#its me and many other people at the summer camp i work at

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Guess who might have 🎶whooping cough🎶

[not-neverland06]

the newlyweds

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Logan Howlett x fem!reader (Flux)

a/n: I wrote this at 3 AM and I'm also pretty sure I'm sick, so bare with me. Based on this: ask

You know Logan can't stand you, but it doesn't stop the way you feel about him. Your mind recognizes the hate in his eyes whenever you're in the same room, but your heart can't. Finally, you come to terms with the truth: it's never gonna happen. However, your newfound resolve is flipped on its head when you're forced to go undercover with him as newlyweds. Your new wedding ring is a noose and you don't know how you'll survive it or him.

You stumble forward as someone knocks into you from behind. Their shoulder jams painfully into your ribcage and you trip into the wall in front of you. “Shit,” you hiss, rubbing your back and turning around to glare at whoever it was. You figure it's a kid skipping class, imagine your surprise when it’s a fully grown man practically growling at you. 

“Where the hell am I?” He darts forward, grabbing you by the arms and jerking you towards him. “Who are you people?” You’re stunned into silence, eyes wide with shock as he pushes your spine into the wall behind you. 

You recognize him now. This is the man who was with Rogue in the truck you, Ororo, and Summers rescued. The only reason you don’t toss him across the room and rip his spine out through his throat is because you know how disoriented he is. Though, with the way his claws threaten to pierce your skin, you are tempted to. 

“Ah,” a familiar and welcomed voice sounds out from beside you both. “I see you’ve met Flux.” Charles rarely ever uses your actual name, mainly introducing you through your X-Men persona. It’s a preference of yours. 

The man’s eyes dart between you and Charles, and your own turn into slits the longer he keeps his tight grip on you. “Wanna let me go now?” You demand voice practically a growl. Your patience has never been wonderful, but he’s really working on your last nerve. 

He blinks, seemingly coming back to himself. With an almost regretful look, he lets you go. You sigh in irritation, straightening your shirt out and shoving past the corner he’s pushed you into. “Who the hell is this?” You snap, moving to stand behind Charles. 

He gives you an apologetic look, “I’m not sure. He hasn’t introduced himself yet.” He gives the man an expectant look. Instead of answering he glances around, and scoffs. 

“What is this, summer camp? You people don’t need to know me, I don’t need to know you. Just show me how to get the fuck out, alright?” Finding Charles’ school had been heaven on earth. He’d provided you with a home and a haven you never thought you would have the privilege of. You’d never shown anger in the face of his guidance or generosity. But many have. 

You can tell, as much as the man in front of you might believe otherwise, he’s going to be enjoying the comfort of Charles’ protection soon. You move to the side, leaving them to their conversation. Instead, you focus on keeping the kids away from the newest form of entertainment. You usher them towards their classes, despite their reluctance. 

The other members of the team soon join you all, introducing themselves. “Storm, Cyclops,” he scoffs a little at Scott’s name and you feel a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. He turns towards you, brows furrowed inquisitively, “Flux?”

“Matter manipulation,” you explain bluntly. He shrugs his shoulders giving you a blank look. Sighing you hold out your hand and gesture to Charles’ desk. With a flick of your wrist, it melts into an unnatural form of liquid wood. Logan’s eyes widen and you can’t help but finally let the full smile form on your lips. “Flux was just what fourteen-year-old me thought fit best.”

He nods, turning back towards Charles with a smarmy grin. “And what do they call you, wheels?” Your eyes widen with shock and an unbidden laugh surges forth. Charles sends you a playful glare and you have to turn around to keep from laughing more. 

You’d thought you wouldn’t like this one. It’s always bad when there’s a member on the team you don’t get along with. It’s not common, but it has happened. They simply keep you separated if they can. The school is wonderful, but it’s not perfect. Not everyone will like each other. You think you and Logan will get along just fine, though.

It started slow, barely noticeable at first. You didn’t know him well enough to understand that the way he treats you is completely different from how he treats everyone else. Where your greetings are brushed off with cold shoulders or the occasional glare, others at the very least get a brief mumble of hello. When you speak, you can practically feel the irritation wafting off of him in waves. You taste his hatred in every interaction. 

There’s no exact moment you can pinpoint where you went wrong. Sure, your introduction to one another was rocky at best. But he’d nearly thrown Jean across the room when they first met and they got along just fine. 

You’ve thought about it, for far too long, about what makes you different than the others. Is it your smile? The pitch of your voice? Of course, you understand that sometimes there are just people that you meet and something inside you hates them. There’s never a true explanation behind the feeling, just instinct. 

But you can’t place what about you would make someone so guarded, so mean. It feels like such a childish word, like too simple of a way to explain Logan. The very least you know about him is that he can never be summed up with the word simple. There are secrets buried deep within him, some he knows, others he doesn’t. You can’t just slap a label on him and walk away. 

More often than not, though, you feel like you’re talking to one of your childhood bullies and not a team member. Because, despite your own feelings towards him, at the end of the day you are team members. There’s no getting around it. From that connection comes, what should be, a base level of respect. 

You’re both in charge of protecting one another and looking out for each other on the field. That means when you put on the suit, you’re putting aside petty grievances. But he seems incapable of that as well. 

You’ve spent mornings practicing your greetings, trying to tone down your cheeriness or inflect your voice with a more welcoming timbre. You’ve changed how you dress, how you do your hair, even your makeup. And at the end of it all, you still got the same miserable look and distinct feeling of worthlessness. All of the change has been temporary, you are a creature of habit. Inevitably, you slide back into the same habits and styles that make you, you. 

You feel stupid, trying to change yourself to better fit someone else's tastes. Especially when it’s someone who so clearly despises you. It’s not how you carry yourself, how you look, it’s the mere fact you exist that bothers him. At least, that’s the conclusion you’ve come to in all your months of experimenting. 

It truly shouldn’t bother you so much. There’s always going to be people who don’t like you. There’s nothing you can do about it. And you’ve never had that desire to change other's opinions on you. But something about Logan has dug its claws under your skin and has refused to let go. You can’t get him out of your head, even when you feel like you hate him, he’s all you think about. You’ve considered asking Jean to use her abilities to somehow dig him out of your brain and keep him out. But you don’t think that would work either. 

You step into the kitchen and nearly freeze in the doorway. Logan sits at the island, back to you as he reads the newspaper. You find yourself lightening your steps, quieting your breath. You make yourself as inconspicuous and convenient as possible. Every time you catch yourself doing something like this, you hate yourself just a little bit more. 

You shouldn’t have to alter parts of yourself to better fit someone else’s needs. You slip along the tiles, your socked feet slamming into the corner of the counter as you pass it. “Shit!” You shout, doubling over as you clutch your throbbing toes. 

So much for being inconspicuous. 

Logan’s head shoots up in shock as he glares over his paper at you. You let out a strained whimper, reluctantly releasing your foot and hobbling towards the coffee pot. You’ve taken more bullets than you count, and somehow that still hurt worse. 

You can’t just ignore him, you feel his stare burning into your back, and it feels too dickish-too much like him, to not say anything. “Morning,” you mutter over your shoulder, barely looking at him. You pour your coffee, trying to ignore how daunting the silence seems. You might as well be alone in the room for all the attention he’ll grant you. 

You feel like a beggar, on hands and knees just for a simple hello. Ever since his first night here, he’s been so aloof with you. It’s only devolved since then. You sigh, slamming the mug onto the counter. Something in you has snapped this morning and it’s not just the bones in your foot. You’re sick of this. 

You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him. He’s not a toddler, he doesn’t deserve to be coddled and catered to. He’s a grown man, an X-Men for fuck’s sake. What he needs, is to learn a little emotional regulation. 

You turn, mouth open and sucking in a deep breath as you prepare your speech. The island is empty as you face it, his stool in the same place it had been while he was on it. The paper lies abandoned, even his nearly full mug is still on the granite. 

You scoff, snapping your jaw shut and rolling your eyes. “Jesus,” you mutter to yourself. Wonderful, even the same room is too much for him now. Something bitter has been forming in your mind. A rage building from weeks of unprompted cruel behavior. 

Yet, somehow, the thing that pushes you over the edge from interest to resentment is the fact that he didn’t say good morning back. 

You teach history at the school, but the majority of your role at the mansion is to train children with powers similar to yours. You’ve never met a mutant who had such a broad scope with their abilities as you do. Some can turn water to ice, control the blood running through someone’s veins, or make the air around them a solid block. But you’ve yet to meet one who manipulates anything with matter the way you do. 

Still, for training, you deal with the unreliable, untameable, and generally more dangerous abilities. And sometimes for training, you work with other teachers and let your kids practice on each other. It’s a rotating schedule, and unfortunately, the week you’ve decided you hate him, you’re partnered with Logan for training. 

You’ve got the entirety of Charles’ backyard, which is essentially the size of a football field. It’s a lot of room for accidents and accidental misfires. You stand in front of the pond, admittedly a risky choice with these kids, and direct them all to their partners. 

“Remember, the goal of this isn’t to maim each other,” you give a particularly pointed glare towards Billy. He’s caused a lot of problems lately with his fires. “It’s just to learn how to wield your abilities to your advantage, to protect yourself and your team.”

You look to Logan, seeing if he wants to add anything or contribute to the class in some way. He just keeps his arms crossed, glowering at all the children like he’s imagining skewering them on his claws. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to the kids. “Let's start with the hand-to-hand maneuvers we went over yesterday before we practice with our abilities.”

“Why don’t you show us?” Your head whips towards Billy and you can’t help the sneer on your lips. He’s sat on the ground, legs crossed leisurely over each other. He doesn’t have a care in the world as he taunts you. 

“What?” You grit out, glaring at him.

“Show us what a balanced fight should look like between mutants. You and Logan,” he nods to the aforementioned man. Logan just quirks a brow, glancing at you before turning back to Billy. 

“I don’t think-”

“Fine.” You gape at Logan as he tugs his jacket off. He shrugs as he looks at you, moving towards the middle of the field. Of course, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to try and pummel you. You’re sure that he’s just been waiting for an excuse to fight you. 

“If that’s what you want,” you mutter bitterly. You pull off your sweatshirt and start walking towards him. 

“Your cuffs,” Billy calls out from behind you. The other students all watch the interaction with rapt attention. They’re practically salivating at the chance to see you two fight each other. Meanwhile, Billy just seems like he wants to see someone bleed. 

The metal cuffs around your wrists are the only thing that stops you from leveling the entire school. Your abilities are so tightly entwined with your emotions that one unlucky bout of anger can lead you to vaporizing everyone around you. They dull your abilities just enough to still be useful but not deadly. You haven’t taken them off in years. And perhaps it’s wrong to lean so heavily on them for protection, but you have. That’s your cross to bear. You don’t even want to picture what will happen if you open that dam. 

“What?” Billy shrugs, sending you a sharp smirk. “How are we supposed to trust you, if you can’t even use your own damn abilities?” He snorts and narrows his eyes at you, “How the hell did you even become an X-Men, Flux?” His name rolls off your tongue with a sharpened venom. 

He oozes hatred and a burning resentment that catches you off guard. It’s too much to process the insults he’s hurling at you and the sudden one-eighty in his personality. You don’t even hear Logan coming until his fist is wrapped in Billy’s collar and he’s yanking him off his feet. 

He dangles him, just a couple of inches, off the ground, teeth practically bared at the kid. “Wanna keep talking, mouth?” 

“Log-” You’re cut off as a fireball shoots out of Billy’s palm and explodes against Logan’s gut. You gasp, throwing up a wall in front of the other kids so it can’t hurt them. “All right,” you call out sternly. “Everyone inside,” you demand, pointing the other kids back towards the manor. 

You linger with Logan, who still has Billy dangling from his fist, only he looks even more pissed off now. Anyone else, and they’d be dust at Billy’s feet. But Logan isn’t anyone else and the only collateral seems to be his shirt. 

Not that you mind the view. 

Billy hasn’t been here long enough to know what Logan’s abilities are, though. You don’t think he actually knew he could heal. The thought alone is worrying enough that you don’t force Logan to let him go. “We need to get him to Charles,” when Logan doesn’t move you put more force behind your voice, “now.”

Logan lets out a low huff before placing Billy back on his own two feet. He doesn’t let him go far, though, keeping his hand around the back of his neck and dragging him forward. You follow behind them, making sure he doesn’t rip him to pieces before Charles can speak with him. 

You sit outside Charles’ office, fingers tapping restlessly against your thigh as you stare at the mahogany walls in front of you. The red velvet of the seat is too soft and you find yourself slipping to the edge every few seconds. It’s too soft, too luxurious, your back aches the longer you wait. 

Charles had instructed both you and Logan to wait for him to finish up with Billy. It’s been nearly an hour, though, and you’re growing restless. You can tell Logan feels the same way. He’s pacing the hall like a caged lion about to rip the arm off its keeper. 

“How are you?” You blurt out, desperate for something to fill the silence. He stops abruptly, whipping around to face you. You flinch back slightly at the intense glare he’s sporting. “Your stomach, I mean,” you gesture towards the scorch marks on his shirt, the soot on his abs. 

It’s been a practice in self-control to not just be staring at his wonderfully sculpted muscles flexing this whole time. You’re pleasantly surprised with how well you’ve been doing so far. Though, now with him facing you, you’re finding it incredibly hard to meet his eye. He’s such an imposing figure, especially when he’s standing over you like this. 

“Fine,” he barks out, turning back around and effectively ending the conversation. Your eyes narrow and you scoff, god, why do you try?

The door swings open and you expect Billy to come running out crying with his tail tucked between his legs. Instead, you hear the familiar whirl of Charles wheels as he rolls into the hall. He faces you and Logan, a strained smile on his face. 

“Where’s Billy?” You slowly get to your feet, peering into his office. Your confusion only grows when you find it empty. 

“He’s away from the other children for now. He’ll need private lessons before we allow him near them again. And if that doesn’t work, we have no choice but to expel him.” You can tell it hurts Charles to say that. 

He does genuinely want the best for these kids. He wants mutants to have a home, a place where they can be themselves without fear of retaliation. Sometimes, though, it doesn’t work out. There’s nothing wrong with that, you all try your best to help the kids. But some of them have been so twisted by the world around them that there’s no undoing the damage. When they pose a risk the way Billy does, the other kids come first. 

Logan scoffs with distaste, stalking closer to Charles. “He tried to kill me, fucking tried to get Flux to take her cuffs off.” He gestures towards you, for once, though, you don’t feel like you’re being attacked. Even he can understand the dangers of that demand is idiotic. It’s clear Billy only wanted to watch everyone around him get hurt, he didn’t care about the consequences. 

Charles holds up a pacifying hand, nodding his head and dismissing Logan’s concerns. “I’m quite aware of what happened, Logan. But Billy is my responsibility and he’s not the reason I needed to talk to you both.”

He rolls back into his office, expecting you both to follow him. You fall in line behind him, taking a seat at his desk. Logan takes another minute to join you both, a reluctant scowl on his face as he sits beside you. Charles waves his hand, the door closing and providing you all with a little bit more privacy. 

He reaches into a drawer on his desk, pulling out a thin manilla folder. He pushes it towards both you and Logan. You share a confused look with Logan before flipping the file open. There are a few pictures of a stereotypical suburban neighborhood. Bright green laws, uniform driveways, each house looks the same as the last. 

There are a few more pictures, all of them taken from an awkward distance that makes it hard to determine what you’re looking at. You pass the pictures to Logan and shake your head at Charles. “I don’t understand, what is all this?”

“Your next mission,” he informs you both with a strained smile. 

Logan’s head shoots up, eyes narrowing in on Charles. “Excuse me?” He demands, his voice a growl more than anything. 

“There have been some disturbing rumors about this neighborhood. Mentions of a possible mutant trafficking ring being conducted behind closed doors. Normally, I would dismiss such claims. Oftentimes these are just ways to bait and snatch mutants. However, my own attempts at telepathic investigation have been thwarted. Even with Cerebro, I can’t seem to breach the neighborhood.”

“Something’s blocking you?” You ask, snatching the pictures back from Logan to get a better look. He tosses the folder back on the desk, muttering something you can’t hear. 

“Or someone. I’m worried there might be some truth to these rumors. And since I can’t find a safe way in, I need your help. You only need to do some reconnaissance. The only problem is how gated the community is. They’re not going to let anyone in unless they live there.”

Charles gives you both a cheekily expectant look. The truth is so hard to swallow that you almost can’t process it. “No,” you mutter, shaking your head and smiling, waiting for the punchline. When one doesn’t come you get up from your seat and give him a disbelieving look. “You want us undercover?”

Charles pulls out a key and smiles widely, “Congratulations on your new home, newlyweds.”

Logan shoots up from his seat, it wobbles precariously, nearly toppling to the ground.  “You want me to move into a house with her?” He spits out the sentence like it pains him to even have it in his mouth. A disbelieving smile spread across your cheeks, sardonic laughter slipping through parted lips. “Why can’t I do it with Jean? Or better yet you just get some other asshole to play her husband?”

Your heart stutters to a stop and you quickly rip your eyes off the pair. The stung worse than you think it should. Your heart aches, each beat painful. You feel like someone’s punched through your chest and ripped at all the tender bits. 

“I have chosen you,” Charles loses all humor from his voice. He is stern, like a father scolding his child, as he speaks to Logan. “And that’s the end of it. Besides, I don’t suppose that Jean’s fiance would appreciate her playing house with another man.” He places heavy emphasis on fiance, enough to get Logan to purse his lips and look away from him.

You speak up, your voice a surprise to them both. You claw through the lump in your throat, ignoring the hot burn behind your eyes. “I’m not doing this. Especially not with him,” you force the words out, wiping roughly at your cheeks. “Shit,” you hiss, looking down and trying to hide the tears that have slowly trickled down. 

You don’t allow either of them to argue, running out of the door and ignoring the calls of your name behind you. You can’t do this. Can’t pretend to be in love with Logan, not when he hates you. Not when it’s so close to the truth. 

Evidently, Charles didn't feel like giving either of you a choice.

You drum your fingers along the door handle. The cab of the truck rattles as the trailer drags along behind you. The trees have begun to thin out on the road, and more shopping centers pop up than you’ve seen this whole trip. It’s the how you know you’re getting closer, that and the map on Logan’s thigh. You steal glances at it because he refused to let you help him navigate. 

Besides the occasional ask for a bathroom break and refuted offer of switching drivers, the four-hour road trip has been quiet. You tried to turn the radio on earlier but he’d shut it off nearly immediately. He claimed that the pop shit they play makes his ears ring. 

You were almost tempted to turn it up to full volume if only to torture him a little bit. 

Logan’s rough voice jars you out of your head, “I’m going to need to know your real name.”

You frown, brows furrowed in confusion. Had you still not given him your actual name? He’s always referred to you as Flux, but you just assumed that’s because he didn’t want you to be an actual person in his eyes. It’s easier to hate someone if you can distance yourself from the idea of them having actual feelings. Still, you can’t believe he never asked someone for it. 

It just shows you how little he cares for you. Reluctantly, you give it to him. He hums, something pensive pinching at his face. “What?” You snap, waiting for him to insult you. 

He just shrugs, “It’s pretty,” he mutters, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. You don’t even know how to respond to that, so caught off guard by a genuine compliment that you just choose to ignore it. You doubt he meant it, anyway. He might think the name is pretty, but he doesn’t hold the same opinion of the person connected to it. 

You sink back into the silence, finding it more comforting than jarring now. You’d prefer the familiar feeling of him ignoring you than the abrupt turn in character. He glances over at you, something like regret on his face as he sighs. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, in what feels like an extension of an olive branch, he turns the radio back on. He keeps the volume low, so it doesn’t bother him so much. But at least there’s something to listen to besides your breathing. 

You turn back towards the window, a white sign surrounded by daises coming up as Logan slows the truck down. He flicks on his turn signal, pulling up to Storybrook Walk. He stops in front of a large wrought iron gate and jumps out of the truck. He runs up to a black metal box, flipping the lid open and typing in the code Charles gave you both. As he gets back in the truck, the gate swings open widely. 

You pull your rings out of your pocket and slip yours on. “Here,” you urge, holding Logan’s ring out to him. He huffs, glaring down at it before snatching it out of your hand. He balances his hands atop the wheel, slipping the ring on his left hand. 

The neighborhood is picture-perfect suburbia. The lawns are bright green and manicured to perfection. You can hear children laughing as they play in their backyards and draw out a hopscotch grid on the sidewalk. Women and men who look like they’re straight from the fifties stop on the sidewalk and wave as you drive through the gated community. 

You mouth the numbers on the mailboxes to yourself, sitting up straighter when you’re one house away from your new home for the next few weeks. “Hey,” you frown, noticing a large congregation of people in the driveway of 1220. “This is our house isn’t it?”

Logan frowns, stopping the truck just before pulling in so he doesn’t hit anyway. “Supposed to be.” He glares at the people suspiciously, “Stay here, alright?”

You nod, watching him as he jumps out and rounds the front of the truck. You roll your window down, fingers dancing along the metal of your cuffs. There’s no way you’ve been found out before you’ve even gotten a chance to investigate. 

