drink across the counter, your name misspelled as per usual, and oh my God this was going to be great. You were a diabolik mastermind, a connoisseur of evil. 

“Thanks Asuka.”

You made direct eye contact as his head shot up, a confused look on his face as he looked from his name tag back to you.

“... My name is right there.”

You gave a slight “O” face and a lackluster apology before turning around and nearly crushing your cup in excitement. Holy shit, you hadn’t felt that good in years. This was going to be the best week of your life.

Akaashi was growing more and more annoyed as the days passed. 

His job at the coffee shop wasn’t a dream come true, but it was a job. He learned early on the best way to avoid conversing with the customers was to just be dead silent and look completely bored. It was relatively foolproof most of the time, and it let him get through the days pretty peacefully. That was, until your little routine started.

There was no way you weren’t doing it on purpose - the name changed every day. It wasn’t really enough to warrant him complaining to his manager (and he wanted to avoid any and all interactions with Tendou-san in the first place) but still enough to where he was getting irritated every time you walked in. No matter how cute that stupid grin made you look, he knew his day was going to get the slightest bit worse whenever you sauntered through that door. 

Speak of the devil…, “Yo, Ashido!” 

Feeling his eye twitch, Akaashi scanned over your figure, decided you looked nice in blue, and let out a sigh. Slapping a hand down on the counter and giving him what might be the most self righteous smile ever, he began to make your order from memory. Surely you had to let up eventually? Even if it was because you ran out of names to you, or…

Giving your drink to you, he held onto it as you tried to take it and stared at you before saying, “Akaashi. My name is Akaashi.”

You scoffed and grabbed your drink from him. “Yeah, sucks when someone keeps getting your name wrong, doesn’t it?”

Ah. So that’s what this was about. He figured you would complain sooner or later, but you sure were passionate in your revenge. He had hoped this went differently, although he also could’ve just flirted like a normal human being. Oh well, might as well get this over with. “How about you stay until my shift is done and you can tell me all about that name of yours?”

Watching as you started choking on your drink, he quickly slid some napkins across the counter and cringed. Whoops.

Taking a large inhale once you had finished your episode, you looked away before turning back, significantly less confident than before. “If… if you want to… that’d be fine.” Letting a small smile find it’s way on his face, he watched as you shuffled over to a table, your face steaming.

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* 　　 *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

song while writing: love & peach - the idolm@ster (can send me an ask if you want the full song)

[embyrinitalics]

Calamiversary: Flashbacks

Under the cut are a few unused flashbacks/dream sequences. I was actually really attached to some of these, and for a while I considered making an entire fic based on these two, but with Calamitous taking as long as it has my ambitions for that have fizzled out.

Anyways, I’m posting them in the order they appear in the google doc, but these are so old I can’t remember what was supposed to go where. 😂 Some of the scenes end midsentence, or have editing notes in them still, or don’t make sense because the surrounding scene never happened. Don’t think too hard about it. 😬

There’s about 3k words here, so. Hit that “keep reading” tag with caution!

Enjoy!

  Nightshade

He caught her looking, his expression amused and affronted at once.

“What are you documenting so studiously?”

“Nightshade,” she informed him coolly, and then angled the interface on him more obviously. “And something else, beautiful and strange.”

He loosed a breath, something caught between a laugh and a sigh, and tossed the stones back into the underbrush. “Are you playing with my feelings, Majesty?”

“Certainly not,” she breathed, admiring him in the viewscreen for another self-indulgent half-second before turning it on back on the flora. “I have a compendium to complete. I hardly have time for games.”

“Don’t tease me,” he murmured, folding his arms. “It isn’t easy being in love with a queen and a goddess.”

Her mouth twisted gently, swiping through the interface again and tapping more useless details into the entry. She muttered, “I’m not a goddess.”

He joined her in the grass, rocking back onto his elbow and tipping the interface back with one finger so she would meet his eyes, glimmering softly with the beginnings of a wry smile. “Who said I was talking about you?”

She smiled in earnest, letting the interface drop, forgotten, into her lap. “I wasn’t aware you were well acquainted with any other queens.”

He scoffed dismissively. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I’m sure,” she allowed, reaching to pick grass out of his hair and smoothing the wind-tousled bangs it had tangled in afterwards. She was grateful for the levity—grateful to him, for supporting her even when it meant denying himself.

So grateful...

And she still hadn’t untangled her fingers from his hair, from the soft edge of his hairline and his temple, the smooth line of his brow. He had gone quiet, eyes half closing and diverting, while he let her. He watched her palm for another second, two, and then closed a hand, gently, but firmly, over her wrist.

She swallowed, her hand hanging idly between them and the spell broken. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not stopping you for my sake,” he frowned. “It’s agony not having you, but I’m stupid enough to take what I can get.”

She sighed. “I can have you reassigned. No one would question it—”

“No, we’ve been over this,” he growled, running a hand tersely through his hair. “As long as I wield the Sword, my place is with you. And I can handle it.” Then he hesitated, expression shuttering, and he amended, “Unless you’ve changed your mind, and no longer wish it.”

Her hands were in the grass, eyes fixed on them, and her heart was throbbing in her throat. She couldn’t quite swallow it down.

She whispered, “No.”

  A Meeting

“Link,” she breathed, startled, their eyes meeting for a charged half-second.

He bent his head curiously in a rigid sort of bow, as though he was leaning away from the discomfort of their meeting.

“My lady.”

She waited, paralyzed, for him to move, or speak, or even look her in the eye again. But then, the ball was in her court.

It was always in her court.

But she was unprepared, and unarmored, and teetering dangerously at the precipice of a vulnerability she could not afford. And so, exercising her royal privilege as unmagnanimously as she likely ever had, she fled.

He caught her elbow as she made to pass him, sending a warm jolt up her arm. A rebuke danced wildly on the tip of her tongue, and she might even have used it had there been another soul anywhere within earshot of them. But the hallway was abandoned, and they were alone. His eyes were still fixed on the place she had been, the practiced stoicism in them, the practiced numbness in them, simmering with the frustration that he was harboring beneath.

“I won’t have this conversation with you now,” she reprimanded him quietly. “Not here.”

His gaze slid back to hers, burning, threatening to buckle with impatience or something far more desperate, and she wanted to flinch away from its intensity and luxuriate in it at once.

“When, Zelda?”

She took a meaningful step away, freeing her arm, and coolly arched a slender brow even as her heart sputtered at the cavalier way he used her given name in public.

“When we’re somewhere less conspicuous.”

She expected him to submit, tucking his tail begrudgingly between his legs and allowing himself to be put off yet again, but his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t scold me like I’m some child,” he scoffed.

  The Wilds

The carriage jostled down the path, headed for the milky spires that had been bobbing in and out of view for the last few hours. Her visit to the new reservoir in Lanayru had been successful, and pleasant enough as these sorts of things went, but there had also been a lot of pomp and formality surrounding the whole affair that left her craving some solitude and a good night’s rest in her own bed.

Both of which would happily get her out from under the stormy gaze of her Knight Protector.

Shielded by the walls of her carriage, she let herself grimace and sink a little lower in her seat. They hadn’t had an opportunity to talk in several days, what, with all the preparation for the journey and the constant company of the delegation. And she may have been avoiding him. Just a little.

And he seemed to have begun to notice, if the way his gaze burned into her any time she was careless enough to graze it was any indication.

The carriage jostled again violently as they rode over another pothole. And this time, the whole thing lurched to a stop beneath her as the axle snapped. She sighed, readying a gentle smile as the footman swung the door open.

“Hit a spot of trouble?”

“I’m afraid so, my lady,” he grumbled, offering her his hand.

“Please tell me you can fix it,” she said, brow puckered, letting him help her out and onto the road and trying very hard not to groan. She was not looking forward to walking the rest of the way.

“I doubt it very much, ma’am. But we’re nearly there. You could continue on horseback.”

She willed herself expressionless. The only horses saddled for riding were those of her escorts, which meant—

“I’ll take her.”

She didn’t need to guess who had spoken, or turn to picture the smug look on his face. She plastered an insincere smile over her mouth as his horse’s hooves beat an easy amble behind her for the footman’s sake—it wouldn’t do for him to see her furious or crestfallen or abjectly miserable over something as routine as a ride back to the castle from the man who was largely responsible for such things.

“Very well,” she said demurely, unable to conjure a decent excuse, and turned.

And there he was, perched atop his chestnut mare with an expression arguably more schooled than her own. She took his hand, hiding the warm jolt that ran up her arm, and let him lift her over the pommel, bidding the rest of the entourage farewell as he urged his horse forward and over the ridge.

When they had cleared the crest of the hill and taken the bend for a fair distance, he slowed them to a walk, letting the reins go slack and dipping his head to inhale the warm safflina in her hair.

“Link,” she mumbled, shrugging him off half-heartedly, but he wasn’t so easily deterred.

“We’re in the middle of the Wilds. No one is going to see. Just let me have this.”

Maybe it was the reasonableness of his argument, or maybe it was the note of heartache in his voice, so imperceptible only she would have ever noticed, but either way she let herself be coerced. They rode in silence a while, and she finally relaxed when he didn’t press her for more than that, letting herself lean a little into his chest. His hands rested idly on her waist, fingers curled loosely in the reins.

