#warren worthington fic

[platossoulmates]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE drop any x-men found family fic recs- all of the major stuff is solely cherik and the first class cast which is so good BUT i want team fluff so badly 😭

[dusty-monkey]

it's just this scene that made me laugh from a scogan fic where xmen are a 70s rock band

[worthington-iii]

At the risk of sounding mildly deranged for a second…

Do you guys ever think about how in 616 canon, Spider-Man and Angel both did teenage vigilante justice in NYC at the exact same time. That Spider-Man was first published about in 1962 and X-Men was first published about in 1963, beginning shortly after Angel stopped his solo gig. Do you think they ever ran into each other. Do you think the Daily Bugle was publishing about “that pigeon-winged pest” at the same time they were dunking on Spidey. We KNOW that the X-Men tried to recruit Spider-Man because they thought he was a mutant. But I want to see the flipside of that concept so bad.

[practically-an-x-man]

Icarus Drowned (Rae x Warren)

Summary: In the thick of the zombie apocalypse, Warren is bitten and turned - but Rae can't bear to let that be the end, and with his healing factor and chemical stimpacks, he's kept in a sort of stasis. Will it be enough to keep him around? Will it be enough to create a cure?

Word Count: 4.4k

Tags: zombie apocalypse AU, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, medical themes, emetophobia, body horror, established relationship

Crossposted on AO3

____

Rae stood in front of the cell, peering through the window at the creature inside.

Stained, gnashing teeth. A body, once brawny but slowly withering, straining in the direction of the window. A shackle around one ankle, ringed with torn but bloodless grey flesh, attached to a chain that kept the creature secured against the wall.

Tattered wings, dropping more feathers every day. Green eyes, once bright and laughing but now faded, glassy, filled only with mindless hunger. Once-gentle hands now endlessly reaching, straining for the glass and the woman that stood on the other side.

Those hands had once held her close on sleepless nights, traced every inch of her skin in reverence. That mouth that snarled and raved had once spoken so softly to her, told her of love and future in early-morning whispers and promised her the world as she fell asleep at night. Those wings now bent and broken were once lush, and had blanketed her like a shield against the harms of life.

Warren lurched within his cell, his wings sweeping low from the momentum. There, on the bridge of the right side, was a ringlet of dark, deep marks, vivid against the pale feathers that surrounded it. The bite. The moment that had ended it all, when her shields had finally given out and left his wings as the only barrier between them and the horde.

Just thinking about it made her want to sob. It wasn't any better to think of what had come after: the way he'd faded, the choice to place him in the cell, the sight of a cure that wasn't really a cure at all.

"I know it's early," Rae mumbled, unable to tear her eyes away from what was inside the cell, "But I need him. Please?"

"The more often I do this, the more he'll start building a tolerance to it," Hank warned her, his voice tinny and hard to decipher as it came through the intercom system. The speakers cut out a moment later, but her mind filled in the gaps all the same: the more likely it'll stop working. The more likely you won't get him back.

The usual schedule was once a week, and each stim only granted him a few minutes of clarity before he faded again. It was agony.

But it would be infinitely worse to lose him entirely. Those precious few minutes, even if they only delayed the inevitable, were the only thing holding her together.

"I know, but..." she trailed off. She didn't have an explanation for this one, why she was standing here two days early and torturing herself with the sight of him. But something had struck her early in the morning, something halfway between yearning and grief as she woke up once again to a cold, empty bed, and she didn't see how she could survive the day without him.

The pain ebbed and flowed like the tide, but it never truly left. And today was fit to be a tsunami.

"Please, Hank. I'll stay on schedule the rest of the week, with the two extra days and all. But right now I... I just need him."

She heard him sigh - clearly intentional, she heard it crackle over the speakers and knew he must have activated the microphone just to express his disapproval - but didn't make any more efforts to dissuade her. He must have known by now that it wouldn't work.

There came a hissing sound from the far corner of the cell, and a thick white vapor came pouring in through the vents. It clouded the room as it spread, but Rae could still see the way Warren's hunched form first went rigid, and then how the tension in his muscles finally released. The shackle around his ankle popped open automatically, and Rae watched through the fog as the skin began to knit back together.

Warren's chest began to move, first in twitches - as if remembering how to breathe at all - and then in strong, heaving breaths to take in as much of the vapor as he could. His posture had gone loose, weary but familiar, though his face was hidden beneath the fog.

His healing factor was strong. Not strong enough to hold back the virus... at least, not without a boost. That was what the stims were for: a jump-start, a way to spur his body into healing and grant him at least a few minutes of clarity.

It wouldn't have worked on a different mutant. It wouldn't have worked on Rae, if their positions were reversed. It was only with the strength of his natural regeneration that it worked at all... and even then, barely.

The vapor finally cleared from the room, followed by a second hiss - this one a spray of strong disinfectant, to prevent any accidental transfer of the virus while it was kept at bay.

Warren waited for the spray to end, then calmly stepped up to the glass.

His skin no longer held that grayish death-cast, though it still appeared sallow and thin like it would tear under the slightest pressure. The sunken patches of early-stage rot on his face and arms had mended, replaced with shiny pink flesh like the beginnings of a scar. His eyes were tired, like simply existing in that other form was exhausting for him, but at least they were clear and alert.

"Hey, baby," he murmured, his voice hoarse from days of mindless growling, "It's early, isn't it?"

Rae nodded, momentarily too swallowed by emotion to speak, and pressed her palm to the glass in front of her. Warren's hand joined it on the other side. She imagined she could feel it warming the glass, but she knew he hadn't given off heat in weeks. It was her own body that gave it that illusion. It was hard even to pretend things could be normal.

"I know, it is, but I just..." she managed, struggling to hold back her tears, "Today's a bad one. I needed to see you."

"Alright," he said, and shot her an all-too-familiar half-smile, "You're seeing me now."

She let out a fractured laugh, amazed he could still cling to his sense of humor through all of this (or maybe he wasn't, maybe he was going through the motions, but at least that made him a damn good pretender), and pressed her forehead to the glass. It wasn't enough.

"I'm coming in," she decided, already moving for the door.

That earned her a chorus of protests, both from inside the cell and from the shriek of the intercom - it's dangerous, if you're caught there when the stim wears off, if he gets overwhelmed, if the virus contaminated the room - but Rae couldn't be dissuaded. Impulsivity was her vice, and always had been, but right now she'd have taken any risk for a moment in his arms.