“Hey!” Logan’s voice is scary on a good day, but when he feels threatened, it’s enough to frighten a grown man. You can see the people flinch slightly away from him. That’s when you spot the wrapped cookies in a blonde woman’s hand and see children hiding with balloons on the porch. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mutter. You throw the door open, racing after Logan before he does something stupid. “Howdy neighbors!” You shout, speaking over him before he gets a chance to say anything else. You rush up to Logan’s side, nearly out of breath in your haste to get to him. “Is this our welcoming committee?”

You glare up at him and his eyes narrow as he sees the same thing you did. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. 

“Smile and wave,” you whisper through gritted teeth. His lips peel up into something terrifying and it takes everything in you not to flinch back. “What the fuck is that?” You mutter.

“A smile,” he hisses, glaring down at you in irritation. 

A blonde woman steps forward before you can continue your hushed argument. “Welcome!” She calls out in a heavy southern accent, throwing her arms open with a bright smile. She walks as fast as she can in her tight skirt and kitten heels, coming over to embrace you, the casserole in her hand balancing precariously behind you. 

She tugs Logan down into a hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek and staining the skin red. “Surprise!” The kids on the porch jump out with balloons and flowers and she winces. 

“A bit late on the delivery,” she waves it off with a faux chuckle. “But we don’t mind ‘cause they’re so darn cute.” She is very… loud. There’s something about her that is meant to be charming but puts you on edge. She’s got all the familiar characteristics of a woman you’d love to be around, but she’s executing it like someone playing a character. “Shiela,” she holds out her hand, perfectly manicured nails shining bright red. 

You take her hand introducing yourself, “And this is my husband, Logan. Forgive him for his tone, we had an accident on the highway earlier. We’re still a little on edge.”

“Oh no,” she gasps, pressing her nails to her chest and even that seems plastic. “What happened?”

Years of bullshitting your way through school presentations are finally coming in handy.  You think quickly on your feet, something these people would despise. You need something that endears you to them, “Tire blew out and someone tried to raid the trailer while we were fixing it.”

She lets out a disapproving hum and the throng of people behind her echoes it with disturbing harmony.  You find yourself leaning closer towards Logan, feeling like you need to defend yourself against them. You know they’re only an overzealous HOA committee, but there is something uncanny about them. 

Sensing your discomfort, Logan wraps his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into his side. You have to school your features into one of neutrality. You’re supposed to be newlyweds, this is normal behavior for you. His touch feels like ice water being tossed over you, though. His willing embrace makes your head swim with distaste and skepticism. 

“Well,” a man steps forward. He’s conventionally handsome, with brown hair cropped short, slight stubble on his cheeks, slacks, and a button-up that he fills out nicely. His smile, however, stretches too wide and shows too many teeth. A shiver crawls up your spine as he places his hand on Shiela’s shoulder. “You won’t have to worry about people like that here, that’s for sure. John,” he offers his hand to Logan, bypassing you completely. “Head of the HOA here at Storybrook.”

“Nice to meet you, John” Logan falls just short of sincere. He towers slightly over John and you can see that he’s squeezing his hand just a bit too tight by the wince of Jouhn’s face. You dig your elbow into his side and he drops his hand immediately. 

Your gaze drifts over their shoulders and your stomach drops. The people behind them all hold dishes full of food and gift baskets. Their smiles are pinned to their faces, never once flinching out of place. There’s no joy in their eyes, though. They’re glazed over like they’re a million miles away. You would think they were mannequins before you even considered them human. 

“Long drive?” Shiela asks, your eyes dart back to hers only to find her intense stare already wholly focused on you. 

“Yeah,” you answer, clearing your throat of the panic rising in it. “We’re gonna have a fun time unloading this,” you laugh humorlessly, motioning towards the trailer.

She waves her hands in dismissal. “Don’t you worry about that, hun. That’s what neighbors are for after all.” She looks behind her, snapping her fingers a few times. The other’s start going towards the trailer and you feel Logan tense under your touch. 

A kid reaches it first, they manage to unlock it before you shout, “No!” It’s too loud, echoing through the street and making you clench your eyes shut in embarrassment. You turn back towards Shiela and John, both of them wearing shocked expressions. You chuckle awkwardly, “There’s just a lot of family heirlooms. I don’t want to risk them being damaged.” There are no heirlooms, just empty boxes and surveillance equipment that you'll have no chance of explaining away.

Shiela purses her lips into a tight smile, eyes turned to slits as she nods. “Of course,” you know she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Well then, we’ll just take all this inside.” She snaps and the others take their casseroles and gifts and begin flooding towards your front door. Shiela and John walk behind them, herding them all into a straight line. 

You let go of Logan immediately, glaring at the door of your home. Shiela holds a key in her hand, unlocking it and letting everyone inside. You scoff and shake your head in disbelief. “What the actual fuck?” You hiss. 

Logan just shakes his head. “Fucking bizarre, what the hell is wrong with these people?” He starts back towards the truck and you follow him. “I almost prefer the welcoming committee at the manor.”

You roll your eyes, “I was your welcoming committee,” you grouse. 

He shrugs, “I know.” You swat lightly at his shoulder and relatch the trailer’s lock. You linger by the mailbox as Logan pulls the truck into the driveway. He’s getting out just as the others finally leave your house. 

Shiela walks back towards you and you gesture towards the keyring in her hand. “Got a key to my house?” You play it off as a joke but it’s incredibly disturbing to know she could walk in at any minute. 

“Of course,” she smiles and shrugs it off like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “For the safety of everyone here.” Her smile drops and she takes an imposing step towards you, “Inspections are every Wednesday at noon.” Your jaw drops in astonishment and you choke on your words. She cackles loudly, face breaking out into a smile once more. “I’m just kidding, honey! God, your face, you’re too gullible, sweetheart.”

You force out a chuckle, smiling as much as you can force. “Of course, silly me,” you barely make it sound believable. This is going to be much harder than you thought. 

“Well,” John comes up behind her, guiding her away from you. “We’ll get out of your hair now. Welcome, neighbors!” The others around them all call out a Welcome as they drift across your lawn and head back to their own homes. 

Logan walks up to your side, the both of you keeping stilted smiles on your faces, waiting for them to just go away. But they pause at their doors, in almost perfect synchronization they turn and wave at you both. You back further into Logan’s chest and his grip on you tightens. 

“What. The. Fuck.” They step through their homes at the same moment and you feel sick to your stomach. There is something seriously wrong here, you’re not sure you want to find out the truth of it. 

You leave Logan to unload the trailer while you unpack the boxes. You’re forced to do it all by hand while the front door is open. You can’t risk someone stopping by for a visit and seeing you float the couch through the middle of the living room. You’re stumped on how to set up the surveillance equipment. Shiela doesn’t seem like the type to understand boundaries when it comes to popping by for a visit. 

You’re just going to have to keep most of it upstairs and set up some cameras on the porch. You don’t doubt that she’ll abuse that key of hers as she sees fit. You can’t imagine how anyone could stand living in this neighborhood. Having no privacy seems like a nightmare. Especially when the commander of the HOA is John and Shiela. They seem like the type to fine you over a rosebush. 

Logan grunts, dragging in the couch. He pushes it through the doorway and kicks the door closed behind him. The second it’s closed he drops the act and picks the couch up with one hand. “Where do you want it?” 

You point towards the back wall of the living room and he drops it with a small groan. “We’re going to need to put cameras out on the porch,” you inform him, still digging through the box. He walks behind you, heading for the fridge and digging around in it. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. You look up, watching as he tosses aside casserole after casserole. “They didn’t bring any beer?”

You laugh a little and get up, heading towards the cooler you’d packed. “They don’t seem the type.” You lean over, digging around through the melted ice until your fingers brush against cool glass. You straighten up, sending him a coquettish smile. “Want a beer after all that hard work, darling?” You taunt, playing the perfect housewife. 

He scoffs and holds his hand out, snatching it from the air as you toss it at him. He pulls the cap off with his teeth, spitting it out into the sink. “And a sandwich while you’re at it,” he demands roughly. 

If you weren’t a connoisseur of dry humor, you wouldn’t have recognized the joke for what it was. Still, you’re almost too shocked he even bothered to play along with you to laugh. Almost, you can’t help the slight chuckle that slips out.  

He throws himself on the couch, taking a deep swig from the bottle, and the moment feels remarkably domestic. You suppose that it should. That is the whole reason you’re here after all. But you hadn’t expected even a singular pleasant moment with Logan. 

This, playful banter and a shared joke, that’s all you could ever want from him. You would settle for this if it was all he was willing to give you. But he can’t even grant you that. This is one outlier in a long list of rude remarks and dismissive behavior. You can’t let yourself be so easily swayed. 

“I might try and get some cameras on the other houses,” Logan remarks from the couch. He kicks his feet on the coffee table and you click your tongue at him, motioning towards his shoes. With an aggrieved sigh, he undoes the laces of his boots and kicks them off. You glare at the dirt that flings across the carpet but a quick wave of your hand makes it disappear. 

“Don’t bother with the cameras. They’ve all got security.” You turn away from the box you’re unpacking with a pensive frown. “They’re all covered by the same company, too. All of them. Isn’t that weird?”

He scoffs and shrugs. “Anywhere else, yeah. But I’m pretty sure they piss at the same time here.” Your nose wrinkles at his crude words and you roll your eyes. 

“Take this seriously.”

He huffs out a laugh, “I am. Didn’t you see them earlier? They only breathe because Shiela lets them.” You take a seat at the kitchen table, uncomfortable attempting to take a spot on the couch. He sighs when he sees the expression on your face, finally dropping the dismissive attitude. “I’ll just be smart about how I set up our cameras, alright?”

You just nod, reaching for the box of your essentials on the table. It’s strange to be sitting beside him, talking to him. You’ve never gotten more than two words out of him. This is so far out of your normal comfort zone that you feel like you’re crawling out of your skin trying to escape. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” you announce awkwardly, shooting up from your seat at the table. 

The beer pauses halfway to his lips and he gives you an odd look. “Okay?” He responds slowly, not sure why you’re telling him this. You open your mouth, and almost tell him to have a good night, but change your mind at the last second. 

You move towards the bedroom near the front door, “Flux,” you turn slightly and he shakes his head. “Take the one upstairs.”

Your brows furrow, “Why?” You demand, an attitude edging its way into your voice. 

“So if Shiela busts down our door I can protect us,” you know he’s teasing, but the sentiment is nice. “And so I don’t have to set up the surveillance shit upstairs,” your face drops and you roll your eyes. There it is. 

“Dick,” you mutter, storming towards the stairs, your boxes hovering along behind you. His laughter follows you up the stairs, even when you slam the door shut. Although, when you take in the room, you can’t find it in yourself to complain for a second about it. 

While Logan is screwed with the teeny guest room downstairs, you get the largest bedroom you’ve ever been in all to yourself. The closet could practically be another bedroom. The bath is more like a jacuzzi than it is a tub.

A four-poster bed sits against the wall, the fluffiest comforter ever becoming you forth like a siren. There’s even a table in the middle of the room, with a chair, perfect for setting up as your desk. 

You scoff in astonishment, “Oh, I could get used to this.” You place your boxes on the table and start pulling out your clothes. You toss yourself on the bed, bouncing against the sheets, and throw pillows go flying everywhere. You flick your wrist, all your essentials flying out of the boxes and sorting themselves out. 

After a luxurious soak in the tub, you’re spread out along the bed, the limited information from Charles's file spread out before you. There are only a few blurry pictures of the neighborhood and a typed-up page of everything he’s heard about Sotrybrook. There’s nothing even remotely useful here. 

You sigh, tossing the file to the floor and looking out the large window of your room. You’ve got a camera placed on the sill, programmed to take a picture anytime there’s movement. You doubt you’re going to get much from that. The secrets of this place seem to be buried deep. You’re gonna have to get real friendly with your neighbors if you want to get out of here fast. 

Logan is on the computer, trying to sync all of the cameras up. You clean up the dishes from breakfast and tidy up the kitchen. You’re trying to decide how you should start investigating when there’s a dainty knock on the door. 

Your brows furrow and you peer around the cupboards to look at the door. Logan’s head lifts and he shares an odd look with you. He gets up from the couch and glances through the peephole. 

You drop the towel on the counter and frown as his shoulders slump forward. Something pinched appears on his face and he sighs. “What?” You hiss at him.

He turns and glares at you, “You’ll see.” You shake your head in confusion as he throws the door open. 

His attitude makes a lot more sense when you hear a very happy, “Howdy!” Shiela stands in your doorframe, three women hovering behind her. At least they look awake, unlike the people from last night. A redhead with the most gorgeous waves you’ve ever seen holds beach towels in her arms. A brunette with flawless brown skin carries a jug of lemonade. And a woman with black hair and a perfect figure is carrying a plate of cookies. 

All of these women are wearing bathing suits that look like they’ve been snatched out of a fashion magazine from the sixties. Each of them is gorgeous, alarmingly so. They’re beautiful to the point of being flawless. As you walk out of the kitchen and take a step closer, Shiela welcomes herself into your home. 

You don’t even think you see pores on their faces. Each of them offers you the same practiced smile that you force yourself to return. “How are you settling in?” Shiela demands, not asks. 

“Um,” you look to Logan for help but he’s just as perplexed as you are. “Just fine, Shiela, thanks. What are you all doing?”

The redhead rolls her eyes playfully, “Tanning, sweetheart.” She glances at Logan expectantly and he grabs his duffel from by the couch. 

“I think that’s my cue,” he falls easily into the role of a playful husband. But you don’t need him to play along right now. You need him to stay where the fuck he is so you’re not alone with the barbies. 

“Ha ha, don’t go,” you whisper, trying to grab at his sleeve. “Logan,” you hiss, making sure the others can’t hear you as they look around your home. “Don’t do this.”

He dips his head down, and for one stupid moment, you think he might kiss you. “Good luck,” he whispers in your ear, backing off with a smug smirk and letting himself out of the house. 

Oh, you’re going to fucking kill him. 

“Finally,” the brunette breathes out a relieved breath, “I thought he’d never leave.”

Shiela chuckles, “You’re lucky honey. It took us a long while to have ours so well trained.” She motions to the other girls, “This is Madge,” the redhead smiles and gives a cute wave. She introduces the rest quickly and you file the information away for later when you’re writing your report. 

Madge- husband is the vendor consultant for the HOA. 

Sierra - brunette - husband is secretary of the HOA. 

Kimiko - black hair - no husband. 

Your brows furrow in confusion as Kimiko nods in greeting. You return it, suspicions running thick in your blood. It’s odd, that their husbands are in charge of the HOA, you figured they would be. Beyond that, the emphasis they put on it is astonishing. You really didn’t think the HOA was so important but it’s practically the government here. And the women only seem to hold importance if their husbands do. Shiela is essentially their leader, she’s the one you need to impress.

This whole thing seems incredibly backward and like a blast from the past. The way they style their hair, do their makeup, dress- it's all fashioned after the fifties and sixties. You feel incredibly out of place in your worn-down pajamas and frizzy braids. 

“We’re not really tanning,” Madge tells you. “This is just a way for us ladies to get to know the new kid in the neighborhood and tell you everything you need to know,” she leans in, smiling like she’s sharing a conspiratorial secret with you. 

“Don’t let Madge scare you,” Sierra shoots her a glare. “It’s not that big of a deal, it’s just a way for us to escape our husbands for an hour.”

“Well,” you chuckle awkwardly, crossing your arms over your chest as you grow uncomfortable under their tense stares. It feels like their eyes are peeling back your skin, exposing everything underneath as they judge every nook and cranny of your soul. “I haven’t reached that stage yet.”

Shiela’s smile loses some of its humor and she scoffs. “You will,” she assures you, acrid bitterness coating her words. “Give it a few years,” she gives you a bitchy and all-knowing smirk. Your hackles raise, the urge to defend your sham of a marriage rising quickly in you. You bite your tongue, swallowing down your smart retort before you say something you regret. 

You’re not even married to Logan, but you don’t like her butting her nose so far into your business. “Sadly, I don’t have a bathing suit.”

“Oh,” Kimiko gives you a blank smile, “We brought you one.” Madge moves the towels aside to reveal a two-piece that matches their own. In your size. 

Your cheeks ache with a forced smile as you take the bathing suit from them. “We’ll just set up out back,” Shiela lets you know. She turns to the others with a beaming smile, “Come on ladies.” They follow after her like ducklings, and when you look down you see each of their steps are in sync. 

You wait until the back door closes to rush to the front. You throw the door open and Logan jumps from where he’s drilling the camera into the side of the house. “I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you warn.

He chuckles and smirks, “Don’t keep ‘em waiting too long, sweetheart,” he mocks and you slam the door closed with a loud scoff. He was enjoying your suffering far too much, but you shouldn’t be surprised. You’re sure he’s just been waiting for a moment like this. 

You change into the bathing suit and take a deep calming breath. You can do this. You can play pretend for a few hours. 

You wished you’d known being an actor was a part of the job description before you joined the X-Men.

You lay on your stomach along the soft beach towel that Madge brought. The sun isn’t too hot on you, but you also bent the tree behind you to provide a bit more shade when the others weren’t looking. So far, you’ve collected nothing but mindless gossip. 

Sam never takes in his trash cans on time. Alicia has been getting a little too cozy with the gardener. Some couple you didn’t pay attention to is expecting a kid. You’re struggling to pay attention to all the mindless drivel. 

Usually, you wouldn’t mind a little gossip, but none of this feels real. Their words are hollow, smiles empty. Everything they say sounds like they’re reading it from a script. The only person you actually believe cares about any of this bullshit is Shiela. The rest of them seem to just play along, not meaning a word they say. 

You’re gaining nothing useful from this. There’s no information you’ve gotten during this conversation that could remotely help you. All you want to do is go out front and strangle Logan for abandoning you. 

The only good thing about all this is the lemonade and cookies. Which, you admit, you may have indulged yourself a little too much. But at this point, you’re just eating to stay awake. You reach for another cookie and Shiela lets out a dainty huff. 

“I wish I could eat like you,” she laughs and you prepare yourself for the most backhanded insult you’ve ever heard. “But I have to be so careful about watching my figure. Wouldn’t want to lose my waist,” she titters and the other women giggle. 

You toss the cookie back on the plate, rolling your eyes. It feels like you’re right back in high school. You love this, this is great. At this point, you’re just trying to stop yourself from tossing them all out. 

The backdoor slides open and Logan peeks his head out. The women wave and Shiela calls out a sultry, “Hey, Lo.”

Your jaw drops and you can’t help but scoff as you tilt your head to give her an astonished stare. This woman has absolutely zero shame. She’s not even hiding the way she’s ogling him. She’s literally biting her lip. 

You clench your eyes shut, taking a deep breath. There it is, the end of your rope. “Sweetheart, you gonna be done soon?” Logan calls out and you can’t help but smile at the immense satisfaction you feel when Shiela’s face falls. You shouldn’t take so much joy in Logan ignoring her, you know that’s just how he is. But she doesn’t. 

“I think so, hon.” You sit up on your knees, clapping your hands and pretending to be upset. “Sorry, girls, I think I’m needed back in the house.” You get to your feet and pick your towel up. As you do, you flick your fingers, and the lemonade tumbles over, spilling all over Shiela’s pristine white bathing suit. 

She jumps up with a shrill scream, shaking her arms off at the ice-cold liquid and desperately trying to wipe off her bathing suit. Madge and Sierra flock to her and you roll your eyes at how dramatic she’s being. 

Out of the side of your eye, you see someone watching you. You turn slightly, startling when you see the intense glare Kimiko’s sporting. It’s the first genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, but even this seems cold. Her dark eyes are bottomless pits of frigid rage. You find that you can’t look away from her, swaying slightly as her eyes beckon you forward. 

You need to go to her, speak with her, be with her. You need-

Your mind falls short of what you need. But you know Kimko will give it to you. Sierra and Madge both straighten up, both blank-faced as you take a step forward. 

Logan hollers your name again and you jump, shaking your head and breaking whatever trance you’d fallen in. When you look back, all three of them are still fussing over Shiela. You glance to Logan, to see if he saw what had happened. 

His brows are furrowed, face pinched in concern as he looks at you. You think you might have just found Charles’ interference. 

“I think we should look into Kimiko,” you scroll through the list of residents you’d managed to hack into. You’ve been on the computer for hours, trying to find any information bout her at all. Even when you ran a background check, nothing came up. If that doesn’t scream mutant, you don’t know what does. 

Logan walks over to the table with a steaming pan in his hand. You tug your computer glasses off and slide the laptop to the side. He pours some pasta onto your plate and hands you a glass of water. “Thank you,” he gives you a tense almost-smile and nods. 

“Figure out where she lives?” He asks, bringing his own plate to the table. You shake your head and rub your temples, trying to fend off the headache you can already feel forming. You should have taken a break from the research. You can’t stand staring at screens for as long as you did. 

“She’s not even a registered resident.”

“Well,” he sighs and shrugs, “at least we know this wasn’t a waste of time.” You nod in acquiesce and take a bite of your food. Your eyes widen in shock and he laughs at the look on your face. “Didn’t think I could cook?”

You shake your head and smile. “I took you as the type to pour beer in your cereal. But this is,” you stumble over your word. You’re afraid of being too nice to him. You’ve reached a sort of impasse, where you’re not openly hostile, but you’re not exactly friendly. You feel like if you do too much, too fast, he’s gonna be closed off again. “It’s really good.”

