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concreteangel92 · 19 hours ago

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The Angel Of The Night

AU Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: smut, PiV, oral (female receiving) praise kink, slight obsessive/stalker elements (this is based off of the ghost of the opera house himself 🤣) talks of the death of loved ones, dark romance, I’m pretty sure that’s it

So this has been in the works since August when I watched the phantom of the opera in Greece on my first night there haha I’ve always loved this show (west end and film!) and I even have a tattoo dedicated to it so it was a no brainer to me that Noah would fit perfectly into this aesthetic!

The mask (especially the new one!!) the glove, his voice all mixed with an old theatre and gothic aesthetic and atmosphere? Hell fucking yes!!

Remember that this is an inspired fic so you’ll see familiar names, themes, etc but it’s not the actual whole story! But if you’re a fan of the soundtrack, you may recognise a few lyrics here and there 🤭

I hope you all enjoy it, it’s a long one so grab yourself a cuppa and I’ll see you on the next fic. Also please let me know your thoughts!! I’d love to know what you all think as this is definitely the longest I’ve ever spent writing one story haha let me know, you can always message me anonymously if you’re shy 🖤

Tags: @triedbimsoblu333 @I00na24 @iluvmewwwww75 @veronicaphoenix @tosoundlessdarkistare @specialstay @dsireland86 @philomenie @clingylittlebun-blog @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lilcrazy011

Masterlist

You’d been with your theatre company since you were a child, having lost your parents at a young age, the opera house is all you have ever really known.

You loved it here, the old theatre was your home. You knew every wing like the back of your hand, every creaky floorboard backstage, how the orchestra pit echoed when no one was in it, you knew the creepiest parts that no one like to venture into. You loved it all, it was your sanctuary.

There was something about the theatre that made you feel at peace, standing up on the stage in front of a huge audience, hearing their cheers and cries that made your heart swell. The heat of the spotlights, the magic you felt as you danced to beat of the live music, everything about it made you feel so alive.

The year was 1870 in Paris and you were currently playing the leading role in the current opera ‘Hannibal’

It was your debut as the leading lady and to say you were nervous was an understatement.

You walked quietly around the empty stalls of the theatre, taking in its musky smell, the beautiful architecture of the building and the huge crystal chandelier that hung high above your head. You ran your fingers across the old red velvet on the chair in front of you and sat yourself down in one of the seats near the pit.

The stage was empty but you could hear the hustle and bustle backstage of the cast and crew getting everything ready for opening night tonight, although there was still hours to go, there was still much more that needed to be set up.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously in your lap, taking a deep breath, you couldn’t help but speak aloud softly.

“Please….please let tonight go well”

You kept your eyes closed as you leant back in the chair, allowing a moment for yourself to process the evening that you knew lay ahead. You were certain you had been alone….until you heard his voice.

From high up above your head, in the gods, you heard his beautiful, ethereal voice humming down to you.

With a small gasp, you opened your eyes and looked up into darkness, and there amongst the ropes and pulleys of the backdrops and lights, you saw his silhouette and instantly a small smile appeared on your lips.

“There you are”

Your words were barely a whisper, your angel of music was right there with you. You should have known he wouldn’t be far away.

“Y/N what are you doing down there? You need to get ready for tonight!”

You tore your eyes away from your mysterious friend and saw your teacher/guardian Madame Giry standing in the wings on stage left.

“Yes Madame”

You casted up eyes up once more to the heavens to see that he was gone, like a ghost who was never there in the first place.

•••••

He was nicknamed the ‘Opera Ghost’

No one in the theatre ever questioned that box 5 was always left empty so no customer could use it, people ignored the eerie echoes of his angelic singing that seemed to come from no where all around the old building. No one had ever seen him fully, only catching glimpses of his shadow in the night.

No one, but you.

You were the only person to have had any interaction with the ghost. He had started visiting you when you were a child, you were 8 years old when your parents had met their tragic end and you were fated to the theatre. It wasn’t long after that you started to hear his voice in the night.

It started off with just singing, he comforted you when you were crying yourself to sleep, not having come to terms with the loss of your parents and the change that was about to happen within your life. You had felt so alone, you hardly knew anyone within the company, the only reason you came to be here was because Madame Giry was a close friend to your mother and she had agreed to take you in when they died.

But in those long, lonely first nights and weeks, his beautiful voice helped you drift off to sleep.

As the years went on, the beautiful voice became deeper and he started to talk to you quietly from within the walls, the mirror, you never knew exactly where he was but you always knew he was there.

In recent years, he had been singing your songs with you, helping you train your soprano skills, a patient teacher and a loyal companion is what you knew him to be.

Although you knew people had dubbed him the ‘opera ghost’ you felt that wasn’t a suitable title for this angelic creature so you called him your very own ‘angel of the night’ which was a nickname you often heard him whispering back to you.

Your angel wasn’t just a teacher to you anymore, he had become a friend. You told him all your hopes, dreams and your darkest fears. You’d talk to him until you heard the faint sound of the birds chirping and saw the first rays of the morning sun rising over the horizon through your window.

He would still sing you to sleep on the nights you struggled, when the past traumas returned in the forms of nightmares, he was always there to help take your fears away.

His voice was like nothing you had ever heard before. He sounded almost like a siren calling out to his awaiting victims and just like one, you felt the pull within your soul every time he called.

Tonight was the opening night, your big debut, but that wasn’t the only reason for your nerves. You knew he’d be there, watching from box 5, hidden within the shadows, but always there.

“Will he be impressed? Will I be everything he hoped for?”

These thoughts plagued your mind as you walked down the corridor, your heels clicking with every step, until you reached your dressing room/living quarters.

You wrapped your hand around the old doorknob and turned it so your door swung open with a creak.

In front of you was your dressing room, your bedroom was through the door at the back of the room, the walls were a beautiful shade of red, almost matching the seats in the theatre stalls out front. There were beautiful paintings in gold frames on the walls of your favourite artwork, a huge mirror that took up one wall, a rail of costumes and props lined another, you had your changing screen next to that and then you also had your beautiful make up vanity, surrounded by candles and all your make up and jewellery that was laid out for you on the counter.

But what caught your attention was the most beautiful bouquet of flowers, roses of the darkest red lay across your chair with a hand written piece of paper on top.

You walked over and picked up your present, inhaling their beautiful scent while you read the note.

‘To my beautiful angel’

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, you knew it was him, he had left you a good luck token in preparation for tonight.

You felt your nerve’s ease, you knew you could do this, as you knew your angel would be watching over you.

•••••

The sounds of a standing ovation, loud cheers and clapping filled your ears as you took your final bow, flowers of all kinds being thrown onto the stage around your feet.

The show had gone without a hitch, your solo performance had been an absolute triumph that brought the audience to their feet. Throughout the production you had tried glancing up at box 5, hoping to see a glimpse of him but of course, nothing. Just the sight of the curtains moving gently when it was take to take the bows, almost like they had been caught in the non existent breeze.

Your vision was blocked completely as the main house curtain fell to the stage, muffling out the sounds of the audience still cheering from the other side.

You felt yourself being embraced by your fellow cast and crew members, all congratulating you on your performance.

“That what incredible!”

“Bravo!”

“Y/N you were sensational!”

You felt your cheeks go warm at all the compliments, the adrenaline still fully pumping through your body as you tried to catch your breath.

You thanked everyone and helped pick up the flowers littered across the stage to take back to your dressing room.

“He was there, I know he was! I wonder if he liked it?”

You felt butterflies start in your stomach at the thought, you would never want to disappoint him, you craved to know how he felt. You couldn’t wait to get back to your room.

You once again gave everyone your thanks and made your leave, half jogging down the corridors behind the theatre.

Once you entered your room, you put down all your flowers, taking note of even more bouquets that had been sent here from different admirers that were now spread around and all the lanterns and candles were burning beautifully, giving the room a beautiful golden glow.

You walked behind your changing screen and started to remove your heavy dress, a costume you were relieved to be out of, finally feeling like you could breathe normally once the corset was gone. You settled for a simple white lace dress that fell to floor. You removed all the pins from your hair and allowed it to cascade down your back. You were about to remove the make up on your face when you heard a knock at your door.

You called out for them to enter and you looked up into your mirror and saw Madame Giry standing there with another body behind her.

“Sorry to disturb you Y/N but there is someone who would like to meet you?”

You turned around and glanced behind and saw a handsome young man standing almost nervously on the spot with his top hat in his hands. He had short dark hair, was an average height and was wearing a formal dinner suit fit for the theatre.

You nodded and Madame Giry stepped aside so he could walk forward.

“Miss Y/L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you”

You smiled politely, stood and offered your hand for him to grasp in his own as he bowed his head gently.

“My name is Henry Edwards. Do excuse my intuition miss, I was just so captivated by your performance that I wanted to give my congratulations in person. I’ve actually seen many performances here at this theatre but tonight was by far the best I have ever seen”

You smiled wider at his words, his face definitely looking more familiar now that he’s mentioned he’d been here before. You’d often seen him admiring your dancing in previous productions.

“Thank you Mr Edwards, you are too kind”

“If I was to be so bold Miss Y/N, I would love to be able to discuss your performance further, perhaps over tea or a stroll around the park?”

You were taken back by his proposal, not used to men being so forward with you or even desiring you at all really.

“Oh erm…yes, I…I think that would be a lovely idea”

You panicked, you knew you weren’t particularly interested in the man in front of you but what harm was there to be courted for an afternoon.

Henry looked very pleased as he fumbled over a thank you, his next words were lost on you as you suddenly felt a presence within the room, the presence of someone who wasn’t happy at all.

You turned your head to the big mirror behind you and watched as a few of the near by candles flickered angrily before going out completely, leaving nothing but whips of smoke behind.

“Mine”

The word was whispered so low and dragged out that it almost sounded like the wind, but you knew better, the realisation sending chills down your spine.

You turned back and caught Madame Giry’s gaze, it was as shocked as your own, she knew.

“Well Mr Edwards, I’m sorry but that will be all for tonight, Miss Y/L/N is extremely tired and needs to rest her voice. Come back in a couple days to arrange this meeting?”

Madame had already started pulling gently on his arm and gesturing for him to leave, he looked baffled at first but soon composed himself.

“Oh erm…yes, yes, of course. Goodnight Miss Y/L/N and I’ll pop by in a few days?”

You nodded with a forced smile as you watched as he slipped his top hat back upon his head and walked out of the room, Madame Giry giving you one last look before shutting the door behind her, the sound echoing through the empty room.

But you knew you were far from alone.

You turned around to face the mirror, staring at your own reflection, the sound of his quiet humming started once more and you felt pulled towards the mirror.

Almost like you were in a trance, you stepped forward, your eyes glued to your own reflection until you noticed another pair of eyes staring back at you from over your shoulder.

You should have been afraid, you should have called out for help, but you didn’t.

Dark almond eyes gazed back into your own, his face becoming more clearer the closer you got. But it wasn’t his whole face you saw. It was covered by half of a white mask, almost like he was trying to hide his true identity.

You stood frozen in place as your angel came fully into view, it was like he’d appeared from the mirror itself, like he truly was a mystical creature from another world.

His song was hypnotising, the melody causing your head to feel so light and airy, like you were floating on a cloud.

You looked up in your dream like state to see him standing in front of you.

You reached your hand out without a thought and was met with a hard, firm chest, your angel was truly here.

Taking in his appearance, he was even more beautiful than you ever could have imagined. He was tall, extremely tall and towered over your small frame and was just as broad in his chest and back. You could see he had shiny, brown hair that was falling down to his neck, it looked so soft that you felt the urge to run your fingers through it.

Your angel was wearing a black suit with a long black cloak over the top and of course the half mask, you had never wanted to remove something so much in your life, his face was absolutely perfect, why would he hide? His eyes appeared darker now he was in front of you, he had the most intense stare that you’d ever seen, it was like he could see into your very soul and read your every thought.

The last thing you took note of was his tattoos that were peaking out over his collar and on his right hand, his other being covered with a black leather glove. It was unusual to see a man around these parts that had tattoos, you’d never seen any before.

He moved around your body slowly, his hands running up through the air next to your arms, not touching but still your skin felt like it had been set alight. As his hands came up near your face, he gestured for you to look ahead.

“Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside. I am your angel of music”

You inhaled deeply as you took in the sight of him standing directly behind you, his whole presence was consuming you.

His face suddenly looked angry as he whispered his next words.

“Insolent boy. Does your young suitor really think that he can take what’s mine?”

You turned to face him, the thought of your angel being angry with you was too much to bare.

“Angel my soul is weak, forgive me! Yours is the only one that calls me”

He stood staring down into your eyes, like he was trying to find a lie but he would find none. You knew your heart belonged to him, it always had.