The door let out a pressurized hiss as she entered, and Rae was sprayed with the same disinfectant that had filled the room a minute earlier- this time to prevent the introduction of new viruses more than the escape of the original. It doused her hair and stung her eyes, filled her nose with a harsh medicinal tang, but she hardly noticed.

For all his initial protests of her entering the room, Warren didn't hesitate to pull her into his arms once she reached him. After all, the risk was the same either way: whether across the room or held close, sharing space was sharing space. She'd leave before the stim began to fade, she'd be careful enough for that, but for now...

He enveloped her in his wings, holding her like he'd once done on so many nights, and pressed kiss after kiss to her neck, her cheek, her forehead- but not the lips, that was one risk she knew he wasn't willing to take. There was barely a pulse in Warren's chest, and his skin felt cool where it touched her own. But he was here. For just a few more minutes, he was here.

"I'm so sorry," Rae found herself mumbling, the words muffled against the ragged fabric of his shirt, "For everything. This never should have happened."

"It'll be okay." Warren replied. There was something false about the conviction in his voice. He was as scared as she was. "We'll be okay. I'm not gone yet."

He exhaled a long, shaky breath, then ducked to press one more firm kiss to her temple.

"Love," he said, "Time to go."

Rae nodded - much as she longed to stay in his arms a while longer, she knew the stim had to be wearing off - and forced herself to step back from him. It was a short but mournful walk out of the cell.

She meant to leave, then. It was always painful to watch him fade again. But she couldn't help herself. Safe again behind the pane of glass, she couldn't make herself look away as those few bright moments trickled away.

First Warren crossed the room and bolted the shackle back around his own ankle, securing himself against the wall while he still had the capacity to do so. Then he sat himself down, propped up against the wall, and lifted his eyes to the window. His body had already begun to tremble, and there was a fog creeping into his eyes.

"I love you," he said, "Always will."

Rae echoed the words automatically, but she wasn't sure if they reached him. The light in his eyes continued to fade, and the placid expression on his face began to twist into something sharper. His fingers curled inwards, and he lifted his head as if testing the air. Even behind the glass, she had the sense that he could smell her.

She left before he could begin to snarl.

____

The shackle must have gotten jammed.

It all happened so fast. She'd come in to visit him - not for a stim, that was still three days away, just for the sake of being there - and Warren, mindless and hungry, strained against his chain as soon as she stepped behind the glass. Whether from sight or from smell, or some combination of both, he was locked on her as soon as she arrived. There was absolutely nothing behind his eyes.

He gave another full-body lurch, stopped by the chain that secured him to the wall-

But the shackle popped open.

Maybe the hinge was worn out from so much constant strain. Maybe it hadn't gotten locked properly the last time it had been secured. Maybe it was just bad luck.

With his momentum freed, Warren first stumbled and hit the floor. He jammed his wrist hard, and Rae heard a snap like a dry twig. It didn't even slow him down.

He slammed into the glass with his full weight - it wavered but didn't break. But then came a second full-body slam, and the spur of his wing buried itself deep in the glass. Shards spilled across the room, tearing gashes through Warren's gray crepe-paper skin.

Rae staggered back, lifting her arms to raise a shield around her, but she was disoriented and bewildered and could hardly think as she was slammed to the ground.

Warren's hollow bones made him lighter than most men his size, and he'd been withering in a cell for weeks now. But he also felt no pain, no reservations, and he held nothing back as he pressed her into the floor. Shards of broken glass cut into Rae's back and pierced her skin as she writhed to escape.

She remembered her mutation half a second later, and silver light bloomed around her hands as she tried in vain to shove Warren away from her. His teeth snapped inches from her face, swallowed by a blind animal hunger.

"Warren-" she gasped, though she doubted he could hear her and knew he couldn't stop himself even if he did. His fingernails dug into her shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. He lunged in and nearly took a chunk out of her throat, stopped only by the gleam of a second shield.

Finally the vents began to hiss, and white fog flooded the room. Rae twisted, driving her knee into Warren's gut - he wouldn't feel it, but it would force the air out of his lungs, force him to inhale the stim vapor, force him to return to himself.

He took a great, choking breath, and his grip loosened around her shoulders. Life bloomed behind his eyes- along with a torrent of guilt. Rae watched the tears in his skin begin to mend, bloodless, as he slid away from her.

"I-" he started, staring wide-eyed at her, "Are you okay?"

Rae took a deep breath herself, felt the pain begin to numb and her wounds begin to clot as the stim jump-started her own healing factor. It was nothing she couldn't deal with, especially now that the gashes were already beginning to mend.

But emotionally?

That had gotten closer than it should have. And she couldn't get the sight of him out of her head. The lifeless eyes, the mindless hunger, the way he'd come inches from tearing her throat with his teeth like a feral animal.

"I'm fine."

Warren frowned, clearly not believing her, but apparently decided against an argument. He still held one hand against his body, wrist twisted in a funny way.

"Does it hurt?" Rae asked, simultaneously concerned for him and grateful for the change of subject. Warren looked at the wound distantly, hardly seeming even to notice it, and offered her a one-sided shrug.

"Don't feel much of anything anymore."

She couldn't help but notice what the stim had done for him; more accurately, what it hadn't done. The patches of decay had receded but not fully mended. The hollows under his eyes and cheeks seemed more prominent than they should have been, and there were stark ridges of bone at his temples. He'd continued to lose feathers, and his hair was thin and brittle.

The longer he went without a stim, the more he began to rot. But the more time he spent on the stims, the more likely they'd lose effect. It was a war of attrition, slipping from her fingers one grain of sand at a time, and Rae wasn't sure how much longer she could bear it.

Sometimes she wondered if it would be better just to purge the schedule entirely, to push the stims until they stopped working and deal with the consequences later.

But it was better this way. For all the agony, it was better this way. Maybe one of these days they'd find a real cure.

Rae didn't realize how much she'd retreated until Warren reached for her hand and squeezed it.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. Rae opened her mouth to reply, but he wasn't done. "It used to be, I would recognize you. Standing out there. Couldn't talk to you, and knew things would get bad if you came inside, but... I could see you."

She remembered those days. He would stand there in the cell, not moving, not snarling or gnashing his teeth as he now would, just... stagnant. And she would stand on the other side of the glass and speak to him, not knowing if any of the words would reach him but refusing to let his presence fade from her life.

"And now I... I want to, but-" Warren huffed, his face twisting in a grimace, "I still see you standing out there, and there's a part of me that knows it's you, but it just gets so foggy."