He purses his lips and nods, dragging his fork along the porcelain plate. The noise grates on you and only further aggravates the growing headache but you don’t snap at him. You swallow down the frustration and just shovel more pasta into your mouth. 

“This, uh,” Logan takes in a deep breath and lets all out in one gravely exhale. You give him an expectant look and he shrugs. “It hasn’t been as bad as I thought.” He tells you flippantly. 

You narrow your eyes at him, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” You demand with a firm tone, placing your fork down and leaning back in your chair. 

He lets out an annoyed sigh, “It was just an observation.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. He’s fucking ridiculous. “You know, maybe if you ever tried to get to know me, you wouldn’t have had such a horrible opinion about me.” You try and eat more but the food just tastes like ash in your mouth. You grow antsy, not wanting to sit near him anymore. 

You’re surprised that he’s the one who fucked up the peace. You really thought it would be you. But something about what he said is rubbing you the wrong way. Of course, it hasn’t been bad, you’re not a bad person. He just decided he hated you one day and he’s so goddamned stubborn he never considered anything else being the truth. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he defends, watching with a confused expression as you get up and drop your plate loudly in the sink. 

“You know,” you ignore his weak defense, leaning on the sink. You grip the rim of it tightly, sucking in a deep breath to try and keep yourself calm. “You didn’t even know my fucking name,” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head to yourself. Why are you even bothering with him? You’ll never win and you don’t even know if you want him to change his opinion about you. 

He’s been a dick for so long that you’re not sure you’re even interested in being friends, let alone anything beyond that. 

“Well,” he takes an angered tone as you continue to deflect his attempts at restoring the peace. “It’s not like you told me. You just go by your X-Men name, how was I supposed to know better?”

“By fucking asking!” You shout, whirling around on him, nearly ramming into his chest. You hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten while you’d had your back to him. “If you had, ever, at any fucking point tried to get to know me, you wouldn’t be so surprised that I’m nice. I’m a nice person to be around, Logan. And for some reason I tried to change myself, to make you happy. And it never even worked!” You scoff, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in your throat that you quickly swallow down. You shove past him, escaping the corner he’s backed you into. “Your head is so far up your ass that you didn’t even try to know me before you decided you hated me.”

“What?” He scoffs and glares at you. “I don’t fucking hate you. When have I ever said that? And I never wanted you to change.” He keeps focusing on the wrong things. How he feels about you doesn’t matter, it’s how he treated you. 

“Never, you’ve never said that because you’ve never said more than two words to me. This,” you motion between the two of you, “is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.” A sudden exhaustion settles over you, it weighs heavy on your bones and drapes across you like a blanket. 

You don’t have the energy for this. For him. You don’t want to keep defending yourself to someone who couldn’t care less. There’s no winning with him. He will never listen to you, he’ll just offer half-assed excuses that he thinks absolve him of how horribly he’s treated you. 

He calls your name as you slump into the dining room chair. Your real name, not your X-Men name. “I never hated you,” he tells you, voice soft, but the conviction is strong. 

You stand up, unable to make eye contact with him. “Goodnight, Logan.” You walk up the stairs quietly, never once looking at him. You can’t stand to face him. As much as you’ve tried to bury how you feel about him, it’s still there. 

Being with him like this, having his ring on your finger, it’s a stab in the gut over and over and over. Someone’s taken your most ridiculous and romantic fantasies and turned them into a waking nightmare. You wake up to him every day, eat at the same table, share the same house, and you two couldn’t be further apart. 

You have to keep up appearances, Logan is sure that’s the only reason you’ve joined him this morning. He’s working on the truck while you kneel on a foam pad, planting a rose bush by the mailbox. But the way you’re stabbing the shovel into the ground it looks more like murder than it does gardening. You slam the little trowel into the dirt, lips pulled back like a wild animal as dirt flies up around your hair. 

Logan turns back to the truck, letting out a low whistle under his breath. Besides the insane display of shrubbery abuse, you blend into the neighborhood better than he ever could. You fit that perfect suburban aesthetic, sun hat, cat-eye sunglasses, and a pretty dress. 

You’re good at blending in, better than he ever was. He’s heard you joking about it before. Telling Jean your hidden mutant ability is learning to be a chameleon, fitting yourself wherever you are. He thinks it’s a cute idea, and not too far from the truth. 

He only wishes he were a little more like that. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his wifebeater, fraying jeans, and general countenance of misery. He can’t force a smile when John walks by with a shitty joke. He’s not like you. You stomach all of the women’s vapid nonsense with a smile and manage to seem so unaffected by it all. 

The only time he’s seen you break was last night. And that, of course, had been his fault. He wishes he was better with his words. He’s always been an action man, but clearly, he’s fucked that up with you too. He really did mean it as a compliment. 

He’s just incapable of talking without his foot in his mouth when it comes to you. It’s why he tends to just avoid you and stay quiet. He knows he’ll mess up with you eventually. In the rare chance you ever actually give him a second look, he’d be a shitty boyfriend. And even if you were just friends, he’d still fuck up somehow. He always does. 

He’s learned it’s better to just keep a distance between himself and others. Especially you. He’s always just wanted to keep you away from his bullshit. The haunted past he still knows so little about, all the mental baggage he carries, he never wanted to burden you with it. Even though it seems like he still managed to screw up somehow. 

Even when he’s trying to be good he’s still the bad guy. 

You let out a heavy sigh and his gaze drifts back towards you. The way it always seems to do. You’re his sun, bright, beaming, a golden beacon of hope. But he’s always just too far, eclipsing the light you might bring him with his own stupidity. 

You toss the trowel to the ground and stand up. You frown, brushing off all the dirt you’re absolutely caked in. When he peers around you and glances at the spot where the rose bush is supposed to be all he sees is a crater of earth and ripped up grass. He figures it's better not to mention it. 

You walk over to him, the same scowl you’ve had for the past few days ever-present on your face. “I’m going to take a shower,” you look at him expectantly and he shrugs. You let out a loud sigh and he can’t possibly imagine how he’s messed up now. “You need one too, the barbecues in an hour.”

He’d forgotten about the fucking barbecue. Some annual thing Shiela and John threw that the whole neighborhood went to. “It doesn’t take me an hour to get ready,” he tells you, intending a little bit of playfulness. 

Instead, you just let out an exasperated breath and storm back into the house. How did he keep fucking up with you so badly?

He’s gotten a taste of your personality, your company. He’s tried for so long to avoid getting to know you. He knows that if he truly did, he’d never get over you. He was right. Just one taste of you and he wants more, he wants to consume everything about you that he can. He’s screwed up in so many ways but he can’t just go back to normal after this and act like strangers. 

You smooth the wrinkles out of your cotton dress and let out a low breath. “You need another minute?” Logan grumps from beside you, his stare boring into the door. He didn’t want to come to this. Frankly, neither did you, but he needs to suck it up and be a big boy. You two are here for a purpose greater than yourselves. 

Maybe if you repeat that enough times you’ll start to believe it. 

Kimiko was everywhere that Shiela was. She was her shadow, her loyalist servant. And the only person in this neighborhood who’s shown a sliver of consciousness. You don’t know where she lives, or if she even owns a house here. But you do know she’ll be at this barbecue tonight. 

The only reason you’re bothering to bring Logan along is because you need him to distract Shiela. She drools every time she sees him, practically licking her maw at the sight of him in a tight t-shirt. You can’t really blame her, but she’s a married woman and he’s technically a married man. The lack of shame and compassion is genuinely astonishing to you. 

“No. Let’s just get this over with.” He needs no further prompting as he knocks heavily on the door. Each pound of his fist sounds like a bell tolling your doom. The intense feeling of nausea and eyes on the back of your head has developed and grown increasingly worse the longer you’re here. 

You feel like someone’s pressing against your mind, wiggling their fingers in and squeezing until mush slips through their knuckles. You keep a tight grip on Logan so you don’t tip over. Playing it off as the love-sick newlyweds you’re meant to be. 

Even though the feeling of his skin against yours makes you angrier than you can even begin to fathom. You’ve held onto built-up resentment and anger ever since your little tiff. You’ve heard that tumultuous times are common in the beginnings of marriages. Luckily, you’re getting a divorce the second this fucking mission is over. 

You resent Charles for ever sending you here. Any minuscule hopes you’ve had of finally building a relationship with Logan have been dashed across your front yard. There’s no hope for him. He’ll never change, and how he treats you will never change. 

The door swings open and the music from the backyard drifts through to the front. Shiela smiles widely, greeting you both with a drawn-out Hi! She reaches forward and grabs Logan, tugging him away from you and dragging him into a hug. 

You stumble forward as your support is ripped out from under you. She briefly glances over his shoulder at you and you offer her a sardonic smile. Every bit of you wants to dig your nails into her and rip until chunks of her start flying off. The post beside you warps slightly, bending like it’s melting. 

You dig your nails into your palm, swallowing down your anger, and force the post upright once more. Logan grabs Shiela by the waist, practically yanking her off of him. He steps back towards you, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

You can’t help the smug smile that lifts your lips as you face her. You almost want to rub her face in it. He chose you and he can’t stand you, that says a lot about how he feels about her. You stop yourself, though, it’d be beyond idiotic to let that be the reason your cover is blown. 

“Thanks for inviting us,” you tell Shiela, playing oblivious instead of walking into her trap. You pass her the casserole you half-assed and baked in her dish. “We’re so excited to finally have a home to call our own, and with such wonderful neighbors,” you gasp dreamily. “Oh, it’s just a dream come true.”

Shiela runs a manicured nail along the side of her lip, looking wholly unimpressed. “Mhm,” she hums, “I’m sure.” You share a look with Logan, both of you caught off guard by her sudden dip in personality. Her face is blank, devoid of the usual overwrought happiness and charm. It’s like something’s taken control and drained the life from her. 

Either Kimiko’s here and you’re right about her, or, Shiela is just a depressed housewife who can’t always control when she smiles. You’re hoping it’s Kimiko and you can just end this once and for all. 

“Alright,” she’s back in a second like nothing ever happened. The boom of her voice echoing through the foyer makes you jump. “Let’s get you two outside. And thank you so much for this,” she gestures to the casserole. “You’re just such a sweet little thing aren’t you?”

Everything she says to you feels just a tad patronizing. She’s incapable of complimenting you without minimizing you in some way. You dismiss it, shaking off the funk she always seems to put you in. 

Shiela leads you to the backdoor of her porch where the rest of the neighborhood is. She certainly got the best square footage, that’s for sure. She doesn’t just have the biggest house, she’s also got the biggest yard you’ve ever stepped foot on. 

People are milling about, John’s flipping hamburgers on the grill, and children are playing happily with one another. It feels like an advert for the Fourth of July.

You scan the yard for the only person you’re looking for. You spot her, pushed back towards the shadow of Shiela’s oak tree. Shiela follows your gaze with a frown and scoffs. “I know, hideous isn’t it?”

You jump, startled out of your stupor. “Sorry?”

She points towards the tree. “I wanted to get rid of it, but apparently it’s historic,” she throws up air quotes, inflecting her voice lazily, “or something stupid.”

“Oh, right,” you nod dismissively and she shrugs, hands slapping against her thighs as she nods to her yard. 

“Well, go on, socialize, make yourself at home y’all.” She walks back into the house and you glance back at the yard. 

“Shit,” you hiss, “Kimiko’s gone.” You move away from Logan and take a step down the stairs, he begins to follow you but you stop him with a firm hand to his chest. He frowns down at you and you nod towards Shiela. “I need you playing interception. Those two are attached at the hip. The only thing that’s going to distract her is the hunk of meat she’s been drooling over.” 

Logan frowns and takes a step back. He sets his face and crosses his arms and you sigh, knowing exactly what he’s about to say. “No.” He tells you firmly, not even bothering to hear you out. 

“Well,” you shrug. “Too bad, I need you to do this or we’re never getting out of here.”

He mocks your shrug and nods, “Alright. Fine.” He leans into your space and you feel like you’re being scolded, “I’m not leaving you on your own, okay? And I’m not letting you go after Kimiko alone.”

“I’m not going after her,” you glance around, making sure no one is listening to you talk about their neighbor like she’s on a hit list. “I just need one interrupted conversation with her. Just one,” you’re practically pleading with him at this point. 

You feel pathetic. You’re a grown woman and an X-Men. You shouldn’t have to be bartering with Logan. He should just have some faith in your abilities to not only protect yourself but conduct yourself appropriately on a mission. 

His face screws up in irritation and you know he’s about to really cause a scene. He’ll start arguing with you, and blow your spot up just to get you out of here. You give him a placating smile, a real one because he’s somehow learned to tell the difference. “Logan, it’s only for an hour. I’m sure you can fend Shiela off,” you joke to try and lighten the mood.

He sucks in a deep breath and you know you’ve got him when his shoulders sink in defeat. “Fine. I’m only agreeing to this because you’re practically a chameleon with this shit,” he gestures vaguely to the barbecue and your face pinches with confusion. 

“What?” 

“I heard you talking about it with Jean one day. How you’re a chameleon when it comes to blending in with people.”

“Well, that wasn’t exactly a brag. It’s a method of survival, a way to make people like me. It gives me a fighting chance when they find out I’m a mutant.” God, why are you even talking about this? Why had he even been listening to your conversation with Jean?

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but you don’t have time for that. “Look, Logan, just go find Shiela.” You walk away from him before he can drudge up more uncomfortable memories of high school. 

You manage to slip through the party relatively unnoticed. You didn’t see where Kimiko had disappeared to. You’re hoping there might be some sort of hint left where she had been. You rush towards the oak tree, using it as a way to scan the party for her again. From here you can’t see anything except the kitchen.  

You’ve got a perfect view of Logan trudging towards Shiela. You can’t help but laugh when she wraps her hand around his bicep, eagerly telling him something. You smile and shake your head, the audacity of this woman is amazing. 

Something catches your eye, right by your foot. Glancing down you see something silver glinting through the grass. Frowning, you kneel and scoop it up. It’s an oblong device, small, and fits in the palm of your hand. It’s curved oddly, and the lights on it start flashing bright red as you hold it.

“What the hell?” You flip it over, a warped mirrored reflection on the back of it. You just barely spot Kimiko’s twisted face in the reflection before the world goes black. 

You groan, slowly blinking the fog of a forced sleep out of your eyes. You reach to swipe at your face, but something is holding your wrists down. You jerk your arms a few times, struggling against whatever restraints are wrapped around you. When nothing happens, you instead focus on the feeling of it against your wrist, trying to get it to dissolve. 

“Don’t bother,” a cool voice calls out from the shadows. There’s one bright light shining down on you, like the type you might see above an operating table. The entire room feels sterile. And it’s cold, you can barely feel the tips of your toes or fingers. 

“What’d you do?” You demand, trying to sound intimidating but your words come out as a slur. The back of your head radiates pain and it takes everything in you just to keep your eyes open. 

“I developed a gas,” the voice circles the room, echoing across the curved walls. You hear footsteps but you can’t tell where they’re coming from. “It halts the neurons in a mutant’s brain that fire when they use their abilities. Temporary, but quite handy when I’m dealing with a mentalist like you.”

Kimiko steps out of the shadows like a bad comic book villain. Her face is blank, no expression on it, somehow, it’s the realest she’s ever looked before. Here, you can see her humanity. Pores across her nose, frizz and oil along her hair, her nose just a little bit crooked. Whatever she’d been doing to herself has been wiped away. And the human woman lurking beneath is finally revealed. 

“There you are,” you mutter, your speech slowly coming back to you. “I knew that plastic face wasn’t real.”

“Everything was going just fine until you and Wolverine got here,” she gives you a sharp look, “Flux.”

You sarcastically gasp, “Wow, you know my X-Men name. It’s not like I haven’t been interviewed before. What’s the plan here, Kimiko? Where are the others?”

Her brows pinch, “Others?”

“The mutants you’re trafficking.”

“Oh,” she laughs and it’s so jarring you nearly jump. “Is that what people think?” Hesitantly, you nod, but you’re beginning to feel like you might have gotten something very wrong. “No, that’s not what we’re doing here.”

“We?”

“Shiela and I. We have much simpler plans, much more peaceful. You see, Shiela’s the only person to ever stand beside me after she found out I was a mutant. She gave me a home, a friend, and a sense of belonging.” There’s something devout in her words, like a humble follower kneeling at the feet of their god. “Everything I have, everything I am, I owe to her.”

You’ve seen Shiela’s manipulation firsthand. You have no doubt that she’s never actually done anything for Kimiko. She’s just made her think she had and instilled in her this sense of owing her something. 

Then again, Kimiko’s getting this look on her face. She’s like a rabid dog staring down the barrel of their owner’s shotgun. Perhaps she hadn’t needed much prompting to develop such an unhealthy attachment. “Shiela’s parents never loved her the way they should have. They never gave her the perfect life she deserved. So I created one for her.”

She rolls a tray of surgical tools over and a sense of panic finally starts to rouse within you. Yet, for the first time in years, your powers aren’t here to help you. You have nothing to rely on but yourself. But you’ve been trained so intensively in using your abilities as a protector rather than an inhibitor that you’re practically useless without them. 

“All these people,” you rush the words out as she picks up a syringe. You don’t know what the yellow liquid inside is, but from the look on her face, you don’t want to. “You’re controlling them?”

Kimiko nods and you’d be staggering if you weren’t strapped down. Not even Charles could control this many people at once. Not without Cerebro. “Kimiko, that’s,” you gasp, flinching away as she brings the needle towards your arms. “It’s incredible!” Your quick rise in volume makes her jolt and the syringe tumbles out of her hands. 

She grumbles to herself, leaning over to pick it up. “Does Shiela know?” She pauses at the mention of Shiela’s name, brushing her hair over her shoulder and glaring at you. 

“Yes. Of course she does, this is my greatest gift to her.”

“Really?” Your voice drips with contrived empathy. “Then I’m sure she’s done something incredible for you back.” You were hoping a simple manipulation tactic might work, that you could turn Kimiko against an ungrateful Shiela. But this type of obsession isn’t one that can’t be destabilized with a few jumbled words. 

No, you only make her angrier. “Back? Back?” she practically screams, her voice raw and feral as she leaps into your face. You flinch as far back as you can as her face hovers over yours, screaming right at you. “I owe her everything! I should thank her for letting me breathe the same air as hers!”

Your jaw drops, a silent scream tripping out of your mouth as you gasp for air. Something squeezes against your brain, the pulsing from before returns with a vengeance. You can feel your mind pulsing and swelling, pushing against your skull. 

“Don’t fucking say her name again,” Kimiko glares down at you, her eyes devoid of any remorse or compassion as she makes your brain swell until blood leaks down your ears. Whatever plan she had before has been abandoned, she’s going to just kill you now. 

You’re going to die in her basement, no one will ever see you again. Your eyes throb and you feel your brain push to its fullest limits. The pressure builds, builds, and builds until it explodes. 

“Then you just pour a little sugar in.” Logan watches as Shiela tips nearly an entire bag of cane sugar into her jug of sweet tea. His stomach shrivels at the sight and he fights down bile. A little bit of sugar drops over the edge. She catches it on her finger and looks over her shoulder, licking the sugar off and practically deepthroating her own finger. All while maintaining a disturbing amount of eye contact with Logan. 

“Well,” he knows that he promised you a while with Kimiko, but he can’t handle much more of this. “Thank you so much for this,” he struggles with the word, landing weakly on, “lesson.” He’s not even sure what the point of watching her prepare all this food was. 

He’s pretty sure she just wanted him to see her leave a rim of red lipstick at the bottom of her finger as many times as possible. The entire time he’s just wanted to go back to you. There’s a nasty feeling gnawing at him and he knows he needs to get back to you soon. 

“Oh,” she seems genuinely disappointed and Logan sighs awkwardly. “Leaving already, huh?”

He points to his ring pointedly reminding her of the reality of their situation. “Gotta get back to the wife.”

She doesn’t even try to hide her sneer as he mentions you. “Of course, just the perfect husband aren’t you?”

Logan doesn’t dignify that with a response, too distracted by what’s happening outside the window. People have begun to wander around aimlessly, some of them stumbling into the fencing. They just keep walking forward, knocking into the wood repeatedly, not once stopping. John’s got a stuck smile on his face as he leans against the grill, Logan can see smoke rising from where the flesh of his palm is melting onto the metal. A few people all run into each other, collapsing on the ground and just lying there. 

They’re like robots, suddenly without command and unsure what to do. They’re following their programming without anyone putting a stop to it. Shiela follows his gaze and gasps. “Excuse me,” she mutters, practically running out of the room. 

Logan tries to find you amongst all the mess but you’re nowhere to be seen. “Fuck,” he growls out, looking back to where Shiela had run. He should have fucking known not to leave you on your own. 

He stalks after Shiela, listening to her racing heart and the slam of a downstairs door. He follows her down the steps leading to her basement. It looks the same as every other one he’s ever been in. Except, for the metal door hidden behind a few shelving units. The only reason he spots it is because Shiela knocked over a can of paint in her rush toward it. 

Anger brews hot and putrid in his gut. The claws come out unbidden, and the thought of you being locked away in that room pushes him forward. If you’re not in there, he’ll get an answer from Shiela one way or another. But he’s not going to let you get hurt because he didn’t have your back. 

“What the hell are you doing?” A shrill voice interrupts. Your head sinks back against the cool material of the table, brain surging back into place. Your teeth ache, white-hot pain rushing through your bones as Kimiko finally releases her grasp on you. 

