#ITS ALSO A FUCKING CINDER CONE

[i-am-terrowin]

as a geology major the volcano episode of 911 lone star is hilarious

[chezzkaa]

Cinders - Chapter 3/36

All Chapters

SUMMARY: Waking beneath the rubble, you frantically try to claw yourself out, Ray desperately working beside you. No abandoned by the rest of the Fake AH Crew, you must make it on your own to deal with both the emotional, and physical wounds left behind.

WC: 1851

WARNING: Graphic

Your eyes sting and drift open, dust clinging to your lashes as you peer into the constricting darkness. You feel Ray’s body next to you, his breathing soft but consistent. For a moment you allow yourself to breath, your bruised body equally as surprised by your survival. As you start struggling, you realise that the angle at which you had landed shielded you from the broken concrete; and you breathe a sigh of relief before coughing. Ray stirs, groaning as his eyes flutter open. 

Every inch of your body aches immensely, the throbbing of your left leg continuing up to your knee, though going no further. Unable to comprehend the numbness, you look down to see your leg lifeless under a caking of dust and blood, paled, blackened and swollen. Your stomach lurches, the bile rising in the back of your throat as you thrust your head to your right, vomiting violently over the side of the armchair. Ray says nothing, his eyes trained on your leg with a look of horror plastered to his dusty face, head swimming. “Y/N...” he begins, but you can’t hear him over the sudden screams escaping your chapped, bruised lips. 

Quickly Ray wriggles his knife from his pocket, twisting his hands as so to saw at the denim encasing you both. As it begins to fray you begin to thrash, ripping free only to start clawing at the rubble above you. Breathing heavily and chest tight, you both work tirelessly as your screaming subsides; much to Ray’s unspoken relief. A rumble sees the mass around you shift, dust pouring down into the space, stealing your air supply. Chocking, desperate, you continue to drag your raw fingers across the stones until a cool breeze whistles through a small opening.

“You know,” you say, grunting as you pick at the hole, feeling your nails bend and snap. Ray leans closer to you, attempting to widen the space you’re focusing on. “I never thought it’d end like this”. The man next to you grimaces as his hand slips against the sharp stone, deeply slicing the lower section of tendons in his fingers. “Oh yeah?” he asks, his voice horse as he forces his uninjured hand through the hole, inhaling sharply as his wrist is pierced; “What did you have in mind?” He yanks his hand back through, gasping at the walls encasing you both shifts slightly, cradling his partially severed fingers to his chest through violent twitches. 

“I dunno” you shrug, lifting up your free foot and positioning it against the hole. “A blaze of glory, perhaps? Gun fire, hot babes” you grunt, kicking with all your might at the opening, causing more dust to pool around you. “and”, you huff lashing out again, the force aching against the bottom of your foot, “like, five stars”. Another kick and your heart leaps with hope. “Well” says Ray, shuffling in the seat to turn his back to you, bracing himself with another spasm of pain and sharp inhale. “It was a blaze” he jokes, and you can hear him attempt to smile through it all. You laugh, unable to stop yourself, before you thrust your foot once more and feel the walls topple onto you; leaving nothing but the star-spotted sky. 

Struggling, you pull your dead weight upwards, dragging yourself onto the grassy hill and into the cool air, greeting it gladly. Reaching back down, you offer Ray your hand and work towards lifting him out of the cage of concrete. Lying on your back out of exhaustion, you stare up at the sky in wonder, letting the tears roll silently down the sides of your face. Ray collapses besides you, his face streaked with tears and eyes bloodshot. Neither of you dare break your gaze from one another, instead you roll together, clutching each other tightly. You don’t know if you’re laughing or crying, but the pained wail erupting from you resonates in your chest as Ray shakes uncontrollably. “We’re alive” he manages, holding you tighter; “How the absolute fuck are we alive?”