He said, “I missed you.”

She could feel his eyes looking cautiously for hers, but she pretended not to notice.

“You were with me every day.”

“No. I stared at the back of your head every day. That hardly qualifies.”

“I was busy.”

“You were avoiding me.”

She met his eyes then, ready to object, and quickly remembered why she had made every attempt not to. They looked right through her, melting her defenses and reducing her will to jelly. She sighed.

“I was avoiding you,” she agreed, settling against his chest again resignedly.

“I didn’t blame you,” he murmured, warm breath and lips moving softly against the lobe of her perfectly tapered ear, and her heart throbbed treacherously. “I knew why. It was just frustrating, not being able to talk to you about it."

Her eyes fell shut, stinging with remorse. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t do that. It was as much mine as it was yours.”

“I don’t regret it,” he said, quiet adamance coloring his voice, “not for a moment. Even if it means consequences for me.”

In spite of herself she smiled, warmed to the bone by his sweet assurance. “Even if you’re stripped of rank? Even if you’re whipped?”

“They can’t whip the memory of you out of me,” and then he leaned closer, his warm breath feathering her ear again, “Zelda.”

Not Princess, or My Lady, or Highness, or the plethora of other titles he was obligated to use in the presence of others. Merely Zelda. Because out in the Wilds of Hyrule they were alone, and a stolen kiss didn’t seem such a terrible secret. Even if it was forbidden. Even if she had made it abundantly clear to him that it could never happen again, no matter how sweet and perfect and wonderful it had been.

She sank back into him, letting the steady beat of their gait and of his heart lull her into a rare peace.

  Realization

When I woke there was moss against my cheek, the cool dew of early morning clinging to my lips and eyelashes. The vision from the night before danced in breaths and lights as I blinked myself lucid, like the ghosts of a dozen sunset fireflies. I wanted to chase them, down, down into a dream, into an illusion, and wrap myself in it like a blanket. And then, like a wish fulfilled, soft lips alighted on mine, encouraging me awake.

“Good morning,” he murmured, pulling me closer by the hand splayed over the small of my back, and that didn’t strike me as odd in the slightest.

I snagged fingers in the collar of his shirt and buried my face in his neck, breathing him in as I grudgingly left the dream behind, as I spiraled towards his warmth. He smelled like the forest, and nights spent in the wilds, and it was so good it made my eyes tremble shut.

“It can’t be morning,” I whispered, sighing, and he pulled me into his lap, humming in agreement, and pressed his lips to my pulse point.

The wind rippled across the plains, across the wilds, tangling in my hair and twisting it sideways, and neither of us paid any mind. It was too rare that we found ourselves like this, lost in each other and lingering in that quiet stretch of peace between sleep and waking to the world.

“I need to get you back,” he said, but even as he did wrapped his arms around my waist in silent, subconscious objection. “You’ll be missed.”

“Then let me be missed.”

His lips on my neck angled higher, gently coaxing me down, and just as they obligingly found that delicate spot behind my ear, he whispered apologetically, “We can’t.”

I resisted the urge to scowl, resting my forehead on his. He was right, of course. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. My eyes eased open in time to watch the sunrise over his shoulder.

Another dawn. I knew there couldn’t be many left before the Calamity finally stirred from its long slumber, restless, feverish, hungry and ready to devour the world…

And then I realized how little of this made any sense—how incredibly blue his eyes were, how the voice I had been using wasn’t even mine—and the jarring disconnect between who I was and where I was broke the illusion apart.

  The Blade of Evil’s Bane

She opened her eyes as she felt a weight being lifted off her back.

And then she watched as Revali drove the Master Sword through Link’s middle to the hilt. (chapter break, then she freaks out, catches him, and his eyes start to roll back)

“Don’t you die on me,” she shouted through furious tears, pressing her fingers to his forehead. “Don’t you die!”

And then light filled her from the inside out as she bridged their minds, glaring across the world like a sun rising from within.

He sat across from her at her writing desk, still blurry from the haze of her tears, but she could hear the sardonic smile on his voice.

“Is that an order, Princess?”

She wanted to berate him, wanted to scream and fight tooth and nail against his apathy, but she couldn’t find her voice—not without loosing everything else that was threatening to spill out. She stood and crossed the room to nowhere, trying to shield herself from his ridicule. He sighed, following slowly.

He turned her around gingerly and took her face in his hands, studying her carefully while he thumbed her tears away.

“Why do you cry over me?” he murmured. “By rights I should have been dead thousands of years ago—even if I had defeated Ganon. This era will go on without me. I’m nothing.”

She took a sharp, stinging breath, and whispered, “Not to me.”

His lip quirked up in spite of himself, a familiar, roguish half-smile alighting on his face that made her heart stammer. “Never cry over your soldiers, Princess,” he scolded her gently. “They’re only too happy to die to protect you.”

“Don’t give up,” she warbled, a fresh rush of tears spilling out of her eyes, down her cheeks, over his thumbs still cupping her face. “Please don’t. Not like this.”

“Hyrule will go on. So will you.”

“I heard what you said to Urbosa,” she accused him, reaching for something, anything, that would make him hold on for just a moment longer. “You were wrong. I’m not confused. Not anymore.”

That gave him pause. His eyes searched her, gradually shedding the armor that they had always worn, piece by heavy piece, revealing the tired, consuming sadness beneath.

“Don’t cry over me, Princess,” he murmured, drifting closer. The bridge of his nose brushed softly against hers as he angled her face higher, poised to lance through her walls even as his own crumbled. “It pains me more than you know.”

He took her lips in his own, deepening the kiss obediently when she parted for him, and a sound lifted out of her. She wanted to lose herself in him, dive headlong into sating oblivion and never surface. But she found the will to pull away.

“Then don’t do this,” she urged, breathless, against his mouth.

He lingered, warm breath ghosting heavy on her lips. His voice was quiet, husky, desire tempered by regret. “Overcoming the Blade of Evil’s Bane is not so easily done.”

“I can save you,” she whispered, stepping closer, stripping away the needless space between them. “Never doubt that.”

“I have never doubted you,” he said, so tenderly her heart squeezed. “I’ve always known you were capable of so much more than you ever dreamed. But this—”

“I won’t let you go. I’ll order you back from the grave if I have to.”

He sighed at that, a defeated, hollow sound, and her lips parted gently in surprise. “I’m just so tired.”

And then he gasped, like a drowning man drawing breath after so many minutes, and the dream bled out into light.

She blinked away sunbursts and the blindness that followed, stumbling haphazardly back to reality. Link was in her arms; the hole through his stomach was gone.

 Ruins

The sunlight dimmed into night, luminous stone embedded in the sculptures lighting the darkness like softened stars. The ruins grew into an atrium, looming over the gathered order of monks and their commander. Her knight stood as far away as he dared, near the entrance, should there be a disturbance. It was nearly as far away as he had had the will to station himself in weeks.

“The final sensor towers have been erected, and Naboris is nearly ready to be deployed,” a monk was saying, the tattoos under his eyes catching starlight as he spoke. “Her pilot is in the final phases of training.”

The proclamation didn’t garner the reaction anyone was hoping for; the Queen merely nodded, lips pursed. Another monk shifted, as though weighing the wisdom of disturbing the silence that had settled uncomfortably over the assembly, before he decided to be bold.

“I had an idea for another Beast. Nothing so large or so complicated as the others. Something for Hylia’s Chosen—”

“No,” the Queen murmured. “There isn’t time.”

His teeth met with a click. He sent a sidelong glance to her knight, standing with his back against one of the pillars flanking the entrance, but he shook his head in subtle warning, and that put pain to it. He seemed less and less inclined to voice dissent recently, and everyone suspected they knew why.

“Then we’ll redouble our efforts with the Divine Beasts we have,” he offered instead, wearing a reassuring smile. “We won’t fail you, Your Highness.”

She nodded again, smiling tightly. They were dismissed, and her knight drifted closer, moving towards her as the others filed away. She was still sitting on the ground; he offered her his hand, and she met his eyes. She took it, lifting to her feet, and didn’t let go, squeezing softly.

She whispered, eyes depthless in their uncertainty, “But will we fail them?”

[copper-wasp]

Even a Devil May Drabble: Smutty Alphabet for Vergil (Part 15/?)

Hi readers! I’m back! Taking a few months off was truly beneficial for my mental health, but good golly gosh I really did miss writing. I hope this lil’ ditty makes up for my absence!

Title: Smutty Alphabet for Vergil, Son of Sparda, The Alpha and the Omega

Rating: E

Words: 1,678

Tag List: @exsultry​ @drusoona​ @xalmasyx​ @blindedstarlight​ @synchronmurmurs​ & any other Vergil lovers out there ~~~

(If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know 💕 )

Also posted to AO3 ~~~

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Vergil worships you both during and after sex; he’ll stroke your hair and pepper soft kisses over your flushed cheeks before cleaning you up. If you try to get out of bed, he scolds you, demanding that you stay put and let him take care of you.

B - Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) His arms; lithe and strong, lean muscle wrapped around bone - they can cause so much destruction and hurt, but they can also hold you, pull you close to him if you wake up gasping, still in the grip of a nightmare. He loves feeling your palms trace up them, your fingers curling over his shoulders as you stand on tiptoe to kiss him.