Kimiko gives Shiela the look of a dog who just got in trouble. “She found my amplifying device. I have to get rid of her.” She holds the device you found earlier out to Shiela. 

So, she wasn’t as powerful as she pretended. She did need help. It explains why the entire neighborhood is always in the same area, she needs them close to keep control. “Whatever you’re doing is making my toys malfunction.”

Shiela hisses at Kimiko, she darts forward and slaps her hard across the back of the head. If you weren’t in excruciating and paralyzing pain, you’d flinch at the sound. Being as if your brain was just about to explode, though, you could give less of a shit if she beats her rabid dog up. 

These two crazy bitches deserve each other. You just want a Tylenol and a nap at this point. “Well, aren’t you two twisted sisters?” Logan slips through the door, his claws glinting under the light of the room. “Toys?” He demands, eyes roaming the room desperately. 

The second he sees you, strapped down and with blood pouring from your orifices, something slips over his face. It’s like a mask being ripped off. The man he pretends to be is ripped apart by the animal truly lurking within him. Neither women have time to even defend themselves. He goes for Kimiko first and all you see his claws plunging down before arterial blood sprays across your face. 

You groan, tilting your chin the other way and spitting the metallic liquid out of your mouth. There are a long few minutes of screaming, clothes shredding, and blood splashing against every surface of the room. By the time he’s completely calmed down, you’re drenched in it. 

You suck on your teeth, rolling your head limply and finally getting a good look at him. He’s panting, standing over their mutilated corpses with blood dripping down his claws. There’s a wrath on his face you’re happy to have never been on the other end of. But the second he looks at you, you see nothing but stark relief. 

He breathes out your name, your real one, and surges towards you. “Claws!” You shout, hurting your head again. But he was a second away from accidentally skewering you. They’re put away in an instant as he undoes the straps holding you down. 

You groan in relief as the pressure around your head and limbs is released. He perches himself on the edge of the table and scoops you into his chest.

You’re still loopy from Kimiko messing around in the grooves of your brain. The best you can manage is weakly draping your arms along his sides. He pulls you back and brushes the hair out of your face, laughing a little at the blood covering you. “They do anything to you?”

You shrug, “Besides turn my brain into a pressure cooker? No.”

The smile drops from his face and he glares down at the remains of the women. If you weren’t so tired, you’d think he wants to kill them again. “I should have been here.”

“Logan-” You want to tell him not to be ridiculous. You had insisted you could take care of yourself. Told him it would only be a conversation when you knew that was never going to be true. You’d gotten yourself into this, you were lucky he was there to get you out. But you don’t say anything because he interrupts you as he so often does. 

“I can’t keep acting like this is all okay. Like I’m happy with how we treat each other. I thought I was going to lose you, I’m not going to keep pretending I don’t care about you.”

Your face screws up in confusion and you’re not sure you want to hear where he’s going with this. You’ve been used to this dynamic between the two of you for so long. You’re used to him treating you like he can't stand to breathe the same air as you. If this is going where you think it is, you’re not sure you can handle it. 

“Logan,” you’re regaining some feeling in your limbs now. You use the returning strength to push away from him, shaking your head in disbelief. “No, you can’t do this. You can’t just change your-”

He’s incapable of letting you finish a single sentence. His hands wrap around your cheeks tugging you forward until your lips are brushing together. It’s enough of a shock to get you to stop talking. You don’t reciprocate, too stunned to even think about moving. 

He brushes his lips against yours again, firmer this time. Under the layers of blood coating you both, you’re wholly enveloped by him. His scent, his arms, everything about him drapes over you like a warm blanket. Against your better judgment, you find yourself returning the kiss. 

You move further into his lap, one hand holding his face and the other clutching at his hair, needing something to hold to keep you steady in this moment. Logan smiles against your lips, deepening the kiss without wasting another beat. His tongue moves gently across yours at first. A curious caress to see how well you two fit together. He groans when he gets a taste of you, pushing further in and kissing you like he wants to devour you.  

There’s warmth blooming in your stomach and spreading all along your body. You’re buzzing with adrenaline and pain and this unidentifiable feeling that Logan is evoking from you. It’s not the sweet mushy, romantic kiss you always imagined with him. 

This is desperate. Like a dying man’s last attempt at redemption. He’s tasting you like you’re rare, something to be savored. You feel like you’re the only thing left in existence. The only person left for him to admire. You forget the gore behind you, the tumultuous experiences you’ve had with him. 

You let yourself fall into the moment, a blind leap of faith into a pool of all your hopes and desires. He’s better than you ever could have imagined. More desperate than your wildest fantasies. He makes no move to stop, even as the air becomes scarce and you both have to part longer. He just grips you tighter, hands wrapped around you like he’s worried if he lets go he’ll lose you. 

He could, he could lose you. This kiss of his is putting you into a trance, distracting you from all he’s trying to make up for. Perhaps if he stops kissing you, you’ll remember it all and want nothing to do with him. But you don’t see that happening, you just see yourself craving more and more for him., You feel the addiction forming already. A deep-seated need in your bones is finally being sated, it will always need more from him. 

When you can no longer survive on the shared oxygen between you both, you’re forced to part. Your cheeks tingle from the stubble of his beard and you know your lips are pink and swollen because his are too. You’re both still coated in blood and you share a familiar glean in your eyes. 

���I never hated you,” he sounds breathless and you love that you’re the cause of it. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

You scoff, but there are no cruel intentions behind it. “So you push me away before you ever get a chance to have me?”

He gives you a crooked smile, “I never said I was smart.” You can’t help but laugh at that. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, ignoring the puddles of blood and bits. “We'll have to call Charles. He needs to help the people out there.”

“We also need to let him know there’s no trafficking ring. Just one fucked psyche.” You shoot another glare at the pile that was Kimiko, still bitter about her experiment with your brain. As Logan helps you up the stairs of the basement, you stop him just before you reach the door. 

He gives you a concerned look, like he thinks you’ve hurt something somehow. “I want to talk to you. Really talk to you about everything.” Concern gives way to dread and you can’t help but smile at the regretful look on his face. “But first,” his head perks in interest at your tone, “maybe we can finally enjoy that master bed together?”

“You know,” he leans down, swiping his arms under your knees and lifting you. You gasp, through your arms around his neck and squeezing until you worry you might suffocate him. “You really are the smart one of us, aren’t you?”

“Clearly.”

You’re not sure how well this transition to married couple to tentatively something else is going to go. But you have hope and it's kept you going for all these years. What's wrong with letting it linger a little longer?

a/n: Guess who's back, back again? Hint, it's Flux. I missed writing for them, so I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. Although, I worry the ending was too cheesy.

Reblogs, comments, likes, and requests are always appreciated !!

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp ♡ 

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @insomniachox @izbelross @spktrlvr ♡

[tropes-and-tales]

Firewatch

(Alex Keller x F!Reader)

CW:  Slight angst; healing from trauma; mild danger

Word Count: 6210

AN: This was inspired by the video game "Firewatch."

Alex Keller takes the job as a lookout at a fire tower because he needs time away.

He needs time to heal.

He carries too many ghosts with him.  Ghosts from his time in special ops, then in the CIA.  Ghosts from his time with Farrah in Urzikstan.  His third act with Farrah was supposed to help exorcise the ghosts from his time under the dubious command of the U.S.  Yet here he is, in his pitiful fourth act, with just as many ghosts.  And one less leg.

It’s a buddy of a buddy who manages to hook him up with the job.  The national service eyes his prosthetic leg with skepticism, but if he can fight on it, he reasons, he can serve as a lookout.  The national service isn’t exactly overrun by applicants—it is lonely, isolated work for half of the year, so they hire him.

The swath of wilderness has four fire towers, each miles apart and separately staffed.  Each can see so far across the mountain range and can radio to the national service in the event of smoke.  Each person has rudimentary EMT skills, survivalist skills, and can be pressed into service in case a hiker or camper needs aid.  Each person gets a weekly supply drop.  The towers have solar panels for some creature comforts.  Each has three radios so that two can always be fully charged while the other is in use.

Alex is assigned to the fourth tower, the one with the flattest terrain in a nod to his prosthetic leg.  It’s called the Delta tower, and he snorts at the symmetry in his life.  From Delta Force to Delta tower.

He takes the job because he needs time to heal.  He needs quiet and solitude.

Ironic, then, that his first night, his radio crackles to life with a hail from the Charlie tower, and when he answers, he hears your bright voice introducing yourself, welcoming him to the summer.

“I was in Delta for the last three years,” you explain.  “I only moved to Charlie this year.”

Alex feels a sting of guilt.  He likely pushed you out because of his leg.  “I’m sorry,” he replies.  “I think they moved you because I’m missing the lower half of my left leg.”

“Oh, no worries.  Charlie tower is nice, and it’s new terrain for me to explore.  I just wanted to welcome you.”

“Thank you.”

You sign off, and Alex sighs, makes his way back to his cot.  Your cot, until now.  He stares up at the ceiling and waits for sleep to come.  It takes a long time:  after an entire lifetime of the noise of war and tragedy, the near-silence of his tower is as loud as a bomb.

-----

Alex can see how this would be a tough gig for most people.  The average well-adjusted person would struggle with the solitude.  His days are long, and with no smoke on any horizon, he is in charge of filling his hours. 

He acclimates to the terrain.  He hikes his territory in wider arcs.  Part of his job’s secondary tasks include checking the blazes on the trails, clearing any debris, and making sure the emergency supply caches are stocked.  He takes to it like a fish to water:  all those years of precise military training, put to use making sure everything is neat and orderly.

His evenings are spent sitting on his tower, the wide windows open to allow the breeze in.  This high up, every direction is picture perfect.  If he turns to the left, he can see the sun setting in all its technicolor glory, and he swears there are colors that have no name—the thin bands of melding between purple and orange, orange and fiery red.  If he turns to the right, it’s already dark, and the sky is a velvety blackness.

His first few weeks, the only person he speaks to is you:  a daily and nightly hailing that goes from tower to tower to base camp, so that everyone is accounted for.

“Charlie to Delta,” you call each night.  “Here to tuck you into bed.”

Alex smiles at it each time.  “Delta accounted for.”

“Excellent.  Sweet dreams, Delta.”

-----

It’s the teenagers that put you and Alex on chattier terms:  a foursome of nineteen year-old girls, a troublesome age where they are technically adults but unable to legally drink.  They are camping in the area between Alex’s tower and yours, and they spend their first night setting off fireworks.

“You’re seeing this, right?” you crackle through his radio.

“Affirmative.”

“Bravo tower called them in to base.  They have permits to camp, so we’ll have to keep an eye on them.  Still….shitheads, setting off fireworks during fire season.  Do you think you can make your way down to them tomorrow and give them a lecture?”

Alex grins, then presses the button on his radio.  “You don’t want to do the honors?  I feel like you have a ready-made lecture.”

“Well, for one, I’d hate for you to not have any fun during your first summer.”

“And two?”

“Two is, I have to hike through and resupply my caches.  One needs repaired.”

Alex considers it.  He’s used to… less than kind ways of convincing people to bend to his will.  But idiot teenagers?

“Any suggestions?” he asks.

He hears your laugh over the radio and it makes him smile.  “Whatever you do, don’t try to meet ‘em on their level.  Teenagers are assholes.  Give them the straight facts about forest fires, and be prepared for them to call you a vulgar iteration of ‘Smokey the Bear.’”

“You speaking from experience?”

“I repress it each year, Delta.”

-----

You hail him a little earlier that night. 

“Charlie to Delta.  How’d it go?”

Alex makes sure to press the button so you can hear the massive sigh he heaves.  He only got back to his tower half an hour earlier, just before the sun fully sank in the western sky.  He was so tired he didn’t bother to cook a proper meal — he smeared a bunch of peanut butter on bread, made a couple of sandwiches that he bolted down in a handful of wolfish bites.  Now he’s in the process of removing his prosthetic leg when he hears you calling on the radio.

“I’m back.  I survived.”  He sets his prosthetic on the bed beside him and groans as he kneads at his thigh.  His muscles are tight and knotted, and he’s sore, but it’s a good sore from putting in a lot of hiking.

“You put the fear of god in them?”

“I tried.”  He leans back against his pillow and feels the muscles in his back relax one by one.  “They didn’t seem to care about the forest or the loss of human life if they start a fire.  I had to frame it as all the cute lil bunnies that would die.”

“So long as they stop setting off fireworks.”  You pause, then ask, more playfully, “they verbally abuse you?”

He laughs, but it trails off into a wide yawn.  “Yeah, but standard stuff.  ‘Peg Leg.’”

“Boo.”

“Right?  I thought kids were more clever nowadays.”

“Two summers ago, I had to break up a campsite of teenaged boys,” you tell him.  “Same deal, fire conditions were high.  One called me ‘Smokey the Bear,’ but another looked me over and said, ‘I wouldn’t mind climbing up on Ol’ Smokey.’”

Alex laughs again.  Yawns again.  “Youths,” he chuckles over the radio.

“Youth is wasted on them.”  A beat of static as you hold the line.  “Well, I appreciate you handling it.  You’re a seasoned pro now.”

He tries not to note the warm flush of feeling at this tamest, faintest overture of belonging.  He tries not to let his mind immediately go to where it goes:  that with everywhere else he’s belonged, he had to kill for the right.  He had to do nefarious things.  Evil things.  Here, on the fire tower?  All he had to do was hike down to the lake and give a stern talk to a foursome of giggling, slightly drunk young women.

“Anytime.”  His voice has an edge of roughness to it, but you must just chalk it up to tiredness.

“Alright, I’ve kept you on too long.  Go to bed and sleep well, Delta.”

“You too, Charlie.”

-----

From there, you talk more.  Not just in the mornings or evenings for check-in, but at random intervals throughout the day.  You both drop a lot of the formalities on the radio too.

You break in one afternoon, your voice startling him as he works his way along a bit of trail that needs cleared. 

“What do you look like, Delta?”

As always, your non-sequiturs make him smile.  “I’m hideous.”

“Liar!”

“I wasn’t born so much as created in a lab,” he teases.  “And it didn’t go well.  Just really disgusting looking.”

“So you’re one of a kind, then?”

He draws his arm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat beading there.  He’s been hacking away at encroaching undergrowth with a machete, and you calling is a welcome break.

“Is this a prelude to something saucy?” he asks.  “Like, are you gonna ask what I’m wearing next?”

“Oh, Delta.  I imagine you’re wearing a white t-shirt, cargo shorts, and a red baseball cap.”

Maybe it’s a good sign that he startles now.  That he had no idea someone was watching him.  He’s been swinging his machete and feeling good to use his body for good work, and he never even noticed that he was being observed.

Still, he freezes like his training taught him.  He scans the landscape, quick but thorough—

Your laughter bursts out of his radio.  “I’m on my high-powered binoculars.  I can see you, but you can’t see me.”

“Then why are you asking what I look like.”  He does a slow turn with his arms out.  “Here I am.”

“I can’t make out your face that well.  But from the blur I can make out, you look disappointingly human.  No lab experiment at all.”

-----

The next day brings much-needed rain, and Alex lounges in his tower.  There’s a dog-eared copy of “War and Peace” (yours? He doesn’t know) that he is trying to work through just so he can be one of those impressive, kinda irritating people who can say they’ve read “War and Peace.”  But the rain drums on the roof, and the words—all those confusing Russian names that he can’t keep straight—swim together in front of him.

He reaches for the radio.  “Delta to Charlie.  How’s the weather over there?”

It takes you a moment to answer, and your voice is husky when you do.  “Sheets of rain here.”

“Did I wake you up?  Sorry.”

“Just dozing.  Can’t pass up on a good doze when the weather obliges.”  A beat.  “What’s up, Delta?”

“Trying to read ‘War and Peace’ and getting nowhere.”

“Oh, fatal mistake.  Summer in the tower calls for Jack London, Larry McMurty, Louis L’Amour.  The Russians are strictly for winter.”

“Duly noted.”  He pauses and turns his head to look out one of the wide windows.  Water streaks down, and the horizon shows nothing but thick black clouds.  “I was curious what you looked like.”

Your laughter carries over the radio and makes him smile.  “Well….I wasn’t formed in a lab.  In fact, I was, you know, in my mom with my twin.  But I partially absorbed my twin, so I have three eyes, four ears—”

“That’s wild.”  He laughs.  “What else?”

“Only one mouth, normal sized, but like, twice as many teeth.  I look like some fucked-up fish that you’d find in the Mariana Trench.”

“You speak really well for someone with a mouthful of teeth.”

“Thanks.”

“So you’re one of a kind too?”

He can’t account for why your voice turns sad and sighs as you reply, “just a lonely whale operating on a frequency no one else can hear.”

-----

And that—the rainy day where the two of you check in with each other, leisurely, comfortably—is what leads your chats into deeper waters.

“Why are you out here?” you ask him one day.

How to answer it?  The easy but still-true answer is that he needed the job.  Not because of money—he’s set up well enough for the rest of his life, so long as he doesn’t acquire any expensive habits between now and old age.  It’s more an inability to not work.  He’s had a job since he was twelve when he worked on a farm down the road from his house during the summer.  From farmhand to bus boy to lifeguard to soldier to undercover agent to freedom fighter to… what?  This, for now. 

The tougher, more-true answer is that he needed to feel useful in a way that didn’t involve death.  He needed a place to heal the sore spots in his soul, the places that burn because they’ve been grated raw by the world.

Instead of answering, he volleys a question back to you.  “Why are you asking?”

“Everyone comes here for a reason.  We have to, because no one without a reason would just take this job.  Why else would we sign up for so much seclusion?”

“Maybe I just needed the stipend a lot.”

You laugh.  “You’d make the same basic amount at McDonald’s, and you’d get to go home to a larger bed and hot shower each night.”

“But here, I don’t stink like fry oil.”

Another laugh, and it never fails to make Alex smile—the warm merriment traveling through the airwaves over the miles that separate you. 

“So Alpha has been here the longest, and he’s here because he’s just your standard loner.  Nice guy.  He just kinda hates society and likes to spend his time in the mountains.  A real Thoreau-type,” you say.

“You’re sure he’s not working on any manifestos in his spare time?”

“Nah.  He actually spends a lot of his evenings whittling these really lovely little wooden animals, right?  He gives everyone one at the end of each season.  Last year he whittled foxes.”

Alex wonders if you have similar conversations with the other towers about him, and he finds the thought doesn’t bother him.  You seem kind; most of your humor is gently teasing, if that.  He imagines you hailing Bravo tower and saying something like, “Delta had his first teenager encounter.  He’s one of us now.”

You continue over the radio.  “Bravo is a woman too.  She’s a writer, and she has this sturdy, bare bones laptop that she can charge with the solars.  She basically bangs out two, three really rough drafts here, then goes home after fire season to polish ‘em up.”

“Yeah?”  He glances at the dog-eared copy of “War and Peace” that he’s pretty much given up on.  “Anything I might’ve heard of?”

“Probably not, unless you are into shifter smut.”

He knows he’s missed a lot, being out of step with the mainstream, but his mind boggles.  “What’s that?”

“Like….”  You trail off, and he hears you clicking your tongue as you think.  “Shifter is shape-shifter.  Werewolves, humans turning into other creatures.  And smut is….you know.”

“Like two werewolves are in a romance?”

“Oh, Delta.”  Your laughter is more of a giggle over the line, a he-he-he that might seem flirty except for the tendril of nervousness threaded through it.  “It’s, uh, usually a human and a shifter.”

“Seriously?  Doesn’t that make it bestiality?”

“Well, the shifter isn’t a beast.  It’s a fully consensual being, just not a human.”

He’s completely confused.  “And people read these books?”

“Bravo does really well.  She goes to all sorts of romance conventions and has a robust fanbase.”

“For werewolf and human smut?”  He can’t hide the way his voice pitches up in incredulity.

“Different strokes for different folks.”

“Well, shit.  I guess,” he replies, still baffled, and it makes you laugh again.

A moment later, though, you sign off—it’s supply drop day, and you have the furthest to go for yours.  Alex looks thoughtfully at the radio in his hand, realizes that you never circled back to your original question to him, and that you never said why you’re on a tower either.

-----

You don’t ask the question again over the next few weeks, so Alex asks it.

“Why are you out here?” he asks one evening.  There are thunderheads in the west, but the weather service says they should spend themselves before they get close enough to do any damage from lightning strikes.

You’re a long time in answering him.  You go so long that the line seems dead, and he adds, more playfully, “you some sort of smut writer too?  Alien smut, maybe?”

It draws a laugh out of you, but it lacks the usual bright merriment.  “I’m not that creative, unfortunately.”

“C’mon,” he wheedles.  “You gotta give me something, boss.”

“Boss?” 

Alex shuts his eyes, winces.  It just slipped out, his weird little term of affection.  His nickname for people he feels comfortable with.  Women he feels comfortable with. He hasn’t said it since Farrah, since their time together in Urzikstan, him at her right hand, helping rebuild until—

“Did I lose you there, Delta?”

“Still here.”

“Why are you here, then?  Turnabout is fair play, and you never told me.”

He doesn’t bother to point out that you never told him why you were on a tower.  That you’re similarly withholding from him.  He wonders if you’re hiding similar hurt, or if you need a similar sort of healing that can only come from being away from other people.

“I just needed time away,” he tells you.