“Hide no longer from me”

Your words were hardly audible but you knew he’d heard. No words were given in return, all you could hear the was sounds of his beautiful song again as it’s filled your mind. He walked back around your body and backed himself up towards the mirror, that was when he held out his hand to you, you took it without hesitation.

Your head light as a feather, you followed him willingly, you hardly paid attention to where you were going or how you got there, all that mattered was that you were with him. His siren song never once stopping as you made your way down the dimly lit corridors heading down to the catacombs beneath the city.

The walls were lined with candles, all lit up, the air was damp and cold against your skin.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Your beautiful angel in front of you, he could have been leading you to the pits of hell and you wouldn’t have cared. He kept looking back at you every so often, as if to make sure you hadn’t vanished.

Coming up to the waters edge, you noticed a small boat ready, he stepped into it first and one again extended his hand out, you took it and stepped into the boat after him.

The foggy feeling never left, you felt so free, so light, like nothing could touch you ever again. It was almost like you’d become a spirit of another realm, not of this earth but not quite moved onto the next.

You continued to listen to his voice, just as he always had done, he soothed away any of your fears. You took note of all the burning candles, the way the water lapped up the sides and casted a beautiful rippling reflection up on the walls.

As you rowed further into the catacombs, you saw your destination. This could only be his home.

It was breathtaking, even more candles lit the area and it was living space in the middle of the caves. Artwork, statues and musical instruments of all kinds surrounded you. And roses, dark red roses everywhere.

You closed your eyes as you felt the inner peace of contentment washed over you, you couldn’t describe it any other way, it was like you were in a dream.

The sound of his voice gently stopped as he got out of the boat and you stood to follow, allowing him to place his hands on your waist and lift you easily onto the floor.

You started to turn your head around to take in your surroundings but you felt his fingers grasp your chin gently but firm and pulled your face back to meet his.

You tilted your head and glanced down at his lips, wondering if he would lean down into you.

Gazing up into his face, you really took in his features, he was absolutely perfect. Your eyes wandered to the mask and your hand reached up slowly to push it off of him before you even truly thought of your actions.

Your hand was stopped by his gripping onto your wrist sharply and tightly, his eyes first the first time showing any sort of vulnerability as he shook his head slightly.

“Why do you hide from me angel?”

He brought your hand back down gently and took a deep breath.

“Because I would repulse you, you’d run from me”

You brought your free hand up and held onto his cheek, the pads of your fingers gently caressing his smooth skin.

“I could never, you’re my guide, my guardian…my friend”

His eyes soften at your words, you watched the candles fire reflecting and dancing deep within his irises as you waited for his response.

Your angel stood slightly straighter, he let go of your hand and he reached up until the base of the mask was between his fingertips. He hesitated for a moment before he ducked his head down and slid the mask off, his hair falling back into place as it was removed.

When he looked back up, the sight that greeted you was a shock. The whole right side of his face and into his scalp was burnt and had deep scaring. You would have believed it to be painful but it was clear to see that these were not fresh wounds.

You gasped quietly but you didn’t recoil. Instead you raised your hand and held the right side of his neck gently and leaned up and kissed his jagged skin softly, not missing the low moan it pulled from his throat as you did.

“Those that have seen your face draw back in fear. I do not”

“I do not frighten you little one?”

You shook your head and continued to gently stroke his scars.

“Never. Please tell me angel, do you have a name?”

“Noah”

His name left your lips in a whisper, your eyes half lidded as you looked up at him. It was a beautiful name that was well suited to the man before you.

His hand came up to brush your hair from your face, you couldn’t help but softy sing his own song back to him, not missing how his eyes darken.

“Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams”

Your eyes fell shut, the next feeling was his lips upon yours, gently moving with you.

It was electric, both of his hands came up to cradle your neck, holding close as he pressed his body into yours.

Pulling away, his hands slowly wandered down your body, your breathing was starting to quicken within your chest.

“Trust me?”

You nodded without hesitation, your eyes never leaving his. Noah then picked you up bridal style and carried you over to a huge king size bed that was covered in red sheets and was surrounded by a black lace canopy.

He set you down onto your feet and moved behind you to start undoing the ties on the back of your dress, letting his fingers trace the skin beneath as he did.

“Where does your soul long to be?”

You turned to face him, your dress loose over your shoulders.

“With you, I belong to you, I have always belonged to you”

He lowered his head down to you and once again captured your lips between his own, this time more passionate than before. Noah slipped his hands into the fabric at the top of your dress and continued to slide it off your shoulders as he moved his head down to start ghosting kisses along your collar bone.

You moved your hands into his hair and finally felt how soft it really was, it was like silk moving between your fingers.

You felt your dress starting to fall off of you, fully aware that your top half was completely bare underneath. You felt the material pool around your feet and his hands settled onto your hips as he continued to kiss and gently bite your skin, moving further down.

Your stomach was starting to tighten, the feeling that was washing over you was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

A soft moan escaped your lips as he started to moved his head lower and gently sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, feeling his warm tongue flicking over the harden bud while his hand came up to caress the other, rolling that nipple between his fingers.

You tried to hold back the noises that your body wanted to make, feeling self conscious of how you must have sounded, something Noah seemed to pick up on easily.

“Savour each sensation my little angel, let me hear you, let your darker side give in to me”

You watched as Noah stood tall and removed the cloak from his shoulders and his jacket and carelessly let them fall to the ground, he then moved you back until your legs hit the bed and he guided you down onto the plush mattress and your body sank into the pillows, his body following yours swiftly after.

You felt his hands running up your bare legs up to your underwear, toying with the waistband teasingly before pulling them off slowly, he was clearly savouring every noise or squirm your body was making under his touch.

“You’re mine my little angel, you belong to me”

You nodded, unable to form any words due to the feeling of him ghosting his lips across your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart slowly.

“Say it”

“I’ve always been yours Noah”

The sound of his name felt so right, he had always been there and you had always been his.

Noah used his hands to push your legs further apart, opening you up for him. A low groan came from deep within his chest as he leant down and licked one slow, long strip up your centre, the feeling sending shock waves through your body and your back to arch off the mattress.

You felt his fingers move to your outer lips to part them gently so he could flick his tongue inside, loving tasting you for the first time.

The sensations that were flooding your body was nothing short of pure ecstasy, Noah continued to eat you out slowly and let his thumb move upward so he could start rubbing firm circles against your clit.

“Oh my….Noah, please!”

You didn’t know what you were begging for, your body felt alive, your stomach was twisting beautifully and your hands found themselves running through his hair, pushing him closer into your centre.

The pleasure that you felt was overwhelming, your thighs were starting to shake, tears were forming in the corners of your eyes as you couldn’t stop the cries that left your mouth.

Noah didn’t stop, he moved his fingers faster and continued to devour you until your legs squeezed around his head and the breath was pulled from your lungs as your orgasm washed over you and you felt like you were floating and falling all at the same time.

Once you started to come back down, you saw that Noah had stripped himself of the rest of his clothes and was settling himself down in between your legs. The sight of how many tattoos he truly had was astonishing.

“I’ve waited so long to feel you around me my little dove”

Noah reached down and gripped himself and ran his head along your folds, your wetness gathering onto him, before he slowly pushed his hips forward, the feeling of him stretching you open was almost sinful.

Your head fell back into the pillows and his head fell into your neck as he growled from the feeling of you. Your hands came and found themselves wrapped around his arms as you adjusted to his size.

“You’re perfect…it’s like you were made for me”

Your cheeks became warm at his words, his praise making your core throb with need.

Noah started moving his hips against yours, it was a torturously slow and deep pace that caused you to feel every inch of him against your walls, your body instantly reacting to his movements.

“You feel incredible around me angel, fuck…you’re so fucking perfect. My perfect little angel”

You moaned loudly, his words mixed with his deep thrusts was intoxicating, your heart was swimming with so many emotions, you never wanted this moment to end.

You reached your hand up and placed it onto his scared skin, wanting to show him that he was beautiful in your eyes. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he started to thrust harder, a layer of sweat had now coated both of your bodies and the room echoed with the sounds of your cries and skin slapping onto skin.

“Noah…I..I feel…”

You couldn’t finish your words, you didn’t need to, Noah knew you were near your end. His hips moved faster, the motion pressing your body into the mattress as your nails dug into the skin on his back as your body wound itself up tighter.

“Cum for me, I want to feel you”

Noah’s own hips started to falter as your body was suddenly convulsing underneath his and you screamed out his name, you squeezed your eyes shut as you rode out the waves of your high, feeling Noah’s release deep inside of you as he groaned loudly into your shoulder.

You felt Noah kiss your skin softly as he slipped himself out, the loss leaving you feeling so empty. He brought you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly as if he was frightened you’d leave.

“Stay with me?”

You looked up with a smile and kissed his lips.

“Forever”

Noah smiled back and he pulled the covers over your naked bodies and he started to hum his song once again, the song that you’d known since you were young.

It was beautiful, it was haunting but most of all, it was comforting. You snuggled into his side and allowed your angel of music to sing you into a beautiful, deep sleep.

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noah sebastian davis #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah bad omens #noah sebastian imagine #noahsebastian #noah sebastian drabble #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian smut #concreteangel92

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wendylianmartin · 2 days ago

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Hiya Miss Wendy! I’ve been doing a check on the Vaquita’s population every now and then for the last couple of years and I just wanted to go out of my way to thank you for spreading some awareness about them in cs, they’ve been one of my favourite creatures for years, even before I found castle swimmer! Unfortunately however their populations have dropped even lower to just 6-8 individuals, I was just wondering if you could respond to this publicly with literally anything or briefly post about them so that more people, particularly those who may have forgotten about them/their low numbers, can see, and maybe just spread more awareness, no pressure! I would just love to see if there’s any way to get more awareness out on them, I’ve made a poster or two for them before but not many have really seen them, nor have I seen many posters of them myself, your story is pretty much the only place I’ve seen anyone else spread any awareness about them, and I am so grateful that you have, I especially love the symbolism in their mysterious illness and markings it causes, though I truly hope fiction remains fiction in the sense that I hope they don’t all end up dying out :’]

Here’s a poster I’ve made too! I made it in hopes of helping educate people and spreading awareness as memorably as possible, I’ll probably be posting it on a few platforms myself of course, sorry that this is so long, but I hope you enjoy the poster if nothing else, have a lovely day and thank you for at least reading this and for making such an amazing piece of media!!

I love the poster you made! I think it works really well!

And yeah I think I want to do a reminder about the Vaquita on the episodes themselves because they get the most views. I also want to add them to the books but I’m not sure when each book is coming out and it feels farther away.

A few things:

Check out porpoise.org for more info. You can donate there or subscribe to donate 10 bucks a month to help with the conservation efforts (If you have the means to do so) the same goes for seashepherd.org

Also check out flee_bites who is more educated on the Vaquita than I am.

Here is a thread by them: https://x.com/flee_bites/status/1653879957049815057?s=46&t=83zTD1mrR7lomd69vRrJfw

The low numbers of the Vaquita seem really shocking but it IS still possible to save them.

I am not an expert on the Vaquita by any means nor am I an expert on conservation but I do care a lot about these creatures and I think it’s important to spread info about them especially since most people have no idea they exist.

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archive-z · 2 days ago

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Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time or, what was on Daniel Molloy’s bookshelf in 1973?

Inspired by @volkswagonblues’ and @islandbetweeenrivers’ reading list of texts providing historical and cultural context for Daniel Molloy as journalist in the 1970s and 80s

This is, pretty much in its entirety (bar one or two references throughout the show and its extant material), assumptions I’ve made about the character. But, also: it’s my blog so I can do what I want. Dating works is somewhat inconsistent, as I opted for the date a piece was published in a collection or translation rather than when it first appeared in print if it seemed more realistic to have been acquired in that format.

I’ve found the archives of Rolling Stone and Playboy have been helpful in piecing together a who’s who of literary life in the late 1960s and early 1970s, especially for a intellectually precocious teen from suburban Modesto, CA transplanted into the centre of countercultural life in Haight-Ashbury.