Rae had the sense that it was worse than what he said. He was mincing his words for her sake. Maybe those thoughts had faded entirely, and there wasn't any part of him that still saw her when he was sunken under the virus. Maybe any figure behind the glass, whether her or anybody else, was only processed as prey, as food, as a brain within a skull.

Warren shuddered, like a sudden chill had gone down his spine, and let out a deep sigh. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, then let go.

"Go grab Hank," he muttered, that note of mourning now back in his voice, "Before it wears off."

Rae stood as he asked, though she couldn't chase the thoughts from her mind. This seemed... soon. He should have had another ten minutes, maybe more.

Was that simple caution?

Or were the stims losing their potency?

How close was she to losing him entirely?

____

Time was up.

More accurately, it had been up for three days now. That was when the stims had first stopped working. The fog spilled in, the disinfectant sprayed, and in the end Warren was still left dead-eyed and raving. Nothing would bring him back.

The past three days had instead been devoted to a battery of tests, at Hank's insistence. Warren was strapped to a gurney, secured by every limb and with a band to hold his head against the pillow. Hank had wanted a gag too, just to be safe, but then decided it was safer not to have his airway blocked - not that Warren was breathing.

His heartbeat came and went, but never peaked above twenty beats per minute. His blood was black and thick and sluggish. His skin was gray and would tear at the slightest touch. His wings had lost all but a few stubborn feathers. When Rae reached to run her fingers through his hair, a habit from a time she now feared had passed her by, it came up from his scalp in chunks.

But still she sat at his side, unable to give up hope yet. She'd stayed with him through the worst points in their lives, through all manner of agonies. She wouldn't leave him until there were no other options.

"Is there anything else you can do?" Rae asked, watching Hank flurry around with his umpteenth test, "Before...?"

Before you decide there's really nothing left? Before I have to let him go for good?

Hank paused to look at her directly, his fingers fidgeting with the stethoscope around his neck. He opened his mouth and closed it several times without speaking. For a moment, Rae thought he'd just drop it entirely, pretend she hadn't spoken and go on with his tests.

"There's... one thing I've been working on," he finally admitted, "He's given me some good information to work with."

Well, if that wasn't an awfully polite way to word it. Even at his best, Warren had allowed Hank's tests because he wanted a cure for himself. Now, she was sure he didn't know he was being examined at all. He was strapped to a table, poked and prodded, no more aware of himself than a dog recognized its own reflection.

"But?"

"But I'm not sure it's ready," Hank said, "Or... if it'll ever be ready. And if this fails, I doubt there's anything I can do to bring him back."

Rae took a moment to process this. It was a risk, sure. Anything was a risk. The stims had been a delay, but the virus was inevitable. If this didn't work, that was the end.

The end was coming anyway. It wouldn't be long before his heart stopped entirely, before he lost whatever he had left and was animated only by the virus. At best, a failed cure meant the loss of a few days, and those days hardly mattered when he was so outside himself.

There was nothing left to lose.

"Do it," Rae told him, but couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, "If nothing else, it'll... it'll give you an idea about the next prototype."

Hank went still, the silence undercut by a weak moan from the man in the bed. It sounded like he was in pain. Rae knew by now that he wasn't, that he wasn't aware of anything at all, but she still reached to set a hand on his arm. His skin was cold and dry under her palm. Hank cleared his throat.

"I'll go get it prepared."

He left the room, and Rae found herself surrounded by the mechanical beeps of medical devices and a chorus of the same low, pained noises from Warren. His muscles strained towards her, trying in vain to reach her hand where it lay against his arm, but the straps held him firmly in place.

"I don't know if any part of you can still hear me," Rae mumbled, trying her best to ignore the blank, glassy look in his eyes, "I don't know if you even know I'm here. But... Hank's going to give you something, and I need it to work. I need you to come back to me. So if there's... if there's anything in there that can still hear me, I need you to fight for me. I need you to try. I- I can't lose you yet."

Warren gave no sign that he heard her at all. His eyes flashed briefly up to hers when she began to speak, but only in the same way that a deer would stare at a sudden flash of light. Then he returned to straining against his straps, heedless to her words.

Hank returned soon enough, this time wielding a large syringe. He didn't waste time on speaking, merely fixed the syringe at Warren's elbow - Rae averted her eyes, unable to stand the way his skin peeled away from the needle - and pressed the plunger.

After only a moment, Warren's movements slowed. His eyes fell shut, and the heart monitor at his side crept from twenty to ten to zero. Rae swore her heart stopped with it. His body was as still as death- real death.

She wasn't ready.

"I thought you said it-"

"I don't know. I didn't expect this response," Hank said, clearly as rattled as she was, "I thought-"

Warren took a harsh, dusty-sounding breath, his whole body straining against the straps that held him to the bed. His heart rate spiked, bouncing all over the place: forty to a hundred-twenty to ninety to nothing before finally stabilizing at a healthy-looking sixty-four. His blood pressure cavorted around in the same way, numbers flashing wildly across the screen before settling somewhere near normal- if a little low.

His body jolted again, this time accompanied by a choking sound from low in his throat. Hank burst into motion all at once, releasing the bindings from around Warren's head and chest.

"The straps," he said with a jerk of his chin, spurring Rae out of her seat. She'd hardly gotten the straps released when Warren's whole body shuddered, curling over himself with another weak, nauseous sound. Hank stuck an emesis bucket under his mouth just in time for Warren to vomit something dark and thick into it.

Even Hank looked disgusted at that little display, though he stuck a lid on the bucket and set it on a table behind him - surely for some form of study later on. His eyes were focused and intense, taking in every detail of this new surge. Cure or curse, neither of them were sure, but it was something new indeed.

Beneath the shudders that racked his body, Rae could see a shift passing over Warren's skin. The many wounds and spots of decay sealed over, filled instead with patches of shiny scar tissue. Under Rae's palm, she felt his skin soften and warm, watched it bloom pink with the renewed flow of blood.

There came a second choking sound, and this time Hank barely supplied the emesis bucket in time. The first had been compulsive; this one just looked painful. In a strange way, Rae found that encouraging - pain was more than he'd felt in weeks. She set her palm on Warren's back and rubbed circles over the space between his tattered wings, finding a fresh spark of hope when he leaned into the touch.

His head lifted, and his green eyes scanned the room. He seemed oddly sedate, like he'd been woken from a deep sleep, but there was a life behind his eyes that Rae hadn't seen in days.