The line is silent for a long stretch again, and then your voice comes across, smaller than he’s ever heard it before.

“Me too.”

-----

A grey day weeks later when low clouds obscure the sun and cast the landscape in a weird, muted light:  you hail Alex late morning when he’s fiddling around with a loose wire on one of his solar panels.

“Quid pro quo, Delta.  I’ll tell you my tale of woe if you tell me yours.”

He sets down the channel locks he’s been using and makes his way over to the steps.  He settles down, then answers you.

“Who says I have a tale of woe?”

“Because you never answered me the way I never answered you.  If you’re here because you love the wilderness, you would have just said so.”

“Fair.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and then you add, “and because everyone here has a tale of woe, including Alpha and Bravo.  But it’s not my place to tell their stories.”

Alex turns his head and gazes off across the slope to the west, the gentle valley that leads down to the lake that separates his area from yours.  He has no idea what you look like or what you’re even doing right now.  Are you on a trail, resupplying a cache, and did the spirit move you to call him?  Are you in your tower, peering in his direction with your binoculars?

He knows part of his reintroduction to the world will have to involve letting people in.  Extending trust even if it isn’t earned yet.  Why not start with a person he hasn’t seen?  Why not start with telling his story into a radio, when he doesn’t have to look you in the eye and see your reactions?

“Well,” he starts.  “There was a woman.  But really, before that, I had this job, and I did a lot of bad things that seemed like the right thing at the time…”

-----

He talks so long his radio dies.  He talks so long, the light grows dimmer—sunset is close—and he has to pause, clean up his abandoned project, and head up into the tower.  You’ve been silent for most of his story, only offering little one-word encouragements to continue, or keep going, or little noises of sympathy.  Or at least they sound sympathetic. 

And it’s a revelation how it all just pours out of him, every wretched moment:  the shit he saw and did on Delta Force, the worse shit he saw and did in the CIA.  The moment he tried to turn it around, sacrifice himself for a noble cause, and how he woke up in a clinic in the most agonizing pain of his life.  How he was airlifted to Turkey, how they amputated his leg there.  Then the long road to recovery and back to Farrah, happy to serve at her right hand as she rebuilt her country to be a beacon to the region. 

How he fell in love—how could he not?  How that love was gently rebuffed, and how there was no great falling out or massive argument. 

How ordinary it was, when he realized he couldn’t live with Farrah and not have his love reciprocated.  How Farrah couldn’t love him the way he needed.

All the drama and chaos of his life, and going out like that:  a love-sick boy on a plane back to the United States, sulking and hurt.  And that sulking and hurt nothing but a veneer over the deeper pain.

Then his radio gives its warning beep, and he has to sign off before you can reply.  As he heads in for the evening, he grows more and more horrified at what he’s done.  Oversharing to the nth degree.  His face flames hot; the tips of his ears burn so much he’s sure he looks like a beacon in the growing darkness.

-----

You call him back a few hours later.

“Are you free?” you ask.  “I wanted to give you time to eat, relax, unwind…”

“Yeah.  I’m free.”  His voice comes out rough, craggy around the edges of his words.  He shuts his eyes tight and lays back in his cot.  He waits for you to give him hell or worse, give him a gentle brush-off.  Something like maybe we should just stick to the nightly check-in.

“I appreciate you sharing all of that with me.”  A beat.  “I realize it must have been hard, trusting a stranger with your story.”

He snorts.  “You hardly seem like a stranger anymore.”

“Someone you haven’t formally met yet, then.”

“It was easier, I think.  Talking to someone I hadn’t met yet.  I could have never said any of that to my sisters or cousins or friends back home.”

He hears the sympathetic cluck of your tongue.  “I get it.  Sometimes it’s harder to share the dark stuff with the people closest to us.”

He feels a curious sensation in his chest at this exchange; a weird snagging against the back of his breastbone, like something barbed loosening there.  He hears no judgement in your voice.  No horror at the things he’s done in the name of freedom and country.  Maybe it will come later, but right now, he only hears sympathy and understanding.

“Quid pro quo,” he reminds you. 

He hears the sigh, and he hears a rustling over the radio.  Like you’re leaning back in your bed too, getting comfortable.

“Well, there was a man,” you start.  “Isn’t there always?  A man or a woman or some goddamned person that throws you off the trajectory of your life and leaves you spinning.”

You talk so long your radio dies.

-----

Alex wonders sometimes if you talk with the other towers like you talk with him.  He wonders if you and Bravo, say, chat about your various traumas.  Maybe Bravo was cheated on too, and the two of you spend radio-draining hours commiserating. 

He doesn’t think so, though. The two of you fall into a rhythm:  you spend your evenings and well into the night talking—deep shit, embarrassing shit, the shit neither of you would probably tell anyone else.  The mornings and daylight hours bring a sheepishness to your back-and-forth, a sort of “can’t believe I admitted that last night, so now I have to soften it with goofy teasing and joking around.”

But then the sun sets, and you’re back to baring your souls to each other.

The fire season is halfway over when you tell him one night that you appreciate him more than he knows.  That excising all of the bad feelings has led you to sleep better than you have in years.

“I don’t know how it happened, but you’ve become my closest confidant,” you admit. 

He doesn’t tell you then, but he considers it after you both sign off for the night:  how he’s sleeping better than he has in years too.  And how he’s confided in you more than anyone else, even Farrah.

And then he considers how the thought of Farrah doesn’t raise the sharp ache of loss it used to. 

He considers how this may be him healing.

-----

“What are your plans after the season ends?” he asks.  He’s been mulling that question over for himself.  He has no plans at all.  He could always crash at his cousin’s place for a few months—he’s got a rambling old farmhouse in Michigan, and he’s invited Alex more than once to join him. 

“I got a place in Colorado,” you reply.  “I have a seasonal job at a winter resort.”

“What do you do there?”

It’s daytime, so the jokes are in full force.  “I’m a caretaker.  Also working on my novel.  It’s just me and a bunch of ghosts and also the specter of my own alcoholism.”

Alex laughs.  “There was alcoholism in ‘the Shining’?”

“In the book, yeah.”  You pause, and Alex hears you give a little grunt of effort.  He knows you’re on a trail, clearing out a downed tree.  “Anyway, I do a little bit of everything at the resort.  Mostly I give out skiing lessons and man the medic hut.”

“Sounds like a good gig.”

“It is.”  Another beat, another huff as you move a heavy section of tree.  Alex hears the thud as it lands on the soft ground.  “What about you?”

“Not sure yet.  I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

You heave a sigh, and he imagines you sitting down or leaning against a tree to rest.  “There’s a whole swath of society that does this sort of seasonal work as a living.  I could give you some sites to look at.  Ideas of what to do during the winter.  If you plan on doing this again next year, I mean.”

He chuckles again.  “I definitely haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“C’mon.  You don’t want to do another summer on the tower?”

He isn’t against the idea, exactly.  The summer has turned out to be exactly what he’s needed:  time and space away from others, time to be alone with himself.  And a friend on the radio, which he hadn’t counted on. 

But this was only ever meant to be a stop-gap.  He never intended to become a lifer on the fire tower, because he has always imagined a life more ordinary.  A regular job and a home and partner to come home to every night. 

He tells you as much now, and asks, “do you want to do this forever?”

“I never planned on it.”  Your voice sounds thoughtful, maybe a little sad.  “I guess it was supposed to be a stop-gap for me too, and now here I am…”

He knows now how you’ve been hurt.  The story of a husband who used you, then cheated, then left you with less than nothing.  How it launched you out of the trajectory of your own life, as you said, and how you find yourself drifting now.

“You could go anywhere,” he tells you.  “Anywhere at all.  And you could do anything.”

“You want me to put down some roots, Delta?”  You sound playful now, and he smiles to hear it.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing, right?”

“It’d be tough to start over in a place where I didn’t know anyone,” you admit.  “It’s tough to make friends as an adult.  Starting over, all that shit.”

Alex shakes his head, rueful.  “Don’t sell yourself short.  You made a friend in me in a matter of months.”

You laugh over the radio, your usual merry sound that makes that barbed pain behind his chest wall unfurl a bit.  “How about you get settled somewhere, and I’ll come glom off of you until I put down some roots of my own.”

“That’s a deal,” he replies, quick, and you laugh over the radio again, but Alex spends the rest of the golden afternoon imagining an entire future that looks a lot like the present:  him in his own place somewhere undefined, and you nearby, just a phone call away to chat or listen or vent.

-----

The season is a month away from ending when the fire starts.

It’s two fires, actually:  one sighted early by Alpha tower, and the second sighted by you in Charlie.

“The Service is keeping an eye on them,” you tell him one evening.  Your voice has a taut quality that Alex realizes is fear.  He’s never heard you afraid before.

“They are sending in a team to strip out a fire line,” you continue.  “Hopefully it will keep them from merging.”

Alex eyes the smoke on the horizon.  The wind has been carrying the acrid scent of burning to him all day.  “Have you been in a fire situation before?” he asks.

“Once, but it was small.  It was handled before it became a big thing.”

“You able to move out quick if you have to?”  He thinks of his years of training and experience.  He can light out in less than a minute if he has to. 

Your scoff over the radio tells him all he needs to know, but you kindly answer with your words anyway.  “Of course I can move quick, Delta.”

-----

The weather is against you:  high winds and no rain.  The wind takes the fires and pushes them to ungodly heights, and no rain ever comes.  Alex can’t tell what is a genuine cloud and what is smoke now—everything is hazy, and his eyes feel like they are laden with grit. 

The fires merge within a couple of days, and the situation changes from concerning to dangerous.

“I need you to look at the map on the wall,” you tell him without preamble.  The taut quality of your voice is gone, and now it shakes with fear.

He takes the three steps over to the wall where it’s tacked up, the corners curling and yellowed with age.  There are notations on it in neat printing, some of them humorous.  He’s looked at it all summer and always assumed it was you who named some of the local features, like Twisted Knee Trail and Drunken Fratboy Pond. 

“I’m looking at it,” he tells you.

“You see where you are in Delta tower.”

“Affirmative.”

“Look northwest.  Do you see Wapiti Meadow?  It’s on the other side of the canyon.”

He leans closer and studies it.  Does the quick math. 

“Looks like it’s about five or six clicks from me.”

“Correct.  There’s a research station there so it’s the best place the helicopter can set down to get us.  Alpha hiked out two days ago, and Bravo caught a ride with the fire fighters who were cutting the line.  It’s just us now.”

Alex’s stomach sinks, and he turns to look out the window.  The fire churns thick plumes of black smoke in the air.  It’s like a beast, ravenous for more acreage.  “We’re evacuating.”  The thought occurs to him then, and he returns to the map.  Wapiti Meadow will be a hike but he should be fine.  You?

“The northern edge of the fire is between the rendezvous spot and you,” he says, and now his voice is laced with fear too.

“I’m leaving now,” you reply.  “I have to flank it.  Take only what you absolutely need.  Wet a cloth and tie it over your mouth and nose.  And take some water.  Not enough to weigh you down but enough to hydrate you.  Don’t underestimate the smoke in the air.”

He makes his way over to his cot and sits down, pulls out his pack and starts to check its contents.  He’s always ready to go in a moment.  He’ll be fine. 

A not-tiny sting of guilt lances through him:  this was your tower, and the service gave it to him because of his leg.  Now you have to make your way through dangerous terrain around a wild fire because of him.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you. 

“None of that shit,” you snap over the radio.  “Don’t you dare apologize.  Get moving, and I’ll see you at Wapiti Meadow. 

“Please be careful, Boss.”

“I’ll see you there, Alex.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name all summer, and it’s the jolt he needs to finish his preparations and launch him out the door of his tower. 

He gives it a backwards glance, realizes it will be gone within a day or two.  At the last minute, he turns back and pulls the map from the wall.  He has his smaller one in his pocket that he can consult with his compass, but he has the idea to save the tower map with your notations.  A memento from your home for so many summers, your refuge from the wider world while you healed.

He folds it and puts it in his pack, then leaves. 

-----

He makes it to Wapiti Meadow okay.  He underestimated the haze from the smoke, and how quickly it would make his vision blurry with tears.  Near the end of his journey to the rendezvous, he has to stop every few hundreds of yards to wash out his eyes and blink his vision clear again. 

By the time he gets there, the helicopter is already in the clearing.  A grim-faced ranger offers his hand and helps haul Alex up into the helicopter, and he does a quick scan of the others there.  The ranger, the helicopter pilot, and a man that he later learns is a research scientist at the Wapiti station. 

No you.

For the majority of Alex’s professional life, he’s only been a member of teams where everyone was expendable.  He himself had been left behind for dead more often than he wants to count.  It’s that history that makes him stand up as much as he can in the tight quarters of the helicopter, makes him loom over the ranger, and growl, “we aren’t leaving her behind.”

The ranger, who perhaps has some understanding of the lookouts on the towers, only looks back at him and mildly replies, “we weren’t planning on it, buddy.”

Over the headset, the pilot adds, “she’s only a click or two away now.  She’s been radioing in every thirty minutes.”

It would be more dramatic to say that there is a frenzy at the end, that the helicopter’s blades start to turn, that it starts to rise from the flattened grass of the meadow just as you break through the treeline and make a run for them.  It’d be more dramatic to say that Alex reaches out a hand as you reach out a hand, and that your fingertips brush, and that you either lose your grip on him and fall, then die in the fire, or that he hauls you into the helicopter just as it’s lifting off.

In the end, neither happens.  Alex is all turned around from the smoke and the adrenaline, so he’s looking in the wrong direction when you break through the treeline.  The pilot says, “there she is,” and Alex has to look to see where everyone is looking before he finally sees you for the first time.

The pilot hits the controls and starts the rotors, but the helicopter is firmly on the ground when the ranger—not Alex—extends his hand and hauls you in.  The lower half of your face is covered with a damp cloth, but the top part of your face is black with smoke.  Tear tracks cut clean lines from the corners of your eyes, and you’re coughing and sputtering as the ranger hands you a bottle of water.  Alex watches as you pour half of it over your face, then drink the other half, and it isn’t until the helicopter is a few feet in the air that your eyes find his and light up.

That barbed, snagged feeling in his chest unfurls completely when he finally lays eyes on you.  Even sweaty and smoke-stained, tears leaking from red-rimmed eyes, a skinned knee oozing blood… you’re absolutely gorgeous to him.  The voice on his radio, helping him heal.  The voice hailing him each night, tucking him into bed, wishing him sweet dreams. 

“Delta,” you say, and your voice sounds brighter in person than it did over the radio, even roughened up by the smoke.  “Alex.  Good to finally meet you.”

You hold out your hand and he takes it eagerly, and he cannot stop the smile that breaks across his face as the helicopter takes to the air. 

“Good to finally meet you, Boss.”

[yourclumsyguardianangel]

the seven + a few others future headcanons

percy:

becomes a high school teacher

teaches high school marine biology (idk how it is in other schools but when we hit sophomore year we got to choose different bio classes ie: marine bio, ag bio, med bio + regular bio)

also teaches the mythology elective and is the swim team coach

annabeth:

we already know this queen is an architect with obvious inspiration from greek architecture

learns how to make blue food for percy and their kids from sally

has traveled all over the world looking at different architecture

learns the basics of many languages so shes able to communicate with the locals

her and leo team up to build a small school near camp half-blood for year rounders so everyone can learn consistently but dw they get summers off

piper:

love her but shes a nepo baby

she doesnt act like it tho

”are you tristan mcleans daughter?” “who?”

loves her dad to bits but does not like being seen out in public by the paparazzi

marries shel, they dont have kids tho, neither of them want to bring any into the world especially with america’s downfall and the government erasing women and poc rights

is basically leos big sister atp

leo:

him and calypso dont last, maybe a year and a half in they split bc calypso wants to explore the world and leo is very emotionally unstable and calypso has a hard time understanding

they end on good terms but dont ever talk unless its with a group of friends

he goes into a trade to become a mechanic and owns his own shop

starts smoking cigarettes/vaping

his friends dont really approve but they understand he cant quit just yet as hes not in a mental space to do so

goes to therapy with a psychologist whos a demigod that specializes in grieving and war trauma

they all go to therapy but hes the last one to do it

he’s still the ‘happy go lucky’ guy hes always been but as he gets closer w the others they start to see the true sadness in him

piper and him grow a lot closer after jason died and have a big sister little brother relationship

hazel:

my girl stays at camp jupiter

takes nicos place at camp

horse trainer

her and frank also dont work out as a romantic relationship, they felt that the age gap was too much after frank turned 18 and hazel was 15 theyre still friends tho

hazel often visits leo in his shop

as much as leo reminds her of sammy, through therapy she has recognized that theyre separate people and to not push all her past feelings for sammy onto leo

not only does she train horses but she also teaches little kids basic math, science, and history to the younger kids

they all call her ms. hazel

she prefers to teach the really young kids (age 4-7)

wears her hair in different braid styles after BOO

frank:

my friggin HOMIE

i relate to frank a lot personality wise

therefore i think hed be a 4/20 fanatic after BOO

hes not stoned during training or during important camp duties

but otherwise you try talkin to him and you dont really notice until you look and see the far off look and red eyes and he just goes “huh?”

other than that hes a great leader

after he gets his cool new look from mars he takes really good care of his body including consistent exercise and eating really healthily (maybe he has a soft spot for fast food when hes hi)

him joining the military does not make sense to me

he lost his mom to war, and he was in one himself, idk about you but i would not wanna join the military after being the main character in a war

he studies to be a veterinarian for exotic animals

when no one is around he shifts into the animal to find out whats wrong

”dr. zhang prefers to work by himself” “why” “idk but hes always right, if it aint broke dont fix it”

jason:

rip home-slice

nico:

my other homie

my guy does not get taller than 5’8

stays at camp during the summer to train the new and old kids

him and will get a house together

teaches history at the camp school

cat dad (5 cats and counting)

will:

takes nicos last name when they marry bc its cooler

him being a doctor doesnt click w me i more picture him being an EMT

EMTs are hotter anyways

does med training with new apollo kids whenever he gets time

if he’s not busy during working hours he drops by nicos classroom w his fav drink from dutch bros (starbucks is MID) and hangs out with him and his students

[devils-little-sista]

TSATS is hilarious to me. They give Will a whole book to help us really get to know him as a character and a chance for him to be a more developed character. And instead we get a whole book of him being useless and dragging Nico down and forcing Nico to carry his pathetic arse for the whole book. Instead of making him a more developed character it just made me dislike him even more for being such a waste of space for an entire book.

Saaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmme dude. You just summarized what tsats was at its core. It’s such a shame that the idea of the sun and the star and Will Solace had so much potential it could have been amazing if it was done right. Will could have been amazing. He was amazing before Mark and Rick fumbled him And instead we got this dumpster fire. Such a shame.

And a point that I haven’t seen talked about enough is Nico being pressured to come out to the whole camp felt so wrong

the whole scene of how the dryads kinda outed Nico to the whole camp or at least pressured him to come out randomly with no warning at all. That really did not sit right with me at all. it almost felt like Nico was being outed again or very much pressured to come out because of the crowd expected an announcement from him. Like I get that the dryads made a social blunder and misinterpreted what Nico asked of them. It’s possible Nico might not have been all that clear. But like. Nico coming out to a full crowd like that especially so soon after BoO. D I D. N O T. S I T. R I G H T. W I T H. M E. It would have better if that whole thing was not written. Or at least if Nico had bailed out it of that situation and just grew the balls to privately ask Will out himself.

Because Nico’s always been very short and to the point with things. The type of guy to do his own work for himself. He once said something like “he didn’t like working with other people because they were always cramping his style” in BoO. Sure he could be trying to branch out and make friends. But I don’t think he’d trust a bunch of random dryads he barely knows with this kind of thing. If he was gonna ask anybody else to help him set up something as serious and a first date with Will it would be his trusted friends. Hazel Jason Reyna Hedge.

Also the whole thing about Nico being pressured to come out somehow helped other queer kids in the camp. Like first of all that’s not Nico’s responsibility especially not when he was still dealing with internalized stuff for himself. And second of all. It’s a Greek camp. With a whole bunch of kids there and that whole scene took place during summer time when they are the most packed. 100-200 campers. In New York. Theres gotta be at least a couple other out queer kids in that camp. (Probably more than a couple tbh).

The whole scene pressuring Nico to come out to and ask Will out didn’t make sense and felt so wrong and weird. Amongst a bunch of other things too. But this is the one that was on my mind at the moment. There are many other things about tsats that felt so wrong and I may be too sleep deprived to rant about them now

[melonsharks]

Tell us everything about the parent trap au immediately please please please

to give u an insanely quick rundown with a wip art i have:

aziraphale as elizabeth. wedding dress designer under his pen name A.Z. Fell. (hes an artist as confirmed in s2 and the whole "drawing on napkins" thing elizabeth would do appeals to me immensely)

crowley as nick. owns a vineyard. I NEED HIM TO OWN A VINEYARD SO BAD. shoutout to Old Vines on ao3 for changing me in a fundamental way. he makes wines and he tends to the vines and he is so passionate about it to an abusurdist degree. he yells at his vines when they arent growing right. you already knowwww.

when they meet for the first time, they don’t meet on a boat like in the movie, they actually meet at a wedding party :J crowley was a wine collector, just starting out. he loved offering aziraphale samplings of his most vintage collection out of impulse. (he likes seeing the way aziraphale savors them) (he’s besotted) Wants to own his own vineyard one day. aziraphale, on the other hand, has dreams of becoming a fashion designer of sorts, always drawing ideas on any scraps of paper he can find. his designs are very old fashioned, but thats like… part of the appeal. his work very much reflects who he is, and the people who flock to it understand that.

they enter this kind of… whirlwind relationship, they get married, and then eventually adopt two golden haired blue eyed baby boys. twins. :J warlock and adam.

they break things off because aziraphale leaves... alluding to their recent breakup in season two, the reason he left was because "we both clearly had very different ideas on where our lives were going. so. i packed up and left." (parallel s2 divorce 😋 they don’t know how to talk to each other) (aziraphale throws a book at his head after this argument, like the hairdryer in the movie LOL. it was pride and prejudice. crowley still has it.)

aziraphale leaves with adam. warlock is left with crowley. crowley eventually leaves London because he finds he cant stand being anywhere near Aziraphale (hes just irresistible in that way), and he goes to California where he finally fulfills his dream of owning a vineyard. a nice one on Napa, Northern California.