From what I can gather, being born in ‘53 means Daniel was just a year shy of being drafted to fight in the Vietnam War, an experience that would have profoundly effected his peers just a year or two older than him. Throughout his teenage years, he’s got the spectre of the possibility of being drafted hanging over his head. It reminds me of pop-inspirational phrases like “you only live once,” which really puts his risk-taking, thrill-seeking behaviour into the perspective of yeah, this is someone who is trying to live life to the fullest every second of every day because the possibility of being drafted means that he might not make it past twenty. (Unfortunately! Louis & Armand also mean he might not make it past twenty either xoxoxo)

However, crucially, he did narrowly miss the draft, and despite that it would be horrible, I think there’s an acute sense of having missed out on this profoundly altering experience as well. Moving to Haight-Ashbury, he’s six years late to the Summer of Love ‘67, and the rose-tinted image of hippies, peace, and love is replaced by the grittiness of speedfreaks and serial killing (the Zodiac Killer being active throughout 1969, when Daniel would have been sixteen). He’s made it to San Francisco just a few years after its golden era, and i think this makes him even more determined to live, more determined to chase living life in order to make up for that, yknow?

i think the themes that he’s drawn to when reading are:

new journalism, and particularly when the journalist-as-rockstar persona is inserted into said reporting

the provocative, bacchanalian pursuit of pleasure, whether it be sex, drugs, or rock ‘n’ roll — and often sex mixed with violence in a way that is neither straightforward nor legible

travelogues and adventure stories that reflect his restlessness, particularly which let him romanticise far away places with thriving literary scenes like Paris and New York

a general aura of repressed queerness and crises of american masculinity (Capote, Tennessee Williams, Ginsburg, Hemingway)

war narratives as a vehicle for cold war/red scare anxieties

Without further ado, the actual book list:

Periodicals

Playboy magazine. People have long joked about reading Playboy for the articles, but it is the one piece of literature teenage Daniel is in-universe confirmed to have readily accessible, so I’m running with “Danny actually does read it for the articles, though” (and anyways, it’s Diana Ross’ Rolling Stones cover issue from Feb 1 1973 that he jerks off to). In 1973 alone, Playboy featured interviews with playwright Tennessee Williams; Huey Newton (co-founder of the Black Panther Party); news anchor and journalism’s elder statesman Walter Cronkite; science fiction novelist Kurt Vonnegut; and Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times Vietnam war correspondent David Halberstam. Other Playboy interviews of possible interest: Fidel Castro, Orson Welles, Michael Caine (1967); Norman Mailer, Truman Capote, sexologists William H. Masters and Virginia E. Johnson, Paul Newman (1968); Martin Luther King Jr., Marshall McLuhan, Allen Ginsberg (1969). Also of note: between 1969 and 1971, Playboy was publishing faked letters to the editor that eventually developed into the Illuminati conspiracy theories.

In terms of reporting from major national newspapers in circulation, significant stories that come to mind are the New York Times publication of the Pentagon Papers (1971) and Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein’s Watergate investigations for the Washington Post (1972-73). It’s harder to gauge the circulation of underground newspapers like the Berkeley Barb (CA) and the Village Voice (NY) but its entirely likely that a resourceful and enterprising young reader with a point of view in Modesto, CA could get their hands on a copy.

Prose, Fiction & Nonfiction

The Little Red Book by Mao Zedong. At Berkeley, The Black Panthers would raise money by selling copies bought in bulk at markup to students. Absolutely makes sense that daniel would acquire (and actually read) a copy. Growing up in the wake of McCarthyism/Red Scare nonsense def makes me think he would see flirtations with communism as provocative and cool/edgy, but never back that flirtation up with follow-through.

The Hell’s Angels, a Strange and Terrible Saga (1966) by Hunter S. Thompson. Throughout the 1960s and 70s, the Hells Angels had a sizeable presence in San Francisco and Oakland — from what I can find they lived dead centre of Haight-Ashbury up until ‘69 if not later. As a teenager in Modesto, Daniel would have been geographically quite close (if not actually in attendance at) the 1969 Altamont Festival Rolling Stones performance where a teenage concertgoer was stabbed to death by a member of the Hells Angels.

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail in ‘72 (serialized in Rolling Stone magazine) by Hunter S. Thompson. The quintessential text to understand ‘73 Daniel, imo. Fuck Nixon, Fuck Reagan, fuck the National Guard killing student protestors. Thompson’s other works include “The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved“ (with illustrations by Ralph Steadman) and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

The New Journalism: An Anthology (1973) edited by Tom Wolfe. In addition to excerpts of Hunter S. Thompson’s work already discussed above, the anthology collects In Cold Blood (1965) by Truman Capote, Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968) by Joan Didion, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968) by Tom Wolfe, and Armies of the Night (1968) by Norman Mailer. I won’t do justice to summarizing the New Journalism here, but it’s def important.

Slaughterhouse-Five (1969) by Kurt Vonnegut. The quintessential Daniel Molloy fiction novel, to me. Exploration of post-traumatic stress disorder through an encounter with time travelling science fiction aliens. Takes on a new resonance for Daniel when he’s dealing with his own ptsd post-1973. Vonnegut’s other works include Cat’s Cradle (1963) and Breakfast of Champions (1973). On the subject of Cold War anxieties, there’s Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller. I don’t have much to say about it as I’ve not read it yet, but it feels like the kind of thing teenage Daniel living in Schrödinger's draft call-up would take to. Maybe also John Le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1963) and The Looking Glass War (1965), the latter particularly for the palpable air of repressed homoeroticism and WWII nostalgia/Cold War anxiety.

A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway (published posthumously in 1964). Daniel absolutely spent his teenage years romanticising being an expat America writer in the Paris literary scene. Substance use, war, and crises of masculinity throughout. In addition to Hemingway’s reporting on the Spanish Civil War (1937-1938), other works include novels The Sun Also Rises (1926), A Farewell to Arms (1929), and For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940).

George Orwell: Down and Out in Paris and London (1933), Burmese Days (1934), Homage to Catalonia (1938), Animal Farm (1945), Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949); and essays ”Books v. Cigarettes“ (1946), ”Decline of the English Murder” (1946), “Politics and the English Language” (1946), and “Why I Write” (1946). I think Orwell’s nonfiction writing would appeal to Daniel more than his fiction, especially when at the right age to romanticize the poverty-tourism of Down and Out. Also bonus points for Paris.

On the Road (1957), The Dharma Bums (1958), and The Subterraneans (1958) by Jack Kerouac. In particular, The Subterraneans is based on Kerouac’s interracial relationship with an African American woman in the 1960s. He’d also probably read Naked Lunch (1959) by fellow Beat poet William S. Burroughs.

Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov, both for its salacious notoriety and its unreliable narration. Like myself, Daniel feels like the kind of teenager who would read Lolita at sixteen as a provocation in a conservative environment, but come away genuinely enjoying it.

Poetry, Drama, Misc

Howl and Other Poems (1956) by Allen Ginsberg, particularly the edition published locally by San Francisco’s City Lights Books Pocket Poets series.

A series of miscellaneous titles I’d group together as “Daniel Actually Did the Assigned Reading in High School English Class” — The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger (“Get off that bench, brother”), Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, and “The Second Coming” by W. B. Yeats. Most significantly, I imagine high school is where he’d be exposed to the work of American playwrights Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller. The Glass Menagerie (1944), A Streetcar Named Desire (1947), and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955) by Tennessee Williams. In the context of his relationship with Louis, I think it’s fun to imagine he’s familiar with/attracted to the Southern Gothic by way of Tennessee Williams (again with the crises of masculinity, the spectre of war, the repressed sexuality). Williams and Death of a Salesman (1949) by Arthur Miller, present the life Daniel could have had ie. the alcoholic husband, housewife vacuuming on Valium, etc.

If there’s anything else anyone thinks I’ve missed, feel free to hit me with a reply or a dm or an @ or whatnot. stay freaky & support yr local library x

#tv series: interview with the vampire #daniel molloy #mine #this is more like a Rorschach test into what writing my iwtv fic looks like

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honeyjars-sims · 1 day ago

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3.37 Soulmates

Today I’m spending some time with Pops. While I was camping, he found out that the LGBT center where he’s been working forever will be closing in just a couple weeks and he’ll be out of a job. It wasn’t unexpected–they’ve been having funding issues for a while–but it still sucks. Unfortunately, Dad is in San My for a gig this weekend, so I figure Pops could use some company.

“I’m really sorry about your job,” I tell him as he finishes washing the dishes. “Are you guys gonna be okay?”

“We have a good amount in savings, and I’ve already been in contact with someone at the LGBT center in Del Sol. They’ve all but offered me a position there that pays more and has more flexibility.”

“Wow, that’s great! So I guess you won’t have much of a reason to stay in Evergreen Harbor, then.”

“Not really. We could probably find a smaller place closer to the LGBT center.”

I know what that means. There’s no reason my parents should have to pay for another 3 bedroom house when their kids are grown. “I guess it’s time for me to find a place, too.”

“I’m sorry to spring it on you like this, but I think you’re ready for it.”

“Yeah, I am. I really appreciate you guys taking me in for as long as you did.”

“You’ve come a long way, Johnny. You’ll be just fine.”

“What about you? You’ll be all alone when Dad is traveling.”

“That’s the good thing about this job. I’ll be able to work remotely some, so I can travel with Dad sometimes.”

“Oh, that’s good then. I know it’s not easy for you two to be away from each other.” I pause. There’s something that’s been on my mind since I came back from my camping trip, and Pops seems like the perfect person to help me figure it out. “Do you think you and Dad are soulmates?”

“Soulmates? Hmm.” He stops for a moment to consider. “No, I don’t think we are,” he finishes.

“Really? Why not?” I'm taken aback by his answer. What does he mean, they're not soulmates?

“Well, you remember how Dad and I met, right?”

“Yeah, you saw each other at a protest and sparks flew or something cheesy like that.”

“Mm-hmm. But I don’t think I’ve ever told you the full story of what happened that night. Before I ended up at the protest, I was at your mom’s apartment–she told me she needed to talk to me about something. Instead, I told her I was gay and couldn’t be in a relationship with her anymore, and I left–without finding out that she was pregnant.”

“Oh. She was going to tell you that night?”

“Yes, until she decided that I wasn’t the kind of man that should raise children. If things had been different–if she had told me she was pregnant before I came out to her–I would have stayed.”

“You would’ve kept pretending to be straight?” I can't imagine what his life would have been like but it sounds pretty terrible. And to think he would have chosen that because of me and Chantal?

“For a while at least. And who knows, maybe eventually I would have found someone else to love and I’d still be happy. But I wouldn’t have met your dad that night.”

“Ok, but that didn’t happen. What does that have to do with being soulmates?”

“Because, Johnny, if I’d stayed with her a little longer then the things that happened to you and Chantal at your mom’s house wouldn’t have happened. I would have been there to keep you safe and well cared for. I just can’t believe that your Dad and I were meant to be together when the circumstances that led to us meeting were also the circumstances that led to my children being hurt and neglected.”

“Well, maybe it’s fate and you would’ve met a different way.” I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around what Pops is saying. A world where he and Dad aren't together just doesn't make sense.

“Maybe. But I don’t think any of these hypotheticals really matter. Like you said, that’s not what happened. What matters is that today, in the here and now, I can’t imagine my life without him. Any reason in particular why you’re thinking about soulmates?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

“I guess it’s more that I’m wondering how you know if someone is the right person for you, but it kind of sounds like it’s not that simple.”

“Well, a sign isn’t going to drop down from the heavens that says ‘This person is the one,’ but it doesn’t have to be complicated. Find the person you can’t imagine your life without. I don’t know if that’s what you were wanting to hear, but I hope it answers your question.”

Find the person you can’t live without. Maybe there aren’t signs falling from the sky, but those words are about as close as I’ll get. “It does," I tell him. "It may not be the answer I was expecting, but I think it cleared something up for me.”

“I see. Do you want to talk about it?"

Normally I would jump at the chance to get some input, but now I don't feel like I need it. I shake my head. “No, I think I can handle it from here.” The thought makes me nervous, but I can’t avoid this. I need to talk to Lacey.

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

#hmm what do you think he's going to tell her?#ts4 #sims 4 #ts4 story #simblr #sims story #sims storytelling #simlit #sims community #show us your story #stksafeharbor #safeharborstory #sh:chapter3 #sh:johnny #sh:solomon

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slutpinks · 2 days ago

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My sweet teasing girlfriend

Lalisa Manoban (Lisa)

word count : 1257

story in 1st person pov and 3rd person pov./

Chitransh is loving boyfriend of Lisa , their relationship is very sweet, happily and cute. After 2 weeks of not seeing each other, Chitransh surprised Lisa to her company building. Lisa Lisa decides to show him what she's working on right now, after that her last single 'Moonlit Floor' has been released. She brings him to her recording studio, to give him a secret look of her new upcoming song, album and future work.

Lisa,

after spending the whole day doing interviews around LA, she's finally back to her company building, LLOUD. When she opens the door and walks in, her gaze instantly focus on chitransh, in the middle of the hall with a bouquet of roses in his right hand. With a gasp of surprise, she beams at his presence and quickly run towards him, hugging him tightly.

