#40k words in one year... jesus

[redwayfarers]

nero's fanfic wrap-up 2023

key ocs of 2023: cassander inteus & nika perseis, and a whole host of other, lesser well known kiddos <3 most of the unpublished stuff is some exile drabbles and smut that i haven't posted yet (mostly cassmel) rip

overview

fandoms: 4 total fics: 36 fics published: 31 fics unpublished: 5 words: 45,546

masterlist organized by fandoms

wayfarer

unnamed prompt - rating: gen - pairing: cassander inteus + aeran kellis

dictionary of everyday life - rating: gen - pairing: risha sero (@just-eyris-things) + aeran kellis

it's not good for the grieving to be alone - rating: gen - pairing: cassander inteus + aisanne bjornsdottir

just what friends do - rating: gen - pairing: cassander inteus + aeran kellis

ties that sever, ties that bind - rating: teen - characters: cassander inteus, theokleia inteus, aiantes inteus

overflowing - rating: gen - pairing: cassander inteus + aeran kellis

wayfarer week: view - rating: gen - characters: cassander inteus, thesor sereno

wayfarer week: alone - rating: gen - character: cassander inteus

wayfarer week: injury - rating: gen - characters: cassander inteus, amali sero, aeran kellis

wayfarer week: mentors - rating: gen - characters: thesor sereno, dayna sereno

wayfarer week: swords - rating: gen - pairing: honoria ionneon + rienna cenric (@just-eyris-things)

wayfarer week: flirt - rating: gen - pairing: valerian varyn + melchior larkspur

one of those days - rating: gen - pairing: cassander inteus + melchior larkspur

picking your battles, and how it can go wrong - rating: gen - pairing: cassander inteus + senna osker

unnamed prompt - rating: gen - pairing: thesor sereno + rhodarth nairan

unnamed prompt - rating: gen - pairing: cassander inteus + aeran kellis

a particularly nasty weed also known as wayfarer - rating: gen - pairing: cassander inteus + senna osker

ffxiv

howlers and minstrels in the night - rating: gen - characters: nika perseis, ianera maliriq

does she like men with scars? - rating: gen - pairing: nika perseis + minfilia warde

to (kick your feet) strive but not to yield - rating: gen - pairing: nika perseis + minfilia warde

crisis he didn't ask for, but got anyway - rating: gen - pairing: nika perseis + artoirel de fortemps

cold nights in ishgard - rating: gen - pairing: nika perseis + artoirel de fortemps

unnamed prompt - rating: gen - pairing: nika perseis + artoirel de fortemps

(you) restless son - rating: mature - pairing: nika perseis + artoirel de fortemps

(you) restless son (continued) - rating: teen - pairing: nika perseis + artoirel de fortemps

bridgerton au - rating: gen - pairing: nika perseis + artoirel de fortemps

'ajde bar noćas budi mi drug - rating: gen - pairing: nika perseis + hilda ware

infamous

a long, long line - rating: gen - pairing: swan ellis + orion quinn

absence - rating: gen - pairing: swan ellis + seven lawless

blood moon

safe - rating: gen - pairing: angelina jakovljević + farroq khan

night runs - rating: teen - pairing: cassander iodinnis + roe martin

the exile

setting the stage - rating: gen - pairing: alysannyra ainsaf + sabir du vaelas

two snakes, one bed - rating: explicit - pairing: cassander sero + nikke ivante

inside the gift horse's mouth - rating: gen - pairing: cassander sero + nikke ivante + sabir du vaelas

[areyouwell]

Alea Iacta Est

Ch.2

Ch.1 <-

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: MDNI

Word Count: 27.1K

A/N: uh... oops? okay so this took like forty years because i wasn't expecting it to be sO LONG. this is also the initial length of the chapter CUT DOWN because there were three more scenes i wanted to add but JESUS it would have been around 40k if i did that soooo here :3

🏷 : @speeedybaby @ltristessedureratoujours @froggieeez @ayamenimthiriel @daddyslittlevillain @chubbyhedgehog @marifilue @galacticglitterglue @salemslostwitch @m1cky-y-y

“Alecto? That’s what she said her name was? Are you sure?” 

Logan sighed for the millionth time that evening, his arms folded securely across his chest as he answered question after question about his encounter with their latest mission target. This one came from Jean, her eyes bearing into his as if she could peel back his cool façade and dissect the truth from within. Which, to be honest, she probably could. 

“Like the Fury?”

All heads in the room turned to look at Kitty, who shrank in response to the sudden attention. “It’s uh, a Greek myth. After Cronos castrated the Primordial God Uranus–” Logan had to suppress a childish snort of amusement. Uranus, what a ridiculous name. “–his blood fertilised the soil and three Furies sprang into existence. Tisiphone, Magaera, and Alecto. They’re sort of supposed to punish sins like Magaera punishes sins committed through jealousy, Tisiphone punishes sins committed against the gods and avenges the murdered, and Alecto punishes sins committed through anger. They’re… torturers of sorts, mainly in the Underworld serving Hades. It’s actually in interesting–”

“Right, thanks for the Mythology lesson, Kitty, but that’s not really the point here,” Scott grumbled, clearly still not over the fact he was bested on the mission by someone he didn’t even have time to react to. But Kitty’s explanation got Logan thinking. It made sense, he thought, that you would name yourself after some kind of punisher. After all, every single one of your victims had been some criminal of sorts, your own acts against the law put to the side. 

“I’ve heard that name before…” Charles pondered, his brow furrowed in concentration as he searched his mind for the source of his recognition. Logan grunted in confirmation. 

“Yeah, she mentioned you by name. An old pupil of yours?” He asked, a brow raised in suspicion. It wouldn’t be the first time Charles had kept something like that hidden from the rest of the team. He liked to keep his cards close to his chest when it came to his failures, and if you were one of them, it would make sense why he’d never mentioned you before. But Charles shook his head. 

“No. Not this one. We couldn’t get to her in time.” He muttered, almost to himself, and Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. Couldn’t get to you in time? In time for what? Who the hell were you? What the hell did ‘in time’ mean? Jean and Charles exchanged a quick glance, the redhead nodding in silent understanding before she left the room. Some telepathic thing, no doubt. A spark of jealousy ignited in Logan’s chest. He hated it when they shared secrets, and he briefly wondered if Scott was ever let into their little silent communications club. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Charles sent him a long look of disapproval, to which Logan responded with nothing but tensing his jaw, dragging his eyes away from Xavier’s omniscient ones. 

“None of this matters,” he began, clearing his throat. “Unless I go to this Gala thing on the 18th. She said if we wanted to help–”

“Stop this slave trade business, yeah you said. But what’s to say she isn’t lying? Who’s to say this isn’t a trap to lure you away so any little friends she has can invade the school? Who’s to say she wasn’t involved in the burning of the orphanage?” Scott rebutted, and Logan could almost taste the irritation in his voice. 

“We’ve been over this. She couldn’t have anythin’ to do with it cuz she was–”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have others working for her.” Storm offered as calmly as she could.

“How do we know she’s not workin’ for someone else?” Marie interjected the first words she’d said since entering the room. 

“Scott’s got a point, she knew more about the orphanage than any of us did.” Hank sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between fuzzy fingers. 

Logan huffed in irritation. “Because she fuckin’ told me. Why the hell would she say anythin’ if she was involved?”

“Why’re you defending her?” Scott accused, leaning forward against the broad table in the centre of the room. “Sounds like she got under your skin.”

“‘M not defending her–”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“What would you’ve done? Blasted a hole through her chest without a second thought?”

“Would have been better than letting her get away.”

“That’s ENOUGH.” Charles’ voice echoed through the room and Logan’s head, and judging by the winces and flinches from the rest of the team, he’d done the same to them. The room fell silent, though the tension was palpable. Logan’s fists bled white as he clenched them tightly, fighting every instinct in his body not to leap over the table and pound the ever-loving shit out of Scott’s stupid sunglasses-wearing face. “She didn’t have anything to do with the orphanage. That’s final. Scott, I think your anger is clouding your judgment. Logan’s right, she wouldn’t have said anything at all if she had any kind of involvement. As for others working for her, I didn’t see anyone else in the vicinity last night. She was working alone.”

A sick sense of satisfaction inflated his chest as he watched Scott lean back in his chair with a sharp huff, and he knew the motherfucker was rolling his eyes behind those tinted shades. 

“So… you’re going? To the gala thing?” Marie asked, cutting the tension in the room and forcing everyone back on track with the conversation. Logan shrugged in response, nodding simultaneously. 

“Yeah, I am.”

“I’ll search my closet, see if I have any kind of gala-appropriate outfits. A week doesn’t exactly give us much time...” Ororo mused, making to leave before Logan stopped her in her tracks, rising from his seat. 

“You won’t be needin’ it because you’re not goin’. None of you are.” He stated firmly, taking a step back to lean against the wall behind him, exhaustion pounding in his head. He knew this meeting was going to be fucking endless, but he didn’t think it would be this bad.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of going alone? That’s suicide!” Kitty exclaimed, her hands clasped firmly against the edge of the table as she too stood up. 

“You heard what Alecto said. Come alone or not at all. If we all show up, we run the risk of her boltin’, and not gettin’ any closer to findin’ out what the hell she was talkin’ about. Or who’s doin’ this and why? Charles?” Logan turned to the Professor for help, hoping to shit he was on his side. And the way Xavier sighed heavily, his head almost hanging low in defeat, told him he was right. 

“We don’t have a choice. Alecto specifically asked for Logan and nobody else. She had the chance to talk to Scott and instead incapacitated him.”

Logan suppressed a bark of laughter as Scott gaped at the blatant putting down of the incident, but Charles continued before he could refute the claim and tell them all how he thought everything went down. “Logan’s likely the only one who can pull this off. Now this isn’t to say none of you have the capabilities, it’s more than if things do go wrong, and this is, as Scott says, a trap, then he’d be the only one to make it out alive.”

‘Thanks…’ Logan thought sarcastically, and Charles narrowed his eyes at him, clearly having heard the faux gratitude. 

“I really don’t like this…” Marie muttered, running a hand through her nutmeg hair.

“Neither do any of us, but this is the only way forward I can see, and Logan’s willing, so it’s settled.” Charles finalised, looking to each team member individually, no doubt to gauge their reactions. None of them seemed happy, but they all seemed to have accepted the reality. 

“Alright, better search for somethin’ to wear. No offence, Slim, but I don’t think any of ya suits would fit me.” Logan jabbed with a crooked, shit-eating grin, and Scott simply glared at him from behind his sunglasses. There was no greater satisfaction than pissing him off. 

With the meeting ended, the rest of the team filed out, Logan making a promise to Marie to find her later so they could properly talk about what happened. He pulled out a cigar from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth, making his way to the front hall and out the double doors so he could smoke in peace. He’d just flicked open his lighter when the cigar in question was pulled from his mouth by invisible fingers and placed delicately back in the leather jacket he was wearing. A small, instinctual smile tugged at his lips, and he raised a brow as he looked behind him to see Jean leaning against the doorway, her arms folded across her chest, cleavage almost spilling from the low-cut top she was wearing. But, remarkably, Logan managed to ignore it. Not on purpose, it was more of a subconscious decision. 

“You’re really going to this thing, huh?” She sighed. It wasn’t a question, more a statement of acceptance, as if she needed to voice it out loud to truly understand. Logan hummed in confirmation, turning his body so he was facing her, mirroring her stance and leaning against the wall.

“Yeah. I am.” He responded simply, a surprising flare of irritation curling in his gut as he took out the cigar again, slotting it between the gates of his teeth and lighting the end, inhaling the thick, nicotine-laced smoke for a moment, before blowing it out into the night air. Jean’s lip curled in momentary disgust, before she schooled her features once again, although there was something flickering in her eyes. Something that almost looked like disapproval, and not at the fact he was smoking. 

“Something’s changed. You’re not as… you, as you were before.” She murmured, taking a few steps closer to him. Any other time before, his heart would be stuttering in his chest, and all sorts of filthy, debauched thoughts would be racing through his head. But this time, he couldn’t be far enough away from her. That instinctual smile that had pulled at his lips earlier had been wiped completely clean, replaced by sheer disinterest. 

“The hell does that mean?” He asked, the sudden need to defend himself dripping from his tone as he took another drag if only to blow smoke in the decreasing space between them. Jean’s eyes narrowed, and Logan felt the softest caress against the walls of his mind, his jaw clenching against it. “Outta my head, Jean. I mean it.”

She looked as if he’d just insulted her, slight hurt flickering across her sharp features. “Yeah, something’s definitely changed. What did she say to you?”

“Who?”

“Alecto.”

Logan rolled his eyes, turning away from her again to lean his back against the brickwork. Honestly, he was sick and tired of explaining himself, and you, to the rest of the team. He didn’t know what had happened, to be honest. But it was something greater than him. Greater than all of them. There was something going on that he didn’t understand and he didn’t like it. And he liked Jean’s prodding and poking even less. 

“She didn’t say anythin’. Jus’ thinkin’ about this whole slave trade thing, y’know?” He deflected. In all honesty, he couldn’t explain the sudden shift in his dynamic with Jean. He’d noticed it the moment he returned from the mission, realising she wasn’t the first person he wanted to see. Wanted to talk to. In fact, she hadn’t even been on his mind until she came running up the halls to crush Scott in a squeezing embrace. He didn’t even care about the way her hands cradled his face, searching for any sign of injury. He’d walked straight past her and into the board room without so much as a second thought. He was as thrilled as he was unnerved. 

It was peaceful, not having his heart bruised and beaten with every word exchanged. To not feel chewed up and spat out every time they looked at one another. Refreshing to feel absolutely nothing when Scott tucked her into his side, his hand braced against her waist, and he was only now realising his jealousy from earlier came from the fact that he was the one who interacted with Alecto, and she was still the one Charles was sharing his secrets with. That was what bothered him most. Shockingly enough. 

He blew out another cloud of smoke, watching the wispy tendrils rise and found his mind pulling back to his fight with you, the whirls of grey strikingly similar to the way the blood around your palms would twist, separating and joining at different points, as if they weren’t liquid, but something more. Something alive. 

“Sure, I guess. But you’ve barely said a word to me. Barely even bothered to say hi before you marched on through to the Professor. What’s– Logan would you look at me?” She urged, her hand on his shoulder sending a ripple of… something, across his skin. He couldn’t discern the feeling, but it sure as hell wasn’t a good one. Something really had shifted in him. How the hell could this happen seemingly overnight? 

But he did as she asked, hazel eyes sliding to look at her out of his periphery, and she removed her hand when he finally accepted he wasn’t going to turn to her again. “What’s that supposed to be?” She asked, gesturing to the way he hadn’t even moved. 

“‘M lookin’ atcha, like you asked me to.” He shrugged, fingers fiddling with the roach of his cigar as he twisted it around. He felt another strange sense of satisfaction at her defeated sigh, her eyes downcast as she traced the patterns of the gravel ground. 

“Just… Look. Be careful, okay? We don’t know what this Alecto is capable of, or what she’s planning, and I– I’d rather you came back safe.” She whispered like a secret. How long had he been waiting to hear something like that from her? How long had he been yearning to hear those kinds of caring words fall from her mouth and actually be directed at him? It didn’t matter, because he felt nothing. It was confusing. Freeing. Terrifying. All at the same time. 

“Thought I was the bad guy who didn’t stick around? How’d ya know I’ll come back at all?” He mused, flicking the cinders from the foot of the cigar and putting it out completely on the cold, slightly damp wall behind him. “Who knows, maybe I’ll come back the good guy you’d take home to your parents. Isn’t that what you said girls wanted?” He didn’t know where these sudden jabs were coming from, but it felt strangely good to get his inner turmoil out in the open. To call her out on the things she’d said in the past, contradictory to the fact he’d stuck around for the last god knows how long. He stood from leaning against the wall, placing the half-smoked cigar neatly back in the steel tin before shoving it, and both his hands, back into his pockets. 

“I was wrong… okay? Is that what you want me to say? You’ve proven you can stick around for a while, but it’s not just that. I’m with Scott, and I have been for a long time.” The exasperation in Jean’s voice baffled the fuck out of him. Why was she saying this as if he didn’t know? As if it wasn’t shoved in everyone’s faces every moment of every day. It irritated him to think that she cared. Irritated him to wonder why the hell this was even brought up. But he drew in a deep breath, finally turning to face her once again. 

“Okay.”

The night fell silent, only the distant sounds of crickets filling the sudden void as he watched the redhead process what he’d just said. The acceptance in his tone. The finality in one simple word. Okay.

“Okay? That’s all you have to say? Years of you flirting with me, pining after me, constantly jabbing and insulting Scott and all you have to say is ‘okay’? Like none of that ever happened? Like you didn’t kiss me that night we were running from Stryker?” She floundered, and Logan just watched. Sure, it was all true. He did kiss her that night, and when Mystique later entered his tense wearing her skin, he didn’t even hesitate. But that felt like such a distant memory now. After all, it had been a few years since that. 

“Wasn’t this what you wanted? It’s sure as hell what Scotty wanted, f’me to finally back off his girl. Isn’t this what you wanted? Cuz I’m gettin’ real confused over here.” He ground out between grit teeth. Why was she angry? What the hell was going on? Did she not want him to back off? Was this all some sick kind of powerplay to keep his attention? Or was she just as confused as he was? Despite all his questions, he suddenly found himself without a willingness to care. He’d had enough. 

“I didn’t–”

“G’night, Jean.” He interrupted before she could get a word in, shrugging past her and back into the warmth of the school’s interior. He’d never been the one to leave the conversation before. Never been the one to put an end to their interactions before now. It was thrilling, in a way. Leaving her out in the cold while she was stuck thinking about everything he’d just said. It was nice to turn the tables for once and to be the one in control of the situation.

Things truly had changed.

A sharp hiss echoed against the empty walls of an old abandoned factory as you bound your wounds, crimson blood seeping through the stark white gauze you wrapped tightly around both hands. Sure, they’d probably be healed up in a week or so, but the scars left behind were just short of infuriating. And the scabbing process across your hands already meant they would take longer than usual to heal over. 

This was not your finest work. 

You leaned against one of the solid beams, your legs dangling either side of the rafter you were perched on as you savoured the slight sting of closing your fists, reflecting on whatever the hell just happened. Of all the people to get mixed up in your business, why the hell did it have to be Professor X? Why couldn’t it have been Magneto? At least he would be more likely to side with you. 

The buzz of your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you breathed a heavy sigh. You knew who that was. You always knew who called you after a victim. Tugging out your phone, you swiped up on the screen, not even bothering to look at the caller ID. 

“Hey Tiss, what’s up?” It took a great deal of effort to make it sound like you weren’t utterly exhausted, and a sharp knife twisted in your gut at the realisation that you were about to lie to her. 

“Hey Alec, the Boss wants to know if you found anything?” She asked, her already husky voice crackling slightly over the receiver. Wasn’t there anywhere in this godforsaken city with good signal? You ran a hand through your hair, pushing down your hood at the same time. And it was with heavy hands that you removed the mask from your face, taking a gulp of the fresh air, air that to anyone else who hadn’t been wearing a mask for the last ten hours would more than likely both taste and smell incredibly stale. 

“Yeah, the location. Some fancy estate called Thornbury. Some kinda owner gathering so these sick fucks can discuss trades.” You spat involuntarily, disgust curling in your chest at the idea of people, humans, fucking about with the lives of mutants. Of your people. The natural order of the world had gone insane. How had it happened that the more advanced race had been subjected to torture and slavery? What the fuck was wrong with this world?

“Thornbury… that’s almost a hundred miles west of the city, some posh prick’s country estate. It’s been in the Thornbury family since the 19th century, and Lord Thornbury –apparently self-proclaimed– has been under fire for some less-than-savoury controversies. Tax evasion, mostly. They say–”

“You’re reading this from a Wikipedia article, aren’t you?” You asked and the line fell silent, prompting a snort of amusement to fly from your nose.

“...Maybe. You never know, my intel could just be super fast.” Mag offered, though you could tell she was grinning on the other side of the phone. 

“Tisiphone… nobody’s intel is that fast. Not even Magpie’s.” You chuckled at her offended gasp from the other end.

“What’re you tryna say? That Magpie’s a better informer than I am? I’m shocked and hurt, Alec,” you just knew she was clutching her chest, her phone facing up on the desk on loudspeaker. “By the way, did you kill that guy because he had the same name as you?”

You pursed your lips. You weren’t that petty, but for some reason, it did piss you off that this dirty little fuck stick did have a similar name. At least, a similar name to the one you were given. Your birth name you kept close to your chest. Not even the other Furies knew what it was, and they were like your sisters. 

 “...Maybe.” You mimicked her tone from before and she barked a laugh. 

“Fuckin’ knew it. I told Per– oh shit Mag’s on the other line. Must’ve found something in Phoenix.”

You cocked a brow. “Mag’s in Phoenix? Why? I thought we were focussing our efforts here?” You queried, a little irritated that none of this had been passed to you, and you heard Mag suck in a breath down the receiver. Clearly, you weren’t supposed to know. 

“Special assignment from Bossman, wouldn’t even tell me what it was, but I guess I’m about to find out.” She refused to elaborate further, and you heaved another lengthy sigh. 

“Alright, fine. Call me back after you’ve spoken to her,” you resigned, going to press the red button on your phone screen before you had the sudden urge to ask her something. “Oh, Tiss? How’s… how’s Monkey doing…?” You were slightly hesitant, and Tisiphone’s answer was the reason why.

“Alec… you know you’re not supposed to ask shit like that,” she sounded tired, and you couldn’t blame her. At the end of every assignment, you asked how Monkey was doing. It was an instinct. You just had to make sure he was okay. “He’s fine. Tired and worried, but fine.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Thanks. I know what you risk telling me. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah yeah, save your gratitude for someone who needs it. I’ll call you back.” And without another word, the line went dead. 

You sat for a moment with your thoughts. At least Monkey was okay. You knew he’d been through a lot lately, and in all honesty, you worried about him. Deeply. It irritated you to no end, but you couldn’t help it. Ever since you brought him back it had been a nonstop rollercoaster of emotions for the both of you. It hadn’t exactly been easy.

But then again, nothing ever was. 

You dragged your hand down the side of your face, your fingertips catching on the prominent scar over your eye. The only reason you had to wear some kind of mask twenty-four fucking seven. Even when you weren’t on an assignment, you felt more comfortable with the soft leather that usually hid half of your face. You could still see, thank fuck, they weren’t cruel enough to blind you in one eye.

Just cruel enough to permanently brand your face.

Your legs ached slightly as you rose into a seat, stretching your arms above your head before deftly swinging down from the rafter, using the support beam to slow your descent. You really didn’t feel like opening your wounds again, not after you’d only just bound them, so you grit your teeth and clung to the steel beam as you clambered down, your ankles barking in slight protest as you landed heavier than you would have liked the sound of your boots echoing across the empty, run-down factory. You’d scouted the area beforehand, usually a hotspot for drug deals or street urchins.

You half-smiled at the idea. You were one yourself not so long ago. Wandering the streets. Stealing what you could, running from those who’d caught you. You and–

You smothered the memory before it could take over. 

Sliding your mask back over your face, a paradoxical sense of comfort enveloped your chest. Whilst yes, you hated having to wear it, you also liked how it concealed who you were. Kept you and your family safe from those who would prefer to hunt you down and sell you to the MSR. Your fingers ghosted atop the mask, over the scar along your left eye. You were trying to put a stop to it. The Mutant Slave Ring. Nobody should have to suffer like that. Nobody should have to suffer anymore. And if that meant burning the human race to the ground, you’d be happy being the one to light the match. 

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket, and you immediately held it up to your ear. “Yup?”

“Wow, rude. Yeah, that was Mags. Said she’s gonna be in Phoenix a little while longer. Ran into trouble.” Tiss explained, her voice seemingly brighter than it had been during your last call. You rolled your eyes. 

Disgusting lovebirds.

“The good kind of trouble or the bad kind?” You asked, your boots crunching on the earthen ground as the night air greeted you, leaving the abandoned factory behind. Tisiphone sighed through her nose. 

“The bad kind. She’s okay, she assured me she was okay, but she was almost caught. Looks like the MSR is as active there as it is here.” You listened to her voice get progressively heavier, and you knew she was worried. Though you’d all made a pact when you joined not to get feelings caught up in the mix, you cared for each other as if you were blood-related. Argued with each other as if you were blood-related. And now Tisiphone and Magaera were friends-with-benefits-but-not-really-friends-more-completely-in-love, it was getting harder and harder to hide the fact that you all cared for each other. Deeply. 

“Well, at least she’s okay.”  You offered weakly, not really knowing how else to help Tiss’ worrying. You never were very good at that kind of thing. And the way Tiss chuckled down the line told you she knew exactly that.

“Yeah, I know. I forgot to ask the standard questions earlier–”

“Magpie would never forget.” You jabbed lightheartedly.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Just because I’m on a field ban doesn’t mean you can be mean to me.” She pouted, and anyone else who didn’t know her as well as you did could never imagine one of the Furies pouting the way she did. “Right, are you hurt?”

“Minimally, but I’m always hurt. Kinda part of my mutation.” You shrugged, taking the spare time you had to wander around the darker sides of town, admiring the peace of distant sirens. 

“Don’t get smart, Alec. Uhhh, did you get what you needed, yep we already covered that. Okay, were you seen by anyone?” 

Your heart stopped. This is what you were dreading lying about. Because, yes. You were seen. Not only were you seen, but you asked for help. You asked for help. From a man you’d never met before and was sent there to stop you, maybe even kill you. You asked for his help. What the fuck were you thinking?

“Nope, stealthy as a cat, like always.” You lied easily, though it twisted your gut to do so. You hated lying to your sisters. There was nothing you couldn’t tell them. Except for this. Because not only had you asked for help. You’d asked one of Charles Xavier’s for help. You were sort of holding out hope that Logan wouldn’t turn up on the 18th. Though from the look in his irritatingly perceptive eyes, it wasn’t much of a hope. 

“I don’t even know why I need to ask you these things to be honest. You’ve got these assignments down to a science at this point.” Tiss lamented, and you felt that knife of guilt twist further into your gut. You didn’t even know how you were going to explain when a strange man turns up to an exclusive MSR event asking for you by a name only those in your own inner circle know, and you knew your sisters were going to feel betrayed, let alone your Boss. You didn’t even want to think about how he would react to this. Not after everything he’d done for you…

Well, you hadn’t actually ever met him. It was more the things he’d done down the grapevine. Saving your sorry ass from a gruesome fate was a start, and letting Monkey in was something you never thought he’d agree to. Not to mention the fact he’d given you a home, food, a family. And now you were going behind his back to employ someone you’d met for less than an hour, and spent most of that time trying to kill each other?

You must be insane. 

“Yeah well, been doin’ it for a while, I guess,” you shrugged despite the fact you were on a phone call and Tiss couldn’t actually see you. “I’ll be coming back soon anyway, you know if Mags has any kind of gala-wear I could steal? Don’t particularly fancy a shopping trip, to be honest with you.” You chuckled humourlessly, though hoping she couldn’t see through the poor attempt to disguise your discomfort. Luckily, you assumed the shitty signal drowned out any kind of complex communication, so Tiss was none the wiser. 

“Not that I know of. I’ll have a look. Aren’t you coming back soon anyway?” She asked, her voice distant as if she’d left the informant’s desk to rifle through one of the communal clothing drawers. And the light thumping of discarded hoodies and jackets proved your assumption correct. 

“Yeah, on my way back now. I’ll see you soonish.”

“Soon-ish? How long is soon-ish?” She called from across the room, and you chuckled slightly. 

“It’s soonish. See ya Tiss.” You disconnected the line before she could question you further. If you were being totally honest with yourself, you wanted to walk about the alleyways for a bit before you return to the stuffy underground hideout. As much as you appreciated the Boss’ roof over your head, you often felt the need to stretch your metaphorical wings, so to speak. That and you were slightly claustrophobic, though you’d never admit it. But the thought of seeing Monkey had you turning homeward bound instinctively, your mind playing the events of the night over and over like a provocative carousel. And your thoughts kept returning to one face. One name. 