Vergil loves his partner’s eyes. He loves looking into them, seeing how they squint when you smile, narrow when you challenge him, water when he spills his emotions to you, and of course, roll back when he drives you to your release.  

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum) Vergil definitely prefers to leave himself inside you, thick release coating your warm cunt. He was the most excited when you said he didn’t have to wear a condom anymore, the mere thought of being able to come inside enough to make him ravenous for you.

D - Dirty Secret He’s a bit of a voyeur; he loves to watch you dress after sex, watching your hands pull your clothing down over your body.

He’s nervous to bring it up, but he’d love to watch you pleasure yourself, delicate fingers stroking the places that make you moan, lost in bliss as he stood there, unaware of his presence.  

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Vergil’s experience level is low, but the man is a natural at making love. He’s also very good with taking direction, and the things he remembers you like, regardless of how seemingly insignificant, always sends you in the best way.

F - Favorite Position Missionary, for sure. He loves being able to envelop you, let his weight settle atop your body, overloading your every sense with him. He also likes that he can see your face, watch it contort in pleasure, your pupils blown out when you squeeze around him, taking every bit of pleasure you can.  

Though he also doesn’t discount a good ride, fascinated with your bouncing breasts as you grind yourself against him, thighs gripping his hips to kept yourself upright.  

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc?) Serious boy is serious. Even Vergil’s dirty talk is serious - but that doesn’t stop it from being the goddamn hottest thing you’ve ever heard.  

H - Hot Spots (A place that drives them crazy when touched) His neck, for sure. Feeling the soft pads of your fingers trace over the most vulnerable part of his body makes his heart beat so much faster. And then faster still knowing you can feel it thumping beneath your touch.

I - Intimacy (How are they in the moment, romantically?) Vergil always makes sure you know how loved you are. He sings your praises so often you almost flush, turning your head away, unable to hold his gaze when he says such things. But he’ll gently turn your head back to face him, continuing to whisper words of love against your lips, punctuating each sentiment with a soft kiss.  

J - Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon) Vergil doesn’t jerk off too often. He’d much rather wait the extra ten minutes for him to get to your place so he can fuck you silly. After all, why would he touch himself when he knows you’d so willingly take on the task?

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks) One word - bondage. Vergil loves having you trussed up like a present, ready for him to unwrap, or tease. He was pleasantly surprised with how quickly you agreed to his ask, and the reason for your eagerness became clear when he tore the most sinful noises from your throat, interspersed with pleas for more. He’d never exercised as much self control as he did that night, wanting to take you over and over, but resisting, preferring to edge and tease and have you beg for him so much more.  

L - Location (Favorite places to do the do) Vergil feels the most comfortable in a bed with you; there are no limits to the positions you can try, no one to interrupt, nothing that could change the charged atmosphere between you. Now, that one night in the backseat of your car when you’d pulled over to wait for a snow squall to pass, that was quite an interesting change of scenery. Or when you’d convinced him to take you from behind while you were bent over Dante’s desk, that was something he’d never forget.

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going?) Vergil prefers the chase. Especially when you initiate it with sly touches and dirty quips whispered in his ear in public. He loves when you rile him up, even when you understand the punishment you’ll receive when he finally has you in his grasp.

N - No (Something they won’t do, turn offs) Anything you don’t want to do. He knows that “no” is non-negotiable, and he respects you too much to do anything other than stop.

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) Giving, giving, giving. Your taste, your scent, the way your thighs tense against his head and your fingers weave into his hair, all of it drives him wild.

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?) Vergil will do either; he’s good at reading your mood, or if you tell him what you’d like, he will gladly comply. It doesn’t matter if it’s slow and steady or he’s fucking you into the mattress, he’s honored every time you choose him.  

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc) Not his thing. When he has you, he wants to take his time.

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks, etc?) Vergil is absolutely game to experiment. He’s pretty nonjudgmental when it comes to matters of sex, and would definitely be up for anything new within reason. He might also have some ideas of his own that he’d like to try, and they might involve a blindfold, a crop, and some absolutely filthy dirty talk.

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) Vergil can literally go for hours. Be careful not to tease him about his stamina, else you may also find yourself going for hours. There’s something he loves about hearing your breathy, overstimulated moans as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you and filling you up with his own release.  

T - Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or on themselves?) He will often use toys as an enhancement to your lovemaking. Vergil prefers to be the one using them on you, watching you squirm under a vibrator or how your back arches when he pushes a smooth, silicone plug into your ass. But he also loves when it’s just him, his hands... and his mouth.  

U - Unfair (How much do they like to tease?) Vergil enjoys teasing, no doubt about it. Particularly when he’s got you at his mercy, toying with you until you beg; he loves the sound of your voice when you’re desperate, but even more so when he gives you what you desire. The buildup culminating into something that encompasses the both of you, peaking with a beautiful, breathless moan, that he’ll more often than not swallow right from your lips.

V - Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?) Vergil is usually quiet as he prefers to hear your lovely noises, but you like the challenge of getting him to groan and curse and have his voice join yours in a satisfied chorus.

W - Wild Card (Random headcanon for the character of your choice) While Vergil does love being in charge, there is also a desire to be submissive. Once he got over himself enough to ask you to dominate him, you had him calling you ‘mistress’ in no time flat, begging you to let him come.

X - X-Ray (What’s going on under those clothes) Vergil is slim, but his body is roped with lean muscle, and you love tracing over the soft dips between them. His long, lithe legs drive you absolutely wild, and it’s always a treat when he lets you wantonly rut yourself against his thigh.

His cock matches the rest of him; long enough to reach your deepest spots, not too thick, and with a gentle upward curve, perfectly engineered to fit your body. The head is a bit wider than the shaft, a satisfying ‘pop’ when he pushes it past your entrance.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Average, but can always be convinced if you’d like him more often. Not that he doesn’t have spells where he craves you like no other, and ignores any other responsibilities to stay in bed with you for days.

Z - ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?) Vergil will never fall asleep before you do. He will bundle you in his arms, making his chest your pillow, and gently stroke your hair until he feels your breathing even out and your heartbeat slow. He’ll trace his gaze over your face, your eyelashes resting against your cheeks, lips parted just a little to allow your warm breath to escape. Having you fall asleep first also gives him time to think about how lucky he is to have you, how he nearly can’t believe that you chose him.

-:- -:- -:-

Thank you for reading!

AO3: copper_wasp

Twitter: copper_wasp_ Discord: copper_wasp#1545

[simpcxty]

I want to post some ideas I’ve gotten for some super OP, My Hero Academia quirks.

I just really like them :)

Mentions of; masturbation, death?, mutilation of skin and body parts, scars

That might seem like a DoOzY.

Read Responsibly

So here y’all go.

If y’all end up using them that’s cool, I’m not gonna ask you to credit me because I know that people become inspired by the most random shit, and I honestly don’t really care if someone uses them because it’s doubtful lmao.

Although if you do end up using one, tag me! I’d love to see the work!!

But here’s the first one

Nullification- the reader is immune to all quirks, erasure, brainwash, decay, even being immune to fire, ice, acid, and quirks like that, as the fire or any of the other stuff is the result of a quirk. Toga can’t even transform into them using their blood, and twice can’t make copies of them.

I couldn’t really think of any drawbacks besides, the fact that just because you have nullification, doesn’t mean you’re super strong. So you have to train extra hard in, well- everything.

Next next :)

This one is kinda NSFW lol.

Euphoria- As a human with Bunny attributes (due to your quirk) You can put a temporary spell on people that lasts 72 hours (3 days) that causes unending, curiously strong, lust.

The scent you emit from yourself lets out breeding pheromones. So when inhaled, said person is immediately, I shit you not- right then and there in whatever position or spot they are in, SMACKED in the face with arousal.

They have to have sex, if they don’t, they run the risk of numerous things,

-heart failure from the stress

-a permanent pain in the gut that feels like being stabbed not 24/7- but 25/8

-and permanent genital damage, if the lust isn’t given into.

They can try masturbating normally but it won’t be fulfilling and they’ll still run the risk of going through any of the side affects.

Okay this next one is a long one WhOoPs

Elemental- the reader has the ability to control all four of the elements, and can even create a fifth one made from pure magic/energy, aura, and restless spirits from across the world. The elements present themselves as seductive beings, Fire, Water, Air, and Earth are all 6 feet tall. But Spirit is 8 feet tall. They don’t actually make a move on humans, they just protect the reader. Unless the reader is being attacked. Then they’ll go to ANY lengths to keep them safe, sorta.

Drawbacks, kinda like Shoto, if you use too much of one element, the effects will start to show on your body.

Too much earth, vines will start to grow around your wrists and calves, although if you keep going after that point. You’ll just pass out and a circle of vines will surround you till you regain your energy, then the vines will start to regress as you regain energy. Your Earth deity is always looking out for your energy.

Too much water/ice, and it’ll do the same thing it does on Shoto. Ice will start to cover your body, but your finger tips, and face get the brunt of the abuse. You almost lost your fingers once. But if you’re using too much water, you’ll start to get dizzy, and your elemental will start to collect water from anywhere, whether it be other human bodies, bodies of water, etc, so you have to stop using it or you could easily injure people you were trying to save because your water/ice deity is bad at knowing when to stop.