"I missed youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Chitranshhh"

chitransh wrap his arms around her petite and wonderful body, smiling happily at her closeness. he keep her tightly in his hug for a few moments , then he pull back a little to admire her incredibly pretty face. Smiling, he give her the flowers, then he lovely caress her hair.

"I missed you too, Lili!"

Lisa

with eyes full of love and happiness, she takes the bouquet and brings them to her nose, smelling the perfume of the roses she smiles brightly.

"Babes I missed you so much"

He said hugging lisa super tightly making her out of breathe, Lisa giggles softly as Chitransh hugs her tightly, his embrace making her feel warm and safe. She leans into him, savoring his familier scent and the comfort of his arms around her. After a few moments, she pulls back slightly to look up at him, her eyes sparkling with adoration.

“ I missed you too, my love. So, so much.”

She reaches up to caress his cheek, her touch gentle and affectionate.

“Being apart from you these past two weeks has felt like an eternity. But now that you’re here, I feel complete again.

Leaning in, she presses a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, pouring all of her love and longing into the embrace. When she finally pulls away, her cheeks are flushed and her breathing slightly uneven.

“Come, I have something I want to show you.”

Taking his hand, she leads him towards the recording studio, eager to share her latest musical creations with the man she adores.

Lisa’s eyes sparkle with mischief as she leads Chitransh towards the recording studio. Once they’re inside, she turns to face him, a coy smile plying on her lips.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot these past two weeks…..”

She steps closer, running her hands up his chest.

“I’ve missed your touch, your kiss, your….”

Her voice drops to a sultry whisper.

“……everything.”

Pressing her body against his, she trails feather-light kisses along his jawline, her hands deftly unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling back slightly, she gazes up at him through thick lashes, biting her lower lip in a gesture that’s both innocent and incredibly alluring.

“ I have a new song I want to play for you. But first…”

Her hands slide down to the waistband of his pants, fingers teasing the sensitive skin there.

“ I think we should….. celebrate our reunion, don’t you???”

Chitransh gently takes Lisa’s hands in his, stopping her movements.

“As much as I want to, we should probably save that for later. I don’t want us to get too carried away here at your workplace.”

He gives her a playful wink.

“Why don’t you show me that new song you’ve been working on? I’m dying to hear it.”

Lisa pouts playfully, but nods in agreement.

“Alright, you win this time.”

Stepping back, she turns and leads him further into the recording studio. She gestures proudly to the state-of-the-art equipment surrounding them.

“Welcome to my musical sanctuary. This is where the magic happens.”

Sitting down at the console, she cues up the track and glances back at Chitransh, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Prepare to be blown away, my love.”

As the opening notes of the song fill the room, Lisa’s hips begin swaying to the rhythm. She closes her eyes, losing herself in the music. Slowly, her hands trail down ger body, caressing her curves of her figure. With each passing moment, her movements become more sensual, more captivating.

Chitransh watches, transfixed, as Lisa transforms into a living embodiment of the song. Her voice, rich and emotive, carries him away to a world of passion and desire. He can’t tear his eyes away from her, mesmerized by the sheer power of her performance.

When the final notes fade, Lisa opens her eyes, her gaze locking with Chitransh’s. A coy smile plays on her lips as she saunters towards him, hips swaying with each step.

“So, what did you think???”

“Absolutely amazing babes the way your ass swayed was just amazing I mean I mean the way you swayed was amazing.”

Lisa’s eyes sparkle with mischief as she sways her hips sensually, her movements in perfect sync with the pulsing beat of the music. She can feel Chitransh’s gaze burning into her, his desire palpable in the air.

Slowly deliberately, she turns around, presenting him with a tantalizing view of her curves. Glancing over her shoulder, she bites her lower lip, silently inviting him to come closer. With a coy smile, she reaches back, her fingers tracing the outline of her shapely backside. “You like what you see, don’t you, baby??”

She purrs, her voice dripping with seduction.

“I’ve been thinking about you, about your touch, your kiss….”

She turns to face him again, her hands sliding up her sides, caressing the soft skin beneath her top.

“I want you, Chitransh. Right here, right now.”s

“We can't baby but I promise let's finish our work quickly and in the night I'll let you have me completely”

Lisa's eyes sparkle with disappointment at Chitransh's response, but she quickly recovers, nodding in understanding.

“Okay, my love. Let's get this work done first, then we can have all the fun we want tonight.”

She winks playfully, her fingers trailing down his chest in a teasing caress. Turning back to the recording console, Lisa cues up the track again, swaying her hips sensually as the music fills the room.

Her voice, rich and emotive, carries Chitransh away to a world of passion and desire. She sings with an intensity that leaves him captivated, his gaze locked on her every movement. When the final notes fade, Lisa spins around, a triumphant grin on her face.

“So, what did you think? Worth the wait, hmm?”

She steps closer, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders as she gazes up at him, her expression a tantalizing mix of innocence and pure, unadulterated lust.

Lisa's eyes sparkle with unbridled desire as she steps closer, her hands trailing down Chitransh's chest. She leans in, her lips brushing against his ear in a featherlight caress.

“I can't wait any longer, my love...”

she whispers, her voice dripping with sultry need.

“I want you to take me, right here, right now. Make me yours, Chitransh...”

Her hands slide lower, caressing the growing bulge in his pants as she grinds her hips against him.

Pulling back slightly, she gazes up at him through hooded eyes, her lips parted in a silent plea.

“Please... I need you so badly. I ache for your touch, your kiss, your...” She pauses, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. ...everything.”

to be continued....

#lisa blackpink #blackpink #lisa manoban #lisa smut

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morallysuperiorlips · 3 days ago

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Fanfiction Taught Me 90% of What I Know About Writing

That’s the gods honest truth. And I’m saying that as someone who has a literal college degree in writing.

I took SO MANY writing classes in college. All genres. Creative. Playwriting. Screenwriting. Editorial. Journalistic. Business. Technical. I’ve been writing since I could hold a pencil correctly, and really started to pursue it in 2nd grade when every teacher following gushed about my writing skills. I can confidently say I’ve been honing my craft for over two decades.

However, I didn’t really git gud at writing until I started really writing fanfiction. Like, joining a fandom and actively writing an ongoing fic for it.

Again, I’d taken years upon years of writing classes. I learned story structure, grammar, theming, POVs, tone, etc. all throughout school. I learned how to receive feedback and edit my work a little more down the road. I learned from professionals in the field. I worked with mentors.

However, none of that helped my skyrocket my skills like writing fanfiction did.

Fanfiction taught me how to actually write deep, nuanced, and compelling characters. I never once filled out a 200-question character sheet for any character I wrote on some silly school assignment. I never knew how to really know my characters until I was writing OCs for a fandom.

Fanfiction taught me the value of being concise. My schooling had drilled the concept of long, purple prose into me over time and in writing for a fandom for a children’s game, I unlearned that real quick.

Fanfiction really taught me the concept of “show, don’t tell.” I never really knew what a penchant I had for info dumping until somebody pointed out to me most of my headcanon’d lore drops happened in exposition and not in action.

Fanfiction taught me how to worldbuild. Eating the canon of my preferred fandom gave me a lot of time to strengthen my chops while I came up with my own answers to canon lore I hated.

Fanfiction taught me consistency. In school, I mostly wrote short stories. I hadn’t really bitten off a longer project until I started writing a longfic, and in doing so, I learned how to keep my characters, plot, and world consistent for a prolonged period of chapters.

Fanfiction gave me a close-knit community to consistently bounce my ideas off of, and give me feedback that actually served me in terms of bettering my skills and the story I was writing. Not just for the sake of meeting the measures of a grade or rubric given by a teacher.

I could go on and on, but tl;dr, I owe my current skillset and understanding of writing to writing fic. I wouldn’t be at the level I am without it. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be writing my current WIP without it.

So, to anyone who might have told you that fanfic is a waste of time, they are just objectively wrong. And if you’re reading this thinking for yourself that fanfic is a waste of time, well, you’re stupid and also objectively wrong :>

Fanfiction is valuable. Don’t underestimate it.

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stromuprisahat · 2 days ago

Note

Do you think Aleksander might have married at some point over his long life? And did he always wait for the Sun Summoner, or did that idea only come up after the Fold was created?

I’ve always wondered if he grew up hearing stories from his mother about a Sun Summoner and held onto the hope of meeting them, or if the idea only emerged after the Fold. Maybe before that, he was just focused on survival and creating a safe haven for Grisha, with the concept of a Sun Summoner—and a true counterpart—coming only later (which is so sad in a way)

Aleksander was always seeking companionship. At least as soon as he realized he and Baghra want something diametrically different. He even mentions lovers, but never spouses. It might be only a matter of wording- not thinking differently about loved ones he did or did not marry-, or he never made anything "official".

There's also the question of Grisha marriages- at least once he's officially the Crown's property- whether or not Grisha have a marriage just like anyone else, or is their legal standing different? Do they need their owner's blessing? Are they even allowed to marry, or is it just their own- yet legally not binding- ceremony?

I wouldn't be surprised if he- at some point- chose a political marriage to strengthen some alliance, whether feelings were involved, or not. Since that's one of the easiest ways to do so, and requires nothing more than his body- the thing he was taught to view as a commodity- I'd say it almost certainly happened. Probably more than once.

Regarding the Sun Summoners- we don't know anything about their mythology. We don't know if there are any legends, or how old. Whether those precede the Fold, or if they were spread after its creation. Were there any before, or did people simply do the math of Shadow Summoners => Sun Summoners?

The same applies to Sasha. How many stories did he hear, and hoped? The easiest way to find Grisha is to listen to fairy tales- how many times did he hear about a person with Sun at their palm only to find merely a powerful Inferni? Or no one at all? Were there such tales, or did it take a hopeful Shadow Summoner to realize darkness is nothing more than a lack of light?

We don't know anything, which is beyond ironic, since THE Sun Summoner was central character of the first three books. Not even her stay in religious cult focusing on ~her~ got us any information. I guess "the truth" is whatever we headcanon.

Baghra totally didn't tell him about them- she wanted to keep him to herself. Promising him companionship of a destined equal works directly against it. And he's always been smart. He'd put two and two together. Like calls to like and such...

#reply #Grishaverse #The Darkling #Sun Summoners #Second Army #Baghra Morozova #grishanalyticritical

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nerdnonymous00 · 1 day ago

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🛑🚨‼️ATTENTION PLEASE, JUST A QUICK READ‼️🚨🛑

hi im angie (she/they)! im a lesbian from the philippines. i’ve been a part of so many fandoms but im usually a silent like-r, reblogger, and supporter. i also make art at my sideblog, @angiedoesthingss. but now, im truly desperate and is currently asking for your help.

yesterday, after years of abuse from our narcissistic, homophobic grandma, i finally fought back and did my best to protect my mother and sister. it was a disaster and my grandma threatened us to leave her house (long story short, we live under her roof). i’ve always planned to move, but now, i need to bring my family to safety as soon as possible too.

we need to move for our safety and happiness by the first quarter of 2025. we’re planning to move back to our childhood home that we’ve currently put up for rent (the current renter is leaving soon - no worries). im planning to bring along my mom, my sister, our two cats and dog with me.

the thing is, im worried we wont be able to move because our funds have been so low. recently, i lost my main job because my boss was a creep. i only have a part time job now that only pays me $170 a month which is barely enough for me, much less my family. my sister just graduated college so she doesn’t have a job yet and my mom can’t get a job because it stresses and tires her out (she also deals with mental health problems - a result of this unstable environment).

my goal is to at least reach $500 to ensure that we’ll have enough money for the move and to sustain us for the next couple of months while we adjust to this new environment and heal. i would be so grateful and would appreciate any amount you can give for me and my family.

it’s truly crazy how things can just change from one day to the next. a day before that altercation, i was cooking cordon bleu with my girlfriend at their house, watching arcane s2 act 1 - literally in lesbian bliss. and now im on a mission to save me and my family, to give all of us the freedom and life we deserve.

thank you for reading so far! and thank you so much for donating! im thankful too for any likes or reblogs you can give me to spread my little post. im hoping it will reach so many of you. i really hope we get to accomplish this goal.

i’ll be sure to keep updating this post as we reach certain milestones, maybe even reblogging with pictures of our pets! if youre from the philippines as well and would like to help, you can pm me and i’ll send you my GCASH information! again, thank you so much, i cant thank you, reader, enough!