"Brought..." he mumbled, harsh and halting like he had to remember how to form the words, "Brought me back? Rae?"

"I'm here, baby," she said, still running her palm over his back, "How do you feel?"

"Hm." Warren mumbled, and then his eyes found her at his side. The faintest smile twitched at his lips. "Not dead. Tired, but... not dead."

Rae passed her fingers through his hair - still thin, still brittle, but thankfully none of it came up from his scalp. Part of her was anxious, waiting for the rebound, expecting that any moment he'd fade back to gray and begin convulsing and snarling once again.

But that was a very small part, and it was placated by the ease in Warren's expression. She knew that look in his eyes. She'd seen it time and time again, after Cairo, after he got his wings back. That was the look of a man who didn't have to fight for his own mind. He hadn't worn that expression since he was bitten, stims or not.

"And you're not going to try and rip my throat out if I kiss you?" she asked, succeeding in drawing another weary smile from him.

"God, I hope not."

For Hank, this was some form of medical marvel: the incurable plague being cured for the first time. More research would be done from here, and Warren would have recovery and therapy of his own to shoulder after the virus had ravaged his body and mind. And there came the question of replicating the cure, perhaps spreading it to other mutants - how much had Warren's extensive healing factor played a role? Could a cure be devised for mutants without the same crutch? And what of the time frame, the window of opportunity?

Rae, on the other hand, didn't have a single thought towards the larger implications of this. Not yet. That would come later, by days or more, when the enormity of it all had finally sunken in. She would wake up beside Warren for the first time in weeks, trace those new rot-scars or feel the buds of new feathers coming in to replace those that had fallen out, and only then would she realize the gravity of what that cure had done.

For now, though, her only thought was of him.

[man-me--a-sand]

im reworking some pages I drew like. a year ago. and im particularly enjoying these three

[clonerightsenthusiast]

Ringer

[X-Men Comics, Gen, 4.5k words]

It was really Bobby's fault, they'd all decided (except Scott, who stoically shouldered all the blame himself, as usual). Bobby thought that if they were gonna blame him, then really it was the professor's fault for having the horseshoes where he could find them in the first place. And for leaving them unsupervised for the weekend. Was it Bobby's fault he was bored and curious?

(Yes, apparently. Whatever.)

"So it's a… game?" Scott asked skeptically, watching Bobby finish setting up the stakes outside the mansion.

"Yeah, you just throw it, dude," Bobby said, tossing a horseshoe to demonstrate.

Scott's forehead creased. "And the objective is to hook the horseshoe onto the stake?"

"Uh huh." Bobby twirled his last horseshoe on his finger. "You get points based on how close to it you get. I think. I've mostly just watched my dad play it at barbecues and stuff."

Scott hummed thoughtfully. Bobby held out the horseshoe. "It's a game for old people, so you'll probably love it," he joked.

"Very funny, Bobby," Scott said scathingly, but he took the horseshoe. He cocked his head, giving the stake a long, considering look, then tossed it.

[read on ao3]

It landed several feet short. Scott hrmed. Bobby couldn't tell if he was mad at himself for not hitting the stake immediately or just thinking too hard. Knowing Scott, he reasoned, probably both.

"Hand me another one," Scott ordered, sticking out his hand. Oh, that was his field leader voice. He was getting serious. Bobby rolled his eyes but complied.

Scott gave the stake another measured look and tossed the horseshoe. Short again.

Bobby threw the last one. It bounced off the stake and landed a few inches away. Scott gave him such an affronted look that Bobby burst out laughing.

"Sorry, Slim," he said when he got his breath back, still snickering. "Some of us are just naturally talented."

Scott harrumphed and set off in a determined stride to collect the horseshoes.

"Just keep practicing," Bobby called after him. "Maybe some day you'll get on my level."

"It's just geometry and physics," Scott said, taking his place at the first stake again. "I'm good at geometry and physics."

"Sure, suck the joy out of it," Bobby said, elbowing him until he reluctantly gave up half the horseshoes. Scott didn't seem liable to budge, so Bobby trudged over to take the other side.

"The joy comes from figuring out how it works and executing a successful strategy," Scott corrected him, eyeing the stake again.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Scott. I say the joy comes from kicking your butt at something for once."

Bobby won the next game, and frankly, that was enough horseshoes for him - especially when Scott was getting visibly frustrated. He handed over the whole lot of the horseshoes and said, "You keep playing if you want. I think I've proven my superiority here."

"You've proven that you have more practice at the game," Scott said stubbornly.

Bobby snickered and waved him off to go back inside the mansion, leaving Scott to keep up his attempts to hit the ring solo.

Inside the kitchen, he found Warren poking at a bowl of half-melted ice cream with one hand and reading a book with the other. Bobby promptly flopped over his shoulder, getting a facefull of feathers for his trouble but successfully stealing a bite of ice cream in the confusion.

"Get your own, you pest," Warren said without any real heat, hunkering over the bowl. His wings lifted defensively.

"Guess what I just did," Bobby said, ignoring him to reach around and get a finger on the side of the bowl. With a little concentration, frost spread out from the point of contact across the bowl and the ice cream inside refroze. Warren begrudgingly lowered his shoulder to give him another bite in exchange for services rendered.

"What," he said flatly, elbowing Bobby until he slid off of him and onto the stool beside.

"I got Scott to play a game," he said archly. "He's outside being, like, really intense about horseshoes."

"Horseshoes barely counts as a game," Warren scoffed. "You just stand there and throw them."

"Barely is still a game," Bobby said, reaching out for the ice cream again. Warren slid it out of his reach. "This is just the first step. Next is some other grandpa game like croquet or whatever. Then we work up to stuff like Frisbee. In a few months maybe he'll even play monopoly. Hey, is there more?"

There was, indeed, more ice cream, and all thoughts of Scott and horseshoes quickly faded in its favor.

–

Scott tossed the horseshoe a couple times in his hand, feeling the weight of it. It was an odd shape. Naturally; that was what made the game what it was. Finding the proper grip on it was a process. 

He held it lightly, tossing it with a flick of his wrist. The horseshoe spun off sideways, landing some feet away from the stake next to its fellows.

Scott's feet moved on their own, mechanically carrying him over to the pile of horseshoes to recollect them. His mind was occupied, considering the mechanics of that throw. Too much torque, clearly. He was throwing too much with the wrist. Maybe if he kept his wrist straight and instead rotated more at the elbow…

He would get this. There was no doubt in his mind as he took his place at the line again. He would figure this out. It was only a matter of time.