There are no drawbacks from manipulating the air/oxygen around people besides you start to lose your breath so you’ve gotten good at managing it so you never have to worry about that.

Unlike the other ones, the fire kinda coincides with your emotions. If you use too much fire,

1.)your skin starts to burn/scar, you don’t feel it but it’s happening.

2.) if you use it for too long and too much, you’ll start to lose control of your emotions and the thoughts swimming around in your head causing you to over exert yourself with your fire more and more which will make you start to go dark.

Which now introduces us to Spirit.

Spirit is a physical representation of all the restless souls not at rest in the world, as well as energy from others, aura, and the actual strength of the enemy being fought.

Spirit can and will change your physical form depending on the opponent.

That’s it for now :) I have more if I decide to post them.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 88

Warnings: none

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

The final attempt at sleep had been successful. Although the road ahead of him is destined to be long and extremely difficult -and no doubt agonizing- his brief moment of wakefulness had done wonders to life Esme’s spirits. That chance to speak to him; to see him open his eyes and know -with one hundred percent certainty- that he was able to acknowledge her. It wasn’t a drug induced incoherent rambling or hallucination. He actually saw her and was able to engage; giving appropriate responses and showing concern for her and the baby. Able to express how he was feeling and that telling her he loved her. No one could ever possibly understand how just incredible that small moment was, or what an enormous impact it had on her state of mind. She knows it won’t be easy. There will be weeks, even months, of healing; tremendous pain and more hard times than easy ones. A full recovery could take as long as a couple of years; countless rounds of physical rehab will be needed and most likely therapy for mental health and addiction issues.  But he’s already shown just how tenacious and strong he actually is; his will to live a lot more powerful than the agony he’s experiencing. With so much to live for, his desire to be with his family again is his main driving force, and she knows he’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on his feet again.

Nathan may have been able to break his body, but he hadn’t made a dent in his spirit.

The burden she’s been carrying -the fear, worry, and uncertainty- had been lessened, and she’d been able to drift off; both body and mind allowing her to rest. So soundly in fact, that she’d only briefly stirred in the wee hours of the morning when Julie had come in while on her rounds. Merely lifting her head from the pillow; quietly observing as the nurse switched empty IV and medicine bags with full ones. Then she’d simply rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head, and easily drifted off.

Her sleep once again had been filled with dreams of the past. Millie’s first steps and how ecstatic and proud Tyler had been; never getting to experience many of Austin’s milestones because of deployments. How tearful he’d been the morning he’d walked into her room and Millie -who’d  been standing up in her crib, excitedly bouncing up and down at the mere sight of him- had called him ‘daddy’ for the very first time.  And the way he’d broken down in the delivery room when the twins had been born -even harder than he had when his daughter came into the world- and the nurse had given him TJ and said “Here’s your son”.   He’d lost his first, and getting that moment again -a baby boy presented to him- had profoundly affected him  A man that rightfully shouldn’t even have been alive. Who’d been given a second chance and at times didn’t feel as if he deserved it. There are still times he thinks that way. When the demons of the past resurface and play havoc on his brain; convincing him that the mistakes of a younger man and the amount of blood on his hands has turned him into a monster. It’s the nightmare of living with mental health issues and PTSD; those dark moments where he questions his mere existence and openly states that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now; a wife and children that love and accept him unconditionally.  

It’s hard for people to understand. How a man that is so big and so strong -and often intimidating- can have those kinds of thoughts and vulnerable moments. But they don’t know everything that he’s battled. His childhood is one of his best kept secrets; only her and Koen know the full extent of his father’s behaviour, the abuse inflicted, and the long term damage it has caused. It’s not something he readily talks about; even with her.  That toxic masculinity still gets the better of him at times. His father’s attempts at beating into him that a man -a REAL MAN- doesn’t show emotion; it means that he’s weak and there’s nothing more pathetic than being weak. And she’s tried to break him of it; years spent assuring him that he isn’t a weak man.  A weak man would have given up in that storage facility. In the same way he would have given up on the Sultana Kamal Bridge seven years ago.  And he certainly never would have survived the nightmare of his upbringing. Nor would he be so determined to be a better man; the kind of husband and father that a wife and kids can brag about and proud of. Who never have to live in fear of him ; cowering every time he raises his voice or even comes too close to them. Who know -beyond the shadow of a doubt- how much he loves him.

Tyler Rake is anything BUT weak. And he’d shown that the night before.  Somehow finding a way to battle his way through this thick haze of multiple medications; gathering the strength to not only open his eyes, but actually think coherently and communicate. He was right. He DOES do whatever he wants.

When she finally wakes, it’s to the patter of rain against the window and the sounds of hospital life trickling through the half open door. Doctors being paged, the shrill ring of patients’ using their call buttons to summon for help, the loud rattle of gurneys being pushed through the halls. It’s a harsh reminder of her current situation; stuck in the ICU of a private hospital in Dhaka, thousands of miles away from her children and the comforts and security of her own home.  She misses it. The sound and the smell of the ocean. The morning breeze and sunshine as she stands out on the back deck enjoying that first cup of tea, watching her husband as he helps Millie and the twins search -and dig, at times- for shells, rocks, and beach glass. Often wondering who is enjoying the quality time more; father or children. The  dinners cooked on an open fire down by the water; the smiles brought to their faces -and that unconditional love and immense pride in his eyes- as they watch their children play and listen to those little voices and musical giggles floating on the air. And those strong, protective arms wrapped around her from behind as she sits between his legs. Her head resting against his chest as they quietly marvel at the sky; painted vivid shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.  

It’s a life she had never even dared to dream about; a beautiful home in an even more even more beautiful place,  amazing children and a husband that is faithful and loyal and only has eyes for her.  All those things that she’d come to believe SHE didn’t deserve and had long ago given up on finding. How poetic in a way; two broken people coming together to make a slightly dented whole.

Sighing heavily, she rolls from side to back; eyes closed as she stretches and yawns The morning sickness has returned. With a vengeance. More than likely made worse by lack of food and the stress and worry that have accompanied the last twenty four hours. When she manages to quell the threatening nausea and brief spell of dizziness, she opens her eyes and sits up, finding a small paper bag sitting on the extra pillow beside her; name written on the front of it in black marker. And the contents bring the first genuine smile since yesterday morning; aside from Tyler’s brief period of consciousness. A bottle of prenatal vitamins, a small carton of chocolate milk, and an enormous blueberry muffin. Accompanied by a handwritten note from Julie; asking Esme to promise she’ll look after herself AND the baby, assurance that she’ll be back on in the evening, and her home phone number. The latter being offered as not only a ‘helpline’ if she feels overwhelmed and scared and needs someone to vent and cry to, but so she can give the nurse a list of some of her favorite foods. Julie vowing to bring a selection when she clocks in for her shift. It’s refreshing; having someone WANT to take care of her in that motherly fashion. Especially when her own has been anything but.

She shoves her feet into her sandals and climbs off the bed; returning  it to its couch form. “Hey baby,” she greets as she stands at the side of Tyler’s bed; combing her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. “Good morning.  I hope you slept god. You didn’t snore, I know that much. That’s a first, huh? Me not complaining about your snoring? Must have been a really good sleep for you to be THAT quiet. You deserve it; that kind of sleep. Your face looks a little better, I think. Not as swollen. Pretty bruised though. And you’re going to have a couple wicked scars at the end of this.”

Her fingers gently touch the stitches below and above his eye.

“You’d probably joke about how it balances your face out; the right catching up with the left in the scar department.  I think they’re going to make you even sexier. Which should be illegal, if you ask me. One man being that sexy?  No wonder you’re a DILF. The thirsty ladies may drive me crazy, but I can’t really blame them. Right now I’m kind of mad at you though. I am so nauseous. And I swear, the bump is even bigger this morning...look…”   she pushes her fingers through his, then draws their joined hands through the safety railing and places them on her stomach.  “...bigger, right? You can’t tell me this is normal. None of the other ones were this size so soon. Not even Declan, and he was over ten pounds when he was born. And you better not be thinking multiples; one is all we can handle right about now.  Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Six is more than enough. And speaking of babies, I’m going to ask Ovi to bring Addie here. She’s tiny still, Tyler. She shouldn’t be away from us this long. Especially me. She needs to be with her momma. And I think it would do you some good, too; having at least one of them here. So that’s my decision and you’re just  going to have to live with it.”

She moves his hand back inside the confines of the bed, gently setting it on the mattress

“I love you,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You keep sleeping, okay? And I hope if you’re dreaming, it’s good things for a change.”

****

She gives a small start when she exits the bathroom and finds Koen sitting in the bedside chair. Sipping from a take out cup of coffee and freshly shaven;  his face bearing its own fair share of bruises and a handful of  butterfly bandages keeping small, superficial wounds closed.

“Morning, sunshine!” He cheerfully greets, and nods to the cup of tea and a bag of fast food breakfast sitting on the window ledge. “I finally get to see you in your sexy jammies.”

Esme gives a derisive snort. “You DO have issues if you find sweatpants and an oversized shirt sexy,” she says as she journeys over to the window “I was going to give you shit for scaring the crap out of me, but seeing as you come bearing gifts, I’ll let it slide.”  She peers into the bag, a grin tugging at her lips. “Either it was just a lucky guess, or you somehow know that when I’m pregnant, I always crave breakfast burritos.”