Aziraphale’s wedding dresses become more and more well known, Adam grows well-adjusted. Same kid you know from the show and book, natural born leader, a good head on his shoulders. (Aziraphale has no idea why Adam is like that, but he is so proud)

Crowley’s vineyard (The Garden Of Eden) grows and grows… Warlock is spoiled rotten, but he does love actually working at the vineyard with Crowley to and he and Crowley have a really good relationship…

Eventually the kids go to a summer camp together in London (i dont know if they . do this in the UK, but suspend your disbelief if you will) Adam meets The Them there, then meets Warlock after a nutty fencing thing, they kind of hate each other at first and the rest is history :J

side characters UM. LOL. idk……. i mean i kind of know but not really? theres just so many possibilities that make the rounds in my head. chessy could be anathema OR nina (ive had people suggest eric too?) and martin could be newt OR maggie (ive also had people suggest muriel????) gestures vaguely.

as for meredith…….erm…………🤷‍♂️ ive had everything under the sun suggested to me and i still……have no idea. LOL. gabriel, lucifer, shaX, FURFUR, THE WIFE FROM THE NON-SPOILER SPOILERS. I DONT KNOW. IT ALL FEELS WRONG. its hard to come up with this role in particular when these gay bitches literally only have eyes for each other. always. forever. u know. i think lucy is like. the classic answer. but idfk.

ask me about . more things if u want. this is consuming my every thought.

anyways the cover im working on for. for something:

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

n addition to not being that much more impressive than many in 1A, I never understood why “Explosion” was thought to be “perfect for heroics” in the first place. First of all, it’s a destructive quirk, and despite the prevalence of fire-quirked heroes, I’d expect the first reaction of most adults to a destructive quirk is to think “future-villain” - especially when wielded by a kid with no respect for property damage. Secondly, a lot of what makes it “good for heroics” is down to Bk’s intensive training - using it fly, etc - not things that would have been immediately obvious in elementary school.

Separately, I agree with what a few others have said that what makes Bk’s quirk seem so strong is his intensive training of it and his endless aggression. (Honestly, half of the kids should have found it psychologically hard to to actually attack someone with their quirk in their first class.) When other kids are actually worried about maiming someone, they’re not going to be using the constant 150% aggression like Bk.

Explosion is a 1 trick pony quirk at the end of the day. Or at least it should be but Hori gives Katsuki insane plot armor. Seriously, his stun grenade, ability to attack from a range, and his smokescreen clearing strike are BS.

This is why I always say there are two school of thoughts on Explosion Quirks: villain or hero.

For me, I think people praising him really focused on the combat aspect of his Quirk because heroism had become about fighting rather then saving people. I think a bright kid, with rich parents because they're a model and fashion designer the guy has money, Bakugou was placated by others even more. His willingness to train and work with his Quirk led to him being praised more.

Its a headcanon kids like Bakugou get specialized training for his Quirk because of how dangerous it can be. I imagine the trainer was shocked by how dedicated Bakugou was and praised him. It got around and everyone knew this kid was strong, wanted to be a hero, and had a combative Quirk.

So that can be why its him being praised so much, by a bunch of people focusing on combat not anything else.

Not sure about ‘kids finding it hard to attack others’ cause kids are nasty. I remember being like six and punching another kid in the face. Plus I had a brother two years older then me, and a cousin a week younger.

The three of us were nightmares and I ain't gonna lie if I was Bakugou I’d be using it on them one time. Of course I'd be horrified by them being hurt and would have been grounded so hard.

Little kids dont really have the ability to know right from wrong and empathy is very low but Bakugou… I've pointed out how malicious the Deku name is (and I will yell it still it occurred before Izuku was diagnosis and it was never a kind nickname) for a freaking toddler and while yeah Hori did it, whole thing is still disturbing.

His attacks are a bit BS and I think Hori was having to come up with a reason he's around because he is just that guy with an explosion Quirk. Mind I personally think Hori didn't like Bakugou but when he got super popular had to keep him around.

Everyone knows my thoughts on how Bakugou's arch should have gone. He's honestly such a boring character now to me, because I had that upswing of anger at him and now it's 'and here is Bakugou with a loud Quirk who somehow despite the logical assumptions is the best above everyone'. He's so boring.

The more I really think about it, the more I wanna really have Bakugou just be there. Have Izuku move past him without realizing it, and have Todoroki take the place as rival. I am not going to lie: the idea of Todoroki staying a rival for longer then canon (and actually presenting himself as a rival early on) is attractive as hell. He's RIGHT THERE. The son of the number two hero raised to surpass All Might constantly fighting against the protoge of All Might! The drama, the action.

I'd honestly only have the reveal of Todoroki's past be when the summer camp happens, and that's when Todoroki turns from rival to friend. Not the weird ass thing Hori did with Bakugou.

But yeah, you're not wrong.

[fatehbaz]

In May 2023, the city of Phoenix began its project to clear and eliminate its largest homeless camp, known as The Zone, a refuge for hundreds of people. During the record-breaking heat of the summer of 2023, Phoenix cleared the camp, block by block. By the beginning of September 2023, just as the city was experiencing over 50 consecutive days of temperatures of 110 degrees Fahrenheit, the city cleared the block of the camp where most seniors and the elderly lived.

The trend of unhoused people moving from [the neighboring city of] Tempe into Phoenix has implications for Phoenix, which is under intense scrutiny for how it has handled its own growing homelessness crisis. Phoenix has been battling [...] lawsuits since 2022. [...] [One] was brought be the American Civil Liberties Union of Arizona, which alleges the city unlawfully cited people and threw away their belongings during encampment sweeps. The U.S. Department of Justice has also been investigating the Phoenix Police Department since 2021 over several issues, including its treatment of people experiencing homelessness. [...] “They say it’s not illegal to be homeless. But it totally is. There’s nowhere you can be homeless,” said [AD], a community organizer who hosts weekly picnics in Tempe for unhoused people. Others agreed. “It’s become kind of a police state for the homeless within the city,” said [KE], founder [...] of [a] homelessness nonprofit [...]. Both the River Bottom in Tempe and The Zone in Phoenix, two of the largest encampments in the region, have been or are currently being cleared out. Smaller encampments are also frequently broken up by police or private security [...].

Text excerpt from: Juliette Rihl. "Tempe's clearing of homeless camps has ripple effects for Phoenix, aid workers". The Arizona Republic. 11 July 2023.

---

The city continued clearing Phoenix's largest homeless encampment known as "The Zone" on Friday morning [1 September 2023], in the aftermath of a severe storm that raged the night before. [...] This was the eighth block cleared [since May 2023] [...]. The block cleared was [...] where many elderly people lived. [...] [A] nonprofit organization providing supportive resources for seniors experiencing homelessness, is located along the same street. 'The Zone' was hit hard by Thursday night's monsoon storm. [...] [H]igh winds scattered some people's possessions. [...] At the start of August, around 700 people lived in and around The Zone [...].

Text excerpt from: Helen Rummel. "Eighth block of 'The Zone' homeless encampment in Phoenix cleared out after storm". The Arizona Republic. 1 September 2023. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

---

As the city cleared another block late last week [September 2023], local activists gathered outside the barriers set up around it. [...] A man who goes by [Q] has been unhoused for roughly four years. [...] “It is kind of heartbreaking to see,” he said, watching city staffers pick through piles of belongings left behind. [...] Neighbors from different mutual aid groups set up folding tables just outside barriers on either side of the block. [NA] was among them. [...] He said they form relationships with the people living here. Most are elders, many people with disabilities that prevent them from working. “They’re dejected, they’re demoralized, they’re upset,” [NA] said. “These are homes that they’ve built for themselves that have taken some time, and resources that they’ve just had to come by because nobody’s providing them.” [...] [JS] said when people are moved, they often don’t stay sheltered. [...] “But a lot of people go into these [shelters] and then they’re hit with restrictions when they get there. They’re told one thing, and then they arrive, there’s a curfew, [...] they can’t have whatever. And then it’s: You either follow our rules right now, or you’re going out into the heat.” [...] [AM] watched the street sweep from behind the yellow tape. “Well, I think that this is a human rights violation,” [AM] said. “What I’m seeing is just a bunch of people being paid to dislocate people.” [AM] is a legal observer, volunteering with the National Lawyers Guild. [...] “They're being moved out of one street,” said [AM]. “But the reality is, they have nowhere to go."

Text by: Kirsten Dorman and Tori Gantz. "Another block in 'The Zone' is cleared, but the path forward for those living there is unclear'. Fronteras Desk. 7 September 2023. [Bold emphasis added by me.]

[destinygoldenstar]

It’s honestly very crazy that a garbage Hollywood trailer makes so many people apologize to Minecraft Story Mode.

My experience with MCSM was that I was gifted the show by my dad as a teenager the same year the news came that Telltale went bankrupt. (It was the summer, so a couple of months before that)

I got a lot more into it than I was expecting. It had its problems, sure, but I was incredibly immersed with its story and atmosphere. Later on it became one of my obsessions once I finished the two games. It was the first fandom on the internet I ever became a part of. It was also the first time I ever outright became a shipper over a ship that wasn’t canon. (Jetra is my OTP to this day)

But in terms of real life, I never really felt confident talking to people about it. That’s because this was around the same time the hate train for MCSM started to arise. Then it became “Pure Fact” quote on quote that the games were these terrible things.

Now in my opinion and from my experience this started when some popular Let’s Players bashed the games. And even then I can’t blame them for simply having an opinion. But it’s because of their influence that their audiences take their opinions as gospel. (That should not be how that works)

From there every time I brought it up I would get cyberbullied for liking the games. And this was true for a lot of people who did like the games as well. We were all getting cyberbullied into joining the popular crowd and that we were wrong.

“Everyone else is saying it’s bad, therefore it must be true”

And then every time MCSM popped up in my feeds, my heart would sink and I would feel sick. Weird part was, while I did become far more critical of the games as a result of the trend… I NEVER found it in myself to outright hate it.

Like I said, the games have problems. They are by no means perfect games, and some of my critiques of it still hold up. (Not all of them though, ones I do wish I could take back) it was talking about THESE games that even spawned my hobby of writing essays of stuff I like.

So… that’s a sad origin story for how AnalyzGolden came to be. Now you know.

I’ve since drifted away from MCSM, simply because I was older and getting into new stuff. I talk about other stuff on this blog, like The Amazing Digital Circus, Ninjago, Total Drama, and quite recently Disventure Camp. And more. I also try to advertise my own stories to failing results cause no one cares.

So to see, after all these years, people like me finally being VALIDATED for our soured opinion on something… it just warms my heart so much.

I became more critical because of the trend of “MCSM sucks”. And now that that’s growing to not be the case, and I became more exposed to some crazy and wild fandom takes on other media that boggle my mind, that I’ve stepped more away from being negative and made choices to be in my corner and simply “Enjoy Something. Because I enjoy it.”

Oh I’m still a critical cynical bitch. And I do talk about my own critiques and problems if I personally have a problem with it and how the writing or whatever was handled. But I guess I’m more willing to hear the story itself out and what it’s trying to do before I jump to conclusions.

I cringe at my old emotionally impulsive self. And I hate having regression episodes of reverting back to my awful teenager self. But I can say that through experiences, I have to thank that for the person I am now, even if it sucked.

So… thank you MCSM. And thank you Hollywood for making a trailer/movie so awful that it made people such as myself finally feel heard and validated.

(Oh and btw, you guys don’t need to follow the trend of loving MCSM either. This doesn’t need to turn into the complete opposite thing. The lesson here is that you are allowed to like and dislike MCSM, and anything really, and trends should not sour your take on it. You can still not like the games if that’s your honest opinion.)

[generic-sonic-fan]

Happy pride! Here's some headcanons.

In-depth explanations beneath the cut (please keep in mind that these are personal and that I actually don't really stand by any that strongly! This is just for fun.)

Sonic: okay do I really need to explain this one?

Knuckles: What can I say, his gender contains multitudes. He's definitely a member of the "I don't care" camp for both gender and sexuality. He is what he is, loves who he loves, and doesn't give two rips about what other people might say. I like to imagine he plays around with both genders of clothing from echidna culture.

Amy: oh Amy, my sweet summer child. It's so autistic and queer of you to relentlessly declare your love for someone of the opposite sex because it's what is expected of you. I did the same in third grade before I realized that the other girls meant what they were saying about their target boy. Heteronormativity is a bitch, get well soon <3

Rouge: I think she fucked around with being she/they for a while before settling back on she/her. And bi icon, of course.

Blaze: okay do I really need to explain this one?

Silver: That is one nonbinary hedgehog if I ever saw one! He's a he/him by convenience alone. He hasn't had the chance to explore his sexuality yet unfortunately.

Big: He's good with he/him and that's all he cares about. Not a super strong connection to his assigned gender at birth but he likes being a boy well enough. As for his sexuality, he never figured out what everyone was going on about when it came to sex, and only recently figured out it was because he was literally missing that 'sexual attraction' thing.

Shadow: is nonbinary as fuck and has no idea. Honey, seeing masculinity as a burden you have to bear is not normal!!! He's also demi-ace. It takes a very close relationship with someone to even consider sexual attraction.

Cream: happy being a girl! Hasn't really thought about crushing on anyone yet.

Tails: Internalized homophobia + transphobia from being bullied go brrrrrr. Besides, Sonic doesn't spend much time thinking about these things, so why should he? (Tails. Tails listen to me. Sonic's aro and knew he was trans at an unusually young age. he's a statistical outlier with how early he figured it out PLEASE consider that and don't base your self-discovery journey on him. . .)

Metal: You all know my headcanons for this one. Metal was assigned male by Eggman from its earliest iterations and gender dysphoria is literally 98% of all of its problems. Please get this robot some estrogen. As for sexuality, full romantic attraction is definitely on the table but jesus christ this robot needs to do some work on itself before that. Please read Complex Inquiries if you want me to elaborate that's like my master's thesis on this subject

Vector: Gave his gender a really good thinking before shrugging and sticking with his assigned gender at birth. Also pan as hell, definitely dated some femboys in high school I think.

Espio: Currently in the process of speculating if he's nonbinary. Keeps very quiet about it though. But he knows he likes dudes, so there's that.

Charmy: He's bit-sexual. Whatever he needs to be for the punchline of the joke to land, frankly.

Omega: For narrative parallel reasons to Metal Sonic, I love to headcanon that Omega wasn't programmed with a gender, but then discovered that masculinity is traditionally associated with aggression and violence and went ham. Doesn't mind getting she/her'd, doesn't exactly like they/them, but it/its is of the highest offense. He will kill you for that. As for his sexuality, (I know he's a robot but PLEASE hear me out) he's demi-aro! He'd have no idea that any sort of feelings on his part are happening until it was too late. He'd hate himself for it and promptly bury said feelings beneath so many layers.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

I Fucked Up

[foster-the-world]

Great Gatsby

My Mom, Aunt and I saw the Great Gatsby last night. Great show. Amazing costumes and scenes as you would expect. We got $24 tickets we get through Bee's ice skating program. My husband and I will go see Water for Elephants next month. The Classical theater of Harlem is also having free nightly outdoor performance of a midsummers night dream - which looks like a fun adaption. Thinking of taking the girls next week. I think it has lots of glitzy costumes and dancing. It doesn't start until 8:30 but I think we can go for the first half. As a kid my mom had weekly tickets to the Muny - a huge outdoor theater. All of the kids went to the kids show once a summer. Fond memories.

The girls start science camp next week. They love Camp Half blood/sword camp so much. So much imagination. They are bummed its over but they did science camp and liked it last summer.

We are scheduled to go to Banff and Jasper National Parks the end of August. We always do our summer vacation then because camps end but school doesn't start. Turns out two other people at work also want that week off. They may tell me no. Which is fine. So far I've only booked cancelable lodging. We will figure out childcare and go the week before. We may end up switching destinations because we will no longer have the extra labor day Monday off. Its a pretty pricey flight so I don't want to go if we don't have enough time. Maybe Columbia? We will make it to Banff someday.

Talked with baby boy's new school OT and PT. They said he's doing great. He's so used to doing therapies that he has no problems going with new people. PT mentioned the inability to slow down is his problem. Not news to us. Let's hope they can help.

Was reading the NYT's article about the study that says children's moving anytime between the age of 10 and 16 has really detrimental long term effects. For obvious reasons loosing your close knit community during that age is difficult. Here in NYC because of school choice kids can go across town for Junior high and then to a totally different location with no one they know for High School. In addition to the (unhealthy, I think) stress of applications, etc I do wonder if it would have the same negative outcomes. Maybe that's just common practice everywhere now? Where I grew up Jr High was everyone you went to Elementary school with and then three other elementary schools. High school was everyone from your Jr High. I def went from Kindergarten through Graduation with many of the same people.

In my circles everyone believes social media is the cause of teenagers mental health problems - which I believe. But I also think kids having so much less freedom contributes. Its tricky in NYC - as I can't send my kids out to their neighbors backyard - but I try to give the girls freedom as much as possible. Baby boys only four but unless his personality changes I think it will be even more difficult to give him freedom.

Here's to hoping Biden drops out in the next few days. Let's all buy the man a drink, give him a big thank you and let him live out his days in peace. Job well done. Lots of room for improvement but overall A+ in my book.

[halothenthehorns]

Chapter 26: WE SAY GOOD-BYE, SORT OF

Let’s all just pause and take a moment to exult that I’m done with one set of books! This is an accomplishment I will never fail to revel in no matter how many more I have to go! It’s been a ride I wouldn’t trade a word for!

PJOPJOPJOPJO

Alex, who had started all of this by picking up the first book she remembered fondly, took it from Magnus casually with a hopeful smile as she read, "We Say Good-Bye, Sort Of. That's just like you Percy. Gods forbid you commit to anything."

"I commit to important things," he promised with a casual kiss on his girlfriend's temple.

Camp went late that summer. It lasted two more weeks, right up to the start of a new school year, and I have to admit they were the best two weeks of my life.

Alex couldn't help but read that with a tinge of confusion to her voice though. She had about as much clue to that idea of a solid length of time being happy as Percy had to a normal life. She liked it better when he was killing math teachers, at least that she could wrap her head around.

Of course, Annabeth would kill me if I said anything different, 

"For just a moment I thought you were done holding people hostage at knife point Annabeth," Thalia said with, wagging a 'for shame' finger at her. "Let the poor boy go this instant!"

“I’m relieved, can’t let her go getting soft now that she’s in love,” Jason snorted.

"A lesser person would hold you to saying that as some kind of blackmail Thals," Annabeth chuckled.

but there was a lot of other great stuff going on too. Grover had taken over the satyr seekers and was sending them out across the world to find unclaimed half-bloods.

Jason felt a giddy sense of pride that his reaction all the way back at the beginning of this hearing how unorganized they were had been given its own resolution. Gods he wanted to shake Grover's hand and meet him so bad to see what his chart looked like covering all of this.

 So far, the gods had kept their promise.

"For all of two weeks," Will nodded seriously. "Yeah, we were shocked too."

 New demigods were popping up all over the place—not just in America, but in a lot of other countries as well.

"We can hardly keep up," Grover admitted one afternoon as we were taking a break at the canoe lake. "We're going to need a bigger travel budget, and I could use a hundred more satyrs."

Alex resisted the urge to joke about an orgy with great restraint. Grover was a real person to Percy, not just an abstract joke.

"Yeah, but the satyrs you have are working super hard," I said. "I think they're scared of you."

Grover blushed. "That's silly. I'm not scary."

"You're a lord of the Wild, dude. The chosen one of Pan. A member of the Council of—"

"Stop it!" Grover protested. "You're as bad as Juniper. I think she wants me to run for president next."

"And I'd vote for his hindquarters!" Nico snorted. "He'd do wonders for environmental issues."

"Given you and Thalia are the only one's here old enough to vote, I guess we'd just help put up campaign signs," Percy chuckled.

He chewed on a tin can as we stared across the pond at the line of new cabins under construction. The U-shape would soon be a complete rectangle, and the demigods had really taken to the new task with gusto. 

Nico had some undead builders working on the Hades cabin. Even though he was still the only kid in it, it was going to look pretty cool: solid obsidian walls with a skull over the door and torches that burned with green fire twenty-four hours a day. Next to that were the cabins of Iris, Nemesis, Hecate, and several others I didn't recognize. They kept adding new ones to the blueprints every day. It was going so well, Annabeth and Chiron were talking about adding an entirely new wing of cabins just so they could have enough room.