(please click the photo for the link 🥹 if that doesnt work click here! thank you so much)

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rudnitskaia · 1 day ago

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Today is the 8th birthday of my future novel, “A Tale of the Crystal Mountains” / “The Crystal Mountains Tale” (“Сказка Хрустальных гор”), so I decided to make a post about it. Here are 10 facts about it:

Surprisingly, it is not a tale. It is an epic novel with a Sci-Fi bent.

If I should describe it without telling its plot, it is a story about a young man, who decides to test his conspiracy theory in very inappropriate times for the world, and his decision to take the journey to find out the truth dramatically changes his life and lives of his friends and family.

I’ve been working on it since 11/11/2016, mostly when I have free evenings after my main job. It is a long and hard journey, but small step by small step I’m moving forward, because, well, I just want to tell this story to the world. :)

For now it has more than 180k words (or 500 pages, or 1,17 mln characters with spaces). I think in the end there will be 200k words or so.

I write it in Russian, but hope to translate it into English... somehow. :D if you know a person reckless enough to try to translate it someday I’ll be glad to be acquainted

The text was rewritten thrice before 2018, when I found the right form and path to tell all I want to tell through this story. But I still edit it, because I have perfectionism in its terminal stage I want to make everything work the best way possible. God bless my editor @furciferangeli for her patience :’D

There are 9 characters, who can be considered as main throughout the story.

The story covers more than 50 years of the history of a fully fictional world and develops 7 intertwined plot lines.

If I should’ve drawn parallels between our world and the Tale’s world in the level of technological development, the story takes place mostly in 1910s-1930s.

I plan to finish and publish the first part in December of 2024 and the second part in the spring of 2025.

You can see four reckless boys, with whom we start this story, on the art above. Meet them, from left to right: Brandan Marjoram (Брандан Майоран), Riordell Moss (Риорделл Мох), Theogan Yew (Теоган Тис) and Thymean Marsh (Тимиан Марш). spelling of the names in English can be slightly changed in the future

Characters are mine, commissioned art by amazing Vilta, who’s the official illustrator of the novel.

P.S.: If you’d want to ask me something about my novel or its characters, feel free to make it here or in the ask section, and I’ll try to answer without spoiling anything crucial. 💖

#atotcm #heldig writings #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writers and poets #писательство #русский писатель #писательница

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whiteboi-inferiority · 2 days ago

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Hey Mister 🙈✨

You’ve got a very intriguing blog… I’ve enjoyed much of what you’ve posted 🤭

Wonder if you feel the same about me?

I think I bring a little more to the table than the average fangirl, but I’m eager to see if you agree 😌 I sense that you’re an intelligent man so I really respect what you have to say 😘🙈

Long story short, in 2021 I committed to being an exclusive bottom and had an amicable split with my girlfriend (we’re still good friends 🥰). After a few years of self exploration and hard thinking, I decided to access my state’s gender affirming healthcare and began a hormone plan with my doctor 🥳

Gender has always been a struggle for me. I’ve known my whole life that I’m not a man, but I’ve never really felt like I’m a trans woman either. Over time I’ve grown to accept myself for who I really am & how I feel - not the labels that society puts on me 💖🌸

Thats why I’m proud to be a beta boi 🎀✨ A femmie, a fairy bottom, a boudoir belle 💋 Something in-between… unique and special. I am valued and loved because I’m soft and weak, not in spite of those things ❤️

I’ve accepted that I will never fit the mold of a big strong man - I renounce any privilege I was accidentally given due to my mistake of having been born with this sad imitation of a penis 🥺 I refuse to continue my micro aggressions against the women of society 😭 to burden them with the task of affirming my pathetic performance of masculinity. I reject the toxicity of my birth gender, and swear to always champion the causes of feminism & social justice 🎀🏆✨

Hope to hear back from you soon 🥰

https://www.tumblr.com/metamourmatador/766601075700662272/dont-let-them-get-you-down

(P.S. I’ve been trying for some time now to muster up the courage to say hello, and I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that my gal pal @karlie-xox was insistent I stop by… 🤭)

Attagirl, being brave. @karlie-xox does have a way of motivating you bitches to get in touch huh?

I've seen your content before, of course. I can appreciate the technical skill, creativity and sentiment even if I'm not the target audience. You do good work, and even as you focus more on encouraging effeminacy and making being a sissy girly girl appealing, whether you realise it or not this helps further propagate the BNWO. So thank you for your service, however unintentional.

Reframing your characteristics in a more positive way is hugely beneficial to your mental health, happiness and sense of purpose. Why continue being miserable as a second rate man when you can be so much happier being a first-rate hyper-femme sissy girly? Its not a life of no expectations, but a life of different expectations to which you might be better suited. Well done doing the work to realise that and more importantly acting upon that realisation; you certainly seem to be in a good place with friends, admirers, status, and a sense of purpose as a result. I'm sure your story will be relatable and inspiring to others, so happy to give it a boost.

#bnwo #bnwo propaganda #white sissy #whiteboi acceptance #whiteboi inferiority asks

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infinite--92 · 3 days ago

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Infinite 92

A Gathering of Allies

The email came from Miranda late one night, with a simple but intriguing message: "I have an idea. Come to my place tomorrow afternoon. Bring Emily." Sophie read it, feeling a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. She quickly forwarded the message to Emily, who replied almost immediately, agreeing to join. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of discovery, fear, and unexpected bonding, and now it seemed Miranda had a plan.

The next day, Sophie and Emily arrived at Miranda’s home together. The air was crisp, a light breeze rustling the leaves as they made their way up the steps. Miranda greeted them at the door, a smile on her face that was both welcoming and determined. It was clear she had been thinking about this for a while.

Inside, Miranda had prepared a cozy setup in her living room. There were three chairs arranged in a circle, a pot of tea on the coffee table, and a small whiteboard propped up against the wall. Sophie and Emily exchanged a look—this was no casual meetup. Miranda had something serious on her mind.

The Proposal

Once they were all seated, Miranda took a deep breath and began. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said, looking between Sophie and Emily. “About our situation, about what’s happened to us, and what might be happening to others out there. I realised something: we can’t do this alone.”

Sophie nodded slowly, already feeling a sense of solidarity forming. “You’re right. We need to connect with others, but how do we even find them?”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been working on,” Miranda replied. She reached over and grabbed a small stack of papers from the coffee table, handing them to Sophie and Emily. They were rough sketches of a logo and a name: “Infinite 92.”

Emily furrowed her brow, reading the name aloud. “Infinite 92... What does it mean?”

Miranda’s eyes lit up as she explained. “The ‘infinite’ part is because, as far as we know, the condition we’re in could be indefinite. We’re carrying this mystery within us, and it feels like it could go on forever. And as for the ‘92,’ it’s a reference to the year the pharmaceutical trials began that led to the development of these experimental injections. I did some digging,” she added with a smirk, “and found records of the company’s early research dating back to 1992.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “You think this has been in the works for that long?”

Miranda nodded. “Yes. And if it’s been going on for that long, there could be dozens—maybe hundreds—of women like us. That’s why I want to create this club, this community. ‘Infinite 92’ would be a place for women who have been affected, where they can share their experiences, find support, and maybe even find some answers.”

Forming the Club

Emily looked down at the papers, her fingers tracing the outline of the proposed logo. It was a simple infinity symbol intertwined with the number 92, but it carried a powerful message. “I think it’s a brilliant idea,” she said quietly. “When I found you two, it felt like a lifeline. I can’t imagine how many women out there are feeling as lost and scared as I was. If we can offer them a place to turn to... we have to do it.”

Sophie nodded in agreement. “I love it, Miranda. This could be something really special—a way for us to take back some control, to turn this awful thing into something positive.”

Miranda’s face broke into a relieved smile. “I’m so glad you both feel that way. I’ve already started drafting a plan. We can create an online platform, set up a private forum where people can share their stories anonymously if they want. We can also meet in person, like a support group, to offer emotional and psychological support.”

Emily looked thoughtful. “How do we get the word out? If this has been kept under wraps for so long, it might be hard to find others.”

Miranda’s expression turned serious. “We’ll have to be careful. We can start by posting in online forums related to medical anomalies, pregnancy, and clinical trials. We can also reach out to women’s health advocacy groups. But we need to keep it discreet at first. The pharmaceutical companies involved in this—they’re powerful, and they might not like what we’re doing. We have to be ready for that.”

A Pact of Unity

The three women looked at each other, the gravity of what they were about to undertake sinking in. This wasn’t just a casual club; it was a movement, a stand against a system that had manipulated and harmed them. It was a chance to build a community, to find others who had been suffering in silence, and to offer them the support they desperately needed.

Sophie extended her hand into the center of their circle. “To Infinite 92,” she said, her voice filled with resolve.

Emily placed her hand on top of Sophie’s. “To finding the truth and supporting each other.”

Miranda added her hand to the pile, her eyes shining with determination. “To every woman out there who needs to know she’s not alone.”

They squeezed their hands together, making a silent pact. From this moment on, they were no longer just three women caught up in a bizarre medical experiment—they were founders of a new sisterhood, one that would stand together against the unknown.

Moving Forward

In the days that followed, they got to work. Miranda set up a secure website for Infinite 92, while Sophie and Emily started drafting posts and reaching out to potential contacts. Slowly but surely, they began to see a trickle of responses—first one, then two, then five. Women from different cities and even different countries shared their stories, all eerily similar. It was clear that this was only the beginning.

Sophie felt a swell of pride as she read the first messages coming in. For the first time since her life had been turned upside down, she felt like she was part of something meaningful, something bigger than herself.

They had no idea what the future held, but they knew one thing for certain: they were in this together, and they wouldn’t rest until they had answers. Infinite 92 was born, and it was only just beginning.

#preggie #pregnant women #pregnant woman #pregnant #pregnancy #pregblr #preggo kink #preggophilia #huge pregnant belly #big pregnant belly #pregnancy fantasy #preggolife #super preggo #plus size preggo #preggo k!nk #pregnant beauty #pregnant kink #pregnant bump

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whenyuuwish · 2 days ago

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bluecherry in the Cinderella AU

✦. ❝ so this is love, so this is what makes life divine. i’m all aglow and now i know the key to all heaven is mine. my heart has wings and i can fly. i’ll touch every star in the sky so this is the miracle, that i’ve been dreaming of

warnings: child neglect and abuse, bullying, confinement/imprisonment loss and abandonment, emotional manipulation

Whitney is raised in a harsh orphanage, where she takes on the responsibilities of caring for her younger brothers, Jordan and Myles. Despite being the oldest, she's forced to do all the chores, while the other orphans neglect to help.

Jordan and Myles secretly help Whitney with her work, but are punished whenever they’re caught. The boys are like Whitney’s little small friends, loyal and protective of her.

Whitney is drawn to stories of adventure and romance, spinning tales of magic for her brothers and longing for a life beyond her mundane duties.

The king of the Queendom of Roses, Riddle Rosehearts, announces a ball to find a bride for his friend, Prince Ace Trappola (Son of the Kingdom Caelumrose, where the other/oldest son gave up on the crowd as he wished for adventure). Whitney learns that all eligible maidens are invited, fueling her dream to attend and escape her harsh life, even if just for a night.

Her orphanage rivals, the “older girls,” mock Whitney’s desire to go to the ball. They take advantage of her enthusiasm by adding to her chores, making it seem impossible for her to prepare in time.

As Whitney faces the disappointment of missing the ball, a mysterious, mischievous fairy named Lilia appears. Understanding her wishes, he transforms her into a regal young lady with a beautiful blue dress and glass slippers. Lilia also transforms a nearby pumpkin into a carriage and her the orphanage mice into horses to take her to the ball. He reminds her that the spell will break at midnight.

At the ball, Prince Ace is surrounded by eager suitors (he’s not that interested in romance), yet none capture his attention until he meets Whitney. Despite her old-fashioned manners and shy demeanor, Ace is captivated by her charm and mystery.

Whitney and Ace share a dance and quickly become close, bonding over their mutual desire to defy their rigid roles in society. The Prince’s friends Riddle, Deuce, and others watch, shocked by Ace’s sudden interest in someone so different.

Just as the two are about to share a deeper conversation, Whitney hears the clock chime midnight. Remembering Lilia’s warning, she rushes from the palace, leaving behind a single glass slipper.

The next day, Prince Ace declares that he will marry the girl whose foot fits the slipper. The royal Duke, Deuce, is sent to every household in the kingdom.

News reaches Whitney’s orphanage, and her rivals do everything possible to hide her, locking her away in a storage room so she can’t try on the slipper.

Jordan and Myles, with the help of some of the orphanage animals, manage to retrieve the key to free Whitney from her locked room, allowing her to reach Deuce just in time.

Deuce arrives, and the slipper fits perfectly on Whitney’s foot. Her rivals are horrified as Deuce declares her the Prince’s chosen bride.