“There’s a lot I know about you. Someone talks about you. All the time.  Mostly about shit I don’t need to know.”

“Well I’m glad you listened. Because this is a very nice surprise. Thank you,” she lays a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “And what’s up with this?” She lightly taps a hand against the side of his face. “All cleaned up. Smooth like a baby’s bum.”

“I thought there might be some hot nurses walking around. Want to put my best foot forward. Maybe you can hook me up; put in a good word for me.”

“Why would you want to hook with someone here? You’ll be going home soon.”

“Exactly.”

“Ewww…” she grimaces. “...I don’t need to know that you’re a ‘pump and dump’.”

“Considering the things I’ve had to hear from you and him?”  Koen nods in Tyler’s direction. “What I said is tame. I’ve actually had to listen to you two….”

“I thought you were moving on from random hookups?”  Esme remarks, and she perches on the arm of his chair and delves into one of the burritos. “I thought you were getting too old for that shit?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling old?”

“I thought Tyler was rubbing off on you. That he was some sort of inspiration to you and Rata; convincing you two it was time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down once and for all.  Didn’t you say it gave you hope? That if...and I quote…’someone can put up with the likes of him, that’s proof there IS someone out there for everyone’.”

“I did say that.”

“So what gives? Why are you looking for a random? You deserve more than that”

“Well if he was awake and could tell me where to find another one of you, I’d be all set.”

“Sorry. I’m limited edition. And I’ve already been claimed. A couple breakfast burritos just aren’t enough to make me divorce my husband and run away with you. It definitely takes more than that.”

“I knew I should have gotten you hash browns too.”

“That would have done it! Boy, did you ever blow that.  I would have for sure ran away with you. Right this very second.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy our little banter, I don’t think I could handle you.”

“Oh, you definitely couldn’t.  It takes a special breed of man, believe me. And I’m serious; aren’t you tired of NOT having someone to call your own? Someone to go home to at the end of the day? Someone that is your ‘be and end all’? Your ‘ride or die’?. You deserve to be happy. I WANT you to be happy.”

“I think Tyler took all the happy and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

“When we get home, I am finding someone for you. I don’t care what it takes; I will put you on every dating site out there.”

“What about your sister? Or step sister. Whatever she is.”

“Riley? Are you serious? She’s twenty three!”

“And?”

“And you’re thirty years older than she is!”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I know you’re eight years older than Tyler. He’s almost forty two. So I lied; you’re only twenty seven years old than she is.”

“And?”

“And that’s fucking disturbing!”

Koen shrugs. “She’s cute”

“She is. You know who else finds her cute? Women. Who she is into. And she’s not a switch hitter.”

“Doesn’t take after her older sister, huh?”

Esme frowns. “He told you THAT, too?”

“He’s told me a lot of things, sunshine. You forget; he’s a chatty drunk. Until he’s a depressed and weepy drunk, that is.”

“There are many sides to him you don’t get to see. Sober sides. And don’t worry; my sister isn’t in contention, but I WILL find someone for you.   And speaking of someone, where’s your sidekick?”

“He saw something downstairs he liked.”

“Really…” she playfully wriggles her eyebrows. “...blond or brunette?”

“Something in the gift shop. For the baby.”

“He knows?”

“EVERYONE knows.”

“Yaz has a big mouth,” Esme grumbles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone until we got home and found how far along I am. It’s what Tyler and I wanted.”

“I could gather a guess. About how far.”

“Sure you could,” she mutters. “And why do you keep looking at me like that? Why do you keep staring at my crotch?”

“I’m looking at your stomach. Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been there. I’ve just been hiding it because no one was supposed to know! Now that everyone does,  I guess I don’t have to wear baggy clothes anymore.  And it’s big, right? The bump? Bigger than any of the others?”

“How should I know? I only saw you pregnant with Millie and Addie. Never saw  you with any of the boys.”

“It’s never been like this so soon! How big IS this baby?”

“Look at the size of the kid’s father. Maybe it’s taking after him. Or maybe there’s more than one.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you think it? Don’t put that out into the universe. There’s just one. That’s it. That will make it six. A nice even number.”

“Number six must be pretty damn big then.”

“You know what? You’re off my Christmas card list. There’s no way we’re running away together. You totally shit the bed. No second chances for you.

“What if I bring you chocolate?”

“Not even then. You just had to jinx the entire thing.”

Koen gives an over dramatic pout.

“Buddy, I have seen better pouts on a much bigger man. That won’t work on me. You have nothing on Tyler’s pout.”

“He doesn’t pout.”

“He sure as shit does. I’m going to prove it one day. I’m going to catch him doing it and take a picture. Then I’ll have the evidence. Tanner has the EXACT same pout; he mostly does it when he’s sleeping.”

“Speaking of pictures, I’ve got a little something for ya.”   Koen reaches into the side pocket  of his cargo pants, pulling out his cell and then thumbing through the gallery; choosing the image he wants and offering the phone to her. “Thought it would make you smile. The world’s a shitty place when you don’t. You got yourself a pretty nice smile.”

“You’ve been taking ass kissing lessons from the best, haven’t you,” she chides, then pops the last of her breakfast into her mouth and wipes her hands on her thighs. “Oh...my...god…”  she breathes, and almost squeals in delight at the sight before her. Her husband long before the hardness and weariness brought on by his time in the military, substance abuse issues, and the dangers of the job. Before all of those demons took hold of him and he’d yet to go under a tattoo artist’s needle and no scars marred his body.  Tall and lean; broad shouldered and bearing the start of the strong and solid physique of a soldier. A brush cut and a smooth, clean face; the smile -genuine and pure- making his eyes crinkle and sparkle.

“Back when he couldn’t even grow a proper beard yet,” Koen muses. “When he was still wet behind the ears. Nothing hard ass about that bloke in the picture, is there.”

“Where did you get this?” Esme can’t explain it; the tug at her heart and the emotion choking at her and the tears that well in her eyes. There’s something so surreal about it; seeing the person you love long before a hard and unpredictable life got a hold of them.

“Found a box of old pictures when I was going through some stuff back home. Meant to show it to him, but never got around to it. You mentioned before that you’ve never seen what he looked like before...well...before all of this.”

“I’ve only ever ever seen one picture of him. When he was five; with his mom on his first day of kindergarten.  He doesn’t have any other ones; he says it’s not worth the grief he’ll get if he asks his dad if he has any.   This is…I don’t know...it’s amazing. You have no idea what this means to me; seeing this. ESPECIALLY right now. This is everything. You can’t possibly understand what this does for me.”

“I think I do. I know how you feel about him. That you’re just as much a fool in love as he is.”

“I certainly am,” she smiles. “How old is he here?”

“Nineteen. Hadn’t been out of basic long; a couple weeks maybe. When he was a cocky little shit and as green as fresh baby shit.  Cute, ain’t he?”

“Very cute. It’s weird seeing him like this. I’ve only seen MY Tyler. The one I’ve spent seven years with.  I’ve never seen THIS Tyler. I know that sounds strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger.”

“Fourteen year old me would have had a huge crush on him.”

“What was fourteen year old Esme like?”

“Awkward. Geeky. Short as fuck and chubby.  I had braces and jet black hair and I dressed like a goth. Big old Doc Marten boots that went up to my knees and everything.”

“Now THAT I’d like to see.”

“I don’t even have pictures of ME when I was that young. Tyler’s never seen old photos of me, either. I think the youngest he’s ever seen me was when I was twenty-three and just got into the Corps.  It’s what happens; when your family is toxic and you’d rather not deal with them. Can you send this to me? I’d  love to have this. And I’d love to show the kids. Especially Millie. She’d like to see her daddy when he was young and cute.”

“I’ll send it to ya. And when we get home, I’ll bring that box down and we can go through it. I’m sure there’s more you’d love to have. “

“Thank you.” She can’t hold back the tears. “You have no idea what it means to me. Even just having one picture. And I’m sorry; that I’m a whiny bitch baby. I would like to be able to blame it on the baby and my hormones, but it’s not those things. It’s just me. I’m not exactly having the best twenty four hours. I miss my kids. I hate being so far away from them. Especially Addie. But I can’t leave Tyler here. I just can’t.”

“I could stay,” Koen offers. “He wouldn’t be alone, you know that.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be here with him. I didn’t leave him seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not leaving him now. It’ll be better; when he gets sent to a hospital back home. Closest one is an hour from the house. It’ll be better than.”

“Well I’ll stick around as long as you need me to. Sort of made a promise that I’d take care of ya. I ain’t breaking it.”

“You’re all heart, Koen. You can pretend to be surly and hard ass all you want. I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, well I kind of like that giant, dumb ass bloke you’re married to. And you’re growing on me. So I figure I might as well step up and take his spot and treat like you like the queen you are.”

“You smooth talker,” she teases, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. For the picture. You really don’t know how grateful I am for it. And thanks for being here; for both of us.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

“And thank you for being with him yesterday. I could tell he was scared and in pain, and when I think what would have happened if he’d been alone…”

“Well he wasn’t. Alone. So don’t even think about that.”