Logan.

Storm was right. A week really wasn’t much time. It only seemed like yesterday Logan was in the board room with the rest of the team, trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do about these seemingly random murders. Now he was on the road heading west, a black two-piece suit hanging neatly from the passenger seat roof handle, the matching white shirt placed in a separate plastic cover, that too hanging from the roof handle in the back seats. What the hell was he doing? Walking completely unprepared into something he barely understood, on the likely empty words of a serial killer. Usually, he’d just puncture six holes in their chest and be done with it. But there was something different about you. 

A certain desperation in your tone he couldn’t ignore. The sudden flip from trying to kill him, to asking for his help. Or rather, suggesting that if he so wanted to help, he could by turning up at this location at this specific time. It all seemed too… spontaneous, for him to think any more of it. You didn’t look like you’d been prepared for him to even open his mouth, let alone start asking questions. He’d caught you off guard, that much he could see now. And your instinctual response had been to in turn, ask for help. 

How could he ignore that? How could the rest of the team think there was an ulterior motive here? And though he barely caught sight of them, in the brief moments he could see your eyes, they weren’t the hardened eyes of a killer, like he had expected. There was so much… life, in you. Like you weren’t fighting a battle for the sake of it, but rather for something more. You had a purpose, and that was something else he couldn’t ignore. Whether that purpose was good or bad, he supposed he was about to find out. But there was purpose there nonetheless. Much more than any of the team was expecting. 

You were… interesting. That’s how he’d put it. And he wanted to understand why. Why you were doing this. Why you were caught up in something as big as this. Was it simply to stick up for the little guy? Or was there something more sinister running beneath the surface? He couldn’t assume. The last time he’d assumed, he’d been proven seriously wrong. So he wouldn’t this time. 

The radio crackled slightly as he left the outskirts of the city, where the signal strength was getting weaker and weaker by the second before all he was listening to was white noise and he was forced to change the channel. Logan didn’t make a habit of listening to the radio, but since this was technically Kitty’s car, it had turned on automatically when he started the engine, and he’d been too lost in his own thoughts to notice. It wasn’t too bad, to be honest. Filling the rest of the silence whilst his head worked overtime. Only now, it was hurting his damn ears. Flicking through the stations, he raised a brow as a familiar, seemingly appropriate song thundered in the speakers, the guitar solo to AC/DC’s Highway to Hell becoming his new road trip soundtrack. And he honestly couldn’t think of anything more accurate to his situation. 

Highway to Hell indeed.

He kept the station on, occasionally peering out the side window at the change of surroundings, from the suburbs to the countryside, he watched as homes were switched out for fields and farmland. Just where the hell was he going? He’d punched Thornbury Hall into his phone’s GPS and he’d already been driving for what felt like centuries. He would know. And when you’d said west, what exactly had you meant? Because right now he was heading southwest. Was that deliberate? Or were you just really shit at directions?

He’d like to think it was the latter.

Logan spent the next hour planning out an escape route if things were to go wrong. He hadn’t been a stranger to being on the run, so that seemed to be the safest option. Calling for backup was also always there, but there was something prideful in him that really didn’t want to, even if things really did go the worst way they could possibly go. He could always fight his way out. Leave no survivors, old school style. But he’d left that life behind. That wasn’t him anymore, And he didn’t particularly fancy returning to that version of himself. 

Well then. Running it is.

Dusk was falling by the time he rolled up to the estate. Two broad, cast iron gates remained open as ridiculously fancy cars lined up around the central courtyard. This place had a courtyard. Various couples all dressed to the nines walked arm in arm up to the doors, where he could just see a butler offering a welcome glass of what he assumed would be champagne. Wasn’t that what these fancy folk drank? Fuck.

This already wasn’t going to plan. 

The car rolled to a stop before it entered the trail of tall lamps leading up the driveway, pulling into the side of the road. It felt better to walk than to roll up in Kitty’s beaten-up old Ford. That and he needed to change. He knew he should have just driven up wearing the damn suit, but Marie insisted he needed to hang them up. ‘They’ll crease’, was her reasoning. 

Why oh why had he listened to her?

With an irritated huff, he snatched the suit from the hangar, reaching into the back to the shirt before borderline contorting in the driver’s seat to get this stupid fucking suit on and get this stupid fucking night over with. He had to remind himself several times why he was here whilst fighting with cuff links, had to remind himself to steal Marie’s CD collection in payback for insisting a clip-on bowtie would be obvious to these people and they’d know he wasn’t one of them. 

Although, surprisingly, he had to thank Scott for reluctantly letting him borrow his black shoe polish, because despite all the struggling and fighting with the fabric, he didn’t scrub up too badly. Sure, his hair could probably do with some kind of gel, but he wasn’t about to go up and ask for some. Not after he’d gone to the trouble of tying his own goddamn bowtie in order to blend in with these people. Nothing says ‘outcast’ like having to ask to borrow some fucking hair gel.

Why was this even something he was entertaining? 

Pausing to take a breath, Logan reached into the console to pull out his tin of cigars, flicking open his steel Zippo lighter and clamping the roach between his teeth, cupping the flame out on instinct and taking a long drag, before exhaling the cloud of smoke. He knew Kitty would likely give him an earful for smoking in her car, but if nothing else, he was doing it out of spite. Taking one last moment for himself, he opened the door and put out the foot of the cigar on the tarmac.

Stepping from the car, he briefly looked over his appearance in the wing mirror, straightening his jacket slightly by the lapels and smoothing down any creases he could see. He was sure it wasn’t perfect, but it would do. The first true test of his disguise would be trying to find you, wherever the fuck you were. Were you even here yet? Only one way to find out…

The house was almost exactly how he imagined it. Some shitty imitation of an English country house, oozing inauthentic extravagance in every way conceivable. From the over-flashy imitation gargoyles to the poorly kept white roses climbing the side of the double doors. Two pillars held aloft the front porch, painted and foiled with gold which he was certain would have washed away if they truly were in England. Although, he swore he could smell rain in the air. Fucking great. 

His eyes scanned the greeting hall, searching swiftly for the man with the runic tattoo you’d told him about. Which was borderline impossible since every peacock here seemed to be wearing high collars. All except the countless security guards, who kept their collars flat. Why the fuck he would be looking for a security guard, he had no fucking clue, but for some godforsaken reason, he trusted you. Trusted you enough to turn up to this event anyway. 

He stayed still for a moment, his eyes flicking to the necks of every guard he came across before a wave of relief settled over him. Whilst he wasn’t well versed in runes the same way Kitty was with her mythology fixation, she’d talked his ear off enough to know one when he saw one.  A shorter man with patchwork black and white hair stood to attention at the foot of the grandest staircase he thought he’d ever seen, arms held firmly behind his back, mahogany watching the room like he could see more than just people. The moment his eyes landed on Logan’s, they widened almost imperceptibly, but just enough for Logan to realise. 

He strode over, fixing the cuffs of his white shirt as the blonde looked away, pretending he didn’t notice he was coming toward him. But Logan wouldn’t let that happen. Whether he knew he was coming or not, he didn’t care. Not finding you wasn’t an option. 

“Looking for Alecto.” Was all he muttered, setting his jaw against the way the man turned back to him, his own jaw tensed in muted surprise. He looked Logan up and down, as if sizing him up, before offering him a curt nod and turning on his heels to head up the stairs, and it didn’t take a genius to deduce that he was meant to follow. 

With a small shrug to himself, Logan did just that, though keeping his wits about him and making mental notes to remember where he came from, which turns he took, and which doors they entered through and exited out of. He swore this damn palace was bigger on the inside, and it felt like he’d been walking for hours before he was striding up the hallway behind the smaller man toward another security guard, blonde hair and with eyes so deep blue they almost came across as violet greeted them. 

 “One of Alecto’s.” He heard the blonde mutter, clearly not meant for his ears, and Logan tried his best to make it look like he couldn’t hear them, folding his arms across his chest. 

“You sure?” Violet-eyes responded, looking past the blonde and straight into Logan’s damn soul. 

“Said so himself.” 

These two really didn’t exchange more words than necessary, did they? If Logan didn’t know any better, he’d assume they hated each other. But by the smell of them, he knew they were mutants. Poppyseeds and bird feathers with the slightest hint of sulphur that wasn’t coming from either of them, but rather from behind the door. A smell so strong he couldn’t scent anything else further than that. 

The ebony-haired guard narrowed his eyes to Logan, before stepping to the side and opening the door, allowing them both to enter, following on after and closing the door behind him. 

It had to be some kind of guest room, various sofas all arranged facing each other, ornamental coffee tables completely untouched separating the space. Various masks and equipment settled on a small round table near the large bay windows at the end of the room, with another set of white double doors leading off to the left, the coppery scent of fresh blood barely noticeable over the borderline overwhelming stench of sulphur.

The source of the scent now facing him, two deep red flames burning in her hands, neatly curled black hair falling in front of her face slightly. 

“And just who the fuck are you?”

You weren’t nervous. You’d never been nervous about things like this. Sure, you had a history of being a little… flighty, before a mission, but that never meant you were nervous. But, if you weren’t nervous, then what the fuck else could explain the twisting of your stomach or the unsteady, jumpy beat of your heart. You’d already thought over every possible eventuality, twice. What the hell had you so worked up?

It was a rhetorical question. You knew exactly what had got you so worked up. And he wasn’t even here yet. If he was coming at all. You’d put so much faith in a complete stranger, a man you didn’t even know, and for the twenty minutes you were introduced, you’d spent nineteen of them trying to kill him. Only to learn he couldn’t die. Only to learn he was… kind. Kinder than you were expecting. And more understanding in those twenty minutes than anyone else had been in your entire life, except maybe Boss. 

You blended the concealer on your neck with a sponge, coating the already hefty layer of foundation before brushing on setting powder, taking extra caution not to spill any on your dress. You hated the trials and tribulations of trying to get white powder out of black fabric, and this dress was fucking expensive. ‘Nothing but the best!’ Tisiphone sang whilst dagging you through clothes store after clothes store, genuinely enjoying the experience. 

You, on the other hand, hadn’t felt more like sleeping on the highway in your entire life. 

Delicately, you picked up the lace-covered mask from the vanity, turning it over in your hands, feeling the delicate material beneath the pads of your gloved thumbs. You’d made sure it wasn’t sheer, not wanting to take the risk of anyone peering through it and seeing who you truly were. Layers and layers of spiderweb-thin material gave the illusion of solidarity, the only thinner segment being the small, almond-shaped hole that would fit directly over your eye. Sheer enough that you could see out of, but not light enough that those could see in. 

Fixing the mask to the left side of your face, you’d barely pressed it securely before a rogue shout filtered through the closed doors to the bedroom, and you paused for a moment. You could have sworn that was Tisiphone’s voice you’d heard. But just who the fuck could she possibly be yelling at? Morpheus was outside the room and Magpie was downstairs keeping watch. Was she just having a breakdown over her choice of dress? You had mentioned that–

Oh fuck. 

Now that wasn’t a voice you would easily recognise…

Oh shit.

Oh shit.

“Oh… shit.” You muttered, standing from the vanity and quickly crossing through the conjoined doors to the living room, where the sounds of raised voices became nothing but a cacophony of ceaseless noise. The strong scent of sulphur hit you like a truck, and you knew Tisiphone was moments away from incinerating your hired help where he stood. You burst through the doors, your hands held up as if to ward your sister away, barely taking in the scene of Tisiphone’s hands glowing with deep red flame, and six razor-sharp knives pointed in her direction from the spaces between each of Logan’s knuckles. “It’s okay! It’s okay. He’s not– fuck. He’s here because of me!” 

You watched Tiss’ head tilt in confusion, her thin brows furrowing behind her masquerade as she tried to comprehend just what you were saying. You took a deep breath, nodding to Magpie and Morpheus as the two of them turned on their heels and headed back out the door to stand on guard, leaving you to your explanation. 

“The fuck you mean he’s here because of you? Alec, who the hell is this guy?” Tisiphone asked with no small degree of accusation, though you were thankful that the overwhelming stench of sulphur was fading slightly, Tiss’ hands falling back down by her sides. 

“Uh, Tiss, this is Logan. Logan… Tisiphone.” You introduced them a little warily, hyper-aware of Logan’s eyes trained on you rather than the real threat in the room. “We met. On the assignment. Last week…”

“Oh, the one where you said you weren’t seen by anyone?” Tiss continued her string of accusations, now seemingly more pissed off at you than she was at the intruder. A small blessing, you thought. 

“Okay, so I bent the truth a little–”

“Bent the truth? You snapped it in half! Alec, what the fuck were you thinking? Why the hell is this guy still alive if he saw you?”

“Because I couldn’t kill him!” You explained, exasperation dripping from your tone, and Tiss narrowed her eyes behind her mask. 

“Like ‘I was bested in a fight’ couldn’t kill him or ‘He asked me nicely not to and I caved’ couldn’t kill him, because I’ve never known either of those things to be true when it comes to you.” She folded her arms across her chest, the silken fabric of her gown creasing every so slightly. Logan filed away what information he could about you, adding that latest little tidbit to the mix. 

“No, like ‘he literally cannot die’ couldn’t kill him.” You sighed, running a hand down the side of your face that wasn’t covered by scratchy, lace fabric. 

“Doesn’t mean she didn’t try,” Logan added gruffly, the first words he’d spoken since getting into a fight with one of those guards outside the door. In all honesty, he was just trying to understand what the hell was going on, and trying to get over the fact that Scott was right. You did have people working for you. Or rather, judging by Tisiphone’s reaction, you were working for someone. And Tisiphone’s mere existence made him think too. Kitty said there were three Furies in that mythology. And since there were two of them, it only stood to reason that there was a third somewhere. 

“Look,” you started, exhaustion already creeping into your voice and the evening hadn’t even started yet. “You said it yourself, a woman not on the arm of a man at events like these means nothing. My feelings on that aside, and since Magpie and Morpheus are borderline mute when it comes to social interaction, I found one that can actually hold a conversation. Just, trust me, okay? When have I ever made a mistake?” You implored with a half smile, relief settling in your chest as Tiss exhaled a long breath.

“You really want me to answer that?” She asked wryly, and you huffed a laugh. Whilst making mistakes on assignments wasn’t something that ever happened, the trouble you got into in your downtime was another story altogether. Your mouth really did get you into deep shit on occasion…

“Not really.”

“And just how do you think he’ll get past security? Not only does he have the same X-gene as us, but I don’t think those claws of his would make it past the metal detector either.” Tiss sighed, looking Logan up and down as if to weigh up the pros and cons of not incinerating him where he stood. 

“I’ll figure it out.” You hissed back, mentally punching yourself for not thinking of that. Whilst yes, you could attempt to hide the mutation in his blood the same way you did for yourself and the others, the metal was going to be a serious problem. 

“Uh-huh? And how are you going to explain–”

“I’ll figure it out, Tiss,” you paused to take a long breath, calming your irritation. “Look, we were getting nowhere by ourselves, and these fuckers were the only ones who managed to trace, follow and catch me in the act. Don’t you think that says something? All the officers in the city. The detectives, the undercover cops. None of them could do what they did. Not even a whisper. So just back off and let me handle this, okay?” The room fell silent and Tisiphone looked at you, her brows pinched with indecipherable emotion before she relented. 

“Alright. But when you’re in the shit when Boss finds out, I can’t have your back. You know I can’t.” 

“...Yeah. I know.” You responded with a quiet that made Logan pause. Just how much were you risking bringing him here? 

“And I won’t be able to help Monkey, either.” She added, and though her tone was harsh, there was something behind her masked eyes that told him she was regretful over that. 

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You were happy to suffer the consequences of your actions, happy to endure whatever punishment Boss deemed necessary if he found out about this. But the thought of anything happening to Monkey because of something you’d done? It was almost unbearable. 

“Tiss… please. Boss’ll kill him if he thinks he has any knowledge of this. You have to vouch for him. The same way I vouched for you.” You emphasised, and she paused. At least now Logan had somewhat established a motive for what you’re doing. Whoever this Monkey guy was, you clearly needed to keep him safe. 

“...Alright. If it gets to that, I will. I’ll see if I can get Mags to do the same,” she smoothed her dress, holding her chin high. “Do what you gotta do, Alec. I’ll see you out there.” With a nod of finality and one last wary look to Logan, your sister left you alone to explain just what the hell was going on, and why he was here.

The silence was deafening as you did nothing but regard each other cautiously before you drew in a breath. “Was starting to think you weren’t going to come…” You shrugged, turning your back to him in a deliberate display of confidence, peering at yourself in one of the many mirrors of the room to fix your hair back into the loose butterfly clip you’d tucked it into and securing the lace mask tighter across half of your face. Didn’t want that coming loose anyway anyhow…

“You asked, now here I am.” He responded with the exact same level of disinterest, something that irked you slightly. Self-righteous asshole. 

“I didn’t ask,” you snapped back, sending him a sharp glare through the mirror. “I offered. You’re the one that took me up on it. Tell me, does Xavier know you’re here? I’m shocked he’d allow a pet like you to walk into such a mess.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. What exactly was your relationship with the Professor? Why did you hold such a grudge against him? Charles didn’t say he didn’t know you, but you weren’t a pupil, and unless you were much older than you looked, you were too young to be a past lover. He had no family that he knew of, so just who the hell were you? 

“You want my help or not? Cuz it would probably save me a lot of hassle to just leave.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers, raising a brow as he stared at you in the mirror. You exhaled slowly, knowing he had you in a box.

“Yes, I wa– I need your help. And it’s not easy for me to say shit like that so don’t be an asshole about it.” You grumbled, scowling as he scoffed.

“Right back atcha toots. So what am I here for?” He asked, using the slightly more relaxed environment to survey his surroundings. It was the kinda place you’d see in some period drama. Silken upholstery, long floor-length curtains, everything gilded with gold foil. He’d never felt more out of place in his life, and he’d gone from a feral life on the run to being a damn supply teacher. 

“Unfortunately, that depends,” you hummed, as if this wasn’t a huge problem and running your finger beneath your lower lip, smearing away any traces of lipstick. “If I can get you past security without an issue, you’re my esteemed husband looking to invest in the MSR for a large sum.”

“MSR?” He asked, raising a brow as you rolled your eyes.

“Mutant Slave Ring. Keep up. The Thornbury’s don’t own it. Not by a long shot. As far as we know, they’re just hosts for things like this. Events and functions where like-minded freaks gather and share their trade secrets. We’re here trying to separate those directly involved, and those who watch from the sidelines. Quite literally.” You shivered slightly, memories you’d rather not relive flashing in your mind. Sweat dripping into your eyes. Blood trailing from the corner of your mouth. Rampant cheers and hoots of thrill with every aching punch. The collar tightening around your neck. 

You shook yourself, your hand reaching absently for the base of your throat. You were free. You’d never go back there. Boss had freed you from that life. Both you and Monkey. 

“Right…” Logan acknowledged slowly, choosing not to comment on the way your eyes glazed slightly, the way your gloved hand skimmed across the skin of your neck. “And if you can’t get me through security?”

“Then you’re my mutant pet, essentially.” You stated flatly before your eyes dropped from the mirror and you turned to face him. “Look… you don’t have to do this. You can walk away. We know the risks we take every time we do something like this. You’re walking into this blind, and there’s only so much I can tell you without compromising our whole operation. You have people who care about you, Logan. But us? We’re nothing more than a collection of circus freaks and street kids. This is all we have. We are all we have.” You explained, subconsciously divulging more than you’d ever really said to anyone, and it took you a moment to realise. But it was a bit late to take it back now. 

And Logan seemed just as stunned as you were. But not by what you said. But more because you said it. And what that did to him. He never thought he’d feel his heart soften for a killer he’d been chasing, but here he was, finding it difficult to associate you with all those gruesome, bloody murders he’d seen on the slideshow. He sucked in an awkward breath, observing the way your jaw clenched as you started to regret opening your damn mouth. 

“I don’t really know what your relationship with the Professor is, but he wouldn’t want me walkin’ away from this. An’ I don’t know what happened, but he’s happy to take in circus freaks and street kids. Always has been. An’ he’d have a place for you, ya know. If you wanted it.” He took a step forward, ducking his head slightly to drag your fallen gaze back up to him. 

You pursed your lips, hating the way your heart broke slightly. “You seem to think quite highly of him.”

“Yeah well, the man’s done a lot f’me.” He shrugged, and he watched your lips pull into a slight, half-smile. 

“Circus freak or street kid?” You asked quietly, standing your ground as he continued to step closer, removing his hands from his pockets like he was approaching a cornered animal.

“Stray dog,” he smiled as you huffed a laugh, nodding your head in understanding. “You?”

“Street kid. Then a circus freak.”

“The whole package?”

“Nothing less.”

He was close enough for you to see the slight crease in his shirt, just beneath his ribs. Close enough to see he wasn’t used to tying a bowtie around his neck, and for some godforsaken reason, you found it slightly endearing. Even the cologne he wore wasn’t something recognisable. Wasn’t the same dreary, vain attempt at masculinity the rest of the men here wore. You supposed he had nothing to prove to these people, but you had a suspicion it wasn’t just here he felt that way.

Logan was close enough now to see why your fingers had lingered on your neck, a borderline unhealthy layering of makeup coating the base of your throat, expertly hidden. Interestingly, it was the only part of your body left uncovered. Your black dress was floor length, long thin sleeves exaggerating the curvature of your arms, barely concealing the muscle beneath. Close enough to see where your mask had rubbed at the side of your face, the slightest catch of what looked to be the beginnings of a scar peeking out the only part the mask didn’t entirely cover on the left side, parallel to where he assumed your eye was. It was hard to tell above the lace. 

“Who are you?” He asked quietly, an unmistakable, static tension now charging the air between you as you raised a thin brow. 

“Alecto. You know that already.”

“That’s not really your name, is it?” It wasn’t a genuine question. He already knew the answer but was rather prodding for more. More information other than what you’d already told him. He was a perceptive man, knowing when to listen and what was important. And the nuggets of your past had been collecting in his brain for the past thirty or so minutes. The nuggets of who you were. 

“Could be.” You shrugged, and he tilted his head to the side. You hated looking at him. Hated how you realised he was actually incredibly good looking. His face was hard but his eyes were… softer. Almost kind. You wondered if his heart reflected that. 

You had a feeling it did. Or he wouldn’t be here now. 

No. He was here because of Xavier. You had to remember that. 

Logan watched as your features flickered with something akin to remorse before they were schooled into neutrality. “We should go.” You uttered, before breezing past him and heading for the door. With each step away from him, you found breathing easier. Found your chest loosening, your heartbeat growing steadier. You hadn’t even realised it was racing.

He took a moment to inhale as you walked past him, his nose itching with the masking scent of your chosen perfume. He waded past it, finding the coppery smell of your mutation, and the surprising, underlying tone of lavender. It wasn’t fabricated. Wasn’t something anyone could bottle and spray. It was you. You smelt like lavender. 

And blood.

Loosing a long exhale, Logan took another moment to collect himself before he turned to follow you out the door, seeing you already halfway down the hallway talking to Tisiphone, who to be quite honest, he didn’t entirely trust. Although, did he entirely trust you? His gut told him yes, he did, and it was a good idea too, but he’d been wrong before. He wouldn’t be wrong again. Exercise caution. That was probably the smartest thing to do right now. 

And don’t get attached.

“And you’re sure this is going to work?” He overheard Tiss asking, to your almost comically exaggerated eye-roll. Clearly, you’d already had this conversation, and not just about this. 

“No. Tiss. I have no idea. When do we ever? But I’ll have Opheus in my ear and Magpie’s eyes on the whole room. If shit goes haywire, we bounce, okay? Like always.” You shrugged, and he saw you pull at an invisible piece of lint from your glove. You were nervous. Were you always nervous? Were you like this before any of your other assignments? Were you like this when he met you?

“That’s not what I meant, Al, and you know it. I meant bringing Claws along with us. Do you know how fucking dangerous this is? He could blow the entire operation!” Tiss hissed, gesturing wildly to both ends of the hallway. The moment her head turned toward him, she straightened, smoothing down any creases on the front of her shimmering silver dress. You glanced his way, clenching your jaw.

“He won’t.” He heard you hiss back, and Logan was forced to pretend he’d heard nothing as he all but sauntered up to the two of you, hands lodged firmly in his pockets. With a heavy sigh, you flipped open the clip of your small shoulder bag, bringing out a sleek-looking masquerade and wordlessly handing it to him. He quirked a brow.

“This isn’t a masked ball…” he stated lowly, trying to ignore the look of pointed exasperation on Tisiphone’s face, her own matching silver mask barely concealing any of her expression. He chose instead to focus on the way you shot her a glare, your lip curling slightly before she huffed and folded her arms. 

“It isn’t. Not for anyone else. Each family has their symbol. This is ours. Your name is Jonathon Hargraeves, but don’t mention that until asked. We as the Hargreaves have never been to one of these socials and only decided to invest in the MSR. This is Evie Hargreaves, married to your brother, Henry. Magpie and Morpheus are our security, so will remain nameless. As will you if we can’t get you through security, because then–”

“I’m your mutant pet. Yeah, you said,” he muttered, slightly regretting sharply snatching the mask from your hands when he saw how genuinely sorry you were. It was smart, he thought, to keep one of your eyes covered. Because though your face itself was masked to perfection, your every emotion shone through your eye. “And you are?”

“Amelia. We met four years ago at a hunt ball in England. I was there as an au pair for the family. The connection was instant blah blah blah we’re married, got it?” You didn’t wait for him to confirm before you nodded to Tisiphone, who rifled through her clutch bag to pull out one, infinitesimal earpiece, one that could be mistaken for some kind of alternative piercing. She handed it to you and you fiddled with the lace at the side of your mask and slipped the earpiece securely within, tapping it once and nodding in confirmation. He took the time to fix his own mask over his eyes, finding that, remarkably, it fit like a glove. No chance of it falling from his face unless he removed it himself. Had you ma–

“Stick with Al. She’s your only point of communication since the rest of us didn’t know you’d be tagging along.” Tisiphone instructed with no small degree of begrudging, halting his train of thought. Like he was going to wander off anyway, in a strange place he didn’t know full of strange people who hated him for even existing? Yeah, not a chance. 

But he nodded all the same. 

“Magpie, you here?” you murmured, waiting for a beat before exhaling in muted relief. “Morpheus?” You repeated the same cycle, dipping your head to Tisiphone and, to Logan’s surprise, him, in confirmation. “They’re at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone ready?” You asked breathlessly, and Logan found himself wanting to take your hand. To reassure you. A wanted killer. And he wanted to reassure them. What the fuck was he on?

“Let’s go then.” Tisiphone finished, linking her elbow around yours and looking pointedly at Logan as if waiting for him to do the same. It took him a beat to understand, but the moment he linked his arm through yours, he clenched his jaw against the foreign prickling of his skin. You looked down momentarily to where the crook of his arm rested against your own, confusion furrowing your brows, but not because of the action itself. And the way you glanced up at him confirmed what he’d suspected. 

You felt something similar. 

But you once again schooled your expression to neutrality, each step measured as the three of you approached the top of the stairs, the hum of idle chattering in the ballroom growing louder until he could see the two men he’d briefly met with before, shades now concealing their eyes, looking every bit the part they were playing. You did too, he realised. You looked the spitting image of a young, upper-class woman at her first big social. It was impressive, the number of skins you could wear. 

“What happened to the real Hargreaves?” Logan asked quietly, barely moving his mouth as he descended down the staircase by your side. You raised your head slightly as those lingering in the front hall looked up to see just who it was whose footsteps were echoing down the stairs. Though, upon the lack of recognition, they all turned back to their conversations. 

“You catch on quick,” you murmured, impressed. “Tiss took care of them. They won’t be a threat to mutants anymore.” A delicious sense of satisfaction laced your tone, and Logan’s gut twisted, looking past you to find a similar satisfied expression sitting neatly on Tisiphone’s masked face. 