Jason felt like getting up to high five Chiron. Of course Percy had been right, change was happening!

The Hermes cabin was a lot less crowded now, because most of the unclaimed kids had received signs from their godly parents. 

"What a concept, all the kids having a bed and a whole foot of space for themselves," Nico said dryly.

"I hope you're not expecting a thank you card," Percy rolled his eyes.

It happened almost every night, and every night more demigods straggled over the property line with the satyr guides, usually with some nasty monsters pursuing them, but almost all of them made it through.

'Almost all of them,' Magnus shook his head sadly he couldn't even feel real surprise and shock at how casually that was just put down.

"It's going to be a lot different next summer," I said. "Chiron's expecting we'll have twice as many campers."

"Yeah," Grover agreed, "but it'll be the same old place."

He sighed contentedly.

I watched as Tyson led a group of Cyclops builders. They were hoisting huge stones in place for the Hecate cabin, and I knew it was a delicate job. Each stone was engraved with magical writing, and if they dropped one, it would either explode or turn everyone within half a mile into a tree. I figured nobody but Grover would like that.

"Define, everyone?" Alex asked clinically, wondering if it would work on the cyclops, who were already nature spirit adjacents.

"Been there, done that, don't recommend," Thalia huffed.

"I'll be traveling a lot," Grover warned, "between protecting nature and finding half-bloods. I may not see you as much."

"Won't change anything," I said. "You're still my best friend."

He grinned. "Except for Annabeth."

"That's different."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It sure is."

"I miss him," Percy needlessly told her. "We need the three amigos out in the world!"

"I have a feeling you'll get your wish soon," Annabeth promised, but with the kind of smile that at least made him hope it would be fifty fifty on the fun/ death scale.

In the late afternoon, I was taking one last walk along the beach when a familiar voice said, "Good day for fishing."

My dad, Poseidon, was standing knee-deep in the surf, wearing his typical Bermuda shorts, beat-up cap, and a real subtle pink-and-green Tommy Bahama shirt. He had a deep-sea fishing rod in his hands, and when he cast it the line went way out—like halfway across Long Island Sound.

"Hey, Dad," I said. "What brings you here?"

He winked. "Never really got to talk in private on Olympus. I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me? You came to the rescue."

"Yes, and I got my palace destroyed in the process, 

Percy sighed loudly, he just knew that was going to come up again!

but you know—palaces can be rebuilt. I've gotten so many thank-you cards from the other gods. Even Ares wrote one, though I think Hera forced him to. It's rather gratifying. So, thank you. I suppose even the gods can learn new tricks."

"Yada yada old dogs," Magnus nodded.

"I'd leave at least half of them at the pound," Thalia smirked, causing Percy to laugh hard in agreement.

The Sound began to boil. At the end of my dad's line, a huge green sea serpent erupted from the water. It thrashed and fought, but Poseidon just sighed. Holding his fishing pole with one hand, he whipped out his knife and cut the line. The monster sank below the surface.

"Not eating size," he complained. "I have to release the little ones or the game wardens will be all over me."

"Little ones?"

"Game warden?" Jason felt he was asking the far more important question.

"I'll bet it's Grover," Will smirked.

He grinned. "You're doing well with those new cabins, by the way. I suppose this means I can claim all those other sons and daughters of mine and send you some siblings next summer."

"Damn," Alex snorted, "your dad is ice cold for that joke."

"He had to have that side of him somewhere, the ocean isn't all dolphins and maytai," Annaebth shrugged without surprise. Percy was to busy sitting in nervous silence to answer.

"Ha-ha."

Poseidon reeled in his empty line.

I shifted my feet. "Um, you were kidding, right?"

Poseidon gave me one of his inside-joke winks, and I still didn't know whether he was serious or not.

"He, wouldn't, have," but Jason sounded as confused and unsure as Percy did, and when this guy was on the same page as him, they were all in trouble.

Percy loved his little brother in Tyson, but a small, secret part of him had also kind of enjoyed the idea his mom was special. That it was Sally Jackson herself that had made Poseidon break his oath and sort of regret him being born until he proved otherwise. 

...besides, no way could other half-blood siblings have been out there all this time, still alive and awaiting to be discovered. They were supposed to be extra monsterlicious or something. Right?!

"I'll see you soon, Percy. And remember, know which fish are big enough to land, eh?"

With that he dissolved in the sea breeze, leaving a fishing pole lying in the sand.

"Did you keep it?" Alex asked casually.

"It was probably cursed," Percy said like that was an answer.

"And?" Alex spluttered in disappointment. Percy gave her a tragic look that he felt spoke all he needed to about enticing such ideas.

She turned grumpily away and muttered some more curses, though Percy wasn't quite sure if he meant the artifact kind or the cussing him out kind. He had a feeling Alex could manage both equally well at any rate.

That evening was the last night of camp—the bead ceremony. The Hephaestus cabin had designed the bead this year. It showed the Empire State Building, and etched in tiny Greek letters, spiraling around the image, were the names of all the heroes who had died defending Olympus. There were too many names, but I was proud to wear the bead. I put it on my camp necklace—four beads now. I felt like an old-timer. I thought about the first campfire I'd ever attended, back when I was twelve, and how I'd felt so at home.

That at least hadn't changed.

It was one of those things Percy hoped never did. His love of the color blue, how much he loved going fast on his pets, how much he looked forward coming to camp every year. He expected his feelings for Annabeth to change and reform, he accepted he'd keep feeling like a freak in his own head around all these different people who saw him as something special, but it felt good to fall back on simple things too.

"Never forget this summer!" Chiron told us. He had healed remarkably well, but he still trotted in front of the fire with a slight limp.

"Errr, Percy, he's always had that limp," Annabeth told him kindly.

"What? No he hasn't," Percy frowned. "I'd notice that."

"Yeah, sorry Perce," Will agreed. "It's not super obvious, but it's there. He got it from that Hercules incident."

Percy looked at them dumbfounded and was pretty sure they were pulling his leg...but he also still couldn't prove there wasn't some secret play they put on every year he'd never heard of so he was kind of at a loss.

 "We have discovered bravery and friendship and courage this summer. We have upheld the honor of the camp." He smiled at me, and everybody cheered. As I looked at the fire, I saw a little girl in a brown dress tending the flames. She winked at me with red glowing eyes. No one else seemed to notice her, but I realized maybe she preferred it that way.

"Yeah, I think Hestia is my spirit goddess," Magnus grinned. 

"We can throw you in the fire?" Alex asked with mild excitement.

"You're going to save the world by being handed a jar?" Percy asked blankly.

"Screw both of you," Magnus chuckled.

"And now," Chiron said, "early to bed! Remember, you must vacate your cabins by noon tomorrow unless you've made arrangements to stay the year with us. The cleaning harpies will eat any stragglers, and I'd hate to end the summer on a sour note!"

"Do we taste sour?" Nico asked, unimpressed.

"Don't say it like that," Will whined. "Chiron doesn't join in them eating us!"

"Well I'm so sorry I didn't get the correct interpretation out of that death threat," Nico rolled his eyes. He'd left this night, it had been the last thing he heard Chiron say. It had been a pretty memorable last stance.

The next morning, Annabeth and I stood at the top of Half-Blood Hill. We watched the buses and vans pull away, taking most of the campers back to the real world. A few old-timers would be staying behind, and a few of the newcomers, but I was heading back to Goode High School for my sophomore year—the first time in my life I'd ever done two years at the same school.

"In the sea of your life, that is a particularly depressing statement my friend," Jason said with a strange feeling of not being able to relate to Percy on that one. It was nice, he supposed, not to have a deep rooted parallel lodged in him about such a sad thing to hear, but somehow made Percy's life even more tragic than his own blank one for a moment.

"Yeah, yeah, news flash at ten, traffic or whatever," Percy shrugged, but it was still a good feeling. To smile and hope that they were just on winter break and he'd be able to actually continue this trend. The world wouldn't end because he'd accomplished something, it was all he'd wanted once upon a time.

"Good-bye," Rachel said to us as she shouldered her bag. She looked pretty nervous, but she was keeping a promise to her father and attending Clarion Academy in New Hampshire. It would be next summer before we got our Oracle back. 

"You'll do great." Annabeth hugged her. Funny, she seemed to get along fine with Rachel these days.

"Very, very strange, yes," Alex said in a posh, scholarly voice. "Next he'll sit around and ponder the existence of bread or something."

"Well documented history of something all human civilizations create," Annabeth helpfully said to his blank look.

"Ah, thanks," he said.

Rachel bit her lip. "I hope you're right. I'm a little worried. What if somebody asks what's on the next math test and I start spouting a prophecy in the middle of geometry class? The Pythagorean theorem shall be problem two. . . . Gods, that would be embarrassing."

"I think that would make her the most popular girl there though," Thalia grinned. "Teachers would never understand how the kids keep cheating, she wouldn't charge anyone for free answers to the test, just works out for everyone really."

"Don't get me started on how our education system is trash," Annabeth said with a sharp look at the book like Rachel was in front of her to debate this with on whether that would be of any help.

Annabeth laughed, and to my relief, it made Rachel smile.

"Well," she said, "you two be good to each other." Go figure, but she looked at me like I was some kind of troublemaker.

"You can't say anything Percy, you called yourself a trouble maker first," Thalia grinned.

"It was shocking I tell you, I'd never been labeled as such before," Percy insisted wide eyed, causing them all to laugh lightly again.

 Before I could protest, Rachel wished us well and ran down the hill to catch her ride.

Annabeth, thank goodness, would be staying in New York. She'd gotten permission from her parents to attend a boarding school in the city so she could be close to Olympus and oversee the rebuilding efforts.

"Guess that living in Cali. thing didn't stick?" Magnus asked, one part nervous for her, one part hopeful she'd just finally decided where she wanted her home to be.

"Not so much," Annabeth agreed, but the sad smile didn't linger as she turned back to the book casually. She'd keep in contact with her dad as long as he wanted to. She'd even offer to say hi to her step mom if she wanted to stop and chat on the phone. She'd come around for holidays or birthdays even. It just wasn't a necessity to her. She finally had her question answered of her place in his life.

"And close to me?" I asked.

"Well, someone's got a big sense of his own importance." But she laced her fingers through mine. I remembered what she'd told me in New York, about building something permanent, and I thought—just maybe—we were off to a good start.

"Well the bones of your relationship are at least well set in good sediment," Nico tried to say that in a complimentary way, but Percy just got another 'over my head' look and Nico shrunk in his seat rather than admit he'd spent hours in a museum once looking up niche facts of where dinosaur fossils were usually discovered.

The guard dragon Peleus curled contentedly around the pine tree underneath the Golden Fleece and began to snore, blowing steam with every breath.

"You've been thinking about Rachel's prophecy?" I asked Annabeth.

She frowned. "How did you know?"

"Because I know you."

Annabeth gave a mock, tragic sigh. "Am I already that predictable?"

"I don't mind a little calm and steady see-thoroughness right now," Percy promised. He could see that feeling hadn't faded at all with time too. She hadn't stopped studying Jason with those intense gray eyes every time she was sure he wasn't looking. A lesser guy would have been jealous. Percy was secure enough to know better it wasn't that blonde hair and blue eyes holding her attention after quoting that prophecy.

She bumped me with her shoulder. "Okay, so I have. Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. I wonder who they'll be. We're going to have so many new faces next summer."

"Those poor suckers have no clue what they're in for," Magnus said with experience.

"I'm still trying to hold out hope it won't involve us," Percy groaned.

"Well then, don't give the jar to Magnus," Alex reminded with an impish grin.

Annabeth chuckled along quietly, her eyes still darting between Jason, her cousin, and Alex. To much of what Artimes had said made sense with her dreams.

"Yep," I agreed. "And all that stuff about the world falling in storm or fire."

"You don't get a choice about the world ending that time," Jason agreed sadly. "You pick your poison and you like it."

"Bet I can find a loophole where one of the poison's tastes like blue-raspberry at least," Percy offered half-heartedly.

She pursed her lips. "And foes at the Doors of Death.

"Which is a particularly strange line," Nico nodded. "The Doors of Death are always moving, they're set in no spot, in Tartarus! No half-bloods would survive down there to bare arms against each other long enough."

"Not a theory I'd like to start beta-testing," Annabeth reluctantly agreed, though it was a soothing feeling for a moment to have a niche expert on at least one line at minimum.

 I don't know, Percy, but I don't like it. I thought . . . well, maybe we'd get some peace for a change."

"What on earth gave you that strange thought?" Thalia asked her in concern.

"My recent visit to the delusional land of Olympus where everything was sunshine and rainbows by design," Annabeth sighed.

"Wouldn't be Camp Half-Blood if it was peaceful," I said.

"I guess you're right . . . Or maybe the prophecy won't happen for years."

"Could be a problem for another generation of demigods," I agreed. "Then we can kick back and enjoy."

She nodded, though she still seemed uneasy. I didn't blame her, but it was hard to feel too upset on a nice day, with her next to me, knowing that I wasn't really saying good-bye. We had lots of time.

"Race you to the road?" I said.

"You are so going to lose." She took off down Half-Blood Hill and I sprinted after her.

For once, I didn't look back. 

Alex smiled as she closed the book to finally indicate she was done, this one was done. It was a strange feeling of relief and accomplishment when it had nothing to do with her in particular, just one that always came with finishing a new story. Having someone else's life given a tangible place in her world was usually such a fleeting thing.

Percy jumped up and did a lap around the room, arms up in a delirious victory. He would have been shouting like a loon at the top of his lungs if he wasn't worried about drawing the cranky Titan back.

The others couldn't blame him in the slightest, letting him work off his energy as they waited for Jason to stretch and offer, "don't worry, I can wait one more day to deal with the next stretch of my mess. We can all hit bed for the night."

"Thank you," Annabeth said politely, though she and Thalia exchanged almost disappointed looks. They almost didn't want that. They'd known everything of their past, but there was a hunger in them to get a look at the other side of a gods face and see just what Jason had gotten up to. 

Alex, Will, and Nico were already walking off however, talking about death auras and color theory in a disturbing crisscross conversation, and Percy was starting to slow his frantic run and rubbing his stomach, so they weren't going to argue the point tonight and let it go to take a breath at minimum.

Magnus lingered on the couch where he'd been sitting by Alex, head tipped back and staring at the ceiling with a forlorn expression.

Annabeth sunk down uneasily beside him and asked, "thinking about Hearth?"

He nodded, an uncomfortable position for his neck for sure at the awkward angle as he didn't look around. "I feel like such trash, he's my friend, and here Percy just went and made sure the world was safe for all of his, and I waved mine goodby on the word a Titan wouldn't just chuck him off the planet by accident."

"Percy isn't perfect," Annabeth corrected with a fond smile. "I know you know I once jumped on the back of a manticore, and he beat himself up over it too."

Magnus finally turned to face her, waving his hand around in the water to show how much that comparison didn't work.

"I know," she agreed. "Just, I know you're going to beat yourself up, but try to leave some skin unbruised too. If Hearth left of his own accord, I can't see him blaming you."

Magnus sighed and nodded in agreement. He wanted to believe that, at any rate.

Annabeth watched, seeing him now studying the empty seat with a faraway look in his eyes she knew all to well, the lost expression of not knowing what to do about a situation wasn't just for his friend.

"You like her," Annabeth said astutely, tucking her legs underneath her and studying him, "I could tell that after being here half a day. Have you said anything to Alex?"

Magnus bit his lip and wasn't sure how to say it.

"Is it because you're only attracted to her, half the time?" She kept fishing.

"No, no," Magnus quickly corrected. "I, find her just as intriguing on her he days. I mean, I've never been attracted to a guy before, but it's not, I mean, I like Alex, no matter what gender she or he is."

"So what's the problem?" Annabeth repeated, pure sympathy in her tone.

He clasped his hands and tapped his fingers against his chin, there was no nice way to say it. "Not sure what's going to happen when we get back. I'm still, I'm not sure if you're camp, well, up there-"

His cousin's eyes filled with regret, she leaned forward in her seat, feet spilling back onto the floor to support her weight as she automatically went in to hug him, before she hesitated and leaned right back. He smiled at her in relief and forced himself to relax, not even realizing he'd tensed up until she'd sat back in her seat, but still leaning on the edge.

"You're homeless." She said it as a statement, not a question. He didn't bother to deny it. What would be the point when she'd find out the second they got out of here? Her face flooded with the one thing that didn't send him running away though. Understanding. "Magnus, I am so sorry about that, if I'd known-"

"How could you," he brushed off any responsibility on her part. "As bad as things apparently are between your dad, if he even knows, you've had your own troubles going on-"

"I asked about you though," Annabeth insisted, she was twisting her hands up in her lap and he smiled to imagine her Yankees cap there. "When he told me about Aunt Natalie, that first summer I'd seen him in so long, I cried all night. He said he tried to find you but the system had no record of you, and my step-mom was just in the kitchen the whole time making her kids lunch like nothing was wrong, well, it didn't set a good precedent for that summer. I just thought, I don't know, you were living with Uncle Randolph, safe, I was still fighting with them so much-"

"I don't blame you," he insisted to her guilt ridden face. 

"I should have looked for you," she insisted too. "You could have been at camp with us all along."

"I don't know about that," he frowned and looked up at the ceiling again, then reluctantly, the door. "That's why I'm, well it doesn't help I'm a tongue tied idiot around her, but I don't know what's going to happen when we get back. The last thing I should be worried about is a crush when, well I have no clue about my parentage and," he trailed off with his face burning red and his own hands gripping painfully tight to each other.

Annabeth bumped their knees together as she leaned forward without being forceful about it, her tone dead serious. "Chiron will not turn you four away. You'll have somewhere safe to be Magnus." Then she looked over her shoulder, and back to him with a promising smile. "I can tell you really have feelings for Alex, and you shouldn't wait on something like that."

He was blushing again even as he answered, "it's not like it's just me. Alex is, so confident, about everything! I still think she's just been messing with me! If she did like me, I think she'd say something about it, she's so bold." He was smiling by the end, he could hear to his own ears how gently he spoke of her and couldn't even find the blush to be embarrassed about it anymore, even as Annabeth's smile increased.

She still spoke candidly, but there was a hint of worry for the first time. "Maybe, well, she has feelings for somebody else up there right now."

Magnus's heart plummeted, he hadn't thought of that.

"Maybe there's, other things going on in her circumstances," Annabeth relentlessly went on, "but Magnus, you'll regret it if you don't at least ask. Trust me."

He did trust her. He didn't envy the two living through the end of the world before finding peace in each other. He didn't want total destruction to get up the courage to say something to Alex and wondered what other obstacles between near constant death by monster and kidnapping's might circumvent them giving each other a chance. 

Magnus knew the moment Percy must have walked back in the room by watching her face light up, shifting around in her seat as if her first reaction were to go to him. She stopped herself and smiled back at him.

He nodded to be left alone,  so Annabeth just gave him a promising smile as she stretched and stood up, going over to Percy and putting her hand in his like it was the most natural thing in the world as they discussed what they wanted for dinner with Thalia.

His mind was so preoccupied trying to figure out what exactly he was going to say to Alex on the way to her door, he had no clue how long he was standing in front of it only to see it was open. Wrapping his knuckles sharply on it anyways and very cautiously easing his head around, he called out for her with no answer. 

It was as bland as everybody else's, if he hadn't subconsciously noted which one she'd come out of yesterday he'd never have guessed who's it could be, but there was also something so uniquely Alex about it he was sure he wasn't wrong. The smell of wet clay lingered in the air, there was a sewing kit resting beside the pillow, and a plate of Hershey's Kisses on top of the fridge, all unwrapped and arranged in a nonlinear way. 

His first impulse was to swipe them into his mouth and book it, but this was Alex's room, and he'd never stolen from someone he wasn't pretty convinced didn't deserve it, so he instead opened up the door below.

Instead of food, what he found was a bowl. A beautiful work of pottery with intricate, almost 3D looking designs all along the side of a caterpillar weaving itself into a cocoon and coming out, only for its wings to beat for all of one image and begin withering in the very next to turn to dust, a telling story all the way until he spun it back around to start. 

The kind of thing he would have scoffed and been disgusted at the price of, only someone living the lap of luxury could afford in a window. His hands felt grubby holding it.

He swiftly set it on her bed before the worst could happen and bumped into the fridge door, closing it to hide the evidence he'd found such a thing while the chocolate all moved around on the plate.

Then his mind seized in a panic, wanting to put it back before she found he'd saw it, and he had to grab something else out to prove he hadn't of course! But what- his eyes darted to the chocolate, and he frantically slammed and yanked the door too quickly, the universe glitched as it delivered so fast, but a bag of Kisses fell onto his shoe. He ripped the bag open and hastily shoved one in as he kicked the door back shut, feeling the strange crinkling sensation on his tongue and realizing he'd forgotten to unwrap it- 

"Magnus?" 

He choked, his hands fumbled, and for some reason his brain screamed at him to hide the evidence. The rich chocolate fell to the floor, scattering to every corner as the half-unwrapped one sat on his tongue as he whirled around to see her dark brown and amber eyes were glittering at him from across the room as she sauntered over. She stopped right in front of him, eyeing his lips clinically.