“Thank you for getting him out of there. At least if he DID die, he wouldn’t have been left there. I don’t think I’d ever get over that; if I had to leave him here. I couldn’t cope with that.”

“Let’s not think about that, yeah? He got through it. He got out of there and it’s only uphill from here.”

“He really thought he was going to die, didn’t he.”

“Honestly? We all thought he was going to die.”

She releases a long, shaky sigh and blinks back tears.  “I’m glad you were there with him. At least if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have been by himself. That is my biggest fear when it comes to the job; that if it DOES happen, he’ll be alone. I don’t know why it bothers me as much as it does. I just don’t want him to be alone...you know...IF…”

“Can’t dwell on stuff like that. You’ll drive yourself insane. Or give yourself gray hair.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already HAVE gray hair.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I appreciate you feeding my ego, but I know you can see it. And believe, every one of my gray hairs has Tyler’s name on them. Maybe TJ too. Go figure; the junior being a TRUE junior.”

“That kid is his dad through and through. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside. And that Millie…”

“Female version of him.”

“Exactly. It’s fitting if you ask me; him having a girl first and her being just like him. Gonna have his hands full with her.”

“She called last night. Wanting to talk to him. She had a bad dream and he always makes her feel better after a bad dream. Daddy’s the one that chases all the monsters away. She has so much faith in him; she knows he’d never ignore her. She’s already questioning why she can’t get a hold of him. I have to tell them; I can’t keep lying to them. And I’d rather they hear it from me than someone else. They’ll take it better if it comes from me, I think.”

Koen nods in agreement.

“But on the bright side, he had a really good night. An amazing night, actually. He woke up. Twice. Once for the nurse, once for me.”

Koen frowns.

“What?”

“He woke up?”

Esme nods. “The first time, Julie...his night nurse…said he woke up and   wanted to know who the hell she was and that he asked for me. And he even told her he was feeling sick and she gave him some meds for it.”

“Hmm…”

“Second time, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Told me to not cry. He said he wasn’t in any pain and that he was just tired. And he asked if the baby was okay and he said he loved me. It was amazing; to see him open his eyes and hear his voice.”

“Are you sure? That this happened?”

“What do you mean am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought the doctor said they weren’t going to bring him out sedation for a few days? At least.”

“Julie said it isn’t uncommon; moments of wakefulness and some lucidity.  It’s just sedation, it’s not a medically induced coma  like last time.”

“He actually woke up? After everything he went through during the day? All the surgeries, the amount of meds they’re pushing into him? He opened his eyes and talked to you?”

“That’s  exactly what happened. Why are you questioning it? I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t seeing things. He woke up, looked at me, and talked to me. It happened. It was real.”

“Esme, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe it was wishful thinking on your part and…”

“It happened,” she insists. “I was there. I witnessed it.”

“And I was there in that storage and in that van. I know what kind of shape he was in; I know how close he was to lights out. Permanently. And you’re telling me, after all the injuries, all the surgeries, all the meds, he just woke up? The same day?”

“I know it sounds crazy. And I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me either. But I SAW it. With my own two eyes. And you know how tough he is; how damn stubborn he is.   Does it really surprise you that of all the people who would fight THIS hard, it’s Tyler?  You know him; you know how strong he is.  You know he’d do anything for me and the kids. So is that big of a stretch that he’d wake up like that? Even if it was just to give me some hope?”

Koen sighs.

“He woke up AND he talked to me. And you know what? It was incredible and made me feel better; to know his brain is working and that he’s not giving up. I needed that; some kind of sign that he’s going to be okay And he gave it to me.”

“So why isn’t he awake now?” Koen challenges.

“Maybe he used up all his energy last night and he needs to build it back up again.”

“If he’s got it in him to wake up last night, he should be awake right now.  I’ve got some shit to say to him for scaring me as bad as he did. How come he’s not up now and talking to me?”

“I don’t know. I only know what happened last night. I only know…”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Tyler’s voice -weak, groggy, and slightly slurred by the effects of medication- pipes up. “Now shut the fuck up. You’re given me a headache.”

“See!” Esme smiles triumphantly.  “I told you.”

****

When she returns from taking a much needed shower, she finds Rata outside Tyler’s room tightly clutching a gift bag from the shop in the front lobby and pacing at a near frantic rate. It’s odd to see him this way, clearly frazzled and nervous shoulders tense;  chewing on his bottom lip and occasionally stopping and peering into the room. Normally he’s the ‘life of the party’; clueless in an adorable way, always acting far less intelligent than he actually is  just to get a laugh. Possessing an air of confidence without an ounce of cockiness; quick with sarcastic comments and witty comebacks. The ‘uncle’ that always sits at the kids’ tables during Christmas dinner and then helps build lego sets and put together toy car race tracks instead of socializing with the adults.

“Hey you,” she warmly greets, and lays a comforting hand on his back. “You okay?”

He responds by wrapping her in a huge; strong, muscular arms noticeably trembling.

“You alright?” Esme asks, as she runs her hands up and down his biceps.  “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”

“I don’t like hospitals much. Especially a place like THIS in a hospital.  Where people are really bad.  EXTRA bad.”

“He’s a lot better than anyone thought he would be. Especially so soon And he doesn’t look THAT awful, I swear. He’s even waking up for a little bits at a time. A person who is ‘extra bad’, wouldn't be doing that, would they?”

“I just don’t know if I can go in there just yet. I mean, I was there. Yesterday. In the van. I saw what he was like; how bad he was. And I’ve never seen Tyler like that. I’ve seen him shot a couple times during our tours in the Middle East, but those were nothing. Just flesh wounds, you know? But that? Yesterday? Those weren’t just flesh wounds. And by the time he got back home seven years ago…”

“He was already somewhat on his feet and in rehab.”

Rata nods. “He was almost back to himself. It’s going to be a long while before he gets back to himself this time.”

“Yesterday was pretty awful, huh?

He releases a small, shaky sigh. “Wasn’t so much how he looked. All the blood and what not. I mean, that was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was fucking awful. Pardon my language.”

“I hear and say worse all the time. You don’t have to filter yourself around me. You’ve met my husband, right? You can’t be easily offended AND stay married to him. It just won’t work.”

“It was terrible. A fucking nightmare. To see a friend of yours THAT messed up. But the worst part? It was what he SOUNDED like. When he was talking to you. I’ve never heard him sound like that. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” she admits. “Not seven years ago, not even the two times he tried to...well, you know.  He never sounded like THAT.”

“Like he was going to die.”

“Yesterday I tried telling myself he didn’t sound that way. That he was just tired and scared and in pain and he just needed it to end. I convinced myself that he didn’t sound THAT bad. Near death. Now I realize I was just trying to make myself feel better, know what I mean?”

Rata nods.

“He was a lot closer to it than I want to admit. I thought nothing could be worse than seven years ago. I was so wrong.”

“It was what he said to you. How he said it. He was pretty sure he was never going to see you again.  That’s the only thing he was really scared of; the thought of not getting to be with you anymore.  You and the kids. You’re his entire world. I didn’t think I realized how much he loves you all until I heard the things that came out of his mouth.   Opened my eyes; made me see him a different way. A good way, just different. He’s lucky. He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them. That’s something I think we all want but never seem to find.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I ever did right to deserve him,” she confesses. “And he’s here because of you guys. You and Koen. You did whatever you had to go get him here alive. So thank you. I know it wasn’t easy; what you had to see and do. I was there myself. Seven years ago. I know how hard it is.”

“I feel like such a dick. For not being able to go in there. Like a total pussy.”

“You’re not any of those things. People handle stuff like this in different ways. But you should go in there. He’s really not that bad. And he was awake and talking a bit to Koen. I don’t know if he still is, but I do know he’d like to see you. I know how much he appreciates what you did to help him. I’ll go in with you if that would help.”

“It would. A bit. But first,” he offers the gift bag. “ I have something for you. And the baby.”

“The baby won’t be here for months. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Just a little something.”

She reaches into the bag, smiling at the stuffed tiger that she pulls out of its confines. “How did you remember the tradition? Every Rake baby gets a stuffed animal?”

“Just something that stuck with me, I guess.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you. Better not let Millie get a hold of it. That girl and her stuffed animals, I swear.  You didn't have to do this. You didn’t…”  her voice trails off, fingers reaching for the familiar object tied to the ribbon around the tiger’s neck. Eyes narrowed at first, then slowly widening when the realization sets in it.   “Where did you find this? Where…?”

“I didn’t find it. Tyler gave it to me. Before we got to the storage place. He asked me to give it to you if something went wrong.”

“He did?” Esme unties the thin piece of fabric, sliding the ring off of it and then cradling it in her palm.

“He wanted me to make sure you got it. If he didn’t make it. Said it was important that you got it.”

“I thought it was lost,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I thought maybe he took it off beforehand and put it in his pocket and it fell out. Or that the ER staff misplaced it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“I should have given it to you right away. Yesterday. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did or didn’t do. I thought it was gone. Forever. And I know it’s not much; it’s not expensive or fancy or anything like that. But it’s his. All the dents and scratches that he’s on it over the years. Sounds weird, but they all mean something.  I really thought I’d never see it again. And I didn’t think  I’d be as torn about it as I was. But it killed me inside; when I couldn’t find it. It felt like a piece of him was gone and I was just waiting for all the other pieces to disappear too. Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me. To have this back.”