“Hellfire. Not even their bones will be found.” She flashed him a knife-like grin, and he gripped your arm a little tighter, though he couldn’t say why. 

The steady beeping of the security measures sent your nerves spiking, Magpie and Morpheus now flanking the three of you as you approached the door to the ballroom. They really took security seriously here, having a separate conveyor for bags and personal items, such as necklaces, watches, belts and so on. 

Due to a lack of logic or sheer dumb luck, names were taken after passing through security, Logan breathed a small sigh of relief. That’s at least one problem taken care of. 

“It’s not just a metal detector,” you explained quietly, looking as if you too were engaging in idle chatter. “It can detect the X-gene. I can hide it in the rest of them, but there’s nothing I can do about your claws. Don’t suppose they detach?” You asked hopefully, and Logan clicked his tongue in a firm no. 

“It’s not just the claws.” He muttered, letting go of your arm the same moment Tisiphone did, joining the queue to be searched. He heard you hiss a quiet curse, and his shoulders tensed involuntarily. He didn’t like how this had already taken a bad turn. 

“Bags and jewellery on the left. Please declare if you have a mutant with you before they enter the detector and we have spare collars if needed. Next!” The guard manning the security called, waving his arms and beckoning Tisiphone forward. All your focus honed in on her bloodstream, separating the X-gene-carrying cells and pushing them into the deepest parts of her body, holding your breath as she took a step forward after placing her bag and silverware on the conveyor belt. This was always the worst past. If you fell at the first hurdle, it was likely you’d end up back where you started.

And that simply wasn’t an option for you. 

But she stepped through clear, sending you a nod as she placed various rings back on her fingers, securing her tennis bracelet back around her wrist. One down, two to go. Magpie and Morpheus had flashed their security badges, completely fabricated of course, and were promptly let through the side door with a respectful clap on the back from the man in charge. And whilst spite curled in your chest for how easy that was for them, you were slightly relieved you didn’t have to exhaust yourself further by simply trying to get them in. You only had to hide yourself now. 

And Logan… but you’d burn that bridge when you got there. 

You steadily removed your necklace, placing it delicately next to your bag on the belt, before once again honing in your concentration, this time on yourself. It was always harder when you had to hide the fact you were using your mutation as if your own blood was struggling against you to be free. But you repeated the same action to yourself, sending the genes flowing through your blood to the furthest corners of your body, heart thundering in your chest as you took a step beneath the detector.

And waited.

“All clear. Next!” Those words were both music to your ears and the equivalent of hearing nails down a chalkboard. You were through, yes. But now was the issue of getting Logan through as well. You fought to keep your knee from bouncing as he removed all the metal from atop his body. Your chest squeezed as he sent you a look of what you could only describe as ‘here-goes-nothing’, and you focused your mutation on his blood.

But, predictably, your efforts fell for naught as the alarms blared and lights flashed red as he was instantly stopped, two guards flanking him frm either side, guns suddenly in their hands from where you hadn’t seen them before. But he looked as calm as ever, and you wondered just how many times this had happened.

“Step this way, please.”

“Don’t want to cause a scene now, do we?”

The threats in their voices made your spine shiver with apoplectic rage. As if they could do anything to actually harm any of you. If only they knew just who they were dealing with. Or rather, what they were dealing with. You craved to see them cower, but a display of power right now really would blow the entire operation, and you had to keep your head. 

“What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” You asked smoothly, gliding over to where they’d taken him to the side and started a search. The two men turned to you, looking you up and down appraisingly, before gesturing to Logan with their guns. 

“There’s no metal on him. This one yours?” One asked, and your gut writhed like seething vipers. The idea that mutants belonged to anyone made you want to–

“Yes. Why?” You asked flatly, folding your arms and tapping your foot in a display of annoyance Logan had no other choice than to be impressed with. You really were playing the part perfectly. But no matter how good of an actor you were, the guards eyed you with equal suspicion.

“You should know all mutants must be declared ahead of time. If I could have your name, please.” One of the guards took a notepad and a pen out of his pocket, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“Amelia. Hargreaves. My husband–”

“Hargreaves?” He asked, raising a brow and lowering his notepad. “As in, Jonathan Hargreaves?” He clarified, glancing at his partner who still had his hands securely around Logan’s arm. The sigh made you seeth. 

“That’s right. I don’t like repeating myself gentlemen, yet here we are. What seems to be the problem?” You took their shock and ran with it, hoping they were staring at you in reverence rather than disgust. But the moment Logan was released, you had to fight to hide your sigh of release. 

“Our apologies, ma’am. Your husband has done more for the security business than he knows. But, I’m forced to remind you all show-pets must be tagged and collared for your own safety and the safety of the event.” Your stomach dropped, taking a glance around the room. Sure enough, there were various different mutants, all with blinking lights embedded into their necks, just above where those collars sat. Those collars you knew all too well. Some kind of suppressant frequency hummed at the constant high, rendering them completely powerless. Your fists clenched by your sides, something the guard seemed to notice. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. Tag him to your heart's content, however unfortunately you cannot collar him.” Whilst putting a tag in his neck would plant yet another spanner in your already spanner-filled works, collaring him was another problem entirely. Getting those fucking things off was borderline impossible without the passkey. And you refused to subject him to that. “You see, he has a rare genetic disease. Other than being a mutant, of course,” Your throat burned with the words, but it was worth it to put the guards at ease, their light chuckles were a stark contrast to your barely concealed rage. “It’s only due to his enhanced immune system that it doesn’t kill him. Take that away and he’ll be dead in minutes. And I don’t suppose you know how expensive this one was now do you? This was my darling husband’s first true mutant investment. I wonder how much he’ll continue to do for the security industry when he learns his prized pet was killed at the hands of one?” You mused absently, lying through your teeth and pretending not to notice the way the guards straightened their backs, sending each other sharp glances as if trying to figure out what they were going to do.

“I uh– of course, ma’am. As long as you know what you’re doing and he’s kept under control at all times. Would you like some extra security?” One of the guards asked, now taking a step forward. You could see the eagerness in his eyes to prove himself, and something darker that bubbled just below the surface, making your skin crawl. 

“No, thank you. My own guards should suffice. Thank you for your time and concern, gentlemen.” You gave them an appreciative bow of your head before your features hardened as you looked at Logan, who’d done remarkably well to hold his silence. He was even better at this than you were. “Heel.” You barked sharply, and without hesitation, he strode to your side, his face betraying nothing. “Enjoy your night, gentlemen.”

You turned to leave them behind, your heart thundering in your chest, praying they were done with their inspection and would finally leave you alone to do your job. Only, any prayers you had were answered the second you took a step forward. And you really didn’t like the answer. 

“Ma’am!” You stopped in your tracks, whirling back to them and not bothering to conceal your haughty irritation. But before you could open your mouth to ask them just what the hell they wanted now, the same guard from before waved the tracker gun in his hand, hurrying over to you. “For tagging purposes.” He explained, before bringing the gun to Logan’s neck and pulling the trigger. 

You inhaled as he barely winced, the light blinking just below the surface of his skin, and your gut twisted. You knew he could heal, but was this something he could heal from? Did the tag have to be removed before the wound could heal up? Fuck, there were already too many unknowns. But nonetheless, you nodded gratefully, and the guard looked you over one last time. 

“Where is your husband tonight? I’d greatly appreciate the chance to thank him for all he’s done for us.” He asked with a tilt of his head, and you schooled your expression into something of remorse.

“Unfortunately my husband has taken gravely ill. He is in our bed back home, and I am here in his stead upon his wishes. I will pass on your gratitude. Good evening.” You wondered how many times you could end this interaction before it actually finished, but he seemed to take your answer on board and step away, heading back to his station by the security gates. Thank fuck for that. You watched him go, making sure he was actually back to work before turning your back on him, and stealing a glance at Logan. “Are you okay?” You murmured, fighting the urge to graze the back of his hand with yours in something you hoped he’d interpret as comfort. But he just nodded, his hand instead cupping the side of his neck where the tag blinked beneath his–

Or rather, where the tag had just been pushed out from beneath his skin. With a swift movement, he used his thumb to wipe away any trace of blood before it stained the collar of his shirt, crushing the tag in his hand and pocketing the remains. Well, that answered your question from before. 

“I’m sorry…” you continued, finally causing him to glance down at you, and whilst his face betrayed nothing, his eyes shone with surprising calm. When you asked him to help, this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. And now having to treat him like something less than human just because he was born with the X-gene almost made you want to throw up. 

“Don’t think about it. Just focus.” He replied with equal quiet, and under any other circumstances, you’d ask just who the hell he thought he was ordering you around like that. But annoyingly, he was right. You didn’t have the time to say what you wanted to say, and you sure as hell weren’t in the right environment to do so. 

“On your right, 4 o’clock. De Voss. Owns an electrical company, one of the largest in the country. He’s here with his sons. A regular at these events.” Magpie’s voice muttered into your earpiece, and you straightened your back, preparing for your first interaction of the evening. The first of many, you assumed. 

“Quite the impressive pet you have. Worth a small fortune, no doubt.” As you turned, you managed to catch sight of Tisiphone, already deep in conversation with another family whose tie bore the image of two dancing swans. Another family symbol, no doubt. 

Your eyes met with the monocle-wearing Mr. De Voss, and you stole a glance to his two sons sporting the same look. Plastering on a bashful smile, you placed your hand into his outstretched palm, grimacing as he brought it to his lips, his thick moustache scratching against your knuckles. You felt Logan stiffen next to you. “De Voss, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss…?”

“Hargreaves. But my friends call me Amelia. And you’re not wrong. Wulfred here did indeed cost my husband a small fortune.” You delicately removed your hand from his as you thought up a name on the fly, your skin crawling at the way his lips split into a broad, predatory smile. 

“Amelia it is. You're Jonathan’s wife, correct? I met the man a few weeks ago at the new gentlemen’s club. I have to say, he undersold your beauty, the old dog.” You had to suppress the urge to scoff. If only he knew. But your brow raised in a careful display of shy amusement. “So this is the mutant he was boasting about. Now I understand. You don’t think you could give us a quick show, do you? He wouldn’t stop talking about this thing’s ability to command the very earth itself.” De Voss laughed, though he eyed you expectantly and your blood ran cold. This wasn’t what you were expecting. A display of mutation in a slaver’s gala? You really hadn’t been counting on that. Nor had you been counting on any members here already having basic knowledge of who you were. Or, who you were pretending to be.

“Now now, I hardly think that would be appropriate. I wouldn’t want to be escorted out of my first gala now would I?” You joked, placing a strategic hand on his arm, watching as he pursed his lips in thought. 

“No, I don’t suppose that would be appropriate. However, you must visit us in the south, and bring your pet with you. As long as you’re both well-behaved, of course.” He winked, and you barely managed not to gag. The people truly were the epitome of disgust. “We have quite the range of mutants, from pyromancers to telepaths, and we’re finalising the details of our new breeding programme if you’re interested. This one here looks of good stock, incredibly obedient as well. Those are the kinds of qualities we’re looking for,” he walked around Logan, eyeing him up as if he were nothing but cattle and to be quite honest, he was feeling like it. But he held his tongue tightly behind clamped, letting this worm appraise him. “I mentioned it to your husband the other week, since he’s just getting into the game, this would be a wise investment for him. A good place to start. I’m sure we could find an appropriate bitch for this one.” He didn’t mean the word as an insult, and you couldn’t help but think that was worse. 

“I see. And how much would be the first instalment?”You asked, appearing as if you were simply inspecting your nails whilst you fought every instinct not to explode this motherfucker’s face where he stood. De Voss’ eyes narrowed at you, an expression of dawning realisation settling on his features.

“Ah, I understand now. Your husband… he’s not the brains, is he? You know what they say, behind every great man there’s a powerful woman, and here you are.” Oh, he had no idea. “Fantastic act, by the way, but not much gets past me. I’ll be keeping a watchful eye on you, Amelia.” He emphasised your alias as if to truly seal the friendship card, and you looked at him through your lashes, painting your expression to look impressed. “Here, my details. Get your husband to give us a call and we can discuss terms and prices.” He flashed a grin, producing a small, thin card from between his fingers. Was he just keeping a bunch of them up his sleeve for this very purpose? You would have laughed at the ridiculousness if you weren’t so seething with fury. 

“I’ll pass on the offer, Mr De Voss, I’m sure my husband would be more than interested in your… programme.” You couldn’t say it. Couldn’t force the words out your throat because he would have known you were disgusted by the idea simply by your tone. Plucking the card from his fingers, you made a show of slipping it into your bag, all the while keeping eye contact with the weasel. 

“Please, call me Simon. It’s what my friends call me.” He replied with the same wink as before, before dipping his head to you and gesturing for his sons to follow as he went to rehearse the same spiel to someone else. Your hands shook as they balled to fists by your sides, whatever Magpie was saying in your earpiece was drowned out by the pitched screaming in your ears. 

“Y’okay?” Logan murmured, but to no response. He cautioned a glance at you to find you were staring straight ahead where Simon had been standing, your eyes burning a hole into the ground. He was thankful your mutation had nothing to do with fire because he was certain there really would be a hole burned into the ground. 

“No, no I’m alright darling, just feeling lightheaded is all.” He heard a finely dressed woman say as she passed by with her partner, flicking open the fan in her hand to cool off her face. He had hoped it was just coincidence, but the moment he saw another, a man, having to put his drink down and shake his head of fuzziness, he knew this was no coincidence. 

You were messing with their bloodstreams. Intentional or not, he didn’t know. All he knew was that you needed to calm down. Now.

“Alec… what’re you doing?” He hissed, pretending to accidentally bump into you in order to snap you out of your daze. It worked for a moment, and he watched as you blinked a few times at him, your brows furrowing in confusion before you glanced around, your face paling. 

“Shit…” you cursed, concentrating for a moment and reining in your mutation, watching as those who had started to feel dizzy came back to their senses, reassuring their partners or blaming their mutant pets. “Magpie? No, I’m here. Fine. Yep, I just need– yeah I know. Tiss I do not need your input. Fuck.” You clenched your jaw, and Logan barely had time to repeat his question before you were on the move, making a beeline for one of the doors that lead from the ballroom and deeper into the house. You dipped your head in respectful hellos to the people you passed, promising a few of them a moment of your time after you’d ‘freshened up’ or ‘powdered your nose’. It was impressive, how you could appear so collected on the outside when he could sense your unrelenting rage on the inside. He could see it with each stride, the bounce of your loosening hair as you walked with purpose through the now quiet hallways and into an empty room, somewhere far away from the rest of the chattering crowd. 

Similar to the one from before, yet another meeting room, you swung your bag onto one of the many gorgeously upholstered chairs, snatching the earpiece from your ear and slamming it onto the table, Magpie’s concerned voice still chiming through, occasionally interrupted by Tisiphone. Logan took the liberty of picking it up, holding it closer to his own ear so he could hear what they were saying more clearly. Mainly it was Tisiphone spitting feathers at you losing your cool like that. And for some reason, it pissed him off. 

“Give us a minute, we’ll be back out there soon.” He spat, ignoring Tiss’ concealed squawk of rage as he placed it back down on the table, along with his mask, turning to where you’d taken your hair down and were staring out the broad, tall window into the darkness beyond. He wanted to walk up to you, to place a hand on your shoulder, sweep your hair to one side, anything, but he kept his distance. “...Y’okay?” He asked again, hoping this time you would answer. 

You stayed silent for a moment, staring at your own reflection in the window, running a hand through your hair. “A breeding programme…” you whispered, fearful that if you spoke any louder, your voice would break. “Breeding mutants. Like we’re livestock. Like we’re prized racehorses or pedigree dogs.” Your every word was dripping venom, toxic vowels spitting from your mouth. “I thought this was just about the MSR. The system. Trading and bartering with lives for the most money. The most earnings. But now they’re starting to breed us?” You could feel your blood coiling in your veins, yearning to strike out, and you inhaled a deep breath. 

“That’s why we’re here,” Logan responded, now taking that step toward you he wanted to take, placing that hand on your shoulder he wanted to place. Satisfying the itch to sweep your hair to the side, silky strands flowing through his fingers in what he hoped was comfort. “Stopping this fucksticks is the goal, but if you lose your cool in there, we’re all screwed.” His tone was surprisingly gentle and warmer than you were expecting, and you masked your pleasant reaction with a humourless chuckle. 

“You sound like Tisiphone.” Your head fell into your hand as you continued to peer at your own reflection through your spread fingers. The lace mask still perfectly concealed half of your face. The shadows of your past lives. But your eyes slid from your own to his in the window. “I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this…” you murmured, only now noticing you didn’t instantly shy away from his touch like you would most others. And only now remembering you didn’t earlier, either. 

“You didn’t. You didn’t ask, remember? You offered, and I took you up on it.” He shrugged, his heart skipping a beat when your chuckle this time held a lot more genuine humour in it, your lips quirking into a half-smile as your eyes fell from his gaze to the floor thoughtfully.

“You don’t belong in this kind of life. You’re too kind for it.”

Now that took him by surprise. Never, in his century of being alive, had he been told he was too kind for something like this. He would have laughed aloud if you hadn’t been looking so riddled with guilt. 

“Never heard that one before. Don’t forget I was a stray dog before Charles found me.” He wanted to make you smile again. Or, as much of a smile as he could get out of you, but instead you crinkled your nose, your lip curling slightly. 

“Please don’t refer to yourself as a dog after that conversation…” You muttered, turning to face him, his hand still steady on your shoulder. “Some strays are already tame, anyway.”

“Not this one.”

“No?”

“Nope. Feral as they come.” He smirked, and you ducked your head as your lips cracked into a smile, before composing yourself again and returning your eyes to his face. 

“Feral?” you gave him a look that suggested you didn’t believe him, before sighing through your nose. “A feral stray dog and a street-kid circus freak. What a pair…” you hummed in bittersweet melancholy, and Logan had to wonder just what the hell the world did to you. And he’d just opened his mouth to ask before a familiar scent struck him like a slap. His eyes hardened as he looked at you in confusion, leaning in closer and inhaling your scent a few times, his nose scrunching with each exaggerated sniff. 

You drew back, utter bafflement crossing your features. “What the hell are you doing…?”

It wasn’t you. It wasn’t coming from you. The mutation he was smelling… it wasn’t yours. “I can smell something.”

“I’m gonna try really hard not to be offended by that.” You quipped back, folding your arms in what could only be described as offence. 

Logan rolled his eyes skyward. “Not you. Mutants. Other mutants.”

You tilted your head to the side, wondering if he’d run completely off the rails. “Yeah… they’re out in the ballroom. We saw them.” But Logan shook his head definitively, and your pulse quickened slightly. 

“No, not them either…” he glanced around the room, head snapping in alert, before he turned back to you, both hands now gripping both of your shoulders. “You said you can hide the X-gene in mutant blood, right?” He asked frantically, and you nodded, staying quiet to allow him to brainstorm. “So you can detect it? Mutant blood?” You nodded again. Where the hell was he going with this? “Good. Imma need you to concentrate real hard. Focus. Expand your range.” He wracked his brain to remember how the Professor taught telepaths and telekinetics to use their powers as you closed your eyes, remembering his wording and hoping to whatever sick gods there were that this would work. He had no idea if it was the same for sense-based mutations, but he had to try. “Like you’re puttin’ out feelers, testin’ the waters for–”

“Hard to concentrate with you yapping.” You snapped, but you took his advice on board, expanding the range of your mutation and doing exactly what he described, putting out feelers and waiting for any kind of feedback. You could sense the ballroom, the various mutants pulling your blood in various directions. Someone had once described it as a ‘birds of a feather’ situation. Your blood wanted to be near others with the same gene. He’d explained it like a pack animal situation.

Before you exploded his arm off…

But all you could sense was the ballroom. Nothing else was pulsing back to you. You shook your head slightly, and Logan huffed in resignation, his head bowing low, almost touching yours. He was positive there were others here. The scent was faint, but it was there. Unmistakable. He was convinced. 

And then you felt it. Like the whisper of a breeze through trees, something pulled you back, your knees almost buckling as you were also pulled down. What the fuck?

“You’re right…”

Logan’s head snapped back up, his gaze flickering over your concentrated features, your eyes moving beneath closed lids as you searched, brows twitching. “It’s big, whatever it is. I can’t… pinpoint it, but it’s below us somewhere.” Just what the hell had the Thornbury’s found to give off that kind of pulse? What the hell had they locked away in the bowels of the house? You were suddenly acutely aware of how close he’d gotten to you, the warmth of his body causing yours to shiver almost imperceptibly. What the fuck had gotten into you? You were a hardened, seasoned killer, and the proximity of one man had your body behaving in ways you didn’t tell it to. That in and of itself was a novelty, let alone the… feelings that came along with it.

You couldn’t be far enough away from him. But, at the same time…

You couldn’t be close enough. 

You were glad when he removed his hands from your shoulder. But if you were glad, then why did you suddenly feel so damn cold?

Whatever. It didn’t matter. You didn’t have time for this. 

“We should go.” You muttered sternly, shaking your head at whatever the fuck had just happened, turning away from him to allow yourself to breathe. Logan cocked his head to the side as you turned, your shifts in demeanour giving him whiplash. One moment you could be so kind, so genuine, and the next you were stony and emotionless. It was hard to keep up with, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Yeah.” He agreed, following you back out the door, trusting your sense of direction and his own sense of smell, your earpiece left discarded on the table, left behind as Tisiphone, Magpie and Morpheus continued trying to get a hold of you. 

But you were long gone. 

“So what’s with the mask?” Logan asked absently as you led him through hallway after hallway, descending downstairs where available, popping your head into various different rooms. You both knew you’d find nothing until the scent and the pulse were stronger, but it was worth a look anyway.

“We’re not doing this.” You snapped sharply, not bothering to even cast a glance in his direction because you feared that if you did, you’d open up further, and that terrified you.

“Doin’ what? Idly chattin’ whilst aimlessly wanderin’ the halls of this fuckin’ palace?” He snapped back defensively, finding your sudden irritable mood grating. Just moments ago you were telling him he was too kind to be here, and now you couldn’t even be bothered to look at him. 

“Sharing our sad, tragic backstories. You might all sit around braiding each other’s hair and making friendship bracelets back at that cushy little school, having group therapy sessions sitting in a circle, but we don’t really go for that kinda shit here. The people who know, know. The people who don’t, don’t. That’s all there is to it.” You shut the door to the room you were peering into, hoping to fuck that would be the end of his line of questioning. Truth be told, you didn’t really want to relive your past. You didn’t want to have to explain why you wear a mask, because he’d perceive you differently, and it would become all too obvious why you’re doing what you’re doing. And a deeper, more vulnerable part of yourself simply didn’t want him to care.

Logan bristled, striding forward to snatch your wrist before you could walk any further in front of him. You whirled, a sharp breath sailing from your lips. “Listen bub, I don’t give a damn about what shit you’ve been through. If you don’t wanna talk, fine by me, but we’re gonna have a problem if you keep jumping down my fuckin’ throat every time–” he stopped abruptly, the sudden haze of anger clearing as he registered just how quickly you’d shifted again. Guilt spiked through his chest as fear flickered across your features, your eyes stuck on his grip around your arm. 

But it was gone the moment he loosened his hold, your wrist snatched from his palm, subdued rage replacing the deep, scarring terror on your face. “Touch me again, and I will boil you alive, got it?” You hissed, though your voice shook ever so slightly, shards of broken memories slashing through your head, the same harsh grip, the same enraged eyes, the pain that was soon to follow.

The shower of blood. The screaming of agony. The slick, wet crack of bone splintering bone. It rang in your ears like a tannoy, and you closed your eyes to shove it back down where it belonged. Deep, deep within the carefully stacked boxes in your mind, where you kept the rest of your past. You clenched your jaw, your teeth groaning as they ground together, and turned back away from him. He was gone. You’d scared the shit out of him and he’d run. You were free. 

You were free.

“I didn’t–” Logan began, but you cut him off. You didn’t want to hear whatever bullshit apology he had. 

“Save it. Let’s keep moving.”

“Alec–”

But you’d already started walking. Well, pacing, really. And Logan couldn’t help but think it was to be far away from him. He sighed, running an exhausted hand down the side of his face and making a mental note not to touch you again. How complex could one person be? Was this how Jean felt?

The thought of her made his stomach turn, conflicted. They hadn’t exactly left off on the best of terms, and he was dreading the conversation looming over his head when he returned. What more could he possibly say to her? Should he apologise? Explain how he knew what it felt like now? But what exactly was it that she wanted? She seemed almost hurt that he’d changed so much so quickly. Not only that, but he had his own shit to figure out. 

Anyhow, now truly was not the time to be sorting through his own messes. 

“The fuck?”

Logan was broken from his thoughts, looking up to where you’d stopped at the end of the hallway. At a complete dead-end with nothing but an enormous oil painting of a landscape. The landscape around the house. But the scent was getting stronger, how could this lead to nowhere?

Striding up next to you, he briefly caught your wary glance, before turning his attention back to the painting, running the tips of his fingers around the frame. Old houses like these… they always had some kind of secret entrances and exits. He was surprised you didn’t think of it, considering the first time he met you, you’d escaped through said secret exit. 

You eyed him with baffled curiosity, watching his hands skirt around the wooden frame, up to where he could reach, before feeling beneath the bottom, his expression shifting from one of concentration to one of satisfaction as something clicked behind the painting. 

“Gotcha.” He muttered, the painting sliding up the wall with a mechanic hiss, the wooden boards behind the wall shifting inwards and clicking into place, before a door that wasn’t there previously swung open and a cold draft swept your hair back. You would have snorted in amusement if the tension wasn’t so high, the walls changing from wooden to metal beyond the entrance, steel steps leading down into the darkness.

“Well… That’s not ominous.” You quipped sarcastically, folding your arms as you flared out your mutation, the pulse of blood feeding back to you stronger than it had ever been. 

“Yep, these people love a cliché. Shall we?”  He raised a brow, and your lips pulled into a slightly apologetic half-smile. You didn’t mean to lose your temper earlier, truly. He was helping you, and you’d lashed out in a moment of vulnerability. The least you could do was pretend like it never happened. 

“Age before beauty.” You shrugged, and Logan sighed, expecting you to wait for him to go first. But to his continuous surprise, you started down the steps, your heels echoing against the metal. 

“Just how old do you think I am?” He asked, following you into the dark, your huffed breath of a chuckle louder within the empty stairwell.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re prettier than me.” You threw back nonchalantly, and Logan’s gruff laugh bounced off the walls alongside your footsteps. But when you didn’t laugh with him, something in his chest twinged. 

“Hold on, you’re bein’ serious?”

“As a heart attack. You should see me without the mask.” He didn’t need to. Holy shit you were truly blind, weren’t you? 

“Thought we weren’t talking about each other’s sad, tragic backstories?” He asked wickedly, and you could hear his smirk, his tone making your stomach flip. 

“You brought it up.”

“And you shut it down.”

“Just… shut up.” You whispered over your shoulder, and though the light was dim, he could see the humour sparkling in your eye, the knowledge that he had you in a box once again. And the realisation that you were liking it. Enjoying having someone who could keep up with your sharp tongue and even sharper wit. He grinned back at you, and you gave him an exaggerated eye-roll, huffing as you turned back to watch where you were going. 

The moment between you, however long he wanted it to last, was quickly broken by the coppery stench of blood. And not just the lingering hint of your mutation. You paused as if you could smell it too, and he could see the way the muscles in your back stiffened slightly. 

The stairs opened up into yet another large hallway, only this one was vastly different the the ones up above you, and you could only tell because the air wasn’t so stiflingly thick, the lack of light still impeding your vision. Though, whilst you swore there was absolutely no light, the moment you turned back to Logan, you almost jumped out of your skin. 

His eyes were fucking reflective. Just what the hell was he?

“Here,” he murmured, stretching out the the side and finding the large switch for lighting, the humming of electricity filled the silence before white lights overhead stuttered to life. You blinked a few times, squinting as your eyes adjusted, but the moment they did, you felt like you were going to be sick. 