Looking up you realise the building is no longer smouldering, the site quiet and untouched. The ash has settled, coating the ground like a dusting of snow, but you shake your head and force yourself to sit up. There are no cars or vehicles, no signs of life. “Ray...” you manage, the weight of the abandonment finally setting in. “They left us”

You stretch out your left leg, looking sorrowfully at what once was flesh and bone. Though your prosthetic served as a perfect replacement, you could still feel the ever-aching pain that your mind had unintentionally programmed to ghost through the cybernetic addition. Your toes were forever contorted, ankle deeply twisted and broken, despite being removed years ago. Flashes of the journey rush through your head, the days of inactivity having taken its toll on your bodies. Ray had dragged you to the best of his abilities, the soft grass caressing your skin as you pushed forward and towards the makeshift medical centre the crew had set up 3 years earlier. 

Consciousness had escaped you constantly, and the disorientation was only broken by fragments of immense pain. The crunching and tugging as your partner carved away your leg had etched itself permanently into your mind. It had taken a few weeks for the replacement to be fully integrated, fused to you as a longstanding reminder. Ray had tried his best, fashioning you the cybernetic piece to grant you full mobility in addition to inhuman speed, strength and agility. You wouldn’t be caught in the path of death again, Ray’s efforts guaranteed it.

You trace your fingers across the intricate designs you had etched into the plates in the past 2 years, silver against the jet black exterior plates, lingering over one of the many small windows that open to the luminescent wires and mechanisms beneath. You feel Ray move beside you, and he offers a sweet smile from his position on the couch, still lying his front. “You got the better deal” he jokes, holding up his hand to display his  similar cyber finger attachments, flexing them as the tips blips gently with a soft purple light. 

More flashes from your haunted mind, the sound of bones being forcibly cut and thumping into your lap; forcing you to relive the removal of his mangled and unsalvageable fingers. The flinching of his face with each slice was perfectly in sync with the rolling of your stomach. You remember gingerly collecting his fingers, cradling them gently in your hand before placing them safely on the sterile table. Ray’s eyes hadn’t open, his face a pained grimace as you returned,  beginning to join his remaining flesh with the cyber fingers you had constructed for him.

“You serious?” you smile, shaking the memories and moving to stand above him. “You’re trigger finger is literally programmable”. His smile widens and he admires your handy work, fondly remembering his excitement once you had informed him that they were not only incredibly durable and strong, but also compatible with most technology. “I thought I was a good sniper before” he jokes, “but this is the tits”. You chuckle, ruffling his hair and stretching. “And you have a mean punch” you compliment, wandering around the back of the couch towards the large window stretching the span of the wall. Peering down to the busy street, you’re vaguely aware of your body shaking, struggling with the memories. The sound of Ray coming up behind you is drowned out by your thoughts until he places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a quick and comforting squeeze.

“It’s got to be them” you say to him tentatively, and he lets out a sigh. “Yeah” he finally agrees, “It has their marks all over it”. You let out a sharp laugh, your shoulders trembling nervously; “by marks, I hope you mean ‘big, fuck off explosions’”. Ray lowers himself to the ground, inching closer to the window to press his forehead against the cool glass, “Don’t forget about the ‘we’ll ruin everything’ element” he adds, titling his head to show you the bitter smile flashing across his lips. Following his lead, you sink down next to Ray, distractedly watching a man with purple hair run through the streets exuberantly. Your lips turn up slightly, momentarily amused. “We didn’t do things by halves” you admit, and Ray barks out a laugh. “Hell no,” he mocks, “The bigger the better”. 

Silence settles over you both as you remain lost in thought. Their faces swim before you, Geoff’s pleading eyes, Michael’s anger as he struggled with an unconscious and bleeding Gavin; why had back up taken so long? You wonder whether the second team had been attacked during the negotiations, but thinking of Jack and Ryan’s fate hurts far too much. Your eyes sting a little, but you ignore the prickling sensation, searching for the man with purple hair again to keep your mind occupied. You would give anything to see them again, but know that your relationship with them would never be the same.

You don’t look at Ray, keeping your eyes averted to the street, spotting the flash of purple bouncing by the ice cream stand eagerly. You watch as he excitedly accepts 2 chocolate cones, rushing to another, taller man with a pony tail, offering it to him before they disappear into the crowd. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if they’d stayed?” you ask quietly, feeling him tense. Stealing a glance at his reflection, you see the hurt in his eyes mirroring the pain in your heart. “All the time” he whispers, “But they didn’t”; you to turn to him.