–

"Has anyone seen Scott?" Jean asked, levitating a slice of pizza out of Hank's reach. "I tried to tell him the pizza was here but he didn't answer."

Hank planted one giant hand on Warren's face and shoved him back long enough to snatch his own slice. "Scott understands the consequences of being tardy to pizza night," he said, fending off Bobby with his other elbow.

"He's never been 'tardy' in his life," Warren said, shoving Hank's hand aside with a pointed glare. "It's good for him."

"Maybe he's still playing horseshoes," Bobby joked through a mouthful of pizza, squirming into the narrow space on the couch between Hank and Warren. "Or he got kidnapped by Magneto."

"Ugh, don't even mention Magneto," Warren groaned, begrudgingly shifting over to make room. "We're on vacation."

"If only the enemies of mutantkind likewise went 'on vacation'," Hank teased. "Maybe we could work out a schedule."

"Bobby, what do you mean, playing horseshoes?" Jean asked, settling herself on the arm of the couch.

"I found stakes and horseshoes in the garage under a bunch of tarps and stuff," Bobby said. "Scott was playing it earlier. But that was, like, hours ago. He's probably just reading one of the professor's old man books and didn't notice you calling."

"It's not an old man book just because it doesn't have pictures, Bob," Warren said, smirking as Bobby stuck his tongue out at him.

"Scott's a big boy, Jeannie," Hank said, patting her arm. "He'll come in when he gets hungry. Although," he added, eyes lighting up in inspiration, "perhaps we could entice him with the siren sounds of a motion picture?"

"Only if it's one of the professor's old movies from back before the dawn of time," Warren snarked.

"We are not watching a black and white movie!" Bobby squawked, popping up straight-backed with an expression of pure affront.

"A film's quality isn't determined by its use of color photography, Robert," Hank said, looking down at him over his glasses.

"Uh, yes it is," Bobby shot back.

"You boys argue about this," Jean said, hopping down from the arm of the couch. "I'll go make popcorn. You better make a decision by the time I get back, or I get to pick the movie."

That set off a new wave of arguing, and Scott was quickly forgotten.

–

Thunk.

The horseshoe hit the stake solidly and bounced off, skipping along the grass once before coming to rest. Scott hummed, weighing the last horseshoe in his hand. Shoulder. Elbow. Wrist. His grip, the placement of his fingers along the groove of the horseshoe. His hips and feet, the bend in his knees… there were so many variables that went into a throw even before it left his hand. The wind, the angle of the stake, how hard the ground was - these also affected his outcomes, but he couldn't control those. 

Distinguishing between what was in and out of his control was a vital skill as field leader, and one of the first things Scott determined in every situation he walked into. He couldn't change the weather (wouldn't that be something, having a mutant power to change the weather!) but he could control himself, break each throw down into its component elements and through trial and error and intuition determine the ideal state of each one to achieve his goal. Make a plan, and then put it into action. There was nothing more satisfying than successfully executing a plan.

The light faded around him but it barely registered to Scott. The night was clear and the moon was bright enough that he could make out the stake and collect the horseshoes - and by now he was certain he could hit the stake with his eyes closed. It was just another variable to account for. And he could account for it. He would. 

Thunk.

Scott's heart skipped a beat as the horseshoe hit the stake and rattled around it before bouncing off to hit the ground close by. That was the sound of progress. He almost had it.

He just had to keep going.

–

Jean slept in, a rare luxury born of the professor's absence. She woke to bright sunlight filtering through her gauzy curtains, and took her time stretching and basking in the warmth and joy of one last day of no responsibilities before finally sliding out of bed to get dressed and see what the boys were up to.

Warren and Hank were both in the kitchen, divvying up the newspaper. Hank called a garbled greeting around the pencil in his mouth as he set to the crossword. Jean hummed pleasantly in response as she opened the fridge to retrieve the milk, using her telekinesis to get the pantry at the same time.

The box of cereal abruptly dropped to the counter as she got distracted, frowning at the contents of the fridge. The last slice of pizza she'd jealously guarded from the boys and set away for Scott last night was still there. She leaned back and half-closed the door again and sure enough the note in her own neat handwriting letting him know was still stuck to it.

"All right, Jeannie?" Warren's voice prompted her to grab the milk and let the fridge close properly, shaking her head.

"Yes, just – is Scott up yet?" Jean asked, picking up the cereal again with her telekinesis to shake some into a bowl while she poured the milk. She brought it over to the table where the boys were sitting, and Warren graciously pulled out a chair for her.

She knew him well enough to catch the disappointment that flashed across his face as she asked about Scott, but didn't say anything; she didn't want to encourage their silly rivalry. Warren, to his credit, gave no hint of it as he replied.

"I saw him this morning when I went out for an early flight," he said. "He was out there by himself playing horseshoes. Didn't even look up when I buzzed him." He did sound disappointed by that, and Jean snorted into her cornflakes. Boys.

Hank glanced up from the crossword, adjusting his glasses. "Pardon me, Warren – did you say you saw Scott playing horseshoes early this morning?"

"Sure did, Hank," Warren said. "Why, what's all the interest in Scott this morning?"

"It's only that when I went out to retrieve the morning's paper – hardly ten minutes ago – he was out on the lawn, tossing horseshoes, as you say," Hank said. "I'm merely surprised such a simple game has captivated our fearless leader for so long. It seems rather below a strategic mind of his caliber."

Warren whistled. "That's what, a couple hours straight of horseshoes? He must be going stir-crazy without the professor giving him X-Men duties. I was wondering why he hasn't bullied us into the Danger Room all weekend."

"Be nice," Jean admonished him, elbowing his side. "It's good that he's having fun."

"Personally, I'm glad he's found a way to have fun that doesn't involve shooting at me with eye blasts," Warren said with a smirk. "But I bet you and I could come up with something way more fun to do than horseshoes."

Jean smiled at him beatifically. "That sounds like a great idea, Warren," she said blithely. "You go get Bobby, and I'll pick a board game."

Warren looked pained for just a second before manfully accepting that he'd blundered into a trap of his own making and accepting his fate. "Sounds great, Jeannie," he said, getting up from the table and tucking his section of the paper under one arm. "You coming, Hankster?"