The walls were almost green with age and damp, mould crawling up every corner it could find. The hallway split off in several directions, and you nodded to Logan in a silent agreement to split off and find what you could. You took the left room, the steel door cold against your palm as you pushed it open, the hinges squealing with complaint. A single desk and chair stood imposingly towards the back wall, with various monitors and keyboards littering the surface of the table. Your breath clouded in front of your face as you cautiously walked in, eyes flickering over the various papers strewn across the tabletop, various family seals all stamped into the bottom corner, signatures of all kinds signed atop dotted lines. 

Your blood ran cold. 

‘Ownership Terms and Conditions’

The paper was thick beneath your fingers as you picked up one of the documents, scanning through the text. It was all here. The details of mutation, the strengths and weaknesses, age, height, weight, and gender. Everything but name. They’d taken away the only thing these people could call their own. Referring to them as numbers or mutant abilities. 

And you realised now you’d already made your first mistake. You’d referred to Logan by a name when talking to Simon De Voss. Shit, had he caught it? Were you already fucked? You tapped your finger to your ear, your panic rising when you realised you’d left your fucking earpiece behind on that damned table. Fuck fuck fuck. 

You had to go. You had to get them out. By now, if De Voss had noticed, they’d have already started the hunt for anyone wearing a mask like yours. And Logan had left his–

You had to go. Now.

“Alec!” Logan called urgently, and the uncharacteristic fear in his tone had you backtracking through the doorway and into the room he’d been investigating. 

And the moment you joined him, you felt sick to your stomach. 

Cages. Cages lining the walls, stacked on top of one another, crammed into little corners. Large ones, tiny ones, long ones. And each containing at least one pair of terrified eyes, staring back at you with measured caution.

“This isn’t a country house,” you breathed in utter horror and you tried and failed to comprehend just how many mutants the Thornbury’s had locked up literally in their basement. 

“It’s a collection point… Those deals made tonight? They’ll be finalised tonight.” Logan finished darkly, his teeth aching with how hard he was clenching his jaw. He sidled up next to you as you stepped up to the closest enclosure. And sure enough, someone within shrank back, but not fast enough for you to miss a black circle tattooed around her right eye. Like the De Voss’ monocle. Logan was right. 

Everyone had brought stock today… including you. 

“Help me get them out,” you barked, frantically searching the room for anything sharp enough to prick your hand with. Just one small wound was all you needed, and you’d be able to free these people. The operation be damned. This is why you did what you did. You knew the kind of lives that awaited these captives. Knew intimately the way the system worked. They’d be passed from rich prick to rich prick, sent to fight in the cages until they either burnt out or were killed. Even if they lived, they’d be tossed to the streets or executed. There was no future if they remained slaves. You were lucky. You were bought out. 

You knew not everyone had that luxury. 

Logan nodded wordlessly, releasing the constant leash he kept on his claws and allowing them to slide through his knuckles, and sliced through the top of the steel bars of the one in front of him, crouching to slice through the bottom before stepping back as the metal crashed to the ground. Without notice, you slashed your palm down his other hand, blood welling from the cut before he jerked his hand away. He opened his mouth to ask just what the hell you were doing, eyes wide with concerned frustration before the blood in your hand spiralled and solidified into the same blade you’d used to fight him with. 

“It’s okay, we’re here to help you,” you soothed, stretching out your unarmed hand to the terrified-looking woman within the shadows. You spoke with a gentleness Logan could never have expected as if you were talking to a child, and he briefly wondered if you’d ever had much experience with kids. 

The woman took a shy step forward, peering at you with more curiosity than fear, and your heart soared. You were doing something. Finally, after months of torturing loose ends, you were finally making progress. 

For the first time since he’d met you, Logan saw you smile. Not the half-assed quirk of your lips he’d gotten used to, a real, genuine smile. And despite the pressing situation, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away. How could you believe you weren’t beautiful? And when you turned to him, your grin only broadening, he found himself smiling right back at you, almost overwhelmed with the urge to pull you in. 

Almost overwhelmed with the urge to kiss you. 

Fuck… you were gorgeous. 

But before he could say anything, you were back on the move, slashing through steel bars and coaxing terrified men, women and children from their cages, one of which had instantly attached herself to your leg, curls of dirty blonde hair sticking up in all directions, a tattoo of a galloping horse family crest peaking just below the ripped short sleeve of her filthy t-shirt. Logan ignored what the sight did to his chest, distracting himself by freeing the others you hadn’t got to yet. He wasn’t as reassuring with his words as you were, but seeing the way the others were treated with kindness was enough to show them he wasn’t going to hurt them.

“Well… they’re out,” Logan murmured, his claws retracting back through his knuckles, his suit jacket and tie long discarded inside one of the cages, leaving him in just the white shirt. You nodded, now at a slight loss as to what to do. You sure as shit couldn’t get back through the way you came. Sneaking thirty or so mutant slaves through a trader’s gala? Not likely. You wracked your brain for a plan, thinking of things on the fly was supposed to be your strong suit. That was until a little hand tugged on the fabric of your dress, the girl who’d attached herself to your leg looking up at you with large, determined eyes as she pointed to a door behind you. Looking back at Logan, you glanced to the door, and he nodded, crossing the room to shove at the steel.

Only it wouldn’t budge. 

He tried it again, this time putting more strength behind his arms, but the door was stubborn. So with a frustrated huff, he unsheathed his claws and slashed straight through the hinges, giving the door one last kick as if fell through, crashing to the floor with a deafening clang. 

“We’ve got activity in the cages, over.”

“Shit,” you hissed, your head whipping back to the hallway, and Logan tensed as he heard various colliding footsteps all honing in on your location. Detaching the kid from your leg, you hauled her up into your arms, handing her to Logan by the door. He took her without question. “Get them out. I’ll give you as long as I can.” His gut twisted at the implication, and before he could stop himself, his palm rested against the side of your face. But you didn’t boil him alive like you promised. His breath caught in his throat as you instead leaned slightly into his touch, your hand gently holding the base of his wrist. The moment was brief, like all other moments between you, but it felt different. It felt solid. 

But the growing threat behind you shattered it, and he dropped his hand the moment you dropped yours. 

“Stay alive.” He instructed softly, and your lips quirked into a smile as you nodded, eye glinting with determination before glancing to the open door. 

“Go.” Was all you said, before you turned, your crimson blade growing from the open wound in your hand, the blood writhing and shimmering in the white lights, before you were round the corner and gone from his sight. 

He didn’t stick around to hear the pained screams of guards and security alike, holding the kid in his arms as he raced down out the door and down more steel hallways, letting his nose guide him as the scent of rainfall and fresh air called him left and right. And it only felt like minutes before he burst through another door with his shoulder, stepping to the side to allow the rest of the mutants to sprint through to the outside, watching as they didn’t stop, scattering in different directions. He kept the girl close to him, secure in his hold as he waited for the last captive to race through, before stepping out into the rain himself.

The moment he did, he was drenched. It was the kind of rainfall that doused everything the moment it touched it. Lashes of water flooded the ground, his hair sticking slick to his head. And it was freezing. He shivered slightly as he ran, his shirt clinging to his body like a second skin. Shouts and sirens rang out behind him, and he looked back to see the country house up on the hill, torches pointed into the woods just beyond.

And no sign of you. 

Logan knew he had a choice. Protect the kid or go back for you. But the moment he paused, the girl made the choice for him. 

Sharp claws scratched at his shoulders as she fought in his grip, her little cat-like eyes narrowing with every wriggle, a tail he hadn’t previously spotted whipping and swishing. Freedom. She craved freedom. And the moment he set her down, she bounded off into the woods on all fours. Like she belonged there. 

A little wildling. He chuckled briefly, swiping his wet hair from his forehead. Something told him she’d be okay, and it was that thought that had him turning back, racing up the hill to where a line of torches was advancing forth. Torches that he knew were fixed to the end of guns. 

They really did take their security seriously at these events. 

Your feet screamed at you with every thunderous step you took, and you cursed yourself for wearing fucking heels to an event where it was more than likely you’d have to make a quick getaway. You were lucky you were light on your feet because every obstacle seemed intent on tripping your up. You’d stumbled more than once on a loose stick or thread of bramble, your leg bleeding where the thorns had snared your ankle. Drenched hair stuck to your back, the canopy above doing nothing to shelter you from the deluge, weak leaves bending with each droplet. You shivered uncontrollably, despite the adrenaline in your blood as you raced through the undergrowth, twigs and branching whipping at your arms and face, catching against the lace of your mask, threatening to tear it free. 

Your breath like ice in your lungs, burning with each panting inhale, your legs aching as you lept over a moss-covered log, the torchlight barely catching your sprinting form, but enough for the shouts of “There!” to echo throughout the wood. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back. You’d received strict instructions and you couldn’t disobey them.

“Stay alive.”

His voice calmed your freight train panic as you squinted through the rain, focussing on what was ahead of you rather than what lay behind. “Stay alive.”

‘I’m fucking trying.’ you responded mentally, the mutation in your blood flaring as you forced it to pump faster. The ache in your muscles dulled, the haze in your mind cleared, and you were running again, your reflexes heightened. You dodged, ducked and weaved through the trees faster than the gunmen behind you could keep up with, their voices fading into the distance as you focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Things were finally looking up. Maybe you’d gotten away. Maybe they were too busy searching for the rest of the escapees. Maybe they were distracted by–

You could barely finish the thought before an arm caught around your waist and a broad hand settled over your nose and mouth, pulling you back behind a large oak tree. You kicked and writhed as much as you could, your elbow colliding harshly with the figure’s ribs, the blood from your ankles and arms drawing up in front of you and separating into several crystalised points, all aiming behind you. 

But then a thumb smoothed down the bridge of your nose repeatedly, and the hand at your side squeezed not in fight, but reassurance. The crimson-throwing knives liquified in the air, dropping to the ground. 

Logan.

You stopped struggling, letting him bring you closer into his chest as steps crunched through dead leaves. He moved his hand from your nose, though keeping it over your mouth to allow you to breathe, his thumb unceasing in its movements. And despite being huddled in his arms, you couldn’t feel any of the warmth you’d felt within the country house. He was freezing as if his very bones were nothing but ice. You weren’t much better off, shivering violently in his hold. You both stayed there, waiting in the increasingly charged silence until those footsteps had receding into the roar of the rain. Only then did Logan slide his hand from your mouth, but it didn’t go far, moving just enough to cup your jaw, turning your head to look at him. 

You were caked in blood. Your dress had been completely ruined, crimson stains spotted your arms and legs, your collarbone and neck were painted a diluted scarlet as the rain did its job to wash it all away.

His eyes fell to the hollow of your throat, where the rain had not only washed away the blood but the makeup. An angry, jagged scar ran all around the circumference of your neck, slightly raised from the rest of your smooth skin. You really had masked it well, a perfect concoction of concealer and foundation combined with colour corrector. But all your hard work was now washed away, leaving behind the cruelties of your past. 

He was lying about what he said earlier. He did give a shit about what you’d been through. In fact, he gave more shits than he cared to admit. 

“Y’alright?” He asked, his hushed voice barely audible over the rain, and you nodded, droplets falling into your eye, your other still covered with your mask. You were fine, physically at least. Sure you had a few scrapes and bruises but other than that, you weren’t hurt. But you couldn’t help the sinking feeling that everything you’d just worked for had gone down the drain. Sure, you’d saved them from their imminent slavery, but you’d just lost them all. Who’s to say they weren’t going to be found again? Who’s to say you’d only succeeded briefly, only to fall back into the vast depths of failure? It had become your constant companion recently. The empty, hollow void of failure. After every pointless torture, every pulled nail, every busted lip, you’d trudge back home with that same pit in your chest. You’d filled it for a moment. Smiling for the first time in years, only for it to be snatched away from you the moment you let yourself think that maybe, just maybe, you were making a difference.

You hoped the rain would disguise your watery eye. You should be used to the feeling now. Used to feeling completely and utterly useless against the forces constantly working against you. Then why? Why did it feel like you’d accomplished nothing? You stepped out of Logan’s hold, shivering slightly in the freezing weather, your skin crawling with the way your dress was pasted against you like wallpaper. 

“We need t-to get out-t of the rain…” you managed to stutter through chattering teeth, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it could provide any kind of heat. 

You only succeeded in making it worse. 

As per usual.

Logan nodded in agreement, his hand reaching for yours only to stop when you flinched away. He wished he could brush the hair stuck to your face away from your eye. Wished he knew what was going on inside your head. What you were thinking. What you were feeling. Damn…

Telepaths had it so easy. He guessed Jean never needed to worry about this shit. It almost pissed him off to think about it. 

So instead he just gestured for you to follow him, shaky steps careful in the downpour, less for the sake of slipping and more for the sake of noise. Though he couldn’t hear anybody close, that didn’t mean they didn’t know how to mask their footsteps. And the rain made it much easier to be snuck up on. It made him uneasy. He’d glance back at you every now and then, his heart lurching at the way your eyes focused on the ground in front of you, your arms still wrapped around your body. It was the first time he’d seen you truly look vulnerable. Like the victim of the world, he suspected you were. Makeup washed away, hair flat against your head, shoulder hunched and your body shivering so violently he was mildly concerned you were going to lose your head. Not that he was much better off. Yet another downside to having bones of metal.

His body was really shit at regulating his temperature. Heat felt overwhelming, and freezing felt like he could barely move. Each step was a challenge when he wasn’t fuelled with adrenaline. And if he wasn’t so close to chattering his teeth out his own skull, he’d probably make some kind of joke about sounding like a steel bar being dropped down a hollow well just to make you smile again. At least, that’s what it sounded like to him. 

“N–not far now.” He tried his damnest to keep his voice steady. He’d spotted it when peering into the darkness after the little Wildling. A logger’s cabin, looking abandoned in the deluge. Wasn’t much, but it would do for shelter until the rain lessened. He glanced back to you again, and genuinely couldn’t tell if you’d heard him or not. You made no indication and he once again found himself wishing he could read your mind. 

You’d been following him almost blindly, simply letting him guide you as you disappeared into your head, thinking over the original plan until you had it down to a script. You knew Tisiphone wasn’t likely to forgive you for this. That was if she was still alive. The house hadn’t been set ablaze, so there was that at least, but if anything it made you sink deeper into your concern. Why hadn’t she set the house alight? She hadn’t had a problem with it before when things went wrong. It was why she was on a field ban in the first place. She’d lost her shit on an assignment and the whole place went up in smoke. You didn’t know any of the details, you were out on your own mission. All you knew was there was absolutely nothing left for Boss to save. Not even bones. Hellfire…

It was one hell of a force.

“Here…” Logan murmured, breaking you from your thoughts by running his hand down your shoulder. You finally looked up, squinting through the pouring rain to see an open door to possibly one of the smallest shacks you’d ever seen in your life. It was more of a shed than anything else, but you guessed it would do for a couple hours. Your eyes flickered from the little cabin to Logan, holding the door open for you. But before he could say anything, you trudged inside, mildly grateful to be out of the wet. 

The interior was as bleak as the exterior. Mostly abandoned, with the only sign of life being the slightly messy bed. But you guessed whoever had been holding up in here had left in a hurry, blankets strewn over the wooden floorboards, the fireplace unused and damp. That was the perfect way to describe how this place felt. 

Damp. 

The door closed behind you and you turned to face Logan, his white shirt now completely sheer and stuck to his body. And if you didn’t feel like a drowned rat, you probably would have made a comment on his insane build. All hard lines and cut muscle. But in this moment, you couldn’t have cared less. You were freezing, you were defeated, your colleagues scattered all which ways and all you wanted was to curl up into a ball and cry. 

Well, you didn’t care until his finger started frantically popping open button after button.

“W-what the f-f-fuck are you d-doing?” You chattered, eyes now blowing wide as he peeled the shirt from his body, suddenly finding the ceiling incredibly interesting when his hands shot to his belt.

“Str-stripping off wet clothes. And-d if you d-don’t wanna f-f-freeze, you’d d-do the same.” He answered, belt clattering to the floor before he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his socks. You turned around before you saw anything else, your necklace jingling with just how hard you were shivering. Fuck, he was right. Wet clothes were a killer, especially in these temperatures. And without a proper way to heat up… you’d freeze. Shit. This is not where you expected this night to end. 

“F-fine. But d-d-don’t look.” You hissed, shaky hands fumbling with the clasp of your necklace, struggling to find purchase before you managed to get lucky and it dropped to the floor. Logan had already pulled the dry blankets around his body, soaked clothes lay spread on the floor. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best chance they had to dry. He found your sudden timidity endearing, almost rolling his eyes as he kicked his shoes into the corner of the room, scrambling to find somewhere that would be a little warmer than standing on the freezing floor in nothing but a blanket. The bed seemed like the best bet.

Your long satin gloves crumpled to the floor in a wet heap, and it was only when you started to remove your dress did Logan truly realised why you didn’t want him to look. The fabric slid down your shoulders, and his gut twisted just as he lay down. 

A latticework of scars littered the expanse of your back. Line after line all carved into your flesh with careless abandon. Your dress continued to slide down your body, and he watched as more of your skin became a canvas for whatever sick, twisted bastard did this to you. Despite your wishes, his eyes roamed your back freely, landing on a small black tattoo of a curling snake just below your ribs. Cogs were turning in his brain, but before he could open his mouth to ask, you’d kicked off your heels and turned back to face him. 

Now he was staring at you for a completely different reason. Scars still covered your body but–

You were breathtaking. 

“Th-though I t-t-told you n-not t-to look.” You didn’t seem irritated. No, you sounded resigned. Tired. Your arms were still wrapped around your middle, water pooling at your feet from where it dripped from your limp hair. And it was instinct for Logan to pull the blanket open, a silent invitation for you to stop freezing in the middle of the room. But your lips quirked slightly, eyes glinted with exhausted mirth. “B-bit presumptuous, no?”

Logan answered you with an exaggerated eye-roll, raising a brow as you continued to stand out in the cold. As if wanting to make sure he was sure. “Get in-n.”

You didn’t need telling twice. Not when one of your two options was to freeze to death. And the other just looked so…

Welcoming. 

You joined him beneath the blanket, shivering for a whole new reason the moment his hand slid around your waist, his arm holding you tight against his chest as he wrapped the blanket back around you. Fucking hell he was freezing. You didn’t know if this was worse or better. The blanket was scratchy and smelled faintly of mildew, but at least you weren’t still out in those damn woods. 

You placed a palm on his shivering chest, his heartbeat solid beneath your fingers, and Logan looked down at you, head tilting to the side as he saw your face still obscured. But you looked concentrated on something, your eye honed in on the centre of his chest, above your hand.

Temperature regulation. It was never something you excelled at. Sure you could slow blood flow in others to the point of dizziness and fainting, but accelerating it was another problem altogether, and for some reason, you just couldn’t get the hang of it. Your mutation flailed and writhed like a stubborn horse as you tried to get a solid grip on Logan’s blood. It should be simple. Easy as falling asleep. But you’d proven to yourself time and time again that your powers weren’t created to heal others. Only to hurt. 

“W-what’re you doin’?” he asked with no small degree of suspicion, and you closed your eyes against the accusation, almost tempted to say you were trying to blow him up. 

“Trying to inc-crease your b-b-blood-pressure. Helps with b-body heat.” You explained curtly as if to get him to shut up. Not that he needed any more encouragement, you appeared to have stunned him into silence. How the fuck did somebody like you get so wrapped up in a mess like this. Spouting so much nonsense about him being too kind to be involved when you were the one spearheading the whole operation. And whether it was due to your mutation or just your surprising display of decency, he felt his muscles slowly cease their endless trembling, a slight warmth spreading from where your palm rested at his chest.

You breathed a little easier when you felt him relax a little, unable to bask in the rare win for your mutation when he uttered a single word that instantly had you on the defensive. 

“Mask.” He prompted monosyllabically, and you tensed your jaw, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“No.”

“It’s fabric and soaked. Take it off.”

“No.”

“Just–” his hand skipped from around your waist to the side of your face, and you shot from his chest, sitting bolt upright, the blanket falling from your body. Logan followed you, bracing a hand against the mattress as he sat up in front of you. “Why?”

He didn’t need to know. No, more than that. You didn’t want him to know. You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anyone’s pity. “Because I can’t.” You answered, your voice smaller than he’d ever heard it. It did something to his heart he’d rather not think about right now. 

Slowly, like approaching a spooking animal, Logan’s hand drifted back to the side of your face, halting when you flinched away and only moving again when you’d settled. The tips of his fingers ghosted the edge of the black lace, your breath stilling in your lungs as he pulled his slightly.

“Yes you can…” with me, he wanted to say. You would be safe here. With him. You wouldn’t have to take on the burdens of this world alone. You wouldn’t have to scar yourself to get what you needed. There was a reason you asked him to be here today. And he’d be damned it he didn’t find out what it was.

When you didn’t move away from him, Logan carefully, gingerly lifted the mask from your face, keeping your hair back with his fingers. It took him a moment to register, but everything made sense now. Why you were doing this, the mask on your face, the tattoo at your waist, the scars around your neck. It was like the final piece in the puzzle that was who you were.

A burn had been branded across your eye, three letters seared into your skin for the rest of your life. Your cross to bear. 

MSR.

You were one of them. 

Logan was almost taken aback by the maelstrom of emotions that suddenly kicked up in his chest. Utter, unending fury, earth-shattering heartbreak, and a sense of understanding that he’d never felt before. 

Somewhere in the process, you’d closed your eyes, fearful of his reaction when he pried off your mask, finally revealing the answers to so many of his questions. You didn’t really know what to expect. Whether he would get up and leave now knowing your reasons were far more personal than heroic. Or whether he would try and find some bullshit common ground between you, with his tone disgustingly sympathetic. But none of that happened. Instead, the pads of his fingers ghosted across the letters, tracing them with a gentleness that was foreign to you. 

“Circus freak…” he understood now. You weren’t one of the personal ones. You were a money maker. Sent to fight in the collard cages for gamblers and drunks who didn’t know any better than to bet against David fighting the goliath. A prized possession kept locked away and promised freedom after every win. 

“Nobody should have to live that life.” You whispered, slowly opening your eyes to find yourself stunned by the way he was looking at you. No pity. No sympathy. Just… perception. He saw you. He understood you. When was the last time anyone had understood you?

“Not even you.” He didn’t mean it as a joke, but he savoured the way you huffed a small laugh, your head moving imperceptibly into his touch. But he was right. Not even you deserved to live that life. And you’d done plenty of things to deserve a lot of shit. But not that.

Never that.

“Did you know them? Whoever sold you off?” He asked lowly, still tracing the three letters across your eye, and you nodded slightly.

“Yeah you uh, could say that. Known him for a while. He uhm, taught me everything about my mutation. Thought he could use me, kept me close with bullshit lies about loving me. The day he branded me I uh, blew his arm off.” You shrugged, and Logan surprised you yet again by snorting a laugh. “What?”

“You blew his arm off?”

“I was kinda going through some shit at the time, okay?” You laughed, and Logan could only compare the sound to delicate wind chimes in a soft breeze. “Alright then, what about you, stray dog? Don’t look like a stray to me, especially not tonight. So out with it.” You poked his chest and Logan heaved a sigh, lying back against the mattress and dragging you with him, a gradually building warmth seeping into your bones. 

“Kinda the same story, ‘cept I wasn’t in the system. Lost my memories some day some how and just kinda… wandered, for a bit. Fighting in cages too, but I got to keep the winnings,”

“Lucky shit.” Your viscious tone had not heat to it, and it almost made Logan laugh. He didn’t think he’d met anyone who would consider fighting in cages for money lucky, but he supposed he’d never met anyone who’d fought in cages for someone else to claim the winnings. 

“Met a girl there–”

“Ooooh? Now it’s getting interesting.” You quipped, and Logan didn’t bother fighting the urge to pinch at your waist, your soft skin prickling with goosebumps.

“Not like that. She was just a kid. On the run from herself, honestly. Hid in my damn truck she was so desperate to escape. So I took her with me–”

“How chivalrous.”

“Could you stop?” He huffed, though his disobedient lips pulled into an equally disobedient smile. You schooled your expression dramatically, your heart singing with the surprisingly pleasant feeling of this conversation. You hated getting to know people. Hated their bullshit backstories. You often found you didn’t have the time to listen to them cry. But Logan? There was something mesmerising about the way he spoke. It wasn’t a fond memory, that much you knew, but he wasn’t telling it like it hurt. He was just telling it as it was. “Some asshole mutant was huntin’ her, named Sabretooth–”

“Sabretooth? That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Wanna talk about dramatics, Alecto?” He raised a brow to you and you huffed.

“That could be my real name, you don’t know.”

“It’s not.”

You pulled a mocking face, sticking your tongue between your teeth. “Fine. Maybe it’s not. What’s yours then, if you think mine is so dramatic.” You shot back, eyes narrowing as he pulled his lips into a thin line, mumbling something under his breath. “Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Wolverine.” He repeated defeatedly, and you let the moment hang for a second, pursing your lips to stop yourself from laughing. 

“Wolverine?”

“Yep.”

“Like, the cute little badger thing?”

“I don’t think I knew what it was at the time.”

“You don’t say… isn’t it technically a weasel?”

“I didn’t know it was a damn weasel.” 

Your restraint on your laughter shattered in an instant, your shoulders shaking with fits of wind-chime giggles, and honestly, the mocking was worth it just to hear you laugh again, your lips splitting into a full grin that had his heart skipping several beats. “You done?” He asked flatly, his eyes trained on you as you fought to recover yourself.

“Yeah, sorry. Please, continue, weasel man.”

Logan groaned in exasperation, choosing to ignore your little lighthearted jabs. “He was trackin’ her, wanted her for some master mutant plan. Turns out he was bein’ tracked by the X-men. Picked us up on the road, ‘n that’s where I met Ororo, Scott ‘n Jean.”

Your eyes flickered over his face. He said that name differently from the rest. Jean. There was history there, you could tell. His tone both softened and hardened at the same time, paradoxically, and you felt a twinge of something deep within your chest. 

“Huh… so you stuck with them ever since?” You asked sincerely, and Logan noted the way your demeanour had shifted. 

“Yeah. Well, kinda. Been here there ‘n everywhere since, but pretty much stuck around for the last few years. ‘N that’s it.” You had a feeling he was holding back from divulging his truth. Sure, it was a lot, but something was missing. Something he wasn’t telling you. But at least now you knew why he referred to himself as a stray. Taken in by a family he wasn’t expecting. You knew what that was like. Sure, your team were a bunch of self-serving dickwads, but you were family. 

“And… Jean? What’s up there?” You asked before you could stop yourself. You didn’t know why you wanted to know. Curiosity, you supposed. You wanted to know as much as he would tell you. A stark contrast to everyone else you’d met in your life. 

“What’d ya mean?” He asked, masking his sudden defensive surge with confusion. 

“You said her name differently. Hope I’m not gonna have some pissed-off mutant after me when she finds out I was naked in bed with her man.” Your chuckle was humourless, and Logan raised a brow. In truth, he’d almost forgotten the circumstances, too wrapped up in your face to truly notice that, underneath everything, there was nothing separating you. 

“Doubt it. Her boyfriend would be thrilled though.” He muttered surprisingly bitterly, and your eyes widened in surprise.

“Boyfriend huh? Ohhhh, I get it. Love triangle?” You wiggled your brows.

“You ask a lotta questions.”

“And you give a lotta answers, you just don’t realise it. So, who likes who? Obviously you like Jean–”

“Obviously?” He asked, finding himself feeling extremely exposed. 

“Written all over your face. And Jean has a boyfriend–”

“Scott.”

“Oh shit, the guy I knocked out?” You clarified, trying to ignore the sudden sense of satisfaction. No wonder he referred to the guy as his acquaintance, he was dating the woman he liked. Despite the kernel of something you refused to acknowledge of jealousy in your gut, you were glad to have helped in some way. 

“The very same.”

“Assuming Scott likes her back since they’re together and everything. But what about Jean? Where’s her head at?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He sighed, wondering how and when you got onto the topic of his love life. Things had become so much more complicated the last time he was at the mansion. He’d pulled back, and she’d gotten angry with him. For pulling back. Which made no sense since she was always refusing his advances. So why the hell had she been so pissed off with him?