Whitney is taken to the castle, where she and Prince Ace are reunited. The two fall deeply in love, each finding in the other a kindred spirit who shares their desire for freedom and adventure.

Whitney, now free from the constraints of her old life, brings her brothers to live with her in the palace.

#my writting | 𝐛𝐫𝐛𝐬.#. ݁₊ ⊹ . bluecherry #. ݁₊ ⊹ . whitney beaumont #💫 cinderella au !

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areyouwell · 2 hours ago

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Memento Mori

Ch.1

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: Violence, slight body horror

Word Count: 8.1K

A/N: Took me long enough. New long-fic comin' in from the left! i know i teased this around three weeks ago (ish) but here's chapter one. not sure this is gonna be as long as Phobophobia but i'm really excited about this one. it's a little darker (yeah i know) but i already love this MC. if anyone wants tagging in this pls lmk, i don't wanna assume everyone who i tagged in Phobophobia wants to be tagged again so i'll start a new list <3

Dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

“So, as detailed here, there have been a string of these… murders, I suppose.”

Logan sighed heavily. When he woke up this morning, the one thing he didn’t expect was to be called into Charles Xavier’s office so soon after having breakfast, let alone be greeted with grainy photographs of some of the most horrific murder scenes he’d ever had the displeasure of looking at. Entrails, bones, flesh, eyes. None of it was where it should be, which most of the time, seemed scattered around the floor rather than attached to whichever poor, unfortunate soul who’d had the shitty luck of running into their silent assassin. Charles pointed the telescopic stick towards the mangled jacket of one of the equally mangled victims. Logan couldn’t even tell what gender they were, their face nothing but a bloody pulp.

Almost as if it had been exploded from the inside out.

“This symbol here is the only string that connects the murders, and after doing a little digging,” he nodded thankfully to Ororo, her white hair bobbing with her dip of acknowledgement. “We found they all belonged to the same company, here.” With a click of the remote in his hands, the projection flipped to the next slide, a map of San Fransisco, a large red circle drawn around a location Logan was only somewhat familiar with, only because he’d walked past it a few times.

“It’s a warehouse,” he offered, several heads turning to look at him. “I’ve walked ‘round there couple times. Nothin’ special, s’always buzzin’ with life.” He shrugged thoughtfully, tugging a cigar from his jacket pocket and flicking the Zippo lighter open and shut with his other hand. Charles gave him a slightly irritated look, but he pretended not to notice.”So… What? Our killer’s just popping caps in the head’s underpaid workers? Doesn’t make much sense.”

“That’s what we thought too,” Ororo continued, placing down a few pieces of paper and spreading them about the table. “Until we started to notice a pattern. They’ve been picking off specific shift workers, mainly those on the late shift. But it’s never new members of staff either. Always those who’ve worked there for at least two years. Lately, their security has increased, but once they leave work, they’re basically on their own.” Storm took the remote from Charles and clicked to the next slide, a list of names and hours flaring onto the screen, the names of victims having been crossed out, though their hours were still visible on the row of the rota.

“Ya don’t think this has anything to do with that orphanage incident, do you?” Kitty piped up, cupping her mug of tea in both hands, either for comfort or for warmth, Logan couldn’t tell. She had a good point. It must have been around a month ago now. A fire had started downtown in the dead of night. Officials had said it was a discarded cigarette from one of the employees, but that didn’t explain why all the windows and doors had been locked.

Everyone within burned. Children included.

“It’s certainly a theory…” Scott mused, rubbing his hand against his jaw in thought. “A terrible accident sounded far too much like a cover story. Think this killer had something to do with it?”

Charles sighed heavily. “Ordinarily, yes, I’d have some kind of suspicion, if it wasn’t for the fact our killer was elsewhere at the time.” He nodded to Ororo, who clicked the remote once again. “This was taken not an hour beforehand, on the other side of the city. Unless the killer can teleport, there’s no way they could have made it across town in such a short amount of time, let alone take all the precautions and set alight to the building. Though I do not believe it was merely a terrible accident, I don’t believe they had anything to do with it.” Charles finished before Ororo leant over the pages she’d spread on the table, spinning one to face the rest of the team.

“Though we do have this. A pattern of all the attacks and locations,” Logan stood up to skirt around the table, standing between Kitty and Marie as he inspected the red pen. With every X, the attacks almost formed an exact circle around the warehouse, almost as if the killer could predict which ways those victims would take home. Especially after the first attack. “We think the next one will happen here,” Ororo pointed to a side street far between the locations either side. “The most recent one being here, it’s logical to think they’d take the opposite side. At least, that’s what we’re hoping…” She trailed off, and Logan returned to his seat, having an idea as to what this meeting was actually about.

“You want us to lay a trap, right? Trail several employees home and jump in before Killer McGee can get their hands on ‘em.” He clarified, and Charles nodded a little too darkly for his liking.

“Exactly. Which is why I won’t be asking you all on this mission. We need to avoid detection and sending all of us would be too much of a risk. Whoever this is, we must assume they’re a mutant. These attacks happen quickly and viciously, and to cause such damage in such a short amount of time, we must assume they possess some sort of ability.

“Scott, Ororo and Logan, I trust you can handle this task? I will be in Cerebro with Jean on hand, and the rest I want you on standby in the Blackbird in case backup is required.”

“Wait, we’re doing this tonight?” Marie squeaked, casting a wary glance to Kitty who returned her expression. Logan was relieved neither of them would be actively on the mission, he’d come to care for them both deeply, and whilst that didn’t mean he didn’t care for either Ororo or, though he’d never admit it, Scott, he was glad the two girls would be on standby rather than active duty.

“The attacks seem random, as if they flipped a coin to see if they would head out each night, but when you look closer, they’re only on the days the older members of staff are on shift. We think they’re looking for something, or someone, specific.” Ororo explained, pointing back to the projection on the screen. “These three here have been working at this specific warehouse for three, four and seven years respectably,” she clicked the remote again for each of their work ID cards to flash onto the screen. “Scott, you’re tailing Alec,” she gestured to the string bean of a man, blonde hair styled into several spikes atop his head, two silver snakebite piercings adorned his lower lip.

“Logan, you’ve got Manuel, he’s been there for four years,” Logan didn’t think they could have found such a different-looking guy to the previous one if they fucking tried. Manuel was built like a brick shit house, a buzzcut of dark hair dusted the top of his otherwise bald head, ears like fucking cauliflowers. Of course, that’s who he’d be tailing, probably because a punch from this guy would send anyone else across the damn room.

“And I’ll be tailing Henry, he works in the office upstairs but is still very much a likely target. We’re hoping to locate and pin down the killer before their shifts even finish, but in the eventuality The Professor can’t get a lock on them, this is the backup plan. Got it?”

Both Logan and Scott nodded in unison. It didn’t seem too much of a problem mission if this killer was cowardly enough to be picking these guys off one by one, he didn’t think they had much in terms of fighting prowess. Taking an enemy by surprise was the coward’s way out, in his opinion, though he supposed not everybody could heal the way he could.

And taking this killer by surprise was exactly the plan…

Maybe he should rethink his principles.

“Be suited up and ready to head out at ten. Gives us at least an hour to locate and set up.” Ororo gathered the papers on the table, tapping the small stack against the surface before tucking them beneath her arm. “Right, I’ve got a class to teach, pretty sure you do too, Professor.” She turned to Charles who simply smiled and nodded, ending the meeting just like that. With a huff and a stretch, Logan stood from his seat, instantly reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a thick cigar, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Xavier, the Professor glancing pointedly to the chilly air beyond the window. Logan knew what he was saying, and usually, he’d tell him to go fuck himself and smoke indoors. But he needed a breath of fresh air after that stuffy, slightly nauseating meeting, and if he could kill two birds with one stone, why wouldn’t he?

With an acquiescing shrug, he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning on his heel to stalk from the boardroom, shoving the door open with his shoulder and almost walking chest first into Jean. His heart skipped a beat or three, lips pulling up into a small smirk to hide the fact he was borderline giddy to be running into her outside the meeting. She’d been the object of his affection ever since he was brought to the mansion and she checked his vitals. He couldn’t help it. There was just something about her he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that drew him to her the instant he was in her presence. He didn’t find himself thinking of her much outside their interactions, but when they were in the same room, all he could think about was her. It would be frustrating if he cared about anything said in those meetings.

“Watin’ f’me now are ya?” He teased lowly, savouring the way her lips pursed to stop herself from smiling. There were times Logan thought she felt the same magnetic pull toward him that he felt toward her, times like this, where she didn’t look away from his gaze, and entertained his relentless teasing.

“You know Scott’s still in there. We have plans,” she responded, feigning an attempt to look past him and back into the room where Scott was discussing various strategies with the Professor. Logan raised a brow as he followed her wavering line of sight, keeping that brow raised as he looked back at her.

“Plans? Hope you don’t mean dinner, doesn’t look like he’ll be out anytime soon.” If she could just see how terrible Scott was for her. If he could just make her see how he would be so much better. Would suit her better. Would take care of her better. He wasn’t willing to change for many people, but if Jean asked, he would do it in a heartbeat. He’d change himself for her.

“Yes, Logan, dinner plans before the mission. And you know this is a tradition because you comment on it every time.” She huffed, her hair bobbing slightly with every emphatic move of her head. Logan chuckled lightly, his eyes briefly glancing from her gaze to her lips, how perfect they looked, and how perfect they would look wrapped around his–

“Then we both have our little traditions, don’t we? C’mon, doll. Why don’t we stop this dance?” His fingers curled through a strand of her hair, feeling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Haven’t I shown ya I can be the good guy?”

Jean sighed, and Logan half expected her to move away, but instead, she just closed her eyes, shaking her head softly. Was she mournful? Disappointed? It was hard to tell.

“Logan, I don’t–”

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Scott’s voice slashed through the charged atmosphere between them, and Logan found his hand falling away from Jean’s hair almost instantly.

“We were jus’ talkin’, Scotty.” Logan shot back, trying to keep the defence from his voice. There was no need to let Scott know just how irritated the interruption made him feel.

“Yeah, like hell you were. Back off, Logan. I don’t wanna have to tell you again.” Placing his arm around Jean’s shoulders, Logan couldn’t help but notice the way she shrank slightly, looking almost humiliated. He tensed his jaw. If she hated Scott’s attention this much, she knew what he had to do. Logan didn’t know how much more obvious he could make his interest in her. All she needed to do was take the leap. “Yeah yeah, ‘stay away from my girl’, I know.” He mocked, sending Jean a wink before continuing on his path to the courtyard. Now he really fucking needed that cigar.

The city was so pretty in the twilight. Silhouetted buildings scattered with twinkling lights against a deep blue sky, it almost made up for the lack of stars. And there was nothing like watching the city skyline descend into darkness that had you more prepared than ever for your latest chosen victim. You hadn’t learned nearly as much as you should have by now, nobody you’d tortured knew anything about what you were looking for and it was starting to piss you off. But you didn’t bury those feelings. Instead, you harnessed them. Used your frustration to your advantage and honed yourself like a forged weapon. Every burn of urgent irritation sharpened your slices, focused your fileting, and pinpointed your precision.

For the greater good, you reminded yourself as your watch beeped ten, and you spun the small knife in your palm before sheathing it in your boot. Your specific target of the night finished early every other week on Thursdays, hence your change in schedule today. In fact, a good few of them did. You assumed it had something to do with specific shipments on the warehouse floor but you didn’t bother yourself with the details. You knew his schedule now. You’d been watching for weeks. And you had every single detail of his various ways home. He was a bus-taker. Though, to avoid you, he’d been taking different numbered busses to other parts of town, before heading home. But the moron used the same three in rotation. There was no cause to wonder why he worked in a warehouse…

Although you had a good feeling about this one. You’d already scored one victim of the night, who was currently unconscious in your chosen location. You were one hundred per cent sure he knew what you were looking for, and you had a fantastic feeling about this one too.

Standing from where you’d been lounging against a rooftop balcony, you stretched your arms high above your head, listening to your bones and joints crack slightly before securing the steel mask over your features, cursing the phantoms of your past for providing you with such memorable makeup, and, shrugging the hood of your short-sleeved jacket over your head. Your hands dipped into the various sheathed across your waist, double checking the various blades in your belt. You were thankful you never needed to go through any kind of metal detector, because it would likely take you the rest of the night to remove every weapon dotted about your body, from the little holsters on your biceps to the sheathes in your boots, to the retractable blades in the bracers on your wrists. A wise woman once said you can never have too many knives.

A phrase you really should copyright before anyone else claims it.