"Give me just a moment to complete today's puzzle and I'll gladly join you," Hank said, and Warren waved in acknowledgment and slouched off to find Bobby, hands slung in his pockets. Hank turned an admonishing eye on Jean. "That was mean of you," he said.

"Oh, he asked for it, and you know it," she said, snickering. Jean tipped her bowl back to slurp the last of the milk and stood up, wiping her mouth. "I'll see you in the living room. Bring Scott if he comes in."

"Naturally," Hank said, bending back to his crossword. "I'll only be a moment."

–

The horseshoe sliced through the air and dropped in a neat arc over the top of the stake, clanking against the others sitting at its base. Mechanically, Scott pulled his arm back, transferred the next horseshoe to his throwing arm, reset his stance, and tossed it.

It followed the same path through the air and hooked itself on the stake, sliding down to rest on the small pile of its fellows. A satisfied smile broke through Scott's focused expression as he walked the well-trodden path from the line to the stake and back again, laden once again with horseshoes. He barely had to think about it anymore; he'd done it, he'd solved it, and now it was just throw, retrieve, repeat, in smooth, soothing, repetitive motions, with the bonus satisfaction of seeing each throw land exactly where he wanted it to.

He could do this forever.

–

"HaHA! Take that, Harvard boy!" Bobby crowed, leaping to his feet. "Who's the businessman now?"

Warren groaned and tipped back against the couch in defeat. "You know I haven't actually gone to Harvard," he grumbled. "And Monopoly is hardly a test of real business acumen."

"Oh, don't break out the big words just because you lost," Bobby said, jabbing a finger at him, still grinning.

"It's not a big word just because you don't know what it means, Bob," Warren said, swatting his finger out of his face.

"Oh, don't be a sore loser, Warren," Jean piped up. She and Hank, long since eliminated from the game, had curled up instead in the armchairs to heckle the both of them.

"Go easy on him, Jeannie," Hank said, affecting a serious expression while barely suppressing a laugh. "Bankruptcy is a new experience for him."

"Yeah, and being rich is a new one for me!" Bobby said, tossing handfuls of flimsy paper money in the air.

"Yes, we can tell," Warren said dryly.

"Okay, okay," Jean broke in before Bobby could get out whatever affronted response bubbled up, covering her mouth with one hand to hide her snickering. "Good job, Bobby, you won fair and square."

"Thank you, Jean," Bobby said, sticking his tongue out at Warren. 

Warren tossed his top hat token at him, bouncing it off his forehead. "All right, enough Monopoly," he said before Bobby could respond. His wings shot out at awkward angles as he levered himself to his feet, sweeping dice and money off the coffee table. "There's no getting those hours of our lives back. Let's clean up this mess and find something more worthwhile to do with our time."

Jean made eye contact with Hank before rolling her eyes, provoking snickers from him as they both got up to help pack away the game.

"You just hate when I win anything," Bobby said, elbowing Warren.

"New experiences are always difficult," Warren said smoothly. He caught a sputtering Bobby in a headlock and dug the knuckles of his free hand into his scalp for a few seconds before releasing him. "There, there's your victory noogie, mister winner," he said.

"All I ask is acknowledgement," Bobby sniffed, dropping onto his stomach to fish out the money that had found its way under the couch. "Where's Scott? I want him to witness my victory."

"Maybe he's still playing horseshoes," Warren said, reaching out to accept the tokens from Hank and drop them in the box. "I take back what I said about having more fun than him."

"Oh come on, he's not still playing horseshoes," Bobby said. "It's been a whole day."

"What? No, I mean since this morning," Warren said, giving him a strange look.

"He went back out this morning? He must really like horseshoes," Bobby said, flopping down on the couch.

Jean checked her watch. "It's been hours," she said. "He must have come in. Hank, did you see him come in while we were in here?"

"No, I can't say I did, Jeannie," Hank said.

Jean frowned and looked over her shoulder at the foyer. "I'll just…" she trailed off as she got up and headed for the door.

The boys exchanged glances before Warren shut the Monopoly box and they all got up to follow her.

Jean propped herself up against the threshold of the big front door, watching Scott on the lawn. He threw a horseshoe, neatly hooking it over the stake in front of him. Two more followed in quick succession. Scott threw his whole complement of horseshoes, then marched up to the stake, picked them up, and started all over again.

"Wow, he got really good at that."

Bobby's voice made her jump. She looked over her shoulder to see the other three boys coming up behind her. Jean looked at them, then back at Scott, who seemed perfectly oblivious to being watched. She squinted, taking in his practiced, mechanical movements, and the way he swayed slightly when he stopped by the near stake.

"Did anybody see him come in last night?" she asked, biting her thumbnail.

The boys muttered, conferring with each other, and the consensus was reached that no, nobody had. Making up her mind, Jean planted a hand on Bobby's shoulder and shoved him forward.

"Go ask him how long he's been playing," she ordered him.

"What?" Bobby squawked. "Why me?"

"Just do it, Bob," Warren said.

Outnumbered, Bobby shot them a mutinous look before tromping off across the lawn towards Scott.

Scott didn't respond as Bobby approached, and Bobby took the opportunity to look him up and down. Okay, so maybe he did look a little tired. And there was a muddy line through the grass between the stakes that definitely hadn't been there when he set them up yesterday. So maybe Jean had a point.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Hey, Scotty," he said from a safe distance. Not that there was a particularly safe distance to surprise Scott Summers from.

Scott's head snapped up sharply at the sound of his voice and fixed on Bobby. He couldn't see his eyes behind his glasses, but he could imagine Scott's focus shifting.

"Hi, Bobby," Scott said, then cleared his throat when it came out hoarse.

"So, uh," Bobby said, scuffing the grass with the toe of his shoe. "You like horseshoes, huh?"

"Huh? Oh." Scott looked down at the horseshoes in his hand. "Yeah, it's really satisfying."

"I guess you took me kicking your butt pretty seriously, huh?" Bobby joked. When Scott gave him a blank look, he cleared his own throat and asked, "How long have you been out here practicing?"

"Oh. Since we played, I guess," Scott said.

Bobby stared at him.

Scott looked back.

"Cool." Bobby said. "Uh. Be right back." He turned and fled back to the others, waiting anxiously in the doorway.

"Well?" Hank asked as he skidded to a stop, peering at him from around Warren's wings and over Jean's shoulder.

"He's lost it," Bobby blurted out. "He's been playing since yesterday. Like, straight. That's, like. More than twenty four hours! What time is it?" He grabbed Warren's wrist to check his watch. "Twenty seven hours! Twenty seven hours of horseshoes! We're gonna be in so much trouble. We have to tell the professor we broke Scott!"