“So you’re jealous?”

“I was, maybe a little.” He shrugged, finding himself at peace looking down at you as you furrowed your brows in thought, trying to decipher just what that meant. He wasn’t lying. He was jealous. In the past. But things had changed now, and he’d only just realised when, and why they had. 

“You were? What changed?” You asked, and you watched him hesitate for a moment, which only added more questions to the pile. Not that the pile wasn’t already a mile high.

“I–” Logan stopped himself, allowing a moment to truly think over his answer. It wouldn’t be right, to tell you. Not when he still knew so damn little about you. It wouldn’t be right to tell you things changed after meeting you. Things changed beneath that church when you’d asked him for help. When he’d seen your fire born of defiance. “I don’t know. Just kinda… stopped one day.”

You narrowed your eyes up at him, and Logan knew you knew he was lying. Or not divulging the truth. But a lie of omission is still a lie nonetheless. You seemed to accept his answer however, though filing away the question for later, falling into an effortlessly comfortable silence in a bubble of warmth. You didn’t realise he was still looking at you when you lay your head down to rest in the dip between his neck and shoulder, leeching off the heat from his body and returning it in an ouroboros cycle. You were content, you realised, to bask in his presence, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath. For the first time in a long, long time, you were at peace. 

“What’s your name?” He asked softly, and you pushed back against the sudden wave of remorse. Telling him would endanger your entire operation, everything you’d built would be compromised. And you couldn’t bare to look up at him, couldn’t bare to see the slight hope in his eyes. 

“Alecto…” you whispered in response, your chest constricting as you almost felt him deflate. And you realised you couldn’t fucking bare it. “Is what I was named when Boss picked me up,” it was almost comical, the way he stilled beneath your touch, as if too terrified to move in case you remembered he was there and you’d stop talking. “But before that…?” you trailed off, closing your eyes as you murmured your name so softly it was only thanks to Logan’s increased senses that he heard you.

He repeated it softly, tasting the letters on his tongue, savouring how they sounded pieced together. It suited you, your name. More than Alecto did, anyway. Fuck… what was it about you that had him so hooked? Other than absolutely everything?    

“At the risk of you stabbing me in my sleep–”

“A risk you’re willing to take?”

Logan rumbled a chuckle, delicately moving a strand of your hair from your face and you lifted your chin slightly to peer up at him. “You were wrong, ‘bout what you said earlier,”

Your head tilted in confusion. You’d said a lot of things earlier. But your heart stuttered in your chest as his expression softened into something you really didn’t want to think about right now. 

“You’re beautiful,” He whispered, your true name falling from his lips like a secret, and your eyes widened, exhaling a soft breath of shock. How on god’s green earth could he think that? He’d seen your face. Seen your scars. Seen the mess of your body. 

“You don’t have to be nice because of my tragic story,” you responded quietly, suddenly unable to meet his gaze. But he gently gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger and slowly brought you back to look at him before caressing your jaw with his knuckles. 

“I’m not.”

You closed your eyes against the overwhelming wave of melancholy, hating how he was making you feel seen. Making you feel less like the monster you’ve had to be. Making you feel human. 

“I’m scarred, Logan. You don’t–” You cut yourself off, unable to quite find the words to articulate what you were trying to say. But you didn’t need to. Your eyes fluttered open to find him still gazing at you, no small degree of understanding flickering in his hazel irises. He knew you didn’t mean your body. He knew you didn’t mean your face. You were scarred in ways beyond physical, and you supposed, of all people, he would be the one to understand that.

“We all have our scars, sweetheart,” you scoffed at the nickname, rolling your eyes. You were anything but sweet. “I’ve been around for a long, long time. One thing‘ve learnt, is that they don’t define us. It’s how we choose to heal from ‘em.”

You didn’t want to bring up the fact that you’d chosen to heal by using your pain, your anger, to kill anyone who stood in your way. You didn’t want to ruin his perception of you, no matter how far from the truth it may seem. So you let the silence linger, your eyes flickering between his and finding nothing but brutal honesty.

“Now at the risk of you stabbing me in my sleep,” you began, savouring the way his lips pulled into a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You felt his gaze fluttering across your features and watched as his eyes landed on your lips more than once, before lingering there. “This Jean woman?” you breathed, leaning further into him, and his arm around your waist tightened. “Is a fucking idiot.” You whispered against his lower lip, his eyes searching yours for permission and you let him open the windows to your soul, and there was only a second of charged energy before he closed minimal space between you, his lips surprisingly soft as he moulded them against yours. You could taste his last cigar, however long ago that may have been, the smoky aromas still lingering in his mouth and you found yourself savouring it, eyelashes fluttering closed as he slowly, languidly moved with you.

Logan found himself having to suppress a groan, his palm spreading across the side of your face, cupping your jaw as your tongue darted out to swipe along his lower lip and he parted his mouth, a shiver running down his spine as he tasted you, the subtle hint of what he could only compare to cherry dancing across the buds on his tongue. 

It was slow, unhurried, so different to every other aspect of your life. His touch was gentle, his hand sliding down your waist to tug you closer as you craned your neck up to meet him further, open palm splayed against your lower back. You’d never been touched with such tender delicacy before, and the heat in your body had nothing to do with your mutation. 

Logan hummed lowly as your fingers ghosted up and down the side of his ribs, goosebumps prickling his skin with your touch, and you gasped lightly when his teeth nicked your lower lip, and feeling your nails scratch gingerly at his waist, he repeated it, sucking gently on the soft hurt. 

The sweet, tangy scent of your building arousal reminded him that there was absolutely nothing separating him from you, and he couldn’t stop the overwhelming urge to skirt his hand down to your thigh, hooking your leg over his hip. You canted against him, the silken heat of his cock barely grazing your cunt had you whispering his name, sweet as honey. He didn’t care that you were scarred, mentally or physically. It didn’t matter to him. You were beautiful; heart, body and soul. And things changed the moment he stepped into that church. 

His hand drifted from your outer thigh to the warmth between, tentatively dipping his fingers into the gathering slick of your cunt, your fingers carding through his hair as your head fell back in pleasure, and Logan took the opportunity to pepper the scars on your neck with light kisses, nipping gently at the raised skin. You bucked against his fingers, silently seeking more from him, a quiet moan falling from your lips when the soft pads of his digits circled over your swollen clit. You clamped your lips together, a whimper trying to escape your gated teeth with the sudden spark of ecstasy rolling through your nerves, your nails clawing through his hair. 

Logan groaned against your neck, a subsequent gasp fanning your throat when you did it again, his cock jumping with each muted tug at the back of his head. You rolled your hips against his fingers, urging him to finally breach you, your arousal coating not only his hand but the tip of his member, trapped between his wrist and his stomach. He smirked slightly against your neck, nipping at the hollow of your throat before sliding one finger through your folds, growling carnally as your silken walls clenched around him.

“Logan…” you murmured, eyes rolling behind closed lids. Fuck he felt good, and he wasn’t really doing anything more than slowly fucking you with one finger. You guessed it had been a while, but that could only explain your visceral reaction to his touch so much. He pumped his finger inside you, his thumb still circling your clit in a way that set your blood on fire. And through your pleasure-addled mind, you realised he wasn’t getting anything out of this. He wanted to make you feel good. The scales were unbalanced, and you couldn’t help but want to rectify that.

Your hand left his hair, ghosting down the side of his body and dipping between your pressed hips, your fingers delicately grazing the tip of his weeping cock. A shiver wracked his spine as your curious hand wrapped around his sensitive head, his finger curling against a spot deep within your walls that had you crying out, squeezing his tip in your fist. Logan’s hips bucked into your hand, a stuttered gasp sailing from his lips. 

A furnace was building between your thighs, a low glow of ecstasy that only grew the moment a second finger joined the first, slowly stretching you out, scissoring inside your vice-like walls. You wanted him inside you. Not his fingers, you wanted his cock. Craved it. Fuck, you wanted to feel him throbbing in your cunt, wanted to feel every pulsing vein along your wanton heat. And so despite your building release, you relented your hold on his cock and gently took his wrist, pulling him from your thighs. 

Logan’s eyes fluttered open as he looked down at you, dazed confusion creasing his brows. You cupped the side of his fuzzy jaw, panting against his lips. “Want you…” You whispered, and something shifted in his heart. Slowly, he pushed against your shoulder, urging you to lie on your back as he followed, hovering over you. Fuck he was gorgeous, gazing down at you with something you couldn’t quite decipher glimmering in his hazel eyes. 

“You have me.” He responded softly, ghosting his hand down between you to align his cock with your clenching cunt. You gasped as he coated the tip with your slick, sliding through your soaked folds before pushing into your heat, achingly slowly. 

A sharp hiss escaped your teeth at the initial stretch, Logan’s head falling against your collar as he fought every instinct not to drive into you with reckless abandon. He wanted to be gentle with you. He wanted you to trust him. And the moment you wrapped your legs around his waist, your ankles locking at the small of his back, he released a low, guttural moan. Inch by torturous inch he filled you, sharing a mutual gasp as his tip grazed that same spot his fingers were reaching just moments ago, your walls clenching around him when he bottomed out into you.

Logan stilled, gritting his teeth in restraint as he let you get used to him, your hands running through his hair softly, so softly that, when he looked up at you, your eyes held the exact same tenderness, brows pinched slightly in pleasure. He couldn’t help himself. Ghosting light kisses up your neck, he captured your lips with a passion that could only be matched by the aching desperation of his pulsing cock. You groaned into his mouth as he incrementally pulled his hips from yours, before filling you again, setting a low, languid pace. 

“Shit sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, a light gasp catching him off-guard as you tensed around him deliberately, his hips bucking into you before he wrestled back control of himself, opening his eyes to find your shit-eating grin, your lower lip caught between your teeth. He huffed a wicked chuckle, lengthening his thrusts to reach further into your cushioned depths. Your jaw fell slack as he established a new rhythm, airy, pitched moans swirling about the small cabin, joined in a symphonic dance with the low groans and soft growls of Logan above you. 

Pleasure accompanied every strong thrust, the tip of his leaking cock brushing that little bundle of nerves you barely knew existed before this, making your thighs quiver around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back in encouragement. Your soft scratches through his hair travelled down the back of his neck, nails clawing gently against the sweat-slicked, sinewy plains of his back, feeling the strong muscles flex and relax with each movement he made. 

“Logan… fuck! Logan…!” your voice cracked the moment his hand drifted between you, those same fingers as before circling your sensitive pearl in harmony with the consistent pumping of his hips, your own canting up against him in a synchronised dance of pure ecstasy. That same furnace started to grow once again, only this time surpassing the roaring flame of pleasure into a wildfire.

He could feel your building release in the way you clung to him, your walls fluttering and spasming around him involuntarily, a series of broken whines muffling his own heavy pants, barely able to kiss you for longer than a single moment before you’d both break away with another choir of moans. His cock pulsed against inside your walls, the need to find his own high fuelling his next few thrusts, pushing your knees up higher for your thighs to clamp around his ribcage, a wanton cry sailing to the heavens.

“Can feel you darlin’. Let go– fuck! Let go f’me,” he breathed through gritted teeth, relentlessly thumbing your clit until he felt you go stiff beneath him, your entire body tensing as you crested your high, spurred on by his heated words. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, jaw locked open as honey leeched through your veins, waves of rapturous pleasure cascading down your nerves, clouding your mind and leaving every fibre of your very being trembling in his hold. 

Your hips bucked mindlessly into his, fucking yourself on his cock and Logan had to bite down on your shoulder to muffle his own shout of ecstasy, finding his release in the way your cunt clamped around him like a vice, milking his shaft of everything he had to give. Those same crashing waves of lightning struck his system, his voice shuddering with every uncontrollable jerk, every pleasure-laced twitch of your sensitive body against his. 

You didn’t know where your soul had gone, but you basked in the floating afterglow of your orgasm, breath unsteady and shaking with each heavy pant, hands threading back through the sweat-matted strands of his hair soothingly. You could have sworn you almost heard him purr, a low, gravelly sound rumbling from the back of his throat.

“Well…” you started breathlessly, causing him to raise his head from your shoulder. “That’s one way to warm up I guess.” You shrugged with a wry smile, and Logan snorted a chuckle, raising up on his forearms to pull out, a wince crossing your features as he did. You’d forgotten how strange it felt to have someone finish inside you. And it was as if he was listening to your train of thought, realisation dawning on his face.

“Shit…”

“What?”

“I didn’t– Fuck.” He ran a stressed hand down the side of his face, pushing up from you to sit on his heels. “I forgot to ask, I– shit, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You recoiled slightly, fighting to keep the surprising hurt from your face. “Christ, that bad, huh? I didn’t exactly make plans to sleep with you either, you know.” You countered, crudely using the corner of the blanket currently falling from his waist to clean yourself up, praying to whatever deities were up there it was at least somewhat clean. You really didn’t fancy a UTI or a yeast infection. 

Logan blanched, struggling to understand what exactly it was you were talking about, assuming that this whole time you were on the same page. “What? No– fuck, no. That’s not what ‘m talkin’ about.” He huffed in frustration, and you sat up, crossing your legs.

“Then just what the hell is your problem all of a sudden?” You asked defensively, folding your arms across your chest. 

“I fuckin’ came inside you, that’s the fuckin’ problem.”

“And?”

The cabin fell into silence as he just stared at you, as if trying to decipher whether or not you knew the consequences or if you just truly didn’t care. And it took you far too long to finally understand what he meant, your gut twisting slightly. “Oh. Right. That’s uh– that’s not a problem.”

“The fuck you mean it’s not a problem? Look, we’ll get to a pharmacy tomorrow an’–”

“Logan.” You interrupted him curtly, though you couldn’t look him in the eye, suddenly finding the discarded pile of clothes on the floor more interesting than his gorgeous face. “It’s fine, okay?”

It was then he paused to really look at you, the scars littering your body, and the one he’d missed before, thicker than most of the rest, situated dead centre between your hip-bones. The realisation struck him like a truck.

“You’re sterile…?” he asked quietly, though he didn’t need to see you nod your head to know the answer. But you nodded nonetheless, pursing your lips at the discomfort of the conversation. That was until the soft pads of his fingers traced the sunlit-ice skin of your scar, his thumb soothing slow circles against your naval. “Was it your choice?” his voice was as quiet as a breeze, his other hand pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning your head gently to look at him. 

“Nothing’s ever been my choice. Not even that.” You responded with a spiteful smile that had Logan’s blood run cold. Just how many atrocities have you had to endure? How much trauma did it take to make this version of you?

“It doesn’t have to be like this, y’know.” He murmured, relinquishing his hold of your jaw to instead take your hands into his own. “Come back with me,” you don’t think you’d ever get over the way he said your name, like the charged secret you’ve kept for years. But you couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t, and he knew you couldn’t. 

“Don’t... don’t do this now, Logan,” you pleaded, closing your eyes to spare yourself from seeing the defeat on his face. “Don’t ruin it.”

He didn’t know what ‘it’ was supposed to be, but he sighed all the same, letting the topic drop in favour of laying back down by your side, pulling the blanket back up around the both of you and sliding his arms around your waist, tucking you in to him tight. 

“Alright.” He agreed, using his one free hand to smooth your hair away from your face, returning back to tracing the MSR scar around your eye, his heart clenching painfully as you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. You both knew the other wasn’t cold anymore, but neither of you were willing to bring it up. Neither of you willing to acknowledge that maybe you weren’t doing this for the necessity to survive. 

Maybe you were instead doing this for the craving to truly live. 

[savannaswrites]

you are so right alastair IS the best character in tlh i only really finished the last book for him. the release of the last book is partly why i also started thinking about tsc again and started vibrating excitedly about twp again even though it is ages away and who knows what it’ll even be like, but that’s why i went back into the tab and i couldn’t believe i never found ur fic before because it was exactly what i was itching to read! like whenever i have looked for post qoaad fic which i don’t think i have since 2020 it’s usually either short, only focused on what happens during the three years before twp, or is only focused on kit and ty’s reunion. and i love reading about kit and ty’s reunion but what i wanted most was a super long fic dealing with all the problems and politics of twp and interweaving character and romantic drama with well-done plot, and lo and behold i found your fic which is exactly that and is well-written to boot. i really do believe it’s one of the most well-written tsc fics i’ve ever found and was Shocked and Outraged it didn’t have more kudos. i literally wished i had made a tsc sideblog in 2018 just to promote it to hell. i know a lot of things have been jossed now but i still found it all so fascinating. also 40k outline um i would read that many words…would definitely do that <3 but the things i’ve been wanting to know most about since reading it are partly plot-related — thule livvy and her ghost counterpart, whether our current thule questers will run into ash, clave and downworlder and faerie politics, if all the blackthorns reunite, the riders finding kit again, more about kit and the first heir and his role to play, omg side note that story kit tells in the far about naoine was amazing — and partly character-related — ty and anush and june!!! dru friendship with kit and jaime!!! kit and jaime v interesting dynamic i never considered!!! kit and tessa and jem and mina! kit and jace! how ty has changed and how kit has changed and his future character development and how dru wants to change. but also, the Drama of all of those character dynamics is probably what im curious about the most. like, kit and ty making things awkward with everybody…that painful tension between them and what it would be like if they actually talked about it. how thule livvy feels about her brother and sister and kit. jaime………like i cannot decide if he and kit had a fling, if kit has a crush, if jaime does, etc, but every scenario i picture is So Great in terms of awkwardness and hilarity and poignancy. you wouldn’t think i could feel all those feelings about it but i do. dru’s reaction? TY’s reaction? jesus christ. also jamie’s character in general you’ve set up very nicely, particularly with the mentions of diego, i think their relationship is very interesting. dru’s reaction? TY’s reaction? jesus christ. however ash fits into all of this too is also v intriguing. i just almost deleted all of this which was a very scary experience but made me realize how completely incoherent and crazy long this is, i am so sorry about that. also want to stress that you don’t have to answer any of this or tell me anything at all, i just loved writing all of that out because this fic had me super excited yesterday. but that is all hope u have a good day :)

AHH i am so intrigued to hear that alistair is what pulled you through chain of thorns!! i swear i'm not a hater, but like -

- i am working my way SLOWLY through that book right now and i just. !! i wish i liked more of the characters more, you know?? there's just SO. MANY. of them, and i don't feel like any of them have really had enough time to develop, or at least to make me feel invested in them, which is such a weird thing to say after already having had two long books with them!

did you happen to read the ghosts of the shadow market book? the versions of james and matthew in that book to me are SO wildly different than the versions that ended up on the page of tlh, and i hate to say it, but i liked the gotsm versions more!! i don't necessarily think that all characters have to be super developed and layered or what have you in order to make them compelling, but when the mythology of the story has also sort of started to lose touch with what makes it matter, and the characters aren't super compelling...what's left, you know??

it's like, to me, we have these villains in belial and lilith who are so otherworldly that they're practically abstract, which makes them just not very good villains to me. i'd much rather read about someone who is their champion (or paladin, i suppose) by choice, because then we could have that conflict between power and powerlessness and agency and lack thereof play out on a much more human level, presumably with stakes it's easy to be invested in.

sorry for the tlh detour - i'm just like, i WILL finish this book, but goodness gracious, i will admit to it being harder to power through even than qoaad. (sorry)

going back to what you were saying, thank you so much again!! the politics of twd and the way that different characters could end up on different sides of that conflict and the romantic drama therein are SO compelling to me they literally kept me up at night as i was reading tdi! there is nothing juicier to me than a story of political intrigue because they function SO well as stories about personal values, and there can be so much richness and depth and nuance to that!

i mean, we have kit as a microcosm for some of this conflict, too; he's someone from a "mundane" background with not only downworld heritage but royal downworld heritage and yet also this shadowhunter blood and, most affecting to me, maybe, his father's blood as a bit of a liar and a cheat and a rapscallion, all of which could theoretically push and pull him in different directions. i loved the idea of really exploring how these aspects of who he is could complicate some of the underlying assumptions of shadowhunter society and maybe even the books themselves.

which, i mean, okay! i get it! they're the shadowhunter chronicles, they're about shadowhunters, i get it. but i don't think that doesn't mean that you can't interrogate a different pov, you know? like, sure, james and co. have saved the world in tlh, but they've also directly been the cause of it being threatened in the first place. and maybe he could've found more acceptance of his demonic heritage from warlocks like his mother, or maybe downworld would regard him as just as odd as the clave does - who knows? my point is just that the books never really even seem to acknowledge that those are questions to be asked at all. :(

(sorry that that makes me sound like a hater, i promise i really enjoy reading these books!! i just have a lot of thoughts! hence the long ass fic as;dlkfj)

but so yeah, getting back to the gang there in thule, i just loved setting up their relationships with a bit of conflict and intrigue! they're united under this common banner of saving the world (again), but i don't think that any two of them are in 100% agreement with anybody else, even ghost-livvy with ty or her own living counterpart!

they all want something, different things, but i don't necessarily think that's a bad thing, either, you know? like, dru wants so badly to prove herself, and meanwhile kit's over here watching her say "we gotta go investigate that green light" because she's burning up inside and he maybe doesn't totally get it but maybe he sort of does, and so he's like, "oh, dang, is that what a shadowhunter does? i guess i should be more like that, then," and so they're there like. nodding to each other. meanwhile jaime's like, "well, if it makes them happy," so they're the three musketeers...up to the point that what they want brings them into conflict, perhaps?? [eyeball emoji]

i swear i'm just about done talking your ear off, but thank u so much again for saying u liked kit's story about naione! the fair folk are just too old not to have myths of their own and like!! that's such a rich vein of world-building, who could resist it!!

okay, now i'm really done!!

[oknowkiss]

a year in fic!

thank you to @wolfpants for the tag! what a fun idea. see here for their incredible work (340k in a year and each word a banger, like, how!) no pressure tagging @geesenoises @eveningstruggle @corvuscrowned @sorrybutblog @saintgarbanzo @academicdisasterfic @mintawasalreadytaken @vukovich and you!

Rules: Share 1 line from each fic you wrote this year. In 2022 I wrote: ~250k words over 15 fics (lmaooooo) 

JANUARY - FEBRUARY

UNPOSTED WIP that I worked on every day for two months and have not touched since, to be posted TBD in 2023 || Drarry || 40K at the moment

Harry hopes when he goes his eyes are open, like Fred’s were, so that the people who are with him then will look down into his face and see not anger or grief or pain, but a constellation of stars, never setting.

MARCH

big hands, i know you’re the one || drarry || 887 || M

The day Hogwarts realised Draco Malfoy, reformed Death Eater (and was that kind of hot, now? Now that he wasn’t trying to kill them all? Sort of a bad boy thing?), had really quite big hands was an unmitigated disaster.

APRIL

any day now || drarry || 17K || E

Draco is aware he comes from a long line of extremely intelligent wizards who somehow, with very few exceptions, haven’t made a single smart decision between them.

scarhead || drarry || 2K || E

He scratches absentmindedly at the scabs on his chest as he imagines them -- his observers -- wandering through the world, their pockets full up with gold and his secret.

a licence to kill || drarry, past-nottpott, past-dramione || 11K WIP || M

The Department of Magical Licences, Permits, and Assorted Permission Granting (or, as it’s more commonly referred as, and always in grumbled utterance: the DOMLPAPG) is located on Level 1, just to the left as you exit the lifts.

MAY

acts of service || drarry || 5.6K || E

Draco had fucked him three times that night –- first in the hallway, to remind Harry what he’d been missing; second in the kitchen, now that Draco knew how much he’d been missed; third in the bedroom, face to face this time, rough and in love –- so when Harry woke up on Monday with a raw throat they both figured it was because that’s where Draco’s cock had been.

jesus, etc || drarry, charlie/draco/harry, charlie/draco || 1.5K || E

They drink at the table where Harry once found it easy, being in love. Where he kissed the tender expanse of Draco’s open palm.

JUNE

the complete idiot’s guide to losing your entire mind || drarry || 10K || E

They weren't to go to Harry's flat, because it was “a cry for help” and made Draco sad.

in between two tall mountains (there’s a place they call lonesome) || drarry, past-hansy || 8K || E

He rests a hand on top of Harry’s, intertwining their fingers so he can lift them up and turn his mouth to the palm, and when he kisses it Harry smells rich like ancient pines and beds of thick moss, and the taste of his skin is lovely, warm despite the rain.

SEPTEMBER

eager for the sky || drarry, background ronarry || 35K || M

Draco had imagined this moment often, in so many permutations, trying to prepare himself for how it might feel, to rehearse in his mind so as not to make a total wang of himself in the actual doing of it. He’d accounted for a variety of extenuating circumstances, but what he hadn’t anticipated was the kindness of Potter’s touch.

the july tree || drarry, hinny || 52K || E

Harry wondered sometimes if being raised in an environment of constant withholding hadn’t developed in him a deep, gnawing avarice, as though instead of a heart he’d been given the Room of Requirement, a space that could never be filled.

OCTOBER

the long ways || drarry, harry/omc || 10K || M

“I should go,” Draco says.

“You should,” Harry says. “Or we could get a last round, before you run out of my life forever, again.”

NOVEMBER

100 beats per minute || drarry, harry/omc(s) || 14K || E

“Ten a day, I figure.” Potter shrugged. “On a circuit weekend? How hard can it be.”

“You tell me.” Draco looked pointedly at the spot on the table where Potter’s lap would be, if he could see it.

DECEMBER

fest fic! watch this space

soon to be posted self-indulgent WIP || drarry, harry/charlie, harry/bill || 10K and counting || E

“Nasty habit of yours, surviving,” Draco says. He puts a hand on Harry’s throat and squeezes, as though testing the veracity of his musculature. “Like a cockroach.”

[txttletale]

JOHN GAIUS? STUPID IDIOT MOTHERFUCKING JOHN GAIUS GOD DAMN FOOL CORPSE COLLECTING PEANUT EATING RAT OLD BASTARD SHITHEAD IDIOT NECROWHORE PRIME KINDLY CLOWN OF THE CIRCUS LAUGHED OUT OF TOWN GOTH MOTHERFUCKING JOHN GAIUS. STOP PINNING ME WHEN I TALK ABOUT JOHN GAIUS I HATE HIM SO MUCH WHY DOES HE HAVE SO MANY FUCKED UP CONSTRUCTS WHY DID HE DECIDE TO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT JUST SET THEM LOOSE IS HE A REVENANT IS HE A BASTARD MAN HAS SUCH A VISCERAL AFFECT ON ME NOT EVEN IN THE ROOM NEVER SEEN THIS MANS FACE AND I KNOW HE HAS THE WORLDS SHITTIEST BEARD GET AWAY FROM ME. if i wanted to get into the river beyond and god said 'i'm waiting inside' i would piss on gods feet for the sole purpose of getting sent back down. if i have to deal with john gaius speaking one word in person to alecto in the next audiobook not only will i close the tab i will delete my bookmark out of spite and have to reread the entire series again for the experience of being able to skip all the times when he is mentioned or alive. i dont even know why i hate him so much. he collects lyctors but i am just mad because i am angy. he better have some fucked up backstory to explain this if hes just some rich shithead whos a fan of warhammer 40k and wanted the irl version ill go ham. BETTER have had a cavalier make him kill a man cuz if he didnt Im going to make him. paypal.com/IFuckingHateJohnGaius. chapters not even about him. vaguely mentioned what is supposed to maybe be his lyctoral lab and I lost it. where the fuck is john gaius if hes still alive im going to so deeply wish he wasnt. crusty old man. ill punch john and his sad frail old man twig bones will simply flake apart under my epic huge meat fist and he will disintegrate until all thats left is one final necromantic theorem he kept on him at all times simply titled Now You Fucked Up in ancient yiddish. im not breathing im hyperventilating at this point. i hope theres a date given for when john died or will die so i can make it a reminder on my phone. everyday once a year i will see it and do anything but pay respects to the man who had so many fucked up if true jesus metaphors

[clumsyclifford]

2021 Writing Self-Evaluation

thank youuu @allsassnoclass​ i fucking LOVE this idea i am going to say SO many things rn i am so excited. 

prefacing this by saying i’m only counting the stuff i posted to bellawritess because i do have a different ao3 account where i post All My Other Fic Writing but (1) i don’t use it nearly as much now that i’m so focused on the rpf stuff and (2) don’t wanna doxx myself lol. so yeah! onward.

edit after finishing this: to absolutely no one’s surprise, i was about as long-winded as humanly possible on every single question i could. so i’ll put a cut and you can read my silly little musings underneath it if you like.

