Pairing: Hal Jordan/Kyle Rayner
Summery: Being trapped in an underground bunker really tends to clear your head. It’s the next fifty years stuck there that fuck it up again. (Nuclear Apocalypse AU, or further proof that I cannot write these four assholes in a happy AU if my life depends on it)
Smut at the end oh god this is awful run away now it’s not even beta’d. Also claustrophobia tw and some vague mentions of fistfights in the background. Skelatons tw too.
“My mom used to have a saying,” says Kyle on one of the nights they can bear to talk, “that “To be Irish is to know that in the end the world will break your heart”. Moyniham, I think, but whoever it was, the Irish were kind of bang on the money, weren’t they?”
Whoever built this tight-fit, bleak-ass hole in the ground decided that the best way to spend the next fifty years waiting for the nuclear fallout to thin out a little was in an upmarket motel. All the walls are painted tasteful, “warm” shades. There’s a lot of furniture Hal thinks is meant to look kind of Mad Men-ish, and there’s a lot of abstract art that Kyle says was churned out in factories.
“I’m serious. They actually have these, like, workshops full of artists who are given like a theme – Rothko, Mondrian or something – and then churn out things that look vaguely modern and sophisticated and entirely unthreatening. I had a friend who worked there once. It was the best paying job anyone at art school had.”
Whoever built it also helpfully decided to make the doors out of some super-strong glass shit, so if you felt like it you could mosey on up to the lobby and watch the world burn.