“They bailed as soon as the cops turned up”, his bitterness laps at your skin and you knit your eyebrows together. “Ray-“ you start, but he cuts you off “It was in all of the reports, Y/N,” his eyes meet yours before he pulls you closer and into a one armed hug, clattering your cheek against his shoulder as he rests his chin on the top of your head. “it was nearly 3 days...” he mutters into your hair, his voice cracking faintly as he remembers. “Do you regret not going to find them?” you ask in a small voice, shuddering. At this, Ray is silent. “No,” he says carefully, “the people who love you don’t leave you for dead”. You want to interject, want to defend them and their actions; but you can’t bring yourself to protect them. The pain in your leg sears for a moment, flaring from the memory, before settling into a numb dormancy. 

“I don’t know what I had expected”, slowly you feel him begin to settle again as his grip loosens, “maybe a funeral, that would have been nice”. His words sting, his sadness and loss modeled after your own. “We got out, together” he continues, “without them.” He offers you a small smile, rocking you playfully for a moment, “We don’t need them, we’ve got each other. I’ve got your back” 

“Just like I’ve got yours”

[backcountryprogeny]

Type ll F***k You

By Tommy Barton

When he climbs a hill, he has the feeling that it is lifting him, for he takes it one step at a time and does not fight with it.-Alan Watts

     For now, two miles to the south, the Halemau’u Trail, inside the crater of Haleakala, still contains the footprints of a 2 and half year old boy. If the wind still carries his exuberant laughter across the cinder cones, between the Silverswords, and into lava tubes, I can no longer hear it. All I hear now are the snores of my boy and the rain pinging off the rain cover for his carrier that is currently strapped on my back. I found out later, the pack exceeded its 40 pound limit by five pounds. 100 yards to the north is the beginning of a 2 mile stretch of trail with an elevation gain of 1000 ft.

     In the foreground, between myself and the switchback buzzards circling above me was my Wonderwife. I have a healthy appreciation for yoga pants, bikinis, and flannel shirts just as much as the next guy. That being said, damn if there isn’t something beautiful about a women standing effortlessly under a teal 65 liter pack filled to the brim with the majority of your families backpacking gear. Her trucker hat casts a shadow over green eyes filled with empathy. Empathy is an emotion she keeps tucked away in a dark corner for a rainy day. It was raining and she had tried on my pack earlier. She knew it was all bad.

      We’ve all got that friend that can speak some truth to you that has some stank on it. In response to the stank, your eyes narrow, the ends of your mouth form a sly smirk, and one or more middle fingers goes promptly in the air*. If your friends stanky truth comes from their concern for your wellbeing, then they will know that the fuck you should certainly be translated as I love you. The mountain’s stanky truth was I didn’t really have a choice to avoid the impending sufferfest. Not only did my wife have to be at work the next morning, but our food supply and most of all my ego, wouldn’t allow any procrastination. Due to cloud cover, I had to imagine a ridgeline 1000 ft up. With a smirk, my bird flew with the Nene in the sky and I hiked on.

I'll take you to land, where the lake made of sand And the milk don't pour and the honey don't dance And the money ain't yours Now it's just a red pill,Got a blue and a hand full of Advils -Chance the Rapper

     Teton Gravity Research defines Type ll fun as “Type II fun sucks the entire time you are doing it, but you are excited to either brag about it at the bar later or look back on it and value it as a character-building episode. Equal is not always fair… my feat of getting to the top was no Grand Teton Picnic, ultra, or winter ascent, but it did suck the entire time and I do very much value the time as a character-building.

     You know what else sucks the entire time for me and also builds character? Doing the dishes, working out at home, and making myself write. The thing is though, is that procrastinating doing these things just sucks and doesn’t build character. Yet somehow I forget that. That’s where church comes in. My church anyway. Nature’s cathedrals. I’m provided with lessons that facilitate growth. Those lessons will repeat themselves until I no longer see being proactive as a choice but a necessity. Allow the truth to set me free.  When that happens, I’ve got to find myself a mirror, give a sly smirk, hold up a big type ll fuck you, and get some.

*If you don’t have that friend, find one.