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 88 fics, apparently!! that’s everything i wrote in 2021, both prompt fics and... normal fics? idk what you would call those.

2. Word count posted for the year: clocking in at a whopping 351,552 words for the year. yeesh. get a life woman.

3. Fandoms I wrote for: 5sos, all time low, and one direction. 

4. Pairings: oh boy. from most to least according to ao3: jalex, malum, lashton, cake, merrikat, rilex, cashton, muke, mashton, 5sos ot4, and 1d ot5, plus also a handful of friendship fics.

5. Story with the most Kudos/Bookmarks/Comments: i really appreciate that these are all questions i can use ao3 features to find the answers for. thank you to whoever made this ask game. ANYWAY.

 for kudos, unsurprisingly, you seem so damn familiar takes top spot. that one also has the most comments (quelle surprise) and the 2nd most bookmarks. most bookmarks actually goes to and it all makes sense to me, the ot5 fic!! that’s so fun i love that. also, simply because it makes me happy, i’m sharing that the 2nd most comments/comment threads i guess goes to fever dream high in the quiet of the night, aka cruel summer fic. 

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why): i mean, it’s hard not to say you seem so damn familiar. that’s the obvious answer, but i am hella proud of it. i mean, 40k in ten days, and look how fucking good it is!!!!!! also i did kind of forget about the ot5 fic but i’m proud of that one too because i wrote it for @mastasof-ravenkroft​ for his birthday but i did the stupid thing where i forgot to start writing it til like. the day before. or NIGHT before. and so i essentially just binge wrote the whole thing, but it was a fic i had wanted to write for a long time and i actually wrote it exactly how i wanted it to be, PLUS it’s a 5+1 which is maybe my favorite fic format, AND it’s an ot5 fic, which i’ve never done. and it turned out really really nice actually. so yes, very proud of that one. i don’t know if i should stop because this question only asks for one or if i should keep listing them because honestly i deserve it. 

i’m really proud of the friendship fics i wrote, but probably most proud of the first one, dearly depressed and brokenhearted (i’d like to let you know that boys cry too). that was a bit of a breakthrough moment for me and adri’s review of it lives rent free in my brain. so many songfics i finally managed to get out of my brain and into words, i’m proud of all of those. omg godlight fic? the good grace of that godlight, the weird ass luke hemmings time travel thing?? that was such a strange writing undertaking, and it ended up exactly how i wanted it. basically every time i finally got words down for an idea i’d been having and they were exactly the right words to make the exact fic i wanted, i count those as the biggest victories. ahhh the jewish cake kitchen fic i wrote for meg’s birthday, it’s so simple, was another example of that, plus i LOVED getting to write more jewish cake, and i feel like i absolutely captured my love of kitchens in that fic. also i NEED to include cruel summer fic here because. to date still one of the best fics ive ever written.

wait i thought of one more jesus christ im so sorry can you tell i love my own writing?? no but seriously, taylor @squishmichael asked me for a fic based on therapy and so i wrote keeping this up could be dangerous and i really AM proud of that one, because when they asked me for that fic i thought to myself jesus christ how am i going to capture the feeling of the song therapy. and then i started writing and like. i think i actually captured it so well. and some of the metaphors in that fic are just...mmmmmmmmmm. 

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why): LMAO okay fine ill do this. but it’s not that i’m not proud of these just that i think if i wrote them now i would do a better job. the fic i wrote based on taxi, two punch-drunk souls all tangled in the wind, i would change a lot of that dialogue. i was really concerned with making it sound as close to what john the maine says in the song, but in retrospect that was a dumb thing to try and do, considering no one fuckin talks the way john the maine says people talk. also crazy is what i like, the one based on all my friends by tss, because...i don’t know it was just a very interesting choice of song to try and make a fic. like it has such a vivid story but i don’t think it was exactly the kind of story that should have been written by me. like i think for example anna could have probably done a more loyal job of it. and i don’t know. i sat on that fic for a while because i thought it was kind of strange. so yeah. i love both of those fics very much but yknow. asked and answered.

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received: the comment adri left me on dearly depressed and brokenhearted. i think about it all the fucking time. it drives me to write more friendship fics. genuinely. honestly this is an embarrassing thing to admit but i forget the majority of the comments i receive once i’ve replied to them. it’s nice to go through comments on my fics and reread them though, because i don’t remember getting them!! hmm team @4thbrighteststar has said several times on multiple fics of mine that she would sometimes read a scene that made her want to act it out, and that landed really well with me. that always makes me happy. also every time she’d comment PSYCHHH MAJORRRR on yssdf, because yes i am.

and taylor had a really cool response to the godlight fic which maybe i’m not allowed to exactly explain what it was, but it was awesome.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: SPRING FIC EXCHANGE. YEEEEEEEEEEEEESH. so first of all i was juggling first schoolwork and then working at camp, and second of all, noah i say this with love but your fic preferences form thing was VERY contradictory and made it so hard to settle on a fic plot. or even to come up with one. essentially i was trying to write a fic that had all of the tropes of a fluffy fic, but make it angst. and also, i was not in a headspace for writing angst, cos you know how that kinda thing comes and goes, so it was twice as hard!!! and when i got to camp i’d be exhausted and working all day and then be done at like. eleven or midnight and then. have to somehow find time to write fic exchange fic. it was. difficult. i did finish it a week late and i am still sorry about that but honestly i’m surprised it was only a week. that somehow feels like a win to me considering what that fic put me through lmao

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: oh hell i feel like this happens to me so often but for some reason now that you’ve asked i am blanking on every single instance. oh! well i wrote this fic, who knew we were lightning? (i saw a spark before we heard any sound), and it was supposed to be a jack-centric fic based on jack and his relationship with guitars throughout the years or whatever. but then out of absolutely nowhere it became a jalex fic, which i guess shouldn’t surprise me but did. i didn’t hate it but it did blindside me. also, godlight fic completely surprised me mostly because it was one of those times where i thought “hey, hypothetically this song would be such an interesting fic” and then thought “nah but i’ll never actually write that” and then i wrote it that same day. another time that happened was with i can’t focus when you’re with me (i can’t sleep when i’m alone), the one that happened as a result of me having the chorus of XO stuck in my head. AND last answer: give me the worst of you (worst of you songfic). fic about a very unhealthy relationship, featuring jack barakat the toxic boyfriend. very unexpected writing venture on my part. although i’m more surprised that i posted it, tbh, because it was supposed to just be an exercise to see if i could write something like that, and i didn’t plan to post it, and then now here we are.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: okay so realistically i would just paste all 88 fics i posted in 2021 here, but obviously im. not doing that. so i’m gonna go with a piece of and it feels like i’m losing you twice, the sex (with my ex) songfic, because i got distracted in the middle of answering these questions just to reread that fic and MAN it slaps. here:

If they’ve both misunderstood the assignment then maybe they got the wrong assignment. Maybe they were never supposed to be friends. Maybe Jack’s hand on Alex’s knee and Alex’s gaze caught on Jack’s mouth is a spark that lights fireworks rather than land mines. Something beautiful rather than something destructive.

If they’re gonna explode either way, they may as well make it art.

i’m just gonna say it: that land mine metaphor KICKED ASS. i don’t know when i got to be so good at metaphors i’m pretty sure it was a super intentional effort in this fic but it paid off.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: oh man! well as previously mentioned i think i became a lot better at like...intentional metaphors and trying to vary the ones i make. also i learned the importance of a little bit of conflict in a plot and i did a lot of exploring different kinds of relationships between people, rather than just happy easy romance. that was really good for me to do. i think it helped me to write more realistic relationships than i had been. and maybe circling back to the plot thing but i sort of realized that there’s only so much you can do without conflict, cos then you just have a bunch of scenes, basically. and when there’s a driving thing in a story it means that the scenes are all leading up to something and that helps to guide the story and honestly makes writing easier a lot of the time. so those are some things!

13. How do you hope to grow next year: see #12! no actually i think i want to be better at showing and not telling. right now i’m kind of in the middle, i think i do a lot of showing AND telling, and i want to be able to trust my audience more. meghna is really good at this. i am still working on it. 

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): @tirednotflirting and @reveriesofawriter sam and meghna were easily my main audience for the majority of my fics. i don’t foresee that changing. i love you guys. also of course megs @igarbagecannoteven who had to literally put up with my melodramatic bitching and complaining about every single tiny problem i had with anything i ever wrote. megs you are my favorite rubber duck. yknow i was thinking earlier about how much i agonized over the title for, what was it. oh!! the title for situation overload (do it for baltimore)!!! and then in the end all the agonizing was worth it because it caused me to land on what i think is actually a perfect title for it. so thank you for dealing with my insanity so that the rest of the world can reap the benefits i guess. everyone who ever listens to me talk about my writing in any capacity, whether gushing about how good i am at it (which i do often) or complaining about how hard and annoying it is (which i also do often) has positively influenced my writing experience.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: many things, no conceivable way i can list them all. speaking of situation overload (do it for baltimore), that fic has a lot of pieces of my relationship with megs in it, specifically involving me getting her into baseball as best i could. i think ive mentioned this before but this jalex prompt fic you need a pick-me-up? (i’ll be there in twenty-five) has jack in a situation that is directly taken from something that happened to me, and yes it was absolutely fucking terrifying then. i projected my homesickness onto cashton in this prompt fic i’m a little kid and so are you (don’t you go and grow up before i do), and also the thing about lauren’s gerbils from this lashton fic for jess, you should know i’ll be there for you, is based on what happened to my younger sister’s gerbils. luke’s insecurities about his friends liking his siblings better in maybe this is just as good as it gets is straight out of a younger bella’s headspace (fortunately not something i worry about anymore now that we, yknow, go to different schools and are super different people and both adults, but ya know). to name a few.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: i am going to be brief because i got asked for writing advice earlier this year and wrote an essay basically, but it boils down to this: like what you write. if you don’t like what you’re writing, write it differently! write something new! write something no one else will read, so you don’t feel like you have to cater to anyone else! but seriously, write something that you can enjoy, because if even you don’t like the art you’re creating, you can’t expect anyone else to. if you can’t stand in front of a council and say “you will enjoy reading this because [x]” (if you can’t even say “because i liked reading it”).......you’re losing your most reliable audience member. be proud of what you create! don’t compare your successes to the successes of other writers! everyone has different goals, writes at different rates, prioritizes differently, prefers different tropes and types of fics. actually yeah i feel strongly about this. don’t compare yourself to other writers. you are your own writer doing your own thing. ask for help, take inspiration, set goals for yourself that are valuable to you, but don’t compare. if you try to become a writer that already exists, no one wins. you know that cheesy but very true oscar wilde quote? if it is even him? be yourself, everyone else is already taken? yeah. write your own stories, everyone else is already writing theirs. or something. you know what i mean. it was funny when i said i was going to be brief here. okay getting off my soapbox now. thanks for having me on tedx.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: oh!! yes!!! many!!!!!! oh what a fun question!!!!! i am still working on summer camp au but i recently picked it back up and wrote an important section of it so i’m cautiously optimistic that i can finish that sometime soon-ish and then can start posting it which would be very nice because i already miss having a chapter fic to update, and i think people are going to really like it. also there is the [redacted] fic which is SO funny and which will be finished and posted soon and i literally cannot fucking wait, i have kept this silly crack pairing a secret for so long and the fic has some of my funniest most entertaining writing but i can’t SHARE any of it without SPOILING it so i’m really looking forward to putting that into the world at long last.

beyond that there’s a jalex 5+1 that i’m hoping to finish (it is currently about halfway done), and i’m planning to write the long awaited (by me) elevator fic at some point, once i...decide what i’m going to write for it. i’ve got one more installment of tshirt jalex in the works, involving middle school band teacher alex gaskarth, and i think that one is going to be really fun once i finish it. oh oh also! this one fic from a prompt fiancee sent me (do you have time to hold on with me), it’s a lashton fic but i wrote jalex into it for funsies and i made alex nonbinary and ever since then i have just been thinking about he/they alex gaskarth forever and ever. i want to write more of them so bad. so like. maybe we will see some nb alex content sooner or later, hopefully.

and i know paige and meghna want me to write ocallakarth and ill admit im letting it sit in the back of my mind but i make no promises considering the existence of the [redacted] fic and other various factors. but it could be a fun exercise.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read. okay!! yes!! @tirednotflirting @reveriesofawriter @cringeycal @kaleidoscopeminds @igarbagecannoteven and also anyone else who sees this and wants to! if you read all the way to the bottom of this post then i feel like you deserve a tag so consider yourself tagged lmao. love you all, happy new year <3

[mikkaeus]

fics across fandoms that i have reread >2 times that are >40k words:

(as you can maybe tell i am currently drowning in nostalgia) ((ok this is long as shit and no one’s gonna read it but does anyone remember the destiel fic a room of one’s own???))

merthur: lost count, would still reread: the student prince, the wasting game lost count but would probably not reread to the end now: pianos are made for falling, we are all diamonds lost count how many times i attempted to finish this series but always stalled before the end because it’s 1.3 million words and i always had to read it from the start each time: loaded march. i think i made it to like.. 700k the last and final time.

hp: here’s the pencil, make it work (drarry, ~4x), if them’s the rules (lost count. harry & tom riddle (platonic). the only wip here & the only one without a main romantic pairing. i’ve kept up with this for 6 years now. 200k words, stalled at 41/83 chapters that started in 2011, updated a little over a year ago. if it an update comes out ill cry)

johnlock: saving sherlock holmes (lost count), nature and nurture (~3x)

mdzs (exception: these are all n=2 and 20-40k mainly bc newer fandom + active author community on twitter resulting in it being easy to find many excellent fics, so im more inclined to cut down my tbr than reread): the montreal trip (sxx), attempting the impossible (wwx&jc), hunters seeking solid ground (wangxian)

honorary ments for extremely memorable fics: - a room of one’s own (destiel... the last time i read this would be nearly 6 years ago jesus. why do i remember so much of it. the wings. the car. the frolicking bunnies. cas lowering his blood pressure too much and nearly passing out. weapons grade denial and miscommunication. it really had it all.) - stop my heart by wowoashley (taek00k) (don’t ask. though if anyone knows/remembers the drama im all ears bc i remember one time i got super obsessed with trying to figure out what happened w/this author but now ive forgotten again) - fucking beijing (i cant remember the actual title) (merthur. i am still in love with this. all-time favourite under 20k.) - alone in the water (johnlock. was this the first time i ever cried reading fic???) - that one sterek fic where stiles is a broke college student and he makes meals in tupperwares for derek for $$. (i actually read quite a few sterek fics in like 2014 but none of them made that much of an impression on me) - codename MONSTER (chanba3k (EXO). eternal wip i believe. this was in 2017? i was so enamoured with this universe that i offered to beta (another fic) for the author so theyd write faster. that’s when i found out that perfectionism combined with a lack of imagination does not mix very well with beta-ing.

(censored the kpop ones bc i dont want to draw the attention of rabid fourteen year olds)

[hawkinsindiana]

this is not what i had in mind

ALMOST PARADISE: PART ONE - CHAPTER ONE OF SEVEN

pairing: eventual steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.4k

a/n: jesus CHRIST i guess i write now too. this started as me spitballing ideas and now it’s a 40k+ (& counting!) fic wowee. MASSIVE thanks are in order to my two tried and trues. @stevebabey - we share only four braincells but thank you for screaming at my ideas and fucking up my sleep schedule but it’s FINE. and to my ultimate partner in crime @dolhargrove for letting me shove this down your throat - you couldn’t ignore it because you got stuck with me for a sister. i couldn’t be more thankful for you both.

masterlist

You bring your eraser up to the top of the page, changing your mind on the third question yet again. The paper’s starting to rip underneath the rubber, your frustration clearly being let out on your homework for tomorrow’s chemistry class.

The pressure of college being only two years away has been wearing you down - everyone’s been able to tell, your little brother especially. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, give it a rest already!” Dustin says as he walks past your room. You can practically hear the smirk on his stupid little face. You laugh at his tone, his presence helping to calm and relax you a bit.

“Hey - wait!” You call after him, “How’d the campaign go?” You hear his backpack land on his bed before he loops back into the threshold of your room, “Holy shit-”

“Language, Dusty!” Your mom calls from the living room over the hum of the evening’s news. Dustin rolls his eyes and pulls your door shut behind him.

“Mike brought out the Demogorgon. The god damn Demogorgon!”

Your pencil drops to the page in front of you in disbelief, “No!”

“Yes! I told Will to cast protection, but did he listen to me? No!” He’s now pacing, arms in the air as he relays the groups latest adventure to you, “He cast Fireball, Y/N. Fireball!”

You furrow your eyebrows, mouth halfway open as you check the watch on your wrist, “You played for ten hours?”

Dustin scoffs in your direction, “Yeah, what else do you think we were doing?” You shrug, mocking him with your facial expression. He flips you off rather aggressively before continuing.

“And, now, I owe Will my X-Men 134!”

“What? Why? Seriously, issue 134, are you insane? That’s the Dark Phoenix storyline-”

“You think I don’t know that?” He sighs and plummets face-first into your bed, his classic red and blue hat flying up to your pillows. You snort, picking it up by the bill and placing it lightly on top of his massive curls.

“Murder me, honestly,” His words are muffled from the contact with the comforter, a smile erupting over your lips. As he gets back up, he adjusts his hat back on his head, “Never ditch us again, okay? Those morons listen to you.”

You nod once as your grin grows, “Got it.” He turns to face you, “We could’ve used your Rogue in there, you know? We had to break open a couple locks, and Lucas can’t stealth for shit.”

You laugh lightly at his remark, briefly moving your eyes away from him before you answer, “Next time you guys go on an epic adventure, make sure to invite me. I’ll be there.”

“Promise?” Dustin questions, his face practically glowing with admiration. You roll your eyes slightly as you look back, “Yeah, sure. I promise.”

Dustin sends one of his famous smiles and a thumbs up your way before hopping up. He wishes you a good night and leaves the door open on his way out.

You take a deep breath, turning back towards the textbooks sprawled out on your comforter, realizing the real world is waiting for you. The stress from your schoolwork starts to overtake you again, but how else are you going to make your way in the world?

—

Loud and vigorous thumping comes from the wall behind your bed - the wall you and Dustin share. 

“GET UP!” Your brother’s shouts almost echo throughout the entire house. He repeats it until you slam your palm against it, “Shut up, shut up!” He giggles on his side of the wall.

Most of your peers would probably hate the idea of being so close with their siblings, but you’re proud to say that Dustin’s your best friend. You haven’t been able to be as lucky with him when it comes to creating lasting relationships. Your time is mostly spent with his friends - the Party, they call themselves.

The only person you could consider an acquaintance outside of those kids is Jonathan Byers, and you’ve only gotten to know him because of sixth period Journalism and being Will’s brother.

Not that that’s a bad thing, Jonathan’s nice. But being friendly with the loner was the only option after Nancy Wheeler ditched you for Barb Holland last year.

Because heaven forbid, she was able to have both of you for friends.

The bacon is a touch burnt again. Dustin’s skills with making breakfast are slowly being nurtured, and your heart swells at the idea of your baby brother making your meal as well. He’s gotten into the habit of it lately, now that your mom’s been working earlier. 

Just as you’re about to sit down, the phone rings. You and Dustin look at each other before you both scramble up to see who can reach it first. The only reason you get to it is due to your height advantage.

Dustin calls you an asshole under his breath and you pull the phone from the wall, “Hello, Henderson house.”

“Y/N, it’s Joyce calling.”

Your forehead creases at the sound of her voice through the receiver. Tilting your head to the side, you respond, “Oh, good morning, Ms. Byers-”

“Joyce is fine, sweetie. I was wondering if Will maybe spent the night with Dustin, I haven’t seen him around this morning.”

“Um, no,” You turn to face your brother, his mouth filled with toast. He mirrors the concern from your expression, “Will didn’t stay over.” Joyce sighs, you can tell she’s already exhausted from the stress and the day’s barely begun. You know just how important her sons are to her, especially after the divorce.

“I’m sorry, Joyce, I’m sure everything’s fine. Keep us updated, okay?”

“I will, thank you anyways,” She hangs up the phone before you can reply back to her. 

“Is everything okay?” Dustin asks. You place the phone back on the receiver, “I guess Will didn’t go home last night after the campaign.” You join him at the table, opening the fresh jar of strawberry jam.

“I’m sure everything’s fine, he sometimes goes to school early to study in the library,” Dustin says, brushing back a curl from his forehead. 

“Right, of course,” You add, taking a bite of your toast, deciding not to overthink the situation until you know for sure something’s wrong.

You finish your breakfast, noticing the time on the clock, “Shit, bud, we gotta bolt.” Dustin helps clean the table and set the dirty dishes in the sink while you grab your bikes from the garage.

You snatch your white helmet from the shelf, strapping it onto your head while Dustin swings his leg over the seat, a smirk growing on his lips, “You look ridiculous.”

“You say that every day.”

“And every day, it’s still true,” He speeds off down the hill before you can slap him. You sigh and can’t help but smile at his antics, “Don’t come crawling to me when you fall off that thing and crack your skull open!”

Dustin’s waiting at the stop sign on Maple Street when you catch up to him. Lucas and Mike roll up as you do, and everyone heads off towards the schools together. 

“Did you guys hear from Ms. Byers this morning?” Lucas asks.

“Yeah, she called,” Mike answers.

“Us too,” Dustin responds, “I mean, Will’s gotta be fine right? Definitely just left early for school?”

“For sure,” Lucas and Mike agree. 

“What do you think, Y/N?” Mike asks as you turn the corner to the school parking lots. You shake your head as you abruptly stop to avoid getting plowed over by Mark Lewinski and his obnoxious ride, earning a gracious, “Watch where you’re going, dipshits!”

“God, high schoolers are such assholes,” Mike says, shaking his head in disgust. You turn to him, eyebrow raised. He sends you a cheeky smile, “Maybe not all of them.”

You scoff at him before placing your foot up on the pedal, “Anyways, I’m not gonna think anything until we know something’s wrong. I suggest you three do the same.” A rather serious look gets sent their way before you begin to make a left towards the bike racks.

“See you at the AV room for lunch, Y/N!” Dustin calls after you, the trio speeding off to the middle school.

—

The first three periods of the day drag on. Algebra, chem, psych - they all fly by and yet it doesn’t seem like the day will ever end. You aren’t keeping your promise to the boys - your mind is flooded with worry over Will. What if something did happen to him?

Finally, with history being over, you can head up to the AV club with the boys. You had been apart of a similar group before your family moved, and joined as soon as you got to Hawkins.

Dustin was insistent on becoming involved after seeing how much you loved it. The party even managed to convince Mr. Clarke to keep you involved, letting you plan some activities for them. You can’t say no to them.

Turning the knob to the door, you’re greeted by the three of them huddled around the table.

“What’s going on-” You start, but are pulled forward by your brother, joining them in the circle. 

“Look!” Dustin shouts, “Mr. Clarke got it!”

“The Heathkit radio!” Mike exclaims, “We could talk to Australia on this baby!”

“Isn’t it amazing?” Dustin asks and you respond just as enthusiastically, placing your hands on his shoulders.

You can’t help but feel warm and comforted by their excitement. When you saved up every penny you made to buy these kids their precious walkie talkies, you didn’t know it’d spark such an interest in technology within them. You’d do anything for each and every one of them, without question.

A soft knock prompts Mr.Clarke to reach for the door, and you weren’t expecting to see the principal standing behind it.

“Sorry to interrupt, but may I borrow Mike, Lucas, and Dustin? Ms. Henderson, you might as well come too.” You squeeze your brother’s shoulders after feeling him grow slightly tense, and you know deep in your heart that this is about Will.

—

Your leg bounces against the carpet in the secretary’s office. The chief wanted to talk to the kids separately; for what reason, you weren’t sure. The watch on your wrist says you’ve got about fifteen minutes before the bell rings for next period, and you can’t be caught skipping.

“Alright, kids,” The door ahead of you opens, and out comes the boys, swinging their backpacks over their shoulders, “Scram, get out of here.” You stand to greet them, sending them a small smile. 

“I’ll see you after school, okay?” Dustin says, and you shake your head, “Not until after my shift, bud.” You could’ve sworn his face dropped a little, making your heart crack. 

“Come home with me today!” Mike says as they exit the room, and you couldn’t be happier with the friends he’s found. The chief approaches you, and you instantly recognize him from various spots around town.

“Hi, Chief Hopper,” He extends his hand to you, and you shake, “Y/N.”

“Henderson, right?” 

“Yes, sir. Curly-haired kid’s sister.” Hopper motions for you to follow him into the principal’s office, signaling for one of the deputies to shut the door behind you as you pass the threshold. He chuckles a bit at the mention of your brother, “He’s quite a handful, isn’t he?”

You cringe slightly at that, “I hope he wasn’t too much of a hassle.” 

“Alright, take a seat,” Hopper says, pulling a cigarette from the box in his pack pocket. You sit back on the sofa, practically sinking into the worn fabric.

“So, you babysit these kids or what?” He starts and Deputy Powell pulls out a notepad. You shake your head, “No, I don’t. They’re my friends, and I hang out with them, but I wouldn’t consider myself their babysitter.”

“You’re friends with a bunch of seventh graders?” Deputy Callahan asks, pushing his glasses up further on his nose. Hopper rubs his eyes with annoyance as he sighs, “Ignore him. So, what do you know about Will Byers?”

You blow a piece of hair from your face, “Well, he’s quiet, keeps to himself a lot. He isn’t the type of kid to go doing something crazy.”

“Your brother told me that Joyce called you this morning?” You nod, your eyes trained on the cigarette between his fingers, “Yeah, she wanted to know if Will maybe spent the night with us, and he didn’t.”

“Are you aware that he didn’t come into school today?” Hopper adds.

“I figured he didn’t, I didn’t see him with the others.”

“Do you know what way he might’ve ridden home last night?”

You try and wrack your brain for something, you never see Will once he’s past your place, ”Um, I’m pretty sure he goes past Curly and Cornwallis, but I don’t know-”

“Mirkwood?” Hopper asks, turning his attention back towards you. The light bulb goes off in your brain, expression brightening at the mention, “Yes! Yeah, that’s what the kids call it.”

The chief nods and signals something to the deputies before standing, “Alright, you’re free to go. We might reach out if we need anything else from you but in the meantime? Keep those kids in line, don’t let ‘em go sneaking around looking for their friend, alright?”

You send him a nod, grabbing the doorknob in your hand, “Got it, no problem.”

—

As of reaching the high school, you’ve got five minutes before the next period starts. Your heart’s racing at the idea of being late to class; you can’t afford to have anything on your high school record.

You turn the corner to find the French room, taking a deep breath before entering, thankful that you’ve managed to make it on time. But you don’t get away that easy; sitting on top of your desk is none other than the red-head herself, Carol. 

“Hey, Carol,” You say, grabbing her attention away from her idiot boyfriend Tommy, “Get your ass off my seat.”

“Awe, that’s cute,” Carol responds before blowing a bubble with her gum. It pops almost instantly afterwards and she laughs, “Henderson trying to stick up for herself for once.”

Tommy comes up from behind her and he slings an arm over her shoulder, his smirk growing inch by inch, “You’ll get it back once you’ve said the magic word.”

You know just how petty this all is, but you can’t help but want to fight back further, although you don’t know how far it would get you. Those two would know exactly how to tear you down.

“Are you serious, right now-” You start to say but get shoved by someone pushing by, their voice in your ear as they do so.