Five past ten. Go time. Taking a few steps back, you broke into a sprightly run, leaping like a dexterous cat across the rooftops, every step measured in surety. You’d done this too many times to start second-guessing yourself now, and it wasn’t like you were a stranger to the city’s rooftops and sketchy alleyways before you started doing this. With little effort, you crossed blocks in a matter of moments, skipping over crowds and traffic like it was child’s play before you landed with a deft roll above the side street tonight’s victim would take in a matter of five minutes.

Like you said. Child’s play

You crouched low, removing the serrated knife from your belt, and flicking it in your palm over and over. It was a habit you’d developed when waiting in anticipation for something. It kept your hands occupied whilst your mind focused on the events to come, picturing exactly how you wanted things to play out. It was difficult. Capturing and torturing these assholes was like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Fourth clear, no signs of our guy.”

You ducked low on the rooftop, an unpredicted obstacle walking into view wearing some shitty leather getup, fingers delicately perched at the side of his horizontal glasses. Though they weren’t exactly glasses. How would you describe it? Eye-guard? Some weird single glass as opposed to glasses? Whatever the fuck they were, you didn’t exactly want to find out what they did. He was holding them as if they were some kind of weapon.

Shit, this really wasn’t good. If he didn’t move on now, you’d have to take him out and risk alerting your victim to your presence. Fuck, fuck and fuck again. And just as luck would have it, Alec appeared at the other end of the alleyway, nervously looking about before entering hurriedly. People didn’t watch enough movies. Did they really not know that entering dark alleyways with a killer on the loose was practically the same as signing your own death certificate? In any case, this actually worked in your favour. With Mr Visor patrolling the other end, you sliced open your hand, your blood humming as you pulled it from your veins to wrap around the metal drainage pipe before you swung off the rooftop, the crimson rope twisting and writhing as if it were alive as you descended, landing quietly a few paces behind him.

Now, if he wasn’t on such high alert, he would have most likely chalked the slight thud of your landing to the sound of a street cat, or perhaps a fox. But the way Alec jumped with a yelp, staggering as he turned to face you, didn’t exactly scream discreet. You held your hand up in front of you, contorting your fingers as your mutation felt for his pulse, slowing down the blood flow in his veins as quickly as you could. Not fast enough, a strangled yell flew from his now pale lips, and you swore viciously as your latest obstacle jogged back into view between the alleyway’s walls.

“Shit, HE’S HERE!” He called to nobody you could see, and you barely had time to duck before a searing red beam of pure energy shot above your head, illuminating the dingy street in the crimson glow. You thought it slightly ironic, as your knife slashed through the palm of your hand, the colour of his mutation and who he was up against. Curving your arm in a wide arc, you manipulated your own blood cells into a wide blade, propelling it forward whilst you took a few steps toward your now collapsed victim. With Glasses now distracted by what you assumed was him discovering your own mutation, you felt around his veins for his heartbeat, tracing the blood flow back until you found the source, and you poured all your energy into slowing that one too.

“He can manip… manipulate bl… blood.” Once again he spoke aloud to nobody you could sense, his knees giving out before he crashed to the floor. You huffed out a breath, fishing a small bandage from the pouch on your belt before wrapping up your hand and pulling the tie tight with your teeth. The one thing you found frustrating about your mutation was your inability to heal. How fucking helpful that would be, if every time you had to slash yourself open, you could just reseal the wound? Instead of running the risk of bleeding out. But you guessed everything had its drawbacks. Even blood manipulation.

You bent to pick up Alec’s ankles, dragging him a few feet back the way he came, before you stopped, and looked back to the unconscious mutant at the alley’s mouth. You should kill him. Things would be easier if you did. And so, dropping your victim’s feet without much care, you strode over, finding a small gap in the wrappings around your palm, you extended a small spear from your flesh with the intention of jabbing it through his head and silencing what he saw here forever.

But there were little voices calling out from a small earpiece nestled in his ear canal. You tilted your head, plucking the bud from the side of his head and holding it up to your own ear.

“Scott? Scott can you hear us?!”

“We’re tracking your location, hang tight!”

“I’m en route, stay alive asshole.”

A kaleidoscope of voices blended together, though the last one had you dropping the earpiece and crushing it with the heel of your boot. Someone was coming. A big someone. Someone whose voice you really hoped didn’t match his body.

You should kill him. You really should kill this Scott guy, but something about the concern and fierce loyalty of those in the earpiece stopped you. This man was loved. He was cared for. Most of your victims didn’t have anyone. No family, very little friends, and all with some kind of penchant for criminal activity. Alec, for example, was finding himself becoming a little too familiar with the gates of a primary school. The more you watched him, the more you found yourself utterly repulsed by the way he would try and get the attention of those kids. Those children.

But Scott had people who would care if he died. And so you let him be, pulling and pushing him upright against the wall before jogging back over to your actual victim and resuming your strained attempts to drag him off to your chosen location for the night.

An ancient, local church, ironically enough.

Logan raced through the streets, across busy roads and through closed parks, leaping over fences and gates effortlessly. He knew Scott’s location, Jean begging him over coms to do what he could. He was still alive, The Professor could sense it, but how the mission had immediately gone south, he had no idea. But at least Scott was still alive. At least, he was for now.

“SCOTT!” He called, slowing his steps as he closed in on his location, his claws sliding from his knuckles. The metallic scent of blood flooded his senses, but it wasn’t Scott’s. He knew what Scott’s blood smelled like, having punched him in the nose a few times for the scent to be memorable. No, this blood was new, unfamiliar, and reeked of mutation. Which he supposed made sense.

Blood manipulator. That was the last thing Scott had said before he fell silent and before his channel died completely. And stalking up to the mouth of the alleyway, he could see why. Scott’s earpiece lay crushed on the concrete, little pieces scattered across the floor. Peering into the alleyway, Logan’s heart raced as his eyes cut through the darkness to find Scott himself lying slumped against the wall, his head hanging low. Logan bent to one knee, placing two fingers against the side of his neck to feel his slow yet strong pulse. The same pulse that would be associated with someone unconscious. But there was no head wound. Nothing to indicate he’d been completely knocked out.

“Is he–”

Logan looked back to see Ororo landing behind him, her hair slightly wild from the wind. She must have flown her way over, avoiding the nightlife altogether.

“He’s alive. Unconscious, but alive. You heard what he said, right? Blood manipulator. I think our guy must have slowed his heartbeat or somethin’. There’s no wound anywhere…” Logan gently moved Scott’s head in search of any kind of blunt force trauma but found none. Not that he was expecting to find anything, since the only blood he could smell was unfamiliar. And it lead right down the alley and out the other side. “Gonna need ya t’stay here, Storm. Make sure Scott’s alright.” He kept his eyes focused on the darkness ahead, and the small sliver of light beyond.

“And where’re you going?” Ororo asked, crouching beside him as if to physically demonstrate she’d stay with Scott. Logan sniffed the air again, almost able to see the blood trail the scent was so damn strong.

“Followin’ our man. We don’t know if he bagged his victim, but if he was here with Scott, then he was after Alec, and I don’t see him anywhere, do you?” He asked, raising a brow to the woman by his side, who shook her head.

“No. And I didn’t see him from above either. Alright, you go. But be careful, Logan. He’s unpredictable and now we have an idea as to how dangerous. If he can knock Scott out cold like this, he shouldn’t be taken lightly,” Ororo implored, watching as he rose from his crouch. Logan huffed an irritated sigh, having to restrain himself before he rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be fine. Look after Cyclops.” Was all he said, before taking off down the alleyway at a light jog, following his nose and turning left at the end.

“Logan, this isn’t a good idea. You can’t charge into the unknown with no information other than blood-manipulator.” Jean’s voice echoed in his ear, and he once again felt his lips pull up into a small smirk.

“Why, you worried about me?” He provoked, chuckling when he heard her deep sigh, pinching the earpiece between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll send up a flare if I need ya.”

“Logan don’t–”

Whatever Jean was about to say was lost when he tossed the coms unit onto the ground, leaving it and all methods of communication behind as he continued on toward his target. He couldn’t believe his eyes when his nose led him to a looming church, stained windows dark from the inside, spires towering high into the night. This couldn’t be right. Either his nose had failed him, which was unheard of, or the killer had a wicked sense of humour. It must have been the latter, the stench of blood increasing tenfold as he crossed the neatly mowed lawn outside, taking the stone steps two at a time and up to the wooden double doors.

His ears twitched as he caught distant screams from inside, deep enough that anyone passing by would be completely oblivious to any goings on within. Once again, he released the hold he had on his claws, razors slicing through his muscles and flesh as they slid from his knuckles. He took a breath, bracing a hand on the centre of one of the doors before he pushed slightly, the hinges’ echoing screech causing him to freeze, letting the sound settle before he moved. The screams continued, and as sick and twisted as it was, he used that to gauge whether or not he’d been heard. So far, remarkably, so good.

Stealth wasn’t his strong suit. Never was, but he cursed every heavy footstep that bounced off the wooden beams and stone walls, even the stained glass seemed to be mocking him, some ridiculous depiction of a halo-wearing baby with the proportions completely incorrect, being carried by an equally disproportionate-looking woman who seemed to be bathed in holy light. Once upon a time, he may have found comfort in the frieze. Now he simply thought it ridiculous. How could there be a god when mutants like him walk the earth? When mutants like this killer were allowed to wander around completely free?

He shook his head of the thoughts. Now was not the time to contemplate divinity. If he wanted to discuss religion, he’d have a conversation with Kurt. He followed his senses, down the aisle between the pews and up to the lectern, his head snapping to the right and through the door to the sacristy. Once again measuring his steps, Logan crossed the altar and into the shadows behind the pillars, that same coppery scent of blood lingering on the slightly crimson-stained doorknob, the faint smokey smell of mutation told him this was the killer’s blood. Had the victim fought back somehow? He assumed he’d done the same thing to them as he had to Scott, knocked them out before dragging them away.

Shoving the door open, Logan took a moment to look around. Nothing much, other than a large closet, a chest of drawers and a small bathroom sink with a mirror. A rug covered a large portion of the floor, the patterns almost psychedelic in nature, but this was where the scent was strongest so far. Here, in this room. Then where the hell was all the screaming coming from? He could still hear it, in the distance, beyond several walls of stone, or deep beneath–

Logan paused, his eyes flickering from the bare walls to the rug on the floor, one corner ever so slightly raised from the ground. With determined curiosity, he tugged on the fabric, pulling it back from the ground before tossing it completely into a corner. There, now revealed, a wooden trap door. He couldn’t help but think it was a little cliché, to have a trap door leading down to some kind of torture chamber, but if the chosen location told him anything, it was that the killer had a flair for the dramatic.

To hell with stealth at this point. Logan crouched, gripping the large brass handle and throwing up the door so it clattered loudly against the floor. He was glad he had excellent vision, as the darkness beyond would be enough to turn away even the bravest of souls. And yet, here he was, taking step after step down into the pitch black, his eyes reflecting what little light there was. Perhaps the setting was more fitting than he originally thought because it truly felt like he was descending into the pits of hell with each careful step. The scent of blood now fused with the acrid scent of urine, and the musk of sweat. It was enough to have him almost gag, but he kept on going, led by the sounds of broken screams.

Until those broken screams were cut viciously short.

Logan stopped in his tracks, bracing a hand against the damp wall, a crippling sense of failure weighing heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t been fast enough, and now Alec was likely dead. He couldn’t think of another reason why the killer would just cut off his screams like that. But what unnerved Logan further, was that now one voice had been silenced, another was rising up the dark, dank tunnel. There were two. The motherfucker had managed to grab two victims in one night. What the fuck was he using them for? Why torture them? What was he looking for?

A pinprick of flickering light teased him from the distance, the literal light at the end of the tunnel winking in the distance. How far down had he gone for the exit to only now be visible? Had this guy really dragged two bodies down these stairs already today? A picture was forming in Logan’s mind. He had to have some kind of muscle on him to be able to carry weights such as these. But he couldn’t let himself get comfortable in his predictions. That would only lead to chaos. So he kept his mind open, the only thing he was fairly sure about was the fact this killer was a man.

Not that a woman couldn’t be capable of this kind of thing, but he’d seen the size of some of the victims. Either she was some kind of bodybuilder or a man. One seemed more likely than the other.

He felt like he’d been in this stupid fucking tunnel for years by the time his eyes needed to adjust to the flickering torchlight, the steps levelling out to a long, claustrophobic stone hallway, the low arch of the ceiling barely high enough for him to stand up completely straight, the tips of his brushed up hair lightly brushing the damp brickwork. He continued creeping forward, a cone of more flickering torchlight illuminating a doorway ahead of him and to the right.