She hooks the handle of the bag around her wrist, then reaches around to the nape of her neck and removes the necklace -the custom made piece with the beach glass Millie had found- and slips the ring onto the chain.

“I’ll do it,” Rata offers, and steps behind her. Large fingers clumsy and struggling at first, but then manage to secure the clasp.

Esme lays a palm over the ring, firmly pressing it into her chest. Feeling the smooth, cool   metal with its many imperfections, the familiar weight of it against her. And the relief that simple piece of jewellery brings is profound, stifling sobs with both of her hands as she turns and tightly embraces her friend.

[lovelylogans]

the worst in me

NARISSA: Ah, all this nauseating talk of true love's kiss, it really does bring out the worst in me. You know I've been thinking, if I'm going to remain Queen, I'm gonna need some sort of story when I go back. Hmm... What if a giant vicious beast showed up, and killed everyone? And poor defenseless Queen Narissa, she just couldn't save them! Let's begin with the girl who started it all, shall we?! ROBERT: Over my dead body. NARISSA: Alright. I'm flexible. 

-enchanted, 2007

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: remus, maybe unsympathetic thomas?, confusion/bitterness, self doubt/hatred, mentions of animal cruelty

pairings: none

words: 1,548

notes: so, this is for the 13 days of halloween prompt over at @sanderssidescelebrations​! today’s prompt is dragon witch! this is my first time writing the garbage man, so i hope i did him justice! also i better not see any remrom in the comments/tags!

R—No, no, it’s Roman now, Roman Roman Roman—tightens his fingers around the hilt of his sword, his free one into a fist. His hands shouldn’t be shaking. They shouldn’t. 

He’s done this a hundred thousand million times before. The Imagination is still his realm, still his place, despite the fact that...

Well. Despite the fact that he didn’t feel like him very much, anymore.

But a jaunt into the Imagination could change that. He’ll run around, save some people, feel more like him again. Or, well. The him he’s supposed to be now. Right? Because he’s supposed to be the good part, isn’t he? He’s supposed to be all damsels and dragons and danger, outwitting the enemy and saving the day. That’s him. That’s Roman.

...Right?

He doesn’t know. He should know, but he doesn’t. Since The Split (it’s warranted capitals, in his mind, and he wonders if they’ve kept enough similarities that it’s warranted the same in his mind, too) Roman’s felt... off. Confused. He finds himself shying away from things he’d have fully enthused about before—now he hates things he’d liked, and he likes things he’d hated, and everything is upside-down and inside-out and it’s like his whole existence has been thrown into a maze in a fun-house full of distorted mirrors, and he can’t get out of it, but he’s trying.

So. Imagination. Damsels. Dragon-slaying. Dashing sword-fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise—but is that his thing now, or his? Is disguising himself good or bad? Is sword-fighting good or bad? Who’s got what?

Like he said—he’s trying.

He follows his lines, even if everything’s changed around him—some of his usual subjects have vanished, replaced by new ones, scrubbed clean, and they act like that’s the way it’s always been, so he does too. The whole thing is straight out of a storybook—a (new) page comes to his palace, tells him of a fair maiden who’s been abducted by a (new) dragon witch, in an (old) crumbling tower that’s been the set of a fair few dramatic reenactments before. So he gets on his (new) horse, which doesn’t stink of the stables like his old horse, Phillipe, did, doesn’t have the pretty, burnished copper coat Phillipe did, but rather this one is pure white and only tarnished by streaks of gold in its mane. He isn’t sure what to name it. Caspian? Gwendolyn? Something very fairytale and innocent and pure?

He gets on his unnamed horse. He examines his (new) sword in its (old) scabbard. He rides through the forest.

Some things have changed and he has no idea why—the flora and fauna swap between familiar and alien—and some things have changed and he knows only too well why they might have changed. But he doesn’t want to question it. He’s supposed to be the good one now. If he questions the status quo now, maybe there’ll be a new new one, who knows how to smile and wink just so and is always kind and gallant and never screws up and never comes up with nicknames that sound mean.

Maybe he’ll be called Romeo, or something equally saccharine. 

Roman snorts, and then immediately shies away from the thought, like some bolt of lightning will come to strike him down, strike him in two—or would it be three, then? Because if the bad one is already taken and the good one isn’t good enough anymore, what’ll happen to that one? Will he just be thrown aside? Like a toy that’s lost all entertainment value, replaced by something newer and shinier?

He’ll try harder. He will. He’ll be the best, most perfect, most fairytale prince that ever walked the earth. He won’t ever, ever find out.

“Sorry,” he tells the too-blue sky above him, as if anyone is listening.

And maybe someone is—because he can hear a scream, and a distant, furious roar.

The dragon witch. Roman’s heartbeat starts to thunder and finally, finally, the fight, the rescue, that’s his favorite part, he’ll go out there and he won’t be able to think about being good or bad or right or wrong, he’ll only think about parries and ripostes and lunges, and he digs his heels into the horse’s side with a “HYAH!” and goes galloping further into the depth of these recognized-foreign woods, to the tower, to the climax of the story—

The (new) dragon witch is clutching to the tower, gouging out stones with its massive claws, sending dust and debris scattering upon the ground like snowfall. It roars, again—it has black scales, with almost sickly-green accents, two wings flapping, and massive, curving teeth that would surely gouge Roman right through, if he stepped wrong of them.

Well. It’s certainly a foreboding villain, for his first solo fray back into the imagination, but he mustn’t let any misgivings halt him—he urges the horse forward, and bellows up at the witch, “Unhand her, villain!”

Strangely, the dragon seems to frown at him, and he calls down, voice cartoonishly villainous, “What happened to Phillipe?”

Roman falters, as the horse cants in place. He knows that voice. It’s a new voice, but he knows it, knows it as it’d been the first thing he’d heard after the split.

“Is that... you?” He calls uncertainly.

The dragon seems to shudder, before abruptly, it’s shrinking, downsizing and downsizing and changing until it’s in the shape of a man—a familiar man, wearing black and an almost-sickly green, a demented grin, and a mustache. He’s got bags under his eyes that Roman can see, even from here, ones like Anxiety’s got, and he feels a traitorous spark of concern.

And, for an alarming moment, Roman is jealous. Why did he get the kickass transformation powers—into a dragon?! That’s so cool!

Or at least, that’s what he would have thought before The Split—now, his brain is tossing up example after example of villains transforming into animals—Ursula into Vanessa, Jafar into a genie, Maleficent into a dragon—it’s a sign of evil. It’s a sign of something Bad, and he’s supposed to be the Good One. But half his brain is still stuck on Before, while half of it is stuck on After, and he doesn’t know which thought is his, and he doesn’t know what he believes now, and—

“Did you send Phillipe to the glue factory?”

Roman recoils from the very thought—he’d spent days grooming Phillipe’s fur, feeding him apples and carrots and cubes of sugar, he’d loved Phillipe—and the other him laughs.

Or—no. The other Roman? The other twin? The other side? Is he technically his own side, now? If they were both Creativity, then what—

His confusion gets abruptly set to the side when there’s another, terrified scream within the tower. Roman shakes his head, hard, as if he’ll be able to dislodge this whole crisis of personality like he’s erasing an etch-a-sketch, and solidifies his grip on his sword’s handle, not quite bringing it out of the scabbard yet. 

“Unhand her, foul beast!”

He blows a raspberry, swinging frightfully from the side of the tower, only held by his boot, lodged between where a brick had been dislodged and his grip on one of the (new) spires—he could fall, and what would happen then? 

Is he supposed to care? The death of a villain would be a good thing now, wouldn’t it? But then if that was what was meant to happen, then why bother to keep them split in the first place, why not just divulge the bad, keep the good? Is it bad that he’s thinking about this? Murder is bad, it’s definitely bad, he shouldn’t be thinking about it, but—

“Boooorrrr-iiiiing. C’mon, give me an insult with some pep to it, aren’t you supposed to be Creativity now?!”

Roman grits his teeth, and snaps before he can even think of stopping himself, “Aren’t you supposed to be the scary one, Ja-nefarious?!”

For a moment, Roman thinks he’s gotten him, but that’s before that demented grin widens and that worrying crazed look in his eyes shines brighter.

“I said an insult, not a compliment!” He preens, and Roman scowls.

“What, you can do better?” He says scornfully.

“Well, duh,” he says, and then, gleefully, “You’re boring now—Roman, isn’t it?”

Roman forces his hackles not to rise.

“I mean, think about it,” he wheedles. “Which of us is more useful—the one who comes up with the original ideas, the unorthodox ones, or the one who comes up with the same—“ He flicks a dismissive hand, nose wrinkling. “White horse, sword, save-the-girl kind of story, over and over and over again?”

Roman feels an angry flush take over his cheeks. “Unorthodox doesn’t have to mean murder.”

“Why not?” He said, and he sounded genuinely curious—like a small child asking why the sky’s blue, not posing the question of if murder’s genuinely punishable or not. “Which one will make more of an impact—if I drop this sweet, innocent damsel from the tower, or you saving her?”

“Don’t you dare,” Roman snarls, and the other one—Remus—bares his still-animalistically-curved teeth in a grin.