"Bobby, calm down," Jean said firmly. She planted both hands on Bobby's shoulders. "We didn't break Scott."

"Besides, it's not a we. You got him playing," Warren said. "This is your fault."

"I hate to say it, Robert, but he has a point," Hank said.

"Hey!" Bobby protested.

"Boys," Jean snapped. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is. What matters is that we snap Scott out of it before the professor comes back tomorrow. So. Bobby." She used her grip on his shoulders to turn him around so he was facing the lawn again. "Go pull out the stakes."

"What?" Bobby yelped. "I can't do that!"

"Sure you can," she said encouragingly. "Just yank them out."

"Why me?" he complained. "What if he blasts me?"

"He's not gonna blast you," Jean said. "And you have to do it because you started it."

"Jean."

"Bobby. Go." With a firm push to his shoulders, Jean sent him stumbling once again back towards Scott.

Bobby trudged back over, shoulders hunched and grumbling to himself under his breath the whole way.

"Okay, Scott," he said, walking past him to the target stake. His shoulder itched where he could tell Scott was staring at him. "Game's over. This is for your own good, so don't blast me, got it?" Bobby tried to sound authoritative, and then realized he was doing an impression of Scott, and quickly changed tack. "Jean says you can't play anymore, and you should probably, like, sleep, dude," he said.

"Hey, what're–" Scott started to say as Bobby grabbed the stake. He made a strangled noise as Bobby ignored him and yanked it out of the ground, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Scott, you've been playing for twenty seven hours, dude," Bobby said, pointing the stake at him. "Pack it in."

Scott stopped short, cocking his head. Does not compute. Recalculating, Bobby thought hysterically, resisting the urge to laugh at him.

"Has it really been that long?" Scott finally asked, a little sheepishly.

"Yeah, Scotty," Bobby said. "And if the professor finds out we let you do that he's gonna be pissed at us, so go sleep it off before the rest of us get in trouble."

Scott huffed and shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose right below his glasses. "Sure. Yeah, Bobby, okay, let's go inside."

Bobby's shoulders slumped in relief. "Great. C'mon." He slung an arm around Scott's shoulders and steered him towards the door where the rest of the team waited.

–

It was like Bobby had broken a spell, and all at once Scott found himself exhausted, sore, starving, thirsty, and in desperate need of the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later found him perched on a stool at the counter, trying to eat a cold slice of pizza like a human being and not a rabid monster. He raised it slowly with his right arm and winced as the sore muscles screamed at him. He shifted uncomfortably and swapped it to the other hand.

A second later, a blessed cold landed on his upper arm, and Scott glanced sideways to see Bobby pressing an icy hand to his bicep. The corner of his lips twitched upwards into a grateful smile and Bobby smiled sheepishly back.

"So," Warren said, breaking the awkward silence and forcing Scott to acknowledge the rest of his teammates standing around and staring at him. His shoulders hunched self-consciously. "I think I speak for all of us when I say: what the hell, Scott?"

Scott cleared his throat. "I, uh. I guess I just didn't notice how long I'd been out there." It sounded lame, even though it was true. He'd known, abstractly, that he'd been at it for a while. It just hadn't registered as worthy of his attention when he had horseshoes to throw. 

"Right. Well," Jean said. "The professor doesn't get back till tomorrow morning, so you can get plenty of sleep tonight and it'll be like nothing happened."

"Okay," Scott said. He didn't know what else to say. He kind of wanted to curl up into a ball until he was so small his friends couldn't see him so they'd stop looking at him.

Jean, bless her, flapped her hands at Warren and Hank, both on the same side of the counter as her, ushering them away. "Okay, okay, let him eat," she said. "Go turn the TV on. We have one more night of doing nothing left. See you tomorrow, Scott."

Hank and Warren let themselves be herded, calling their own goodnights back to Scott as they left the kitchen. Scott waved as they left, then glanced back at Bobby and took another bite of pizza.

"So, uh," Bobby said. "I guess we can say you probably win the next match. You definitely have more practice than me now."

Scott huffed again. "I think I should probably stay away from horseshoes from now on," he said ruefully. "We can chalk this up as a learning experience and move on."

"That's fair," Bobby said. "Eternal draw, then?"

A smile crept over Scott's face and he ducked his head. "Sure. Eternal draw." A huge yawn split his face and he shook his head. "Okay, okay, I should go to bed. See you tomorrow, Bobby."

"G'night, Scotty," Bobby chirped, taking his hand back and heading off after the other three.

Scott shoved the last of the pizza in his mouth and dug his fingers into his sore muscles, filling up a glass of water to take with him upstairs. He wondered what he would say if the professor asked him what he did with his weekend. Training, sir, he imagined himself saying. He had, after all, proved the point he'd set out to prove: repetition and practice were enough to master any skill. Even if he wouldn't be repeating this particular experiment any time soon. Or probably ever.

Professor Xavier probably wouldn't even question him. He didn't need to know the exact form the training took. It would be their little secret, the five of them. Scott muffled his private smile in his shirt and trudged up the stairs to bed, the sounds of his teammates bickering and shushing each other floating up after him.

[rhuby-zeug]

Happy New Year!! Here’s the next chapter of my O5 fic!

Trying to give Warren an emotional outlet, but mostly it’s just me adoring Jean Grey <3

[krakoaisforlovers-xmenkinkmeme]

Tell (you can use the tags for this)

Your favorite X-men: Your favorite X-men story: Your favorite X-men adaptation: Your favorite X-men pairing: Your favorite X-men rare pairing: Do you have an X-men/non X-men pairing you love?

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[elvain]

THE BEAU MONDE

To my loyal readers,

It has come to this author's attention that many of you have attempted to find out who I really am. Rest assured, you will never find out who holds this pen, nor will I ever tell you. That is not my purpose. All I am here to do is to keep you all informed of the scandalous goings on in our fair society. After all, if I do not tell you the truth, dearest, who will?

For example, I have heard from remarkably reliable sources that our favoured Duke of Worthington was seen late last night brooding in Grimm's Salon. He was quickly joined by none other than newly arrived Lord Jean-Paul Beaubier. What the two discussed, I cannot say, but I have a funny feeling that we have not seen the last of this delicious pair.