The secondary voice gurgled another agonised scream, and Logan felt a decent amount of urgency fuel his steps, half jogging the remaining feet up to the archway, peering around the stone.

His stomach clenched, eyes widening. Well, that would show him not to make assumptions. The killer wasn’t a man.

You were a woman.

The two victims were strapped to chairs, back to back, a knife in the mouth of one, the other’s head– Alec’s head, hung limp. In the lap of the other, you held a map, blood dripping from both your palms.

“Point.” You spat, delivering a harsh slap to the side of his face. “And so help you, your answers better match up.”

With shaky movements, your captive craned his neck down, pointing the quivering tip of the knife against a random point on the map you’d lay in his lap, tears flowing down his face as he whimpered in utter terror. Logan watched as you raised your hand over Alec’s head, contorting your fingers as he groggily returned to consciousness. He couldn’t see his face before, and Logan would spend a long time wishing he could return to that ignorance. Two dark, bloodied holes replaced the sockets where his eyes should be, tears of sanguine had rolled down his cheeks, staining his flesh until it bled into the exposed muscle of his cheek.

“Finally, we’re getting somewhere.” You took a step back, snatching the map from your second victim and drawing a circle with the bloodied tip of your finger. After so many deaths, the cacophony of screams that kept you awake at night, finally you had a lead. “And what is it exactly th–”

You stopped, your nerves alight with alert.

Logan whipped back behind the archway, pressing his spine against the wall and keeping his breathing steady. He didn’t hold out hope you hadn’t seen him, and he was incredibly thankful for that, clenching his fists when your voice echoed in the expanses of the chamber.

“I can feel it. The mutation in your blood. Scott’s friend, I assume?”

With a long sigh, Logan stepped out from behind the archway and into the light.

“Friend is a strong term. Associate.” He responded, his eyes flickering to each of your palms as crystals of crimson extended from the two wounds in your flesh, taking the form of jagged blades. Your head tilted to the side, hood shifting slightly for the light to catch your eyes.

“Scott’s associate…” you mused lowly, striking out with surgical precision to the two captives, keeping your wince locked away as your two blades crunched through their skulls with a sickening squelch.

Logan clenched his jaw, keeping his chin held high. “No explosions this time? Entrails seem far too organised for you.”

“A fan of my work? Sorry, I don’t tend to do meet-and-greets. Although I’d be willing to sign your corpse for you.” You held your blood blades tight in your palms as you bent your knees. You wouldn’t be getting out of here without a fight. And whilst you could feel the mutation in his blood, you had no idea what it was exactly that he could do. The claws were an obvious giveaway, but was that it? You’d come to learn to put all assumptions to the side and be prepared for anything.

Years on the streets had taught you that.

“Why?” Logan asked, taking a steadying breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why?” He repeated with just as much conviction. “Why do this? What’re you looking for? Why’re you doing this?” He watched you falter slightly as if genuinely taken aback that he was interested enough to ask. “You coulda killed Scott, but you didn’t. Y’not afraid of causing pain, but you left him unharmed. Why?”

Too many thoughts were running through your head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to admit that you couldn’t. He had nothing to do with this, and whilst yes he got in your way, he was innocent. None of these people were. None of your victims were. Least of all, you.

“Why ask? Did you want me to? Yikes, that’s some rivalry you got there.” You deflected, twirling one of your blades in your hand. “Tell ya what, I’ll finish the job for you, free of charge.” You grinned behind your mask, taking a step toward him, dragging the tips of your crystalised blood blades along the ground, leaving little crimson trails as you walked.

“Got a lotta lip, ya know that?” He growled, watching you like a hawk as you slowly stalked forward, step by careful step.

“If only you knew the trouble my mouth gets me into…” You paused for a moment, crouching low. Anticipation crackled in the air, sparks of adrenaline igniting the room before you launched forward, keeping low to the ground.

Logan tracked your movements, bending his knees and bracing his claws in front of his body before your blades cracked against his, literal sparks flying from the contact point as you stay low, your other hand braced against the floor, leaving bloodstains on the stone. Your leg swept toward his, and he wrenched his claws from where they’d tangled with your blades, taking a quick step back to avoid your jab.

Using your momentum, you pushed off from the ground, spinning upright just in time to parry a slice from his claws, your blood thrumming with the impact. He was strong. Really fucking strong. Annoyingly strong, in fact. You hated having to manipulate the vessels and cells within your body, but the moment his fists arced down toward you, you had no choice but to increase the blood flow to your biceps, wincing slightly as they shuddered and flexed in response, but it was just enough to catch him off guard, your two blades crossed between his six claws.

You didn’t let the moment linger, delivering a harsh kick to the centre of his stomach and using the almost rock-like surface to send yourself a few steps back, sweat already trailing down the inside of your mask.

Logan bent double, grunting in discomfort before lowering into a similar crouch to your own, watching closely as your blades dragged along the ground once again, leaving little slices of crimson. You raised your head in challenge, the flickering torchlight catching two sparks of sanguine red eyes, pulsing slightly as your mutation shimmered from your hands, veins bulging up your wrists. Something tugged at his chest, and he stilled for a moment. It looked almost… painful. The way he could see every pulse of your heart thumping within those bloodborne blades.

His head tilted to the side, and you felt discomfort crawl over your skin. Was he… studying you? In the middle of a fucking fight? And not the ‘I’m studying you to see your next attack’ kind of way. You grit your teeth, irritation flaring in your gut as you launch forward, anger and frustration now fuelling your movements. How dare he. How dare he try to read you like this. He didn’t even fucking know you. But the way his features slackened slightly, the ever so small tilt of his head. You wanted to tear him to ribbons.

Logan shook himself from his thoughts as you surged forward, once again bracing himself for the flurry of swipes he could sense was coming his way. Only–

You ducked to the side.

Your blades retracting back into your palms as you slid past him, grazing the centre of your hand against the floor in a wide arc. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck was with all the acrobatics. You’d done nothing but flip and spin around him, barely going in for any hits. He whirled around, claws still held before him in closed fists, but you looked… done.

Like you’d already won.

“Well, this has been a pleasure. But I’m afraid I’m a very busy woman,” you paused, placing a hand on your hip as if you were having a casual conversation in a shopping centre. “And you’re wasting my time.”

Logan barely had time to think before the bloodstains on the ground shifted, and in every place you’d dragged your palm across the stone, a sharp spear shot from the marks towards him, impaling through his suit and into his chest, his legs, back, and shoulders with a sick, wet crunch.

Through agonising pain, he finally understood what you were doing. Setting up a fucking trap. Any attempt to move resulted in tearing fire through his body, a rough cry of pain flying from behind his gritted teeth, before it became too much as he sank to his knees. Your sigh almost sounded disappointed, and he watched through hazy vision as you brought out a bandage from your belt and started to wrap up one of your palms with a slight hissed wince.

You’d expected him to be dead by now, and yet somehow he was still clinging to life like a tenacious limpet. An irritated huff warmed the interior of your mask as you flicked your unbound hand, another jagged spear of ruby sailing from your palm and through the centre of his stomach, wrenching another agonised cry from his throat.

“Fucking hell… still here? Most would be dead by now.” You folded your arms across your chest, wandering over to where he was still bent double on his knees, heaving rasped breaths.

“Most of ‘em can die.” He snarled back, his strength slowly returning as his regeneration worked overtime to remove the whipping spears from his body. You watched as they shifted in response to the resistance, fascination curling like smoke in your head. What the hell was this guy?

“And you can’t, I presume?”

“Nope. Not yet, at least.”

“Huh,” you shrugged, your eyes flaring as you wormed those tendrils back through his flesh, something twinging in your chest as you did so. “That’s… unfortunate,” you crouched in front of him, running your fingers along one of the tendrils of blood holding him still, your eyes falling to the little X symbol on his leather collar, recognition striking you like lightning. “Wait… I know you. You’re one of Xavier’s, right? Never thought he’d meddle in simple human murders,” you thought for a moment, regarding him. “Doesn’t it bother you? Being nothing but a weapon to him? Just a gun to point at the enemy whilst he’s the one who claims the victory?” You provoked, finally garnering a response as he all but growled at you, bloodied teeth bared. You had half a mind to use his own blood to sew his mouth shut, but you were curious about him. A mutant who couldn’t die, running around playing soldier for someone who would never walk the battlefield himself.

Sure he should be the one pulling the strings.

Logan knew you were trying to get under his skin. Metaphorically, of course. Physically, you’d already achieved that, the sharp bolts of agony with every slight movement told him that much. But he needed to get under yours.

“I know what these people did,” he breathed, chest searing with each fiery inhale. “The ones you choose. I know why you kill them, but why torture them?” He continued through gritted teeth, tugging against the lashing spears through his body.

“You think that’s what this is? Me cleaning up after this world’s scum? I should add myself to that lengthy list.” You growled back, gesturing wildly to the walls around you. “These people know something. The fact they’re all child predators is simply luck. But don’t you think it’s strange? An orphanage burns down and none of the bodies are found?”

Logan stopped his struggle. “What…? How d’you–”

“Nothing. Not even skeletons. Doesn’t that make you wonder where the hell those kids went? The disappearances throughout the city, all kids. All mutant kids.” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what you were saying, and what it meant.

“Y– you’re looking for information…” He muttered with understanding, and you nodded.

“The men at that warehouse… they’re always hanging around schools and –before it burnt down– the orphanage,” your eyes flickered to stairs beyond the archway, and the distant shouts echoing down the hall. “It’s a slave trade. A mutant slave trade.”

“How d’you know?”

“I… I can’t tell you that.” Something twisted in your gut as his expression shifted to something softer, despite the obvious pain he was in. You didn’t want to hurt him. It was a sudden realisation that you’d acted too hastily. Assumed he was here to eliminate you after the series of events you’d caused. But you should have known the moment he started asking questions. Sure, he was probably here to put a stop to what appeared on the surface to be a sequence of grizzly murders, but he’d asked. He wanted to know why. Not many others had done that. And there was something else flickering in his strikingly haze eyes.

He didn’t want to kill you. Not now he knew.

Your head whipped back to the archway, where those distant shouts had increased in volume and, terrifyingly enough, proximity. You could clearly catch the repeated calls of a name. His name.

Logan.

“Look, if you want to help, there’s a gala happening at Thornbury Hall, west of the city. Saturday the 18th. Meet me there or don’t, it’s your choice. But you come alone. I’ll know if you don’t.” You hissed hurriedly, flicking your fingers to withdraw the countless spears from his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as his wounds immediately began to knit back together, muscle and tissue reforming with an unbearable itch, the crystalised blood liquifying once again, staining the stone red.

“Logan?!”

Your breath quickened as you looked back to the archway, and Logan could just see the fear reflecting in your barely visible eyes as you took a few steps back. He wanted to stop you. Wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to take this on alone. They could help. He could help. And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he wasn’t going to take the olive branch you’d just extended.

“How’ll I know it’s you?” He asked as he stood to his feet, eyes narrowing in suspicion despite himself. He hadn’t seen your face. Just two scarlet eyes behind a rather unnerving, featureless mask. Your head flipped between looking at him and looking past him to the archway skittishly, hurried footsteps growing louder as his other associates honed in on your location.

“When you get there, look for a man with a runic tattoo on his neck and ask for Alecto.” You explained, continuing backing up into what looked like just a regular wall. But the greatest thing about ancient buildings such as this was the secret little entrances and exits installed for servants, refugees. Criminals.

“Alecto?” You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh at the slight smirk on his face, the amusement lacing his tone despite your efforts to try and kill him not moments ago.

“Look it up.” Was all you said, before slipping through one of the cracks in the wall the moment he turned around as two other mutants rushed through the archway. You barely caught sight of Scott and the other before you were gone.

“Logan! What the hell? You can’t just go dead like that, what happened to your coms?” Storm ranted before falling silent, panic entered her eyes as she registered the state he was in. “What… what happened to you?”

Logan looked back to where he’d last seen you, finding an odd kernel of relief to see you’d completely vanished into seemingly thin air. “I found our gal. Put up a good fight. Slipped out when she heard ya comin’ and I was immobilised.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just let the very same killer they’d come here to hunt slip away.

“She– wait, she?” Scott asked, clearly having recovered from whatever Alecto had done to him.

“Yeah, she,” he nodded, before sighing heavily. “Look, no point in standin’ round here ‘n chattin’ about it. Charles is gonna wanna know what I know.”

“And what is it exactly that you know?” Scott asked, suspicion lacing his tone, his arms folding across his chest almost in accusation. Logan rolled his eyes.

“A helluva lot more than you, Slim. Let’s go.”

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