“Watch me.”

With a wild yell, Roman unsheathes his sword, and charges.

(He wonders if it makes him bad that a fight and seeing his brother him is the first thing that’s made him feel semi-normal since The Split.)

[eirian-houpe]

Scattered - Chapter 7

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Alex (OC)

Additional Tags: AU, Curse gone wrong, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cruelty, Abuse, Triggers, Eventual Smut, Romance, Character Death, Gaston is evil, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform

Summary: Casting a spell, any spell - at least the ones that involve more than just the wave of a hand, or worse, the wave of an irritating fairy’s wand - takes time, and patience, and the right ingredients, and… just like any recipe, if you get it wrong, it doesn’t mean the cake won’t cook, rather then will, just with unexpected or unintended outcomes. All of Rumplestiltskin’s careful planning and manipulation, all of his hopes and dreams turn to dust; ashes in his bitter heart in the blink of an eye… in the fall of an equine heart.  Belle exchanges one terrible prison for another, and it’s one she is desperate to escape, and though Rumple’s fate as The Savior was severed from him centuries ago, sometimes fate itself has a way of finding an alternate route home.

Read on AO3

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 2]  [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]  [Chapter 5]  [Chapter 6]

Chapter 7 - ...Always Comes With A Price

Jefferson refused to move as Regina tried to stare him down. They’d been here before… almost this same, precise showdown, and with the same leverage. Grace.

The last time hadn’t ended well, in fact it was instrumental in his separation from Grace now and he wasn’t about to repeat his own stupid mistakes, not where Regina was concerned.

“No,” he said, sounding almost convincing. So for good measure he added, “Absolutely not.”

Regina simply stared at him, her eyes hard, her gaze calculating and he could almost read the formulation of further threats that were - he had no doubt of it - going through her head at that moment. He fidgeted, tugging at his jacket, and just as he felt himself starting to falter, the thought of his daughter - lost to him in this cursed world - almost shattering his resolve, he had a realization, and snapped, “Besides, it’s moot, and you know it. There’s no magic in this world, ergo, my hat won’t work.” He straightened up then, feeling a flush of satisfaction at Regina’s expression of distaste, so added, with no small amount of satisfaction, “Face it, your majesty, you’re screwed.”

The expression of distaste turned to one of amusement, and then smugness as she began to tsk softly, and came out from behind the desk, waving her finger at him like a ticking metronome.

“Oh, ye of little faith, Jefferson,” she said. “Did you honestly think I would bring myself to a world such as this one, without some kind of… contingency plan?”

Jefferson groaned. He might have known. He should have known, but an act of desperation had him blurt out, “If you use all your magic to power the hat, what will you have left to summon him even if I can get you the dagger?” He followed her as she paced across the room and he continued.  “You know even that can’t work across realms.”

“Unless there’s already an open portal - yes, yes, I know.” She sounded bored.

“You prepared for something like this, didn’t you?” he said, accusing and incredulous.

“Oh, p-lease,” she scoffed, “you think I’d ever trust that twisted little imp?”

*

“So what happens now?” Belle asked as she finally pulled away from his embrace. She felt somehow cold without his arms around her, in spite of the still too recent assault. She felt safe in his arms.

“What happens now,” he said, his voice almost a strange kind of sing-song tone, “is that you stay here, under my protection, until you’re healed - until you’re well.”

“But,” she began, not even sure how to formulate what she was even trying to ask. “But… my people…?  My father!” her stomach twisted into knots. When her father heard that she was missing, it could kill him… if Gaston even bothered to tell him, though she thought Gaston might instead tell a storybook full of lies that would be just as hurtful. She truly feared for her father in his condition.

“Belle…” Rascende tried to interrupt, but she wouldn’t let him; couldn’t.

“My father is sick. Very sick,” she said, reaching out to grasp one of his hands in near desperation. “If he hears of this, of anything, it could steal away his will to get well again; to live.” She felt her hands tremble against the warmth of Rascende’s. “Without my father, our people will suffer. Gaston will—”

“You leave him to me,” Rascende growled, then he blinked and softened the hard expression that had entered his eyes at the mention of Gaston’s name. He shifted his grasp around her fingers then until he was holding her hand and she no longer desperately clutching at his. “Just rest, my Belle,” he said gently, “And leave everything else to me.  I promise I will take care of your father, and see to it that Gaston can’t hurt anyone any more.”

She did not miss the way he called her his, but it soothed her, comforted the painful tension coiling in her so that she focused on his words, his promise to her and something in her trusted him more deeply than she had ever trusted another in her life. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him everything and surrender to him and his promise of aid.

“Chanctonbury,” she said, the hated name a breath on her lips. “He did this… did something so that my father would exhaust the coffers and—”

She jumped as Rascende’s soft finger touched just lightly on her lip and she silenced at once, stilled, and was uncertain whether it had been some kind of magic on his part to make her stop speaking, stop panicking and take several deep breaths, one after another.

“I have promised you,” he said quietly, “have I not, that I will take care of your father and make this little… problem… you have with the young lord Chanctonbury and his father go away…?” his voice took on a the same, and yet somehow exaggerated sing song tone as before. “And in return, all I ask is that you rest, and allow yourself to get well again.”  He tipped his head to one side, to regard her, his warm brown eyes rippling with a strange, light, amber-gold for just a moment as he finished, “Do we have a deal?”

Another time… or a dream; a nightmare. Monsters, ogres, her people in danger and a strange little man offering help… for a price.

”What I want is something a bit more special.” His fingers curled in a gesture she couldn’t identify, before his hand disappeared behind her father’s form for a moment. “My price…” she saw him then, pointing over her father’s shoulder, “is her.”

Her head spun, she felt caught in a whirlwind, between two worlds with no foot in either where she belonged or where she should be, and in some unspoken way she knew, she knew, that neither one of them was here. She felt her eyes begin to roll and her eyelids flutter, the dislocation causing nausea to bite hard.

“Belle…?” strong hands - his hands - closed around her upper arms. “Belle what’s wrong?”

The touch grounded her. Her mind began to clear in spite of the lingering feeling of faintness, and before the words could slip away she whispered softly, “The deal… is struck.”

**

“Belle look at me!” he commanded, though his voice was somehow still gentle, and not without hope. “Look at me. Hold on to it… remember…”

Desperation crept in too, though he tried not to allow it. He wanted her to remember, needed her to, then he could protect her properly, without this transparent charade. Why had Regina done this… more to the point how?

What if it wasn’t Regina?

Impossible! he scoffed mentally, pushing the thought away in the face of the struggle he saw on Belle’s face, as though she were trying, and trying hard to obey his command, to hold tight to the ledge but with fingers that were slipping. If only he could catch her. Who could possibly be strong enough to disrupt the casting of the dark curse… Impossible!

“I… I don… I can’t…” Belle’s voice, colored with deep confusion pulled him out of his almost frightened musings.

“Look at me, Belle,” he said again, “Tell me… what did you see? What did you remember?”

Her eyes were beginning to lose that slightly glazed, faraway expression and he cursed inwardly, almost begging for more time. If only he could get her to speak of it, to keep it.

“R… Rumple…” she closed her eyes, her face a frown as she spoke his name, “…stiltskin…?”

“Yes,” he breathed and gripped her more tightly, “Yes, it’s me. I’m here. Forever, remember?”

“Yeah, I…” she murmured even more faintly.

He tried so hard to somehow keep a hold of her; of her mind, of her memory, even as the shield flared and wavered around them… holding, though inside the cottage, the pots rattled on the hearth. He looked that way, for barely a second.

“Master Rascende…” Belle pulled away from his grasp on one side to be able to run a hand over her face. His heart lurched then sank, constricting in his chest as if the bile rising in his throat were a hand that grasped it. “…forgive me,” she continued, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’ve… been through a lot,” he told her, managing to keep his voice surprisingly steady, even through his own pain, “Perhaps you just need to rest a little more.”

She offered him a slightly bemused, slightly embarrassed smile. “I’m sure you’re right,” she whispered. “But you… you’ll still… you’ll help…?”

“Of course I will,” he gave her a sorrowing smile. “Just as soon as morning comes, I’ll go to Amberley hall and see what’s to be done… beginning with your father.”

She reached out and clutched at his arm as she lay down, and he carefully covered her again with the blanket. “Thank you, Rascende. Truly.”

His lips tightened from a smile into a part of the serious expression that overtook his face. “Think nothing of it,” he said, gently pushing with magic drawn from the growing things of the forest, and the natural turning of the seasons, the Land, to nudge her toward sleep. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

She acquiesced quickly, and he freed himself from her gentle grasp to stalk toward the fireplace, each step changed him from the gentle man he had been at her side to the tightly coiled spring of resentment, rage and pain. He reached inside of his jacket and closed his hand around the item he mentally summoned to the hidden pocket within. The familiar weight of the handle a comfort, a shelter to him in times such as these. He needed greater power, and this could give it to him immediately; without the need to wait on his full attunement with the natural magic of this world. It would serve him greatly - as greatly as he had already, always, and still served it.

“I’ll get to the bottom of all of it,” he promised through clenched teeth, the breath of his uttered words misting the blade of the Dark One Dagger as he spoke.