“Hey, come on, get up,” Steve says, moving past you and towards the seats in the back of the room. When the couple doesn’t move, still insisting on pissing you off, Steve turns back towards them, whistling to catch their attention, “Come on, she’s not worth the fight, let’s go!”

Steve Harrington. King of Hawkins High, member of the basketball team, currently enamored with none other than Nancy Wheeler, or so you’ve heard. Not that you were one for following gossip.

Over your years in Hawkins, Steve’s barely given you the light of day, and why would he? Friend of seventh graders, remember?

Not that you had any problem with a lack of attention from him, he didn’t seem like the type to give a shit about other people - just ask any of the girls he’s thrown away. Makes sense why him and Nancy get along so well.

Carol promptly hops off your desk and gets pulled away by Tommy before you can even react. You roll your eyes at their disgusting examples of PDA before setting your bag down and pulling out the chair. You can’t wait for this to be over.

—

Your shift ends at nine and was predictably uneventful; no one feels like delivery on a Monday night. The small pizza shop on the corner of Sixth and Pike has proven to be a surprisingly well paying job, all just for delivery and working the register. You can’t wait to shower and get the smell of oregano and garlic off of you.

“Dustin, I’m home!” You shake off your slick raincoat in the garage, making a mental note to gather up some laundry for tomorrow. The pouring rain made it hard for you to bike home, only making you wish harder that you were able to save up for a car.

You do a double-take after noticing that your brother’s bike isn’t in the usual spot next to the washing machine, and you remember what Hopper said to you earlier: “Don’t let ‘em go sneaking around looking for their friend, alright?”

“Shit,” You shove your face into your palms, “Shit, shit shit!” 

Dustin’s room is empty. All of his necessities are missing; his backpack and walkie are gone. All the good snacks were taken from the cabinets, a clear sign of his intentions. Of course, they went to look for Will.

You don’t know what you’re going to do about them, but you realize that there’s nothing you can do now except wait for them to return. Then you’ll give them a piece of your mind.

The steam from the hot water caused your flyaways to stick to your forehead. You attempt to brush them back into place with your fingers before starting to root around in your closet.

The waistband to the bottoms are just over your hips when you hear a static crackle coming from underneath your bed, and you can barely make out Dustin’s voice through it.

“Y/N? Are you there? Do you copy?” You tug your shirt on over your head before trying to grab the radio from behind various pairs of shoes. After managing to get a hold of it and ignoring the head rush, you pull up the antenna after adjusting the dials for a clearer signal, “Dustin, Jesus Christ, where the hell have you been?”

“Say ‘over’ when you’re done talking so I know that you’re done! Over!” You roll your eyes and huff, “What were you thinking, going out in a storm like this? It’s super dangerous, over.”

“Y/N, you’ve gotta get over here to Mike’s. You’ve gotta see this, right now. It’s a Code. Red. over.”

“Are you serious? Did you forget the part about the massive storm, dumbass-”

“Did you or did you not say you wanted to be invited on our next adventure? Well, we’ve just come across the adventure of a lifetime, over.”

You groan as you lean your head against the plastic of the walkie talkie. You’re certain this kid’s gonna die by your hands once you see him.

You hate to admit that the curiosity is weighing you down, and you run your fingers through your hair, “If this is something super dumb, I’m gonna be really pissed. I’m on my way, over and out.”

—

“You know, when I said I wanted to be invited on your next adventure, this is not what I had in mind,” You stand with your arms crossed over your chest, staring down at Dustin and dripping rainwater onto the Wheeler’s carpet. 

“I know, I know, but you’ve gotta believe me,” Dustin says as he pleads with you, hands clutched to his chest. You scoff, glancing aimlessly around the room in frustration at what he’s told you. Lucas doesn’t even dare to try and intervene - he knows better.

“Okay, okay. Lemme get this straight,” You begin, eyes closing as you process what Dustin reiterated to you, “You and the other dipshits decide to go out and look for your missing friend, against direct orders from the chief of police. And instead of finding your friend, you come across a girl with a buzzcut and you have no idea where she came from.”

Dustin smiles slightly, “Yep, that’s exactly it.” You laugh at him, it all sounding too ridiculous to comprehend, “What, are you NUTS? What kind of story is that? Testing Mike’s new campaign on me, is that it, huh?”

“Y/N, come on, it’s all true! We found her in the woods by Mirkwood. Tell her Lucas!” Dustin turns to his friend for backup and Lucas puts his hands up in defense, still not interested in getting involved.

Just as you’re about to tell off Dustin even more, the bathroom door opens further to reveal a small child with a shaved head, maybe a year younger than your brother, and in what are clearly Ted Wheeler’s sweats. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and your gaze towards the child doesn’t falter. Dustin looks to you, taking notice of your slacked jaw and confused eyes as you speak, “Start at the beginning.”

—

chapter ii - please, for my sake

[ladyfl4me]

oh fuck there’s 3,034 of you now, jesus christ

Thanks for being here, yall! I’m glad you’ve decided to stick around. This blog’s been around for about a year now, so now’s as good a time as any for an update on what I do and what I’ll be working on.

My AO3: 

All my TAZ fics hang out on https://archiveofourown.org/users/thor20/. The TAZ Amnesty fics I’m currently most proud of/am working on right now are:

The Moth who Came In from the Cold, a non-canonical 155k word alternate arc 4 fic that has been thoroughly jossed by Amnesty canon. It has nothing to do with the spy novel I stole the title from. If you’re one for nods to balance, full character arcs, partial-to-complete disregard for Griffin’s lore, and not one not two but three slowburn ship dynamics playing out at once, this is for you. This fic is complete.

The Children of Sylvain, the sequel to The Moth who Came In from the Cold - where we go into the history of Sylvain, its people, its choices, its government - and its secrets. Everyone has explaining to do. And everyone is important. I love our NPCs so fucking much. As of Chapter 5, it’s turning relatively steampunky and historical, and I’m really digging it so far, especially since I’m inventing an entirely new canon from Griffin’s. This fic is a work in progress, and currently stands at 33k words.

The Devil Went Down to Georgia, an 8k TMWCIFTC and TCOS-compliant oneshot about Ned and Boyd, and one of their final heists before the break-in at Aubrey’s house. This fic was written before Griffin even thought of bringing Boyd back, and as such, it’s completely noncanonical. But Boyd is the Jersey Devil. That’s all you need to know. This fic is complete.

The Secret Garden, a 40k character study of Hollis and their life in Kepler, from birth to present. In this universe, their mother was a dryad from Sylvain - and they’ve got a penchant for making things grow. And their older sister is Pigeon. Fuck yeah. It’s non-canon-compliant, which I totally embraced and accepted, and it’s got Hollice in it. This fic is complete.

My Ko-Fi:

If you like what I do and are able to support me, I’d really appreciate it! My Ko-Fi can be found here, at https://ko-fi.com/ctgr3791. No donation is too small. Thank you all!

Other stuff:

Sometimes I do music and dumb shit. 

Here’s a full-orchestra arrangement of Arms Outstretched.

And in complete counterpoint, here’s a mashup of the Amnesty theme and Megalovania. This is the youtube version, to torture your Discord music bots with to your heart’s delight: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_BbCCiPQNU

What’s next?

For now, my biggest and most exciting project is The Children of Sylvain, which I linked to above. It’s my TMWCIFTC-compliant take on the Amnesty finale, and after the end of Amnesty I got rejuvenated into planning and publishing it. Griffin both gave me a lot to work with and stole a lot of my ideas (not literally, of course), so working on that bad boy is going to be a delight. 

After that, who knows? I’ll be keeping up with TAZ: Graduation, and depending on how much it appeals to me, a fic might just come out of that. We’ll see. I’m a busy college student and I’m getting into the actual meat of my creative writing degree, which means I might not have as much time - but I’ll still be chugging away, slow and steady, at TCOS.

Thank you, everyone, for your support. It means the world. Have a great day!

[nny11writes]

UHM, I have HOW many wips now?????

Anyways I’ve been chatting with @thebravething​ and ended up going down a rabbit hole of looking into how many wips I have. Most abandoned, some active, some just really great ideas that I refused to let go of. So apparently, just in my big unorganized SW file (not including CBNC or the unposted Lyc AU) I have currently written and mostly unfinished 180 star wars wips/fics. 13 additional  wips/fics for the Lyc AU (with 1 of those being the big main fic that has over 40k words EASILY already written).CBNC adds another 21 wips/fics including Apprenticeship and Interruptions....................

wtf I've at least started 214 Star Wars fics and have only posted 21 of them. Most of these are at least 500 words, the vast majority falling 2-4k. I have only posted about 10% of all the SW’s I’ve ever written.

Jesus Christ me, are you okay??????

Oh god, then I got curious and checked SPOP. I have 76 fics/wips in there, to be fair one of those is a document for random orphan ideas and one is a scene I'm now planning to use actually, so 74. I've posted 24 of them. 

Holy shit this feels unreal, this feels like way too many fics even though I know it's broken up over 4 years or so. That's 76 ideas a year. I, uh, wow, okay. This was a very interesting rabbit hole. 

I don't know what to do with this info so now I’m screaming about it to all of you. :|

God has cursed me and you all enable me to keep going like this. Wtf, I am not over this.

[twopoppies]

I always wonder since you read a lot of fics (like me) can you name your top 5 or top 10??? I'm so curious 😣😣

Oh anon, this is so hard for me to answer. I’m always so impressed by people who can just spout off their favorite 5 fics. I don’t think I can narrow it down like that! There are a bunch of the “classics” that I love but I feel like they get reccd so often. So, I’m going  to try and list some fics I’ve read recently that I love and that are by people who are (hopefully) still active in this fandom.  As a side note, almost all of these authors have multiple fics I loved….if you like these, check out the rest of them!

My Recently Read Top 10

Lambing Season by @helloamhere (M, 25k)

“Shut up,” Louis says, an involuntary grin tugging at his mouth. It’s not every boy who will stand in the middle of a cold barn in a suit and play musician trivia. “I’m Louis.”

//lambing season brings sleep deprivation, noisy alarms, cold barns, demanding animals, and warm strangers.

The Road Less Travelled By by @freetheankles (E, 98K)

Louis was a lumberjack happy to be living his life alone in what could qualify as Middle Of Nowhere, Canada.

Every morning, he went out into the woods, cut his logs, then came home at dusk to a scalding hot shower and a good book by the fireplace. Rinse and Repeat. He had a good life, quiet and peaceful; simple. Not a secluded one as Niall annoyingly claimed.

Louis certainly didn’t need some chatty trespasser dropping into his life, his forest, his home. Invading his space, his circle of friends, touching his stuff, asking questions about his husband. His late husband.

A trespasser who wasn’t supposed to crawl under his skin, occupy his thoughts, and steal his heart from where Louis had locked it safely away, only to put it right back on Louis’ sleeve — where it once laid.

No, Louis definitely didn’t need Harry.

just call me inspiration by @hereforlou (E, 52K)

The truth is Louis knows he’s going to hell, if there is such a thing, but it isn’t because he writes erotic fiction for a living. If anything, it’s because his muse, the reason he’s inspired to write about people shagging in increasingly creative ways everyday, is the sweetest, loveliest, most genuine (and completely oblivious) future children-book illustrator in the world.

(Or, the one where Louis is a writer, Harry is an art student, and they inspire each other in very different ways.)

bloodsport by @twofiveohfive (E, 40K)

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s still about football.”

where your lips land by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite (E, 12K)

A love story told through Louis’ tattoos.

… or the Tyler Knott Gregson-inspired AU where Louis is a poet who lives in Montana and Harry is a photographer passing through.

From the poem: “I put new ink where your lips have landed/I cover your kisses with reminders” – TKG

Promise in the Sky by Throwthemflowers / @hazzabeeforlou (E, K)

AU in which Harry Styles, a naïve, repressed, socially awkward Midwestern highschooler tries to navigate his fundamentalist evangelical parents and radically progressive older sister. He’s doing an okay job of this until the Tomlinson family starts attending Lakeside Baptist Church and a boy named Louis changes everything. Harry is forced to come to grips with his true self when Louis becomes more than just his best friend; but their relationship opens a can of worms and sends them on the most painful, heartbreaking journey of their young lives. They risk everything and nearly lose, and Harry learns that perhaps only one Bible verse is true: that perfect love casteth out fear.

For Reasons Wretched and Divine by @indiaalphawhiskey (E, 95K)

Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his school’s football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harry’s life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.

Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harry’s vowed never to speak to again?

An AU in two parts. Two boys, two stories, and hopefully, two chances at love.

precious little thing by mercutionotromeo (E, 21K)

Reason #10 - Curiosity

Niall grins deviously and hits “make call”, putting his phone on speaker. They lean in close to peer down at the screen, heads knocking lightly together. Dull rings reverberate quietly around the room and mix with the monotonous buzz of the lights. It rings for a while - maybe six or seven times - then the other line picks up.

There’s a slow, steady inhale, and a low voice purrs, “Hi, sexy.”

Jesus - this guy has barely said two words, and both of them have made Harry’s cock twitch in his jeans. That’s not even getting to what those words are, and why he’s saying them, and how Harry’s stomach is dropping into his shoes at the mere thought of him saying… other words. Words like “cock”, and “please”, and “come”.

Also known as: a university AU featuring phone sex operator Louis, copious amounts of sweet, soft kink discovery, and Louis being Harry’s Daddy.

I’ll Be Your Love Tonight by dinosaursmate / @catfishau

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to walk away from you.”“So don’t.” Harry ran a fingertip over Louis’ thigh. “Stay with me.”-It’s the summer of 1999 and Louis Tomlinson has been abandoned at a house party. A dispute over Smirnoff Ice and several night buses later, Louis is unsure how he’ll ever walk away from this lovely, curly-haired boy.

everything suspended by @louisandthealien

It’s 8:50 when Zayn pops his head around the corner of Harry’s cubicle.

“Dude, I really can’t talk right now. If I don’t finish this report—“

“You hear about that plane crash?”

Harry stops short. “— what?”

“Louis works in that area doesn’t he?”

“What?” Harry’s hand is frozen in midair, halfway towards scratching his neck.

“Yeah, some plane just rammed into one of the Twin Towers, I guess. Ben is—“

Harry’s blood doesn’t run cold and his heart doesn’t skip a beat. The wind isn’t knocked out of him and his stomach doesn’t drop.

He’s mostly just confused.

You can also check my larry fic rec and my fic rec tags to see other fics I reccommend!

[seghs24]

Watched the first part of Stranger Things S4! My thoughts:

I have no idea why but something about this show..... I can never remember anyone's fucking name. Every time I watch a new season it's like "Which one is Mike again? Who's that kids older brother? Who is this?"

I really straight up forget that this is a horror themed show! Every time I think about it I imagine it as a Sci-Fi Action type show and then I watch a new season and go Holy Fucking Shit That's Terrifying. Why did they crack that girl apart like that.

I love Joyce and I would die for Joyce

I really hope Jane gets to fucking destroy her bullies with her mental powers. Rip those bitches apart girl!!!

God I'm so fucking in love with Steve. Also him immediately trying to become Robin's wingman? He's so fucking adorable

Man Mike's such a pussy "omg El what did you do!?!?!?" bro she bashed her bullies brains in??? Your girlfriend is a badass and that bitch deserved it

Eddie is insane but I love him and his wild af hair

At this point it's insane that everyone doubts Joyce. She's right about literally EVERYTHING. EVERY TIME.

Also lmaoooo Hopper just fell and she left his ass there without even checking. Just went "Damn he must have evaporated 😭" girl you didn't even look!!!

I love that Nancy was running around yelling for Fred? Freddy? And the cops didn't even fucking notice and when she went to the officer he was like "Fuck you're still here?" Yes? You didn't see her or hear her? Hello???

On one hand I hate that dumb meathead jock for immediately falling for bullshit propaganda but on the other hand, despite his girlfriend being killed, he still took the time to grab Lucas and comfort and reassure him and tell him his sister was fine.

But also if he hurts Eddie I'm gonna reach thru the screen and kill him myself

Love that Joyce has like, 40k just lying around in her bank. We love a rich queen

Johnathan and Nancy this season are just the "Clown to Clown Communication" meme. Or rather No Communication. Jesus Christ use your words and speak to each other!!! Jane's churning out letters like no ones fucking business and ya'll are just sitting there

Also...... Can people just please be nice to Will for like ONE episode. Just one. Holy fuck that poor dude. Also please someone fix his ugly ass hair what the FUCK is that shit

Lucas noooo honey you can't just pull the bullshit "Lying to your friends to impress people you want to make like you" trope 😭

I love Robin I would let her ramble to me all day.

I love that Steve became the Designated Mom Friend of the group and is in charge of all of the kids

Fucking Hopper is like 5 seconds from freedom and he's like "Fuck you I'm doing it MY WAY" bro! Stop!

Fuck the cops that questioned Jane I want them to die <3

Also I love how she learned to talk relatively "normal" but whenever she's anxious, nervous or upset her speech becomes more stilted and janky again. Really neat detail.

Honestly I always forget how weird looking teenagers are until I watch a show like this and I'm like..... Damn teenage boys really DO look fucking weird. No offense kings you'll grow out of it but in your teen years you really do look like one of them Japanese spider crabs

If Vecna hurts Max I'm gonna go fucking insane apeshit savage

Nancy and Robin bonding over possessed serial killers <3

Fucking Max's letters Jesus Christ. Bawling my eyes out at her letter to Billy

Okay that scene? With the music? Brilliant. Perfect. Amazing. Superb. Also love that no one fucking caught Max on the way down, just let her ass drop like a bag of potatoes

Also love that Vecna is apparently made out of wet tissue paper. Max just ripped a chunk out of his shoulder with no issue lmao???

NO NOT THAT FUCKING GUY AGAIN. HATE THAT GUY. EL KILL HIM FINISH HIM OFF.

Reaaaally fucking don't like that he makes all the kids call him "Papa". Really creepy bad vibes from that.

Someone please get Steve a girlfriend he's so fucking lonely

Love that the asshole jock guy was moments away from catching the guy who he's been hunting but completely stopped to make sure his buddy was okay because he stopped swimming. He's definitely not okay but it's nice he at least stopped!

Saw the description for the next episode and said something about "Steve takes one for the team" hmmm don't like that! Don't fucking like that! Bad fucking vibes from that!

Love that Murray and Joyce immediately started flipping switches and hitting buttons in the plane even though it was flying perfectly fine. Like...... They could have just sat there and figured shit out instead of fucking going apeshit

Damn no wonder El killed all those kids they were shitheads

But oh no that hot guy that was helping her :(

Antonov is really growing on me I love him. Also love Hopper stealing the guards lighter and making Antonov laugh, which made him laugh even harder. They're being friends 🥺

Also love that Hopper called Antonov's son slow and Antonov immediately went "NUH UH HE'S THE TOP OF HIS CLASS! >:(" That's adorable he's so proud of his boy

FUCKING STEVE. FUCKING STEVE. IDIOT STEVE. I WANTED TO SEE THOSE BAT THINGS UP CLOSE BUT NOT LIKE THAT! At least everyone else immediately went in to rescue his ass, that was adorable.

What the FUCK is going on at Susie's house lmao. Cornelius is funny as fuck.

LMAOOOOOO Dustin and Lucas talking about how hairy Steve got and Max immediately grabbing the binoculars like "LET ME SEE" Girl same 😭

Holy shit Murray is a badass

I love that Steve almost passed out from blood loss before going "Fuck it I'm biking seven miles get out of my way" you go dude!!!

That scene in the trailer was so cool, love those funky physics. Also oh my GOD Eddie what is up with that mattress

Love that despite Steve's severe injuries everyone was like "Move you're going last" lmaooooo poor dude

I remember as soon as that guy started talking about One I was like "Haha what if HE'S one lol" and. Well. Yeah.

Also the fact that he was Viktor's son? Amazing. Love it. Love that twist.

Also love the fact a bald child got so pissed off she turned him into a fucking interdimensional portal. Me when I have an autistic meltdown.

Fucking Third Wheel Antonov standing awkwardly in the background while Joyce and Hopper reunite

Also fucking annoying Love Triangle bullshit. Just let Steve, Johnathan and Nancy date each other. Boom problem solved.

I wonder if Will painted a picture of all of their D&D characters???

[poetryofchrist]

Climate and theology, Jonah 3

 I wonder if it is time to bend my theological comments if any toward a recognition of the disaster we are in the midst of.

I know I have friends who are refusing to hear, yes, even religious friends, looking for the Deus ex machina to fix the problem. Dim wicks who can barely see past the end of their noses.

I watched Greta Thunberg's 3 hour documentary on the climate. It is right up to date. I watched it on PBS but it is available here also and probably lots of other places. It's definitely worth the time to watch. 

Now - what to do. That's a different problem. It's more what to undo. But theologically, some of us must first get our heads out of the sand. Particularly the religious who are too afraid to face reality, like the Chinese government who cannot tell the truth because they need to save face. The second coming will not fix this. Those who are denying climate change likely overlap with coronavirus deniers, the vaccine hesitant, and those who still claim that the US election was fraudulent. It won't do, folks. You will be devoured along with the rest of us by the 'fire from his mouth'. (Psalms 18 et al.)

What did Jesus say? The only sign for this evil and adulterous generation is the sign of Jonah. And this has nothing to do with the fish story. We are Nineveh - we need to change our behaviour and stop denying reality for a starter. 

Arise - walk to Nineveh, that great city, and call out against her, for their evil has come up in my face.

We can also consider ourselves Jonah, the one who refuses to preach that there is a problem.  But he changes - well, at least a smidgen. Yet 40 days (an indeterminate time) and Nineveh will be changed. (Note I did not interpret that as 'destroyed'. I could have used overturned but for some reason I didn't. I could not have used destroyed because that I have used for a different root. Destroyed is the traditional gloss.) 

And Nineveh turned from its wickedness, from the king to the cattle. And they even stopped eating and drinking. 

As some of us have done for Covid-19, we turned our lives to help stop the virus. It turns out that too few of us have done this so our action is moot as to its effectiveness for herd immunity. The same political issue happens here as in all crises - a few, sometimes a large few, do the work, but everyone has to, not just a few. And maybe it's good that we are failing so that we do not restart the destructive paths we have been on. You will get this from the film: 2020 saw a 7% reduction in emissions over 2019. We need to do this every year for the next 10 years to get to a control point that will begin to hold the temperature increase to 1.5 degrees.

How long is the gap between human turnaround and God sighing. Well, folks, God sighs (that's my word for nkm, which some translate as repent, a word I don't use). What might God's sigh be composed of - signs of hope? 

China and Poland closing coal facilities, 

Alberta closing down the oil sands,

Brazil removing its knee from the rainforest that makes the earth unable to breathe.

politicians to stop lying,

all of us changing our clothing and purchasing habits, 

and our diets, 

and carbon capture being scaled up, 

and cattle burping less. (Lots of cattle in Jonah, not to mention the children...)

No - we don't have to 'go back to church' to reinforce our prejudices. Nineveh didn't promise much. If church is even to continue, we need to become the church, a caring body that is no longer taking refuge in its sin. It's the king, the secular leader (clearly anticipating the one who removed his garment and washed the feet of his disciples) who says - Who knows. This God may turn and sigh, and turn from his fierce anger and we will not perish ... (immediately).

Turn false interpretations upside down. Let priests indeed be clothed with righteousness. And let's get on with doing something good in that good temple we have been entrusted with. (The patient among us can also reread early Genesis beginning here. It's a very gentle presentation that extends our vision past the end of the nose.)

Jonah 3 Fn Min Max Syll וַיְהִ֧י דְבַר־יְהוָ֛ה אֶל־יוֹנָ֖ה שֵׁנִ֥ית לֵאמֹֽר 1 And the word of Yahweh happened to Jonah a second time, saying, 3c 3g 13 ק֛וּם לֵ֥ךְ אֶל־נִֽינְוֵ֖ה הָעִ֣יר הַגְּדוֹלָ֑ה וִּקְרָ֤א אֵלֶ֙יהָ֙ אֶת־הַקְּרִיאָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֥ר אָנֹכִ֖י דֹּבֵ֥ר אֵלֶֽיךָ 2 Arise, walk to Nineveh, the great city, and call out to her the call that I was speaking to you. d 3d 4C 10 19 וַיָּ֣קָם יוֹנָ֗ה וַיֵּ֛לֶךְ אֶל־נִֽינְוֶ֖ה כִּדְבַ֣ר יְהוָ֑ה וְנִֽינְוֵ֗ה הָיְתָ֤ה עִיר־גְּדוֹלָה֙ לֵֽאלֹהִ֔ים מַהֲלַ֖ךְ שְׁלֹ֥שֶׁת יָמִֽים 3 And Jonah arose and walked to Nineveh according to the word of Yahweh. Now Nineveh happened to be a great city of the gods, a walk of three days. 3d 4C 15 20 וַיָּ֤חֶל יוֹנָה֙ לָב֣וֹא בָעִ֔יר מַהֲלַ֖ךְ י֣וֹם אֶחָ֑ד וַיִּקְרָא֙ וַיֹּאמַ֔ר ע֚וֹד אַרְבָּעִ֣ים י֔וֹם וְנִֽינְוֵ֖ה נֶהְפָּֽכֶת 4 And Jonah let himself come into the city one day's walk, and he called out and he said, Yet forty days, and Nineveh will be changed. 3e 4C 15 17 וַֽיַּאֲמִ֛ינוּ אַנְשֵׁ֥י נִֽינְוֵ֖ה בֵּֽאלֹהִ֑ים וַיִּקְרְאוּ־צוֹם֙ וַיִּלְבְּשׁ֣וּ שַׂקִּ֔ים מִגְּדוֹלָ֖ם וְעַד־קְטַנָּֽם 5 And the men of Nineveh believed in God, and they called a fast, and they clothed themselves with sackcloth from the greatest of them and to the least of them. 3d 4B 12 19 וַיִּגַּ֤ע הַדָּבָר֙ אֶל־מֶ֣לֶך נִֽינְוֵ֔ה וַיָּ֙קָם֙ מִכִּסְא֔וֹ וַיַּעֲבֵ֥ר אַדַּרְתּ֖וֹ מֵֽעָלָ֑יו וַיְכַ֣ס שַׂ֔ק וַיֵּ֖שֶׁב עַל־הָאֵֽפֶר 6 And the word touched the king of Nineveh and he arose from his throne and transferred his majesty from him, and he covered in sackcloth and sat on the ashes. 3e 4C 27 10 וַיַּזְעֵ֗ק וַיֹּ֙אמֶר֙ בְּנִֽינְוֵ֔ה מִטַּ֧עַם הַמֶּ֛לֶךְ וּגְדֹלָ֖יו לֵאמֹ֑ר הָאָדָ֨ם וְהַבְּהֵמָ֜ה הַבָּקָ֣ר וְהַצֹּ֗אן אַֽל־יִטְעֲמוּ֙ מְא֔וּמָה אַ֨ל־יִרְע֔וּ וּמַ֖יִם אַל־יִשְׁתּֽוּ 7 And he appealed and he said, In Nineveh from the taste of the king, and his great ones, saying, The human and the cattle, the herd and the flock, let none taste anything whatever, let none pasture, and water let none imbibe. 3c 4B 20 28 וְיִתְכַּסּ֣וּ שַׂקִּ֗ים הָֽאָדָם֙ וְהַבְּהֵמָ֔ה וְיִקְרְא֥וּ אֶל־אֱלֹהִ֖ים בְּחָזְקָ֑ה וְיָשֻׁ֗בוּ אִ֚ישׁ מִדַּרְכּ֣וֹ הָֽרָעָ֔ה וּמִן־הֶחָמָ֖ס אֲשֶׁ֥ר בְּכַפֵּיהֶֽם 8 But let them be covered in sackcloth, the human and the cattle, and call out to God resolutely, and let each turn from its evil way and from the violence that is in their palms. 3e 4C 24 22 מִֽי־יוֹדֵ֣עַ יָשׁ֔וּב וְנִחַ֖ם הָאֱלֹהִ֑ים וְשָׁ֛ב מֵחֲר֥וֹן אַפּ֖וֹ וְלֹ֥א נֹאבֵֽד 9 Who knows. This God may turn and sigh, and turn from his fierce anger and we will not perish. 3d 4B 12 11 וַיַּ֤רְא הָֽאֱלֹהִים֙ אֶֽת־מַ֣עֲשֵׂיהֶ֔ם כִּי־שָׁ֖בוּ מִדַּרְכָּ֣ם הָרָעָ֑ה וַיִּנָּ֣חֶם הָאֱלֹהִ֗ים עַל־הָרָעָ֛ה אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֥ר לַעֲשׂוֹת־לָהֶ֖ם וְלֹ֥א עָשָֽׂה 10 And this God saw their deeds, that they turned from their evil ways, and this God sighed over the evil that he designated to do to them and he did not do it. 3d 4C 19 25

For a short cantata on Jonah, listen to this music derived from the accents of the Hebrew Bible with a nod or two to Gershwin. Looking for a sponsor to get this performed and make it go viral! ($20K should do it.) Get the message out that God has given us humans the task of controlling our waste products. ($40K and we can perform Unleashing Leviathan as well. Pace those who say that the dragons are dealt with in Gen 1.)