Magnus swallowed and knew he should open his mouth, say something, like why he was invading Alex's privacy and something else very important, he was sure he'd come in here to say something but really couldn't remember right now as Alex leaned in.

Alex planted a hand firmly on his shoulder and kissed him.

It was not gentle, but neither was the way Magnus's knees literally gave out on him and he fell back against the wall, his hands had pulled Alex's shirt with him, so that Alex was fully pressed into him and her lips were still a tantalizing breath apart.

She braced her other hand against the wall right by his head, he felt her shift her weight and his eyes snapped open as he began to apologize and let go only to see her nose to nose with him and smiling, not leaning back an inch. "I'm homeless," he blurted out, and gods he was the most idiotic person on earth as he licked his lips. He was surprised he wasn't choking on that wrapper and probably dying and hallucinations all this.

"I guessed that, I am too," she nodded. Some of her hair had fallen out of the updo, curling back around her shoulders. They were so close, his golden strands were twining together with hers. "I'm a child of Loki."

Judging by her reserved tone, how she was still shifting her weight around, he probably should have had some revelation to that. Even he'd heard of that god. "The god of trickery? Thor's brother?" He was running his tongue over his lip still where they tingled and had never wanted someone to move away less. Maybe he had a chocolate allergy he'd never known of.

She gave him a joyless smile, the nails on his shoulder digging in just a bit, for all the world like she was still fixing to lean back but had yet to do so. "How those Greek kids speak of children of Hades, as outcasts, untrustworthy, that's how our kind will see me Magnus."

"You're not seeing anyone else are you?" He blurted, again. He wasn't touching her anywhere but where his fingers were still holding onto the edge of her odd shirt, the material crinkled like she’d wrapped herself in foil, just the tips of his fingers.

Her smile was very sad as she leaned in and kissed him again, fully capturing his lips. The world might have actually ended by the time she leaned back again, his protection had possibly evaporated into her he was left breathing so shallowly like all the oxygen had been deprived from him. "No," she finally answered in the gentlest voice Magnus had yet heard from her. Her eyes were closed as she stayed right where she was. "Give me time to tell you about Adrian." Her breath caught on the name. Then she opened her eyes, and finally pushed off him and took a step back.

There was chocolate smeared across her lips now and he found himself swallowing none left in his mouth.

"Okay," he promised, thinking Percy would have to come in here and pry him off this wall before he figured out how to move again. "I, um, you're gorgeous," he finally, stupidly, remembered what he'd wanted to come in here and tell her, and the compliment seemed very underwhelming now.

She laughed, that same crooked smile playing across her lips he didn't think he'd ever want to look away from. "And you're an adorable goof."

"I can work with that," he nodded so much he may or  may not have broken his neck.

***

Percy finally held her tight that night.

“All coming back to you?” She couldn’t even put a tease in her voice as she lovingly curled into his chest without hesitation and his arms just circled her tighter.

There was comfortable silence for a while. But they both knew. It was a pause of their earlier fight, and they were both testing the waters to see who would break it first.

Percy did, cutting right to the heart of it. He’d seen that look on her face and known what it was. “I got lost, and it wasn’t your fault.”

She said nothing, her nails digging tight into his back. He could feel the hitch in her voice as she fought back a sob.

“The day you can tell a god or goddess or Titan what to do with me is the day you get crowned Queen of Olympus, and Zeus is doing a shit job too, so, I actually like your odds better,” he concluded with the contemplative simpleness she adored about him so much. He had a very black and white view of the world, one she didn’t share but admired.

“I think what’s killing me is, that Artemis had to help,” she admitted. She could only admit this to him, since she was being honest here. 

He nodded, because he understood that too. “I’m sure your mom would say good counsel isn’t unwise?” He tried and failed to offer, knowing the answer. “Your mom might never have liked my help, but she can’t claim to have never needed it. She has demigods to do her bidding too.”

“Her counsel, perhaps, but I, I don’t know Percy. I hate the idea, of not knowing what they have planned for you. Of what they’ll ask you to do before this is all over.”

“What they’ll ask us to do,” Percy reminded, she could hear the grin of his voice from the comfort of his beating heart in her ear. “Oceanus might be an idiot, but he made it pretty clear he didn’t pull all of them in here by mistake. Now, you are a part of it, and we’ll make the right call.”

“I hope you’re right,” she murmured. Her mind was on Jason, and her cousin and Alex. Her mind was on those books, and how no god’s gift came without a price. Her mind was on Artemis still, and what she’d ask of them too when they got out of here.

And that would only be the beginning.

PJOPJOPJO

I don’t want to promise when I’ll start the next set of books. I want to get into a new fandom I’ve never explored before and really get invested without fretting in the back of my mind about writing. I want to say I’ll start posting the first chapter around the end of December with a possible first bonus chapter early that month, but if I wait a bit into New Year’s don't be alarmed either. My heart is SET on finishing these, I just don’t want to force it when I’m still playing around with a few ideas.

I will give the minor spoiler and promise I’m kicking around some new characters to bring in, but I would have to take some out too, I won’t go over my limit of eight. 

Tell me which you’d prefer? I’m angling to bring in Leo and Piper or Reyna and Frank, both have merits, but I know you all have your own ideas.

[chrlxx]

I’m finally back from shadowban, but did not return empty-handed and brought you some kind of "review" of a historical novel I’ve just read because it was such fun that I can’t help but share it with some educated people and because I love nagging about historical inaccuracies.

🚨SPOILER ALERT🚨

The rest you will find under the cut

The book I’m talking about is Cinq-Mars by de Vigny. This novel was published in 1826 and is centred around the conspiracy of Louis XIII’s last favourite, Marquis de Cinq-Mars, against Cardinal de Richelieu. Cinq-Mars was the first important historical fiction in French and derived much of its popularity at the time from the enormous vogue of the novels of Walter Scott. After 1831, when Victor Hugo's Notre Dame de Paris was published, Vigny was pushed back from the first positions, and his Cinq-Mars was forgotten. At the same time, critics of subsequent eras state that from a purely literary point of view, Cinq-Mars is a much better work than Hugo's novel.

Since Henri d’Effiat is a main character, Vigny portrays him as a hero, a noble man surrounded by scoundrels and therefore doomed. Louis and Richelieu, on the contrary, are negative characters. If you want to get a better understanding of Vigny’s attitude towards them, take Dumas’ interpretation and multiply it, let’s say, by three — after that you will have a proper comprehension of their portrayal. I can’t resist providing one quotation, though: "the tyrant Richelieu, who does not cease to humiliate good old nobility and the parliaments, and to sap the foundations of the edifice upon which the State reposes".

But the biggest meme of this book is Father Joseph. Surprised? Me too. First, his character is so far from reality that it made me want to cry. I happened to read Huxley’s Grey Eminence right before this novel, so the contrast was…prominent. I was ready for many things, but not for Joseph eager to betray and poison Richelieu for a red biretta. Besides, the author does not describe him in a very pleasant way: "The monk looked upon the ground with the stupid eye of some base animal". Second, historical François Leclerc du Tremblay died in December 1638, before the events described in the book began. Lower the curtain.

Since I have already started talking about historical inaccuracies, I will continue with this topic. For some reason, Vigny likes to introduce characters who should be languishing in the Bastille or other prison at that time. The story begins in the summer of 1639 in the chateau of Cinq-Mars’ family. At the farewell dinner on the occasion of Cinq-Mars’ send-off — he is heading to Perpignan (which is under siege) to be introduced to the King — Marshal de Bassompierre is present. Real Bassompierre, however, was arrested back in February 1631, shortly after the "Day of the Dupes", and definitely wouldn’t have been able to participate in the occasion. But his arrest still takes place at the end of the first chapter. Besides, Marshal de Vitry and Duc de Puylaurens, who also appear in the novel, should have been incarcerated by then as well: Vitry was imprisoned in 1637, and Puylaurens — in 1635. The latter, by the way, died in Vincennes the same year, so his presence in the story becomes even more strange…

According to Cinq-Mars, many interesting things happened in 1639; so many that in reality it took circa 10 years. I have already mentioned Bassompierre’s arrest (1631) and the siege of Perpignan, which actually took place in 1641-1642, but this is only a small part. On his way to the King’s camp, Cinq-Mars passes through Loudun, where, surprisingly (or, perhaps, unsurprisingly?), the case of Urbain Grandier is in full swing. I’m not an expert in this particular field and cannot fully judge the accuracy of the events described (yet), but some details are historically correct, and some are definitely not. The most eye-catching is the fact that all this tremendous commotion actually began in 1632 and ended in 1634, not 1639. In a while, after Henri’s arrival to Perpignan, it turns out that Marie de Medici has already died. She was too hasty with this, I must say — it should have happened three years later, in July 1642. There are many many more minor inaccuracies, such as someone saying that the Long Parliament in England is still sitting when its session hasn’t even begun or Louis asking Richelieu why he hates Marie de Medici so much, as if it wasn’t Louis himself who sent her into exile for her constant intrigues. Or the premiere of Mirame, which takes place after the execution of Cinq-Mars, in September 1642, although in fact it was January 1641. Such an abundance of events in such a short time makes me think about how boring my life is.

Speaking of time, its passage in the book is very unique. The first chapter begins in 1639, and the fourteenth chapter with line "we will at once pass over the space of two hundred leagues and the period of two years" suddenly brings us to December 4, 1642. Math? No, never heard about it. What’s more, it is actually the date of Richelieu’s death, but the conspiracy against him hasn’t started yet. Then, the twenty-fifth chapter featuring execution of Cinq-Mars and de Thou begins with words "In the middle of a night of the month of September", but in the original french version the same line sounds like "Au milieu d’une nuit du mois de septembre 1642". One could chalk such strangeness up to misprint and claim that the 4th of December 1642 must be 4th of December 1641 — in that case everything makes sense. However, de Vigny points to December 1642 several times.

What I like most about this book is a list of King’s duties dictated by Richelieu, which, according to the author, has come down to us:

Lovely, isn’t it? The eighth one is definitely my favourite. Frankly speaking, I’d like to be in prime minister’s shoes myself…

Lastly, I would like to mark an amusing detail. In twenty-fourth chapter de Vigny makes an allusion to a famous phrase about six lines ("If you give me six lines written by the hand of the most honest of men, I will find something in them which will hang him"), which is frequently attributed to Richelieu. In Cinq-Mars, though, he says, "For four lines in a man’s handwriting he might be criminally tried".

In any case, this piece of literature is good in its genre and worth reading. If you’re not so familiar with the historical part, you won’t grumble about every single incorrect detail in the conspiracy and will even be able to enjoy the story… But still remember: Cinq-Mars was a bi—

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

TWST AU's - Feel Free to Ask About Them!

Legit have like 25 aus for TWST I'm not even joking and most of them are self indulgent and the list WILL grow sfhkldjfhksd

Coffeeshop AU (fleshes out Khan x Leona (this is a bad ship lmao they are NOT GOOD) and more sibling shenanigans between Vizzie and Leona)

Summer Camp AU (focuses around Sebek and Epel having been childhood crushes that reunite as camp counselours at a camp Viz and Leona run, there are Many Side Stories)

Pokemon AU (self-explanatory, I made teams up with my s/o and a bunch of bg)

Assassin AU (Students are all sleeper agents, operating under STYX as their test subjects basically, and they have no idea until one student's tech starts to malfunction.)

Prison AU (everyone has fucked up reasons for being in jail, they are All Prisoners, you'll notice in almost all my aus I have a shit ton of angst)

Circus AU (self explanatory, my LeoVil AU and Idikei AU)

Robot/MurderDrones AU in which Ortho's creation is the catalyst for STYX to make more androids for commercial and industrial use, and as they gain more intelligence Ortho would like to find a way to free his fellow bots from being pawns to the humans.

Rarepair AU literally put everyone's names in a wheel and just said Yep to every pair, very fun, have not fleshed this out at all lmao

Zombie Apocalypse AU pretty self explanatory except there are shit like blot zombies and varying degrees of those, Cheka grows into quite the little leader, I have not decided whether the ending is "happy" as in everything is resolved, or happy as in it's Actually Happy

Tattoo/Soulmate AU People with magic typically get into tattooing because they have the ability to make soulmate tattoos, but it varies depending on romantic, platonic/queerplatonic, familial feelings or other ones. Trey, Vil and Leona run a shop together, Deuce wants to join, Viz accidentally becomes his adoptive sister it's all fun and relatively low on the angst actually lmao

Monster AU hehe I've talked about this on this blog before, check out my pinned post!!

FNAF AU lmao this one has so much angst but you probably knew that already, inspired more by the pizzaplex/security breach than any other FNAF game, but a lot of the same type of lore

Coraline AU in which Viz gets to be Leona's big (half) sister for once. Falena is the eldest and treated with respect, everyone knows Viz isn't the king's biological daughter but they have to put up with her because the queen does, and Leona was the attempt between the king and queen to fix everything - it didn't work and he feels that. Ends up using an escape to another world to try and avoid that feeling, only to realize something much more sinister on the other side.

Biological Sister AU not super intuitive, seeing as above, Viz is Leona's half sister, but in this au she is also related him, just via the king this time. Don't ask me why I named it this, but it is what it is, she's taken in by the royal family early on and tries to bring it together. Idk it was a fun idea at the time.

Genderbent AU I wanted to explore Vizzie's trauma if she was around a bunch of other girls instead of guys and it goes Poorly but it's fun lmao

DnD AU b/c I've never played DnD and wanted to kinda learn so it's DnD inspired but the rules/roles aren't super strict but the worldbuilding is SO MUCH FUN (there are SO many dynamics all going on at the same time its GREAT)

Medieval Fantasy AU This is moreso my S/O's AU than it is mine but I wanted to talk about it because it also has a lot of fun worldbuilding in it that we did together (like the effects of OB and whatnot in this world)(also heavily inspired by DnD)

Arranged Marriage AU Viz and Riddle both have very overbearing, traditional moms and end up together against each others wills and have to unlearn their distaste for each other before they can start really working together to find ways to make each other happy

Greek God/Epic AU In which Viz takes on the Odyssey with Leona as her guide - he wants to prove himself worthy of the title of a God, and she will do anything to protect her people. It gets Complicated fast. (I actually have art I drew for this au lmao)

Poppy Playtime AU Really fucking depressing tbh, again, upon the perfection of Ortho's robotic aids (he never died, just severely incapacitated), all the other children that were used as test subjects were abandoned as half done projects and experiments that resembled toys

Dance AU I throw a bunch of the characters into dance. Vil, Riddle and Neige are on top but all three of them are having Gender Issues but in Big Denial about it.

Fairy AU My S/O also developed this one initially but I have a few different headcanons from them :D

Petsitter AU Cater is more of the focus in this one, he's recently left home, in between jobs and down on his luck and ends up calling in an old favour. He stays with Trey (and Che'nya) in their apartment and gets to know the people in the complex as he starts to heal <3

And then I have 4 other aus I might take to Ao3 just because it seems people can filter tags better on there and uh. They Need Tags lmaooo

[fan-clan-fun]

This isn't fan clan related, but I'm curious. If you were to take the four clans (excluding SkyClan) and make them more unique, how would you do it? What I mean is what physique would you give ThunderClan? What distinctive skill would you give RiverClan? Will you give WindClan special customs? What about ShadowClan?

Gosh this is gonna be a long one. It's entirely possible I have answered something like this in the past, and if I have, and this answer is changed from that... well people grow and change too. So let's see what my thoughts are on the clan today. First off, I would focus on what miniscule stuff we get in the books and expand on it. Thunderclan - A very martial society, your rank is earned primarily based on your physical abilities, fighting, hunting, etc. I imagine their ceremonies and expectations revolve around that. They are loud, proud, obnoxious in some ways. They are... almost like Americans with how patriotic they are. Only partially kidding. They are the ones most likely to uphold the strictest niceties of the code, or pretend to anyway. Culturally, they are very into the mythos of heros, telling grand stories of cats who came before, and their exploits, and they value their lineage greatly. Oh, this hero was my sire's great great grandfather, and he did this. It also shows up in their naming conventions, as many kits are named after past heros, or cats the parents respected or want their kits to be like. Aside from attitude, they have skills primarily geared towards their forest environment. They should be able to climb trees, navigate through dense underbrush, and fight off the more abundant predators. As a result, bigger, tougher cats have thrived, whereas the smaller slimmer body types are not considered as attractive and are not as well represented. Scars are considered the height of beauty, as they show off the strength and prowess of a cat. It means they fought something and survived. Windclan - With the introduction of the tunnelers in the special edition, I feel like there's an interesting dichotomy to be found in Windclan. Ultimately, as much as I like it, and even would like to explore it, I feel like there was good reasoning for the tunnelers to be done away with. That said, those skills could be repurposed. To me, what marks Windclan is its ability to be adaptable.

With all its open spaces, I think Windclan would be well served as a semi-nomadic group, that has one or two different camps that it moves between based on the weather and prey density. For the winter, I imagine they shelter in a system of caves, which are maintained and cared for by a small group of tunnelers. In summer, they have an above ground camp, set at a somewhat high point in the territory, where they wouldnt get flooded out during a storm. As a result, cats are taught a wide set of skills. The clan works together at every step of the way, and a take down larger and faster pray like rabbits as a result. Windclan cats are used to traveling long distances, and being friendly with outsiders for a variety of reasons, information on movements of other cats or groups of them and food sources for example. I see Windclan as having the biggest territory, but also the sparsest when it comes to prey and population. Windclan is a very collaborative clan, they sing and tell stories to pass the time as they travel, building on one another for fantastical tales that bring hope and excitement during the bleaker times. They revere the stars, and the wind, and use the sky as their guide to travel. Their spirituality is focused on Starclan as a group, rather than individuals. There are many intricate stories and rituals that the clan performs under the stars, each season and each moon. Names hold great meaning, but are also often ethereal and based on feeling, rather than any particular meaning.

Because of the need to be agile, and survive long distances of travel, sleeker, smaller cats have thrived in the clan, as they require less food and are quick on their paws. Windclan cats rarely meet an enemy head on or one on one, using their agility to ambush and confuse any source of danger. Shadowclan - An ever practical clan, I see Shadowclan as having the smallest and least desirable territory, meaning this clan does what must be done. They are willing to bend the code if they need, in order to get what they want. At the same time, they are fiercely loyal to friends and family. Not necessarily the clan as an image, but the ones they care about. If you are looking for innovation, clever resolutions to problems, and independence of thought, Shadowclan is where you will find it. They'll propose puzzles to solve around the fresh kill pile to keep their minds sharp. There's little fear in this clan, nor much room for being picky. If something is edible, you take it, you bring it back.

Shadowclan often find themselves being called sneaky or duplicitous because they are willing to compromise the code, or use others to get what is needed for the clan to thrive, but really, its about survival. No hard feelings. They've learned to hide, to watch, to learn, that ambush and guerilla tactics are far more effective, and less likely to lose a clan member, than head on confrontation. As such, dark pelts are preferred, but otherwise, if it helps you survive? Thats all that matters.

To some of the other clans they appear irreverent, but to Shadowclan, its just common sense. Starclan isnt alive right now, they are gone. Sure they might be able to help, but might not. Cant rely on them and wait for them to help. Its better to do it yourself. The same can be said for names. Prefixes arent given much value, based only on material things, but your suffix? Thats what defines you, as it shows the skills and challenges you went through to get your name. There's often a fierce competition amongst apprentices to not end up with the same suffix, to be the best in the group at certain things. Riverclan - Riverclan are the epitome of work smarter, not harder. They have the most prosperous territory of the four, with a mostly guaranteed food source throughout the majority of the year, aside from the coldest winter months when things freeze over. The clan makes it its business to know everything there is to know about water, how it flows and pools, how to swim, how to manipulate its direction for the clan's benefit. All kits are taught how to swim from as young as possible. It's said that Riverclan apprenticeships are the hardest of the clans, as apprentices are expected to learn a lot, and take on a lot of responsibility. But once you become a warrior, you are much more prepared and settled, confident in your abilities. And by being aware of their skills and limitations, it allows warriors to know what they have to do, and how long it takes, and allows them the time to relax after. Many warriors seem lazy or childish, because they are reliving the childhood they never had, now that they are old enough to do so. But having the most prosperous food source, also makes Riverclan targets. They have developed a reputation of silver tongues, but also of being pushovers. At the same time, while other clan war far more frequently, Riverclan find themselves the peace makers and neutral arbiters. They are generous with their food and their resources in times of need, leaving other clans often in debt to them.

The physical traits that make a Riverclan cat effective, are thick fur to protect the body from cold water, and an ability to store fat easily. When Riverclan cats do end up in a fight, they don't back down or hide, they take others on directly, their fur and extra padding a layer of protection.

Their worship of starclan is rather traditional, but also not fanatic. They invoke Starclan for blessings regarding the weather, ask them to intercede about rain and storms. There is a belief that Starclan, like the stars reflecting on water, are reflecting in the living cats. Some Riverclan cats even whisper about reincarnations, that just like water comes from the sky, and returns to it, so do cats and their spirits. This means that like Thunderclan, many cats are named for cats from before, or names that have to do with water in its many forms. Well, I said it was gonna be a long one, and boy howdy it is. I havent written on canon clans for a hot minute, but I could probably expand and think on this more, I might never stop if I started though. Maybe this will give others some inspiration!