Fondly, Madame X

[incandesang]

i went to my friend’s house and watched red white and royal blue (i have not read the book i did not know what it was about) and left planning a totally unhinged xmen au where the two guys break up vv dramatically at the end

[sketchesmick]

archangel - x-men gold

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My Patreon now has a free 14 day trial with it. If you want to see what it’s all about check it out now for free.  

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[platossoulmates]

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men '97 (Cartoon 2024)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Jean Grey/Logan/Scott Summers, Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Logan/Scott Summers, Jean Grey/Logan, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Remy LeBeau/Rogue, Bobby Drake/Warren Worthington III, Jubilation Lee & Logan, Logan & Ororo Munroe, Jubilation Lee & Kurt Wagner

Characters: Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Logan (X-Men), Ororo Munroe, Rogue (X-Men), Remy LeBeau, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Kitty Pryde, Kurt Wagner, Jubilation Lee, Bobby Drake, Warren Worthington III, Hank McCoy

Additional Tags: scogean, my beloveds, Polyamory, but like lowkey not discussed at all, like thats what theyre doing but not once does it occur like oh hey this is out of the ordinary, they just all wanna kiss idk what to tell you, Scott Summers-centric, Autistic Scott Summers, Parental Ororo Munroe, Parental Logan (X-Men), Vacation, bc these kids need a BREAK, Logan is a Softie (X-Men), Genosha (X-Men), Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, despite the fifty year situationship, POV Scott Summers, Jean Grey Lives, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, X-Men as One Big Mutant Family, kitty jubilee and kurt are best friends, thank you evolution you did ur big one with that, More tags to be added

Summary:

Scott, she says in his head.

He tries not to flinch. It’s so much more intimate, like this.

Can we talk about it?

Are you going to give me a choice?

_ Of course I am._

She reaches across the bed for his hand. Images of the three of them flash unbidden in his mind, and he sighs.

I don’t know what to say.

Sometimes doing is better.

Shouldn’t he… be here? Be involved? In this conversation?

That depends. She turns, and maneuvers him so that he is facing her on the bed. Do you know what you want, Scott?

I- his mind is racing too much to project a coherent thought. It’s just so… different, now.

Good different.

_Yeah. _

Tell me how you feel, Scott.

You know how I feel, Jean.

It would be unfair to bring him into this before you can even admit it.

He must grimace, because she reaches out to caress his face. Of course I want him. Even when all we did was fight over you, I wanted him.

[victorborkowski]

sometimes i have writing wips i want to post on here but i can’t because they’re wildly nsfw but. um. just know. just know i’m writing good stuff right now. and matt murdock is a very lucky man. :)

[candymothster]

‎‎ 💋Kinktober 2024🍒‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎

EXTREME NSFW WARNING!! MDNI!!

A/N: I am starting VERY late for this year's kinkober! But here is my 2024 masterlist this year! I can't wait to work on this big writing project! Can ya’ll also figure out what special interest I’m into again?

All fics will be posted on both Tumblr and AO3 with respective links.

Edit: Please let me know if you’d like to be in the taglist!

Buy Me A Kofi❤️️ My AO3 Acc❤️️Masterlist❤️️

Day 1 Breast Worship - Scott Summers X Reader Post|AO3

Day 2 Double Penetration - young!Charles Xavier x Reader x young!Erik Lehnsherr

Day 3 Public Sex - tasm!Peter Parker x Reader

Day 4 Sensory Deprivation - priest!Matt Murdock x Reader

Day 5 Bondage - Eddie Brock x Reader

Day 6 A/B/O Heat/Rut - Logan Howlett x Reader

Day 7 Virgin - Nightcrawler x Reader

Day 8 Cock Warming - Charles Xavier x Reader

Day 9 Praise Kink - Nightcrawler x Reader

Day 10 Overstimulation - Wade Wilson x Reader

Day 11 Knife Play - Logan Howlett x Reader

Day 12 Sex Toys - Remy LeBeau x Reader

Day 13 Aftercare - tasm!Peter Parker x Reader

Day 14 Candle-Wax Play/Temperature Play - Bobby Drake x Reader

Day 15 Glory Hole - Wade Wilson x Reader

Day 16 Cock Worship - Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

Day 17 Dom-Sub - Remy LeBeau x Reader

Day 18 Cock ring/Plugs - Nightcrawler x Reader

Day 19 Mirror Sex/Masturbation - Marc Spector x Reader x Steven Grant

Day 20 Threesome - Logan Howlett x Reader x Scott Summers

Day 21 Monsterfucking - werewolf!Steve Rogers x Reader

Day 22 Thigh Riding/Fucking - Peter Maximoff x Reader

Day 23 Breeding - Hank McCoy x Reader

Day 24 Somnophilla - Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

Day 25 Non Con/Dub Con - Victor Creed x Reader

Day 26 Pegging - Remy LeBeau x Reader was

Day 27 Hate Fucking/Angry Sex - Scott Summers X Reader

Day 28 Impact Play - Wade Wilson x Reader

Day 29 Hunter-Prey - Logan Howlett x Reader

Day 30 Sex Pollen - Peter Maximoff x Reader

Day 31 First Time - Warren Worthington III x Reader

Top Divider By @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Rose Divider by me :)

[practically-an-x-man]

Me: oh hey this is a neat idea for an angst piece, I can whip this out in like 5-6k words and have it be a nice bonus piece

12.5k words later...

Anyway here's the piece, it's called Tear Us Apart and it's pretty much a nonstop X-Men angst fest (but in a good way, I hope), so... enjoy I guess! Or cry. Your choice.

[swanimagines]

X-MEN AO3 SERIESES

EVERYTHING FOR X-MEN

Kurt Wagner

Scott Summers

Alex Summers

Erik Lehnsherr

Warren Worthington III

Jean Grey

Hank McCoy

Storm (coming)

(Any of the other characters don't have any requests written nor pending as for now, so I'm unable to have serieses for them as AO3 requires you to have at least one oneshot written to be able to add it to a series, and I can't promise serieses for characters who don't have requests pending/I have no ideas of my own for them)

For anyone who's concerned, THESE ARE NOT ONESHOT COLLECTIONS, they are made using AO3's "series" feature.

If you want to be informed about new fics for X-Men or its individual characters, create an AO3 account and subscribe or bookmark any of those serieses listed above. There are buttons at the top right corner for those, or on top on mobile. I do not do Tumblr taglists anymore.

Also, if you're wondering, requests are ALWAYS open and you're welcome to leave one or multiple. Just remember to read my rules and pick a request type from this list.