You religious who are looking for a bit of comfort  - by all means read Psalm 18. Concentrate on verses 5 to 16. And then imagine you are one of David's enemies. Conspiracy theorists are not on a friendly basis with the Most High. Business as usual will not fly.

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[oselatra]

On the value of art

I have a cousin who majored in dance. He flies Vipers for the Marines.

On the value of art

In response to an Arkansas Blog post on state Sen. Bart Hester's tweeted question of UA Little Rock's decision to advertise its dance program, "They lease a sign to encourage computer science degrees or math teachers? No they push for dance majors? Lots of hardworking Arkansans subsidizing this. Not ok.":

"It shouldn't be necessary to ask why the arts are worth fighting for, nor should it be necessary to answer such a question. The answer should be self-evident, making the question redundant. It is distressing, to put it mildly, to have reached a moment in the decline of the West at which the question is being asked and needs to be answered.

"Art can afford us exaltation ... the emotional force of great music, the profound effect of great words, the new ways of seeing we are shown by great images. It brings the extraordinary into ordinary life and nurtures and lifts up our spirits.

"It is telling that authoritarians and fanatics make the arts their first targets. Dictators the world over imprison writers; the Taliban banned song, dance, and theater; terrorist bombers attack music venues. Censorship and persecution are tyrants' ways of saying they know how important the arts are, how closely connected to liberty.

"Those of us lucky to live in free societies should value and support what the enemies of freedom fear. Without adequate funding, theaters close, orchestras disband, films are not made. The arts are strong and will endure, but artists need and deserve our support.

"Nourish the arts, and they will nourish us right back." — Salman Rushdie

John Gaudin

North Little Rock

I have a cousin who majored in dance. He flies Vipers for the Marines.

Vanessa

As a dancer, artist and dance teacher, Sen. Hester's comments about the UALR dance program do not sit lightly with me. The sign itself says "Unlimited Pathways." I think that is one of the greatest things about the arts. Dancers, musicians, artists, writers ... are always trying to push the limits and create new things. In the arts, we are always told to "think outside the box" and look at things in a different light to see the vast amount of possibilities. The world needs these creative minds just as much as we need our scientists, physicians, lawyers, etc.  Several years ago, if the university had have had a dance program at the time, I probably would have stayed in Little Rock for my college career, but instead I went to school out of state where I could get a degree in dance. And now I am proud to be back in Little Rock sharing my love for dance with my students and audiences. Dance has helped me to not limit myself and has given me so many wonderful opportunities in and out of Arkansas. I am currently teaching a blind woman ballet and will be starting to work with students at the Arkansas School for the Blind. I love that I can share my passion for dance with my home state and give back to a community that I grew up in. Those dance majors are the artists performing at Robinson Performance Hall, the actors/actresses on the stages of the Arkansas Repertory Theatre, The Weekend Theatre, the Children's Theatre and dancers who grace the stage at The Nutcracker each December. All of these things bring revenue to our state. Why limit that?

Mccartylauren1

If the "dance" was the "Two Step" and at the Electric Cowboy he'd be for it. Where seldom are minorities found he'd be for it.

Tucker Max

Oh, he's beyond backwoods. In fact he makes primitive Neanderthals look like a tribe of Einsteins. No, Bart, like President Trump, revels in his own truth. So what if it is diametrically opposed to fact? Bringing another reality to replace the present one is heaven on earth for these folks.

Maxifer

Coming from a Baptist background I know that all dancing leads right to mouth gasping, hair pulling, clothes-sofa-car seat smeary hot sex! Hot, hot, hot, hot sex! And in the mind of Bart Hester, prayer, blood-letting and leeches are the only medical treatment needed. He no doubt wishes white people could still own black slaves and believes that wife beating is recommended in order to promote a good Christian home. Jesus says, don't you know? I hope to die in Arkansas in the 21st century, but first the state needs to move out of the 19th century. Electing and re-electing assholes like Hester and Jason Rapert and Denny Altes will prevent that from ever happening. This country laughs at Arkansas, and it's not very hard to understand why.  One must wonder if Mrs. Hester was forced to undergo a clitoridectomy before the wedding?

DeathbyInches

Now, this Mr. Hester may be onto something, re wasteful expenditures!  As noted above, legislator per diem? Gee, don't think too many Wal-drones get money to travel to the place of their employment. CUT!  Home office tax-credit? They turned what was otherwise likely a little-used room in their house into an office. CUT! $40k a year for part-time work? In the interest of a living wage, how's about $15 per hour during the workday hours that the legislature is in session? CUT! He's right about ONE thing: "Lots of hardworking Arkansans subsidizing this! Not ok."

tsallenarng

Hester is the kind of guy that probably gets all weird feeling when he sees anything slightly artistic. He'd probably see the statue of David and make a penis joke.

RYD

In response to the Times' Feb. 8 feature on the new Windgate Center for Art and Design at UA Little Rock:

Sen. Bart Hester demands it shut down because he doesn't understand it.

TuckerMax

In response to the Arkansas Blog's post on Donald Trump's tweet that "lives were being shattered and destroyed by a mere allegation," apparently in defense of his former aide who was accused of abuse by two former spouses:

MAGA = back to the days when husbands can beat their wives with impunity.

Rush Lemming

In response to the Feb. 8 review of The Avenue restaurant in Hot Springs:

The duck confit might have been as good or even better than what you had in Paris. It also cost about twice as much. I'm in Paris now and just had duck confit at our favorite cafe, just a 10-minute walk from the Eiffel Tower. It was 12 Euros. And it was a larger piece than what's pictured here. Remember, this is freakin' Paris, not Hot Springs. Been to the Avenue once —and enjoyed the food. But thought the prices were nuts, especially for a mid-sized town in Arkansas. $26 duck? $28 halibut? Apparently that hasn't changed.

Big Fun

I do not hold with fruit and meat. Or fruit and fish. Fruit and fruit is fine. Or just fruit. But it's this degenerate mixing of the foodstuffs that is destroying America.

Carrick Patterson

In response to the Arkansas Blog post musings about the upcoming action on Medicaid expansion by the state legislature:

If A$a! thinks that failure to continue Medicaid expansion will blow a hole in the budget, wait till he gets a load of Drumpf's infrastructure plan that shifts costs to the states, bigly.

tsallenarng

On the value of art

[hyacinthetic]

end of the year writing meme 2k17

because i did this last year and i want to gloat over my truly embarrassing uptick in wordcount.

Total number of completed stories: 8 + 1 wip + 1 snippet.  Total word count: 151,100, MOTHERFUCKER. Fandoms: voltron, persona 5, natsume’s book of friends.

Overall Thoughts

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted? TOO MUCH VOLTRON. WAY, WAY TOO MUCH VOLTRON.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? i have 40k of lotor/matt sitting on my hard drive. it's going to break 60k after edits. i don't want this life.

What's your own favorite of the year? the post-series winter cult au was my favorite bit of writing, but i am gonna clutch the pseudo-utena pastiche (disclaimer: not actually related to utena in any way) to my chest all the more because nobody else will. 36K WORDS, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Did you take any writing risks this year? mmm. i've used the second-person pov before to varying degrees of efficacy, but the junior detective kurusu akira fic and the every day au were the first times i really tried to use it as a proper conceit -- a choice that related to the way the character wanted the story framed. ymmv on how well they worked (ha! ha! most of the second-person punch in the junior detective fic happens in the ~20k after the prologue, oh god, nobody even knows what i'm talking about). at the v. least, i still think the every day au's ending wouldn't pack such a punch from any other perspective.

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? WRITE STUFF THAT ISN'T VOLTRON, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. i've been reduced to just clawing at doors hissing LET ME GO... LET MY PEOPLE GO ...

From my past year of writing, what was...

My best story of this year: definitely the post-series winter cult. people keep describing it as hard to get into, which, yeah, it is. but it's also the most polished piece from this year.

in general, my best fic is always still the dazai/yosano thing from 2016. i didn't even round out all the subplots for that one, but because it's a crack ship, the whole dynamic is something i made, and i think that earns it a place on the trophy shelf.

My most popular story of this year: the shrine guardian au, i guess? which is bewildering, frankly: it's very fluffy, but i don't see that it does anything better than my other works. not to be all lucille bluth, i love all my children equally!!! and its prose is fine, but i wouldn't call it a standout piece.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: it is a tie between my two big voltron aus -- i understand why the pseudo-utena flopped as hard as it did (60k worth of fic crammed into 36k, badly edited, had to cut two subplots and it still turned out a mess), but the darkest timeline auniverse fic was decent work with mediocre prose and a fuckton of worldbuilding. i'm this close to digging up a worldbuilding meme and answering all the questions that literally nobody will ever ask. THERE WAS SO MUCH TIMELINE BUILDING IN THAT ONE.

Most fun story to write: fun & joy are lies. all fic is suffering. only the motor fic came close, and that was awful in a different way: two characters with little established personality having to build chemistry and worldbuilding at the same time. fuck you both.

Story with the single sexiest moment: hilariously, despite the amount of porn i like to write, none of my fic's been personally sexy to me since 2013's mikorei pwp in which mikoto blew up some buildings and then convinced munakata to fuck him into a wall. what can i say, i'm an arson kind of girl.

Most "holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: nothing posted this year! but i'm gonna talk about my impending january posts because god, fuck, i'm not waiting a year so that i can talk excitedly about my 60k nightmare, i plan to be fucking burned out on voltron by february.

anyway: the first time i tried to explain lotor/matt to my best girl, she promptly texted back in horror: "DID YOU WRITE FIC WHERE LOTOR SOULBONDS MATT AND LEAVES HIM TO GET GANGBANGED." and, like. i want to explain, but the actual explanation wasn't really that much more comforting. so, there'll be that. i guess.

(there's actually no non-con involved! it's not even dubcon! IT'S NOT EVEN MATT WHO GETS LEFT.)

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: the fucking motor fic. i knew what i liked about lotor as i was going in -- 90% of my motivation in writing it was "okay, i can't make any of the existing major lotor ships work for me, let's just throw this ridiculous spaghetti galra at a shipping wall and see what sticks" -- but matt was much more nebulous to me. i know fanon matt isn't all that far off from the matt we actually saw in season 4, but i was interested in someone who wasn't an older, cheerful, ingenious, meme-loving version of pidge. and the detail that i really got stuck on was the fact that he was a cadet when he went to kerberos, even though keith was the best pilot in his class and keith couldn't go. why?

obviously the simpler answer's "narrative convenience" and "why would anyone trust keith enough to send him into space with millions of dollars' worth of space equipment". but i really did want to play with the alternative too.

Hardest story to write: fucking god. the european travelogue was downright awful to get out. i think it's partly that there's an emotional density to it that isn't really present in my other fic, and partly that it's 25K OF SHIRO DESCRIBING ARCHITECTURE THAT IS PERFECTLY EASY FOR ANYBODY TO GOOGLE AND LOOK AT WITH THEIR OWN EYES.

i also found sheith particularly hard to build as a convincing slowburn. i have no idea how anyone does it. the ship's selling point, to me, is that keith would give shiro anything. if shiro weren't romantically interested, keith would live and die for him in every other way and be absolutely satisfied by that. i never write keith as secretly wanting more than shiro can give -- he'll do it by accident, when he misunderstands what shiro's capable of, but ultimately that's not what keith wants himself to be. shiro plays by the rules a little better, understands the risks + selfishness of dating someone only to leave them for a dangerous ten-month expedition -- but when it comes down to it, i can't write them as anything other than two people who understand each other at the baseline, where it counts. like, shiro may not actively acknowledge it, but i don't think he DOESN'T know that keith has no breaking point when it comes to him, and that there is very unlikely to be anyone else who could ever be what shiro is to him.

anyway: 25k of no-plot fluff! jesus! it was a fun little experiment, and i'm still amazed and delighted that anyone hunted my tumblr down to ask for fic. but i'll probably never write anything like that again.

Biggest disappointment: can you believe that i wrote 36k of psychic bonding fic and it didn't lead to telepathic porn? there's a lot in the utena pastiche that made me go "mm, not enough", a lot that was flatly messy first-draft fumbling, and i've never been happy about how it turned out, but that's still the biggest outrage to me. like. what was even the point. there's so much about it that makes me itch to rewrite, but the number-one reason that i never, ever will is that i'd have to find somewhere to fit porn to make it worth my time AND SOME THINGS ARE JUST IMPOSSIBLE.

Biggest surprise: i!! posted!! 100k+ words!!!!!!! WITH OVERFLOWING PUNCTUATION BECAUSE I DESERVE IT, MOTHERFUCKER. ficwise, though -- the lotor/matt au. why the fuck would you ship two characters who literally have no screen time together, share nothing in common, and are unlikely to develop a dynamic in future seasons, let alone this one? answer: ME: You have to promise to read the Lotor/Matt thing even though I've realised that their portmanteau is "Motor". MY GIRL: WELL now i have to read it ME: ME: Never mind, your boner killed mine.

but the joke's on me, because the one way to guarantee that i'll write something is a hot girl telling me she'll read it.

i love how most of this meme is grim self-encouragement to finish a fic that feels like it is literally killing me by dint of being the longest goddamn thing i've written in my life.

Most unintentionally telling story: well, it was GONNA be the junior detective kurusu akira fic, but i DIDN'T FINISH THAT.

on a more personal note: the every day au's ending was never in question for me. i'm rarely in the mood for conversation, but i can't stand keeping my feelings to myself: i don't feel real unless someone else can see me. it's why i like to yell in my post tags and do memes even though i follow like three actual personal blogs and a significant portion of this tumblr's designed to actively discourage 90% of people who stumble across it from adding me. the idea that, when you strip the viewer out, the object disappears -- that's probably as 'me' as a story gets.

Highlights + Wrap-up

Favourite Opening Lines (3):

The courthouse's a brushfire of camera lenses.

You wake up. [ ed. nt: not really the most unique or interesting of opening lines, but i've started to appreciate how this echoes throughout the piece and then builds into a clusterfuck chorus by the end. ]

[ nope. the other first lines weren't that great. fuck you, meme.]

Favorite 5 Line(s) Ficbits from Anywhere: [ ed. nt: fuck you, word limits & punctuation. ]

"I knew you were gone—long gone. No one could've called you back. But I just kept saying—if they were really Voltron, you'd be with them. You'd have come back for me."

"You stand," Allura whispers, "on territory that was consecrated by the five rituals of essential transference. You stand within the walls that my grandfather built, the walls for which my father sacrificed everything to keep from enemy dominion. The planet Altea remains because I lay claim to it, because I have not yielded to time and I will not yield. You may have served as Zarkon's witch; but in these halls, your very life hangs on Altea's mercy, my mercy. Either you'll remember an Altean's manners or a prisoner's—but so long as you speak to me, Haggar, you will choose one." -- so this fic was a series of dramatic triumphs that i did not build up to and therefore had no right to put in, but i don't care. if i'm going to write 100k++ of fic in a year, it's gonna be spread out over like ten different fics. and this is my favorite of the dramatic non-love confessional speeches that i wrote this year.

Keith lisps briefly and nastily under his breath. "Why would anyone pronounce an apostrophe?” <-- me throwing shade at a hundred years of scifi.

[ fuck you, listicles. ]

[ fuck you pt. 2. all the other sentences sucked. ]

Trivia left out of three fic:

pidge survives the events of the every day au and does eventually go on to form voltron. i left the fic where i did as a dramatic stopping point; in my head, i always knew where things were going to go afterwards. this clarity was helped in no small part because i had to immediately spill my guts to my best girl after she finished reading and realised in outrage that i'd given her a 19k fic in which her otp kissed zero (0) times. but yeah, everything works out -- albeit with a superdose of trauma -- and keith and pidge in particular have a moment which appeals to all my friendship kinks. i couldn't write the sequel in second-person, though, which is probably why i'll never do it. if i can't be pretentious and tragic, and i still can't work in any porn, then what is the point.

shiro, in the weird tattoo porn thing, has no idea of the effect he's having. in his mind, he's just being reasonable. this ties into my preference for writing s3-4!shiro as someone who thinks of himself as the same man who fell to earth a year ago, someone who has survived the galra over and over, someone who wants to lead in the war and deserves to do it. the trouble with this is that about one-point-five of those things are not necessarily things that the original shiro actually believes. i love this discrepancy between writing the two: there's one who buys into his own mythology of being a hero, and there's one who just wants everyone to survive and be happy and safe. in an ideal world (note: ideal to nobody but me), project kuron would be a thing where they created a perfect clone of shiro with all his memories but accidentally infused it with just enough galra beliefs about strength and the importance of war that it sabotages voltron's mission. that particular shiro doesn't mean to be fucked up, but his beliefs are, and he doesn't realise it until after the fallout of everything he's done hits the team. it's the entire basis for his behavior afterwards. this is one of those character development things that fell into the margins between the tattoo porn and its weird au sequel. i should have written the fic in between, i'm sure it would've been less confusing for everyone who read the goddamn sequence, but honestly, you could not pay me enough to write about keith and shiro's relationship falling apart.

this was never made explicit in the fic itself, though it seems pretty clear to me, but here goes. of the ten photographs, nine are pictures that shiro takes for keith to remember them by. the last is one that keith takes for shiro.

Lessons learned about writing in 2017:

when in doubt during edits, read the paragraph out loud. you don't have to do it very loudly, but people respond to something that flows off the tongue even if they aren't actually reading it out to themselves.

you're a niche writer. you write for you. that means you don't really have to edit if you're tired.

deadlines are bullshit. don't sign up for any more events featuring those.

with the way i write, there's always an element of mistrust. in my shorter fics, people are breaking up because they can't trust each other, or they're teetering on the brink of getting together -- but. in my longer fics, i really, really love to throw an unexplained element of mistrust into the mix (see: the fic where shiro leaves his own dimension and refuses to go back without any explanation) and only 'reveal 'it at the end. mistrust is an easy shortcut to tension. it's a good way to reframe the story, but it's also ... hm. predictable if it's literally all you write? i like to think that i'm capable of writing plots whose value isn't entirely based on the way they're told. i just need to let the story breathe once in a while.

the comma before 'too' is grammatically incorrect when that's the end of the sentence. my entire life is a goddamn lie.

there's such a thing as overdetail. a loose sketch and a twinkle of atmosphere will do better than three dense paragraphs detailing exactly where all the cathedrals are. my god, i never want to leave this continent again.

the best writing feeling is posting something and then tweaking all the small mistakes out of it. the second-best writing feeling is bringing someone you like a freshly-killed (read: edited) piece of prose, then demanding pets and cuddling for your great act of magnimity and courage.

looking back on my life, i should have been born a cat.

Fic-writing goals for 2018

post/finish all 80k of my existing drafts, THEN LEAVE VOLTRON FOREVER, I'M SO DARKLY EXCITED ABOUT THIS EXODUS.

seriously, write for any fandom but voltron. oh my god.

maybe i can just dive headfirst into ocean's eight and write a lot of bantery f/f until everyone forgets my embarrassing gay robolion phase.

a sci-fi au for nirvana in fire, heavily influenced by recent military scifi, in which (contrary to all the imperial death traditions) the chiyan army's memories and consciousness are ostensibly deleted from the imperial archives as punishment for their betrayal. several years down the line, jingyan finds his political influence rising with the advice of a helpful and very insistent ai advisor. IT'S TOO COMPLICATED AND I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT IT.

did you know that the natori/matoba section on ao3 has no explicit fic at all? like, zero. 2018 goals, baby. i don't care that nobody needs to know what horrible things they'd do to each other in bed. i'm gonna be this ship's rule 34, or the arsonist who burns down the house of the person who gets to it before me.

[cyberstabbing]

Crime

Playing With Power - When a mafia boss, Gerard, wins Frank in a poker game he sets out to be the first man to break Frank as his pet. But Frank is tougher than he looks and his pride refuses to back down. As their relationship unfolds their feelings for each other manifest into something much more dangerous - love. Trigger warning: This is an extremely dark story involving S&M and some non-con sex. 87k

Under the Hide of Me - Prohibition in New Jersey means mob bosses and bootleggers running hooch up and down the shore and into the city. Gerard Way, his brother, and their friend Ray are running an operation for the Capo Maranzano. Rival factions are trying to take over the business, and Frank Iero, from a prominent Mob family, is sent to them as their new driver. But the Ways and Ray are hiding two secrets: their own still on a farm in the Pine Barrens, and something darker yet. They’re werewolves. 18k

The Enigma’s Anomaly - Frank is a skilled assassin. He kills people for a living. He is not meant to fall in love with someone he’s been hired to kill. He’s supposed to just kill the guy and get it over with.If that’s the case then why is Gerard Way still alive? 146k

A Kiss on Bloody Lips - Frank stumbles on a serial killer that’s been terrorizing his city for weeks, and gets more than he bargained for when his obsession comes to a climax. 12k

Promises, Promises (Don’t Send Me Back In 30 Days) - “Sources on our investigative team say this was a bank robbery gone wrong, and that, when faced with a police task force surrounding the building, the suspect grabbed the nearest person and is now holding that young man at gunpoint as he makes his getaway.” 26k

Two Industrial Loads On Hot - Frank works the overnight shift at the laundromat, partially because it’s easier to push prescription painkillers on the side in the middle of the night, but mostly because there are fewer disapproving old people around to tattle on him for playing The Floor Is Lava on the washing machines. 3k

I keep thinking about this. There’s just something about it.

Public Enemy - In 1932, Gerard Way has been making a name for himself robbing banks up and down New Jersey. Frank Iero, analyst for J. Edgar Hoover’s Division of Investigation, is determined to catch him. 21k

I probably failed my math test today bc of this fic. I just stayed up reading this instead of studying. Whoops.

Point of No Return (not!fic) - So, have any of you seen that movie Point of No Return where Bridget Fonda is forced to be a government assassin after being busted for killing a cop while she was a drug addict in her misspent youth? And Gabriel Byrne (hello, yes please!) is her handler and Dermot Mulroney (before he got all skeevy) is her hotass photographer boyfriend? <1k

godspeed us to sea - His first thought is oh Jesus, it’s over already. He wonders if Gerard will even bother to bury him. i don’t know how long this is … maybe around 30k?

Mob! AU. I cried. Not that much gore tbh.

​Everything in Your Eyes - Gerard's been part of super crime for the past five years, and he's never seen anything like this. A telepathic noir story. 5k

a must-read.

The FBI Gets Shit Done - A new series that’s like a cop show but with words.

Gerard, the boss, is an expert profiler and an easily irritated man at the head of a team that is dysfunctional and somehow functional at the same time. The arrival of newbie, Frank, is what sets the story in motion with the instant hatred instituted between Gerard and Frank. Their two styles of crime solving clash perfectly to make the team efficient and productive. However, the two men at each other’s throats may be a disguise for the feelings just below the surface. Three parts, 16k, 35k and 18k (70k in total)

Thicker Than Water - Frank used to be able to count the number of times he's killed for the Family on the fingers of one hand. That was years ago, but he'll always remember the first one. Gerard was daydreaming, and Frank had only just learnt how to use a gun. Frank was twelve years old. 1.9k

;_;

You Keep Me Sane - Gerard has become infatuated with a young librarian that had only spoken to him once before, and he realized that he didn't have the usual, unrelenting craving to kill. No, He had a different urge, one that seemed a little more dangerous... 144k

I read some of this before I started keeping track of read fics, so that’s why it hasn’t been on here until now. But aloooot more words have been written since 2016 (144k now. holy shit), and someone just reminded me abt it, so here’s to rereading!

Shook-Up World - Part 1 of the 1930s Dragverse series - Frank is just a kid when he discovers Gerard's secret, and it changes his life. When they meet again by chance years later, Frank's carrying around a few secrets of his own. 5k

On the Getaway Mile - Part 2 of the 1930s Dragverse series - It's the last year of Prohibition, and bootlegger Frank Iero wants to sever his ties to the world of organized crime and go straight, but his mob connections have other plans for him. No one would like to see Frank get away from the mob more than Gerard, but he's got problems of his own--like the fact that he's a cross-dressing cabaret singer constantly struggling to keep his true identity secret from those who can't be trusted. With the help of a devoted brother, a detective who just might be as trustworthy as he claims, and a wealthy, eccentric Scotsman who features prominently in Gerard's past, Frank and Gerard just might be able to get out and start a new life together, but it's not going to be easy.

A tale of gangsters, garter belts, love (hopefully) overcoming all obstacles, and a whole lot of coffee. 40k

Here’s the comment I left - not too spoiler-y I hope: God, this fic needs a fucking movie. Also, I googled '30s halter gown' to better understand what Gerard was wearing and *waves fan* holy shit. No wonder G could jerk off at the thought of dresses. Now I want to re read the whole thing again and google all the outfits! Kudos to you, seriously, the amount of research that must have gone into writing this ... insane.

Like Fog on Glass - For Gerard, love can only come in the form of possession. If he is owned, he is loved--if he is sold, he becomes nothing. Untouchable in the eyes of the man, his Master, whom he held above all others.

For Frank, love is...enigmatic. Romantic. You can't buy it on street corners or in seedy bars on the outskirts of town. You can't steal it. You can't force it or kindle it from nothing. At least, you're not supposed to.

Love was certainly not what Frank expected to find when circumstances led him to spend his final $5k on a broken human being put up for auction on the bad side of town. Love...you didn't give that to creatures like Gerard. 111k

The Collision of Your Kiss - Gerard can hardly believe it when his new neighbor and latest obsession, Frank Iero, agrees to go out to dinner with him. It seems as though Gerard's dreams have come true, but he soon discovers that Frank's "hobby" is a little unconventional. Gerard still wants to be with him, though--if Frank's deadly secret doesn't put a wrench in their relationship. 4k

A Lap-Dance is so Much Better (When the Stripper is Crying) - Ray—and his ambiguously named friend ‘John’—force a depressed Frank to go the strip club downtown after he’s been broken up with. It’s a shame no one would listen to him when he insisted that this wasn’t just a strip club—it was a whore house. And no, he did not appreciate the lap-dance. 4k

Purgatorio - While on leave from the police force, Detective Frank Iero occupies himself with three things: drinking, brawling, and being alone. But when a series of brutal murders calls him back to active duty, he must find a killer while confronting people from his past, including estranged best friend turned businessman Mikey Way, and deal with his unwilling attraction to Mikey's enigmatic older brother Gerard. 27k

It’s been a while since i read this, but i remember it really good. It had such a mysterious vibe to it, and I loved how dark and gritty it was. Oh and Gerard makes really fucking cool metal sculptures in this one. ‘Twas awesome. 

Rising With the Heat - "Bullet?" he says, voice high and confused. "Um, hi?" Frank says, dropping to the ground. "You're the one – have you been following me all week?" Gerard asks, slowly lowering the spray can. Bob's going to give him so much shit for this. "I just wanted to make sure you got home safe." 2k

Frank is a superhero sidekick who’s fallen for Gerard, who he previously saved from getting mugged. Gerard finds it cute. And maybe a little bit hot.